Posted on 08/30/09
Almost 2 weeks ago, on 8/17/09, I was in an accident. I was a pedestrian who was hit on the American River bike trail by a bicyclist going at a pretty good speed. I was knocked unconscious. I have no recall whatsoever of the accident. I am, in many respects, a little unnerved by that. On another level, I should probably be grateful I do not remember what happened to me. The first really clear memory I have is waking up in my room at the hospital after I was already admitted. I was being cared for by a nurse named Jason, and Lewis was standing next to my bed, looking exhausted.
In the 13 days since the accident, little bits and pieces of memory are starting to come back about the time period after the accident. I kind of remember being in an ambulance and being treated by paramedics and arriving at the hospital. There is not much else I remember. I remember a guy in a bicycle helmet telling me to lie still. I am not sure, but I think I tried to get up. I have a concussion that is starting to clear, though I still have depth perception issues and I get dizzy if I move too fast. I have a broken clavicle—first time in my life I’ve ever suffered a broken bone and I certainly hope it’s the last—hurts like a bitch—but I am alive, and I survived. I initially had 3 stitches in my head and a laceration that bled quite a bit. When I awoke in the hospital, my head was covered in dried blood. I have a huge bruise on my face and one on my hip. I only know what happened to me because it is what I have been told, but I do not have any recollection of the event whatsoever.
I have a lot of pain in my right shoulder. Wouldn’t it just be my luck that if I had to break a limb, it had to be my dominant extremity! LOL!
I work with a wonderful group of people who became worried and set out to find me when I did not return from my daily lunchtime walk. They spread out in different directions, going the places they know that I frequent when I am out walking at lunchtime. Some of my coworkers, one of them being my supervisor, found a police officer and were going to ask him how long an employee had to be missing in order to make an official report. It just so happened that the officer they encountered was the one that took the report of my accident, and he was able to tell them I had been taken by ambulance to the hospital. My boss was able to contact my husband at work, who was then able to come to the hospital and remain at my side. I was apparently confused. Thanks to discussions with and prompting from my incredible husband, I remember a conversation we had regarding the amount of time that had passed and where he is working now. I remember not remembering where he works now, if that makes sense. I remembered the conversation after he told me about it, but it was more like a dream than a real memory. Everything that first day or so is a big blur, but I think in time I will remember what I need to remember.
For the first week or so after the accident, I would spontaneously start crying for no reason at all. It’s part of what happens when you get a concussion, I’m told. It’s also not unusual to feel weird about things and situations after a blow to the head like that. I am experiencing a little bit of that, so I am going to contact the Employee Assistance Program through my employer and see if I can talk to someone and work out some of the issues surrounding my accident. I am having emotions I can't identify, and that’s a first for me.
It’s hard to describe, but there is a part of me that feels like I’m never going to be the same again.
I’m definitely being treated differently at work. I can't leave my desk without letting someone know where I’m going. I am not allowed to go walking out on the bike trail anymore, not that I am in a hurry to do so anyway—at least not by myself! A 2-day hospital stay that I cannot afford was enough to keep me off the bike trails for a while. My coworkers are more than willing to go above and beyond to help me get to and from work if I need a ride, since I still can't drive for 2 more weeks. I am so grateful for everyone’s kindness and helpfulness right now. I have trouble finding the words to express my gratitude, so I have designed necklaces for all the women I work with in my department on a day to day basis. I hope to have them all completed in the next couple of days so I can bring them in to the office and give them to everyone. That would be awesome.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
WHEN TROUBLED TIMES COME CALLING TO ALREADY STRUGGLING FAMILIES, HOW DO YOU MAKE IT THROUGH?
There’s no simple answer. Troubled times seem to be the story of my life, yet somehow I manage to stay afloat… somehow. I’m surviving. I don’t own any real estate, and I never have and am not certain that I ever will. I’ve never owned a new car and am not certain that I ever will. I’m in my late 40s now, a “baby boomer” as it were. I don't have all the bells and whistles of success that people my age normally have. I was not able to put my kids through college—in fact, only one of them even has a GED.
Seems that things have always been an uphill battle for me. But something really great has happened this last year. We have really lost a lot. I mean… a LOT. We have been through a lot. I mean… a LOT. We have made a lot of mistakes. I mean… a LOT. You may be asking yourself… how can this woman possibly say “something really great happened this last year” when she takes about how much she has lost, how much she has been through, how many mistakes she has made?
I can say that this has been “really great” because something “really great” did come out of everything we have been through in our lives but most especially in the last 2 years or so and even more significantly in the past 12 months.
This time last year, my husband’s monthly profit sharing, which we had come to depend on for living expenses, was suddenly cut to almost nothing. The profit sharing bonus was roughly a quarter to a third of his monthly take-home pay, so in our minds it made up for the low hourly wage he was receiving for the position. He was told the cut in his bonus was due to his performance, as profit sharing bonuses were performance-based, yet he knew he was meeting all the performance landmarks and standards that were set forth in order to qualify for the monthly profit sharing bonuses. After several months of bonuses being cut from an average of $600/month (which made up for his low hourly wage for that position for the market we live in) down to sometimes less than $10/month, it became apparent that the company was making excuses because there were, frankly, no longer enough profits to share. Eight months passed, no bonus more than $20. The writing was on the wall, plain as day.
Unfortunately, right around the time this all started last year, one of my adult children had hit on hard times and needed a place to live and came to stay with us. Right after that, one of my husband’s 3 kids also came to live with us temporarily. We had two extra people and $600 a month less, and this was during a time when gas here in the capital city had soared up to an average of $4.85 a gallon for the midgrade, $4.65 a gallon even for the cheap stuff that’s bad for your car (you know which brand you are, I’m not namin’ names here). No matter how you slice it, things suddenly got hard. Paying the rent got hard. Paying the utilities got hard, and it was even harder when winter came and the utilities skyrocketed up to several hundred dollars a month. In January, our rent, SMUD, PG&E, and water was well over $2,000, and that’s before any groceries were purchased, laundry soap, dish soap, shampoo, deodorant, gasoline, satellite TV, cell phones, house phone, internet, or anything else was paid. Things got turned off. A few things. We were drowning.
My step-daughter, though she loved living here with us, is no idiot and was aware we were really struggling and asked to go back to her mom’s. Normally we would have insisted she finish the school year in one school, but we were in a desperate situation and having a hard time hiding it from the child (she’s 12, smart cookie, can't get anything past her). Her mom and grandparents put together a plane ticket, and our girl flew back to stay with her mom for a while. We miss her lots, but it was what was best.
Then my adult son… he finally got a job after being out of work for 10 months. Once he had a fairly steady stream of hours that he was working, we insisted that he move out and find a roommate or something. My husband and I made the decision between us to downsize, sell off some of our larger items, and now that everyone had moved out, we didn’t need a big house. It was obvious the days of his profit sharing bonuses were over, and the company I worked for had ceased all overtime also around the same time as my husband’s profit sharing dwindled off. We had been splitting the rent, paying half on the 1st and half on the 15th, for months, and it was obvious that even that was becoming a struggle. We could no longer afford the big house anymore, and we faced it and told our landlord we were moving out, giving a full 2 months’ notice.
Our income had gone down by at least $1,000 a month between the loss of his bonuses and the loss of my overtime, and we had been behind in all our monthly payments for nearly a year. Around this time, my husband did get another job, but it was a little too late to pull us out of the hole we were in. Also, in the middle of all this, official word came down at my job that our department was being downsized and that several of us would be having to transfer out to other departments IF jobs in other departments that we were qualified for even became available! And if we could not find a suitable in-company transfer in a specified period of time, we’d be losing our jobs in the end.
Things weren’t looking so good for us.
I put an ad on Craigslist, telling a little bit about our situation and that we were decent people who had just hit hard times and always worked, had not-so-nifty credit scores, and were looking for a nice, clean, small place for just the two of us, our dog and our cats. I had a lot of responses and was surprised at how many people out there are willing to work with you, even if you have rental and credit history issues. There are a lot of landlords who understand that sometimes people just struggle, stuff happens, and unforeseen things happen to people’s lives. One of the respondents to my ad in particular struck me as being “just right”.
I responded back to her, and we talked a little bit about the property. I came by and looked at it. It was obvious that someone had just purchased it (there was still a hole in the front yard where the for-sale sign post had been placed) and that it was in the very early stages of being “fixed up”. It was an adorable little bungalow/cottage place, all chipped blue paint with white trim and a steel screen door; but new windows were being installed, and I could see the nice potential in the work that was being done. I really had to look at this house with a creative eye because it was in really poor shape (I later found out it had been empty for approximately 2 years and, in its heyday, was one of the local crack houses). The owners were doing a major fix-up to the house, though, and I could see that when it was done, it would be nice.
We ended up renting this houes, a nice little 2-bedroom bungalow for more than $500 a month less rent than we had paid for the bigger house. It’s in town, not out in the outskirts like we had been(we can no longer hear the frogs and owls at night or hear the neighbor’s peacocks make their distinct call at all hours of the day and night). Even our move was difficult. Two days into the move, our station wagon broke down. My husband worked days, I worked swings, we had one car and it was REAL tough. It would be another 6 weeks before we had the money to fix the station wagon again.
We’re living in Oak Park now, and you hear so much about it being a less-than-desirable area to live in. I find it quite the opposite. I love it here.
My husband and I are Caucasian. There is an Asian family across the street, an Hispanic lady next door, another Asian family a few doors down, a few African-American families on the block, I think a couple of Hispanic folks around the corner, an Italian dude across the street, and I have yet to see or notice or feel ANY racial tension on my block. If it’s there, it’s well-hidden. We’re all just here. It’s not a bad neighborhood. It’s not El Dorado Hills or Granite Bay, but it’s working-class and people just trying to get by, just like us. It’s racially diverse, not racially divided. Seriously, could there be ANYTHING better?
I stand out on my back patio on Sunday afternoon, and I smell somebody barbequing something yummy coming from a southerly direction. Then over from the west, I hear mariachi music and hear people laughing and speaking in Spanish and kids playing. Across the street, there’s a bunch of cars outside, and an Asian family is picking fresh fruit from the trees in the yard and talking and laughing and the kids are running around and there’s a grill up on the porch and men are standing around laughing and drinking beer and speaking n their native tongue (I have NO idea what it is, I just think it’s totally awesome). Over across kitty-cornered from me, a young African-American family has some teenagers out in the street riding their bikes and fartin’ around, laughing and being loud but not obnoxious, just being kids.
I could not feel more blessed or more rich about the neighborhood I lived in if I lived in Los Lagos up in Granite Bay. Our houses may be old, and they may be rentals, and we might have some hookers down the street and a crack house around the corner a few blocks down, but right here where we are, I feel good and safe and blessed. The place where I live is steeped in cultural diversity and a common thread among the whole lot of us: A sense of family and community.
To add to our situation, at the beginning of this year, we had found out for certain that my job was being eliminated sometime this year by the company I was working for, so I went to work for the company my husband had gone to work for. I took a big pay cut, but we had moved to a cheaper house, had downsized (sold the chest freezer, the spare microwave oven, the portable dishwasher, our washer and dryer, all that stuff). It was a good thing we had made those changes and that we had moved to the cheaper house because 3-1/2 weeks after I started working at my husband’s company, HE got fired.
A lot of other stuff had happened to us in the preceding months, as well. We had severe car problems, spent over $4,000 in car repairs over the course of a year and STILL neither one of the cars ran right or would pass smog. We saved and scrimped and bought another vehicle and paid cash, only to find out within hours that we had been ripped off for nearly $2 grand (everything we had) and that the car had MAJOR engine problems. When we attempted to recontact the gentleman who sold us the vehicle, he had blocked both of our cell numbers from his phone. The house at the address listed on the vehicle title we had in our possession was empty and had a for-sale sign in the yard. We were unbelievably screwed. This was all but 4 weeks before my husband lost his job. We spent the next 2 weeks riding the bus to and from our job.
So now here we are, and honeybunch has been 2 months out of work. We’ve had to get by on a lot less lately. My kids pay for their share of the cell phone use now. They work—they can pay it. I’ve started going to bread give-aways and getting loaves of bread. I’ve taken on a second job that I can work from home over the internet, and I anticipate that will help us out a lot. As for my husband, well, he’s gotten pretty disgusted with the job hunt situation. Out of the more than 140 jobs he has applied for and resumes he has sent out, he has had 3 interviews. Three. Count ‘em, one, two, three. That’s it. And none of them hired him because they were not willing to pay more than $10/hour.
And I should mention… my husband is a veteran with honorable discharges from not one but TWO branches of military service, both the United States Navy and United States Coast Guard, the two branches in which he served a total of 9-1/2 years of his life, and can't get a job.
In an effort to do something about our situation and not just whine about it, hubby has taken on the task of digging up the majority of our back yard in order that we may grow as much of our own fruits and vegetables as possible. The work and labor he puts into a high-quality food garden will be like money in our pockets. There will be food we can eat that we will not have to buy. We’re both going to learn about canning and preserving, as well. We have already planted a lime tree and are growing cooking herbs in pots and have already had a rather healthy initial harvest of sweet basil and green sage. The remainder of the garden will be planted with a host of late summer/fall vegetables and fruits, with sections and above-ground beds being set up to grow tender lettuces and greens for salads. We’re also choosing a spot in the back yard to put up a small grape arbor. We will not really get any grapes from it until next year, but what a treat it will be to have fresh, super-sweet grapes right at our fingertips in our own back yard.
