Soooooooo...
I'm having a bit of a hard time here lately. Houston... there has been some heavy, hard core drama. Please abort mission. I repeat... ABORT MISSION... and head on back to home base. No need to discuss the issues with the public. Let's just maintain a low profile, take our licks and move on with life. Roger that, Houston. Over and Out.
I'm in need of a funny story. And luckily for you AND for me... I have one.
And... I GUESS... I'll tell it. Geez. Twist my arm.
When I was about 16 years old, my mom took me to the doctor for something. (I don't remember what. I'm 31 years old now... what do you want from me?) She checked me in and got my paperwork. Came over to where I was sitting and began to fill it out. And I was like, "WHA...? Mom. MOM. I'm 16. I think I can fill my OWN paperwork out. Thank you very much-ah. I've mastered the arts of READING and WRITING at this point. I attend, you know, SCHOOL. Also... I believe I know ME. Because I am... ME."
She was amused. Teenagers are amusing, I have come to realize. Being that they know everything and all... but still make some of the most EPICALLY stupid mistakes ever. Which is so odd considering all of that knowledge. And wisdom. And advice they have for us older folk. Which ultimately guides them on their path to the spiritual awakening of "Holy Shit. I DON'T actually KNOW how to proceed. Mom? Dad? What would you do? And... can I borrow $100? Also... can you watch the baby on Friday?"
Anyway... she handed me the clipboard with the paperwork. I felt so official as I began to check boxes. And write my FULL NAME and my SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER... (which I had to ask my mom for). When was my last period? WHY... YES. YES, I DO. GET THAT. THANK YOU. ADULT WOMAN HERE. Filling out her OWN paperwork. Tampon user now, EVEN. (Oh. Well. Ok. Apparently they don't need to know that.)
Have I had any surgical procedures? YES. Yes I have.
"Tonsil"... ahhh...
"Tonsel"... hmmm....
"Tonsal".... welllll...
"Mom... how do you spell tonsillectomy?"
Also... they need to know my insurance information. Ummmm... "Mom... what do I write here?"
Now we're to the boxes of what illnesses I have and have not suffered from. Check yes or no.
Cancer?... pfffft. Easy... NO. Duh.
Hemorrhoids? (like for REALZ? *snicker* NO! Wait... wait. Maybe I should put YES. LMAO! Wait... she's looking. Forget it.)
Heart Disease, including arteriosclerosis, angina, heart failure or history of heart attack ? What am I... fat??!? 60??? Also... "angina"? Really?.... REALLY? BWHAHAHAHA!! (what is that?)
High Blood Pressure? How the hell would I know? Aren't they going to put that squeezy thing on me and LET ME KNOW? You're suppose to know these things before you go in?
Blurred Vison? Yes. But if you think I am going to check YES so she can make me wear some dorky ass glasses you're insane.
Rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or connective tissue disease? Uhhhhhh.... (what the hell is all THAT? I guess... NO. Is guessing allowed?)
Sickle Cell Anemia? Ummm... what if I have had all this crap? I've been sick a time or two in my younger days. But with WHAT? I don't remember. Can you catch this "anemia" business? And why does it make your "cells sick"? Is that any different from like, sick... sick? Why do they even need to know all this anyway? Forget it. I am just gonna put "NO" on everything else because I am not asking her, so she can be like, "Ohhhhhhhh... I thought you knew enough to fill out your OWN paperwork."
So I get done with everything and I could tell she wanted to spot check it. But I was like, "Nope. DENIED. I got this."... and went over and turned it into the receptionist.
After awhile, the nurse came to the door and called my name. Mi Madre must have sensed that this day was some sort of milestone, so when they called my name, she kept reading her magazine and didn't look up. I was on my own, apparently. Heck YES! Finally. A little respect around here. A little recognition for my (inevitable) accomplishment of growing up. Thank you very MUCH-AH.
The nurse did her nurse stuff. Height, weight, temp, blood pressure. Then she left me alone in the room informing me that "The Doctor has one patient ahead of you and then will be in shortly."
While I waited I read Better Homes & Gardens. It's what all the "adults" read while they wait for their doctors.
