Being Fancy

                

I'm not going to talk about my kids today. I always talk about the kids. They are well, and excited for school to be out in just 8 short weeks. I can't believe it. I am going to talk instead about the fabulous massage that I received this week.

I was not expecting it. I was away on a work trip and it was like any other week. I went and checked into my hotel and they handed me a bag of snacks and my room key and a card. I went up to my room, set everything down and collapsed on the bed. I pulled out my computer and some work but the hotel card was sitting on the dresser and I was curious about it. I opened it up and there was a coupon for the hotel restaurant and the spa. I looked at the coupon and thought about my sad aching back and how I've been a bit on the stressed out side and I thought, What the hell. I'm getting a massage. So I called down and booked my massage. The receptionist said, "We only have one slot open at 7 pm, and it's with a male therapist." I didn't care if it was a monkey, I took that appointment.

I LOVE getting massaged. LOVE it. However, I am much to practical to get massages all the time so I probably get one once a year. I was due. I have had my fair share of interesting massages. My husband got me a spa package for my 23rd birthday and it was a manicure, pedicure, facial and massage. Super nice. I booked it and was so excited to go. I had a sinus infection but I still went anyway. I was probably dying to get out of the house. I got all set up and was laying face down on the massage table and OH-MY-GOD, my nose started running. I was so relaxed and super self conscious. It started to drip. Onto the floor, underneath my face. It was so quick, I couldn't do anything about it. I was so embarrassed, but it was dark and I didn't think the massage therapist noticed so I didn't say anything. I was petrified and didn't know what to do. My nose dripped for a whole hour onto a puddle on the floor. SUPER AWKWARD. I wiped it up after I got dressed but I was not relaxed at all.

Then there was the time that I purchased a couples massage because I thought it would be fun and that my husband would enjoy it. I had to practically drag him in. He complained the whole way there. We were in the same room and we undressed and got onto the tables next to each other and while we were waiting for the therapists to come in he complaining and upset. My therapist was a super tall, young guy that looked like a basketball player. So he watched a Kobe Bryant look-alike massage his wife for an hour. Afterwards he was like, "This is stupid. I am never doing this ever again. This is gross." That was his first and last massage.

Anyway, at 7 o'clock I went down for my massage and they took me to the locker room and I got into my robe and slippers and sat and waited. It was very zen with a wall fountain and one of those sand and rake asian things - zen garden? Candles and rocks every where, relaxing music. I sat and waited and tried to take a nap. Story of my life. When can I take a cat nap.

I was greeted by a man my father's age. He had long, curly hair that was pulled into a pony tail. He looked like a hippy. He looked like he enjoyed nature walks and peace. He had the voice of Bob Ross, the TV artist. Just relaxing and soft. "Hi, I'm Micheal. I'm going to be your therapist today. Tell me about your problem areas." Everywhere is problem. I'm tired and my body hurts. I didn't say that though. I said my back, because I have that turning-30-and-your-back-starts-hurting-for-no-reason thing going on. I was escorted to the room and his Bob Ross voice told me to ring these chimes when I was ready. I hung up my robe and climbed onto the massage table and it was so warm. I wanted to take it home with me. I rang my chimes and he came in and did his work.

I was not anticipating getting a massage so things were not what they should be. My legs were unshaven, my toenails like daggers, my feet dry and the Sahara. It is so sad. Once the summer comes and I start wearing sandals, I will be a million times better at taking care of my feet but I never see my feet so I don't care. Myself 5 years ago would have been self-conscious about my disgusting body and unkempt feet. Not the me  now.
                                        
I'm paying good money. At least I didn't have a disgusting rash or anything crazy. I was going to enjoy it. I did, except for that his stomach kept rumbling. I thought he would have had some granola in his little apron. I was feeling bad for him, he needed dinner. The hour flew by really fast.

Afterwards, I got back in my robe and he handed me a glass of citrus-infused water. He spoke to me in his Bob Ross voice again, "Make sure you stretch, okay? You have a got of tension." That's the understatement of the century. Tension is my middle name. I thanked him and I sat in that robe and sipped my water next to the zen garden and I thought to myself. I could get used to this. I need to do this more often.

I won't do it more often, but it was good while it lasted. A reprieve from the daily grind.

