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.

Allergies. I haz 'em.

So I made it through allergy testing - not more than a couple hours' worth - Thursday and Friday.

Here's what I learned, in the tester's words: I am "allergic to everything."

Who knew? I mean sure, I deal with the occasional headache or tummyache. I have eczema. I get hives now and then. I pretty much always have some sort of drainage in the back of my throat and my nose runs constantly. At times my eyes are so itchy and watery that I'm afraid people think I'm crying. And then there's the sneezing and coughing and throat-clearing. And wheezing.

Umm, OK. When I write it out like that it does seem like a lot. And truly, I do deal with some sort of discomfort every single day. I guess it's just something I got used to, and I didn't know those various discomforts were (most likely) related.

None of my allergies is life-threatening at this point, but I was given a prescription for an Epi-pen as a precaution. I'm told I reacted quickly and pretty severely to ragweed and grasses, but there was some reaction to every single thing they tested. Dogs and cats, various molds, trees, weeds, foods, and (ick) dust mites. Cow's milk - this I had suspected for some time, actually, and had cut back on my milk consumption. White potatoes, of all things. Interestingly, I had a roast in the slow cooker and planned to have carrots and potatoes with it Friday evening (after testing). I went ahead with my plan, knowing the potatoes were on my list, thinking I would just see how my body handled it. Lo and behold, I went to bed with a headache that night. Sure, the headache could have been caused by anything, but now I know to pay attention to how my body reacts when I consume certain things. If I get a headache the next few times I eat potatoes, guess who's not eating potatoes anymore?

All the information I was given was a bit overwhelming at first, but now that I've had a little time to digest it I am thinking about how I can implement some changes here at home. It will take some effort to keep up with the dust mites and pet dander, but I am resolved to more frequent dusting, vacuuming, and laundering. I'm so glad we had central air installed last summer so I don't have to open windows and invite the pollens in from outside. Plans to remove carpeting in favor of hard surface floors will be put on the fast track. I'll be researching air filters and I already received a quote (*choke*) for sealing our crawlspace under the house to combat the dampness.

As far as the foods, there are some things I will just avoid. Most things aren't worth feeling like junk. For those I reacted to, I have been directed to do a "challenge" diet. So I would eliminate, say, any sort of milk from my diet for four days, then add it back in on the fifth day and write down how my body reacts. I will share those records with the doctor when I see him again in six weeks. The gal who tested me said she's certain the doc will recommend allergy shots. Yay.

So. That's that. I have some challenges ahead, but at least I know there is something I can do to help myself feel better, and having some answers is a relief. I expect when I see the doctor next month I will also hear about my breathing test and whether there is also an element of asthma going on here.

Moving forward. That's all I can do.

I want chocolate. And DDP.

We have a "perfect storm" this week. It's me.

I'm just (hopefully) coming out of a bout with the flu - the feverish, whole body hurts, coughing up a lung, can't get out of bed kind - and what I would really love, and I don't care whether it would be good for me or not, is a Snickers bar and a Diet Dr. Pepper.

This morning, when I dragged myself out of bed to pick Rachel up from an overnighter with her Girl Scout troop (which I was incredibly sad to miss because of this stupid illness) all I wanted was to stop at Wesco and grab a big cup of cappuccino.

But I can't have coffee, or chocolate, or pop, or anything else containing caffeine, or even any "nighttime-type" medications that would help me sleep. Because late next week I begin allergy testing, and all of that stuff could somehow throw it off. Is what they tell me. Hmph.

So I'm following the rules, but I'm doing it with a grudge. Because seriously? Caffeine in it's many forms is a regular part of my daily life. As is Zyrtec, which I also cannot take this week.

I like to think I can take it like a champ when I'm sick. I'm pretty tough. But tell me I can't have chocolate? When I'm in a weak and emotional state? I'm like a 2-yr-old throwing a tantrum in the grocery store.

Alas, the asthma and/or allergies I've got made breathing these past few days all that harder, so I will do what needs to be done to figure out those underlying issues and take care of them.

Imagine how pissed I'm gonna' be if we find out I'm allergic to chocolate. ::shudder::

Time.

I find myself looking at the calendar and checking the clock often lately. I'm counting the days until Steve comes home for Christmas and at the same time I feel like if I am not on my way somewhere for one commitment or another I am surely forgetting something. And sometimes that's true. But not today.

