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‘I don’t think I evenhavetriceps,’ Miranda protested. ‘Maybe we should do another round on the rowing machine?’
‘Not so fast. Of course you’ve got triceps, they just need a bit of waking up. Let’s see what you’ve got.’ She held out Miranda’s arms.
‘See, no triceps. Look at these flaps!’ Miranda pointed to the loose skin hanging underneath her upper arm. ‘If I stood on a boat, these flaps could set sail and get us from Sydney to Hobart in world record time.’
Naomi actually smiled. ‘Miranda, six months with me and you couldswimfrom Sydney to Hobart with those arms of yours.’
‘Yeah, right! I’ve always had these flaps and I think they’re here to stay.’
‘Miranda. If you want to build a strong body, you have to believe in yourself. You have to believe that anything’s possible, and you have to stop joking about your body. Start treating it with the love and respect it deserves, okay?’
Miranda sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, realising that she’d probably never treated her body, or herself with any real respect. Maybe on the surface, but deep down she would always belittle herself for not being a size ten, orshake her head in shame after every chocolate binge. No amount of designer clothes could make her feel truly happy with her body. She looked around at other women in the gym; some had well-sculpted bodies, but most were middle-aged and overweight, doing their red-faced best to lift weights and figure out how to use the abdominal whatchamacallit. One of the women caught Miranda’s eye and waved. It was Wendy. Miranda waved back, then gave a thumbs-up in honour of the effort she was obviously putting in, her arm muscles straining under the resistance of the ... arm thingy.
Whatwasshe worried about? Her body wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t even that overweight, just chubby. Maybe she should start to think of herself as curvaceous and voluptuous. Maybe a positive attitude about her body could even help with her fitness. She’d bought a book once, ‘Mind over Body’ or something, but it was hidden somewhere in the leaning tower of To-Be-Read self-improvement books.
Like a child, she looked up hopefully at Naomi. ‘Can you really help me get a fitter and healthier body?’
‘I can. But you have to do the work. If you do what I say, youwillget results. But, it’s not all about the exercise. You have to be willing to invest in your overall health too, and your mindset. I’ll give you the name of a great nutritionist, and why not book some one-on-one sessions with Liz Ashford to help you stick to your goals? I send a lot of clients to her, maybe she’ll push you to the front of her waiting list since you’re a part of that makeover club of hers.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Empowerment washed over Miranda, and if The Club had hands, she was sure it would give her a round of applause. In the past, she’d gone on rapid weight loss plans and sudden health kicks in order to lookgood for an upcoming event, or make herself more appealing to a guy she had her eyes on, reverting to her unhealthy habits once the event had passed and the guy had disappeared. But this was different. This time, she wanted to look after herself,forherself, and for her future baby if there was to be one. And this time she would stick with it.
TWENTY-ONE
Life Makeover Principle #7:
Celebrate every MILESTONE. These are the stepping stones to your new life.
‘Okay, kids, all mess into the Emergency Cupboard, STAT!’ Like loyal employees they obliged, well accustomed to these spontaneous orders from their mother. Cara had insisted they practise this as a drill regularly, after the embarrassing incident last year when visitors from overseas dropped in unexpectedly to a house of mess and chaos (‘Pete! I thought it wasnextFriday!’).
The following day, as well as setting reminder beeps on her phone for important events, Cara had allocated a cupboard in the garage as the Emergency Cupboard. No ‘stuff’ was to be put in there; it was to be kept empty until needed as a catch-all for the kids mess when the threat of impending visitors reared its ugly head.
Today it was needed. Alice Wetherill, the owner of Queen of Arts had called and would arrive in fifteen minutes to finally see samples of her artwork.Yay, and crap.Cara wanted to give a good impression, not only of her artwork, but of her expected motherly ability to maintain a tidy and beautiful living environment for her family. If the kids could get everything in the cupboard themselves, she would just have time to change out of her sweatshirt and jeans and into something more presentable, clear the dining table of the remnants of lunch, put the dog outside, and boil the kettle. If all else failed, she’d just use the ‘all good artists have a messy home’ excuse.
She shouldn’t have bothered.
Alice looked like she’d just come from the gym and had a grumpy toddler in tow. ‘Felix – get back here now!’ she ordered her son as he ran back to the car. At the sound of her military-like voice and the threat of her piercing stare he came back to the doorstep dutifully. Then, as though she’d had an instant personality transplant, turned to face Cara and said sweetly, ‘Cara, hello, it’s so wonderful to meet you!’
Cara led Alice into the kitchen where her work-in-progress portfolio and completed artworks lay on the dining table – aka –art table, and before she could stop herself, ‘Sorry about the mess, I was halfway through doing the housework when you called’ came out of her mouth. Cara wondered why women always felt the need to apologise whenever someone entered their home. She vowed silently not to do it again.
‘Oh, you should see my house,’ Alice confessed. ‘If I could find the secret to running a business, keeping the house impeccable, and having well-behaved kids while staying perfectly sane, I’d be given the Nobel Prize for Motherhood!’
Cara smiled with relief. On the phone she’d gotten the impression that Alice would beStepford Wivesmaterial, but it seemed she wasaregularmother after all, whatever that was. Maybe she should share her tip about the Emergency Cupboard, you know, mother to mother? Okay, it wasn’t exactly a Nobel Prize winning secret, but it did help Cara feel more in control. And it could help her connect with Alice and give her a better shot at getting hired.
‘Anyway, sorry to drop by with such short notice,’ Alice continued, ‘since I was passing through your area, I thought I’d take the opportunity, I hope you don’t mind. I know I panic a bit when people drop by without much warning, but you know what, I’ll share a little secret with you that helps...’
No. It couldn’t be. Surely not.
‘...I have an empty cupboard at home, and when someone’s on their way to visit, I just stuff everything in there!’ Alice smiled, a sense of accomplishment on her face.
Cara laughed. ‘Alice, come with me. I have something else to show you today.’
Cara was burstingat the seams waiting for Pete to get home. He was later than usual. At seven-thirty he came through the door, armed with shopping bags. ‘Oh, if I knew you were doing the shopping, I would have given you the list,’ said Cara.
‘Sorry, hun, spur of the moment decision. I only picked up some special ingredients for Toby. I’m not giving up until I come up with the perfect white sauce.’ Pete emptied the bags onto the kitchen bench and kissed Cara on the cheek. Since Toby’s diagnosis, Pete had been spending his daysoff experimenting with different recipes, and since Cara’s dairy-free, gluten-free, soy-free, taste-free, and inedible white sauce attempt, he was determined to come up with a winner. ‘I also stopped by the pub for a quick drink with friends from work, sorry I didn’t call, it was a long day, we – ’
‘I sold an artwork!’ Cara blurted, bouncing on the spot.
‘You what? Yousoldan artwork?’ Pete held onto his wife’s hands.
