Fractured Arm Through Love Colored Glasses

merry Christmas everyone! most of you know how much i hate a lack of punctuation and proper grammar so forgive me. some of you have asked for updates, but typing is not my forte right now unless i can send you a one handed text.

it is a very happy Christmas here a the hueneke home- a fractured arm and surgery doesn't change our happy circumstance of a beautiful and wonderful family, a living room floor strewn with toys, boxes and paper, and my first ever white Christmas.

th outcome of the sugery is 12 screws and two plates, and yes i will be setting off metal detectors everywhere. i am in a soft cast that extends from knuckles to shoulder until jan 4- when it will be removed and i can begin therapy.my guess is that my scar will have me wearing long sleeves in the summer.the arm seems to be doing something- and since i cant see whats going on under the cast- i can only guess that no bad news is good news. the swelling is receeding, and i am working my way off the hard core pain meds- which for the life of me i hope to never touch again. even though they help with the pain the side effects are NOT fun (note how hard i worked to get that in caps).The pain is receeding as well and can be described more as discomfort i think.

martin and i are waiting to see about my healing and what the dr saysabout our 10 year anniversary trip that is supposed to happen Feb 3. we have been planning it for 6 months and i have been so excited- if it is cancelled, i will be beyond disappointed.

this whole thing has given me a VERY new perspective and while I have fought through the frustration and even depression at the lack of my independence- i am learning things in 10 days that i think would normally take me a lifetime to learn- (i keep thinking of Jacob's struggle with God).

being the control freak that i am- it is very difficult to let someone else buy and wrap my gifts for me, clean my house and take care of my kids- differently than i would. but i am AMAZED by the love that has been shown to me by these people- cooking, bringing meals, cleaning, buying my gifts, wrapping them, driving me to the emergency room WITH a three year old in tow (on your day off from being a nurse!), watching my kids for me, cards, notes, calls... words leave me and tears come as i try to thank you all.

And my sweet, sweet husband who has shown me ultimate love as he helps me through discomfort, humiliation, and seeing the not-so-sexy-side of marriage. he has been so tired, but trudged along and shown me and the kids so much grace despite his own fatigue and needs. let me tell you that i love him with new eyes that some people don't have until the end of their lives and i am grateful for that new revelation at this young age. let's hope he still loves me after all this!

thank you, thank you for your love and prayers.

Six Degrees of Patriotism

I am grateful. But it sounds so shallow when the words come out- not good enough to say what I really mean.

I am grateful year round. Not just today, when it's polite to say it- on that one day of the year, when everyone says it. I feel like shouting, "No! You don't understand! THANK YOU."

I thanked a lot of Veterans today. As a Soldier's Angel, I was so excited to participate in my first ever parade. I got to be IN a parade, on a float! Okay, so not a float, but a former military pick up truck type thing. And no, I have NOT arrived. The tiara was missing, but I wore something better- a Soldiers Angel tee shirt with lapel pins to match and red, white and blue beads to accessorize. Our leader wore angel wings, and I think we'll all be sporting those next year.

Some of the best times were waiting for the parade to start. Visiting with a reporter from the Dallas Morning News, and learning more and more about the people who would be in the parade. Several of the Soldier's Angels had served themselves, and I joked that I felt like the odd man out. Mr. Stewart was a World War II veteran serving in the US Marine Corps. What a sweetie. I thanked another IAVA (Iraq Afghanistan) Veteran, and tears welled up in his eyes. I got goosebumps as I heard the American Legion Commander explain their special trip down to Ft. Hood to ring a replica Liberty Bell for the fallen and wounded there. I watched a ROTC group practice their drill, all the while goofing around like the teenagers that they really are. A fellow Angel (who had served) commented to me that "these are the ones who are signing up, knowing what's in store...." leaving me to wonder at the courage of a future generation.

Then we were all lined up and set to go- all one hundred plus groups. Our diesel engine rumbled, the cor-"Vettes" revved their all American pride, and it was show time.

We rolled along at a snail's pace, and we all laughed as the Texas flag on the back of our truck insisted on slapping me and another Angel in the face. Along the way, the children and preschoolers lined the route, eyes wide, and waving. I waved back as often as I could. Stoic business men and women of Dallas managed to break the monotony of their day and watched either from the windows that lined their cubicle-filled office or on the streets below on their lunch breaks. We waved extra hard for the ones stuck in the offices.