I have also noticed that we’re not the only ones with this idea. A lot of people are growing a variety of fruits and vegetables in private and community gardens, on their patios and balconies, anywhere they can find space to grow. I’ve heard about people who get together to exchange the products of their gardens. You have nectarines but want some limes? Here, let’s trade. Fresh fruit for all, costs no money. If such groups really do not exist, maybe we should start one. It’s such a sound concept, bartering fresh home-grown produce.
One of the ways we are coming up with the supplies to build this wonder-garden of ours on such a small budget is advertising with various online free ad sites here locally that we will take your old fence boards and usable wood for our raised flower beds. People give stuff away all the time. We get it out of their way and save them a trip to the dump or from having to figure out “what to do with all that friggin’ wood”, and it’s all good. Everybody benefits.
So that's one of the ways we're making it through.
Now we're back to... why did I say this was all so great? Because if we had not been through all the difficulties, the LITERAL trials and tribulations of this last year or so, had all these "bad things" not befallen us, we would not have come to realize how very much we DO have. Life is looking a little brighter these days. I appreciate everything more. Colors are a little brighter, the grass is a little greener, food tastes a little better, even sugar is just a tad sweeter. Small things have come to mean SO much to us.
So if you ask me, if you ask us, when troubled times come and you're already struggling, keeping an eye on what's good, no matter how small, gets you through. At least for now.
And right now is all I have.
Seems that things have always been an uphill battle for me. But something really great has happened this last year. We have really lost a lot. I mean… a LOT. We have been through a lot. I mean… a LOT. We have made a lot of mistakes. I mean… a LOT. You may be asking yourself… how can this woman possibly say “something really great happened this last year” when she takes about how much she has lost, how much she has been through, how many mistakes she has made?
I can say that this has been “really great” because something “really great” did come out of everything we have been through in our lives but most especially in the last 2 years or so and even more significantly in the past 12 months.
This time last year, my husband’s monthly profit sharing, which we had come to depend on for living expenses, was suddenly cut to almost nothing. The profit sharing bonus was roughly a quarter to a third of his monthly take-home pay, so in our minds it made up for the low hourly wage he was receiving for the position. He was told the cut in his bonus was due to his performance, as profit sharing bonuses were performance-based, yet he knew he was meeting all the performance landmarks and standards that were set forth in order to qualify for the monthly profit sharing bonuses. After several months of bonuses being cut from an average of $600/month (which made up for his low hourly wage for that position for the market we live in) down to sometimes less than $10/month, it became apparent that the company was making excuses because there were, frankly, no longer enough profits to share. Eight months passed, no bonus more than $20. The writing was on the wall, plain as day.
Unfortunately, right around the time this all started last year, one of my adult children had hit on hard times and needed a place to live and came to stay with us. Right after that, one of my husband’s 3 kids also came to live with us temporarily. We had two extra people and $600 a month less, and this was during a time when gas here in the capital city had soared up to an average of $4.85 a gallon for the midgrade, $4.65 a gallon even for the cheap stuff that’s bad for your car (you know which brand you are, I’m not namin’ names here). No matter how you slice it, things suddenly got hard. Paying the rent got hard. Paying the utilities got hard, and it was even harder when winter came and the utilities skyrocketed up to several hundred dollars a month. In January, our rent, SMUD, PG&E, and water was well over $2,000, and that’s before any groceries were purchased, laundry soap, dish soap, shampoo, deodorant, gasoline, satellite TV, cell phones, house phone, internet, or anything else was paid. Things got turned off. A few things. We were drowning.
My step-daughter, though she loved living here with us, is no idiot and was aware we were really struggling and asked to go back to her mom’s. Normally we would have insisted she finish the school year in one school, but we were in a desperate situation and having a hard time hiding it from the child (she’s 12, smart cookie, can't get anything past her). Her mom and grandparents put together a plane ticket, and our girl flew back to stay with her mom for a while. We miss her lots, but it was what was best.
Then my adult son… he finally got a job after being out of work for 10 months. Once he had a fairly steady stream of hours that he was working, we insisted that he move out and find a roommate or something. My husband and I made the decision between us to downsize, sell off some of our larger items, and now that everyone had moved out, we didn’t need a big house. It was obvious the days of his profit sharing bonuses were over, and the company I worked for had ceased all overtime also around the same time as my husband’s profit sharing dwindled off. We had been splitting the rent, paying half on the 1st and half on the 15th, for months, and it was obvious that even that was becoming a struggle. We could no longer afford the big house anymore, and we faced it and told our landlord we were moving out, giving a full 2 months’ notice.
Our income had gone down by at least $1,000 a month between the loss of his bonuses and the loss of my overtime, and we had been behind in all our monthly payments for nearly a year. Around this time, my husband did get another job, but it was a little too late to pull us out of the hole we were in. Also, in the middle of all this, official word came down at my job that our department was being downsized and that several of us would be having to transfer out to other departments IF jobs in other departments that we were qualified for even became available! And if we could not find a suitable in-company transfer in a specified period of time, we’d be losing our jobs in the end.
Things weren’t looking so good for us.
I put an ad on Craigslist, telling a little bit about our situation and that we were decent people who had just hit hard times and always worked, had not-so-nifty credit scores, and were looking for a nice, clean, small place for just the two of us, our dog and our cats. I had a lot of responses and was surprised at how many people out there are willing to work with you, even if you have rental and credit history issues. There are a lot of landlords who understand that sometimes people just struggle, stuff happens, and unforeseen things happen to people’s lives. One of the respondents to my ad in particular struck me as being “just right”.
I responded back to her, and we talked a little bit about the property. I came by and looked at it. It was obvious that someone had just purchased it (there was still a hole in the front yard where the for-sale sign post had been placed) and that it was in the very early stages of being “fixed up”. It was an adorable little bungalow/cottage place, all chipped blue paint with white trim and a steel screen door; but new windows were being installed, and I could see the nice potential in the work that was being done. I really had to look at this house with a creative eye because it was in really poor shape (I later found out it had been empty for approximately 2 years and, in its heyday, was one of the local crack houses). The owners were doing a major fix-up to the house, though, and I could see that when it was done, it would be nice.
We ended up renting this houes, a nice little 2-bedroom bungalow for more than $500 a month less rent than we had paid for the bigger house. It’s in town, not out in the outskirts like we had been(we can no longer hear the frogs and owls at night or hear the neighbor’s peacocks make their distinct call at all hours of the day and night). Even our move was difficult. Two days into the move, our station wagon broke down. My husband worked days, I worked swings, we had one car and it was REAL tough. It would be another 6 weeks before we had the money to fix the station wagon again.
We’re living in Oak Park now, and you hear so much about it being a less-than-desirable area to live in. I find it quite the opposite. I love it here.
