This blog, my website, are about pediatric cancer. Yes this is about surviving weight loss - but with an underlying purpose. I'm trying to give you a glimpse at surviving the insane world and stress of Childhood Cancer.
I laugh, I muse, I try to look at life as a rare, beautiful gift that is to be cherished each and every day we're given. For the most part, I'm a pretty positive person...but somedays...the Beast claims my heart, my energy, and my resolve.
I know people come here to laugh, to relax. I LOVE you for that! I feed off of your positive energy - I appreciate you. But as I say in my profile, I hope I can teach a thing or two sometimes, as well. Today, I want to teach you all a little bit about living with Childhood Cancer.
For many of you, this is already real. Welcome my sisters and brothers. None of us wanted to join this fraternity - but I hope you've found the hidden beauty that lies within it. I hate the Beast, I abhor the toll the Beast takes on our children and our souls...but I'm not so blind as to ignore the lessons its taught. At least, not on most days. Today, the lessons are very hard to hear.
Today, I received an email about another new ALL angel, three updates from families grieving their lost angels, and the heart wrenching news of the second relapse of an online friend's son. Mothers and fathers who understand that time with our children is "borrowed", but who will live their lives in agony because the loan simply wasn't long enough. That, is life with Childhood Cancer.
Today, I gave in when my own cancer child begged to ride her 'cooter like her big sissy. I gave in when she badgered me that she was strong enough to make it all the way down the block. I also gave in and carried the scooter back to the house, while her biggest sissy held her hand and helped her fight her way home, through pain and exhaustion. And I easily gave in tonight when, after saying it was bed time since 6 pm, she finally let herself go to sleep at 8pm. That, is life with Childhood Cancer.
Today, I came to grips with the reality of what my daughter is left with. Chemo left her with bone damage, brain damage, and now an auto-immune disorder. She is 10 months past her last dose of ritualized poisoning - and yet she faces demons of exhaustion and pain every day. Today, I realized that I thank God each night for those demons...they mean she's still here to fight. That, is life with cancer.
Today, I ate more than I should, accomplished less than I wanted to, and cried more than I like to. Tomorrow, I may do it all again. Or, I may laugh, rejoice, celebrate, and enjoy this crazy life. What makes it a life with cancer? I will do it all with an undercurrent of urgency. If I know nothing else, I know this...you just never really know...
And that is really Life With Cancer.
For today, The Beast took his toll on my heart and the souls of several people I've come to care deeply about. Tonight, I will dwell fully within my sorrow, my grief for what they've lost, for what my daughter has lost. Tomorrow, I will move forward. Tomorrow, I will renew my resolve to effect a change. I have to.
I live a Life with Cancer.
Peace and Grace to all of you.
Alicia Hall - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness for pediatric cancer www.crazycancermom.com
email me your thoughts alicia@crazycancermom.com or feel free to comment, all are welcome here.
Today's menu: Lots of stuff I shouldn't have had: crackers, nachos w/cheese, pudding
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
October 8, 2007
Four days?! Have I really not assaulted you with my diet rampage in 96 hours? (Hah! I can still multiply! Maybe my gray matter hasn't completely solidified...)
Well, lest you begin to miss my musings - I will commence my evening escapades.
Oddly enough, I haven't even thought about dieting the past few days. Weird, huh? I mean, isn't that what everyone tells you is preferable...a lifestyle change, instead of a horror-of-horrors-diet? I'm certainly not going to go all platitudes on you and say I've conquered my blubber demons. Oh it is to laugh....
I'm simply saying, that life rather got in the way of the diet the last few days...and it wasn't so bad. I've been diving into vast pools of clutter - desperately searching for some lost paperwork. I've been cutting/sewing/cursing while attempting to assemble two fairy ensembles for two cute, but time-consuming, little cherubs. I've been scaling grand mountains of laundry and conquering foothills of dishes. All in the name of "cleanliness" - which I've been told is akin to "godliness"...but I have my deep seated doubts about that. In all, I've been up to my need-to-be-shorn armpitties in normal household stuff. Hence, not much diet dribble. Who knew?
I did remember my poundage and its limitations on Friday. Rather, I was FORCED to face my weighty problems...as I renewed my Driver's License. Ack. It all started rather innocently. I had to drop off paperwork to my daughter's caseworker. No problem... 3 kids, a car ride - easy enough. However, right before I left, I received a rather pitiful phone call from my dear sister - about her day o' tragic events. Thus began a series of events, that I will get to relive for years...four to be exact.
As the story goes, my frugal sister decided to try to save a few dollars on Thursday evening. She found her locks in need of some love...but her wallet in need of some padding. Putting the two together, she realized she was in a less-than-desirable position. Lo and behold, the universe smiled on her - and she found a coupon - for none-other than the local hairstyling school. For a budget-friendly seven dollars, she could have her hair trimmed and eat her proverbial cake too. Seemed like a win-win idea! After all, she only needed a "trim"...how hard could that be? Let me just say...famous last words....
By all accounts, the quick, penny-pinching trip to the "student stylist" was vastly pricier than anticipated. To be honest, my sister actually ended up paying nothing for her haircut. That is, unless pride and confidence have a monetary value. When the stylist gasps then weeps...it really doesn't bode well for how you will look for the next few months. My sister's own whimpers at least reclaimed her seven dollars - even if her self esteem is temporarily AWOL.
Enter the phone call Friday afternoon. By the time the poor woman got a hold of me, her hair cut was only one chapter in her tale of woe. Turns out, that she had been inadvertantly sent to the wrong hotel to present a very important work speech. By the time she figured it out, tracked down the correct location, and broke land-speed records getting there...she delivered her speech - 45 minutes late, with bad hair. Then there is the issue of the speech itself. The same person who misdirected her location, also failed to give her the handouts associated with the speech...AND the disc containing the powerpoint. So - we have a stressed, late, empty-handed, powerpointless woman trying to do a presentation...with bad hair. I'll let you imagine how our phone call went.
Moving forward, I arranged to go to her house, post-caseworker meeting - to offer my support for the life-altering tress-distress. Its the least any self-respecting sister should do. Show up, listen to the horrors of how you came to look akin to a sheared sheep...and be righteously indignant on your behalf. This is what siblings were created for. (OK, we're often better known for ridicule - but she was far too fragile for that)
As I left the caseworker's office, I had what I now know to be, an ill-fated epiphany. I thought, "Well, I'm driving right through town. I'm sure I can save myself a trip - there has to be a BMV along my route somewhere." You see, we finally received the paperwork for a handicap placard for Avalon. (While my legs work perfectly fine, and I don't mind pushing Avalon from further out in a parking lot - it only took being trapped at the hospital once to convince me to cave to the placard. We had to dismember her chair and hand it over someone's car to get it in a few weeks ago.) I merely needed to stop in, pay my $3.50 and walk out with my little magic card. At least, that's what I thought.
My first mistake was thinking I could save time. I can never save time. Time is my mortal enemy. The harder I try to thwart it - the more it will thwap me between the eyes. This was no exeption. I called my pixie chick sister and garnered the info I needed, the site of the BMV that I, correctly, had presumed was on my route. No problem! Pull in, pay up - back in the car in no time. Right.....
*At this point, I will do one of my temporary diversions, think of it as a "flashback". This particular Friday was not exactly a stellar day for me, aesthetically, that is. Yes, I did have on real clothes. No pajama pants, no gardening clothes. But face it, it was 90 degrees out - in October! I didn't exactly dress to impress. Then there was my hair. In my zeal for zen-in-the-home, I hadn't exactly paid much attention to my personal attributes over the weekend. Long, super curly hair gets a bit wild-man-Jack if left to its own devices for a few hours. Try a few days...and I'm well on my way to dredlocks. As I rushed around like a chicken-on-speed trying to leave for my meeting - my hairstyle of choice had been to skin it back and put a thousand or so bobby pins in, to try to manage a bun that was smaller than the size of my head. I didn't succeed. As for make-up...I own it. I had some left-over smears under my eyes and maybe clumped on a lash or two - but that's about it. I was pretty.....*
So here I was, the picture of matronly mistakes...poorly dressed, makeupless, pudgy, with 3-day-old-tangled/skinhead-hair-a-go-go. Again, I was pretty... I plod this way, with 3 kids in tow - into the lovely brown-stained-smelly land of the BMV. Frankly, I think the carpet and I were in a fair competition for most-bedraggled that day. I smiled at the clerk, gave her my paperwork, and laid my $4.00 on the counter. She politely smiled back, and requested my Driver's License to complete my simple in-and-out transacton. Then Satan, himself, had a laugh at my expense.