But we were really looking for a specific type on the sidelines. Usually, they weren't making a fuss, or yelling at the floats. They were just watching, quietly. And most of them wore a very specific hat- a black "trucker" type hat embroidered with words that honored them for the day- VETERAN- WWII, Korea, Vietnam. I looked for these guys- and would mouth the words "Thank You" to them. And they would just nod, or touch their hat, and that left me feeling like, maybe, they heard me.

There were so many vets there- but there was also a type that would usually be lost in a crowd. You could still distinguish them as a vet- they almost always had the cap, or the t-shirt- but they were different. Sometimes they were in wheel chairs, sometimes on the park bench, sometimes, just there- with their backpacks stuffed with everything they owned. The homeless ones. They're usually never noticed, but on this one day per year, they're almost not afraid to hold their heads high, and look me in the eye. I thanked them too.

The stories I've heard today are tied to my heart. How is it that the PX in Khandahar is too small, and food, and yes, even BLANKETS are hard to come by? Seriously, please think about what these people (and their families) are giving up right now. There are at least 2,000 soldiers who need a piece of mail from home, or have no family to care for them, or need assistance when they are wounded. I am so proud to part of Soldier's Angels, so that I can do something about that.

God's Hugs

Yesterday, I got to teach Mason about sun beams. And more importantly, God's Love.

We were driving home from his orthodontist appointment, and I noticed the sun beaming through the clouds that would later bring torrential rain. The sky was that beautiful and special gray, white and sun beam yellow that you can't ignore. I pointed it out to him- it's hard to miss across the flat Texas terrain. I said "Look at the sunbeams". He seemed confused. I asked if he knew what a sunbeam was. He didn't. I explained that it is the sun, breaking through the clouds. I told him how I imagined that this is how it would look when Jesus comes back. He pondered that for a second, then said, "I wish I could give God a hug". Okay, heart, is mush, here, but I said, "Me too, and I wish I could GET a hug from God." About that time, the small hole where the sun hid, opened slightly, and sunlight flooded through. I said, "Look, God's giving us a hug!" and then, suddenly, just as spontaneously as it had opened, it closed again, and only small beams flowed through. Mason was quiet, and then said, "That was AWESOME!" pause. "That made me feel so good. That was the best part of my day!" "Me too." I replied.

I don't believe in coincidences.

Just Keep Swimming

Recently, Martin and I made our usual trip to Target. These trips are usually pretty expensive, and on this particular occasion, our cart was loaded with lots of extras. We were stocking up for our box for my latest and most favorite venture- www.soldiersangels.org. I have adopted a soldier that is deployed, and we are responsible for sending letters and/or care packages at least weekly- those who know me, know this is very near and dear to my heart, but I digress.

As we scooted our baby wipe, candy and goodie ridden cart up to the counter, I immediately noticed the teenager checking us out. She seemed, well, "more up tight than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs". We smiled, and asked how she was, and she said, "Oh, fine, good, I just have a lot going on". Wow. I immediately noticed that she looked about 17 and wondered what in the world she could be THIS stressed about. As I pondered this, said cashier began to mutter under her breath, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming" and suddenly, I thought I was dreaming. Really? Maybe we chose TOO many small items- she was clearly overwhelmed.... I began to explain that we were making these purchases for our soldier- through Soldier's Angels.org. Her ears seemed to perk up at this, and she pushed for more information. She said, "I'm the President of the Student Body, and maybe this would be a good project for us". I explained the details, and she looked a little disappointed as she said, "Well, that seems like a big commitment, I have so much on my plate already." I walked out feeling sorry for her, and Martin and I laughed a little as we pondered the future of a stressed out high school senior.

Whew. Just typing this wore me out. Seriously? Are kids today THIS stressed? I asked my Uncle Daniel, who is a youth pastor about this later, and he said, "Teenagers today are OVER SCHEDULED and UNDER CONNECTED." Here's hoping that the adult life of the Target check out girl is smooth sailing.

Marine Portrait

Today I read the moving story of Cpl. Jason Dunham of the US Marine Corps. Today a battleship was christened in his honor, as he is the first Marine to receive the Medal of Honor since the Vietnam War. He died in 2004,after throwing himself on a grenade in Iraq, saving the lives of fellow Marines. I read the story with tears in my eyes.... wondering how his mother, father and sister felt on such a bittersweet day.

