Happy Mother's Day!
It's been a nice day for this Mama. I got up early to prepare some treats for social hour at church, Rachel and I sat on either side of my mom during service, and I had a nice visit with my folks and then my mother-in-law. I can't decide which I appreciate more - the gifts my thoughtful girl gave me (a bouquet of tulips, a new planter, and a pretty plant she potted in Sunday School), or seeing my son so relieved after he was focused on caring for the life-like baby doll from his health class for two nights. (He did an amazing job, by the way.)
On top of all that, Rachel and her buddy - one of the neighbor girls - got together and schemed last week to make a surprise taco dinner party for their mamas. They even had a couple of adult accomplices who helped them do the shopping and pull things together while the moms were distracted. God bless them ... we were so surprised. And impressed! They even made a cake for dessert.
This past week Steve and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary. Well. We celebrated as much as a couple can when they're not in the same state. Which is pretty much saying "Happy Anniversary" to each other over the phone. But it's all good. I look forward to spending some time with him. Maybe we can go out for dinner or something when he's home next weekend.
In other news, asparagus season has begun, and that means I'll be out helping the neighbors pick it a few days a week. I'd love it if the weather doesn't get too crazy, though I won't hold my breath. I have my plants all tucked in under sheets tonight because there's a freeze warning. The good news about that is I have plants in the ground, and that makes me happy.
It feels like I have a bazillion half-baked projects going on and that kind of chaos makes it so I can't think straight, so I'm looking forward to the week ahead and getting some things taken care of around the house. First up: a good sleep.
Have a blessed week.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
So close to perfect ...
My hands smell of rosemary and thyme. They are what's left in my garden - along with the Chives That Will Not Die and a lone green onion sprout - after what feels like the longest winter ever.
Sometimes I think God must allow us to feel a little pain so we remember just how blessed we are once the sun shines again. Oh, and am I ever thankful the sun is shining now. I am thankful for these recent days of warmer temperatures, and the beautiful thunderstorm I awoke to yesterday morning. Day after day I think today couldn't possibly be better than yesterday. And then it is.
I go through periods of discontent. There are times when I think I might not be on the right path. I wonder if this crazy life we live is really the right life for us. But then I take a long look in the mirror and I see the pink cheeks and shoulders from a day spent in the sun and I know: this is the right path, we are in the right place, I am and I have enough.
We've had an amazing few days. Lots of sunshine and family time. The kids and I spent much of last weekend outdoors, raking and shoveling and prepping for summer. My plants and shrubs are starting to poke up through the ground and show some color. It all makes me so happy.
One evening the kids asked me to go back to the creek with them - a short ride on the golf cart on family property - and it's a wonder we ever came back. It's so beautiful out there. The birds were singing ... frogs croaking ... kids playing and exploring. We all got our feet wet. I took a few pictures, which I will share when I download them from my phone.
Even my allergies have been minimal, which surprises me with all the time I have spent outside and sleeping at night with my bedroom window open. Not to mention two shedding dogs. Mercy. I spent about a half hour outside brushing Gunnar this morning and got a good bushel of fur (I swear!) before he had enough. It cost me a chicken breast to keep him distracted, but no sneezing! And then he thanked me by laying in a mud puddle. *sigh* It's a good thing I'm pretty much ignoring the interior of the house right now because two dogs and a swampy back yard make spring cleaning a lesson in futility. If I can't stand to look at it anymore I just go outside. Which is where I'm headed now.
All this activity is good for the soul. As I walk around and survey the progress of our little homestead I am grateful for the opportunity to be present, not just in the grand scheme, but daily, for the small moments. I can appreciate the small changes, the growth, the color, even if I only see it in passing as I chase down Gunnar The Giant Puppy to retrieve my gardening glove.
Life is good.
Sometimes I think God must allow us to feel a little pain so we remember just how blessed we are once the sun shines again. Oh, and am I ever thankful the sun is shining now. I am thankful for these recent days of warmer temperatures, and the beautiful thunderstorm I awoke to yesterday morning. Day after day I think today couldn't possibly be better than yesterday. And then it is.
I go through periods of discontent. There are times when I think I might not be on the right path. I wonder if this crazy life we live is really the right life for us. But then I take a long look in the mirror and I see the pink cheeks and shoulders from a day spent in the sun and I know: this is the right path, we are in the right place, I am and I have enough.
