Full moon. Mercury in retro something. It’s all wacked up lately. Everyones crazy. My kids won’t sleep. Things keep breaking and somebody let the dogs out.
Geesh. Can someone please tell me when it is okay to poke my head out again. I’m afraid I might get blasted with eggs or meteorites. I am not one to believe in all that full moon, mercury in retrograde astronomy hype but I’m telling you, the crazies are out. Plus I am falling off task. I must have an undetected by the human eye rip in my mommy cape because things are just not lining up.
It was foggy as all swamps yesterday and I wasn’t sure if it was Bigfoot or my children’s school bus coming down the street. I could hear the rumble of either beast but it wasn’t until I saw it pulling away from my neighbor’s house, that I realized it was the bus and my kids were not on it.
So I had to hurry now and get all kids to school. It can’t ever be easy where I live in never, ever land. Of course they have to attend three different schools too. By the time I actually arrived at work, I was so confused as to where I had been, that I might have rather been abducted by Bigfoot. At least I would have been able to trace my steps.
So to finish up the full moon mercury rising craze, I accidentally washed a Huggies pull up with a load of laundry last night. Did I ever mention how me and beady things do not get along? If you have ever changed a highly saturated, urine logged diaper you know what I am talking about. The beady explosives are insanely hard to clean up. Even when using an entire box of Huggies Wipes and dry and wet paper towels. Those things will linger on the skin of a child for days.
So just imagine what they do to a load of laundry. Nice. I called it quits after the fourth wash last night. Then I retired. I expected to get 5-6, not years in prison, but hours of sleep. Well Mercury and the full moon met or something and little peanuts woke up at 1:00a.m., 3:00a.m. and then my pooch at 4:30a.m. I hope I shed all the beads, crazies and fog with the next moon cycle.
You have to be able to appreciate these things. How many people can say it was a full moon last night and appreciate it? –Sandy Miller
I met a friend for lunch today. Something which does not happen often. Luckily her little girl is the lead chipmunk in a play and because I live in a home with no pink, purple or fuscia, I had a brown long-sleeved shirt for her to borrow. She gets to transform her daughter into a chipmunk and I get some company for lunch. It’s a win-win for all!
As we went to go pay and rush back to our offices, the computerized cash register had to reboot. Mercury must have really pissed off Mars who then ran to the moon who threw a lassle around Uranus because the little annoyances just will not stop.
Until the little old lady who could, said, to me of all people, “She didn’t mind. She had nowhere to be. It’s nice to not need to be somewhere.” She didn’t mind that the computer was frozen and then had to reboot. She didn’t mind it was pouring rain and the cafe coffee was bitter. She was just present and content. Content to just be.
I loved her for this moment. She was in line next to me to remind me that sometimes, we have to just let it go. Perhaps the harder we resist change and fight the astronomical Gods, the worse off we are.
So many people recount that they are alive today because on September 11, 2001, they woke up late, missed their train, stayed home with their sick child or stopped to help a bystander. We can easily get wrapped up in all our daily B.S. that we forget, that every moment we are moving forward. Even when we think we are treading or taking two steps back, we are actually moving forward.
So my love goes out to the adorable little old lady today at the cafe who could. Who could appreciate the minor annoyance of a slight delay and was just glad for the moment. I thank her for sharing that moment with me. I needed her today. Somebody really was listening when I looked up into the full moon sky last night and wished I may, wished I might…
One year ago today I sat down with my laptop and a cup of coffee and started a blog. I titled it Turn Around and Swim. I came up with the name when earlier that week I bought a journal. As part of my New Year’s resolutions for 2012 I was going to write an entry each week. I wanted a way to keep track of my life story; The chaotic fun in raising three boys and finding a balance between working mom and business owner all while being all in for my kids, family and friend’s adventures.
But writing would only give me finger cramps and my chicken scratch would not be legible in my senior years. Further, who would hold me accountable?
