Destiny Herndon-DeLaRosa

Archive for the ‘DMN Moms’ Category

Masochism 101: The art of Spanxing.

In DMN Moms on August 27, 2010 at 5:54 pm

Some people fear dying while on the toilet, others while on the stair stepper at the gym, but I have them all beat.

If you are a woman who has ever put on a pair of Spanx in the privacy of your (3,000+ degree) closet, when suddenly you hear “mommy…..mommy….MOOOOOOOMMY!’ you know exactly the moment I am talking about. “DON’T OPEN THE DOOR! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR! DO. NOT. OPEN. THAT. DOOR!”

Perhaps I should give you a bit of the products history first: Spanx are some kind of poly-carbonate product created by NASA (I think) that have been molded into in the shape of their designer, Sara Blakely; it should be noted she is a very thin woman. The goal in putting on a pair of Spanx is in essence to body snatch Ms.Blakely disregarding all laws of gravity and mass re-distribution in the process.

Now I must tell you, there is an art to this ritual. I recommend you start with some simple stretching as it can get a bit strenuous at certain points (the thighs, specifically). And by stretching, I mean you and your garment. Don’t be shy; really give those satan fibers a work out now, ya hear? Also, now would be a good time to open a bottle of wine.

So, once you’ve worked up your starter sweat, go ahead and slide your feet in. You may be thinking, ‘oh, this doesn’t seem all that bad- just like regular panty hose, what on earth was Destiny talking about?’

Save that confidence, you’re gonna need it here in a second.

As you begin to roll the satan fibers up your legs, you’ll notice that there’s some lag. Enjoy it while you can because this won’t last. Here in a minute when we get to the ‘adjusting technique’ you might actually give yourself a blood blister trying to separate a fingertips worth of cross fibers from your skin.

Ok, at this point you’ve made it past your knees. Take another sip of wine if you need to (you do) and wipe the sweat off your forehead. Now try to conjure up every mental image you have of one of those Olympic heavy lifters. You got it? Ok, you know that move where they go from straining to throwing the weight up over their head really fast? You MUST mimic that exact same move! If you try to slowly jimmy this skinny lady mold onto your body your muscles will probably atrophy and you will have wished you died in there, because seeing the look of horror on the EMT’s faces would make anyone suicidal.

Also, at this point you might want to cover up any full length mirrors before you get to the next juncture, as it can cause some women a lot of emotional distress to see themselves as a human soft serve ice cream cone. We all know that you didn’t have that many rolls just a minute ago, and look how thin your legs look! Now seriously. Mirrors. Covered. Pronto!

You’re almost there. In just a minute all of that fat is going to magically disappear, I promise. Magic.

(*On a side note, I would like to mention my daughter always tries to walk in right at the soft serve ice cream step. ALWAYS!)

Ok, so you’ve done the Olympic hoist, pat yourself on the back if your shoulders are still in their sockets. You’re in the home stretch, girl!

Now this next maneuver is very small, but very mighty. You are tediously going to shimmy up the satan fibers an inch on one side then an inch on the other. Repeat until they’re just over your rib cage.

This is the point at which I always realize I should have taken more advantage of the before mentioned shin lag because now it will be like turning the Titanic to re-adjust. (See: Earlier talk of blood blisters.) If the Spanx make it only half way up to your abdomen you may think you are in pretty good shape, but you’re fooling yourself, sister! Don’t bother getting dressed yet, because every bit of excess fat that you just shoved up your torso has now become the ultimate atomic blast shaped, muffin top. You’ll be lucky if your arms can rest at your sides comfortably with that inner tube hang around you there.

It won’t be easy, but here’s what you gotta do. Take another sip of wine while you’re still upright. Wipe away sweat. Take a deep breath, hold it…..and bend back over. Grab every bit of excess fabric you can, if you’re wearing the ones with feet, don’t stop until you have toe wedgies, and tug up! At one point, likely up around the thighs, it is pertinent that you NOT let go of your grip, or you will never regain it! Shimmy up, shimmy up, shimmy up.

Once you get past your hips you have a wonderful opportunity to shape your daireair a bit. All you have to do is pull up on the super-dooper-reinforced area at your hips…channel Michelangelo sculpting David, ok? Now, a true pro will still be able to bust a run after enough tugs, even through this galvanized material. I just like to pretend I’m part of a 1970’s punk band under my clothes…there ain’t enough clear nail polish in the world to patch up these holes. All a testament to Spanx, though! The fact that I am still able to use them even after it looks like a cat in heat was trying them on, means they are a quality investment!

