Iron

If you're changing your diet to lose weight, be careful what you're eating and not eating. If you cut out red meat, make sure you're eating other foods that are high in iron. If you don't, and you start getting weak or dizzy spells, you may want to add some green leafy veggies or multi-vitamins to your diet.

Trust me, there's nothing quite so embarrassing as fainting in public and being at the mercy of total strangers.

For Lent last year, I gave up meat. Which went fine until about a week before Easter. I had gone to the Baskin Robbins after work to meet a friend of mine. We were going to carpool to a book club meeting. While I waited, I got a little bowl of ice cream and sat down to finish the last chapter of the book.

I felt it coming on. Started seeing spots, and felt myself getting weaker. I knew I was about to faint, but like a dummy, I stood up. *Crash*, down to the floor I went. The next thing I knew, there were half a dozen people standing over me, shaking me and asking if I was all right. A man who was there with his two children picked me up like I was a rag doll and put me back in my chair. The store owner brought me an ice water with this worried look on her face.

"Really," I wanted to say, "Please don't apologize. I'm not going to sue you. It was my own damn fault."

Talk about embarrassing. And I came away with a horrific bruise behind my ear, where my head hit the base of the table. But the worst thing was, the fellow who'd helped me up off the floor was wearing a wife-beater, paint-stained jeans, worn out shoes and a do-rag. I came in wearing a spring dress, heels and made up (from work). But as that guy and his family left, he shot me the most pitiful look and dropped a $5 bill on my table.

"I swear I'm not starving, or homeless or a crack head," I should have said. "I can afford food. I promise!"

Instead, I looked at him in bewilderment, stunned and speechless.

So the moral of this story, as I've learned the hard way, is that if you're cutting out the red meat, go ahead and eat that bowl of turnip greens. Ask for seconds. If you've vowed to eat nothing but salads, be sure and order spinach leaves instead of iceberg lettuce. Trust me on this. You'll thank me later.

keeping track of it all

As I was getting ready this morning, my eyes fell on a dusty little journal that I haven't written in for probably three or four years. It was a somewhat-daily write up, noting things she was learning or things we were doing together.

Talk about lifting my spirits. As I flipped through those pages, I found myself wondering why I stopped journaling. I started when she was a baby, and the last entry was dated Feb. 14, 2005. It's interspersed with magazine clippings, photos, post cards and letters.

Reading back over it all now is just fascinating.

Here's one part, dated Aug. 18:
"She is getting used to the potty chair. She says 'toe' and called me Mimi"

And two days later:
"She threw up in the car seat on the way to church. I cleaned her up and we tried going one more time. She threw up again ..."

Some entries were written when I clearly was very tired, and I was just writing something to be writing something. Here's a Friday entry:
"When we got home, we worked on our crayon skills. She found my belly button just now. She needs a bath. She has something sticky in her hair. It looks like one of the kids at daycare bit her arm. She has a bruise. She is still hungry. No more tea before bed."

Some were recording milestones or other happy news:
"They told me at daycare this morning that she is ready to start potty training. She wore a dress yesterday and every time she went to the bathroom she took off her diaper. I've never potty-trained anyone before, so this is going to be fun."

Ha! Boy was I green ...
It also details her early diet and restaurant adventures:
"We went out to eat at Logan's. She ran all over the store and ate part of a crayon. I tried to teach her how to say yellow by pointing to lemons. I think she got the hang of it, but we'll have to keep working on it."

I included a few recipes, including this one for Chocolate Chip Cookies:

2 sticks butter, softened
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
12 ounces chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease cookie sheet. Cream butter and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla and beat. Separately, combine flour, soda, salt and gradually add butter mixture. Mix well. Add chocolate chips and mix well. Drop in tablespoons onto cookie sheet and bake 12-15 minutes. Cool.
Makes 2 1/2 dozen cookies.

Most of the entries are dated, but most don't include the year. A few, though, are not. Here's one, labled "Wednesday night":
"After we got home from church, we danced to the music CD and she helped me load the dishwasher. She took a spoon into the bathtub and pointed at her reflection. She loves bubbles. It's getting harder to rinse her hair because it is getting thick on top. I don't want to get water in her eyes, but I do like to give her a mohawk when her hair is wet."