15 minutes later, the doctor knocked on the door and then entered. But it was all wrong, because it was a MALE doctor. WHOA. WHOA... now. Do they not know that on days when you have grown up enough to fill out your own paperwork and then do your whole "appointment" by yourself, you need to be assigned a same gender physician? How do they not know this? Didn't the receptionist notice me in all my adult glory, transforming before her very eyes as I took care of all of my OWN information? Uncomfortable this will be. Perhaps I should get my mom...
BUT NO. NO I WILL NOT. Perseverance. That's adult and shit.
He started asking me questions about whatever I was there for, as well as my medical history. Then he paused for a minute and said, "You've had Pertussis?"
????? "Uhhhhhh... I don't think so. What is that?"
"Well it says right here on your paperwork you have had Whooping Cough. How old were you when you had Whooping Cough?"
"Oh! No. he he. I've never had "Whooping Cough", I guess. But I have had a "Whopping (big) Cough" before that made my throat hurt. You know... like a whopper of a cough. I thought that was the same thing."
"Ohhhh... I see. You filled out your own paperwork today. Why don't we get your mother in here just to be on the safe side, then?"
DAMMIT.
Showing posts with label For Amusement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label For Amusement. Show all posts
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Iraqi Effect
This is for The Man who this morning, very matter-o-factly, told me many stories of the extremely high rate of un-happily married and divorced men in Iraq. My ultimate plan is to spend the rest of my life with him taunting me, smacking my ass and trying to boss me around, so a little 10,000 mile distance doesn't bother me. Besides, I've played out the scene 1,000 times where I am holding his hand in the hospital bed WHILE HE IS DYING OF EMPHYSEMA OR LUNG CANCER BECAUSE HE WON'T QUIT SMOKING... and all the romance and mellow drama I long for finally comes spewing forth from his lips, Jason Mraz style. I have to wait around until at least then, right? Otherwise, all my time invested has been wasted and that would just piss me off. Enough so that I would stay out of spite. So really... message to my husband: You couldn't get rid of me if you tried.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
31 Years of Wisdom
So besides the proper lubricant for leg shaving, these are some other things I have learned over my small time on planet Earth.
*People Do, In Fact, Change. This is not true for everyone, obviously... but it is true. I, myself, do not own special x-ray goggles to be able to look into the hearts and minds of people to see whether or not they are "faith" or "hope" worthy... so I just try to keep an open mind and support everyone who seeks change for the better. If you own the special x-ray glasses, I encourage you to patent them and distribute them. I'll keep the faith and have hope you change your selfish ways.
*Cold Beer Goes The Best With Hot Pizza AND/OR A Hot Guy. If you need for me to elaborate on this, I can only encourage you to go out and get yourself a 6-pack and try both side dishes for yourself. Get back to me on your favorite.
*Pop Music DOES Have A Purpose. I realize that you may not like it... but it can be a good thing. Women dance together when drunk to pop music. This is a fact. Also... it will unite you with the people who are your age by evoking memories of teenage tomfoolery. The lyrics are easy to memorize. If you're of Caucasian descent, you may have a chance at keeping a beat. It is not the deepest or most meaningful of music, but like a movie or TV show you can zone out to... it is a necessity sometimes.
*There Is Nothing Better Than A Summer BBQ With People You Like. Notice I did not say "your family". This is because, in case you don't agree with me because you've only ever had BBQ's with your family... and you don't like them much... you would get my subtly hidden message to throw a secret BBQ with only people you like. You'll find it profoundly changes things.
*Hold Onto People You Love. I cannot stress this enough. If you loved someone at any point in time, they are worth figuring out a way to hold onto. (The exception to this, I suppose, is people whom you have loved but have abused you. This I leave up to you... but I encourage closure and a way for the good to prevail if it can.) You never, ever know when you will be at their funeral, devastated that you will NEVER be able to tell them how much they meant to you. Of course we can't always like everyone; nor are we obligated to spend time with people who irritate us when time is actually "spent" together. If you love someone, though, don't let them fall away into the abyss. Keep tabs on them, if only at a distance... and make sure that they know how you feel about them on at least a bi-annual bases. And for goodness sakes!!! If you have a old best friend/old boyfriend/old "other" someone special who you did actually enjoy but grew apart from and lost contact... LOOK THEM UP!!! Tell them how much they meant to you. DO THIS. I command you.
*Your Parent's Political Views Are As Subjective As The Rest Of The Population's. I think I almost fell over the day this dawned on me. But it doesn't actually compare to the day I really did fall over when I realized I was watching the news. By choice. And paying attention. Because it was INTERESTING.
