Day 38

I want you to stop and think about a woman you know that has or had a heart condition. Chances are, one comes to mind pretty easily. That's because heart disease is the Number One killer of women in America. NUMBER ONE. One out of every four women will die of heart disease. Holy crap.

The numbers are so high because of several reasons:

- Women do not have the typical "chest pain" symptoms that the majority of America associates with having a heart attack. We get nauseated, sweaty, or have arm and/or shoulder pain. We may be short of breath, but rarely do we get actual discomfort in our chest. This leads clinicians down other paths aside from cardiac, possibly wasting precious minutes that our heart muscle is not getting what it needs.

- Women are worse than men about going to the doctor. Yup. We "shake it off" or "get our soldiers marching". We tell ourselves it will go away, we're too busy, we're overreacting. We make sure our kids get their annual physicals but neglect to do the same for ourselves. I am totally guilty of this myself- I haven't been to the doctor for a physical in years (and years...)

- Women tend to worry more than men. I know- surprise. Over time, this can lead to an enlarged heart and what is called Broken Heart Syndrome.

- Women are traditionally physically smaller than men. This means that we have smaller arteries, which in turn means they are at a higher risk of getting clogged.

The good news is, there are many things we can do to help prevent heart disease. Most of them you have heard before, as they are in general good health practices...

Don't smoke.

Keep your blood sugar under control.

Keep your blood pressure under control.

Exercise a minimum of 30 min per day, 3 days per week.

Eat a low cholesterol diet.

See your doctor every year (yes, Stephanie that means you...)

I know it sounds simple but....1 in 4 guys. And I definitely have more than 4 girlfriends out there who I want to enjoy drinking wine and trashing men with until I'm old and senile. 

February is heart month in many ways. And today was National Wear Red for Women Day. I wore my red sweater proudly, along with this pin. And Monday I am gonna make a doctor's appointment. Really. I swear.

Day 37

I am 5'10'' tall. My husband is 6'4". Our son is one of the youngest in his class (we sent him to indergarten at the age of 5 instead of 6), and remains about the second or third tallest in his grade. Oh, and did I mention that our last name is Little....

They say that people tend to have dogs that are similar in appearance and personality to their owners. We didn't start out that way. My first dog as an adult was a bassett hound. He was the runt of the litter, and the only one with a light tan and white coat. We named him Flash (I have a soft spot for Dukes of Hazard) and he was the love of my life for nearly 15 years. And although he and I definately shared some personality traits (patience, slow but steady pace, wheezing upon climbing a set of stairs, and fear of spiders), I can't say that he was the personality epitome of the Little household.

And then we got Ben the English Mastiff. He is named after the Big Ben clock in England. We had done a lot of research on the breed, but I had never actually met one in person. I will never forget the day that I went to the breeder's house- I rang the doorbell and what sounded like a thunderstorm erupted from within, and two of the biggest animals I had ever seen in my life bounded to the door. I swear I almost peed myself. Ok, maybe I did pee. A little. It was reflex.

Once I got over how big they were, I realized their gentle demeanor. The puppies were only 6 weeks old and already almost as big as my basset hound had been. The 10-year old (then only 5) and I sat on the floor and played with all of them, trying to decide who would be the next Little. And then I noticed one puppy sitting quietly watching the big screen TV. I could tell he was really looking at it, because his head would move left or right with the action on the screen. Taking this as a sign of intelligence, I proclaimed that he was "the one".

Five years later, Ben weighs in at around 175-180 pounds. He is protective but gentle, playful but patient, and leaves turds the size of my old basset hound in the backyard. Where Flash had relatively been MY dog, Ben is OUR dog, and I would say his physical and personality traits are much closer to his human beings than our previous canine. He is always the center of attention wherever he goes, whether on walks or when visitors come to the house. People have been known to regularly take pictures of him or with him when they come over (selfies or putting their small children next to him so that his size is apparent in the pic), sending them to friends and family with captions such as, "Holy moly look at my friends' dog!"

Ben loves it when my husband is at work. Because that means he gets to sleep in bed with me. Some mornings I wake up and he is curled at my feet, and others he has his head on my husband's pillow like a human. He's so big, there have been several times I have scooted closer in the middle of the night or as I first wake up, subconsciously thinking it's my husband- only to discover morning dog breath and receive a sloppy kiss that definately has less finesse than my husbands...

