Day four of my "20 Minutes a Day Workout Project" was the hardest yet.

I had an hour tennis lesson with Coach Ron and a friend with whom I've been sharing private lessons for 3 weeks now.

He literally ran us all over the court today.

I hit some great "it's crazy that I hit that" shots, and missed some "dork, how did you miss that" shots.

My friend and I are pretty evenly matched, so we make great lesson buddies. The pro is terrific - both with children, (he's Harper's coach), and with adults, who play like children.

So I finish up the lesson, feeling, well, I gotta say it, pretty darn good about the fact that I am learning a new sport, and realize I now have an odd insatiable desire to read Andre Agassi's new autobiography.

(Which I would totally purchase if Beaver had a bookstore . . . grr . . . ok, that's a future post. See, I don't, or rather, won't, shop at Walmart, and occasionally once in a New Moon (pant, pant) purchase off of Amazon. I am totally missing that independently owned bookstore - even if the prices are a bit higher. I particularly miss this one.)

Wow.

Sooo got sidetracked there.

Tennis is over and I head to Cafe Kolache to work. Yes, actually work. Well, not as in, for money, work, but rather, for Mom To Mom. I grab some coffee, open the laptop, and begin working on finishing an Advent activity for families that I must have done by tomorrow. Eleven more days of family devotions to go.

Then, I get her email.

She needed a boost.

20 minutes. That's all it would take. I knew she could find the time. Doing my best cyber-Jillian impersonation, I emailed her back with an idea of how she could implement intervals between all the tasks she had to get done.

30 seconds of jumping jacks here.

30 seconds of "jumping rope" there.

Low plie squat in 2nd position with boxing punches.

Some ab work.

I told her that if she could incorporate 2 minutes of intervals into her mopping, and laundry, and scrubbing, she'd feel alot better - and I would know that I was truly holding someone accountable.

Sorry, babe. Just couldn't let you off the hook.

Surprisingly, er, not, she got in the intervals AND part of her personal exercise routine.

Game on, sista.

This pseudo tennis playin', half marathonin', thinkin' she's Miss all that 'cause she gave you some of Jillian's moves, is completely committed and isn't going anywhere.

Accountabilty is just that.

The half-marathon is over.

There is Halloween candy in the house.

I'm a bit burned out on the idea of running.

I like to eat.

What's a girl to do?

Find a buddy. That's what.

When you read blogs written by friends, you get to see an honest glimpse into their lives (if they are indeed letting it all hang out for the masses to read). I tend to be very transparent in my posts - although, reader, you should be aware that while you may believe I'm documenting every detail of my life, causing you to wonder if I'm being a bit too out there with the world, you are mistaken. I filter. Sorry, but it's true. I may be a fan of transparency, but I'm not an idiot.

Recently I was reading on God and Everyday, (written by a very talented friend from my teenage years - props to Facebook for the reconnection), about a goal the author has to be fit by forty. Go on over and check it out.

It made me think about accountability and whether accountability can happen in the cyber world. So, I took a step of faith and responded to a need I felt she had expressed by agreeing to be her workout buddy from now until Thanksgiving . . . which I will then push to Christmas (just a warning, Debbie)! No, we don't live in the same state. No, I've not even seen her since were, what? 17? Even so, she got an email from me today simply stating, "Did it. 20 minutes of Jillian Michaels. Now, three Mary Kay appointments!"

In return, I got a super encouraging reply, a nice pat on the back, and the motivation I need to do the same tomorrow. Plus, my buddy detailed her exercise plan for the week so that I know what to expect out of her for Week One.

Funny what tight khakis (for her) and tight favorite jeans (for me) can do to spur on a couple of 40 year old mamas (me, already there, and her, almost).

Want to join us?

It's not P90X hard. We are simply going to be attempting 15-20 minutes a day of something physical at least 5 days a week. Here's my plan:

Monday: Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred
Tuesday: Same, or Pilates
Wednesday: Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred or Yoga class
Thursday: Tennis Lesson
Friday: Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred
Saturday: 30 minutes of running

I did indeed workout with Jillian this morning and it was hard. While I can run 13 miles over 2-plus hours, I found that 20 minutes of Jillian and her strength, cardio and ab intervals, while not as severe as on The Biggest Loser, is still intense.

It's Jillian Michaels. There is no cheating. Even when she's not physically in the room.

Want to join us?

Just leave a comment sharing your commitment to do 15-20 minutes, 5 days a week, until Thanksgiving. However, it is important to HAVE A PLAN, so outline what you will actually do each day or you'll just sabotage the effort.

