Chocolate is the devil

My name is Kathi, and I am a chocoholic.  Seriously-I think I need a twelve step program.  The bloodwork came back from my annual check-up, which for me is seldom annual.  I may get to the doc once about every five years normally, but I try my best to stay away.  I originally went to this particular doctor because I had heard she was great and prescribed bioidentical hormones.  Being post-menopausal for a few years now and still dealing with damn power surges (AKA hot flashes), I thought I'd give her a try.

Her nurse drew most of my blood that first day (a year ago).  I had enough left to make it home for a nap, but I digress.  That first blood draw showed I had no estrogen, progesterone, or testosterone at all, my thyroid was very low, my vitamin D was non-existent, and I had high cholesterol.  The good news was I also have some kind of genetic anomaly which protects my heart in spite of my high cholesterol.  So, the doc prescribed a bioidentical thyroid supplement, liquid vitamin D, and bioidentical hormones in a lotion that I was to rub on before bed each night.  Fast forward 3 months, she had my blood drawn again, and everything was improving EXCEPT my hormones, which still registered in the negative.  At that point, she switched me to an oral supplement.

Thursday, I went in for the results of my most recent blood draw.  My thyroid and vitamin D levels are now at optimal level, which is great news.  As a matter of fact everything looked great except those darn hormones that are still lower than zero, and I had elevated sugar, making me pre-diabetic.  I've suspected that for some time because I honestly could live on chocolate.  What else does one need?  My prescription is to "LIMIT sugar" as much as possible."   "Make stevia your new best friend," she said.  I have stevia in my house, and I have no trouble substituting it in tea or lemonade.  My problem is what to do about the chocolate.  If I eat one, I am guaranteed to eat another...and another...and you get the picture.  One piece of chocolate cake leads to someone saying, "Hey, who ate the LAST piece of cake?"  Ooops.  I have been known to buy a bag of Hershey's Kisses or Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (G-d, I love those) and hide them from the kids, so they can be all mine. Awful, I know.  And this is what made me come to the conclusion that I must quit cold turkey.

I'm now on Day 2 of chocolatelessness, and I must say I'm feeling a little punchy.  It also happens to be the day before Easter, and though I'm Jewish, I have an intense craving for one of those giant solid chocolate bunnies out there.  Christian friends and family, guard your chocolate well.  I am not responsible for what I might do should you walk by with your cute little Easter basket in tow.  Hide the bunnies; hide the chocolate eggs!  My nose actually started twitching earlier today, and I could swear I smelled chocolate.  It's as though my sense of smell is heightened to ferret out anything chocolatey.  I dare not stop in a grocery store.

I find myself having terrible thoughts like, "Could diabetes really be that bad?"  and "So what if I have to lose a few toes-do I really need them?"  This is why I've decided I need a twelve step program.  Where's the closest one and how do I get there?  If you notice how this blog flits all over the place-that's the chocolate deprivation kicking in.  Check back in a few weeks to find out whether or not I survive or have a relapse.  A relapse right now doesn't sound too bad to me...

(The above blog was meant in fun and NOT meant to make light of or offend anyone struggling with any type of addiction!)    

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

 I think it was Tammy Wynette or Dolly Parton who sang D-I-V-O-R-C-E, a sad song about spelling the word so her son couldn't understand what was happening to his parents.  Most people I know who've gone through separation and/or divorce had a really difficult time with it.  Maybe I'm odd, but I didn't.  If anything, when it was finally final, I was relieved.  Married at 17, I didn't understand what I was getting into, and I should have- considering my parents' tumultuous marriage.  Somehow, I thought I'd have a Walton-esque family, where everyone always loved each another no matter what and went to bed at night with "Goodnight John-Boy," on his/her lips.  

Over the years, I've learned that everything we do has a purpose, and I learned a lot from my early marriage.  I grew up in ways I might not have if not for Robert and our life together.  I wanted children more than anything, and together we had three without whom I can't imagine my life.  I also grew in ways I had no idea I would.  I started college, and my eyes opened to good literature and interesting philosophy.  I began, probably for the first time, to think for myself, and in that new world, I grew away from my husband.  He didn't like the change in me, and the fighting eventually became unbearable.  When I finally took the kids and left, there was nothing left for us.  

