Scientists in Britain have discovered that shaking may do a body good.

Mice placed for 15 minutes daily on a platform that vibrated imperceptibly developed 30% less body fat than their non-shaken peers. The researchers believe this occurred due to the vibrations stimulating muscle contractions, much like exercise. In young mice, they suspect shaken stem cells were “tricked” into becoming bone or muscle cells, rather than fat cells, thus lowering allover body fat.

Yet another reason for housewives to enjoy sitting on their washing machine, I suppose.

“I did not have a big bowl of chips with that woman.”

Those of us struggling to stick with a diet know that a spouse can be our best or worst enemy when it comes to weight loss. That massive bowl of hot fudge-topped ice cream my husband eats every night before bed has led me to stray more than once from my generally anti-carb stance. It’s just too tempting to rummage around in search of chips while listening to him purr with delight at the other end of the sofa.

I suppose matters could be worse, though. I could be dealing with an entire nation trying to stand between me and a big bowl of chips, just like Bill Clinton.

It seems that in an effort to pull in donations for his wife’s campaign, Bill sent out a fundraising email this weekend with the subject line “You, me, a TV and a bowl of chips”. The idea is for Hillary’s campaign to pick three people to join Bill — and a big bowl of chips — to watch the upcoming Presidential debate and discuss the candidates’ positions.

Apparently, he failed to clear the idea with Hillary beforehand… or at least that’s what her follow-up email would indicate.

“I hear you might be watching a debate with Bill — can I ask you a favor?” Clinton (D-N.Y.) writes in the note. “Bill mentioned ‘a big bowl of chips’ in the email he sent you Tuesday. If you are one of the three people who get the chance to join him, can you make sure he eats carrots, not chips?”

Ah, yes. The ol’ “It takes a political party to keep Bill on his diet” approach. That’s sure to go over well.

Dear Self,

Yes, you’ve had a crappy day. Yes, there is a small round of Brie in the fridge and a full bottle of vodka in the freezer.

Now seems like a good time to remind you that you are not on the “Let’s Pretend We’re Doing Atkins” diet.

You will not touch the cheese. You will not drink the vodka. Oh, and martini-soaked olives do not count as vegetables.

Step away from the refrigerator before you grow large enough to play defense for the Penn State football team.

Now drop and give me 25 sit-ups. Pronto!

Love,
Your Stomach

You know, just the other day I was saying to myself, “Self, perhaps the reason your garden is dying isn’t the unrelenting 95+ degree temperatures we’ve been having. Perhaps it’s because you don’t talk to your plants often enough.”

So, during the 5 brief pre-dawn minutes when the temperatures actually dipped below 90 degrees, I stood in my PJs watering my garden and telling my plants how lovely they were, how yummy were their vegetables, how I simply adore the way they look on the counter sitting next to the bag of potato chips that’s infinitely more convenient to eat.

Turns out, I needn’t have wasted the time — nor alarmed my neighbors — by talking to my vegetable garden. I should have been talking to my fat cells instead.

Not if I can help it.

Perhaps that’s why I’m The Chubby Mommy: a woman who used to be a size 4 and now is just sore about her size.

Although I’m waiting on a site redesign, I might as well get to posting content. After all, typing keeps my hands from reaching for the chips!