tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28976124708717934552024-03-04T20:53:15.586-08:00Fat-A-Thon Blubber BlogLosing weight to raise peditric cancer awareness. Stop, laugh, learn something along the way.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-12218824805008111622012-02-28T07:03:00.002-08:002012-02-28T07:20:30.967-08:00Feb 28, 2012Wow...yet another year has passed, and I'm still a honkin' ball o' fat. Ugh.<br /><br />This time, it's smacked me straight in the face in the form of pictures from an event I just spoke at. There is something truly awful about being proud of what you've said/done - then seeing yourself in photos and thinking, "Who the Hell is that fat woman using my hair?" <br /><br />Um, yeah...she's ME, and this is rather suckish. <br /><br />OK, so here's the thing. I'm not going to tell a nittin' soul about this. Well, that's a fib, my kids are going to have to know, so they can throw themselves between me and the peanutbutter in my weaker moments. Maybe me and the bread...spaghetti...baked potatoes.... Crap, the list is long. Anywhooo, the kids know, and I'm going to sneak here and post for my own sanity - but I'm not full out advertising this for a while. I've failed so MANY times. I'm not terribly sure my feeble self esteem can handle another public capital F. <br /><br />Why am I bat crazy enough to attempt it AGAIN? Because cancer kids don't give up. Corny, I know. But Christina is on her 4th or 5th relapse, and she's still fighting like Hades to stay alive. If she hasn't thrown in the towel, then neither can I. Am I likening my pudge to her cancer? Good grief, no. But I have relapsed, in judgement - in resolve - in determination. My will power has flown the coop too many times to count. And well, the Buckeyethon kids shamed me immensely this past weekend. I'm not a fan of that, so it's high time I "Buck up" and do something about it. <br /><br />The kids were kind, wonderful, supportive, and loving - in SPITE of my physical appearance. They accept me for who I am, and I am incredibly humbled by that. But, they also shame me with their determination for 'my' kids. They raise money, dedicate their time, and go through physical torture for cancer kids. Damn it all, it's high time I step up and really put my arse where my mouth is! <br /><br />Heaven help me - it's Day One of my 90 challenge. May God and the food nymphs have mercy on my pathetic soul...<br /><br />Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom who cares - but sucks and following through. <br /><br />PS - yeah - the language in this particular post was less-than-academic or politically correct. Bite me.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-38922823316958546702011-01-30T07:34:00.000-08:002011-01-30T08:23:34.937-08:00Day 6 "Carry Me"OK, so the actual blessing for Day 6 doesn't really say "Carry Me". And come to think of it...at my current weight, that would be quite a feat! No, the actual Blessing is ever so much more general in nature...but reality says I'm going to have to lean on you wayyyyy more than I should if I have any hope of conquering this 'health crap'. <br /><br />Here's the real blessing: Day 6: <strong>Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." - Galatians 6:2</strong><br /><br />I won't delve deep into my belief that the thought of helping your fellow man isn't solely a Christian requirement. I did my 'philosophering' bit over on Avalon's site. Here, I'm going to stick to figuring out how to beg you for some camel time...<br /><br />Yep. I'm a weak-minded simpleton. I have the stick-to-it-iveness of twice used tape and the will power of a fly in a dung heap. I'm plain flat pathetic! <br /><br />What in the Hades is your secret? No...really...<em>what is your SECRET? </em>How do you go about your daily lives not eating or doing the things you shouldn't? And before anyone tells me to go 'exercise' when I feel like eating something, I need to point out that my guts have been scrambled THREE times in the past few weeks. Attempting to sew (which I failed miserably at, in case you care) started cramps-a-plenty. I've managed to work up to going up the stairs twice in a day - but I've ended every day this week in pain. Horrible cramping in places I'd rather not cramp, thank you very kindly. (hoo-ha cramps suck eggs - just so you know) So...exercising away my temptations is NOT an option at the moment. Would love to, <em>can't</em>. Not for a while at least. <br /><br />So...what are your brilliant suggestions for NOT eating the things that are my vices? Oh sure, I've tried the count to ten thing. <em>Close your eyes, take deep breaths...slowly count to ten... </em><br /><br />What happens? This: <em>One...little mini-wheat won't kill me. Two...really, they're small - why not have two? Three...oh heck, I've already ruined my metabolism for the day, why not have 3? Or a bowl? Four...now I'm stressed, I've fallen off the wagon. Five...stress getting worse, cravings intensifying... Six...damn. I'm going to eat an entire bowl of mini-wheats, I know it. Seven...yummm....they're going to taste sooo good and crunchy. Eight...well, hell. If I've already blown it, I might as well have some peanutbutter on celery. Nine...this breathing thing makes me lightheaded. and...Ten...mini-wheats here I come!!</em><br /><em></em><br />Yep, that's about how it goes. Breathing: 0 Failure: 1 I need a better option. <br /><br />Also, can we please figure out how to band together to somehow magically remove all other stressors from my life? Oh my, wouldn't that be grand. You see, I <strong>admit</strong> I'm a stress eater. Preferably chocolate or salty if I really feel bad about something. Case in point - the Quilt from Hades. Sit back and let me fill you in...<br /><br />A dear friend, Suzanne, asked me to help finish a quilt she had made to be auctioned off to benefit our local charity, Kids N Kamp. I would do ANYTHING for Suzanne. She has been the absolute most amazing friend to me the past several months. When I suddenly began bleeding while at our Mom's Quilt Weekend, it's <em>her</em> hotel door I knocked on in utter panic. She's the one who got me to the car and who explained to my wonderful friends what had happened. She's also the first to have danced when we found out the baby was fine. <br /><br />Move forward, Suzanne is the first person I texted when we found out we lost our son. Somehow, in my mind, she kind of 'owned' a part of him. I know, crazy...but it's how I felt. Suzanne is also the person who took me to the OB a few weeks ago, and then helped me get admitted to the hospital. She welcomed Avalon to help in her Shoot-A-Thon basketball fundraiser for Kids N Kamp, and has spoiled my littles at every chance she can get. Brass tacks, I adore this lady. Finish a quilt for her? No problem! I'm in!!<br /><br />Um...<em>huge </em>problem. The damn quilt is possessed. I'm convinced of it. I couldn't work on the quilt the first few days I had it. I'd had to clear off my sewing table, get supplies together, and that sent me into cramping. Crap. Then, I started putting on the binding she brought me, and...well, I didn't like the look of it. I grilled my teen daughter (the quilt was being sold to teens) and her boyfriend, and they agreed, it looked odd. So....I asked Suzanne if I could do something different. She had no problem with it, as she herself was 'done' with the quilt, frustrated beyond belief. Next, I had to cut the fabric and try my new method of binding...which...FAILED miserably. Crap squared. Then came hours upon hours of tearing off yet another binding. Fun<em>...not</em>. And finally, I threw in the artistic towel and attempted to sew on the original binding, only to find a) I didn't have enough of it for the entire quilt, b) I couldn't make the corners look good, and c) I utterly bombed the entire thing. Crappity crap CRAP. <br /><br />I had to call my friend, the woman who had bent over backwards for me to be helpful, and tell her I let her down. ACK! Suzanne never batted an eye, she was perfectly fine with it. (making the guilt ten times worse...) But <em>I</em> wasn't fine with it, not at all. Not only was it the worst sewing failure I'd had in a couple of decades...but it happened when I was trying to help someone who trusted me. Big whoppin' boatload of a failure. Can you say 'chocolate' anyone? <br /><br />Oh yeah, I got up from my accursed sewing table, marched straight to the kitchen, dug out left-over-from-Christmas chocolate chips...and melted those puppies down. I then proceeded to chocolate cover a banana. Yummmm.... The whole time I'm searching/melting/coating/refridgerating, I was thinking, <em>I know I'm eating this because I'm stressed. I KNOW I don't need this. Why do I want it SOOO BAD?! Awww heck, I'm a failure, I let Suzanne down, I might as well eat...</em><br /><em></em><br />Don't even say it, I fully realize those were the ramblings of a fruit loop left too long in the sun. Just because I'd blown it with the quilt, does NOT mean I <em>needed</em> chocolate. The problem is, I need to find a good disconnect to convince my brain of that, when the sugar/wheat/salt/peanut voices start talking to me. They're kinda loud... Pretty pushy too... I'm...w..e..a...k......<br /><br />As for the quilt, I called Suzanne and apologized deeply. I will likely do so 100 or more times. I also plan on having a mutual quilt-master friend of ours show me what I did wrong, and teach me the proper way. I will then make a quilt to be sold with hers at next year's auction. I do NOT like being beaten, and this particular hunk o' fabric has pummeled me mightily. <br /><br />In the meantime, I need my camel-people (my burden-carriers, if you didn't get that) to help me with my load. Do you have any great, brilliant, insightful, fit-for-a-nutjob suggestions of what to do when those mini-wheats call my name? <br /><br /><em>Ahh-leeee-sshaaa....you KNOW you want us. We're crunchy goodness... Ahhh-leeee-sshaaaaa....just one little bowl won't kill you. We're good for your colon...everyone knows it. Ahh-leee-sshaa...come get us.....</em><br /><em></em><br />Yep, I need help. <br /><br />Psychiatrists need not apply.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-28570067260156810072011-01-28T05:42:00.000-08:002011-01-28T06:27:37.534-08:00Day 5 - "God and Laughter"Day 5 - "<strong>Of all the things God created, I am often most grateful He created laughter." - Charles Swindoll</strong><br /><br />Good grief. I spent all day yesterday, and a ridiculously large amount of my should-have-been-sleeping time thinking about how I would ponder these words yet again. This 'duel personality' double blogging thing is hard! While it's frighteningly true that I seem to have a bit of a split personality, even <em>I </em>manage to feel like I've <em>said it all </em>sometimes. Such was the case yesterday. Until...<br /><br />Oh yes, there is nearly always an <em>until</em> in my world...<br /><br />I wasted the day trying to think of new ways to say how we use laughter to get through tough events. I turned my brain inside out, shook it up, and even tried a power wash or two...but I couldn't get anywhere. Then, as I laid there trying to sleep, feeling ever-so-awful about how much I'd eaten yesterday...it finally dawned on me. OK, maybe it more like smacked me upside the ripples of my fat rolls... But, 'dawned on me' sounds so much better, I think I'll go with it. <br /><br />What I realized was that there is one more huge, glaring reason I appreciate that God made humor, my butt. Or rather, the width of my seemingly ever growing back of my front. Then again, my front is far too sizable as well, so count that as yet another reason. What the blazes am I rambling about? In short, I appreciate God making humor because I'm going to need a whoppin' boatload of it as I try to tackle my seven deadly sins again: food, food, food, food...aww, you get the idea. <br /><br />Yes, I figure I might as well go for changing my body as I try to change my outlook. Way, WAY easier said than done. You don't get to be my size by occasionally over-indulging. No, there is a fair amount of STRESS eating in my world. And worst of all, there is MORE than a fair amount of food sensitivities going on here. It's not fair. In fact, it stinks worse than month-old Limberger cheese left in a heating duct. <br /><br />I really wish I could tell you I've porked up because I've enjoyed 6000 calorie days of Big Macs, bon bons, and baked Alaskas. Seriously, I <em>wish </em>I could say that, it would have been a lot more fun getting here. No, my vices are far less interesting, and dang it - I've never had that much fun. Contrary to what the skinny, judgemental people of the world think, not every overweight person consumes truckloads of low-brow fare. Sometimes, it's more about the <em>what </em>eat, and the <em>how much </em>our bodies hate it, that matters. <br /><br />As for me? My contentious old bod hates wheat, yeast, potatoes, peanuts, cashews, sunflowers, and sugar. It's not fond of rice, corn, bananas, and dairy. Personally, I dislike most meat (I'm a very bad carnivore). Which frankly....leaves extraordinarily little on my 'good' list. In the few times I've been able to entirely remove the 'badduns' from my plate, I really do feel better. But good golly miss Molly...that's a whopper (yes, every pun intended) of an order!