My Wednesday mornings are usually pretty simple:wake a little later than usual, have coffee, and eat a little something as I take my prescriptions. I take a medication that prevents cold sores and one that prevents my epileptic symptoms from happening.

I mention these personal things not to garner pity, but rather to normalize and make approachable some health issues that may be more common than you think. I think it’s nicer than speaking poorly in an uneducated way about illnesses that are perhaps unseen most times.

Interesting to note, in my opinion, that the stuff I take medicine for are two issues that don’t rear their ugly heads in public except when the biggies happen.

Some time ago, I was at Target with my husband. We had been looking forward to our “errand date” all day. We always have a blast with each other, wherever we go, and it has been a loooong day for both of us.

So, we sauntered in to the shop, and began to peruse the shelves. Now mind you, I had been feeling off all day. I had been experiencing auras off and on, which are warnings that seizures may occur shortly. But they never came! Instead I got that tummy turning roller coaster feeling in my head all day, and it stepped up big time once we walked through those automatic sliding doors at the bullseye store. Of course I hadn’t said anything to my hubs yet because I thought “I can do this! Nothings gonna stop me!!!” (I have since changed my attitude and have made it a habit to speak up when feeling poorly.)

I slowly started getting shorter and shorter steps, feeling vaguely sick, and my pace rivaled that of a snail. I squeezed my husband’s rather large hand and said “honey, I’m feeling kinda funny.”

Right away he got me to the car and drove me home as I hit the proverbial wall of exhaustion that followed. I didn’t seize in public, not this time, not yet, but that was close. I don’t look forward to that possibility. But I know it might happen one day.

Anyway, I’ve found that this illness has given me a very healthy perspective of people with disabilities and potential hidden health issues. I hope that I can use these newfound personal experiences as fodder to be further kind to others and always be one of the helpful people!

From my original article that appears on Love What Matters website/Facebook page:

I was grocery shopping with my husband the other day, and we came upon this beautiful colorful display of tiny onions. It made me think of my grandfather, known fondly as ‘Papa,’ who began the tradition of ‘turkey of the year’ in our family.

Thanksgiving was a really big deal in our family. It was always held at Nana and Papa’s home. We looked forward to it every November—I just adored my Nana’s stuffing that spilled out of the great big turkey and the amazing mountains of mashed potatoes that would appear from the kitchen.

When I was about six years old, Papa had made a big casserole of creamed onions with bacon, cheese, and breadcrumbs on the top. He very proudly brought the dish in to dinner when it was time to eat that Thanksgiving afternoon.

Unfortunately he tripped and spilled the entire contents of the dish all over the brand new chocolate brown wall-to-wall carpeting that had been recently installed in the dining room (remember, this was 1978!).

As he sat there covered in cream and onion mess and Nana flew to his side to make sure he didn’t get burned, he just laughed and said, ‘I feel like such a turkey.’

For the rest of the evening after we cleaned him up, we all shared stories of how we had made mistakes or had something embarrassing happened to us.

My cousin admitted he had mistakenly sprayed air freshener instead of hairspray on his hair. I told Papa how I had once done three cartwheels in a row at recess and ended up splitting my pants.

My father roared with laughter, telling us about the time he had woken up extra early on his day off and waltzed into his retail job, only to realize he had somehow lost a day. The foibles went on and on, late into the evening.

In the end, Papa was encouraged by the loving family he helped create, and we all came to the conclusion that our silly shenanigans of the past were fun to share and have a laugh at ourselves.

We carried on the tradition and he usually made us a small trophy to commemorate the funniest story, which we vote on in all sincerity. Last year’s trophy, made by my daughters, was an incredibly tacky golden chicken statue, encrusted with jewels.

It was won by my eldest child’s best friend, who needed a place to be for the holiday. We came away from that dinner with his laughter and sweet comment of ‘I’ve never won an award before, and now I can rest easy knowing I’ve blown away my grandfather’s expectations of me!’

The love, laughter, and sarcasm of the original turkey of the year competition is still going strong. It is a tradition that we have kept up for 46 years, and I can’t wait for this year’s Thanksgiving dinner, because I am most certainly going to be the winner!”

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Shared with permission via Antonia DeZutti

Thanksgiving #Turkey #Family

So about five years ago, I became a mother to two bonus babies.

Truth be told, I had been dating my Gregg since 2015, but they knew nothing of me for a solid year into meeting him. We did that on purpose, to make sure we would be lasting.

Once I met them, with the assumption that if they liked/disliked me, they would have the final sway of opinion on our “us-ness”, since Gregg and I were marriage minded. Being in our forties and fifties at the time, we were not messing up this time, as we had in our former unions.

And that meant that all three of our collective kids would have the final say. My child, the eldest, was an easy sell. On their way out to live with a partner, L was pretty happy as long as I was happy. I got a green light from my side, then it was on to Greggs kids.

His son was eight, and his daughter four. These would be the tough nuts to crack, as all they’d known up till that day of introduction was Mom and Dad.

On the appointed day Gregg and his kids and I had a casual dinner at his house, we played some board games, and the littles (as they have come to be affectionately known as) fell asleep to a movie right before bedtime. All in all a pretty picturesque and predictable evening. I was introduced as a friend, S (his son) was shy and shook my hand wearing a sly little grin on his face, and G was sitting in a chair.

In timeout.

We laugh about that now, her offense that required punishment permanently forgotten, but I’ll always recall her grinning from ear to ear, sheepishly asking her Dad, “Daddy can I be done now?” And extending her tiny hand to mine while still sitting in timeout.

Gregg of course relented and I became fast friends with the littles that evening.

Fast forward a few months, and we decided to hold hands (first PDA in front of the kids!) on a walk at the local wildlife preserve. S and G were about fifty feet in front of us, repeatedly running back and forth on the trail, and as thry came back seeing our hands clasped together, they both were unphased.

Blah blah blah, yakety yak, walk walk walk. Look at this bug! What is that flower? Can I pick it? Why do we need to go back now? I’m hungry and where is the potty!!!

2017 rolls around and we all decided to shack up together. We squeezed the five of us in the tiniest house we could find (thank you seedlings of the housing crisis and restarting our lives and the credit hits from divorce and financial ruin) and we were settled in. To quote Gregg, “this place is either going to kill us, or make us stronger.”

Thankfully, the latter has happened!

I am Antonia DeZutti. It took years to become me, and my current manifestation includes being a wife, mommy, stepmommy, business owner, chaplain, and friend. Follow me for unadulterated honesty and stories from experience.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton