Do you lie?

Not to people. I mean, not intentionally, right? Just the small, comfortable lies that give those around you a soft place to land (wow, look at that haircut!).

No, I'm talking about big lies.

That's right. Do you lie to your workout app?

This came up over dinner with a group of ladies, some of whom admitted they lie to their app so they don't get the "it's been 37 days since your last workout" message. It started me thinking about the ways in which we lie about our exercise habits. For me, sometimes I lie to myself to get on the treadmill:

​And most of the time, after 15 minutes, I'm on for the duration. I just needed that soft place to land. That bailout point in case I really hate it as much as I hated the thought of it.

Over the summer and into the fall, I dealt with kidney stones, and because I avoided the doctor, it was much worse than it should have been. The upside of being that sick: I lost 20 pounds.

Now that I'm feeling better, I can feel the weight creeping back. So what's a girl to do?

Lie?

No, lies won't cut it this time. So I'm going to try something new. People.

You see, it's easy to lie to an app, but people? That's harder, but then again, I was raised on guilt.

So, I'm looking for some accountability partners who are interested in working out together. Separately. Across time zones and countries. I'm not a workout guru and I'm not a doctor, so socialize with us at your own risk. And I mean that. Let's make it social. Everything's easier with the support of friends.

I'm posting this over on my reader group, and you're welcome to join us there. We'll post how we're doing, make it fun and social and we won't lie. Seriously.

We start easy:

​Cardio (walk, run, bike, swim) a minimum 22 minutes a day 3 days a week
22 pushups a day, every day, which I do in honor of military veterans #22pushupchallenge
8 glasses of water a day (minimum)

Head on over to the Facebook group if you're interested. Or, you know, keep lying to the workout app.

Hemingway wrote standing in front of his typewriter. Twain and many others are famous for writing in bed. What’s with weird writing rituals? Is it like a baseball player never changing his winning socks? Or do we just feel more creative when we’re also a little eccentric?
 
For me, the rituals put my mind in the right space to write. And if I skip one—especially number 4—The word count suffers. So I’ve learned to respect the process, which for me is:
 

1. Writing in public. Sounds a little dirty. J For me, writing at home is filled with the dogs, the kids, the house, the laundry, etc. If I write in a public space, I avoid those distractions. Friends and I meet at a local coffeehouse or café and write for hours on designated writing days. A public place has the advantage of providing the white noise I need to concentrate.
2. Writing with accountability. I write with friends, either in person or through messaging. We share our word count. We razz each other for posting on social media during our writing time. It’s so easy to get sucked into research or socializing, so as a group we hold each other accountable for putting words on the page and not on Facebook. I also post counts in my calendar so I know when I’ve been naughty and when I’ve been nice. J
3. Writing by Timer. Writing sprints changed my writing life. We set the timer and write as fast as our fingers will move across the keyboard. When the time is up, we share our word count. My productivity has increased tremendously, and I’ve noticed that if I’m writing on my own—without a timer—the words are harder to put on the page.
4. Writing with Music. Big purple headsets that block out the sales meeting going on in the next booth. Really loud and fast music. My current fav is Fall Out Boy. I let it play in the background while I’m typing. Like the timer, this motivates me. If I don’t have the music, then I chase the words rather than have them come to me.
5. Writing by Deadline. The muse is quite fickle. I need an extra push sometimes, so I write to deadlines, either real ones or ones I create. Without a deadline, my muse takes a walk on a beach and doesn’t come back for two months.

 
Those are the rituals I follow on a good writing day. Add caffeine, and I’m good for at least eight hours. :)

 To know me for more than 5 minutes is to realize I hate mornings. There are many things I do not like, driving through Kansas in August for instance, but mornings and I have a hate-hate relationship. To borrow a line from the Grinch, hate-hate-hate-hate-hate-LOOOOAAAATTTTHHHHHH.

Last night I stayed up until 4:15 am. (Yes, I know, that's morning, but it feels different when you're staying up rather than waking up.) I was reprogramming the website (take a look around and tell me what you think) and I knew if I went to bed I would lose track of my thought process. It might be weeks before I got back to it. So, I stayed up until 4:15 and then crashed. That's actually a benefit. I'm an insomniac, so sleep often eludes me. If I stay up until all hours, then I crash for several straight hours. Which is where I was this morning at 9 when the neurotic dog started barking to wake me up.

