She says:
"Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit."
That could not be more accurate!
With five children, I guess I am just one giant tattoo!
August 16, 2010
The Tattoo Across My Body
In the movie, Eat, Pray and Love, Elizabeth's friend gives her some advise on whether having a baby is for her or not.
She says:
She says:
August 14, 2010
Lion Tamer
The inside of my legs are so sore.
It must be from my workout yesterday.
Although I have not been going regularly,
I did not think I exerted myself that much.
It feels as though I kept a struggling lion in a head lock.
With my thighs!
For an hour and a half!
I bet Tarzan would be impressed!
Not to worry Jane.
Shirtless, tan, muscular men in a loincloth who swing from vines and who love their mothers are not my type.
(Think she'll believe me?)
"I love the body. Flesh is so honest, and organs do not lie." ~Terri Guillemets
It must be from my workout yesterday.
Although I have not been going regularly,
I did not think I exerted myself that much.
It feels as though I kept a struggling lion in a head lock.
With my thighs!
For an hour and a half!
I bet Tarzan would be impressed!
Not to worry Jane.
Shirtless, tan, muscular men in a loincloth who swing from vines and who love their mothers are not my type.
(Think she'll believe me?)
"I love the body. Flesh is so honest, and organs do not lie." ~Terri Guillemets
August 13, 2010
A Personalized Touch: Stories Shared From Others' Hearts
BY ROBERT
Q. What did it take to get your attention about how important life is?
A. I think my attention was enticed by the alternative to my ideal. I have a pretty vivid imagination and I don't like to settle. I want the whole pie, and I want to make it too because no one else can make it as good as me!
By pie I really mean my life plan.
For awhile I was letting something else drive my life or concoct my pastries. And the places I was going and the things I was eating were not as good as I imagined they would be.
I had to figure out what went wrong.
But it was not a matter of the wrong ingredient or a wrong turn. It was the chef or the driver.
I needed to get in touch with an earlier version of myself that was not willing to let anyone else lead my show.
I think taking a good look at my situation helped me realize how important life is.
There are quite a few things that contributed so I will just list them in no particular order.
First, it must have been divine intervention because I am not a very good listener.
Second, it was boredom of boredom. I wanted to see what it was like to do nothing, but I got tired of it.
Third, I was getting within short range of things I knew I didn't like and it scared me a little bit.
Fourth, it was the lack of enormous amounts of money, and crappy jobs.
Fifth, it was missing close relationships with people I cared about or would care about in the future. And reflecting on the influence I was having on people who looked up to me.
Sixth, it was competitiveness that pushed me not to settle.
Seventh, was curiosity. I wanted to know what else was out there, and to experience it. Why were some other people so motivated?
Eighth, was getting away from all the pressures and outside influences in my life.
Ninth, was simply maturing with age.
And
Tenth, was all these things happening at once.
Thanks Robert!
August 12, 2010
Tempted By Toilet Paper
"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it." ~Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891
Have you ever noticed when you are vulnerable how weak you become?
How it is easier to let your guard down?
How you think of doing things that would not usually cross your mind?
And you may do things you would not otherwise do?
Well, that is what happened to me over toilet paper.
I was almost running out.
Both of my bathrooms were low.
Even the Kleenex was low.
And I was also short on money as I have been unemployed.
(Just setting the scene.)
And to top it off, there were no good sales going on either.
You can guess what those things combined equaled...
That is right.
Desperate actions.
Or at least thoughts of them.
I had to go out for the morning.
To a public place.
I also happened to need to use the restroom when I was there.
Really.
Right next to me, in the stall, almost touching my elbow was an extra roll of toilet paper sitting smack on top of the T.P. dispenser.
Not fastened securely behind lock and key, nope, just out in the open.
Taunting me.
Sending Angel-soft messages such as:
"It is o.k. to take me or why would I just be sitting here, where it is so easy to reach me?"
