This Could’ve Been My Kid: Toddler Boy Called A Faggot At WalMart For Wearing Pink Headband

http://www.mommyish.com/2013/07/31/toddler-boy-called-a-faggot-at-walmart-for-wearing-pink-headband/

Anyone remember Evan and his affinity for all things pink and sparkly? I didn’t really care, but I was worried for him simply because of people like the man in this article. Because people are ridiculous. And dumb. And virtually intolerant of anyone or thing different from themselves.

I remember those days. I remember having to tell my son that, while there was nothing wrong with him wearing or choosing whatever he liked, that there were people in the world who didn’t understand that and would be mean and cruel to him as a result of his different tastes. That didn’t make it okay, but as his mother, I felt it was my duty to protect him from any potential threat. I would rather he learned that lesson gently from me at home as opposed to the way this innocent little boy learned. So he expressed himself in the house, but not out in public.

Right or wrong, it was such a story as the one above that motivated me.

If I reflect back on that time in his childhood, I feel guilty. His personal preferences have always reflected his quirky, spunky nature. He is not the same as everyone else. He knows it, we know it, everyone knows it. He may have outgrown the pink, sparkly phase, but he has shown other differences. That’s fine with us. His unabashed exhibition of who he is for all who care to get to know him reflect a comfort in his own skin that many of us only hope to have at some point in our lives. I hope that time all those years ago didn’t quelch any part of that within him.

If it did, I am no better than the oaf in this story.

We all have our heads crammed full of what we should be/ think/say/do…
You’re a girl. You can’t throw a ball.
You live in the city, so you have no values.
You’re rich, so you must not know what it means to work.
You’re a man. You aren’t worth shit if you don’t solely support your family.
What do you mean, you can’t cook? Aren’t you a real woman?
You’re poor so you must be lazy.
You’re straight, so you hate homosexuality. You’re gay, so you’re a deviant.

We are who we are. That’s the world I want for my kids, in a nutshell. A toddler in the midst of discovering he is separate from his parents can wear a damned headband-pink, green, sequined, lacy-if it makes him happy. Evan can be obsessed with history instead of XBox. We can choose for my husband to stay home if it works for us. And, yes I suck at cooking anything aside from 3 specialty dishes, but I can rock out some corporate finance while keeping you alive, so that’s okay, right?

Our preferences don’t make us better or worse people. We are not less simply because we have our own strengths and weaknesses that are distinct from the person sitting next to us.

Someone needs to teach that man a lesson.

Bitchypants

I’m Having a Heart Attack or I May Just Be Bat-Sh*t Crazy

Okay, so given John’s recent fiasco where my perfectly fine husband’s heart ended up being most definitely not fine, we are pretty sensitive to anything in our house that could indicate impending death. Call us oversensitive.

10 days ago, I started having this chest pressure. It kind of comes and goes with no logical pattern at all, really. So I hemmed and hawed and mulled it over before finally just going to the ER, since it was a Sunday.

Normal EKG. Negative troponin. Negative d-dimer. Normal chest x-ray. It was deemed muscular in nature, and I was freed with a script for muscle relaxers.

Except for one problem: I am incaple on any form of consciousness on those damned things. So I have taken 2 of them in 10 days. And still, the pressure/pain comes and goes. It isn’t severe, but instead just there. Occasionally it will get bad enough that I have to stop and focus on my breathing.

So today I go to my family doctor, simply because it got bad enough that I couldn’t catch my breath and it felt bad enough that I couldn’t even focus on anything. Honestly, it reminded me of the massive squeezing done about 40 times a minute by my dysfunctional uterus just a few years back. Only not really, because it didn’t stop. And it was in my chest, just left of center.

But my tests were normal, so I have to be fine. Maybe it’s just stress. But it won’t go away. But I am under a lot of stress. But then again, I live in stress and have for my entire adult life.

But, but, but….

So the doctor asked me how I would like to proceed. And I don’t know, because the logical side of me who spent years studying all things cardiopulmonary knows it isn’t likely to be my heart. But then there is the part of me that doesn’t know what the hell it is and wants to be sure. So I told her I didn’t know, to jyst do what she feels is best.

