I’ve had two massages in my entire life. Totally deprived, I know. After the second massage, which occurred in the Philippines and bordered outright molestation, I decided enough was enough. To hear my pampered friends drone on and on about their massages did little to provoke me to any kind of envy. I’d just mentally go right back to ‘Olga’ the gargantuan Filipino masseuse with her boulder hands and shudder at the thought of another massage. Donnie was happy. Saving money on such luxuries is a score in his book.
When my Chiropractor mentioned that he thought a medical massage would greatly benefit the gazillion muscle knots I was harboring in my back, I was hesistant. However, I trust this guy so off I went (NOT like a sheep to the slaughter as with my Philippine massage!) doubting any medical properties to the massage. I truly believed it was just a massage wrapped in different wording. That little “medical” had a nice ring and worked for me.
Enter the massuse. He was all professional and verbally flashed his academic background. Impressive. But the moment he placed his hands on me it was like medicine coursing through my back. He dug, poked, stretched, pushed, stroked and other things words can not describe. Contrary to how it sounds the experience was totally G rated. My muscles screamed in hurt so good pain as he found each knot and forced it out. He knew trigger points, nerve roots, muscular junctions, basically enough to put the “medical” in massage and bliss in my back. This massage was like no other massage I had ever had…all two to compare to, I realize but the dude was good.
Time was up. I was done. The medical massage was over. My muscles were burning.
I had been overhauled and I was hooked.
Posted in My Tales
Not only am I no longer a bladder of steel girl but, my hawk eye is, less hawkish. I first noticed the ‘blur’ effect when one of the kids shoved a paper under my face for me to read. i reacted as i had seen my mother react many times before…grab the paper, make the whoa move it back face, and proceed to do just that…move the paper back.
Horror. The realization of the maneuver for the aged that I had just performed hit and I stood frozen. Immediately I pulled the paper back to where it was closer to my face and examined nature’s reaction for aging eyes that I had so instinctually preformed. Yep. Blurry. No doubt about it, no way to deny the fuzzy letters barely visible on the page. Not willing to relinquish, I kept the paper in place and read through the blur and I continue to read through the blur in cross-eyed denial as I strain to focus. I will not succumb and stretch out my arm. I will proceed to read at turtle speed as long as I am reading unassisted. I will punch my kids in the mouth each time they jump in impatiently and finish the sentence for me.
I will dance, prance, wiggle and giggle as I fight the aging bladder. I will be a slow, cross-eyed reading wonder as I fight the aging eyes. I just may give in to the gym, which has been trying to seduce me for decades, and fight gravity’s toll on my bod.
Getting old is not for the faint of heart. That’s my story (for now) and I’m sticking to it (until you see me styling out some depends and glasses!)
Posted in My Tales
And I thought I had bad hair days…whew, man somebody help this guy! The next time I begin to think about my hair and any thoughts of chopping it off, this image will immediately jump out in my mind. No doubt causing roars of amusement.
All the stress of the day has melted away in my laughter. Thanks Donald, at least that hair is good for something.
gotta go, gotta go, gotta go!
We’ve all experienced it…’the urge.’ Cross the legs, do the dance, pray your bladder muscles hold out until you can reach the bathroom. Maybe it’s my Venti Starbucks consumption laden with loads of the diuretic caffeine, maybe it’s the fact that i had three kids or maybe, i have to face it…I’m Getting OLD, but man have i been doing the dance lately. Outright acrobatics is more like it.
Laugh all you want but keep the elephant sized adult diapers away from me or i will pee on you.
Posted in My Tales
- …fall head first and enjoy it
- collapse in a heap
- stay in bed for a few days
- go to bed without brushing my teeth
- sleep with my eyes open
- skip meals or at least swallow them whole
- sleep until afternoon
When did our schedules become so crazed? When did we as societal parents feel it a necessity to sign our offspring up for every activity imaginable? Not that we do every activity imaginable in our family. We have a ‘one sport’ and ‘one fine art’ per kid rule here and I’m STILL in the car for obscene amounts of time. Why is it a bad thing for kids to have down time? I think they need it. “Back in my day” is a famous quote used by old timers but I’m about to pull it out right now…back in my day we would spend hours upon hours creating our own fun in the backyard. Mudpies, hide-n-seek, sand boxes, swimming, sprinklers, and kick ball were some of the activities that sustained us. Yes, we were stung by bees, unsupervised, injured, filthy dirty, punched by the neighborhood bully, and exposed to the elements but we had fun and much to the delight of our parents, we collapsed in bed at night. Why do we feel it our job to entertain our kids today? Why do we cram our schedules to provide this entertainment? Why are we so rushed? Do you know I was almost taken out today by a male shopper at Toys R Us? Obviously the dude was stressed but c’mon s-l-o-w down, it’s not going to shave off any minutes from your jammed schedule to decapitate me in the doorway as you tear into the store. For real, the guy was psycho with glazed over eyes on a mission. He didn’t even turn to apologize for the head injury (which will likely bruise) he administered to my temporal skull region. Not that any apology would make things better. I hate that too. Adults act horrid, lacking all social grace, and then expect an “I’m sorry” to make it all cool. But anyway, exhaustion is knocking, beating, tearing down my door and I’m going to sle…..