I stared into his picture on the screen- seeing a boy that was obviously barely a man when it was taken.

The picture, of course, reminded me of my own brother's formal portrait. Once you're a part of the extended Marine family- you know the story behind that picture. The straight, smile-less face, and the reason why. You know the secret behind that "uniform" in the picture- that it's really just the top; and that the recruits are hurried through like cattle during the picture taking process at either Parris Island or San Diego. You know that when that picture was taken, your Marine was enduring some of the most challenging and difficult days of his or her life. You know the nostalgia and pride of seeing your Marine's formal picture on graduation day- feeling so proud, but hoping you never see it on the news, or like I saw Cpl. Dunham's today.

But still, Cpl. Dunham's picture today is also a symbol of at least two other Marines who's pictures are not in the news today. And for that, I am thankful. I pray that God will bless his family.

I'll never refold my laundry again.

I try not to use this blog to vent, or tirade. At least not usually. But really, I need to let off some steam. If you read this blog, you probably know me well enough to know that I am an absolute and TOTAL control freak. It never occured to me that this might be a character trait that might actually hurt someone's feelings, or be very disrespectful to others- until today. When I encountered myself- in the form of another human being.

I am on several committees, as I know most of you are as well. Being that I KNOW I'm a control freak, believe it or not- I've actually learned to reign in that "tendency" (I hear my girls snickering) during these meetings and environments. For the most part, I try to sit back and just do what I'm told. I'll offer to do things, but in all honesty, over the last couple years, I've learned it's best for me to just sit back and let someone else run the show so that I don't get dubbed "Hitler" anymore (high school yearbook). For that reason, I have turned down positions on the PTA even.

Well in the last couple months, I've worked on a couple of committees (which why do we really NEED 6 people to decide what color table cloths to use anyway, but I digress), and at one point was given responsibilities which align with the business I'm in. Makes sense. Being that I am probably OVER EFFICIENT, anal, control freakish and insecure (call it what you like), I poured my heart and soul into my research- aiming to bring the best possible scenarios to both organizations. On both occasions, I spent literally HOURS checking and rechecking myself. The first one, a lot of my ideas and things I brought to the table were shot down once someone else decided that after my hours of research, more research- on their part- was in order. Okay. FINE. (Freaked-out-Insecure-Neurotic&Emotional). I actually took that one in stride pretty well, under the circumstances, because I could tell that the spirit in which is was done was not bad.

However, today, put me over the edge. After shelving several important work projects in order focus on this particular upcoming deadline- I found out my two hours of research/work would once again, be dumped in order to be double-checked. This chick (me) did not take it well at that point.

What about my time? Wasted? Did someone else feel that I am not capable enough to handle the situation? Then why did they give me the project to begin with???? I felt like my time, efforts and energy had been abused and dis-respected. I wanted to cry, and almost did. I was angry. I wanted my two hours back, because I was then buried under my other work that wasn't done! (As I write this, I hear my friend Jenn saying, "Pride, Amanda, Pride", and you're right).

Since Martin was unavailable, I had to vent, or I WOULD cry. I called my sister, and unloaded the story. I even told her, "I KNOW I'm a control freak, but I would never hurt someone's feelings or waste their time that way, I mean, I know I refold my laundry, but really!"

I hung up feeling better, but still mad because at this point, I'd exerted so much energy and time in the project that I was now late to get my very important work package to the post office. As I drove, I realized it. I'm just as bad. How many times has Martin been kind enough to fold the laundry for me, only to have me go behind him and re-do it. I've disrespected his time, his efforts, and energy. My strive for perfection may have potentially hurt his feelings. Now, he's never said anything about it. But boy, he doesn't need too now. I've had the mirror put in front of my face, and I'll never re-fold my laundry again. And, I'm sorry if I've ever refolded yours.

The Backyard Money Machine

Now, I know I've blogged along this line before... if not here, in the blogosphere, then a million times somewhere in my sub-conscious.