I ended up on a proton pump inhibitor to ensure it isn’t something GI-related, a steroid to ensure it isn’t inflammation, and a stress echocardiogram just to be sure.

I’ve never had anxiety issues unless it involves John behind the wheel of the car. Now, I am questioning my sanity.

Bitchypants

Mastering the Art of Suckage

I suck at life right now. No, really, I do.

I woke up this morning to tackle the day. I was ready. Quick shower, yoga pants, hoodie. Ready. To. Go. And then I sat down. And I started reading Justin Halpern’s Shit My Dad Says on my phone. And before I knew what was happening, I had finished the damned book. And then I was exhausted, and we all took a collective nap. I was so hell-bent on not procrastinating on the finishing of the economics, and I suffered a massive failure on that one. (More on the econ in another post-that class is going to drive me into an early grave.)

So lunch came. And went. I didn’t eat a bite. Nothing sounded good other than a pint of black raspberry chip ice cream. And, well, that isn’t diet-friendly. Before I knew what was going on, it was time for dinner. Chipotle. And I ate the whole fucking bowl. With chips. How much more Fatty McFatFat can you get than shoveling heaps of rice and chicken and salsa onto chips to eat it? To use chips as flatware, for shit’s sake! So I’m not exactly feeling all svelte/ bask-in-my-hotness. On the contrary, I can practically feel the cellulite building up on my thighs just in the 45 minutes since I ate the last chip.

So now, the coffee is brewed. I’m ready. I am going to study.

“Andrea, I set a reminder for you, baby.” Awww, my husband is so thoughtful. A reminder for what?

For the season kick-off of Project Runway. Tonight. And suddenly, I can hear my resolve to study screaming in agony as it withers to nothingness.

Summer has entirely too many distractions.

And also, I am kind of tired of being a student.

Bring on the fall semester. Let’s get this shit done.

Fatty McFatFat's Flatware

Fatty McFatFat’s Flatware

Doing It

f8d17c34937d9c3215bfbbe00f6c78efI would love to give credit where credit is due for the above, but I have no idea where I got it. But this is the post where I finally talk about the other side. Of course, from the title of the post, you probably envisioned a juvenile describing the loss of their virginity, a la American Pie. Well, though I have my childish moments, I am not a juvenile and, though I hate to break this news, the whole virginity thing  went out the window a long time ago, folks.

No, this one is about setting a goal. One that seemed massive at the time. One that seemed highly unlikely. And then it is about reaching that goal. Or at least having the reaching of that goal so close that its taste is on one’s tongue.

I’m going to start the discussion off by telling you (or perhaps reminding you, in case I have mentioned it before and have just forgotten) that my first attempt at higher education was less than successful. My mom was sick. No, I mean, she was really sick, but she didn’t really reveal this to any of us.  So I spent my senior year of high school noticing how Mom was in and out of the hospital more and more. Somehow she convinced me to go to college anyway, but she kept getting put in the hospital.I was the first one in my family to go to college straight out of high school, to be labeled “the smart one”. She was proud, I think, and so I went. On several occasions, I would call home to discover that she was in intensive care. So there I was, a coddled kid away from home for the first time; a music major trying to study something I loved so much when really, I just loved to play and my mom was my biggest fan. And my mom was a home, dying. I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t do well at all. My grades were barely passing. I had gone from the smart kid in honors classes, to the one who couldn’t hack it. When mom finally dies about 2 weeks before final exams, I just dropped out. I couldn’t do it.

It scarred me. Mom’s death did, but the whole experience did also. When my life was calm enough, when I could look back on that time, I wondered about many things. Was I really just stupid? Was it the circumstances of the time in my life? Maybe I wasn’t college material after all. But I saw my life as it was unfolding, and I knew I could do so much more. And I met John, and he saw it, too. And he talked me into enrolling in some classes.