Here's one, from Sunday, Nov. 2:
"She is starting her terrible 2's. She is hitting me and the other kids at daycare, and is screaming and stomping her feet when she doesn't get her way. She'll cry and throw herself on the floor and scream. I tell her no and slap her hand, but she's getting worse."

Oh, I could go on. They're all so neat to read now. I'm so glad I found this book!

like a weed

She's gone up another clothing size. Again. Which means more clothes. Again. I swear this kid grows waaay too fast.

I went this weekend and got her some new school clothes, and picked up a shoulder-strap bookbag while I was there. When she saw it, her face lit up. Apparently, one of her classmates has one like it that's green and blue. Ours, of course, is pink. With red and gold accents. And is much cuter, according to my daughter.

So this morning, we packed it up and off she went to school.

There was something about seeing her walking out that door with her trendy clothes and shoulder bag that made me sad. She's growing up, and she looked so grown up today. I could picture what she'll look like in fourth or fifth grade, or maybe junior high. She's a beautiful child, and I could picture her as a young lady.

I don't want my baby to be so grown up. I want to pick her up and hold her when she's crying, and I want her to come to me when she wakes up from a bad dream.

But more than that, though, it made me wish for another one.

Compassion

In Tuesdays With Morrie, Mitch Albom paints a simple picture of compassion that really captures Morrie's heart. He's talking about when his former professor worked at mental hospital outside D.C., where he observed patients and recorded their treatments. But, being who he was, he could not simply do that, and did what he could to help the people there.

"Morrie saw patients who would scream all day. Patients who would cry all night. Patients soiling their underwear. Patients refusing to eat, having to be held down, medicated, fed intravenously."

One woman, he said, would come out of her room daily and lay for hours face down on the floor. The regular staffers ignored her. Morrie took notes, until one day when:

"He began to sit on the floor with her, even lay down alongside her, trying to draw her out of her misery. ... What she mostly wanted, he learned, was the same thing many people want — someone to notice she was there."

He got involved with other patients, befriending them when no one else would. Albom concludes that section with this:

"... most of the patients there had been rejected and ignored in their lives, made to feel that they didn't exist. They also missed compassion — something the staff ran out of quickly. And many of these patients were well-off, from rich families, so their wealth did not buy them happiness or contentment. It was a lesson he never forgot."

This is a beautiful little book. It's simply written, which belies the meaning in the story — or perhaps makes it easier to digest? It may have been written for mass consumption, but is well-done at its base.

Albom's old professor is dying, but in doing so, he's more alive than he ever was. In the description we learn that he was not a Christian (was not a part of any organized religion, but borrowed from them all), but had a heart that overflowed for the people around him. Even eaten up with Lou Gherig's disease, he craved the closeness of a human touch.
(That's the author in the picture, by the way)

No, I'm not finished yet. I know where it's going. Still, it's fascinating to see the world through a dying man's eyes, a man who detaches himself from pain, fear and anger so that he can enjoy the last of his life.

I've said it before, but I'm looking forward to this book club meeting. Even if our group is small, this book absolutely lends itself to good discussion.

Feeling ... flat today

OK, let's get one thing straight. I'm a girl. I'm a love-to-wear-pink, high-heel-wearing, skinny, somewhat frail girl. I'm not helpless, mind you, I just cannot do EVERYTHING without assistance.

Take yesterday, for instance. I knew my rear driver's side tire had a slow leak (with the key word being slow). I went to the tire place at 1 o'clock on Saturday to get new ones, but the cashier turned me away since they close at 1. Grr.

"Oh well," I thought. "I'll drop it off Monday at the tire place and pick it up on my lunch break."

(You know where this is going, I'm sure)

There was plenty of air in the tire when I left the house yesterday to go to the grocery store, but when I came out, that sucker was flat as a pancake. I know I'm wrong for this, but I never learned how to change a tire. What can I say? And on this chilly Sunday evening, I'd also left my cell phone at home.

