The World's Shortest Fast

They say, "When the student is ready to learn, the teacher appears," right?

So when I spotted Mary McGuire Wien's book The 7-Day Total Cleanse I decided the book was my teacher calling me to cleanse and detoxify my body, mind and soul with a healthy week-long juice fast.

A week later, my refrigerator stocked with carrots, ginger root, beets, parsnips, celery, kale, green apples and lemon and a shiny stainless Breville juicer adorning my kitchen counter-top, I was ready to begin my 7-day juice fast.

Oh, the first morning was awesome. The vegetable broth was delicious! (Ok, perhaps not delicious, but drinkable.) My beet/carrot/ginger juice was yummy! (Again, I was able to finish it.)

Ah, but the teacher forgot to give the student the memo; that when one doesn't eat one gets hungry. By 3 pm, I was weak with hunger and had a pounding headache. And the thought of another glass of dreaded juice made me depressed.

I'll dispense with the details, the mental back-and-forth as I disentangled myself from my fasting goals. I made deals like crazy to get myself off the hook, out of this commitment.

"Kari, if I let you go back to eating real food, you (or anyone in your family) can never eat processed lunchmeat again."

"No more Diet Coke for you missy, ever. You hear me?"

"Ok, you can eat. But, can you cut back on the wine from here on out? There's no rule that says you have to have it every night."

"A nutritious smoothie every single morning for the rest of your life, you hear? Do we have a deal?"

Suffice it to say, I significantly shortened the intended duration of my juice fast (by 85%. I fasted for exactly one day out of seven). And, I "learned" that I am not a good faster and should never ever do it again.

See, like I said, when the student is ready the teacher appears.

How Did it Go, Maverick?

Flying to Oregon over the Holidays, I got to sit in the empty seat in the adjacent row on the flight out.

Meaning, John sat in the row with Macy and Trey and I sat in the aisle seat across from them with whatever random passengers chose to sit with me.

Heaven! John entertained the fidgety kids for the 3-hour flight from Tampa to Kansas City while I read all about Tiger and Elin in People. And US. (Yes of course I bought both.)

Abby, my new best friend, sat next to me. Also heading to Portland, we quickly made a deal to sit together on the KC-Portland leg, exchanged email addresses, swapped magazines and friended each other on Facebook.

Fast forward to the second leg of the flight, where I also luxuriously got to sit child-less, with my new friend Abby.

Settling into our seats, trying to ignore the noisy kids in the row across from us, Abby and I hoped the middle seat would stay empty, so we could enjoy our small bottles of Sutter Home Chardonnay with a little extra leg room. But, as it were, the flight was full and a Texas cowboy named Maverick slid into the window seat with a, "Ladies, mind if I sit with ya'll?"

Maverick was a 68-year-old Texan (and fellow blogger, I might add) with a big accent and an even bigger cowboy hat.

After a couple of glasses wine we learned, as it turns out, that Maverick was flying out to Portland on a whim to visit his on-line lady!

Yep, Maverick met her teaching a 2-step class in Galveston back in September and they've kept up relations via email all these months. Things started heating up, and he up and booked a ticket to visit her in her home-town of Portland, Oregon.

Oh, and I almost forgot this. He was surprising her. As in, HE DID NOT TELL HER HE WAS COMING IN ADVANCE. And get this. He sent her 200 yellow roses earlier that day. Just because. That Maverick has the moves.

Just goes to show you, wonderful people are dressed up in all kinds of ways and can be found in all kinds of places.

Abby and Maverick, I hope you are reading this. Abby, congratulations on your engagement and Maverick, I hope your lady friend realizes how lucky she is!

Love, Kari

I am affectionate with family and friends. I throw the love word around a lot.

I type fast (10th grade typing class served me well it turns out).

I am a practicing multi-tasker (not saying I'm good at it, I'm saying I do it).

The result? Emails like this one I sent out today.

Hi Brett,

Thanks for your note. I look forward to meeting you in person at your office on Friday to discuss the Bay Street project in more detail. I am available at 10 am, or after 2:30. Is there any additional information you can provide me to help me prepare for our discussion?

Thanks again for the opportunity.

Love,

Kari

Thomas Gone Wild

My three-year-old son is obsessed with Thomas, and the entire "Tank Engine" franchise. He knows every single train by name, and is constantly throwing out Thomas euphamisms: "He's a really useful engine!" "Emily is cross." "Bust those buffers."

On our family computer, Trey learned to type T-H-O-M-A-S in Google to get himself hooked up with a shot of Sprout Online. Straight to the Thomas games he went. He's a genius! I thought, until ...

One day I got distracted blogging or reading blogs or something, and eventually I wandered over to find that Trey had made his way onto YouTube, and was watching Thomas "videos" (some not-so-appropriate for your average 3-year-old as you might imagine). We had a talk about this - I know I had a stern talking to myself about being more "hands on" - and we moved on.

Fast forward, the other night Macy ran over to me with a, "Mommy! We won a contest!! Come look!"

OMG. At the computer were at least a dozen pop-up screens. Yes, one blinking screen notified us that we'd WON!!! THE BIG PRIZE!!! The other screens? Well ... How do I say this? One word. Porn.

Trey, in his ongoing quest for a fix of a newer, better Thomas video, had stumbled into a virus that unleashed a flurry of T & A (and various other body parts).

The moral of my story. Well, too much of anything, even Thomas, is a bad thing, I guess. Either that, or keep a close eye on your children as they "surf" the internet!

I Don't Want to Dance Anymore

"Mommy, I don't want to go to ballet," Macy told me recently.

"But you love ballet!" I said, a little too excitedly. (I'm thinking, I love you in that adorable ballet outfit.)

"Actually I don't," Macy informed me. "I need a break from ballet. I've got so much going on."

"Like what? I'm just curious," I asked, trying to act nonchalant. (I'm thinking, You're 6. You just wait.)

"Well, learning to read. You want me to read, right? And all that homework. Play dates. I'm just a little tired is all. It's just too much."

"But what about the big recital that's coming up?" I asked. (Thinking, and the recital costume I paid $50 for.)

"I don't really want to be in the recital," Macy stated, with firm resolve.

(I'm thinking, Is my daughter a quitter? First ballet, next what? High school?) I think quickly on my feet and decide to deliver a blow below the belt.

"Yep, you're right. You shouldn't do ballet if you don't want to," I agreed. "But what if Hannah Montana or Angelina Ballerina had quit their dance lessons the first time it got hard? Where would they be?"

"Angelina Ballerina is a mouse," Macy informed me. "And Hannah Montana's Dad is Billy Ray Cyrus. She didn't need dance lessons at six to be famous."

Darn.