Thank You... I Think...

Image by woodleywonderworks via FlickrIn my lifetime I have received compliments. And, of course, I enjoy receiving them.

However, there are some that I could have done without. Thus, I have a list of my top "un-compliment" compliments. And, as luck would have it, I will now share them with you:

1. This one started out fairly nicely:
                 Them:"You've lost weight."
                     Me: "Thank you."
                  Them: "How did you do it?"
                     Me: "Well, I'm pregnant. And I've been very, very sick the first trimester."
                   Them: "Oh. Well..." (And here's where it goes bad.) "That's too bad that you're
                               pregnant... You really look good having lost weight."
      Too stunned, to speak, I merely smiled and walked away...

2.  The ultimate back-handed compliment:
                 Them: "You look great."
                      Me: "Thanks."
                  Them: "I mean, you lost A LOOOOOOTTTTT of weight."
                      Me:  "Um... Thanks?????"

3.  Them: "You have great teeth. They are so white."
             (Sounds okay on the surface, right?
              But what you should know is that he meant that as a romantic gesture.)

4. Weirdest ever:
     Them: "You are an excellent cook. How do you get your chicken so white?"
       Me: "Um... I boil it???"
      Them: "Huh..."

5.  Them: "You aren't THAT fat..."  (Need I say more?)

6.  Them: "You're hair is awesome."
       Me:  "Thank you.
     Them: "Is it really that thin, or do you have it specially cut that way?"
       Me:  "Oh, no, Um..."

As you can see, I've had lots of opportunity to feel good about myself in a bad way. I will keep the list updated as I receive more...

Hopefully it will be a while...

Beauty & the Beast

I tell stories about my children so often, because they are such good subjects for material! But this post is dedicated to one of my greatest goof-ups of all time. (Just so you can feel a little good about yourself today.)

I have dark hair and dark eyes, which I got from my mom. I feel very blessed to have gotten her beauty- both inside and out.

CAUTION: MommyBarbie Waxing!

However, as the saying goes, "No good deed goes unpunished." Dark hair on my head also means dark hair on my legs. (ew) Not the best look for bathing suit season.

For years I have shaved. And shaved. And shaved. Only to have to shave again, lest we have a "five o'clock shadow" on the beach or at the pool.

This year, I decided, would be different: I would somehow resolve my "beastly" problem in a way that involved me being in the shower less and on the beach more! My conclusion? WAX!

I checked out the local prices for waxing. Yikes! To actually achieve a smooth, hair-free body from head-to-toe we were talking major bucks! Suddenly, I was having to choose between a hair-free vacation at home, or a somewhat less hairy vacation. Of course, I'm a sucker for that golden sand, so I determined I would just wear a wet suit and be done with it.

But then- wait! Sally's Beauty Supply sells all of the "stuff" needed to wax like a professional- in my own home! Eureka! And the cost of all the supplies was about 1/3 of what it would cost to go in for that head-to-toe intensive follicle rip. I'm in!!!

Fast forward to Friday night. (Yes, my life has come to waxing on a Friday night. *sigh*)

I prepared the wax in the special warmer, read the instructions, decided to be "dangerous" and NOT watch the enclosed video (how hard could this be?), and went for it!

My legs were not too bad. One big rip like a band-aid and my hair was gone! This rocks!

Then I got to the back of my knees & upper legs. Oh how I wish I had been a fly on the wall to watch the gymnastics and contortions of trying to reach the backs of my knees & upper legs. They are not easy to reach even when I shave without some interesting positions. But add in the extra "wow" factor of hot wax and waxing strips, and we had ourselves a show! (Thank goodness no one was watching!) Finally, I believed I had at least scared most of the hair into deciding not to grow any further, even if I hadn't gotten it off. So it was time to move on to...

