Preparing … Subconsciously…

I’m sneak attacking my own brain. That’s right, you heard correctly. I find myself saying things to myself and swaying me to do things I don’t understand. Here’s what’s happening, the husband and I have been discussing that whole kid business. You know, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a combination of Tim and Leila in a baby carriage. Having kids FREAKS ME OUT. It’s not that I don’t want them it’s that I have a fear (probably from watching too many horror films) that my child will try to kill me. I mean like I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and there is the fruit of my loins standing over me with a kitchen knife and some kind of devilish strength to plunge that thing into my chest. Wish I was kidding. 

Besides my abnormal fear, I’m also just scared of having them, carrying a baby (both internally and externally), getting pregnant, not dropping the baby on its head, having something so very dependent on me that I can’t leave it alone. It’s a life changer and I know it will be enriching and I know I will love it more than I thought possible but I’m looking from the outside in and it looks, well, like a horror film. Weight gain, hemorrhoids, poop, vomit, no sleep, exhaustion, diseases, SIDS, sciatica, complications - it looks TERRIFYING.  

That being said, there is a war going on inside of me. While I have the crippling fear, something else is moving in the mist. I’ve started on prenatals. I find myself taking mental notes of random things. For instance, I almost bought clothes because “they would be great for when I’m knocked up.” I have come up with recipes that I have filed away in my brain as “kid-friendly.” I made up a recipe this morning for breakfast and it dawned on me that I started rationalizing that this would be great for when Tim and I have kids and they get all picky and don’t want waffles or cereal or pancakes for breakfast and instead of backhanding them and being put in jail I could make them this dish. I’ve even bought a pair of baby shoes and stashed them away for “when it’s time.”

I’ve always been good with kids, I usually enjoy their company more than adults, it’s why I’m a good babysitter, it’s why when I see and infant I know exactly how to hold it, it’s why I tend to mother my friends when they’re sick or had a rough day and need a hug and some cookies (aka wine).

My mentality since I was young has always been – just because I would make a great mom doesn’t mean I have to be one. However, now I find that as I’m slowly, very slowly, getting used to the idea I can’t stop planning my future with kids. Some days I crave them, other days I sit back with a beer and think my life is rad, why change a thing. That gorilla, that movement, that other dimensional monster in the mist that is churning and leisurely beating back the fear is starting to win me over and as I chew my prenatal gummies (pills are for chumps), I’ve accepted the fact that I am destined to be a mommy, whether I know it or not. My poor, poor children. 

The Firefighter in Me

Since starting my mission to become a volunteer fire fighter no one has really ever asked me WHY I am doing it. It’s a reasonable question. I, personally, have a lot of family members involved in the fire department but if you look on the wide scale of how many people I know there aren’t a whole lot of fire fighters, EMTs or even nurses. The path to becoming a firefighter is a long, winding one full of laws, technical terms, education, training and low pay. Right now I am stressing myself out and worrying over my Emergency Medical Technician coursework and I’m just trying to become a volunteer. I’m not even doing this as a career choice.

 

By the end of it all, I will have put my mind and body through some pretty hellish situations and yet my biggest fear isn’t about what will happen once I’m on call or what will I do when someone is dying on me or even how will I control my nerves during exams and labs it’s the thought of not finishing. I’m more terrified of giving up than I am of being a fire fighter. I’m more worried that if I don’t pass my EMT coursework that my training will stall or end all together.

Last night was my first real EMT class, quizzes on the first two chapters, lectures, the whole shebang. The instructor went to everyone in the class and asked why they were taking this course. The answers varied as did the ages. Some were fire fighters in the military and they wanted to transition to civilian life and stay in the field. Some grew up in a fire house. Some wanted to get into the medical field. Some wanted to be firefighters. Some wanted to be paramedics. I have the pedigree, I have the background. My father is a retired Battalion Fire Chief, my stepbrother and cousin both are in the fire department. My husband’s family is also in the fire department. My answer could have been easy and concise. It wasn’t what I expected.

“I love my community and I want to be an asset to them by becoming a volunteer firefighter.”

I couldn’t tell you where it came from. It wasn’t anything else anyone had said. There weren’t many people who admitted to going through all of this just to volunteer. Who weren’t making this a career choice. I do love my community. I loved it when I was a reporter for the North Kitsap Herald and I love now. The people are kind, the roads are paved and everyone is supportive. When I started to work from home, I panicked on what I would do to make it so I didn’t lose my mind. I toyed with the idea of volunteering at the Library or the humane society or at the horse rescue. My heart would have been into all of those things. Once the idea of volunteer fire fighting came into my head, though, it wasn’t leaving and it became a mission, it became a goal, it became real.