 

This morning was one of those mornings. The alarm went off, and I turned to catch a few more moments of snuggle time with my hubby. Instead, I found this face. I swear he asked if I wanted to spoon.

Today's pic celebrates how dogs are truly part of the family. I love this dog, all 175 "Little" pounds.

Day 36

Growing up, I was a bit of a tomboy. I can still remember my mother being furious with me after coming home with ANOTHER pair of pants (cordorouy, of course...) with holes in the knees from playing. And under those holes in the pants were scratches and bruises, a relatively constant existence in my younger years.

I still have the scars on my knees from one fateful summer day in the backyard. Wearing nothing but my Wonder Woman underoos and tennis shoes, I was running along the backyard sidewalk pretending to be flying in the Invisible Plane. Unfortuantely, I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and ....well, flew alright. My aunt found me first, bloody and screaming, with both knees full of dirt and asphalt.

Now, just about everyone can think back and remember what their parents used for ailments and injuries when they were a child. Maybe it was cod liver oil. If so, I'm so sorry. Maybe it was Hydrogen Peroxide- again, sorry. At my house, Phisoderm and Neosporin ruled the roost. I can still remember the green Phisoderm bottle uder the bathroom sink, and the giant tube of slimy medicine always present in the cabinet. I still carry Neosporin in all of my own bathrooms, and never go on vacation without it.

Once I became a teenager, and skinned knees were fewer and farther in between, my go-to cure-all switched from Neosporin to Ibuprofen. It has since continued to be my partner and savior from pain and misery. It helped me through countless months of "I swear my uterus is falling out" cramps. When I broke my big toe 5 weeks from gradutaing nursing school, it allowed me to limp through those long clinicals on my feet. It has eased sunburns, sinus headaches, overzealous dental hygeinists, pinched nerves, overdone workouts, and let's not forget hangovers...I've never taken a prescription strength pain pill in my life, instead relying on my friend Ibuprofen to get me through wisdom teeth removal, a uterine ablation, and post partum pain when I could have sworn someone took a baseball bat to my hoohah when I wasn't looking...

Today I shoveled the driveway for an hour. An hour of physical excercise in itself is not what made me sore. It was the damn ice that killed me. It was so hard and thick that I wound up literally taking a garden hoe to it in order to get the ice to break up enough to shovel. That was definately a first, and I am sure I had some neighbors and passer-bys wondering what in the hell that crazy lady was doing hoeing her driveway in the middle of a snowstorm.

So this evening I am relying on my old pal Ibuprofen to allow me to actually stretch out straight in my bed tonight and hopefully be able to get out of bed in the morning. Cheers!

Day 35

I have a weakness. Aside from Harrison Ford, that is. I have a horrible sweet tooth. I could care less about meat- I could easily survive on peanut butter, hummus, and cottage cheese. And I have never had a knack for salty snacks- I don't eat chips, popcorn, or pretzels. But sugar....oh, sugar. How you light up my taste buds and make the world instantly a happier place.

Growing up, sweets were not a regular part of our diet.  We never drank pop, cookies were Fig Newtons at our house, and we didn't have actual ice cream- it was frozen yogurt at best. I'm not complianing- I think growing up with this type of eating attitude has helped me in many ways. But a part of me wonders if I am now overcompensating for not eating junk food as a child. Or maybe that's just an excuse to eat Little Debbies...

When I went to college, I didn't know what to do. There was junk food everywhere at my disposal. The cafeteria at my dorm had little healthy choices, and I didn't really know HOW to eat healthy. It had always just happened because I either ate what was on my plate at home or didn't eat at all. The result was not a Freshman 15...it was a Freshman 40-50.

I moved back home my third year of college and joined the Fire Department. Between my mother's healthy cooking and Fire School (think of  wearing a navy blue uniform under a snowsuit in the summer for hours every day), I worked off my first two years of dorm food (ok, and maybe some dorm beer calories as well...).

