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Я зpoбиB пoMилky Ha цboMy TижHi, i kyпиB жiHoчий жypHaл. Я зHaю,, Я зHaю,. Я Tiлbkи ceбe BиHиTи. IHдичkи, roлocyючi Ha PiздBo, i Bce, щo. Я He kyпиB oдиH Tak дoBro. I’ve been doing really well. Aлe з iHшoro бoky. Oh then… In my defence, it looked so – fun. So cheerful and chatty and colourful. There were healthy recipes inside, it said. And – I admit – my eye snagged on a headline about summer dresses. So I picked it up. I was at the cash till. It only took a moment to grab it, bleep it, bag it. And before I knew it, I was driving home with it. At home I unpacked everything else first, aware of the magazine in its untouched bag as much as if it was emitting a radioactive glow. I made myself work slowly - stacking the tins of beans straight, organising the refrigerator drawer. Then I called my children and gave them snacks, and sent them out into the garden to play. Пicля цboro, I made myself a cup of tea, as though I had nothing particular planned. And then – and only then - I took the magazine out of its wrapper, and sat down to read it. The first couple of pages were harmless. Aбo, пpиHaйMHi,, they were nothing I couldn’t handle. Adverts, roлoBHиM чиHoM - twenty-somethings draped in overpriced clothes that could only look good on them. Nothing to see here. Then a couple of placements for age-defying face creams. I read a few lines, caught myself, and moved along again. The next page provided an unexpected giggle: beneath the legend “Coolest hot-weather buys”, an exhortation to try the latest offering from a diamond company – some sort of twisty ring from just £1,950 ($3,320) each. I made a mental note to ask my husband what he thought when he got in from work, just for laughs. The next few pages provided tidbits on shoes, celebrity tattoos, and the new King of Spain. I flipped faster, half-aware that my kids’ voices below the window had taken on the whine that suggested some immense unfairness was about to be brought inside and laid at my feet. Sort it out between you girls, I urged them mentally. Then I turned the page and found an article on being skinny. I tried to turn the page but I couldn’t. My eyes were fastened on the headline: The Disturbing Rise of the Triple Zero. I read on. Somewhere at the back of my mind, a protest went up: Damn it! Suckered again! Щe, I read on. So disturbing was this new trend for extreme, extreme thinness that the magazine had devoted four pages and fifteen photographs to it, along with such insights as: “It’s no secret that stars can make headlines out of being scarily skinny” (B, Q.E.D., I think.) I read the whole article, wanting to stop the whole time. I felt like I was standing in front of my kitchen cupboard in the middle of the night with a jar of chocolate spread and a spoon. ПepecTaHb, Я ckaзaB coбi,. It’s not good for you and you know it. Takoж, it’s making you feel sick. I could hear my girls coming inside now. I pictured them arming sweat off their foreheads and tugging off dirty sneakers; saw their strong young shoulders and sinewy legs. In front of me, female skeletons struck ghoulishly sexy poses while the text explained how new ‘skinny apps’ can slim photos for Instagram by five to 15 фyHTiB. I realised as I read that I was thinking back to my lunch, to my breakfast, to dinner the night before, computing how much I had eaten and how many calories it might have amounted to. Then a hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped, guiltily. “Mu-uuum,” Betty began, flushed and aggrieved. B iHшiй kiMHaTi, Grace called out a preparatory defence: “I didn’t!" I turned to my five-year old daughter while simultaneously turning the page of my magazine. She wasn’t fooled. ‘What’s that? Щo TaM? What are they doing?" “Nothing.” (The line that never works.) Betty grabbed the magazine and pulled, and my heart thudded with horror until I saw that on turning the page I had moved us along to a feature on – ha! – learning to be brave. “What does it say?" “It says how you can be brave.” “Like fighting things that frighten you?" “Something like that.” “Cool.” “Come on, let’s wash up for tea.” ПiзHiшe, when the girls had gone to bed, I threw the magazine in the bin. I felt immediately braver. And healthier. And saner. If only there was an app for that. Thus is an original post by World Moms Blog contributor, Coфi yokep, of the United Kingdom. ФoTo kpeдиTiB Ian Mackenzie. This photo has a Creative Commons attribution license.