<br /><br />To say I've been stressed the past few weeks would be as collosal an understatement as, <em>Mt Rushmore was slightly challenging to complete. </em>I think I've reached Mt Fuji sized heapin' quantities of stress. Therefore, it shouldn't be a giant leap of logic that I <em>know </em>I've been 'stress eating'. Does that mean I've been wolfing down gallons of ice cream, piles of doughnuts, and bucketfuls of chocolate? No. <br /><br />My personal demons? Frosted Mini-Wheats. No, really, I'm serious! The little crunchy buggers are like crack to me. Little bit of sweet, LOTS of crunch....ooooh...heavenly. I've also, horror of horrors, been eating peanuts and the occasional spoon of peanutbutter. Gads! I've even gotten so decadent as to have a slice of toast twice. Both with peanutbutter ON them! Oh the inhumanity of it all... <br /><br />I've indulged in dried apricots, dried cranberries, and raisins. I've eaten potatoes, baked and in the perfectly perfect form of those around a meatloaf. I've even dipped into that terrible pot of homemade stew, ripe with potatoes and corn. Shame, shame on me. <br /><br />Doesn't that list of evils look terrifying to you? Aren't I a shameful pig? I don't think so either. Only a large part of population automatically assumes I am when they see me. I <em>must</em> be indulging in creamhorns and canolis - after all, whole grains and fruits and vegetables couldn't possibly make someone as fat as me... Consider that laughing point number one - the jokes on them. Their stupid whole grains are possibly the worst for me! <br /><br />Laughing point number two? The fact that so many healthy things hate me. C'mon, it's funny. I'm one of the few humans on earth who LOVE Grapenuts, Shredded Wheat, and All-bran cereal. Admit it, the rest of you eat it to keep your crapper happy. <em>I </em>actually like it. And yet? I sends my body into a tailspin. No fair I say. NO FAIR! <br /><br />So, here it is. I'm going to embrace the idea that God gave us humor, by begging Him to provide me with an abundance of it as I try my best to detox and reset my tastebuds again. It usually takes a few months to convince myself I no longer <em>want </em>the terrible things. I will likely have dancing bagel dreams and shredded wheat surfing fantasies. But I might as well tackle it all now - while I'm working hard to get my head and heart retrained in other ways. Misery loves company, so to speak. <br /><br />It's going to be a rough start though. I've already started today on the wrong foot. I ate two dried apricots. Bad, bad dieter...<br /><br />God help me.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-86305911502375748002011-01-27T06:41:00.000-08:002011-01-27T08:25:38.089-08:00Day 4 "Laughter and friends"Day 4: <strong>"Laughter's the shortest distance between two people." - Victor Borge</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />As I said on Avalon's site, I truly believe in this. Normally, I enjoy making people laugh. But as a dear friend holds her son for his last hours...there isn't much joy in my heart. Before I go about the business of this entry, I want to share Jen's most recent Caringbridge update with you.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/matthewbarr">www.caringbridge.org/visit/matthewbarr</a> <br /><br /> "<em>Matthew is still here with us. He has always done the opposite of what the doctors and nurses think! I have been holding him in my lap almost every minute. I get this strange ache in my arms if I put him down. I know I'm going to have that ache for the rest of my life so I'm holding him as much as I can now.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Our pastor came over yesterday and prayed with us for Matthew to go to Heaven. As much as we don't want to lose him, we also know that the Matthew we know and love isn't really there anymore. We are praying for a peaceful transition for him, from our arms into Jesus' arms. Thank you for all of your prayers. "</em><br /><em></em><br />Am I going to try to find something funny to say after that? NO. But I <strong>do</strong> have a point to make....<br /><br />Matthew is <em>exactly </em>the reason I want to pursue becoming a humor writer. Does that seem counter-intuitive? Well, it's not. <br /><br />Actually, I knew I wanted to be humor writer years upon years ago. When my oldest, Aurora, was an infant, I would write columns to amuse myself. I've probably written thousands of columns through the years, most of which were never written down. I write columns as I drive. I write them standing in line in the grocery. I write them as I fall asleep at night and mull over the events of the day. 99.9% of the time they're darned funny, and frankly, about exactly nothing. I'll see something that tickles my funny bone, and my head goes straight to what I would say about it, how I would structure a column about it. When I was a first time new mom, the columns centered around diapers, spit up, and the sudden realization that life revolves around bodily functions. Gee, I wonder why?<br /><br />Long ago, in the days <em>before </em>(before I ever even knew there would be an Avalon, much less the world she would introduce me to), I wanted to write to show people that they take themselves too damn seriously. I wanted to be the next Erma Bombeck to shout to the world, "<em>Take a chill pill, folks! Life is FUN, stop stressing over stupid stuff!" </em><br /><br />I still want to do that. Only now, I feel a quiet desperation to do so. Now, in the <em>after, </em>I want to stand on rooftops and scream to the world, "<em>YOU DON'T KNOW HOW GOOD YOU HAVE IT!! STOP GRIPING AND ENJOY LIFE!" </em>I want to spend every day reminding people that life is hysterical, if they'd stop kvetching long enough to look around them. <br /><br />But that's not all of the story anymore. I now have an insidious, sneaky secondary reason that I want to be heard. I want to make people learn to like me...so they'll <em>listen </em>to what I need them to hear. It's true, laughter does bind people together. If I can figure out how to make thousands of people laugh on a regular basis, then every now and then, when I need to get serious...they just might pay attention. Crazy, isn't it? <br /><br />I'm not looking for fame and fortune. I'm looking for <em>fame </em>alone. I don't give two poots for fancy cars, big houses, or any of the other trappings of fortune. I want fame - because with fame comes credibility. Is that fair? No, but it's the reality of our society. There's a reason charities clambor for celebrity endorsements. People listen to celebrities. They identify with them, imagine themselves as 'friends' of the celebrities, and they LISTEN to what they have to say. <br /><br />Let's face it, I'm never going to be body beautiful, and I'm at least a few decades late to begin my Oscar-winning acting career. My singing voice approximates more of an off-tune macaw than a lilting nightingale, and my fashion designing prowesse is limited to designing Halloween costumes for the 8 and under set. I'm nearly positive none of the above will win me accolades or national attention. But I can write. I can take a normal day, find the funny in it, and share it with people. I can also take a day and show you the poignant side of life, and why you need to learn to see it. It's taken me years to have the courage to say it, but I...can...write. Now I need to figure out how to do it for the masses...<br /><br />So why do I seek fame so desperately? Because I want to grab that elusive golden ring of credibility. I want people to seek out my words, so that when I need to, I can say something important. I want to bond with millions by making them laugh, so that I can grab their hearts and make them hear the heartbreak of one more mother...as she holds her child for the last time.<br /><br />I want to celebrate the laughter and joy cancer kids bring to their loved ones, and the anguish of the silence when they leave. Laughter can bring us together, so that we stand as one in its absence. <br /><br />I want to make people laugh...because I can't stand the thought of one more child dying in silence. I want someone to listen...Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-3067015667397320462011-01-25T18:59:00.000-08:002011-01-25T19:40:23.586-08:00Day 3 - UniqueHah! I'm back on track. It's the eve of Day 3...and I'm here to pester you. Mwuaa haa haa... Oh yeah, I'm on it. <br /><br />Here's the Blessing: Day 3: <strong> "Thank God for the way He made you. You are special, distinct, and unique. You were not made from a common mold.”</strong> - Erwin Lutzer<br /><br />I've already delved deeply into my support of this notion on Avalon's site. I don't feel a great need to repeat myself, so I want to approach this from a different angle as we chat this evening. Rather than constantly having to remind people they were born unique...I want to ask,<br /><br />"Why in the Hades does the world keep trying to make us all ALIKE?!"<br /><br />I mean, seriously, think about it. We all go about our daily lives wishing we were <em>just like HER. </em>(or him, or her again I suppose ~ if that's your flavor...) Every damn thing we watch on television, see in a magazine, hear on the radio...tells us there is something dreadfully wrong with us if we don't <em>eat like her, dress like her, drive a car like his, think like him.</em> Every ad, every talk show, every self-help book says the same thing. 'Do this, think this, act like this...or you're doing it <em>WRONG." </em><br /><em></em><br />Phhhthhhtttt... to all of <em>them </em>that insist so 'insistingly' that I'm wrong. (In case you don't read phhhthttt, that's a gigundus raspberry, and it's aimed directly at all those do-gooders.)