Thursday, March 25, 2010

My First Age Spot

The darkened, slightly rough patch of skin cropped up on my right wrist a few months ago. At first glance, I figured it was a previously unnoticed scrape that was in the beginning stages of healing. On further inspection I noticed it was not that at all.

It's apparently an age spot. My first one!

How appropriate that it would arrive a few months before my fiftieth birthday. I am actually a bit ahead of the game in hitting my middle-age milestones as I don't think I'm really quite old enough to develop age spots yet.

Not that anyone would notice. The spot isn't quite as big as a pencil eraser, yet now that I've seen it, it draws my attention like a magnet every time my right arm moves anywhere within my line of vision.

It really isn't that bad. What concerns me is the question, "If I get an age spot at forty nine and a half years of age, what's next?"

I really wish that, in addition to the baby book my mother kept for me, she would have kept a book tracking her own milestones. A diary would have been nice, at the least, especially since my mother also had a teenager (me!) when she was going on fifty.

"Journal Entry, Sept. 3, 1976. Becky Jean started tenth grade today, and I got my first age spot."

How handy that would be! I could read ahead and know what to expect in the months to come.

It's too late for that now and I never would have dreamed I would desire such a resource anyway. As a teenager, I had no intention of ever getting old much less developing wrinkles and age spots!

Maybe this is the way it's suppose to be. Perhaps if I'd known about the age spot ahead of time, I would have stressed over it and expedited the arrival of the already impending "worry lines" on my forehead.

Time goes by, and if we are fortunate enough to survive the process, little inconveniences like age spots and wrinkles are inevitable. They aren't exactly sexy but I feel I've earned every one of them and I will consider them medals of honor to be worn proudly.

As I like to say, "It is what it is!" ... and this thing on my wrist definitely is my first doggone age spot!

March 25, 2010
Becky Taylor
Personal Development Coach for Women
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

I Haven't Slept In Thirty-Two Years

March 23, 2010

I’ve been feeling exhausted for a while now and I think I understand why. Given the fact I gave birth to my oldest daughter when I was seventeen years old and have been raising kids ever since, perhaps I shouldn’t be so taken by surprise.

My firstborn will turn thirty-two years old next month, and I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept all night uninterrupted since I brought her home from the hospital.

Call me weird, but I actually like to sleep. Hence, I take issue with being plum tuckered out most of the time. One of the top items on my bucket list is to at some point of my life be able to go to sleep when I want and not wake up until I’m good and ready! As an almost fifty year old grandmother of five (soon to be six), is that really too much to ask?

Of course, it’s mostly my own fault. I likely sabotaged my aspiration of ever sleeping again by having my third child at the age of thirty-four. Not just any child mind you but I brought “the boy”, aka Adam David, into the world. By the time he was born, his next youngest sibling (who incidentally never closed her eyes from birth to about three years of age) was thirteen years old.

What in the world was I thinking? I was within a few years of being able to sleep at night for the first time since I was seventeen, and then I decided another baby would be a grand idea! By that time I felt like my life was fairly settled. I had a good job and was actually old enough (in retrospect, borderline too old) to have a child. Never the less, I believed it would be fun to experience raising a child as a mature adult, as opposed to having my other two babies when I was barely more than a baby myself.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Adam never slept. I remember carrying my wide eyed bundle of joy into the pediatrician’s office when he was about six months old and pleading for help. Adam was a breast fed baby who at that age insisted on nursing about every forty- five minutes all night long. I’d also gone back to work by then, and had to get up at 4:30 a.m. in order to be at my job by 6:30. The doctor listened sympathetically, and reassured me that the sleepless stage would pass.

When I refused to leave his office until he gave me a more encouraging, realistic answer, he finally suggested I slip the boy a little Benadryl just before bedtime for a few nights in a row in order to get him into the” habit” of sleeping.

With a new found sense of hope, I drove right to the store and picked up a bottle of what I believed would be the answer to my prayers.