This week I have two empty white squares - today and tomorrow - in the middle of dates filled to the borders and beyond of activities and commitments and time suckers. Some days having so much to keep me busy is exhilarating, and even a welcome distraction. Other days it's exhausting.

This morning we woke up late. This after I went to bed last night with a runny nose and a hint of a sore throat, Ladybug woke me from a deep sleep to go outside at 3 a.m. Nothing like a brisk walk around the yard in the wee hours to get the blood flowing. Having these (very active) dogs is like having toddlers in the house again. They're fun. They bring us so much joy. But they make any task take twelve times longer because we have to make sure the dogs have gone out and are taken care of before we leave, or we're tripping over dogs while trying to clean the house, or it's time to feed the dogs, or whatever. And sometimes I have no clue what they want or need because they can't tell me and it seems like I've done all I can do and the answer ... is usually more attention. When I'm on the phone. Or trying to help a kid with homework. Or SLEEPING. Or (and) feeling like poo. And like toddlers sometimes do, they tear up the house, ruin our nice things, and embarrass me in front of my friends. But none of that matters in those moments when you watch them sleep, or they make you laugh at the sheer pleasure they get from playing with a ball or having a good run. And there's that whole unconditional love thing.

Speaking of unconditional love, I do love my children (the human variety) so very much, but gosh will I be glad when Sam is back on two good legs. I am soooo tired of carrying stuff for him. These last five weeks have been slightly reminiscent of the days when my kids were still tiny and they - and all their gear - had to be carried everywhere. (Is there a pattern here?) I take him to the doctor on Monday to have his cast taken off. And then I'm gonna' party like it's 1999.

Not really. But I might have a glass of wine or two to celebrate.

Oh, the things we take for granted sometimes. Like being able to walk on our own. And being able to sleep through the night.

Early bedtime tonight to try to ward off this cold. Four days until Sam's cast comes off. Ten days until daddy comes home. And I'm counting every one.

Dude. That was awesome.

I got a massage today. For one whole hour I left my phone in the truck, I left my cares behind, and I let Ms. Julia and her amazing hands do their magic.

OK, that sounds kinda' weird. And honestly, even though I had a massage one other time - five or six years ago when Steve got me a gift certificate for Christmas - I was a little intimidated by the whole idea and only sought out a masseuse again because the pain in my neck and lower back were so intense some nights I could hardly sleep. And girlfriend does not do well without her sleep. Also, repeated trips to the chiropractor (whom I adore) were not providing any lasting relief and the last time I saw him he told me - again - that massage would do me a world of good.

So, like any procrastinating busy mama would do, I thought about it for a couple days. And then I hit the Yellow Pages, checked some web sites and made a couple phone calls. I settled on the lady who has been doing this for 20 years. I figured she has seen it all, so she wouldn't bat an eye at anything I was gonna' lay out on that table, no matter how self-conscious I was.

Because really. Two pregnancies, several handfuls of extra pounds hanging on, and a bit of stress-induced wrinkling and flaking does not a bikini body make. And here I would be revealing it to someone I didn't even know.

I wish I could say that my self-consciousness melted away when I walked in that door. I wish I didn't have so many issues with feeling like I somehow don't deserve the luxury of having someone else take care of me - even if I am paying them to do it! But those issues have been a part of me for a long time and they weren't going to go away over a one-hour massage. I will say, though, that Julia made me feel as comfortable as I could about the whole thing. And I really, really did enjoy that massage.

What I was not prepared for was feeling so lousy by the time I got home. It was like someone had opened the floodgates and any junk - emotional, physical, psychological - I had been holding onto for God knows how long came rushing out my pores. My neck and shoulders felt so much better, and my lower back felt like I had had a good workout - sore, but in a good way. But when I got home I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep. So I did.

When I woke from a long nap I felt refreshed. My body was (is) still a little tender, but I feel like I have hit the reset button. I feel ... good. Glad I did something for myself.

Ready to do a little more of it in the future.

Clean Slate Sunday: 9.30.12 edition

Sunday evening again. Time to reset for the week ahead.

I can hardly remember this past week. Partly because it was incredibly busy. But mostly, I think, because I haven't been sleeping well due to this chronic cough/stuffiness/wheezing thing I have going on. No worries - I'm not on my deathbed. I just sound like a 400-pound, three-pack-a-day smoker trying to run a marathon. And that's at 10 o'clock at night when I'm trying to go to sleep.

I wish I were kidding.

