Spinach Liquified

“Eat your spinach, you no good infink. Eat it. EAT IT. Eat it.”
Poopdeck Pappy

I’m not a big fan of salads even though everyone things I must be because I am a vegetarian.  Nope.  I can’t find a dressing I like that isn’t five billion calories.  Now, if you add nuts – I just move the leaves to get to the pecans.  Then I want more pecans.  I’m not good about getting my good greens in a salad.

Then I found smoothie recipes using spinach all over Pinterest.  But with every healthy make-at-home smoothie recipe, there were bananas in it.  I don’t like bananas in everything.  Or peanut butter.  Just makes me want peanut butter sandwiches.

So I tweeked a concoction and made it my own, and I love it!  Try it.  It looks fizzy and disgusting, but it is good for you and tastier than dry salad.

Spinach Smoothie of Awesomeness

  • 6 cups spinach
  • 1 cup unsweetened vanilla almond milk
  • 6 oz plain nonfat Greek yogurt
  • Splenda, to taste
  1. Blend almond milk, Splenda and yogurt until liquid.
  2. Add spinach in batches, making sure it is incorporated between batches.
  3. Poor into chilled glass.

The important thing is making sure the drink is cool – not warm or room temperature.  Changes the whole experience, believe me.

The Formal One

“Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.”
– Robert Browning

I walked in and there were rose petals everywhere, pictures of our six years together laid out all over the room,  cards, notes, and even Post-It notes I had written to him from the beginning until recently.

According to Mom, her proposal was something along the lines of, “Are we getting married, or what?”

I thought this proposal would repeat itself in the next generation, as Fiance and I had been together for a long time.  He had brought up marriage many times over, but usually between commercial breaks.  My feet-dragging was enabled by and blamed on the lack of a decent proposal.

Fiance and I believed after our first date that there wouldn’t be a second one.  We found each other pretty unimpressive, I suppose.  Neither of us remember how we agreed on a second date.  Two months later I got my first kiss.  Let’s just say, that in the beginning we were both slow to commit, and then for a few years it was just me.

The morning of the proposal he picked me up from the airport to take me home.  It was an early flight.  I was tired and hungry, so I asked we stop by Sprouts.  He hadn’t eaten and bought toaster pastries.  He couldn’t eat them which I found odd because he was starving.  But I was too hungry to really make anything of it.

When we got home, he told me to go to the bedroom, and he looked very anxious.  Then I knew.  After my eyes had scanned the keepsakes of all of our good times, painful times, and unremarkable normalcy (I think there were notes asking him to do dishes and the like), my heart was going to burst out of my chest as I turned around.  Nothing.  He was gone.

I looked down and he was on one knee.

I don’t remember anything after that.  I must have said yes, because he hugged me and was smiling.  After all that time together, who knew I could be surprised?

A year later, it has completely sunken in.  He was the one all along.  Through all my doubts and questions, I prayed, and my prayer for guidance had been answered, it just took a long time for me to see it.  Looking back, I not only see notes and pictures, I see that God had moved everyone else out of my path, had made everything necessary for us to be together fall into place.  He also softened my heart to the idea that I could need someone so much.  Fiance is more me than I am at times, and we are inseperable.  And this is okay, this is good.

I had many proposals, but Fiance listened and took away my excuses.  What made me say yes?  It was the formal one.

Moving West (Again)

“Opportunity is a bird that never perches.”
~Claude McDonald

It’s taken me awhile to write this post, because I have been so busy with moving.  That’s a lie, actually.  I used to be busy with moving.  Now I’m still busy with being in a daze.

It wasn’t long ago, almost three years, that I wrote a post on moving a state to the west.  In the span of two weeks, it happened again.  From decision to execution was a total of three weeks.

Next stop:  Hawaii?

Fiance (formally named Boyfriend) and I had always thought about moving to California, but the dream was just that.  A “thought” not ready to  be converted to “plan.”  In fact, we had just moved into a bigger apartment in Phoenix.  But God has a loving sense of humor.  A job opportunity presented, and somehow, the pieces started falling into place.  Each day brought a new challenge that seemed unsurmountable, but it was taken care of by another blessing at the right time.  So, we are HERE.