The bikini area!  Okay- let me just say: OUCH! This is one area I can totally say would be worth any amount of money not to have to self-inflict. But once I was half-way in, I could not bring myself to stop and go to a "professional," to whom I would have to explain myself. I could only imagine the conversation: "So, I got this waxing kit..." No... I couldn't imagine the conversation. So I had to move (proverbially) onward and upward.

After the stars in my eyes began to clear and I stopped weeping openly (My gracious, the things we do in the name of beauty!) I figured it may not look great, but it was decidedly better than before. So on to the arm pits...

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

First of all, the wax is HOT! And somehow every nerve ending in my body was concentrated in my left arm pit. Talk about "no pain, no gain." Geesh!

Then, just as I was reaching for the strip to put over the wax, so that I could then rip away the hair...

...my middle daughter came in the bathroom totally distraught, having gotten ill with the stomach virus.

Without thinking, I turned to her to check on her...

and put my arm down...

with the hot wax...

and no strip.

By the time I realized it, it was too late.

My left arm pit was waxed shut.

So then, I was dealing with my daughter and getting her cleaned up with the equivalent of a broken left wing. But with the extra excitement of having movement cause intense, blinding pain.

Finally having gotten her settled, I returned back to my poor, sad left arm pit. "At least," I reasoned, "the hair will be gone once I get my arm pit un-stuck."

Um, no.

After prying it open enough to put in warm water & the special spa stuff that takes off the extra wax (Thank you, God, for making me buy that on impulse!), I realized that not a single hair was pulled out.

I spent a good twenty minutes trying to get the gooey, sticky wax out of my arm pit.

Then I jumped in the shower and went back to the trusty razor for both Arm Pit One, and Arm Pit Two.

On the whole, I would say my waxing experience was a success. And I will probably stick to some waxing- particularly from my knees down.

However, it will be quite some time (and perhaps a hefty dose of some sedatives) before I venture into the arm pit waxing business again.

But, on the plus side, I am beach-ready... Well, at least I'm (body) hair-free...

Now I just need to lose some weight, find "the" bathing suit and wait for June to get here!

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Who's the Baddest?

 Tigger hanging out

 

Dixie begging

 

It is only human to compare ourselves to others. Sometimes comparisons can inspire us to do better. But sometimes comparisons make us feel better about ourselves. And sometimes, comparisons make us feel better about someone else.


Such is the case with my dear children. No matter how aggravating they may ever be, there are members of our family who consistently exceed the children's ability to make me want to punt them to the curb: our pets.



We have the most precious little dog you have ever seen. She is all of six pounds fully grown. Dixie is a mixture of Maltese and Shih Tzu who thinks she is a Great Dane. She barks and carries on like she's going to eat you. But in truth, she could only graze your ankles.


Then there's our sweet kitty, Tigger. He is a medium-haired orange Tabby. He has the softest fur ever, and is the most affectionate cat I have ever seen in my life. He absolutely craves attention and will literally try to climb you to get you to pet him.


They sound great, don't they?

Well, they are. Except...


The cat is the poster child for all cats when it comes to curiosity. He sticks his nose into absolutely everything. And since he likes people so much, there isn't much he's afraid of. Add to that the fact that he loves, loves, loves to push things off of high places to watch them fall. (Like a baby with the "Oopsie" game who loves to watch things drop to the floor- just so you'll pick them up.) He doesn't care if you pick them up, though. He just loves to watch them splat on the floor and make noise.

The salt shaker isn't bad. And pencils roll off the table nicely for him, but cause little actual damage once they hit the floor. However, cups of milk or juice left at the breakfast table are sure to be puddles of yuck by the time we get home. And honey bottles whose tops open when they hit the floor are gooey, globby messes to clean up.


But the cat is the better of the two.

Dixie loves the great outdoors. In fact, we have had to erect a virtual fortress in our back yard to keep her from escaping and running amok in the neighborhood. Now that we have the yard secure, she simply runs to her favorite places in the fence to scramble through and looks surprised when she can't get out. Every time. (Not a brilliant dog.)


