I haven’t quite been my joyful, optimistic self of late. I’ve been hiding, watching TV and trying to motivate myself to do something, anything. There are a number of reasons for this cloudy disposition, but I will spare you the details, save for one, THE one, THE battle, THE bane of my existence; food.
Over the past couple of weeks, I have been eating between 3,000 and 4,000 calories a day. My weight is up to 421 pounds. Not quite a record (427) but close. It is a mystery of the human mind that I hate the consequences of overeating, but love the act itself. Hence the depression and frustration. I want both to eat and be thin and refuse to accept the empirical evidence of 50 years that it is not possible for me to have both to the degree that I desire.
I needed a kick in the ass.
I got one.
Friday afternoon I went out with friends to get hair and nails done. Color, cut, mani and pedi, we spent hours relaxing and talking girl talk. I was sure that the Vietnamese nail techs were commenting on the horrendous condition of my feet. I could see my tech was working up a sweat trying to scrape months of neglect off the bottom on my feet. Weight and poor circulation had created a barely penetrable armor plating, particularly at the heel. But Jay, not his real name, eventually prevailed so, gorgeous, pampered and light nearly $90 each, we went to the restaurant next door to have dinner and let the polish cure.
It was a lovely evening with a gentle breeze and just a hint of coolness. We decided to dine on the patio. They had checkered table clothes, candle center pieces, umbrellas and those molded plastic chairs. I hate those plastic chairs; they are always too narrow so by the time dinner is over, I have deep gouges on the outside of my thighs and no feeling in my feet. I hate being the killjoy, so I sucked it up and gently squeezed my ten pound ass into that five pound chair.
As is typical with this model, I could feel that I was forcing the chair’s arms apart as I settled all 421 pounds on to the four legs. I could hear the plastic complain under my weight as the legs bowed ever so slightly. I paused for a second, checking my “spidey sense” for trouble. All seemed in order, so I began to sit back when “CRACK” the chair literally exploded into a dozen pieces!
I have been carrying around excess weight for many more years than not and I have thigh and calf muscles to prove it. I reacted immediately and those oversized muscles contracted holding me in mid air, locked in that sitting position mightily poised to lift my substantial bulk to a standing position, avoiding the embarrassment and humiliation of a fall and quite likely cause the half-dozen shocked bystanders to gaze in awe at the strength and agility of this remarkable, if not hugely obese woman.
Alas, estrogen has done its job and my strength isn’t what it used to be. Frozen in time for only a moment, I couldn’t pull up and the table was quickly beyond my reach; not that grabbing it would have helped. Like a pilot in a shattered plane, I realized I was headed to the ground and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Horrified, I crashed onto the concrete patio with a terrible indelicate “thud.”
Instantly, I was surrounded by people asking if I was OK, reaching out their hands to help me up. I was flat on my ass leaning back on my left hand. I took stock of my vitals and everything seemed in one piece, no blood, no bones, no bruises, except for the massive one direct center of my ego. I swung my right hand over to the outstretched hand of my friend’s daughter, Dana; not her real name. Seconds before we clasped hands, I yanked it back. “Wait!” I said too loudly. “The nails!! Watch the nails!”
I shunned the offers of help, got up on one knee and hoisted myself up using a chair for support. I headed over to one of the patio lights where I could use the bright light to once again check my vitals. The manager came over. “Are you alright,” he asked. Surveying both hands for several more seconds, “Yes, I replied. The nails survived.”
As my friend said to me later, “Thank God you weren’t wearing a dress.” Amen to that!
I tell the story with humor to help block the thoughts that are fighting to get in. The thought that all those witnesses got into their cars and laughed hysterically at the stupid fat woman that fell on her ass. How could she think for even a moment such a chair could support the tonnage being placed upon it? I imagine the story being told to others and praying that no one was at the ready with a cell phone camera. I couldn’t imagine seeing it on YouTube. Humor helps block those thoughts, mostly.
Today I am back on my plan, as I was yesterday. One day at a time.
Take Care,
Monday, April 19, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Eleven Steps Back
Last week was a rough week. I gained back 11 of the 12 pounds I lost the previous week. (Oh how I don’t want to admit that!!)