But friends, let me tell you. I live with Curious George. A living, breathing, little octo-monkey who burns calories and energy at a rate that could light up the great state of Texas. His appearance would shock you, as he is not small and furry; but rather, a smooth, sweet skinned little boy with mischievous blue eyes, plump little cheeks, and a winning little smile and laugh that can both endear and drive one batty. He never MEANS to get in trouble.... it's just that everything is just so DARN INTRIGUING. Forget toys- they hold little to no interest for him, usually. He's much more enamoured with the the little things in life. For instance- his day would not be complete if he did not stop every five steps on the way to Mason's bus stop, to look at a rock, or oooh- a flower, or even better, an empty soda bottle that litters the alley. PURELY AMAZING- and it turns our walk past six houses into a 10 minute ordeal. And the idea, of washing your hands in the sink- why, that's just amazing, too, and no hand-washing is complete without looking underneath the sink to see exactly where all that water disappears too.

Imagine my consternation today, as I had quite the dreaded explanation to present to Martin. While I was on the phone with the swim instructor- I heard Coen go into the backyard. That was not a big deal, as it's free reign, properly secure, and open territory to them. However, upon hanging up, and writing the swim dates on my calendar, I heard the door slam, and little feet padding across the tiled floor. He grabbed my hand, and was blabbering in nearly three-year-old gibberish something about the "wind blow" and other words I couldn't decipher. I could tell it was urgent, and so followed him through the kitchen, and to my surprise- to the garage. He pointed to the garage door opener, and told me to open the door. I'm thinking, "Okay, ball went over the fence"..... I follow him into the empty lot next door, still trying to figure out what he's saying. It finally clicks when I see the yellow paper "kicket" (ticket) lying in the dirt. Said "kicket" is a piece of yellow Monopoly money. Dread feels my stomach, and I run, with Coen following back into the house. You see, it's not just any piece of yellow Monopoly money. It is a piece of Monopoly money from a limited edition, collectors STAR WARS Monopoly game. That belongs to Martin. And is very old.

The boys have been admiring it all week, and Martin has tolerated them doing so, allowing them to play at the kitchen table with the tiny ships, tokens, and game pieces. They have been in awe; and now, I know- that given "George's" great idea to give the game a try outside, in the 40 mph Texas wind- my neighbors will be in awe as well.

As I said, I tore around the corner, screaming to Mason to hurry, and help me. It looked like a money machine in the backyard, as we scrambled to gather the precious money, and even more precious, the game cards- Tatooine, Naboo, Curasant......AGGGGHHHHH. I almost threw up thinking about how in the world I would tell Martin.

After checking around the fence, the empty lots, and stepping in a huge pile of mud, I came back inside, and lined up the cards, to see what was missing. So far, I think there is only one card missing. Maybe that one fell out of the box during the move. Yeah, that's it.

Thank goodness, he took the news pretty well. Much better than I would've. Wonder how the man in the yellow hat would handle this one?


***UPDATE: Martin went out to mow the lawn last weekend, and moved the stack of lawn chairs on the back porch. Later he would ask me what I thought he found underneath.... (I'm imagining a rattlesnake, but NO) the TWO missing game cards, and the instructions to the game- weathered and water logged, but legible. Phew.

Blame It On Texas

Today marks the first candle on the cake that is our life in Texas.

Here is what I have learned in the last year.

There are two seasons in Texas. Hot "as blue blazes", as we say in North Carolina, and Cold. Not cold with snow, but cold, maybe with ice.

ergo....

Always dress in layers. Because you never know when you'll enter the Cowboys game in shorts in 80 degree weather, and come out in 35 degree weather 3 hours later. (The same applies over a course of a week).

"C's" are pronounced "QU" as in "Quler" (cooler) or "Quers" (Coors), or "Quers Lhyte" (Coors Light). So you really should put the Quers Lhyte in the Quler.

Accessories make every single outfit. This means the right bag, jewelry or shoes. See Sam Moon for more details. P.S. Don't be afraid of the prints, rhinestones, or the "bedazzler". They add just the rhyte touch.

Per Martin- Traffic sucks. His rush hour can be 45 minutes to an hour an a half.

Football is a big deal. And I mean BIG. Picture 2nd graders in pads; Friday Night Lights- For real, though.

Which leads me too.... the Dallas Cowboys are on the news or the Dallas Morning News front page literally EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE YEAR. In season, or out. Who's the coach, who's the manager, who they're recruiting, if the fields are wet, if they're dry, if they're building a stadium, if they're selling part of the old one... LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Being a family, is a big deal. The most important deal.

