Tunic Tops and Tummy Troubles

I had my yearly checkup at the GYN yesterday.

Yes ladies, I can sense your sympathies oozing through cyberspace!

The good news is, I came home with a clean bill of health (gynecologically speaking.)

The bad news is, the doctor informed me there is no "magic pill" available to reverse these mid-life weight gaining issues.

I told him I'd packed on about fifteen pounds since last summer and he nodded,then confirmed that fifteen pounds was about what would be expected. He said the average reported weight gain for my "age" is around one-two lbs per month!

And there's very little I can do about it.

Grrrr!

OK, so there is actually something I can do. I can eat less AND increase my exercise.

Excuse me? I don't eat much as it is. Typically, I lose weight in the summer because I often "forget" to eat and I am generally more active.

Yet, this summer has been the exception to the rule. I've done all the above, in addition to placing more emphasis on diet and I continue to gain.

I asked the doc if the "gaining one-two pounds a month" would go on for the rest of my life, and he assured me it should "plateau" at some point. So, depending on when/if it plateaus, I could weigh fifteen more pounds by next summer!

I just don't want to think about it. This was suppose to be my summer of liberation...the year I turn fifty, not the year I gain fifty!

Mother Nature is a cruel prankster for sure. Just about the time I was getting comfortable in my own skin and not worrying about my figure being less than super-model perfect, she throws me this curve ball. I am now filling out the aforementioned skin, stretching it to it's limits like never before.

Who knew midlife would be such a challenge?

Who ever suspected it would strike such a blow to my ego?

Certainly not this die-hard optimist!

I suppose I'll adjust ... eventually. I realize a little weight gain is nothing compared to the more serious issues I could be facing right now. I am healthy and for that I am very thankful!

My celebration of Summer 2010 shall continue despite the ever increasing size of my mid-section. Thank goodness empire waistlines and tunic tops are in this year! Happy 50th Birthday to me!

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

All The Wrinkled Ladies

In keeping with the "theme" of recent posts, here's a video by Christian Comedian, Anita Renfro. "All the Wrinkled Ladies"

Enjoy!

Grandma Buys A Bathing Suit .. (The Sequel)

After buying the new bathing suit with more "coverage" a few weeks ago and discovering I felt pretty much miserable (and old) in it, I bit the bullet and went bathing suit shopping again last Thursday.

I was feeling a bit brave when I dug out my old favorite two piece and tried it on last week. You know what? It really doesn't look that bad. I officially brought it out of retirement and started wearing it to the pool.

Feeling secure in my old two piece once again, I returned to the store on Friday and bought not one, but three new two piece suits. The first one, a bit more revealing than my old favorite, and the other two a lot more revealing than any I've worn in recent history.

Do I look like a nineteen year old in any of the suits? Of course not!

Do I really care? Nope!

I don't go to the pool to compete with anyone, neither am I trying to attract the attention of any members of the opposite sex. I don't crave positive re-enforcement or wolf whistles (except from my husband, of course) I just want to be comfortable and cool. It's that simple.

I feel good about my decision. Better yet, I feel downright liberated!

I will wear my new bathing suits with my head held high. Anyone who doesn't like it ... feel free to look the other way!


Becky J. Taylor
June 21, 2010

http://www.boldnewday.com

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

The Procrastinator

I don't know why, but I've put off mailing in my papers requesting an increase in funds from the ex,to the


Child Support Enforcement Agency.

I filled them out almost a month ago, and noticed at that time the return envelope they provided seemed way to small for the stack of papers I'd been asked to complete and return. I also wanted to write a short note to the case worker explaining a couple items on the forms.

For those two very small reasons, I put the papers back on my "to do" list and didn't get them back out until this morning.

In my own self defense, I should add that the hearing concerning my case won't be held until June 28, which is also the date the papers are due in. I found that a little odd. It took the Child Support Enforcement Agency four weeks to get the papers to me after I first requested them. After that, they gave me (and the ex) six weeks to fill them out and send them back in.

Once they finish reviewing the information and determine if there will be a change in support, it will be another four weeks before the changes take effect.

I did the math .. By the time this is over, I will have waited fourteen weeks for the increase I requested (if they decide I qualify) yet from what I can tell, they will have spent about 20 minutes total plugging in my numbers vs. the ex's numbers to come up with a decision.

Whew!

No wonder I put it off. It probably took me almost that long just to cram all those papers into the envelope!

I'm trusting all my efforts will pay off and I'll be rewarded with some financial help from Adam's father. I have a stack of medical bills from the kid's hospitalization and numerous E.R. visits last year, none of which I've had any assistance with from the ex.

I can only hope ... and pray I manage to walk these papers out to the mailbox sometime within the next week!

Becky Taylor
6-16-2010
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Grandma Buys a Bathing Suit

I've outgrown my old bathing suits.

Since we've lived near the lake I've acquired several. My most recent favorite has been a cute little two piece (no, I'm not talking "bikini") that shows not too much and not too little. I've worn it when Walt and I were out on the lake alone, or when we've been on vacation.

I have another suit I like a lot as well. It's also a two piece, but the bottom is made like a pair of shorts with a little skirt over it. It isn't made out of that awful stretchy material a lot of skirted bottoms have. It's more like the regular stuff you'd expect shorts to be made of.

The top covers all the way down to the waistband of the shorts, so this suit provides more coverage than the first one. I wore it when I was planning to be more active, like when the grand kids were with us, or I thought I might be riding on the tube behind the boat. It's the one I wore when we went white water rafting too, so obviously I've felt fairly secure in it.

