don’t ask me about my cast

Today is Day 16 of my Whole30 journey. I must say, it’s been wild, and rewarding thus far, and I can honestly see myself making this a lifestyle. As long as I can master the damn mayonnaise recipe!

I think I’ve had it easier than most, with hardly any side effects, and no cravings, because I ate mostly clean before I started Whole30; although, my body still staged a revolt. Last week I had acne –like a lot, and five fever blisters in three days. I persevered, and as I write this the acne is fading and the fever blisters have disappeared.

The book says by day sixteen I’m supposed to have Tiger blood. Huh.

By the way, coconut cream is so much better than coconut milk in my coffee, and the one thing that has made my meal prep easier, and something I would highly recommend to anyone considering Whole30: buy a pressure cooker! Seriously, they won’t blow your face off anymore. These days they make nice safe electric ones, with buttons and stuff. We bought an InstantPot, and have used it practically every day.



It is a well-known fact in our family: Mom is not an animal lover, she is a reluctant animal caretaker.

However, a few weeks ago I offered to dog sit for my middle son while he traveled overseas with the military, for a few months. He was out of options, I was his last resort. Enter mom-guilt. (It comes out after the placenta.)

My one and only question to my son was: is it potty-trained? Yes mom, she is potty trained.

Two days after my son left, I slipped in a puppy puddle and went down hard on my left knee, fracturing my kneecap.

The look on my son’s face when I offered to dog sit: Priceless
The cost of dog sitting: $1,100 + the USAF (half) Marathon, and counting…

And the very worst part is that I don’t even have a good story.

The week before my accident, I climbed a steep slippery mountain right after a rain; I’ve run two half marathons this year; I kayak, paddle board and bicycle almost every weekend…but…noooo.

I get to slip in dog urine on my kitchen floor and fracture my kneecap; that’s my story. It sounds like a geriatric alarm infomercial.

Priceless look.

Priceless look.

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