"You know, this is here for you. Who else but you, uses up the last little roll before starting a new one worrying about salvaging the last square? No one except you. So take it."
"You will be doing the janitor a favor."
"It'll go to waste if you don't."
"Your purse is big enough. It will fit. Just don't look for change in the bottom of your purse until you get home."
"You pay taxes, this is under a dollars worth."
Do you see how bold and daring you can get when under pressure?
Did I mention this was at a police station?
I kid you not, it was.
Desperate moments call for desperate measures.
Isn't that how the saying goes?
Well, I didn't take the roll after all. There was a policewoman in the stall next to me.
I could tell by her shiny shoes,
And her full uniform as she washed her hands next to me with her gun intact.
I was relieved I hadn't succumbed as I am sure now that it was a sting operation strategically set up to tempt me into recklessness.
Can't you just see my mug shot on the package of Charmin with the headline:
'Don't squeeze the Charmin! (into your purse!)'?
So I marched myself to Wal-Mart and did the next best thing.
I lied about an ad match.
People look at you knowingly, as you walk out of the store hugging a child-size pack of Ultra strong, diamond weave, durable and long lasting T.P.
What they didn't know was how close I had been to becoming a criminal all in the name of being dependably clean (the packages' words not mine.)
"All men are tempted. There is no man that lives that can't be broken down, provided it is the right temptation, put in the right spot." ~Henry Ward Beecher, Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit, 1887
August 10, 2010
Today Therapy Kicked My Butt
My therapist refused to see me as long as I was still on vacation ( in Denial.)
So I had to come home.
(Don't ever believe what they say about vacations being rejuvenating.)
So now I am back in my life and I went to therapy.
I guess you could say it is physical therapy.
I am worn out!
I feel like I just ran five miles.
Well, actually that is not true.
I have never run five miles in my life, so I don't really know what that even feels like.
But if I did ever run five miles, I am sure this is what it would feel like!
I am going to request that a scale be placed outside the office.
I have had to have lost weight.
Water weighs something right?
How can you cry so much that you use up the whole box of Puffs (appropriate name for my eyes and nose) and not lose weight?
A gallon is what?... 33 pounds?
I came home and laid vertically on my bed until I passed out. (Who needs alcohol?)
(Well it was more in the shape of a question mark.)
Then I ate the whole box of theater size Junior Mints.
Sometimes there are rewards for purging.
"Those who do not know how to weep with their whole heart don't know how to laugh either." ~Golda Meir
So I had to come home.
(Don't ever believe what they say about vacations being rejuvenating.)
So now I am back in my life and I went to therapy.
I guess you could say it is physical therapy.
I am worn out!
I feel like I just ran five miles.
Well, actually that is not true.
I have never run five miles in my life, so I don't really know what that even feels like.
But if I did ever run five miles, I am sure this is what it would feel like!
I am going to request that a scale be placed outside the office.
I have had to have lost weight.
Water weighs something right?
How can you cry so much that you use up the whole box of Puffs (appropriate name for my eyes and nose) and not lose weight?
A gallon is what?... 33 pounds?
I came home and laid vertically on my bed until I passed out. (Who needs alcohol?)
(Well it was more in the shape of a question mark.)
Then I ate the whole box of theater size Junior Mints.
Sometimes there are rewards for purging.
"Those who do not know how to weep with their whole heart don't know how to laugh either." ~Golda Meir
August 7, 2010
Sometimes I Am Nice, Sometimes I Am Stupid
Those are the words that came out of the mouth of a three year old girl I was nannying for.
She said it so matter-of-fact.
Just as she might say, "Sometimes I like red and sometimes I like blue."
There was no sense of uneasiness or degradation.
Just a statement of what she thought.
Perhaps she was just repeating words, not fully understanding, but in that moment she was wise beyond her years.
She was teaching by example.
I too can sometimes be nice and sometimes I can do stupid things.
But unlike her I handle it differently.