It was a busy week, so didn’t log my food. I just don’t want to accept that my calibration is off and I MUST log my food to know how much I am eating. So, it is back to the logbook.
I don’t understand why it is so hard to make this a priority in my life. I don’t have a lot of years left on this Earth and every day I fiddle fart around with my food plan is another day lost to the life I dream about living.
I hate pictures of myself. There is something about the mind’s eye that is much more forgiving than the camera lens. When I see a picture of myself, I look HUGE. So, next week, I am having a friend of mine take a picture of me and make a life-size cardboard replica of Billie as seen through the camera lens.
My cellulose twin will take up a position blocking the refrigerator door. I will post a photo on Facebook when it is in place. :)
Take Care,
Billie
It was a busy week, so didn’t log my food. I just don’t want to accept that my calibration is off and I MUST log my food to know how much I am eating. So, it is back to the logbook.
I don’t understand why it is so hard to make this a priority in my life. I don’t have a lot of years left on this Earth and every day I fiddle fart around with my food plan is another day lost to the life I dream about living.
I hate pictures of myself. There is something about the mind’s eye that is much more forgiving than the camera lens. When I see a picture of myself, I look HUGE. So, next week, I am having a friend of mine take a picture of me and make a life-size cardboard replica of Billie as seen through the camera lens.
My cellulose twin will take up a position blocking the refrigerator door. I will post a photo on Facebook when it is in place. :)
Take Care,
Billie
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Living to Eat
A food addiction is a most vicious addiction. I have heard from some of you that are fighting this same battle or have, so you know; this addiction is meaner than sin.
Most food addicts don’t look like they are struggling; their lives don’t show the debilitating effects some other addictions can manifest. The worst food addicts will be extremely overweight, may have trouble getting around and suffer obesity related illnesses like high blood pressure and diabetes. But many, many more food addicts adapt their lives and bodies for years, until suddenly, time runs out. Someday, I will share some of the ways I have adapted.
Recovery in many addictions is focused on abstinence. All the recovery energy is focused on one single point, do NOT have the first drink or puff or hit. Addiction is a lot like fat cells, once there, they can be diminished, but never eliminated. Just one experience is enough for most addicts to send them back into the dark abyss from which they worked so hard to extricate themselves. Just once. I can’t tell you how many times I have stood on the scale looking up from the bottom of the pit, bitter and hopeless. Having known the joy of success only to have returned by my own hubris was devastating. It’s by God’s grace I never used a bullet to solve the problem. Some do.
I imagine there are some addicts that can flirt with their “demon” and not succumb to their old habits. I don’t know any, though. As a smoker, I would toss out, tongue-in-cheek, that overused quip, “I can quit smoking; I’ve done it a thousand times.” All it took was one cigarette and I was back to two packs a day before I knew what hit me. I finally succeeded by walling off anything that had to do with smoking or smokes until I firmly established the ability to resist. For me, I was able to finally stand firm when the smell of cigarette smoke became unpleasant and its presence irritated my nose and throat. With lung cancer the primary killer in my family history, I may have added a number of years to my life. But to do it, I had to do whatever was necessary to keep tobacco from getting near me.
There have been a couple of times I have abstained from food for extended periods. Two or three times I have done ten-day fasts, consuming only water. Twice I did medically supervised Optifast plans where I did not eat solid food for the first 40 days. I drank 5, eight ounce “shakes” instead. When the 40 days was up, I drank four shakes a day and had one meal. My last Optifast experience, from early 2000 to mid-2001, I lost 185 pounds.
One of the reasons the efforts above eventually failed is that complete abstinence from food is not possible. Sooner or later we have to go back to the table. Imagine the alcoholic forced to have cocktails after work EVERY DAY, but not get drunk or the smoker required to have a SINGLE cigarette after sex. Food addicts are in the terrifying and contradictory position of having to court our death to stay alive.
Is it any wonder why so many diets fail?