We've had an amazing few days. Lots of sunshine and family time. The kids and I spent much of last weekend outdoors, raking and shoveling and prepping for summer. My plants and shrubs are starting to poke up through the ground and show some color. It all makes me so happy.
One evening the kids asked me to go back to the creek with them - a short ride on the golf cart on family property - and it's a wonder we ever came back. It's so beautiful out there. The birds were singing ... frogs croaking ... kids playing and exploring. We all got our feet wet. I took a few pictures, which I will share when I download them from my phone.
Even my allergies have been minimal, which surprises me with all the time I have spent outside and sleeping at night with my bedroom window open. Not to mention two shedding dogs. Mercy. I spent about a half hour outside brushing Gunnar this morning and got a good bushel of fur (I swear!) before he had enough. It cost me a chicken breast to keep him distracted, but no sneezing! And then he thanked me by laying in a mud puddle. *sigh* It's a good thing I'm pretty much ignoring the interior of the house right now because two dogs and a swampy back yard make spring cleaning a lesson in futility. If I can't stand to look at it anymore I just go outside. Which is where I'm headed now.
All this activity is good for the soul. As I walk around and survey the progress of our little homestead I am grateful for the opportunity to be present, not just in the grand scheme, but daily, for the small moments. I can appreciate the small changes, the growth, the color, even if I only see it in passing as I chase down Gunnar The Giant Puppy to retrieve my gardening glove.
Life is good.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Peepers: the precursor to summer and all that is good.
I've been sleeping with my bedroom window open just a little bit these last few nights so the peepers outside can lull me to sleep. It's one of my favorite sounds - that springtime lullaby of frogs in the marshy areas around our house. I relish it on nights like tonight after a hectic evening full of kids and dogs and dinner and homework and wrapping up the tasks of the day. It's still relatively early as I write, but it rained hard and made us all tired ... so the kids are in bed, the animals are settled in, and I'm sitting here in one of my favorite places in the house: at my desk, with Pandora Radio playing quietly on my laptop (tonight's selection: my Phillip Phillips station). Most of the house is dark and I can hear the clocks ticking.
I do really love quiet mornings too, but I am a night owl at heart. Always have been. Tonight the quiet makes me long for warm summer nights sitting on the patio, sipping a cocktail, letting the breeze rustle my hair. We are in the "ugly" phase of spring when everything is still pretty grey and it's too wet to really get any work done outside. We're between seasons - in limbo. I don't do well in limbo.
On a positive note, I've been busy making calls and writing for the newspaper. It's been interesting developing a schedule and figuring out how to make this working from home thing work for me. How quickly I remembered what a drag it is to wait for calls back. But how cool to be able to fold a load of laundry while I'm waiting.
Steve - the real moneymaker of the family - is getting settled in at a new location. He finished up in Colorado and came home at the end of March, was home while the kids were on spring break, and then left late last week to head to W. Virginia. Good news on that front, too: his schedule is working 10 days, then four days off. He'll be home this weekend. He probably won't come home every break ('cause duh, that would be pretty spendy) but it's nice to know that when the kids and I visit we can have a few days of family time. I seriously cannot wait for summer when we'll be able to be together as a family more often. And I'm looking forward to some different scenery and the opportunity to explore a bit.
If only the rain would stop and the sun would shine, the puddles dry up and the flowers bloom. We're waiting ... but my patience is wearing thin.
I do really love quiet mornings too, but I am a night owl at heart. Always have been. Tonight the quiet makes me long for warm summer nights sitting on the patio, sipping a cocktail, letting the breeze rustle my hair. We are in the "ugly" phase of spring when everything is still pretty grey and it's too wet to really get any work done outside. We're between seasons - in limbo. I don't do well in limbo.
On a positive note, I've been busy making calls and writing for the newspaper. It's been interesting developing a schedule and figuring out how to make this working from home thing work for me. How quickly I remembered what a drag it is to wait for calls back. But how cool to be able to fold a load of laundry while I'm waiting.