BMV "Ma-am?" (I hate ma'am)
Me "Yes?"
BMV "Your driver's license is expired."
Me "Are you serious?! I haven't looked at that thing in years!"
BMV "Well, it expired on your birthday a few weeks ago. You've been driving illegally!" (said with extreme emphasis...as if I've been found guilty of a capital crime against her mother)
Me "OK, I'll stop in a couple of days and get it replaced."
BMV "But Ma-am. You are ILLEGAL. You can be stopped and ticketed. This is very serious." (Said with unmistakable glee - that meant had I left, she'd have called Smokey and rat-finked me out. I'd have had a ticket in 2.2 seconds)
Me "Fine. Just do it. Aww crap, I look awful!"
BMV "That doesn't matter." (oh yeah, that helped my mood)
(at this point, I figured I might as well laugh. I decide to be a smarty pants.)
Me "You know, you're providing quite the public service here."
BMV "Thank you!" (I didn't know what to do with that...)
Me "No, you need to understand. I'm on the way to commiserate with my sister about a bad hair cut. She'll laugh so hard at how bad my license looks - she'll forget to be miserable. Her hair will grow out...I'll be stuck with this for 4 years."
(enter new, I-considered-smacking-her BMV clerk)
BMV #2 "You can always come back and pay $19.50 to have a new license made."
Me "Like I said, I'll be stuck with it for four years."
*And the final insult to the whole ordeal?
BMV "Ma-am, do you weigh what your driver's license says you do?"
My sister's gales of laughter are the only reason I didn't go back to that BMV fully armed...
- Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness of childhood cancer www.crazycancermom.com
Well, lest you begin to miss my musings - I will commence my evening escapades.
Oddly enough, I haven't even thought about dieting the past few days. Weird, huh? I mean, isn't that what everyone tells you is preferable...a lifestyle change, instead of a horror-of-horrors-diet? I'm certainly not going to go all platitudes on you and say I've conquered my blubber demons. Oh it is to laugh....
I'm simply saying, that life rather got in the way of the diet the last few days...and it wasn't so bad. I've been diving into vast pools of clutter - desperately searching for some lost paperwork. I've been cutting/sewing/cursing while attempting to assemble two fairy ensembles for two cute, but time-consuming, little cherubs. I've been scaling grand mountains of laundry and conquering foothills of dishes. All in the name of "cleanliness" - which I've been told is akin to "godliness"...but I have my deep seated doubts about that. In all, I've been up to my need-to-be-shorn armpitties in normal household stuff. Hence, not much diet dribble. Who knew?
I did remember my poundage and its limitations on Friday. Rather, I was FORCED to face my weighty problems...as I renewed my Driver's License. Ack. It all started rather innocently. I had to drop off paperwork to my daughter's caseworker. No problem... 3 kids, a car ride - easy enough. However, right before I left, I received a rather pitiful phone call from my dear sister - about her day o' tragic events. Thus began a series of events, that I will get to relive for years...four to be exact.
As the story goes, my frugal sister decided to try to save a few dollars on Thursday evening. She found her locks in need of some love...but her wallet in need of some padding. Putting the two together, she realized she was in a less-than-desirable position. Lo and behold, the universe smiled on her - and she found a coupon - for none-other than the local hairstyling school. For a budget-friendly seven dollars, she could have her hair trimmed and eat her proverbial cake too. Seemed like a win-win idea! After all, she only needed a "trim"...how hard could that be? Let me just say...famous last words....
By all accounts, the quick, penny-pinching trip to the "student stylist" was vastly pricier than anticipated. To be honest, my sister actually ended up paying nothing for her haircut. That is, unless pride and confidence have a monetary value. When the stylist gasps then weeps...it really doesn't bode well for how you will look for the next few months. My sister's own whimpers at least reclaimed her seven dollars - even if her self esteem is temporarily AWOL.
Enter the phone call Friday afternoon. By the time the poor woman got a hold of me, her hair cut was only one chapter in her tale of woe. Turns out, that she had been inadvertantly sent to the wrong hotel to present a very important work speech. By the time she figured it out, tracked down the correct location, and broke land-speed records getting there...she delivered her speech - 45 minutes late, with bad hair. Then there is the issue of the speech itself. The same person who misdirected her location, also failed to give her the handouts associated with the speech...AND the disc containing the powerpoint. So - we have a stressed, late, empty-handed, powerpointless woman trying to do a presentation...with bad hair. I'll let you imagine how our phone call went.
Moving forward, I arranged to go to her house, post-caseworker meeting - to offer my support for the life-altering tress-distress. Its the least any self-respecting sister should do. Show up, listen to the horrors of how you came to look akin to a sheared sheep...and be righteously indignant on your behalf. This is what siblings were created for. (OK, we're often better known for ridicule - but she was far too fragile for that)
As I left the caseworker's office, I had what I now know to be, an ill-fated epiphany. I thought, "Well, I'm driving right through town. I'm sure I can save myself a trip - there has to be a BMV along my route somewhere." You see, we finally received the paperwork for a handicap placard for Avalon. (While my legs work perfectly fine, and I don't mind pushing Avalon from further out in a parking lot - it only took being trapped at the hospital once to convince me to cave to the placard. We had to dismember her chair and hand it over someone's car to get it in a few weeks ago.) I merely needed to stop in, pay my $3.50 and walk out with my little magic card. At least, that's what I thought.
My first mistake was thinking I could save time. I can never save time. Time is my mortal enemy. The harder I try to thwart it - the more it will thwap me between the eyes. This was no exeption. I called my pixie chick sister and garnered the info I needed, the site of the BMV that I, correctly, had presumed was on my route. No problem! Pull in, pay up - back in the car in no time. Right.....
*At this point, I will do one of my temporary diversions, think of it as a "flashback". This particular Friday was not exactly a stellar day for me, aesthetically, that is. Yes, I did have on real clothes. No pajama pants, no gardening clothes. But face it, it was 90 degrees out - in October! I didn't exactly dress to impress. Then there was my hair. In my zeal for zen-in-the-home, I hadn't exactly paid much attention to my personal attributes over the weekend. Long, super curly hair gets a bit wild-man-Jack if left to its own devices for a few hours. Try a few days...and I'm well on my way to dredlocks. As I rushed around like a chicken-on-speed trying to leave for my meeting - my hairstyle of choice had been to skin it back and put a thousand or so bobby pins in, to try to manage a bun that was smaller than the size of my head. I didn't succeed. As for make-up...I own it. I had some left-over smears under my eyes and maybe clumped on a lash or two - but that's about it. I was pretty.....*
So here I was, the picture of matronly mistakes...poorly dressed, makeupless, pudgy, with 3-day-old-tangled/skinhead-hair-a-go-go. Again, I was pretty... I plod this way, with 3 kids in tow - into the lovely brown-stained-smelly land of the BMV. Frankly, I think the carpet and I were in a fair competition for most-bedraggled that day. I smiled at the clerk, gave her my paperwork, and laid my $4.00 on the counter. She politely smiled back, and requested my Driver's License to complete my simple in-and-out transacton. Then Satan, himself, had a laugh at my expense.
BMV "Ma-am?" (I hate ma'am)
Me "Yes?"
BMV "Your driver's license is expired."
Me "Are you serious?! I haven't looked at that thing in years!"
BMV "Well, it expired on your birthday a few weeks ago. You've been driving illegally!" (said with extreme emphasis...as if I've been found guilty of a capital crime against her mother)
Me "OK, I'll stop in a couple of days and get it replaced."
BMV "But Ma-am. You are ILLEGAL. You can be stopped and ticketed. This is very serious." (Said with unmistakable glee - that meant had I left, she'd have called Smokey and rat-finked me out. I'd have had a ticket in 2.2 seconds)
Me "Fine. Just do it. Aww crap, I look awful!"