*Children Are Freaking GROSS. That's right. I said it. They come into this world in a painful plethora of "gross-ness". They then proceed to continue this grossness to varying degrees as they age. They can be cute. They can be sweet. They can invoke emotions like pride and unconditional love. BUT... my friends... this is all their coy way of making up for the fact that they will puke on you. They will spit on you. They will urinate and defecate and infect you with germs and viruses. They will make the biggest and most disgusting messes you have EVER SEEN IN YOUR WHOLE LIFE. And then smile at you like, "What? Just clean it up." No one tells you this. I am telling you this. You're welcome.
*Who You Think You Are Now Will Change. Evolve. AND... Get Better. And I am excited about that for you and for me. Take it from a little meek, mousy blond wall flower who didn't even find her voice until about age 24. Also... do yourself a favor: You know that mistake you made yesterday/last week/last month that has been haunting you? Forgive yourself. Don't do it again. Learn to spot others who are in your same plight and help them by listening, and then speaking when asked. Sit quietly sometimes and don't be a mother or a wife or a sister or a daughter or a friend (or... you know... the male counterparts to that). Be yourself. Who is that? How will you know unless you spend some time learning about you (?) Also... try not to make absolutes. When I think back to who I was when I was 21... compared to who I am now... It is MIND BOGGLING the amount of growth and change. As well as the change in the needs, wants and desires. Don't ever sell yourself short by making up your mind for or against something you haven't experienced yourself.
*Educate yourself. As MUCH as humanly possible. Please do this. And please don't ever rely on just one person's opinion. I beg you. Probably the single greatest thing we can all do for humanity is do our own research. On EVERYTHING.
Ok. The End. :)
*People Do, In Fact, Change. This is not true for everyone, obviously... but it is true. I, myself, do not own special x-ray goggles to be able to look into the hearts and minds of people to see whether or not they are "faith" or "hope" worthy... so I just try to keep an open mind and support everyone who seeks change for the better. If you own the special x-ray glasses, I encourage you to patent them and distribute them. I'll keep the faith and have hope you change your selfish ways.
*Cold Beer Goes The Best With Hot Pizza AND/OR A Hot Guy. If you need for me to elaborate on this, I can only encourage you to go out and get yourself a 6-pack and try both side dishes for yourself. Get back to me on your favorite.
*Pop Music DOES Have A Purpose. I realize that you may not like it... but it can be a good thing. Women dance together when drunk to pop music. This is a fact. Also... it will unite you with the people who are your age by evoking memories of teenage tomfoolery. The lyrics are easy to memorize. If you're of Caucasian descent, you may have a chance at keeping a beat. It is not the deepest or most meaningful of music, but like a movie or TV show you can zone out to... it is a necessity sometimes.
*There Is Nothing Better Than A Summer BBQ With People You Like. Notice I did not say "your family". This is because, in case you don't agree with me because you've only ever had BBQ's with your family... and you don't like them much... you would get my subtly hidden message to throw a secret BBQ with only people you like. You'll find it profoundly changes things.
*Hold Onto People You Love. I cannot stress this enough. If you loved someone at any point in time, they are worth figuring out a way to hold onto. (The exception to this, I suppose, is people whom you have loved but have abused you. This I leave up to you... but I encourage closure and a way for the good to prevail if it can.) You never, ever know when you will be at their funeral, devastated that you will NEVER be able to tell them how much they meant to you. Of course we can't always like everyone; nor are we obligated to spend time with people who irritate us when time is actually "spent" together. If you love someone, though, don't let them fall away into the abyss. Keep tabs on them, if only at a distance... and make sure that they know how you feel about them on at least a bi-annual bases. And for goodness sakes!!! If you have a old best friend/old boyfriend/old "other" someone special who you did actually enjoy but grew apart from and lost contact... LOOK THEM UP!!! Tell them how much they meant to you. DO THIS. I command you.
*Your Parent's Political Views Are As Subjective As The Rest Of The Population's. I think I almost fell over the day this dawned on me. But it doesn't actually compare to the day I really did fall over when I realized I was watching the news. By choice. And paying attention. Because it was INTERESTING.
