eatthefrostingfirst

 So I follow a well known blog who has a Facebook  parent page.  I don’t know why I follow because many a day I sit and yell at the people commenting.  Not really, because I don’t respond in writing to them, but I usually yell to myself or to my husband (who isn’t really listening because he continually tells me not to read the comments or to not listen to people who I don’t know ) Truth. But I feel like I need to respond but since I refuse to get into banter with people on a parents page I will voice my issues here. Lucky you.  I have two children. Night and day. (Aka oldest and youngest ) I am one of two children. We are also night and day.  You may be the night to your day sibling also. Or maybe you birthed night and day (or maybe you have an afternoon kid thrown in there) You get my point. Square pegs don’t fit into round holes and last I heard; not all of us are round pegs. There is no right path. There is no “should” (except when stopping at a red light. You really should do this

  Last nights edition of what I ponder at 1am Why is my wedding dress- preserved in a box- still under my bed? I have no daughters and can’t see the future need for it but I, not only, can’t see myself opening the box, I can’t see myself ridding it either.  So it stays under my bed. Am guessing for another 20 years. I wonder what would’ve happened if the pandemic was in the 80s? There was no zoom back then. Would school have been cancelled for a year?  How would people have worked remotely? Silver lining: good thing this happened during advanced technological times. And lastly- why must my dog come see what I’m doing when I roll over in bed? She was dead asleep seconds ago.  And finally lastly (as opposed to just lastly)- If you get in 11000 steps and are all excited- don’t think you celebrate with chicken parm for dinner and then get mad that you didn’t lose weight- even tho you walked 5 miles.  Basically- stop dieting and live. I’ve spent 20 years dieting and here I am still complain

 I was getting ready for bed. Took my meds (cancer meds, vitamin d because my levels are low and magnesium citrate because I have massive restless leg issues these days)  (Restless leg is totally real by the way) Brushed my teeth  Put in my retainers (because at almost 53 I spent a year in Invisalign and now I’m wearing retainers like my two teenagers) I can’t see how to fix the floss that fell off the spool so need to grab my glasses.  I get into bed and fix the weighted blanket (which helps with my restless legs). I reshape my body pillow (which I’ve used since I was pregnant with oldest ) (almost 18 years)  and get situated.  I kiss DH goodnight and after a few seconds started to get a hot flash and needed to kick off weighted blanket and roll over.  The body pillow needs to move sides with me and the blanket is so damn heavy I’m wrestling to move it over, I then break out in laughter. I’m talking uncontrollable giggles.  The whole scene is out of a Seinfeld episode and I cannot con

 A friend of mine asked if I wouldn't mind being interviewed for her dissertation.  She is doing her study on survivors guilt in breast cancer.  I know a bit about this.  It started in 2009.  I was diagnosed with extensive DCIS and underwent a single mastectomy.  A few years later, I was honored to be part of a Breast Cancer Awareness day with the New England Patriots.  I met some incredible women that afternoon and left feeling super emotional. Not only because I was on the field with so many people who went through, or were going through, cancer- but because I felt like I didn't deserve to be there.  I had ONLY gone through a mastectomy.  I was listening to stories about chemo brain, scarves and hats and radiation burns. I was one of the "lucky" ones; but felt I didn't deserve to be recognized for being a "survivor". It was that day that I learned I hated the term.  SURVIVOR. Sure. I survived breast cancer.   But I did nothing special. It was luck. Or