Since then, I have relatively stayed the same size, aside from pregnancy and a short period of time where I thought P90X was the greatest thing alive. But my penchant for sugar remains. It is a daily battle of wills, especially when I am alone where peer pressure is not abundant. Traveling alone to Florida? Nobody will know if you eat 2 Milky Ways and a bag of chocolate covered raisins on the 2 flights down there. ..Staying in a hotel room by yourself? Noone will know that the box of Oatmeal Pies you bought at the store next to the hotel are for you and you alone- in one night.

I fought off the little devil on my shoulder (who looks strangely like Paula Deen at times) for both of these situations, but was faced with another dilemma tonight when I made cupcakes for my son. Chocolate cupcakes. Now anyone who bakes knows that cake, cookie, and brownie batter tastes almost more delicious raw than baked. Which is why every kid in America wants to "lick the bowl". I swear, my older 2 kids could hear a hand mixer start up from the next state over- doesn't matter what they were doing, they were always standing next to me by the time I finished mixing, waiting for their obligatory blade to lick clean.

But tonight, I finished mixing the batter, and when I turned off the machine noone was there. No kids. No husband. Just me and the mixing blades full of delicious, raw cake batter. What's a girl to do? Should I call for the 10-year old and share with him? Or should I quickly rinse them off so that their calories do not invade anyone's body. Of course not. I licked those puppies clean so fast you'd have thought I was falling off the wagon. Which I was of course, as I still had my workout clothes on from the gym....Licked the damn bowl clean too- even used my fingers to be sure I didn't leave any behind. I wish I could say I'm ashamed, but I'm too gluttonously happy at the moment to feel anything else.

Tonight's picture represents guilty pleasures and flashbacks to childhood memories. Don't tell the 10-year old- I will deny it to my grave! :)

Day 34

A few years ago, my mom gave me a box full of stuff that she had saved over the years. That stuff was actually a treasure trove of old report cards, art projects, pictures, etc. I found my Kindergarten "report card", and as I read through it I was amazed at how my Kindergarten teacher could have been describing me at my current age.

Now, remember that Kindergarten was a lot different back then. Much less structured and more touchy-feely. There are three things I distinctly remember from that year- taking naps, fighting over who would get to ride the tricycles at recess, and not being able to use scissors. I was the only left-handed kid in the class, and I can still remember crying in frustration because I couldn't get the damn scissors to cut my art project. I also remember that the next day, my teacher had a special pair of left-handed scissors just for me. Looking back now, I'm sure she bought those with her own money. I don't even remember her name, and I wish she knew that I still remember her kindness after all these years.

Report cards were hand written then, and my teacher wrote out quite a bit, making it very personalized- something you rarely see these days. She had mostly positive things to say, and again I was intrigued at how my base personality was rooted in before I even started first grade. She wrote that I was a bright student- picked up on things fast but had trouble at times with questions that were not "black and white". I enjoyed problem solving, and planning (lists!)

She spoke about my patience and leadership attributes. I guess I used to get my work done before others frequently, and would be sure that those others around me didn't need help. I didn't mind taking time to explain things to my fellow Kindergardeners that were struggling with 2+3 or how to spell "cat". I also was always ready to lend a hand in passing out papers, cleaning erasers, or whatever else needed to be done to keep things running smoothly. 

Socially, I didn't know a stranger, and I asked a lot of questions. My poor mother used to probably dread taking me in public, afraid of what I may say or ask. She swears I asked an obese lady when her baby was due, but I'm sure she's lying...

I liked to teach others. My mom caught me one afternoon in front of the TV- unfortunately, an educational program on the delivery of a baby was on. My mom passively turned the channel, hoping I wouldn't make a big deal out if it. The next day she got a phone call from my teacher, as I guess I took it upon myself to get up on the table and explain/demonstrate to my peers where babies REALLY come from..

All in all, I'm still that same Kindergartener. I am patient, love to help others, problem sove, plan (lists!), and I love meeting new people. But most of all, I like to teach. It gives me such satisfaction to see that "lightbulb" turn on above someone's head when they finally understand something they've been struggling with. 