I never went to court.  Robert took care of all of it. I signed the papers, not caring about any of the financial stuff because I wanted out and that was all that mattered to me.  Child support for all three kids together was a whole $210.00 a month, and since I was still in college, I received another $340 from Dad's VA benefit.  I worked part time at a daycare center for minimum wage.  That's what we lived on, with occasional help from family.  Times were tough, that's for sure; but I look back on it, and it really didn't seem terrible.  We ate a lot of peanut butter and Hamburger Helper, but we were ok.  I had great friends, too, who were there for me and the kids.

Robert soon moved out of state with the Air Force and really wasn't in our lives much or often, which was fine with me.  In so many ways, I was lucky.  I didn't have to fight for custody-it was always understood that the kids would go with me.  Once it was done, it was done, and I really didn't have to deal with my ex but very rarely.  I know it's not like that for most people.  I do wish we were all better at realizing some relationships aren't meant to last and to be wise enough to understand that.  I've read about some couples who are able to divorce and stay friends-even vacationing together with their new spouses and combined families.  I wish we all did a better job of putting our kids first.  And I've always said I never want to be one of those bitter old couples who stay together for various reasons and end up hating each other.  I'd rather be alone than have that kind of life.  

I think I felt like a failure for some time since I believe I was the first divorce in the family.  My "black sheep" status felt firmly engraved on my heart, but just like I don't regret the marriage, I don't regret the divorce either.  We played an important part in each other's lives, but we didn't belong together "till death do us part."  I wonder how many people do in this day and age when we live two or three lifetimes compared to a couple hundred years ago.  One of my friends has always said marriage should come with an expiration date.  After 10 years or so, couples should be able to choose to renew-or not.  She may be onto something.  

First Love

Thinking about the topic of "first love" takes me back to the angst that is teen life.  I would never, never want to relive those days--I think I was in a constant state of anxiety for 5 or 6 years! Oh, the nervousness, the second-guessing, the swooning and pining, the wishing and wondering, the ups and the downs.  My first big crush was in Germany in 8th grade--a boy named Walter.  He was smart, gorgeous, funny, friendly and nice to those of us who were not quite in his circle of beautiful people.  He was so cool that even a name like Walter could not hold him back.  Walter might be a cool name now, I am not sure, but it was decidedly uncool in 8th grade in the late 60s.  He sat in front of me in one of my classes and turned around to say a few words to me most days, smiling that beautiful smile of his. I was gaga for him but my role in jr. high and much of high school was to be the friend, not the girlfriend. I was small and undeveloped, had weird wavy/curly dark hair when all the hip girls had beautiful, very straight blonde hair.  I never had any fashion sense and typically made the wrong decisions about everything to do with boys.  I can't tell you how many guys said "she's like a little sister to me."

I also had a penchant for choosing boys who were interested in my friends and not me.  This was the way to experience heartache up close. What's worse than not having the boy you love?  Having to watch him with your best friend.

If Walter ever suspected I had a crush on him, he didn't show it.  He dated my friend Lys for awhile, the girl with thick, straight blonde hair and boobs--she knew I liked him but she went out with him anyway. I thought there was some sort of girlfriend code that you wouldn't do that, but wow, if I'd been in her place, I don't think I would have turned him down either. I don't remember much about their time together except once we were all three walking somewhere in the cold and he let both of us put our hands in his coat pockets, one on each side.  That was the closest I ever got to Walter.  I remember having a sweaty hand.

On to New Jersey and 9th grade.  I will not count the paperboy who took me to one movie, held my hand, and never asked me out again. I have no idea what went wrong. It was too awkward to talk about it, even though I saw him regularly when he came to collect for the newspaper for awhile. Thankfully, he moved away within a few months so I didn't have to continue feeling weird.  I will not count the beautiful southern boy who lived across the parking lot from me.  In his dreamy drawl, he managed to work his way into a make-out session that led to no ongoing attachment, to my humiliation. I could not stand him for awhile but eventually I forgave him and we became good friends. I was always confused about rules and expectations and had no idea how to relate to a guy. What did they want, anyway?!  Well, I guess we know the main thing they wanted, but I was just a naive little girl looking for someone to love me in the most romantic sense of the word.

