Top Ten: Random, Random, Random.

Warning: This will be an extremely random post. Starting with this randomly cute photo of my son wearing this random straw fedora hat that YES belongs to him because his grandfather randomly mailed it to him.

You can stop here if you have anything even remotely important to do. Ha.

So what's up? I'm just having some coffee and having a chat with you before dealing with the grown woman things that are awaiting me on this fine Wednesday.

Yup.

I was driving down the street the other day. Headed to Grady and caught up inside my head. This isn't unusual, actually. But that day my head was filled with all sorts of random things. None of which are remotely important to the lifesaving things I was en route to do.

Nope.

Matter o' fact, I wrote a little top ten about it. Like to hear it? Here it go.

THE TOP TEN RANDOM AND UNIMPORTANT THOUGHTS PURELY UNRELATED TO MEDICINE THAT WERE RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD DURING MY DRIVE IN TO GRADY THE OTHER DAY.

#10 North West.

What the hell is wrong with Kanye and Kim naming that baby North? That ain't even funny. Or cute. See, if they really wanted to be fly about it, they should have named her South-by-South. 'Cause at least the South by Southwest (SXSW) music and media conference is cool. Man, how 'bout the only thing I think of when somebody says Northwest is the crappy airline that lost my luggage and made me sleep on the ground in the Detroit airport as a med student.

Kim-Ye: Cut. It. Out.

#9 Bieber Fever.

Like literally. Does that child like literally have a fever? What the hell is wrong with him lately?

In addition to his recent strange shenanigans, he just sort of gives me the creeps. He looks like an extremely odd little Ellen Degeneres impersonator. What is REALLY going on with that dude?

Man.

I need him to sit down somewhere. For like maybe just four months or so. Him and Miley Cyrus, actually. Then they can come back out. But until then. . .

Justin. Miley. Please. Cut. It. Out.

#8  Real Housewives of New Jersey.

This show. It is just. . . ugh. It gives me intense heartburn. It does. Somehow in the rare instances where I watch live television, this show somehow seems to find it's way before my eyes. And it's like watching a dog fight. Such a train wreck.

But with botox.

My take on it: Cut. It. Out.

#7 And speaking of the Real Housewives of NJ. . . . 

Am I the only one who slightly gets the heebie-jeebies by this woman Teresa Giudice's hairline? It could be just me. I usually have to turn the channel when she's on.

Then again. I usually have to turn the channel when that whole show is on.

#6  Beyonce's crop

Word on the street is that Beyonce has cut her "long, luscious mane" into a little pixie.

NEWSFLASH:

Beyonce has one of the best weave-teams in the business. So to all who are weeping over Beyonce's long lost locks, please believe that both Beyonce as well as the woman typing this post can have the longest, blondest, curliest, straightest, bounciest, behavingest hair imaginable quicker than you can say Rumpelstiltskin.

HEL-LEEERRRRRR?

Note: I am a fan of Beyonce and am not hating. I'm just saying that all this talk about her and her hair (including the Loreal commercials she's done promoting hair color) always make me want to say:

Cut. It. Out.

Please. Long locks are just a needle and thread away for us all. (Or glue. But that's a whole 'nother blog post.)

#5  Manscaping

Some dude on the radio was talking about how he "gets everything cleaned up" with an aesthetician on a regular basis. Like he "cleans up" his brows, waxes the nethers and the arm pits.

Now.

Here's my thing: Unless you are an Olympic swimmer, it is still called waxing when you do it. That dude kept saying "cleaned up" like it somehow made it different. He even said he waxes his legs sometimes.

Mmmm hmmmm.

It's probably wrong of me to think this way, but mostly I'm thinking:   0_o  

(That's the silent version of: CUT. IT. OUT.)

#4  The silence snake. Yesssssss!!!

In the mornings I have a routine. Early wake up. Coffee. Blog. Or read. Simple enough.

But dude. Every now and then someone in my house wakes up and keeps trying to talk to me during that sacred early morning window. And by someone I mean my husband or this week, my mother-in-law. (Kids get a pass to talk to their mom in the morning.)

So even though I'm all polite and everything, really in my head I'm wishing I had the "silence snake" with me. Oh? You don't know of the "silence snake" from Cartoon Network's Amazing World of Gumball? OMG. You must see this.



Dude.

