Where Do You Stand?

The RED DOT on the Chart shows where you fit on the political map.

To take this quiz - which is very interesting....go here.

Oh Dear Lord

The girl scout cookies are in.

There's goes my eating well until I start my hCG diet. Craaaap.

Yummm...thin mints & tagalongs dancing in my head.

Happy Tuesday everyone!

Postponing!

Alright, so apparently I have this thing called a birthday coming up this month - Not only that, it's my 30th. (eek, that's HURTS to say) Wade isn't letting me start the hCG diet until after said birthday (stupid) - so you'll have to stick around to hear my agony and hatred towards the diet.

Sorry folks. I guess birthdays still matter once you're old.

pffft...30. 30, I hate you.

The Difference Between "Westsiders" & "East Valley" Girls

I've only lived in Phoenix, AZ for 9 years - 10 years in September. I've just recently noticed the difference between the so-called "westsiders" (peoria, glendale, surprise, etc) and the "east valley" (chandler, tempe, scottsdale, etc) girls.

I had a girl say to me a work today, "Silly girl, why are you wearing heels on a Friday?" Ummmm.......My response: "I don't feel complete without heels." That is what made me think of this blog post.

Westsiders are in a catagory of their own. I want to apologize in advance for placing stereotypes on these girls that I dearly love - because come to think of it - most of my GOOD friends are from the Westside. (however, they don't apply to said catagory)

Westsiders appearal on Fridays:
Jeans
Sneakers or flip flops (which I don't have anything against the latter - b/c you will see me in flops on occasion on a Friday at work)
Sweatshirts or a cute (but not very fashionable) shirt. Something I might lounge around in on a Saturday at home
Hair up in a pony-tail

East Valley appearal on Fridays:
Jeans
Heels
Designer tops
Hair done as it would be on any other day of the week
a full face of make up (natural of course for work)
accessories

I'm not saying that ALL "Westsiders" adhere to this, but most of them do. Please stop asking why I'm wearing heels on a Friday ever again. I like heels and I like to feel like a girl - a woman.

Thats my rant for the day.

Happy Friday - please make yourself look decent and not too relaxed - I know it's Friday, but always dress to impress.

A New Adventure

hCG Diet. Ever heard of it?

I'm trying it. Starting Monday.

I've gotten mixed reviews from people about the diet and when explaining this diet to people they kinda go "huh? Well that doesn't sound healthy."

I've done hours and hours of research on this diet - asked my family doctor (who provided me with this wonder diet) countless numbers of questions in the past week. I've talked to my dear Wade on the pros and cons of what this diet will be like for me in the next 30 days (ie, no drinking alcohol, no sweet potato fries for dinner, who more espresso in the morning, etc.) and you know what? I've decided to go for it.

Here's how it works:

The hCG comes in the form of either injections (that you administer yourself - yuck) or drops. My doctor only provides the drops - which is fine by me. It comes with a diet plan, supplements and physicals on the 7th day, 14th day and the 21st day - followed by a FINAL 30 day physical.

I paid $399 for this. But lucky for me, I didn't pay it out of pocket per say - I paid with it through my Flexible Spending Account - you know, the money you have taken out of your check every month for "health care expenses" - I'm assuming this is a health care expense because it went through with no problem. Yes yes, I know - it's expensive.

Step by Step instructions:

Day 1-27 From day 1-27, twice per day, very carefully drop exactly 4 drops of the HCG solution under your tongue and let it sit there for a least 1 minute.

CRUCIAL: Starting on Day 1 and Day 2 of taking HCG

One day 1 and day 2 of taking hCG, you MUST eat regular full meals. This means you can eat whatever you want during these two days. The amount of hunger you feel and how tired you feel the first week or two may be worse if you don't. (eek)

Day 3- Day 27:

This is a 500 Calorie per day meal plan. You must adhere to this calorie limit to achieve the weight loss results you desire (ie 30 lbs in 30 days)

The hormone balance that you may undergo with the hCG will direct your body to make up fort he low calorie intake by specifically burning the calories you need from your own fat (I have tons of that)

Day 28, 29, and Day 30:

Stop taking the hCG (continue taking the supplements). Continue the 500 calorie per day meal plan the same exact way you have done until now. This is very essential part of the program that gets all traces of the hCG out of your system before you resume a normal diet. If you do not continue the 500 calorie per day meal plan for the three (3) days after you stop taking hCG, you may put on weight.

