I told my daughter some bloody, gruesome stories today.  Personal stories.  Like the time I got kicked in the face while playing soccer and my nose was broken and blood spewed everywhere – but I didn’t cry.  I told her about the time when my friend pushed me while we were ice skating, my feet flew out from under me, and my head was the first thing to hit the ice.  Blood was everywhere, beautifully crimson all pooled upon the white ice – and I looked at it and laughed.  I told her about the time I broke my arm and it hung from my elbow, bent like a snake – and I comforted my mom, who was the one crying.  She wanted to hear more and more, so I told her about every time I could think of that I got hurt – but didn’t cry.  Those were today’s naptime stories.

A recent development, Taytem has started coming to me crying with every microscopic boo-boo, and maybe as a mother I should be more compassionate, but I just can’t.  I’m not heartless – I’ve stood by her bedside in the hospital trying not to weep as the doctors plunged a giant needle into her spine 19 times to test for spinal meningitis.  I’ve held and rocked her with every fever and hugged her even when her breath smelled from throw-up.  That is a mom’s job after all, and I can do it.  But I can’t do the boo-boo thing.  Besides, she didn’t use to be that way, and I strongly suspect she picked up on some “attention-getting via minor injury” strategy, and I’m not falling for it.

I was a tomboy growing up (still am, I guess), and crying from an injury was akin to a sin.  I caught a fly-ball bare-handed once during P.E. and regardless of my swelling, purple palm, I fought back the tears and kept playing left field.  I’m not as tough as I used to be though, and somewhere along the line (marriage, perhaps?) I lost the conviction that “big girls don’t cry” (mind you, I’m only speaking in terms of physical pain.  I think most people probably need to cry a little more when they’re hurting on the inside).  So lately, I haven’t set a very good example for my girls when it comes to “toughing it out,” but that’s about to change, because frankly, I don’t have the time to attend to every teensy pin-prick.

Hence the bloody story-time.  Just like the stories we tell our children about honesty, kindness, courage, I wanted to teach her the virtue of toughness.

Regardless of the “take it like a man” school of thought, I don’t think it’s unfeminine or less feminine to be tough.  For several millennia, women have undergone the pain of natural childbirths, strenuous farm-work alongside their husbands, skinning and preparing animal meat (an unexpectedly tough job), splitting wood for fire, and numerous other necessary physical feats.  Women have had to be the guardians of their homes if their husbands had passed or were away on a trip.  A dainty woman has always been regarded as next to useless.  Even the Proverbs 31 woman “girds herself with strength, and strengthens her arms,” so I’ve always wondered why some people treat their daughters so differently from their sons when it comes to developing strength and handling pain.

This happens to be one of the reasons why I like my husband so much:  he treats our little girls as if they can do anything and he doesn’t give in to their whining or fake pain.  He wrestles with them, tosses them around and expects them to have some guts after a rough encounter with some asphalt.  At the same time, he tells them they’re pretty, endorses their ballet lessons, and cuddles and kisses them while patiently listening to their incessant chatter.  He pretty much treats me the same way, by the way (except for the ballet lessons.  I’m too clumsy for ballet.  Did I mention that the time I got kicked in the face, I actually slipped and fell into the guy’s foot as he was about to kick the ball?  It’s a good thing I don’t believe in crying when I get hurt because I’d be constantly dehydrated).

So in the spirit of teaching by example, as well as to remind myself of the guts I used to have (not to mention it looks like a blast), I’m signing up for this:  http://www.warriordash.com/ .  It’s a bit crazy, I know, but I can’t imagine a more fun way to show my daughters how to “take it like a girl”.

What do you think out there?  Should girls be treated differently than boys when they get hurt?  Should parents encourage their daughters in physical feats of strength even in the daintiest of daughters?  Do you think “being tough” is unfeminine?  I’d love to hear your thoughts – but it might take me a while to respond, I’m about go do half of a pull-up as I train for the Warrior Dash.

P.S.  I completed 7 days of the Master Cleanse.  I lost 6 pounds, am sleeping better, I have more mental clarity, more energy and a better mood.  I felt like I got everything I needed from the cleanse in 7 days and didn’t feel that it was necessary to finish 10 days.  I will probably do the cleanse again sometime this year.

Ceviche, chili dogs, chicken tortilla soup….the list goes on forever of the foods that are bombarding my thoughts, trying to get me to break down.  I am on Day 3 of The Master Cleanse (or Lemonade Diet, as some people call it), and even though my body feels better than it has in a very long time, my thought obsessions are confirming my food addiction.  ’Cause I don’t even like ceviche, and yet, here I am daydreaming about chopped up shrimp at ten in the morning.

I decided to do The Master Cleanse because I’ve just felt crappy for a long, long time.  Exhaustion, aches, sleeplessness, mental fogginess, depression, and a complete lack of self-control around sugar were the norm for me.  My family has suffered as my children had to endure my frequent, long naps and snappy outbursts, and my husband’s hands are worn out from near constant back massages since pain killers haven’t worked.  And I’ve even been aware that some acquaintances have considered me lazy and whiny.  I knew something had to change.

I’ve been to the doctor, chiropractor, several naturopaths and tried all kinds of supplements and treatments.  But nothing was helping me feel even nominally better, especially considering that in the midst of all those treatments, I could not break my addiction to sugar.  I finally looked into the symptoms of fibromyalgia, and though I have not been officially diagnosed, I’ve exhibited all symptoms.  However, this is not something I accept for myself, not in the sense of denying the problem, but fighting the problem instead, confident that I can change this.