<br /><br />No really, I couldn't be more serious. Who in the Hades do these people think they are? Oh sure, they have fancy degrees and umpteen zillion years in school, purgatory, or whatever torture chamber they willingly tossed themselves in. BUT...they all seem to be missing a gigantic slice of the pie of intellect. People are <em>DIFFERENT. </em><br /><br />I don't two figs and hooter what they think. There is a reason we learn about the 'bell curve' in even the simplest of statistics classes. Any group, of any thing, for any purpose, will NOT produce perfect numbers. When you gather data about a group, that data will cluster. But thing about the cluster is that it's NEVER a perfect stack above one value. Noooo-ooooo my friends. A "bell curve" means that data will stack up around one value...but that it will also <strong>exist </strong>and taper off both below and above the most popular value. It's not possible to stack all data at one point...so <strong>WHY </strong>do we keep telling people they have to squeeze themselves there? <br /><br />Should people value their families and spend their every waking hour shaping the lives of their children? Nope. Heck, a good number of humans I've met would be much better off if they'd forgo the entire notion of reproducing. But noooo, society says they must, so off they go. Why force that? Not everyone <em>should </em>be a parent. Why aren't we as supportive of non-parenting? Why force people into roles they don't want, and won't be good at? <br /><br />Should people get an education? Duh. I'm not advocating dropping out and taking up beer swilling as an occupation. What I'm saying is that college isn't for everyone. Each person needs to choose their path - and not feel one bit inferior if they take the road less traveled. <br /><br />Should people try to be as healthy as possible? Super Duh. But damn-it-all, each of us inhabit a different vessel. Some of our vessels fight us at every turn. <em>'Eat less, move more'. </em>I LOATHE that simplistic statement. I've eaten as few as 600 calories a day (on the advice of a DOCTOR), and exercised vigorously every one of those days...and <strong><em>gained weight. </em></strong> To whit, the specialist who ordered the diet (along with my family doctor at the time) accused me of lying. Did either Dr. try to help? Did they listen to my pleading, my despondancy? Nope. They crammed me right smack in the middle of that stupid bell curve. When the reality is, I'm a floatin' somewhere waaaaay out on the rim. I needed rim answers, not hump-a-dump easy ones. <br /><br />I could go on ad nauseum...but I won't. I think you get the point. I believe God DID make each of us unique. My problem is that it's become socially unacceptable to <em>be </em>distinctive. <br /><br />I'm a 43 year old stay at home mom. I have waistlength hair and a love of funky jewelry. I adore beautiful shoes, but hate pain. I'm quite comfortable in my combat boots, so I wear them. My favorite skirt came from a Rennaissance festival. It's nearly floorlength, and is made of hundreds of small patches of brightly colored fabric. I wear rings on almost all of my fingers because they were given to me by people I love and they make me happy. I'm way overweight, and struggle mightily with food on a daily basis. (I'm allergic to everything - food hates me) I'm also intelligent, witty, loving, and passionate. The problem is, the last statement is often lost in the facts that came before it. Society says I can't possibly be smart or personable....I dress weird and I'm fat. I <em>must </em>be simple. <br /><br />I'm sick to death of it! Who cares if I'm over 40 and have long hair? I swear I don't spontaneously gobble up small children and store them in there. And what's an extra few rings to people? Last time I checked, I've never used them as a set a brass knuckles, so what's the big deal? Why on earth does staying home to enjoy and educate my children automatically classify me as a subhuman blob? Heads up, I'm mensa qualified. Super ultra phhhthhhtttt to those who question my 'smarticle particles'. (Suite Life on Deck joke - tossed in for my kids) I might walk slightly off the beaten path...but why in the name of Budda's butt should that matter to anyone?<br /><br />Well, it <em>shouldn't. </em>Erwin Lutzer was dead on. We ARE all unique, distinctive, interesting creatures. It's high time we appreciated that in each other. Society needs to stop cramming we octagonal pegs into the square holes. We 'ain't gonna fit'. No how, no way. And there's not one thing wrong with that.<br /><br />Pffffttttttt.... Nope, that wasn't another raspberry. That, my friends, was a virtual fart. I pass gas in the general direction of anyone who attempts to mold me into the mass image. <br /><br />Pfffttttttttt.......................Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-48882184279790084322011-01-25T06:37:00.000-08:002011-01-25T07:52:04.064-08:00Day 2Day two of my quest, and I already had to break my 'Avalon morning/Blubber Blog' evening thing. Darn teenager, darn old router. Aurora had a HUGE journalism project to finish, and she bogarted the internet signal until long after this old broad had to go to sleep. Remember that road of 'good intentions'? Yeah...it's another layer thick. Poop.<br /><br />Here is the blessing for Day 2: <strong>"A man leaves all kinds of footprints when he walks through life. Some you can see... Others are invisible, like the prints he leaves across other people's lives. " - Margaret Lee Runbeck </strong><br /><br />I started this morning by re-reading my entry on Avalon's site about the blessing. Wow...what a pompous twit I can be! OK, the whole bead chain thing is 100% true. Our family has invested a ridiculous amount of money in the beads, hoping that they will someday be a legacy for Avalon. I really do have a long mental list of 'heart' people and 'square' people. All of that is honestly what I try to share with people when I speak publicly. <br /><br />But, cripes all mighty, I really didn't mean to come off as a pious preach-a-lot when I talked about myself. I honestly DO try very hard to be friendly with everyone I meet. That's the truth. But it's also very, <strong><em>very </em></strong>true that I'm an opinionated, control-freaky Wench-o-matic sometimes. I am NOT, by any stretch of the imagination, a highly evolved uber-calm ocean of tranquility. No, no-no, nooooooo----oh. Huh uh, nope, no-friggin' way. <br /><br />I really don't want anyone to get the wrong impression here. I honestly, whole-heartedly DO believe in being kind to people. I really do committ acts of kindness and do things like stop store managers to tell them their cashier or stock clerk went out of their way to be helpful. BUT...there is a flip side to that. I'm also the one who will pitch a whoppin' fit if someone is a turd to me. I see it like this, if I do my best to be courteous, and go the extra mile to report kindness, then dag-nabbit I've earned the right to gripe when someone oozes fecal matter my direction. So there. <br /><br />I do my best not to yell or swear. I do...my...best. That, however, is not always good enough. As my kids would happily rat me out on, I DO often lose my cool and yell. I <em>try </em>not to...but my word, I think Gandhi himself would yell at my kids sometimes. You know those sappy my-house-is-a-place-of-peace people? Liars, one and all. Every parent on the planet loses it sometimes, it's a fact. I know, it's a sad fact. After all, our kids' hearts are the place we tread the heaviest...<br /><br />I guess what I'm trying ever-so-awkwardly to say is...a) I'm not perfect - don't ever think for 1/2 a second that I am, b) we ALL make mistakes, and c) we should probably think long and hard about how to deal with our lapses in judgement. After all, we <em>do </em>leave footprints on the hearts of our fellow man.<br /><br />Doubt the impact you have on other people? Google 'rude people' and see how many zillion sites come up! Stand in the 10 and under line at the grocery, behind someone with 28 things...and see how you feel. Wait patiently for a parking spot, and watch some guy swoop in before you can make the turn. Have a cashier ring up your order without ever speaking to you - and scowl at you when you hand her coupons. C'mon...you've all experienced these moments and a million other ones. How did it make you feel? How did it affect your day?<br /><br />That's right, one rude twit can ruin your whole day. How many of you have logged onto Facebook to see a friend's status update about some hateful booger who recently wronged them? How many times have you had your feelings hurt and spent the next several days replaying, re-replaying, and re-re-re-playing every detail of the events in your head? We're all human, and somehow we manage to glob onto the negative stuff with much more fervor than we do positive things. I don't know why, maybe it's some collective genetic flaw. No matter the 'why', the fact is we're all 'globbers'. It logically follows that when we send negative out into the world, there will definitely be some poor schmo just waiting to grab onto it and have a bad day.<br /><br />So, why not try to send less ugly into the world to give people less to velcro onto? Why not make a concerted effort each day to toss a positive pebble into the Big Pond - sending ripples of good into the world? Why not? Because it's hard! <em>That's</em> why not. It <em>is </em>difficult some days, but it's oh-so-worth it. <br /><br />Believe me, there are days I hate the world. Do you think there was anything positive in my Universe a few weeks ago as I writhed in pain in an ambulance? No. My world was crashing, my heart breaking... But, the medic didn't cause my pain, he was there to try to help me. The nurses in the OR didn't kill my child, they were trying to help me live to care for my other children. <br /><br />I had every right to be nasty and beligerant. But what would that have done? It would have expanded my circle of awful to include people that didn't deserve to be there. That's not fair. Besides, by trying <em>my</em> best to be civil, most of the people that helped me that night did their best to ease my pain as much as they could. Were they all kind? Um...<strong>no. </strong>But the ones that were, did such a great job...they made up for the ones that weren't. The footprints of kindness overroad those of indifference. Kindness CAN make a difference. <br /><br />Again, I want to make sure I'm clear. I can be as much of a flaming female dog as anyone else. (ask my husband, he's got the bite marks to prove it) But I'm <em>trying.</em> I'm a work in progress, and that's all I'm asking of you. <br /><br />As you head out your door to work, school, an appointment, shopping...stop and <em>think. 'What kind of day can I have?' </em>You can rush off irritated at the amount of work/responsibilities you have, or you can be <em>grateful </em>so many people need so much of you. You can ignore the fact that your cashier is human, and blather on the phone while she checks you out...or you can get OFF the phone, and smile and chat warmly with her. Odds are, you'll improve her day immensely with the second option. And who knows? The pebble you toss by being friendly, may bring a huge wave of kindness to someone you love as it spreads out.<br /><br />We do all leave footprints on each other's hearts. How about we try to make them as peaceful and loving as we can? <br /><br />And finally, I have to share something my wise friend, Angie wrote on Facebook. She wanted to add a bit to today's blessing. Angie's addition is in itallics: A man leaves all kinds of footprints when he walks through life. Some you can seelll Others are invisible, like the prints he leaves across other people's lives. <em>And sometimes, even though the prints are only there for a little while and only go so far, the tread sinks far into the heart and changes the path of every footstep thereafter. </em><br /><br />Angie's words immediately brought to mind all the cancer kids she and I have loved and lost. Every footstep on their hearts was magnified exponentially by the brevity of their lives. Every footstep on their parents' fragile hearts, will forever be tinged by the pain they've endured. And most significant, every footstep those children placed...will forever change those of us who loved them. <br /><br />Be mindful as you step today...you cannot imagine the importantance of your actions. <br /><br />Peace out!Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-8563734265040851982011-01-23T18:49:00.000-08:002011-01-23T19:29:57.642-08:00Day 1Holy friggin' cow...how many times have I written "Day 1" on this stupid blog? Well - pffthhttt to you blubber butt - I'm writing it <em>again. </em>Only this time, it actually doesn't have a whoppin' boatload to do with losing weight. I'm on a quest - and the over-sized back of my front is just going to have to come along with me. <br /><br />Quick update - because if you really care, you can always pop over to Avalon's website to read the details. I last left you in Sept of 2010. Desperate to once again start an awareness campaign to drag people kicking and screaming into the world of knowing about cancer kids...I restarted my infamous 'Crazy Cancer Mom Fat-a-Thon'. As with many aspects of my life, I fully embrace the saying, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions." Actually, I think I've repaved the damn street so many times, it nearly leads to Heaven now. At least...that's what I tell myself. <br /><br />Anywhooo...back in September I began starving again. Of course it didn't go well, it never does. My body hates me, I hate it, it's all rather circular in nature. It's no wonder I've become progressively simpler in my old age. I spend so much time running in circles, I'm beginning to approximate the intelligence of dog. And not a real dog either, I'm getting close to one of those celebrity drop-kick-me-things that can't even walk it's so inbred.. <br /><br />Ack, off topic again. Big shock. <br /><br />Soooo, back in September me, my good intentions and I began yet another diet. We UNbegan that diet nearly immediately after we started it. Why? Because against all reason and logic, I found myself pregnant! We were as shocked as we were THRILLED. The entire event became a huge state secret between myself and Nick - for reasons too many to enumerate here. We had a wonderful few weeks of being blissful, then our first setback happened, an implantation bleed. The bleed forced us to break the news to the kids before we'd planned. We <em>had </em>to tell them, we thought they might want to know why Mommy wasn't supposed to move off the couch for 3 weeks... The bleed healed, and all progressed normally, with the grand exception of me fighting off a few rounds of bronchitis and sinus infections. Bleck.<br /><br />The holidays came and went, and we outed our big news to the world. We all basked in the sunshine of a new life, and made as many plans for our newly expanded family as we had arguments over who would get the most hug time. No baby was ever wanted more. <br /><br />Sadly though, wanting is not the same as getting. On Dec 30, during a pre-amniocentesis ultrasound, we learned our miracle was over. We'd lost our son. Right then and there I heard my heart shatter...but that was only the beginning. Dec 31st I had a D & E surgery to clear the uterus - but there were complications. Several days later I delivered my son in an ambulance on the way to our local ER... I told you there were complications. And finally, a week after that nightmare, I had a second D & E surgery. In a nutshell, the past several weeks have SUCKED. <br /><br />So what-in-the-Sam-hill am I doing coming here to the place I'm usually rather witty and a tad cheerful? I'm getting to that! Keep your pants on. (unless you don't want to, in which case I'll be quiet - I'm on a quest to be a more accepting person...) Yesterday I received a care package from an online friend. One of the things in the care package has sent me on a personal quest to find a 'new' me and a 'new' direction. After the Hades I've been spiraling through the past several weeks, the new direction thing has <em>got </em>to be pretty easier. It's not hard to go anywhere other than straight down. Left, upper left, right, straight up...I'll take anything. <br /><br />My package contained something called "A Box of 101 Blessings for My Friend". Pretty cool, huh? At first I fully intended to rip into the box and read every darned blessing. It's important to note here, I have the patience of a gnat. I nearly always read the last page of a book before I finish the first chapter. I have always read the 'spoiler' pages about Harry Potter books and movies the day the were released (unless I could find bootleg pages even before the release!) and I have to fight multiple world wars with myself not to give people presents long before the holidays I purchased them for. Patience...of...a....gnat. <br /><br />The thing is, the first card in the box stopped me in my tracks. It welcomed me to my new little world by saying, "Especially for you…a bouquet of 101 blessings to fill your heart with the fragrance of love and friendship." A bouquet of blessings? Just for me? I couldn't possibly sully that... Hmmm...maybe I could just look at one...<br /><br />So, I turned the first card over and found <strong>Day One: “A friend is a person who listens attentively while you say nothing.” </strong>That's it, that's all it took. I was hooked. <br /><br />For years I've come here, or to one of Avalon's websites to pour my heart out to you, strangers whom I consider my dear friends. I've begged for mental support, thanked you for prayers, and when at all possible, tried to make you laugh or leave you with a thought to ponder as you trudge through your daily life. I've been rattling your brains with my 'nothings' for years now...and yet, you've remained my 'friends'. This time, it didn't take a full-on Godsmack to get my attention. I sat up and paid attention at the loud whisper instead. (good thing too, I'm still bruised from the last smackdown..) <br /><br />The plan I hatched late last night was a quest. A 101 day journey to self awareness, self acceptance, and love. Each day I will read a new card, ponder on it - and write as much as I can about how I see it, and how it affected me that day. In a perfect world, I'll write on Avalon's website in the morning, and this one at night. We'll see if I can figure out how to stick to that. (believe it or not, my random thoughts take more than a bit of mental gymnastics!) The point is, I want to be serious sometimes, and stupid silly others. I think Avalon's site is OK for family/friend/coping stuff - but my whole I'm-going-to-change-my-existence mountain is best left here, where I can swear more. <br /><br />I AM serious though. I want to be a different person at the end of the 101 days. No...I will NOT adopt a dalmation each day, although as a rabid Disney enthusiast I would be lying if I said the thought had never crossed my mind... And NO...I don't envision that I could possibly lose a pound each of the coming 100 days, turning me into a svelte svengali with perfect hooters. (although dang it..that would be cool!) What I'm looking for are new attitudes, new outlooks, a new shot-in-the-butt to my self esteem and self awareness. And heads up, I'm aiming to do that for ALL of us. That's right. You're not just going to sit there and judge me...you're going to get off of your mental cabooses and join me! We're in this together, my friends. Like it or not. ;-D<br /><br />Did I have any great personal epiphanies today? Um...no. I <em>did </em>eat a healthy, calorie conscious breakfast and lunch though. Heck, I even did pretty well at dinner. Buu~uut....I'm nearly sure my Bailey's and Creme nightcap just tanked my 'healthy eating' for the day. Yeah, yeah...<em>what-ever...</em> Rome wasn't built in a day either. So there.<br /><br />Oh, and I lost my cool, my temper, and my resolve with my short people tonight too. I didn't Velcro anyone to a wall, so I didn't lose it too bad. And cripes, just how many times can you say, "Don't throw that, don't say that, don't touch that" before your tongue revolts and marches across the room to smack your progeny? I mean, geez, I'm only human... <br /><br />Crap. I think I just tanked my good intentions for the day. Rats. Ahh well, yet another layer added to Hade's Highway. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day... <br /><br />I'll see you later on FB, Avalon's caringbridge, or here...pick your poison. <br /><br />LOVE!Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-71690858046182640572010-09-21T06:32:00.001-07:002010-09-21T06:54:05.170-07:00Day 8 - 1st weigh inI have sooo much to blog about, zero heart to do it. But, I swore to be 100% transparent and honest on this journey, so here it is. Today, on my first "official" weigh-in, I've gained 1.5 pounds. <br /><br />Start: 276.5 Today 278<br /><br />I fully admit I've actually been weighing myself every few days. By day 4, I was down 4 pounds. I truly thought I would be down a full 5 pounds by today. Then, I went grocery shopping over the weekend. Did I buy sugar? No. Absolutely NO desserts, NOTHING that would normally be considered 'unhealthy'. NO sugar cereal, NO potato chips/pretzels/crap food. <br /><br />However, I did buy Kashi cereals for fiber, and tortilla chips to eat salsa/hummus with. Apparantly, I...can't....do...that. I counted/weighed/measured/accounted for every last bite. I kept my calories under 1600 most days, 1800 on the worst day. BUT...my body reacts terribly to corn/wheat/potatoes/etc. Two days of tortilla chips (even in moderation of 7 chips per serving) and homemade stew last night were enough to sink my battleship. In three days I gained back the 4 lbs + 1.5 more. Damn.<br /><br />Before you all think I'm crazy, let me assure you, this has happened before. Years ago, I begged my then-family-doctor for help. I kept detailed food and exercise journals, and took them to her, looking for answers. She sent me to an endocrinologist, who said my body needed to be shocked into starvation. He put me on a 600 cal/day diet - and prescribed x amount of exercise. In less than a week, I gained NINE POUNDS! It was <em>AWFUL. </em>I took my log to all doctors involved, and they told me I was lying, I'd been cheating. I hadn't, I didn't, I was crushed...<br /><br />Much later, I switched family docs and the new doc suggested I have an estrogen-loading issue. The easiest way to sum it up, is that my body has a tendency to hang on to yeast - which raises estrogen levels - which then dorks up the whole thyroid/metabolism thing. To deal with it, there is a strict yeast cleansing diet. When I follow the diet to the letter, I've lost up to 40 pounds in a month. But it is very, VERY difficult to follow. <br /><br />Guess what? It's time to find it again. I'll be starting it beginning with lunch today. Oh, and I got clearance from the cardiologist yesterday that I can start exercising. (that's a long story - and was actually pretty funny yesterday...but I'm NOT feeling remotely humorous at the moment...) Hopefully, week #2 will be better. <br /><br />I'm NOT giving up! I'm NOT going to 'fake it', fudge to you, or whitewash any of this. Cancer kids don't have that as an option, so neither do I. We parents of CKs (cancer kids) hear awful, devastating news all the time. In fact, for lots of us, that news leads to a greater amount of bulge to battle with. I suppose I shouldn't have thought for even one second that this would be an easy battle to take on. NOTHING about Childhood Cancer is easy...why should my awareness campaign be? <br /><br />Is the yeast diet tasty, fun, or resort-ish? NO - it sucks. But...then again, so does having cancer when you're supposed to be playing Tee-ball or Barbies. Folks, if you think I'm suffering...you should meet some kids I know. <br /><br />I'm sad today, really, REALLY sad....but <em>this</em> time, I'll get over it - and I'll move on. I will NOT lose faith or momentum. I will continue to humiliate myself if it means 'my' kids have even one tiny chance of being heard. I WILL lose this weight, and fight my way into the public eye somehow. I WILL make sure the American Public LEARNS about kids with cancer. I HAVE to. I've seen too many kids suffer. <br /><br />But today, I'm sad. I'm kind of defeated. And oh yeah...I'm another year older.<br /><br />Happy Frickin' Birthday to me.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-7616588682772206562010-09-19T19:51:00.000-07:002010-09-19T19:53:25.643-07:00Day 6...Ugh! Sick kids, laundry to the moon, shopping for healthy food, medical kid, house in utter chaos...<br /><br />I want chocolate, a maid, booze, and a backrub. In...that...order.<br /><br />I'm getting none of the above. <br /><br />Damn.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-21078989418328059652010-09-17T19:42:00.001-07:002010-09-17T19:51:07.753-07:00Day 4 - Crap.Little time to be witty tonight... <br /><br />Ambrosia - A#2 - has been 'pukey-Sue' most of the day. She's been worshiping the great blue plastic barf basin (not even able to make it to the white porceline God). Tried to do school with Avalon - who also fell prey to something this afternoon. Is she getting the my-guts-are-coming-out-through-my-nose Ambrosia thing? Or, is this typical Avalon nightmare. Doesn't matter which, she's been flat on the couch - so dizzy she doesn't feel safe to walk, and not interested in food. <br /><br />Before Avalon fell victim, we did some school today. Which left Aurora downstairs, on puke bucket duty...not a 15 yo's favorite way to spend an afternoon. Neither is packing...and that's a whole other story...