There's plenty to do. We're never bored.

You're either a Texas A&M fan, Texas Tech, Oklahoma, or a UT fan. Pick your colors.

It's not just a big dust bowl. It's pretty, and wow! Look at all the livestock and horses!

I just found out three days ago that we live only about an hour from Oklahoma. Okay, don't laugh because, I knew we were close, just didn't know how close.

You can take the girl out of Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina out of the girl.....

It's a great place for us to live. We're so glad God brought us here. Even if it's hard to hear about all of you getting tons of snow, while we see ice as our only "Winter Storm '09". That's okay, we're headed into 85 degrees again.

----- My disclaimer is that I truly love Texas, and I hope that all of my new Texas friends can forgive my observations (that may chafe a little) in order to see the charm of their state.

In the words of Mark Chesnutt... "Just had to see the sun set out in Frisco..."

Blame it on Texas
Dont blame it on me
I am who I am
And thats what Im gonna be
You can say what you wanna say
About my insanity
Blame it on Texas
Dont blame it on me

Chipmunk Cheeks

My family has been pretty fortunate to avoid most of the winter season sickness junk that has been going around. However, Mason came home from school on Monday with a temperature, and complaining of a sore throat. The school nurse informed us that one of the kids in his class has had strep throat, and I knew we were in for it too, since he rarely complains about stuff like that. Problem was, this all came to a head too late on Monday afternoon to get to the Dr. right away. I knew we'd need to go on Tuesday morning, and they were calling for freezing temperatures and ice. Great. Yesterday turned out to be okay- the ice came later- but I did get him right over to the Dr's office, where they did indeed confirm that he has strep throat, and reminded us all to practice good hand washing, and to try to keep Mason away from everyone else as much as possible.

After a quick mental pat on the back for my Mommy Intuition actually being RIGHT for a change; I developed the twitch that accompanies the idea of being trapped at home with a sick kid and an ice storm on the way. The Dr. sent me on my way with an antibiotic, and happily said, "Let me know if you need anything else!" to which I replied that I would LOVE to have something to keep me from going stir crazy. He just laughed. I think he thought I was joking.

Mason took his role of quarantine very seriously, and was very mindful of heading straight to his bedroom to retire in style with pj's, coloring books, reading books, and a good ol' comfy down throw. I immediately went about the house with my carton of Clorox wipes, sanitizing the Wii controller, all computer keyboards, television remotes, door knobs, light switches and toilet handles- feeling a sense of victory as I wiped away the germs with every stroke.

It was just about dinner time, and I had successfully managed to keep the boys separated, sanitized, and hopefully in a germ-free fly zone. Martin came home from work early, because of the pending ice build up on the roads, and we began to prepare dinner. Suddenly, Mason shouted down that all-to-familiar "Mommmmmeeeee?????......" warning cry- the one that I know means Coen's doing something BAD. I ran up the stairs- and while headed up, Mason explained my worst fear.... "Coen's drinking out of my water bottle."

No. Way. I shrieked, and bounded across the room, snatching the water bottle from his mouth- only to see Coen guiltily look up at me like a chipmunk, with cheeks full of Mason's germy water.

And so, my friends, I'll keep you posted.

PFC Phelps

I grew up next door to a family that very nearly mirrored our own. Five kids, but they have 3 girls and 2 boys, and we have 2 girls, 3 boys. We moved away when I was thirteen, but Alisa and I were the oldest, and bumped into each other again in college. I'm pretty sure we are friends for life, and we often joke that she's my "Oldest" friend, since we've known each other since we were one.

Her brother James (I know him as Jamie), is a US Marine (another similarity), and Jamie unfortunately experienced the ugliest side of the war in Iraq when his humvee was ambushed. Jamie was slightly injured, but lost one of his good friends, Chance Phelps, during the ambush. I remember when this all happened, as Alisa and I stayed in touch, and Mrs. Cooper has been in touch with my Mom, and they share stories about being a Marine Mom. I remember being so glad and thankful that Jamie was safe, but saddened by the loss of this Marine that I didn't even know.