Steve - the real moneymaker of the family - is getting settled in at a new location. He finished up in Colorado and came home at the end of March, was home while the kids were on spring break, and then left late last week to head to W. Virginia. Good news on that front, too: his schedule is working 10 days, then four days off. He'll be home this weekend. He probably won't come home every break ('cause duh, that would be pretty spendy) but it's nice to know that when the kids and I visit we can have a few days of family time. I seriously cannot wait for summer when we'll be able to be together as a family more often. And I'm looking forward to some different scenery and the opportunity to explore a bit.
If only the rain would stop and the sun would shine, the puddles dry up and the flowers bloom. We're waiting ... but my patience is wearing thin.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Fake it 'til you make it.
There was this time during my college days that for some reason Steve was on campus with me ... probably a weekend when we went to see a play or something, as I was the editor of the entertainment section of the college newspaper and covered a lot of productions and visiting artists. As we worked our way around campus, he would hang back while I approached people for interviews, and at some point Steve commented to me that he didn't know how I could just walk up to people and start talking to them and asking questions.
I took it as an amazing compliment from my boyfriend-at-the-time, this guy who had already gone out into the world and begun to make a living for himself. Someone I looked up to.
I've remembered that moment all these years, and while that feather in my cap is a little dusty these days I still think of how I felt that day - how proud I was - at times when I need a little boost in morale. I was a confident gal and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Through four-plus years of college I never once wavered in my choice of majors - it was journalism all the way, baby.
Fast forward a few (or several) years through graduating college, getting married and having a baby, landing that job as a reporter - not the dream job with National Geographic, but the dream job at the hometown daily - and then buying a house and having another baby. Life happened in all kinds of ways and after just a few years in my dream career I felt called to be at home with those babies. So in my head and in my heart I made a plan, and I prayed that God would open doors for our family and allow it to happen.
You know what having children does to you? It humbles you. It reminds you that you are a very small player in this Great Big World and oh, by the way, you're probably doing it all wrong.
It also messes with your hormones. Looking back, I'm pretty sure a smidge of post-partum depression kept its gnarly fingers wrapped around my brain and blocking my face from the sunshine for months after Rachel was born. But that's a whole series of posts for another time.
My point here is ... somewhere along the way I lost my mojo. I still loved writing, but I didn't like being a reporter anymore. So after many sleepless nights, countless conversations with Steve about it, lots of analyzing and re-analyzing, I jumped ship. I continued to (and still do) write a column for the newspaper a couple times a month, but I left my desk in the newsroom for a job where I could still use my communications skills without being so "out there" anymore. Then after three years at that job, I finally made the leap to being a full-time mom and homemaker.
My last day at work was April 2, 2008.
Last week, five years to the day later - and more than eight years after leaving the ol' newspaper biz - I picked up my reporter's notebook again.
It was not without much consternation.
It's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. The gig, I mean. It's part-time (read: whenever they call). I can take assignments or pass on them depending on my schedule or ... I dunno, whether I really feel like doing it. And it's certainly not going to make me rich. But I swear I stopped breathing for a second when I got that e-mail asking if I was interested. Because somewhere along the way that confident college gal began to wonder if she was really good enough. All the compliments and kudos in the world weren't enough to counter the few silly mistakes I'd made that only I remember and the biting criticisms that stuck with me and chipped away at that armor I had surrounded myself with ... that thick skin every budding journalist is told they'll need to develop. I hated admitting that I had burned out on my career before I had even hit the age of 30. Sticking my toes in the water again made me feel vulnerable. Just the thought of starting over again, albeit on a very limited basis, was daunting.
Steve jokes that when I have a problem it becomes everyone's problem. What can I say? My mama taught me to share. I am anxious and an over-analyzer by nature, but over the years I have developed my own coping mechanisms, one of which is to hash it out either with a loved one (or three) or on paper (or keyboard). Fortunately I am blessed with a handful of amazing friends who collectively understand what it feels like to live with anxiety like I do, the sometimes crushing responsibility of telling other people's stories to the world (and getting them right) day after day, and the energy it takes to ignore that inner voice that loves nothing more than to fuel the flames of self doubt.
And man, I love to write. And I love to listen to people. This is my God-given talent; there is no doubt in my mind about that. So the nerves and the juggling things at home to create my own work space and time ... they are worth it. Because as much as I try to calm the chaos of our everyday lives - the kind of chaos that comes with daddy working on the road, me virtually single-parenting, and a house full of kids and animals - there is a special kind of rush that comes from taking a pile of scribbled notes from half a dozen interviews and weaving those words together into a cohesive and relate-able story, on a deadline. That never gets old.