<br /><br />Massive clean out happening here too - so the day's been nuts. I do have a few diet notes though....<br /><br />Tacos are <a href="mailto:$%@%">$%@%</a> high in calories!! Who knew? OK, so maybe you skinny types did, but we blubber butts had no flippin' clue. Seriously...not kidding. Nick made taco meat for us last night - so in my crazy day, it was easy to have tacos for lunch and dinner. Two each meal - lots of lettuce and tomatoes - no sour cream...and they still cost me HUNDREDS (too many to mention) of calories! I'm pissed. Yeah, you read that right, pissed. Is that a family-friendly, politically correct word? Nope. Tough toenails. I <em>thought </em>I was being responsible....and I sabotaged myself by accident. It's a P.O.ed kind of moment. <br /><br />I supposed I could hope this whole barfy thing is a virus...and I'll puke out all those calories tomorrow. <br /><br />Then again, maybe not.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-1556590878555134282010-09-16T19:56:00.000-07:002010-09-16T20:34:34.869-07:00Day 3 Am I bitter?Aurora (my oldest daughter) says I'm a smidgeon bitter. I'm sure I don't have any idea what she was talking about. I mean, I simply made a small, non-combative comment....and she went and called me bitter. I don't think that was very nice...<br /><br />Yesterday was one of those crazy-errand-days. You all know the ones, where you've put off 85 things that should have been done <em>yesterday</em>, and now you have no damn choice but to accomplish them all in one whopping marathon. I <strong>hate </strong>those days. Seriously...give me a choice of dental work or errands...I swear I'll go for the freaky dude in a mask. (who signs up to have their hands in people's mouths all day? Ewww...) I hhhhhaaaaatttttte errands. They make me crabby.<br /><br />First stop was to Aurora's new ophthalmologist. Sure, I've been to the building before, but once...a year ago. Do I know where it is? Well, yes I do, by golly. But did I know <em>exactly </em>how to get there? Ummm....noooo....maybe not. It's not like I went 38 miles out of the way, or drove to the wrong city, or missed the zipcode entirely. I just didn't realize I needed to get off the highway at an exit that's pretty far north of the actual building. And by the time I realized there weren't any other options...I was whizzing right past the bastion of eye health...and smack into a whacked out part of downtown that has exactly NO direct route back to the stupid road I needed. <br /><br />Errand Day: 1 Alicia: Big, fat, hairy ZERO.<br /><br />Great. Fine. Fan-friggin'-tastic. Time to wind my way through twisty, non-directional, pointless roads, as I ever-so-successfully erode away my 'grace period' of <em>I-might-actually-be-early-for-once! </em>Early was OUT. I began to hope for same calendar day.<br /><br />As I finally found my way to boulevards I knew were headed the right direction, we began to crusie through a rather snooty suburb of Columbus. Funny, this is by no means one of the nicest, or most expensive suburbs. But, it is definitely a high runner in the <em>our body secretions don't smell </em>mindset. You can't walk 6 feet down their streets without bumping into someone who can spout their lineage in perfect Days of Our Lives fashion, <em>Why, my Father was the 2nd richest and by far the best known Fart Fancier that Madame Medusa has ever seen... </em><br /><em></em><br />So here I am, running late, gamey from stress sweat, and most importantly for this particular tale...<em>hungry and CRANKY, </em>as I drive the streets of perfection. And <em>that </em>is when I saw them. <br /><br />Joggers.<br /><br />Oh, not sweaty, pudgy-so-you-know-they're-suffering-like-you joggers. Oh noooo-ooooo.... These were the never-had-6-oz-of-fat, wearing-expensive-shoes-and-running-couture joggers. You just <em>knew </em>chicki-babe's sports bra matched her sport underwear. And you double-dutch-dare knew they were all the best of the best that the best of the best sporting goods stores only carry in sizes 0-6. (because anyone over a size 6 doesn't deserve to live, much less marry, reproduce, or god-forbid...<em>exercise</em>) You just <strong><em>knew it...</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />The following conversation then took place with Aurora. I believe she judged me. Rather harsh of her, if you ask me.<br /><br />Me: <em>I want to trip them.</em><br /><br />Aurora: What?!<br /><br />Me: <em>I...want....to....TRIP...them. </em><br /><em></em><br />Aurora: Who?! <br /><br />Me: <em>The joggers.</em><br /><br />Aurora. WHY?! <br /><br />Me: <em>Because they're judging me. </em><br /><em></em><br />Aurora: Have you lost your mind? They're not judging you. They're running down the street. They don't even know you're in here!<br /><br />Me: <em>They're skinny. They're jogging. I don't see sweat. They're judging me.</em><br /><br />Aurora: You are completely NUTS. Those people can't even see you! That's mean.<br /><br />Me: <em>I don't want to cause bodily harm. Nothing broken, no permanent damage. I just want to see them faceplant...once, OK mayyyybe twice...</em><br /><em></em><br />Aurora: MOM! You would hurt somebody if you tripped them! Seriously, mom. You're weird.<br /><br />Me: <em>If they jogged past me on the road, they'd judge me. I'm a blob, they'd instantly categorize me as lazy and gross. Am I wrong?</em><br /><em></em><br />Aurora: ...well....maybe.... <br /><br />Me: <em>C'mon...you know I'm right. </em><br /><em></em><br />Aurora: Mom, you're a tad bitter. They could be nice. <br /><br />Me: <em>They'd judge me and I want to trip them. I could be happy settling for just one. The really skinny chick. C'mon...just one pudgy little cankle in their path?</em><br /><em></em><br />Aurora: Mom, I think you're a little bitter.<br /><br />Me: <em>Nah, I'm sweet. I've got too much chocolate back-logged in my butt. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br />She better watch out. If she keeps judging me, I've got plenty of chances to toss out one of my cankles...Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-78048352035990946732010-09-15T04:57:00.000-07:002010-09-15T05:51:14.448-07:00Day 2 - No Buckeyes!Holy Sabotage, Batman....are you serious?! <br /><br />OK, so something snapped in me on Sept 13. Something about recent bad news for Avalon, recent bad news for the children of dear friends, and National Childhood Cancer Awareness Day all coalesced in my tiny noggin and created a ginormous boot to kick my butt into action. For once, I didn't <em>think</em>, I just <em>did. </em>Sounds great, right? Sure, unless you're the boob who just jumped off the cliff...<br /><br />Now don't get your panties in a twist. I'm not giving up on day two or anything. In fact, I have no intentions of giving up at all this time. But holy bageezees, Batman...did I have to face sabotage on the <em>very first day?!! </em>Sure, sure I did. Why? Because dorky old me forgot about '<br />Mom's Night Out', that's why. MNO is put on by a local charity for families of pediatric cancer. One of their programs is to have a monthly meeting where local moms come together to chat, eat, kvetch, eat, laugh, and...eat. Actually, come to think of it, food happens to be a central theme in lots of the mom events. Hmmm...I may have to consider sacrificing my mental state for my diet fate. Then again, dag-nabbit, there <em>are </em>skinny moms who attend this stuff. How come I can't be one of <em>theeemmmmm? </em>(said in my best whiny 6 yo voice) Aww bat crap.<br /><br />But I digress.... (BTW, if you're new to my writing, you might just want to get 'used to' the whole digression thing.) To honor the collective worship of the entire city of Columbus, OH, the theme of this month's dinner was a Buckeye tailgate party. Not realizing I would soon be signing my life away, I ever-so-innocently signed up to bring Scarlet and Gray popcorn and da da da dummmm...<strong>buckeyes. </strong>Any locals just instantly understood the gravity of the situation. For those of you not 'of Buckeyedom', let me fill you in. Our city is <em>bonzo </em>for Ohio State football. We cheer wildly for the Ohio State Buckeyes. Yeah, we all worship a nut. It's a nut with arms, legs, and a face...but it's still a nut. Better yet, eons ago some <strong><em>genius </em></strong>came up with a candy to honor that nut. 'Buckeyes' (in candy form) are peanutbutter/confectioner sugar/wonderment that are dipped in chocolate, leaving a small spot with the peanutbutter peeking through...so they look like the actual nuts that fall off the trees. A good candy buckeye (or 3) gives debauchery a run for its money. I mean seriously, the older you get, the more kids that can interrupt...Buckeyes begin to take the lead... Just sayin'<br /><br />So, here it was, my first night on my VERY public diet, and <em>I </em>had signed up to bring popcorn and buckeyes. Oh, and Scarlet and Gray popcorn is <em>actually </em>scarlet and gray (OSU colors). It's candy coated and perhaps the most amazing popcorn you will ever place in your face. When I realized I had to go buy this stuff...I could nearly smell the failure in the air... But, I had promised, so off I went. <br /><br />The good news is, our local grocery had sold out of S & G popcorn, so I had to wait to shop until I was on the way to dinner. After an appt downtown, I popped into a store on the way to MNO. What luck! They were sold out of popcorn! OK, let's be honest. I <em>should </em>have danced. Really, that would have been the appropriate response. But the fact is, I sulked. I am such a flippin' nut job - I was utterly bummed they didn't have a sweet treat that I couldn't eat. I've...lost....my....mind. <br /><br />After settling for scarlet and gray cookies and finding some buckeyes, I headed off to meet up with my moms. As I drove there, contemplating the insanity of the situation, reality began to set in. I started to realize how little I'd thought through the whole I'll-start-the-diet-TODAY thing. Why? Oh I don't know...things like <em>my birthday </em>is next week. Or, how about we're going to the Rennaisance festival this weekend? How about our free weekend (food included!) at Kalahari Resort in 10 days?! Then....then....there's Halloween on the horizon...then....Thanksgiving... Aaaaaghhhhhh!!!!! <br /><br />Breathe in...breathe out. Breathe in....breathe out. Ohhhhmmmmm....... <br /><br />About the time my hair began vaulting from my scalp, I pulled into the parking lot. I stomped my way into our gathering room, fussing loudly about my lack of popcorn, while fuming quietly about all the stuff I wasn't going to get to eat in the coming months. Grumble, grumble, fuss, fuss.... Grrrr....<br /><br />First, I was hugged by my friend whose son had brain tumors as an infant. We were in the hospital at the same time a few years ago; Avalon recovering from her catastrophic surgery, Will recovering from his stroke - a late effect of the radiation that saved his life 15 yrs before. I was hugged by another friend who has heard the awful words we all dread, and yet she smiled and hugged me. Oh, then there is the bouncy, smiling, hysterical mother who only has pictures and memories of an infancy spent in the hospital, empty arms but a joyful heart. As I hugged each of my friends, all of them part of this awful family of cancer parents...the buckeyes became so much less important. <br /><br />I ate salad, a bean picante with a few tortilla chips, and a Diet Coke. No KFC, no cookies, NO BUCKEYES. <br /><br />Hey Batman, think you're up to helping me kick some cancermom flab? I think our kids deserve it.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-14502643599484606502010-09-14T06:57:00.000-07:002010-09-14T07:39:21.704-07:00Fat-A-Thon Day 1~Sept 15, 2010Day 1 - I'm probably certifiable<br /><br />What in the holy crap have I gone and done?! I've lost my mind, that's what. I've publicly pledged to restart something I've failed at before. Oh sure...that inspires confidence...