In November of 2009, my mom passed away while my one year old daughter was in the hospital with a serious infection. I vividly remember sitting on a hard hospital chair, holding a hospital phone, hearing my husband tell me that he had some bad news. Minutes after he told me that my mom had had a stroke and passed away before she even got to the hospital, the nurse came in to take my daughter's vitals. She said, "Is everything all right, honey?"
I said, "No. Not really. Everything is not all right. I just found out that my mom has passed away."
As my heart was breaking down, I tried to recall the last time we'd spoken by phone. The last time I'd touched her face. Had I known it would be the last time, I would have done it so differently.
And this has stayed with me for nine years.
April 16, 2018
I said, "Do you know me?"
He said (definitively), "No. I don't."
I read his face to see if he was teasing. He was not. There was no glimmer of recognition just behind his eyelids. The corners of his mouth were not upturned ready to grin showing he'd fooled me.
So, I simply said my name.
Alarmingly, his expression became more confused. He said, "No. You couldn't be. She's much younger."
In another place and time hearing dad say this would have been funny to me. But, I didn't laugh. I have aged considerably. And I knew this wasn't what dad meant, anyway. I figured, in his mind, he was somewhere in 2010.
"Remember me? I'm your daughter. Your youngest daughter?"
I looked for any signs of memory on his face while trying to fight the lump that was welling up in my throat.
"I remember that I am always happy to see you," he said, taking care to enunciate remember.
We sat in silence for a little longer. Suddenly a vision of dad riding his bike to work in the 80's came to me. I think it must have been the sunshine and gentle breeze. I'm not sure.
I said, "It's a great day for riding a bike."
He said, "Yes. I suppose it is."
I said, "You used to ride your bike a lot."
"I did?"
I briefly wondered how he could forget that and then quickly regretted having brought it up. "Yes, you did. To work and back everyday. A long time ago."
"Well," he said, "Your body changes and then you can't do the things you used to do. My time is coming. I'm going to die soon."
Sometimes the conversation with dad, halted and confused as it is, goes from topic to topic to death.
"Are you scared?
Emphatically, he said, "Nah. Why would I be scared? I'm going to see a lot of people that I've lost. Your mom, and grandma and grandpa."
I couldn't talk for a few seconds. Then I managed to say weakly, and not without my voice breaking, "Well...I'm going to miss you."
He said, "No. You're not going to miss me. You're going to be glad that I'm in a better place with people I've missed."
I seriously doubted this in my mind, but I tried to think of other things to keep from crying.
We stayed outside on the patio of The Memory Care Facility for about 20 more minutes. I tried to soak in every second. I held his hand tightly and tried to imprint his words, his face, his breath on my heart so that when he is gone I will have those memories to hold me steady.
Like every visit, I answered the same questions multiple times. Where are we? Who lives here? Do I live here? Will I be alone when you have to leave? Where do you live?
Finally he said, "I'm ready to go inside now. Can you wheel me inside?"
He rolled back inside with me pushing him just in time to start a game of bingo.
"Jesse! You're just in time to play bingo!" The staff quickly came over to wheel him up to the table.
He said, "No. I don't want to play bingo."
"But, Jesse! You love bingo!" They said.
"I do?" he questioned.
With that I kissed him and held his face and told him that I had to leave, but that I would see him next time. He said he loved me and thanked me for coming.
Walking out the doors I steeled myself. If this is the last time, I am ready. I will have the memory I need. I will hold on to it until I can't remember it anymore.
Showing posts with label growing old. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growing old. Show all posts
Saturday, April 21, 2018
Friday, October 11, 2013
Short list.
1. It's October 11 and I am still trying to decide on a costume.
2. Despite the pile of prints, the uncertainty of the future, the fact that Boy Child has developed a high schooler's attitude while just starting middle school, and my ridiculously early "winter" weight gain, I am trying to be fully in the Spirit (the Halloween Spirit).
3. We are trying to spend money only on "essentials" right now due to some business dealings we will have in the near future. I am trying to convince hubby that this crazy person at Spirit Halloween (for the low, low price of $99) is an "essential."
4. Why can't money grow on trees?
5. Would it be weird to ask hubby for this guy for Christmas?
6. I listened to my first book on tape. It was Water For Elephants which I have been trying to read since 2006. I know I'm late to the party - but it is a fabulous book. If you haven't read it - do it as soon as possible. But, here's the thing. Listening to any book on tape (not like in a car on a cross-country trip) would probably make me feel old. This particular book made me feel ancient. (And blind.)
7. Having children much later in life is not without its awkward embarrassments. Every time I have been up to the middle school I see parents that I mistake for students. So, I can only imagine they are mistaking me for the grandparent? (Don't answer that.)
8. I felt mildly successful that I had convinced my entire family to go scary for Halloween this year. It's always been my dream, but it's never happened before. Partly because it's difficult (and possibly traumatizing?) to convince a three and then four year old that she wants to be a zombie and not a princess. But, now that she's FIVE she totally consented to being a zombie witch. I'm not even sure what that is, but when she asked me today if her face could be painted pink instead of white with blood (which is what I told her it would be) I said, "Um. No."
9. After all my diligence and persuasion in convincing my whole family to go scary, my kids have been singing this incessantly for about two weeks. Now I kinda want our family to be this for Halloween:
Damn the internet for trying to screw with my dreams.
10. Since Halloween is my favorite holiday and our dogpuppy aims to contradict me every chance he gets, it totally figures that he's scared of Halloween decorations. I have to drag him by this guy
to take him on a run everyday and when I do he first looks at me like this:
And then quickly crosses behind me in order to get as far away from the dead guy as possible. As much as I am beginning to love this dog if he can't learn to love Halloween and all it's gore soon, he may have to move out.
Keep your spirits up guys and try not to eat all the candy before Halloween.
2. Despite the pile of prints, the uncertainty of the future, the fact that Boy Child has developed a high schooler's attitude while just starting middle school, and my ridiculously early "winter" weight gain, I am trying to be fully in the Spirit (the Halloween Spirit).
3. We are trying to spend money only on "essentials" right now due to some business dealings we will have in the near future. I am trying to convince hubby that this crazy person at Spirit Halloween (for the low, low price of $99) is an "essential."