The rest of my swimsuits are pretty much mix and match. I bought one that has the regular "granny" style skirt on it. I don't care much for that one and have used it mostly only as a spare.

I own another two piece suit but I've only worn the top with the bottoms of the second suit I mentioned. It wasn't ideal, but it worked.

I tried my favorite suit on late last summer and realized it wasn't fitting quite like it use to. I knew I'd picked up a few pounds, but didn't think it was enough to make a difference in the way my clothes looked on me.

I was wrong. The cute little two piece "vacation" suit went back in the drawer and I pulled out suit number two. It still fit (pretty much). Thank God!

Earlier this spring, I tried my second favorite suit on again and noticed the bottoms were difficult to zip. I managed to get into it, but I didn't feel nearly as comfortable as I'd felt in the past. That's when I had to admit I was going to have to buy a new suit.

I suppose all women come to a similar moment of realization somewhere around the age of fifty. Even when we can get into the same size clothing as before, it fits differently. Suddenly all our flesh (and flab) moves to a new location on our bodies and apparently there isn't a darn thing we can do about it!

Except buy a new bathing suit.

I looked at bathing suits online last night just to get a feel for what was out there. I searched for suits that would slim the areas that need slimming and enhance the areas I'd like to enhance. It turns out they do make those suits, but not in my price range!

I had to compromise.

I settled on one I found on a nationwide department store website and went in search of it at the local store this morning. It's very similar to my second favorite suit, except the bottoms have regular bathing suit pants under the skirt instead of shorts.

And it covers a lot more.

Oh, and it's made out of that horrible stretchy material I associate with the "granny" skirts. Grr!

The one I bought wasn't the only one I tried on while I was there. I tried to find one I thought I'd like better.

That didn't happen. I noticed that every one I tried on seemed to cover more and more of my body. I came to the very sad realization that unless things turn around for me real soon, I'll be looking for a suit fashioned after those worn by women in the 1800's. (Remember the ones with the sleeves and knee length bloomers?)

I settled on the suit I'd found online. Obviously I'm not exactly in love with it but it will have to do for now.

It's a very "safe" suit. I won't have to worry about playing with the grand kids, riding the tube behind the boat, or white water rafting in it.

For that matter I probably won't feel out of place if I need to wear it while grocery shopping or going to a doctor's appointment. I've seen plenty of women out in public wearing a lot less and thought nothing of it!

Well, maybe not fifty year old women, but you know what I mean.

I suppose you might say I am at an awkward stage of life. It's the stage between trying to camouflage the tricks Mother Nature is playing with my body, and that where I truly just don't care what other people think anymore.

In the meantime it's just what I said ... awkward. In some ways I don't want to move on to the "I truly don't care" stage, while in others I wish I'd just hurry up and stop giving a darn!

Not giving a darn would make it much easier for me when I show up at the neighborhood pool in my 1800'style suit complete with sleeves and bloomers!

Until I make the transition, here's a picture of me taken in my previously favorite swim suit. Walt and I were on vacation year before last. I was waving to him from the beach in Bucerias, Mexico.

Or so I thought.

How was I to know I was actually waving good-bye to the days when I could wear a suit like that and get by with it?

Bye-bye cute little two piece suit. I hate to see you go ...



June 1, 2010
Becky J. Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Stupid Questions and Fashion Statements

The more I think about my experience at the spinal specialist yesterday, the more aspects of it I find perplexing.

At this particular moment, I am feeling perplexed about my experience with the x-ray department.

Apparently those lovely gowns doctors offices use to provide are no longer humiliating enough for their patients. The girl who took me to the exam room handed me a pair of paper shorts instead, and explained that I was suppose to remove my jeans and put them on in preparation for my x-rays.

I guess the "shorts" could be better described as "bloomers" as they were very baggy and elasticized around the waist and legs. They were a lovely shade of "medical blue", a color which clashed terribly with the blouse I was wearing. They were also very loose around my waist. In retrospect, I suppose that is further proof that they add ten pounds to every patient's reported weight to make up for the fudge factor they assume is involved. (Again ... my bad!)

After the girl left, I obediently removed my jeans, slipped into the ugly shorts/bloomers, and sat down on the exam table to wait. The sight of my pasty legs dangling from the edge of the table was a brutal reminder of my desperate need of some sunshine, and only added to my embarrassment concerning the whole situation.

Soon, a young man (of course they would have to send a young man) came to escort me to the x-ray department which naturally involved walking down a very long corridor, me praying I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew while holding tightly onto the waistband of the bloomers in hopes of preventing them from dropping to my ankles en-route.

Noticing my attachment to the shorts, the young man jokingly informed me I could take them home with me if I wanted. (Uh... like that was going to happen.)

Finally, we rounded the corner and entered the x-ray room where I was greeted by the sweet young female x-ray technician. At that point I'd been at the office for about thirty minutes and had met at least five employees, all of whom were probably younger than my oldest child.

The sweet x-ray technician smiled, said hello, and then asked me if there was any possibility I could be pregnant.

Could I be what?

I had to laugh.

I also had to wonder at what age they stop asking women that question. I mean, really!

I know there are women in this world who have children very late in life, but they usually go to extreme measures to become pregnant. In fact,I've never personally heard of any women my age who got pregnant the "old fashioned way"

Taking that into consideration, I have to believe if a late forties or early fifty-ish woman did walk into the x-ray department pregnant, she would probably be so proud of her pregnancy, she'd be sporting a maternity top with the words "Yes, I AM!" plastered all over it.