My absolute, all-time, most maddening thing about any member of my household is that my little six-pound ball of fur refuses to go to the bathroom outside. I could leave her out all day long, and she would patiently hold it- until she got inside. There she would go to her favorite little spots and relieve herself, as she does every single day.

We finally ripped up the carpet and stained the concrete floor so that it would be easier to clean up & sanitize. But it is just gross.


Even the most devout animal lover will agree that daily "accidents" in the house make it hard to "adore" her. We have taken her to the vet, who informed us she had no physical reason for doing this. She also said we were doing everything she could think of to help Dixie unlearn this awful habit. But, she concluded, Dixie does not score very high in the IQ department, and maybe, just maybe, Dixie is a little "slow."

I would question the good doctor, except that I have witnessed Dixie do other things that qualify her as a "special" dog. For example, it took her at least a month to realize there was a glass door attached to our front door. We would open the main door, and the poor thing would run, gathering steam as she went, to try one of her famous escapes- only to be stopped quite suddenly and decidedly by the clear glass pane. She would wear a truly confused expression as she wandered over to lick her proverbial wounds.


That is not the worst or the grossest of poor Dixie's habits. But for the sake of discretion, I will leave it at this.

There are days- in fact, usually many times in any given day- that I would gladly trade my animals for a nickle. But I love them, so that just will not do.


And the kids love them. They love to play with them and pet them. (Even though they would rather eat pet food than feed them, walk them, or clean up after them.) And, ultimately, no matter how awful the kids are being- the pets are always worse- in their own little animal ways.


So when I say, "Kids, you are making mommy have a headache," the kids can (and do) reply, "Yeah, but Tigger knocked over a whole glass of milk, and Dixie peed on the floor again." Suddenly my headache compounds. But the kids are in much better favor once again.

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Good Morning!

Image via WikipediaLast night was a full moon. It was gorgeous.
It was even more beautiful this morning when I went walking with my two girls.
Okay, anyone who knows me knows that this is pretty monumental. A) That I'm up this early, and B) That I'm exercising.
It was pretty, though, with the moon hanging on one side of us, and the sunrise streaking the sky on the other. It was peaceful, too. Hardly anyone is out this time of the morning. (I'm not judging here. I'm usually in bed, too.)
My older girl ran for a mile. I was impressed. I was walking (albeit sleep walking). My younger girl hung back with me. She skipped, jumped, ran ahead and then back, waiting for me to catch up. Ah, the energy (and fitness) of youth.
When we got home, they announced, "I want to do this every morning!"
Well, I guess that's incentive for me. I've been wanting to exercise, wanting to get in shape. I guess if I have my two favorite girls with me, cheering me on, I can't go wrong!
So, here's to hoping this becomes a habit. And that we're still motivated when it's blazing hot or freezing cold. And that eventually I'll be able to keep up with them, too.
For now, GOOD MORNING!

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Box-itis

Image by rkelland via FlickrHave you ever seen the television show called "Hoarders"? It's where people have a phobia of throwing anything away, and they almost literally end up burying themselves alive in all their masses of "stuff."

I don't know that anyone in my family actually has come to this (thankfully). But it certainly wouldn't be a stretch to say that we all suffer from some fairly mild cases of "stuff-itis." We really don't like throwing much away, especially if we "might" use it. So we keep it, "just in case."

The most frustrating thing my family seems to suffer from (in spades) is what I call "Box-itis." It is the condition by which my children can't seem to throw away empty boxes. Now, they do manage to put them back where they would technically belong if they were full. But since they have consumed every last cookie, cracker or piece of cereal, the new proper place would actually be the trash can. But they can never seem to manage to get them there.

I have found empty ice cream containers in the freezer (much to my disappointment when going on an ice cream raid). I have pulled out lonely popcorn boxes who only smell like the buttered popcorn they once contained. My children have even managed to fool me with my own purse, putting an empty packet of chewing gum back into its formerly proper spot. The worst thing they've done to me is to leave the empty Diet Coke box in the refrigerator, tempting me to take out my lack-of-caffeine rage on some unsuspecting children.