4. Why can't money grow on trees?
5. Would it be weird to ask hubby for this guy for Christmas?
6. I listened to my first book on tape. It was Water For Elephants which I have been trying to read since 2006. I know I'm late to the party - but it is a fabulous book. If you haven't read it - do it as soon as possible. But, here's the thing. Listening to any book on tape (not like in a car on a cross-country trip) would probably make me feel old. This particular book made me feel ancient. (And blind.)
7. Having children much later in life is not without its awkward embarrassments. Every time I have been up to the middle school I see parents that I mistake for students. So, I can only imagine they are mistaking me for the grandparent? (Don't answer that.)
8. I felt mildly successful that I had convinced my entire family to go scary for Halloween this year. It's always been my dream, but it's never happened before. Partly because it's difficult (and possibly traumatizing?) to convince a three and then four year old that she wants to be a zombie and not a princess. But, now that she's FIVE she totally consented to being a zombie witch. I'm not even sure what that is, but when she asked me today if her face could be painted pink instead of white with blood (which is what I told her it would be) I said, "Um. No."
9. After all my diligence and persuasion in convincing my whole family to go scary, my kids have been singing this incessantly for about two weeks. Now I kinda want our family to be this for Halloween:
Damn the internet for trying to screw with my dreams.
10. Since Halloween is my favorite holiday and our dogpuppy aims to contradict me every chance he gets, it totally figures that he's scared of Halloween decorations. I have to drag him by this guy
 |
| Just a dead guy with his head in his hands. No big. |
to take him on a run everyday and when I do he first looks at me like this:
 |
| "Mother! Save me from the dead guy! Oh, and I HATE HALLOWEEN!" |
And then quickly crosses behind me in order to get as far away from the dead guy as possible. As much as I am beginning to love this dog if he can't learn to love Halloween and all it's gore soon, he may have to move out.
Keep your spirits up guys and try not to eat all the candy before Halloween.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
it's a short list
So, today I am a few years past my thirtieth and a few years closer to my fiftieth. Yes, that makes me a little dizzy. If you're anything like me, after a certain age you might not want to even celebrate your birthday anymore. It's just kind of another day that you'd rather just slip by so that you don't have to face the realization that you are one day closer to your imminent death (yes, I am the epitome of optimism).
But, hubby is really great at buying me gifts and celebrating. And the kids start asking way in advance if I'm gonna have a party with a pinata (um, no). Hubby asks me what I want a few weeks before my birthday and just buys what I tell him. Romantic? No. Practical? Yes.
This year was no different. I had kinda gone overboard buying myself Christmas gifts so I tried to really keep it simple. So, I got some low-key, but great stuff that I really wanted. I got another really warm scarf in a fabulous color because we have been having cold weather down here in south Texas and I hate cold weather. I got some funky earrings that I've been wanting. I got a Pay Day from the Boy Child because he could afford that and he knows Pay Days are one of my guilty pleasures. I got some wonderfully smelling stuff from Bath and Bodyworks. And hubby has a great sense of humor so he wrapped everything up in this fabulous bright pink tote (with an amazing number of pockets) that we got as a free gift for donating to a charity and gave all the gifts to me in that.
But, (everyone always has a big butt, right?) here's what I didn't get that I really wanted. I didn't put any of this on the list, but I'm telling you guys. So, if you can, help a sista' out?
The Unstated Real Birthday List
1. I want my boobs back where they used to be. And, while they (whoever's gonna do this for me) are at it, I'd also like them a titch larger than they are right now. Y'know just to help me get some attention when I need it?
2. I want my hair not to do this weird thing it's started doing called: Growing right out of the front of my head. WTH? Is that some sort of old thing?
3. This one is kinda for women only: I'd like to be On the Cycle Again or Completely Off the Cycle instead of just every 78 days, or every 14 days, or every 112 days, or anytime my body thinks it's time again. Yeesh. I am ready to say good-bye to fertilehood for good.
4. I'd like to be able to remember shiz without writing it down. It's kind of annoying to have a memory that is only three seconds long. And I am kinda tired of Girl 1 always accusing me of having early onset Alzheimer's.
5. I'd really love to be able to text without my bifocals. OLD PERSON ON BOARD. Yeah, that's me. Yeesh. Embarrassing and cumbersome. Oh, and I'd like to be able to text as fast as a tween.
6. I want the skin on my hands back. I have developed in the past five years this weird old people skin on my hands and I don't really like it.
7. These dark circles under my eyes and wrinkles on my forehead need to be cleared up. (I'm thinking when they are working on my boob concerns they can just skip up to my face and fix that.)
8. I'd like my acute hearing back from the 80's. Now, I've never really had great hearing. If you're a long term reader you know that one of my greatest fears is going completely deaf by my fifties. So, I'd really just like to be able to hear. Everything. Like a superpower. Or, just like a regular human.
9. I'd like to be able to drink the amount of beer I want without it going directly to my belly in record time. Remember the good 'ole days when you could stay out all night drinking and not feel any repercussions? Yeah, I want those days back.
10. And, just because I'm a stickler for even numbers. I'd like to eat all the chocolate I want just once. Doesn't everyone want that?
11. Oh, and one more. I'd really like to get the rest of my life figured out. Seriously? What am I going to be when I grow up? (I'm sure hubby would like me to figure that out, too.)
So, friends. Happy birthday to me! Don't worry - I won't put candles on my cake. Safety first!
But, hubby is really great at buying me gifts and celebrating. And the kids start asking way in advance if I'm gonna have a party with a pinata (um, no). Hubby asks me what I want a few weeks before my birthday and just buys what I tell him. Romantic? No. Practical? Yes.
This year was no different. I had kinda gone overboard buying myself Christmas gifts so I tried to really keep it simple. So, I got some low-key, but great stuff that I really wanted. I got another really warm scarf in a fabulous color because we have been having cold weather down here in south Texas and I hate cold weather. I got some funky earrings that I've been wanting. I got a Pay Day from the Boy Child because he could afford that and he knows Pay Days are one of my guilty pleasures. I got some wonderfully smelling stuff from Bath and Bodyworks. And hubby has a great sense of humor so he wrapped everything up in this fabulous bright pink tote (with an amazing number of pockets) that we got as a free gift for donating to a charity and gave all the gifts to me in that.
But, (everyone always has a big butt, right?) here's what I didn't get that I really wanted. I didn't put any of this on the list, but I'm telling you guys. So, if you can, help a sista' out?