Can I just say that this might be one of the funniest things I have seen in a very, very, very long time? Especially because I imagine myself with the silence snake constantly. Like during those morning interruptions, when someone keeps talking without stopping, when I meet interrupt-y people, and also just when I want some kind of lecture to end. I'm all like:

SI-LEEEEENNCCCCCCCCCCE!!!!!  

Which always brings a smile to my face. And a chuckle to my lips.

As for me in the mornings with all that small talk?

SI-LEEEEEENCCCCCCCCCCCCE!!!!!

Ha ha ha ha. . . .all of y'all.

Or in other words: Cut. It. Out.

#3  This is 40: "Will you stop eating cupcakes?!"

Have y'all seen that movie "This is 40?"  It's old now. But we laughed so hard at some parts of it. Especially the part where the husband and wife are having an argument about one thing and she somehow loses it and starts hollering (on a totally different subject, mind you) about her husbands cupcake consumption.

BWAAH HA HA HA HAH!!!

That is SO Harry and me. We will be fussing about something completely different. Then I will say like out of the blue:

"WHY DID YOU EAT ISAIAH'S FUNIONS? DUDE! WHO EATS FUNIONS AT FORTY-TWO!? AND YOU ATE TWO POPTARTS! STOP EATING THE POPTARTS!"

Which is super funny because when that scene came on, we looked at one another and just laughed and laughed. Sometimes I can hear the cabinets opening and closing late at night and I know he's on the hunt to find something. Ha ha ha ha. Usually, there's nothing there unless I'm giving the boys a treat. But sometimes whatever it is is hidden. Then he finds whatever I've hidden and I find the wrapper in the trash the next morning.

"POPTARTS ARE GOOD!" he counters.

"BUT WHAT GROWN MAN WHO WANTS TO FIT HIS CLOTHES EATS POPTARTS? LIKE WHO DOES THAT?"

"A LOT OF PEOPLE WHO ARE GROWN WILL EAT A POPTART!"

"BUT A FUNION? FUNIONS? DUDE! FUNIONS?"

"HOW CAN YOU SAY NO TO SOMETHING WITH THE WORD 'FUN' IN IT? ESPECIALLY AT MIDNIGHT?"

And yeah. This mostly the monumentally unimportant minutia that we argue about. That and me being mad when I can't get Harry to help me find my reading glasses. Dude. We are so, so 40.

Ha.

#2  "Let yellow mellow and flush brown down."

So yeah. If you're from California, you may have heard all this water conservation business and how, as a water saving measure, people leave the urine in the toilet and flush the solid waste.

Uhhh, yeah.

So us, being, you know, good stewards of this earth and all, told our kids this a few years back. Particularly at night. Problem is, my boys have a tendency to let everything mellow. Which is exactly as gross as it sounds.

No. I take that back: It's grosser.

The poop surprises that I constantly seem to walk in on?

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Cut. It. OUT.

#1  Wonder.

This is the book I'm reading to the boys right now. It's super awesome. I've read it already and admittedly cried. My boys are loving it.

Essentially it's about this kid who was born with some facial deformities and his experience going from being home schooled to entering middle school. Lots of cool things to talk about in terms of how we treat people. It's written in a kid's voice though so it doesn't come across like you're trying too hard to make a point.

Read it. Yourself. To your kids. Whatever. Mine dig it. I think yours will, too.

***

That's all I got for today.

Oh, that and this:

This song is like a broken record in my house. My kids WILL NOT stop singing it. They will not. Which means now it is absolutely STUCK in my head.



Now it's in your head, too. You're welcome.

Hey! I'm glad you came.

Ha.

***
Happy Wednesday.

A different world.

 

I know my parents love me,
Stand behind me come what may.
I know now that I'm ready,
Because I finally heard them say
It's a different world from where you come from.

Here's a chance to make it,
If we focus on our goals.
If you dish it we can take it,
Just remember you've been told
It's a different world from where you come from.
It's a different world from where you come from.

~ from "A Different World" (as sung by Ms. Aretha Franklin)

_____________________________

He couldn't have been any more than four years old. Yet somehow, someway someone had found a pair of designer "skinny fit" jeans that fit him exactly like the ones that the big boys wore. Tight on the calf and the ankle. Loose enough through the waist to fall just under the lower curvature of his gluteus maximus. More of his underwear was showing than not.