Moving is a very large pain.  Moving with a cat is just painful and was at times for Fiance…bloody.  It was also wraught with price increases and expenses (which for me, are like cat scratches to my mind).  I am suffering greatly from sticker shock.  Everything is more expensive here.  I knew our rent would be outrageous as well as gas prices, but no, that applies to everything.  Everything.   I would not be surprised if I was slapped with a “Sticker Shock” tax.

Being in a daze, I often forget where I am.  I feel like I am waiting for my flight heading east, enjoying the ocean breeze before going home.  But this is home now.  It’s a very strange feeling to be living inside a vacation you can’t afford.

Fiance and I are young.  (Cat scratch that.  We are at an age where we forget that we are not that young and should know more about mortgage rates and retirement plans.)  Young enough to catch the wind of opportunity when it comes.  To see new things and set new goals.  Dream new dreams.

Back a state to the east, my friend just had her first baby and she and her husband moved into a house of their own.  Here, I’m thinking that Dublin needs kitty wipes from PetSmart but PetSmart is all the way across town.  More gas.  Can’t order the wipes, because of shipping and handling costs.  Everytime he coughs up a hairball, I think, “I’m not ready for children!  Omigod, I’m a horrible mother, can’t even care properly for my furson!  Oh, Lord, we need pet health insurance!”  Then Fiance takes care of the mess and I forget about the kitty wipes again.

So, before I reach the level of readiness that my friend has, I need more time to emerge from the daze, find as much financial security as the average Californian can before building the next dream.  Right now, I am incredibly happy.  I have a top-of-the-line man who loves me, a fluffy furkid, a place to live, a job to go to, a Honda, a family who loves me in a land far away, and most importantly, my faith that gives me confidence to take opportunities.

Sometimes, even now, even being drowned in getting back on our feet, Fiance and I dream of new nouns (mostly, places, things and ideas).  Places we want to visit, ways to make friends, career path opportunities, buying a home, adopting a puppy.

Dammit.  Kitty wipes.

Pumpkin Pie Pudding

 “Vegetables are a must on a diet.  I suggest carrot cake,  zucchini bread and pumpkin pie.” 
–Jim Davis

This experiment came from where all new ideas now come from:  Pinterest.  I didn’t like the pinned version because I could drink it with a straw, so I modified.

  • 1 can organic pureed pumpkin
  • 2 (1.4oz) boxes of Jell-O Sugar-Free Instant Vanilla Pudding mix
  • 2 cups unsweetened vanilla almond milk
  • Splenda, to taste
  • Pumpkin pie spice, to taste

In a blender, combine almond milk, Splenda and pumpkin pie spice  (I really load on the spice, at least 5 good shakes).  Add pudding mix and blend for 1 minute.  Add pureed pumpkin and blend until thick and smooth (at least one more minute).

Pour into an airtight container and place in the fridge overnight.

Take a spoon and scrape the blender before washing and eat the leftovers (so tasty!).

Next day:  Laugh at all the people packing on calories with pumpkin pies.

Note:  You can add a scoop of vanilla protein powder, but it will come out just a bit less thick.
Second Note:  This also tastes great using Jell-O Sugar-Free Banana Cream instant pudding mix

Rebel Child

“Health food makes me sick.”
Calvin Trillin

My mom used to let me lick the beaters.  I really loved fluffy sugar butter back in the day.

After my dad was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, my mom learned to cook healthier.  Then I learned as an adult to bake healthier.  But, it is always much more fun to cook guilty pleasure food.  The rich, the decadent, the “so bad it’s good” items.  Why?  Because people love you more.  Love and adoration for the cook comes easier when food is rich.  I speak truth!

In college, I decided to pursue a healthier lifestyle, starting with what I ate.  It came in stages, but my meals slowly became more organic, less meat, less saturated fat and full of whole grain goodness.  Then I became a veggie (lacto-ovo vegetarian is the more”annoying to other people” term), so I am on my own in most cases now.

My mother (see previous post) opened a true to form diner, so the food served is comfort food.  She serves healthy options, and you can actually order the food any way you want it (egg white omelette with fresh veggies, please!), but ironically, that’s not what people come for.  My mom sells a lot of gooey cinnamon rolls.

I had a dream I ate french fries from Sonic and woke up nauseated.  I savor my protein pancakes, my soy grilled cheese sandwiches and my baked tofu.  To me, deliciousness.  To others, I have hypersensitive taste buds, because everything I eat apparently to them tastes like newspaper.   I am the rebel child.