*Children Are Freaking GROSS. That's right. I said it. They come into this world in a painful plethora of "gross-ness". They then proceed to continue this grossness to varying degrees as they age. They can be cute. They can be sweet. They can invoke emotions like pride and unconditional love. BUT... my friends... this is all their coy way of making up for the fact that they will puke on you. They will spit on you. They will urinate and defecate and infect you with germs and viruses. They will make the biggest and most disgusting messes you have EVER SEEN IN YOUR WHOLE LIFE. And then smile at you like, "What? Just clean it up." No one tells you this. I am telling you this. You're welcome.
*Who You Think You Are Now Will Change. Evolve. AND... Get Better. And I am excited about that for you and for me. Take it from a little meek, mousy blond wall flower who didn't even find her voice until about age 24. Also... do yourself a favor: You know that mistake you made yesterday/last week/last month that has been haunting you? Forgive yourself. Don't do it again. Learn to spot others who are in your same plight and help them by listening, and then speaking when asked. Sit quietly sometimes and don't be a mother or a wife or a sister or a daughter or a friend (or... you know... the male counterparts to that). Be yourself. Who is that? How will you know unless you spend some time learning about you (?) Also... try not to make absolutes. When I think back to who I was when I was 21... compared to who I am now... It is MIND BOGGLING the amount of growth and change. As well as the change in the needs, wants and desires. Don't ever sell yourself short by making up your mind for or against something you haven't experienced yourself.
*Educate yourself. As MUCH as humanly possible. Please do this. And please don't ever rely on just one person's opinion. I beg you. Probably the single greatest thing we can all do for humanity is do our own research. On EVERYTHING.
Ok. The End. :)
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Happy Birthday America!
The 4th of July is... and always has been... one of my most favorite holidays. How does it get any better than sunshine, BBQing, drinking beer, hanging out with friends and then free night time entertainment? Also... it IS the prelude to my birthday, bitches!!! :) God planned it that way because he loves me. And you. So He gave you and I a day between the 4th and the birthday of Beth to rest up and recharge. A day for ibuprofen and electrolytes. He would have put that in The Bible, but He thought it might give too much away and rob Dr. Adams and the Boots Pure Drug Company of their glory. Don't forget to say "thank you" tonight when you pray. Also... America's fireworks tradition was, in fact, started in the year 1979, right? To signify the coming of Beth. That is what my mom told me so don't go getting all "hater" just because you don't have fireworks every year on YOUR pre-birthday holiday.
Speaking of people, as well as things, that are fabulous: Freedom... isn't it awesome? All kidding aside, I am so grateful to live in a country where I am allowed to feign arrogance and poke fun at religion. And politics. And children. I love being an American, and regardless of our flaws and faults... and occasional bad decisions to elect religious right conservatives to office... I love us. We keep changing and trying to become better, and even though there are those who try to ignorantly impede the process... you can find a lot of them on Fox News if you're curious... it is inevitable. As a birthday present to me, I implore you to constantly strive to remain educated. Seek out that which you don't understand and find truth. We, of the right to an education citizenry, are a great people.
Group hug.
Speaking of people, as well as things, that are fabulous: Freedom... isn't it awesome? All kidding aside, I am so grateful to live in a country where I am allowed to feign arrogance and poke fun at religion. And politics. And children. I love being an American, and regardless of our flaws and faults... and occasional bad decisions to elect religious right conservatives to office... I love us. We keep changing and trying to become better, and even though there are those who try to ignorantly impede the process... you can find a lot of them on Fox News if you're curious... it is inevitable. As a birthday present to me, I implore you to constantly strive to remain educated. Seek out that which you don't understand and find truth. We, of the right to an education citizenry, are a great people.
Group hug.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Frustration
SO.VERY.FRUSTRATED.
The one thing that frustrates me more than anything else on the face of the planet is being told that I agreed to something in a conversation that I didn't. Why does this frustrate me so much? I am sure one would assume with a memory like mine this could happen. It's probable. It's feasible. It's probably even HAS happened a time or two. I guess because when I actually do remember the conversation that you're referring to... it's not that I agreed to something and then did the opposite. It's more like you probably told me how you felt about something... and then I choose to not argue and let you say your peace. That is not agreement. That is called listening.