It did help … a little, but my dream of being able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time was still not to be realized.

As far as I can tell, Adam still never sleeps (at least not at night) “The boy” is actually now a delightful fifteen year old young man (mind you, I’m probably using “delightful” to describe him, out of sleep deprivation- induced delirium.) He is a night owl, preferring to stay up most of the night and sleep during the daylight hours instead. Of course, this causes a certain problem where little things like, oh say SCHOOL is concerned.

And Benadryl no longer works.

I’d take the Benadryl myself if I weren’t hesitant to fall into a sound sleep for fear Adam would take advantage of my unconscious state and do something I’d regret. As it is, he keeps me on my toes when I am awake. I shudder to imagine what might happen if he thought I might actually sleep through one of his random impulsive acts of mischief.

Should I abandon all hope? Perhaps I would make it easier for myself if I just gave up the nonsensical notion of ever sleeping well in this lifetime.

Maybe.

At this stage of the game, I can only pray that when I get to Heaven, Saint Peter greets me with a pillow and a blanket and directs me straight to a big comfortable bed in a quiet corner, with instructions to simply sleep for a few thousand years. I believe that would be an apt reward for my years spent forfeiting sleep for the sake of raising my children (especially the boy) here on earth.


Becky Taylor

Bold New Day! Personal Development Coaching for Women

http://www.boldnewday.com

Friday, March 19, 2010

Suddenly EVERYONE is a Life Coach!

Maybe it's because I am an actual hardworking Certified Life Coach that I notice, but it seems to me everyone and his/her brother is calling their self a "Life Coach" these days. The moniker is smeared on posters, books, and in the credits that roll after t.v. talk shows.

It's tagged onto people's lists of titles like it's an after thought.

It makes me crazy!

I saw an ad for a new t.v. show featuring a "Life Coach" the other day. I couldn't tell for sure, but it appeared to be announcing some new sitcom. At best, it looked like the whole theme of the show is to poke fun at coaching. The ad showed a woman who apparently does nothing but smile, repeat cliche's and tell people what she thinks they should do ... all very sweetly, of course.

I'm sure it will make every person on the planet want to run right out and hire a bubble headed coach who's so totally detached from reality they think everything can be fixed with a pat answer and a motherly word of advice.

So your husband just left you for a younger woman? "Oh honey! Don't worry! There's plenty of fish in the sea. Here's a cookie and a glass of milk. That should make everything better! Now get out there and have a nice day!."

Next client!

Even worse, I noticed one popular t.v. personality, known best for their arrogant attitude and barking orders (and insults) at the people they work with has added "Life Coach" to their public resume!

What bothers me is that people are having a difficult enough time figuring out what a Life Coach is, without the"help" of all this mis-leading information.

It's giving real Life Coaches a bad name!

The truth is, just about anyone can call their self a Life Coach and get by with it but a real Life Coach isn't going to spit meaningless cliche's at you or tell you everything is going to be o.k. when they know darn well it isn't. They won't scream at you or scold you for any reason. They won't put you or your situation in a box with a million others. They'll be interested in helping you find a way to make your life what you want it to be.

"Life" is about growing personally. It's about discovering who you truly are and what you were put on this earth to do. Life is to be lived, not just tolerated, sugar coated, or ignored.

If you want to be screamed at, lied to, mis-informed or told what I think you should do ... Don't hire me as your coach, you'll be sorely disappointed!

Am I an optimistic person who will try to help you find the silver lining around your cloud?

Certainly!

But I also know that behind some clouds is a thunderstorm and all the happy thoughts in the world will not keep you from getting soaked! Sometimes the best you can hope for is to get through a situation intact. Sure, there's likely a lesson to be learned in every process, but it's not always a pleasant experience. I'll help you learn coping mechanisms, but I won't say things to make you feel guilty for being human and having a bad day once in a while.

I'd like to think any Life Coach worth their pay would do the same for their clients.