My mother creates rich decadence, pleasing to the eye and palate.   My mission is to create healthy food that tastes delicious, too.

Will I be successful?  I have had some successes in the past.  Check back for some of my experiment results.

The Geek in Me: My Summer of Star Trek

“Space… the Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.”
— attributed to various television producers, including Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry

Needless to say, I blame my mother.  Needless to say for those who know my mother.  For those of you who don’t know my mother:  It’s her fault, and this is why.

When I was growing up, Mom demanded we watch her television shows.  I was held captive, and had no choice in the matter.  (My mother might argue that she deserved a few hours of her fave shows after hours upon hours of Disney movies on repeat, Animaniacs and Super Mario Bros.  Whatever Mom, this is my blog, I am the victim/hero.)

Mom loved Star Trek:  The Next Generation.  So, late in the afternoon, early in the evening, we would cozy up in our old recliners, and I would huff and puff.  The opening scenes and the opening credits would pass, and I was hooked.  Dad would undoubtedly walk in from working outside, ask if it was a “good one” and Mom would say, “Oh yeah…”  Before Mom could describe the intertwining relationships of the crew, the threat from strange new worlds and Data’s new step in coming more human, Dad would already be halfway back out of the door.  This was a ritual that never changed.

When the movies came out after the series ended in the mid-nineties, Mom would drag me to them.  I was held hostage.  Mom might counter, that she deserved to pick a movie once in a while because, like all mothers, she rarely got to see anything not labeled “kiddie.”  So she went with geeky, not kiddie, and my young mind was forceably molded by Gene Roddenberry’s vision of the future.

After the last Star Trek:  The Next Generation feature film, I remember we cried.  I know it was partly because of the storyline, but also because it also marked the ending of my childhood in a way, as it hit theaters when I was a bit older.  (Disclaimer:  I bawled during Toy Story 3 for this same reason, although I was way older than “entering adulthood” when that movie was released.  Omigod, I’m getting misty right now just thinking about Toy Story 3.  Andy saying goodbye…playing with them one…last…time…)

Well, all my television shows I became addicted to last year went on HuluPlus hiatus as the summer hit.  Nothing is not Netflix…EVER.  Then, I saw Star Trek:  The Next Generation.  I thought I would watch the pilot for kicks and giggles.  It was like watching a badly acted play.  Three months later, I’ve watched all seven seasons.

It’s funny how you don’t realize you’ve turned into your parent until moments like these.   Some episodes gave me flashbacks of sitting with my Mom, and I could even hear her gasp, or mention how beautiful Marina was, or whisper, “Poor Data.”  I felt like I was bonding with my mom this past summer even though she is hundreds of miles away.

I even recruited someone to join me in my Geekdom.  Smee* huffed and puffed when I started watching the series, but when I would ask him what he wanted to watch, he would say, “I don’t know, uh…just…whatever you want…just…let’s watch Star Trek.  I don’t care.”

Haha!  Busted, Smee!  Your geekiness now goes beyond gamer geek!

Instead of trying to be super cool, I decided to embrace the geek in me.  I am already super cool, and the geek part of me only adds to my well-rounded awesomeness!  The show is so much fun, I would be a total snob by denying it.  And if, Reader, you are thinking, “Omigod, you are so cheesy for watching that show” I rebut that NO, I am not cheesy for watching the show.  I get my cheesiness from Dad.  There’s a difference.  Mom is the reason I watch Star Trek.  Dad is the reason “Until the Last Teardrop Falls” by Freddy Fender is on my iPod.

So, now I have watched all episodes of STTNG.  I’ll give you time.  Did you get the acronym?  Okay, can we move on now?

Now that I have watched the series, I am a bit sad it is over for me again.  Now I’m watching the movies.

*Name has been changed to protect his geeky true identity. 

Until They’re Found

“Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change.”
— Jim Rohn

My last day of work at the JDRF office was incredibly weird.  It felt like I was cleaning out my locker after graduation.  For the first time in over six years, my inbox was…empty.  When I walked out the door after 5pm, the theme song from Cheers became stuck in my head.  I’m going from an office where everyone knows me to one where I’m the new girl.

