JUST BREATHE

Yesterday, my friend and coworker Jesse (aka The Cupcake) instant messaged me and said “You haven’t blogged for almost a week now, doofus”.  Not a question.  No response solicited or required.  Just The Cupcake giving me a hard time.  Normally, I would have had some snarky comeback about all of the important matters I am currently attending to. Normally, I would have said something along the lines of “Oh, whatever! Don’t you know how super duper busy I am right now, dork?  Over and above my regular full time job, and my part time job, and all of my food requirements which is also a full time job, oh, and not to mention my regular being a Mom stuff (yet another full time job)…On top of all of that, I’m trying to finish moving and cleaning and selling my house, and I’ve got a son getting ready to finish junior high, and a daughter getting ready to graduate high school and go on to college, and a dog that no longer has a yard to poop in, and summer will be here before you know it!  And so there are banquets to attend, announcements to send, dresses to be hemmed…there are plans to be made and bills to be paid!   Don't you see that I am busy?  I’m Busy, Busy, Busy!  I am Busy Barbie!” But I didn’t.  I didn’t respond that way.  Because as soon as I played that sassy response back in my head, as soon as I heard myself think all of those thoughts and actually listened to myself, it hit me…and instead,  I responded, “ I know.”  And then I said, “Thanks”.

Whether it was his intention or not, my friend Jesse’s little message to me was a reminder...A tap on the shoulder. It was saying “Hey Wynette, just wondering…Are you taking care of you?  Or have you slipped into human doing mode rather than human being mode?”  I have a tendency toward that.  A tendency to get caught up in “do” land and I forget to “be”...And when that happens, I tend to forget to take care of me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that being active and engaged in living is a positive thing.  I like it. I like having stuff to do.  I am at my best and my happiest when I am actively engaged. So, having a list and having things to do, tasks to accomplish, isn’t necessarily a bad thing for me.  But sometimes I get myself off track... When my list starts feeling too long, when it feels like something needs to give, my first cuts tend to be those things that should really be last to go...things that should hold permanent positions at the very top of the list. Things that shouldn't even be on the "to do" list in the first place. Not because they are unimportant things.  The opposite.  I  have things on my list that shouldn't be there because they are essential...they should be a given. No reminder should be required.

Breathing is a given so I don't bother to have it on my to do list. Having breathing on my to do list would mean that I need to remind myself to do it. That I need to remind myself to breathe. It would mean that I could potentially lower breathing's priority or to skip it entirely. And that would be dumb. Categorizing breathing as a to do item, one that can be conveniently ignored, seems silly. Breathing is essential. Yet, when start to feel overwhelmed, I tend to compromise a host other essential things.  I compromise sleep, and exercise, and quiet time, and other things that are good for me. Things that are essential to my health and well being. Things that shouldn't even be on my to do list in the first place. I much too easily put essential things aside in an attempt to conquer the list.  I am all too often quick to postpone or skip the things that benefit me most. The irony is that when I do first things first, when I do the essential things, when I remember to breathe, I am healthier, I am happier, I am more productive. I am more effective and more efficient, and the rest of the list becomes more manageable and easier to tackle.  When I remember to breathe, I am a better worker, a better friend, a better companion, a better Mom, a better Warrior, a better human being...  

 But, I am a also doofus, apparently.  And so even though I know these things about myself, sometimes I need a reminder from a friend.  Sometimes, I need a tap on the shoulder. And so, thanks friend,…thanks for the tap…

Tap, Tap, Tap!

HOOF BEATS & PEA PODS

I don’t like horses.  Oh, whatever, shoot me.  OK, let me rephrase.  I like horses, I think they are beautiful and amazing creatures.  But I don’t like to ride them, or feed them carrots, or pick up their poop.  Yes, I grew up in Montana, but contrary to popular belief, we didn’t actually ride horses to school.  We walked. We walked to school in -20 temperatures with a wind chill of -50. Uphill, into the wind. Both ways. Barefoot. Because Montana people are tough and rugged and wear chaps.  

 Some people fear what they have not tried.  That is not the case for me and horses.   I’ve tried.  More than once. I’ve tried to ride horses but the thing about horses is that they know who is in charge when they are being ridden and you can trust me when I tell you, they know it isn’t me.  I am not in charge when I am on a horse. And so, I choose not to ride. I freely admit that I am not Cattle Queen of Montana. I will leave that title to someone else. 

