Go Ahead . . . Have That Extra Cookie

My husband, Dan, is really skinny. I promise he eats, and I promise I feed him. Sometimes, he even eats off of my plate.

For years, people kept telling him, "Wait until you get into your thirties. It will catch up with you."

We are both less than two years away from forty, and it hasn't caught up with him yet.

I'm not saying it won't. But in the mean time, it makes for interesting visits with his doctor.

"You can't stand to lose any more weight," she told him one year when he had accidentally lost a couple of pounds.

I wish I could accidentally lose weight. When I turned thirty-eight earlier this year, something weird happened to my metabolism. Now I look at a piece of cake or a cookie and instantly gain five pounds.

Dan, on the other hand, has started wearing heavy sweatshirts and tennis shoes when he steps on the scale at the doctor's office.

He eats healthy when I cook because I have to eat healthy. (Like I said—Oops. I looked at a chocolate bar. Better add five more pounds to my vitals, Doc.)

"Just because he is skinny doesn't mean that he is healthy," one of my colleagues said in an attempt to raise my self-esteem.

But he is healthy. He passes his blood work with flying colors. No blood pressure problems. No cholesterol or glucose problems.

I got my cholesterol checked for first time when I was thirty for insurance purposes, thinking I was still young and it wouldn't be a problem. It was super high. I tried to keep it down naturally with fish oil and flaxseed for a year. It didn't work, and I've been on medication ever since.

The doctor always looks at petite-mostly-vegetarian me sympathetically and says, "It's genetic in your case, Becky."

Dan eats anything, and his numbers are great. I go vegan and cut out sugar the month before my appointment, and my triglycerides are still borderline most years.

This year, Dan dressed in his heavy sweatshirt and tennis shoes. After the nurse weighed him, she asked if he knew his waist size. She needed it for his insurance form.

"I told them thirty inches, but I was going off of my pant size. And my pants pretty much fall off without a belt," Dan said.

Then he added, "Oh, and the doctor said to go ahead and eat a few extra Christmas cookies this year."

My face when the doctor tells Dan to eat extra cookies

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I Am Grateful For . . .

Here we are again. Social media is blowing up with posts about gratitude and thankfulness. I have tried my hand at the gratitude frenzy in the past. And one year, I attempted a gratitude journal as part of a church homework assignment.

This year, I did it for the health insurance. I just completed a wellness activity, and during the course of the week, we were encouraged to write down one thing we were grateful for each day.

As an added incentive, wellness activities lower our insurance premiums. I can be thankful for one thing everyday for lower insurance costs.

Here is what I recorded:

MONDAY: Dan
I guess I was thankful for Dan that Monday. Maybe we had a fun weekend. Maybe he had efficiently finished my honey-do list that Saturday. Who knows? But he was the first thing that popped into my mind that week. That's probably appropriate since he is my spouse.

TUESDAY: My choir
I am grateful for my choir most Tuesdays (and Thursdays). My day starts with a smile every choir morning, partly because the kids sing so well and we have beautiful musical experiences, partly because the choir is a cast of characters who, despite all of their crazy antics, crack me up every rehearsal.

WEDNESDAY: Coffee
It's no accident that I was grateful for coffee on a Wednesday. I mean, how else does one get through the middle of the week? I'm grateful for coffee everyday. It may be the other reason my early morning choir rehearsals are so pleasant.

I was probably grateful for chocolate on Wednesday too. Coffee and chocolate. 

THURSDAY: Health
I was grateful for my health on Thursday. I'm not sure why I chose Thursday to be grateful for my health, but that's what I wrote down. Maybe I was running out of witty ideas. I usually run out of witty ideas by Thursday.

FRIDAY: My job
On Friday, I was thankful for my job. Funny how I waited until the last day of the week to be thankful for my job. I also love my job on Saturdays when I don't actually have to be at my job.

Just kidding. My job is the greatest. Where else do you get to stage musicals with five hundred kids? It beats playing all of the characters myself and dancing around my living room.

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All I Want For Christmas . . . is an American Girl Doll?