So back in the store we went, and I called hubby (who, thankfully, was at home). He came and put a donut on for me, and I got new tires this morning. Hence the later than usual post.
[sigh]

He swears he's going to teach me how to change one. Fine with me! This time it came out all right, but I don't want to be stranded somewhere the next time.

Tuesdays With Morrie

I started reading "Tuesdays With Morrie" this weekend. It's the February pick for the MississippiMoms.com book club.

It's pretty good so far, but frankly, I expected better from Mitch Albom. I'm not writing it off completely, though. I'm anxious to see how it ends. So many people recommended this book to me that I'm sure it will be good. And it's very easy to read, too. I'll probably finish it today or tomorrow.

We had a good discussion of "The Nanny Diaries" at the first book club meeting in January, but it was a small group. I hope more people come to the February meeting. I'll stress that you don't have to have read the book to come; just join us for good Mexican food and a ladies' night out. I hope, too, that we'll also have a good online discussion of the book afterward. It was so-so for January, so I don't think many people read the book. TWM is shorter, and probably better, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we'll have more participation this time.

Very important lesson

One thing I've been trying to teach my daughter is how to stand up to bullies. But it's more than that, really. I want her to learn a secret that I learned a few years ago from an editor. It's common sense, but it's just something I didn't realize until I was an adult. And it's saved me a LOT of heartache since.

No matter what someone says or does to you, they cannot make you feel anything. That part is up to you. No one can MAKE YOU mad. They can't MAKE YOU cry. Or make you get upset. Your reaction to the world is entirely up to you.

Think about that for a minute.

When was the last time someone hurt your feelings or insulted you or made you mad? What did you do? Did you cry? Did you stew over it? Or yell at them? Don't!! It's a great feeling to have someone yelling at you or insulting you, and it just rolls off your back.



I promise, this works. I don't know if my daughter is old enough to understand, or old enough to have the control it takes but we're going to try. I know it would help her stick up for herself, and maybe the mean kids will leave her alone if they know what they're saying and doing doesn't faze her. I wish I'd known this trick in junior high!

Heart of gold

My baby is stuck on me like glue.

I tried to sneak out yesterday evening, to pick up a few things at the store. She and hubby were watching TV when I slipped out the side door. As I cranked the car, she came flying out of the house, no shoes on, no coat and crying her head off.

"I want to go with you!" She cried. "Pleeease!"

[sigh]

Don't get me wrong. I love spending time with her. I do. But lately, she's at my side all the time and never wants me out of her sight. This morning when I dropped her off at school, I had to tell her three times to get out of the car, and she kept looking back, waving and blowing me kisses, as she walked into the building.

She didn't cry this morning, but still it hurts when she acts like this. A parent's biggest (and constant) worry is that they're not doing a good job, or they're not doing enough. When she acts this way, I wonder if I've done something wrong. Like maybe I'm NOT spending enough time with her, and she's doing all she can to prolong our time together.

I don't know. I think tonight I'll get down in the floor with her and color in some of her books or play My Little Ponies again. We're almost done with the book we're reading, so maybe we can finish that up and start a new one. I'll get her to help me fix dinner, too. We'll see.

•••

On a lighter note, I found a good reason not to let your children play alone in the park:



How scary would it be to see that lurking in the bushes?
[shiver]

Kidding, of course. Hope y'all have a happy Thursday.

Monsters one and two

Getting ready this morning, my daughter decided to hide under my bed while she waited.
"Come find me!" She shouted.
She loves that game. She hides someplace obvious, and I pretend to look everywhere else. She giggles the whole time, then when I really do find her, she just squeals.

But this morning, her imagination got the best of her and before we could start our game, she came shimmying out from under the bed, her eyes big as saucers.
"There's a vampire under there," she said. "Actually, there's two."
"Two vampires?" I asked.
"Uh-huh. Do you know what their names are? One is named Blood at the other is Kill," she said.
"Whoa," I said.
"And they've got a baby vampire. His name is Eat My Brains," she said.

She made up this big elaborate story about the vampire wedding and how she was scared but she made friends with the little vampire.

"I don't think I would be friends with someone who wanted to eat my brain," I said.
"Oh, it's all right. We had a good time," she said.
"Honey, I can assure you there are no vampires in this house," I said.
"I know," she said. "It's just pretend."