The Unstated Real Birthday List
1. I want my boobs back where they used to be. And, while they (whoever's gonna do this for me) are at it, I'd also like them a titch larger than they are right now. Y'know just to help me get some attention when I need it?
2. I want my hair not to do this weird thing it's started doing called: Growing right out of the front of my head. WTH? Is that some sort of old thing?
3. This one is kinda for women only: I'd like to be On the Cycle Again or Completely Off the Cycle instead of just every 78 days, or every 14 days, or every 112 days, or anytime my body thinks it's time again. Yeesh. I am ready to say good-bye to fertilehood for good.
4. I'd like to be able to remember shiz without writing it down. It's kind of annoying to have a memory that is only three seconds long. And I am kinda tired of Girl 1 always accusing me of having early onset Alzheimer's.
5. I'd really love to be able to text without my bifocals. OLD PERSON ON BOARD. Yeah, that's me. Yeesh. Embarrassing and cumbersome. Oh, and I'd like to be able to text as fast as a tween.
6. I want the skin on my hands back. I have developed in the past five years this weird old people skin on my hands and I don't really like it.
7. These dark circles under my eyes and wrinkles on my forehead need to be cleared up. (I'm thinking when they are working on my boob concerns they can just skip up to my face and fix that.)
8. I'd like my acute hearing back from the 80's. Now, I've never really had great hearing. If you're a long term reader you know that one of my greatest fears is going completely deaf by my fifties. So, I'd really just like to be able to hear. Everything. Like a superpower. Or, just like a regular human.
9. I'd like to be able to drink the amount of beer I want without it going directly to my belly in record time. Remember the good 'ole days when you could stay out all night drinking and not feel any repercussions? Yeah, I want those days back.
10. And, just because I'm a stickler for even numbers. I'd like to eat all the chocolate I want just once. Doesn't everyone want that?
11. Oh, and one more. I'd really like to get the rest of my life figured out. Seriously? What am I going to be when I grow up? (I'm sure hubby would like me to figure that out, too.)
So, friends. Happy birthday to me! Don't worry - I won't put candles on my cake. Safety first!
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Shopping Bathing Suits 2012
I am prudishly modest. During the summer when a large part of the human body tends to be exposed, this can be problematic and extremely stressful.
One of the main problems I have is purchasing and wearing a bathing suit. It sucks. It's paralyzingly difficult for me. Am I pear shaped? Apple shaped? Watermelon shaped? Is my "problem area" my buttocks? My hips? My boobs (or lack of)? My stomach? All of the above? Why is that never a choice?
Two summers ago after much painstaking decision making, I settled on two suits I thought I liked. After I wore them each about twice, I decided that I hated them both and that they looked positively awful on me. Because I am frugal and I had not gone cheap on these suits, I begrudgingly wore them for two full summers so that I could feel justified throwing them away and getting new suits. Since I could still not bear to throw away perfectly good suits, thankfully this year one of them came unsewn in the bust (poor workmanship, not big boobs). This was probably something that could have been repaired by someone who knows their way around a sewing machine (not me), but it was excuse enough for me to shop guilt-free for two more suits and let some fortunate soul at Goodwill mess with the two disappointing suits.
So, thus began The Hunt for New Bathing Suits. Does it sound like an epic film? Good, because it *kind of* was.
A fashionista friend of mine had recommended this bathing suit store to me a few years ago and after a miserable run with online shopping for suits (turns out I am no real size in the bottoms or the tops), I was ready to brave it. Now, I think we have covered that I am no shopper, nor am I a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination. I hate to shop and I know fashion about as well as I know tenth grade chemistry. So, shopping for me is next to torture. Shopping for bathing suits is actual torture.
But, I would have made all of you proud. I got a good night's sleep, I dressed myself in approved clothing, I put lots of make-up on (not hookerish, just nicely covered), I drove myself to the mall where this shop was located, and I marched myself into The Bathing Suit Shop (name changed to protect its identity, and I don't know why because now I kind of want to marry the cute gal that works there, but not the Mister that tried to see me naked).
As soon as I was through the door, this super cute, well-rounded (as in - I am sure she would look lovely in any type bathing suit), very young gal came up to me and asked if she could help me.
I have found through the years that I look okay in Boy Short Bottoms that are kind of high waisted (you know to cover all the war wounds I have on my stomach?) so I immediately asked where I could find those.
And, naturally she said, "Oh, boy shorts (like I had said, "sh*t on a stick."). We carry everything but those. Is there something else I could help you with?"
That threw my game off, but I quickly recovered and said, "Well, do you have any suits that um, ah, cover a lot of my body because I have body issues and I don't know what kind of fruit I am?" And, yes, I realize that sounded completely nuts. I know my limitations and I basically wanted this cute young gal to tell me and show me what kind of bathing suit I should be wearing.
This lovely gal did not look at me like I was insane, but instead told me about some different style suits they had, guided me around the store, and left me to my own devices while she helped some other customers.
While I was left to my own devices I noticed there were a lot of men in the store. This made me: 1. Wonder what the hell was going on these days, and 2. More nervous than I already was. Because if there is anything I don't want to see when attempting to pick out full coverage bathing suits, it's lots of men. Yeesh.
Then my phone rang really loudly. It was hubby. I was thankful to be able to excuse myself (to no one in particular, but some nice, young guy nodded in my direction when I said it) from the store to speak on the phone. Hubby asked what I was up to and I said, "Funny you should ask. I am trying to buy a bathing suit and apparently it is a husband's or boyfriend's job nowadays to go with the woman to do this. So, what are you up to?"
Hubby didn't know what to say and quickly said he had to go.
So, I went back in the shark tank and acted like I knew exactly what I was doing and started to pull some suits off the racks. The lovely girl finally came back to help me. Apparently she is psychic because she took one look at what I had selected and said she was going to select some more suits she thought I would like. How did she know?
It is apparently custom in high-end swim suit shops to 1. Not be modest, 2. Have the sales attendant select your suits for you, 3. Be able to speak honestly, and 4. Not have to really do anything, but try the suits on.
I stumbled around for awhile and finally figured out that she had put all the suits she selected for me in the back somewhere. So, I went back to the dressing rooms and found a room where there were about 10 suits she had selected for me hung over the rod at the top of the dressing room door opening. Problem 1: the doors on the rooms were cloth. Lots of room for peek-throughs. Question 1 and 2: How did she know my size? How did she know what I like? Am I that transparent (yes, I know that's three questions)???
