A Christmas Poem by Mrs. Claus

Leave a comment

Mrs Clause looks great on Rodan + Fields

Christmas is coming and the goose is getting fat,

Your face is showing aging and I can help with that.

From sun spots to pore size to that one darn wrinkle

None wants a face that like wrapping will crinkle.

On Rodan and Fields its now time to spread

So great skin you see when you wake from your bed.

Santa may do the driving, like everyone knows

But its I, Mrs Clause who prepares all of those,

Great stockings I fill with age defying creams

To gift to you now the skin of your dreams.

Order right quick for time is a ticking

And now is the time to give wrinkles a licking.

My personal Elf will show you no quirks

of signing on up for the great PC Perks

Now order today ‘fore your times out of sight

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night

Rodan + Fields Works

Visit my website today to sign up for PC Perks and order your own skin care regiment that will give you skin of your dreams

“Its your skin, wear it well”



Sarah D Benson
Independent Consultant
Rodan + Fields Dermatologists
For products
For careers


I feel strongly about skinny


I have strong feelings about this issue of body image and self worth, because I’ve always had strong feelings about this issue.

I was four the first time I asked my mom when I could start losing weight.


I grew up with a mother who grew up in the Twiggy era and has spent much of her life unsure if she was good enough or pretty enough because she was never sure that she was thin enough.

And I think a lot of us where raised with those similar experiences.

As a high schooler,  I was a bitter combination of beginning anorexia and bulimia. I would dance, go to school, run at track practice then head to play rehearsal until 10 at night and attempt to do this on a daily basis on one piece of peanut butter toast, an apple, and a hollowed out bagel with cream cheese on half. Then on weekends, or evenings I was home early enough, I would attempt to run on our treadmill until I could throw up.

By the grace of God I was never successful at this. Turns out, I was a terrible bulimic because I hardly had any gag reflex and could never successfully make myself throw up.

But that didn’t stop me from trying.

Nor did it stop me from running to the farthest Safeway I could find, in my freshman year of college, to buy laxatives. Then turn and run the same distance home to take half a box. The result was so awfully uncomfortable and dramatic that I swore off of laxatives. Still, I fought the feelings of hating the food within me and desperately wanting to be thin enough to achieve my dreams.

How my weight and dreams came to correlate with one another is complicated. As it is for each one of us. I think it’s part the family you live in, part society and culture and part how you respond to those things internally.

Even still, after all of these years of health and working so hard to be more than my body, more than my weight, it still smarts when I hear my friend with a 5 week old say she only has nine pounds left to lose when I, with a 13 week old,  still have double that.

That old rush of embarrassment of my big appetite and a deep need to lose weight flashed across my mind and through my body as I felt my heart sink. Then I felt my heart hold my mind accountable for all of the work I’ve done over the years to be healthy and accountable for all of the words I say here. So instead of crying in the shower, I ate half of the bar I was emotionally eating and put in a little time on the elliptical.

If my goal is to be the healthiest, most engaging, kind, laughing woman I can be then I made the right choices today. Though, in truth, the feelings of not losing this baby weight fast enough are still smoldering a little.

Jessica Alba 3 months postpartum with second child

The battle for emotional security in a world steeping with images of taut post pregnancy tummies is a battle fought daily by most of us. Some days I lose the battle and walk around in silent shame because my clothes still don’t fit, but today I won one for us.


Go out, be more than your weight, more than your body and win your battles today too!

Or at least put up a hell of a fight trying.





For more information on eating disorders please go to the National Eating Disorders Association and  if you have an eating disorder yourself, tell someone. Telling someone saved me from falling into patterns  that I would have never recovered from. Tell someone and get help.

Screw Skinny

1 Comment

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
That’s a damn lie.

Thin equals pretty.
Also a damn lie

Your weight is who you are.

One of the biggest damn lies I cant think of.

Little girls on a scale

Did anyone see this today?

Lada Gaga’s Stomach

Lady Gaga looking emaciated with her concave stomach and xylophone of ribs. Why is this beauty? And don’t tell me art because that’s crap and its dangerous.

