This little thing called a blog

There is something in my soul so deep that speaks to me and asks me to speak to you.  Yet, there is this tremor of fear that I won't be understood or accepted by you and I find myself holding back my words or not letting the best stories out.  I have some stories that made me cry and laugh and I would so love to share, yet sometimes I see one of my friends look at me kinda funny.  I know they have read my blog and I wonder what I wrote that would cause such a look of utter bafflement.  Then maybe it is that I have something spilled on my shirt from lunch and they are afraid to tell me.  I am never quite sure and kinda afraid to ask.  

It was never my intention to become a blogger or a writer.  I am just a Nurse.  A Wife and a Mother nothing really, basically so average I am invisible   I started to post on Facebook just for fun. Little things at first, you know the odd things that would happen throughout the day.  Things I found silly or odd.  My friends found them entertaining and things grew from there.  Before I knew it, I had a teeny tiny minuscule following.  My friends kept encouraging me to blog or write a book.  So, I started this blog thing.  

I found out something with writing that I never knew before.  Writing is like baring your inner soul to everyone who reads the words you write down.  Like letting people see your heart, your light and those thoughts you just didn't want or think you would ever let anyone ever see.  I find myself in this place, telling you all my secrets and letting you into my world.  Sometimes I feel like I am letting you see my granny panties.  

I actually look forward to writing my little unknown blog.  I never do know what I am going to write about until I start filling the page.  I think of my friend ,Bronwyn Markell, she told me to write.  That my words would be meaningful someday.  I really don't know about that but I do know that this adventure has turned out to be growing experience.  I think I have changed for the better somehow.  I am glad you have joined me on this trip.  I hope that we can grow together on this little adventure.  Lets see where it takes us.  

A Poop Story

This one is just for fun.  I hope I don't offend anyone but here goes.  

So, a few years ago my Husband was working nights.  I had the same position I do now.  A Part-time position in the OR.  My real schedule is two ten hour shifts with designated days as Monday and Wednesday.  At that time, I picked up two extra shifts a week and rounded out my week to 40 hours.  I was not an Officer in my Union at that time. 

Anyway, I was home this particular day.  He came home from work.  Now my Husband is a very scheduled kinda guy.  Why he married a Nurse, is beyond me.  Our schedules change often.  We trade days, we pick up shifts, we do overtime.  In the OR, we take call.  I am fortunate and savvy enough to bid for a position that does not require weekends or Holidays.  However, I do not get to work in the big bad cases anymore like Neurosurgery and stuff like that.  To me it was worth the trade.  Also, my job stopped offering those positions.  There are only nine Nurses in the whole OR left with this kinda schedule.  We are like dinosaurs, soon to be extinct.  

Ok, back to my Husband.  He like my Mom just could never get a grasp on the lifestyle of a working Nurse.  He does not understand being on call.  Taking someones shift or picking up a shift is strange and odd to him.  Since I am Part-Time,  My day off during the week would vary and he never knew, when I would be home.  This would drive him crazy.  I would offer to send him a monthly calendar or even print him a hard copy but he would just shake his head.  I think that the lack of control would just set his teeth on edge and make him all Mr Grumpy.  

Anyway, he was surprised the day he came home and I was there.  I remember telling him the night before I would be there.  My Daughter was still living with us then.  She was at school.  I was in the middle of doing whatever housework there was to do.  I did not have a housekeeper yet.  He came home in a really bad mood.  I don't know why he worked nights.  He was a terrible day sleeper.  Me, I can sleep in the day, in the night and I am fine.  Heck I can fall asleep in a crowded room with guns blazing.  If I need to sleep, I sleep.  My Husband has to have it dark and perfectly quiet.  He was usually in a bad mood but this day he was in one of the worst moods I have ever seen him in.  

He comes home, I say hi. He says hi.  Hugs and kisses exchanged and he steps into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he comes out.  He forgets to close the door.  Holy Cow!! I have never smelled such a smell.  I am a Nurse.  I smell bad stuff all the time.  I tell him to close the bathroom door.  Ask him what the hell he ate and ask him, if a demon came out of his butt.  Then I tell him I was all ready to jump his bones but now that he pooped I simply cannot do that.  Just to gross.  Of course, he looks at me and starts to laugh.  We both laugh until we cry.  His bad mood is gone.  He goes to bed and the man gets a good days sleep and I go about my business for the day.

Fast forward five years.   Last night, I went into the bathroom.  Twenty minutes later I came out.  My Husband says, What the heck were you doing in there?  I said, I had to poop.  He rolls his eyes and says, now that you pooped there is no way I can jump your bones.  I had plans for us tonight.  I give him a look that most wives give their Husbands,when they think they are friggin crazy.  You know the one eyebrow up and squinkie eye thing.  Then he says, who poops at night?  Normal people poop in the morning.  Again, I give him the look.  