When I started this blog, I added the section of “Happy Bodies” even though I didn’t have a happy body.  But I wanted to earn one, and I wanted to share that process with others and to gain inspiration from others.  I just didn’t know how to get the happy body I wanted and needed.  I do think if we listen to our bodies, they tell us what’s wrong.  My body has been telling me for sometime, “For the love of God!  Will you please lay off the dang cupcakes and ice cream bars?!”  If we pay attention, we know when our insides just feel icky.

So I’m cleaning house.  I’m not going to go into all the touted benefits or methodology of The Master Cleanse because there are plenty of websites and books that go into all of that.  But I will tell you why I’ve chosen to “cleanse” this way.

1)  It can’t hurt – I often hear concerned people calling fasting or cleansing “extreme” and “dangerous”.  But in actuality, as long as you keeping pooping, it’s perfectly safe to fast from all food for up to 40 days.  In fact, fasting is quite beneficial physically in allowing toxins to flush through the body.

2)  I need to regain control of my habits.  ”Simply eating healthier and in moderation” had not been a successful attempt of mine.  Telling a smoker to “simply smoke less and in moderation” isn’t particularly doable or effective for the smoker.  I knew I had to break my addiction to food cold-turkey, and once it was broken, to replace the old habit of eating poorly with a new habit of eating clean foods.  And habits are not just about a physical outcome; they influence our emotions, our self-esteem and our outlook on life.  When someone feels out of control with poor habits, they often feel hopeless to change, which affects every other area of life.

3)  I needed a focus.  It’s hard for me to share such personal stuff just out in the open like this, but in the aftermath of my mom’s death, I’ve had a lot to deal with.  The death of a loved one can be like the stirring of deep waters.  The stuff down at the bottom gets dredged up and all of a sudden, it’s so muddy you don’t recognize yourself in the reflection.  Which is why I’m taking this time to not only cleanse my body, but focus on what God is trying to cleanse out of me – the right to answers about my mom’s death?  Any feelings of superiority toward God that I could have done better?  The realization that maybe I was too dependent on my mom instead of God?  Whatever may be swirling around in the depths of my soul, this physical cleansing is giving me a distinct focus on the necessary spiritual cleansing that I need.

So far, I’m already feeling better than I did three days ago.  My mood is better, the aches I had have greatly diminished, my mental focus has been clearer and honestly, the lemonade mixture prevents your stomach from feeling any hunger pains or weakness.  The taste buds on the other hand, I admit they are out of control! – especially when ceviche sounds good for breakfast.

FYI, for my version of the Master Cleanse, which is supposed to be a concoction of fresh lemon juice, real maple syrup and cayenne pepper all mixed together in water, I bought empty gelatin capsules at my local health food store and measured out the daily amount of cayenne pepper to put into the capsules.  It’s just dad-gum nasty to mix it in the lemonade and I knew I couldn’t handle it because I’ve tried it before.  I take 4 -5 capsules a day, spread throughout the day for every half bottle of lemonade that I drink.  This seems to be working well for me.

One of my favorite childhood reads was the story of Pollyanna, the little girl who knew how to find the bright side in everything.  Well, after weeks of feeling angry and sorry for myself about being sick for so long and multiple times (I’m well now), I had finally decided to look on the bright side of being sick:

Bright spot #1:  I lost 7 pounds, which has spurred me on enough to eat right again, exercise, and take off the next 15 pounds of baby weight.  Not to mention that I’ll soon be able to retire the hideous single pair of jeans I’ve been sporting for two years because I’ve refused to buy any more jeans until I’m back to pre-Eisley size.

Bright spot #2:  My addiction to sugar is breaking.  And by “addiction”, I mean “gotta have it every single day or I feel like I’m going to go crazy, and when I’m around it I literally can’t control myself.”  I was seriously addicted to sugar, and had no sense of moderation.  But with the flu and a sinus infection, I knew I would never get well if I continued to chow on sugary treats, so I quit cold-turkey.  Now, I am sitting in my favorite cupcake/coffee shop and managed to refrain from my favorite strawberry & cream cheese cupcake and just get a latte.

Bright spot #3:  I think my husband understands more accurately what my everyday life is like as a stay-at-home mom.  I’d been sick enough that Lukus had to stay home almost the whole time to take care of our girls.  He’s gotten a bigger impression on how bored one can get staying at home, all the obvious things a mom has to do (make meals, dress kids, clean house…) as well as the less obvious, tiny little things that really only moms think about (making sure the children are not only well-fed but staying well-hydrated, checking toenails for needed trims, remembering to put our daughter’s long hair into a ponytail before breakfast knowing that otherwise, she will get syrup in her hair).  I have a little more confidence that on those days that I just need to sit next to him and cry a little about my day for a minute, that when he’s says he understands, he really does now.

Bright spot #4:  I finished three books from my “Great Books List”.

Bright spot #5:  Taytem missed me.  We’re usually together constantly, and both of us can get really anxious to hang-out with anyone else.  But once I was quarantined, Taytem actually started to miss me, and even cried when Lukus told her she couldn’t sit next to me.  Now, she tells me 47,000 times a day that she loves me, likes me and thinks I’m beautiful.  Before, she only said it about 10,000 times a day, which was totally taking me for granted.

So that’s what I decided to focus on while I was sick, instead of how my body felt, and I’m pretty sure that’s when my body started to feel better.  Pollyanna was a smart kid.