It’s only now, that I’ve truly started down the path that I am realizing what this will take out of me. I will be sacrificing my mind, body, time and effort. I will be studying, I will be physically active, I will be mentally taxed and I will do it all with a smile, because this is the choice I have made and this is what I want to do with my free time. I’m not doing it for the “maybe” glory of being a fire fighter. I’m not doing it because of my dad. I’m not even doing it to save lives. I’m doing it so I can live every day and know I am trying to do something bigger than myself that I am offering myself to something great.

The Dreaded Track Running

I injured my knee in June. I kept running through my physical therapy though I had to limit my miles and change my scenery. They suggested the most dreaded type of arena for any runner. They said I need to run on a track. Gone were the rolling hills, uneven, scenic trails and pet running. I was Nascar, around and around I went. Circle after circle. Repetitive left turns. I’m sure when I was given this news my face (which has never mastered the art of hiding my feelings) resembled that of a person who was just told the neighbor’s dog peed and massacred their garden. I was horrified and frustrated. It was like community service for something I didn’t do.

The first time I “hit the track,” which was not nearly as enjoyable as “hitting the trails” or even “hitting the gym,” it was hard. It was monotonous. The only thing moving me forward was my music because it certainly wasn’t reaching an imaginary finish line at the end of a trail or road run. At least if I was running on a treadmill at the gym if I got bored I could do something else or change the TV channel. With track running there was no escape, no challenge.

Over time I started to enjoy it. I was able to truly turn my mind off. I was able to really turn inward. Other than counting my laps I didn’t have to worry about hills or mud or the person next to me at the gym breathing heavily and going faster than me. I was just running for the joy of running. My joints and muscles loved me for the soft surface and my knee began to heal even though I was running.

I started running early in the morning with my friend. The air is still crisp, cool even chilly at 5am. You're exhausted but the air catches you off guard and opens your eyes. The track is eerie with mist and fog and silence. So much silence. Maybe a rooster crows or a dog barks but the stars are out, the moon is staring at you and you run. You run in the dark and you feel the earth change. You run in a oval over and over and the sky lightens. The clouds cling to early morning rays, the grass to dew and you breathe deeply and exhale fully and you run. You’re not thinking, just running. It’s very Zen.

What track running has taught me: Pick a track with concrete stairs. I walk the stairs as a warm up but they’re also good for intervals or if you get super mega bored. The aluminum stairs SUCK very slippery when wet, very not sturdy. There are “regulars” at a track, just like at a bar. You’ll see them if you go the same times during the week. They will run or walk or stretch, but they’ll be there. Over time you will be able to greet them and they become kind of your soldiers. You rely on them without thinking. On days where you go alone to run, they’re comforting.  Your muscles and joints will thank you even if your brain will think you’re a hamster in a wheel. Sometimes, especially when you’re healing, it’s not about the challenge it’s about the doing.

No, I refuse (to feel bad for my choices)

Fitness and health are still in the forefront of my mind, why? Because it’s EVERYWHERE. We are constantly being reminded (except for most restaurant commercials) that we are fat and lazy. Online it’s a series of “research results” and “motivational images” telling us what we SHOULD look like and that we can only ACHIEVE this body or our ideal weight by following their plan or tips or reading this research paper on how too much of this causes that.

The constant yammering of what our bodies should look like, what we should be eating and what we should be doing to maximize our weight loss has driven me quite mad. Especially because what we should be eating CHANGES almost daily and for those on a budget apparently we’re just shit out of luck. Just because we can’t afford organic or the high end “specialty stores.” 

I’m here to say “Nay.” What you put in your body is more important to me than exercise as far as being healthy goes. My reason for placing nutrition above exercise is because we have direct, sometimes immediate, reactions to food. For instance, my body doesn’t process red meat, doesn’t mean I don’t absolutely love London Broil, Teriyaki Beef and Kalbi ribs; however, if I don’t take Imodium before eating meat I have a 30 minute window to find a bathroom and lock myself in it for the next 3 hours. I wish I was exaggerating. Food is your most important ally in getting healthy with a side of losing weight. You could burn 1,000 calories a day but if you’re eating cake, cookies, milkshakes, chips, fried chicken and whatever else every day that spare tire probably won’t go anywhere and if it does I’d like to have your genes, please. 