So ... this will be an adventure for me. For my whole family, probably, because ... ya' know ... I'm so good at sharing.
*ahem*
But I'm doing it for me. And I will be just fine.
I took it as an amazing compliment from my boyfriend-at-the-time, this guy who had already gone out into the world and begun to make a living for himself. Someone I looked up to.
I've remembered that moment all these years, and while that feather in my cap is a little dusty these days I still think of how I felt that day - how proud I was - at times when I need a little boost in morale. I was a confident gal and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Through four-plus years of college I never once wavered in my choice of majors - it was journalism all the way, baby.
Fast forward a few (or several) years through graduating college, getting married and having a baby, landing that job as a reporter - not the dream job with National Geographic, but the dream job at the hometown daily - and then buying a house and having another baby. Life happened in all kinds of ways and after just a few years in my dream career I felt called to be at home with those babies. So in my head and in my heart I made a plan, and I prayed that God would open doors for our family and allow it to happen.
You know what having children does to you? It humbles you. It reminds you that you are a very small player in this Great Big World and oh, by the way, you're probably doing it all wrong.
It also messes with your hormones. Looking back, I'm pretty sure a smidge of post-partum depression kept its gnarly fingers wrapped around my brain and blocking my face from the sunshine for months after Rachel was born. But that's a whole series of posts for another time.
My point here is ... somewhere along the way I lost my mojo. I still loved writing, but I didn't like being a reporter anymore. So after many sleepless nights, countless conversations with Steve about it, lots of analyzing and re-analyzing, I jumped ship. I continued to (and still do) write a column for the newspaper a couple times a month, but I left my desk in the newsroom for a job where I could still use my communications skills without being so "out there" anymore. Then after three years at that job, I finally made the leap to being a full-time mom and homemaker.
My last day at work was April 2, 2008.
Last week, five years to the day later - and more than eight years after leaving the ol' newspaper biz - I picked up my reporter's notebook again.
It was not without much consternation.
It's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. The gig, I mean. It's part-time (read: whenever they call). I can take assignments or pass on them depending on my schedule or ... I dunno, whether I really feel like doing it. And it's certainly not going to make me rich. But I swear I stopped breathing for a second when I got that e-mail asking if I was interested. Because somewhere along the way that confident college gal began to wonder if she was really good enough. All the compliments and kudos in the world weren't enough to counter the few silly mistakes I'd made that only I remember and the biting criticisms that stuck with me and chipped away at that armor I had surrounded myself with ... that thick skin every budding journalist is told they'll need to develop. I hated admitting that I had burned out on my career before I had even hit the age of 30. Sticking my toes in the water again made me feel vulnerable. Just the thought of starting over again, albeit on a very limited basis, was daunting.
Steve jokes that when I have a problem it becomes everyone's problem. What can I say? My mama taught me to share. I am anxious and an over-analyzer by nature, but over the years I have developed my own coping mechanisms, one of which is to hash it out either with a loved one (or three) or on paper (or keyboard). Fortunately I am blessed with a handful of amazing friends who collectively understand what it feels like to live with anxiety like I do, the sometimes crushing responsibility of telling other people's stories to the world (and getting them right) day after day, and the energy it takes to ignore that inner voice that loves nothing more than to fuel the flames of self doubt.
And man, I love to write. And I love to listen to people. This is my God-given talent; there is no doubt in my mind about that. So the nerves and the juggling things at home to create my own work space and time ... they are worth it. Because as much as I try to calm the chaos of our everyday lives - the kind of chaos that comes with daddy working on the road, me virtually single-parenting, and a house full of kids and animals - there is a special kind of rush that comes from taking a pile of scribbled notes from half a dozen interviews and weaving those words together into a cohesive and relate-able story, on a deadline. That never gets old.
So ... this will be an adventure for me. For my whole family, probably, because ... ya' know ... I'm so good at sharing.
*ahem*
But I'm doing it for me. And I will be just fine.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Oh, hello there!
I haven't written in a while. Not for lack of things going on around here, that's for sure. But at the end of the day when I seem to have the most time and inspiration, my energy wanes and my pillow wins over my keyboard.