So, I pulled the flimsy cloth curtain as tightly closed as I could and proceeded to strip. Now, girls know the Golden Rule in trying on swimsuits and I am referring to your undergarments. And, there in a cute little basket (they don't have these at Target) I saw some disposable panties. I refrained from pulling those out and taking a look-see, so I cannot write about them (you're welcome). I prefer to keep my own undergarments on my own arse (thank you, anyway).
I am standing there, naked on top, when I heard a man's voice very close to me (like right outside the flimsy curtain). He was calling, "Babe, are you here? Babe?"
I freaked out a little. And covered myself. With my hands.
Then I heard a saleswoman say a little forcefully, "Sir, you are not supposed to be back here. I'm going to have to ask you to return to the sales floor."
Then, "Oh, I just wanted to see my wife."
Then a different woman's voice, "I'm right here. Can he just step in the dressing room with me?"
Um, hello??? What kind of a flim-flam operation is this??? Sweet mother of GOD. (While I am now standing completely enthralled with my ear pressed to the curtain and my hands covering my upper regions.)
Then I heard the sales woman again (thank you, Jesus), "No, I am sorry, sir. Only women are allowed in the dressing area. I can have your wife exit this area when she is ready to show you her suits."
Thank you very much.
Relieved I backed away from the curtain and relaxed my arms.
Just then the curtain was sprung open by the cute, well-rounded sales woman who said, "HOW ARE WE DOING HERE?"
"Great!" I said a little too enthusiastically and frantically.
Then I died a little.
The sweet sales woman saw me naked a few more times (I think we bonded) before I was able to decide on two suits. Or, I should say, she decided on two suits for me. I am now convinced that I should not be wearing any kind of two piece anything after the meh responses I got from her. And, I am totally sure I should be wearing "rouched tops to accent my 'smaller bustline' and semi-high waisted bottoms to provide some coverage." She positively gushed at one of my suits - it's fit was "perfect" and it's color was "perfect" and complimented my skin tone "to the tee." And, she picked both of them! I did nothing! But try about 25 suits on and expose myself a few more times. It was almost delightful and I was out of there in about 45 minutes. And, I didn't even need hubby!
Whew. Bathing suit shopping 2012 over! And, I've already worn each suit once and I think I love them. I *might* want to go back and buy more suits in a few years. But since there is a faintly high price tag (as in, you faint when you see the price tag) for this type of bathing suit buying, I might be wearing these suits well in to my seventies. Let's hope my body cooperates!
Happy shopping, friends!
One of the main problems I have is purchasing and wearing a bathing suit. It sucks. It's paralyzingly difficult for me. Am I pear shaped? Apple shaped? Watermelon shaped? Is my "problem area" my buttocks? My hips? My boobs (or lack of)? My stomach? All of the above? Why is that never a choice?
Two summers ago after much painstaking decision making, I settled on two suits I thought I liked. After I wore them each about twice, I decided that I hated them both and that they looked positively awful on me. Because I am frugal and I had not gone cheap on these suits, I begrudgingly wore them for two full summers so that I could feel justified throwing them away and getting new suits. Since I could still not bear to throw away perfectly good suits, thankfully this year one of them came unsewn in the bust (poor workmanship, not big boobs). This was probably something that could have been repaired by someone who knows their way around a sewing machine (not me), but it was excuse enough for me to shop guilt-free for two more suits and let some fortunate soul at Goodwill mess with the two disappointing suits.
So, thus began The Hunt for New Bathing Suits. Does it sound like an epic film? Good, because it *kind of* was.
A fashionista friend of mine had recommended this bathing suit store to me a few years ago and after a miserable run with online shopping for suits (turns out I am no real size in the bottoms or the tops), I was ready to brave it. Now, I think we have covered that I am no shopper, nor am I a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination. I hate to shop and I know fashion about as well as I know tenth grade chemistry. So, shopping for me is next to torture. Shopping for bathing suits is actual torture.
But, I would have made all of you proud. I got a good night's sleep, I dressed myself in approved clothing, I put lots of make-up on (not hookerish, just nicely covered), I drove myself to the mall where this shop was located, and I marched myself into The Bathing Suit Shop (name changed to protect its identity, and I don't know why because now I kind of want to marry the cute gal that works there, but not the Mister that tried to see me naked).
As soon as I was through the door, this super cute, well-rounded (as in - I am sure she would look lovely in any type bathing suit), very young gal came up to me and asked if she could help me.
I have found through the years that I look okay in Boy Short Bottoms that are kind of high waisted (you know to cover all the war wounds I have on my stomach?) so I immediately asked where I could find those.
And, naturally she said, "Oh, boy shorts (like I had said, "sh*t on a stick."). We carry everything but those. Is there something else I could help you with?"
That threw my game off, but I quickly recovered and said, "Well, do you have any suits that um, ah, cover a lot of my body because I have body issues and I don't know what kind of fruit I am?" And, yes, I realize that sounded completely nuts. I know my limitations and I basically wanted this cute young gal to tell me and show me what kind of bathing suit I should be wearing.
 |
| This is kind of what I had in mind. photo from http://thehijabworld.com/ |
This lovely gal did not look at me like I was insane, but instead told me about some different style suits they had, guided me around the store, and left me to my own devices while she helped some other customers.
While I was left to my own devices I noticed there were a lot of men in the store. This made me: 1. Wonder what the hell was going on these days, and 2. More nervous than I already was. Because if there is anything I don't want to see when attempting to pick out full coverage bathing suits, it's lots of men. Yeesh.
Then my phone rang really loudly. It was hubby. I was thankful to be able to excuse myself (to no one in particular, but some nice, young guy nodded in my direction when I said it) from the store to speak on the phone. Hubby asked what I was up to and I said, "Funny you should ask. I am trying to buy a bathing suit and apparently it is a husband's or boyfriend's job nowadays to go with the woman to do this. So, what are you up to?"
Hubby didn't know what to say and quickly said he had to go.
So, I went back in the shark tank and acted like I knew exactly what I was doing and started to pull some suits off the racks. The lovely girl finally came back to help me. Apparently she is psychic because she took one look at what I had selected and said she was going to select some more suits she thought I would like. How did she know?