So, I guess next time I go for an x-ray I'll wear a shirt that a) co-ordinates nicely with "medical blue" and b) has the words NO! I AM NOT! printed on the front of it.

Perhaps the x-ray technician was simply giving me the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she hadn't looked at the age listed on my chart and thought, based on my appearance, there was a remote possibility I might be young enough to be with child.

Or maybe it was because of those incredibly sexy shorts I was wearing. For all I know, they might actually have been a very good "look" for me.(The young man who escorted me down the hall did seem to think I might want to take them home, remember?) Could it be they actually made me appear much younger, vibrant ... and fertile?

Nah, I guess not. I'll just have to add "stupid questions" and "embarrassing fashion statements" to the ever growing list of medical mysteries I'll never understand.



5/28/10
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Liar! Liar!

... well, my pants are definitely not on fire!

When I went to the Emergency Room last week, they did not weigh me. Instead, they asked me how much I weighed.

And I told them the truth.

It happened again this morning. I was asked the same question at my follow up appointment with the spinal specialist.

Just like last week in the E.R., I did not lie.

I should also mention that when I got my drivers license renewed I reported my actual weight to them too.

(Do we not pay these people enough money to buy their own scales, or what?)

I realize I've done myself a great injustice here, especially having learned from my medical background that people almost always fudge the numbers on these sorts of things. I've not done any intensive research, but my guess would be that most report their weight to be at least ten pounds less than it really is.

Now,thanks to my "zero tolerance" honesty policy, the people at the hospital, the spinal specialist, and the license bureau all probably assume I weigh ten pounds more than I actually do.

What was I thinking?

As far as the Emergency Room is concerned, I was practically delirious with pain there so that's a fair explanation for spewing out an accurate number. On the other hand, I have absolutely no excuse for being so truthful with the license bureau and the doctor's office.

My regular doctor either makes more money, or is wiser than the others. He has a scale of his own so he doesn't rely on his patients to tell him how much they weigh. (He probably figured out that most people are liars long ago.)

It makes me feel slightly better to remember that the last time I weighed this much (as indicated by my regular doctor's scales)I was immediately told that I definitely didn't look "that heavy".

(I'm fairly certain the medical assistant who made that comment meant it as a compliment.)

A few moments later, I mentioned my weight to my doctor (since he didn't bring it up) and he assured me I was "fine".

Maybe that's why I felt so secure in reporting my real weight to all those other people.

I'm fine. My weight is fine. (Someone should write a book with that title!)

Obviously I was not totally traumatized by the experience. After all that, I still had a chili cheese dog for dinner this evening.

But one thing's for certain, no matter if I gain even more weight before I see the scale-free medical people again, I'm giving them the same number I gave them last time.

And if I manage to lose a few pounds, I am going to tell them I weigh ten less pounds than the actual number really is. I owe it to myself for being so honest with them all these years!

Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Flavor

I was indulging in my daily "guilty pleasure" this morning, (which happens to be watching the Wendy Williams show). Tia and Tamara,the twins from the old sitcom "Sister Sister" were her guests.

During their interview, Wendy mentioned that Tia and Tamara are actually of mixed race, their mother being Bohemian. They said that's where they get their flavor.

I don't recall ever hearing the word "flavor" used in that sense, but I really do like the sound of it.

I also feel a bit slighted because I now realize I don't have "flavor". What a slap in the face that is to my already waning sense of self esteem.

I've always been pretty much a wall-flower. Sure, I clean up ok, but overall I'm just your average American female ... and now a middle-aged one at that!

My father's family came from Germany and my mother's family is from England (yawn). My maternal great-great grandmother was a Native American, but the two or three drops of Native American blood that possibly could have filtered down to me, isn't enough to give me any flavor.

I feel like plain vanilla ice cream on the Baskin-Robbins menu of life. Who in their right mind is going to give vanilla ice cream a second thought when there are options available such as mint chocolate chip, rocky road, and even cotton candy!

(Well, actually I usually order the plain vanilla but that just further proves my point.)

When God was passing out flavor, why didn't He give me some? Surely there's enough to go around.

There's nothing I can do about it now. For all I know, He might have offered me a dash of flavor before He sent me to earth, and I declined.

"No thanks, I'd rather just be boring."

He probably just caught me on an "off" day, or maybe I was distracted.

Whatever the case, I wish He'd ask me again because daggone it, now I wish I had some flavor!

Becky J. Taylor
May 20, 2010
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Time Out!

I swear, I had every intention of blogging on May 13th, which was the beginning of the three month countdown to my fiftieth birthday.

But I got busy and forgot to do it. Maybe that had something to do with me getting older. Who knows? Or for that matter, who cares? The truth is, I'm finding myself blaming a lot more on my age these last few months.

I started "Pushing Fifty" (both the blog and the emotional ordeal) a couple years ago. In the beginning,the blog was intended to be an entirely light-hearted account of my journey to the big Five-Oh!

I'm not one of those women who has ever worried about getting older. "I am what I am" has always been my motto.

"Love me or leave me"

"Age is just a number."

All the usual cliches have applied.

That was then, this is now! The closer I get to August 13, 2010, the more impact the fact the "number" of my next "age" is going to be FIFTY, is having on me.

This use to be much easier to ignore. Call me the Queen of Denial. My body, mind, and spirit made a pact that as long as "we" agreed I was not going to let my birthday have any adverse affects on me, the date would only serve as an excuse to throw caution to the wind, run off to Mexico and have a huge, week long celebration! Friday, August Thirteenth, 2010 aka my fiftieth birthday would be a day worthy of great acknowledgment. No more, no less.

