Nov 15, 2011 |
For several nights now, I can’t sleep. Now and then, I suffer a round of RLS ~ Restless Leg Syndrome. It’s usually dormant for months at a time, but when it flares up, I lose a lot of sleep. Each night. For several nights in a row.
Triggers can very by episode. Stress. Too much salt in my dinner. Exhaustion. Not enough daily exercise. Lack of vitamins and minerals. Inability to stretch out due to three out of five cats thinking the bed belongs to them.
In the past, whenever it affected me, it only lasted a day or two. I’d walk more around the office. Lower my salty snacks. Drink lots of water to flush out my system. Kick the cats. I’d be fine after about 48 hours.
Not this time. This time, I’ve crawled out of bed after midnight five nights in a row. I’ve walked around the house. I’ve soaked my legs with a hot washcloth. I drank warm(ish) milk. I took baby aspirin. I rubbed my limbs with isopropyl. Nothing seems to work.
So this time, I’m looking for something else. Something short of a chainsaw that will put me out of my misery. Because
i.am.going.crazy.
Loopy. Off my rocker. Irrational, emotional, having a nutty. Due to lack of sleep, I am unable to fully function, think clearly, or enjoy the day. In other words
i.am.going.bananas.
I want to sleep all day, but I can’t. So I wait til nightfall. And I can’t. I want to have enough energy to do stuff. But I don’t. So I just sit. And write. And drink water and hot tea. And try to walk around the house and yard. But in the cold rain, that’s not my favorite cure.
So I decided to find a new, better solution. To go big. I picked up the phone. And called the one person I know who has always had the perfect cures for everything.
I called my Mommy.
My mom is the Go-To Gal for all things healthy. She’s been telling me for years about the Golden Fruit. My daughter loves them. I’ve kept them around the house almost always. So I don’t understand why it took me so long to really embrace the banana.
It’s not that I’m opposed to them. I actually like them. I just don’t buy them that much. They’re not always in season, so that’s one thing. I mean, who wants to eat brown bananas all the time.
I used to eat the fresh ones, then let the rest turn a little more and make banana nut bread. Yummm! Especially when it’s warmed up. And coated with butter. Real, creamy, melty butter.
Again, I say: Yummm!
And it hit me.
The solution to all things.
When life (and body) stresses out: Go Bananas!
It’s like a dusty book that just got pulled off the shelf. Or an old favorite sweater that was packed away. It’s a visit from an old friend that leaves you thinking, “Why don’t we keep in touch all the time?” It’s a hug from a really good friend.
So here I am, back from the health food store where I bought bananas. Some for eating. Some for baking. All for me (Okay, a few for my daughter).
Because I relax when I’m in my kitchen (like that’s news to anyone!). And bananas are full of great things like potassium and iron that will stop the RLS. And so-o-o much better than chemical drugs. No, I’m not a nature freak; I don’t burn incense to cleanse the air. But I have chemical allergies: those “healthy” fixes actually do more harm to my body than good. I’m the only person I know who’s been hospitalized (four times!) for taking an allergy pill! So, you get why the banana is so much better for me than the drug store.
Plus, there’s the added bonus of the banana being so versatile. I mean, what can you do with a pill except swallow it? Bananas, though… ahh, bananas.
Raw. Fried. Dehydrated.
Baked into bread.
Blended into smoothies.
Frozen and dipped.
And right now, steeping in a pitcher of cold water along with cut up apples and raspberries for my very own infused water.
Can you do all that with a pill? (*Note the sarcasm. If there is such a pill, I don’t want to know about it…)
So. After almost a week of RLS-induced insomnia, I can quite happily announce
I am going bananas! And I think I rather like it.
Nov 14, 2011 |
It’s ten days til Thanksgiving.
Ten days til we wake up early and head to the kitchen for a marathon cooking day.
Ten days til we stuff ourselves like no tomorrow, pack up some leftovers and sleep it off in the recliner.
And somewhere in the midst of all that, we’ll turn on the TV for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
For the past few years, the parade has been less and less of the quality and holiday that it used to be. Who can forget three years ago when the abundance of music was loud rock and rap? Or last year when NBC’s cameras so often caught a shot of the scanty Victoria’s Secret billboard… yeah, Santa. That’s really what I want for Christmas. To keep seeing some other woman’s perky boobs laced in red during Family Time. Thanks.
Now before you go calling me a prude, I will be the first to admit that in three days I’ll be standing for hours in line to catch the midnight showing of Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1. And it has nothing to do with Bella.
But that doesn’t mean I want vampires and werewolves around on Thanksgiving. There’s a time and a place for everything. And I just don’t think Macy’s is the place for, well, what it’s been the place for the past few years.
Last year, I had the grand idea to start a letter writing campaign: to let Macy’s, NBC, and New York City know that it’s okay to get back to the fundamentals of the season. To not promote celebrity for the sake of celebrity; but to honor talented individuals and groups. To hear them sing Christmas songs. To not be inundated with extravagant costumes and sales and bling; but to appreciate the gathering of people, the holiday cheer and good will.