And, I am not kidding you, he could not have been any older than four.

Next to him, there was a very young woman. Her belly was taut with a late term pregnancy and it seemed that considerably less thought had gone into her look. Thread bare stretch pants slung up on her hips, a very tight t-shirt that likely fit much better before she was with child. Despite her pendulous appendages up front, she seemed to have little concern with restraining them by a bra. Or concern for much of anything beyond the conversation she was having on the cell phone in her hand.

"Ha ha ha. . . f--k that!" she said with a loud laugh to whomever was on the line. "Girl, I bet his dumb ass was lyin'!"  She paused for a moment and then erupted into more laughter, this time in likely response to what she heard on the other end.

Meanwhile, the little boy was standing directly beside her. Right there in the Grady lobby. I couldn't help but study his young face. There was this weird mixture of complete innocence yet comfort with everything happening around him. Unfazed by the bustling crowd of people pushing through those revolving doors. Not even the least bit conflicted by the profane words and mature conversation falling straight into his young ears. He yawned; then he plunged two of his fingers into his mouth and began sucking them mindlessly. At that point, his eyes seemed to retreat into some distant, soothing place.

"Why the f--k he think somebody gon' believe that sh-t? N--ga! That's some bullsh-t! F--k that! Sh----t, girl I woulda told that n--ga , 'Oh you got me f--ked up!'" She snapped her fingers at the little boy to get his attention. By now, he was twirling one of the short loc twists in his hair and zoning out with those two fingers. He didn't notice. She snapped two more times, this time louder, followed by her reaching over to pull his hand from his mouth at the elbow.

"Girl, uggh. Sticking his nasty ass fingers in his mouth like it ain't no germs up in here!" She kept talking into the phone and never even addressed the child. "Yeah, girl. We at Grady and this n--ga got his hands in his mouth like it ain't all kind of sh-t up in this b--ch." He glanced up into her eyes and then looked off again. And again, nothing about any of it seemed to alarm him in any way.

Which reminds me.

There was once this time when I was around Isaiah's age that my parents agreed to let me sleep over the at the home of these kids who lived on my street. These kids played double dutch with me under street lights and made up dance routines on roller skates to songs by the group Chic. So, yes, we were all compadres and mostly the same as far as I was concerned.

I remember asking several times if I could "spen-na-night" at their home back then and how we'd plot and plan all day for it after a long day of playing outdoors. Almost always, mom said no. But one day, I guess she was in a good mood and agreed.

Now. It wasn't like this house was a few blocks away. It was, like, only a few houses down so that yes became a party within just ten minutes. I stuffed a few Barbies and a toothbrush into a bag along with a nightgown and went sprinting out of the door.

Simple enough, right?

But you know? Here is what I remember from that night. While I was there, some adults got into an argument. A knock down, drag-out, hollering-and-screaming altercation. The profanity was amplified and uncensored. F-bombs were being slung all around and someone threw something like a cup or a plastic bowl at the other person. And all of it just kept escalating right there in front of us kids who happened to be sitting on the floor playing "Hungry Hungry Hippos."

I was terrified. That I absolutely recall. Yet the other thing that struck me that day was that my neighbors weren't afraid. They weren't. It was like those kids had been there and done that. And no, I don't think they particularly enjoyed any of it but they definitely weren't shaking with fear like me.

"I'm gonna go home," I said. I know I was crying when I did, too, because none of this was in my comfort zone. The response to that told it all.

"Why? Noooo!" My friends pleaded with me. They wanted me to overlook the flying Tupperware and expletives long enough to play another Hasbro game.

"I gotta go home. I . . gotta . . .go home." And with that, I grabbed my bag and scooted out into the night air toward my house. And you know? It wasn't until then that they started crying, too.

Yeah.

I knew then that my world was different. My innocence had been fiercely protected by my parents and those around me. And no, I didn't fully know how fortunate I was but I do know that I felt very relieved once I got back into my home. Mom and Dad didn't make a huge deal out of it, I don't think. We still played outside together and organized our neighborhood pop locking groups.

But I never spent the night again. Nor did I even ask.

Yeah.

That little boy in the lobby at Grady made me return to that memory. His ease with all of that took me back to the way my friend continued slamming her hand down on her Hungry, Hungry Hippo button despite all that chaos. It also let me know that my children are also in a different world.