My husband and I are Caucasian. There is an Asian family across the street, an Hispanic lady next door, another Asian family a few doors down, a few African-American families on the block, I think a couple of Hispanic folks around the corner, an Italian dude across the street, and I have yet to see or notice or feel ANY racial tension on my block. If it’s there, it’s well-hidden. We’re all just here. It’s not a bad neighborhood. It’s not El Dorado Hills or Granite Bay, but it’s working-class and people just trying to get by, just like us. It’s racially diverse, not racially divided. Seriously, could there be ANYTHING better?
I stand out on my back patio on Sunday afternoon, and I smell somebody barbequing something yummy coming from a southerly direction. Then over from the west, I hear mariachi music and hear people laughing and speaking in Spanish and kids playing. Across the street, there’s a bunch of cars outside, and an Asian family is picking fresh fruit from the trees in the yard and talking and laughing and the kids are running around and there’s a grill up on the porch and men are standing around laughing and drinking beer and speaking n their native tongue (I have NO idea what it is, I just think it’s totally awesome). Over across kitty-cornered from me, a young African-American family has some teenagers out in the street riding their bikes and fartin’ around, laughing and being loud but not obnoxious, just being kids.
I could not feel more blessed or more rich about the neighborhood I lived in if I lived in Los Lagos up in Granite Bay. Our houses may be old, and they may be rentals, and we might have some hookers down the street and a crack house around the corner a few blocks down, but right here where we are, I feel good and safe and blessed. The place where I live is steeped in cultural diversity and a common thread among the whole lot of us: A sense of family and community.
To add to our situation, at the beginning of this year, we had found out for certain that my job was being eliminated sometime this year by the company I was working for, so I went to work for the company my husband had gone to work for. I took a big pay cut, but we had moved to a cheaper house, had downsized (sold the chest freezer, the spare microwave oven, the portable dishwasher, our washer and dryer, all that stuff). It was a good thing we had made those changes and that we had moved to the cheaper house because 3-1/2 weeks after I started working at my husband’s company, HE got fired.
A lot of other stuff had happened to us in the preceding months, as well. We had severe car problems, spent over $4,000 in car repairs over the course of a year and STILL neither one of the cars ran right or would pass smog. We saved and scrimped and bought another vehicle and paid cash, only to find out within hours that we had been ripped off for nearly $2 grand (everything we had) and that the car had MAJOR engine problems. When we attempted to recontact the gentleman who sold us the vehicle, he had blocked both of our cell numbers from his phone. The house at the address listed on the vehicle title we had in our possession was empty and had a for-sale sign in the yard. We were unbelievably screwed. This was all but 4 weeks before my husband lost his job. We spent the next 2 weeks riding the bus to and from our job.
So now here we are, and honeybunch has been 2 months out of work. We’ve had to get by on a lot less lately. My kids pay for their share of the cell phone use now. They work—they can pay it. I’ve started going to bread give-aways and getting loaves of bread. I’ve taken on a second job that I can work from home over the internet, and I anticipate that will help us out a lot. As for my husband, well, he’s gotten pretty disgusted with the job hunt situation. Out of the more than 140 jobs he has applied for and resumes he has sent out, he has had 3 interviews. Three. Count ‘em, one, two, three. That’s it. And none of them hired him because they were not willing to pay more than $10/hour.
And I should mention… my husband is a veteran with honorable discharges from not one but TWO branches of military service, both the United States Navy and United States Coast Guard, the two branches in which he served a total of 9-1/2 years of his life, and can't get a job.
In an effort to do something about our situation and not just whine about it, hubby has taken on the task of digging up the majority of our back yard in order that we may grow as much of our own fruits and vegetables as possible. The work and labor he puts into a high-quality food garden will be like money in our pockets. There will be food we can eat that we will not have to buy. We’re both going to learn about canning and preserving, as well. We have already planted a lime tree and are growing cooking herbs in pots and have already had a rather healthy initial harvest of sweet basil and green sage. The remainder of the garden will be planted with a host of late summer/fall vegetables and fruits, with sections and above-ground beds being set up to grow tender lettuces and greens for salads. We’re also choosing a spot in the back yard to put up a small grape arbor. We will not really get any grapes from it until next year, but what a treat it will be to have fresh, super-sweet grapes right at our fingertips in our own back yard.
I have also noticed that we’re not the only ones with this idea. A lot of people are growing a variety of fruits and vegetables in private and community gardens, on their patios and balconies, anywhere they can find space to grow. I’ve heard about people who get together to exchange the products of their gardens. You have nectarines but want some limes? Here, let’s trade. Fresh fruit for all, costs no money. If such groups really do not exist, maybe we should start one. It’s such a sound concept, bartering fresh home-grown produce.
One of the ways we are coming up with the supplies to build this wonder-garden of ours on such a small budget is advertising with various online free ad sites here locally that we will take your old fence boards and usable wood for our raised flower beds. People give stuff away all the time. We get it out of their way and save them a trip to the dump or from having to figure out “what to do with all that friggin’ wood”, and it’s all good. Everybody benefits.
So that's one of the ways we're making it through.
Now we're back to... why did I say this was all so great? Because if we had not been through all the difficulties, the LITERAL trials and tribulations of this last year or so, had all these "bad things" not befallen us, we would not have come to realize how very much we DO have. Life is looking a little brighter these days. I appreciate everything more. Colors are a little brighter, the grass is a little greener, food tastes a little better, even sugar is just a tad sweeter. Small things have come to mean SO much to us.
So if you ask me, if you ask us, when troubled times come and you're already struggling, keeping an eye on what's good, no matter how small, gets you through. At least for now.
And right now is all I have.
Monday, September 15, 2008
My Grandson's arrival
I know I'm a little late in posting this, and I'm not going to write much tonight because I have some things to do before I go to bed; but my beloved grandson was born September 9, 2008, at 1:13 a.m. Mother, baby, and daddy are all doing well. The baby's daddy is my son, Andrew. This wonderful little boy is going to change a lot of people's lives for the better, I can feel it!
He weighed in at 6 pounds, 4 ounces, and was 19 inches long. Pretty good size for being 5 weeks premature! His bilirubin was a little high, as is often the case with younglings, so he had to stay in the hospital under the bili lights for a few extra days; but it's looking like he'll be going home sometime this morning! Yay!
Now I have things to do before I go to bed, but I'll be writing/blogging more in a couple of days.
Peace and joy to you... because this is the world my grandson lives in now, and I want it peaceful and joyful for him and all the kids.
He weighed in at 6 pounds, 4 ounces, and was 19 inches long. Pretty good size for being 5 weeks premature! His bilirubin was a little high, as is often the case with younglings, so he had to stay in the hospital under the bili lights for a few extra days; but it's looking like he'll be going home sometime this morning! Yay!
Now I have things to do before I go to bed, but I'll be writing/blogging more in a couple of days.