Then, my body decided to rebel. It started packing on pounds, entirely of it's own accord. No permission granted (no permission asked, for that matter)

My face suddenly started catching up on all the wrinkles it had refused to take on in the past. WHAM! One night the wrinkle fairy crept into my room and slapped me with the wrinkle stick ... twice, at least!

It has apparently become the goal of my physical self to LOOK fifty by the time my birthday rolls around.

Never in the history of ME have I ever looked my age!

I would have killed to look my age back when I was a teenager. I felt that way well into my twenties. I didn't like being mistaken for a youngster then.

By the time I hit my thirties and forties, I began to enjoy looking younger than my age. I accepted that it was a blessing, not a curse, to be mistaken for a younger woman than I truly was.

And now? Well now I am really missing that about me.

I look in the mirror, or at recent photographs of myself and wonder "Who is that older woman?"

I am calling a "time out" on this whole pushing fifty thing. I need a break, a chance to regroup and come up with a new strategy. Mexico, or some exotic getaway, is definitely still in the plan, but the rest of this stuff ... not so much!

I need to catch my breath! (and lose twenty pounds)

I need a face lift! (like ... yesterday!)

I need lots of other things, including some heavy meds and possibly a private investigator to search for loopholes in my birth certificate.

I don't want to be fifty, but even more than that I don't want to look or feel my age!


May 18, 2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Me, Myself, and Becky Taylor

Today started out in a rather unusual way.

Admittedly, the way life's been behaving lately, it's gotten difficult to distinguish between usual and unusual.

But this morning was "unusual" in a happily amusing sort of way. I got a text from my daughter Angel in Ohio almost as soon as I woke up. She said my four year old grandson, Jayden had called to her from the living room, saying "Mamaw Becky" was on t.v. Angel checked the screen and saw there was a Sylvan Learning Center ad airing which featured a woman whose name was displayed in the lower corner of the screen.

The name was "Becky Taylor"

How odd! Jayden thought his Mamaw Becky was on t.v. and the woman he'd mistaken to be me just happened to have the same name.

Of course, Jayden is only four years old and can't read yet. That would seem to eliminate the possibility he'd simply recognized the lady's name.

I thought about it and recalled seeing the same ad several months ago. I wouldn't have remembered it except for the fact that I'd noticed Becky Taylor and I shared the same name.

End of story, right?

After giving it more thought, I considered the possibility that the other Becky Taylor and I might also share similar coloring, etc, therefore making it possible that Jayden had the two of us confused as one and the same.

The name thing? Well, that part was surely a very funny coincidence!

If you've followed me very long at all, you'll know I can't let these things rest that easily. I had to investigate.

A quick "google" search revealed a photo of the other Becky, lending evidence to my theory that our similar hair and skin color had confused my grandson.

My attempts to find the Sylvan commercial online were not quite as successful. That came as a real disappointment because I really needed to figure out if the name "Becky Taylor" had been spoken at any time during the ad.

My curiosity was beginning to get the best of me, so I did what came most naturally.

I looked up the other Becky Taylor on facebook (yes, I found her there) and sent her a message explaining the situation to her.

Becky Taylor seemed to get as much of a kick out of the story as I, and verified for me that her name is not mentioned verbally in the ad at all. The only reference to "Becky Taylor" is the one printed on the screen.

Now, let's take a "logical" look at the facts, shall we?

What are the chances of there being more than one Becky Taylor in the United States?

"Becky" is a very common name, and so is "Taylor" ... so do the math. There are hundreds, if not thousands of us. Nothing remarkable to report on that aspect of the story.

The likelihood of any two of those Becky Taylors bearing similar physical traits?

Well, America is the proverbial "melting pot" of the world, so again, nah! No big surprise there either.

The possibility of a four year old boy living in southern Ohio, seeing someone on a t.v. commercial and mistaking her for his "Mamaw Becky" who lives in Georgia?

Still no big shock factor there. (YAWN)

BUT, a four year old boy in southern Ohio spotting a woman on t.v. whom he believes to be his "Mamaw Becky" and it turns out the woman on t.v. and his Mamaw Becky actually share the same name?

That's a bit more difficult to explain away.

Becky Taylor (of Sylvan Learning Centers fame) thinks Jayden recognized the name, and in conjunction with the other similarities, came to the conclusion that he was seeing his "Mamaw Becky" on television.

My daughter was hesitant to accept that possibility, until I reminded her that Jayden had likely seen my name written on the Mothers Day card she'd recently mailed to me. After a short period of convincing argument on my end, Angel finally agreed (or at least decided to humor me) to consider that possibility.

Long story short ...

It is a small world after all.

Reality is truly stranger than fiction.

My four year old grandson is most likely a genius (just like my other four grandchildren happen to be)

...and I have a new friend. Her name is Becky Taylor, just like me!

5/11/2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Woe is Me ... Slobberin' In My Mothers Day Tea ,,,

My husband asked me yesterday what I would like for Mothers Day. I told him I only wanted my kids all together with me for the afternoon.

Then we laughed.

We laughed just like we laugh at some point around all the holidays when I say how much I'd like my kids (and grand kids, of course) together to celebrate with me.

We laugh at ourselves for thinking for one milli-second that it could actually ever happen.

It isn't like I have a dozen children. I only have three, two of which are grown with families of their own. One is still at home, and although I suppose he'll be here with me tomorrow in the technical sense of the word, his mind couldn't be farther from "Mothers Day".

