Motherhood shouldn't mean the end of invitations.

Have you ever had those days where you feel so very alone, though you are surrounded by people?
I've been having those days a lot lately - like no one cares.
That's a sad feeling and I don't want to get into it too much here.
My phone doesn't ring as often as it used to. I don't get asked out as often as I used to, by men or by my women friends. My personal e-mail basket is often empty.
And my life changed so much after I became a parent.
I will admit that in those early days I didn't want people calling me at home. It was a bother when I had a little one to deal with. I, like an idiot, even told some people. Plus, I rarely returned phone calls.
But now no one calls me at home. If it wasn't for the fact that folks invite Dion place, I would not have any place to go.
I love my son and I love spending time with him. But I also miss having grown-up conversations that is not about my son or the kids. I've also been keeping to myself more and more at work.
And I'm a social person who is being anti-social.
I don't like it.
I want a more social life. I really do. But instead of writing about what I want, I need to do something to make it happen.
Any suggestions?
Oh, who am I kidding. I don't think anyone else but me is reading this thing.
Well, at least I'm enjoying it.

I'll have a clump of clay dirt and a glass of white wine, please

A former co-worker and I are have joined forces in the battles to beat the crap out of our bulges.

Round one.
Bulges.

Round Two.
We are going to kick the daylight out of these cravings!!!!
Yeah baby!!!!!

I am at a point now where I want to eat a clump of clay dirt.
Laugh if you want to, but I bet it's low in calories, fat and carbs.
It's sad, but I remember eating clay dirt as a young child growing up in Mississippi.
It was smooth, cold and it had a taste that is hard to describe.
Now notice I said I was a child when I did this. There is no way I would eat dirt today knowing now what I know.
But I remember once reading a newspaper article about how adults (Especially African-American from the rural South) used to crave the stuff. There is even a term for it.

Geophagy

ge·oph·a·gy (jē-ŏf'ə-jē)
n.
The eating of earthy substances, such as clay or chalk, practiced among various peoples as a custom or for dietary or subsistence reasons. While most often seen in rural or pre-industrial societies among pregnant women, it also occurs among children. The tradition of geophagy spread from Africa to the United States with slavery. A 1942 survey taken in Mississippi showed that 25 percent of school children had eaten clay dirt. Geophagy was also practiced by Native Americans who would eat earth with acorns and potatoes to neutralize potentially harmful alkaloids. Clay was used in the production of acorn bread.

Yet, I awoke this morning with a craving for the stuff.

I imagine my mind went to this because it was a "safe food."
First I wouldn't know where I would get a "good" batch. You can't just go out to your back yard and dig up some dirt. Even when I did eat it, I remember digging down several layers to get the "good stuff." Second, I wouldn't eat it.

I just wanted to eat something - anything.
I am always amazed at all these people who buy diet pills. Shoot I used to use them too. But suppressing my appetite is not the problem. I eat because I'm bored, lonely and or looking for something to do. Those pills do nothing for that.

My former co-worker, Lynn, was the one who suggested that we start on a health kick after reading my post about how detest prescription medicine. She's on a few pills herself and she has a wicked case of asthma.
If we eat better and exercise and drink plenty of water and surround ourselves with positive thoughts and... and.... and.... well, you get the idea.
We are serving as each other's coaches to keep each other honest. We give a detail of what we ate and what we wanted to eat.
It has been working so far, but today is only day three.
Let's see what I'm writing this time next week.

My Dad

I guess it's fitting that I would have a dream about my dad now. After all, "his day" is Sunday.

My dad was a strong, quiet man with bow legs, big hips and broad shoulders. He was light skinned in a time when being a fair skinned black person was considered a good thing. He had the softest, curliest hair I have felt. When he got mad at me, he would say, "I didn't have any gray hair until you came alone."
I always responded by saying, "You were old when you had me."
Both statements were true. My dad was in his mid 40s when I was born.
I'm a farm girl. At age 7, he taught me how to drive a tractor. At the time, I thought it was something special. As I got older, I realized I was a neccessary worker on the farm. (smile) Either way, I was driving.
He taught me how to drive a car when I was 9. I learned how to drive a stick shift when I was 14.
I made my school's baseball team when I was in the sixth-grade. Really, as a fat kid, I had a pretty powerful batting arm, but that was about it. I couldn't run to save my soul and I couldn't catch. So I was stuck in left field.
I needed a right-handed glove. I was scared to ask my dad for one because, hey, we were poor.
But one Wednesday night - the day before my opening game - my dad sent me to his truck to get the weekly newspaper.
I went to the truck, lifted the newspaper and there was a right-handed glove, a good one and an expensive one that I still have!!!!!
Man, I loved that and I love telling that story.
I loved my dad and I loved how he made my mom feel.
I remember when I was a young teen-ager seeing my dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at my mom and saying, "umm, umm, umm... come bring me some sugar."
My mom would bounce out of the kitchen with the sugar bowl and say, "Marion, is thi the sugar you want." and My dad always replied, "Now you know that's not the kind of sugar I'm talking about."
They would kiss and my mom would return to the kitchen with a smile on her face and finish what ever meal she was preparing.
They had been married 30-plus years when this happened.
Now don't get me wrong, my folks argued all the time - more than I care to remember.
But they were married for more than 40 years upon his death, and I know that's because my dad made a commitment to my mom, our family and to himself.
He stayed when so many men didn't. Several of my uncles left their wives and children in search of something better.
But my dad didn't. Though there were a lot of hard days, there were some good ones, too.
But why focus on those.
I'm not married yet, but whemI do get married, I pray that the man I marry will be the kind of husband my dad was to my mom - the kind of man who made my mom feel loved, wanted, sexy and appreciated with just a couple of "um, um, ums."
I pray that Dion will one day think about his dad with love and longing the way that I am now.
My dad has been dead now more than half of my life. Yet I still think about him and love him.
My son carries his name and I pray that he carries his spirit.
I can't wait until I can start telling him about his grandfather and the kind of man he was.