All of this often makes me feel so . . .  so. . . . I don't know. While I look back on how committed our parents were to preserving our home environment, I'm so grateful that they didn't prohibit us from interacting with those whose lives were different than our own. And especially that their careful reactions to things didn't teach me to look down upon them.

A friend of mine recently lamented to me about a recent influx of "less-than-desirable" families at her child's school. And before anyone puffs out their chest, pounds their fist down on a table and says, "Define 'less-than-desirable' families!"-- just go ahead and admit that, though not a politically correct thing to say, you probably have some idea of what she meant. The people she described sounded a lot like that young, pregnant mother in her skin tight t-shirt dropping off her pre-schooler in his sagging True Religion jeans.  Ones that may or may not have some questionable parenting styles.

May or may not.

"Oh hell no," she said with a shake of her head. "No way." And I just listened and tried my best to sift it all through my brain. Like, what it means to intermingle your children with those kids who've already had their innocence robbed and what that means to your children and theirs. Whether it's okay to run hard and fast away from those folks willing to drop unabridged curse-word laden soliloquies under impressionable young ears. But also whether it's equally detrimental to quarantine our kids from all of that, too.

Kind of like the black male medical student I once advised who admitted to me that he was "sometimes uncomfortable" around large numbers of African-Americans. And that he felt most "at home" when surrounded by those who actually weren't culturally like him. Then again, maybe they were more like him culturally than his afrocentric peers. Now that? That I don't know how to feel about. I think I mostly didn't like hearing that and remember thinking to myself that I needed to do any and everything to make certain that my children didn't feel like that.

Yeah.

I don't know the answers. To any of it, to be honest. Like, I don't know where protection ends and bourgeoisie superiority begins. Where exposure and acceptance end and denial and discrimination begin. I don't.

And before I forget: Let me just also say that the friend with the school concern is a good soul with a heart for all people including her own. She is. And all of this is complicated because when it comes to our children, the ground rules all change sometimes. Wait. Don't they?

Hell if I know.

Man, I'm just looking for some kind of intermediate place. So I constantly reflect on my upbringing and try my best to wrap my brain around all of the awesome and intentional choices my parents made. Because I know for certain that they somehow achieved that happy medium. I know this because I don't flinch at Grady Hospital or when I ride the MARTA. I mostly see some piece of myself in most people and can find their beauty on most days. But admittedly, I'm not as good at this as Harry. And you know? He grew up in a different world than the one I came from.

Which wasn't a bad one. Just. . .less innocent, I'd say. Yeah. That.

And despite all that, the rules get muddy with our children. We want them to stay innocent. We want you to keep your slacked pants and exposed underwear to yourselves. And your big, bold expletives over there. And honestly, I'm sort of conflicted by all of that. Especially when it starts to separate my children from a lot of kids who look like them.

Or who simply don't have what they have. Because while parts of this may sound like a black thing, I know for absolute certain that socioeconomic disparities can affect every shade of the rainbow. And that? That's a whole separate blog post, man.

Sigh.

No. I don't have any of the answers. But these are things I think about. And I want to believe that the first step is just that. Always that.

Yeah.

***
Happy Tuesday. And thanks for letting me unpack.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . .

Deanna Day '13.

So shine bright

Tonight

You and I

We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky

Eye to eye

So alive

We're beautiful like diamonds in the sky

Shine bright like a diamond. . . 

~ Rihanna

___________________

I am chuckling to myself even as I think of it. 8/11. Deanna's birthday. Can I just say that Deanna Draper absolutely LOVED her birthday? OMG. Did she ever.

Wait.

Not in that obnoxious way where you expect the whole world to stop and drop all that they're doing to come to your umpteenth party or suffer the wrath of your hairiest of eyeballs. Nope. See, she loved her birthday but in that simple way. Like where she always told anyone who was expecting a baby anywhere even close to August 11 that they should be induced on August 10. And if it was a girl? She had the perfect name suggestion:

Deanna.

Ha ha ha ha. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. Oh my goodness. And would you believe that five years ago today Deanna finally had that dream come true for her in the very best way? One of her very best of the best BFFs had a daughter on August 11. I can't even lie, I laughed out loud when I heard that Nikki had actually delivered on that day. Because we ALL knew how over the moon Deanna would be at the news. No, Nikki didn't knight her with her dear friend's moniker but just the fact that finally after all of these years of making that joke that that sweet baby girl came on 8/11 was gift enough.