Until one day when I was in the shower, my kids were banging on the glass doors for me to hurry, and then it all came to me. I am sure it was an emergency because one was about to die because he needed chocolate milk, one was about to blow up the joint and the other accidentally wrote on the walls with a Sharpie. I couldn’t see because of the lavender and chamomile shower gel that was oozing from my eyes and when I opened my mouth to patiently converse to them yell out to go play, I swallowed a giant gulp of water. I started choking and I mean like really choking.
All I could think about is how I was going to go down as the girl who drowned in a shower smelling of lavender and chamomile while her three little boys burnt down the house. That is when I knew I had to either drown or turn around and swim. So here we are 365 days later. This past year I have written and published 71 posts. I have 100+ blog followers and a quarter of that in email followers.
Some of you followed me by way of this blogosphere, some of you realized I was Swimgirl on Facebook, some were coerced by me or your co-workers and some of you did a Google search and accidentally landed here. Many of you questioned why I would put myself out there like this. Some of you didn’t understand. Yet, others loved my blog instantly. I have found that my most loved by you posts include my original photographs, when I keep it real and make you laugh.
I have been nominated for two blog awards and I thank Multifarious Meanderings for nominating me for both. She is always there to comment on my posts and offer insight with her witty gestures and humor.
I began following a lot of travel and photography blogs but soon got sidetracked by any blog with caffeine in it. What’s not to love about a blog with coffee in its name? I have never been Freshly Pressed and one day I may be granted this honorary mention, but until then, we celebrate.
We celebrate one year of blogging. I would make you all cupcakes but I am sure we are over all that by now. Yet, thank you to all those who voted for my little cupcake at www.celebrations.com as well. Even though I didn’t win over there, I am WINNING here because of all of you. I celebrate with you, all my loyal followers and virtual buddies. I thank you for following me, liking my posts and commenting.
So with one year anniversary celebrations, it does not go without mention, what I learned from blogging:
1) Get to know you readers. They may not like, comment or read every post but know what keeps them following you.
2) Be involved. Visit other blogs. Engage. Share. Like.
3) Treat other bloggers the way you would want to be treated. This applies on and off the blog turf. If you wouldn’t want anyone bashing your blog or post, don’t do it to others. If you want people to engage and comment, then do the same for them.
4) Just because you don’t get a gazillion followers or a million likes per post does not mean your blog is a nothing. Keep writing, keep sharing and your story will unfold. You will attract readers. Never give up. Persistency is the key.
5) Have a good About Page because people will want to know a little bit about the blog’s creator(s) and overall theme before they join in and follow you. They might like a post but not your overall blog content. Your self-disclosure is just laying the truth about your blog out there to the readers. Honesty is “typically” the best policy.
6) Many of you probably think I am a blond girl who loves to swim. I have brown hair and I am not that great of a swimmer. (I mean remember, I did almost drown in a shower). So, I think for this coming year I will include a few self-portraits of the Gravatar in front of the real person you are getting to know here. Stay tuned.
7) Visit the Freshly Pressed posts often because you can really find some awesome blogs you normally would not have ventured to read. Perhaps some day, I too will be featured on that page with all of you wonderful and creative writers.
8) Check out your Stats. You will get a good laugh as to how people find your blog via search terms. These were the top five ways people found TAS via Web searches:
a. Giant Weeble Wobble
b. Zen Moments
c. How To Swim to Atlantic Ocean
d. Suzy Fashit
e. Swimgirl Throwing Things
Now that should give you some serious insight as to what this blog is all about. Thank goodness for Google, right?
9) Have consistent content but don’t be afraid to change it up every now and then. Sometimes I am afraid to have a potty mouth or show that parenting can be similar to being in the vortex of a F-5 Tornado. Sounds pretty basic huh? It’s all in good humor!
10) This is my blog first and foremost. It is my story. I write it as it happens and unfolds. I’m keeping it real so if you get nervous sometimes than strap on your life-preserver.