Most food addicts don’t look like they are struggling; their lives don’t show the debilitating effects some other addictions can manifest. The worst food addicts will be extremely overweight, may have trouble getting around and suffer obesity related illnesses like high blood pressure and diabetes. But many, many more food addicts adapt their lives and bodies for years, until suddenly, time runs out. Someday, I will share some of the ways I have adapted.
Recovery in many addictions is focused on abstinence. All the recovery energy is focused on one single point, do NOT have the first drink or puff or hit. Addiction is a lot like fat cells, once there, they can be diminished, but never eliminated. Just one experience is enough for most addicts to send them back into the dark abyss from which they worked so hard to extricate themselves. Just once. I can’t tell you how many times I have stood on the scale looking up from the bottom of the pit, bitter and hopeless. Having known the joy of success only to have returned by my own hubris was devastating. It’s by God’s grace I never used a bullet to solve the problem. Some do.
I imagine there are some addicts that can flirt with their “demon” and not succumb to their old habits. I don’t know any, though. As a smoker, I would toss out, tongue-in-cheek, that overused quip, “I can quit smoking; I’ve done it a thousand times.” All it took was one cigarette and I was back to two packs a day before I knew what hit me. I finally succeeded by walling off anything that had to do with smoking or smokes until I firmly established the ability to resist. For me, I was able to finally stand firm when the smell of cigarette smoke became unpleasant and its presence irritated my nose and throat. With lung cancer the primary killer in my family history, I may have added a number of years to my life. But to do it, I had to do whatever was necessary to keep tobacco from getting near me.
There have been a couple of times I have abstained from food for extended periods. Two or three times I have done ten-day fasts, consuming only water. Twice I did medically supervised Optifast plans where I did not eat solid food for the first 40 days. I drank 5, eight ounce “shakes” instead. When the 40 days was up, I drank four shakes a day and had one meal. My last Optifast experience, from early 2000 to mid-2001, I lost 185 pounds.
One of the reasons the efforts above eventually failed is that complete abstinence from food is not possible. Sooner or later we have to go back to the table. Imagine the alcoholic forced to have cocktails after work EVERY DAY, but not get drunk or the smoker required to have a SINGLE cigarette after sex. Food addicts are in the terrifying and contradictory position of having to court our death to stay alive.
Is it any wonder why so many diets fail?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Step One
Hi
My Name is Billie
I am addicted to food.
I have been here so many times before and for this trip it is still necessary to begin with the beginning. The First Step, “I admit that I am powerless over food and my life has become unmanageable.”
It’s true. Over food, I am absolutely powerless. I quit smoking 30 years ago, cold turkey and never looked back. I drink occasionally, but alcohol has no sway over me. I might be the only person in America that has expired beer in the fridge. I was on Percocet for months and months. My doctor was concerned that I would become addicted to the pain killers until I told him I would rather have a double cheese burger. When the pain ended, I just stopped taking them. I think I still have 6 pills left in the bottle.
It is also true that my life is unmanageable and food is the biggest contributor. Food is the perfect partner for procrastination, poor discipline, “couch disease” and laziness; all afflictions of mine. I eat huge amounts of food, so much that I often have to lie down as I cannot keep my eyes open. I call it a “food coma.” If too many carbohydrates are involved, I will be groggy and have a killer headache when I awake. My stomach will be so full that I can barely move. It is the pathetic sight of an addict in full service to my addiction.
That addiction has controlled most of my life, kept me from doing so many things, seeing so many people and going so many places. I can barley climb one flight of stairs, let alone hike a trail. I have half a dozen pair of beautiful shoes that I don’t wear because I cannot reach the ankle strap to buckle them. They are in my closet, waiting for me to surrender this battle so I can fight it.
More later,
Billie
My Name is Billie
I am addicted to food.
I have been here so many times before and for this trip it is still necessary to begin with the beginning. The First Step, “I admit that I am powerless over food and my life has become unmanageable.”
It’s true. Over food, I am absolutely powerless. I quit smoking 30 years ago, cold turkey and never looked back. I drink occasionally, but alcohol has no sway over me. I might be the only person in America that has expired beer in the fridge. I was on Percocet for months and months. My doctor was concerned that I would become addicted to the pain killers until I told him I would rather have a double cheese burger. When the pain ended, I just stopped taking them. I think I still have 6 pills left in the bottle.