Like high school, though, I had a case of senioritis at JDRF.  That feeling of needing to grow and learn more.  I didn’t make the decision to leave because I grew tired of the mission.  If nothing else, I am more excited about our progress and the future of diabetes management therapies and technology than ever before!  I simply had smushed my face against a professional ceiling (which becomes very uncomfortable after time) and then reached the conclusion that I would make a better impact on our mission as a volunteer than as a paid staff member.

There are so many things I feel I should know about my career, marketing, that I do not.  A chance to learn and apply can only be found through deliberate change.

Over my six and a half years with JDRF, I have met so many that have become family to me.  Whether they consider me family or not is moot.  They are the family I have taken hostage and claimed my own.  Expect me at family gatherings.  I’m the vegetarian holding a fruit salad.

Because of all the people I have met living with type 1 diabetes that are waiting for better until gone, I will volunteer and continue to be a part of an organization pursuing better treatments, cure therapies and a future free of type 1 diabetes.  That one shot cure does not exist, but steadily cure therapies will contribute to cures.  By no means soon, but by no means impossible.  I am one of the ones that believes in cures, and I am one of the ones that believe we need them.

One thing I have learned is that disease plays a different game in each person.  I can currently control my epilepsy with one type of oral medication and routine.  Others cannot, battling seizures daily and losing part of their independence.  Some with type 1 diabetes have blood glucose levels more in range more often, are able to accomplish much more than others who work equally as hard and cannot achieve “control.”  Disease can inspire you and it can burden you.  For those who are burdened more than others, we must continue to fight and not pretend that disease can be conquered only through positive thoughts and a lecture.  Quality of life must continue to get better for everyone, until there is no enemy to fight.

I pray this new career will bring growth and fulfillment.  What I know it will bring is new experiences, which are necessary.  I will be working with a reputable company to market nutrition, health and wellness.  Along the way, I hope to become more healthy in mind and body, and therefore able to give more back to my family.  All my family.

Mom Doesn’t Call Here Anymore

“When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them.”
–Rodney Dangerfield

“I feel like she’s moving on from me.  She’s growing up, and doesn’t need me as much anymore.”

“No she’s not!”

“If your mother didn’t call for days or weeks because she was immersed in her lifelong passion, wouldn’t you feel just a tad bit abandoned?”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

When I came along, my mother either worked from home, or took me everywhere with her.  I was tied to her hip.  Unfortunately, Mom was also tied to careers she wasn’t in love with.  She found things to love about her professional endeavors – people, accomplishments, working towards ideals and helping others.  But it was never it.  She worked really hard, owned her own businesses, lead teams, and always among the sound of,

“Mom, Mom, Mom, Ma, Ma, Mama, Mother, Mom, Mother, Ma, Mama, Mom, Mom…over here, Mom, come here, Mom, Mom.”

“WHAT?!?!?  What do you WANT?!?!?”


It was me and Mom, all the way.

My parents sent me to college, and before I graduated I moved out of the house.  During another transition into independence everything was about packing, deciding where things should go.  I was only moving less than an hour north.  The last items were put in my car, and I turned around, and Mom was shaking her head.

“Oh, crap.  Mom, don’t cry.  I’m going to see you this weekend.”

“I know, I know, I just…I know.”

She hugged me tight.  While I lived just a short drive away, I would see my parents every weekend or every other weekend and talk most days on the phone.  When I moved a state away, we talked on the phone a few times a week.

Then within the span of one week, Mom took over a restaurant, hired staff and opened it.  Boom.  Just like that.  I don’t know how she did it, but she did it.  I was worried at first.  Owning a restaurant is tough, tough, tough.  “Work yourself into the ground” was a phrase that just repeated itself over and over in my head.  But my mother always dreamed of this, in different versions.  Full-service restaurant to bakery, to pizzeria to pizzeria/bakery.  Now she had her own diner.  And she started working…hard.

Most diners are doomed to fail at the beginning, but God blessed my parents with a solid start that they can now build on.  But, my mother barely has time to sleep.  Eating comes in tasting, and phone calls come to me rarely or never.   I felt guilty for not being there for my mom to help.  During a recent road trip to visit family, I got the teeniest taste of the crazy busy and erratic pace of working a diner.  The servers were a great team, like clockwork.  Tables were constantly being turned.  Mom was prepping desserts and meals, baking muffins, delegating tasks, sending people on errands, taking inventory, prepping drinks, greeting customers, acting as cashier, managing staff and us volunteers – all simultaneously.  She didn’t miss a beat.  She wore a chef’s coat and had a twinkle in her eye.  I was there for only a few hours but was completely exhausted.