Just a couple of classes. I read that line to him just now. He smiled. He knows what he did just as much as he knew what he was doing then. Just a tiny spark. At a tiny community college where they do more training for careers than anything else. But I had been to a large university before, so I could tell that the classes seemed to be of the same caliber. Still, self-talk does weird things to us. But I enrolled in their respiratory program. I took the weed-out classes that all nursing and allied health students have to take. These careers, these jobs are stable, so these programs are usually turning applicants away. They make some of the prerequisites really difficult to separate the candidates by who will most likely be successful. And I had to take those classes. I aced them all. My classmates would hate me because I would wreck the curve. I literally scored greater than 100% for a couple of them because my professor curved others’ grades and didn’t feel it was fair to not give me the same point advantage. Still, the self-talk continued.

“It’s just a community college, Andrea. When you were at the real university, you sucked. You’re not really smart.”

And so I finished that program. With honors. I was recognized at graduation. I took my boards. I got my license. I started working in my field. And some part of me wanted more.

I wondered if the old dream of medicine could really take flight. I wondered if it was just because it was a community college. And so I enrolled in pre-med classes, to finish my bachelor’s.

And I got pregnant with Zach. And put on bedrest. I had been doing well, too.

More self-talk. Telling me I was silly. Telling me I was foolish. And then I didn’t want to do it anymore. I wanted to ensure my children would grow up in complete financial security with their mother present. I realized I had been given a gift with each of them, and I was taking that for granted. So I did some soul-searching, determining what it was I wanted to do. What I really wanted.

And I enrolled in an undergraduate program. Straight A’s. It was community college all over again. I nailed everything I touched, and I finished summa cum laude. But I did it online. And so I thought to myself, “Yes, but was it really hard? Was it really a challenge? It was just an online program!”

And so I told John that I wanted to go on to my master’s. To my MBA. And I remember when I was telling him this, that my heart skipped a beat. I really wanted it. I meant what I said. But thus far, every attempt at what I have really wanted has either fallen through or been derailed by my own shortcomings. To speak of this out loud was unimaginable, because it gave life to what I wanted. It gave me some accountability to myself. So I looked, and I discovered that the university practically in my backyard had a nationally-ranked MBA program. I applied.

They weren’t supposed to actually accept me.

And on the eve of my first class, I was so nervous. Walking into my first class, I got butterflies. They were going to laugh me out of there. I wasn’t smart enough. More self-talk. That girl needs to learn when to shut her mouth.

Because I have nailed it. In a few weeks, I start my last semester, which includes my corporate governance capstone. On December 19, I will be able to put MBA behind my name. And for the first time, I can try and try to self-talk myself out of this all I want. The logic counteracts it. I am doing this. I am doing it. And as I prepare to enter my last semester, it is becoming more real. I hope my mom is watching. I hope she can see. Maybe what she saw in me all that time ago was more accurate than what I saw in myself. And I can kind of see what she was seeing.

Obsessing Over…

To give just a glimpse into my ridiculously easy days right now, this is what I’m obsessing over at the moment:

The Naked Bee Orange Blossom Honey Hand & Body Lotion
The Naked BeeI would love to give you a link to this, well, because it is the bee’s knees, but it appears to only be sold by retailers and is not available or purchase directly from the company. I have eczema on my hand. Call it an occupational hazard that comes from years of harsh sanitizers, surgical scrubs for the NICU, and washing one’s hands a gazillion times a day. I have seen my family doctor and a dermatologist. I’ve tried prescriptions and over-the-counter lotions, creams, and cleansers. Some of these have been really expensive, too. Some have improved it a little, but none have really worked. So one day, having taken my lotion home from work (I usually buy a bottle to keep in my locker) to try on Zach, who also has bad eczema, I was kinda stuck. I had found this stuff the week before because a coworker was using it and it smelled so nice, prompting me to buy my own bottle in the hospital gift shop for $15.99 for an 8-ounce pump bottle.  So I tried it on my hand that one lotion-less night. Holy Cow! It worked. I’ve been using it ever since. All that is left of my eczema on my hand is a scar on my middle knuckle. If I don’t use this for a night of work, it comes back, So tonight, I couldn’t find Zach’s lotion (dye-free, unscented). If we do not slather him with lotion before putting his pajamas on, his whole body is red and itchy in the morning. So I took a chance and tried this on him. A couple of hours later, his skin is already looking better.