Peace and joy to you... because this is the world my grandson lives in now, and I want it peaceful and joyful for him and all the kids.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Gustav vs. Katrina: Showdown In The Gulf
Greetings, gentle readers. As I write this, friends and family in Louisiana are preparing to evacuate. Some family members have already headed west to Austin in search of refuge from the oncoming storm. Three years ago when Hurricane Katrina made her mark on the coastlines of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, I was there. My husband and I were living in a suburb of Baton Rouge at the time, and I worked in medical records at a Baton Rouge hospital. Many of the patients in our hospital were evacuees from New Orleans after Katrina, and we were on mandatory overtime (because of the excessive patient load) when I left there 9 months after Katrina left her mark. After Katrina, I saw patients and families in disbelief, shock, and with deep sadness in their eyes as I came and left from work at the beginning and end of my shift. I saw and heard things I will never forget for the rest of my life.
A lot of people seem to have forgotten about Katrina’s ugly cousin, Rita. Rita visited us in Louisiana just 3-1/2 weeks after Katrina made her mark in the gulf coast. Where we were, we actually had it a little bit worse with Rita than we did with Katrina, though we had our share of hurricane-strength winds and rain during both of those storms. Being born and raised a California girl, I was ill-prepared for the emotional devastation that would come from living in “hurricane country”. Nine months after Katrina, 8 months after Rita, for a number of reasons, my husband and I packed up our household, our 2 cats and our dog, rented a U-Haul, and moved back to California. However, as many reasons as we had for coming back to California, they can all be linked back to some kind of domino-effect in our lives after our lives were ravaged with 2 hurricanes less than a month apart.
As I watch the news stories on the internet and on TV about hurricane Gustav, which has already done a great deal of damage in the Caribbean, I feel that anxiety that I felt when we were watching the internet and the weather report channel about news on Katrina as she was dancing her way across the Caribbean and up into the gulf toward Louisiana. I have not even lived in Louisiana for more than 2 years now, but I can still feel it. You live through a hurricane like that, and you never forget it for the rest of your life. And now we watch and wait for news on Gustav, praying for some miracle that he’ll lose strength somewhere in the gulf before he makes landfall.
I pray that Gustav loses strength, and I pray that if he does stay strong and make landfall that people are able to evacuate to higher/safer shelter. I pray that everyone in the affected area is safe, that all the animals and pets are safe, and that the children, elderly, and otherwise impaired who have difficulty helping themselves get the aid they need to stay safe and healthy and alive. I pray with my whole heart that it does not happen again. I will most likely spend the rest of my life right here in California, but a part of my heart will always live in the beautiful green, warm, humid land that is the great state of Louisiana. I’ll be praying for all the people there—those we know and those we do not know—that all who are affected by the coming storm not suffer devastating loss.
A lot of people seem to have forgotten about Katrina’s ugly cousin, Rita. Rita visited us in Louisiana just 3-1/2 weeks after Katrina made her mark in the gulf coast. Where we were, we actually had it a little bit worse with Rita than we did with Katrina, though we had our share of hurricane-strength winds and rain during both of those storms. Being born and raised a California girl, I was ill-prepared for the emotional devastation that would come from living in “hurricane country”. Nine months after Katrina, 8 months after Rita, for a number of reasons, my husband and I packed up our household, our 2 cats and our dog, rented a U-Haul, and moved back to California. However, as many reasons as we had for coming back to California, they can all be linked back to some kind of domino-effect in our lives after our lives were ravaged with 2 hurricanes less than a month apart.
As I watch the news stories on the internet and on TV about hurricane Gustav, which has already done a great deal of damage in the Caribbean, I feel that anxiety that I felt when we were watching the internet and the weather report channel about news on Katrina as she was dancing her way across the Caribbean and up into the gulf toward Louisiana. I have not even lived in Louisiana for more than 2 years now, but I can still feel it. You live through a hurricane like that, and you never forget it for the rest of your life. And now we watch and wait for news on Gustav, praying for some miracle that he’ll lose strength somewhere in the gulf before he makes landfall.
I pray that Gustav loses strength, and I pray that if he does stay strong and make landfall that people are able to evacuate to higher/safer shelter. I pray that everyone in the affected area is safe, that all the animals and pets are safe, and that the children, elderly, and otherwise impaired who have difficulty helping themselves get the aid they need to stay safe and healthy and alive. I pray with my whole heart that it does not happen again. I will most likely spend the rest of my life right here in California, but a part of my heart will always live in the beautiful green, warm, humid land that is the great state of Louisiana. I’ll be praying for all the people there—those we know and those we do not know—that all who are affected by the coming storm not suffer devastating loss.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Is There Life After Bariatric Surgery (Or.... What About The Food?)
For those of you just “meeting” me for the first time through this blog, I had roux-en-Y gastric bypass surgery 4-1/2 months ago. My journey toward bariatric surgery truly began the years and years ago that my weight got out of control, but here’s a little background on what led me to getting the surgery I had in April 2008.
Two years ago on my birthday, September 4, 2006, I woke up in the morning and, as I did on many mornings, stood on the scale. Seriously, what is that number? It’s gotta be wrong. This scale’s all messed up. Well, I have been eating a lot of salt. But geeze, 257? AGAIN? That’s like 10 days in a row now. Can’t blame THAT on salt, can ya, girlfriend? Thus began a couple of weeks of self-recrimination. Here it was my birthday, and I was going to have cake and ice cream and probably get taken out for dinner by my darling hubby, and how could I deprive myself on THIS special day? So I did not deprive myself. I ate what I wanted, and after nearly 2 weeks of being at 257, I awoke the day after my birthday, belly still bloated and hands still swollen from all the JUNK I’d eaten the night before, and broke the 257 mark… but in the wrong direction. I weighed 261!!!
However, a few hours later, after two or three rather unladylike trips to the restroom, I was back down to 257. Whew. Close one. Never was so glad to weigh 257 in my life. But I realized then I had literally hit ROCK BOTTOM. I was on the top side of 250… I was headed to 300 pounds. I am 5 feet 1 inch tall. That’s just a heart attack waiting to happen.
Long story short… did Weight Watchers At Home program, lost 16 pounds in 3 months (not bad, was 241 by Christmas), injured my right knee in January of 2007 and walking became very painful, saw my doctor, told me to lose weight, kept trying, hard to walk, got headache, new primary care doctor offered referral to bariatric surgery, said insurance covers it due to my inability to get around and painful joints and risk of diabetes (everyone in my family has type 2 diabetes or other blood sugar control problems, EXCEPT for me, and I was afraid of getting it), I took the opportunity, went to many classes and appointments for psychiatric clearance, medical clearance, lifestyle changes, lifestyle management, nutrition, took 8 months, got the surgery… and today, 4-1/2 months postoperative, my weight is 99 pounds less than it was. I weigh 158 pounds, my friends. My birthday is about to come ‘round again in early September. I can assure you, I will not be having cake. Maybe a bite or two of a no-sugar-added pie, though.
