In our younger, leaner years, Secret Agent Man was an athlete. I was a dancer. So how did we end up with uncoordinated kids?

My twin boys can’t run. You know the kids that shuffle up and down the soccer field with their feet never fully coming off the ground? They would be mine.

Mini Me, my daughter, loves to dance. She has been in a local cheerleading program for three years. She always ends up getting “The Spirit Award” as opposed to something like “Best Jumps.”

Mini Me, like her mother, is high energy. Her coach is very encouraging and says that being energetic is what cheerleading is all about. But, unlike me, a former “All-American Pom-pom Girl” and former college ballroom dance champion, she forgoes technique in favor of an Elaine Benes-type dance style.

Whenever I have tried to “coach” my kids, I am met with Read on …

Last month, my neighbor Monica and I took our babies hiking. She looked like she had just stepped off The Runway for Cute Activewear while I wore a scruffy pair of yoga pants.

“I bought this skort last year from my friend’s company,” she raved.

“What company?”

“BornFit! Have you ever heard of them?”

As it turns out, I had. Just a few weeks prior, the company’s publicist had contacted me about doing a giveaway for Mile High Mamas. I’m not sure if this was a huge coincidence or if everyone besides me is wearing BornFit. Either way, I view it as a sign.

If you’re one of the few who is not “in the know,” BornFit is an innovative apparel collection that creates athletic wear for moms of all ages. The company focuses on inspiring mothers to remain active throughout all stages of their life. BornFit’s special garment details include tops with a more “relaxed fit,” designed with more room in the mid-section and a longer length in the front and back. BornFit offers women Read on …

When we moved to Colorado in 2005, one of our first purchases was a set of bicycles. I got a comfort bike, Kyle got a hybrid, and we started riding on the Cherry Creek trail.

Kyle had always been a recreational runner, and when he heard about the local rec center’s annual sprint triathlon, he decided to ramp up his swimming and sign up for the tri.

Honestly, I didn’t understand his enthusiasm until that clear, blue-skied September morning when the girls and I cheered him on through the transitions and across the finish line: “Go, Daddy! GO!”

I watched all the participants - anticipating their start, persevering through all three races, and triumphantly completing the course - and thought to myself, “Damn, that looks fun.”

I’m no athlete. Never have been. But after three years of watching Kyle and the other triathletes - including my father-in-law last year - last May, I told Kyle to sign me up. Read on …

Let me first say that I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but if someone would have told me some of these things, it may have saved us some dough and my kids some trauma.

`Tis a Flesh Wound

My son was jumping on the trampoline at my brother’s house. Bless their hearts, they made the effort to put the safety net around their trampoline. But, it was the metal stairs that lead up to the trampoline that my son cut his head on during a mad, three-kid-scramble to climb out. I was at work, my husband was at school, my sister-in-law did the right thing by calling us. Of course, we hurried over to their house to attend to our son. Although the cut wasn’t deep, it was bleeding a lot.

We took our five-year-old to the emergency room. By the time we arrived, the bleeding had stopped. We weren’t concerned about a concussion because my son was lucid and his pupils were their normal siz, but we thought that stitches might be in order. When we finally saw the doctor, he informed us that head wounds tend to bleed a lot because there are a lot of capillaries near the surface. He said that the cut wasn’t deep or large enough to merit stitches. The doctor asked the nurse to put Neosporin on my kid’s head and sent us on our way. That was the most expensive tube of Neosporin ever!

Don’t Leave Home without your Pharmacy

Our other son tripped a couple weeks ago in the backyard and broke his arm. Read on …

I have been going to my massage therapist once a month (OK, sometimes twice a month) since I was pregnant with Declan. That makes it like 6 years now. And my main complaint has always been my derriere. Specifically the *side* of my rear end, nearly around to my hips, deep inside my glut muscles. My massage therapist routinely must take a crowbar and shove it inside that region to get them to chill out. I am sure it’s all related to my poor posture at work, but since I am a graphic designer and spend time split between mouse and keyboard, I cannot stand those mobile keyboard trays - and when it comes right down to it, I like sitting with my legs crossed all day long. But my butt pays dearly for it.

So, imagine this scene. About a month ago, I am sitting in the large, glass-front conference room with my Grants Manager and Research Director and we are on a conference call with colleagues in another state. We are discussing a new project, but it is mainly their project and we are mainly tuning them out. (We are nothing if not professional). We keep hitting the mute button on the phone to discuss other things, like our weekend, the weather… and finally my back is killing me so much I land on the floor to do some stretches.

Come to find out, our Grants Manager is a bit of a yoga aficionado and once she realizes the source of my pain, recommends several stretches and gets down on the floor with me to demonstrate. Never to be left out, the Research Director joins us on the floor and we have an impromptu yoga class right then and there. In the large glass-front conference room. We caused quite a stir.

Here is where the pigeon thing comes in. Read on …