<br /><br />OK, so here's the thing. This whole lose-weight-to-raise-awareness thing has been taking up space in my pea-brain for far too long. I'm sick of it keeping me up at night. I'm dad-blasted tired of it claiming so much mental real estate that I forget things like my own phone number. It's time to drag the insanity out of the dark recesses and plop it squarely in the light. Hopefully, I'll reclaim a smidgeon of my sanity in the process...<br /><br />You see, years ago I had a friend who likened her aging brain to a rolodex. You spend a lifetime accumulating knowledge of all manner and sort. You gather things like historical facts, emotional thoughts, and the useless data that we require to function in polite society. Well...our brains are like a rolodex. Eventually, they run plum out of space. When that happens, something gets kicked to the curb. For example, I can still recall my best friend's phone number from elementary school, but I utterly, totally <em>forgot </em>my son's 3rd birthday last year, until someone else mentioned it. I firmly believe my rolodex is overstuffed and cards are flying out at speeds sufficient enough to decapitate small dogs. I've decided it's best to voluntarily remove a few things, before our neighbor's Yorkie takes a hit. Hence, I've moved the Fat-A-Thon idea back 'out' - to free up several zillion kilabites of internal memory. I can virtually hear the synapses breathing a sigh of relief... (Indulge me on this, let me live in the delusion that I'm soon to be as organized as I will be svelte and gorgeous...and stop laughing)<br /><br />So here we go <em>again. </em>You, me, a bunch of strangers, and the internet...all about to start a wondrous journey together. We're going to sweat together, laugh together, and please-oh-please lose some fat blobules together. (it's a word - deal with it!) I've proven in the past that I <em>know </em>how to lose weight. Really, I have. However, I've also proven that I'm a weak-minded simpleton who hears talking bagels and singing chocolate. <em>Knowing </em>what to do and <em>doing it</em> happen to be vastly different beasties. Your part in this nut brigade is to keep me honest. Cheer for me when I tell the bagels to be quiet, and yell at me when their siren song lures me in. <br /><br />But most of all, your job is to laugh. That's right...<strong><em>laugh. </em></strong>Folks, this world is full of far too much seriousness. Ask any of us cancer parents. Holy crap, we've got enough serious to fill the grand canyon several gagillion times over. (and yes...I maintain that is yet another 'real' word!) Cancer parents have death, pain, torture, and helplessness in their realities. More than most people we <strong>need </strong>to laugh to survive! So join me in honoring my fellow cancer moms. As I gripe/moan/kvetch-like-it's-my-job....laugh with me as I attempt to battle my butt. I do this for all of us who have eaten our stress, and for all of our children who have unwittingly been drop-kicked into the world of cancer. If you can embrace the utter <em>INSANITY </em>that is the Fat-A-Thon...then maybe you can relearn to appreciate the wonders of the life you live. <br /><br />After all, you're not posting pictures of your rear-end on the internet. I am. That alone should make your day....Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-29870715292631870772008-09-13T05:07:00.000-07:002008-09-13T05:24:50.297-07:00September 12, 2008 Day 5Damn croutons. They're out to get me. Seriously, I think they sit in the pantry and plot my downfall. <br /><br />It seems soooo simple. Don't eat croutons, have a wheat/yeast free day. Check and check. Except reality is closer to - don't eat croutons, have a wimpy, boring salad that threatens to derail the entire diet plan and road to thin and svelteness! OK, so 8 little pieces of crunchy wonderfulness (I'm telling you, these are real words) shouldn't have this much power over me. Seriously, I shouldn't <em>have </em>to eat them...but they scream my name. Then they offer to massage my tonsils. Heck, they even tell me they're <em>good</em> for me, saving me from bigger evils. Powerful, powerful little beasties they are.<br /><br />You see, this is how it went down. I really wasn't hungry at breakfast. (a good sign I'm getting a handle on my yeasty/sugar/wheat issues) I settled for a cup of coffee and eventually an ounce of cheese. Not terribly gourmet - but at least it was something. <br /><br />The morning was school, school, school - so I really didn't think much about food until the kids badgered me for lunch. Oh yeah, perhaps they (and I) need some sustenance. Alright. They got noodle/chicken left overs from last night, I made my onion/egg/tomato concoction with some leftover chicken tossed in. Pretty good slop, and relatively high on the healthy scale. Two down, one to go.<br /><br />Finally, it was time to stuff our faces with dinner. The kids were grilled cheese and grapes. Me? OK, did the grilled cheese smell <em>fantastic?!</em> Oh yeah. Color me tormented. And I don't make just any old grilled cheese. This was gourmet whole grain wheat bread, brushed with butter, slowly browned, filled with American cheese, cheddar cheese, and monterey jack. Uh huh - I'm drooling at the mere thought of it now. Last night? Sheer torture it was. Enter the crouton army.<br /><br />After "dinnering" the kids, I settled on a salad for me. I'd had this amazing Cobb salad at Damon's on Wednesday, so I thought I'd try to replicate it. OK, salad mix, 2 oz of herbed chicken, 2 TBS of bacon bits, 1/2 C cheese...things were looking pretty good. Then, they called to me...<br /><br />"<em>Aleeeeeesha....</em>(croutons can't spell) <em>Oh Aleeeeeeeeeshaaaaaa... You know your salad is softy and wussy. If you put us on there, you'll have a crunchy wonderland. No more flimsy...you'll get crunch. You know, we're not those grilled cheeses. We're little, we're harmless.....oh Aleeeeesha......"</em><br /><em></em><br />Stupid croutons. Who made them so literate? Then again, who made me so weak?<br /><br />Damn.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-75078193759632838482008-09-12T06:26:00.001-07:002008-09-12T06:56:18.986-07:00September 11, 2008 Day 4You know, I think its a tad depressing that I have to put the <em>year</em> up there in the title. I know it took me years to reach my current state of fatitude, but damn...does it <em>have</em> to take years to get rid of it? Its a smidge of a bummer.<br /><br />I'm happy to report I'm not even a tiny bit depressed about my dieting today! I was fantastico! (its a word - go with it) I was going to report I'd had my first yeast-free day, but then I remembered the croutons I'd put on my dinner salad. Rats. I was close....so so close. I want some serious dieting karma points for today, though. I think I opened the refridgerator and stared at the sourdough bread at least 7 or 8 times. Worse, I even had to take the whole grain gourmet wheat bread <em>out</em> of the 'fridge and make sandwiches for the kids. Arrrgghhhh.... Oh ho, it is to suffer....<br /><br />If you're new to my rantings, or haven't read any of the archives - there's something you should know. I'm horribly, terribly allergic to yeast. I'm pretty stinkin' allergic to wheat too. If I can manage to fully purge them from my system, I feel like a million bucks. I'll have energy coming out my ears, my sinuses will be better, and I'll begin to lose weight faster than you lose socks in the dryer. Once I've been fully yeast-free for a while, even a mere half a bagel will give me hives and make me feel like I've got the flu. I found this out years ago, its not news to me. I've even managed to get to anti-yeast Nirvana a couple of times - hence how I know about the killer "relapse" effects. Here's the issue, even though I know I will feel better, I know what horrors yeast and wheat reap upon my pathetic body, I know what I can lose....giving up bread and pasta sucks!<br /><br />I mean, seriously folks, it blows goat chunks. No wheat/no yeast means no bread, pasta, pie, cake, cookies, or cereal. You might as well lick cardboard for dinner, its about all you're left with. So while I know all the bad stuff that happens when I fall off the anti-yeast wagon, the fact is, I also <em>know </em>that the acute reaction lessons over time - and I will eventually get back to real life, eating it without really "feeling" the side effects. You'd think my close-to-needing-wider-doorways butt would be a clue that the yeast/wheat thing really does take its toll, but no....I'm not that smart. Besides, when bagels talk to you in your dreams, its really hard to be reasonable the next day.<br /><br />So here I go again, trying to fight my yeast demons. Expect lots of griping about this. The 4-6 weeks it takes to get rid of the screaming cravings are pure torture. After that, its more of a dull roar...<br /><br />Breakfast/lunch (I made too much, and heated the rest up for lunch) 2 C coffee w/ 2 TBS creamer - total 180 cal, 2 eggs- -1.5 C onion-1 C tomatoes, 2 TBS bacon bits (=60 cal)-1/2 C shred ched cheese (200 cal)<br /><br />snack - 1oz ched/mont jack cheese<br /><br />Dinner salad-2 TBS bacon bits (=60 cal)-2 TBS vidalia onion dressing-1/4 C shred cheese-1 TBS sunflower seeds-croutons (7 or 8?)<br /><br />Diet Coke<br /><br />Not bad!Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-25182011554533232972008-09-11T06:48:00.000-07:002008-09-11T07:02:33.658-07:00September 10, 2008 Day 3Hey - still dieting! Three days down, 3000 to go... No, that's not a bit depressing. <br /><br />It was actually a pretty good day. Reasonable breakfast, healthy, huge, <em>late </em>lunch, so no real dinner. I could have chalked it up as perfect, if I'd A) managed to exercise and B) not eaten the German chocolate brownie....<br /><br />I'm telling you, for a reasonably intelligent woman, I'm a weak-minded twit. I knew I'd done great on calories, and health-wise. I <em>knew</em> I would lose weight today, if I could just be good. I <em>knew</em> I didn't *have* to eat the brownie......but ooooh.....it looked <em>sooo gooood.....</em><br /><em></em><br />Crap oh. I suppose I should be proud I only ate a little bit. A week ago, I would have eaten all that was left. I did not. A week ago, I would have chased the brownie with some other horror, because I would have said, "<em>Hey, I've already screwed up. I might as well eat A, B,C, and D - I'll start again <strong>tomorrow</strong></em>." Ever thought those famous last words? I most certainly have! In fact, I've thought them past 200lbs, past 220, past 250... You get the idea. <br /><br />So, you know what? I'm choosing to see today as a victory! I only at a small German chocolate brownie, and part of a cupcake. (Oh, did I forget to mention that?) I didn't eat all that I wanted. There has to be bonus points somewhere for that. <br /><br />Now...if I could just fool myself into thinking chocolate was toxic... Man, that would really make this a lot easier. Yeah, chocolate is poisonous...and bread.....and caramel....and pasta.....and..........<br /><br />Breakfast: 1 C coffee 2 TBS creamer (90 cal), 2 eggs-1C onions-1/2 C tomatoes-1/4 C shred ched cheese (100cal)<br /><br />Lunch: Water, Cobb salad with: vineagrette dressing, grilled chicken, 1/2 hardboiled egg, 1 TBS bacon, 1/4 avacado<br /><br />Dinner: 1 oz sunflower seeds (180 cal) , 1 C coffee with 2 TBs creamer (90 cal), 2" x 2" German chocolate brownie + 1/2 cupcake = three zillion caloriesCrazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-56969802996319070072008-09-10T05:03:00.000-07:002008-09-10T05:39:11.124-07:00September 9, 2008 Day 2Well now, I'd love to regale you with tales of my strict suffering and mind-numbing perfection - but we'll have to both settle for <em>moderation</em>. Sure, sure, I was the Queen of Control for most of the day, but then I got to go "out" tonight. <br /><br />This brings me to an odd musing. Should dieters be allowed to go "out"? I mean, can we function in normal society without acting like a horse's patoot? How many times have you had a dieter to your home for whatever-the-reason, only to have them make a huge fuss over what they "can't" eat, or how "awful for them" your dinner is? Have you been in public with a dieter? They'll usually turn themselves inside out refusing some extravagance, all while making you feel like so much sludge for actually nibbling the accursed item. And Heaven help you if you notice/ask/pay-any-attention-to their "restraint". Its a sure bet you'll hear about their sacrifices, how successful they've been, and basically what a schleppo-de-Beppo you are for not following in their Food Saint footsteps. I'm telling you, there are valid arguments for dieters coming with warning labels.