If you could see me

A while back Crouching Mommy, Hidden Laundry asked what would you see if you could view my webcam. I decided to tell you.

Always, always, you would see my husband’s saltwater reef aquarium. It is very colorful and filled with live corals, anemones, starfish, snails, crabs, shrimp, and lots of brilliantly colored fish. The whole reason we got the webcam is because my husband is so enamored of his aquarium that he wants to be able to look at it periodically throughout his work day.

The problem with the webcam is that it really shows most of my family room in addition to the aquarium. You can see whoever happens to be sitting at Brad’s computer, our couch, and even into the kitchen. That’s why my webcam might make interesting viewing material if you were able to watch it. Depending on the time of day, this is what you might see:

Morning: Often in the morning, if you looked into my family room you would see me in nothing but knickers and a brassiere because my laundry is an ongoing process and sometimes I fold it in the family room and leave it to put up the next day. That usually means that I forget and take my shower and start getting dressed when I suddenly realize all of my T-shirts are in the floor in the family room. So, you would see me prance into the family room scantily clad and then you would see me hunker down and cross my arms over my body as I remembered the web cam.

Mid-day: If I am home, you would see me sitting on the couch with Crash as he watches cartoons. Sometimes I lie back and close my eyes and sometimes I sit and play on my laptop. Of course, many times I simply snuggle up to Crash and listen to his running commentary on the cartoons and the commercials.

Afternoon: This is about the time of day that I begin wanting to pull my hair out. Both kids are home from school and they tear around the house making messes. I forbid after school television so the kids often buck my authority on that one and end up being sent to their room. My oldest has a habit of “forgetting” that he has homework so you would possibly see my eyes bug out when I realize that he has been playing for an hour and hasn’t touched his homework. And I am sure you would be understanding and tolerant if you saw me pour a glass of wine around this time of day. I need it to dull the pain when I start banging my head against the wall.

Evening: This is the time of day when you might see me flop down on the couch and tell my husband, “I’ve dealt with them all afternoon. Now it is your turn.” You may see me scurrying about my kitchen preparing dinner or you may see me begging and pleading for my husband to take us out for dinner so I won’t have to clean the kitchen. By now, homework is done so you will probably see the kids run in and out the back door five zillion times because they seem to think that I can afford to provide air conditioning to the entire neighborhood.

Nighttime: Usually you will see Brad and I sitting on the couch watching TV or just talking. Very often, we fold laundry as we watch Smallville, Stargate, or Medium. This is also the time of day when you will see me crawl up in Brad’s lap and distract him if I feel he is not paying me enough attention. Sometimes you will see me sitting in the floor in front of the couch with a blanket wrapped around me like a towel while Brad massages my neck and shoulders. And the odds are excellent that you will see Brad standing mesmerized in front of his aquarium watching the fish swim by.

However, if you were looking at my web cam at this very moment, you would see me hit “Publish Post” and walk out of the family room because I am going to bed, folks.

the one about Seattle

I haven’t really written about my trip to Seattle. Not because it wasn’t great but because I have been worn out and a little stressed because it seems that God has smote my family with illness. First my stepfather, then my grandmother, and now Brad’s grandmother have all been hospitalized in my town in the past three weeks.

The trip to Seattle was wonderful. Wonderful, I tell you. It only rained once while we were there and it was the morning that we spent in the spa so it certainly didn’t interfere with any sightseeing. Why were we at the spa? As for me and Britnee, we got 80 minute facials. It was my first real facial and all I can say is: My God. I was in love with the facial lady at the end of 80 minutes. I learned that a facial doesn’t only involve the face. She worked on my face, oh yes. In fact, it felt so good when she smoothed and massaged my facial muscles that I had to work to avoid moaning aloud. I kept thinking of the Friends episode where Phoebe refuses to massage Monica because she moans too much. So, that’s why I didn’t moan during the facial. Much.

But she also massaged my chest and neck, my shoulders and head, and my arms and hands. Some of the muscles she expertly kneaded are so neglected that I really had no idea it could feel so good to have them massaged. One was the pectoral muscle just next to the armpit. I actually did moan when she massaged that one. I asked, “Is that a pressure point or what? It just feels too wonderful.” She told me that most clients are surprised at the stress in the pectoral muscle. The other really great part of the massage was when she worked on my hands. After she had rubbed my biceps and triceps and pulled on my arms and smoothed sweet smelling oils into my skin, she laced her fingers through mine and rubbed the palm of my hand with her thumb. Oh. My. God. Who knew a hand massage could be so lovely?

