“Hey, Mom,” my 16-year-old son said to me as we sat in our sunroom together one Saturday morning recently, “how are you going to spend two entire nights at Uncle DJ’s house and not fight with him?” I paused, coffee cup halfway to my mouth, suddenly deep in thought. “I hadn’t thought about that,” I murmured. “Maybe we should cancel the trip.” My husband and two teenagers and I were planning to stay at my younger brother’s house in Las Vegas for two nights before hitting the MGM Grand for a night, then driving our rental car four hours to Los Angeles to spend the last two days and nights of our spring break trip hitting every single tourist trap L.A. had to offer (update: it was amazing) before hopping on a plane to fly us all the way back across the country to Missouri. My younger brother DJ has been in the military for the last 26 years and he’s always living in really exotic, faraway locations, so we don’t see each other very often. Maybe once every couple of ...
One Thanksgiving about 20 years ago, I made brownies. “They taste like….” my younger brother said, chewing around a piece carefully as he furrowed his brow in concentration, hoping to find just the right word, “…they taste like paint .” I snapped my fingers and nodded because he’d done it. He’d found the right word. Even though I had never actually tasted paint, not even one tiny lick of the wall when I was a little girl, they did. Those brownies tasted like paint. There were a lot of excuses made for me that day from well-meaning members of my extended family: the oil was probably bad; the butter might’ve been salted; maybe the chicken that had laid the particular egg that I’d used in the recipe had been feeling a little “off” that day… “Or maybe she just sucks at baking,” my older sister suggested as she floated through the kitchen to refill people’s drinks. Well, of course she would say that. She was the one hosting Thanksgiving that year...
The other night I was texting with my older sister when I sent this one around 9:35 PM: Alright, I’m going to bed. I’m not feeling well. She latched onto that pretty quickly. First off, I’m a night owl so going to bed at 9:35 PM, even though I wake up every morning at 5, is unheard of for me. Second, I hardly ever get sick. I attribute that at least in part to my immune system being so strong because I’m like a goat—I’ll eat anything * —and my body has had to learn to overcome the challenges I’ve thrown at it. (For more tips on how to maintain a healthy, balanced existence, subscribe to my life coaching page, linked at the bottom of this post.) What do you mean, not feeling well? What are your symptoms? My sister fancies herself a nurse, so as I began to explain how I’d been feeling lately—light-headedness, shortness of breath, body really heavy, heart pounding hard like it’s working overtime, not being able to finish a workout—she told me, wit...
Comments
Post a Comment