What I eat tends to determine my mood. When I eat crap, I feel like crap. When I eat better, I feel better. I understand why most people say organics are the way to go; it doesn’t get any “healthier” than that. BUT, people have families (or sometimes just a husband who will say nay to double the grocery bill for less food), people are rubbing their pennies together these days, I know I am. Running out and spending even the same amount of a normal grocery bill on smaller organic fruits, veggies and meats, really isn’t an option. 

I shop at Wal-Mart. Yeah, I said it. I’m not afraid to say it. I’m a little embarrassed because Wal-Mart is like the black hole of ethics, but I shop there because I can afford it. I shop at the Commissary because it’s tax free and I shop at Albertsons or IGA when I forgot a small ingredient for dinner or ran out of baby carrots or desperately need bananas. I also shop at the Farmers Market, Trader Joes and Central Market. The later places are pricey and so end up being more of a treat or for specific items. One trip to Central Market we ended up dishing out $150 for beer, ahi tuna steaks, tortillas and a few snacks. It got real. Our Farmer’s Market features organic pork. I will dole out $25 for a pound of ground pork and a somewhat smaller-than-what-I’d-get-at-Wal-mart pork butt. That pork is absolutely delicious, the taste is amazing. But for the most part, yes I buy meat, veggies and fruit at Wal-Mart and guess what? I still lost weight, still feel better, still eat healthier and am full and happy. If you can afford the organics, good for you! For the rest of us, don’t feel guilty for buying what you can where you can. Read the labels of what you’re buying, compare and contrast different products, note the pros and cons, wash your veggies and fruit thoroughly. I clip coupons to be able to buy name brands and bring my costs down, but I also succumb to Wal-Mart’s Great Value brand. Their granola bars are cheaper and have less sodium and even carbs than Quaker. Yes, it makes shopping a longer process vs. walking into a specialty store or Farmers Market, knowing (hoping) that they did the research for you and just grabbing and going. But I cut costs where I can and I have managed to feed myself and my husband (and my dog) on a bi-monthly food budget without any negative effects to my digestive system, my health or my weight loss plans/goals.   

No one should go hungry for the sake of their health. No one should feel guilty that they can’t afford organics. No one should feel bad for getting healthy just because of where they can afford to shop. Do your research, make a budget and do what you can for yourself and your family to become and remain healthy, happy and fit. 

Examples of my Low-Budget Healthy Meals:

Egg white, zucchini, yellow squash omelet, turkey bacon and roasted potatoes (Wal-Mart)

Trader Joe's Savory Popcorn, Strawberries and a Black Forest Turkey, Light Salami and Muenster cheese sandwhich on a Hawaiian Mini-sub roll (all bought at Wal-Mart)

96/4 Ground Beef Veggie Packed Meatloaf with roasted potatoes, brocollini and pineapple (Wal-Mart, Brocollini from Albertsons)

Honey Chicken Stir fry w/ brown & white rice (everything purchased from Wal-Mart)

Salad (everything including the chopped rotisserie chicken from Wal-Mart.)

Ricotta, Onion, Garlic and green bean stuffed Chicken with roasted potatoes and sauteed zucchini, yellow squash and green beans (Green beans were from a friend, Veggies were from Trader Joe's, meat and potatoes - Wal-Mart)

Brocolli sauteed pasta with Chicken Parmesan (brocolli came from Albertsons, everything else - Wal-mart)

Your Daily Dose of Duke #20

Duke has been busy. We're back to being running partners ... Reunited and it feels so good!!! First his foot kept him from running then my knee kept me from running but now we're back on the same page.

BATDOG!

Duke's yearly photo among the dandelions.

How can you not love that face???

My baby is aging, I know it's just the sun but white face makes me sad.

Olympics!!!!

Losing a Same-Sex Parent at a Young Age

“It's just like waking up,
In that second and a half,
The bliss of not remembering,
Before it all comes flooding back.” – Ben Folds

Yes, everyone dies. Yes, sometimes it is sudden. Yes, you are never prepared for it. At some point you lose someone you love, whether that someone is a friend, family or even a fur baby, it hurts and cuts deep and is so permanent.  