He's fifteen, so I can't fault him all that much. He's thinking right now about computers, girls, and getting his license this summer. (In that order)

The boy did clean his room thoroughly yesterday. I could fantasize that he was doing that as a gift to me, but of course I know better. He wants to have a friend over this afternoon and was trying to increase the odds of me saying "yes".

I feel like some sort of oddity. I can't remember ever having all my kids together with me for Mothers Day, much less it being any kind of day to be celebrated.

My youngest daughter,Emily has spent Mothers Day weekend with me a few times. Those have been my favorites. A couple years back, we went to the Renaissance Fair together. That was a blast! The year after that she and her family spent the weekend with us and we had a "regular" Mothers Day weekend which included a picnic at the lake. It too, was loads of fun!

My second-born can't be here all the time but she has a way of making every day we are together "Mothers Day" for me. That definitely puts a permanent smile across my heart.

It isn't her fault she can't be here tomorrow. I totally understand.

I also have to take partial responsibility for making it difficult for my children to be together. I was the one who moved to Georgia, over five hundred miles away from "home". It isn't like they can "pop in" after church to take me to dinner.

No. It would take some effort. Far be it from me to expect that.

(Although I could mention that it never seemed to be any more likely to happen before I moved away)

As far as my own mother is concerned, I know I wasn't the "perfect" daughter when it came to Mothers Day either. I'm sure there's more I could have done to make her feel special that day in May. I was, however, at her house nearly every Sunday of my adult life before I moved.

I know I sound like I'm whining. I really don't mean to be. Part of my problem is that I am unusually bored with life in general right now. When I get bored I daydream about nonsensical stuff ... like taking off on a world cruise ... moving to a deserted island somewhere ... hitting the lottery (so I can afford the first two daydreams) ... or having all my kids together with me to celebrate Mothers Day.

I'll put my soapbox away now ... at least until August when my fiftieth birthday will be rolling around. For that, I've had a long-standing fantasy about all my children and their kids spending two weeks with me in Mexico, where I would watch my grand-children play on the beach, then spend the evening of my birthday ushering in the second century of my life in great style.

I've told them all in no uncertain terms what I've envisioned my big 5-0 birthday party to look like, Mexican beach and grand-babies included. Lets just say we know already that isn't going to be happening. I'm not being negative, but rather realistic, when I say that. It's a fact, there are extenuating circumstances in place that will definitely prevent it from coming to pass.

Oh well! Such is life. I will survive!

If you still have your Mother with you, it isn't too late to make her day tomorrow truly special. The greatest thing you can give her is not "presents" but your presence and your love. C'mon. It's ONE day out of the year. It isn't going to kill you! And, after she's gone, you won't kick yourself nearly as hard for never having taken the time and effort to appreciate her while she was alive.

Happy Mothers Day!

Now, I think I'm going to go rent myself some substitute grand children and head to the lake!

5/8/2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Mid-life Cry-sis

I've been really, really, really good about watching what I've been eating for a week now. That might not seem like such a big deal to you, but to me is is huge! HUGE like the size of my midsection these days. They don't call it the "middle age spread" for nothing, folks!

As I was saying, I decided a couple weeks ago that I would start eating better and trying to lose weight as soon as we got back from the family reunion and our trip to Savannah. I even cut my Diet Pepsi down to almost nothing because I heard the aspartame was bad for me.

Sure enough, I lost two pounds almost immediately.

Unfortunately, they were the same two pounds I'd picked up during our four days away, so I doubt it was "real" weight to begin with. Most likely it was only water.

Since then, I've stayed steady at about fifteen pounds over what I would weigh in a more perfect world. Ten pounds over the weight I'd almost kill for right now.

Meanwhile, I am hungry for the food I use to be able to eat without worrying about increasing my girth. I've never had horrible eating habits and I've never had to worry much about my weight.

Call me naive but I somehow thought the mid-life rules would not apply to me. I've always believed I'd welcome these years with outstretched arms. It's suppose to be liberating, right?

Excuse me while I double over in laughter at my own innocence.

It turns out that mid-life is a cruel prankster.

Too bad for me, I hate pranks ... and I'm hating mid-life so far.

Not only do I hate the extra weight that has firmly attached itself to my belly, I also hate the wrinkles on my face and neck. I hate the flab that waves in the breezes from the underside of my upper arms. I hate the sleepless nights.

I hate looking my age for the first time in my life!

If this is what being fifty is all about, I've changed my mind! I demand a re-count, or better yet a do-over! Back me up about three years and leave me there, happy and oblivious at 47. Is that too much to ask? It isn't like I am demanding to be twenty one all over again, I just want to be like I use to be a few short years ago.

So, stop the ride, I want to get off.

I don't want to be FIFTY!

I don't want to be old, tired, fat, moody and sweaty. Those things are just soooo NOT me. Give me my life back please.

Oh ... and you might want to give it back NOW, so nobody gets hurt!

Becky J. Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Our Next Business Venture (A NEW Haunting in Savannah!)

While enjoying a short vacation in Savannah over the weekend, our daughter in law, Ryan and I had a stroke of genius regarding a possible new business we could not only start, but actually enjoy doing together.

It started with a walking "ghost tour" we (Walt, Ryan and Wesley and I) took together. I asked our tour guide how many evenings a week he works and he answered "three". Then he volunteered that during those three nights a week, he makes enough to pay his mortgage!

He also works as a Jr. High History teacher during the day. I wondered, but of course didn't ask, if maybe he makes almost as much with job as a tour guide as he does as a teacher.