More than likely, when it is a man that is at odds with me over this... what I was actually doing is allowing you to just vent. My feminine ears sensed what they thought was the need for a good "letting out of emotion." I thought about telling you to just "talk it out"... "just let it out"... I'm here for you. But then I was like, "Holy SHIT! He's venting. I spend half my life wondering what the hell he's thinking... and here it is! YAY! Feelings! He's letting me in! I'm in baby... I'm IN!" My heart is swelling. So I'm all wrapped up in your walls coming down... and wondering if I should pat your knee... or get you a bowl of ice cream. I am LISTENING to you. You're sharing your feelings with me. I'm mentally cataloging what your wearing right now so that I might keep this for later. AND NOW I am envisioning us on the beach together, the waves crashing as we're discussing the deepest depths of our souls, and how we feel about our mothers, and our biggest dreams...
I guess I just don't make the connection that you're not venting.
You're being a man. And instead... you're telling me what I need to do, how I need to do it and why it needs to be done. And now that it comes across THAT way... get your own fucking ice cream. And you can pat your own knee.
The one thing that frustrates me more than anything else on the face of the planet is being told that I agreed to something in a conversation that I didn't. Why does this frustrate me so much? I am sure one would assume with a memory like mine this could happen. It's probable. It's feasible. It's probably even HAS happened a time or two. I guess because when I actually do remember the conversation that you're referring to... it's not that I agreed to something and then did the opposite. It's more like you probably told me how you felt about something... and then I choose to not argue and let you say your peace. That is not agreement. That is called listening.
More than likely, when it is a man that is at odds with me over this... what I was actually doing is allowing you to just vent. My feminine ears sensed what they thought was the need for a good "letting out of emotion." I thought about telling you to just "talk it out"... "just let it out"... I'm here for you. But then I was like, "Holy SHIT! He's venting. I spend half my life wondering what the hell he's thinking... and here it is! YAY! Feelings! He's letting me in! I'm in baby... I'm IN!" My heart is swelling. So I'm all wrapped up in your walls coming down... and wondering if I should pat your knee... or get you a bowl of ice cream. I am LISTENING to you. You're sharing your feelings with me. I'm mentally cataloging what your wearing right now so that I might keep this for later. AND NOW I am envisioning us on the beach together, the waves crashing as we're discussing the deepest depths of our souls, and how we feel about our mothers, and our biggest dreams...
I guess I just don't make the connection that you're not venting.
You're being a man. And instead... you're telling me what I need to do, how I need to do it and why it needs to be done. And now that it comes across THAT way... get your own fucking ice cream. And you can pat your own knee.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Childhood Tale of Funny
Today my sister Laura poked me on FaceBook. Not being one to take something like that lightly... I informed her that I would be telling mom on her. And to quit looking out my window.
My other sister, Rachel, I discovered does not know of this "looking out my window" offense of which I speak. It occurs to me that neither do you, most likely. And in the event we are ever riding in a car together, I want you to know full well what you should never do, lest you want me to start a pinching fest when those in the front seats aren't looking.
When Laura, Richie and I were little, our parents had normal sedan style vehicles. Which meant that Laura sat next to the door on one side of the backseat... and I sat next to the door on the other side. Richie use to actually be a lot smaller than Laura and I. I know... right? I don't believe me either... but it is the truth. Anyway... he had to sit in the middle. Which he called the "mush pot" and cried about. A lot. Until my dad told him it wasn't the "mush pot"... no, no, son. "It's the KING'S seat. And you're sister's aren't even allowed to sit in it. That's the spot for my boy! My Son! The KING!" Ummmm... I believe that worked. Once.
So when we would take trips... most of the time the ones that consisted of the parent's swapping responsibility for the weekend... we did what a lot of other children usually do when they are sitting 3 to a backseat, and annoyed the crap out of each other... and my parents. I do want to say for the record that Laura started it. ALL of it. Every time. :) So I retaliated by casually turning my head her way and looking out the window on her side of the backseat at the moon, or a horse we were passing or the car next to us... or anything really. As long as it was there, it became very, very interesting to me. And Laura would become INcensed. "MOM! MOM!!! She is doing it again!! She's LOOKING.OUT.MY.WINDOW.!! Make her stop looking out my window. She has her own window!! She doesn't NEED to look out MY window."