If I could ever teach them how to achieve freedom from "Box-itis," my next venture would be to teach them how to also kick the "Wrapper-itis" condition, along with the "Shoe-itis," "Book-itis," and "Paper-itis." "Paper-itis" is particularly bad after school when they are cleaning out their backpacks and pitch paper wildly about in order to keep their backpack "clean."

For now, I just have to get a handle on their "Box-itis". It is making me crazy. And at least twice I've not bought something at the grocery store because we supposedly had a box full of it at home. At the very least, I need them to add a box- of wine. So that I can toast their  ingenuity and their obedience at putting the box "back where they found it." (Figures they listen to that, right?)

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Hope Over Shadows Angst

Image by cobalt123 via FlickrWhen I was in school, no matter how good things were between me and my friends, I always had this nagging doubt in the back of my mind: You are not good enough.

I had believed that it was a personal flaw that I had, miraculously, overcome in my adult years. And I wanted it to be something that never, ever touched my children.

My children are now tweens and teens themselves. And they are the age I was when my angst ran amock. And yet, they seem to be handling it okay.

From the outside in, I hold my breath when I feel they are being slighted; they simply shrug it off and move on. I haven't told them anything that my parents didn't tell me. But the defective gene that made me feel unworthy seems to have not been passed on to my kids.

I pray they and their psyches will continue to be happy and healthy. I want them to know that they are loved and valued. And I hope they are able to pass that acceptance on to their friends and peers.

One of the best things that could ever come out of me overcoming my sadness, would be the beginning of the all-together end of that sadness and angst for all children, tweens and teens.

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Those Crazy Kids

Image by megnut via FlickrWhen I was in my teen-aged years and I referred to "kids," I was referring to little tykes, who were still losing baby teeth that would be rewarded with Tooth Fairy money.

In my late twenties, I worked in elder care. Most of my clients referred to me as a "kid." I was highly insulted. I was not a "kid;" I was a young adult. I had a college education. I considered myself to be quite worldly.

Once I had children of my own, my personal definition of "kids" spanned from infant to the tween years. I didn't quite consider "teens" to be kids, because I was still smarting from being called a "kid" at twenty-seven. And, also, teens didn't seem to quite fit the bill for being a kid. "Kids" were dependent, trainable, happy-to-be-around-their-parents sorts of people. Teens were moody, cocky and mumbled a lot. In many ways, I forgot I had ever been a teenager myself.

Now, in my VERY early forties (in fact, I would say much closer to thirties, really), I realize that I was ever so naive to believe I was worldly at twenty. HA. It was like saying that because I had been to a rodeo, I was a champion bull rider.

I also have come face-to-face with all my transgressions and accomplishments as a teenager, because my children who are teens themselves have started delving into my personal history:

"Mom, when you were my age, did your mom make you clean the bathroom?" Why, yes she did.

Of course some of their questions definitely show the technological and social leaps and bounds that have occurred since I was their age.

"Mom, did your mom let you play with your iPod in bed before you went to sleep?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we didn't have iPods."

"Seriously? What did you DO???"

"Well, I listened to my cassette tapes and read books."

"Oh, that's awful. I'm so sorry."

Certainly my definition of "kids" has changed, too. Now I DO include teenagers. In fact, I now include those younger twenties people who believe themselves (as I did) to be worldly because they have a checking account and don't live at home any more.

I am amused at myself as I see me shift from one side to the other. I was once on the side that believed anything after twenty-five was dead. Now I don't rule out anything under 100.

I am firmly in the middle of "middle aged," though I prefer to see the glass as half-full, instead of half-empty. But I'm also realistic enough to know that I am too old to wear teen aged fashions, and (thankfully) too young to qualify for AARP discounts.

I am also at an age where I appreciate being carded for drinks, having the doctor say, "you don't need to worry about that yet," and having older people lump me in with "kids." I guess it's all just perspective.