It is apparently custom in high-end swim suit shops to 1. Not be modest, 2. Have the sales attendant select your suits for you, 3. Be able to speak honestly, and 4. Not have to really do anything, but try the suits on.
I stumbled around for awhile and finally figured out that she had put all the suits she selected for me in the back somewhere. So, I went back to the dressing rooms and found a room where there were about 10 suits she had selected for me hung over the rod at the top of the dressing room door opening. Problem 1: the doors on the rooms were cloth. Lots of room for peek-throughs. Question 1 and 2: How did she know my size? How did she know what I like? Am I that transparent (yes, I know that's three questions)???
So, I pulled the flimsy cloth curtain as tightly closed as I could and proceeded to strip. Now, girls know the Golden Rule in trying on swimsuits and I am referring to your undergarments. And, there in a cute little basket (they don't have these at Target) I saw some disposable panties. I refrained from pulling those out and taking a look-see, so I cannot write about them (you're welcome). I prefer to keep my own undergarments on my own arse (thank you, anyway).
I am standing there, naked on top, when I heard a man's voice very close to me (like right outside the flimsy curtain). He was calling, "Babe, are you here? Babe?"
I freaked out a little. And covered myself. With my hands.
Then I heard a saleswoman say a little forcefully, "Sir, you are not supposed to be back here. I'm going to have to ask you to return to the sales floor."
Then, "Oh, I just wanted to see my wife."
Then a different woman's voice, "I'm right here. Can he just step in the dressing room with me?"
Um, hello??? What kind of a flim-flam operation is this??? Sweet mother of GOD. (While I am now standing completely enthralled with my ear pressed to the curtain and my hands covering my upper regions.)
Then I heard the sales woman again (thank you, Jesus), "No, I am sorry, sir. Only women are allowed in the dressing area. I can have your wife exit this area when she is ready to show you her suits."
Thank you very much.
Relieved I backed away from the curtain and relaxed my arms.
Just then the curtain was sprung open by the cute, well-rounded sales woman who said, "HOW ARE WE DOING HERE?"
"Great!" I said a little too enthusiastically and frantically.
Then I died a little.
The sweet sales woman saw me naked a few more times (I think we bonded) before I was able to decide on two suits. Or, I should say, she decided on two suits for me. I am now convinced that I should not be wearing any kind of two piece anything after the meh responses I got from her. And, I am totally sure I should be wearing "rouched tops to accent my 'smaller bustline' and semi-high waisted bottoms to provide some coverage." She positively gushed at one of my suits - it's fit was "perfect" and it's color was "perfect" and complimented my skin tone "to the tee." And, she picked both of them! I did nothing! But try about 25 suits on and expose myself a few more times. It was almost delightful and I was out of there in about 45 minutes. And, I didn't even need hubby!
Whew. Bathing suit shopping 2012 over! And, I've already worn each suit once and I think I love them. I *might* want to go back and buy more suits in a few years. But since there is a faintly high price tag (as in, you faint when you see the price tag) for this type of bathing suit buying, I might be wearing these suits well in to my seventies. Let's hope my body cooperates!
Happy shopping, friends!
Monday, May 21, 2012
America's Got Talent and so can you....or can you?
My family's summer ritual is to watch America's Got Talent as many times as is humanly possible. Call us lame. Or deprived. Or depraved. But, that's what we do. It's good wholesome TV for the kids (except when they've had strippers on, oh and the people that stick sharp objects into their body orifices, oh and the guy who told dirty jokes - other than all of those folks - totally wholesome). And, frankly it's TV worth watching. Aside from the teensy fact that it makes me feel completely without talent. No talent whatsoever. I think to myself every time I watch it: I am really not talented. At anything.
The older I get, the more this bugs me. I find myself thinking as I watch fire breathers, tight rope walkers, and vaudeville performers, where did my parents go wrong? Were all these performers raised by clowns or bearded ladies? Was raw talent just in their genes? Was my problem that I had the No Talent genes? (I really think that theory is flawed because there are many talented people in my family - damn them.)
Or, I think: Did these people go to body orifice piercing school? Did they take endless lessons in break dancing, jumping rope, and juggling? Did my mom somehow miss fliers that came home from my school for those summer camps? Or did she see them and then decide (without asking me) that I wouldn't be interested in learning how to stick a straw up one nostril and pull it down through the other?
While I ponder all the reasons why I seem to have drawn the talent short stick (until October when AGT will be over), here's a short list of things I really wish I had a teensy bit of talent in (talent in? talent with? talent for? in which I had talent??? English teacher, please? And another pathetic reminder that I have no talent IN GRAMMAR.)
1. Breathing fire. I hear it is incredibly damaging to your insides and probably will kill you, but just one time it would be cool to go out in my driveway, call the neighbors over, and breathe some fire. Like a dragon. Then we could like hang out and have a barbecue (which I would fire up, naturally) or something.
2. Tight rope walking. About two years ago, hubby thought we were natural tight rope walkers and that maybe we could sell our kids to the circus. That is why he bought our family a slackline and put it up in our backyard. I thought I could master it, so I practiced and practiced. While the kids seem to be fairly good at it and have gotten considerably better than when hubby first put it up, two years later I can still only go about three steps without falling. Turns out tight rope walking is REALLY HARD (even when it's only about one foot off the ground).
3. Breakdancing. This is another one of those talents that I just wish I had for neighborhood parties or get togethers. It would be so great to impress my friends by just hitting the floor.......with my head. And then spinning around on it.
4. Juggling. Who doesn't want to juggle? I imagine myself sitting at a meeting (Not that I go to meetings anymore. Except with my kids - like family meetings. And, actually, this would really command their attention at a family meeting.), nonchalantly pulling out some soft balls *ha* from my pocket *ha-ha*, and starting to juggle them. Everyone would be thinking, "WHY IS SHE HERE AT THIS MEETING? Send her to VEGAS."
5. Jumping rope. I can manage some pretty basic jumping, but what I really want to be able to do is all the fancy stuff. I want to criss-cross, one-hand it, do a cart wheel or back-flip through it, and other fun stuff. Now, this just really looks fun - I wouldn't necessarily want to perform it in front of anyone (that would be showing off).