My response to him was this.  Husband I say, poop happens, when it happens.  What did you want me to do?  Hold it in?  I suppose you can jump your own bones because I can't take back that poop.  My Husband is so trying not to smile.  I begin to push him.  I start going on and on about what would happen, if a person were to hold in their poop and how they would pop.  That they might be a pop full of poop.  OK...So this is basically Nurse humor.  I can get really gross and it is funny to me and most medical people.  I will stop now.  Sometimes poop is funny.  Just saying.  

Anyway, my husband cracks a smile and he reminds me of five years ago and what I said.  I ask him, if he is a women?  Ask him, if he keeps lists in his head for future fodder and fights like a girl?  The whole time I am grinning at him and backing away because I know I am going to get it.  That was it.  I was doomed.  I was attacked and tickled.  We laughed until we cried.  

I had completely forgotten about the first incident five years ago and how I had managed to get my Husband out of his bad mood.  He remembered and was just waiting to use it on me.  Men...right?  

Teri's Brain Tumor Story

I have promised you I would talk about my brain tumor.  So, I am talking about it.  I had not felt well for some time.  I think that I started to feel really sick in 2001.  I developed Bells Palsy on the right side of my face.  My face still droops a little especially when I am tired.  After a year or so, I started to have terrible pain on the right side and this creepy sensitivity whenever anyone would touch me on the right side of my face.  The wind could set it off anything really.  It was so very strange.  

I was diagnosed with Trigeminal Neuralgia.  I guess you can explain it as this horrible pain just on one side of your face.  I was told that I would need a spinal tap to rule out Multiple Sclerosis.  I still am confused by this diagnosis.  I read everything I could get my hands on about it and learned as much as possible.  Anyway, I was MS free and after a few years the Trigeminal Neuralgia got better.  Not completely gone but better.  

Over the next few years, I was diagnosed with TMJ (Temporomadibular Joint Disorder, it is when your jaw is all messed up) and my vision would change every six months and I would have to get new glasses.  Sometimes, I would have changes in one eye that would be completely different then the other eye.  I was diagnosed with Optic Neuritis.  That is when your Optic Nerve gets all swollen.  Every thing that was wrong was on the right side of my face or affected the right side of my face.  I just figured I had used my body to hard in my youth and this was how I was being paid back.  

At first I did not take to being in pain very well.  I kinda fell apart and put my head between my legs and felt sorry for myself.  Then I realized that was ridiculous.  I had a child to raise.  I would have to just get past it all and figure it out.  I sopped taking any and all pain medications.  There was no way I was going to be one of those people that was addicted to pain medications.  I would only take Motrin or Tylenol.  I would do what I had to do.  Raise my Daughter, think of her first and me last.  That was how it was.  Of course, there was a few normal things that went on.  Like a girly surgery, outpatient foot surgery.  All very normal and almost expected.  Until....

Last summer, it was Friday and I was feeling so very strange.  So very tired.  The next day was Saturday.  Usually on Saturdays, I do laundry and organize.  I could not even get out of bed.  I felt so tired that I stayed in bed all day.  When my Husband got home from work, he was baffled.  He asked me what was wrong and I had no real answer for him other than I didn't feel well.  I had no dinner for him, no clean laundry.  I hadn't even brushed my hair.  The next day I awoke to the worst headache I had ever had.  I couldn't even see straight.  I tried to get up and my feet would not work.  It took me almost 15 minutes to figure out what my feet were for.

Once I managed to get to the kitchen, my goal was to get some Motrin.  I could not figure out how or where to find the Motrin or what the kitchen was.  I looked in the fridge.  I stood there for an undetermined amount of minutes, just staring into it the mustard and wilting lettuce.  Once, I could think a little past the headache, I went to the cupboard and found the Motrin.  Holding the bottle in my hand I couldn't figure out how to open it.  It was like it was some crazy puzzle meant for someone much smarter than me.  At that moment a sea slug was smarter than me.  I finally managed to open the bottle and take the medication out of the bottle and swallowed a pill or two and went back to bed. I really don't even remember, if I used water or not.  I think that figuring out how to get a cup and filling it full of water and drinking was beyond my comprehension at that point.  

My Husband found me again, in bed, hair not brushed, same bed clothes on, not bathed and no dinner waiting for him.  He was so confused.  This was not his wife.  His clothes were not laundered and his Wife was not as he usually found her.  In fact, she was stinky.  He was understanding but very unhappy.  I think he was just a little scared.  I managed to slink out of bed and make him a very poor excuse for dinner.   I definitely was not the normal me.  

Being who I am, I went to work the next day.  I still had a headache.  I was scrubbed in a Plastic Surgery case.  I remember feeling so wrong.  I remember looking up at the clock and at 8:00 AM, my headache went away.  I almost wept with joy.  Then one hour later, it came back with such a vengeance, I almost cried in sorrow and pain.  I could do nothing for it.  I was scrubbed in and had to just bite the big one.  What can you do, walk away from the Patient and Surgeon?  Not even close.  Just suck it up and do your job.  This is how I was raised.  Work hard, give 150% every day all day and do the best you can at what ever you do.  Sometimes I wish I could be like most other folks but I would just see one of my Parents faces giving me that look.  Nope, I think I would have to be missing an arm or bleeding out to walk away from a Patient or do a piss poor job.  