Blow My Whistle

                  

My daughter has been begging me to go to Claires in the mall for the past 4 days. I have been sick as a dog and incredibly busy so I kept pushing her off but today I was feeling a little bit better so I told her we could go. We were all getting dressed and ready to go and my 9 year old walked in with the ipad playing some horric Flo Rida song. OHHHH Hell to the No. Here are the lyrics to the chorus if you have not had the pleasure to hear it:


Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

I'll tell you what, I don't think he's talking about whistles. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't have a whistle collection.

 "Turn it off. Put on something else." She pouted. "How do you even know this song?" "From the radio." Of course. "Turn it off, it's inappropriate." Then my 7 year old had to jump in. "Why is it inappropriate? What does it mean? What does it mean to blow the whistle?" Great. I had to have that question. I kept trying to shlep her off and change the subject. No. She was insistent. She screamed. "Tell me what it means to blow a whistle." I had to think of something quick. I can't just tell that to a kid. I am the first one to be open and all of that but this is where I draw the line. So I lied. "It means, he wants her to blow in his mouth." She looked at me suspect. "No it's not." "Yes it is. You know how they say, 'Wet your whistle' and that means to take a drink and wet your thirsty mouth? Well to blow your whistle means to blow in your mouth." Come here. I went to give her a kiss and I blew air in her mouth. She scrunched her nose. "Mama, your breath tastes like tuna fish." She brought it though, hook line and sinker. I had to go to extreme measures with that lie but I did what I had to do. Bad mom award.

Let me tell you - I HATE the music that's out today. I have to be a psycho about the radio and pandora. Some songs would be reasonable expect that always have to have a rapper do a cameo and ruin the whole song. For instance, Timber in itself is not an inappropriate song for the most part. But some dummy has to come in talking about "shaking in bras and thongs" and "bootys up" and ruin the whole thing. Then there is Dark Horse. The song would be okay except for an appearance by 2 Chains in which they talk about Jeffery Dahmer and compare Katy Perry to a drug that he was trying to "hit and quit" but she was so dope he got "addicted." That's real nice to hear playing on the radio on the way to school at 8 am. I can't wait to hear the next mainstream pop song that features lyrics about a serial killer. I think that's really sexy. Then  there is that horrible Talk Dirty song. I had one of the kid's friends in the car and as soon as I heard the first note I changed the station. "But I love that song." Ummmm..... the first sentence of that song are this: I'm that flight that you get on, international. First class seat on my lap girl, riding comfortable.  I'm not a prude or anything, but I have standards- and no, we are not listening to that garbage. I wish it was 1933 and they were walking around singing, "It's Only a Paper Moon." Life was more simple then. Parents weren't having to lie to their kids about songs about blow jobs that come on the radio. *Sigh* I feel bad for them. I can't wait to see what their teenagers will be listening to.

After I blew in my daughters mouth, we finished getting ready. My nine year old came down in jean shorts, over leggings with a white tanktop under a slouchy black sweater and a headband. What is this 1994? "Do other people wear leggings and shorts?" She rolled her eyes at me. "Yeah mom. It's in style." I know other people that wear leggings under shorts:

Clarrisa Explains It All:
       
Tia and Tamara
                             
Daria's friend Jane
                     

Dude, the 90s are soooooo back. Claire's wall full of 90's stuff. Little 90's backpacks, tattoo bracelets, chokers. I was excited and said, "I had all this stuff when I was a kid." My daughter shrugged her shoulders, "Except now it's better and cooler." BBBBBBUUUUUUURRRRRRNNNNNN. I thought I was cool because I used to have the stuff that is now back in fashion. But no, we can't have mom thinking that. She needs to stay in her old person, uncool box.

She picked out all her stuff and went to pay. She had $13 of her own money and it was $12.21. She went to pull out her money, but she didn't tell me it was $13 in change. Oh.my.goodness. I was so embarrassed. "You didn't tell me it was in change." She didn't care. "It's good money." The sweet clerk counted up her change and told me it happens all the time. I believe it.

We left the store and joined my husband and 7 year old. My oldest dug in her bag and handed her sister a bracelet. "I got this for you." She was so surprised and happy and hugged her big sister. I love these girls. They are getting too big.

St. Patty's Day and Such

                      
Saint Patrick's Day festivities are in full swing this weekend. Our decorations are up, our St. Patty's day banner hung on the fire place, green garland wrapped along the stair case. I'll make soda bread today (I found an awesome crock pot soda bread recipe, can't wait to try it). We'll have Shepard's pie. I'll make a green, orange and white dessert. We'll drink Guinness and listen to Celtic music. I wish I had started a tradition when my kids were younger of making leprechaun traps and then waking St. Patty's day morning to chocolate gold coins. Doesn't that sound like a riot? Alas, my kids would not be amused by it. I'll save that idea for my grand kids.