My first love, if you count having an actual relationship,  was John.  When I met him, he was dating one of my good friends. Ooops.  Although I harbored wishes that they would break up and he would be mine, I kept my distance and pined away.  He was smart and funny (I have a thing for smart and funny), cute and a little bit shy.  When he and my friend were still together, we all went on a Teen Club trip to NYC. As we crossed a busy street near Central Park in the rain, he reached out and took both our hands, one on each side.  I have to laugh about both of these memories, Walter and the coat pockets, John and the two person hand holding. The cynical me thinks they were eating it up--"Look at me, I have two girls who want me!"  What an ego boost!  Or maybe they were just nice guys. What do you think??

Eventually John and my friend split and I was next up.  I think by then we had admitted an interest in one another, though no one wanted to hurt anyone else. I think she was tired of him, too, and moving on.  Or at least that's what I wanted to believe.  All these years later, I cannot really remember how long we were together but it was probably only a few months.  I was crazy for this boy, but it was also very strange and awkward because I had no idea how to be a girlfriend or what to do in a relationship.  Nobody TALKED about anything.  We were just fumbling along without a clue.  We were young, no driver's licenses so we couldn't do much but walk all over the Air Force base and hang out with our friends.  I mostly remember passing notes in school, laughing at who-knows-what silly things in study hall, and walking around holding hands. Since both our names started with J, we had a running list of boys' and girls' "J" names we'd use when we grew up and got married one day. We went to baseball games, Teen Club dances and movies, but mostly just kinda wandered around. I am sure we must have talked about something besides the names of our imaginary children but that's about all I can recollect.  I was inexperienced and not ready for sex; he was not pushy and seemed accepting. We were only 15, for goodness sakes!   As with Kathi's first love, mine came to an abrupt end when a friend of a friend came to visit for the summer and they quickly became an item behind my back. I didn't have the agony of walking in on anything, but somehow found out that they were having sex on a daily basis after he took me home. I confronted him after tracking him down at the swimming pool and he admitted everything.  He "cared about both" of us but I think he "cared" about the sex more.  LOL   I sat on a deck chair at the pool and cried my eyes out in front of everyone there. I am sure it was quite a sight but I didn't care who saw me; now I would be mortified, but teenaged hormones can't be beat, can they?

I guess most first loves end badly or they would be permanent loves, right? :)   I was devastated and felt terrible for the longest time--you know, that aching in the chest and the constant replaying of every thought and every sentence, the second guessing about what you did and didn't do.   But one good thing about growing up in a military family is that eventually you leave or everyone else leaves so you don't have to have a daily reminder of things gone wrong.  He moved that same summer and one day I received a sincere letter of apology in the mail, which I appreciated. I've heard about him from a mutual friend off and on over the years. His kids don't have "J" names. 

At My House

To my Grandchildren 

At my house,

I want you to get messy,

to be messy, to mess up.

I want you to paint with 

your fingers and your toes,

and I won't even get mad

if you get paint on the table

or the walls.

I want you to play outside

in the mud and 

track it through my house,

so we can slip and slide
on giant soapsuds

as we clean it up.

I want you to splash in puddles,

to blow bubbles in your drink

and hang spoons on your nose

just because it's fun.

I want you to remember

that laughing is the

best feeling ever,

especially the laughter

that comes with love.

When I am an Old Lady!

When I am an old lady I will wear purple, a fancy hat & long johns I hope people will notice me and comment on my hat & not on my "mind." I will talk to anyone who cares to listen. I will tell them about all the men in my life and how they made me happy. I will tell them about my successful children & my grandchildren. When I am an old lady, I will eat all the chocolate I want. If I get fatter, who really cares? I will have secrets & only my grandchildren will hear them. I will listen to the dreams of the little ones who visit. So, a toast to all these ladies in their prime years! May you always enjoy your life. May you enjoy health, laughter & good cheer! May your family surround you with love And, best of all “happiness!”