Thank you, for a wonderful year! I am delighted you are all following me and if you just joined us then what in the world are you waiting for? I mean if you want to figure out How to Swim to the Atlantic Ocean with Suzy Fashit while a Swimgirl is Throwing Things at you while you bob and weave like a Giant Weeble Wobbleto get to your Zen Moment, then you are in the right place. Click the follow button and come for a swim. Oh and just remember…
“You Can’t get Anywhere Doing the Backfloat, You Have To Turn Around and Swim!”
I do go to that happy place everyday fella. I ponder how we skipped the terrible twos and proceeded directly to the tortuous threes. Three is the age of potty training, learning to write your name, taking a lunch for the preschool field trip and testing mommy beyond no end. Three is the year my boys put me on a parental assessment.
I have been here now three times and in all honesty returning to that “happy place” gets sidetracked by things like Wusthof knives cutting Play-doh while mommy takes a shower, emptying the entire contents of bulk Kirkland laundry detergent on the carpeting and putting Purell into mommy’s water bottle.
What is it about this age? Is it just boys or do parents of princesses go through the same thing? Are girls this destructive? Three can be a wonderful but terrifying year all in the same. I know somewhere in history somebody came up with the “terrible twos” but I beg to differ. Can anyone relate to the fact that the age between two and four is the longest 365 days of your life as a parent?
Since the little squirt turned three I have been walking around on my tippy toes checking for pistons of poop droppings on the floor, with my shoulders crunched up into my ears while reminding myself to breathe. We should never have to remind ourselves to breathe unless we are drowning. I know I can survive though because I made it out alive with the other two. I cannot say I was not injured and I am deeply scared for life, but I am alive.
When my little Noochie was three he put some sort of solution in my contact case. It took a few minutes after insertion, and then the burn and oozing began. It burnt so bad that the other eye started burning and I couldn’t even open my eyes to remove the contact. When I asked the little man what he put in there, he smiled with his giant blue eyes and said, “Oh just some special bubbly mommy.” For the love of my eyes. He was so proud. I was so in pain. But I reminded myself that when the eyes are blind, look with the heart.
When you have brought up kids, there are memories you store directly in your tear ducts. ~Robert Brault
This one time, in mommy boot camp, I woke up to the mini drill sergeant. I purposely set my alarm very early so I can gather my thoughts, contacts and sanity before the little men wake up. So, one morning around Valentine’s Day when the same little boy who burnt my eye was three, I had to survive a sugar and honey bath. I proceeded into the kitchen, in the dark, on my tip toes of course and slid into the cabinet. It was as if my feet hit sand. The sand-like mixture and ceramic tile was like a slip-n-slide without the rocks poking through and water.
My right hip hit the cabinet and my feet got stuck in sandy goo. I was so sticky and could barely make my way over to hit the light. When I did, all I saw was sugar and honey everywhere. The honey bottle was still dripping from the upper cabinet, down onto the counter and down onto the floor. As I was just about to scream, I see him, those big eyes and giant smile peering at me from across the living room. What on earth happened here?
He jumped out of his chair and ran over to me and said, “Mommy, are you glad I finally did not wake you up? Remember when you told me to never wake you up in the middle of the night again when I can’t sleep? Well, I tried to read and since, well I am only three, well that didn’t work because I can’t read. So since I am not allowed to boil water for tea, I made sugar and honey water. Aren’t you so happy I didn’t turn on the stove? Then when that didn’t work….” “Wait a minute! Stop right there! What do you mean when that didn’t work? What did you do?” I exclaimed. He replied, “I decorated our house for Valentine’s Day! Let me show you mommy, you are going to be so proud!”
I ruined this kid. When he was expecting me to be “so proud” I was crying in terror. He glued everything and I mean everything to our walls, doors, cabinets, closets, head-boards and carpeting. He broke down in tears because mommy was supposed to be so proud. It took me two weeks to clean up the mess. That was two years ago and I still have remnants of Valentine’s Day 2011 lingering throughout my house.
