Mr. Golden Sun!

Recently I finished reading a memoir from a young mother’s life whose “cute-little-yellow-house-with-a-white-picket-fence” plan didn’t turn out as she had dreamed it would. Through many rough patches it turned out even better because of the woman she is now after having gone through heartache. It got me thinking…. I am a cup-half-full person, even if there are only a few drips left in the cup. I usually write about happiness and marshmallows and rainbows and adoption and vacations and chocolate and artwork and all the lovely things that make me smile….. BECAUSE I’m a cup-half-full person. (And gardening and thrift shopping and playhouses and chicken coop construction!) After reading Bloom, I realized that hurting people relate to hurting people. A bond is created when you realize that someone else has been here (horrible!) and gone through this (difficult x 10!) and survived (amazing!)…. and still smiles and laughs.

I have not come out on the “still smiles and laughs” side of the little fender bender that was 11 months ago today.  And I feel like a whiner when I see others who have gone through horrific rehabilitation, or illness, or the loss of someone they love, and circumstances so much worse than my aching arm. But an achy arm has altered my life and I am not through the fire yet. For a while, mid-October, it was seemingly better. But now, mid-February, I’m back to 24/7 pain. A royal pain in the arm! This is why my blogging has slowed to a snail’s pace… slower than molasses in January. Constant pain wears on your brain. It is exhausting. I refuse to touch the pain meds again, as the horrific “coming clean” five-day-episode is burned in my mind as something I never want to experience EVAH again. So I do a little less than I used to. I’m in the slow lane. And I’m more emotional than per-usual.

Last night I came THIS CLOSE to not having enough energy to get myself ready to go to church. Then I sucked it up and brushed my teeth and hair… and went in the same jeans and pink t-shirt that I had been wearing for two days. I was holding up so well until a friend asked how I was feeling… and the dam broke and I was a pitiful teary-eyed mess. “Tonight, it’s bad,” I replied through quivering lips. Normally, I’m not like this… whimpering and soggy… and it’s hard to accept the “momentary me.” But sometimes life stinks… and there is pain… and you cry when you don’t want to.

Like the author of the book I mentioned, I hope to come through this with a fiery zeal that will spurn others on through tough times. I want to be the one bringing meals, and running errands for friends, and dropping by to help with housework. I feel like my sunshine is missing, well, because it is. I need to sing a few rounds of Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me!

So hang in there if you are holding on by a thread. Life ebbs and flows… comes and goes… and the clouds do have a silver lining. God is still on the throne and still loves me and you! He is a constant through this mess and that knowledge does my heart good!

Come on and sing with me, Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me! Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, hiding behind that tree. This whiny mother is asking you, to please come out so I can play with you. Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on, please shine down on, please shine down on me!

Another Book in the Making

Years ago I was wide awake one fine morning at 2:00 a.m.  There was a book idea running amuck in my mind.  It was causing me to lose precious sleeping hours, so I succumbed.  Climbing out of bed, finding my journal and making my way to the bathroom I was determined to write down every blinkin’ thought, so I could get some much-needed rest.  Quietly I closed the door and flicked on the light.  After eye-adjustment-to-the-brightness time elapsed, I indeed jotted down every blinkin’ thought…. and there were 60 of them, much to my blurry-eyed surprise.  Each one a story pertaining to my life of weight loss, gain, loss, gain, loss, gain… and God.  That night I named the book Squeezing Laughter into a Leotard: Devotions for Above Average Women, and then I crept back to bed in the dark of the night and slept like a baby.

Three years ago I wrote a blog mentioning this book-to-be:  https://mysistersjar.wordpress.com/2008/09/11/wrapped-up-in-elvis/  During those three years, I had a part-time job filling out adoption paperwork and getting fingerprinted.  So no progress has been made as of yet.  I think only one of the stories is actually written down in black and white.  And once again, I’m in the great battle of food/appetite control.  The PERFECT time to write about the frustrations that chubby people face day in and day out.  REAL stories that women can relate to….. like falling off the wagon with rice krispy treats and not wanting to step on the scale tomorrow morning.

Currently, I’m down 54 pounds since April.   That sounds all great, yet I have 46 to go…. and I got slapped around by Snap, Crackle and Pop tonight, so I’m not feeling real successful at the moment.  Through the past six months, I’ve been able to identify my trigger points that cause me to eat foods that are permissible for me, but not beneficial.  Here’s the short list:

1. When I’m sick
2. When I’m alone
3. When I’m mad
4. When I’m on the phone
5. THAT time of the month
6. When I smell peanut butter 
7. Before an adoption home visit
8. When I see clutter
9. Seeing Green Corn Tamales on a menu
10. When I’m on a long vacation
11. After a friend has died
12. After a homeschool graduation
13. After cooking a meal
14. When I should be in bed
15. At birthday parties
16. When visions of sugar plums dance in my head

Like I said, that is the SHORT list.  Thanks for humoring me and reading to the end.  Hahahaha. 

Tomorrow is another day to live victoriously with my choices and my new and improved health!

The Dangers of Popcorn

Most families have stories that have been told over and over and over… until extinction is unthinkable.  One such story in our house is retold almost every single time someone makes popcorn with the hot air popper.  Yes, we still have a hot air popper, remember those?  I bought it in 1985 when I was heading off to college…. an obvious necessity.

Fast forward to 1987, the year we were wed, in our first apartment in Langley, BC.  The hot air popcorn device had indeed arrived back in Canada with us as a married couple.  Unbeknownst to me the horror that would follow, I pulled the shiny yellow dream appliance from the cupboard and proceeded to pop some corn kernels for my Indian husband…. in memory of his people who introduced us white folks to this delicacy. (That’s not really why… we just love buttery popcorn.)

As per usual, I placed the huge metal bowl under the popper’s spout, poured in the kernels and slid the button to ON.  All was going well until one stray unpopped kernel flew out of the popper, shot down one side of the slippery bowl and out the other.  The kernel reminds me of the song “On top of Spaghetti” with the meatball that goes on a journey.  The tiny golden corn kernel bounced off the kitchen counter and down toward the floor.  Little did I know the pain and agony that was coming.  You see, I was barefoot.  Somehow beyond reason, the little fiery hot kernel landed between my baby toe and the next toe over and lodged itself there for all eternity, sizzling into my skin.  If you have ever burnt the tender skin between your last two toes, you probably have memory tears in your eyes at this moment.  I screamed.  I dropped to the floor.  I cried.  I pried my little toes apart.  I dislodged the burning morsel.  This all happened in a nanosecond, but the results were excrutiating.  The screaming, dropping, crying rapidly brought my husband to the kitchen…. he probably assumed I had chopped off a limb.  But no.  Burned my toes making popcorn.  Ice was applied and tenderly the toes were put up to rest.

Every time the exact same popper is brought down from the pantry shelf, as it was last night, one of my children will mimic me in mocking tones, “Do you want to hear about when I burned my toes making popcorn?”

The moral of the story is:  If the shoe fits, wear it (especially while making popcorn!)