All About "Eva"

In my last post, I told you about my friend "Eva" who is going through her own personal nightmare.

She has something called dermatomyositis.  You can google it to see the symptoms.  Web MD describes it as  "a rare inflammatory disease that causes muscle weakness and a violet-colored or dusky red skin rash."  I describe it as Living Fucking Hell.

Web MD doesn't tell you that the muscle weakness also means that you are too weak to walk. . . or to breathe.  It doesn't mention that the violet or dusky red skin rash feels like an acid burn.

I'm really pissed at dermatomyositis.

As I mentioned last post, "Eva" has counted her blessings through this whole thing.  As far as I know, she hasn't said FUCK THIS even once.  She isn't really a "Fuck This" kind of person.  So I am saying it for her.

A week ago last Thursday, she & I chatted on the phone for about 45 minutes.  We laughed and shared stories.  We planned on me taking her to lunch and a movie for the following Tuesday.  I was psyched.  She is always so fun to have lunch with. 

I bought her a journal as a Christmas present.  It's chocolate brown with purple, violet and pink circles on it.  I figured she could write down everything she is going through and then use it to write a book which will sell a million copies.  Or she could use it for grocery lists -- either way. 

We didn't make it to lunch on Tuesday.  Instead, she went to Houston to receive a chemo treatment at M.D. Anderson.  She really hoped that getting chemo would help get rid of this fucking disease.  Unfortunately, she wasn't strong enough for the chemo.

She had an awesome Christmas with her family.  She and "Tom" have 2 incredible kiddos -- "Molly" and "Evan".  "Molly" is about 9 and "Evan" is 7.  These kids have been so great with their mom -- helping around the house without being asked, and cuddling on her when she needs it.  "Eva" spent her Christmas with them and by all accounts, it was awesome.

December 26th she was in ICU on a ventilator.  As of this writing, she is still on it.

In my last post, I told you that she & I met when we were in the Junior League (JLCC).  Neither of us had kids yet.  The first year of JLCC, the provisional class spends each meeting at a different community resource, learning about areas where we might want to serve our community.  It's really cool.

One meeting we were meeting with nutritionists who were explaining the problem of childhood obesity. 

The Junior League tends to be composed of women who range from a size zero to a size 10.  I am not picking on them --they are nice people and they are my friends. It's just that "Eva" and I were hovering around the 22-24 mark. 

When you are a size 22-24 in a room full of size 6s, you tend to be self conscious when discussing childhood obesity.  At least I was.  I was a fat kid.  A really fat kid.  The kind of kid who gets sent to nutritionists to deal with my "problem".  All of those memories flooded back to me as I listened with my petite friends.  I felt gawky and morbid as hell. 

During her presentation, one of the nutritionists affectionately referred to her patients as "Chubbos".  The other ladies tittered. 

"Eva" looked at me and said "How insulting".

Here I was feeling like a circus freak and feeling guilty for being fat.  Eva had the presence of mind to be insulted.

Because insulting is the perfect word. 

This nutritionist is trying to help these kids.  But she didn't respect them enough to keep from calling them names behind their backs.   She didn't mean to be hurtful.  She just didn't think.  She didn't know what it is like to be a fat kid and to be called names.

I know what that is like.  And so does "Eva".

Instead of being self conscious and uncomfortable, "Eva" brought the insult to the nutritionist's attention.  She did it gently and kindly, instead of angrily and defensively.  She used it as a teachable moment.

That was in the year 2000. 

"Eva" is handling this illness with class and courage, but she's always had guts.  She's always had self respect and she's always seen the best in people.

In the year 2000, "Eva" gave me the courage to start standing up for myself. 

I never told her that. 

As soon as she is able to have visitors, I am going to go tell her. 

Pray for her, OK?

Wish I Had a Better Solution

Georgia thinks that this will help end Childhood Obesity.

Maybe it will.

I admit that I may be a wee sensitive on this issue. 