BMV "That doesn't matter." (oh yeah, that helped my mood)
(at this point, I figured I might as well laugh. I decide to be a smarty pants.)
Me "You know, you're providing quite the public service here."
BMV "Thank you!" (I didn't know what to do with that...)
Me "No, you need to understand. I'm on the way to commiserate with my sister about a bad hair cut. She'll laugh so hard at how bad my license looks - she'll forget to be miserable. Her hair will grow out...I'll be stuck with this for 4 years."
(enter new, I-considered-smacking-her BMV clerk)
BMV #2 "You can always come back and pay $19.50 to have a new license made."
Me "Like I said, I'll be stuck with it for four years."
*And the final insult to the whole ordeal?
BMV "Ma-am, do you weigh what your driver's license says you do?"
My sister's gales of laughter are the only reason I didn't go back to that BMV fully armed...
- Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness of childhood cancer www.crazycancermom.com
Thursday, October 4, 2007
October 4, 2007
Several random thoughts...40 year old brain...don't expect great literature this evening.
First, my arse hurts. The back of my front, my built-in seat cushion, my truckin' tuckus...my arse...is killing me! Why you may ask? (and don't even go all 20-something porno on me) Because I bent to the winds and caved to the masses. I did conventional exercise today. ...And the day came, and it was done.... And it sucketh.
I may never, truly survive if I have to regularly partake in this insanity. Who, just who in the flippin' Hill of Sam decided that purposeful over-exertion of your gluteus maximus is a joyful event?!! My roundy nether region is powerful sore...and it sucketh!
No, no - I didn't go do one of those you-have-lost-your-marbles super-human lifting weight thingies. I simply walked. Two miles. Wearing a 20+ lb baby in a backpack, while pushing a wiggly 4 yo in an old loaner-model-until-we-get-the-good-one wheelchair. Two miles. Up hills, down hills, over bumps, around skinny, cute, pity-faced-because-my-daughter-is-in-a-"chariot" twits. Two miles. ...And it sucketh.
Worse...and I do mean WORSE of all...I'm not going to lose one god-forsaken ounce!! Why? WHY, you ask? Because I'm a weak-willed simpleton (yeah - don't remind me about yesterday's rant) who cannot control herself in the face of certain temptations. Did I slather myself in double dark chocolate fudge and drown my sorrows in it? No. Did I barricade myself behind a wall of bagels and eat my way out? No. Did I vacuum suck three dozen bags of Hershey products while simultaneously funding the latest Godiva retail venture? NO! (and dang it - now I want to, since I brought it up)
Oh no, nothing that tasty. I've fallen prey to what I thought was a good, healthy chip-alternative for the kids. Peanuts. Damn you Mr. Peanut!! How dare you be so luscious and dreamy... How dare you wink at me from behind those suggestive glasses. How dare you draw me in with your suggestive top hat and cane...beckoning me with elusive dreams of fancy formal occasions. Fie! Fie on you, you tempter of weak-minded dieters!
Brass tacks, I'm allergic to peanuts. While, thankfully, they don't constrict my airways (like sunflower seeds do), they do whole-heartedly hate my person. One spoon of peanut butter is enough to make my cheeks (facial cheeks) bright, flaming red and swollen. Peanut anything raises my blood pressure, and completely destroys anything resembling a metabolism for days. I could eat 12 peanuts a day for a week (nothing but the peanuts) and gain 15 pounds. I'm telling you honest - peanuts and my innards should NEVER meet.
And yet, I purchased them on the fateful shopping trip we discussed yesterday. I figured I could easily avoid them - they hate me. As with so many things the past month...I was wrong. WRONG, wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh no, I have not just not avoided them...I've scarfed them. LOTS of them. Today? Oh...conservatively 1 & 1/2 Cups or more. Oink, oink, oink.....
What demonic, black-hearted force has overtaken my common sense? I KNOW the stupid things are out to get me...and yet, I ate them. My face currently feels like a blast furnace, and my derriere/legs/back feel like the back end of a racehorse after the Kentucky Derby. I could have enjoyed the loss of some fatitude today. (the rest of my day was perfectly acceptable) Instead, I will have eaten little, exercised much, and still likely GAIN WEIGHT. AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
OK, a primeval scream (or 6) can actually help your mental state. Whew. I suppose I will have to chalk today up to yet another learning experience. Gack. You'd think by my current ripe, old, age - I'd have learned enough by now. Apparently, there is no age limit on stupidity by consumption. Fabulous...I wonder what else is lurking out there, waiting for its chance to take me down...
As for my random thoughts - here are a few of them. Its October 4th, and I'm so OVER breast cancer awareness month - I COULD SCREAM. Please, please - don't get me wrong. As a woman, I am THRILLED that Breast Cancer Awareness Month has become part of our national conscience. I can remember the days of the "whisper". "Did you hear? Mrs. Smith has breast cancer." (all said very hush-hush, and "breast" was barely audible) I'm tickled "pink" that this awful disease has reached a level of acceptance and support that has afforded it the ability to move forward in treatment and survivorship by enormous leaps and bounds. I buy my share of awareness products, vote for awareness issues, and weep for the pain endured by friends in the fight. I GET it. But, WHY does no one "get" our kids?
"30 days hath September..." says the poem. No days, had cancer kids...say I. Why didn't one national talk show focus on our kids? Why did CNN cancel its one 3 minute report on Childhood Cancer Awareness Month? WHY?!!!
Breast cancer is heavily funded by the government - because it affects millions of women. Drug companies trip over themselves to fund research, because they have millions of potential customers and payoffs. Both groups ignore our kids - because there aren't enough of them to "count". The parents of 12,500 children each year, would beg to differ with that.
Enough soapboxing, time for my requests. Please, please, please, consider "helping" our kids. If you think this blog is funny - send it on. Send it to Ellen, Rachel Ray, Oprah, Good Morning America, The Today Show, etc. If I make them laugh...maybe they'll listen! Send it to your friends, your enemies, your family (whichever category they fall in) Maybe they will know the right people to send it to. A few clicks, and one of us may make the difference of a lifetime. Those of us in this horrible fight, are frustrated and desperate. We feel like we're banging our heads against 1000 foot walls, and only denting our heads, not the establishment. If you have any brilliant ideas, amazing contacts, or magic wands of attention - please share! I'm game for anything - as long as I can talk about "my" kids. I believe in the beauty of these special kids - I just want the chance to show everyone else.
OK, apparently, soapboxing is rather equivalent to primeval screaming. It can be quite good for the soul! Forgive my rants - and understand the LOVE they are screamed with. I will literally do anything to thank the people who gave me back my daughter. Its a gift that can never be repaid.
Hugs to ALL of you!! This blog, your eyeballs dragging across it...are keeping me sane and in the "fighting" mood. You rock my world!!!
Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
I love to hear from you! Please feel free to post comments on the blogs - or email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com
Breakfast: one egg, 1/8 C cheddar cheese, 1/4 C mushrooms, 1/4 C onions, 1/2 TBS real bacon bits, 1 C coffee/creamer
Lunch: ditto - I'd made 2 eggs for brkfst - but only ate half then, peanuts, 1 C coffee/creamer
Dinner: peanuts, taco meat, lettuce, cheddar cheese, sour cream, onions, diet Coke, peanuts,
4 glasses water, walked 2 miles!
First, my arse hurts. The back of my front, my built-in seat cushion, my truckin' tuckus...my arse...is killing me! Why you may ask? (and don't even go all 20-something porno on me) Because I bent to the winds and caved to the masses. I did conventional exercise today. ...And the day came, and it was done.... And it sucketh.
I may never, truly survive if I have to regularly partake in this insanity. Who, just who in the flippin' Hill of Sam decided that purposeful over-exertion of your gluteus maximus is a joyful event?!! My roundy nether region is powerful sore...and it sucketh!
No, no - I didn't go do one of those you-have-lost-your-marbles super-human lifting weight thingies. I simply walked. Two miles. Wearing a 20+ lb baby in a backpack, while pushing a wiggly 4 yo in an old loaner-model-until-we-get-the-good-one wheelchair. Two miles. Up hills, down hills, over bumps, around skinny, cute, pity-faced-because-my-daughter-is-in-a-"chariot" twits. Two miles. ...And it sucketh.