Before I had this chance to catch her in action, I thought I would have the chance to catch her on a car trip to grab more food and supplies.  She fell asleep in the car.

Before she fell asleep in the car, I did have an old fashioned Mother/Daughter Day.  It was heaven, being able to sit at a table with her and brainstorm on all manner of things.

This is hard for me, letting my mom go a bit to pursue her dreams.  I’m still the kid, and need lots of attention.  (I do have attention deficit disorder in that I simply do not get enough attention.)

In a twist of fate, I now experience the sorrow of separation, but I also get the pride in watching my mother spread her wings.  So, Mom is growing up.  That leaves me with only once choice…

“Mom, mom, mom, ma, mama, mommy, mom, mom, MAAAWWWMMMMAAAAHHH, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom…”

She’ll answer me.  She always does.  And when she askes what I need, what is going on, what is new…


Why I Don’t…

“These days, there are a great many books about childhood trauma and its effects, but at the time all the experts agreed that one should forget about it as quickly as possible and pick up where you left off.”
– Peter Straub

I’m adventurous.  Always open to new and exciting adventures.  Can’t wait to skydive, try new roller coasters, and uh, do, uh outdoorsy type stuff.  Love the stuff!  All about it. 

With this attitude of awesomeness, friends and acquaintances ask me about why I don’t do this or that.  Well, I am stopped in some cases by little childhood traumas.  My stories usually start with, “Well, I was traumatized when…”

I do hope to overcome not my fears, but my very valid concerns, to once again take up activities that gave me pleasure or could in the future.  In the meantime, for reference, I find it might be helpful to list a few of the things I don’t do until that beautiful day, when I can do them.

Why I don’t…

Mountain Bike
I was a late bloomer when it came to learning to ride a bike, but after my dad finally accomplished what then seemed impossible and taught me to ride a bike, I was always on it.   My parents decided to take me to the mountains so I could bike on some of the easy roads.  I think I was about nine or ten years of age.  Tender youth.  Mistake number one was one my dad admits to – we overfilled my tires.  Mistake number two was underestimating the decline on the road.  My parents got in their truck and were going to lead me down the road.  So, I see the truck start to move forward, and I get on my bike.  Truck picks up a little speed, and the bike does to without any effort.  Then, all I remember is seeing dust behind the truck in front of me, and a blur where the pedals usually are.  I couldn’t catch a pedal, so my legs were in the air.  Speaking of air, I had so much coming at me that I can hardly breathe, but between gasps I started screaming for Mom and Dad to stop and save me.  We reached the end of the road, the truck stopped, and I jumped off my bike to the ground.  I was furious.  I started yelling at my parents for foresaking me.  Mom looked surprised, and Dad said they had no idea I needed help.  I said,

“Didn’t you hear me screaming?”

Mom replied, “We thought you were singing!”

“The ‘Mom, Dad, Stop, I’m Going to Die’ song?!?!?”

More than being scared, I was offended that my parents thought my vocal talents were on par with hoarse screaming.  I could have died that day.

Go to the Zoo
Oh yes, they’re pretty and exotic, but some peacocks are pure evil. 

Let me start by explaining that I was raised on a racehorse training facility that had all manner of animals, not just thoroughbreds and quarter horses.  I was a very small child when this happened, but I remember it as if it ’twas yesterday. 

Dad was building a chicken coop, and I was supervising the project.  He was hammering nails.  It was a sunny day.  Dad was wearing a white “work” t-shirt and had just turned to focus on hitting the next nail on the head when…


I felt a huge weight on my shoulders…literally.  I looked at my shoulder and saw a huge claw.  Then came shooting pain in my forehead.  Next thing I remember is being swept up by Dad and he ran into the house.  What had happened (explained to me later) was that a forocious monster of a male peacock known for chasing people without reason (other than his evil inclination to do so) landed on my shoulders and started pecking my forehead.   

