I love cats, like love love love them! 

I could easily see myself as a happy cat lady. Sitting in my rocking chair blissfully surrounded by felines. Big cats, little cats, fat cats and thin cats, black cats, white cats, orange cats and grey cats. Striped cats, spotted cats, solid cats and patchy cats. Cats with long fur and short fur, fluffy fur and sleek fur, even a few with extra toes, they are so adorable. As you can see, this love for cats could easily become a problem. But do not fear, I also have other loves in my life,  my amazing children, who also love cats , my dog Stella who happens to be a huge cat fan and my husband.....Drew....Did you notice how I did not mention his enjoyment of our furry feline friends? Ahhhh, you see where I'm going, yes? Without my husbands hard fast rules we could very well be living the dream of owning a clowder of cats. (Just imagine the hours of fun!)  

My husband's rules are as follows:

1. You may not eat nutella as a meal replacement 
2. You may not allow wild animals in the house even if they are adorable and you can hand feed them on the deck 
3. You may not own a clowder of cats. 

And because my loving husband pays the bills  and because he's a pretty good guy, I abide by his ridiculous rules and spend too much time at the local shelter patting their clowder. 
Which brings me to my point, or at least a big closer. You see, the last visit I made to the shelter I noticed this cat, a real BEAUT!  I could see this cat was a bit older, a little rough around the edges and pleasantly plump. Yet still a-dor-a- ble! This cat seemed somehow familiar. It reminded of someone, really,really  reminded me of someone.  I moved from cage to cage talking to each kitty, patting the ones who would let me. But I couldn't quite shake the feeling.  I sat myself on the fur covered lawn chair next to the window and cuddled a little black and white cat who jumped on my lap. Did she look like a cat from my childhood? A neighbour's cat perhaps?  One of the cats we had fostered?  The familiar cat got up from her basket stretched, turned around a few times and laid back down.  I noticed that the cat's stomach hung almost to the floor, poor little dear. It jiggled and wiggled and sagged. How on earth did that happen? You'd think they'd give the poor soul a little lift when they fixed her, I mean they were in there anyway. 

Then the flashback started. It was like something out of a horror film, eerie music played in my head.  Pictures from the present and past flashing through my mind. The cat in the basket and me, naked, in the bathroom mirror bending over to shave my legs. My God! We had the same stomach. Oh the horror!!!! I couldn't breath. That cat and I had the same horrible affliction! At least it has a reason for its sag- it had probably given birth to hundreds of kittens while living on the streets. What was my excuse?  2 kids?  Ha 

Source

I went home that day and took a long hard look in the mirror and even followed rule number one. Then I decided, although that cat was amazingly adorable, I didn't want to someday trip over my stomach. So I got on the treadmill and will continue to do so for a good long time. I have no goal or expectation of a flat stomach and Autumn Calabrese abs but I have made myself a promise. I will do my best to work toward not looking like the cat who mothered a clowder.



NOTE: Emily has is an active member of my February challenge group and has already lost 13lbs! I am so proud of her! If you want to join us just comment below and I'll get back to you asap :)

She is a mother of two children and 2 fur babies. Her family recently transplanted from Nova Scotia to New Brunswick where she finds herself looking for a new career. She spends her time volunteering at her children's school and the SPCA. Her husband searches the house daily in an effort to uncover any animals smuggled in after her shifts.

Guest Post: A hair- WHERE?!

Urban Farm girl strikes again!

Source- and a side note this is CAKE!

It was a Friday evening,  I was soaking in a sea of bubbles, admiring my newly painted toes by the candle light. The scent of orange blossoms and yalang yalang filled the air. I gingerly sipped a glass of bubbly. Life was good. 

Wait scratch that...

It was Friday,  that much is true.  The rest was a great big lie. There were no bubbles, not even shampoo. The kids were playing coffee shop/ science lab in the tub again.  It is because of them I no longer buy quality hair care products and I look like someone from the walking dead. It's a bit easier to forgive them when the empty bottle says Herbal Essences. So there I was in a questionably clean tub with no bubbles to hide my "wholesome figure". Which is just a nice way of saying you have to tuck in your fat roll every time you stand up,  your arms jiggle like Oprah’s and your ass would never, never fit in a pair of low rise skinny jeans again! 

But like all wholesome women know we have two assets working in our favor, yup we've got boobs. So after I finished counting my stretch marks, 1 million, 3 hundred, 58 thousand 6 hundred and 2, my eyes drifted upwards. I smiled to myself, you old girls don't look so bad. 2 kids, 7 years of breastfeeding later and you've still got it, at least while you're immune to the gravitational pull floating nicely on the water. And in that moment all seemed right with the world.  But these little pleasures never last long and in the snap of a finger my world came crashing down.

You see, that's when I saw it. Right there before my very eyes...A hair!  A dark, strangely straight hair ON MY AREOLA!   Yes I said areola, not nipple.  It is physiologically impossible to grow a hair on your nipple. (But enough with the science lesson). I screamed and clutched my chest. Surely I've suffer enough. Dear sweet baby Jesus!  I moved my hand and looked again. It was still there. I squeezed my eyes firmly shut and started pondering what this would mean for my future. How could I ever wear a bathing suit again? A lace bra? Become a playboy centerfold?  How could Drew ever be happy being married to a woman with more chest hair than him? I was starting to hyperventilate.

Then the answer came to me, I would call Ashley. She is the master tweezer at work. She does eyebrows, chin hairs, neck hair even. Surely one little chest hair wouldn't be too much for her. I had to talk myself down, this was crazy. It's just one little hair. I will just pull it out. Yes that's what I'll do. Drew will never have to be emasculated. He will never have to know. Just one quick pull and it will be over...... and if it grows back????? I will reduce our grocery budget and save for lazer hair removal. 10 dollars a week for 50 weeks I calculated. Totally doable.

I stepped out of the tub and reached for the tweezers. Surely a mother who birthed two children, one completely drug free, could handle the pain of plucking a breast hair, I told myself.  Just like a band-aid. But as I ripped there was no pain. None at all. I've lost all feeling in my nipples I thought.  Everyone told me this would happen if I insisted on letting the kids self wean at 4.

 As I examined the hair more closely I realized that I had seen a hair like this before, yes I was sure of it. The hair was very familiar indeed. Long and straight and oddly grey......Joe. The hair belonged to our cat Joe!  I fell to my knees and wept with joy. I don't think I had ever been so grateful for anything in my life. I skipped to my room, my wholesome body bounced all the way and just that once I didn’t care. My breasts were hair free, life was good. I slipped into my pajamas and into my unmade bed with my sweet grey cat tucked in close.