Worse...and I do mean WORSE of all...I'm not going to lose one god-forsaken ounce!! Why? WHY, you ask? Because I'm a weak-willed simpleton (yeah - don't remind me about yesterday's rant) who cannot control herself in the face of certain temptations. Did I slather myself in double dark chocolate fudge and drown my sorrows in it? No. Did I barricade myself behind a wall of bagels and eat my way out? No. Did I vacuum suck three dozen bags of Hershey products while simultaneously funding the latest Godiva retail venture? NO! (and dang it - now I want to, since I brought it up)
Oh no, nothing that tasty. I've fallen prey to what I thought was a good, healthy chip-alternative for the kids. Peanuts. Damn you Mr. Peanut!! How dare you be so luscious and dreamy... How dare you wink at me from behind those suggestive glasses. How dare you draw me in with your suggestive top hat and cane...beckoning me with elusive dreams of fancy formal occasions. Fie! Fie on you, you tempter of weak-minded dieters!
Brass tacks, I'm allergic to peanuts. While, thankfully, they don't constrict my airways (like sunflower seeds do), they do whole-heartedly hate my person. One spoon of peanut butter is enough to make my cheeks (facial cheeks) bright, flaming red and swollen. Peanut anything raises my blood pressure, and completely destroys anything resembling a metabolism for days. I could eat 12 peanuts a day for a week (nothing but the peanuts) and gain 15 pounds. I'm telling you honest - peanuts and my innards should NEVER meet.
And yet, I purchased them on the fateful shopping trip we discussed yesterday. I figured I could easily avoid them - they hate me. As with so many things the past month...I was wrong. WRONG, wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh no, I have not just not avoided them...I've scarfed them. LOTS of them. Today? Oh...conservatively 1 & 1/2 Cups or more. Oink, oink, oink.....
What demonic, black-hearted force has overtaken my common sense? I KNOW the stupid things are out to get me...and yet, I ate them. My face currently feels like a blast furnace, and my derriere/legs/back feel like the back end of a racehorse after the Kentucky Derby. I could have enjoyed the loss of some fatitude today. (the rest of my day was perfectly acceptable) Instead, I will have eaten little, exercised much, and still likely GAIN WEIGHT. AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
OK, a primeval scream (or 6) can actually help your mental state. Whew. I suppose I will have to chalk today up to yet another learning experience. Gack. You'd think by my current ripe, old, age - I'd have learned enough by now. Apparently, there is no age limit on stupidity by consumption. Fabulous...I wonder what else is lurking out there, waiting for its chance to take me down...
As for my random thoughts - here are a few of them. Its October 4th, and I'm so OVER breast cancer awareness month - I COULD SCREAM. Please, please - don't get me wrong. As a woman, I am THRILLED that Breast Cancer Awareness Month has become part of our national conscience. I can remember the days of the "whisper". "Did you hear? Mrs. Smith has breast cancer." (all said very hush-hush, and "breast" was barely audible) I'm tickled "pink" that this awful disease has reached a level of acceptance and support that has afforded it the ability to move forward in treatment and survivorship by enormous leaps and bounds. I buy my share of awareness products, vote for awareness issues, and weep for the pain endured by friends in the fight. I GET it. But, WHY does no one "get" our kids?
"30 days hath September..." says the poem. No days, had cancer kids...say I. Why didn't one national talk show focus on our kids? Why did CNN cancel its one 3 minute report on Childhood Cancer Awareness Month? WHY?!!!
Breast cancer is heavily funded by the government - because it affects millions of women. Drug companies trip over themselves to fund research, because they have millions of potential customers and payoffs. Both groups ignore our kids - because there aren't enough of them to "count". The parents of 12,500 children each year, would beg to differ with that.
Enough soapboxing, time for my requests. Please, please, please, consider "helping" our kids. If you think this blog is funny - send it on. Send it to Ellen, Rachel Ray, Oprah, Good Morning America, The Today Show, etc. If I make them laugh...maybe they'll listen! Send it to your friends, your enemies, your family (whichever category they fall in) Maybe they will know the right people to send it to. A few clicks, and one of us may make the difference of a lifetime. Those of us in this horrible fight, are frustrated and desperate. We feel like we're banging our heads against 1000 foot walls, and only denting our heads, not the establishment. If you have any brilliant ideas, amazing contacts, or magic wands of attention - please share! I'm game for anything - as long as I can talk about "my" kids. I believe in the beauty of these special kids - I just want the chance to show everyone else.
OK, apparently, soapboxing is rather equivalent to primeval screaming. It can be quite good for the soul! Forgive my rants - and understand the LOVE they are screamed with. I will literally do anything to thank the people who gave me back my daughter. Its a gift that can never be repaid.
Hugs to ALL of you!! This blog, your eyeballs dragging across it...are keeping me sane and in the "fighting" mood. You rock my world!!!
Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
I love to hear from you! Please feel free to post comments on the blogs - or email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com
Breakfast: one egg, 1/8 C cheddar cheese, 1/4 C mushrooms, 1/4 C onions, 1/2 TBS real bacon bits, 1 C coffee/creamer
Lunch: ditto - I'd made 2 eggs for brkfst - but only ate half then, peanuts, 1 C coffee/creamer
Dinner: peanuts, taco meat, lettuce, cheddar cheese, sour cream, onions, diet Coke, peanuts,
4 glasses water, walked 2 miles!
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
October 3, 2007
I've been grocery shopping...and it was a spiritual event.
I want to share with all of you. I had a great epiphany at the grocery store. It's cheaper to be fat.
You know, its a sad thing. We over sized people are never (OK, rarely) portrayed well in the media. On TV shows, we're usually the slothen, hill-jack, never-worked-an-honest-day schmucko who gets bumped off in the first 5 minutes. Or, we get to be the welfare neighbor with 12 kids and bad style. Often, we get to be the mistreated, under-appreciated assistant/secretary/housekeeper who rats out our thin, rich employers to the detective flavor-of-the-hour. Pick your substandard, subservient position...Hollywood whooptie-hoos will generally send anyone with any flabiliciousness straight to that door.
In real life, we don't all fit that particular casting couch...but there are some similarities of note. You just don't normally see well-padded women traipsing around golf courses or country clubs. I've been doing my fair share of elbow-rubbing with the higher-salary set as I speak to raise money for our hospital. I've noticed that I'm usually the "best fed" in the room. Worse, I always feel like my lower income bracket is somehow tattooed across my ample hindquarters.
Why is that? Do higher tax brackets mean higher commitments to healthy lifestyles? Do more zeros in your salary mean more will power in the kitchen? Do larger homes mean more room to store smaller clothes? Horse hockey! Money may be the deciding factor...but its not about will power or commitment. Its about the almighty dollar.
Its dad-blasted pricey to be healthy! I mean it. I'm not talking nickel and dime more pricey...I'm talking double-the-grocery-bill who-needs-lights kind of pricey. Pasta, white bread (whole grain stuff might as well be made of dollar bills), potatoes, rice...are cheap. I can get a package of spaghetti big enough to feed a third world country for dinner - for 5 bucks. OR, I can get three bell peppers to cut up for my morning eggs and maybe evening dinner - for 6 bucks. Even if math isn't your forte...that just doesn't add up. Two loaves of white bread, 1 giant jar of strawberry jam, a double pack of peanut butter...and I have lunch for 4 kids for 7 days - cost = $11.00. Or, I can pay $6.99/pound for 3 pounds of deli turkey, $3.29/ea for 2 loaves of whole grain bread, $5.99/lb for 2 lbs cheese and get 1 week's lunches for approx $40.00. Get friggin' real!
And if you pay attention to my lunch menu - my kids were only getting sandwiches. If I decide to be kind, I can flush out those meals with fresh fruits and veggies...or chips. Would you like to take a flying fart guess at which option is cheaper? Its insane! The deck is stacked against us!