For the rest of the week, I had no real relief.  The Headache was pounding along.  I kinda got used to it.  There were times my vision would blur and then clear. Sometimes the headache would lesson and I would do as much as I could within respites as best as I could.   I was still an Officer in my Local Union and my days were long, stressful and horrible.  There was not a minute I was not working as an Officer, Wife or a Nurse.  Yet, I managed to work through it with the worst week long headache of my life.  I don't know how I did it but I did.  I am very thankful that nothing bad happened.  I am sure that Heavenly Father was looking out for me and my Patients that week.  

On that Friday, I was back in the OR and my job of the day was to give breaks to the rest of the Staff. I was giving a break to the Secretary.  One of the Relief Charge RN's was at the desk.  I finally broke down and told her what I had been going through.  She looked at me and told me I had a brain tumor.  I was in complete denial.  She made me promise after I clocked out to go to the ER.  I promised her.  Once I make a promise, I keep it.  Darn it.  

I have a problem with going to the ER.  When a patient goes to the ER with a headache, the Staff thinks they are drug seekers.  The last thing I wanted was to be thought of as an RN drug seeker.  I decided to drop off a grievance at one of the Managers Offices first then go to the ER.  I was dragging my feet.  I kept thinking that maybe I was crazy and making up my own headache.  That my headache was not real.  That they would tell me nothing was wrong and laugh at me.  That I would waste every ones time and someone who was really sick would be waiting because I was being treated for nothing.  That I should just wait and make an appointment and see the Doctor.  

Oh...right.  I had tried to make an appointment.  However, there were no appointments for months and months.  The only appointments they had where when I was working or had appointments with Managers for Union Business.  At this time in my life, my schedule was basically booked from 0500-1900 every single day.  I had very little time open.  I also had to work on my floor as often as possible as a Nurse.  The only time they had for me was on the days I was working on the floor.  My co-workers would not understand and we were so short staffed.  The ER was my only choice.  

With my head still pounding, my vision blurred and my gait unsteady, I went to the ER and told the triage nurse and attending Doctor at the desk my week long issues.  I felt like an idiot.  I tried to down play it.  The Doctor told me he thought I might even have a head bleed. He also told me not to make less of  my issues.  That I sounded like a pussy and to just tell it like it was.   He didn't use the word pussy but that is how I took what ever he said.  Remember I was not really feeling very well.  I had put all my energy into doing all my work for the week and listening to his extraneous words made me feel very sensitive.  I thought he was insane.  I figured I wasn't dead so I was fine.  Anyway, I finally told him and the Triage Nurse the truth.  

Fifteen minutes later, I was having CT scan.  Thirty minutes after the CT scam, the ER RN was starting an IV and I was heading off to an MRI.  About an hour later a pregnant ER Doctor came in my room to tell me I had a brain tumor.  Yay me.  About an hour later a Neurosurgeon Resident comes in my room to tell me that once the Attending looks at my MRI, I might be having surgery that night.  Yippee.  

I figured at that point I needed to call my Husband.  I called him and told him to wait at home until the Attending Neurosurgeon made a decision.  My Husband hates hospitals.  He gets all woozy and I would rather have him at home all safe and comfortable than all nervous and freaked out sitting next to me. Besides, if I went home, we would have two cars at the hospital and being the practical me, I just did not want to leave one car there.  

This is when I call my BFF.  I told her everything.  I was on speaker phone with her and her brother.  She is a Nurse and we were very calm.  Her brother was going crazy.  They were on their way to see a movie.  I kinda wanted her to come sit with me but I would not know anything until the Attending came to see me, so I told her to go see the movie and I would text her, if anything happened in the meantime.  Now, her family has adopted me and her brother was ready to drive over right then.  She had to peel him off the roof of the car and explain there was nothing to do about it until the final say so from the big cheese surgeon.  Might as well go to the movie and have some fun.  I agreed with her and sent them on their way.  He said he would never understand Nurses.  

Finally the big cheese came to talk with me.  He explained that my brain tumor was a Pituitary Adenoma about 3cm in size and not bleeding.  He said that he believed that this kind of tumor did not cause headaches although most people with these kind of tumors complained of severe headaches he said that it was impossible.  He said that I would need to stay the night in the ER and have blood drawn for hormone testing.  Depending on whether or not the tumor was secreting hormones and what kind of hormones, then we would talk about surgery.  I was to have no food or drink.  I asked him for a sleeping pill because the ER was very busy and noisy.  He said no.  I did not need it.  OK then.  

I called my BFF and Husband said don't come.  Told them what the big cheese said and that I would be coming home in the morning.  All night the ER was the most noisy place I had every been in.  I had two male Nurses and not once did I get a pillow.  They did give me warm blankets.  In the Morning, I had my blood drawn and the ER doctor, a different one,  came in and she told me that I needed to be off work for a while, not to drive and to go home.  Alright?  I was discharged home.  I drove home anyway.  Yes, I am a brat.  