After one has gastric bypass, one’s tastes for certain foods change. While I have had a handful of former favorites fall from my grace, for the most part I still love all the same foods I loved before my surgery, if not more so! I have a deeper appreciation for the taste of my food much more now. I eat slower and take the time to savor each bite.
I do still love food. I have always, my whole life, had this fabulous love affair with good food. I love cooking, presenting, shopping for it, making a list (checking it twice), the whole experience. I *LOVE* going to different places, different restaurants and trying food from different cultures. Local festivals are the bomb for sampling international cuisine. There's the Greek Festival, then the Japanese/Buddhist festival, and the myriad other goings-on in this town. The food alone is reason enough to live here. I love the Asian markets, the farmers' markets, buy most of my produce out at Denio's, etc. The greater Sacramento area is a literal mecca of food pleasures, both sensible and decadent.
So while I'm working on the reasons I over eat, I have finally come to terms that instead of punishing myself for having this deep-seated love of all things food-ish, I'm embracing it and remembering it's a part of myself. I can love food and all the fluff-and-guff that comes with it, the cultures, the socialization, the delight of trying something completely new and finding out that I like it and oh, yes, it has 16 grams of protein AND is low in fat AND is good for me!
My reasons for over-eating and becoming obese have really nothing whatsoever to do with food. It has to do with a lack of self-esteem. By the way, having gastric bypass does not give you a free pass to weight loss—it is still a lot of hard work to eat right. Getting a new gastric “pouch” Is a gift, but it is a tool and only works right if you know how to use it.
Because of the surgery, I'm looking more at food as fuel in my day-to-day life, but I am not going to punish myself or deny to myself any more that I am a Foodie, through-and-through, and I can be a Foodie and not be stupid and put unhealthy fuel in my body!
Isn't that sad, that here I am a bariatric patient and still love food as sort-of a hobby?? But in a way, learning to eat healthier, read labels, keep track of my nutrients, etc., is helping me be a SMARTER Foodie.
So even though I can only eat a half cup to a cup of food at any given time, I make sure it's packed with nutrition, good taste, and a little kiss of cultural flare and Sacramento style.
Two years ago on my birthday, September 4, 2006, I woke up in the morning and, as I did on many mornings, stood on the scale. Seriously, what is that number? It’s gotta be wrong. This scale’s all messed up. Well, I have been eating a lot of salt. But geeze, 257? AGAIN? That’s like 10 days in a row now. Can’t blame THAT on salt, can ya, girlfriend? Thus began a couple of weeks of self-recrimination. Here it was my birthday, and I was going to have cake and ice cream and probably get taken out for dinner by my darling hubby, and how could I deprive myself on THIS special day? So I did not deprive myself. I ate what I wanted, and after nearly 2 weeks of being at 257, I awoke the day after my birthday, belly still bloated and hands still swollen from all the JUNK I’d eaten the night before, and broke the 257 mark… but in the wrong direction. I weighed 261!!!
However, a few hours later, after two or three rather unladylike trips to the restroom, I was back down to 257. Whew. Close one. Never was so glad to weigh 257 in my life. But I realized then I had literally hit ROCK BOTTOM. I was on the top side of 250… I was headed to 300 pounds. I am 5 feet 1 inch tall. That’s just a heart attack waiting to happen.
Long story short… did Weight Watchers At Home program, lost 16 pounds in 3 months (not bad, was 241 by Christmas), injured my right knee in January of 2007 and walking became very painful, saw my doctor, told me to lose weight, kept trying, hard to walk, got headache, new primary care doctor offered referral to bariatric surgery, said insurance covers it due to my inability to get around and painful joints and risk of diabetes (everyone in my family has type 2 diabetes or other blood sugar control problems, EXCEPT for me, and I was afraid of getting it), I took the opportunity, went to many classes and appointments for psychiatric clearance, medical clearance, lifestyle changes, lifestyle management, nutrition, took 8 months, got the surgery… and today, 4-1/2 months postoperative, my weight is 99 pounds less than it was. I weigh 158 pounds, my friends. My birthday is about to come ‘round again in early September. I can assure you, I will not be having cake. Maybe a bite or two of a no-sugar-added pie, though.
After one has gastric bypass, one’s tastes for certain foods change. While I have had a handful of former favorites fall from my grace, for the most part I still love all the same foods I loved before my surgery, if not more so! I have a deeper appreciation for the taste of my food much more now. I eat slower and take the time to savor each bite.
I do still love food. I have always, my whole life, had this fabulous love affair with good food. I love cooking, presenting, shopping for it, making a list (checking it twice), the whole experience. I *LOVE* going to different places, different restaurants and trying food from different cultures. Local festivals are the bomb for sampling international cuisine. There's the Greek Festival, then the Japanese/Buddhist festival, and the myriad other goings-on in this town. The food alone is reason enough to live here. I love the Asian markets, the farmers' markets, buy most of my produce out at Denio's, etc. The greater Sacramento area is a literal mecca of food pleasures, both sensible and decadent.
So while I'm working on the reasons I over eat, I have finally come to terms that instead of punishing myself for having this deep-seated love of all things food-ish, I'm embracing it and remembering it's a part of myself. I can love food and all the fluff-and-guff that comes with it, the cultures, the socialization, the delight of trying something completely new and finding out that I like it and oh, yes, it has 16 grams of protein AND is low in fat AND is good for me!
My reasons for over-eating and becoming obese have really nothing whatsoever to do with food. It has to do with a lack of self-esteem. By the way, having gastric bypass does not give you a free pass to weight loss—it is still a lot of hard work to eat right. Getting a new gastric “pouch” Is a gift, but it is a tool and only works right if you know how to use it.
Because of the surgery, I'm looking more at food as fuel in my day-to-day life, but I am not going to punish myself or deny to myself any more that I am a Foodie, through-and-through, and I can be a Foodie and not be stupid and put unhealthy fuel in my body!
Isn't that sad, that here I am a bariatric patient and still love food as sort-of a hobby?? But in a way, learning to eat healthier, read labels, keep track of my nutrients, etc., is helping me be a SMARTER Foodie.
So even though I can only eat a half cup to a cup of food at any given time, I make sure it's packed with nutrition, good taste, and a little kiss of cultural flare and Sacramento style.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Pants In The Family
In this world of reversed roles and gender lines being blurred and, in some instances, downright erased, I find that there is both good and bad to this trend. On the good side, equal pay for equal work is now a legal reality in our country. Oftentimes, the wife works, and the husband stays home and keeps the house clean and raises the children. People live their lives in whatever way(s) work best for them, their lives, their homes, their families. Another good by-product of this gender-blender, in my opinion, is the legalization of same-gender marriages in my state. I think if two people love each other and wish to build a life together, I do not believe (again, only my opinion) that any person, government agency, church, group, or entity other than God the Creator of All has the right to place judgment. Many people claim that allowing same-gender marriages somehow harms the institution of marriage. Excuse me, but straight people have been messing that one up since time began… you canNOT blame that on the GLBT community.