There is a saying that if you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras.  Maybe my mild case of Equinophobia (Yes, of course I looked it up and yes, there really is such a thing) is why I don’t always hear the hoof beats.  Why I sometimes block them out. The hoof beats.  The sound of the horses coming my way.  And you don’t think horses or zebras or hippos if you don’t even hear the hoofs.

Today is 2 days before my 2 year anniversary of Double Day. Double Day was the day when the hoof beats finally became so loud and so close that they could no longer be ignored.  Two years ago today, there were definitely hoof beats, I just couldn’t hear them or if I did, I pushed them out of my head.  Then came Double Day. (More on Double Day later.) On Double Day the hoof beats were loud and clear. Undeniable.  Once I did finally hear them, finally really heard the hoof beats, it quickly became obvious.  Hoof beats meant horses. And the years of random symptoms when all put together totally made sense.  I knew I had a monster, and I knew its name.  I didn’t need a Doctor to tell me (that would come later). I knew.  And knowing is power. And knowing made me ready to fight the monster.

One of my favorite commercials of all time is one that I only saw once. Years ago. Just once.  But once was enough. The commercial was announcing a sale at a local car dealership. The scene opens with an elderly farmer and his wife walking into the showroom. They are the ultimate in stereotypical. He with his straw hat, chewing on a piece of grass, she with her gingham dress and apron. They walk into the huge showroom which is quiet and seemly pretty empty. The salesman, a small round Asian man with a huge happy smile, welcomes them and takes them over to a table with a large jar on display. It is a glass jar and all of the contents are clearly visible. The salesman then excitedly proclaims "You guess how many pea pod in jah, you big winna.” The farmer tips his head a bit looks at his wife for a moment and then replies in a slow drawl. "But thare's only 1 pea pod in the jar" and the place erupts. Chaos. The air is filled with confetti and streamers and there are people running around, hands overhead shouting "Winna, Winna, Winna, Winna!!!!" Best. Commercial. Ever.  I only saw the commercial once.  Sometimes I actually wonder if I ever saw it at all.  Maybe I just made the whole thing up in my head. Mad Cow. But regardless of its origin, I’ve never forgotten it and I’ve actually trained my family to play along.   I will just randomly say “You guess how many pea pod in jah, you big winna” and my kids and my nieces and nephews play along.  Play the part of the farmer.  Drawl and all.  We are an easily amused bunch. 

Sometimes the correct answer is obvious. It is a no brainer. When we see it, we know.  It is the lone pea pod in the jar. And once the hoof beats had been heard and identified, once the monster had been named, I went in search of the answer. I went searching to find out how to defeat the monster. So, with the help of loved ones, I dove in full force to find the answer.  My sister was actually the one that found it.  She called me all excited and said she had found this TEDx talk that I needed to watch.  And I did.  I watched a TED talk given by Dr. Terry Wahls.  She talked about food.  She talked about food’s ability to harm or to heal. And I knew. I knew I had the correct answer. Not necessarily the easiest answer, but the obvious answer. For me, it was as clear as the lone pea pod in the jar.  “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”   

Winna, Winna, Winna, Winna!

LIFE, SIMPLIFIED

In my early career, I was a teacher. I was not just a teacher, but also a coach.  The two jobs have lots of similarities, but one of the main differences is that a coach usually has the added responsibility of selecting the team.  The coach decides who will make the cut.  Which players will make the roster. If there is more space available than there are players, then the job is simple…keep them all. Everybody makes the team. But when there are more players than space, the job gets more difficult. Because players must be selected and cuts must be made…

As it relates to the business of Me, I am the CEO and CFO of my organization and I am also the Coach of all of my teams. I am Sarge Marge In Charge.  I know what you are thinking…I am a lot to take on, but I am Wynette. I am Wynette the Wahls Warrior Wonder Woman. See me multitask.