<br /><br />So here I was, smack in the middle of dilemma. Should I go to my Mom's Night Out and be a giant equine rear-end by refusing to eat anything that wasn't good for me? Or, considering I knew the fair was "tailgate" food - subs and such - should I just stay home? I mean, unless you're Rachel Ray with a Donald Trump budget, "tailgate food" is not likely to be anything close to diet food, or heck, even healthy. I mused for a while this morning, and ended up deciding to go. Events, outings, <em>Life</em> aren't going to stop happening because I need to reduce the size of my caboose. That's how I got into this mess, thinking in absolutes. <em>"I'll eat this Wendy's triple, because tomorrow I'll never eat Wendy's again..." </em>There's no point to absolutes, they just don't lead to absolution. <br /><br />So, off I went - seeking the company of other cancer moms, the joy of a few child-free hours, and the assurance that I can, indeed, carry on a conversation with someone over 13. Yes, I needed last night - even if I knew it might not be diet perfect. I left the house determined not to "pig out" and doubly determined not to be <em>the dieter</em> who makes all those around her want to stick a fork in their eye. Want to hear the really funny part? I was responsible for bringing dessert! Hah!<br /><br />All told, my cupcakes and I didn't do too bad. I had two small sections of a sub, and I even removed a lot of the bread - it was soggy from transport time, and kind of icky. I had probably a 3/4 C serving of a bowtie/spinach pasta thing - which was crawl-inside-of-good. And I did try to get more spinach, less pasta - at least I tried to without becoming that picky patoot person I've described. I only had 2, count them 2 cheese puffs - because I wanted to try the whole-grain healthy puffs everyone was talking about. (They sucked. Not worth wasting my calories on.) I had 4 Tostitoes dippers and tsp or two of Mexican dip, and a Diet Coke. I'd say not to bad in DietWorld. That is, until dessert time...... <br /><br />Ha ha, it is to laugh! I didn't do too bad there either! Hee hee, fooled you. Yes, I had dessert. But, I had it in moderation. I had a 2in x 2in piece of German Chocolate Brownie, and a mini cupcake. I should have stopped at the Brownie, but the mini-cupcake intrigued me - I've never seen them so small! It couldn't have been an inch in diameter, it was rather fairy-cakeish. I tried one out of sheer curiosity, and won't need to again. It was just OK, nothing too magical and certainly not worth the zillion calories that were probably lurking in it. Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained. <br /><br />So, I survived going "public" and really didn't do too bad. I did, however, meet up with not one, but two <em>Dieting Patoots</em>. They regaled me with tales of their sacrifices, and I tried to keep my sub in my over-sized stomach. In all fairness though, as I thought, <em>Good Grief, does she know how annoying that is? </em>they were probably thinking, <em>My Word, does she know how big her butt is?</em>. Its fair. We're both blind in the ways we need to survive. Alls fair in love and fat.<br /><br />Toodles!<br /><br />Brunch: 2 C coffee with 2 TBS creamer each - 180 cal, 1 egg with 1/4 C shred ched cheese - 2 sausage links - 1 C onions- 1C tomatoes<br /><br />3 C of water during the day<br /><br />Dinner: what I described aboveCrazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-3182440936062796872008-09-09T01:24:00.000-07:002008-09-09T01:57:37.028-07:00Monday Sep 8, 2008 - Day 1<strong>Weight: </strong>269 <strong>Lost? </strong>Obviously, my mind! <strong>To go? </strong>120 lbs. May God have mercy on my soul....<br /><br /><br />I am Fat. I've tried to pass as "fluffy", "Reubenesque", and even just "large". No no - those are lies. Big, giant whoppers. I am a fat, rotund, ginormous woman who has got to get in control - or risk needing my own zipcode. <br /><br />I founded this site, same time last year. I started it, with all the high hopes and good intentions of a woman on a mission. While my mission to help cancer kids never waivered - my resolve did. I was in the middle of a self-discovery/self-awareness campaign...when our family computer upchucked and died. In truth, it wasn't a suicide, or death by aging. It was, in fact, a homicide - committed by a teenager and My Space. No matter the 'cide, the fact is, I was techno-less.<br /><br />Being techno-less was depressing enough, but it just so happens this came at a time we were the poorest we've ever been in all of our years. We were in such a bad place, we had to visit a food pantry, get on food stamps, and even borrow money from family. It couldn't have been worse timing. <br /><br />So, I'd already been in a precarious state with my food control, when I was suddenly thrown head-long into depression Hades. Oh yeah, the diet bit the big one. Hell00000! You don't get to be this size if you don't EAT when you're depressed....Duh.<br /><br />As with most falls from any given recovery wagon, this one was hard and fast. I didn't just fall, I actually burned the wagon in effigy once I hit the pavement. I began eating like it was my <em>job</em>. I ate carbs like a crackhead smokes dope - needing more and more to satisfy the beast within. It wasn't pretty.<br /><br />About the time I began to come down from my caloric high, we were slammed with another round of StressFest Avalon style. While tax returns and incentives bought us a new computer, Avalon worries and appointments kept me from even thinking about using it. Seriously, the new computer sat, in its box, for MONTHS before I could carve out time to install it. We'd attempted to have the old one repaired before we invested in a new one, but its never been much more than a Blackberry since its dark days at Best Buy. I can receive limited emails on it, and only visit a tiny fraction of any websites out there. It simply wasn't capable of re-opening mine and Avalon's sites, even if I'd had the heart to do them, which I didn't.<br /><br />So there I was, trapped in techno wasteland and up to my eyeballs in monetary and medical stress... Hmmm....can you guess how I spent my free time? It darn sure wasn't at the gym. <br /><br />No, no - I've spent our months apart eating. I've eaten, lazed around, eaten, watched TV, eaten, gained 3 sizes, and eaten some more. Good grief, even writing this makes me nautious...I can imagine what you're thinking. Better yet, I'd rather not. <br /><br />I'm so disgusted by my current rolypoly self, I'll just leave you with the facts, and move on for the moment. <br /><br />A: I've gained back all I'd lost, and doubled it. I had been down 12 pounds, I'm now 11 more than I was when I started last year. Barf.<br /><br />B: As with all things, honesty is the best policy - I tipped the scales this morning at 269 pounds. Boo hoo - it is to cry.<br /><br />C: I'm going to do my level best. I make no promises though. I've come to realize, I'm a weak minded twit. If at any time you feel like encouraging me - have at it! I apparently can use any and all help in the known universe. <br /><br />D: I'll try to keep it interesting for you. Heaven knows, I usually don't have a problem finding things to talk about.<br /><br />That's about it for now. As I start this ridiculous journey again - let's hope for the best!<br /><br />Breakfast: 1 C honeydew melon = ? calories, 2 C coffee with 2 TBS creamer each - coffee = 180 cal<br /><br />Lunch: 1 oz cheddar/montjack cheese = 100 cal, 3 oz turkey = ? cal, 1 diet coke, 1 tsp mayo = ? cal, slice tomato, leaf of lettuce<br /><br />Dinner: 1/2 C pasta, 3/4 C chicken chunks with tomato hunks, 1 piece sourdough bread, water, 1 C of coffee with 2 TBS creamer (don't panic - I'm using up the creamer I already have this week, then switching to the powdered stuff - its nearly "free".<br /><br />Went-to-bed-woke-up-coughing-midnight-snack-I-shouldn't-have-eaten: 2 oz chedd/montjack cheese, and crap, here's that honesty thing.....3 (yes, you read THREE) of those little kid long tube popsicles. You know the ones you get a zillion in a box for 3 dollars? Kind of like an ounce of koolaid in a long tube? I long since pitched the box - but I think they're 30 cal each. Who knows? I just know I'm totally regretting it! Argghhhh... Guess I found weakness #1, middle of the night eating. <br /> <br />Wish me luck!Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-28417735945961911082008-08-02T11:35:00.001-07:002008-08-02T11:43:09.625-07:00Going Home!You are all amazing! If we could harness your positive energy...we'd rule the world!<br /><br />Spent two days in PICU - then on to 3 Tower. Pain wise, worse than last time. Poop-wise - yahoo! We outsmarted her system - got her pooping by Thursday night! She's not eating or drinking enough to keep a bird alive - but we all think we'll have better luck at home. <br /><br />Sorry no updates - haven't had time to get to a computer. She hasn't been as mobile as last time. <br /><br />More details, and tons of pictures later. <br /><br />THANK YOU 1000 times 1000 for all the cards and letters. We have dozens upon dozens to open at home. She has only been awake enough for a few at a time while we've been in. (lots of morphine, lots of shutting down to avoid the world...) I'm going to try to come up with a way of thanking all of you. You made our hearts sing - and have given her much to look forward to as she's cooped up over the next few weeks. (again....) Its been a pretty boring summer for her - now she's actually excited about staying in! <br /><br />BTW, I've been asked a lot if it was a good idea to have taken her horseback riding last week. The answer is...No! It probably wasn't. Ask me how much guilt I have about it... ;-)<br /><br />Again, thank you for all the positive thoughts and prayers!! You are the reason we got her home so quickly!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />LOVE UP TO THE MOON AND BACK!<br />Avalon's Grateful Family - mom Alicia, dad Nick, big sisters Aurora and Ambrosia, and little brother AnamCrazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-70750438535097902312008-07-30T10:43:00.002-07:002008-07-30T10:45:45.106-07:00Avalon is OUT of surgery!Avalon's surgery went well. She's headed to PICU. I wrote a long post - and blog demons ate it. No time to redo. <br /><br />Thanks for everything - I'll post more later - and hopefully you'll get to see it!!<br /><br />HUGS!<br />Nick and Alicia - the ultra-proud, incredibly-lucky parents of 4 great kids: Aurora, Ambrosia, Anam, and the amazing warrior, AVALONCrazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-4038326587113954062008-07-30T10:43:00.001-07:002008-07-30T10:43:47.194-07:00Avalon is OUT of surgery.