And if you want to go even further, how about joining the Pittsburgh Moms challenge of dropping 10 pounds by Christmas? Just an idea.

It's just 20 minutes.

You spend more than that on Facebook everyday.

Come on, let's start with some transparency about how we waste our time everyday. I'll start.

"My name is Joline, and I waste time on the internet everyday. I'm going to give 20 minutes of that wasted time back to my body. And my favorite jeans."

Our family thoroughly enjoys watching Chopped on the Food Network.

Harper, especially, begs me every week to lift the "no TV during the school week" rule in order to watch Chopped on Tuesday nights.

I haven't caved.

Until today.

This morning, we set out to visit the Grand Opening of Giant Eagle's Market District in Robinson, not to shop, but to meet Ted Allen, the host of our favorite Food Network show. Harper was estatic to get the opportunity to meet him. Zane? Zane just wanted a bagel.

I asked George to navigate off of the tiny, and not most helpful, map that was included in the mailed announcement we had received, knowing full well that my GPS wouldn't register the street - for the entire complex is that new.

I think I probably asked him 3 times, "Is there any exit listed or cross street? Anything?"

Nope.

So we got off in Robinson and tried to use our sense of smell to find the place.

Yeah, apparently we're not real talented in sniffing out locations, plus, this is Pittsburgh. No grid. Just hills and turns and Oh! A cool drive-in!

The drive-in was nowhere near the store. We were most definitely lost.

Realizing we'd gone too far south, I turned around to backtrack only to hear my very humbled husband remark, "Oh, um, sorry, the map says to take the Ridge road exit."

He apologized, and then realizing that it was now 11:00 and that Ted began his cooking demostration at 11:00, we prayed that God would redeem the fun that we had planned - that we'd still get to see Ted's demostration, and have the opportunity to meet him. I know, maybe it seems silly to pray about meeting a Food Network celebrity, and even I told the kids, "Hey guys, Ted isn't Jesus", but I also know that God listens to all our requests, and I believe He is a fan of family time, and this was definitely a family gig. I didn't want to have our plan thwarted due to a minor maptastrophe.

The parking lot was a zoo, (of course), so I had George let me and Harper out while he and Zane found parking.

The place is mammoth. Convention center huge. Once inside, we had absolutely no idea where to go. We were dodging carts, and shoppers, and resisting the urge to stop and sample, in order to get to the demonstration area. It pains me to think of all the cheese cubes we passed without indulging. Hey, when on a mission, one doesn't stop. Even for cheese.

After the confusion of asking an employee for directions and being led in the completely wrong direction, we finally found the demonstration area and took up camp stage left to watch Ted and a chef from Market District make shrimp scampi and some apple tarty thing for desert. George and Zane had met up with us by that point, and we all took a deep breath.

Saturday To Do List: Watch Ted Allen's cooking demonstration. Check.

Towards the end of the demo, Ted announced he'd be going upstairs to sign his new cookbook. Before he even uttered his last word, we were gone, darting to the stairs to get in line for autographs.

Outside the room where he'd be signing we were asked, "Do you have your ticket?"

Oh no.

What is this? Willy Wonka?

A most wonderfully kind and gracious employee of Market District explained that all those wanting to see Ted needed a numbered ticket and that she would be more than happy to get us one. However, at this stage in the game, our number would be in the hundreds.

I SWEAR I didn't put on an act. I was tempted. But in lieu of pure drama, I just opted for the truth. I just got close to the employee's ear and simply said, "We didn't know about the tickets. My daughter LOVES Chopped and we drove down from Beaver just to see Ted and get his autograph, and have to be back in Beaver by 1:00."

Her response?

"Wow. All the way from Beaver? Wait here. I'll get you in. Hang here a minute."

It was only a 15-20 minute drive. It's not like we took a complete day trip to meet Ted. But, ok.

She returned with paper for the kids and pens.

"This is for you to get autographs. You'll be first in line."

And we were.

Ted greeted us as he passed us to enter the room. And then, once situated, they waved us in.

He was sooooooooo amazing to the kids. Shook their hands. Asked their names. Really made it about them.

Yeah, I'm gay-crushing.

He LOVED both Harper and Zane's names, and we talked literature for a blip. Then he asked Harper what she liked to cook.

"Ritz Cracker Pizza's."

"Oh, I don't know that dish. Tell me the ingredients."

She did.

"It sounds great, Harper, like soft nacho's."

He then turned to Zane and asked what he liked to cook.

"Chocolate chip cookies."

"Me, too, Zane. Do you like chocolate cookies with nuts or without?"

"No nuts!!!!!!!!!"