6. Pole tricks. Now, get your mind out of the gutter. I didn't type "pole dancing," and apparently there is a difference. One is done mainly in strip clubs, for money (or in people's own homes for "entertainment") - the other is done for sport (if you can call it that). (Oh, add "a man dressed in heels dancing practically naked with some poles" to the times AGT was not quite wholesome entertainment for my kids.) Unfortunately, in the two instances I have seen - the sport started with the other. Now, while I am pretty sure hubby would condone me learning the sport, I doubt he would approve of me doing it in strip clubs for money in order to be able to "learn" the sport. (And with the state of this "over 30" body I doubt it would bring us a dollar or lead to much "practice.") To have the arm strength that these people have would really make me happy and I am sure hubby would say yes to me "practicing" right in the privacy and convenience of our bedroom.
7. Opera singing. Just kidding. Who the hell wants to opera sing for fun? Seriously. The only time I *kinda* wish I could opera sing is when we are at a baseball game and the national anthem is played. Then a small part of me wishes I could just belt it out and have all the people around me be all, "WOWZA. That girl's got some lungs on her. She should be on America's Got Talent with that pair." Then during the game I would be all shouting at the players clever little remarks and those same people would think it was cool that I could sing opera and shout obscenities at the players with the same set of lungs. Only then do I wish I could sing opera.
That's my short list. While I dream that I have these talents I will continue perfecting the "talents" I do have by: running a gazillion errands, catching up on laundry, haphazardly cleaning the bathrooms, and cooking a mediocre dinner for today.
The older I get, the more this bugs me. I find myself thinking as I watch fire breathers, tight rope walkers, and vaudeville performers, where did my parents go wrong? Were all these performers raised by clowns or bearded ladies? Was raw talent just in their genes? Was my problem that I had the No Talent genes? (I really think that theory is flawed because there are many talented people in my family - damn them.)
Or, I think: Did these people go to body orifice piercing school? Did they take endless lessons in break dancing, jumping rope, and juggling? Did my mom somehow miss fliers that came home from my school for those summer camps? Or did she see them and then decide (without asking me) that I wouldn't be interested in learning how to stick a straw up one nostril and pull it down through the other?
While I ponder all the reasons why I seem to have drawn the talent short stick (until October when AGT will be over), here's a short list of things I really wish I had a teensy bit of talent in (talent in? talent with? talent for? in which I had talent??? English teacher, please? And another pathetic reminder that I have no talent IN GRAMMAR.)
1. Breathing fire. I hear it is incredibly damaging to your insides and probably will kill you, but just one time it would be cool to go out in my driveway, call the neighbors over, and breathe some fire. Like a dragon. Then we could like hang out and have a barbecue (which I would fire up, naturally) or something.
2. Tight rope walking. About two years ago, hubby thought we were natural tight rope walkers and that maybe we could sell our kids to the circus. That is why he bought our family a slackline and put it up in our backyard. I thought I could master it, so I practiced and practiced. While the kids seem to be fairly good at it and have gotten considerably better than when hubby first put it up, two years later I can still only go about three steps without falling. Turns out tight rope walking is REALLY HARD (even when it's only about one foot off the ground).
3. Breakdancing. This is another one of those talents that I just wish I had for neighborhood parties or get togethers. It would be so great to impress my friends by just hitting the floor.......with my head. And then spinning around on it.
4. Juggling. Who doesn't want to juggle? I imagine myself sitting at a meeting (Not that I go to meetings anymore. Except with my kids - like family meetings. And, actually, this would really command their attention at a family meeting.), nonchalantly pulling out some soft balls *ha* from my pocket *ha-ha*, and starting to juggle them. Everyone would be thinking, "WHY IS SHE HERE AT THIS MEETING? Send her to VEGAS."
5. Jumping rope. I can manage some pretty basic jumping, but what I really want to be able to do is all the fancy stuff. I want to criss-cross, one-hand it, do a cart wheel or back-flip through it, and other fun stuff. Now, this just really looks fun - I wouldn't necessarily want to perform it in front of anyone (that would be showing off).
6. Pole tricks. Now, get your mind out of the gutter. I didn't type "pole dancing," and apparently there is a difference. One is done mainly in strip clubs, for money (or in people's own homes for "entertainment") - the other is done for sport (if you can call it that). (Oh, add "a man dressed in heels dancing practically naked with some poles" to the times AGT was not quite wholesome entertainment for my kids.) Unfortunately, in the two instances I have seen - the sport started with the other. Now, while I am pretty sure hubby would condone me learning the sport, I doubt he would approve of me doing it in strip clubs for money in order to be able to "learn" the sport. (And with the state of this "over 30" body I doubt it would bring us a dollar or lead to much "practice.") To have the arm strength that these people have would really make me happy and I am sure hubby would say yes to me "practicing" right in the privacy and convenience of our bedroom.
7. Opera singing. Just kidding. Who the hell wants to opera sing for fun? Seriously. The only time I *kinda* wish I could opera sing is when we are at a baseball game and the national anthem is played. Then a small part of me wishes I could just belt it out and have all the people around me be all, "WOWZA. That girl's got some lungs on her. She should be on America's Got Talent with that pair." Then during the game I would be all shouting at the players clever little remarks and those same people would think it was cool that I could sing opera and shout obscenities at the players with the same set of lungs. Only then do I wish I could sing opera.
That's my short list. While I dream that I have these talents I will continue perfecting the "talents" I do have by: running a gazillion errands, catching up on laundry, haphazardly cleaning the bathrooms, and cooking a mediocre dinner for today.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Turn your calendar. Summer's here.
It's SUMMER! Can you believe it? Summer always comes with mixed emotions for me. The good: no more lunches to pack, no more schedule to follow, no more homework to help with, no more bedtime to adhere to, no more teachers to explain to. The bad: my kids are aging before my eyes. The ugly: Me having my midlife crisis and crying in random places that are embarrassing to my four kids and my four kids whining about me crying in weird places. So, I know that's kind of disjointed, but that's why you haven't heard from me in a while. Basically, I've been happy/sad that my kids are successfully growing up and passing to the next grade. (I didn't say I was rationale.)
I desperately want to be happy about summer because I love summer, but I feel a tugging at my heart (or it could just be that midlife crisis thing) knowing that we don't have that much time left. Nuts, huh? The kids are in elementary for heaven's sake. I know. Even as I type it (or think it for that matter) it seems crazy. But it's how I feel. I look at them and I can barely remember when the older three were 3, 2, and 1. And, sadly I don't really want to remember much from those days.