That being said, as a straight, middle-aged, fairly recently married woman (4 years now), I would like to also get a few things off my chest about this. This past year and a half or so, I’ve been exposed to a group of individuals who prefer to live their lives with traditional gender roles (men are masculine and honorable and respectable, and women are ladylike and compassionate and feminine), and it’s something not only that they make a conscious choice to do, but their lives seem very rich and fulfilled. I have always been very career-driven. I raised 2 sons by myself and was rarely able to be a “delicate flower”. I had to live my life tough, had to be mom, dad, soccer team parent (only one season, thank you God), sole wage-earner, cook, clean-up lady, chore-giver-outer, disciplinarian (at which I totally and completely failed), household accountant, chauffer (when/if I had a vehicle), had a brief BAD second marriage in the middle of it all that sorely affected my sons in ways that continue in their lives to this day as grown men, and I was pulled in so many directions that I fell far short of doing a very good job at any of the above.
So having to be hard/tough all the time like that left little room for me to be feminine. I had boyfriends here and there, mostly just guys I had quickies with because let’s face it, the kids and I weren’t exactly “real boyfriend” material. Or so I believed. Then in 2002, I met Lewis online in a Yahoo chat room where we were discussing various authors we liked. (Not that we’re highly literate people, mind you--we’re talking Star Trek novels here, people.) He lived clear across the country, so it was safe to be friends with him. But yeah, you know the story, you become online friends, then phone friends, and before you know it, he’s on a Greyhound bus on his way from Baton Rouge just to see you. Next thing you know, he gets off that bus and you look into his eyes and you know that after umpteen years of being terrified of serious commitment (wanting it, but still so afraid of it I convinced myself I did not want it), you look into his eyes and you KNOW he is IT. You’ve found your One, and you SOOO did not want to believe it. Here we are 6-1/2 years later, still together, still look at each other like that, and just celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary on August 21.
Life has not been all peaches and roses for Lewis and me, but we are actually still as close as ever. He’s as funny as ever, makes me laugh until my sides ache and tears roll down my face, and we still have the closeness and the chemistry we had that very first day. I thank God every day for him in my life.
Anyway, so this brings me back to the pants in the family. I always felt I had deferred to Lewis, but after spending a great deal of time in the company of these friends we’ve known for the past year and a half (the ones who prefer to conduct their relationships in old-fashioned gender-traditional roles), I realize that I have been a very domineering wife and have downright emasculated this amazingly handsome, hairy, manly man! I’ve been very, very bossy to him and to his children (3 of them, all of whom I adore), have handled all the finances (and very poorly at that), and just kind-of ran things “my way” around here. The motto became “If mama’s not happy, NOBODY’S happy.” I set my family up to feel like they are walking on eggshells around me, but most especially my husband. I’ve been the one in charge, and I was used to that because that’s the way I lived when I was by myself with my sons. One of the things I loved about Lewis when I met him was that he was VERY much a “guy”… you know, all hairy, knows a lot about building things, wants to make me a coffee table, loves power tools, even worked at Home Depot at the time. (I loved it that he came home every night and smelled like lumber.)
So I’ve decided to stop being such a shrew. My husband doesn’t even know I’ve come to this realization. I don’t think he has even realized it. It has just slowly happened over time. I’ve been the primary wage-earner for the last 3-1/2 or 4 years now, and you know what? Mama’s tired. I was the ONLY wage-earner for probably 14 of the first 18 years of my children’s lives. I have had a modest medical transcription career for nearly 25 years now, have had a few different jobs within that realm and have enjoyed a vast amount of experience in different aspects of my profession. But, things have changed, and I think it’s time to slow down the pace a bit. I’m looking into doing something else and going part-time within the organization I work for (there are many part-time positions available). I’m not sure yet what I even want to do. Admissions representative sounds interesting, as does sterilization processing technician (trainee position). Unit Assistant sounds interesting, too. So I see things come up, and I put in for them.
My husband’s 12-year-old daughter recently came to live with us for the school year. Last night was her “Back To School Night”, and I had to miss it because I work a swing shift. I am tired of missing out on everything because of my shift. So I decided, it’s time to make some changes, deep inner changes in me. Allow myself the grace to become the woman I know I am inside. Allow myself to become a trainee even at my tender young age (I’ll be 46 in a couple of weeks), and get a job that allows me to be home with my family in the evenings.
I want to wear skirts and feminine clothes. I want to speak softly but confidently and “be sweet.” I know it sounds corny, but I am at a place in my life where that’s a goal I wish to achieve. And you know what’s the best part? It doesn’t COST ME ANYTHING to clean up my language, stand up straighter, smile more, wear a little makeup every day (because God knows I have enough of it), and just be on the outside who I am on the inside. I want to cook dinner and do dishes and be organized and efficient. I know I will not be perfect, but I can make changes toward those goals that will serve only to enhance and enrich the life that I have and, most especially, my husband’s life. I am also going to relinquish the bills and checkbook to my husband and let him handle all the family/household budget matters from here on out.
I feel really good about making these changes. It is like, giving Lew back his reasons to act and feel like a dude. He is a hero in my eyes, and I will spend the rest of my life being the wife he deserves, the step-mother his children need, the mother my adult sons need, and the grandmother that THEIR children need me to be. And still be the me I need to be.
That being said, as a straight, middle-aged, fairly recently married woman (4 years now), I would like to also get a few things off my chest about this. This past year and a half or so, I’ve been exposed to a group of individuals who prefer to live their lives with traditional gender roles (men are masculine and honorable and respectable, and women are ladylike and compassionate and feminine), and it’s something not only that they make a conscious choice to do, but their lives seem very rich and fulfilled. I have always been very career-driven. I raised 2 sons by myself and was rarely able to be a “delicate flower”. I had to live my life tough, had to be mom, dad, soccer team parent (only one season, thank you God), sole wage-earner, cook, clean-up lady, chore-giver-outer, disciplinarian (at which I totally and completely failed), household accountant, chauffer (when/if I had a vehicle), had a brief BAD second marriage in the middle of it all that sorely affected my sons in ways that continue in their lives to this day as grown men, and I was pulled in so many directions that I fell far short of doing a very good job at any of the above.
