Loading in for the Snow: Snowpocalypse Edition

Biscuits.

If you're from the South you know that when snow is coming you load in biscuits.

My Super Kroger on Sunday was literally out of biscuits.
The whole freezer case was empty. 

I suppose to the purist there were the makings of biscuits in the baking aisle but who has the time?

And the reason I am writing this post is that I am curious about the things people grab on their way home when they feel like they are going to be trapped by snow.

I suppose that my Mamaw made biscuits for breakfast every morning. My Mom did not. I certainly don't. I provide Cliffs Bars or Pop Tarts. That's on a good day. On a bad day it's "here's a dollar for sausage pancake on a stick at school" and "there's half a bottle of water in the back of the car, oh wait, maybe Mountain Dew..."   

What about snow makes people biscuit crazy?

If I had to pick a breakfast bread to be trapped with on a snow day, I'd go for cinnamon rolls or a nice blueberry scone.
Are people, especially Moms, giving into peer pressure to appear more responsible?

Are they worried someon in the check out aisle will spy their cart in th check out aisle....we all know we judge....and think "cinnamon rolls, scones....where are the biscuits? What kind of mother doesn't get snow biscuits?"

The run on milk is equally weird to me. Are people suddenly jonesing for milk? We made snow cream when I was little and I loved it but a gallon of milk would make, what, 5 gallons of snow cream? 

Does falling snow raise the need for calcium in your blood?

I'll admit I am generally ill prepared to survive lengthy entrapment in my house.
If I honestly made a list of things I really need to survive it would be say cheese, pasta, sauce, pizza, cheese, almond milk and cheese. And the number for Chinese delivery .

That covers the basics. 

I suppose as a Menopausal Moms would add wine and chocolate. 

Really, check out judgement aside, what do you load in for a Snow Day?

And today's shout out goes to our readers in Malta. Or maybe reader. Either way MALTA!

Whether they are ready or not America's Got talent is hearing from me

I do have a dream.  Most people do.  But, how often do real dreams come true?

As an average person in society, I am content to have a job that pays the bills, allows me to save a little money, go on an annual vacation, eat well, shop minimally, and afford gasoline.  But, what about those people who are "special?"  You know, the "stars." 

Stars have bills to pay; they go on vacation; they shop; they eat well; and they can definitely afford gasoline…but they are able to do all of these things with glitz and bling!

My family vacation…a week in Myrtle Beach.  A star's vacation…a 3 month tour of Europe.

My bills…month to month.  A star's bills…paid by their accountant a year in advance.

My food…a bologna sandwich, chips and a Pepsi.  A star's food…Waldorf Salad and fruit prepared by their personal chef.

And shopping…me, it's a weekly trip to Walmart. A star's shopping…Rodeo Drive Baby.

You get the picture.  My dream is to be a star for just one day. 

But, deep down, I am truly a simple person who needs very little.  I have many of the things I want, and I am happy.  However, there is still that little voice in the back of my head saying, "Wouldn't it be nice to be a star for just one day?"

So, I have a plan.

Singing is something I love to do.  I sang as a toddler.  I sang with my grade school choir, and I even got to perform and record a solo for a Bicentennial album our grade school choir produced.  As a teen, I sang along with the American Top 40 songs Casey Kasem played each week.  And, in high school, I not only sang with the high school choir, I also performed at many events, and in church, with a dear friend named Tammy.  As a duet with Tammy, I had such confidence when I sang.

One time, at band camp…no, it was actually the Pike County Fair, Tammy and I were told our harmony was, “cream of the crop,” and we were asked to perform with the Kentucky Opry.  But, it wasn’t the right time for either of us, so that did not come to fruition.  But, it was an honor just to be asked! 

I look back and wonder how life might be different if I had chosen a career with music.  Woulda…shoulda….right?  But, I love my life and I am so glad I took the path I did.  That also doesn’t mean just because I am 50 years old my path is nearing the end.  No way!  I see a new path just ahead and I plan to take it and see where it leads. 