*ahem*

I just realized that I started out writing about the trip in general and ended up writing about the facial as though it was some sort of orgasmic experience. It wasn’t. But close.

As for the rest of the trip: Pike’s Place Market was really wonderful. The fishmongers were highly entertaining. I couldn’t believe how may kiosks were selling fresh cut flowers. They were selling mostly tulips and daffodils actually. They were so beautiful and very inexpensive. Britnee and I picked out a bouquet for our suite but decided not to buy it when we realized we had no vase in which to arrange it. My favorite part of the market was the fruit. I bought grapes, raspberries and blueberries and they were all so fresh and so perfectly ripe that flavor exploded in my mouth with every bite. The grapes tasted like they had just been plucked from the vine. In fact, they reminded me of the summers when my brother and I rode our bikes through the alleys and picked grapes off of our neighbors vines which grew up and over the fences.

The real highlight of the trip, though, was Butchart Gardens in Victoria, Canada. The flowers were breathtakingly beautiful and the air was so beautifully perfumed with the scent of hyacinths. Britnee said it best: “This is how I imagine Heaven must be.” It was worth the several hours it took to travel to and from Canada both on highways and on ferries. Just look at some of these pictures and tell me it is not a little piece of Heaven on Earth.

Despite all of the fun activities and beautiful sights and good food, my favorite part of the trip was simply spending time with family and friends. I found myself wishing it didn’t take a 50th birthday to bring us all together. I wish we could get together at least once a year. The truth is that we all lead very busy lives that make it difficult to find time for rest and relaxation and family bonding. But I am oh, so glad we found time this year. It’s nice to be with family and realize that we are not so alone in the world. There are other people who look like me, talk like me, and have many of the same personality quirks as me. There are people who share my blood and DNA and that is very comforting somehow. Very comforting indeed.

Too often

Last night, as I sat in the emergency department next to the stretcher upon which Brad’s frail little grandmother rested, I wrote a kick ass post. If I do say so myself. The only problem is that I was smote from Heaven with an invisible force which erased fully half of the post. And I don’t know about you but I have not the energy to pour into writing another kick ass post. Because, when I am really on my game and write well, the words just flow from my fingertips without a whole lot of effort or brain power on my part. It was almost impossible to write another post as inspired as the first post. So I gave up. Because I have been thinking of giving up completely anyway. On blogging, I mean. I keep wondering if anyone would even notice and if I would miss it. Of course, I know the answer to that second part. I would miss it terribly. But it seems more and more to me that I have very little interesting information to pass along these days. And I feel badly about that because I don’t want to let down those people who come here to read my posts everyday.

I am very tired. My trip to Seattle was fabulous. Utterly fabulous. But good Lordy! It exhausted me. Add to that the fact that I had to go sit with Brad’s grandmother last night until 1:00 am when his parents were able to make it to the hospital. Once I got home, it took me two hours to wind down so I didn’t go to sleep until 3AM.

When I am tired, I am very emotionally vulnerable. I cry a lot when I am tired. Even when I am crying, I know it is because I am just exhausted. But it doesn’t help to know such things. It still feels bad to cry. I don’t mean just a little bit of crying. I mean Niagara Falls. I mean heaving sobs. I mean a full blown pity party. I call my friends when I get tired of crying to myself and they shush me softly at first and then give me pep talks and finally get exasperated and decide they have no idea what to say to me but they have better things to do than to listen to me bitch and moan all day. I can’t blame them really. I get on my own nerves when I am like this.

Yesterday was my day for crying. Today was my day to look in the mirror and question every aspect of myself. I criticized my nose, my hair, my eyebrows. I cursed the skin on my chest because it looks perpetually sunburned from my years in the sun as a lifeguard. I scowled at my stretchmarks and felt sick when I looked at what seems to me to be far too much padding on my hips, belly and thighs. I looked at my feet and wished they were smaller. Basically, I could find nothing about myself that seemed acceptable and certainly nothing to be praised.