When I first became a Wahls Warrior, top on the list was to revamp my food team.  I cut some long time superstars. Diet Coke and Microwave Popcorn and all of their processed buddies got their walking papers. Grains were replaced. Dairy didn’t get renewed. Sugar, retired. They, along with the legumes and a few other former favorites had to go. They were hurting the organization. Destroying the team. They were replaced with a new organic lineup featuring Veggies, Fruits, Meats, and Healthy Fats along with a few assorted players like fermented foods, nuts and seeds, and such to round out the roster.  The first month or so was a bit rocky.  It took a while to get used to the new style of play. But slowly, salad by salad, the team started to gel. And now, it is an amazing team. A championship team.

Next, I reevaluated my products team. I traded in almost all of my existing players and replaced them. Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, cleaning products, you name it.  The team was pretty much rebuilt from the ground up. I’ve made some additional roster adjustments along the way, and some of the players have taken a while to get comfortable with their roles. I am still figuring out how and when to best utilize their skills, but as time goes on, we are improving our chemistry.

So, now is the next big rebuilding phase for my organization. A huge shift. My entire organization is making a move to a new location. The new place is less than 2 miles from the old, so geographically, not much different. But, we have moved from house to condo, bigger to smaller, 2 levels to 1, garage to covered parking, yard to patio. And there is less. A lot less… We have way less storage space and  less space to spread out. Less privacy, and less room for guests.  We also have less maintenance and repair, fewer toilets to clean, less vacuuming to do, less furniture to dust, fewer windows to wash, no weeds to pull, and far fewer bills to pay. Less stress. And because we have less, there will be more.  More money, more time, more freedom.

When going from bigger to smaller, from garage to no garage, there is inevitably less space. Fewer roster spots. It becomes much harder to make the team.  As the Head Coach of the team, it is my job to assess the players. To assess the items in our lives and determine their value.  Determine whether or not we will choose to continue to share our space with them. Whether or not they will make the team.  And when the players are numerous but the space is limited, when the roster will need to be cut in half, the decisions can be difficult. The cuts can be brutal. 

I have 2 assistant coaches but neither is of much use for the selection process.  My daughter doesn't want any cuts to be made at all, my son would do a hack job until nothing remained. I had 3 pizza cutters ( Yes, I had 3 pizza cutters. Don't judge). One a bit rusted and clearly ready to go, a second small but functional one and the third an over-sized one, also functional.  Here is how it would go.  My daughter would insist on keeping all 3.  The small one as a backup to the large one or vice-versa, just in case, and the rusty one for posterity. "Mom, we can't get rid of that one because I think it might be the one you used to cut the pizza at my 10th birthday party and I will never turn 10 again. Ever.”  My Son would get rid of all three.  His logic would be something along the lines of "We are having tacos for dinner tonight.  Why would we need a pizza cutter?"  And so, other than a bit of input, making the cuts is mainly my job alone. A solo operation.

And so our stuff has been cut in half.  More than half actually, because a lot of stuff lived in the garage.  In the just in case place.  You never know when you might need an extra set of pots and pans or 2 or 3 extra coffee makers, so it's good to have all of that extra stuff around. Just in case.  The first round of cuts was easy.  There were the definite keepers and the definite dead weight.  Vitamix, dehydrators, pressure cooker and my other kitchen gadget loves, all keepers.  Photo albums and old home movies.  Of course.  Anything broken, not functioning properly, stained or ripped, thanks for the memories but your playing days have ended.  Then the decisions became harder.  2 working pizza slicers.  Hmmm.  The tool itself is useful above and beyond the occasional slicing of the pizza, so keeping one is justified, but, only one...there is only room for one on the team.  Small one it is...takes up less space. Next item.  And so it continued, room by room, cupboard by cupboard, drawer by drawer.  And now it is done.  The team has been selected. The cuts have been made.  There was some early shuffling. A chair that was an early favorite, later replaced by one that turned out to be a better fit. More of a team player. An additional elimination of clothes when the closet capacity was reached. Additional cuts.  And now, our team is set and we know all of the players.  They have each been hand selected and each has a role. A purpose.  We have surrounded ourselves with only those things that we really need and value. Life, Simplified.