Anywho.

So many kind people were thinking of our family this weekend. That includes a lot of you reading here so before I say anything else, please know that your thoughts and prayers were felt. They were. Like your warm fuzzies floated straight from your hearts and right into all of ours. And because of that, it was mostly wonderful. Sure, we had a few fleeting sunshowers but mostly, our hearts were filled with gladness for knowing and loving Deanna.

And so. I'll tell you about the weekend, okay?

Friday was pretty awesome. That morning, I welcomed Small Group Delta into my home for our session. There's just something magical to me about that first time I welcome any of my students into my home. Particularly my small groups, though.

Anyways. This session explored our backgrounds and who we are. This has always been one of my favorite SG assignments because I think it lays a lot of the foundation for the group. And I should thank my blog-friend Ann Imig who hipped me to this little exercise that we used that day. You may or may not recall the post I put up a couple of years ago called "Where I'm from?" That post was inspired by a fun version of it that I read on Ann's awesome blog. (Not to mention the hair version of "Where I'm from" that came later. Ha.)

So yeah. We had every member of our small group do their own version of it and read it aloud. And we listened quietly and respected each word. Then when they finished, we asked each other questions. Things like, "What was it like when you lived in India?" or "You're a twin?!" And all of that was wonderful. It was.

But after I read my piece, I was asked a very simple question. "Do you have any brothers and sisters?" And that's when I realized that this group was new to me so didn't know. I mean, how could they know? Yeah. So I told them, first, what I always say now which has become my safe answer:

"I am one of four."

Which is totally true. And usually I will say something quickly when this happens but in that non-heavy way that doesn't feel awkward. But this time I recognized that I was with people that would become a part of my family. I needed them to know that, yes, I am one of four but one of those four was Deanna.

And so. I showed them her picture and told them of her departure. But mostly I introduced them to her. That made me weep. Softly and quietly I wept. And my new family members were patient and endearing with that moment. They were. I told them that her birthday was coming up and that I missed her. And they got it. They did.

I'm so thankful for that. I am.

That was the first time I cried this weekend. And the first real time that thoughts of the Deanna Day really welled up in my soul.

Later that evening, I spent time with my friend and former Grady doctor, Frieda. Saturday was the 40th anniversary of the day "Free-Free" was born. And since I had some important plans for personal reflection on Saturday, I spent time with her on Friday night instead.

This actually honored my sister because Deanna would have made sure to do something to let a special friend know how important they are during a time like that. Even in the epicenter of other things happening in her own life she always had this way of giving your a piece of her--especially on your big days.

So that was really, really good, too.

On Saturday morning, we spent time with my dad. I talked to him for a half hour on Skype. I looked at his face and studied his expressions. Then I felt at peace because he looked okay. Like okay in that way that isn't necessarily okay, just not really different. There will always be a piece of my parents that will forever be brokenhearted. And it looks like for Dad that this is more a perennial thing than something that spikes up on certain days.

I don't know.

Let me take that back. Maybe the best thing to say is that he looked good. And I know for sure he was happy when we got off because those grandsons read to their grandfather in loud, proud voices. They know how much he values that so that honored him. They did.

Another reason my Poopdeck was happy was this:

Will flew out to Los Angeles and was there with JoLai. And of course Dad.

So what did they do? They had a big celebration backyard boogie in Deanna's memory. Complete with a taco truck, a bartender, and an old school DJ that happens to be an old friend.

Lots of old friends were there. People who knew and loved my sister. People who still love us all.

They partied with a purpose. They did. And guess what? They even raised donations toward the scholarship in Deanna's name for deserving Tuskegee University students. How cool is that?

There was also another party going on in Atlanta. Yes! We were bi-coastal in our Deanna Day celebrations. I was fortunate enough to gather some friends to run a twilight four-mile race in Deanna's memory.

I knew I wanted to honor her by getting my heart rate up. I was over the moon when I heard about this race on August 10 called the "Light up the Corners" 4 mile Run.  Financial proceeds went to the local YMCA. But the emotional proceeds? I think they went to all of us.

How cool was it that it was a glow-in-the-dark run? And if Deanna didn't embody what it meant to let your light shine, you tell me who does?