I googled the stuff and discovered they make a whole line of skincare products. Soaps, lotions, creams, hand sanitizers. Mind you, the stuff isn’t inexpensive, but if it works? Pshhh. So now I am going to desperately search for the body bar and hand sanitizer. I’m curious to see how it works.

Chipotle’s Adventurrito.
993926_10151685938204253_1600249411_nYep. I know, it’s cheesy. Well, here lately, with only enough cheese to taste. Ha! This is some clever marketing. I love Chipotle. And if I use a little restraint, John and I can eat here without feeling like we’ve wrecked our lives or clogged John’s newly-stented arteries. The beauty is that they give you enough food in one serving for 2 whole meals, so I either split my buttito bowl with Zach or save half for another meal. My bowl consists of chicken, fresh tomato salsa, corn salsa, romaine, brown rice, and just a teensy bit of cheese. If I’m feeling extra naughty, I’ll get a tortilla on the side and roll my own tiny burritos with it, as it is one huge tortilla. John, after the heart incident, gets a meatless bowl with 2 types of beans, brown rice, romaine, and all three of their salsas. No tortilla for him. So this meal, other than a veggie sub with no dressing at Subway, is the only quick-service meal he can eat.

So Chipotle is giving away free burritos? Hell, yes, I’m down with that. The grand prize is 20 years’ worth of free burritos (one per week, I am assuming). Other winners can win free burritos for one year. You are entered when you play the online game, whether you win or lose. To win the grand prize, you have to get all 20 of the puzzles correct. I think there might be a drawing or something for those people. These puzzles are little riddles posted online at 20:20. The 4 they have had so far have been kind of challenging. For example, the above picture is of their basket liner they are using for their anniversary, The answers to one of the riddles involved all of the integers on the liner. They didn’t tell you that, though. Instead, in the clue, they mentioned one should ponder it over a burrito or taco. Of course it was in the middle of the night and Chipotle was closed, but I happened to remember that they posted the above pic on their Facebook page, and Score! I got the puzzle correct. So now I am all geeked out over this little contest because, hey, Fatty loves her burritos!

Bailey’s Mudslide coffee creamer
0004410010766_500X500Because I realized the calorie content of my venti Mocha at the ‘Bucks. And I cannot give up on coffee. I tried the nonfat versions. I tried the soy. I tried every-damned-thing, including black coffee. I decided I am not grown up enough for black coffee. And so a splash of this. I can handle that. So long as I remember to log the calories in my little calorie counter app, I’m good. Thanks for keeping me sane, Bailey’s Creamer.

Barefoot Moscato

barefootmuscatosparklingI’m not even gonna talk about a bouquet or that other crap. I know nothing about wine, but I wanted to start learning. I’m sure that, at the whopping $13.00 I paid for the bottle of this wine, it is most definitely not high-brow. Yeah, whatevs. I mentioned to some of my wine-drinking coworkers that I wanted to learn to appreciate wine, and this was what was recommended to start with. Because though I am all women-power/ fight the patriarchy, I enjoy some good frou-frou sweet booze. And I was told this would fit the bill. And they were correct. The plan is to start here and get a little more sophisticated over time. With different wine types and vineyards.  I would like to be able to have conversations about it eventually. Because I have been elected to the board of directors for the association of women MBA’s at my university, and our introductory meeting is at a wine tasting in a few weeks. I’ve also been told that I would probably like Beringer and rieslings.  If this is your area of expertise, please leave any suggestions you may have for me.