I was given an appointment to see the Surgeon I had seen in the ER.  We waited in his waiting room for three hours.  It turned out that my tumor was secreting no hormones.  He said he wanted to wait for six months and see, if it grew or not.  Kinda like ground zero.  He said I could go back to work and drive.  Basically, he wanted to see what would happen to me.  I told him my whole story.  He was not impressed.  I told him I felt like something was very wrong and this thing needed to come out.  He said he wanted to wait.  I told him no one wants brain surgery but I know that this tumor is causing me issues.  He told me that, if he was to take out Pituitary Tumors for everyone his reputation would be horrible.  I lost all respect for him.  I had never worked with him before as a Nurse.  I have not been in Neurosurgery for years so he and I have not crossed paths.  Since, I was his patient and never his Nurse, I can actually say that this Doctor is an asshole.  

I went to see my General Practitioner after that appointment.  She told me that with my kind of tumor that surgery was always indicated.  I knew this.  I had read this and knew this as a Nurse.  So, being that I lived in the LA area and worked in the Inland Empire, I technically could go anywhere I wanted for my Health Care.  I just happened to be at work, when I visited the ER.  Anyway, she hooked me up with the most amazing Neurosurgeon.  

My Husband and I went to see him.  I knew instantly that I was safe with this man.  He told me that I could wait or have it out.  It was my choice.  I told him please take it out.  He did.  He and his team  got every bit of that brain tumor.  I feel so much better.  My headaches are gone.  I get normal headaches now.  My vision is better.  I can see again.  In fact, my vision improved.  You see, the Pituitary tumor can grow so big it can obstruct the Optic Nerve.  If you looked at my MRI, it looked like it was not doing anything to it.  However, every six months, my vision was changing.  My far peripheral vision was gone.  Not the close Peripheral vision, just the far reaching one, I did not notice this until after my surgery and I could see cars coming up while we were driving.  Scared the piddle out of me.  

Brain Surgery is no fun.  I would have done everything to avoid it.  Yet, I knew that I needed to get this tumor out.  I listen to that still small voice in my soul that tells me what to do.  I am glad I did.  I feel better.  I had been gaining weight for years for no reason.  I would diet my brains out and loose no weight.  Now, I am loosing weight slowly but at least it is coming off.  I can see better.  I can think better.  I feel like me again.  

Honestly, I believe that there is so much about our brains and the way they work with our bodies that the medical community just does not know yet.  I think the lab tests we do are really not very accurate and don't give the real picture.  I think that the MRI's and CT scans just give us the a tiny glimpse of what is really going on inside our wonderful bodies.  I tend to believe that when a Patient says they don't feel well, we should believe them.  There has to be a reason.  

My brain tumor was bending my Pituitary gland all the way over.  Now, I am no Doctor or even very smart but to me that would seem wrong even, if technically it was not causing problems on paper.  Now that there is no tumor, I am all feisty and back to me almost.  Just saying.  

So, that is my brain tumor story.  If you have to have a brain tumor, a Pituitary tumor is the one to get.  It is the least of the brain tumors and 1 in 5 people have one.  Very common and cancer is very rare.  I dodged a big bullet.  The surgery to get it out is through your nose and recovery isn't as bad as say having your head sliced open.  I don't think I will ever be the same again.  I tire easily and sometimes my brain is very slow but for the most part I feel like something dark was removed.  

I have learned a great deal.  I stand up for myself now.  Especially for my health care, I refuse to be treated by asshole Doctors anymore.  I just fire them and get someone else.  I don't even complain about them anymore.  I won't have myself subjected to some pompous jerk who was good at taking tests and managed to get him or herself through medical school and residency just to look down on the rest of us.  I once knew this Surgeon who did not even know how to do a Hemorrhoidectomy (Easy surgery for a General Surgeon.  Don't even need an assistant,  just a Scrub Person).   He scared me to death.  I always wondered how much money he had to pay for his degrees.  Thank God he didn't last long at our facility.  It was like he had never looked at an anatomy book.   Nope, I want someone who wants to actually make me better and help me. Work with me so I can have a better health.  I do not expect them to be my friend or give me special favors.  Just help me to be a healthier person.  

There is a little more, a few complications but I am tired of typing.  In the long run, I am much better off then I was before and it was worth it.  My take away is to trust your instincts and listen to yourself.  Just because some Doctor says your fine does not mean it is true.  Always, get a second opinion and research everything.  Trust yourself.  Ask questions and again go with your gut.  

Smoke and Mirrors

The other day I saw about five minutes of a talk show.  I am not sure, if it was a talk show or not.  It was on the TV in the break room at work.  (It was on MSBN  I think it was MSBN.  FOX would never have something so ridiculous) and there were several people sitting in a circular couch.  There were four women and three men.  They were talking about the two Republicans that have tossed their hats as nominees for the Office of President of the Untied States and the Possibility that Hilary Clinton would be running for the Democrats.  