My grandmother turns ninety-five today. When I'm my parents' age, she'll be the kind of person I want to hang around every so often, just so I can be called a "kid" again.

Happy Birthday, Ooma, to the youngest ninety-five year old "kids" I've ever known!

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Somber

Tonight, I'm... somber.

• I have a friend whose two week old baby was admitted to the NICU of Vandy because she has a fever of 104 and they can't get it down.

• I have a friend whose nine day old baby is in the NICU because she was born with a serious heart condition, and has already had the first of several surgeries needed to correct it.

• I have a friend whose father-in-law went in for a check up before leaving on an extended trip and found out he had major to complete blockage. He will have double by-pass surgery tomorrow.

• I have a friend who has announced she and her husband are filing for divorce. While this may have been something she has been struggling with for a while, this was the first I knew that there were any problems.

• I have a friend who has had several maladies, which, in and of themselves are not so bad. But compounded, she has been very uncomfortable.

• I was told we need to deal with a potential medical issue close to home.

• I have a friend whose church is experiencing change that does not feel positive, and it is unsettling.

Usually I am the personification of Pollyanna, which I know is annoying to many friends of mine. But sometimes even my Pollyanna braids droop. Today is one of those days.

Certainly I keep these precious people in my heart, thoughts & prayers. Certainly I know that God hears all & loves grander and better than I could ever know. I am not without a smile. I feel warmth & hope. But I also feel the sadness, fear, anger, confusion and exhaustion of these friends who are caring for their loved ones.

Tomorrow, I hope to resume my Pollyanna attitude. And I will watch for triumphs, gains, successes and good news.

Thank you all for joining me in hope for a better, brighter tomorrow!

Mourning the Divorce of a Friend

In what has become an all-too-familiar theme in life, I found out another friend of mine is getting a divorce. As is common in these situations, I had no idea and was taken totally off-guard. Not that all my friends have to keep me in the loop of their most private details, but you would think I would have some sort of clue, right?

I know all relationships have their ups & downs. Goodness knows hubby and I have had our share of both. But what, at the end of the day, is the "final straw" that makes a relationship die? It's a lot of hard work to keep a relationship afloat. But, especially when there are children, divorced parents still have to maintain some kind of relationship with their ex-spouse. That can't be easy. And there is a considerable amount of work that has to go into dividing up a household. Where do you even begin? And how do people afford to be divorced? We seem to barely be able to afford to work together toward the budget!

In my experience, the friends on whom I've always kept one eye, believing that I might very well expect a divorce announcement at any time, continue on through the rough patches and stay together. Fighting and disagreement seem to be an assumed cue for couples who are in trouble. Even my children become tense and paranoid when hubby and I share cross words. But fights don't necessarily earmark the divorces I've witnessed. In fact, in several cases, the couples whom I have believed to be strong, virtually impenetrable fortresses are the ones who have crumbled with no apparent warning.

How do you divorce-proof your marriage? Well, I am certainly no expert. But I'll tell you the main thing that I've heard from the people who I know who have gotten divorced: "We quit making each other a priority."

From there, they've "fallen out of love," "fallen in love with someone else," "worked too much," "quit talking to each other," "just weren't the same people we were when we got married."  The last one, to me, is a given. Hubby and I have been married seventeen years, and we dated for five before that. Neither of us are the same people we were twenty-two years ago (thank goodness!). We are certainly not infallible, either. But he and I have the same priorities: 1) God, 2) Each Other, 3) Our Children, 4) the rest of the world. (If he ever put the children in danger in any way, or put something else in front of them, I would have something to say about that.)

Death is sorrowful. The death of a relationship through divorce is disheartening and sad. I continue, as always, to keep my friends in my thoughts and prayers as they make their way during this difficult transition in their lives. I pray they come through happier and healthier on the other side. And I use this as a reminder to myself and my spouse that "but for the grace of God, there go I."

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