As I fought my way through the local warehouse store, pushing a cart that weighed more than Babar, arguing tooth and nail with two chip-crazed daughters and one carb-crazed tween, all while being pummeled with a pillow attached to the baby's "buggy buddy"....I had a life-changing epiphany. I'm not gluttonous, weak, or simple-minded... (OK, the last one is arguable on some days...but that's for another discussion) I'm merely POOR. The epidemic of obesity in our country isn't caused by television, evil processed food companies, or infiltration of our commerce by terrorism-minded grocers. We're fat because its darned cheaper to be!
Millie St. Rich isn't better at comprehending the carbohydrate/fat/serving size information on food labels. Millie is simply better at figuring out how to pay for that luxurious thing we call "healthy food choices". Low-fat, low-carb, whole-food, organic items aren't merely a mouthful to say, they're a wallet-full to fund. It creates a rather interesting hypothesis. Would we be so overweight, if the "good" stuff was cheaper than the bad? If consumerism forced the choice barometer to swing fresh, whole, healthy...would the illicit foods of the world suddenly move to the price bracket best afforded by affluence?
In days past, that's exactly what happened. Ruben painted round women, because they were the "picture" of health and abundance in his day. Women of bodily substance had to be women of wealth - they were the only ones able to afford empty calorie food and avoid calorie-burning exercise. Now, high calorie foods are abundant and more affordable than their healthy counterparts. Worse, the people who can only afford the cheap, available, unhealthy fair...are often so overworked trying to make ends meet - they can't "afford" the time to squeeze in the kind of calorie-burning activities their bodies need. Talk about your conundrum...
Do I have a grandiose scheme to reverse the socio-economic Fat Trap? Would that I did. (old English - not a typo...I paid attention in Jr. English!) Alas and Alack (OK, just being a smarty pants here...), I have no earthly idea how to bring about an all-stop and 180 reversal. All I do know, is that somehow - my little epiphany removed some of my personal guilt. Am I right to let it go? Hmmm, perhaps that's not mine to determine. If I get a vote, I say, "Yes!" I didn't create the pricing structures...I merely fell prey to their ease of my financial woes. Did those cheaper prices dictate that I eat waaayyyyyy more than the suggested serving size, eat late at night, never attempt any exercise, or never meet at cookie I didn't like? Ummmm, no. So, while I can muse over the reversal of fortunes...I cannot hold that interesting fact culpable for my own tuckus.
Where did all of this ephinanizing leave me? Dirt damn poor, with a cart full of healthy crap, and four convinced-their-mother-is-a-no-fun-toad children.
Oh well, maybe if I buy something sugary and awful...I can hold it up like bait and get them to chase me for exercise....
Hope I gave you some "food" for thought. ;-)
- Alicia - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 1 C coffee w/creamer, 7 macademia nuts (we were running out the door)
Lunch: 1 C coffee w/creamer, 1 Diet Pepsi, 2 crunchy Kashi pumpkin granola bars (1 pkg)
Dinner: diet coke, fake crabmeat - dipped in butter with lots of garlic! - 1/2 C peanuts (ack I'll pay for that) 8 macademia nuts - yeah yeah, too many calories for dinner, exactly why being gone all day and getting super hungry is stupid...
I want to share with all of you. I had a great epiphany at the grocery store. It's cheaper to be fat.
You know, its a sad thing. We over sized people are never (OK, rarely) portrayed well in the media. On TV shows, we're usually the slothen, hill-jack, never-worked-an-honest-day schmucko who gets bumped off in the first 5 minutes. Or, we get to be the welfare neighbor with 12 kids and bad style. Often, we get to be the mistreated, under-appreciated assistant/secretary/housekeeper who rats out our thin, rich employers to the detective flavor-of-the-hour. Pick your substandard, subservient position...Hollywood whooptie-hoos will generally send anyone with any flabiliciousness straight to that door.
In real life, we don't all fit that particular casting couch...but there are some similarities of note. You just don't normally see well-padded women traipsing around golf courses or country clubs. I've been doing my fair share of elbow-rubbing with the higher-salary set as I speak to raise money for our hospital. I've noticed that I'm usually the "best fed" in the room. Worse, I always feel like my lower income bracket is somehow tattooed across my ample hindquarters.
Why is that? Do higher tax brackets mean higher commitments to healthy lifestyles? Do more zeros in your salary mean more will power in the kitchen? Do larger homes mean more room to store smaller clothes? Horse hockey! Money may be the deciding factor...but its not about will power or commitment. Its about the almighty dollar.
Its dad-blasted pricey to be healthy! I mean it. I'm not talking nickel and dime more pricey...I'm talking double-the-grocery-bill who-needs-lights kind of pricey. Pasta, white bread (whole grain stuff might as well be made of dollar bills), potatoes, rice...are cheap. I can get a package of spaghetti big enough to feed a third world country for dinner - for 5 bucks. OR, I can get three bell peppers to cut up for my morning eggs and maybe evening dinner - for 6 bucks. Even if math isn't your forte...that just doesn't add up. Two loaves of white bread, 1 giant jar of strawberry jam, a double pack of peanut butter...and I have lunch for 4 kids for 7 days - cost = $11.00. Or, I can pay $6.99/pound for 3 pounds of deli turkey, $3.29/ea for 2 loaves of whole grain bread, $5.99/lb for 2 lbs cheese and get 1 week's lunches for approx $40.00. Get friggin' real!
And if you pay attention to my lunch menu - my kids were only getting sandwiches. If I decide to be kind, I can flush out those meals with fresh fruits and veggies...or chips. Would you like to take a flying fart guess at which option is cheaper? Its insane! The deck is stacked against us!
As I fought my way through the local warehouse store, pushing a cart that weighed more than Babar, arguing tooth and nail with two chip-crazed daughters and one carb-crazed tween, all while being pummeled with a pillow attached to the baby's "buggy buddy"....I had a life-changing epiphany. I'm not gluttonous, weak, or simple-minded... (OK, the last one is arguable on some days...but that's for another discussion) I'm merely POOR. The epidemic of obesity in our country isn't caused by television, evil processed food companies, or infiltration of our commerce by terrorism-minded grocers. We're fat because its darned cheaper to be!
Millie St. Rich isn't better at comprehending the carbohydrate/fat/serving size information on food labels. Millie is simply better at figuring out how to pay for that luxurious thing we call "healthy food choices". Low-fat, low-carb, whole-food, organic items aren't merely a mouthful to say, they're a wallet-full to fund. It creates a rather interesting hypothesis. Would we be so overweight, if the "good" stuff was cheaper than the bad? If consumerism forced the choice barometer to swing fresh, whole, healthy...would the illicit foods of the world suddenly move to the price bracket best afforded by affluence?
In days past, that's exactly what happened. Ruben painted round women, because they were the "picture" of health and abundance in his day. Women of bodily substance had to be women of wealth - they were the only ones able to afford empty calorie food and avoid calorie-burning exercise. Now, high calorie foods are abundant and more affordable than their healthy counterparts. Worse, the people who can only afford the cheap, available, unhealthy fair...are often so overworked trying to make ends meet - they can't "afford" the time to squeeze in the kind of calorie-burning activities their bodies need. Talk about your conundrum...
Do I have a grandiose scheme to reverse the socio-economic Fat Trap? Would that I did. (old English - not a typo...I paid attention in Jr. English!) Alas and Alack (OK, just being a smarty pants here...), I have no earthly idea how to bring about an all-stop and 180 reversal. All I do know, is that somehow - my little epiphany removed some of my personal guilt. Am I right to let it go? Hmmm, perhaps that's not mine to determine. If I get a vote, I say, "Yes!" I didn't create the pricing structures...I merely fell prey to their ease of my financial woes. Did those cheaper prices dictate that I eat waaayyyyyy more than the suggested serving size, eat late at night, never attempt any exercise, or never meet at cookie I didn't like? Ummmm, no. So, while I can muse over the reversal of fortunes...I cannot hold that interesting fact culpable for my own tuckus.
Where did all of this ephinanizing leave me? Dirt damn poor, with a cart full of healthy crap, and four convinced-their-mother-is-a-no-fun-toad children.
Oh well, maybe if I buy something sugary and awful...I can hold it up like bait and get them to chase me for exercise....