Looking back it seems that I spent much of that time wishing they were older and could do more for themselves because...I was flat-out exhausted. Now, I spend a lot of time being amazed (and just a little sad) about how much they don't need me anymore.
The retrospection has been mostly good. I try to spend more time now enjoying the moments rather than wishing for the future. I am excited for this summer. I am excited to have more time with them (and, yes, you can quote me on that later - like tomorrow - when I am ready to ship them all to summer school). Happy dog days!
I desperately want to be happy about summer because I love summer, but I feel a tugging at my heart (or it could just be that midlife crisis thing) knowing that we don't have that much time left. Nuts, huh? The kids are in elementary for heaven's sake. I know. Even as I type it (or think it for that matter) it seems crazy. But it's how I feel. I look at them and I can barely remember when the older three were 3, 2, and 1. And, sadly I don't really want to remember much from those days.
Looking back it seems that I spent much of that time wishing they were older and could do more for themselves because...I was flat-out exhausted. Now, I spend a lot of time being amazed (and just a little sad) about how much they don't need me anymore.
The retrospection has been mostly good. I try to spend more time now enjoying the moments rather than wishing for the future. I am excited for this summer. I am excited to have more time with them (and, yes, you can quote me on that later - like tomorrow - when I am ready to ship them all to summer school). Happy dog days!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Don't panic. Mom's having (another) midlife crisis.
Today I decided to get on a bicycle. I know. What's the big deal, right? Well, I am going to tell you The Big Deal. I haven't been on a bike in about 15 years, it was a BMX bike, I had a full face helmet on (very attractive), and my hubby and my kids expected me to go up and down these wild dirt bumps (that if they had SNOW on them would be moguls) called "rollers" on our pump track out back.
You are probably thinking, "Sheesh. Whose idea was that???" Right??? Well, it was mine. Call me crazy (I have been calling myself that all day). I have been trying to figure out why in the HELL I would want to do this. And, I can't quite put my finger on it. Here is my list so far:
1. I am having a midlife crisis (another one).
2. I am going insane.
3. I have a death wish.
4. I have become obsessive about fitness.
5. I want to conquer a fear I have of anything that might hurt.
6. I have a competitive heart (I know. That one is REALLY a long shot).
7. I haven't been able to roller derby or write a book so I figure riding the hell out of a bike and not killing myself could quite possibly be the next best thing.
8. I want to spend more time with my hubby and the kids (say what???).
9. I thought about taking up knitting, but the bike and the helmet were here already.
So, enough about WHY. Let me tell you what happened. I think a timeline would be good.
10:00 a.m. - I was confident that I would be able to do the rollers after a little practice on the rest of our 100 foot loop pump track. I happily put workout pants and a long sleeve t-shirt on and headed out back. I wore hubby's full face helmet (which is really HEAVY) and used one of his bikes (more about the bike later). It took me a few minutes to maneuver the bike back to the track. When I put the bike on the track (which, sadly, is the first time I have looked at the track from the track) I realized there is NO SAFE PLACE to practice on the track. My six year old told me the best way to start was to get on the top of a bump and just ride down and start riding up and down. It took me a while to actually get ON one of those bumps (which, I have to say at 10:00 in the morning - and from the top - looked more like small mountains).
10:05 - I was finally at the top of a roller ready to start my first ever ride around the track when I just froze (in fear) and began to tip right over. This was really crazy (and very funny to my kids, apparently) because I wasn't actually going anywhere. I just tipped over - not all the way. I caught myself and hubby very gently said, "Babe. I think it might be good if you practice a little in the cul-de-sac." I did not take this condescendingly and promptly got off the track and onto the pavement out front.
10:15 - It took me a good 10 minutes to maneuver the bike off the damn track and back to the front where it was safe. I had done NO ACTUAL RIDING and I swear I could have downed a Gatorade, and I am pretty sure I was sweating under that 20 pound helmet.
10:17 - I was on the PK Ripper in the front wondering how in the hell you ride a bike when hubby said (a little more forcefully), "Go, babe!" Now, the PK Ripper is a tiny little (clown) bike which has an actual technical name (that I can't remember) and is used for an actual technical purpose. (That purpose is not to have a mother of four riding a bike for the first time in 15 years.) Before I could take off I had to show hubby that my knees were hitting the handlebars of this clown bike and that I thought it was too small. "It's supposed to be like that, babe. Anyway, you don't sit down. Just ride standing up. Go!" I think it was at that point that my nine year old chimed in, "Mom. Are you sure you know how to ride a bike??? I mean, did you learn when you were a little girl???"
Meanwhile, I am thinking that I am not really up to testing the adage, "Once you learn how to ride a bike....blah, blah, blah." Not to mention the fact that I was not sure I remembered how to RIDE STANDING UP??? At this point I was sure I had not fully thought this midlife crisis out.
10:19 - I did my first spin around the neighborhood on the PK Ripper. Well, technically it was just about 20 yards to the mailboxes, but the kids were all cheering for me (and I am pretty sure hubby was rolling his eyes at me behind my back). I did not fall down...but, I did not stand up.
I must digress to tell you readers that I distinctly remember as a child riding standing up most of the time. It took little to no effort. HAVE YOU PEOPLE TRIED RIDING STANDING UP LATELY??? Jeesh. Not only is it a trick of balance (of which - I have NONE), it requires strength. Now, funny story about strength. This midlife crisis has been building up for quite a while, so I have been working out. I have been working out with Kim Kardashian (KK), some Reebok lady, and with my 30 pound baby, her 30 pound stroller, my Nikes and the hills right here in my neighborhood. Well, none of this prepared me for standing up on the damn bike. It was hard.....when I finally did it.
10:25 - After I felt I had mastered "to the mailboxes and back" I decided to try standing up. It didn't work out too well. I was really wobbly. Hubby told me to get off the PK Ripper and get on the cruiser. It would be safer he told me.
10:30 to around 10:40 - I rode around (standing up) on the cruiser on the pavement in the cul-de-sac.
10:40 - The kids got tired of cheering me after my first ride and started racing each other and trying to "stay out of mom's way." My youngest biker (who is 6) started asking me if I was ever going to ride the track.
10:41 - I felt fairly accomplished and so my six year old and I headed back to the pump track.