My oldest had practice for her all-county chorus yesterday so I just took my 7 year old to the Saint Patrick's Day parade. We put on our green and off we went. We found a perfect spot and sat down on the curb. We watched the revelers walk by. A family sat next to us - a mom and dad and two young children, the kid's were maybe 2 and 4. They seemed normal until the parade started. The bag pipers came by and fire trucks and everyone else. They were throwing candy out. Well, the dad who was sitting next to us lost his damn mind. They would throw candy and he would scream "WHOO! Candy!" and make a dash to collect the candy. He was grabbing candy that was being thrown to my daughter. This was a grown ass man. "WHOOO! Beads!" and he was out in the street taking the beads. He was acting ridiculous and my 7 year old was dumbfounded. The lady on the other side of us gave my little girl some beads. She was looking at me like, "What the hell is wrong with that guy?" What a jerk head.

We made our way to the festival and listened to music and ate sno cones. My husband and 9 year old joined us after he picked her up from practice. It was a beautiful day.

We headed home and my daughter got ready for her concert. She got dressed and I put her hair up in a pony tail. She put on her clip on earrings and lip gloss and she looked like such a little lady. She looked beautiful. We took her to the school and dropped her off and waited anxiously. The kids all got on stage and she smiled at us and gave us a little wave. Then the concert began and she just sang her little heart out. I could make out her voice, among the dozens of children. She sings like an angel. She never sings at home. I don't know why, she is a little shy. Sometimes she'll sing if she's alone in the shower or in her room. I put my ear up to the door to listen. She'd be mad if she knew I did that. She has a beautiful voice. They sung "Imagine" at the end and I couldn't help but tear up. My daughter is just so beautiful and talented and I am so proud of her. She spent many days staying after school to practice and studying her music and she just did a beautiful job. My sweet baby is getting to be so big.

My sister came and left her 4 year old with us to sleep over so we took all the kids out for ice cream after the concert to celebrate. Yes, we had ice cream before dinner. Bad Mom Award. It was a good day.

Our day today will be packed. Off to make soda bread with my Irish girls.

Meanwhile in Ireland:

No Sleep

               

I haven't been sleeping well. I mean, I don't normally sleep well. I know I complain about it often. Usually I don't sleep because the kids are waking me up or my husband is snoring. But this is different. I have been having such a difficult time falling asleep and staying asleep. I can't put my finger on it. It is taking me forever to fall asleep. I just lay in bed and my mind races. I go over all the things that need to be done and obsess about all the things that are bothering me. I'll wake up at 3 am and then 4 am and then 5am. I have been having these crazy, outrageous vivid dreams. I had a dream that I was on this ship and someone told me to hold their baby and the ship was sinking so I escaped and left the baby on the boat. I had a dream that everything was frozen and there was a creepy horse standing in the middle of a frozen lake staring at me. Like, really weird, creepy, Stephen King having dreams. I wake up in the morning exhausted and sore, like I've been hit by a bus. It's terrible. I need to change my routine or drink chamomile tea before bed or something.

The time change hasn't helped at all. On Sunday night I laid in bed for 2 hours before falling asleep and when I did, I barely slept. I felt like I was up all night night. I woke up at 6 am and my 9 year old was laying in between us. The child is huge. It was like 3 adults laying in a queen sized bed. What.the.heck. She almost never comes into the bed anymore so at breakfast I asked her what prompted that. A nightmare, of course. She is my daughter after all. "I had a dream that there was a giant ant in the house, like as big as a person and it was chasing me. I told dad and he tried to kill it with a shoe but it scared him and he screamed like a girl. Then it ran into the closet and laid eggs. The eggs took up your whole closet and they looked like they were in jello and then they started to hatch and I woke up." I thought it was funny but she did not. I laughed and her eyes welled up with tears. "Mama, it was not funny."

I slept okay last night. Better than usual until I woke up. Of course the kids can't make my mornings easy. This morning I told the girls that it was going to be hot (82 degrees in early March!) and to wear shorts. My 7 year old comes downstairs in mid-thigh length shorts, a t-shirt, and wait for it.....knee high boots. Dear Lord in heaven. "Honey, you can't wear boots with shorts, put on different shoes." The wrath of hell spewed from my child. She FREAKED out on me. "Why do I always have to wear what you want? This is fine." It was a street walker outfit. Not a classy, Pretty Woman kind of streetwalker. A trashy, T-shirt wearing, East Main Street kind of street walker. My daughter is in the second grade. No, we aren't going there. So I had to yell and there was crying and it was just bad. She finally, against her will, took off the knee high boots and put on flats. Then she looked up and gave me an evil look.