Here's the diet plan:

Breakfast
Tea or coffee (no cream/sugar/etc - just black coffee)
No food

Lunch
100 grams of protein, low fat veal or beef, chicken breast, lobster, shrimp, crab or fresh whitefish
One type of vegetable only, to be chosen from the following list: spinach, celery, cucumber, green lettuce, tomatoes, cabbage, fennel, red radishes, chard, chicory, beet-greens, onion, asparagus.
One type of fruit from the following list: Apple, Orange, One Half Grapefruit, strawberries (one handful)
One slice of Melba toast or 4 Melba toast crackers.
fruit or toast maybe eaten between meals

Dinner (SAME AS ABOVE)


Other:
One Lemon daily (oh joy)
NO oil, butter or dressing.

Drinks
Water, Tea, coffee or mineral water ONLY.

*info courtesy of North Scottsdale Family Medical Center - 480-419-9924

I'm starting this diet out at (dare I say it) 152 lbs. You have the potential to lose 30 lbs in these 30 days.

I will be blogging my progress - gripes, joys, annoyances and hunger pains along the way.....stay tuned.

Pictures to follow!!!

Wish me luck!!!


p.s. if you happen to be in the Scottsdale area and call North Scottsdale Family Medicine - please tell them I referred you! They will be very happy!!!

Optical Illusions on a Monday.

The great illusion of depth

Make it stop moving!

Believe it or not, the circles are the same size!

I love optical illusions!

illusions courtesy of foxnews.com

GQ's 25 Most Stylish Men

I was pleased to open up msn.com this morning and see my lover (yes girls, he's MINE, all mine) Robert Pattinson listed as one of the top 25 Most Stylish Men in GQ magazine





That hair, those eyes, his whole being....YUM. I love him. wow.

info courtesy of msn.com:

The Best Head of Hair on the Planet
Young Rob’s probably got the best head of hair since James Dean, and he lets it fly. And the clothes? A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, an unbuttoned and untucked plaid shirt...That’s it. He dresses his age (23); he dresses to his strengths; he dresses so you don’t give a damn about how he’s dressed.

(and trust me, I don't give a damn how he's dressed - I rather him not be dressed at all. Yep, I'm obessed)

Where Did I Go?

The past few weeks have brought on an abundance of emotions. For one, Wade got a job (yay!) however, that is a bittersweet feeling to me - or it was - actually, probably still is....

Wade going back to work (which is super exciting for our checking account) means Miss Lucy had to start day care...which means ......sickness. Keep in mind, Lucy hasn't been sick since the day she was born, she's nearly 15 months.

On January 20th, Lucy Patricia went to day care and Wade Oliver went to work. We both dropped her off at "school" since Wade didn't have to be at work until 9 a.m. that morning. She did great her first day with us leaving - she ran straight over to the toys and played. I felt great and so did Mr Coplen.

That night, Wade was exhausted - Lucy was exhausted. I think I was on a natural high because I didn't know what to think or feel. My little girl was growing up!

We got through the week fantastically. I was waiting for the storm to hit - the only thing that was different was when I picked Lucy up all she wanted to do is cudddle (yes!) and pass out by 6 p.m. (yes!)

Then Sunday came......as did the storm. SICKNESS! Colds, flu-like symptoms (minus the throwing up) and a crabby, tired household. YUCK! Mr Coplen, Lucy and I had gotten sick. I decided to keep Lucy home on Monday so she could rest. She went back to day care with a snot-nose and a cough on Tuesday (bad idea) - I stayed home. I slept all day and quite frankly I felt really guilty because when I went to pick up Lucy from day care, the teacher says "I think she may have pink eye". Great.

One trip to urgent care later, I was sent home with the bubble gum antibotics for Lucy and a sick man at home. Oy.

Lucy and Wade stayed home on Wednesday...which made me feel guilty again. I wish I could have been there to take care of them since I was the only one feeling "normal". But I couldnt.

Here we are on the 1st of February, all feeling slightly back to normal (minus the mucus and coughing). No one can ever prepare you for the first sickness of your child. It breaks your heart into a million pieces, puts a huge strain on your relationship and basically just makes you want to throw in the towel.