10:45 - 11:00 - I tried to do the rollers. My six year old coached me.........very patiently. I started to tip many times and then finally I did one side of the rollers (well, if you don't count all the times I put my feet down because I was SCARED). Just to feel accomplished I did the rollers three times while all the kids and hubby breezed around me.
11:10 - I took the helmet off. The nine year old said, "Mom, are you done??? You are really sweaty. Are you okay?"
11:15 - I came inside and promptly fell sound asleep on the hardwood floor downstairs while the kids screamed and played around me and baby peed her pants.
So, where do we go from here? I have no idea. I have a deep desire to conquer the rollers, my butt hurts, my kids are less enthusiastic about me riding a bike than they were before today, I think hubby thinks I am a little nuts, and KK is going to be pissed at me when I can't work out with her tomorrow because I can't lift my arms.
Check me later. I will either be racing at the actual track or knitting a large afghan. Either way - another crisis down.
You are probably thinking, "Sheesh. Whose idea was that???" Right??? Well, it was mine. Call me crazy (I have been calling myself that all day). I have been trying to figure out why in the HELL I would want to do this. And, I can't quite put my finger on it. Here is my list so far:
1. I am having a midlife crisis (another one).
2. I am going insane.
3. I have a death wish.
4. I have become obsessive about fitness.
5. I want to conquer a fear I have of anything that might hurt.
6. I have a competitive heart (I know. That one is REALLY a long shot).
7. I haven't been able to roller derby or write a book so I figure riding the hell out of a bike and not killing myself could quite possibly be the next best thing.
8. I want to spend more time with my hubby and the kids (say what???).
9. I thought about taking up knitting, but the bike and the helmet were here already.
So, enough about WHY. Let me tell you what happened. I think a timeline would be good.
10:00 a.m. - I was confident that I would be able to do the rollers after a little practice on the rest of our 100 foot loop pump track. I happily put workout pants and a long sleeve t-shirt on and headed out back. I wore hubby's full face helmet (which is really HEAVY) and used one of his bikes (more about the bike later). It took me a few minutes to maneuver the bike back to the track. When I put the bike on the track (which, sadly, is the first time I have looked at the track from the track) I realized there is NO SAFE PLACE to practice on the track. My six year old told me the best way to start was to get on the top of a bump and just ride down and start riding up and down. It took me a while to actually get ON one of those bumps (which, I have to say at 10:00 in the morning - and from the top - looked more like small mountains).
10:05 - I was finally at the top of a roller ready to start my first ever ride around the track when I just froze (in fear) and began to tip right over. This was really crazy (and very funny to my kids, apparently) because I wasn't actually going anywhere. I just tipped over - not all the way. I caught myself and hubby very gently said, "Babe. I think it might be good if you practice a little in the cul-de-sac." I did not take this condescendingly and promptly got off the track and onto the pavement out front.
10:15 - It took me a good 10 minutes to maneuver the bike off the damn track and back to the front where it was safe. I had done NO ACTUAL RIDING and I swear I could have downed a Gatorade, and I am pretty sure I was sweating under that 20 pound helmet.
10:17 - I was on the PK Ripper in the front wondering how in the hell you ride a bike when hubby said (a little more forcefully), "Go, babe!" Now, the PK Ripper is a tiny little (clown) bike which has an actual technical name (that I can't remember) and is used for an actual technical purpose. (That purpose is not to have a mother of four riding a bike for the first time in 15 years.) Before I could take off I had to show hubby that my knees were hitting the handlebars of this clown bike and that I thought it was too small. "It's supposed to be like that, babe. Anyway, you don't sit down. Just ride standing up. Go!" I think it was at that point that my nine year old chimed in, "Mom. Are you sure you know how to ride a bike??? I mean, did you learn when you were a little girl???"
Meanwhile, I am thinking that I am not really up to testing the adage, "Once you learn how to ride a bike....blah, blah, blah." Not to mention the fact that I was not sure I remembered how to RIDE STANDING UP??? At this point I was sure I had not fully thought this midlife crisis out.
10:19 - I did my first spin around the neighborhood on the PK Ripper. Well, technically it was just about 20 yards to the mailboxes, but the kids were all cheering for me (and I am pretty sure hubby was rolling his eyes at me behind my back). I did not fall down...but, I did not stand up.
I must digress to tell you readers that I distinctly remember as a child riding standing up most of the time. It took little to no effort. HAVE YOU PEOPLE TRIED RIDING STANDING UP LATELY??? Jeesh. Not only is it a trick of balance (of which - I have NONE), it requires strength. Now, funny story about strength. This midlife crisis has been building up for quite a while, so I have been working out. I have been working out with Kim Kardashian (KK), some Reebok lady, and with my 30 pound baby, her 30 pound stroller, my Nikes and the hills right here in my neighborhood. Well, none of this prepared me for standing up on the damn bike. It was hard.....when I finally did it.
10:25 - After I felt I had mastered "to the mailboxes and back" I decided to try standing up. It didn't work out too well. I was really wobbly. Hubby told me to get off the PK Ripper and get on the cruiser. It would be safer he told me.
10:30 to around 10:40 - I rode around (standing up) on the cruiser on the pavement in the cul-de-sac.
10:40 - The kids got tired of cheering me after my first ride and started racing each other and trying to "stay out of mom's way." My youngest biker (who is 6) started asking me if I was ever going to ride the track.
10:41 - I felt fairly accomplished and so my six year old and I headed back to the pump track.
10:45 - 11:00 - I tried to do the rollers. My six year old coached me.........very patiently. I started to tip many times and then finally I did one side of the rollers (well, if you don't count all the times I put my feet down because I was SCARED). Just to feel accomplished I did the rollers three times while all the kids and hubby breezed around me.
11:10 - I took the helmet off. The nine year old said, "Mom, are you done??? You are really sweaty. Are you okay?"
11:15 - I came inside and promptly fell sound asleep on the hardwood floor downstairs while the kids screamed and played around me and baby peed her pants.
So, where do we go from here? I have no idea. I have a deep desire to conquer the rollers, my butt hurts, my kids are less enthusiastic about me riding a bike than they were before today, I think hubby thinks I am a little nuts, and KK is going to be pissed at me when I can't work out with her tomorrow because I can't lift my arms.
Check me later. I will either be racing at the actual track or knitting a large afghan. Either way - another crisis down.
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