Usually if I do something nice I do not acknowledge it.
I am not talking in a prideful way, but I do not recognize it at all.
I downplay it, as,"Oh, it was nothing".
And I would not find myself using the word 'nice' to describe myself.
It would seem too self-centered, too selfish.
But is it really?
Why is it so hard to state a fact and just leave it at that?
And sometimes I do do stupid things.
Defined as: foolish; senseless.
And boy do I acknowledge that.
Every bit of it.
I might even bring up past events just in case I may have any doubts or have forgotten.
It would seem too self-centered, too selfish not to.
But is it really?
Why is it so hard to state a fact and just leave it at that?
Sometimes I am learned and sometimes I am still learning.
"The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind." ~Kahlil Gibran
She said it so matter-of-fact.
Just as she might say, "Sometimes I like red and sometimes I like blue."
There was no sense of uneasiness or degradation.
Just a statement of what she thought.
Perhaps she was just repeating words, not fully understanding, but in that moment she was wise beyond her years.
She was teaching by example.
I too can sometimes be nice and sometimes I can do stupid things.
But unlike her I handle it differently.
Usually if I do something nice I do not acknowledge it.
I am not talking in a prideful way, but I do not recognize it at all.
I downplay it, as,"Oh, it was nothing".
And I would not find myself using the word 'nice' to describe myself.
It would seem too self-centered, too selfish.
But is it really?
Why is it so hard to state a fact and just leave it at that?
And sometimes I do do stupid things.
Defined as: foolish; senseless.
And boy do I acknowledge that.
Every bit of it.
I might even bring up past events just in case I may have any doubts or have forgotten.
It would seem too self-centered, too selfish not to.
But is it really?
Why is it so hard to state a fact and just leave it at that?
Sometimes I am learned and sometimes I am still learning.
"The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind." ~Kahlil Gibran
"Too many people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are." ~Malcolm S. Forbes
August 3, 2010
Talk About Naive....!
Last summer, when I had major surgery a friend of mine had given me a gift certificate for a foot massage.
I just decided to use it today.
It is called HEAVENS FOOTSTEPS (or something to do with feet...)
En-route, I am talking to another friend telling her my destination, when she says, "Oooh a massssagggjuh?"
I retort," No. Not that kind.
I don't like strangers to touch me.
Besides this will just be my feet...although I don't really know, how much you can do with feet for a whole hour?
But that is what the certificate says."
(My first experience as you can tell.)
The poster on the window reassures me. (Sorry about the glare)
When I arrive, I walk in to see reclining looking chairs with foot rests and am relieved I was right.
That is, until the masseuse says to follow him into a darkened room with two chiropractor-like tables.
Boy was I wrong!
After placing my items in a basket (so much for the book I brought to read), he directs me to lay face down on the table.
If I wasn't tense and in need of relaxation before, I sure am now!
Being in my favorite state, Denial, I am thinking, this is a strange way to do a foot massage.
But he is the expert right?
I put my face on these Bounty Quicker-picker-uppers as directed and start to question things such as:
What have I agreed to?
Why did I bother even putting make-up on this morning?
Did I feed the dog before I left?
Did my friend trick me into this?
Thinking it would be a nice gesture?
Shouldn't I be questioning what is about to happen to me?
Did I notice an exit sign or fire alarm?
Is my cell phone within reach?
Will the absorbency of the towels make me look like I do when I first wake up:
Like all the life and beauty got sucked out of me by the linenets? (Those are age-promoting insects who occupy your bed when you sleep.)
How am I supposed to breathe?
My family doesn't even know I am here.
What if I don't come out alive?
Am I supposed to keep my eyes open or shut?
Do I really even have a choice?
They are stuck in squint mode.
Of course, it isn't for my feet.
Not right then anyway...
He holds back nothing as he starts to pinch my back.
Then he places his elbow in my lower back and pushes down on it with the opposite hand and then forcibly shoves it all the way up to my neck.