Would it be weird if I asked for an American Girl Doll this Christmas? I know I'm pushing forty, but still . . .

I feel like I missed out on part of my childhood because I didn't know American Girl Dolls existed until 2010 when my husband, Dan, and I visited the New York store.

That's when I signed up on the mailing list just so I could receive the catalogs and peruse the pictures longingly.

I'm not sure how I missed out on the American Girl craze. Other Gen-X friends of mine have mentioned that the AGD Bandwagon somehow passed them by too. Wikipedia claims the dolls have been around since 1986, but maybe it's because Mattel didn't take over in 1998, and I was a poor college student at that time.

I'm ready now though.

I can easily discuss American Girls with my elementary kids. I know that Julie is the hippie, Kit Kittredge was portrayed by Abigail Breslin in the film version, and Molly McIntire has glasses and hazel eyes, something my four-eyed nine-year-old self would have really related to.

And you can customize the dolls to look like you. They even have brunette, freckle-face options (hint-hint).

When I was a kid, my mother would sneak into my bedroom and play with the dolls in my Barbie dollhouse.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" I asked her the first time I caught her.

"What?" she said, completely unfazed. "I still like Barbies too."

Me too, except I don't have a daughter whose dolls I can steal.

I do have "The Doll Room" though, a spare bedroom dedicated to my old Cabbage Patch Dolls and miniature dollhouse. Let me tell you, Dan loves it.

I also have a curio cabinet filled with Madame Alexander Dolls, figurines, and collector Barbies. My father built the cabinet to display my dolls after I was married, so it must not be too weird for an adult woman to own a bunch of toys.

So . . . no judging, and somebody get this girl an American Girl Doll already!

Wouldn't an American Girl Doll look great in this display case?

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I Totally Have Issues

Guys, I totally have issues.

If you have been reading my blog for a while now, you have probably figured this out. You might remember that I suffer from the occasional night terror. That lovely neurosis evolved from my childhood sleepwalking habit.

I also have weird dreams about my teeth chipping away and falling out. My scariest recurring dream is the "Out-Of-Control Classroom" where I resort to throwing erasers and screaming at the kids because they just won't listen. (I would never do that, by the way. Please don't get me fired!)

I can recall most of my dreams with such vivid detail that one of my friends bought me a dream dictionary several years ago, maybe to prevent me from constantly asking her, "What do you think that means?"

And, yes, I do have naked dreams. Why wouldn't I have naked dreams? We have already established that I totally have issues.

Usually, these dreams start out with me believing that being naked is the newest fashion trend, that it's perfectly acceptable to walk around nude. Then I realize it isn't, and I try to magically manifest clothes on my body, but this doesn't work. No one points out my lack of clothes, but people give me lots of strange looks.

Not too long ago, I dreamt about being naked while dancing on stage because, in dreamland, I thought we were supposed to dance naked on stage. But no one else was dancing naked onstage. A few seconds later, I looked down, and I was wearing a shirt and underwear.

"Well, that's better," my dream self said with a sigh of relief, and I kept dancing.

At the time of the dream, I was performing in a theater production. And, no, I never went onstage naked during the run of the show.

"You know, naked dreams usually mean you are experiencing anxiety about something," one of my cast mates said.

He was right.

According to my dream dictionary, naked dreams signify "anxiety and vulnerability."

Another online source puts it this way:

Becoming mortified at the realization that you are naked in public, reflects your vulnerability or feelings of shamefulness . . . You are exposed and left without any defenses. Thus your naked dream may be telling you that you are trying to be something that you really are not. Or you are fearful of being ridiculed and disgraced.

Other reasons I may have naked dreams include:

• Afraid of being exposed
• Shame with yourself
• Guilty in a situation
• Vulnerable with friends, business or relationship
• Trying to be something that you are not
• Not comfortable with your body
• Scared of being noticed

"I have night terrors too," I told my cast mate. "What do those mean?"

I was told that night terrors are, apparently, a real sleep disorder. In other words, I totally have issues. And I'm totally screwed.

"It means you're a mess," my theater friends said. "But we love our mess."

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