I was a fat kid.  But unlike Bobby's Mom, my mom isn't fat.

Oddly enough, I am fat like Bobby's mom but my kids aren't fat.

There is no question that being fat increases your children's chances of being fat.

I am aware of that EVERY DAY, which is a big reason why my family is so focused on my workout and weight*fucking*watchers regimen.  

I'm all about celebrating the gifts of fat, but fat is one gift I'd rather not pass to my kids.

When I watch the above video, and I see the mom's dejected sigh, my heart breaks for her.

And then there is that charming tag line: Stop Sugar Coating it Georgia. 

Oh I get it.  Sugar.  Because fat people like Sugar.  And High Fructose Corn Syrup.  And Molasses.  mmmmmm.

When I watch that video, I don't hear Bobby's cute voice asking "Mom, why am I fat?"

I hear a mean kid saying "Hey Fatty!  Your kids are fat because you're so fat, Fatty.  So stop being so fat you big fat Fatso!"

I kinda think that's what Bobby's mom heard too.  Because she sure looks like someone hurt her.  It hurts Bobby's mom that he is fat too.  She didn't want that for him.

But she doesn't know what to do about it.

She knows he needs to be more active.  She knows he needs to get a lot more exercise.

She just doesn't know how to make that happen.

She buys healthy food, but she also has snacks in the house.  Sometimes she doesn't buy snacks.  But if there is nothing snacky in the house, she seems to drive through McDonald's a lot more.

Bobby is at school most of the day, then after care.  She picks him up at 5:30 or 6:00, which is the earliest she can get away from the office.  Her husband has started dinner, but he just got back from the office, so he makes a pan of frozen lasagna.  They eat it with a salad.  But Bobby won't eat his lettuce.  They argue, and finally he eats some of his salad. Bobby is still hungry after dinner, so they let him have another piece of lasagna.  They figure it's better than giving him dessert.  They don't always eat dessert at their house.  Weekends usually.

By the time dinner is over, dishes are washed, homework is done. . . it's dark.  Too dark to go out to play.  Plus, dad is so tired.  So he and Bobby play a couple of video games before bath and bed.

Bobby's mom knows the family needs to do SOMETHING about their health.

She knows.

And then the State of Georgia calls her son a big fat fatty and tells her that Bobby is a fatso because she is a fat ugly whale.  At least, that's what I heard.  And then they say "Oh, we don't mean to be unkind, but you are fat and so is your kid and we don't like it.  Fatso."

Hope it helps, Georgia. 

You fucking inbred rednecks.

Hey Councilman Leroy G. Comrie Jr.! LEAVE HAPPY MEALS ALONE!

They are doing it again.

Taking a Stand against Happy Meals. 

Because New York doesn't have other things to TAKE A STAND on.  Like violence against women (hello??? -- Girlz Gone Wild??? ), or drug addiction, or fiscal issues. 

Let's get the fat people.  Today my blog idol The Bitchy Waiter posted a well thought out (and funny) piece on this issue.  Read it, OK?

I posted a well thought out (and funny) piece three months ago. 

So, to reaffirm my position on this issue, I am re-posting The Happy Meal Debate, originally published on Thursday, January 6,  2011.

Enjoy.







I wasn't going to make a statement about the whole Banning Happy Meals issue. Because you KNOW I wouldn't support that even if they gave me free fries for life.

First of all, I love McDonald's. Worked there for a summer in college -- had a blast. I grew up very near Hamburger U & believe me, I support their corporate culture.

Also, anyone who thinks Happy Meals promote childhood obesity has obviously never sat near a kid with a Happy Meal.

A few weeks ago, we went to the beach. (We live in South Texas and the beach in November is AWESOME!). Afterwards, we picked up lunch. A Quarter Pound of yummy for me, Greg & Joe (with fries and a real coke. MMMMMM), happy meals for the littles. Quality family time. With fries. But we were at the beach first. Running, swimming and playing. Very active.