So having to be hard/tough all the time like that left little room for me to be feminine. I had boyfriends here and there, mostly just guys I had quickies with because let’s face it, the kids and I weren’t exactly “real boyfriend” material. Or so I believed. Then in 2002, I met Lewis online in a Yahoo chat room where we were discussing various authors we liked. (Not that we’re highly literate people, mind you--we’re talking Star Trek novels here, people.) He lived clear across the country, so it was safe to be friends with him. But yeah, you know the story, you become online friends, then phone friends, and before you know it, he’s on a Greyhound bus on his way from Baton Rouge just to see you. Next thing you know, he gets off that bus and you look into his eyes and you know that after umpteen years of being terrified of serious commitment (wanting it, but still so afraid of it I convinced myself I did not want it), you look into his eyes and you KNOW he is IT. You’ve found your One, and you SOOO did not want to believe it. Here we are 6-1/2 years later, still together, still look at each other like that, and just celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary on August 21.
Life has not been all peaches and roses for Lewis and me, but we are actually still as close as ever. He’s as funny as ever, makes me laugh until my sides ache and tears roll down my face, and we still have the closeness and the chemistry we had that very first day. I thank God every day for him in my life.
Anyway, so this brings me back to the pants in the family. I always felt I had deferred to Lewis, but after spending a great deal of time in the company of these friends we’ve known for the past year and a half (the ones who prefer to conduct their relationships in old-fashioned gender-traditional roles), I realize that I have been a very domineering wife and have downright emasculated this amazingly handsome, hairy, manly man! I’ve been very, very bossy to him and to his children (3 of them, all of whom I adore), have handled all the finances (and very poorly at that), and just kind-of ran things “my way” around here. The motto became “If mama’s not happy, NOBODY’S happy.” I set my family up to feel like they are walking on eggshells around me, but most especially my husband. I’ve been the one in charge, and I was used to that because that’s the way I lived when I was by myself with my sons. One of the things I loved about Lewis when I met him was that he was VERY much a “guy”… you know, all hairy, knows a lot about building things, wants to make me a coffee table, loves power tools, even worked at Home Depot at the time. (I loved it that he came home every night and smelled like lumber.)
So I’ve decided to stop being such a shrew. My husband doesn’t even know I’ve come to this realization. I don’t think he has even realized it. It has just slowly happened over time. I’ve been the primary wage-earner for the last 3-1/2 or 4 years now, and you know what? Mama’s tired. I was the ONLY wage-earner for probably 14 of the first 18 years of my children’s lives. I have had a modest medical transcription career for nearly 25 years now, have had a few different jobs within that realm and have enjoyed a vast amount of experience in different aspects of my profession. But, things have changed, and I think it’s time to slow down the pace a bit. I’m looking into doing something else and going part-time within the organization I work for (there are many part-time positions available). I’m not sure yet what I even want to do. Admissions representative sounds interesting, as does sterilization processing technician (trainee position). Unit Assistant sounds interesting, too. So I see things come up, and I put in for them.
My husband’s 12-year-old daughter recently came to live with us for the school year. Last night was her “Back To School Night”, and I had to miss it because I work a swing shift. I am tired of missing out on everything because of my shift. So I decided, it’s time to make some changes, deep inner changes in me. Allow myself the grace to become the woman I know I am inside. Allow myself to become a trainee even at my tender young age (I’ll be 46 in a couple of weeks), and get a job that allows me to be home with my family in the evenings.
I want to wear skirts and feminine clothes. I want to speak softly but confidently and “be sweet.” I know it sounds corny, but I am at a place in my life where that’s a goal I wish to achieve. And you know what’s the best part? It doesn’t COST ME ANYTHING to clean up my language, stand up straighter, smile more, wear a little makeup every day (because God knows I have enough of it), and just be on the outside who I am on the inside. I want to cook dinner and do dishes and be organized and efficient. I know I will not be perfect, but I can make changes toward those goals that will serve only to enhance and enrich the life that I have and, most especially, my husband’s life. I am also going to relinquish the bills and checkbook to my husband and let him handle all the family/household budget matters from here on out.
I feel really good about making these changes. It is like, giving Lew back his reasons to act and feel like a dude. He is a hero in my eyes, and I will spend the rest of my life being the wife he deserves, the step-mother his children need, the mother my adult sons need, and the grandmother that THEIR children need me to be. And still be the me I need to be.
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Dregs of August
Greetings, Earthlings. Not that anybody reads this, ever. Not like anybody but me even knows this blog exists.
So anyhoo, yeah, here we are in the latter part of August 2008. I should be in bed; I have to get up in like 4-1/2 hours. Going to be a big day today. We're going to the state fair today, and we're taking Kimber for the first time. She's 12, just moved here from Louisiana. She's never been to a real fair before, much less anything like the California State Fair! I hope we have a blast, and I'll post blogs and pictures sometime in the next week or so.
Part of the reason we chose this weekend to attend the state fair is that we are also celebrating our 4th wedding anniversary! It seems like it has been longer than 4 years, but you know, in a good way. I married the man of my dreams, the best man I know, and the only one I'd deem marriage material. Thank you, Lewis, for being in my life, for being the wonderful husband you are, and for just loving me like you do and taking care of our family like you do. I love you. You're the One.
Anyway, back to talking about the fair ....
I'm looking forward to seeing how well I'm going to do with food at the fair. For those of you who may be reading this (LOL yeah right, like anyone will read it), I had gastric bypass surgery a few months back and have hit a huge plateau and have been gaining and losing the same 2 pounds over and over this past month! I'm sure I'll avoid the sugary stuff and the fried foods because I so totally do NOT want to develop dumping syndrome in the middle of the state fair! Talk about spoiling a good time!
This is a short blog tonight since I have to get some rest. Will post more in the next few days. Goodnight, one and all.
So anyhoo, yeah, here we are in the latter part of August 2008. I should be in bed; I have to get up in like 4-1/2 hours. Going to be a big day today. We're going to the state fair today, and we're taking Kimber for the first time. She's 12, just moved here from Louisiana. She's never been to a real fair before, much less anything like the California State Fair! I hope we have a blast, and I'll post blogs and pictures sometime in the next week or so.
Part of the reason we chose this weekend to attend the state fair is that we are also celebrating our 4th wedding anniversary! It seems like it has been longer than 4 years, but you know, in a good way. I married the man of my dreams, the best man I know, and the only one I'd deem marriage material. Thank you, Lewis, for being in my life, for being the wonderful husband you are, and for just loving me like you do and taking care of our family like you do. I love you. You're the One.
Anyway, back to talking about the fair ....
I'm looking forward to seeing how well I'm going to do with food at the fair. For those of you who may be reading this (LOL yeah right, like anyone will read it), I had gastric bypass surgery a few months back and have hit a huge plateau and have been gaining and losing the same 2 pounds over and over this past month! I'm sure I'll avoid the sugary stuff and the fried foods because I so totally do NOT want to develop dumping syndrome in the middle of the state fair! Talk about spoiling a good time!
This is a short blog tonight since I have to get some rest. Will post more in the next few days. Goodnight, one and all.
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