"Yeah, most kids don't like nuts in their cookies."

He was incredibly engaging with the kids, all while I was feeling completey self-conscious about continuing the conversation in front of the long line of fans who were actually holding tickets, although I secretly harbored the desire to ask Ted to please go all Queer Eye for the Straight Guy over my husband whose wardrobe has often been referred to as "Urban Lumberjack".

He signed color photographs for the kids, and one for our neighbor, shook our hands, and thanked us for coming out.

We left the room and Harper erupted with, "THAT WAS SO AWESOME!" And then, as a family, we stopped a moment to lift up a prayer of thanks for this seemingly small favor.

I will be sending a thank you note to Ms. So and So, for she didn't have to usher us to the front of the line. No, she could have stuck to the "law "and sent us back to get a ticket and wait just like everybody else. But instead, she placed grace before the rule and gave our family a really cool morning.

If she can break the rule, so can I.

Harper may now watch Chopped on Tuesday nights.

Zane? He just wants a bagel, and chocolate chip cookies sans nuts, and will conk out by 9:00 anyway.

It's a really cool feeling to enter your daughter's bedroom in the morning in order to wake her, only to find her already awake and reading in bed. Before school.

"It's time to get dressed, girl."

"No Mom! I just want to read!"

Music to my ears, and yet . . . there are THOSE books lurking on the shelves at the library. The same books I used to smuggle into the house under my mother's nose. My mother, who was incredibly keen, with a great sense of smell. She knew exactly what I was hiding, for she was always one step ahead of me, in terms of knowing what the "hot" books were for young adults.

As an adult, I now realize that adults actually talk to one another and thus, we are not as naive to trends and fads as our youngin's may think. And what we don't know firshand, we'll just learn about from another Mom. And the internet.

Like, which books are hot.

Like, which books you, the parent, should most definitely read first - before your child.

I am not one for censoring reading material. I would much rather read a controversial book myself so that I can actually hold a conversation on the content with my child. Take Twilight. While I don't feel the series is appropriate for anyone in elementary school, you better know that 5th graders are reading it - either with their parents knowledge, or in secret. And if they aren't reading it at home, just know that they are are sneaking peaks at it at school or the library, or a friend's house. And yes, she will read it Mom. Somewhere. Somehow.

So, why not read it first? What are we so scared of?

I did. The entire series. And my kid is barely 9, and not interested. But she knows about Twilight. Ok, not the details of it, but she's heard talk. I figure I might as well be prepared to talk about it, by actually reading the series, as I can't stand the "Well, I heard's" or "So and so said". Just read it, already, so you can have an actual personal opinion about it rather than relying solely on a critique from some internet site. Do your own homework.

Here, on this turf, we're not dealing with Twilight. Harper could care less, right now, with anything having to do with a boy and a girl liking each other in any way other than how well they can battle with light sabers. And honestly, we're not dealing with any other controversial novels at this point in time either.

However, we recently entered into Blume territory at the local library.

Harper has read "Freckle Juice" and the entire "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" series. "Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great" was checked out when it was time to read that one (for those of you who like order), but Harper enjoyed the series so much that she went back to read it even though she had already finished all the other books in the series.

So then what gave me a mini heart attack and the motivation for this post?

"Hey, Mom, here's one here about a girl named Margaret, and God."

Dry mouth. Flashbacks of "I must. I must. I must increase my bust." (It doesn't work).

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(Insert Matrixy move to swipe the book out of her hands and then bury it somewhere in the adult non-fiction books about auto-repair or birds of prey - I don't know).

And then of course, there was the close neighbor of Margaret's book: "Forever". Ah, the young adult novel of my generation. The one I snuck into the house after a slumber party with my gymnastic team. The one my mother sweat out of me. I swear she saw me tucking that book into my jacket before I even left my friend's house. She was that good.

And then, I should add - she let me read it.

Thankfully, Harper didn't think that anything about Margaret and God was more interesting that Sheila the Great, so there was no need to get into it with her. And really, I just would have said, "Harps, that book is a little too old for you."

But just thinking about the discussions that are down the pike gave me hives. Once the coast was clear, and Harper had walked away from Blume territory with her Sheila book, I made a beeline to the librarians desk where I started pilfering leftover Halloween candy from her bowl.

I will be counting on the women who have gone before me to help walk me through the whole appropriate reading material discussion that I will one day have with my child.

And until that time, you'll find me hanging out in the children's section of the library reading junior and young adult novels.

Armed and ready.

Locked and loaded.

Reliving those fragile years of my life that I'd rather not relive - well, unless I could relive them with straight feathered hair and Jordache jeans.