Laughing Cow Smooth Sensations Cream Cheese Spread
Smooth_Sensations_Cream_Cheese_Spread_Classic_Cream_One_Third_Less_Fat

Ummmmm. I love this stuff. I love that there are only 45 calories in a wedge and a whole english muffin (whole wheat, thanks) only takes me about half a wedge. The same can be said for a whole wheat frozen waffle, toasted with this and a little organic strawberry preserves–tastes delicious and only 100 calories total. I love that it travels well, so I can easily pack it for lunches or snacks at work or for trips to the park with my offspring. I love that it comes in a gazillion flavors, though I haven’t tried them yet. Hey Laughing Cow people, if you would like more free marketing, feel free to send me some free stuff and I will be glad to offer up my opinion of your fabulous products. Wink, wink. Because I am a struggling grad student and I am currently slathering this stuff on everything.

“Whodunnit” on ABC

Whodunnit_ABCI cannot look away when this show is on. Part Survivor, part Big Brother, part Clue (yeah, the Milton Bradley board game–the old version, not the new-fangled stupid stuff). Because in my mind, I am playing along, trying to guess, getting aggravated when the contestants can’t get it right.

If you haven’t watched the show, it is like a murder mystery. They get clues. Each week, another guest gets the ax, and the remaining guests have to use clues to determine how it happened. The “killer” is among them. The more wrong/ less correct they are, the more at risk they are to be the next “victim”. Some of them have resorted to tears in fear, leaving me to wonder if they are really that dumb and think ABC is going to have them murdered on set on national network television. But still, it’s entertaining, and I am all about that these days when I have no class to worry about. Even soon-to-be MBA’s don’t want to think about marketing or finance or accounting all of the time.

Devou Park Backcountry Trails- Covington, KY

devouAbout a 2-song drive from my house (it’s that close that I have no idea how many miles or minutes–I can listen to two normal-length songs!). Pack a little cooler bag of water. Some yoga pants and good shoes. All-terrain stroller in the back of the SUV. Off we go. The way the trail is designed, we can hike/ speed-walk as much or as little as we want. It’s peaceful. It’s cleansing. You can pass anyone from the elderly out getting their exercise, to young families, to serious athletes out for a trail run or bike. When it is raining, or has recently rained, the trails are closed for their own preservation, but at the same park, there is a lovely paved trail as well. We’ve walked in a light rain before, on the paved trail, only turning back when it turned into a thunderstorm. We have had days where it was too hot and we had to stop halfway find a spot to relax in the shade. We also park next to one of the playgrounds so Zach can get some playtime in before we head home. I have pulled a muscle somehow and this have been resting this week, and so I miss this. We had been going everyday, walking briskly enough to work up a sweat. Love it.

So that’s my life right now. Or a little bit of it, anyway. Until next time.

The Post I Have To Write That Will Most Likely Result In Hate Mail

Or My Reaction to the Zimmerman Verdict.

First of all, a kid is dead. There are people who loved him. He was a part of a community. He had a beautiful smile, from the photos I’ve seen. He was barely 5 years older than my son. He wasn’t armed and was in a place where he was supposed to be when he was shot in the heart by a grown man. That grown man was acquitted, and a nation is out for blood.

With that being said…

I fancy myself someone with integrity. I will be honest with you about my thoughts while disclaiming away. They do not represent those of my school, my kids, my husband, my employer. they’re min . Only mine. Blah, blah, blah.

I’ve been watching this trial all week. I’ve read articles online and then researched the evidence. I found myself waffling back and forth. No, Zimmerman should not have gotten out of his car that night . It wasn’t illegal to get out of his car. It was just a dumb move. It also is not illegal to follow someone or to ask them what they’re doing. It is not illegal to be be completely stupid. If his were true, our whole prison overcrowding thing would be taken to a whole ‘nutha level. It is illegal to cause physical harm to someone out of aggression. I was not there the night Zimmerman shot Trayvon Martin. You weren’t either. In fact, there were only two people present and one of them, tragically,  is no longer with us. With that in mind , have I been a member of the jury, I would have had a hard time sending Zimmerman to prison for the rest of his life if there was even a chance that he really was defending himself against Trayvon Martin. I saw the photo of the bloody nose. I saw the lacerations on the back of  Zimmerman’s scalp, the bumps and bruises where his head struck concrete. I heard the testimony where the gunshot evidence was consistent what someone being on top of Zimmerman. Could that have been caused another way? Quite possibly, but there was no other way that was consistent with the other evidence. For that reason I couldn’t rule out that Zimmerman wasn’t telling the truth. Others argued that, since Zimmerman followed, he started it, and thus was the aggressor. I disagree. If you come up to me, initiating a verbal confrontation, and I get upset and strike you, I am the aggressor, not you. I am the one who could not control myself in that situation