This growing older business is not for me. I may be having this small crisis because my birthday looms near. Every year on my birthday I tell myself that I will look fabulous by the time I see another birthday. Every year I am faced with the reality that I never change much and that I have seen my best years already.

I am still tired. I hope to feel rested when I wake up tomorrow. Maybe I will be able to look in the mirror and like what I see. Maybe not.

I do know that the lyrics from one song have been running through my head all day.

One of these days I’m gonna love me And feel the joy of sweet release One of these days I’ll rise above me And then at last I’ll know some peace Then I’m gonna laugh a little Maybe even cry a little One of these days I’m gonna love me

Medical Mystery

It’s not Heather, and I’m sure at this point she’s pretty much convinced that I won’t post anything, but here I (Brenda) am.
I spent today at a medical conference here in town. Our hospital had a booth, so I had to be there, but it was very good despite my work-mandated attendance.

Yes, I’m the one that Heather took to lunch because I’m overwhelmed at work and my blood pressure is high. Now everybody knows that high blood pressure is not something to be trifled with–or if you don’t know, you should. In the past, we’ve been pretty relaxed about blood pressure, but elevated blood pressure can increase your risk of heart attack, heart failure and stroke.

When my blood pressure went up, I wasn’t too worried about the heart attack (I consider it a good way to die), but heart failure is debilitating, and having a stroke terrifies me. My blood pressure was at it’s lowest 130/80 and at the highest, 147/93. I wasted no time in seeing the doctor and getting on blood pressure medication, then titrating until my blood pressure is less than 120 systolic (the top number). In fact, it’s running about 114/63, which is great. Despite my willingness to take medicine to get my blood pressure down, I have been ignoring one little thing that we all know about hypertension–I should be on a low salt diet. Now, I love salt. Especially sea salt, or kosher salt–the really salty kind. Imagine my relief in listening to lectures today and finding out that I had sought help at exactly the right time, gotten my blood pressure to the desired level, and that a low salt diet is not mandated until you have Stage C heart failure. I’m a happy camper!

I was impressed that the physician who did the talk really emphasized how important it is to treat blood pressure starting with lifestyle modifications at 130 systolic and medication at 140 systolic. Too often that type of mildy elevated blood pressure is ignored. Would you ignore it if you realized that high blood pressure doubles your risk of stroke? That is a fact that we all need to keep in mind.

Heather will feel lonely if she gets no comments, so I’ve got a comment generator ready. I put together a hospital slide show for the conference today, and while I was wandering around, I took a medical mystery photo. Take your best guess…

Hello from Seattle

Hello from Seattle!

Yes, I am blogging. But that doesn’t mean I am not having fun. It simply means that I have a few moments to play on the computer before slipping off to sleep. We are all a little travel-worn today. Mom and I were running late this morning and got to the airport a mere twenty minutes prior to our flight’s departure. We basically ran up to our gate just as they began boarding. Which really is fine with me because I don’t like waiting. We had a brief layover in Las Vegas so we were able to grab a quick lunch so we could scurry to our gate. And then? Our flight was delayed. So we waited. However, we had a good tailwind and our pilot put the pedal to the metal and we got to Seattle only five minutes later than scheduled.

The first thing we did upon meeting up with Sheree, Britnee, and Theresa was to have a drink. Naturally. The second thing we did was crash in our suite and chat and catch up for a little while.

Britnee and Sheree are two of my favorite family members. Heck, they are two of my favorite people in the world. My mom and I always enjoy travelling together. In fact, I usually bring her along on my business trips for company. So spending four days with these three women is my idea of a great time no matter what we are doing.

We spent some time walking around and seeing the sights this afternoon before going to dinner at a nice seafood restaurant. After dinner, Britnee and I went in search of an ATM. We asked the clerk at the front desk where the closest one was located. She gave us directions to an ATM about two blocks away. As we set off walking toward the street, one very nice guy whispered to us, “There’s actually an ATM in the adult bookstore across the street but we don’t talk about it. Shhh.” Britnee and I decided we’d rather brave the bookstore than walk two blocks in the cold. The ATM in the “bookstore” was situated right between the “f*e*t*i*s*h” video section and the a*d*u*l*t video arcade. As Britnee began to realize what was going on behind the curtains in the arcade, she flushed a vibrant pink and began pushing buttons very quickly in an effort to expedite our departure from the bookstore. I simply laughed. Sometimes you just gotta.