That tidbit of information was enough to get the wheels a'turnin'.

Walt is a natural born story teller, and having been on several tours of Savannah (ghost and otherwise) in the past we decided he would make a great tour guide. Given the various renditions of the stories we've heard over the years, we came to the conclusion that a lot of the stuff is made improvised. Mr. Taylor would be great at that!

Meanwhile, Ryan and I would disguise ourselves as specters by wearing floaty white dresses and hanging out around one of the many town squares at night. We figure we could enlist people to take Walt's undoubtedly unique walking tour at ten or fifteen bucks a piece. That, with additional tips added would surely bring in enough money for us to buy an old "fixer upper" which we could restore and use as a house museum to bring even more additional funds.

Of course, with all these plans we will need other family members to participate so we are inviting them all to join us there. Grand-kids, Esther, Philip, Shaina, Kayla and Jayden would be great at portraying any of the number of "mischievous" child specters reported to be roaming Savannah's historic hotels. For a few months, the new grand-child due to arrive in August could also participate as the baby claimed to be sought after by his mother, "Alice" ... an 1800's servant who was hanged in the square shortly after giving birth. Her ghost is reported to have been seen walking around town searching for the little guy for the last 200 years. We figured my daughter, Angel could also don a white floaty gown and carry the baby around at night telling everyone she is the famous "Alice" and she's finally found him!

With all of us involved, the possibilities would be endless!

At the very least, I believe this idea merits further investigation, oh say .. at least a weekend a month spent in Savannah for the next year, to scope out the town and collect more information. (All tax deductible business trips, of course.)

Yes, I do believe we're on to something here! We are going to be RICH! Filthy RICH, I tell you!

Stay tuned for future updates! ;^)

Oh Boy!

My twenty-two week pregnant daughter, Angel had an ultrasound yesterday. Everything looked great! The baby weighs a little over a pound and was moving so much that the technician had trouble getting some of the measurements.

She did manage to some very important information though...

It's a BOY!

Grand-baby number six, he will even the score so to speak. As of mid to late August, we will have three grand-daughters and three grand-sons.

As was the case with my own pregnancies,seeing the photo's taken of the ultrasound make this grand-child seem more "real" to me. I think this is especially so because I've not seen Angel since Christmas. She was pregnant then, but hadn't told us.

That, combined with everything else that's been going on, has caused me not to think as often about this one.

My apologies to the little guy. He is every bit as precious and as much loved as the first five grand-children. A bit more of a surprise, maybe ... but a pleasant surprise none-the-less.

Suddenly, I am tempted to go to the OshKosh outlet and buy cute little bibbed overalls and tiny sneakers. After hearing of each of the other grand-children's impending arrivals, I ran straight out and bought a baby gift, so I am a few months behind. No problem! It won't take me long to catch up.

This baby doesn't have a name yet. Angel has waited until after her babies were born to name any of them. I'm calling him "Judah" which means "praise" for now. Who knows? Maybe it will stick.

A lot of uncertainty surrounds my new grandson. I'm concerned for him in many ways. I suppose that is the case, to some extent, with all new babies. I'm convinced the more complicated the circumstances surrounding a birth, the more unique and special the child will be.

This baby is special indeed.

So, welcome to our family baby Judah. As unsettled as your world may seem, one thing will never change...Mamaw loves you very much!

Headaches are of the Devil!

It's a beautiful morning in North Georgia; the kind of day that makes a girl want to get outside and kick up her heels in celebration of the sunshine! SPRING has sprung in our neck of the woods for sure!

Too bad I have a horrible allergy headache that's making me want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head.

I'm no expert on these things, but I'm pretty sure headaches are of the Devil himself. How else would something that is otherwise non-life threatening cause so much pain and inconvenience? Besides the conflicting desire to get outside and enjoy the nice weather, I also have a ton of work to get done inside. There are phone calls to be returned, paperwork to finish, two articles and a book that need to be written ... and of course I can't forget "Mount Laundry" which I have to conquer before the weekend is through. Nothing on my list can be done in a satisfactory manner as long as my head is pounding away.

Oh, and I can't forget the matter of my foggy brain and puffy, itching, watering eyes. I look like I took the business end of someones fist in my face. Even if I was able to get out of the house, I'd want to wear a veil.

All is not lost! I've managed to get the least taxing of my duties taken care of this morning ... two phone calls and some housework.

I know, I know, I'm not impressed either. I just thought it was worth a shot ...

It's only noon. I've got the whole weekend ahead of me. Good drugs and nice nap may work wonders.

Headaches are of the Devil, but my nice soft bed is absolutely heavenly at times like this. The way I see it (through the aforementioned itchy, watery eyes) I don't have a choice but to get some rest and try again later. Take that, Devil! Good wins over evil every time!

April 9, 2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com

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

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

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

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

I Love My Son

I love my son.

I love my son.

Really. I do love my son.

Some days, it's the sole reason I let him live.

Adam David, or "the boy" as we fondly refer to him, was born fifteen and half years ago. He was very much wanted and a welcomed ray of sunshine during what was then a rather dark time of my life.

My! How things change!

Don't get me wrong. As I clearly stated, I love my son tremendously. It's just that he seems to like nothing more than to find my last nerve and jump on it. If it's not one thing, it's another. Every day's a new day and another "adventure".

Maybe I'm just not as "adventurous" as I use to be. Maybe I'm just getting weary in my old age and not as tolerant as I once was.

Or maybe I'm right when I say the boy goes out of his way to try to push me over the edge.