So it's time to call the doctor. Even though I have a sneaky suspicion that whenever I can get into the office this respiratory thing will magically disappear. Because that's what happens: I'm fine one minute, then I'm coughing up a lung the next. I kinda' already have it in my head that I have asthma or something similar (like ... I dunno, what's similar to asthma without actually being asthma?) and since it's been getting worse over the past few years, I'm pretty sure it is a result of breathing in the dust that exploded in my face when my car's airbag deployed in a crash in 2008. Or maybe not. Regardless, I need to do something about it, because this is a pretty crappy way to live.

I'll revisit the topic when I know more.

Incidentally, last night I had the best night of sleep I've had in a long time. So I elected to skip church this morning and stick close to home. I ended up making a long list and going to the grocery store. Not so close to home, but it was a necessary task and I feel good having it done for the week.

Miraculously there is nothing on my calendar for this week, except to help serve Sam's football team dinner on Tuesday evening, and then go to his game on Wednesday - and fortunately it's a home game. Hopefully my days don't fill in too much so I have plenty of time to work around the house ... because I have a never-ending list of projects to complete, along with the regular household tasks.

And puppy training. We mustn't forget the puppy training.

And holy smokes, it'll be October tomorrow! Wow.

That "good" kind of tired.

I am exhausted.

Eggs. Hoss. Ted.

But it's that worked-really-hard-out-in-the-fresh-air-and-sunshine kind of exhaustion, so it's all good. Except that my entire body hurts, too.

And I mean everything hurts. From stem to stern. Even my fingertips.

Yesterday I spent most of the day shoveling sand to fill in low spots in our yard, and peeling sod away from one end of the house where I decided I'd build a flower bed. I planted a few perennials there a couple years ago and thought I'd be fine mowing around them. I was wrong. What happens is either the grass grows a foot tall before I find the time to rip it down by hand, or I lose half my hosta plants because I insist my teenage son go all the way around the house with the weed whacker.

Today I bought some landscape timbers and this evening Sam and I started setting them in place to define the edges of the flower bed. It won't take very many, but because we're working on a bit of a slope it takes some time to get them level. Hopefully I'll finish that up tomorrow and then I'll just need to get some good soil to fill in and I can plant some more plants there, too.

I also have a stack of lumber and plans drawn out for some more raised garden beds. These I'm going to build at the end of our patio with stone pavers in between. There's nothing like walking out the front door and picking fresh veggies for dinner or some fresh herbs to add to a salad.

I'm really getting excited to put some plants in the ground - some veggie plants that will eventually provide us some sustenance, and some colorful annuals. But it's still a little early in the season and I'm not crazy about having to cover plants to avoid frost, so I'm keeping busy with preparations. It's so rewarding to see the progress after a few hours of work, and to know that I will enjoy a lot of the things I'm working on year after year.

If my body cooperates and the rain holds off I'll be back out there tomorrow. And I'll take some pictures. Tonight, I rest. Sleep's gonna' come pretty easy.

Will work for food.

I watched a documentary some time ago about making bread. It was about how the art of making bread is all but lost, and how if we could get back to making our own bread - measuring, mixing, kneading, taking in the smell and feel of it - we would be healthier, calmer, stronger, more appreciative of our food.

That's the Reader's Digest version.

The documentary was kinda' cheesy but the idea of it made sense. Making bread takes time. It takes patience. And probably some specific muscles that don't get worked out often enough.

I was thinking of that movie the other day as I made a sandwich for lunch. My bread came from a bag from the grocery store - but it is at least some of the "healthy" stuff with whole wheat and all those grains. "Bird seed bread" my family likes to call it.

So I got a couple slices of bread out, I'm thinking of the "let's make bread and sing Kumbaya" movie, and I grabbed a knife and started carving at the previous night's leftover chicken (rotisserie, purchased at the deli counter). Then I sliced a tomato (can't wait until I can grab one straight from my garden!) and rinsed off a big piece of green leafy lettuce.

That whole process reminded me of another snippet I had tucked away in my brain. It's from one of Dr. Phil McGraw's books, The Ultimate Weight Solution: The 7 Keys to Weight Loss Freedom. Someone loaned me the book several years ago, and while I cannot tell you the 7 Keys, I can tell you the one concept I do remember reading about: that if you don't have to work a little bit for your food, it's probably not worth eating.

Making a salad takes some effort. Cooking dinner takes time. Cutting up an apple or slicing some not-too-processed cheese is not as easy as grabbing a box of Wheat Thins (*love*) or unwrapping a granola bar (also *love*). But those things that take a little more thought and effort are often going to be the healthier choices.