This path starts out well defined.  It has the words “America’s Got Talent” (AGT) written out in big, bold, and colorful letters!

I have to say, my favorite reality show demonstrating talent is actually “American Idol.”  But, they do not give golden tickets to “golden” people.  Losers.

 

But, no, I won’t be going to a live audition at AGT…my nerves would get the best of me.  But, I will be submitting a video audition.  That will make me nervous enough!

Now, I just need to decide on a song!  I love to sing, CCR’s, “Bad Moon Rising.”  I also love to sing anything by Alison Krauss.  You see my dilemma.

And, I want to show my edgy side…but my kind heart too.  The plot thickens!

I want to seem young, but demonstrate my wisdom.

I want to look phat, and not worry about my real fat! 

I just want my moment in the sun.  That will be the moment I submit my video.

I may never hear back from anyone at AGT, but at least I will know someone, sometime, with some kind of clout with AGT will watch it.  They may laugh hysterically…they may cry…they may call!!  Who knows?  And, that is the exciting part for me. 

I will feel like a star for a day just by making the submission.  But, wouldn’t it be cool to get a call?  That would be the dream come true!

Do you have a dream that you feel you are too old to make happen?  Should age matter?  Please share your thoughts…and of course, any song suggestions you may have for me!

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder!
Kim York

Road Rage? Isn't that just a Menopausal Mom in a car?

The woman who was shaving her armpits while steering with her knees....no road rage. The time the driver was eating pancakes from a plate with a fork while driving her mini-van..... no road rage. The guy who was driving his moped at 15 mph on a two lane road where there was no chance to pass for 10 miles...no road rage.

But cut me off, tailgate me too closely, speed around me recklessly and, God help you, honk or shake a fist at me.....the Road Rage Beast is unleashed.

I have screamed at only a handful people in my life. Strangely, most of those I've loved deeply .....or maybe that makes sense.

Anyway, when I say I have screamed at a small number people I mean a small number of people know I've screamed at them. If you add to the list people I have shared my vocal concerns about their driving ability well.......that number might be infinite.

Oh, sure, everybody comes out with the occassional "Dude! Where's your blinker!!!" (Whether "Dude" is appropriately used by a chubby Menopausal Moms on any occasion is a post for another day.)

I'm not proud to say that for me would be a tame response on an excellent day. I don't tend to yell profanity, ok that's not true. Even when I avoid foul language I can be descriptive and insistent.
I have, I hate to admit, resorted to a universally understood hand gesture involving a single finger.

Of course, I'm a grown up responsible for my choice. But I will cite the influences of my sisters, Teresa Grider and Gwen Meehan, for showing me the ways of Road Rage early and often. (Mom! They did it first!) I rode with my older sisters a lot before I got my license and they both had a lot to say about other drivers.
(Gwen put her foot on the dash and chugged Dr. Pepper. In an effort to be as cool as her, I did mirror putting my foot on the dash. Oh the flexible days of flirting constantly with life-altering orthopedic injury.)

I actually took a family poll and found Road Rage could be a genetic trait. Both Gwen and Teresa admit to their road rage past and that they have passed this trait onto their children. Even my brother Pat, who is a professional Santa Claus, admits to road rage tendencies. Think for a moment what it musts be liked to be called out in  traffic by Santa.

He went on to point out, in all CAPS in road-rage-like passion that "STUPID GOES ALL THE WAY TO THE BONE."

My sister Kathy suggested helpfully that we all have a responsibility when it comes to bad drivers to help them see the error of their ways.

 So, really, I come from a family intent on public service.

Anyway, I hope All State will still hold me in their good hands if they read this but once in the not too distance past I riled up a fellow driver by hitting my brake lights in an attempt to get her to back the fairway off of my bumper on a twisty two lane road. When finally got to the big city and a wider road she expressed her displeasure in a an impressive array of hand gestures and a long rant about whether I shared certain characteristics with a female canine. In the midst of her heartfelt sharing she complained that my earlier attempt to communicate without words had corrupted the tender sensibilities of her grandson who was in the back seat of the car as she screamed at me.