It is also true that my life is unmanageable and food is the biggest contributor. Food is the perfect partner for procrastination, poor discipline, “couch disease” and laziness; all afflictions of mine. I eat huge amounts of food, so much that I often have to lie down as I cannot keep my eyes open. I call it a “food coma.” If too many carbohydrates are involved, I will be groggy and have a killer headache when I awake. My stomach will be so full that I can barely move. It is the pathetic sight of an addict in full service to my addiction.
That addiction has controlled most of my life, kept me from doing so many things, seeing so many people and going so many places. I can barley climb one flight of stairs, let alone hike a trail. I have half a dozen pair of beautiful shoes that I don’t wear because I cannot reach the ankle strap to buckle them. They are in my closet, waiting for me to surrender this battle so I can fight it.
More later,
Billie
Monday, March 8, 2010
Food Fight!!
The original reason for starting this blog page has died a quiet death at my own hands; and that’s a good thing. Since the funeral, I’ve been wondering what to do with the thing, especially since I own this domain name across the known universe, with the possible exception of the Klingon Empire. Negotiations are ongoing.
A few days ago, I had an idea. (No it’s not the only one I have ever had, but this is one of the good ones.) I will use it to journal about the toughest battle I will ever fight. Where before I intended to share opinions, in this effort, I will share my life. Particularly, that part of my life pertaining to the final major hurdle to my happiness.
The technical name for it, appropriately I think, is Morbid Obesity. The not so technical names we all know, but to state the obvious, I am a very fat chick and need to change that for a number of reasons.
As with my life, this will be chaotic. I will write about what’s on my mind at the time. No time tables or set subject matter. One day you may see a simple progress report, another a story from my fat past, another a rant against society’s love affair with food. It won’t be for you, it will be for me, and thus I will be blunt and you will read things you may find distasteful. But I need to see them in all their pixel ugliness. In sharing I will accomplish two things; the first is I will come out of hiding and bare my last deep secrets and second, hopefully this will help someone else. It has the additional appeal, at least to me, that it is about a much different transision.
Let’s begin.
Today begins the second week of attempt number 18,615 to lose weight. I weighed in at 393 pounds. I lost 12 pounds last week. Before you get all excited, remember a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds and reducing Carbohydrates, at least in my body, results in constant peeing. Still 12 pounds is 12 pounds. I have a tendency to ignore the positive in exchange for a recitation of my past failures. And there are plenty of those. I worked hard last week to stay focused on the successes.
I weighed in on Day One at 405 pounds. I have weighed more. I decided in that first week to cap only one parameter and that was Carbohydrates at 110 grams a day. That’s 440 calories, roughly one-and-a-half Snickers bars. For someone who loves bagels, rolls, and sandwiches, that ain’t a lot of Carbs. I could eat whatever else I wanted and as much as I wanted as long as I held the Carbs down.
I held the line on Carbs and I ate plenty of whatever else I wanted; around 3,000 calories a day give or take, mostly fat calories. This week I am capping two parameters; Carbs at 125 grams and total calories at 2,500. I am holding down Carbs because I have ample evidence and experience to show that I have developed a resistance to my own insulin (Syndrome X.) If I keep my Carbs in check, my blood sugar tests well within “normal.” If I let the Carbs go, my blood sugar will test in the 110-115 range; so called “pre-diabetic” levels.
Enough for today. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t read this. As I said, it’s for me. I need a breakthrough; maybe this will be it.
A few days ago, I had an idea. (No it’s not the only one I have ever had, but this is one of the good ones.) I will use it to journal about the toughest battle I will ever fight. Where before I intended to share opinions, in this effort, I will share my life. Particularly, that part of my life pertaining to the final major hurdle to my happiness.
The technical name for it, appropriately I think, is Morbid Obesity. The not so technical names we all know, but to state the obvious, I am a very fat chick and need to change that for a number of reasons.