I am wondering if at the bottom of the certificate I missed, 'Includes the WWF treatment'?
New thoughts come to me as he continues:
This is what people say is relaxing?
I am about to cry.
Is this why I need absorbency?
Is the music to muffle my cries?
What is he doing now?
Exorcising all those cottage cheese munchkins out?
Is it really necessary to push so hard?
Am I truly going to feel much better when he is all done?
I am feeling like my perpetrator is a mix between an over-enthusiastic chiropractor (which I've never been to) and a Big-Time wrestler/cage fighter from the Orient.
Now I know that was not in the fine print (unless it was in another language.)
I learn quickly that "Eess ocay?" means I am about to be tortured.
At first it is ocay but once I give the go-ahead that immediately changes.
He is grinding his fists and elbows and head into my back as if it is my fault that his wife wasn't in a good mood this morning.
Then he takes my hand.
A nice gesture until he puts it behind my back and bends it up and starts pushing on that too.
I am wishing that I had learned the Vietnamese word for Uncle before I went in.
But I am not sure I would of even been able to use it.
The sign on the front desk upon entering flashes through my head.
It had read: NO TALKING
Is this why?
Thoughts of the dentist come back to me:
The time when I couldn't tell him the Novocaine had worn off because I could not get the words out clearly.
Or is that what the towels are for?
To muffle my pleas for help?
My face is even being stuffed into the holder.
He seems irritated with my hair as it keeps getting in the way even though it is pinned up.
When it is all over and I get up,
I look like I have just been tumbling in bed with someone.
A total stranger!
My hair is tousled and I have those famous,' after- 40- pillow-wrinkles' (well, more the quilted look) imprinted on my not-so-youthful-skin.
I had kept my clothes on and still got intimate with a total stranger.
Not on my bucket list.
This was no longer Heavenly.
Only then am I invited to sit on one of the recliners and handed my book.
Ironically enough it is entitled The Last Day of My Life by Jim Moret
Fitting, seeing what I have just gone through.
It feels like I need to regroup and act innocent.
As if I had not just come out of a dark room (in mid-morning) with a man whose name I don't even know!
No wonder the innocent, "who me?" foot massage part comes last.
So I have time to redeem myself.
So I am now thinking I can finally relax.
No guilt or uncertainty here.
Only my feet will be touched.
And maybe to my knees.
Another masseur comes out.
I am sure that their foreign communication is about how elephant-hide-like my feet are.
Maybe they are saying, "She could have used the whole hour and more just on her feet!
We do not get paid enough to do this!"
"Don't worry I have been making her pay..."
Boy has he!
I try to read, but it is difficult with my Maybelline Intense XXL, volume+length mascara all clumped together.
Never intending beforehand to cry at my relaxation outing, I am grateful it is waterproof after all.
The commercials don't show what happens to your lashes when your face is stuffed into a little leather pocket holder that is covered in paper towels.
So much for longer, thicker looking lashes.
They feel more like squashed tarantula legs!
After a brief soaking in a cute bamboo tub (just my feet, not me),
Which is not nearly long enough,
(now there are 3 of these non-verbal conspirators)
comes the good part.
Or at least I think so.
He uses his thumb on my foot in much the same way he had his elbow on my back.
To push almost all the way through until it is protruding to the other part of my body.
He is smiling all the while of course, with soothing oriental tunes playing softly in the background.
I try to concentrate on my book but he stops and blows on my foot.
What is he doing now?
Is this some ancient ritual?
Then he very carefully scrapes something off.
What?!
I just took a shower this morning!
A couple of times he puts his head down and sits very still.
I am not sure if he has fallen asleep, is overcome with fumes ruminating from my pedis,
or praying for either it to end soon or blessing my irksome feet.
The finale is the best.
Or the worst.
He just starts hitting me.
All over.
(I guess I hadn't paid enough)
On my arms, my legs, my feet.
No chance for meditation before work this morning?!?