First Love

Aw, that would be Bobby B.  I was 13 years old, and we lived at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.  I don't remember exactly how we met.  A group of us hung out together in the neighborhood, and Bobby lived across the street with his large family.  He was one of 8 kids, and I  prided myself on being able to name them all.  Let me see, Janie, Bobby, Edward, Danny, Sylvia, hmmmm, that's about as far as I can go.   Janie was his older sister, but they were in the same grade because she had been held back at some point, and she and I were friends first.  Bobby had jet black hair, deep brown eyes  and dark skin.  I thought he was really cute, but I never imagined he would become my boyfriend.  I don't think I was really even thinking about having a boyfriend yet.  Our group consisted of my best friend, Kathy, who lived next door, Janie, David, and a boy named Joey, who both lived across from us, Bobbie, who lived on the other side of us, and probably a few others I've forgotten.  We'd all go to the movies together or gather outside.  The first time we were actually alone was at the movie-Psycho of all things.  I think I had my eyes covered for most of it, and to this day, I'm nervous about showers if I'm alone in the house. I hated that show,  but at some point, Bobby put his arm around me and after the movie asked me to "go steady."  Maybe the fact that he asked me after Psycho should have been my clue as to how that relationship would end up!  No, he didn't try to murder me in the bathroom, and things were actually fun and sort of wonderful for awhile.  He gave me an ID bracelet with his name on it, which back then meant I "belonged" to him.  ICK!  I remember other girls coming up to me and saying, "You're going steady with Bobby B.?  Why would he pick you of all people?"  Seriously, that's what they said, and truthfully, I wondered the same thing because I didn't feel worthy of such a stud muffin.  Haha- just kidding- he was not a stud muffin-just cute.  He was very sweet, and we were inseparable for about 3 months. He even went canoeing with our family.  There's a picture somewhere around here…

Bobby was my first kiss, too-well other than Bruce Lesko in Germany, who I played Spin the Bottle with once, but that didn't really count.  Bobby walked me home one night and at the door, he put his arms around me, pushed my hair off my shoulders and leaned in for a nice tightly closed lip maneuver.  I thought I'd pass out right there, but I managed to gather myself together and go into the house.  Bobby, though, like most boys, wanted more after awhile, and I just wasn't ready to go anywhere else.  

One afternoon after school, I knocked on Kathy's door because we watched "Dark Shadows" together most days.  One of her brothers, answered, and told me Kathy was upstairs and I should go on up.  When I got there, what did I see but Kathy and Bobby making out on the floor!  My heart shattered, I turned and ran.  She was supposed to be my best friend, dammit!  The funny thing is none of us ever talked about it.  Kathy and I didn't speak at all for the rest of the time we lived there, and Bobby moved not too long after that.  I made new friends-real friends, can you say "loyal friends"?  You know friends who didn't go around stealing boyfriends and boyfriends who didn't go around stealing best friends.  Am I bitter?  Haha.

Years later, Jane ran into Bobby in San Marcos where we were both going to SWTSU, and he recognized her and asked about me.  I met him one day at the Whataburger where he was working.  He must have weighed over 200 pounds and was missing a front tooth.  I was 8 months pregnant with Kristinn, and he hinted that he was going to be divorced soon.  I wasn't about to be his wife's Kathy Maloney, so I said, "Buh bye," and never saw him again.  :)  

Taking ALL the Roads

I like to say I don't have regrets, but I imagine we all do, whether we admit them or not. I often find myself daydreaming, "what if I had taken that job at Hyperion Books?" Or "what if I had moved to Europe right after college?" like I wanted to. And I'm surprised when people describe me as successful because I didn't follow any kind of straight line to arrive at where I am now, and I don't describe this as "it." Successful to me would be writing a bestseller.

I went to college to be a journalist after all, and I wound up getting a degree in English because I enjoyed those classes more. I feel like so many of the turns my career and my life have taken have been a result of where my emotions lay at the time. For many years, I stayed with the man who'd become my first husband because I thought he'd make me a stronger, less emotional person. It has taken a long time for me to realize I should embrace who I am and dwell in her.

Part of my catharsis and ever-changing outlook on life involved getting a tattoo on my back a couple of years ago. I had wanted it for years but kept saying I'd get it when I lost that last 10 pounds. Then I realized at 35, I was not going to lose that last 10 pounds, and couldn't I just love who I was physically once and for all? Someone said, "YOU have trouble with self-esteem?" when I was explaining why I chose the artwork that I did. The shock in her voice made me laugh, and made me think, "Yikes, man. Do I come off as arrogant or something?" I overanalyze everything to death, but that's me. That's who I am. And I need to learn to love me more than I do.

I'm always changing. Always dreaming. Always thinking about the next road. And the next. I'd like to spend more time looking ahead and less time analyzing choices I've already made or other people's reactions, especially if they're negative. To Hell with all the negative energy, I say. I want only positive energy in my life. Life is too short not to take ALL the happy roads! :)