A year ago or so, my Associate Manager got me a USB port as a gift. Not just any USB Port. A USB port in the shape of Yoda. I had been training and grooming her for a couple of years at that point, and I lovingly referred to her at times as my Padawan. So I was touched that she would give me a short, wrinkly, green alien as a gift. Cuz let's face it, Yoda rocks. When it comes to teaching, loyalty, knowledge, patience, and leadership- Yoda is the whole package. He sits on my desk as a symbol and reminder of the kind of person/teacher/leader I want to be.

Today's picture represents the importance of having a mentor, and how at 5-years old we can already be a "mini-me".

Day 33

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I think that is true in many ways.

While in Florida I found myself stopping and noticing simple things that on a regular basis I take for granted. Like sunshine. And green grass. And flowers. The smell of meat on an outdoor grill. 

But even though I was only gone from Friday morning till Sunday evening, and as much as I loved the warm weather...I missed my boys. 

I love traveling. I love seeing how and where other people live, eating new food, meeting new people. And as many new and different things that I experience, there are also things I am happy not to have where I live. Like Hurricane Evacuation Route signs. And really big bugs...

So tonight I am grateful to be back home on our couch that fits all three of us, with the dogs at my feet and a football game on TV. I guess one of the nicest things about traveling is coming home.

Day 32

What a day! I have scrolled thru all my pics and have had such a hard time deciding which one to use and talk about. In the end, I have decided that my day was filled with too many Positive interactions to choose just one. So I will tell you about all of them...

I woke up this morning at 0600, determined not to let any part of a warm day slip past me. I made coffee in my hotel room and walked out to the beach. It was extremely humid and foggy, giving it a beautifully mysterious aura, and I felt like I was the only one out there. I drained my cup of coffee and filled  it back up with seashells to take home, periodically stopping to just listen to the magical, rhythmic sound of the ocean. I saw a crab scuttling across the sand, and someone had taken the time to arrange a bunch of the dark brown seaweed on the beach to resemble Jesus, complete with sideburns and beard. At least I think it was Jesus- I guess it could have been Elvis...

Then I changed from flip-flops to running shoes and took off down the strip. It's amazing how much faster an hour jogging goes by when you are surrounded by new landscape. I saw all sorts of beautiful and typical beach scenes, from surf shops to strip clubs, beautifully manicured lawns to beer cans and used condoms. ..at least I am assuming it was used- I barely missed stepping on it. Yuck.

I bypassed the free breakfast at my hotel (calories!!) and instead wolfed some trail mix down in my room and prepared for the beach. On my way out to the sand I ran Into a little boy and his grandmother. He was walking in front of me rather slowly and the woman apologized. I told her there was no need for apologies and she told the 3-4 year old to wish me a good time at the beach. He promptly winked at me and blew me a kiss- I returned the favor and proceeded back to the beach with a smile on my face.

I basked in the glorious sun for 3 hours, watching surfers and vacationers brave the cold water. I met a lovely retired rcouple from Nebraska who became my best friends in a matter of minutes. We talked on and off for the time I was on the beach, and I learned all about their family and their 50-year anniversary coming up.

 

The surfers were amazing. I saw them As young as around 4 years old up to at least 65- tons of them taking advantage of the previous day's storms which had brought higher than usual waves. I read my Janet Evanovich book and soaked in the rays- and I have the sunburn to prove it!

Heading back to the hotel, I strolled thru the pool and decided that a cool drink was just what I needed. One Piña Colada from the poolside bar later, I collapsed onto my bed, telling Siri to wake me up at 2 PM.

Well, Siri must have heard "3" instead of "2", and I woke up with a start at 2:30. Fortunately the people above me were.....loud....and I woke up in time to prep for the wedding. An hour later, I had the honor of watching my closest cousin exchange vows with her best friend right on the beach- she was beautiful and we couldn't have asked for more perfect weather.

The rest of the evening was spent traditionally, with a DJ playing music, wedding cake, and tossing of bouquets and garter belts. I watched my stepdad and 70-year old uncle  cut a rug on the dance floor and spent time with a cousin I hadn't seen outside of Facebook in over 10 years. 

So I feel like I am justified in being tired as I write this post. It was a full day- one filled with happiness, love, new discoveries, tranquility, family, and sunshine.  That's what today's pic represents- tomorrow, it is back to reality.