Maybe that's why I can't sleep. Because I imagine my 7 year old daughter one day in high school fighting with me to wear knee-high boots and mini-skirts. Oh she will. She is sneaky. I will be checking book bags in the car before school starting in the 6th grade. I was not born yesterday. Off to make my Sleepytime tea!

Mom Body

Last night my eldest daughter was laying on the ground and she held her arms up for me to help her up. She was being silly. I stood over her and I leaned over to grab her arms and my shirt came up. You could see my loose belly skin just hanging loose. She looked at me and declared, "Your stomach is disgusting." Wow. That's mean. I said very matter of factly, "Well, it looked good until you were born." She gave me a look and began to cry. I didn't say it to be mean. I was just being honest. I was stating a fact. That doesn't mean that I am not happy she was born. It just means that the skin on my stomach is so stretched out that I can pull it out, smoosh it together and it looks like a butt. I bet you wanted to know that about me. That I can pull out the skin at the bottom of my stomach and use it to carry in my groceries.

I really did have a flat stomach before I had kids. I was a tiny, skinny girl. I weighed less than 100 pounds when I got married. Then I got pregnant. The night before I gave birth, they weighed me at the hospital. On one of those scales that you see at the zoo. You know, the ones that they use to weigh the rhinos. I stood on the scale and it flashed 172. Yeah, I wasn't 97 pounds anymore. I didn't even care. I hadn't seen my toes in 2 months and my ankles had completely disappeared. I had bigger problems then the number on that scale. I don't know how I gained THAT much weight. A lot of it was water weight. I ate lots of fruits and veggies and lean protein throughout my pregnancy...and then I would eat like a pint of ice cream.

I remember the day that I realized that my body would never be the same. Our daughter was maybe 2 weeks old and I finally had enough confidence to go out in public. I needed to buy a pair of pants that didn't have an elastic band. I needed to feel normal again. So we packed up the baby and headed to Target. I browsed the shorts. I had always been a very thin, petite girl so until I got pregnant, I always wore a size 0, 1 or 2. Tiny. So I picked up a size 6 pair of short and they seemed HUGE to me. I went to the dressing room -and I kid you not - I couldn't pull them over my knees. I was horrified. I sent my husband back for a size 8. Same thing. Then I told him to just get all the sizes. I tried a 10, a 12, a 14. Finally, I fit into a size 16. I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. At the red stretch marks on my thighs - and my calves! I expanded so much my calves had stretch marks. How did this even happen? I hung my head. I walked out of the dressing room with my size 16 shorts. Not 2 minutes later my sweet newborn had an explosive poop - up the back and into her hair. It was massive. I went into the Target bathroom to change her and I did the best I could to clean her up but my mind was pre-occupied by those size 16 shorts.

We got home and I knew that life was different. I had bags under my eyes, my hair was unkempt, I had no make up on, I was wearing sweat pants because they were the only things that fit me, I had a huge maxi pad that went from my chin to the back of my neck, there was milk literally spraying out of my body, and red stretch marks covered my empty belly that shook like a jelly jiggler as I leaned over the bathtub and gently wiped the poop from my new baby daughter's hair. I had made it to womanhood and motherhood. I dried her off and put her in her little sleeper and I sat in the rocking chair to nurse her to sleep. She was so sweet and warm. Her poop-free hair so silky. Her tiny little hands curled up on my chest. I decided to just let it go. I decided that I wouldn't be mad about the way things were - my body, that I wouldn't hate myself about it. That I had plenty of time to care what I look like and work on myself and at that time all I really wanted to do is just hold and rock and watch my baby sleep for as long as I could. So I did. I had enough foresight to know that she would only be tiny for a minute.

I ate healthy and the weight started to come off, but my body had changed. My skin was looser, it was a different shape. Then I did it all over again and oddly enough the day before my youngest was born I again weighed 172 pounds. It's like the threshold I must hit before I give birth. I was so much more laid back about it the second time around. I did not care how big I was. I was a mama-warrior.