Oh, is this burying the lead?

When the light changed, she literally swerved into my lane and tried to hit me with her car.

I tried, without success, to report this to the police. Pulling into a gas station I told an officer, and I hate to say it, who was eating a doughnut, about what I thought might be legally attempted vehicular manslaughter. He dutifully took notes but I'm pretty sure did nothing. I left out the part about my single finger hand gesture.

There was another incident not too long after involving a woman who honked at me in downtown traffic then whipped aound my car so within a minute we were sitting at the same traffic light in a slightly different order. She almost hit my car. She shook her finger in my general direction. The Road Rage Beast was unleashed.

It turns out that we were heading in the same direction for about four miles. This seemed to upset her if the screamy face she exhibiting in her rearview mirror was any indication. It's possible I didn't need to turn down the exact side road where she sought to turn but by then she was so agitated that when we both set our blinkers she jumped out of her mini-van in the dark in the middle of a pretty crowded road to holler at me to stop following her.

I, honestly, did not respond to her because at that point because she seemed crazy. I did make what was certainly a poor choice and made the turn anyway. It's wrong, I know, but I felt a little vengence in her discomfort. (Cut me off again, will you?)

So, as my daughter starts to learn to drive, I'm wondering if I should change my ways. So I ask the question.......

Is this ever OK?

If it's the internet is it snooping? If you're a Mom is snooping wrong?

When I was about 13 or 14 I kept a diary. Like many things I did at 13 or 14 I did it mainly because I thought it was the thing I was spposse to do. I am pretty sure Marcia on the Brady Bunch had a diary and that's what cool, teen girls did.

It was really more of a notebook than a diary, there was no lock on it. I did  take to hiding in my room, under some pillows or in boots I never wore. I wrote the heck out of the diary. 

I told that diary everything for a while. I told that diary things I never dared tell my friends or, God forbide, my mother.

And I will admit now having a daughter who is two years away from being a legal adult if I found a diary where she wrote many, ok any, of the same things I wrote when I was 13 or 14 I would  be concerned.

So.....my Mom found my diary all those  years ago. That's the way I remember it. She didn't even come right out and say "I read about your escapades and, boy, you are in deep trouble." No, she alluded to and tried to get me into counseling. 

Looking back it was a reasonable, measured response focused on my well-being. Then the reading of the diary was a massive invasion of my privacy.
I was furious. In fact, I was so mad that, employing the logic of a teen girl, that I burned the damn thing. 

Yes, if you are going to read my deepest, darkest thoughts and replace it in my room and try to get me to talk to someone I am going to show you...... 

And, here's the other thing, I rarely after that kept any kind of diary. I rarely wrote something like this blog that talked about how I looked at things or what I was doing. What I felt was a betrayal at that age colored my behavior for a long time. 

Anyway, so here I am a Menopausal Mom who once had a diary I tucked under my pillow and in my boots and my daughter has the diary-equivilent of a Twitter account or Instagram or Facebook. (If you are a Menopausal Mom you laughed at the last part because no teen is really still on Facebook,)

So if I seek out the words and pictures she shares with the world am I snooping unnecessarily? Hypothetically, say, I happened mostly by accident on an unlocked version of those account that she thinks she's sharing with 249 of her closet friends would that make it a worse kind of snooping?
Fundamentally, is it wrong for a mom to snoop or is it a job requirement?
Over the summer at a family gathering my daughter broke the news to me in front of a crowd that she and her friends and then boyfriend had plans to go camping. Adults I trust were going to be along and there would be separate tents for boys and girls. Still, I was hesitant. My family joined in and I got a very unexpected piece of advice from my 84-year-old Mom. "What are you afraid of?" she said, "Are you afraid they are going to have sex? If they wanted to have sex they can do it your drive way. At some point you have to trust you raise them to make good decisions." This was my internal response mostly to the thought of anyone, especially my daughter, having sex in my driveway.