I love you dad.

Okay, maybe I'm not as smart as my doctor....

I detest prescription medicine.
I detest prescription medicine.
I detest prescription medicine.
I detest....... Okay, you get my drift.

Recently my primary care physician placed me on a what I consider a lot of prescription medication.
I am a diabetic and have been one since 2000. But I had been able to control my sugar level with diet and exercise and water.
Well, I stopped dieting, exercising and I add Kool-Aid to my water.
So it shouldn't have been a surprise when my doctors told me in May what my A1C(your blood sugar level over a three-month period) level was. You want it to be a 6 or less, which mine had always been since I started working on it. It was doubled that in May.
I pictured toes being cut off, legs being amputated, my kidneys failing, going blind.
I pictured my son.
He needed me, a healthy me who would be around for decades.
The number scared me, but I thought, "Hey, I've lowered my sugar levels before, I can do it again."
But I have never had high blood pressure or high cholesterol. I have to not only think about how is this piece of food I stick in my mouth going to affect my sugar level, but what is it going to do to my cholesterol and my blood pressure.
That's a lot to think about.
For the month of May, I did what I did years ago to bring my numbers down - sans medicine and the exercise. (I didn't get my prescription filled.)
My numbers came down, but only slightly.
So I've resigned myself to take the pills and to walk and to drink 100 ounces of water a day.
I'm still not on board for having to take pills for the rest of my life. But I'm not stupid either. I can't walk around with blood sugar levels or cholesterol levels that high and hope that everything is going to be fine. I have to work at it.
remarkably though, my blood pressure dropped to the normal range after a month. Go figure.
My doctor didn't give me a prescription for that Friday. I have an appointment with her on July 7. She'll see what's happening then.

So I'm low carbing and doing low fat. Can anyone say yum yum?
I look at exercise videos, but I haven't done any yet.
I look at my walking shoes, but I haven't put them on yet.
I look at my weights, but I haven't lifted them yet, thought I do want to buy one of those cute little stands for them so they will look nice and organized.

I'll keep you posted on how well I do when I start doing.

You have time for that?

I have a cool friend who for the sake of this post, I will refer to as "the tall, curly haired, ball-busting, scrapbooking, list-making, journalist mom" who now lives in Florida and who I've posted about before. This woman does more before 1 p.m. than I do in week. She lives on three or four hours of sleep per day. She is the mother of two toddlers, She knits, scrapbooks, sews, stamps. I promise after the birth of her second child, she would plop both children in one of those double strollers while she went outside and mowed her lawn!!!!
Oh, did I mention that she has a dog???
I can't tell you the number of times she has taken her kids to work with her. Her son has one of those "Blues Clues" notebook so he can write things down like mommy.
I'm not doing her justice in this post, I know. Yet, I got an e-mail from her saying.

"I checked out your blog. Girl how do you have time for that? That's crazy awesome!

Huh???

How do I have time for that? Have you looked at your life and the schedules you keep... Shoot for that matter, have you looked at the schedule of any busy mom?

Monday, another friend who I will refer to as "my quiz taking, analytical, deep thinking, pregnant, soon-to-be-mom with a great husband and a great blog" decided to try to define her blog and her audience.

To me, I didn't think she needed to.

Blogs are personal... period. It's how we feel, and think about certain issues. It's a way of being accountable, either to ourselves or to our loved ones.
They are all our personal opinion pages whether it be about business, finance, the Bible, religion, our husbands, wives, children, work, money, being fat, being fabalous or being broke, disgusted or scared. With our blogs, we don't have to walk that fine line of trying to be bias. Some of the best read blogs are the ones that are raw and emotional things that we are taught to leave out of our writngs in journalism schools.

For me my blog is personal. It gives me a chance to share my life with my friends and family, many of whom I don't see that often.

My audience is anyone who wants to look at it. It's like my on-line diary, and who doesn't like peeking into someone else's diary from time to time.

And my friend, "the tall, curly haired, ball-busting, scrapbooking, list-making, journalist mom", if you are reading this, you have one interesting life.... even when you are talking about a dead fish.

you're also braver than me, i wouldn't want my whole life on the web for anyone to read. someone might commit me if they read the mundane details of my life. for example: i bought jack two goldfish yesterday and by morning, they were floating upside down in the tank. so, i packed the little carcasses up in a baggie, stuck them in my purse to return to the store. i stopped at the bank and when i got back in the car realized that the bag of dead fish was no longer in my purse. i had left it on the teller counter on the bank. and yes, i did go back in to retrieve my dead goldfish. i probably wont be banking at that branch any more....

Hey my friend, you "tall, curly haired, ball-busting, scrapbooking, list-making, journalist mom", this was great. You should start your own blog... I'd read the heck out of it.