They spent less then 30 seconds speaking about the two Republicans ( Ran Paul and Ted Cruz) and barley mentioned their names.  When they did mention their names, it was with such venom, I thought maybe the couch would melt from the poison spitting out of their mouths.  Anyway, the rest of the four minutes and 30 seconds I was in the break room, they spent in adoration and worship of Hilary Clinton.  The men on the couch were very silent.  Kinda like Ken dolls.  I wonder, if you took off their pants, would you see any boy parts or that little bump that Ken dolls tend to have. 

First of all, the four women who were speaking, all had on very short skirts and at least six inch heals on.   Each one of them was representing some sort of political aspect or press.  I am not sure about this.  However, they all had on suit jackets and their hair was done very nicely.  They looked like anchor people or politicians    Yet, the lack of skirt was alarming.  I am all for being sexy but not on the job.  How can you expect to be taken seriously, when your almost showing where the babies come from?  Just saying. If one of those women forgot herself and uncrossed her legs, we would have been transported to that movie with Sharon Stone.    

These women were so excited at the prospect of Hilary becoming the first woman president that they were almost salivating.  It was creepy.  They actually had a conversation about wether or not Hilary should be called just Hilary when she is President or Hilary Clinton.  They completely missed talking about what her platform is and they were focused on what we as the public were going to call her once she was our first Female President.  To them it was a forgone conclusion that she was already President.  

I left the room at that point.  Not before I looked around and noticed a few of my co-workers staring at the TV with a hypnotic gaze.  Sigh.  OK.  I would love to see a female as our Commander and Chief.  Just not sure it should be Hilary Clinton.  She seems to be kinda sneaky and the cover up kind of person.  I really don't like what she stands for so far and think that she might not be the one.  However, I like to do my homework.  I did the same thing with Obama.  I was really excited about him at first but I did my research and knew that he would really suck.  Guess what?  He did.  Sometimes you have to look beyond the package and look inside.  Read the manual and instructions first.  Read consumer reports.  Read something.  Read anything.  Listen to a real news station.  Make an informed decision instead of jumping in because it looks good from first glance.  

Another thing that was really worrisome was the glazed look on my co-workers faces.  Like they had bought into it right away.  Thank goodness there were just two other people in the break room and not anyone I know very well.  I hope that they were lacking caffeine or were tired.  Yet, my spidey sense tells me that most folks just go with whatever the TV blasts at them.  

I usually do not watch TV.  My Husband turns it on, when he gets home.  I do like Netflix and I like a few TV shows.  I love "The Walking Dead" and " Game of Thrones".  I do watch TV at work because the thing is on in the break room and I have no choice.  When I am home alone, I do not turn it on.  I read  books like they are water and I am dying of thirst. I listen to a lot of news radio.  I love the Morning Answer and Dennis Prager.  I used to listen to Dr. Laura but I out grew her and the people who call into her show drive me crazy.  They tend to be stupid and I want to become smarter and informed.  I used to like NPR but I find NPR to be unrealistic and very one sided.  I am not really into self help books.  I don't know why, I just don't like them.  If I need instruction on how to do things I will go to YouTube or Ehow.  I research everything or I try to.  Heck, if you find I make mistakes in this blog, let me know.  I do my best.  

So, when I see shows like I did the other day, I tend to become upset.  Why be so focused on what to call Hilary Clinton?   I felt like they were treating us like small children.  Having us focus on something silly and frilly in one hand while they hide away something with the other.  The show had these beautiful leggy women to distract us all.   I wonder why these women are not dressed appropriately and other people are focused on their beauty and then they are attracted to them.  Why not just have two people behind a desk in boring clothing.  Two people who are highly educated and can truly converse and speak about the potential candidates for the Presidency and help the public make an informed decision.  No circus, no show girls, no ridiculous subjects, just facts, information and topics, something to think about and then I/we can think for ourselves and not be fooled by the smoke and mirrors. 

Yes, I think that is why I basically gave up on regular TV,  The smoke and mirrors.  If I want to have a fantasy, I want to know I am watching one or reading about it.  If  I want the truth, I want the truth.  Before the news was always truthful and factual.  Now it is a show.  It is biased for ratings and sad to say,  leans towards one political party.  Before the news was non biased and trustworthy.  Now it is not.  I feel that it is nothing but lies disguised with beautiful people who are not even smart.  Sometimes I wonder, what their credentials are.  Possibly the people behind the cameras hold the degrees and the once sitting in front of the cameras are the mindless talking heads.  I don't know, not worth my time anymore.  

Glenn Beck has a cable show called the Blaze.  I get his newsletter.  It is very good.  Very trustworthy and factual, I don't have a lot of time to read it everyday but when there is something going on in the world, I go there to get the real facts.  I do not subscribe to his show because I know that I won't watch it on a regular basis, but I do have time to read his newsletter from time to time.  If you have the time, take a peek.  He is very conservative but he is factual and there are not lies.  