So you’ve finally shimmied them all the way. You’re probably feeling a bit light headed, it’s ok, keep in mind you’ve been drinking a lot. Now if you reach the conundrum I sometime do, you might realize you were a bit vigorous in your shimmy pinching and David sculpting and now you’ve pulled too much of this full body blood pressure sleeve up your midsection. You’re faced with a decision. Do you try to go ahead and pull the excess over your boobs, after all it did such amazing things to the rest of your body….No. You quickly realize that is not an option. My advice: go with the trusty old fold over. With any luck the polymers might actually weld together with all of the sweat your producing and you will end up with extra-extra-extra reinforced back fat protection….or who knows, you could just end up with ‘Extra-extra-extra, read all about the chubby lady who was found half naked, sweaty and drunk on her closet floor!’

Spanx are a great product. I owe my foxy-fake-figured life to Sara Blakely…and hopefully I will never owe her my death. On that note I’ll leave you with this sweet little prayer which I personally think should be inscribed on every package of Spanx:

As I lay me down to sqoosh’
I pray the Lord would shrink my toosh.
If I die before I fit,
I pray the Lord….would just go ahead and let the planet spin off into the sun because I swear if anyone ever found me halfway digested by this spandex cobra they would probably gouge their own eyes out.

I have two daughters.

In DMN, DMN Moms on August 27, 2010 at 5:52 pm

The weight of this truth in no way escapes me. My husband and I both are utterly terrified by this basic fact. It’s not that we aren’t worried about our son; it’s just different with him. He is different. We will be facing a whole different set of issues and decisions as our daughters come of age, and being the type A individual I am, I have already started planning ahead for those delicate teen years. At what age will we allow them to wear make-up? Drive? D-d-d-d-date?

You can see how quickly the duty of raising girls turns to their virtue. If it were up to my husband, the answer to all three of those questions would be much less numerical and much more, well, ‘no.’ As their mother though, and someone who faced her own teen pregnancy, I am expected to be the voice of reason- the one who jokes about crushing up birth control pills in their oatmeal as soon as they “blossom;” the one who suggest we get them injected, protected or prescribed something before they leave the house. However, having this gift of preemptive time on my hands right now, I find myself really thinking all of these options through thoroughly.

What happens if we are “the responsible parents” who get our daughters on birth control when they become of childbearing age?

Once we’ve had them safeguarded against the possibility of pregnancy are we out of the woods? What about that virtue I mentioned earlier? Is it not supposed to concern me now?

As I look at my sweet, innocent little girls playing in the sand box I wish I could just freeze time. I know that is not possible and they will not stay this way forever, but as their mother it is my duty to protect them; to keep them from being hurt-both physically and emotionally. Am I wrong to think that by ‘safeguarding’ them I am leaving them wide open to exploitation?

Now you can tell me all day long that being on birth control is a private and personal decision and that no one in their high school will ever need to know, but unfortunately I fear you are simply out of touch. I only graduated in 2002 and can tell you that in this day and age half the school knows who’s got a pre-prom pimple before the toxic smell of Noxzema’s even hits the air. Kids talk. Girls TALK. It would only be a matter of time before word got out that my daughter, MY DAUGHTER, was protected, a.k.a. up for a good time. Even if it’s for medical reasons, try explaining that to a 15-year-old boy.

When did it become this way? If we don’t do anything and expect our children to learn self-control through these trials and temptations then we are idiots, feeding them to the wolves. While if we do prepare, make them “safe,” them we are setting them up for auction.

What is a parent to do?

I love my daughters endlessly, unconditionally, and irrevocably. I will teach them self-respect, I will teach them right from wrong, and above all I will teach them that they can talk to me about anything and everything.

However, at some point, we must acknowledge that as parents in 2010 we are up against television shows, song lyrics, and billboards that glorify commitment free sex and exploit women as nothing more than consequence-free sex objects.

We must acknowledge that no matter how physically prepared, you can neither put a wise head on young shoulders nor a prophylactic on a vulnerable heart. And while, yes, we may be able to prevent pregnancy, birth control is merely damage control, like it or not. There is nothing at the drugstore that can safeguard my daughter’s self-worth or dignity

So I ask again, what is a parent to do?

{Posted on the Dallas Morning News website here and here}