Again, the weight melted off but over the years it fluctuates. It took me about 18 months to get back to normal weight but I'll gain and lose within a 10 pound range. Whatever. My skin might not be tight but who cares. The hubby still thinks I look okay (I think, I mean he has to say that) and the stretch marks now are like silvery lightning bolts all over my body. You can't see them unless you look really close. I can feel them, the ridges on my legs and belly. It's been almost a decade since my oldest daughter was born and my body stopped being the standard of beauty. I work with what I've got. I wear jeans that come up to my belly button so that I can tuck in the bottom part. I wear very modest bathing suits. I don't hate my body or think it's disgusting. It's got history and character. It's broken in. Like a good baseball mitt. I want John Mayer to write a song about my mom body, "Your body is a like an old baseball mitt....."

I am sad that my daughter thinks my stomach is disgusting, but I hope that one day she'll have children of her own that bring her as much joy as my girls have given me and she'll have a change of heart. I don't miss my old body that much anyway, but my brain....that's a different story!!!!

Boy Problems

                      

The other day I was in the kitchen making dinner and the children were outside playing with their friends. It was a typical afternoon. Then one of the neighbors came in and sat down at the kitchen table. "Mrs. B, I had a really bad day." She's so sweet, she's 11 and I just love her. She looked so sad. "What happened?" She told me the story. She has a crush on a boy in her class and her friend told him that she likes him and asked if he liked her back. "He made a face like he smelled a fart and said 'Ewww, no way' in front of the whole class." She slumped back in the chair and let out a deep sigh. I didn't know what to say. "That wasn't very nice of your friend to tell him that and he was kind of rude, don't you think?" She thought for a minute. "Yeah, he's usually not mean. I wouldn't call him a bully. I would just call him a reject-er." Rejection. That's the worst.

Her feelings were really hurt. Eleven year old boys have not perfected the art of letting girls down easy. They don't say things like, "It's not you, it's me." "I'm only 11, so I don't feel ready to make a commitment." "I really need to focus on my social studies right now." No, they make fart-smelling faces and are inadvertently mean. It's just the way things are. I feel like 10-15 year old girls are so fragile and they are prone to low self esteem anyway because it's just an awkward time. This was not helpful. So I just told her how fabulous I think she is and how smart and beautiful she is and that I am sorry that her feelings were hurt.

Then her little sister walked in with my kids and they all sat at the table. They knew about what had happened and they all talked about boys. They talked about boys while I made dinner. My ears were wide open. I am very much Switzerland when it comes to boy talk, I am kind of neutral. I don't encourage or discourage. I just listen. I hear about how cute Harry Styles is and I know who my girls like in school, and the neighbors girls. My oldest daughter likes this little Irish boy. He looks like a little man. My 7 year old likes this little boy with big eyes that is so sweet. The neighbors daughter likes another like boy who is kind of mischievous. They don't talk about boys a lot, but sometimes they do. My husband does not like it. He needs to get over it. He could give them a speech about how they aren't allowed to think boys (or Harry Styles) are cute anymore but I don't know how well that will go over.

 They are kids, they aren't adults. I was a boy crazy little girl. But it was an innocent thing. For instance, I loved JTT. I was 10 years old and had a poster of JTT on my ceiling so that I could gaze into his eyes before I fell asleep. I did fantasize about JTT, but not in an adult kind of way. This was my 10 year old, JTT fantasy: We would go to a live taping of Home Improvement and JTT would see me in the audience and be struck by my beauty and after the show, he would ask my parents if I could live with him in California and they would say yes. Then, I would move into his big house in California. In my fantasy, 12 year old JTT had his own house with no aduts. We would sit on the couch and eat Gushers and watch Nickelodeon together and sometimes he would give me a peck kiss. Then, we would go in his backyard and jump on his trampoline. Because he was rich, and only rich people had trampolines in my 10 year old mind. We never did attend a live taping of Home Improvement, oh how my life could have been  different. haha. My fantasies have grown up. Now I dream about being in bed with my husband. Sleeping. Uninterrupted. No snoring, no kids waking up in the middle of the night to crawl in bed and vomit. No one tapping me at dawn to ask what's for breakfast. Just 12 straight hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. Oh yeah, that's hot.

Between the girls next store and my daughters, I'm sure I'll get to hear about a lot more boy problems. It's good material. I feel ill-equipped to deal with these boy problems but I am good at wiping tears and I do always keep some ice cream in the house. Is there anything that ice cream doesn't help? Boys are kind of overrated - mint chocolate chip is where it's at!