#1

I love my parents. They have honestly done so much for me, that I can't remember and that I don't deserve.  I hope that I've always said thank you to them for all the good things they've passed on to me, but I'm sure I haven't, so thanks mom and dad!!!
I feel like I've talked about my mom a lot but maybe not so much my daddy-o.
He is a real prince- the salt of the earth and probably the greatest gift he gave me is that he made me believe that I could do anything that I wanted. I never knew that gender barriers or glass ceilings existed until I moved away from home; I still think that is remarkable. We grew up with very defined gender roles, so it was less about gender equality or progressive thinking and more that I felt that he trusted me; and that is empowering.
I have so many stories I could tell about him and he is a pretty funny guy, but ultimately, he is my number one fan.  I would say that this story encapsulates my dad perfectly:
Saturday, I went into NYC with my daughter for "girls day" and we met Sarah Jessica Parker (who is divine and charming-just a real sweetheart) and she graciously took a photo with us. (and I got a new pair of shoes from her new line)
A few hours after I excitedly posted my celeb meet-up online, I got the following message from my mother, "Wow, cool. Daddy says you are much prettier." Laters

Pride Goeth Before A Fall

Me and my man have this deal; I take care of him and he takes care of me. I do things like wash his undies and make sure he has toothpaste and deodorant, and a home cooked meal if I’m feeling really special. We’ve read the “Love Languages” book and his is “touch” so I allow him to touch me non-stop at night when we sleep even though I need my space. (You can read about that here I Bear-ly Slept )
As I am into “acts of service,” he does a lot for me, brings me coffee every morning in bed (even when he’s mad at me) and he is my limo driver on Saturdays when I have errands to run and don’t feel like fighting traffic. Also, on Sunday nights we have this thing called “Jacinta is a vegetable” where I basically extend my Sunday afternoon nap into an all night affair. I loll in bed, surfing the web, reading and play solitaire on my laptop and he brings me dinner in bed… it’s so glorious that I really can’t even tell you how much I enjoy it. The kids pop in every once in a while to say hello, but otherwise, it’s just me and my social media.
Twitter is full of rabbit holes and last night I fell into one linked to YouTube. I watched a ton of fashion blogs and make-up tutorials and this morning, since the kids had a 2-hour snow delay- I had some extra time, so I decided to try out my new skills.
I really focused on my eyes, doing dramatic swoops, and careful water-line eyeliner. I also used more than one eye color and outlined my eye crease! I tried some facial contouring, though I noticed in the sunlight that one side of my face ended up looking more “week old bruised” than “contoured,” but I’m sure I’ll get it better next time. I primed and patted, used concealer and all the foundations I had, mixed together just like the videos. It was really quite exhausting.
I felt pretty proud of my glam until my (60- something male) boss came in and said, (and I quote) “Whoa! Do you usually wear make up?” I explained that yes, I usually do, but that I had a bit more time this morning so I took special care. He replied, “You had more time, so you decided to get tarted up?” Ohmegees tarted up??… perhaps “fresh-faced” is a better look for me? Laters.

Man Overboard

On our recent vacation to Colorado, the hubs thought it would be a good idea to substitute semi-safe rafting for non-safe kayaking. I am a professional non-outdoors woman and an avoider of all things risky like roller coasters, slip & slides, ski slopes, burro/pack mule trips, sleeping outside in tents of any kind, campgrounds, petting zoos and outdoor toilets, so I was less than thrilled, but he said that our family needed some adventure so I acquiesced reluctantly. Who am I to get in the way of adventure?  

We showed up at the appointed time and as I squeezed the smelly protective helmet on my head, he asked me if I was scared. I said no, as I wasn't scared so much as resolved to get it over with. We had a quick crash course in what to do if we fell overboard, a quick reassurance that the rapids were not strong due to the low water levels in the river, and then we put our inflatable kayaks in the river and took off. I spent the first half hour paddling backwards to make sure that I could stay up with our 10 year old daughter, unsure how she would do in the rapids. She was a natural and kept up with the group just fine with a little help from our guide.

The following is a text I sent to my sister in law about how I did in the rapids:

Haha- well I fell in and drank some water and my helmet came over my eyes and my life jacket came up to my chin and I couldn't see a durn thing. I held on to my paddle for dear life and the current took me into a huge rock. Then I bumped the hell out of my leg and knee. I lost my kayak and it went flying, I bounced back to it somehow, but couldn't get back into it. Guides helped me get back in.

I was wearing a wet-suit so in the pics they took; it basically looks like a huge killer whale flying off the side.

Her reply to my near-death experience:

OMG! I am laughing so hard I am crying and J is asking what’s going on cause nothing can be that funny.

I am always happy to provide serious entertainment; all in the name of adventure. Laters.

Doh...

Despite being fairly savvy with computers and social media, I didn't realize that Instagram was a shared social network site; I thought it was strictly a camera app when I started using it a few years ago.

Part of my recovery surgeries for breast cancer have been  procedures called “fat grafting.” Basically, they liposuction small amounts of fat (when I say small, I mean small, I tried and tried for large scale body sculpting, but no dice) from your thighs or abdomen and inject the fat cells into the surgical site, where they grow and fill in the scars and depression areas. After having it done several times in my tummy, I decided to try the thighs to see if the discomfort was less. It was not, and I was sutured, heavily bruised and black and blue all down the back of each leg.

I wanted to see what things looked like up close, so while on a high dose of Percocet and wearing my “special undies,” I awkwardly held the phone behind me and took a couple photos of my back side and legs.   (please don’t stop me here and ask why I didn't just use the full length mirror to see, because that would have been too easy) The photos were perfectly hideous and blurred but I kept them for reference. Reference to what? I don't know, probably reference to get myself to the gym. 

