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.

Installation

In order to um… “save money” (aka-getting NFL Sunday ticket) the hubs switched our cable and internet. He took the afternoon off to meet the technicians at the appointed time, except they never showed. Finally, about 3 hours late, the internet provider tech showed. He was not excited about the idea of running cable through our upstairs office, but I was firm with him and so he got to work. After some loud, screechy drilling, he was done and I sent him on his way with a piece of cake to thank him for not hassling me too much and to get in his good graces should I ever need him to come back.

In the midst of the drilling , Kev missed the phone call from the cable tech saying that he was severely overbooked and that he wouldn’t make it and we’d need to call to reschedule. As you can imagine, K was very happy with this news and not at all irritated when he called customer service. Haha. 

When he made the call, we were told that we would receive a call in less than 20 minutes to rebook our appointment time. Soon, it was after 9pm and we had not received the “20 minute guaranteed call back” so we gave up for the night and K settled in to watch some baseball while I read a magazine on the couch. About 9:15 the doorbell rang and K opened the door to a very agitated service tech from the cable company. He stated loudly that his boss had told him he had to come by and that he had worked 13 hours straight with no food and the more he talked the louder he got. So of course the hubs invited him inside.

Yes, I said he invited an agitated, hungry, stranger straight into the house. He continued to gesticulate wildly, saying how hungry he was, how his supervisors had overbooked him, how he was from Long Island, far from home, and how he hadn’t had a break all day. Having no other foods in the house as my kids were away and having given my last piece of cake to the internet tech, I had to think quickly as I was afraid we might be murdered or something. I called on my Southern hospitality training from my dear, sweet mama, and offered him a cold glass of iced tea. He drank it down in a few gulps, I refilled it and he calmed down. I filled it again and he was as calm as a lamb. He lingered around for a few more minutes as the hubs and I made commiserating comments about his horrible day and finally we were able to walk him out the door. As the door shut, I gave the hubs “the look” and said “Really, you invited him in?!?” The hubs said, “Babe, he’s tired and lonely.” 

Thinking back on it, I hope that glass of tea made his day a little better than it was. Kindness, I suppose, is never out of style. Laters. 

It All Happened So Fast

My mother and I were at forever at loggerheads in the weeks before my wedding, arguing over trivial details. After one particularly hot fight, as she hand glued hundreds of seed pearls to my wedding dress train she said, “It just doesn't seem long enough. You shouldn’t be old enough to get married.” I probably wasn't but I  harrumphed in my mind thinking that I had lived forever and seen and done all there was, and that just waiting the few weeks until the wedding would seem like an eternity. But I see now exactly what she meant, time truly flies and those baby cheeks turn into bristly razor stubble and the feet I used to kiss are now smelly and I wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole.

 Last night, when she was supposed to be getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth and that sort of thing, my daughter took my bra from the bathroom counter, fastened it up over her shirt and came out humming a burlesque type tune and doing the shoulder shimmy. K immediately said, “Take it off, that’s not funny!” To which she hummed and shook all the more. Then his face got red and he said more emphatically, “Take it off!” She isn’t scared much of him and I was laughing and Son A was laughing so she hammed it up until her daddy’s face got really worried/mad/scared and then she dashed into the bathroom to take the bra off leaving her father with this parting shot, “I know how to take this off and on!”  It seems that someone isn’t ready to see his baby girl in a bra. Not that I am, I think I just tend to handle that kind of thing a little better.

Speaking of Son A, he, a freshman was invited to the prom by a junior. The prom, oh my word… I immediately said, “No way!” and he laughed at me and his father said, “Of course, you the man!” with a fist pump. Am I the only one who sees a paradox? My son, who is now a full head taller than me, chased by a girl and an older woman at that; I don’t feel comfortable with this. It seems like someone isn't ready to see their son in a tux holding a corsage. Stop it, stop growing up! That's not funny! Laters.