Day by day I am trying to make more of those healthier choices. Damn those old habits of grabbing something easy and quick! I have the time, I just need to use it wisely - to plan before I fill my shopping cart, and keep putting healthy options in front of my kids. And myself.

Change - even small changes over time - doesn't always come easy, but sometimes it is necessary.

I find it rather cathartic to stand at my kitchen sink mindfully washing a bunch of grapes, spreading peanut butter on a sliced apple, making a hot breakfast for my kids. I can see how kneading bread a couple times a week would provide the same kind of peace. It's that joy we get from nurturing the people we love - I need to hold on to that feeling and seek it out when what I think I want to seek out is a handful of leftover Easter candy.

It gives a little different meaning to "working for food" doesn't it? But that's exactly what I need to do.

Savoring small joys.

Yesterday I had every intention of writing a post, but I opened my laptop and then just sat here staring at the screen. For a long time.

I'm fighting this emotional funk that threatens to suck the happy and content right out of me ... and I'm employing every resource I have to keep it at bay. Christmas music playing, our colorfully-lit tree glowing, cinnamon-scented candles burning, a mug of something yummy in my hand (great coffee, special hot chocolate, or a fizzy Diet Dr. Pepper, depending on the time of day), household tasks - the few things in life I can control - under way. I've been using a lot of this quiet time during the day to have some pretty deep conversations with God, too. And it still seems like more work than it should be.

Part of it is just my body's chemical makeup, and I know that. When the skies are grey and gloomy like they were yesterday my mood often matches it. Proof: today the sun is shining brightly and I'm much more active than I was yesterday when I loafed around most of the day and went to bed early.

We can't control the sun. Sometimes we can't control our circumstances. But I strongly believe that most of the time we can control our own attitude, which some days can make things a little brighter.

It can be the smallest thing that makes a difference. Yesterday, despite feeling like there was a black cloud hanging over me, I had a few moments of sheer joy which I so appreciated. One of them was enjoying the scent of freshly laundered clothes - MY clothes. The smell made me happy. The stack of clothes reminded me that even though I have a limited wardrobe these days, I still have choices. Another of those moments was wrapping a gift for a friend's birthday. It's nothing big - something I saw during my travels over the summer that reminded me of her - but I found some pretty paper and pulled out my scrapbooking supplies to make it a cute little package. It was fun. I got some creative juices flowing and it felt good to complete a task, even one so small. I've learned to savor those moments.

I have a feeling it will be my task in the weeks ahead to have more good days than not-so-good days. It might require some effort and a lot more hot chocolate, but it will all be worth it.

Now I think the sunshine is calling my name. We have precious few of these beautiful days left before the snow comes back with a vengeance, so I'm headed out to enjoy this one.

A day of rest?

We have had such a full weekend and the busy-ness continues until later this afternoon so I thought I'd take the few quiet minutes I have right now to scarf down a piece of leftover birthday cake update the blog.

I was so tired this morning and really would have liked to reset the alarm clock for our later obligations, but I am so glad I got up and went to church because I really needed to hear today's message. (More about that tomorrow.)

Our service starts at 9 a.m. and it's about a 40-minute drive, so we try to be out the door by 8:15. That's asking a lot of our teen/tween kids, I guess. Even Rachel, who was the only one to make it to church with me today, lamented on the way home that she has no time to rest, even on the weekends.

Being the sympathetic mother I am, I offered to not take her to her bowling league next Saturday morning so she can sleep in. But no! That's not what she meant! I suggested we turn down invitations from friends so we aren't tempted to stay out too late on weekend evenings. Oh no. That's not what she meant, either.

"But we always have to go to church," she says.

Yes, and the service is over by 10 a.m. and then we can go home and rest, I reminded her. Then I asked if she would like to skip her Girl Scout meeting this afternoon so she could rest.

Ummm, no. Not what she meant.

Bowling leagues, birthday parties, visiting with friends, hunting, confirmation class, Girl Scouts ... and compared with so many other families my kids are hardly "involved" at all. They don't play any after-school sports or do dance or gymnastics or martial arts or any of that. But a few different activities each requiring a minimal commitment can add up to some very busy days. So yes, I do sympathize with Rachel. Trust me, I would choose rest over most other activities including eating ... and really, I don't miss very many meals.