The trouble with learning to parent on the job is that your child is the teacher. ~Robert Brault
So now, I have another three-year old. I do not want my boys to grow up. Yes, I want to keep them little forever. Bull$hit. But when will enough be enough? Can I survive another round of the Torturous Threes? So far it has cost me my eyesight, I will need a future hip replacement, a whole house woodwork and paint job and $75.00 in plumber fees this year. That’s right, my fresh little three-year old recently flushed a Diego screwdriver tool down the toilet. The plumber looked at him, then me, then him and was like, “huh?” Did he think that was odd? I actually thought it was a clean disaster. A little pricey but picking up the phone to let someone else deal with the mess was a lot easier than other adventures I have been on with my boys.
I love them. I do. I have no idea what I would be without them. Sometimes I wonder if Karma is real. Perhaps Uncle Karma is knock-knock knocking on my door. I know from experience and asking of my parents, I was never like this. Being a girl I just wouldn’t think of these things. I wanted to paint, color and draw, on paper. I wanted to brush my dolls hair and put my mom’s makeup on, neatly. Never did I want to cause extreme fatigue or bodily harm to my parents.
Parenthood is one crazy ride. I do love every minute of it. Especially since I am still here to talk about it. So my advice to new parents approaching that magical age of three, if you think age two was rough, hold on tight. You are in for one heck of a ride! Just remember, moms and dads, you are your child’s favorite toy!
It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn’t. ~Barbara Kingsolver
I have to work this Sunday. My clients typically do not want to hear me say things like I want to be home to tuck my children into bed, it’s family day or I’m sorry my boys have a game. They want me on call at all times of the day. I don’t blame them. Technology has given us the quick fire response. The hitting of a key or button has induced this constant state of urgency among people. Hell, I’ve even trained my clients by being Suzy on the spot for the past ten years.
There is a huge disconnect between real people time and world-wide web time. I think real people time is now getting the short stick. I never want to lose my passion for my career nor make my children feel like they are a nuisance. There is a fine line between work and home and it’s a delicate art balancing it all.
I have extreme working mommy guilt. So, I over commit and over schedule things for myself with respect to being all in for my kids and their school events. Usually I get flustered. Not because I can’t handle it but because it takes me away from what matters most, my children. So the past twelve months I have said that one syllable word, no, more than I ever have. So instead of Room Mom I am just parent volunteer now. I get the same amount of hands on time without the planning and organizing task. Simple. So you might think?
Anyways, I am working this weekend because I volunteered to help out in my middle son’s kindergarten class for their Valentine’s Day Party. I was delegated the task by Room Mom #2 to bring the sweet treat. Yet, because of all the allergies and sugar addictions I had to submit what I would be bringing. If you know me and how I bake it’s a pinch of this and a smidgen of that. So, I had to actually find a recipe. Room Mom #1 recommends for me to set up an account on Pinterest for ideas. Really? I am quite qualified to come up with some original and festive treats on my own. She gets really bothered and indicates to me she sent me an invite on Pinterest.
Alrighty then, Pinterest to the rescue. I had no time to set up an account but since everyone is pinning, I could too. Pinterest is a creative ideas, arts, crafts and motivational posters sharing world. It forces us to now steal or is it pin other’s ideas and have all our friends ooh and ah us. Don’t get me wrong, there is some hot things on there but is it forcing us to lose our sense of creativity?
So, I find M&M bars and candy bark. I get approval from Room Mom #1, Room Mom #2, Grand Master Head Room Mom, teacher, aide, school nurse, school psychologist, principal and district superintendent. These delectable treats are a go.