This winter is dragging on and it's pissing me off. No really. I took the dogs out this morning and ran face first into a biting wind and I wanted to take a swing at it and beat it into submission. Enough already!
And these dogs? And children? Mercy. I've diagnosed all of us with Spring Fever. Though Rachel had a for-real fever yesterday, complete with pitiful, sad face and messy hair. Apparently she slept it off because she woke up fever-free and spunky as ever this morning. So with both kids off to school for the day, I am left to deal with this:
There is a front coming through. More snow. And Ladybug The Canine Meteorologist can feel it. She would be in my lap if I let her. As it is she won't leave my side. So much for my plan to get all kinds of stuff done around the house today.
Is it nap time yet?
This winter is dragging on and it's pissing me off. No really. I took the dogs out this morning and ran face first into a biting wind and I wanted to take a swing at it and beat it into submission. Enough already!
And these dogs? And children? Mercy. I've diagnosed all of us with Spring Fever. Though Rachel had a for-real fever yesterday, complete with pitiful, sad face and messy hair. Apparently she slept it off because she woke up fever-free and spunky as ever this morning. So with both kids off to school for the day, I am left to deal with this:
There is a front coming through. More snow. And Ladybug The Canine Meteorologist can feel it. She would be in my lap if I let her. As it is she won't leave my side. So much for my plan to get all kinds of stuff done around the house today.
Is it nap time yet?
Friday, March 1, 2013
Happy Friday! It's birthday sleepover weekend.
Yesterday was Rachel's 11th birthday.
Are you ready for the cliché? Yeah? Time flies, people. It does.
As Rach was helping me prepare our taco buffet for the family get-together last night, she asked me how I was feeling 11 years ago at that time. I told her that at about 4:30 the afternoon of the day she was born I was excited, scared, probably in a little bit of pain, and sad that my mama would miss the birth of my second baby because she was in Florida.
We had not found out the sex of either of our children before they were born, so I had no idea we were having a girl. And frankly, I had somehow convinced myself I was having another boy, so that's what I was prepared for. I was astounded - pleasantly surprised - when Rachel was born and the doctor told us our baby was a girl. A girl! A baby sister for Sammy! Even when I called my parents in Florida and told my mom the baby had arrived and we were both fine (praise Jesus, because that girl put me through the wringer before she made her appearance and I, in turn, put Steve and everyone else who was there through the wringer), I heard mom breathe that sigh of relief, and then ... "Mom, it's a girl" ... and I think my mom danced a jig right there on the other end of the line.
Ahhhh. I think we must never get tired of telling our "birth day" stories, do we? I remember some of the silliest details about the days my kids were born, but half the time I can't tell you what I had for breakfast this morning. Whether they realize it or not, much of my world revolves around the two of them. I wouldn't have it any other way.
And so, this afternoon I will pick Rachel and three of her friends up from school (Sam, poor dear, will ride the bus home and hang out with Grandpa), I will take this gaggle of girls to have manicures, we will eat pizza, and celebrate Rachel's Year of Eleven. Said celebration also involves a sleepover, so please pray for me!
Are you ready for the cliché? Yeah? Time flies, people. It does.
Rachel, age 6.
Age 11.
As Rach was helping me prepare our taco buffet for the family get-together last night, she asked me how I was feeling 11 years ago at that time. I told her that at about 4:30 the afternoon of the day she was born I was excited, scared, probably in a little bit of pain, and sad that my mama would miss the birth of my second baby because she was in Florida.
We had not found out the sex of either of our children before they were born, so I had no idea we were having a girl. And frankly, I had somehow convinced myself I was having another boy, so that's what I was prepared for. I was astounded - pleasantly surprised - when Rachel was born and the doctor told us our baby was a girl. A girl! A baby sister for Sammy! Even when I called my parents in Florida and told my mom the baby had arrived and we were both fine (praise Jesus, because that girl put me through the wringer before she made her appearance and I, in turn, put Steve and everyone else who was there through the wringer), I heard mom breathe that sigh of relief, and then ... "Mom, it's a girl" ... and I think my mom danced a jig right there on the other end of the line.
Ahhhh. I think we must never get tired of telling our "birth day" stories, do we? I remember some of the silliest details about the days my kids were born, but half the time I can't tell you what I had for breakfast this morning. Whether they realize it or not, much of my world revolves around the two of them. I wouldn't have it any other way.