For me, joining my church family in a familiar setting, sharing hugs and handshakes and laughter, and catching up with each other and sharing the Gospel is as good as curling up with a blanket in a comfortable chair with a mug of hot cocoa and reading a book. It makes me happy. It lifts me up. I feel rested and cared for and loved when I leave, and I take that feeling with me out into the world.

Whether my children realize it or not, they do the same thing. I see it in the smiles on their faces when their Sunday School teacher seeks them out for a hug before they leave, or when one of the older gentlemen shows interest in Sam's hunting experiences or a picture Rachel drew. That's why I ask them to go with me. Someday they will make their own decisions and might choose a different path no matter how much I insist they follow the path of faith in God. If that ever happens I hope they eventually find their way back to a place where they feel safe and loved - a place they can lay down their burdens and rest. Yes, getting out of bed early on a Sunday morning is a pain in the behind, even for me. And no, we don't make it every single Sunday. But when we do it is so, so worth the effort.

 Here's wishing you a blessed - and restful - day.

Ugh.

I've been sick. Bleh. Since Saturday afternoon when I came home from a workshop at church and crawled into bed intending to take a quick nap before heading to a wedding reception with the fam.

The clock kept ticking and Steve and the kids got ready and I couldn't drag myself out of bed. And then I got chills and just couldn't get warm enough. It went downhill from there.

I'm starting to come around this morning. I managed to finally get out of my pajamas and hit the shower, and my appetite is coming back.

I am really glad Steve has been here to help with the kids (though I'm pretty sure he's the one who shared his germs with me). It's been good to have him here, in general. We haven't been doing much of anything special - just running the kids around and eating dinners together at night and hanging out.

It feels good. Even if I don't.

Apparently, I'd like to hibernate.

'Cept I'm gonna' need some elastic-waist pants before I settle in for my slumber.

Whoa, doggies! It's a little too early for the holiday plump, isn't it? I stepped on the scale this morning (like I needed that first thing in the morning) and what was already pretty obvious to my bloated self came into sharp, digital focus.

I've put on a few pounds.

OK, literally, a few. Like, four. And listen. I'm a big girl anyway so one would think four pounds either way wouldn't make much of a difference. But I can tell you that four lousy pounds feels like 100 pounds in certain pairs of pants.

Oooooh, the comfort food. Since the weather turned very autumn-like in a hurry I've been drawn to the oven and the big ol' containers of flour and sugar sitting nearby. Yesterday, on a whim, I made several dozen pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. Ya' know ... for the kids. *wink wink*

Curse you, white flour and sugar!

And get this. I ordered a subscription to a new home decor magazine a while back? I guess there weren't enough subscriptions because said magazine flopped. So instead of sending me a refund, the company is sending me ... wait for it ... Taste of Home magazine.

Taste of Home! It's all about FOOD, people!

And I swear this is my final excuse: My walking routine has been interrupted by rain. (And perhaps *cough* a little *cough* laziness. *cough*) Yesterday my buddy and I finally got out to walk again after missing a few days and my legs felt like Jell-O the rest of the day. Sad.

I guess it's time to seriously consider an indoor workout alternative for the winter months so I'll be prepared when the snow flies and I'm too much of a sissy to wanna' walk out there. Because baby, I cannot keep this up all winter or y'all will have to roll me out of the house to greet the Easter Bunny come spring.

Now somebody hide the cookies.

Doc, drugs, and the art of doing nothing.

Doc: "Where's the worst of it?"

Me: "Neck and left shoulder."

"OK. What happened?"

"Uhhh."

"Just life, huh?"

Now my voice is muffled because I'm lying on my stomach with my face in that head pillow thingy. I really just want to stay there all day.

"Yep. I've been doing lots of work around the house lately."

"And probably twice as much as usual, right?"
He knows Steve is working out-of-state.

"Yeah. Do ya' think I could clone myself?"

"How many times?"

*chuckle*

He's working his way from my hips to my shoulders, palpating my spine.

"Oh. OH. This is bad."

"Yeah. Wanna' hear something crazy? It's actually better than it was yesterday."

"Ya' got quite a speed bump there."

"No kidding."

This is where he tells me to take a deep breath and let it all the way out.

POP!
The stabbing pain is immediately replaced by a dull ache. Ahhh, relief.

"Again."

POP!  
My nose starts draining.

"And again."

POP!

I feel like I can run a marathon. OK, maybe a 5k. Maybe walk a 5k. Slowly.