Hope I gave you some "food" for thought. ;-)
- Alicia - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 1 C coffee w/creamer, 7 macademia nuts (we were running out the door)
Lunch: 1 C coffee w/creamer, 1 Diet Pepsi, 2 crunchy Kashi pumpkin granola bars (1 pkg)
Dinner: diet coke, fake crabmeat - dipped in butter with lots of garlic! - 1/2 C peanuts (ack I'll pay for that) 8 macademia nuts - yeah yeah, too many calories for dinner, exactly why being gone all day and getting super hungry is stupid...
Monday, October 1, 2007
October 1, 2007
Happy, Happy, Happy welcome-to-the-beginning-of-the-Hill 30th Birthday to my sister! Welcome to things sagging, and parts crackling. Welcome to Ma'am, no more doors being opened, and the "joy" (NOT) of never being carded again. Welcome to excess in spots you don't want it...and deficits in spots you'd love to see chock full.
Does age affect your keester? In a word...YES! Sure, sure, there are skinnies out there who look dad-blasted fabulous for the miles they've traveled. Then, there are the "real" people. Do we real people have different DNA? Maybe, but I won't be so flippant as to use that as a cop-out. I fully own my roundy shape. I prefer to think we fluffy people have different OOL - Outlooks On Life.
OOL people know that exercise is good for you and sugar is bad. We've read the articles, been terrified by the statistics, and *drooled* over tiny little outfits we'd love to cram our over-sized derrieres in. Problem is, we are perfectly capable of *fooling* ourselves into thinking that "just one" won't really matter in the grand scheme of things.
Also, we OOLs generally have issues with taking time to sweat. Oh, we have more than a bit of sweat in our worlds. We sweat where bill money will come from, if we're raising our families well, if we're affecting global warming, and heck, we even sweat the small stuff. Our problem lies with finding the time and energy to sweat in ways that are deemed "aerobically" satisfying. We OOLs are often lacking the proper *tools* to fully meet our functional sweat requirements.
Of course, a few OOLs may lie in my personal camp. I despise sweat. I mean, take me out and beat me with a jumprope or 12...I can't stand sweat. I don't mind exercising in a *pool* - but those aren't generally accessible in the "tropical" wonderland of Ohio - unless you happen to have an abundance of funds and can join a happy club somewhere. If you are wondering why I haven't done so...see the previous paragraph about why OOLs sweat.
So, my dear sister, beware. If you find yourself in the company of the OOL crowd, you may find your britches shrinking, your baggage growing, and your wallet with a bit of an echo. We are often labeled *fools*, and refuse to follow most *rules*, particularly those bent on curbing fun. We have a tendency to choose a laugh over the grind, and are well known for attempting to leave worries behind. We are irreverent, pudgy, and utterly non-compliant at times.
We might have a radical OOL - but overall, we're pretty *COOL*. Welcome to age and wisdom. Its everything its cracked up to be and more.
Power to the OOLS!
Oh aging...we love to denegrate it...but I'm fighting like hell to make sure my daughter gets to gripe about it... - ALICIA - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids at www.crazycancermom.com
Here's the deal. Our larder is so barren, we can hear the echoes. Today's menu was born of desperation and starvation. These, my friends, are not happy bedmates.
Breakfast: 12 pieces of pepperoni, 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: salsa, sour cream, corn tortilla chips - the crumbs at the bottom of the bag, diet coke
Dinner: 2 or 3 oz deli turkey (Viola! I found a bag in the back of the fridge!) , water
Yep - I'm hungry. Probably won't lose an ounce. Stupid chips. Stupid sensitivity to carbs. Stupid no food. Stupid no time. Stupid no money. OK, stupid rant...I'll go to bed now.
Does age affect your keester? In a word...YES! Sure, sure, there are skinnies out there who look dad-blasted fabulous for the miles they've traveled. Then, there are the "real" people. Do we real people have different DNA? Maybe, but I won't be so flippant as to use that as a cop-out. I fully own my roundy shape. I prefer to think we fluffy people have different OOL - Outlooks On Life.
OOL people know that exercise is good for you and sugar is bad. We've read the articles, been terrified by the statistics, and *drooled* over tiny little outfits we'd love to cram our over-sized derrieres in. Problem is, we are perfectly capable of *fooling* ourselves into thinking that "just one" won't really matter in the grand scheme of things.
Also, we OOLs generally have issues with taking time to sweat. Oh, we have more than a bit of sweat in our worlds. We sweat where bill money will come from, if we're raising our families well, if we're affecting global warming, and heck, we even sweat the small stuff. Our problem lies with finding the time and energy to sweat in ways that are deemed "aerobically" satisfying. We OOLs are often lacking the proper *tools* to fully meet our functional sweat requirements.
Of course, a few OOLs may lie in my personal camp. I despise sweat. I mean, take me out and beat me with a jumprope or 12...I can't stand sweat. I don't mind exercising in a *pool* - but those aren't generally accessible in the "tropical" wonderland of Ohio - unless you happen to have an abundance of funds and can join a happy club somewhere. If you are wondering why I haven't done so...see the previous paragraph about why OOLs sweat.
So, my dear sister, beware. If you find yourself in the company of the OOL crowd, you may find your britches shrinking, your baggage growing, and your wallet with a bit of an echo. We are often labeled *fools*, and refuse to follow most *rules*, particularly those bent on curbing fun. We have a tendency to choose a laugh over the grind, and are well known for attempting to leave worries behind. We are irreverent, pudgy, and utterly non-compliant at times.
We might have a radical OOL - but overall, we're pretty *COOL*. Welcome to age and wisdom. Its everything its cracked up to be and more.
Power to the OOLS!
Oh aging...we love to denegrate it...but I'm fighting like hell to make sure my daughter gets to gripe about it... - ALICIA - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids at www.crazycancermom.com
Here's the deal. Our larder is so barren, we can hear the echoes. Today's menu was born of desperation and starvation. These, my friends, are not happy bedmates.
Breakfast: 12 pieces of pepperoni, 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: salsa, sour cream, corn tortilla chips - the crumbs at the bottom of the bag, diet coke
Dinner: 2 or 3 oz deli turkey (Viola! I found a bag in the back of the fridge!) , water
Yep - I'm hungry. Probably won't lose an ounce. Stupid chips. Stupid sensitivity to carbs. Stupid no food. Stupid no time. Stupid no money. OK, stupid rant...I'll go to bed now.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
September 30, 2007
OK, blog...blog like you've never blogged before. I have 10 minutes to the end of the news, and the arrival of a hubby and tiny hungry man to my sanctum sanctorum (better known as my hurricane-regularly-hits-it-bedroom/office/school room) So I may rant slightly off-kilter this evening...I'm on a time crunch.
Well, today is the end of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. How many stories did you see on the news? How much Britney barf were you inundated with? See my point? How many "gold ribbon" products did you find in your local toy stores, children's clothing sections, or school aisles? Oh....you mean you didn't even know that pediatric cancer had a color? Yeah...me neither - until my daughter had been in treatment for over a year! Folks, I believe we have a bit of a PR problem.
I'd been contemplating this crazy Fat-A-Thon idea for months, before taking the sacrificial plunge. I chose to start the insanity this month - for an obvious, close-to-my-heart reason. I want someone, anyone, out there in cyber space to sit up and take notice! Our kids count!!! Our kids are suffering, fighting, and damn-you-cancer dying...and far, far too few people recognize that. I'm rather fed up with that.
Moms in our on-line group created a beautiful, moving, truthful video for this month. 60,000 people have watch it. This video tells the story of every cancer child - with raw honesty. It could change the world - if we could figure out how to get people to watch it. An uber-funny brilliant comedienne has a video with her singing perhaps the best ditty about mothers ever written. Its downright hysterical - no arguments here. Its been viewed over a million times. Do I remotely denigrate her? Nope. She's a hoot. Problem is, getting those same million to give a fig and a holler about our kids.
So here I sit. Eating healthy crap and writing oddball monologues about my masochism. Maybe, just maybe, if I can make people laugh, I can eventually make them sit up and take notice too. I may be the oddest duck diving in the pond...I could care less about publicity for me. I figure, if I can get someone to notice the Fat-A-Thon - then I can sneak in the cancer stuff. Asking directly, begging, and even the pity angle haven't worked a boatload so far. The way I see it, the only avenue left is humor.