Now, Britnee and I have relegated the old gals to one suite and we are occupying another suite. The sad thing is that we both have our computers lying across our laps as we recline against the headboard in our respective beds. It is the age of technology after all. Britnee has a better excuse than me: She is a lawyer and has some work that has to be completed today so that she can enjoy the rest of the weekend. Me? I am just a bloggin’ junkie who would go into convulsions if deprived of internet access for four days.

Now I must leave you in order to wash my face, brush my teeth and fall into a deep slumber. When I awaken, I shall have a leisurely breakfast followed by an 80 minute facial at the AVEDA spa. Don’t hate me.

I’ll be back . . .

I am off to Seattle to spend time with some of the smartest, wittiest and most beautiful women I know: my relatives.

My mother, my cousin Sheree, my cousin Britnee, and I are meeting up in Seattle for a long weekend of fun. We will have plenty of rest and relaxation but also have lots of plans made so we can have some fun.

I hate packing for trips. I am incapable of making a decision as to which outfits to take and which to leave home. I always pack too many pairs of shoes. When it comes time to zip up my suitcase, I usually have to sit on it to get it to close. At which point Brad unpacks everything and repacks it again and it magically fits with room to spare.

The really good thing about going on a trip is that it forces me to catch up all of the laundry. A drawerful of clean socks and underwear is a beautiful thing. It is almost like a shopping spree when I catch up on the laundry because I inevitably find clothes I’d forgotten I had.

I will be taking my laptop to Seattle but it is my sincere hope that I will be having WAY too much fun to think about blogging. I may have some guests post for me while I am gone. Brenda has agreed to post and I may rustle up one or two others. Who knows?

I am taking my camera so I will have pictures upon my return. Oh, and I should mention that the last time I was in close proximity to these women, I danced on the bar at Coyote Ugly. But only because Britnee made me.

Have a great weekend, mi amigos!

my finger hurts

My pinky finger hurts.

Last Sunday, when my stepfather was in the hospital, I was sitting in a recliner next to his bed while he slept as well as can be expected when one has a 6-8 inch surgical incision in one’s belly from an emergency surgery. The nurse came into the room at one point and offered to help my stepdad with a bath. Now, my stepdad and I are close but not so close as all that. So, I stuffed the book I was reading into my tote bag and began to push forward the lever that would bring the chair out of the reclining position. When I did so, my pinky finger became wedged between a strip of molding on the wall and the lever on the chair. The lever was spring loaded so I was unable to stop it from pushing forward. The result was that the top joint of my pinky finger was bent completely backward.

The worst part of the event was that I couldn’t shout out in pain because I was afraid my stepdad would sit bolt upright in the bed and tear out all of his stitches. So I bit my lip and walked calmly into the hallway where I jumped up and down and sucked on my finger. I began icing the injury immediately but it still developed a nice purple bruise.

My husband was convinced my finger was broken. Everyone who looked at it was also convinced it was broken because it is disfigured from an accident I had long ago. I broke it at that time and it is now misshapen because I was unable to write at school when wearing my splint. So I didn’t wear it and now my right pinky finger is perpetually crooked and bent. So every time anyone looked at it and said, “Oh, that finger is definitely broken!” I had to go into the whole schpeel about why the finger is bent. It turns out it wasn’t broken (we x-rayed it) so I expected it to start feeling better within a couple of days.

Well, here we are ten days later and my finger still hurts. Earlier today, it only hurt if I pressed on it or forgot and picked up something heavy that put too much pressure on that finger. However, when I was washing my hair in the shower this evening, I reached back and began ringing out my hair and I heard a pop and felt a searing pain in my finger. Ever since then, it hurts to even move it. Lucky for me that I don’t type with my fingers on the correct keys and have discovered that I use my right pinky finger not at all.

I don’t really have a point. Except that my finger hurts and I was very noble and didn’t scream when I hurt it and it isn’t supposed to hurt anymore and yet it still does and now I’ve hurt it even worse and I really, really want it to stop hurting, dammit!

Thank you. That is all.

Lalalalala . . . Oh, hello!