So I make them up the night before the party while entertaining a friend, cooking dinner, doing homework and watching my children NERF each other to exhaustion. Now the easy part, set the timer and let them bake. That is until your newly potty trained son is running around naked from the waist down shooting his NERF gun at our guest. What the? He proceeds to tell me he peed on the basement carpeting. So, I pseudo clean that up and tell him to go upstairs and get some clothes. In the meantime, his other brothers come running down the stairs to tell me, this same child now pooped upstairs. Oh my heavens.
In the midst of all the chaos I forgot about the baked goods. Oh they were baked alright. They were definitely done, toasted, burnt and disgusting. I am two glasses of wine into the evening, 1.5 children tucked into bed and 11 minutes away by expressway to the grocer. No thank you.
So the next day I planned on giving myself an in home manicure at 5:00 a.m., working a half day plus a few and then stopping to pick up some M&M cookies. Bars or cookies, who’s keeping track? Fault numero uno right there. The PTA secret service is, that’s who. Anyways I woke early and began my manicure prep. Now I must disclose here that last Saturday I treated myself to a manicure. I was asked 40 times if I wanted a shellac/gel manicure and I kindly replied each time, “No thank you!” I do not have time to come back and get it removed and keep up with that kind of routine. This is a small treat I do for myself once in a while.
So naturally when I went to remove my polish on Valentine’s Day morning, it should come off, right? I didn’t insert my hands into an ultraviolet light drying contraption. Why won’t this polish come off? Come on already. I soak them and still no polish removed. My nails looked hideous and my skin was forming 2 inch paper cut lacerations from the acetone bath soak. I can’t even call the nail salon because it is 5:30 in the morning. The day must go on and it does.
So when I get the kids off to school and tuck myself into my office chair, I call the nail salon. I explain to them I did not have a shellac/gel manicure and that my nail polish will not come off. The nail representative replies, “Oh we use a gel topcoat to make your french manicure last very long. You can come here and we can take it off and do another manicure for you, okay?” No it is not okay. I need this polish off. This is not what I asked for. I reply, “I am not wanting another manicure. I want my polish off and now maybe a refund for my inconvenience.” Her reply, “NO, I will not give you both. You don’t like that we tried to do something nice for you well than I am too busy to talk to you!” Click. Are you for real?
Time to forget the nails, I needed cookies. And the M & M cookies were there all right at the store. Yep, one pack of ten cookies left. A whole table of M & M cookies sold out. So I had to get chocolate chip brownie stuffed cookies instead.
I arrive at the party start time not set-up time and run into the classroom. The room moms turn and give me a stern eye with folded arms while proudly displaying their VISITOR badge. One proceeds to say, “We were getting nervous because we didn’t think you were coming.” Right, I know because being on time now constitutes late. Then Room Mom #1 goes through my bag and says, “Umm, where are the M & M bars?”
I explain what happened and they become frantic and all like, how are we going to serve these without the Head Room Mom’s approval? So I grab the cookies, run down to the nurse and principal and they okay them. There, done. It was in that moment that I realized I had been in my son’s classroom and school for at least 12 minutes now and never even acknowledged him. That’s when I put my foot down to these women and said, “I’m here for my child and his friends. I am going to say hello to him now!”
I ran over to him and could see the disappointment in his eyes and just gave him the biggest hug. I wanted to bury myself in his shoulders and cry but these Pinterest freaks are not getting the best of me. So, I gather myself and walk over to the orange table to help the children assemble their bead necklaces. Now mind you they have been inserting micro-mini beads on a wire for the past fifteen minutes. Owen J. turns to me and says, “I’m done, can you tie it together?” Sure buddy, I sure can.
See because in the eyes of a child you can do no wrong. A cookie is a cookie and being on time is whenever. Until I go to twist the wire and my severely numb, acetone cracked fingers get pierced by the wire end and I drop the necklace. A gazillion beady things go flying everywhere and Owen J. starts screaming and crying, “Noochie’s mom ruined my necklace!”