But when I thought it about my Mom had a point.
I feel like that logic extends to snooping. I should just say no to snooping unless there is a real reason for concern about her health and safety. Even then probably the right thing to do is  try to talk with her first You know, act like a mature responsible adult and create channels for meaningful, supportive communication.
Still, snooping seems a lot easier.
What do you think? Is it snooping and is it wrong?
Shout out to France. Yes, France. We have a reader or readers who have checked out Menopausal Moms. It just goes to show that Menopause and Moms are Universal.

Stupid Old Woman!

As a teacher, I have been called many names, and I don’t mean Mrs. York or Mrs. Kim.  You would think teaching on a college level meant you were teaching mature, intelligent people all of the time.  But, as I said, “You would think.” 

That is not always the case.  Sometimes, I get one who is just drenched with attitude.  And,  that ONE always knows more than you do, and they push your stress levels to all new heights.  More stress also means more hot flashes, which leads to one unhappy teacher!

Recently, I got one of those students.  Oh yes, this student knew it all!  And, this student thought they could come to class late every day..."what’s the problem with that?"  And, this student thought they could plagiarize work…”Why not?   Someone else already found the information, why should I have to research it too? I have better things to do with my time…like get on Facebook”  OK, the student never said all of that, but I am sure it is what they were thinking.

Then one day (day 3 actually,) this student pulled the final piece of wood that crashed their Jenga house to the ground.  This student slammed down a pen because they were upset that I called them out for being late, then turned to the class and said, “Stupid Old Woman!”

There it was…the first time someone called me an old woman.  Wow!  That hurt bigtime!  And, I have been called plenty…even the big “B” word.  However, those words never bothered me…sometimes I can be a “B,” but this time the name calling hit home. 

The next day, I was trying to suck it up and heal my “old” wounds and get it out of my head.  This student had been terminated, and I did not have to deal with their attitude anymore!  But, the reality of being “old” came through yet another medium. 

My class had an assignment regarding telephone etiquette, and then in teams of two, they had to act out the proper and improper ways to talk to customers.  One of my students discussed asking for callback information and actually used the number 867-5309 in the demonstration.  And, if you are a Menopausal Mom, you know this number well…right?  Please tell me you do!

So, I start singing the number and my students look at me like I am C-R-A-Z-Y!  “What are you singing Mrs. Kim?” 

I then said, "Really? Seriously? You have never heard of “Tommy Tutone?”  They said, “Tommy who?”  Is he a rapper?   Eyes widen…jaw drops.  In their defense, I guess the name does sound like a rapper.  And in this picture, he even looks like a rapper.

But, I really felt my age.  So, I put the music video up on the overhead so that they could experience it, and not think I am C-R-A-Z-Y!  The video was ancient, and even a little cheesey…but it gave my students a good laugh.  They said, “That really is a song!”  At least, in that moment, they knew I hadn’t lost my mind.  I may be old, but I am not senile!

http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=867-5309&FORM=VIRE1#view=detail&mid=31F6CC0F10075EEC1CEA31F6CC0F10075EEC1CEA

I thought simply turning 50 was enough to feel old, but it seems turning 50 is just the very, very beginning!

This past Monday, I had the pleasure of seeing my doctor…she is the best doctor ever!  But, she was concerned that I had not been through an ovarian cancer screening since my hysterectomy 14 years ago.  So, she thought I needed to get this set up.  She asked if I knew the University of Kentucky Markey Cancer Center offered  free ovarian cancer screenings to women over 50 and women over 25 with a family history of ovarian cancer?  I told her I had no idea, but I signed up. 

http://ukhealthcare.uky.edu/ovariancancerscreen/

Yes, it seems once you hit 50, you are prone to so many more health issues, including ovarian cancer.  As the year progresses, I will keep you updated on all of my turning 50 adventures.  I am sure I have lots of prodding and needle sticks to endure.

Turning 50… “Is there an app for that?”