Dad sat me on the counter and began to use his shirt as a compress.  I don’t remember pain at all, but facial wounds spurt out a lot of blood.  The sight of the blood, Dad trying to fix the problem and obviously failing (my conclusion because I was seeing blood), had me screaming “MOM!!!” 

Nowadays, when I am dragged to the zoo, I show no interest in the peacocks.  When I see one, I may take a few steps back.  Peacocks are always just everywhere at zoos, so if the zoo lets them run free I am out.  No Sunday at the zoo for me, thanks.  I could have died that day. 

Go Horseback Riding (with a Dog)
The thought of riding a horse with your best friend trotting beside you is a wonderful thought, right?  Well, I’m about to tell you how it can go horribly wrong.

I was a small child on the ranch.  There was a horse named Ernie (see I remember these details so I know they happened).  One of my childhood friends came over and we begged to go riding.  So Dad takes me and my buddy to ride Ernie on the race track.  Just a walk, Dad leading the horse. 

Dad had a white German Shepherd who was a nipper.  Ernie was spirited.  Race track dirt is deep and includes multiple soils to make it “cushy.”  Do I even need to tell the story?  So, Dad is both training Ernie and the dog to BEHAVE.  Well, needless to say, the dog starts nipping at the horse, the horse bucks us off.  My friend is fine but I go head first into the track.  I remember flight, and then an immediate feeling of darkness and suffocation.  Before I can think, I feel Dad’s arms wrap around my waist and tug.  Takes effort but I am pulled out.  Mom is there already.  I  have sand packed in my mouth, up my nostrils and in my eyes, so I was spitting, snorting and blinking like crazy.  Once she realizes I am completely fine, she starts laughing to tears.  Tears of relief, possibly.  But I’m sure the fact that I played an ostrich in real life had something to do with the humor effect.  It took days to get the sand out.  It was in my pores.  I could have died that day.

The last time I went skiing I believe was before I entered kindergarten at age four.  I remember feeling cold, hearing crunchy noises and seeing lots of knees.  No mom.  Mom wasn’t the one that took me. I had no childhood friends yet, and I was excruciatingly shy.  Now at, uh, my age,  I just have this feeling that I will be left on the side of a mountain by myself, scooting down on my bum for at least half a day.  Less a feeling than a prediction.  Skiing before kindergarten without Mom?  I could have died that day.  If there would have been a peacock there – certain death. 

In closing, I better start trying some of the above things before my future kids ask me to take them.  I’ll be outed for sure if I try taking a gun into the free-range peacock exhibit.  What from the above list should I try first?  I think I’ll try swimming.

A Life in Yoga Pants

“Leisure only means a chance to do other jobs that demand attention.”
~Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr

I must admit, I often envy the women in yoga pants.

You must be aware of the ones to which I am referring.  The ones sitting (in yoga pants) at a coffee place or cafe, on a weekday at 10am drinking iced coffee and smiling.  Probably just finished an invigorating yoga session (or yoga sesh) to begin the rest of their day…in yoga pants.  I glare at them from my car on my way back to the office.  I, wearing heals and slacks, with jealousy in my heart and curiosity in my mind.

What do they DO all day?  I know they strive for perfect posture, while I predict my future with a hump from sitting at a computer for most of the day.  Except when I run out for work errands or meetings and slouch in the car.  Will they exercise more later?  I do tricep dips from my office chair.  I usually stop after one, because my chair is on rollers, so this practice ends in minor head injury.

When I am driving on my way to work and I see them power walking in pairs, I wonder what I would do if I didn’t have to go to work?   My workouts would be later, I could volunteer, get all my domestic errands and chores done during the day, have another afternoon workout, read, write, plan vacations…all in my comfy yoga pants!!  (In my fantasy, I don’t have children yet because that would be the equivalent of multiple full-time jobs.)

But then…

How quickly would I get bored?  I would need projects and other things to do, and since I am not crafty, I would have to volunteer more, and then that would lead to me feeling tired after my days of volunteering in an office, which would lead to me reading, doing errands and chores and working out early in the morning or in the evening…so…

My yoga pants would eventually be folded up again for my 30 minutes in the early morning of  in home yoga.

But I can’t help it.  I still envy the women who wear yoga pants between 9am and 5pm on weekdays, and fantasize of a spirtual and physical rejuvenation (and better posture) achieved by a leisurely life in yoga pants.