I literally dropped to my knees. My poor son was horrified because nobody wanted his mom near their necklaces. Room Mom #1 walks over and just when I thought she would put her hand on my shoulder and reassure me she goes, “How about you just put those cookies of yours on the plates. You did bring the plates right?” Huh? I was supposed to bring plates too?
I’m banned as a parent volunteer, I am sure, for life. I feel horrible for my son as I think I did more harm than good, by being there. He will always have the mom who ruined Owen J’s necklace.
Just as the bad mom stigma couldn’t get any worse the teacher called out all the children whose mothers helped out because they get to go home early. No, no please don’t.I can’t take him home because I have to finish up my work day at a client’s house across town. In front of the room mothers, my son, his teacher and all his peers I had to mumble, “He can’t come home with me because I have to work.” The words I have hated saying since all three of my boys were born.
I want you to know if you are that mom or dad struggling daily to be all in for your kids and your career, that it is okay to fail once in a while. It is okay if you don’t have the perfect craft or cutest felt frog to pin the heart on. It’s okay if you ruined Owen J’s necklace. It’s okay because I demonstrated to the kids that nobody is perfect. That accidents can and will happen. That how we respond under crisis is when our true character is formed. I told the orange table this and the blue table and green and red. I still got just as many hugs as Room Mom #1 and Room Mom #2.
Nobody is perfect. You don’t have to have a Pinterest account to make you a good parent. Being there for your children, no matter what happens, is what matters most to them. And I can promise you that if you are ever that mom or dad, struggling, hurting or treading in the deep end, I will not push you under but help you float! I promise!
So I ask, do you juggle family and career? Do you have mom or dad guilt? Do you Pinterest and if so, do you think it makes you a better parent? Do we volunteer to out do each other or to be involved in our kid’s lives?
They crouched down on the snow-white ground and peered into someone’s home. My little boys wondering what tiny, fury animal makes his way in and out of this hole each and every day. The place spiders, squirrels, insects and chipmunks shield themselves from cold winter nights and hot summer days. In the tree’s crevice these little critters hide from stronger beasts. The place they call home.
I often think about the boys and where we live. The place we leave from and return each day. The place I call home. The place where I have watched them take their first steps, eat their first foods, ride their bikes without training wheels and make off from, onto a school bus. The place where we planted trees and watch our wild flowers grow. The place where we run through sprinklers and chase fireflies at night. This place we call home.
Yet, these are moments that define our home. The moments can travel with us to any place we set up our temporary camp. We cannot define our love for each other by the brick and mortar that surrounds us every night. Real home is living in the moment and building experiences. Home is where the heart is and it does not stop when encased by a layer of wood, brick or glass. Home is not a place, but a moment.
For the protection of the tree only shields and contains us, it doesn’t define us.
In a new post specifically created for this challenge, share a picture that says UNIQUE to you.
I’m a mom of three boys. Am I unique? I sure am not. People raise children every single day. I own a business. Am I unique? Nope. People work hard in their careers each and every day. I can bake. Am I unique? For some, perhaps, that missed the Betty Crocker gene. But I’m just a girl who can bake. Nothing too extreme or out of the ordinary. BUT, is this cupcake you are drooling over in the above photograph unique? You bet it is.
I am not a professional baker. I am not trying to go places with some creative little cake that represents many things I love. Yet, with my whole 2013 resolutions came this quest to think outside of the box and venture outside of my comfort zone. It is about doing things I’ve never done before. So the two zero one three to a new me is pushing me out into a world I typically would not explore. It’s about doing things when you’re told you can’t.
So, I entered this unique delectable treat into a cupcake contest at celebrations.com. Upon entering, I did not see the micro-fine print that said this was a social media contest. Fortunately, with age no longer comes the need for numbers. That keep track of how many friends you have tally up. It’s about quality relationships with alum, those you love and those you want to be a part of your life and your Facebook escapades. I probably have about 368 friends on Facebook. Could I have 4,000? Maybe I could. But I prefer to keep things light, airy and simple. Yet, my cupcake is special. It is unique. But do I have a chance to win this contest? Perhaps I do if I start friending everyone.