As with my life, this will be chaotic. I will write about what’s on my mind at the time. No time tables or set subject matter. One day you may see a simple progress report, another a story from my fat past, another a rant against society’s love affair with food. It won’t be for you, it will be for me, and thus I will be blunt and you will read things you may find distasteful. But I need to see them in all their pixel ugliness. In sharing I will accomplish two things; the first is I will come out of hiding and bare my last deep secrets and second, hopefully this will help someone else. It has the additional appeal, at least to me, that it is about a much different transision.
Let’s begin.
Today begins the second week of attempt number 18,615 to lose weight. I weighed in at 393 pounds. I lost 12 pounds last week. Before you get all excited, remember a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds and reducing Carbohydrates, at least in my body, results in constant peeing. Still 12 pounds is 12 pounds. I have a tendency to ignore the positive in exchange for a recitation of my past failures. And there are plenty of those. I worked hard last week to stay focused on the successes.
I weighed in on Day One at 405 pounds. I have weighed more. I decided in that first week to cap only one parameter and that was Carbohydrates at 110 grams a day. That’s 440 calories, roughly one-and-a-half Snickers bars. For someone who loves bagels, rolls, and sandwiches, that ain’t a lot of Carbs. I could eat whatever else I wanted and as much as I wanted as long as I held the Carbs down.
I held the line on Carbs and I ate plenty of whatever else I wanted; around 3,000 calories a day give or take, mostly fat calories. This week I am capping two parameters; Carbs at 125 grams and total calories at 2,500. I am holding down Carbs because I have ample evidence and experience to show that I have developed a resistance to my own insulin (Syndrome X.) If I keep my Carbs in check, my blood sugar tests well within “normal.” If I let the Carbs go, my blood sugar will test in the 110-115 range; so called “pre-diabetic” levels.
Enough for today. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t read this. As I said, it’s for me. I need a breakthrough; maybe this will be it.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Ours Is But To Accept
One of the great things about this trip is that I get to sit with relatives and friends and have long talks. We catch up on all that has happened in our lives since our last meeting; the successes, failures, highs, lows, family gossip and what the hell was I thinking. :) My Mother is no exception. The other day she said the most extraordinary thing to me.
First, I need to tell you a little about my Brother, Steve. I am the oldest of four kids and Steve is number two, thirteen months younger than I. We were not very close for decades. Our relationship has improved significantly over the past fifteen or so years. Even so, we are very different. It is those differences that led me to hurt his feelings; unintentionally, but significantly.
Steve is not the most tolerant person I know. Our “colorful” past and certain things in his nature caused me to conclude that Steve would not be very accepting of my situation and the subsequent decision I made to live my life, full-time as a woman.
I was wrong, very wrong and Steve was hurt that I would think he could not, would not accept my decision and continue to love me. And through my Mother, I learned just how profound my Brother’s mindset toward me actually is. Mother told me that in a conversation with Steve, where she was remarking that she just did not understand why I had chosen this path, Steve told her, “It is not for us to understand. Ours is but to accept.”
Wow!! That blew me away and I cried.
I have a blind spot when it comes to how others react to my decision. Because of this blind spot, I have sought to talk to those affected by my choice and learn exactly how it has affected their lives. To those I have hurt, I apologize and seek forgiveness. It was never my intent to cause pain.
All speak of the surprise to hear the news, but once the shock has passed, their reactions differ. Men often speak of the courage to make such a choice; women are usually sad that I had to live a life in hiding waiting for society to be more open. A few had suspicions that I was either Gay or Transgendered, a few others couldn’t put their finger on it, but knew I was unhappy. Most note that I am a better person, that I radiate happiness now, that I am far more active, social and personally involved in the community than before. They tell me that the qualities that matter remain and have been enhanced despite the change in my appearance.
Still, many do not understand and that is OK. The root of this change is, after all, a Disorder and a rare one at that. Many people will only know one or two Transgendered people in their entire life. Further, the roles of Gender are deeply engrained in everything we do. Those that are comfortable with the sex assigned to them at birth wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China. My youngest brother, Andy, watched me unload all the things I needed just to spend the night at his place, I looked like a pack mule, and remarked, “I know you HAD to do this. No one would willingly choose to be a woman and haul all this stuff around. Being a guy is much simpler.” Indeed.