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-87945230892057558752008-07-30T10:26:00.000-07:002008-07-30T10:41:56.275-07:00Avalon is OUT of surgery!!Avalon is in recovery (PACU). Dr. Kosnik just left - he said everything went as well as it possibly could. He said she's off to PICU after recovery - then to the floor until we can drag some poop out of her. He actually teased about squeezing it out. Way, way different feeling here than that god-forsaken shunt surgery. And even way better than the R side temporal decompression. This time we knew the reason for PICU - so no panic attacks. <br /><br />BTW, no matter how upset I am about the shunt surgery, there is something that bears repeating. This hospital is staffed with the most amazing, caring, loving people you could ever hope for! (OK, one glaring exception noted....) <br /><br />Before surgery, we got to hug on a Surgery Center friend because she was training in the surgery unit. Then, one of our dear PCA friends hunted us up quickly in pre-op to smooch little miss. We entered the surgery waiting area to a giant hug from the desk clerk that we've known for years. Just now, an anesthesiologist friend came and hugged, after checking in on my little princess. My heart is full! There can never be too many hugs, or too much love in your life. ;-)<br /><br />Quick note, I know this all sounds rosy, and today's operation did go well, but please understand, Avalon still has her issues. For example, yesterday during her sisters' dentist appointments, she absolutely could not place pieces in an 8 piece jigsaw puzzle. She spent the 45 minutes only using her L hand, never picking anything up with her right. (she's right dominant) She also couldn't put any pieces into one of those 3-D wood puzzles, she couldn't figure out how to turn them the right way. (she's 5!) She's falling asleep in the car, again, usually a sign of high pressure. So - basically, there is still a lot to work on. I feel like I need to say that sometimes, because we all forget how hard she works - when she makes it look so easy to those of us watching her.<br /><br />Anyway, I don't want to be a computer bully - so I'd best get going. I just wanted to let you know, the operation went well, and we're off to the next step. But at least, mommy and daddy can take a deep breath - she's working on waking up. Hallelujah!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />Thanks for sending her (and us) so many positive thoughts this week. I will take happy tears any day. (and there have been a lot of them!!) We appreciate each of you. May you find blessings in your world equal to what you've sent us....<br /><br />HUGS and the highest of hopes.....<br />Alicia and Nick - the ultra-proud, ultra-lucky parents of 4 amazing kids....Aurora, Ambrosia, Anam, and the great warrior....AVALON.Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-63477278774268694562008-07-30T04:35:00.001-07:002008-07-30T04:37:36.384-07:00Did you find it?OK, this is my Crazy Cancer Mom blog. Long...long story. Feel free to read through the archives, we'll discuss that later. <br /><br />For this week, I'll try to post updates about Avalon here. I can access this blog from anywhere, so its my best bet to be able to post stuff anyone can see.<br /><br />She goes in at 10:30 this morning. Give me about 3 hours after that.<br /><br />Thanks for all the prayers and positive vibes. I know she'll be safe thanks to all of you!Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-29862490400535660042007-11-20T20:13:00.000-08:002007-11-20T20:48:37.965-08:00November 20, 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_e7RmJqNOOREt_JSMRg2h_MOLjgtEYlHnHgnY-cOawVgBAevUDL7b7Vg3A2KoJHD_by_A-iFTO8xuD-oVgzG-_Pgip0wDepzBOvr2N6d_Rh67gCGXbFczl8tK5HZbjVSVPSjJKLQF5Uc/s1600-h/cartoon"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135150268922018354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_e7RmJqNOOREt_JSMRg2h_MOLjgtEYlHnHgnY-cOawVgBAevUDL7b7Vg3A2KoJHD_by_A-iFTO8xuD-oVgzG-_Pgip0wDepzBOvr2N6d_Rh67gCGXbFczl8tK5HZbjVSVPSjJKLQF5Uc/s320/cartoon" border="0" /></a><br /><p><strong></strong></p><p></p><div><strong>Weight</strong>: 246 <strong>Lost?</strong> 12 <strong>Left to go?</strong> 88<br /><br />I am utterly sucking socks with my own "new posting system". I'm about to rent a dad-blasted billboard announcing my complete failure at organization and time management. Then there's the Macy's balloon I may purchase space on... I'm figuring that Snoopy's butt is the only thing big enough to do my food fetish justice.<br /><br />OK, so maybe its not exactly a "fetish" by conventional standards. (I don't know...chocolate makes a convincing argument toward fetish. May have to consider it...) Maybe more of an obsession? Overwhelming, mind-numbing, calls-to-me obsession? Good grief! I'm starting to think I'm either the most weak-minded blob on the planet, or I'm truly a gonzo garbonzo. I'm having the worst time humanly possible surrendering food.<br /><br />Don't start with me. I <em>know</em> I dont' have to surrender all food. I <em>know</em> I just need to give up the food that my body doesn't like/get along with. Problem is, my stupid endocrine and immune systems that object to peanuts/sugar/starches/blah blah blah ~ haven't bothered to clue in the taste buds. Wouldn't that just make life easier? Have my pancreas ring up my tongue, "<em>Hello. Is this Mr. </em><em>Lick A. </em><em>Lot? Oh good. Listen, this is Ms. </em><em>Lotsa </em><em>Ins Ulin. It would really take the stress out of my life, if you could develop a taste aversion to sugar. I mean, I just can't tell you how great that would be. You will? Oh thanks! What a team player!! I'll be sure to recommend you for employee of the month. Bye</em>."<br /><br />Can you even imagine?! How conveniant would that be? I really don't think its too much to ask. Seriously, I've never done anything to my tongue. It should love me! OK, so there have been a few hot coffee incidents. But, I've never pierced the thing. And, even as a child, I religiously avoided mid-winter flag poles. Generally speaking, I've lived a pretty tongue-friendly life. I feel its perfectly reasonable to request it work with my other parts.<br /><br />Then again, it probably already does. Cripes, by the size of my two-ton-Tessie-tuckus, I'm quite sure there is a full armada of fat cells that worship my tongue. No doubt there are tongue and "cheek" (ha ha! I crack me up!) temples in my tuckus, fully devoted to the celebration of my rebel tastebuds and their constant supply of new fat-cell family members. Hey....maybe that explains that one odd-shaped roll I have...<br /><br />Get real. That roll looks more Tootsie-ish than temple-ish. Pickle juice. I really am just a weak-minded monkey. Stupid self awareness...<br /><br />Keep on, keepin' on! Thanks for hanging in with this crazy lady!!<br /><br />Alicia Hall, losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer<br /><a href="http://www.crazycancermom.com/">http://www.crazycancermom.com/</a></div>Crazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2897612470871793455.post-39813137290942634572007-11-17T04:42:00.000-08:002007-11-17T17:47:49.392-08:00November 17, 2007<strong>** Don't forget to check out yesterday's blog for my evening's rantings. I was rather "stuck" on a certain theme....**</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Weight</strong>: 246 <strong>Lost?</strong> 12 <strong>Left to go?</strong> 88<br /><br /><strong>Breakfast: </strong>6 zesty sausage links, 2 C of coffee w/ 2TBS creamer each<br /><br /><br />* Exercise will be partially dependant on the OSU Buckeyes today! We're heading off on a marathon shopping trip this morning - then home to watch the OSU-Michigan game. We're going to come up with some Buckeye exercises. Jumping jacks for first downs, a run around the house for a TD, sit ups for field goals. I'll keep you posted! ;-)<br /><br /><strong>Exercise: </strong>The Buckeyes tried to kill me! I ran around the house for each touchdown. I planned on doing 10 jumping jacks for each first down. <em>Planned</em> being the operative word. <br /><br />First, it dawned on me, I'm a rather zaftig woman. Doing jumping jacks in the family room wasn't the brightest of ideas. Instead, I opted for the basement with its non-shaking concrete floors. This then entailed running down the stairs to jump and jack for each first down. Now I love my Buckeyes...but criminy! They gained a lot of yards today!! Again I say, I'm a rather poofy, zaftig woman. Multiple trips up and down stairs are not exactly kind on my over-burdened knees. But those trips paled in comparison to the beatings they took as Jump met Jack. I can solidly attest that its a bad, BAAAAAD idea for a large woman to Jump, particularly when he's paired with Jack. In fact, I probably never really Jacked....I was too busy holding onto my boobs for dear life. These puppies aren't small! In fact, they're not puppies, they're more akin to Great Danes. <br /><br />So let me see if I can properly describe this afternoon's events to you. Buckeyes make a first down. I thunk-bump, thunk-bump my way down rickety basement stairs. I twist, turn, and weave my way past mountains of "to-do" piles/bins/boxes to the best available open space. I then begin jumpin' and jackin' - only to nearly knock myself out cold with one of my own hooters. As I contemplate the black eye I've just sustained, I have to compare the pain of my beaten face to the tearing sensation I'm experiencing as my boobs attempt to launch themselves into another zip code. I decide that perhaps the typical jumping o' the jack is not necessarily in my mammarian best interest. <br /><br />Instead, I bid Jack adieu - and only concentrate on the Jump portion of my commitment. I resume my methodic Jump-out/Jump-in debaucle, while attempting to secure my god-given missiles with the brute force of my clamped-down upper appendages. The entire exercise becomes an omage to Pilates as I further distress my pitifully under-developed arm muscles by asking to them to work against their own southern cousins - Miss Left and Miss Right. The poor arms were heavily outweighed. Think of a lego fort attempting to hold back the great Mississippi. They were simply outgunned. <br /><br />As every part of my person began to complain, my mind lost track of whom it should listen it to. I was thrown into a sort of singular civil war. With whom should my allegiance lie? With the aching knees who carry me so faithfully up and down the stairs to my beloved computer to vent my abnormalities to cyber space? Or should I empathize with my personal dairy factories, as they've so valiantly fought against gravity for me all these years? (although they lost that particular battle decades ago...I just don't hold them accountable) Or, should I feel great sympathy for the flabby wing arms that were suddenly being called into service to control heaving mounds of flesh that would have made Atlas himself buckle at the knees? Oh the choices...it was mind-numbing. Then again...so was the pain.<br /><br />In the end, I decided I owed loyalty to all my separate factions and parts. After three rounds of ill-fated Jum-Jks (I never really did <em>complete</em> ones - so I've changed the name to protect the innocent) I caved to my inferior exercise capabilities, and offered a substitution. I did toe touches instead. Lest you think I completely caved to my pudge, may I once again point out my rather sizeable chest accoutrements. Doing toe-touches requires smashing my pudgy middle while flinging my hooter allotment upside down and trying not to suffocate as they join forces with my triple chins to suffocate me with every toe tickle. There is a solid argument against "fluffy" women doing callestenics - our own boobs can kill us.<br /><br />As it turns out, I, the official over-eating-Mistress-of-mayhem, may have metaphorically "bitten" off more than I could chew. I chomped my way to aching parts and poor food choices. Brilliant. I never knew there was a bazamba/diet connection. Now I do. Don't whack/beat/abuse your melons....they may pile up and suffocate you in your sleep. At the very least...they will lead you to your temporary dietary doom - by making you so depressed, you feel the need to self-medicate with chocolate. Stinkin' boobs, can't live with 'em, can't leave them on the nightstand.<br /><br />Guess I "exercised" the wrong options today. Cat farts. <br /><br /><br />Hmmmm - it would appear my Exercise entry became my mental exercise for the day....oops.<br /><br />Alicia Hall - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer <br /><br /><a href="http://www.crazycancermom.com/">www.crazycancermom.com</a><br /><br /><strong>Lunch: </strong>16 cheese puffs, (2) 3" x 3" pieces of home-made pepperoni pizza, 4 Babe Ruth mini-candybars, 1 Diet Coke<br /><br /><strong>Dinner: </strong>1 3" x 3" piece homemade pepperoni pizza, 4 Reese's peanut butter pumpkin minis, 4 Pringle potato chips (2 cheese, 2 salt & vinegar), 1 Diet Coke<br /><br />4 glasses of waterCrazy Cancer Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230743677611026089noreply@blogger.com0