I am not sure what your political persuasion is or how you lean.  This is your own business and I think that it is your right to believe how you want.  Just like it is mine to believe how I want.  However, I will still love you and be your friend no matter how you lean.  I hope you are the same with me.  I want a safe and prosperous America with a small Government, low Taxes and personal freedom.  I desire that future generations have the same opportunities as the past and they can achieve the American Dream, if they desire it.  I want all people to be equal and the pursuit of happiness a given.  I think that designating race should stop.  We should all just be designated as a human being from now on and not a particular race.  Most of all I really want the press to stop being a bunch of clowns and just give us the facts.  Let us make up our own minds and stop trying to bend our will.  

Its the little things

So, I wanted to do something for my Husband on Easter.  When My Daughter lived with us, I kinda made Easter a bid deal at our house.  Then she moved out and Easter became a day to simply worship our Heavenly Father instead of bunnies, eggs and chocolate.  

I had sent her a basket to college then thought maybe she was to big for that sort of thing and stopped.  Last year, I had a pitiful bowl of jellybeans but it was so sad.  I didn't even put out any decorations.  Our house was devoid of all commercial Easter cheer except the lone bowl of jelly beans.  

This year I was feeling better.  I still didn't put out any bunny decorations but I decided to make my Husband something special for Easter.  I had bought a ton of candy at great peril to my personal safety (see previous post) and I placed it in one of his Grandma's yellow bowls.  I made a very large blue sparkly bow and crammed as much candy as I could in that very large 1950's bowl as I could.  Then I made a handmade sign with markers with little bunnies and butterflies.  Just like a little kid would.  I wanted him to have it early because he always works every Saturday and Sunday.  I took pictures of it and texted it to him.  The sign said. "The Easter Bunny Came Early for you Art, Love The Easter Bunny."  I know Lame.  

When he got home he was all smiles.  Just like he was seven.  He stood at the counter and looked at the bowl.  He looked at me.  He kissed me and said thank you.  He said I was his Teri Bunny.  He told me that is my new name now.  I think I like it.  He has not stopped eating candy.  

I know my Mother in Law and Sister in Law read this blog so what I am about to say is said with a grain of salt and a lot of love.  I have heard the stories of My Husbands Family from all of them and from my understanding it was not a happy family type upbringing.  He is always so surprised at any type of silly Holiday kindness and he expects nothing.    I always forget that he was raised the way he was.  It took him some time to tell me what happened to him and a few years to get most of the stories out.  His Grandmother told me most of it.  I believed her to be the best historian.  Lets just say there were few happy celebrations in his life unless his Grandma was part of it.  

I have always taken a non judgmental view and a hands off policy, when it comes to peoples families.  Even though I am now part of his family, I just feel that I really should not get involved to much.  I have  made a phone call or two but I regret it every time.  I just don't roll that way.  It seems so wrong  somehow.  

I love the book of Ruth.  How Ruth says...where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.  Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.  May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.  I read that to him on our wedding day at the Court House.  I meant it.  I converted to my Husbands faith and I accepted his family and all their foibles.  However, I love my Husband enough not to be a busy body.  My love is an accepting love.  The no matter what kind of love.  

My job as I see it...as the Teri Bunny is to make my Husband happy and give him silly happy holidays and love him no matter what.  This is what I can do.  It is the little things.  He told me that one day.  He said that the little things make him happy.  Like folding his underwear and ironing his shirts.  Heck, I can do that.  Little things are easy.  

So, I suppose that for some Easter baskets and candy can make up for a childhood of whatever badness that happened.  I guess it just has to happen in the little things. 
                                                                 

White Girl gets accosted at the grocery store

What is wrong with people.  Then again what is wrong with me?  Why do I insist on going to the store?  I try not to go but sometimes you just have to go.  I needed Easter Candy.  STAT.  I was dreading buying it for a plethora of reasons.  The first reason was because I would eat it.  Since my brain surgery (I know, I keep promising to talk about it but I just don't feel like it yet), I really hate candy.  I have not had any cravings for it but Easter candy I was not all to sure about and I was stalling.  Second reason was the dreadful store.  

So, there I was Saturday before Easter in Stater Brothers.  I have not really recovered as well as I should have and on my days off I just don't pop out of bed like I used to.  I was the kind of person most of you hate.  I used to jump out of bed all smiles and happy with tons of energy ready for the day with a happy heart and a smile.  Not so much any more, I get out of bed but the energy just has left the building.  So, getting the any store when it opens is not an option any more.  

Basically, I was at Stater Brothers at around 1:00 PM.  The place was packed.  Most folks were in an Easter Frenzy.  I was there for Candy and Pastry Dough.  I was talking to my BFF on the phone and had spent about 15 minutes decimating the Easter candy section.  Then I went to where I thought the pastry dough would be.  