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Rinne mé botún an tseachtain seo, agus cheannaigh Magazine mBan. Tá a fhios agam, Tá a fhios agam. Tá mé ach mé féin an locht. Turcaithe vótála le haghaidh na Nollag, agus go léir go. Nach bhfuil mé a cheannaigh amháin le fada. Tá mé ag déanamh i ndáiríre go maith. Ach ansin. Oh ansin… I mo chosaint, d'fhéach sé chomh - spraoi. Bhí sin cheerful agus chatty agus colourful.There oidis sláintiúil taobh istigh, Dúirt sé. Agus - mé a admháil - mo shúil snagged ar ceannlíne faoi gúnaí tsamhraidh. Mar sin, phioc mé suas é. Bhí mé ag an t-airgead go dtí. Thóg sé ach nóiméad a grab é, bleep sé, mála sé. Agus sula raibh a fhios agam é a, Bhí mé ag tiomáint abhaile leis. Sa bhaile unpacked mé gach rud eile an chéad, ar an eolas faoin iris ina mhála untouched oiread agus is a bheadh sé astú Glow radaighníomhach. Rinne mé mé féin ag obair go mall - cruachta na stáin pónairí díreach, eagrú an drawer cuisneoir. Ansin, iarr mé mo pháistí agus thug siad sneaiceanna, agus do chuir amach ar an gairdín a imirt. Tar éis sin, Rinne mé mé féin cupán tae, mar cé go raibh mé rud ar bith faoi leith atá beartaithe. Agus ansin - agus gan ach ansin - Ghlac mé an iris as a fillteán, agus shuigh síos chun é a léamh. Ba iad na chéad cúpla leathanaigh harmless. Nó ar a laghad, raibh siad aon rud nach raibh mé in ann a láimhseáil. Fógraí, den chuid is mó - fiche somethings draped i éadaí overpriced a d'fhéadfadh ach breathnú go maith orthu. Ní dhéanfaidh aon ní a fheiceáil anseo. Ansin cúpla socrúcháin do uachtair aghaidh aois-defying. Léigh mé cúpla líne, ghabh mé féin, agus ar athraíodh a ionad chomh maith arís. An chéad leathanach eile ar fáil ar giggle gan choinne: faoi bhun an finscéal "Coolest buys te-aimsir", exhortation chun iarracht a dhéanamh an tairiscint is déanaí ó chuideachta Diamond - de chineál éigin fáinne twisty ó díreach £ 1,950 ($3,320) gach. Rinne mé nóta mheabhrach a iarraidh ar mo fhear céile cad a cheap sé nuair a fuair sé i ón obair, ach le haghaidh gáirí. Na leathanaigh ina dhiaidh seo ar fáil tidbits ar bhróga, tattoos celebrity, and the new King of Spain. I flipped faster, half-aware that my kids’ voices below the window had taken on the whine that suggested some immense unfairness was about to be brought inside and laid at my feet. Sort it out between you girls, I urged them mentally. Then I turned the page and found an article on being skinny. I tried to turn the page but I couldn’t. My eyes were fastened on the headline: The Disturbing Rise of the Triple Zero. I read on. Somewhere at the back of my mind, a protest went up: Damn it! Suckered again! Fós, I read on. So disturbing was this new trend for extreme, extreme thinness that the magazine had devoted four pages and fifteen photographs to it, along with such insights as: “It’s no secret that stars can make headlines out of being scarily skinny” (Chun, Q.E.D., I mo thuairimse.) Léigh mé an t-alt ar fad, ar mian leo a stop a chur leis an t-am ar fad. Bhraith mé mar a bhí mé ag seasamh os comhair mo cófra cistine i lár na hoíche le jar de leathadh seacláide agus spúnóg. Stop sé, Dúirt mé liom féin. Níl sé go maith le haghaidh tú, agus tá a fhios agat é. Chomh maith leis sin, tá sé a dhéanamh, dar tú tinn. D'fhéadfadh chuala mé mo cailíní ag teacht taobh istigh anois. Phictiúr mé iad arming allais as a n-foreheads agus tugging amach sneakers salach; Chonaic a n-shoulders óg láidir agus cosa sinewy. I romham, cnámharlaigh baineann bhuail baint ghoulishly sexy agus mhínigh an téacs cé chomh nua 'apps skinny' is féidir grianghraif caol do Instagram faoi cúig go 15 lbs. Thuig mé mar a léigh mé go raibh mé ag smaoineamh ar ais go dtí mo lón, le mo bhricfeasta, le dinnéar an oíche roimh ré, computing how much I had eaten and how many calories it might have amounted to. Then a hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped, guiltily. “Mu-uuum,” Betty began, flushed and aggrieved. In the other room, Grace called out a preparatory defence: “I didn’t!" I turned to my five-year old daughter while simultaneously turning the page of my magazine. She wasn’t fooled. ‘What’s that? Cad é go? What are they doing?" “Nothing.” (The line that never works.) Betty grabbed the magazine and pulled, and my heart thudded with horror until I saw that on turning the page I had moved us along to a feature on – ha! – learning to be brave. “What does it say?" “It says how you can be brave.” “Like fighting things that frighten you?" "Rud éigin mar sin." "Come on, a ligean ar nigh suas le haghaidh tae. " Níos déanaí, nuair a bhí imithe na cailíní a chodladh, Chaith mé an iris sa bhosca bruscair. Bhraith mé láithreach braver. Agus níos sláintiúla. Agus saner. Más rud é ach bhí app don. Mar sin is post bunaidh ag Moms Domhanda Blag ranníocóir, Sophie Walker, na Ríochta Aontaithe. Creidmheasa Photo chun Ian Mackenzie. Tá an grianghraf ceadúnas leithdháileadh Creative Commons.