Life Coaching is a serious business. I really wish people would stop throwing the term around like it doesn't take any talent, skills or training to become a "Life Coach".

There! I said it! I feel better now and I shall put my soapbox away for the day.

Thank you for listening. My name is Becky Taylor and I am a Life Coach!

March 19, 2010
Bold New Day! Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Sauerkraut,Sausage and Dumplings! Oh My!

Sauerkraut, with sausage and dumplings was a staple at every evening meal at our house while I was growing up. Not just any sauerkraut, but kraut made according to my Dad's family recipe brought over from Germany in the 1800's.

My sister and I have often joked that in order to survive in our family, the babies had to be born with lead stomachs. We had to watch Dad pretty closely whenever we brought home a new arrival, because the first chance he got, he would slip them a taste of "kraut juice".

I kid you not! We'd turn around and he'd have a teaspoon up to their mouths and they'd be smacking their lips in delight! We could only assume our children liked the taste because we'd both eaten plenty of kraut throughout our pregnancies.

Of the seven grandchildren in the family, there's only one I know of who doesn't love sauerkraut, and that's my youngest son. What can I say? I suppose sooner or later a finicky one would have to come along.

I never understood why most of my friends turned their noses up at sauerkraut until I figured out that not everyone was privileged to have the same kind we had. Our kraut was totally different than the store bought stuff. Ours started out as cabbage in our own garden. When the time (which was determined by the phase of the moon) came, we'd pick the huge heads of cabbage and gather the kraut cutter, mason jars, canning salt and the garden hose together on the back porch.

Dad would methodically slide each head of cabbage back and forth over the blades of the kraut cutter, producing mounds of shavings, which my sister, mother and I would scoop up and put into mason jars one after another.

Picture an 10' x 20' concrete porch covered with mason jars full of shredded cabbage! We had to have enough kraut to get us through the whole year, and for our family, that was a LOT!

After the cabbage was in the jars, we'd put a handful of canning salt on top. Then came the garden hose, (which was my favorite part of the process). The jars would be topped off with water right out of the hose, and lids would be applied loosely. Dad explained that if the lids were tightened right away, the jars would explode from the gases that developed as the cabbage turned to kraut.

We'd carry the finished jars into the basement where they'd sit for several weeks (also determined by the phase of the moon) Only then could we tighten the lids.

Once the allotted time had passed, the kraut would be declared "ready"by the kraut-master himself, and the feasting would begin!

I remember so well, Dad leaning over the stove with smoked sausage sizzling in an iron skillet and sauerkraut simmering in a separate pan. After frying, he would mix the sausage into the kraut.

Next came dumplings, made simply from eggs and flour. He'd form a stiff mixture from the two ingredients and pinch off pieces the size of a quarter, dropping them one by one into the bubbling pot of kraut and sausage.

After the dumplings were added, he'd take the skillet with the meat drippings still in it and add flour to make "gravy". The gravy was apparently a very important step, as Dad explained to me more than once, that in order to be done correctly, it had to be poured over the top and allowed to seep slowly down through the rest of the mixture.

Ahhh! The aroma flooded the house and made our mouths water! There's nothing much better than a meal of sauerkraut, sausage and dumplings with a side of mashed potatoes (also home grown and made) and a tall glass of sweet tea!

When I visited my family in Ohio over New Years, I managed to swipe a couple quart jars of kraut from my sister. Today, I finally decided to prepare the dish I grew up on. This is a real treat! Since neither my husband or son care for sauerkraut sausage and dumplings, I get the whole pan to myself!

I'm not sure I did everything exactly right. I couldn't resist the urge to stir the gravy into the rest of the mix before it had time to "seep" in ... and my dumplings came out a bit more spongy than I would have liked. Over all, I think I did ok though. I know Dad would be proud to know I at least made the effort.

Tonight, I will feast on the wondrous delight as I reminisce the days of making kraut on the back porch with my parents and sister on those hot summer evenings forty years ago.

Oooooo! It's going to be wunderbar!


Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com