This was not racially motivated. It had nothing to do with the color of Trayvon’s skin, the clothes he was wearing, or any other factor. it was just the facts as they were presented. For more , Trayvon was not well known in the area , and the neighborhood had suffered multiple break-ins in weeks leading up to the incident. it was raining and dark and Trayvon was casually walking and reported to be looking in the windows. I could certainly understand why Zimmerman became suspicious. I don’t consider myself racist at all, but I cannot say that I would not have have the same suspicions. I also would have had them if he was green, blue, white, purple. The only difference is I hate guns and do not own one.

Not everyone who agrees with this verdict is racist. Not all of us are far right lunatics . Some of us consider the law in the evidence and made our own minds up. The media have done nothing to help America. Between Nancy Grace shouting and jumping on the cause of the day for ratings’ sake and discussion panels of everyone doing all but shouting  kill whitey, it was hard for anyone to get the story without influence. I have been amazed at the number of people who have spoken out about their disagreement with the jury’s verdict. When an intelligent conversation is initiated, it is discovered that they never watched the trial or did any research, but instead relied upon what they were hearing from others .

I hate going where I am about to go, but I have to. A kid is dead. But it was dark and rainy. This kid was 6’2″. He had a hood up. While he was thin, it would have been hard to discern this with the fit and style if his clothing. None if this makes his death okay, but the media portrayed him as little more than a cherubic toddler. He was not. He was close to adulthood. With THC in his system, a lighter found on his person, pictures of guns and marijuana plants on his phone. When Zimmerman called the police, if you listen to the unedited call that wasn’t spliced together for the sake of better ratings for news programs, he says it appears something was wrong with the young man, that he appeared to be on drugs. Still just a kid, allowed to make mistakes. But hindsight is 20/20. We know he was unarmed that night. But it wasn’t known at the time.

The other thing I’m going to say is this: it was insinuated that the gun was drawn before the altercation took place.that this was why Martin was screaming, if it really was him screaming. If someone is holding a gun on me, I’m going to be so terrified that I don’t make a peep. I can assume that a 17-year-old kid fighting a grown man would probably be less brave if he knows that grown man was armed. Would he have fought back? Run like hell? Keep quiet so as not to get shot? Or roll around on the ground fighting the armed man? Or was it not known that the man was armed?

So I am glad they reached the verdict they did. They listened to reason. I am sorry for the loss of a beautiful teen. I could not imagine that loss as a mother. I am sorry that Zimmerman and his wife will never have their lives back to normal. I feel this way because I am human. A mom, a wife. It has nothing to do with my race or with hatred of that of another.

Bitchypants

Fit? Healthy? Moi?

image

Smoking cessation: Day 7
Diet New Healthy Nutrition: Day 24
Exercise Program: Week 2

Somehow, 16 pounds are gone. Where they went is beyond me. I can tell a little difference, but when you need to lose over a hundred pounds, 16 seems so…paltry.