"Again."

This time the neck. 

Thud.
I think I see stars on the backs of my eyelids. 

Thud.

Why did I wait so long?

Thud.

This is really going to hurt later.

Thud.
I wonder if we still have any prescription-strength painkillers in the cupboard.

"You're going to take it easy today, right?" 

"Yep." 

"NO chores."

"OK."

Here comes my favorite part: massage. He uses some vibrating shiatsu-looking thing. Not as nice as a hands-on massage, but I'll take it. 

"You really need to be careful today. Get some heat on there to loosen up those muscles and take something for your pain. This is gonna' be sore for a while."

"Got it."

That's it. Adjustment done. I take a deep breath before I rise up on all fours, then slowly climb off the table. 

"You're going to want to take a day off. Or TWO." Emphasis his.

~ ~ ~

Right. Two days? No bending, lifting, twisting, pulling? No can do, chief. I totally respect the doc and all he does for the spinal health of humankind, but I can't put life on hold while I heal up. And really, who could?

In the interest of not completely incapacitating myself, though, I promise I'll do less than nothing at least until my kids get off the school bus today. That gives me a good ... oh ... seven hours from the time I left the doc's office.

The drugs are already kicking in and the couch is calling my name. 

So ... happy Cinco de Mayo, amigos. It's time for a lengthy siesta. Hasta mañana.

My body and I have called a truce.

Have you ever been in so much pain that it made you physically ill?

That kind of pain that makes you groan when the alarm clock goes off in the morning because it's still there?

That kind of pain that makes you want to take three times the recommended dose of painkillers because you are certain three is better than one and it couldn't possibly destroy your liver if you did it just this once?

That kind of pain that makes you want to rip your hyperactive kid's head off for asking if he can have an iced cinnamon bun for breakfast? (Oh wait. That has nothing to do with the pain. Nevermind.)

I woke up yesterday morning unable to move my left arm. Oh, I could move it, but not without making the left side of my body feel like someone was stabbing me repeatedly in the left shoulder blade with a pair of dull scissors.

Because dull scissors sound so much more painful than regular scissors, right?

The pain radiated out from my shoulder, crept up the back of my head and shot down my arm and leg.

Steve, God bless him, let me stay in bed and brought me the heating pad and some Tylenol. Tylenol, not Advil, because the universe played a very nasty trick on me and made me allergic to ibuprofen. And Lord knows we didn't need to add a nasty case of hives to the mix.

I finally got up, spent a few minutes feeling sorry for myself, then stretched as much as I could and had Steve try to rub out some of the tightness in my neck and shoulder. The more I moved my body, the more it seemed to loosen up. I was able to get some work done throughout the afternoon with only a few reminders of the pain when I turned my head too quickly or reached up to pull something out of a kitchen cupboard. But as soon as we started to settle in for the evening everything tightened up again and I ended up falling asleep on the heating pad. (I know, I know. Not 'sposed to do that.)

This morning I couldn't decide if I wanted to scream or cry. It was a major chore just to wash my hair in the shower. I was not very tolerant of the kids' usual morning madness. I was sick to my stomach. I told myself if I could just hang on for another hour I could get to the chiropractor's office and he would fix me up and all would be right with the world.

So I dropped the kids off at school and headed to see my favorite doc.

But when I got there I was met with a sign on the door: Closed today. Open tomorrow at 8.

Whaaaaaaaat?!?!?

This, my friends, was a defining moment. My choices were a) burst into tears, b) find another chiropractor, or c) take a deep breath, move on with my day, and plan to be back at the office at 7:55 tomorrow morning.

I chose C. And instead of being angry with my body for limiting what I could do today, I decided right then and there to make a conscious effort to nurture it to better health. I hate to admit it, but my body isn't rebelling; it is merely reacting to the hell I've put it through all these years, and especially these last few weeks. Sure, I could do much worse - I don't use recreational drugs or drink heavily, and I'm not completely sedentary - but I could do a whole lot better, too.

No, this is not the first time I've had this revelation.

Yes, I do believe I can still make a difference. It's never too late to start taking care of oneself (again).

So I took a few deep breaths, got myself a bite to eat (a breakfast burrito and a frappe from McDonald's, if you must know, and yes, they made me feel much better), and hit the grocery store. It felt good to load my cart with fresh fruits and veggies, good cheese and lean meats, with a promise that I will do my best to treat my body with a little more respect and kindness from this moment forward.

I feel better already.