My BFF and I were talking about nonsense as always.  Most of you who shop know about grocery store etiquette.  It is something like this.  When your looking for something you pull your shopping cart all the way to the side of an isle and you stand as close to the side of the isle as possible.  I am not sure about cell phones in the grocery store.  I do tend to chat it up with my BFF in the grocery store because I am the ultimate multi-tasker.   Since I am basically deaf, I hope I don't talk to loud.  I wonder what Emily Post would have said about cell phones in the grocery store?  Hmmm?  I need to look that up.  

So, I was asking said BFF and asking what kind of pastry I should use for this recipe I was going to make.  I could not find the dough.  I was about to spiral out of control thinking I might have to make my own pastry dough.  I fail at pastry dough.  I can do it, it just takes me at least three or four attempts and I was not feeling like making that kind of mess in my kitchen.

When all of the sudden, my cart gets slammed into by another cart.  I look up and there are three young women behind a shopping cart.  I look up in suprise and say excuse me?  There was one girl behind the cart and two girls behind her.  They were looking at me with such hate and venom in their eyes I was instantly afraid.  She rammed her cart into my cart again.  I get a better look at them and notice that they have lots of tattoos on their arms and some rather heavy make-up with sharpie eyebrows and what I would call slut clothes.  I would say just by looking at them that they looked like they belonged to a gang but I could not say for sure because I do not know them.  For all I know they were dressed up for a costume party.   I told my BFF that out loud that these girls had rammed my cart.  Just as I did that the girl driving the cart looked right in my eye and with this look of pure hate, she did it again.  I was terrified and left the area fast.   

I did find the pastry and went to the check out.  I kept thinking that those girls were going to meet me out in the parking lot and beat me up for reasons only known to them.  By now my BFF and said goodbye.  I had my phone out and ready to dial 911 as I loaded my candy and pastry into my car.  I knew I would be easy fodder for those girls.   What could I do reason with them?  Guilt them to death?  Not.  

So, I told my Husband about it later that day.  He told me that he did not want me going to that store alone any more.  He told me to drive the ten miles to "a better neighborhood".  I had told him that I had been to that Stater Brothers at all different times and that I had noticed, if I went early in the morning it was great, but after 1000 AM it became rougher and rougher.  My Husband explained that our little bubble of a neighborhood is surrounded by not so good neighborhoods and that it is best to drive ten miles for better shopping and not shop local.  That if I needed to shop for a few things, wait until he got home and he would go with me.  I was so confused.  He said its not you.  Your a nice person.  But all they see is a white lady with a nice handbag, beautiful clothes and they hate you.  That makes no sense.  He made me promise.  So now I have to take him with me or drive ten miles to shop.  I do 90% of my shopping on-line anyway.  Now the 10% of what I do in an actual store that I had thought was a nightmare just got worse.  More like a hell mare.  Imagine shopping with your Husband.  Shiver.  

Then I told my friends at work what happened.  They agreed with my Husband.  I was more perplexed.  I don't think of my friends as being Mexican, Black or anything other than people I love.  They are my friends.  However, they pointed out to me these facts.  One of my friends was insistent that these girls at the store were Cholas (her word not mine).   I said, I guess so.  I didn't ask them but just by looking at them I would say yes.  She said that she is a Latina and she knows what Cholas (again not my word.  Hers. ) act like and that since I am a white person that they would hate me.  I asked her, if she hated me because I am white?  She said no way, she loved me.  I said then why would they hate me?  She said the same thing my Husband said.  Once again I was so confused.  

I think my heart broke a little bit this week.  I learned am hated simply because I am white.  Because I have nice clothes and nice handbags.  This makes me so sad.  My Husband and I have worked hard for our prosperity.  My Husband is an excellent steward of our finances and we save almost everything we make.  Why is this hated?  Do they know that I am adopted and not completely white?  Do they know that my Husband was an abused child and in foster care most of his life?  No, I doubt it, yet there is this apparent hatred.  Yes, my heart is broken.  

I guess some would say that white folk deserve the hatred and the abuse that is coming their way.  I say no we don't because no one deserves to be treated badly simply because of race or social status.  We as a people need to start treating others as we would like to be treated without prejudice until we know them.  Once someone proves themselves to be a dick then you can treat them like an asshole they have proven themselves to be.  You know on an individual basis.  Not as a group.  Just saying.  I mean maybe those girls were mad at me because I was talking to loud or blocking the butter to long.  A little harsh for butter blocking in my opinion but maybe in her world that was what you do for someone you think was displaying bad manners.  I don't know. 

Anyway, I am pretty sure my world just got a little smaller and I never thought I would have to have an escort to go to the grocery store in my own neighborhood simply because of the color of my own skin and social status.  I think I am going to channel my inner Rosa Parks from now on and just do my best to make this world a better place.  I don't know how but I am going to do it.    

When the Fat Girl has just had enough

I was thinking the other day about this conversation I had with one of my friends at work.  We were talking about how we both hated to have our pictures taken.   We are both largish girls.  Not enormous girls like the kind that are cut out of their houses and carried away on a flat bed.  Then again any women that is even a bit over weight might as well be burned at the stake as far most folks are concerned.  

