Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
July 08 2011
My parents came over for a visit and promptly began to run down the roll call of their various aches and pains before they even sat down. Which they apparently had a lot of to go around. They’ve earned that right. Once you reach past a certain age, you’re allowed to complain all you want.
A threshold of which I can never cross in certain company.
Except the day before, I had been whipping a water hose in every direction for my kids to play in like I was still a kid myself. The lengths we go through to entertain and waterbomb our children. My body, however, informed me that morning that it wasn’t happy. Not happy at all to be used for that kind of exertion. As such, my shoulder blade was insufferable.
Oh, my arm! Oh, my leg! Ow, my back!
“My shoulder has been bothering me, too, since I woke up this morning.”, I chimed in.
To which they both turned to look at me as though I’d sprouted a third head.
“What are you complaining about?”, my mom dismissed. “You’re only 32.”
“Still hurts”, I shuffled my feet and mumbled as the subject changed.
The lesson here is that you’re only as old as those you’re listing your ailments to. Next time, I’ll stick to groaning at my kids. They’re polite enough to consider me ancient. As Jedi asked the other night, “Were there dinosaurs back in 1979?”. Yes, because I was born in the dark ages. Now here, son, come rub this Icy Hot on your geriatric mom’s shoulders.
June 27 2011
That saying isn’t true. I am here to tell you that you can forget how to ride a bike. I remember being a preteen, laughing at my mom as she wobbled unsteadily on my 10-speed in our rock-covered driveway, unsure how to balance herself anymore. Not even minutes earlier, she was wondering aloud, “How hard can it be? I used to ride a bike everywhere when I was a kid”.
Apparently pretty hard.
She gave it a good try and I appreciated the effort, and the laugh, but she never made it with both feet on the pedals. Defeated and embarrassed, she passed the handlebars back to me as I gathered myself assuredly on top of the gold-sparkled blue banana boat seat and took off. A kid sure to never forget how it feels to have my feet carry my body through the wind.
I think I remember how to ride a bike. But your mind, it plays tricks on you. There’s no way of knowing until you try.
Life is unexpected and I’ve been thrown off this past year. Everything that I had known previously isn’t what I thought. I’m unsure and unbalanced. It’s so easy to lose myself in everything I’ve lost, but I still have what’s important. And even though I’m trying my best to push through, I might need a bit of help, even if I’m a little defeated at first. I’m ready to feel the wind again.
Maybe this will be the year I get back up and ride. It should be. And if I don’t know how to steady myself anymore, I’ll learn again. It’s time to get both feet on the pedals. I think today is a good day to start.
June 17 2011
I slept with Yo Gabba Gabba last night.
Kinky, no? No? How about exciting? Thrilling? Disturbing, perhaps? It was actually none of those. Maybe a little disturbing. But mostly, pokey.
Most nights, Buzz finds his way into bed with me. I have enough room, so I don’t really mind. It makes the king-size feel not quite so big, especially since he tends to take up most of it. Except he sometimes brings his toys along as well. Hard, plastic action figures that find themselves in unexpected places. Last night, it was two of the guys from Yo Gabba Gabba. Plex and Toodee, since we’re now on a first name basis. Who ended up poking me in areas No Gabba Gabba should ever be.
It’s the most action I’ve gotten in years.
In the name of honesty, though, it’s not just Yo Gabba Gabba. I’ve been to bed with all sorts of different guys. I don’t want to brag, but even some superheroes. Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, GI Joe, a Hello Kitty Pez dispenser. There was once a Ben 10 villain that had two sets of spikes protruding from it’s back. They’re all fair game. And really uncomfortable when you roll onto them in the middle of the night.
That’s right, I get around.
June 10 2011
Pregnancy alters many aspects of a woman’s shape. Some, we’re prepared for. We’ve all heard stories of sagging and flabbing, so while we may fight against the odds, we also come to accept the possibility. The more confident amongst us even find strength and beauty in what their weight carried, wearing their 9 months of stretched skin with pride. While I can’t say I’m thrilled with the body I’ve acquired these years post-pregnancy, I am in awe of it. In both good and bad ways.
But it’s the other changes of a less physical nature. The kind that no one bothers mentioning ahead of time, making it your very own personal surprise.
Like underarm body odor.
Before my first full-term pregnancy with Jedi, I never had to wear deodorant. I would at times, for an extra measure of protection, but it wasn’t a necessity. I swear, they just didn’t smell. It was a blessed thing in hindsight. Because since, if I should fail to remember to apply deodorant, I’m immediately reminded of my blunder come one raised arm later when the depths of a burning stench, not unlike a skunk in a mode of defense, tries to escape. In other words, I stink. And God help us all.
There is no beauty in body odor.
Now, with the heat of summer comes sweat. And with the first bead of sweat comes an aroma all my own. Where every time I catch a nose-cringing whiff of myself, I’m once again reminded of the eternal joys of pregnancy.
May 25 2011
I mowed the grass.
While this may not seem like a monumental achievement to those who do it and wish they never had to do it again, I had never done it before. There’s a lot of things I’ve done recently that I had never done before. Small things, all of them, but nonetheless. I’m figuring it out. Myself.
During our years together, the yard was always J’s area. He’d spend hours in the sun maintaining the grass, coming inside only when the sweat overtook his shirt. I would try to plant a few flowers at times, but I’ve never had much of a garden thumb. Thus, most of what happened outside was left to him.
Before that, I lived with my parents, who have a sprawling stretch of land with many dips and hills and it’s generally uneven. My dad never believed I could handle the mower. Unlike my brother, who had the chore of mowing the grass handed to him many times, he thought it would “get away from me”. That bit of intimidation has stuck with me all these years.
A lot has changed, however. Most notably, J is no longer here. While he does visit, and I know he would if I asked, it’s not his responsibility. It’s mine. And lest I want weeds tall enough to swallow Jedi, I had better mow the grass.
And even though my 78 year old father stood protectively on guard the entire time, I did it. I could. And I did. Myself.
I mowed the grass.
Now, who can I pay to mow it next time?