People I don’t know like my mother’s cousins, brother’s son’s BFF from college daughter’s ex-boyfriend. So, I need the help of my fellow blogmates. We too are unique. In our own little place here in the blogosphere. So, I am inviting you all to look into the story behind this cupcake by clicking right HERE. I know it is hard to vote for something you have not sampled. But this really isn’t about taste. It’s about spreading the word and social networking. It’s about enlisting friends, family, fellow bloggers and all their followers into making this cupcake come to life by winning the 2nd Annual Celebrations Cupcake Crown.
So, if you want to help me keep my Facebook friend status manageable and take down the other cakes, click the link below. This to me is unique.
Why are you unique? Feel free to leave a link to your most unique blog post in the comments section!
Since you are reading this post, this can only mean one thing, I survived the cleanse. As you know the first three days were really rough. My head ached so bad and I was so hungry I could have eaten dirt, but I pushed through the pain. By day 5 I had super human powers and was starting to think I was no longer real.
I got into pretzel like yoga poses I was never able to accomplish in 9 years of practicing yoga. I had so much energy that I could have done my entire street’s laundry and still had time to make cupcakes, gourmet tofu dinners and clean my home’s interior walls. I was like a ball of sunshine no matter what crossed my path and all you had to do was glance my way and you would have had zip-a-dee-do-da chills go up and down your spine. Everything about the day 5 turning point was unreal.
I worked out everyday during the cleanse. I climbed 38 flights of stairs in 8:01 minutes in a climbing charity challenge and I gained and lost. I lost eight pounds in seven days and feel healthier than ever. So, I am not stopping. I eventually will stop losing weight when my body gets to it’s magic number but I never want off this high. In fact, I never set out to cleanse to lose weight. That was just one of the additional perks. I am not going to follow the exact daily detox plan because well that would be just stupid and borderline unhealthy. Plus a 38 flight descent, defying gravity, cranking my lung capacity into full gear and twisting and turning in a stairwell is enough stupidity for one week. Yet, I am all for helping out a good cause! Even if it means hacking up a lung or two.
But I do want to adopt this “better” way of living and eating. I’ve always been pretty good with diet and exercise but I learned more about my body in seven days than I have my whole life including three labors and delivers. And if that didn’t teach me things, then something needed too. A seven-day detox did the trick. I am also onto the bad guys. The hidden ingredients squawking my health and wellness goals and the bad guys I should not consume.
I am all for the organic dairy farmer and their aim to produce antibiotic and growth hormone free cheese, yogurt, dairy and milk. I thought I was doing my body good by replacing conventional dairy with organic back in 2006. Milk does a body good, right? No friends, not mine it doesn’t. The cleanse allowed no dairy. I am a walking cheese ball. Life 9 days ago was not worth living without cheese. So, this was my hardest struggle. Yet, dairy was the one bad guy beating me up my whole life.
So, I am moo-ving on to greener pastures. Ones where the soybean and coconut grow. Perhaps even where the goat roam. Cow’s milk and human beings should probably never co-mingle internally. I am starting to believe we were not meant to consume dairy. There are plenty of other ways to get calcium and Vitamin D.
These are just a few. I’m not trying to cause a controversy, persuade you to tip the spotted animal or boycott dairy. I realized something about how dairy affects my body and honestly I will never go back. I might slide down the pasture every now and then but I don’t think milk does a body good. I think if we look at the history of our own species, milk wasn’t in the kettles burning over our ancestors fires. Perhaps it is an industry induced hype? Whatever it is, it’s no longer for me. Now how do I recruit my chocolate milk loving romano cheese licking children? I lead by example I guess. That’s why they have been drinking coconut water and almond milk all weekend. They love it!
So, what do you think? Is milk for you? Does it do a body good? Could you cut out dairy for a week? Can you make a switch to a greener pasture?