The reason we both hated our pictures taken was because it would take both of us a lot of effort into not being largish girls.  Every morning the diet starts and by lunch the diet is almost over.  By dinnertime the diet is so over there is no turning back.  Every weekend there is a swearing that the exercise will begin, it never does.  Then the guilt starts.  Of course there are spurts of dieting and intense workouts.  Pounds are lost and inches decreased.  Self esteem is increased.  

We both talked about how you talk yourself into this protective bubble and you start to feel almost beautiful and desirable again and let the unthinkable happen.  You let someone take a picture of you. You see said picture.  You say, who is that fat, old cow?  Crap on a stick! That old fat cow is me!! Self esteem gone.  You are devastated, destroyed and heart broken.  Depression sets in and you begin to start this cycle of eating and gaining all the weight you lost in the first place.  

My Daughter thinks that I have some deep psychological sickness.  I tend to agree.  She says she is happy with herself no matter what she looks like and thinks she is beautiful.  I agree with her.  Happy I raised a young women who is not focused on her appearance.  I am not sure how I managed that one but glad that it happened.  She does not understand how I can be so messed up.  I tell her it must be a generational thing.  I tell her that most women from my time and before absolutely hate themselves.   It was basically mandatory.  She is baffled by this.  I have no real explanation.  

I do see a change in her generation.  Young girls of a large size walking around in short shorts and crop tops.  They walk around like they are homecoming queens.  Like they are the most beautiful things around.  In my day a girl like that would cover herself from head to toe and hide in shame.  I kinda like this new young women. Young women love themselves in whatever skin they are in. 

When I twelve, I weighed 121 pounds and was 5'7" feet tall.  I never ate.  I did 100 push ups and 100 sit ups every day and every night.  I did this until I graduated high school along with an extensive bedroom exercise program.  I remember what started it all.  I had this cousin that was very tiny like a little fairy.  We spent a lot of time together.  I always felt like an elephant around her and every adult made a comment about the differences in our sizes.  Eventually, she was given a pony and decided the pony was more fun than me and ditched me for the pony.  In retrospect, I would have ditched me to.  I was really weird.  I guess I still am.   I mean one really odd cousin for a cool pony?  Pony wins hands down.  

Back to the story.  I was hanging with some friends and I was feeling pretty bad about being dumped for a pony.  My school friends introduced me to their parents.  Both the parents let out this exclamation of horror upon seeing me.  I will never forget what the Mother said.  She said, "Well Fuck me....aren't you a big girl!"  I was devastated.  I remember telling that Mother that I was not fat.  She told me I was the biggest girl she had ever seen.  I lost my steam and went home.  From then on there was nothing that no one could tell to convince me that I was beautiful or had a nice body.  

Funny how perceptions can change you.  My own mother would often comment that I should only weigh 115 pounds and have an 18 inch waist at my eventual height of 5'8.5".  That I should not weigh what I did at 136 pounds at 18 years old.  I would try and not eat but by dinner time I would be ravenous and a large plate of food would be steaming in front of me and my Dad would tell me to clean my plate.  My generation was really messed up, when it came to your weight and size.  Just saying.  I am not angry at my Parents.  They were the most awesome people ever and did an amazing job.  They were just doing the best they could.  Trying to raise a socially acceptable Daughter.  

What is it that I think now?  I think that I have a body image issue and probably at my current age will never get over it.  However, even though I hate having my picture taken or getting on the scale at the Doctors office because these two things set me into a major tail spin, I have decided that I like being happy.  So, big deal, I might never be 136 pounds again.  Hell, I might never be 150 pounds again.   I choose happy.  I might be all round and squishy.  I might not be all beautiful and perfect but my heart is that of a good person and my soul is true.   I have one awesome Husband, the most bitchin Daughter ever and my Step kids are awesomesause.  My Friends rule.  So what!  I am fat and look fat and most people look at me and think I am lazy and/or stupid.   I say screw those folks.  They don't know me.  

I am very thankful that young women do not have to grow up with the torture that we did.  They can be beautiful in whatever skin they are in.  It must be liberating and freeing to eat whatever they want without guilt or shame.  To be able to walk into a room with your head held high and not skulk in because of your size and hide in the corner.  To just eat the food at a wedding or a date and enjoy it not just stare at it because your afraid to put it in your mouth.  Thinking that someone is watching the fat girl eat and judging you.  I know you know what I am talking about.  

So, my friend and I shared with each other.  It was one of the most bonding moments I ever had.  Well, she wasn't dumped for a pony or had grown adults tell her that she was ginormous.   I almost cried.  I honestly didn't think that anyone felt like I did.   It was liberating knowing that there were others that were in the same boat as me.  

I think us ladies of size need to start talking to each other instead of hiding.  Maybe instead of trying for perfection maybe we should go for healthy and happy.  Good steady relationships with loving people.  Work on our souls and hearts first instead of our bodies.  Yes, our bodies are important but not to the detriment of our very souls.  Yes.  Perhaps just being who we are is the ticket and loving ourselves no matter what.  I like that.  What about you?