Most teams have a yearly selection process.  A reevaluation. A chance to remove those parts that are no longer benefiting the team. A chance to make changes and bring in new additions.  I like that.  April is a month of Anniversaries for me. Life changing Anniversaries. Some happy, some sad, but all life changing. Anniversaries that shape me…make me who I am today.  Because of that, I think I will take time during my April Anniversary month each year and do some spring cleaning.  I will take the month of April to do an annual assessment of the teams within my organization.  The Annual April Anniversary Assessment. Some years, the teams may remain the same, and that’s great. But I know for sure, that sometimes, there will be stuff. Stuff that is no longer needed or used.  Stuff that is working against the team rather than for it.  Stuff that has already been replaced, but is still hanging around and taking up space.  And there will be cuts to be made.  But often, every now and then, less is more.

Namaste!

NAMING THE MONSTER

Name (n): a word or set of words by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to.

Names are important. And people are namers.  We name things.  We name our children, we name our pets, we name our streets, and our boats. And some of us name our cars.  Names help us differentiate one person from another, one thing from another.  Names help us keep track. They help us remember who or what we are dealing with.  And sometime the names we use are  based on how we feel.  We use formal names, and nicknames. And sometimes, we call people that we don’t like by names that they don’t like. On purpose.

Some people have interchangeable names like Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince (well, close enough). Apparently this interchangeable thing is a common phenomenon among Super Hero types… Also, I once took a class with a girl named Kelly Kelly. Really I did. That doozie of a name is the epitome of interchangeable.  

And then there are those people who only need one. One name.  A single name is enough of an identifier… If you are known by a single name, you are a mononymous person...(Just call me Wynette, the Wikopedia Wonder for finding that word and let me just say, that word is a real treat on the tongue! Have you tried pronouncing it yet?  Go ahead, try, I’ll wait…) Cher and Madonna and Liberace and Shrek, all mononymous.  I think that would be cool…Wynette.  Nothing else. Just Wynette…Sweet.  Maybe one day.

Parents have the job of selecting names for their children and they often like to have a theme.  My parents apparently liked W’s and I am one of 3. Maybe they had some sense that I would be a Wahls Warrior one day…Wynette, the Wahls Warrior…Neat.  My brother set aside his W name and pretty much has always gone by his middle name, but my sister and I have kept our W’s front and center. They, my sister and brother, also both have middle names that begin with a J, so until my sister married, they shared the same monogram, WJF.  Mine was the only one that differed. They are also different from me in that they both have at least one of three names that falls within the mainstream.  Normal. Average even. Not me. I am not even on the banks of the stream.  I am way out in the middle of the field and you can’t even see the stream from there.  I am blessed with a name that is unique at all 3 levels…first, middle, and last. There are few on the planet that share any of my 3 parts and I’m pretty certain when all put together, I am a one of a kind combination.  It used to bother me, the uniqueness of my name.  In school on the first day, when teachers were doing roll call, as the teacher made her way down the list alphabetically, she would call out “Susan Evans”, Susan would say here, and then the long pause would come, and in the silence  I would say “Here, and it’s Wynette Fabrega”.  And so I am 0 for 3 in the “normal” names category.

My name was one of the things my brother used against me when he would try to convince me that I was adopted.  “Sure, you have a W, but you have no J and you are left handed, blue eyed, and your name is 100% abnormal.”  The universe paid him back, though.  Once, I hit him in the forehead with a Jart… (you will have to look it up for yourself if you don’t know what a Jart is, this is a long story and frankly I don’t have that kind of time). This incident was not my fault, however…He was dumb enough to stand behind a 4 year old swinging a pointy metal tipped object, and also it is not my fault if letting go at the right time has never been my strong suit. Plus anyway, it hardly even left a scar…

It used to bother me, the uniqueness of my name. Now it doesn’t.  I guess I’m finally growing up, a least a little bit. 

My sister used the letter J for each of her kids names, some first, some middle, and my mom has no middle name at all.  I went with a dead Presidents theme for my kids… I didn’t plan it that way, it was hindsight theme.   My brother’s kids all have their own individually unique names and follow no pattern at all other than that they are each wonderfully uniquely talented individuals.