Are our kids serious? Hmmm, let's see. Do bears, deer, raccoons, and the occasional eagle fart in the forest? Duh........ Are our *KIDS* also funny? Oh yeah. Have you ever met a 2 year old who wasn't? You haven't laughed until you've heard the shrieks from a 24 yr old nurse who's, again, been scared stiff by an ornery 12 yo patient hiding in a linen closet. 4 year olds may not skateboard well, but they can pole surf at near warp speeds. Our kids are KIDS first - they just happen to be patients in their spare time.
Have I made you laugh this month? Have you seen parts of your own round rear in my posts? Good! That makes me happy. Want to thrill my socks off? Share. Share my Blubber Blog, share my thoughts, share my mission...and maybe, someone new will share my passion. I don't want to weep for the empty arms of another mother. I feel their aching...its almost more than my heart can bear.
I want to feel the joy of end-of-treatment parties. I want to celebrate the glorious work of dedicated researchers - as they find new miracle cures. I want to sing from the highest rooftops and dance on the biggest stage...our kids matter!! Our kids count! If the universe is listening, next September 30, I'll be writing you about what a magical month it was. We'll be discussing last week's story on Good Morning America and last night's story on CBS Evening News. We'll be arguing over which story was better presented, and which network seemed more committed, rather than bemoaning the fact that no one seemed to care at all. We have 11 months, my friends. We can knock on doors, ring phones, and electronically stalk everyone in the media until they hear us.
Listen, if I can starve publicly, how hard can it be for you to share? Write to Oprah, Rachel Ray, Ellen, The Tonight Show, Good Morning America...I don't care who! But email your internet brains out. At least if they think I'm nuts - they'll talk about me or to me...and we can start the real dialogue...the important one...cancer kids.
As for the actual Fat-A-Thon, I've won and lost several battles this month. I started this quest at a whopping 258 pounds. At my lowest, I was 244 pounds. Then, a new medical disaster fell on my beautiful daughter's tiny shoulders - and stress began gnawing at my resolve. Over a weekend get-a-way at a cabin - I gained 3 .5 pounds back. I fought hard, and removed them a second time. Then...well, the news got a little worse AND it was my 40th birthday...and I rather lost my head. This time, I gained 4 pounds back - all the way back up to 248. As of today, September 30, I have solidly lost 3 of those elusive pounds again. For two days now, I've been 245 pounds. I count that as -13 pounds in my first month on the diet. Would I have preferred -20? Are you insane?!!! I would have been ecstatic! But, -13 is nothing to sneeze at - and its even been under an element of duress.
To those of you who are joining me by reading these mind meanderings...THANK YOU. I cling to your warm comments like floating doughnuts in a torrential sea of Koolaid. Knowing that I have to be honest with you...keeps me honest with myself. By the by...the whole "honesty" game is highly over-rated. I am, personally, finding accountability to be a major drag. I look at that lovely, whole-grain loaf of Panera bread in my fridge...and hear you all gasping if I eat it. I don't know how you've managed it...but you're making an honest woman out of a perpetual pudge fabricator. You may very well all be psychics in the making.
Let's use those unnerving powers for good...let's pester the pantaloons off of some media folks until someone caves and listens! Until then, I send you all a fruit-loopy queenly wave and a squishy-seat bummy wiggle.
Pickle lips and frog farts. Stop taking life so darn serious and embrace a smile!
- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1 oz cheddar cheese, 1/2 C onions, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: We attended the Survivor's Picnic with our hospital. You will hear this often and repeatedly...I LOVE our hospital staff! I love spending time with them, I love them as humans as much as I do as medical people. They are kind, funny, silly people - and all of them make this happenstance world a better place. I ate chicken fingers covered in delectable bread crispy stuff. I drank water.
Dinner: buttered popcorn and a diet coke. Too busy trying to find my room under mountains of laundry to be bothered to make anything. Hubby's gourmet popcorn had to suffice.
PS - I LOVE our Heme-Onc staff!! And this took 1 hour to write, not 10 minutes. Good thing little man was pooped from fun in the sun! ;-)
Well, today is the end of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. How many stories did you see on the news? How much Britney barf were you inundated with? See my point? How many "gold ribbon" products did you find in your local toy stores, children's clothing sections, or school aisles? Oh....you mean you didn't even know that pediatric cancer had a color? Yeah...me neither - until my daughter had been in treatment for over a year! Folks, I believe we have a bit of a PR problem.
I'd been contemplating this crazy Fat-A-Thon idea for months, before taking the sacrificial plunge. I chose to start the insanity this month - for an obvious, close-to-my-heart reason. I want someone, anyone, out there in cyber space to sit up and take notice! Our kids count!!! Our kids are suffering, fighting, and damn-you-cancer dying...and far, far too few people recognize that. I'm rather fed up with that.
Moms in our on-line group created a beautiful, moving, truthful video for this month. 60,000 people have watch it. This video tells the story of every cancer child - with raw honesty. It could change the world - if we could figure out how to get people to watch it. An uber-funny brilliant comedienne has a video with her singing perhaps the best ditty about mothers ever written. Its downright hysterical - no arguments here. Its been viewed over a million times. Do I remotely denigrate her? Nope. She's a hoot. Problem is, getting those same million to give a fig and a holler about our kids.
So here I sit. Eating healthy crap and writing oddball monologues about my masochism. Maybe, just maybe, if I can make people laugh, I can eventually make them sit up and take notice too. I may be the oddest duck diving in the pond...I could care less about publicity for me. I figure, if I can get someone to notice the Fat-A-Thon - then I can sneak in the cancer stuff. Asking directly, begging, and even the pity angle haven't worked a boatload so far. The way I see it, the only avenue left is humor.
Are our kids serious? Hmmm, let's see. Do bears, deer, raccoons, and the occasional eagle fart in the forest? Duh........ Are our *KIDS* also funny? Oh yeah. Have you ever met a 2 year old who wasn't? You haven't laughed until you've heard the shrieks from a 24 yr old nurse who's, again, been scared stiff by an ornery 12 yo patient hiding in a linen closet. 4 year olds may not skateboard well, but they can pole surf at near warp speeds. Our kids are KIDS first - they just happen to be patients in their spare time.
Have I made you laugh this month? Have you seen parts of your own round rear in my posts? Good! That makes me happy. Want to thrill my socks off? Share. Share my Blubber Blog, share my thoughts, share my mission...and maybe, someone new will share my passion. I don't want to weep for the empty arms of another mother. I feel their aching...its almost more than my heart can bear.
I want to feel the joy of end-of-treatment parties. I want to celebrate the glorious work of dedicated researchers - as they find new miracle cures. I want to sing from the highest rooftops and dance on the biggest stage...our kids matter!! Our kids count! If the universe is listening, next September 30, I'll be writing you about what a magical month it was. We'll be discussing last week's story on Good Morning America and last night's story on CBS Evening News. We'll be arguing over which story was better presented, and which network seemed more committed, rather than bemoaning the fact that no one seemed to care at all. We have 11 months, my friends. We can knock on doors, ring phones, and electronically stalk everyone in the media until they hear us.
Listen, if I can starve publicly, how hard can it be for you to share? Write to Oprah, Rachel Ray, Ellen, The Tonight Show, Good Morning America...I don't care who! But email your internet brains out. At least if they think I'm nuts - they'll talk about me or to me...and we can start the real dialogue...the important one...cancer kids.
As for the actual Fat-A-Thon, I've won and lost several battles this month. I started this quest at a whopping 258 pounds. At my lowest, I was 244 pounds. Then, a new medical disaster fell on my beautiful daughter's tiny shoulders - and stress began gnawing at my resolve. Over a weekend get-a-way at a cabin - I gained 3 .5 pounds back. I fought hard, and removed them a second time. Then...well, the news got a little worse AND it was my 40th birthday...and I rather lost my head. This time, I gained 4 pounds back - all the way back up to 248. As of today, September 30, I have solidly lost 3 of those elusive pounds again. For two days now, I've been 245 pounds. I count that as -13 pounds in my first month on the diet. Would I have preferred -20? Are you insane?!!! I would have been ecstatic! But, -13 is nothing to sneeze at - and its even been under an element of duress.