My BFF in the whole-wide-world Lisa D. ran with me. She was right by my side the whole time except for the few times that I got super hyped and sprinted a bit.

 My girl (and one of Deanna's tight girls) Crystal H. was there, too. Along with Sonya S. and a few others, we repped for Delta Sigma Theta -- which you KNOW Deanna would love.

Crystal even wore Deanna's favorite number -- three. (That was Crystal's line number, too.) That made me smile for the whole race.

I was super stoked when at the finish line because this was a personal record for me. I have never run under 11 minutes -- this was a first. And I felt GREAT the whole time. Thank you, sissy, for the inspiration. 

Pretty awesome.

I was able to be there because my other big sissy, Frannie (also my sister-in-law), was kind enough to keep the boys overnight. So thanks for that, sis.

This morning I awoke early to go to church. (Yes, I ran a late run and went to 7:15 service--crazy, I know.) I was feeling good and not even tearful. Until I saw this text.

This is my linesister, Glencia W. She has been training for a triathlon and it was today. And would you believe that she blew up this photo of Deanna and sent me this from her starting line?

Man. My soul just opened up when I saw that. I mean. . . just. . . yeah. That picture--it's so . . .Deanna. And then the whole thing, you know? Glen going through the trouble to do that. And her knowing that it would mean a lot to me to know that she was running and swimming and biking with my sister on her heart.

And Team S.J.G.R. Which really is all about love, too. It is.

I will never, ever forget that gesture for as long as I live. Thank you, my Back--as always, you have my back and I love you. Man, I do.

 

And I'm sure you're wondering about my mother.  She wanted to mostly be alone-ish. She wanted nothing overly heavy so we honored that. We saw about her and loved on her here in Atlanta and she let us.

Me and the boys in the morning and Frannie and the Draper kids in the afternoon. And my sweet Tounces was okay. She wept some on and off, but honestly? She does that on most days. We gave her space to tell us what she needed. And you know what?

She did.

 

 After all of that? I just spent time with my main men.  This was my favorite snapshot from today. A reminder of love.

\

For me, that is what the Deanna Day will always be about. Hearts connecting. Hearts rejoicing. Hearts beating fast from exertion. And just hearts period. 

Yes. It was a busy weekend. And if you ask us why we did all of this? We'll tell you. We did it for love. 

Because that's what she was and always shall be to us. . . . love.

***

Happy Deanna Day. Please. Let your light shine, okay? 

Now playing. This song is a reminder for JoLai and I. We feel connected whenever we hear it. Here's the post that explains why.

An accordion of love.

Isaiah from the back seat one day:

"You know what I was thinking, Mom? I was just thinking that most kids get to see their aunties and uncles only on holidays and on their birthdays. Or if it's like a big family thing or something. But I think I'm lucky because I got to see my Auntie every single day. Like, a lot. So I was just thinking, Mom. . . . that if I put all the times that I got to be with my Auntie. . .like mashed them all together and then stretched it all the way out. . . . like. . . . they would last all the way up until I was a man. Or maybe even longer. Does that even make sense to you, Mom? Mom? Mom?"

Yes, son. It makes beautiful, perfect and comforting sense. I love this idea and your way of looking at it. Even if the lump in my throat won't let me find the words to tell you right now.

Tomorrow would have been her 45th birthday. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers, okay? And especially Tounces and Poopdeck. Especially them.

'Preciate you. And 'preciate this little guy, too.

My sunshine boy. Auntie's, too.

Yeah.

***
Happy Saturday.


Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . as I do my best to trust the process. Now more than ever.

Team S.J.G.R. Bonus Huddle: 23 1/2 Hours.

Dude.

Have y'all seen this? This is everything we've been talking about. Not only is it super innovative, it underscores why we need to GET UP OFFA THAT THANG! Sitting on your behind is like a chronic disease. It shortens your life! And--how exciting is it that there are MAJOR benefits to exercise for people of all sizes. Yes! Even if you're heavy and a work in progress, you are extending your life every time you GET UP OFFA THAT THANG.

Woo hoo!

That said, don't let that be an excuse to not go hard at your health goals. They are ALL attainable with a growth mindset. Now. GET UP OFFA THAT THANG!

(Thanks for sharing this with me, Mo M.)

***
Happy Thursday.

4 years and counting.