I’m back from my weekend getaway! Let’s pretend that you missed me terribly, okay? I know that you all love it when Sharon posts for me but let’s pretend that you checked the blog several times a day just to see if I had returned. My delusions are all that keep me going. Don’t take them away.

Friday night, Brad and I stayed in the same hotel where we spent our wedding night. When I first walked into our suite, I looked around and thought that it had changed quite a bit in the last ten years. Then I realized that it had changed not much at all. The bedspread and curtains were not the same, but the suite was almost identical to the one we slept in so many years ago.

So why did it all seem so different?

It finally dawned on me that it was Brad and I who had changed. We are not the same couple who stayed in that hotel ten years ago.

Some things remain unchanged. We are still in love. We are still thrilled to get out of town and spend time together. I still like to have a leisurely soak in a hot bath when we are on vacation and he still prefers a quick shower. I still walk barefoot down to the pool and he still insists on wearing shoes. He still likes to unpack his clothes and put them in the hotel dresser. I still like to keep mine in the suitcase because I don’t see the point in moving them back and forth.

But so many things have changed. Ten years ago, we were so tired when we arrived at the hotel after our wedding that our first priority was to sleep. Now, we have two children and demanding schedules and I can tell you that our first priority this weekend was not sleep.

Ten years ago, we had scraped together a certain amount of money to spend on meals and entertainment for our honeymoon and budgeted carefully lest we run out and be forced to go hungry. This weekend, we went to eat at a fine restaurant and forgot to look at prices before we ordered. The sum of the check was such that it would have crippled us ten years ago. This weekend, we were pleasantly surprised that the meal had “only” cost so much.

Ten years ago, my husband grumbled and complained of his aching feet when he accompanied me to shop for clothes. This weekend, he sat just outside the fitting room and offered his opinion as to which Easter dress I should buy. Then, he singlehandedly picked out jewelry to go with the dress saying all the while that the turquoise jewelry brought out the color of my eyes.

Ten years ago, we took in the sites and enjoyed activities and entertainment with no great sense of urgency to return home. This weekend, we shopped for clothes and gifts for our two children and were excited to drive home so we could hear our boys tell us about their weekend.

Things have changed in the ten years since we married. In the next ten years, our marriage will change and evolve some more. I find comfort in some of the things that haven’t changed though; some of the things that I hope will never change. My husband and I love each other. We are best friends. We look forward to spending time together. We are comfortable together in a way that I never thought possible before we married.

June will mark ten years of marriage. Mostly, when I think of our ten year anniversary, the thought that runs through my head is this: Thank God we will never be twenty years old and newly married again! And please, God, give us many, many more years together.

it’s only me, Sharon

Heather invited me to post for her again while she is enjoying her romantic weekend getaway with her husband. I accepted with alacrity.

Then a number of events befell me.

• We had a severe thunderstorm last night.
• In what I would consider a seriously delayed response, the power went out this morning.
• Before which point, Blogger absolutely refused to acknowledge me as an advanced primate in the system.
• And my husband had just brought home four bags’ worth of groceries, all of which required refrigeration.

I gave up and scrubbed my porch. Cleaning makes me feel better.

The power was out for hours. Hours! Try making a six-year-old a hot dog for lunch with no electricity and no other alternative heat source.

I’m sorry there’s no television, children. I’m sorry there’s no refrigeration. Or power. Or anything. Thank God you’re boys and can pee outside if you have to.

Every once in a while they’d go to the refrigerator and open it up and stand there staring at its silenced hulk until I yelled at them to close the door, QUICK! Like it’s filled with magic, irreplacable air and we have to conserve and protect it, like helium and argon and the other rare gases going into extinction.

Then they’d turn on the television and make scowling sounds when it just clicked blankly. “There’s no power.”

Heavy sigh. “I might have mentioned that.”

Look. My expectations have become very simple. I just want a consistent energy supply and the ability to flush without fearing I’ll blow up the water tank (I’m not sure if electricity is required to run it, but it must be).

Come back soon, Heather! Tell us what it was like on the outside. Inquiring minds want to know.

near him

As my husband and I sat in the car in the drive-thru lane at Chick-fil-A today, I turned to him suddenly and clutched his arm.

“You can never leave me!”
“Ummm . . .okay. Why the sudden proclamation?”
“Because I can’t function when I can’t be near you.”