Wonder if I've got the next Ann Rice on my hands?

And I don't think they believed me

We were on the topic of exercise today at work, and I told two co-workers about one of the best exercise experiences I've had: trapeze.

"What?" One asked. "You took trapeze lessons?"

He had this look on his face, like I was not only a liar, but a bad liar. But it's true. I took trapeze lessons once at (where else?) Millsaps. It was the summer before my senior year and I was working on campus as a summer RA.

My roommate Liz heard that one of the theater professors was offering the classes *for free* so we signed up. They were getting ready to put on a production of the musical Carnival, and had set up a trapeze bar — among other "circusy" things — in the Christian Center. He had to teach one or two folks how to use it for the play, so out of the goodness of his heart, he allowed other students to take classes too.

It started with stretches. This kind of reminded me of pilates; it worked your core muscles and was a lot of stretching. Then, each student climbed up a 30-foot ladder, someone threw them the bar and ... they jumped. Y'all it was so much fun. I've never been afraid of heights, so I loved it.



For space reasons, we only had one bar so we were limited in what we could do. But learning to swing your body the right way to gain speed was not easy. Then we learned a few tricks, like "the star," where you shape your four limbs and head into a star while you swing; "the candle," where you swing by one knee and extend the other leg; and others (I think I'm saying this right. It's been a while). Learning to dismount wasn't too difficult, but was hands-down the scariest.

It was a great upper-body workout, since you had to be strong enough to hold yourself up while you swing. It was a great ab workout, because of all the stretching. It was good on the legs, too; imagine swinging upside down by your knees while balancing and doing tricks. It was also great for balance and control.

I really enjoyed the class, but apparently not as much as Liz. She'd always dreamed of being in the circus, so this was one step toward fulfilling a dream for her. After graduating, she went to clown college in New York. She did not run away with the circus, but she does still perform in her clown costume occasionally.

And I wish I could take another trapeze class. :)

Ugly face, pretty face

My daughter got mad at me this morning because I wouldn't let her wear makeup to school. She got this kit for Christmas that's got eye shadow, blush and lip gloss in it, and she wants to wear it all the time.
(I'm trying to stress to her that it's for play; at 5, she sure doesn't need to wear it to school)

I asked why she wanted to wear it so badly. Apparently, some snot-nosed boy told her she "has an ugly face," and she wants to make it pretty with makeup.

Hmm...so much to say to that, I wasn't sure where to start. I got her dad to help me, too.

1. We told her she IS beautiful, no matter what some boy thinks.
2. She does not need makeup!! Not now, not at any age. Beauty comes from within, and doesn't hinge on what you slather on your face. (Hubby got a brownie point; said he think's I'm beautiful without it)
3. That little boy probably likes her, and is just trying to pick on her.
4. The next time he says it, tell him to jump in the lake!


I wish I could just spend one hour in her shoes at school. Just one hour! I hate it when other kids pick on her, but I hope we're teaching her how to deal with it...

Another upside to this diet

Another good thing about hubby's diet is the money-saving at the grocery store. Now that I'm not buying chips, frozen pizzas, cokes, ice cream and whatnot, we're saving some major moolah. Think about it. A bag of apples cost a lot less than a bag of Doritos. A box of granola bars is a lot cheaper than a big ole frozen pizza. One percent milk costs less than whole milk.

I probably saved $50 yesterday at the store. And we're better off for it, from a health standpoint. I'd rather see him eat naval oranges than Cheetos while he's watching the game. And drinking water instead of Dr. Pepper.

I'm doing all I can to help him stick to his diet. I really hope he meets his goal.

•••

Remember me mentioning that I'd gotten my daughter a Webkinz? We logged onto the site and started playing it. It's pretty neat, but a lot of the games are too advanced for her. So naturally, I've been playing them all.

I think there's something wrong with me. I'm hooked on these kids games. At first it was just Ant Mania and Cash Cow, but I've moved up to Booger Gets an A. I'm no mathematician, but I've gotten pretty good at that one.

[Is there hope for me? Sigh.]