How did it turn out, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you… it didn’t. It was one of those ideas that I didn’t write down, mention to anyone, or think I should even approach. So I let it go.
And now, here it is, almost time for the next Parade. And I’m holding my breath. Will Andrea Bocelli or Harry Connick, Jr. serenade us with holiday ballads? What Broadway shows will be featured? Will there be honors given to local heros? How high will the Rockettes kick this year?
While I know the opening and closing of the parade will be spectacular, and the High School Bands will be impressive, it’s the in-between stuff that has me wondering if I should even bother to watch. I’m certain to be disappointed, and possibly disgusted.
And the anticipation of that disappointment has me wondering… what would the perfect Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade be like?
If you were the planner/director person, how would you put on the parade? Would it have a particular holiday theme? What holiday elements would you like to see? Who would your performers be?
Leave your comments here. If this year’s Parade doesn’t hold up to standards, maybe I’ll forward this to Macy’s Social Department and see if our voices matter. (I think they do!)
Nov 13, 2011 |
[For the original article, click here.]
I’ve never been to New York, but someday I’ll get there.
It’s been a dream of mine; growing stronger every day.
Especially whenever I watch the holiday programming.
A few months ago, I decided to voice that longing in detail.
And give myself a little inspirational kick.
The economy being what it is, I may not vacation to NYC anytime soon…
but at least I can dream.
Nov 12, 2011 |
Every year on this date, I always say the same thing. “X-amount of years ago, I was thiiiis big….” and my hands extend my imaginary belly. Then I go on to tell the story that embarrasses my Dot. I think it’s every mom’s duty to share the story of childbirth with their children. Loudly. In front of their friends.
But this year, I won’t. This year, I will say only that I was once “thiiiis big”. And maybe throughout the day remind her of the pain she kept me in for six and half hours. I won’t say a word about how the day before, during a stress test, my mom who was visiting me at the hospital saw the monitor tape and we joked about the seismic activity, and then I started laughing, hard, which caused the alarms to go off… we figure it was around a 7.4.
There will be no mention about when I went home and had a cup of tea, I didn’t need a tray. I just set it on my belly. And she decided to wake up and make my tea jump like the puddle from Jurassic Park. Or how she kicked her little heel up and I would have to slam the palm of my hand into it about three times before she moved and I could breathe easy again.
Not one word to her about how, in the middle of the night, I was praising God because I slept through my first contraction and woke up only to realize something really bad just happened. And how, when I called the hospital, the conversation went something like this:
Me: I just had a contraction.
Them: How long did it last?
Me: I don’t know.
Them: You don’t know?
Me: I slept through it.
Them: You slept through it?
Me: Yes.
Them: Did you have another one?
Me: Yes.
Them: How far apart?
Me: About six minutes.
Them: Then you’re okay. You don’t have to leave for about another hour and a half.
Me: Okay, but my water just broke.
Them: You better leave now.
This is my Daughter’s birthday. And today she is 17. I can’t believe I’ve known her almost two decades.
She’s everything to me. For the past 17+ years, my life has been full of teaching and learning and loving and shouting and fixing and hugging and cooking and crying and laughing and watching and playing and holding and letting go and…. being a mom.
I’m not always the best Mom. But I’m the best Mom for her. God gave her to me. When I didn’t deserve His blessings, when I was at a crossroads and could have walked away from Him. But I didn’t. It was, in fact, being responsible for someone else, that brought me to my senses. It was being responsible for her.
No more was this world just about poor little me. Now I had to worry about Baby.
I have always been a single mom. Her dad and I just didn’t work out. It is what it is. And there’s been plenty of heartache all around that subject. But she and I… we’re doing just fine.
It’s pretty awesome to see her learn, and grow, and mature. It’s pretty sad to think my years as her Mommy are coming to a close.
This beautiful child that I have treasured, that I would die for, that I want to share with (and protect from) the world.
She is my everything.
Happy Birthday, Hannah. I luff ewe muchly.
Stunning
Nov 11, 2011 |
He said, “Follow me.” I said no.
He waited anyway.
He said, “Stay on this path.” I strayed.
He led me back.
He said, “I love you.” I pushed him away.
He loved me anyway.
He said, “I want to adopt you.” I refused.
He called me His own anyway.
He said, “I want to save you.” I laughed.
He sent His True Son to die in my place.
He said, “Let me bless you.” I ignored his gifts.
He blessed me anyway.
He said, “I will provide.” I wanted it all.
He withheld, but gave me more than I could ever need.
He said, “You are perfect.” I called Him a liar.
He never pointed out my faults.
He said, “Please be careful.” I was careless.
He was tender with me anyway.
He said, “Don’t touch that.” I broke things.
He put the pieces back together.
He said, “I forgive you.” I said, “Who asked you to?!”
He forgave me anyway.
He said, “I still love you.” I told Him to shut up.
He kept loving me anyway.
He said, “I’ll protect you.” I ran into the world.
He protected me from myself.
He said, “Look at me.” And I saw the scars.
He bled for me.
He cried for me.
He cried out to me.
And I stopped turning my back.
He asked me to follow Him.
I said yes.
And He led me.
And He forgave me.
He is so unfair.