If you have dogs, you know they have different barks that mean different things. He has the "there's a stranger at the door" bark, which is scary (like Cujo), and why anyone would stick around through that is beyond me. He also has the "hey, there's a friend outside" bark, which is insistent and excited. And then there's the "I need breakfast" bark. It's more polite than the others. One loud yip to say, "hey, remember me?" and then he gives me a few minutes. Yips again.

Mason the cat (also a night owl) opens one eye and gives me a look as if to say, "this is why we never should have gotten the dogs." He's been trying to convince me of that for years.

But I'm up now, so I pull on the fuzzy robe the kids got me for Christmas and head downstairs. His claws click-click-click on the kitchen tile as I scoop some kibble for Sky (aka the neurotic dog) and Nala (our rescue). While they eat, I pick out a mug (we have a collection) and brew my one cup a day.

God Bless the Keurig.

​Seriously. We bought the Keurig as the family Christmas gift two years ago and it was worth every penny. In our house, we wake up at different hours so making a full pot of coffee is wasteful. Plus, I really only need one cup to survive the morning. Today, though, working off 4.5 hours sleep... I think I'll go make another cuppa and catch up on the news.

How about you? Coffee drinker? Tea? Night owl or early bird?

​Dating when you have children is like having an overprotective older brother.  A friend of mine had her son (aged 9) stare down a man at the pool for daring to look at his mom.  I could see the writing on the wall with my son. He had a significant laundry list of “musts” for a potential step-dad. 
 
The top three items on my son’s list were that the man play basketball, be independently wealthy, and have children, hopefully a boy my son’s age.  My daughter’s list included the idea that a potential mate not have children.
 
As a consequence, when my kids were younger, I never let them know I was dating.  They’d get a bonus trip to Parents Night Out, and think it was all for their enjoyment, so I could “sneak out” on a date.
 
The older they get, however, the harder it is to “sneak out.”  Surprisingly, many men embrace the midday while-the-kids-are-in-school date because it’s low pressure.  Equally surprising are how many times my children bought the lie that I was meeting friends for coffee.  How much coffee do they think I drink?
 
But no matter how many times you meet for coffee or a late lunch, sooner or later you find yourself with the dreaded Saturday night date.  Once you have kids, Saturday night requires some logistical maneuvers.
 
 At 13 and 15, the kids are too old for Parents Night Out.  They have to be fed, and possibly bribed to behave (pizza acts as both food and bribe).  Plus there’s the fact that I haven’t told them I’m dating again.
 
My daughter figured things out pretty quickly, and her only concern was that I still have time for her.  That’s an easy thing to promise.  My son, however, was a different challenge.  He’s protective in the extreme and has been known to get abrasive and verbally abusive to boys who get too close to my daughter (a habit I may or may not encourage).  What would he think about me dating?
 
“So,” I say across the kitchen as I put away the dishes.  “I have a date tonight.”
 
The third degree begins:  what does he do, how many kids does he have, does he have pets, how did we meet.  This inquisition continues long after the dishes are put away and the dishwasher reloaded.  I answer them all and lean against the counter facing my son.
 
“That’s fine,” he finally says, “as long as he treats you right.”
 
Aw, how can I not love this kid?  But before I get too happy, my son wags his finger at me.  “But I get to meet him after three dates.”
 
I smile and think to myself, not going to happen.  My friend Dan’s rule is that he has to be in a monogamous relationship for six months before he introduces a love interest to his daughter.  I’m not sure I’d go with six months, but three dates is too soon.  I’m sure there’s a happy middle ground.

You can fight the good fight with many things in life, but fate isn’t one of them. Blake and Vicki in Unforgettable might just be fated, but they’re both trying hard to fight the chemistry, history, and the way their lives continue to intersect.

​There’s only so long that denial works, and Vicki isn’t exactly one for denying herself the pleasure of Blake’s company, but even if they accept their fate, they still have a mob boss, a hit man, and the Department of Justice to handle.