 "If you build it, he will come."

~ from the movie Field of Dreams

_________________________________________

Four years ago today, I started this blog. It was mostly on a whim. I knew that I loved writing and engaging and storytelling. I hoped that this could be a place to do it.

Simple as that.

Would I stick with it? Would I drop the ball and then pick it up every six months or so? Would I abandon ship altogether? I can't even say I put that kind of pressure on myself. I just knew I wanted to write. And I needed a mechanism to put these thoughts down somewhere so that I could read them.

You've heard me say it over and over again. Toni Morrison's impetus for writing her masterpiece "The Bluest Eye" is the same as my initial reason for writing this blog:

"So I could read it." 

Do you have any idea how therapeutic this has been for me? How much you coming here has brought to my life? Not just personally--but professionally. It has been a blessing that even I could have never, ever predicted would unfold this way. I'm still pretty mindblown by it all.

Someone recently asked me: "When do you sleep? How do you have time to write here like this? And live your life? And exercise? And even catch your breath?"

Hmmm. I have wondered that, too. I guess the short answer is that once I made up my mind to write, I also decided to mostly cut out television. Not all television. Just some. So mostly I write in the time that I would have been watching television. I also retreat to writing in the early mornings or when I can't sleep.

Oh yeah. I don't overthink things. Like, when telling a story, I just write. Seriously. I think about my writing mantra and then just kind of go for it. Writing forward and not double-backing to redo every paragraph. I think that's another reason I started blogging. I needed a place to write with out rules. I'm a big fan of sentence fragments for emphasis. I also needed permission to play with different styles that some journal somewhere would see and tsk-tsk.

Yep.

So most stories, I just sit down and write. I let it unfold and while I'm writing it -- either early in it or later in it -- a song almost always pops into my head. I started calling that my "mental iPod." I think life is always better with theme music, don't you?  Ha. The other thing is that the more I write the faster I write. Some of my favorite posts, though lengthy, were just passionately pounded out early in the morning with a thirty minute window of time and nothing more. Not even kidding.

The other fun thing is that my mother, Tounces, reads everything I write. She quickly texts me with major grammatical errors. So usually I just post and then. . .wait for it. . .wait for it. . . .ha ha ha ha. (At least she fills those texts with effusive emoticons.)

Lastly, I am proud of what this has become. I forgot to say that one of the other reasons I started this blog and called it "Reflections of a Grady Doctor" was because I thought public hospitals and the nation's indigent population gets a very bad rap. The hospitals are seen as scary and the people as . . .I don't know. . . just something other than what I get to see. I wanted to let people into a window of the most beautiful aspects of a place like Grady Hospital. So you notice that I don't write negative things about Grady Hospital. And you know what? I never will.

We leave hating to the professionals, remember? Ha.

It bears repeating. I am grateful for you. Grateful that you spend even two seconds of your precious time reading here. There are seventy trillion blogs saying seventy trillion things. You are busy people with things to do and crosses of your own to bear. And yet. You. You have come here over and over and over again to read and feel and think and reflect with me. You have let me indulge you with my family stories and back of the Volvo kid conversations. You have held your gags when I repeatedly referred to my husband as "The BHE" and even had it in you to refer to him as the same. You have honored my patients and my hospital right along with me and gave me your insights on the days I needed to "unpack." You have given me things to write about, think about, and teach about. And you know? I will never, ever forget the way you lifted me up when my family was crushed by the loss of my beloved sister Deanna.

And how you continue to do so.

Yeah. You. You have been wonderful. And I feel grateful. More than you could possibly imagine.

So even four years later on an early morning before hustling out to clinic. . . more than ever. . . I'm just glad to be here. And as my dear Grady elders always say. . . .

'Preciate you.

I do.

Thanks for reading. I will continue to build. And I hope you will continue to come.

***
Happy Birthday, ROGD!

This always gave me goosebumps.

Team S.J.G.R Thursday Huddle #6: Get involved.

"I don't really care about that there. Just get involved."

~ Raphael Saadiq

_______________________________

Hey Team. All day and all week I want you to hear something in your head playing on a loop. Two simple words:

Get involved.