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.
Kim York

I can't win if I don't play: Selling myself

I am applying for a really fancy fellowship. I won't jinx it right now but believe me when I tell you it's one of the best gigs in journalism and I really want to get it.
I'm a writer. I do that all the time. This kind of blogging is a bit weird for me because I've always been careful to, except for very rare occasions, keep myself out of my stories.
But I'm growing bolder with each post so, thanks for that.
But this application is kicking my butt. First I had to admit to myself then to other people....like my bosses....that I thought I had a chance at competing among what appears to be a very accomplished group of people. You know grown up people like an Amal Clooney you might run into at Wal-Mart.
Then, not only do I have to sell myself and sell myself hard in 1,000 words, I have to ask other professionals who I respect to help me sell myself. It doesn't help that someone helping me might have told me that one of the people making the decision on this particular fellowship may lean towards thinking that of Kentucky, Georgia, Alabama and Tennessee as the same place. (Honestly, I can kind of see that if you aren't from somewhere there.)
So I have spent about 24 hours out of the last 72 working on an essay. I don't even remember what I wrote for a college essay. ( I got a couple scholarships so I guess it was OK.)
First I was breezy and bright which has worked for previous far less intense fellowship applications. Second, after reading five years worth of bios of previous recipients, I went dark and serious and pulled out some of the saddest stories I have ever told.
It did make me sound like a Serious Journalist. And, honestly, I have lots of stories that do that. I'm sure my Serious Journalist competitors have lots of those too.
On my drive home tonight, I started thinking about what really makes me different maybe special. Yes, I am good at my job. That's true. Yes, I've had great help in producing some terrific work.
But there are lots of pepole who can say that.
I'm rounding the corner into thinking that maybe what will bring me out of the impressive stack of applicants is the things I've done that not too many people I know have done that didn't seem all that special at the time.
Some of that is my Uber-Nerd devotion to journalism at a very young age. As a high school journalist I interviewed 300 kids about the impact of the recession on the youth of the day. Yes. I. Did. I surveyed 300 kids. Not surprisingly my middle class, mostly white peers did not suffer much from the recession in the early 80s. Or, if they did, they didn't want to admit it to the cute girl in the cafeteria who kept insisting that they help her fill out a survey.
But I also decided at some point, after falling forward through three lay offs in five years in the early 90s that I was not going to take a fourth job even though the money was good. There were two reasons. I thought the company was growing too fast and I didn't want to get stuck in Miami. Plus a friend of mine's Uncle Joe told me following a family funeral that no one should ever take a job just for the money. He said this with a New York Italian accent that made it sound especially profound. I didn't' take that job.  Six months later, the department I was going to work in was eliminated.
Instead, I focused on being the mistress of my own fate and made freelancing work until after my daughter was born and did fine.
Better than fine.
My daughter calls in my hippie phase. I tried to pretend she was wrong. But hand-dyed, tie-dyed overalls, check.
Birkenstocks, check.
Long wild hair most often in a basball cap or held up by a pencil, check.
Bartering photography and pottery classes by mixing glazes and mopping floors at an art school, check and check.
So, in my hippie phase, I made sometimes beautiful things just because and read brainy books for no good reason. If I hadn't had that break between Uber-Nerd and Serious Journalist I would have cracked under newsroom pressure a long time ago. (OK I may have cracked, I think I would have broken.)
So, I'm going to hit "post" on this and send it out into the ether and go onto what could literally be the 50th draft application if you count each time I 've closed and open the file.  I'm hoping to win because I have the courage to play the game and tell the truth about some messy choices in my life that ended up with good results.
If you pray, say a prayer for me. I you send up good vibes, vibe away. If you think good thoughts, I could use the positive energy.
I'll keep you posted.

Reality shows made me sicker.

It’s crappy to be sick, especially when a fever hits and you already suffer with hot flashes.  Bad combination!  You might say I get just a little bit cranky.  My husband might say more than that.  So, when I’m sick, the only things I want to do are lie around, be pampered and watch TV. 