Starbucks line too long?
Then comes the arm stretch.
Like I am Gumby or worse, one of those sticky, stretchable fifty-cent toys you buy from those machines that are at the grocery store entrance.
He pulls each arm over my head only stopping because he hits the store front window.
I can not even begin to guess what will happen next.
Nor do I want to.
It is like one of those adventure-seeking experiences without leaving the city!
Or my chair!
Now the embarrassing part.
(I know, as if the other wasn't already...)
He starts to pull my arm again, but this time in front of me and (no, I don't 'fluff').
I just keep reading.
After an hour of this I have accepted torture as a loving gesture from my new friend.
He pulls a few more times and without looking up from my book, I hold out the opposite arm.
Nothing happens.
The quiet before the storm my mind warns.
But it doesn't come,
I finally stop reading long enough to look up,
And he says, "Ocay u gat up noww."
I guess that means we are done?
Just when I was settling in...
He hands me a cup of water upon departing.
I guess I provide the ibuprofen.
I just decided to use it today.
It is called HEAVENS FOOTSTEPS (or something to do with feet...)
En-route, I am talking to another friend telling her my destination, when she says, "Oooh a massssagggjuh?"
I retort," No. Not that kind.
I don't like strangers to touch me.
Besides this will just be my feet...although I don't really know, how much you can do with feet for a whole hour?
But that is what the certificate says."
(My first experience as you can tell.)
The poster on the window reassures me. (Sorry about the glare)
When I arrive, I walk in to see reclining looking chairs with foot rests and am relieved I was right.
That is, until the masseuse says to follow him into a darkened room with two chiropractor-like tables.
Boy was I wrong!
After placing my items in a basket (so much for the book I brought to read), he directs me to lay face down on the table.
If I wasn't tense and in need of relaxation before, I sure am now!
Being in my favorite state, Denial, I am thinking, this is a strange way to do a foot massage.
But he is the expert right?
I put my face on these Bounty Quicker-picker-uppers as directed and start to question things such as:
What have I agreed to?
Why did I bother even putting make-up on this morning?
Did I feed the dog before I left?
Did my friend trick me into this?
Thinking it would be a nice gesture?
Shouldn't I be questioning what is about to happen to me?
Did I notice an exit sign or fire alarm?
Is my cell phone within reach?
Will the absorbency of the towels make me look like I do when I first wake up:
Like all the life and beauty got sucked out of me by the linenets? (Those are age-promoting insects who occupy your bed when you sleep.)
How am I supposed to breathe?
My family doesn't even know I am here.
What if I don't come out alive?
Am I supposed to keep my eyes open or shut?
Do I really even have a choice?
They are stuck in squint mode.
Of course, it isn't for my feet.
Not right then anyway...
He holds back nothing as he starts to pinch my back.
Then he places his elbow in my lower back and pushes down on it with the opposite hand and then forcibly shoves it all the way up to my neck.
I am wondering if at the bottom of the certificate I missed, 'Includes the WWF treatment'?
New thoughts come to me as he continues:
This is what people say is relaxing?
I am about to cry.
Is this why I need absorbency?
Is the music to muffle my cries?
What is he doing now?
Exorcising all those cottage cheese munchkins out?
Is it really necessary to push so hard?
Am I truly going to feel much better when he is all done?
I am feeling like my perpetrator is a mix between an over-enthusiastic chiropractor (which I've never been to) and a Big-Time wrestler/cage fighter from the Orient.
Now I know that was not in the fine print (unless it was in another language.)
I learn quickly that "Eess ocay?" means I am about to be tortured.
At first it is ocay but once I give the go-ahead that immediately changes.
He is grinding his fists and elbows and head into my back as if it is my fault that his wife wasn't in a good mood this morning.
Then he takes my hand.
A nice gesture until he puts it behind my back and bends it up and starts pushing on that too.
I am wishing that I had learned the Vietnamese word for Uncle before I went in.