Here is an example of my end of the conversation:

Me: Look, a Bakugan Toy! Good. Let's put it away until after lunch.

Me: I said AFTER lunch.

Me: AFTER.

Me: I will throw that damn thing in the trash if you don't take a bite of your sandwich right now.

Me: Just eat three fries.

Me: Three.

Me. You asked for the nuggets, now eat them.

Me: He gets the cheeseburger because he asked for it. You asked for chicken, now eat it.

Me: No -- he cannot have your cheeseburger. You eat it.

Me: You don't have to eat all the fries. Just a few.

Me: I will eat the rest of the fries. Don't worry. Just take a few bites of chicken.

Me: Can't you eat the whole nugget?

Me: I told you AFTER lunch. You have to eat it. You can't just wait until we're done.

Me: Fine. But if you're hungry later, too bad.


See, kids don't eat Happy Meals. Some moms (like me) finish Happy Meals. So Happy Meals do not promote childhood obesity. They just make moms fatter.



THIS is what kids want to do with Happy Meals.

I rest my case.

Politics Aside, I love Michelle Obama

I really do.  Elegant, classy, real. . . .I love her.  I didn't vote for Barack, I voted for Michelle. 

I think her focus on eliminating childhood obesity is right on target!  (As long as she doesn't do it legislatively).

But see if you can spot the thing that really bugs me about the Magic of Healthy Living series she did for Disney:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JHac4QFa54

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UHruAqViV0

Mrs. Obama -- what the hell are you wearing?  You look like a Nana at Walmart, not the elegant First Lady that you are. 

I shouldn't care about what she wears.  I shouldn't.  It's shallow.  Petty.  Small. But IT BUGS ME.

She wore an adorable twin set for Sesame Street.  Couldn't she wear a classic white tee with a jean jacket?  Or how about a crisp button front blouse?  Or even better -- one of those cute wrap tops. 

Her pants are fine -- not great, but fine.  The top?  Fugly. 

She is this decade's fashion icon.  Sigh. 

I still love you, Michelle. 

The Happy Meal Debate

I wasn't going to make a statement about the whole Banning Happy Meals issue.  Because you KNOW I wouldn't support that even if they gave me free fries for life.

First of all, I love McDonald's.  Worked there for a summer in college -- had a blast.  I grew up very near Hamburger U & believe me, I support their corporate culture. 

Also, anyone who thinks Happy Meals promote childhood obesity has obviously never sat near a kid with a Happy Meal. 

A few weeks ago, we went to the beach.  (We live in South Texas and the beach in November is AWESOME!).  Afterwards, we picked up lunch.  A Quarter Pound of yummy for me, Greg & Joe (with fries and a real coke.  MMMMMM), happy meals for the littles.  Quality family time.  With fries.  But we were at the beach first.  Running, swimming and playing.  Very active.

Here is an example of my end of the conversation:

Me:  Look, a Bakugan Toy!  Good.  Let's put it away until after lunch.

Me:  I said AFTER lunch.

Me:  AFTER.

Me:  I will throw that damn thing in the trash if you don't take a bite of your sandwich right now.

Me:   Just eat three fries.

Me:  Drink the milk first.

Me.  You asked for the nuggets, now eat them.

Me:  He gets the cheeseburger because he asked for it.  You asked for chicken, now eat it.

Me:  No -- he cannot have your cheeseburger.  Eat it. 

Me:  You don't have to eat all the fries. Just a few.

Me:  I will eat the rest of the fries.  Don't worry.  Just take a few bites of chicken.

Me:  Can't you eat the whole nugget? 

Me:  I told you AFTER lunch.  You have to eat it.  You can't just wait until we're done.

Me:  Fine.  But if you're hungry later, too bad.


See, kids don't eat Happy Meals.  Some moms (like me) finish Happy Meals. So Happy Meals do not promote childhood obesity.  They just make moms fatter. 

THIS is what kids want to do with Happy Meals.

I rest my case.