When my Dad was in the state legislature in Montana, there was a man there by the name of Harold Pitts.  I’m sure when little Harry was first named, the proper term for that part of the body which lies beneath the shoulders was underarms, otherwise his parents were just plain cruel. Generally, we tend to call those people we like by that which they prefer to be called. I’m guessing Mr. Pitts preferred Harold over Harry. Go figure.  I try to call people I like by the name they prefer.  Well mostly.  Sometimes there are nicknames that I use that may not be preferred but they are at least tolerated. I have a coworker I call Cupcake and a pair of lifelong family friends that I call Wiggles and Saliva.  Not likely their monikers of choice, but they know I love them and they humor me. 

And then, every now and then, there are those people where I know their name, but I don’t use it.  I don’t use it because they have made me mad. So, sometimes I resort to name calling.  I have flaws. I am a work in progress.  In my defense, if Mr. Douchebag next door would just park his car where it is supposed to be parked, I would be happy to call him by his preferred name.

When I was initially diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, with the exception of 2 specific incidents that I will leave for later, I actually took it pretty well. In some ways it was a relief.  A relief to finally have answers for the undiagnosed symptoms that had popped up from time to time over the years, and a relief that I didn’t have something far worse.  For me, MS is not a death sentence, it is a life sentence.  A change your life sentence.  I had bombarded my body with preservatives and chemicals and pesticides and an unhealthy diet for years. If not for the MS diagnosis, I was likely headed for Heart Disease and/or Diabetes, and/or Cancer or some other nasty concoction of maladies and afflictions.  So, when discussing my diagnosis with friends and family, in part, my attitude was “It’s all good…this is the kick in the butt that I needed to do things differently.” And then I would follow that statement up with “We all have our stuff, I just know what mine is”…Or said another way, We all have our monsters, and I know my monster’s name.

I know my monster’s name is Multiple Sclerosis or MS for short, but it is rare that I actually think of it or refer to it by its formal name. Instead, I think of it as the Monster. I refer to it as the Monster for a few reasons.  For one thing, MS is my Monster but it might not be yours.  We are Warriors fighting side by side, fighting the Monster, but the Monster standing in front of me may not look the same or have the exact same name as the Monster standing in front of you.  And also, MS maybe isn’t my only Monster.  I may have the whole cast of Monsters Inc. out there… lurking.  I don’t want to just focus on the one whose name I happen to know.  I want all of the Monsters to know that I know they are out there and that I am willing to fight them all.

Because I have seen the Monster and I know its name… because it has shown itself and is no longer jumping in and out of the shadows, I am better equipped to fight.  Because I know its name, I have been able to adopt the right Monster fighting manuals and find the right Monster fighting mentors. I am lucky to be studying under a trilogy of masters.  I’m a Wahls Warrior who incorporates PaleoMom principals, and I have a Mercola mentality.  So, I listen to the Masters and I try my best to practice what I have learned and I use all the weapons at my disposal to fight the Monster.  I am a Warrior. A Wahls Warrior. So Monsters beware.

So, mostly I refer to MS as the Monster, but also, when I do or say something or feel in such a way that may be symptomatic of MS, I have another name that I call it.  I call it “Mad Cow”.  If I stumble…Mad Cow.  If I can’t think of a word…Mad Cow. If I am searching frantically everywhere for my car keys only to finally realize that the key ring is looped around my finger…Mad Cow. When I laugh so hard I pee a little, I claim Mad Cow…OK, so that may or may not actually be Mad Cow related…I had 2 babies and those muscles have never been quite the same since…let’s just say no jumping on the trampoline for me unless I have totally emptied the bucket first…TMI? Too bad.  My blog, my rules.  

There are a few different reasons that I call my Monster the Mad Cow. First, it lightens my mood and allows me to laugh at myself and laugh at the Monster.  It makes me and people in my life laugh.  And laughing makes me feel good. And feeling good makes me feel stronger…better able to fight.  Also, there are times that I want to talk about the Monster behind its back.  Times when I am tired and I don’t want the Monster to notice me… times when I just want to let sleeping Monsters lie. And sometimes, I call the Monster the Mad Cow simply to be defiant.  It is my way of letting the Monster know that I know it is out there. My way of letting it know it doesn’t scare me…that I may have it, but it doesn’t have me. It is my way of giving the Monster the finger. Of standing toe to toe with it and looking it straight in the eyes and saying…screw you Monster!

Turite puiki diena!

(That’s “Have a nice day” in Lithuanian.  No reason…I just felt like learning a little Lithuanian today.)