Luckily, I realized a few months later that everyone on the interwebs could see my cellulite, granny panties, and bruises. Thank God I had no followers… Laters.

"Special Undies"

Friday Night

There are reasons why I don’t watch YouTube and they are myriad and well thought out, and thoroughly supported by the following story.

Friday night, being exhausted from my long week of being awesome, I turned in to bed, flannel p.j’s and all around 8:45. I thought it would be a good time to check my twitter feed and clicked on a link, which took me to a YouTube video. I can’t for the life of me remember what the initial video was, but the video underneath was, “See a giraffe give birth.” I thought this was a worthy follow up, so I watched a giraffe give birth. As a side note, giraffes make it look very easy and despite the 100 plus pounds of baby, the mama giraffe quickly birthed and went on about her business.  I think it took about 5 minutes total, to which time-wise was the point where I was screaming ,”You did this to me, I hate you!” and “Find the anesthesiologist!!” to my husband.

The video right under the giraffe birthing was one of an elephant birthing (wow, do they have a lot of amniotic fluid) and they are also very no nonsense and quick. The best part; to rouse the baby elephant, the mother kicks it around until it stands up.  I am interested in trying this technique retroactively on my teenagers- I’ll let you know how it works.

 But you see now how my night was rapidly deteriorating. Below the elephant birth, was the NATURAL childbirth of triplets by a very cheeky, earthy mum in Australia, who is now my hero.  I can’t even describe it except to just tip my hat and say, “wow.” I had one and a half natural births and I cannot recommend an epidural highly enough.

Under the triplet birth, was a page titled “In memory of our little angel” which was a memorial to a stillborn baby. I watched 3 more memorials and then I was sobbing.  The hubs and I lost twins early in our marriage and it still hurts to be reminded about it no matter how it happens.

He had joined me around 9:30 and lay happily watching March Madness on his iPad, and I was determined to not let him know I was crying over YouTube, so I strengthened my quivery voice, with lip trembling, and said ,”Babe, how old would our twins be if they were still alive?”  As I said the word “alive,” my voice broke and I started loudly sobbing and he just looked at me, completely taken aback and totally not sure what to say. He said, “What is wrong??” and I told him that I watched a sad video on YouTube and he said, “What are you watching??” 

I then bawled out, “An elephant giving birth…and a baby memorial” to which he said, “Babe, you have fallen down the rabbit hole, why in the world would you watch that??” He did laugh at me a bit on the elephant part, but he helped me calculate that the twins would be almost 18 and I reminded him that I knew they were girls based on a dream I'd had. I cried a bit more and he got me a tissue and scratched my back and I felt better and sort of relieved that I didn't have almost 18 year old twin girls, as that would be hard work. Laters.

Princess Bettina

Princess Bettina, that’s what we call our 9 year old daughter when she is acting a little naughty but we think it’s cute and so we do nothing. Friday, I was never so glad to see her sweet face and I vowed to cherish her all weekend. I said I would be perfect mommy, but on Saturday when she lost her coat at dance recital, I did yell a bit and told her that she needed to be responsible, and then she said, “Mom but how about my dance, did you see it? Was it good?” And I was crushed and heartbroken and sorry that I didn’t say that to her first.

After, I went to Wal-Mart for a few last minute items. She usually asks if she can ride in the cart like she did as a baby and toddler and I say, “No, please, you are a big girl now.” But on Saturday, I said “Of course!!” And my husband hoisted her lanky frame into the buggy where she sat in the large basket, delighted to have achieved such a victory. K and I pushed her around the store putting whatever she asked for (Juicy Fruit gum and a soda) into the cart without question.  We made googly eyes at each other and said, “Oh look at our daughter, Princess Bettina, isn’t she beautiful? How can we serve you Princess Bettina?” She laughed it up and as we left the store me, the original Safety Scissors ran, pushing the cart as fast as I could, then let go screaming, “hahaha, no hands no hands.” She replied with more grins and the appropriate squeals of faux terror.

Laters.  

SCrAbBLe

Just shared the story with a friend of the first year that the husband came home with me for the holidays, after which, I realized that we probably sound similar to a TLC show like "Honey Boo Boo" or some such. We are big Scrabble players, we all play somewhere along the way when we are together, maybe the night before Thanksgiving  or Christmas Day, sitting around; undoing the top button to let the turkey have a little more room. This was a Christmas Day if I remember correctly and two of my brothers had just gotten into it over the validity of a played word. Dad went for more pie and Mom said, “Take it outside.”

Mom was a big fan of “take it outside.” We fought each other like wild cats and as long as we took it outside, Mom didn’t have much to say either way. I still bear the scars from some of our glorious battles, especially the knee and elbow ones from the time I ran over Jon when he refused to move out of the gravel road until I gave him back his bike. I refused to give him the bike and so we were at an impasse and I had to run him over on principle. Wise? I think not, but at least we were outside. And who can forget the time that I hit David on a sneak attack with a half watermelon, lobbed perfectly from the porch right into his face as he rounded the corner of the house. Perhaps my finest hour in sibling rivalry.

The close proximity to family during the holiday, often brings out the 4 year old in me and I revert to preschool tactics like biting, scratching and eating someone’s cookie while they aren't looking. Once, to my shame, my son caught me in the middle of a slap fight with one of my brothers after a particularly long post-Thanksgiving afternoon.

 In a complete shift in paradigm, K grew up in a household where “stink” was a bad word and you never, ever said poop or anything of the sort. Any you most certainly were not allowed to “take it outside.” So he didn't know what to say or do that Christmas as my brothers rolled around in the yard punching and kicking over the validity of tile placement. He worriedly said, “Should I do something?” I said, “yeah,” and so we had some more pie too. Laters.