Adam has a new girlfriend. That right there is enough cause for alarm, in my opinion. I've never met the girl, but he says she's really nice. She use to go to his school. She's blond ... and oh! Her name is "Becky". (That's somehow meant to make me feel better)

She's also older than him and has a car.

(Breathe Mama! Breathe!)

Last night the boy announced his weekend plans to me. Yes, I said he "announced" (not "asked") He said Becky would be driving him home from school today, where they would hang out and watch a movie together. Then, tomorrow they were planning to go to a concert in a town a good thirty miles from here, after which he would spend the night with his friend, Zach. (Not the "Zach" who lives near us, this is another "Zach" whom I've never actually met.)

Uh-huh.

I ran to the mirror to see if someone had scrawled "STUPID" across my forehead without my knowledge, because clearly my son was under the impression I'd approve of his weekend plans without an inkling of apprehension.

"ButMom, youdontunderstand, thismeansalottome. Justtrustme. PLEASE?!"

I trust Adam (sort of) ... at least as much as a mother could trust a fifteen and a half year old boy who is now "dating" a girl I've never met who happens to drive. I do, however, have some problem trusting this older girl I've never met, who will "date" a fifteen and a half year old boy. I also have trouble trusting these friends I've never met who live in this far away town.

I can't help but think that sweet smelling bundle of joy that was handed to me on July 17,1994 should have come with a warning label.

I tossed and turned last night, in anticipation of the argument that would surely ensue this morning when I reminded the boy that, while I would allow his new girlfriend to come to the house and watch a movie with him after school, I would not allow him to carry out any of his other plans this weekend.

No concert. No staying all night at the home of a friend I've never met.

But my worries were all in vain. As soon as Adam came bounding down the stairs this morning he announced that he'd made new plans. Plans he was sure I'd like better.

Becky is still picking him up after school today. They are still going to stop and rent a movie.

And then, they are going to her house to watch it.

But it's ok! Her parents (whom I've also never met) are going to be home.

"C'monMom,Justtrustme, Pleeeeeease?!"

It was back to the mirror again for me. Sure enough, my forehead remains clean and free of any labels that would indicate a lack of motherly wisdom.

To Adam's dismay we are back to the original plans. This girl I've never met, named Becky, will bring Adam home from school and they will watch a movie here within the confines of our own four walls ... quite possibly with me sitting between them on the sofa.

It's the least I can do.

Because I love my son.



Becky Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Weighting Around ..

I've never had a real weight problem. Through no fault of my own, I inherited my Dad's metabolism which, for the first 40 some years of my life, made it relatively easy to stay thin.

What a cruel trick of Mother Nature to suddenly turn the tables on me (no pun intended)! Dad is ninety years old and still eats anything he wants, most of which is covered in enough sugar to throw a normal person into an instant diabetic crisis. Never-the-less, he's still rail thin and no doubt always will be.

I remember when I use to be rail thin. Throughout my childhood, teen years and twenties I couldn't gain weight if I tried (and I actually did try) Then, when I was in my thirties I gained up to what would have been considered a more "healthy" weight. During my early forties I reached the middle to upper limits of what the medical charts called normal for a woman my age and height.

With the exception of a brief period of time during my Mother's illness when I gained up to my heaviest ever weight, the scales have been generally kind to me. Even then I found it nothing to be alarmed about! I simply cut back on the sugar in my diet and dropped the extra pounds in no time at all.

Now that I am pushing fifty (and within about four pounds of my previously recorded heaviest non-pregnant weight ever ... eeeeek!) I'm finding that nothing ... nothing I try results in the loss of any of these extra pounds.

To the contrary! It almost seems that the more I try to lose it, the more I gain!

What the heck is up with that?

I've never been more health conscious in my life. I've never put more effort into watching what I eat, taking supplements, and exercising.

Not only does it look like I won't be reaching my goal of being in the best shape ever by the time I hit fifty ... the opposite appears to be a real threat. Instead of buying a new bikini to wear to the beach on my birthday, I'll be shopping for a MuMu.

(I really wish I was kidding about that!)

I just don't know if it's worth it anymore. Seriously! If I'm going to gain weight regardless of what I do, why not enjoy it? Why not indulge myself in all those desserts I normally say "no, thanks!" to?

The way I see it, if saying "No" has only been a catalyst to gaining, then maybe ... just maybe saying "YES!" will cause me to LOSE weight.

OK, so maybe it's a bit of a stretch to find the logic in that manner of thinking but at this point I'm ready to test my theory.

What's the worst that can happen ... I'll gain weight? Oh! Wait! I'm already doing that!

I'm going to stop restricting myself and start enjoying food again. If by some odd twist of events, my theory is correct I will actually lose weight by eating more. If the theory proves to be wrong, that's fine too. Either way I intend to celebrate my findings with a nice big piece of hot fudge cake.

Becky J.Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Random Thoughts on a Saturday Afternoon

It's nearly 4:00 on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. This is the kind of day that puts a kick in a person's step. After a long, atypical stretch of ugly gray days, it's so nice to see the clouds part and the sun come shining through.

From what I understand, we need to enjoy it while it lasts because after tomorrow the rain is moving back in.

Walt has been busy getting ready to go to Ghana, West Africa. He leaves tomorrow. Even in the midst of all his excitement about the trip, he decided to take a couple hours off and head out on the Harley for a quick ride through the mountains.

I stayed home because a) I'm tired, and b) Adam is expecting a visitor of the female persuasion and well, that pretty much explains that doesn't it?