So I think the first time that happened... my mom (or dad... whomever had the privilege of making sense out of THAT horrific sibling torture method)... must have laughed, right? It's kinda of funny. Freaking out about someone looking out a window that happens to be next to your head in a car. However... in our family this was a huge issue for YEARS. Whenever I wanted to irritate Laura or when she wanted to irritate me, we did this to each other to the point where my parents would yell non-sensical things like,
"IF ANYONE LOOKS OUT A WINDOW THAT IS NOT THEIRS... AT ANYTHING... FOR ANY REASON... AGAIN, EVERYONE IS GETTING A SPANKING AND GOING TO BED WHEN WE GET HOME."
"ALRIGHT. THAT's IT! If the moon is out Beth's window tonight, then it's her night for the moon. The END. I cannot change the gravitation pull of the earth to make this fair."
"YOU CANNOT say "dibs" (the imaginary method of claiming ownership of other people's horses for your own) to horses that are out Laura's window. You may ONLY say dibs to horses out your window. If there are no horses on your side, I feel badly for you... but it's your day for out of luck. You may instead want to "dibs" cars you like on the other side of the freeway. They'll get you where you want to go a little faster anyway, and you don't have to shovel their poop."
We literally were not allowed to turn our heads in the backseat for years. And my poor, poor brother. The only window he could look out was the front windshield. It's a wonder he has peripheral vision. He had to stare straight ahead, because if he turned his head a millimeter to either side, Laura and I ganged up on him and it was over. I believe this is probably why he grew to be 6'3" and large. It was out of pure spite. And to insure he will NEVER sit in the mush pot again as long as he lives. :)
My other sister, Rachel, I discovered does not know of this "looking out my window" offense of which I speak. It occurs to me that neither do you, most likely. And in the event we are ever riding in a car together, I want you to know full well what you should never do, lest you want me to start a pinching fest when those in the front seats aren't looking.
When Laura, Richie and I were little, our parents had normal sedan style vehicles. Which meant that Laura sat next to the door on one side of the backseat... and I sat next to the door on the other side. Richie use to actually be a lot smaller than Laura and I. I know... right? I don't believe me either... but it is the truth. Anyway... he had to sit in the middle. Which he called the "mush pot" and cried about. A lot. Until my dad told him it wasn't the "mush pot"... no, no, son. "It's the KING'S seat. And you're sister's aren't even allowed to sit in it. That's the spot for my boy! My Son! The KING!" Ummmm... I believe that worked. Once.
So when we would take trips... most of the time the ones that consisted of the parent's swapping responsibility for the weekend... we did what a lot of other children usually do when they are sitting 3 to a backseat, and annoyed the crap out of each other... and my parents. I do want to say for the record that Laura started it. ALL of it. Every time. :) So I retaliated by casually turning my head her way and looking out the window on her side of the backseat at the moon, or a horse we were passing or the car next to us... or anything really. As long as it was there, it became very, very interesting to me. And Laura would become INcensed. "MOM! MOM!!! She is doing it again!! She's LOOKING.OUT.MY.WINDOW.!! Make her stop looking out my window. She has her own window!! She doesn't NEED to look out MY window."
So I think the first time that happened... my mom (or dad... whomever had the privilege of making sense out of THAT horrific sibling torture method)... must have laughed, right? It's kinda of funny. Freaking out about someone looking out a window that happens to be next to your head in a car. However... in our family this was a huge issue for YEARS. Whenever I wanted to irritate Laura or when she wanted to irritate me, we did this to each other to the point where my parents would yell non-sensical things like,
"IF ANYONE LOOKS OUT A WINDOW THAT IS NOT THEIRS... AT ANYTHING... FOR ANY REASON... AGAIN, EVERYONE IS GETTING A SPANKING AND GOING TO BED WHEN WE GET HOME."
"ALRIGHT. THAT's IT! If the moon is out Beth's window tonight, then it's her night for the moon. The END. I cannot change the gravitation pull of the earth to make this fair."
"YOU CANNOT say "dibs" (the imaginary method of claiming ownership of other people's horses for your own) to horses that are out Laura's window. You may ONLY say dibs to horses out your window. If there are no horses on your side, I feel badly for you... but it's your day for out of luck. You may instead want to "dibs" cars you like on the other side of the freeway. They'll get you where you want to go a little faster anyway, and you don't have to shovel their poop."