Going back through the past two years, I can think of only three people that have rejected me outright. My spouse, but to be fair, she rejected me twenty years ago; and two male friends who have refused to talk to me despite apologies and attempts to engage them. As they no doubt don’t understand me, I don’t understand why they won’t talk to me. I simply chalk it up to human nature. In any case, mine is not to understand, mine is simply to accept.
First, I need to tell you a little about my Brother, Steve. I am the oldest of four kids and Steve is number two, thirteen months younger than I. We were not very close for decades. Our relationship has improved significantly over the past fifteen or so years. Even so, we are very different. It is those differences that led me to hurt his feelings; unintentionally, but significantly.
Steve is not the most tolerant person I know. Our “colorful” past and certain things in his nature caused me to conclude that Steve would not be very accepting of my situation and the subsequent decision I made to live my life, full-time as a woman.
I was wrong, very wrong and Steve was hurt that I would think he could not, would not accept my decision and continue to love me. And through my Mother, I learned just how profound my Brother’s mindset toward me actually is. Mother told me that in a conversation with Steve, where she was remarking that she just did not understand why I had chosen this path, Steve told her, “It is not for us to understand. Ours is but to accept.”
Wow!! That blew me away and I cried.
I have a blind spot when it comes to how others react to my decision. Because of this blind spot, I have sought to talk to those affected by my choice and learn exactly how it has affected their lives. To those I have hurt, I apologize and seek forgiveness. It was never my intent to cause pain.
All speak of the surprise to hear the news, but once the shock has passed, their reactions differ. Men often speak of the courage to make such a choice; women are usually sad that I had to live a life in hiding waiting for society to be more open. A few had suspicions that I was either Gay or Transgendered, a few others couldn’t put their finger on it, but knew I was unhappy. Most note that I am a better person, that I radiate happiness now, that I am far more active, social and personally involved in the community than before. They tell me that the qualities that matter remain and have been enhanced despite the change in my appearance.
Still, many do not understand and that is OK. The root of this change is, after all, a Disorder and a rare one at that. Many people will only know one or two Transgendered people in their entire life. Further, the roles of Gender are deeply engrained in everything we do. Those that are comfortable with the sex assigned to them at birth wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China. My youngest brother, Andy, watched me unload all the things I needed just to spend the night at his place, I looked like a pack mule, and remarked, “I know you HAD to do this. No one would willingly choose to be a woman and haul all this stuff around. Being a guy is much simpler.” Indeed.
Going back through the past two years, I can think of only three people that have rejected me outright. My spouse, but to be fair, she rejected me twenty years ago; and two male friends who have refused to talk to me despite apologies and attempts to engage them. As they no doubt don’t understand me, I don’t understand why they won’t talk to me. I simply chalk it up to human nature. In any case, mine is not to understand, mine is simply to accept.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Five Hours of Heaven
Last night I went over to my brother Andy’s place. He is divorced and this is his weekend to have the kids; Connor and Keegan, my teenage nephews and Kiernan, my six year-old niece. It was my good fortune that the kids had Teacher Conferences, so Andy had them early this week since they have today, Friday, off.
As I pulled up into their driveway, Kiernan came running out the front door, braving the cold and wind to greet me with a hug and escorted me into the house. Wednesday she had been so anxious to see me that she made her dad, my brother, drive twenty minutes to my Mother’s so she could spend half an hour with me before having to return to her Mom’s for dinner.
Once inside, she grabbed me by the hand and took me on a tour ending in her bedroom. It was painted two different shades of pink with a paper border around the room four feet high separating them. The head of her bed was covered with stuffed animals; among them were the Fish family, the Monkey family and the Statue of Liberty doll her dad had brought back from New York City. This menagerie rested atop a pink “Dora the Explorer” bedspread.
She showed me her closet, her clothes, her keepsake jewelry and the artwork coveted by her dad. She also showed me her purse, another prized possession from her dad’s trip to New York City. Then we went to see her Bearded Dragon lizard, Thunderball. Thunderball is one of three family lizards, but Kiernan proudly informed me that hers was the largest. Indeed, she was. From there, it was back to the bedroom to play.