Get involved with your health. Figure out what's happening with it and where it's at. Go beyond hypothetical things like "I need to exercise" or "I need to lose weight" and get specific. Specific like "I am going to start working toward THIS body mass index" or "I am going to promise myself to work toward 150 minutes or more of exercise per week." And it's okay if that BMI starts off over 30. Just know what that BMI is and why it matters. And it's not the end of the world if you start off with 100 minutes per week. Just don't stop there because since you know what protects your heart, you have a goal. 

Get involved.

Get your kids and loved ones in the mix. Make it fun. Mash it up. Laugh at yourself for looking ridiculous while doing push ups until you get so bad ass that it isn't laughable any more. Because the more you stay involved the better you'll get. We have a growth mindset in Team S.J.G.R. -- remember?

Mmm hmmm. 

I recently read this article in NY Times. It was about this 7 minute workout that is allegedly scientifically proven to do all the good things your body needs and usually gets out of endurance training but in only 7 minutes. Yup. Broken into thirty second intervals with ten second breaks between exercises. 

For reals.

Now. Even though the AHA recommends those 150 minutes per week -- which I have been working to stay with each week -- how could I resist this? I mean--a 7 minute path to the promised land? I decided to tack it onto my regular workouts. 

And you know what? I got my kids involved. 

Wait -- before I say more on this -- I have to give a shout out to my Grady doctor sisterfriend Stacy H. who hipped me to this little gem. She sent me a text and told me that she did this with her hubby and kids and thought it would be good to share with Team S.J.G.R. Yep. See? A lot of people care about y'all. 

Mmm hmmm.

So yeah. Like Stacy, I got my kids involved. The first time we did it, The BHE was getting ready for work, but he did come in just in time to LOL at the sight of us in there huffing and puffing. And you know what? We were laughing, too. And I could tell that he kind of wished he'd done it with us that time.

Wished that he'd gotten involved. Mmmm hmmm. That hater.

Ha.

Get involved, y'all. 

That's what it's about. It felt good to be in my sunroom doing those exercises with my boys. I like knowing that they know what a plank is and how to do a side plank. And you know? They've been great sports and have been doing it with me on most days which is super cool. They are also getting better and better each time. And so am I.

Get involved, man. Even if you look and feel ridiculous, just get involved.

Try it. It's actually a really great workout. BT dubs (by-the-way for you non slang folks) I also hipped my ward team to this last month. One of my students, Shirin K., schooled me on the fact that you are allegedly supposed to do two circuits of it for best results.

*insert the side eye*

Maaaan. I'm sticking with the seven, yo.

Ha.

No matter what. Just get involved, man.

Harry and I have been sharing stats on our Fitbit accounts. It is very encouraging to see how much the other is doing. Man. The BHE walks a LOT at work. I guess you have to walk up on people all the time when you're a BOSS like he is (pronounced BAAAWSE!) That dude gets to 10,000 steps by three in the afternoon without even working out yet. But you know what? Those trackers have us involved in each other's fitness.

We also trash talk over text messages which is fun, too.

"What up, CP? That's short for COUCH POTATO. Peep my 8000 steps, playa!"

"What's up, dog? You got a desk job today or what?"

Ha ha ha. It's kind of awesome, actually.

Get involved, people.

Hey. Speaking of which. Peep this.

These three women had just completed a triathlon. A for real triathlon. Ages 48, 46, and 46. And I assure you that if they are like any other 48, 46 and 46 year old women, they have plenty of things that could serve as excuses for them to not get involved with something like this. But you know what? They got involved anyway. 

That's my girl, Crystal H. on the right. 46 and strong as an ox. I'm not fully sure how strong an ox is but my guess is that it's mad strong. So I'm just saying. She's strong. And she's on our Team.

That's what's up.

So whatever is standing in the way of you doing what you have to do to be heart healthy and HERE for the people you love? Let me tell you like my friend Raphael Saadiq sang it in that song:

"I don't really care about that there. Just get involved."

Just get involved. Now. Today. This second. 

Get fit in the gym. Lose weight in the kitchen. Get focused in your mind. Get benefits in your heart and your life.

And your life? Now that? That's what's up.

"Just get involved and get in control."

~ Q Tip (in the rap portion of Raphael Saadiq's song)

***

Happy Thursday. Did you know that the Team S.J.G.R. Facebook Group has over 220 members?! Yahoo! We're getting INVOLVED!

Now playing on my mental iPod. This is my jam! Get involved, people. S.J.G.R.!