But we're here, I'm blessed and I know now that we can get through it - with ALOT of prayers.

Thanks day care for the snotty noses, the horrid cough, the broken checkbook, the pink eye..and many many tears.

I'm Alive, You're Alive, Want to Play?

Tears came to my eyes when I read this wonderful story. I hope I never have to deal with something so heartbreaking as this story.

You can find the whole story by clicking here

One morning not long ago, as I was dropping off my son at preschool, his teacher beckoned me over for a private chat.
A flutter passed through me. What had happened? Had Judah been overtickling other children again? Throwing graham crackers?
Turning to me with a sober cast, John laid it out: “Our classroom fish died yesterday. I don’t think it’s a good idea to ignore it, so I plan to bring it up in our class meeting today. I thought you, of all people, should know.”

His concern wasn’t Swimmy, wonderful as he was. John knew death was a tender topic for Judah. A year earlier, Judah’s father had gone to the doctor for what he thought was sciatica but turned out to be cancer that had metastasized to his bones. He was 51 at the time; Judah was 2.
But that’s only part of the story. Until the time of the diagnosis, Judah and his father hadn’t seen much of each other. Sometime between Judah’s conception and delivery, his father decided that he couldn’t be married anymore, not to me, he said, and probably not to anyone.
In Texas, where we were living, it turned out to be illegal to divorce your wife while she was pregnant. So although he filed for divorce during my seventh month, we were still legally married on the day Judah was born, which also happened to be the day before our 10th wedding anniversary.
He was there for the birth and dropped in on us for visits, but a few months later I moved back to New York City, where my family lived. I felt like someone who had survived a tornado: miraculously, I was able to leave the destruction behind me. Judah, knowing nothing of his chaotic origins, was a sweet and placid baby. I loved wheeling him up and down the streets where I’d grown up.

Two years later Judah’s father remained in Texas and I was still in New York. After finding out about the cancer, though, he called me. I hadn’t heard his voice in a while, and it sounded strained. I expressed sympathy about his illness, but that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.
“I need to ask you something,” he said. “You are totally within your rights to say no, but I hope you’ll at least listen to me. I had always planned to have a relationship with Judah when he was a little older, but now I don’t know if that can happen. I want to start seeing him more, as much as I can, right away. I don’t have money for New York hotels, so I’d like to stay with you or your mother when I’m in town. During chemo I might not be able to travel, but I’d like to talk to Judah on the phone every night. And maybe have you bring him to visit me.”
In some ways, this was what I’d longed to hear since Judah’s birth. Though I knew we would never be a family, I still hoped that eventually Judah would have a relationship with his dad. And it wasn’t just for Judah. I had never anticipated single motherhood and longed to share the travails of preschool and potty training with my son’s father.
Maybe now Judah and his father could have a relationship and I could have a partner in parenthood. And if his treatment was successful, father and son could have a future together. Whereas if I said no, the door might close for good.
That was my first thought. I also had to consider that the worst might come to pass, in which case I would have exposed Judah to significant and avoidable pain. Right now, he didn’t know his father; any loss would be abstract rather than personal. But what if he came to love his father, only to lose him? This had the makings of either a miracle or a tragedy; it was hard to predict which.
I queried friends, relations, professionals: What would you do? The responses were mixed. A friend said: “How could you let him back after what he did? He doesn’t deserve to know his son.” My mother said, “How can you refuse what might turn out to be a last wish?” And my therapist just said, “You’ll know the right thing to do.”
I found myself thinking about what I would say to an older Judah, long after his father had died. That Judah would have a lot of questions about a man and a relationship he couldn’t fully remember. If the day came, I knew I would want to have stories to tell of the two of them and pictures to show. I suspected that the grown-up Judah, if given the choice, would want to have known all he could of his father.
Deep down, I also wanted to give Judah’s father, who was for many years my loving and beloved husband, the consolation he now needed. I shelved my indignation about the way he had opted out of Judah’s life. Though he had left me in the lurch when I was at my most vulnerable, even then I had felt more pity than anger. He walked away empty-handed, while I had Judah.
I said yes. And so their meetings began.
He would fly east and stay with my mother for three or four days. The chemotherapy was immunosuppressive, so he and Judah mostly stayed in the apartment, doing 2-year-old stuff: singing, snacking, tickling. Two sandy-haired, stocky, brown-eyed guys, rolling around on the floor.
He called me from the airport after the first visit and said: “He is the most incredible child that has ever lived. Do you realize that?”
I said I did. I hung up feeling as if I’d been handed a gift. For the first time I felt he was speaking to me unequivocally as Judah’s father, and that we were joined in our love of our amazing son.