It’s true.

Ask any of my friends and they will tell you that I should be nicer to my husband. They will tell you he is hen-pecked. They will tell you that he worships the ground I walk on despite the fact that I boss him around incessantly.

Yeah . . . well, I have a reputation to uphold. I’ve sworn all my life that I would never be subservient to a man. Right up until a few days before my wedding I swore I would never get married. And always, always, I promised myself I would never come to need someone so much that I might feel incomplete without them.

The only problem with that is that . . . well, I fell in love with Brad. That little glitch blew all my plans to hell. Love? Who’d have thunk it?

Brad had to work all night last night on some sort of upgrade or server change or something. He went to work at 9:30 pm and thought he would be home by 4:00 am. So I left the hall light on for him and the light in our dresser and, once I was so sleepy that I could reasonably expect to fall asleep and stay that way, I went to bed.

But Brad didn’t get to come home until almost 9:00 this morning. I had already taken both children to school and was sitting in my first meeting of the day by the time he finally rested his head on a pillow.

The moment I woke up this morning, I knew I should just crawl back under the covers and hide. I had no husband curled next to me to snuggle up and wish me a good morning. I had no one to talk to about how well I had slept and the dreams I had. I had no one hogging the bathroom while I was trying to get ready for work. I had no one asking me to pick out a shirt for him to wear to work.

I took on the morning all alone. I went head to head with the youngest child who is especially churlish in the mornings. I loaded both children into the car and set off down the road 30 minutes earlier than I would have if my husband had been home to take the oldest child to school as usual. I fielded questions and answered yay or nay to requests presented by the children.

“Can we plant my flower seeds today?”
“Maybe. It depends on what time I get home.”

“Can we watch TV this afternoon?”
“Probably not. It is a beautiful day. Play outside.”

“Can we go see Poppy?”
“It depends on how he is feeling today.”

I dropped one child off at school and trekked across town to the other child’s preschool. I sent him merrily on his way and went straight to the hospital and to my stepfather’s hospital room where one look at my mother’s pale face and unruly hair told me that he had not had a good night. He had suffered pain. He’d had his drains removed. My mother said the scene resembled that of the Forty Year Old Virgin having his chest waxed. My stepfather screamed like that when the drains were pulled. Then he’d gotten sick and thrown up which caused unbearable pain. When I arrived, he was sleeping soundly as the pain and nausea meds have the happy side effect of inducing a coma-like state.

As I was standing over him, his eyes fluttered open and he blinked twice before focusing on my face and asking, “Do you have your stethoscope? There is a gurgling in my side and the other nurses can’t hear it.” I fetched my stethoscope, reassured him that I could only hear normal bowel sounds and ran off to my morning meeting.

I sat at the desk after my meeting feeling particularly weighted down by responsibilities and worries. And then? I cried. And then? I drove home and crawled in bed with Brad.

He was sleeping so soundly that he barely stirred when I slipped into bed. I scooted to the middle of the bed, laid my head on the same pillow he was resting upon, and curled up next to him with my knees bent just behind his knees and my body curved in a perfect parallel to his. As I settled in next to him, he reflexively moved closer to me.

And finally, I felt like my day had begun. I no longer felt all alone. I no longer felt so different from everyone else. I felt my muscles begin to relax and, for the first time, realized I had been clenching my jaw all morning. I went from being so keyed up that I couldn’t sit still without tapping my foot on the floor or drumming my fingers on the desk to being so relaxed that I drifted off to sleep effortlessly.

Two hours later, we woke up and rolled toward one another to say good morning. We exchanged the banter we would have if he had been home this morning. And then we forced ourselves out from under the warm covers and away from our soft mattress and once again dressed for the day ahead. It was one o’clock in the afternoon and it felt like my day was finally getting off to a good start.

So, we let our friends tease us about my bossiness and Brad’s abject adoration. But it’s because we know the truth: if I can’t be near my husband every morning, I can’t make it through the day. If I can’t talk to him and touch him, I feel like my internal compass is spinning. If I don’t curl up next to him every night, I feel incomplete; like the best part of me is missing.

But I do have a reputation to uphold. So, shhh. Let’s go on pretending that I am the mighty she-ra that everyone believes me to be.