We literally were not allowed to turn our heads in the backseat for years. And my poor, poor brother. The only window he could look out was the front windshield. It's a wonder he has peripheral vision. He had to stare straight ahead, because if he turned his head a millimeter to either side, Laura and I ganged up on him and it was over. I believe this is probably why he grew to be 6'3" and large. It was out of pure spite. And to insure he will NEVER sit in the mush pot again as long as he lives. :)
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Patience
Had a hard time sleeping last night... but miraculously Charlie went back to sleep early this morning and I got to sort of sleep in.
I feel REALLY good today.
Bill posted a beautiful Steve Earle song this morning, called "Little Rock n' Roller" that brought tears to my eyes. Being the über emotional one in our relationship, I often mistake his lack of outward emotion for what must be going on inside him internally. Bill has spent a total of 14 (short) periods of time with Charlie in the 16 months he's been alive. This last time he left it was shortly before his first birthday and Charlie was a baby not even walking. Only to come home and find him a talking and walking toddler. We kid ourselves when we discuss his absence by saying that "If there is a part of their growing up that is the best to miss, it's the baby stage. Charlie won't remember it." But Bill, I know, won't ever forget not seeing any milestones and having to "get to know" his second son after this whole this is over. I think about what he is giving up for us and how much I truly love him and for one of the few times in life, words of that magnitude escape me.
I learned something about Billy this morning. He woke up and right away began today's existence defiant and stubborn. He wanted peanut butter and jelly for breakfast... and then after I told him he may NOT eat it anywhere but at the kitchen table... why then, he informs me he was "Just tricking me. He hates peanut butter and jelly." Which is so odd, since I am pretty sure that Billy's molecular makeup at this point consists of water, yogurt and PB&J. Every once in awhile he gets crazy eats something exotic like mac-n-cheese or a pork chop. Anyway, I let it be and told him basically that the sandwich was his for the remainder of the day until it was gone. This brought on the barrage of classic juvenile manipulation tactics, with well loved zingers such as, "I HATE you, Mom." and "You are NOT the best mom ever." As well as the best one for last: "If you don't let me eat in the living room I am gonna RUN AWAY."
I didn't react. I just let him stomp it out. After he was upstairs for about 5 minutes, I went up there as well. The little stinker was laying in my bed, so I climbed into bed with him. Interestingly enough, filled with hate and dreams of life as a 4 year old run away, he snuggled up to me. I asked him to tell me a story. The story was about a princess, a prince, a witch, a queen and a king. Apparently in that particular kingdom, the princess and the prince got married and kissed... and then they had the king and queen. Then the witch came along... and she covered them with slime and made them eat boogers. And gave them all allergies. To his credit, he did tell me originally what the witch did to them was a secret because it was gross. I am EVER so glad I insisted that he share.
After about 10 minutes of snuggle story time... he was fine. Came down, ate his PB&J at the table and has been... uhhh... let's go with "normal Billy" ever since. I must remember that my oldest child is a lot like his mother in that he requires physical touch, as well as verbal affirmation, to feel loved. And patience... lots and lots of patience. For our sakes, it's a good thing we have his father to give us both a lot of patience.
I feel REALLY good today.
Bill posted a beautiful Steve Earle song this morning, called "Little Rock n' Roller" that brought tears to my eyes. Being the über emotional one in our relationship, I often mistake his lack of outward emotion for what must be going on inside him internally. Bill has spent a total of 14 (short) periods of time with Charlie in the 16 months he's been alive. This last time he left it was shortly before his first birthday and Charlie was a baby not even walking. Only to come home and find him a talking and walking toddler. We kid ourselves when we discuss his absence by saying that "If there is a part of their growing up that is the best to miss, it's the baby stage. Charlie won't remember it." But Bill, I know, won't ever forget not seeing any milestones and having to "get to know" his second son after this whole this is over. I think about what he is giving up for us and how much I truly love him and for one of the few times in life, words of that magnitude escape me.
I learned something about Billy this morning. He woke up and right away began today's existence defiant and stubborn. He wanted peanut butter and jelly for breakfast... and then after I told him he may NOT eat it anywhere but at the kitchen table... why then, he informs me he was "Just tricking me. He hates peanut butter and jelly." Which is so odd, since I am pretty sure that Billy's molecular makeup at this point consists of water, yogurt and PB&J. Every once in awhile he gets crazy eats something exotic like mac-n-cheese or a pork chop. Anyway, I let it be and told him basically that the sandwich was his for the remainder of the day until it was gone. This brought on the barrage of classic juvenile manipulation tactics, with well loved zingers such as, "I HATE you, Mom." and "You are NOT the best mom ever." As well as the best one for last: "If you don't let me eat in the living room I am gonna RUN AWAY."