To those of you who are joining me by reading these mind meanderings...THANK YOU. I cling to your warm comments like floating doughnuts in a torrential sea of Koolaid. Knowing that I have to be honest with you...keeps me honest with myself. By the by...the whole "honesty" game is highly over-rated. I am, personally, finding accountability to be a major drag. I look at that lovely, whole-grain loaf of Panera bread in my fridge...and hear you all gasping if I eat it. I don't know how you've managed it...but you're making an honest woman out of a perpetual pudge fabricator. You may very well all be psychics in the making.
Let's use those unnerving powers for good...let's pester the pantaloons off of some media folks until someone caves and listens! Until then, I send you all a fruit-loopy queenly wave and a squishy-seat bummy wiggle.
Pickle lips and frog farts. Stop taking life so darn serious and embrace a smile!
- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1 oz cheddar cheese, 1/2 C onions, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: We attended the Survivor's Picnic with our hospital. You will hear this often and repeatedly...I LOVE our hospital staff! I love spending time with them, I love them as humans as much as I do as medical people. They are kind, funny, silly people - and all of them make this happenstance world a better place. I ate chicken fingers covered in delectable bread crispy stuff. I drank water.
Dinner: buttered popcorn and a diet coke. Too busy trying to find my room under mountains of laundry to be bothered to make anything. Hubby's gourmet popcorn had to suffice.
PS - I LOVE our Heme-Onc staff!! And this took 1 hour to write, not 10 minutes. Good thing little man was pooped from fun in the sun! ;-)
Saturday, September 29, 2007
September 29, 2007
I have a new idea. Shop-a-robics. This is day bleckity bleck, that I haven't done the skinny-minny picture perfect idea of exercise. ..........
**** We interrupt this regularly scheduled rant-o-blog, for a public service announcement. *************
You see, I started this blog last night, ON Sept 29, like it is labeled. However, my son woke up, needed to be nursed, the bed is comfy...I'm perpetually sleepy....wham, bam, thank you Sam - I'm finishing the blog a day late. This is what I was talking about the other day. I have high hopes and expectations...my children love to confound them. Just thought I'd share.
****We now return you to your previous blathering**********
I did, however, do what I feel is some decently strenuous exercise - and I want to know why-the-Hades it doesn't count?
Have you ever gone shopping with 4 kids? I'm not talking run-of-the-mill in and out of Walmart stuff. I'm talking, 3 girls, one in a wheelchair, one 21 pound boy in a backpack., cramming ourselves up and down the aisles of re-sale shops looking for clothes...for hours....................
In our town we have these wonderful stores, Once Upon a Child, and Plato's closet (for teens). We were on a hunt for Ohio State anything, Blue Jacket anything, some things for a baby who's grown 2 inches this week, and maybe something fun or sparkly that was cheap. The direct translation is, I spent nearly 3 hours - rummaging through over-stuffed stores, in cramped conditions, negotiating a wheelchair, and doing Olympic-worthy gymnastics while wearing a hanger-grabbing, outfit-snatching, 11 month old octopus. I bent over, stepped over, reached for and returned to. I lifted, squatted, balanced, and teetered. I searched, stooped, organized, and carried. And even though I did eventually pay these lovely people for the privilege of leaving...it didn't end there.
Once we reached home, I got to carry it all in - and then the real work began. First, came the monumental struggle with child #3 who wanted to try on, wear, try on, wear, try on...ad nauseum. Then, came the epic battle with child #4...the boy. Trying outfits on a wiggly, squiggly 11 month old boy is roughly equivalent to wrestling a chimpanzee while holding an 8 foot octopus under your left boob. Suffice it to say...it ain't easy.
So, my rather long-winded query is this. Why must I don spandex and jump in time to corny disco music to get credit for "exercising?". I challenge that 20 something perfectly coiffed aerobics instructor to keep up with my brood in a discount clothing zoo. I welcome that well-heeled, park avenue nutritionist to try to survive my "corporate" jungle. I'm telling you, my monkeys would take her down!
So that's it. I've answered my own question. I did exercise today. I broke a sweat, my back and legs ached, and I feel like I've been ridden hard and put away wet. I conquered space, time, and budgetary limitations...and came out the victorious huntress with bargains o' plenty. I did exercise. I exercised my body, my wallet, my virtues, and my patience. I'd better darn well lose an ounce or two today. I do not have enough personal grit to survive another trip to bargainland.
I did exercise. That's my decision and I'm standing by it. I wouldn't suggest arguing with me...I'm sugar-deprived and on the edge...
- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 2 eggs, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 1 oz cheese, 1/2 C onions 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: 1 1/2 C fried broccoli with sesame seeds, water
Snack: Diet coke
Dinner: 1/2 C taco-seasoned beef, lettuce, 1 oz cheddar cheese, salsa, 2 Tbs sour cream
Exercise: see above notation...agree with me...or else!
**** We interrupt this regularly scheduled rant-o-blog, for a public service announcement. *************
You see, I started this blog last night, ON Sept 29, like it is labeled. However, my son woke up, needed to be nursed, the bed is comfy...I'm perpetually sleepy....wham, bam, thank you Sam - I'm finishing the blog a day late. This is what I was talking about the other day. I have high hopes and expectations...my children love to confound them. Just thought I'd share.
****We now return you to your previous blathering**********
I did, however, do what I feel is some decently strenuous exercise - and I want to know why-the-Hades it doesn't count?
Have you ever gone shopping with 4 kids? I'm not talking run-of-the-mill in and out of Walmart stuff. I'm talking, 3 girls, one in a wheelchair, one 21 pound boy in a backpack., cramming ourselves up and down the aisles of re-sale shops looking for clothes...for hours....................
In our town we have these wonderful stores, Once Upon a Child, and Plato's closet (for teens). We were on a hunt for Ohio State anything, Blue Jacket anything, some things for a baby who's grown 2 inches this week, and maybe something fun or sparkly that was cheap. The direct translation is, I spent nearly 3 hours - rummaging through over-stuffed stores, in cramped conditions, negotiating a wheelchair, and doing Olympic-worthy gymnastics while wearing a hanger-grabbing, outfit-snatching, 11 month old octopus. I bent over, stepped over, reached for and returned to. I lifted, squatted, balanced, and teetered. I searched, stooped, organized, and carried. And even though I did eventually pay these lovely people for the privilege of leaving...it didn't end there.
Once we reached home, I got to carry it all in - and then the real work began. First, came the monumental struggle with child #3 who wanted to try on, wear, try on, wear, try on...ad nauseum. Then, came the epic battle with child #4...the boy. Trying outfits on a wiggly, squiggly 11 month old boy is roughly equivalent to wrestling a chimpanzee while holding an 8 foot octopus under your left boob. Suffice it to say...it ain't easy.
So, my rather long-winded query is this. Why must I don spandex and jump in time to corny disco music to get credit for "exercising?". I challenge that 20 something perfectly coiffed aerobics instructor to keep up with my brood in a discount clothing zoo. I welcome that well-heeled, park avenue nutritionist to try to survive my "corporate" jungle. I'm telling you, my monkeys would take her down!
So that's it. I've answered my own question. I did exercise today. I broke a sweat, my back and legs ached, and I feel like I've been ridden hard and put away wet. I conquered space, time, and budgetary limitations...and came out the victorious huntress with bargains o' plenty. I did exercise. I exercised my body, my wallet, my virtues, and my patience. I'd better darn well lose an ounce or two today. I do not have enough personal grit to survive another trip to bargainland.
I did exercise. That's my decision and I'm standing by it. I wouldn't suggest arguing with me...I'm sugar-deprived and on the edge...
- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 2 eggs, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 1 oz cheese, 1/2 C onions 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: 1 1/2 C fried broccoli with sesame seeds, water
Snack: Diet coke
Dinner: 1/2 C taco-seasoned beef, lettuce, 1 oz cheddar cheese, salsa, 2 Tbs sour cream
Exercise: see above notation...agree with me...or else!
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