It’s been challenging. Eating out is almost impossible. And I have to admit that we have been reliant on quick service restaurants. When you work all night, wake up to study, then head to campus to study more, sit in class for hours, getting home at 9 pm….This has been easier since I’m on break from classes, but I need to be sure to research ways to stay ahead of the healthy eating when my final semester starts up in the fall.
Our “treat” is Chipotle. I get a chicken burrito bowl with brown rice, lettuce, and both mild and corn salsa, then split it in half with Zach. John gets his completely meatless with 2 kinds of beans, the salsas, brown rice, lettuce, with no cheese or sour cream. We’ve been doing that once a week. Other than that, whole grains, fresh veggies, only the leanest meats…
What is interesting to me is that, as we do this more, I am accidentally learning new tricks. The other day, I was craving waffles. We had low-fat wheat waffles in the freezer, but I had no sugar-free syrup, completely forgetting it at the grocery store. Instead, I toasted the 2 waffles (140 cal) and spread them with low-fat Laughing Cow cream cheese spread (45 cal) and a tablespoon of low-cal organic strawberry preserves (45 cal). This is now my new favorite breakfast, tastes more like dessert, and is only 230 calories. This adds room, for mornings when I am starving, to add something else without wrecking the calorie/ nutrition count.

I have also learned that I have no endurance left, which was a big surprise. I spent years of my life swimming. I walk all over a big hospital for 13 hours a night. I guess I just always thought it was still in there somewhere. Nope. Years and years of not taking care of myself has resulted in that loss. So on Day One of the whole exercise thing, I got myself ready, laced up my cute new running shoes (see above, but ignore the cankles), and headed out the door. Within about 1 minute, I was sweating and winded.

Have I ever mentioned I hate being sweaty? I mean, this really is why swimming is my thing. If you’re doing it right, you can literally feel the heat coming off of your muscles. But cool water washes the sweat away so you don’t feel it. There is nothing like a good, hard, cleansing swim. Problem is, if I tried to swim a puny 50 right now, I would likely drown. So I am using that as a goal. We are joining our local YMCA, which has both indoor and outdoor pools. When I build enough endurance. I’m digging out the old Speedo and splurging on some new pro goggles and off I go. But in the meantime, I am stuck sweating and doing the hard work. I must admit I’m not a big fan.

Smoking. Ahhhhh. I have been smoke-free for 7 days. One whole week. I just took a deep breath, and it felt really good. John says he is proud of me. I am proud of me. Other than pregnancy-induced quitting, I have never gotten this far. I keep catching myself saying ” I’m trying to quit”. No, I have quit. I am a non-smoker. Saying that makes me cry. I have wanted to be able to do this for such a long, long time. I’ve had my moments this week. There was the one day where all I wanted in life was a damned cigarette and pizza. John and I spent hours on the internet looking for options that would allow us to do this. Wheat crust? Light sauce? Veggies with no meat? Half the cheese? Hell, we even tried no cheese, which John said would be a cracker with veggies on it, and the saturated fat was still too high. I went to bed that night seriously pissed at the world. We did find one place that makes healthy pies, but a large pizza is over $40. If it were that healthy, maybe. Or maybe for date night or something. But not for a random Wednesday. Not when I would have to buy a second pizza because the kiddos wouldn’t eat from ours. And Zach would die if we got pizza without breadsticks. By the time we were finished, a hundred dollars would be gone. On pizza. On that random Wednesday. Call me a cheapskatebut, ummmm, no.

There are 2 more major problem areas for me. Mochas and water.

I really don’t like water. I’ve added everything and anything to it, which makes it good. That’s all great. But I prefer my Diet Mt. Dew. I haven’t cut it out completely yet. The fast food, the junk food, the smoking…all of that gone. I just cannot part with my DMD yet. I am limiting though. 1 soft drink a day. Water the rest of the time. Before, we would go through a 12-pack a day, so even this is a major change. But I don’t know if I can cut it completely off. And mochas. Oh, holy bejeezus. Have you looked at the nutrition content? I didn’t. It’s a drink, for crying out loud. Even the nonfat variety isn’t great. I could deal with that as a sub. But damn. I can’t have either, and I have a $15 a day coffee habit when school is in session. Really. And the coffee shop in the College of Biz smells so fucking good. Liquid crack. So I have to train myself to like black coffee. Gradually.

So I have a lot of work to do. I keep telling myself that, while it is sad, it is completely true that nobody takes fat women seriously. So for John’s heart, but also for my future….

Wish me luck.

Bitchypants