Initially Judah wasn’t sure who this guy was. He started out calling him by his first name but upon request willingly made the switch to “Daddy.” Eventually he took delight in the word and would spring to the phone, yelling “Hi, Daddy!” into the receiver.
Over the next few months, we watched as “Daddy” lost his hair and grew weaker. He was taking large doses of morphine but still frequently winced in pain. Judah was solicitous, managing to curb the bouncier expressions of his personality when around his father. Once I heard him ask, “Daddy, are you sick?” and heard the reply: “I’m fine. And I’m going to get better.”
I squirmed. I knew it was what he needed to say, but I wasn’t sure it was what Judah needed to hear.
Ten months after the diagnosis, the hospital called, telling me that it didn’t look good. I sat down with Judah. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s very sick and I’m afraid he might die.”
Distress filled his eyes. “I don’t want Daddy to die. I want to see him.”
“I don’t want him to die, either. I’m going to go to the hospital now and I’ll tell him what you said.”
He was in a coma when I arrived, but I held his hand and did tell him. I sat there and talked to him as Judah’s fellow parent, about plans for our son’s future, though I knew he probably couldn’t hear me and certainly couldn’t answer.
He died two days later. Judah was angry and sad at the news, but mostly uncomprehending. He kept asking when Daddy would stop dying and come back to us. And it was my miserable task to tell him “never” and witness his disappointment. I felt as if his grief was my fault. And in a way it was. I had opened the door.


Now 3, Judah still doesn’t believe in forever and keeps trying to find a work-around for death. “Maybe Daddy is at that hotel where I saw him once? Maybe he’s in California?” He’s frustrated that he can’t see his father, though one night when he was lying in bed I told him he could talk to him whenever he likes.
He was quiet for a moment and then called upward, “Daddy, how are you? Is it dark where you are?”
Judah’s memories of his father may fade, but for now he enjoys them. Every time he passes a McDonald’s he says, “I went there with my daddy, right?” Or when he plays with a favorite toy: “My daddy gave that to me, right?” He has his paternal memories to cherish and I have my co-parental ones. Neither of us would have wanted to forgo them.
When Judah isn’t trying to knock down the daddy problem, he often talks philosophy. He says casually to a friend of my mother’s, “You know, we’re all going to die.” He wants to know the feasibility of the two of us dying together. “I’m going to come see you when I die,” he tells me. A budding scientist, he asks about what people’s faces look like when they die and where they go. I say I don’t really know.
I assure him that he and I won’t die for a very long time. Once, he heard me on the phone to a girlfriend exclaiming, “I could have died then and there!” and he went white.
“Mommy, don’t say that,” he shrieked. “Don’t say that!”
I wondered how Judah would react when he heard about Swimmy’s death and asked John to let me know. A few hours later he reported that when he told the children what had happened, one volunteered that her grandmother had died. Another said he had a fish that died, a very old fish. The class agreed that Swimmy had been an old fish, too. And Judah said, “My daddy died.”
Later, another child approached Judah and asked in a worried voice, “Your daddy died?”
Judah nodded.
“Does that mean he’s not coming back?”
Judah put his hand on the other child’s shoulder. “Yes, but it’s O.K.,” he said. “I’m alive. You’re alive. Want to play?”

I'm Having A Tired Day

photo courtesy of google images (sunrise over camelback mountain)

My alarm went off repeatedly this morning. Wade even had to wake me up to turn it off. I never do that. I'm the lightest sleeper you'll ever meet.

I got to spend the day with my little princess Lucy yesterday (well, not the whole day - but the majority of it). I am so grateful. I also admire W. for being a stay at home dad. She's a fire-cracker and is always on the go. Thank God for The Wiggles!

I also attempted to do the splits last night - to see if I could still do them and guess what. I can! But damn, I am S-O-R-E today.

I hope you all are having a great start to your New Year. I know I am.

Happy Wednesday!