The images being put out for us to see and gawk at and try to emulate are false. It is hard work to be a woman, what with all of the plucking and waxing and make up applying and hair to be done. It’s fun work to be a woman and I think it’s innate in us to want to look and feel beautiful. My daughters are 2 1/2 and 3 1/2 and the moment their nails are dry they are shoving them into their baby brothers face asking him ” Do you like my nails?” and ” aren’t they pretty?”

So I’m not bashing beautiful nor the desire to be and feel beautiful. I’m bashing the skinny is everything crap that we and our daughters are fed day in and day out from the likes of Lady Gaga to Brooke Burke ( yes she is stunning. But lets not pretend that after 5 kids that body put itself back together like that without a good team of doctors and lasers) to Kim Kardashian who won’t even be seen outside of her house until she has attained the unattainable postpartum body through in home personal training, night nurses and meal deliveries.

Weight matters when it is unhealthy. Your looks matter if you are unhappy with them. What doesn’t matter, or rather what shouldn’t matter, is perfection. Tracy Anderson, trainer to the stars and who’s DVDs I own and use from time to time and find to be a good hard workout, claims that she has found the method ” that makes perfection possible”. According to her method, that means two hours of working out a day on a 700 calorie a day limited foods diet. Now you can bet your bottom dollar you’re going to lose weight and few dress sizes on something like that.

But what are you really gaining with this type of “perfection”? Are all of your deep seeded insecurities gone? Is your marriage fixed? Are you all of the sudden happy with who you really are?

Because if the number on your scale or on the tag in your pants is what you base those things on your screwed. If your entire happiness or self worth is wrapped up in how much you weigh and how you look, best of luck to you, because you won’t ever be truly content, happy, or satisfied.

But, if you can come to grips with the shape of your hips and the freckles on your face you just might still come out on top. If you put your efforts into being a well read woman, a kind woman, an interesting woman, a strong,steady and wise woman you will be the winner, year after year after year. You will triumph over those doubts and insecurities, find success in the broken relationships and truly get to become exactly who you want to be regardless of your dress size or weight.

Go out and be beautiful! Try the new skin care line, play with makeup and hair colors. Enjoy fashion. Do your workouts for fun and health and because you like how it makes you look and feed. Always opt for the uncomfortable but fancy shoe and screw skinny, for the sole sake of being skinny, to its sticking post. Be healthy, if that means losing weight I love weight watchers and Paleo. If it means gaining a few pounds I prefer lemon drop martinis and chocolate.

And by all means, be careful what you say to yourself and about yourself in front of you daughters.

Girls on Stairs in summer

Because she might grow up to look just like you.

The Hero Daddy

Leave a comment



The Hero Daddy used to make me very angry. He would come home after a full days work at the office, and I a full days worth of in home war with two tiny toddlers.  I would be covered in peanut butter and jelly, a plethora of bodily fluids, and living in a sweat pants purgatory because nothing cute fit or because it  just wasn’t worth getting my one pair of jeans sticky.

And here he would come, Hero Daddy, swooping into the house in his clean clothes greeted by the sweet sound of tiny feet running and  little voices shouting “Daddy’s Home!”  When not two minutes ago those same tiny feet were trying to kick me in the face as I changed a diaper and the little voices were screeching things like “I don’t want to” and  “No Mommy” and just plain screaming.

Hero Daddy could all of the sudden make everything funny. All of the sudden when Hero Daddy tells you to eat your dinner its hysterical and a really fun game. When Mean Mommy asks you to its battle lines drawn. When Hero Daddy tells you its time to put on your pajamas its a laughable time filled with dancing while you jump into your jammies. When Mean Mommy tells you to put on your pajamas it really means its time to run away and throw your pjs into the dog kennel.

Hero Daddy

Mostly Hero Daddy made me angry because I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the one with whom the children laughed all evening long. I wanted to be the one to be able to solve tears with a joke and a playful threat of having to sleep in the chicken coop ( one of the children’s favorite). I didn’t want to feel like Mean Mommy all the time. The one who tells them to do everything and the one who seems to make them cry.