Posted in My Tales
Resurrected Grashopper laying eggs
My daughter decided to add a better Grasshopper specimen to her insect collection for her Science project. She found a beauty of a Grasshopper and placed it in a baggie with finger nail polish remover. An unnamed Science teacher at an unnamed school recommended this method of effective death for the unfortunate insects. Not wanting the visual image of the dying Grasshopper permanently seared in my brain, I left the room. My daughter laughed as she gave me a verbal blow by blow of the dying process with descriptions like “it’s twitching….it’s pooping…it fell head first into the nail polish remover…” I immediately reverted to “Laa, laa, laaa I’m not listening!” Although I heard every sad word. Well, she decided she could not take it any longer and removed her lifeless captive from the baggie. Thankfully she laid the insect on a magazine to await its pinning to the cork board. Suddenly Genevieve (we got personally attached) began to twitch as life coursed through her body. The twitching became more intense and turned into outright movement. It was obvious that Genevieve was returning from the great beyond. Life must go on…in more ways than one. You see, Genevieve was “with child.” Fearing death, she began to dump her eggs all over the magazine she rested upon. More eggs and more eggs and more eggs came out of who knows where within her body. The kids hovered amazed at what was occurring while my youngest intermittently spooned dinner into his mouth. I was in shock and slightly nauseous thinking about dinner in the midst of insect pinning, egg laying and the stench of death enhanced by Mr. stink bug. My dinner was threatening to revisit my mouth and I was fighting to keep it in my stomach. To my horror, the Grasshopper eggs disappeared among the Nerds (candy) and rice on the kitchen table. Clorox time x 100. I think I scrubbed the surface of my counter raw.
I feel weak.
You unnamed Science teacher are responsible for the mass murder of innocent insects, a pregnant Grasshopper and her babies.
Posted in The kids
I can’t believe that I am about to blog about this. I cried. The fact that I cried is not the focus but why, or rather what I was watching when I cried. It’s no secret that I am an easy tear target. Plop me down in front of a program dealing with relationships or loss and I instantly turn into a heap of liquid saline. My children find this talent of mine very amusing and usually burst into fits of laughter while I blubber. However, never in a gazillion years did I think I would ever, ever, ever, never ever-ever cry while watching…..The Duggers! Yes, you heard me correctly…. The litter producing Duggers made me cry. While I have tremendous respect for this family for numerous reasons, financial sense being one (They’re debt FREE!!!!), I never would have imagined tears escaping from my eye sockets while watching one of their episodes. Just the fact that they have 18 kids and are currently baking #19 is enough to cause a butt puckering, wincing reaction NOT one of heart felt emotion in the form of tears.
The responsible tear producing episode was the one in which Anna gave birth from home. I was not prepared for the emotional reaction that I experienced when she delivered their 1st baby, a girl in their bedroom with the help of a Doula. I have watched numerous episodes of labor and delivery shows on TLC and never even blinked back a single tear. I have participated in births at the hospital and all but yawned in the expectant parents faces from a lack of sleep the night before. So why did watching this birth produce such an emotional reaction? I’m still pondering that myself. However, I believe it was due to the overall serene, the calm, the love and support from those around her. She handled the experience like a dignified woman as did those around her. Nothing serves as an emotional buzz kill like seeing a woman screaming, spitting, cursing, yelling insults, hitting and throwing herself around on the bed like a harpooned whale! This episode demonstrated the pure beauty of life producing birth. Seeing the baby girl enter the world into the hands of her father in an environment of peace was more than enough to open the flood gates of my eyes!
I cried and the Duggers made me do it.
Posted in My Tales