She pulled out her Dora the Explorer house and started opening it up so we could play, but she saw a spider and immediately scampered on top of the bed. “Aunt Billie, can you please take care of the spider?” No problem, Aunt Billie to the rescue, then on to our play time. She demonstrated all the gadgets; the oven, the “real” door, the book shelves and the stove. I joined her on the floor where we played until it was time to go to Claxon’s for dinner.
After dinner, we retired to her dad’s room so we could watch “Daffy and the Quackbusters” and eat banana pie. She had obviously seen the movie a few times and made sure I knew the funny parts were coming. She eventually opened up her laptop and started playing a game where you cook various dishes and are scored on how you combine your ingredients and the cooking technique you use. She leaned away from her screen often to make sure I had not fallen asleep, commenting once or twice that I looked tired. (That banana pie was a carb overload!)
It was time to leave and as we said our goodbyes she asked if I could spend the night tomorrow. I told her Saturday night would actually be better, so I will come over then, “OK?” Nope, she couldn’t wait that long, so I am spending the night tonight, Friday.
As I drove home tears filled my eyes as joy filled my heart. THIS is what it is all about, all the pain and patience. I laughed remembering all those posts I have read arguing over terminology and definitions like, what is a woman. I have long since abandoned those debates, but I can answer that question. Last night I was a woman; through and through, one hundred percent pure, Aunt Billie.
And I loved it!!
PS - To see my precious niece, check out this video on YouTube!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDhnRfuj86Q
As I pulled up into their driveway, Kiernan came running out the front door, braving the cold and wind to greet me with a hug and escorted me into the house. Wednesday she had been so anxious to see me that she made her dad, my brother, drive twenty minutes to my Mother’s so she could spend half an hour with me before having to return to her Mom’s for dinner.
Once inside, she grabbed me by the hand and took me on a tour ending in her bedroom. It was painted two different shades of pink with a paper border around the room four feet high separating them. The head of her bed was covered with stuffed animals; among them were the Fish family, the Monkey family and the Statue of Liberty doll her dad had brought back from New York City. This menagerie rested atop a pink “Dora the Explorer” bedspread.
She showed me her closet, her clothes, her keepsake jewelry and the artwork coveted by her dad. She also showed me her purse, another prized possession from her dad’s trip to New York City. Then we went to see her Bearded Dragon lizard, Thunderball. Thunderball is one of three family lizards, but Kiernan proudly informed me that hers was the largest. Indeed, she was. From there, it was back to the bedroom to play.
She pulled out her Dora the Explorer house and started opening it up so we could play, but she saw a spider and immediately scampered on top of the bed. “Aunt Billie, can you please take care of the spider?” No problem, Aunt Billie to the rescue, then on to our play time. She demonstrated all the gadgets; the oven, the “real” door, the book shelves and the stove. I joined her on the floor where we played until it was time to go to Claxon’s for dinner.
After dinner, we retired to her dad’s room so we could watch “Daffy and the Quackbusters” and eat banana pie. She had obviously seen the movie a few times and made sure I knew the funny parts were coming. She eventually opened up her laptop and started playing a game where you cook various dishes and are scored on how you combine your ingredients and the cooking technique you use. She leaned away from her screen often to make sure I had not fallen asleep, commenting once or twice that I looked tired. (That banana pie was a carb overload!)
It was time to leave and as we said our goodbyes she asked if I could spend the night tomorrow. I told her Saturday night would actually be better, so I will come over then, “OK?” Nope, she couldn’t wait that long, so I am spending the night tonight, Friday.
As I drove home tears filled my eyes as joy filled my heart. THIS is what it is all about, all the pain and patience. I laughed remembering all those posts I have read arguing over terminology and definitions like, what is a woman. I have long since abandoned those debates, but I can answer that question. Last night I was a woman; through and through, one hundred percent pure, Aunt Billie.
And I loved it!!
PS - To see my precious niece, check out this video on YouTube!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDhnRfuj86Q
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