Time went by, and I've followed Chance's story, as Alisa sent me links to the efforts Chance's Mother has made on his behalf. I remember her saying that one of the buildings on the Marine base in California was being named in his honor. I was further moved when I read the story/blog of the Marine that escorted Pfc. Phelps back to his hometown for burial. You can read his account (and not without a tear) at: http://www.blackfive.net/main/2004/04/taking_chance.html .


Now, apparently, this story has been made into a movie for HBO. Alisa has kept me in the loop on this as well. If any of you have HBO, and can record it for me, I would be so grateful.

Here is the message Alisa sent me about the movie:

http://www.slashfilm.com/2008/12/25/sundance-movie-trailer-taking-chance/


This is the link to the film trailer of the movie "Taking Chance." It is based on PFC Chance Phelps who was killed in Iraq. Chance was the gunner in my brother's humvee when they were ambushed in Iraq on April 9, 2004.
The movie is set to air on HBO in February.

Just Click Refresh....

Being a Stay-At-Home-Mom has its particular challenges when the time comes to round out one year, and begin another. In the midst of all the holiday chaos, someone had the bright idea to let the kiddos be out of school, so that you have one more (or two, or three, or even four) thing(s) to deal with. Don't get me wrong, my kids and I made some wonderful memories over the holidays. We went to see Santa, we walked up and down the street after dark- looking at the "ho-ho's" (Coen's term for Christmas lights), we decorated cookies, made a Star Wars wreath, worked on a paper Christmas chain garland, and watched oh-so-many holiday videos on TV. (All of this should point out the lengths to which I went to fill the time)....

Anyway, along with the kids being out for school, most of my social circles, Bible studies, etc. were also put on hold during the Holidays, so that we WOULDN'T have that one extra thing to deal with. That worked out great, up until about 2 weeks ago. And then, I realized, I had experienced exactly TWO instances of adult-only time over the course of 3-4 weeks. This led me to some sort of slow and gradual melt-down over the last week, which ended with me sobbing hysterically to Martin, that "I NEED SOME GROWNUP TIME!!!!!!" I proceeded to tell him that I had been sitting at home, clicking "refresh" on my email or facebook profile, in the hopes that Someone, Somewhere would be available to chat. I call people, but they're all busy, and while many of my friends are now SAHM's also, our schedules seldom line up to be able to chat. I was feeling pretty low.

Needless to say, got a phone call from Martin from work today... just checking up on me. Made me happy, I must say. Tomorrow my Bible study starts up again, and things will swing back into normal- at least, until Friday and Monday, when my kids are ONCE AGAIN out of school for a Holiday. Sigh.

I don't write this to make you feel sorry for me, or to get someone to pick up the phone and call me. I write this, because somewhere out there, there's someone else clicking refresh, and waiting.... never fear, my dear, you're not alone.

I-scream, you-scream....

One of our favorite things about Dickey's BBQ, here in Texas, is the free ice cream. That, and of course, Kids Eat Free Wednesdays and Sundays (as proclaimed by the sign hanging in the restaurant, which Mason read at least 10 times yesterday).

After several other attempts to eat at over-crowded restaurants after church yesterday, we landed our little tooshies in a booth at Dickey's and settled in for a good ol' lunch of Texas Beef Brisket. The boys chowed down on the Dino chicken nuggets, sausage and mac-n-cheese; while Martin and enjoyed our beef brisket, along with Martin's favorite- free reign on the condiment bar that includes pepperoncinis, pickles and spicy bbq sauce to your heart's content.

We decided that the boys had killed a healthy enough portion of their lunch, so Martin and I caved, and filled small white styrofoam cups with the delectable, creamy ice cream treat. This also made me cave, and get some for myself. While we watched and laughed at Daddy's (Martin's) forehead sweating from the spicy bbq sauce; we also watched in horror as Coen explored the world of ice cream by shoveling in a huge adult size spoonful of ice cream, right into his tiny little mouth. We were all shouting, "Brain freeze! No, no! Brain Freeze!", but how does one explain brain freeze to a 2 1/2 year old? There is, I guess, no explaining, and we watched (and truthfully, yes- LAUGHED) as the bewilderment crossed his face, and then, in true mommy form, I threw my napkin out to catch the ice cream that quickly left his little mouth. We tried to explain that you have to take LITTLE bites of ice cream, not big ones. But don't we all really just want to gobble down a big bite?

I guess that Brain Freeze is something you have to learn to avoid from trial and error.