But this time, I’m not the only person sick in my house; my husband, Tim, is sick too.  As-a-matter-of-fact, he is much more sick than I am.  Neither of us have any energy, and walking to the bathroom is like high endurance exercise followed by gut-wrenching coughs.  So, no pampering…we have just taken turns making each other meals, so we can stay alive. 

And, this weekend, we have both taken in much more TV than any one-person needs in a year.  Fortunately for Tim, there is something called “playoffs” on TV, and he is in couch potato Heaven.  For me, not so much!

There are very few shows that make me say, “Good Lord, that is a TV show?”  But, that has been in my head all weekend.  I love reality shows, so I typically frown when some Debbie Downer says reality TV is foolish.  I get that reality shows are not known for their educational moments, but I have an MBA and educational moments are not what I am looking for.  I am looking for entertainment.  However, after this weekend, I am starting to lean toward the Debbie Downer dark side.

Why, you ask?  Well, up until yesterday, my idea of reality shows were waiting week to week to see who got voted off “American Idol” or “Survivor.”  Or, when I really feel daring, I watch “Sister Wives.”  (My husband hates this show, but I have fallen in love with the Brown family.)

But, this weekend made all of my past reality TV viewing seem more like I was watching Nick at Night.  I could not believe how far television has taken reality shows. For instance, the first two TV reality shows to grab my attention were “Little Women LA” and “Big Women: Big Love,” both on the Lifetime channel. (I had just watched a Lifetime movie and these shows immediately followed.) 

Let me begin with “Big Women: Big Love.”  Oh where to begin?  This show is all about 5 women who are overweight and follows their adventures in dating.  The name of the first episode is, “Curly Fries and Creepy Guys.”  And, the episode lives up to its name. 

One of the characters, Jenn, went on a first date with someone she had met online.  They went bowling.   This guy obviously thought he was better than her with all of the comments he was making.  He was just rude to her.  While they were bowling, an attendant comes around to see if they want to order anything to eat or drink.  Jen orders curly fries, and her date’s response was, “really?”  He ordered a purple Gatorade. 

Another cast member, Mar, stated she did not like to date men who were fat.  Hmmm.  You hear the women say many times in the first episode that men should like them for who they are…size shouldn’t matter.  Hmmm again.  And, did I mention the scene where one of the ladies asks this guy, on their first date, if she could put her hand on his inner thigh?  Did I say, “Hmmm?” 

Let’s move on to, “Little Women LA.”  

This one made my jaw drop.  The women involved are dwarfs, and the show attempts to create a “Housewives of Beverly Hills” aura with little women.  The first episode is full of important issues related to dwarfism.  Let’s see…there was the divorce party with a penis cake.  And, I cannot forget Christy, who while shopping in a furniture store, laid down on her stomach, on a coffee table, and twerked as if she were having sex.  She was, “trying it out.”  Uh huh. 

Do these women not get they are being exploited?  This includes women from both shows…big and little.   The cast members on both shows talk as if they want to educate viewers on the plights of life when you are either big or small people in society.  But, the cameras catch them in situations that are in no way meant to educate, but rather to entertain…and entertain it does.  As appalled as I felt watching the shows, it was a like a train wreck, you can’t look away.  The best thing I can do for myself, and those women, is to never turn those TV shows on again.  It’s just sad.

I will say one cast member, Elena, of “Little Women LA,” seemed to get it.  And, she admitted to knowing she was being exploited. She did not admit the exploitation as a cast member of the show, but of the work she did in the real world.

This topic started a heated conversation while soaking with the other ladies of the show, in a hot tub.  Elena said she was going to be a midget Lady Gaga at a midget bar.  The other ladies were appalled that she referenced the word, “midget.”  Hence, the title of the first episode, “The “M” Word.” 

The other ladies said it was like calling a black person the “N” word.  Elena did not agree.  She said her work, and the work of another cast member, Terra, who was also in entertainment, was meant to be funny and entertaining to others.  She went on to say if the others did not agree with this, they were basically fooling themselves.  