And so, this afternoon I will pick Rachel and three of her friends up from school (Sam, poor dear, will ride the bus home and hang out with Grandpa), I will take this gaggle of girls to have manicures, we will eat pizza, and celebrate Rachel's Year of Eleven. Said celebration also involves a sleepover, so please pray for me!
Happy Friday.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Mourning cheese.
Seriously. Cheese is a big deal in this house. We love it.
But I no longer eat it because I am allergic to cow's milk.
Sad, sad panda.
It's been long enough since my allergy tests that I had come full circle from "thank God I now know what's bothering me and I can avoid those things" to "maybe it's not that serious and I will be fine if I just have a dab of sour cream on my tacos ... or three slices of cheesy pizza ... or a bowl of cereal with milk." Would that be the "bargaining" stage of grief?
Now I am back to square one, having convinced myself that yes, this is a real issue I need to deal with, and by gosh I'll be a better person and probably a more fit person if I do. I spent the tail end of last week paying little mind to what I was eating, and then paying the price for it. It's time to get serious. So I reached out to a friend who recently discovered she has some major food allergies and asked her for some guidance and encouragement. God bless her, she validated my feelings of grief and pointed me toward some great resources for dairy-free living.
Call me dramatic, but dangit this hurts. Think of all those comfort foods and their creamy goodness that I can no longer eat. Like mac-n-cheese. Biscuits and gravy. Cream of mushroom soup. Breads, cookies, pastries. What's a caprese salad without mozzarella?? Or an egg sandwich without a slice of cheddar? It's shocking, really, how many foods have some sort of milk product in their ingredients lists. Over the weekend I stopped at the grocery store to pick up just a few things and I spent almost an hour looking over the labels of every single thing I put in my cart. This is a lifestyle change, and lifestyle changes take no small amount of effort.
The good news is there are folks out there who have done a lot of the work for people like me who are new to this. Web sites about living with allergies abound. And there are some great alternative foods on the market, too. So rather than look at my allergies as limiting, little by little I am seeing them as a catalyst to broadening my palate. Instead of focusing on what I can't have (oh, I have allergies to pork and white potatoes, too), I am doing my level best to turn my focus to all the things I still can have.
Today I think I'm having a bit of withdrawal ... a fabulous reminder of why I'm making these changes. I look forward to feeling much better in a few days. I'll keep you posted.
But I no longer eat it because I am allergic to cow's milk.
Sad, sad panda.
It's been long enough since my allergy tests that I had come full circle from "thank God I now know what's bothering me and I can avoid those things" to "maybe it's not that serious and I will be fine if I just have a dab of sour cream on my tacos ... or three slices of cheesy pizza ... or a bowl of cereal with milk." Would that be the "bargaining" stage of grief?
Now I am back to square one, having convinced myself that yes, this is a real issue I need to deal with, and by gosh I'll be a better person and probably a more fit person if I do. I spent the tail end of last week paying little mind to what I was eating, and then paying the price for it. It's time to get serious. So I reached out to a friend who recently discovered she has some major food allergies and asked her for some guidance and encouragement. God bless her, she validated my feelings of grief and pointed me toward some great resources for dairy-free living.
Call me dramatic, but dangit this hurts. Think of all those comfort foods and their creamy goodness that I can no longer eat. Like mac-n-cheese. Biscuits and gravy. Cream of mushroom soup. Breads, cookies, pastries. What's a caprese salad without mozzarella?? Or an egg sandwich without a slice of cheddar? It's shocking, really, how many foods have some sort of milk product in their ingredients lists. Over the weekend I stopped at the grocery store to pick up just a few things and I spent almost an hour looking over the labels of every single thing I put in my cart. This is a lifestyle change, and lifestyle changes take no small amount of effort.
The good news is there are folks out there who have done a lot of the work for people like me who are new to this. Web sites about living with allergies abound. And there are some great alternative foods on the market, too. So rather than look at my allergies as limiting, little by little I am seeing them as a catalyst to broadening my palate. Instead of focusing on what I can't have (oh, I have allergies to pork and white potatoes, too), I am doing my level best to turn my focus to all the things I still can have.
Today I think I'm having a bit of withdrawal ... a fabulous reminder of why I'm making these changes. I look forward to feeling much better in a few days. I'll keep you posted.
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