I suppose I could write about more interesting things at this point (and that was my original intention when I first sat down at the computer) but I am suddenly feeling drowsy and not really enthused about anything in particular. (So much for the sunny day putting a kick in my step)

There is much on my mind, so many things I've been intending to write about but it looks like they will have to wait til yet another day ... or week as the case may be.

A quick summary of potential topics include (but are not limited to)

• the unexpected announcement that our sixth grandchild is due to arrive in August (Happy 50th birthday to meeeee!)
• the weekend I spent with my daughter Emily, and how a huge snowstorm almost destroyed our somewhat "devious" plans (we are not the type to let a little bit of ice get in the way of a good time!)
  
• Valentines Day 2010, or rather how it almost didn't happen (that might be more of a book than a blog entry)
• "Grandmas Gone Wild" *snicker*

That's about it. I'll write more later, maybe after a nap ... or maybe not. We'll see.

Until later ...

Becky Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Unwell

I got one of "those" calls from the school today. Adam was once again in the nurses office feeling sick. It was his first day back this week, as he's been down with whatever upper respiratory crud it is that's been making it's rounds lately. I took him to Urgent Care Monday evening, where the doctor took one look in his throat and proclaimed "If his throat were a building, I'd have to condemn it."

(Gotta love medical humor.)

After swabbing his throat and nasal passages for samples which came back negative for both flu and strep, we were handed a prescription for a "Z-Pack" and told to come back if he wasn't better within a couple days.

Which he was, of course. That's why he went to school today.

Well, for half a day anyway.

I picked him up around eleven o'clock this morning and drove him straight to the walk in clinic. This time he was complaining of his knees buckling when he tried to walk, and his mouth drawing to one side.

Scary stuff!

His knees have buckled on a few occasions, but we've thought it was probably because he wasn't getting enough exercise. His mouth drawing involuntarily to one side was pretty alarming, and something I couldn't think of a single "easy" explanation for. So today I decided enough was enough and prepared myself to sit at the clinic for a while.

The clinic doctor took one look at him and announced that he needed to be sent straight to the emergency room. They said they'd call and tell them he was on his way.

At the hospital, the doctor quickly diagnosed him as having a bad reaction to one of the medications he takes regularly for OCD issues. They gave him a shot of something, which magically alleviated his symptoms ... told me to speak to his regular doctor about bringing him down off that particular medicine gradually, monitored him carefully for about an hour ... and sent us home.

Perhaps that doesn't sound like much of an ordeal to the casual bystander, but frankly I am exhausted of all this stuff! I stop short of saying it was the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's back" but it was at least "one more thing" I really didn't need to have to deal with right now.

The thoughts that crossed my mind as I sat there looking at my handsome, lanky, fifteen year old son perched on the exam table, included (but were not limited to)

a) Why God, have You not healed this child of these afflictions?

b) How in Heaven's name am I going to pay for yet another hospital bill?

c) Who is going to pick him up from school when this sort of thing happens once I go back to work outside the house? (which I am about to have to do)

and d) Oh how I wish my mother were still alive!

... nobody else could possibly care about all I am going through with Adam like she would have. The whole time I sat there at the hospital, it felt very much like "me and the boy" against the world, just like it's been for most of his life.

Once Adam was discharged, we were escorted to the financial consultation offices where an elderly man explained that our insurance deductible was $150.00 and of course was expected to be paid in full before we left.

After which I immediately explained back that I had no money to pay today. Actually, that's the biggest reason I didn't go straight to E.R. to begin with. The co-pay for Urgent Care is $20.00, vs. the $150.00 for E.R. BIG difference, so I really hoped Urgent Care could help him instead.

With a sympathetic smile, the elderly gentleman suggested that I pay "half" the deductible today and the rest next week.

I smiled back and explained, "No", I couldn't.

"We take credit cards", he told me.

"I don't have a credit card", I replied.

Then, I added that I'd try to pay the $150.00 within the month.

The sweet old man nodded and said, "That's ok, you can go now"

What else was he going to do, hold Adam for ransom until I was able to cough up the co-pay?

So we left, the boy and I, and headed home. It was nearly 4:00 p.m. and neither of us had eaten. I splurged and stopped at McDonalds to grab a bite. I tried not to think of the 10 bucks I'd "squandered" on fast food. God forbid I spend a dime when we had leftovers in the fridge at home.

Once home, I got on the internet and applied for a few more jobs. I need to come up with some way to finish paying off Adam's existing hospital bills plus this new one ... and I need to do it quickly. I have one offer waiting in the wings but I'm not fond of the location. It's too far from home, and requires working weekends. I'll take it if I have to, but I'd rather not.

I'm really kicking myself for leaving the conventional workplace altogether, right now. Maybe I should have kept that door open just in case I needed it again. Like today, for instance.

Although it may sound like I'm complaining, I'm really not. As I said before I am tired. OK, I'm also rather disappointed to be facing this new set of challenges that lie ahead. I was so very much hoping the year 2010 would be brighter than it's predecessor. So far, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick. I have no clue how much it would cost to fix that ailment.

Sigh

Here's "Unwell" by Matchbox 20

(and the lyrics, in case you want to sing along) :)

All day
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
I'm feeling like I'm headed for a
Breakdown
I don't know why
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
I know, right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Me
Talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
I know
I know they've all been talking 'bout me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong
With me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow
I've lost my mind
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they'll come to get me
Yeah, they're taking me away
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy I'm just a little impaired
I know, right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be, yeah
Well I'm just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be


Becky J. Taylor
Feb. 10, 2010