Here’s the part where my story may differ from some. I was 13 when I lost my mom. When you lose a parent as an adult you have memories to hold onto, you have a life. When you lose a parent as a teenager, pre-teen or child, you have scraps of memories. Little pieces you try to cling to and you hold on so tightly they tend to crumble to dust. Some days I can remember my mom’s laugh, other days her scent but most days, it’s a wash. I can tell you she dyed her hair a red-brown color and wore green contacts over light brown eyes. I can tell you she was a cardio queen and taught morning aerobics up until the day before she died. I can tell you she hated western medicine and doctors and believed in healing crystals which helped contribute to her downfall. I can tell you I loved her with all my heart. I can tell you it hurts everyday like a scab you can’t stop pick at and it festers and leaves a scar as a constant reminder. Some mornings I forget she’s gone, or that I’m grown up or that I grew up without her.

Most of the time I just feel guilty, because I don’t remember her, because I’m supposed to, because I hold a torch for someone I was only just beginning to know. My mother shaped me and molded me, even put me in the kiln but I wasn’t done yet, I wasn’t ready. I had just started puberty. I had no mother to walk me through hair and makeup, clothes and shaving, bras and tampons. Some people tried to help, but it was hard and there was pain in their eyes. My dad, tried, but he’s a man. If I ran out of deodorant or shaving cream he told me to use his. I spent one year of my teens smelling like Mennen without a bra and rarely shaven legs. I spent another year shaving everything including my stomach and chest because I didn’t know any better. My hair was a mess, my sense of style a disaster and it has taken me years YEARS to find the woman inside of me. To understand my looks, my skin tone, everything. Losing my mom meant losing my guidance and I had to feel my way through adolescence. My mother wasn’t there to tell me there’d be other boys or spend the night letting me vent with cookies and ice cream and movies. It was just me. I was angry for a long time. But it’s no one’s fault, there is no one to be angry at, my mother had a brain aneurysm. She had a blood bubble that slowly leaked into her brain. It amazes me how a little bit of blood can destroy a life, a family, a child.

Losing a same-sex parent at a young age means you don’t only lose your guidance, you don’t only live with guilt for not remembering, it means you also; don’t know how to respond or how to act. My husband told me at his father’s funeral, he didn’t cry and everyone thought this 11-year-old boy was brave. I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral and everyone thought I was a heartless, cruel child. I’ve cried many tears for my mother over the years. What people don’t understand is as a child you have no coping mechanisms, you have no clue what you should be doing. You are in SHOCK. The gravity of the situation doesn’t hit you for YEARS. As a kid you barely understand your numbers and ABCs let alone death. Something so permanent, so absolute and final how can you expect a child to understand that? I cry at the drop of a hat, over anything, commercials, movies, breaking a glass, but my emotions are bewilderment even to me. I could mechanically tell you about how my mother died and what I had to do to survive without a tear in my eyes and usually with a smile because I know you’re just curious. My emotions have been severed and reattached and so they don’t work like you’d expect. You could be pouring your heart out and I will be dry eyed and supportive but maybe we could be shopping for clothes and I just start crying for no apparent reason. I never learned how to express correctly, how to be appropriate. My mom’s funeral showed me that people judge you constantly and it also showed me that it’s okay because I won’t force feelings, I’m me and that’s all I can be.

Today marks 15 years since my mom passed away. She’s been dead longer than I even had time with her. Each year the anniversary hits me a different way. Some years I completely forget, other years I am overjoyed thinking about the time I did have with her, some years it hits me hard and I can’t contain myself and other years I remember but am neither happy nor sad, it’s just another day. Losing a parent at a young age turns them into a ghost, they are a pale comparison to the person they were or we think they were. They are in your peripherals. They are misty and ambiguous. There are only so many pictures or videos to remind you of someone you can just see the outline of, like a mirage. When the pictures run out, when you've memorized them, when you look at yourself in the mirror and try to pull traits, there's not much more you can do. Some days I remember her voice and think I hear it in mine. Today, I remember everything, the way she clicked her tongue, the way she lost her temper, the way she danced, the way she laughed, her perfume, her outfits, her walk, everything. Tomorrow I might not be so lucky, best to hold on to today.  

Your Daily Dose of Duke #19

It's been a long time, Duke has been pretty much in the same place - on the beach, on the couch and on his various beds... I've wrecked my knee so our runs and hikes have been non-existant.