I didn't react. I just let him stomp it out. After he was upstairs for about 5 minutes, I went up there as well. The little stinker was laying in my bed, so I climbed into bed with him. Interestingly enough, filled with hate and dreams of life as a 4 year old run away, he snuggled up to me. I asked him to tell me a story. The story was about a princess, a prince, a witch, a queen and a king. Apparently in that particular kingdom, the princess and the prince got married and kissed... and then they had the king and queen. Then the witch came along... and she covered them with slime and made them eat boogers. And gave them all allergies. To his credit, he did tell me originally what the witch did to them was a secret because it was gross. I am EVER so glad I insisted that he share.
After about 10 minutes of snuggle story time... he was fine. Came down, ate his PB&J at the table and has been... uhhh... let's go with "normal Billy" ever since. I must remember that my oldest child is a lot like his mother in that he requires physical touch, as well as verbal affirmation, to feel loved. And patience... lots and lots of patience. For our sakes, it's a good thing we have his father to give us both a lot of patience.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Second Post... Feels a little easier.
Also considering I am going to go with the leg shaving conditioner theme... I figure I should expand upon that a little. May you be amused by my pain.
I am... and always have been... a typical redhead with fair, sensitive skin. You will never know this for sure about me because the day they put me in the ground, I will still be a blond. One of the banes of my existence on earth has always been razor burn. Specifically and most frequently the bikini zone, but off and on the legs and the armpits as well. As well as dry, itchy skin... which leads to an irritation rash no matter how much lotion I slather on.
I have tried every.single.shaving cream known to man, to combat this problem. Lured by promises of "moisture" and "sensitive skin protection"... I am a sucker every time for pretty packaged full of LIES. LIES!! Once I even bought a product online called "Coochie Cream" because it swore on it's mother's grave to leave me bump and irritation free. And I paid $14.50 plus shipping for the same thing $4.95 plus tax at Target gets me: IRRITATION.
One day when I was getting ready to go big on a 3 zone fully targeted hair removal session... it occurred to me that conditioner is emollient. Hmmmm... it's does soften hair. It's good for the scalp. Hmmmm...
So I used it. And it worked. (!) I did still get the slightest bit of razor burn in the bikini area... but comparative wise... only I would notice. Another thing that blew me away was that I got the closest shave 5 blades can bring you next to being skinned alive! My skin was very moisturized and no itch at all. Amazing! All these years and the answer was in my shower all along, shaking it's head at me and playing cool.
The only downside: You do go through blades a lot faster because of the amount of gook you're scraping off of your dermis. To me... WORTH IT. So there you have it.
I am... and always have been... a typical redhead with fair, sensitive skin. You will never know this for sure about me because the day they put me in the ground, I will still be a blond. One of the banes of my existence on earth has always been razor burn. Specifically and most frequently the bikini zone, but off and on the legs and the armpits as well. As well as dry, itchy skin... which leads to an irritation rash no matter how much lotion I slather on.
I have tried every.single.shaving cream known to man, to combat this problem. Lured by promises of "moisture" and "sensitive skin protection"... I am a sucker every time for pretty packaged full of LIES. LIES!! Once I even bought a product online called "Coochie Cream" because it swore on it's mother's grave to leave me bump and irritation free. And I paid $14.50 plus shipping for the same thing $4.95 plus tax at Target gets me: IRRITATION.
One day when I was getting ready to go big on a 3 zone fully targeted hair removal session... it occurred to me that conditioner is emollient. Hmmmm... it's does soften hair. It's good for the scalp. Hmmmm...
So I used it. And it worked. (!) I did still get the slightest bit of razor burn in the bikini area... but comparative wise... only I would notice. Another thing that blew me away was that I got the closest shave 5 blades can bring you next to being skinned alive! My skin was very moisturized and no itch at all. Amazing! All these years and the answer was in my shower all along, shaking it's head at me and playing cool.
The only downside: You do go through blades a lot faster because of the amount of gook you're scraping off of your dermis. To me... WORTH IT. So there you have it.
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