But then both girls finally started sleeping through the night, and it hit me, I’m not Mean Mommy I’m just Mommy. I am the one in the trenches every day with these little loves of mine and I am the one to enforce boundaries and do the disciplinary actions all day long. I am the one who tells them to eat every three minutes of every meal. I am the one who takes on the battle of what you can wear today and  how much TV you can watch and how far away you can run down the sidewalk and if you can eat those marshmallows you’ve just stolen out of the pantry.  But I’m also the one they call to in the middle of the night when they are sick or scared. I am the one they want to show their artwork to and the one whom they can ask to hang it on the fridge. I’m not Mean Mommy, I’m just Mommy and the more I realized that the more I loved Hero Daddy.

In truth, I have a Hero Daddy. My Mom was the everyday parent, the one I yelled at, fought with, laughed with, confided in and cried to. But my Hero Daddy was there every time I needed him to calm me down or make me laugh, teach me how to race a 400M or to sing harmony in a duet, take me out to ice cream before dinner and to make me feel like the most special little girl God ever created. And he still makes me feel like that.


Every little girl deserves that. My little girls deserve that.

And Hero Daddy, with his clean clothes and loud dinosaur stomp as he chases them around throwing them into fits of hysterical laughter right before bedtime, does just that.  When he sneaks them cookies while I’m in the other room, makes jokes about stinky things and teases them out of a tear fest he really does make these two tiny girls feel like they hung the moon.

And as every child does, they deserve that feeling and will remember it for the rest of their lives.

Turns out, Mean Mommy and Hero Daddy make a pretty good team after all.

And it seems to be a pretty universal theme…

To quote Phil Dunphy from Modern Family “Let’s not play Good Cop/ Mom”

Mom Time vs Dad Time


We have been parents for just over three years now. Parents of two for two years in two weeks. And in that time I’ve noticed a distinct difference in the amount of time it takes the Mom and the Dad to do things. Here are two of our most recent examples.

 Going on a Walk.


Mom Time: One Hour

Pack snacks in individual snack things with no spill lids. Fill individual water bottles and put in wagon. Put shoes on both girls. Put socially acceptable clothes on me. Put shoes back on both girls. Put coats on girls. Put hair in ponytail and sunglasses on. Put shoes back on the little one. Shove extra pacifier into my pocket. Open door and encourage movement toward the wagon in the garage. Wait 7 minutes while they slowly amble to the door and make their way outside. Do not touch the little one to help in anyway or she will yell “no mommy help” and take an additional 3 minutes just to prove to you that she can do it.

Head out for the walk. Get as far as the mailboxes before tantrums, fighting and pleading to hold me mommy begins. Kick some rocks, find a slug, hit your sister and we head back home.

Dad Time: One Hour

Put coats on kids and big boots. Go outside for a walk.  Have a great time with our delightful children. Return one hour later and hand kids over to mom because they are hungry.

Going to a Christmas Party


Mom Time: 3 hours

The party starts at 6 so take a shower at 3. Dry your hair while alternating blowing hot air at your children with the dryer to keep them entertained and out of your good makeup. Run after your 3 year old, while still in your towel, who has run off with your dress to partly be funny, partly be naughty and partly to dress like mommy, and hope the neighbors can’t see you. Feed the children big late snacks so that they aren’t too grumpy before we can eat at the party. Put the little ones dress on. Put your own dress on. Do your make up while singing “If You’re Happy and You Know It” and swatting little hands to keep said big snack off of your party dress. Put the older ones dress on. Make first attempt to do daughters hair. Do half of your own hair. Make second attempt to do daughters hair, be successful with one out of two. Finish your hair. Third and final attempt to do other daughters hair, be mostly successful. Put shoes on everyone. Get everyone into the car. Run back inside to grab a bottle, lipstick and take a final look the mirror only to discover you don’t like your party dress after all. Make a quick change and run to join your family in the car. Enjoy the party.

Dad Time: 28 Minutes

Party starts at 6 so work in the yard then fiddle in the garage. Tell the little one she looks pretty in her party dress. Shower at 5:18. Tell the other daughter she also looks pretty and that you like her hair.  Catch the end of the game. Get dressed and into the car. Wait for wife who is doing who knows what. Tell her she looks pretty too. Enjoy the party.

Disclaimer: I think mothers and fathers play distinct and different roles in the lives of our children. In no way do I expect my husband to be as sensitive and pack as many snacks as I do. And in return, he does not expect me to never pack diapers or to have the whole family actually ready for an event in 15 minutes.  We fulfill our unique rolls differently…and on different time tables.