But I am not sure I would of even been able to use it.
The sign on the front desk upon entering flashes through my head.
It had read: NO TALKING
Is this why?
Thoughts of the dentist come back to me:
The time when I couldn't tell him the Novocaine had worn off because I could not get the words out clearly.
Or is that what the towels are for?
To muffle my pleas for help?
My face is even being stuffed into the holder.
He seems irritated with my hair as it keeps getting in the way even though it is pinned up.
When it is all over and I get up,
I look like I have just been tumbling in bed with someone.
A total stranger!
My hair is tousled and I have those famous,' after- 40- pillow-wrinkles' (well, more the quilted look) imprinted on my not-so-youthful-skin.
I had kept my clothes on and still got intimate with a total stranger.
Not on my bucket list.
This was no longer Heavenly.
Only then am I invited to sit on one of the recliners and handed my book.
Ironically enough it is entitled The Last Day of My Life by Jim Moret
Fitting, seeing what I have just gone through.
It feels like I need to regroup and act innocent.
As if I had not just come out of a dark room (in mid-morning) with a man whose name I don't even know!
No wonder the innocent, "who me?" foot massage part comes last.
So I have time to redeem myself.
So I am now thinking I can finally relax.
No guilt or uncertainty here.
Only my feet will be touched.
And maybe to my knees.
Another masseur comes out.
I am sure that their foreign communication is about how elephant-hide-like my feet are.
Maybe they are saying, "She could have used the whole hour and more just on her feet!
We do not get paid enough to do this!"
"Don't worry I have been making her pay..."
Boy has he!
I try to read, but it is difficult with my Maybelline Intense XXL, volume+length mascara all clumped together.
Never intending beforehand to cry at my relaxation outing, I am grateful it is waterproof after all.
The commercials don't show what happens to your lashes when your face is stuffed into a little leather pocket holder that is covered in paper towels.
So much for longer, thicker looking lashes.
They feel more like squashed tarantula legs!
After a brief soaking in a cute bamboo tub (just my feet, not me),
Which is not nearly long enough,
(now there are 3 of these non-verbal conspirators)
comes the good part.
Or at least I think so.
He uses his thumb on my foot in much the same way he had his elbow on my back.
To push almost all the way through until it is protruding to the other part of my body.
He is smiling all the while of course, with soothing oriental tunes playing softly in the background.
I try to concentrate on my book but he stops and blows on my foot.
What is he doing now?
Is this some ancient ritual?
Then he very carefully scrapes something off.
What?!
I just took a shower this morning!
A couple of times he puts his head down and sits very still.
I am not sure if he has fallen asleep, is overcome with fumes ruminating from my pedis,
or praying for either it to end soon or blessing my irksome feet.
The finale is the best.
Or the worst.
He just starts hitting me.
All over.
(I guess I hadn't paid enough)
On my arms, my legs, my feet.
No chance for meditation before work this morning?!?
Starbucks line too long?
Then comes the arm stretch.
Like I am Gumby or worse, one of those sticky, stretchable fifty-cent toys you buy from those machines that are at the grocery store entrance.
He pulls each arm over my head only stopping because he hits the store front window.
I can not even begin to guess what will happen next.
Nor do I want to.
It is like one of those adventure-seeking experiences without leaving the city!
Or my chair!
Now the embarrassing part.
(I know, as if the other wasn't already...)
He starts to pull my arm again, but this time in front of me and (no, I don't 'fluff').
I just keep reading.
After an hour of this I have accepted torture as a loving gesture from my new friend.
He pulls a few more times and without looking up from my book, I hold out the opposite arm.
Nothing happens.
The quiet before the storm my mind warns.
But it doesn't come,
I finally stop reading long enough to look up,
And he says, "Ocay u gat up noww."
I guess that means we are done?
Just when I was settling in...
He hands me a cup of water upon departing.
I guess I provide the ibuprofen.
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