I hope all of these women and all other people on reality shows, who are made fun of because they are what society deems “different,” get they are being exploited.  If they know this, and are willing to put themselves out there for money, more power to them.  If they don’t, shame on those who produce the shows.

For now, I will fill the remaining hours of my sick weekend with TV shows I have recorded on my DVR.  Time for hot soup, hot tea, and “I Love Lucy.”  That has to make me feel better!  Can you say, “Vitameatavegimen?”

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.
Kim York

Crap, I will not be a slave to medication!

Happy new year everyone!

As many of you have read in previous posts, I am happy to say “Goodbye” to 2014 and “WELCOME” to 2015.  2014 had many events I am happy to keep in the past, but I believe 2015 will be amazing!

The old year ended and the new began with a road trip to Michigan with my husband.  We had a wonderful time!  And, I have to say, Michigan in the winter is a great place to be when you suffer with hot flashes.  Typically, I travel with a portable fan…in Michigan this is not necessary! 

 

If ever I felt a hot flash coming on…I just opened the door.  The 10 degree temperature was exhilarating!  Our daughter, Amanda, who we visited first in Michigan, thought it was hilarious to see me walk out on her balcony in my socks and jammies to enjoy the cold that was Michigan. I am sure her neighbors thought I was some crazy woman stalking her house! 

 

The trip was great, but with all of the driving we did…about 1800 miles, I had plenty of time to think too.  I decided that I was 50 years old, and I was not young anymore.  But, just because I was no longer young, did not mean I could no longer be healthy.

For the past 4 years, I have been working with an amazing doctor who truly cares.  And, her goal has always been for me to be a healthier person.  But, I am just realizing this was not my goal.  I wanted to lose weight to be healthier, yes…but I also wanted to look like Reba McEntire!  Her figure is perfect, and she is so darn cute!  And, we both say “Crap” all of the time.  She is my menopausal mom idol!

So, actually, I was full of crap to not seriously consider my health as the top priority.  I absolutely hate medicine, and I have to keep taking more and more because I am not doing what I need to do to get healthy.  I keep saying, “I don’t have the time.” 

But, the time I had to reflect over my health and my life while driving all over Michigan was enlightening.  I said to myself, “Crap, Kim!  You know you have time to work out!  Crap, Kim! You know you have time to go to the store and purchase healthy foods.  Crap, Kim!  You know you have time to cook those healthy foods.”  And, then I just said, “Crap, Kim!” ...just because. 

I DO have the time.  Otherwise, my time will be short on this earth. 

The trip also offered my husband, Tim, and I time to talk about what we want for our health together.  We want many more years together, and as things are, that is unlikely.  We both seem to be going down the unhealthy paths of our families.  The men in my husband’s family die young from heart attacks, and the women in my family have heart disease and kidney failure due to junk food lifestyles.  I say, “Crap, Kim…this trend stops with you!” 

Tim and I decided to start making changes…nothing drastic, so we can do what we need to do successfully.  We will NOT diet…we will make healthier food choices.  We will NOT punish our bodies with exercise, but do fun activities at the gym that are also good for our hearts. 

I have always heard people say, “Your head must be on straight before you can be successful with good health and weight loss.”  Well crap, I finally get it now!

I do not want to be a slave to medication.  I want to live a long and happy life.  Crap, I just want to live.

Today is the first step to getting healthy.  My goal, not my resolution, is to welcome the year 2016 without the need for any medication.  NONE!  If my doctor is reading this, I am sure she is shaking her head.  She knows I have struggled with this, but she has never given up on me. 

My head IS ON STRAIGHT now! 

Today I started counting my calories.  I know it is simple…take in fewer calories and make the calories that you do take in count.  Tonight, I will work out at the gym.  I will take it slow and build my endurance every day.

So, if you see me at the gym tonight, don’t laugh at the scared look on my face.  This is only the beginning!  When you see me in 2016, you will say, “Crap, Kim…where did all of that weight go?” 

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder!
Kim York