Reiki in the face

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tinybuddha.com

So my oldest is really stressing….spending the majority of her days in the library, studying for finals. Chemistry is not fun. This is a class most of us walk away from and never look back.

She really, really wants to walk away.

Called me tonight, just DONE with studying. I think she’s reached the point that it’s actually harmful for her to continue. We talked briefly, she’s tired and worried. She’s always been a worrier, kind of like me. If my assumption is correct, she is probably balancing her future on this test tomorrow, and has reached the conclusion that failure will surely have her living under a bridge.

Oh… she won’t live under a bridge. I know it, somewhere inside, she knows it. But of course I want to give her that extra motivation, that little spark she needs right now to believe in herself.

In the past, when she used to get a tummy ache, or something similar… I made up this little thing where I’d “pull out the pain”. Kind of swirl my hand around and pretend I was grabbing the offending pain and throw it away….. it made her feel better, at least  mentally.

Then we had the “dream magic”… during the bad dream phase. I made up a little rhyme, “Bibbity, Bobbity, Boo…. only good dreams to come through”… during this time I’m swirling my hand in a pattern around her head, then finish with a “Bippity… Bobbity… BOO!” with each word I’m reenacting a TV evangelist as they shake the demon out of the poor saps head…. she loved it!  In fact, the 5 year old swears by the “dream magic” these days…and makes sure I give him a good dose each night.

These things worked at that age for her…. but right now it’s a little harder to find a way to boost her confidence, calm her down, yet lift her up.

So, I told her I was going to try my hand at my own version of Reiki, with absolutely no training. I’m just going to blast her with a boatload of positive energy. Right in the face. I’m gathering it up, a big ball of positivity, swirling happy thoughts and also any random tips on calculating PH out there in the cosmos…. and I’m just throwing handfuls of it at her. And there it goes, glittering and shining all over her. Oh… it’s making her sneeze, that’s so cute.

Feel like throwing some good luck energy out there??  Just focus on my 18 year old, she’s the one freaking out right now in Columbus, awaiting her test around 11am tomorrow. Just gather up some positive thoughts, chemistry facts, and virtual chocolate… and shower her with it.

 

 

missing socks and PMS

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The other day, the husband asked if he could please wash his own clothes. This is not the first time.

He is missing two socks.

We have been through this before. Somehow he feels the laws of laundry should not apply to him. He believes his sock pairs should always remain intact, matched, and never lost or separated.

Why does he think his two missing socks is more devastating than the handful of socks the rest of us are missing??  I keep them, patiently waiting for the prodigal missing socks to return. You never know….

Supposedly, when he was single and did his own laundry, he never lost a sock. Big deal. He probably  had the time to stand  by the washer and dryer, counting socks as he transferred from one to the other, and congratulated himself daily on his perfect laundry record.

Over here, in real life…. things are not so orderly. I have teens that occasionally help, when forced, with laundry. I have a zillion children and between them a countless number of socks. Many of them now have the same sized feet, and wear similar colored socks. This is ridiculous. I know, I just KNOW there is a place inside the washer that destroys socks. Or transports them to an alternate universe. Like a black hole.

Anyway…. the point is…. he wants to do his own laundry because he really likes this pair of socks and now he only has one left. I’ve looked in everyones laundry. Everyones drawers. It’s totally missing.

So, probably yesterday wasn’t the best day for him to say this to me. I’m a little hormonally unbalanced at the moment…. and so ended up getting very snarky with comments about how I was still good enough to clean his toilets…and him doing his best to avoid an actual argument about my inadequate sock washing skills.

A talk with my sister helped me realize that I might be over reacting. Slightly. After all, he apparently is just talking about one thing, his socks… whereas in my mind, I’ve already taken his rejection of my laundry efforts as the first step in the eventual demise of our relationship.

Perhaps…. he still loves me. And he just wants to try keeping his socks together himself. I suppose that’s a possibility.

I didn’t have full insight until later today…. as I chose to eat a huge chocolate peanut butter cupcake and watch “daddy’s home” instead of working out….. and cried at the dance-off at the end. Then chased those tears with a piece of french silk pie.

Hormones. They are no joke.

 

A moment with stitch fix

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My box came today! I’ve been doing this stitch fix thing for a while, and I’m debating the merits of continuing.

I want to love every piece in my box, at the same time I don’t because I don’t want to spend the money to buy everything.

I usually love or at least like one or 2 pieces. Once I bought the whole box because it was cheaper than sending the one thing back I didn’t like. I got the 25% discount for buying every item, and my mom liked the shirt that I didn’t.

I do what I can to give my stylist a head start, I keep a Pinterest page of styles I like…and I give feedback with every box I get.

And here we go…

It’s very exciting at first glance. The colors and textures are promising… So let’s try things on.

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Ok. I like this shirt. It’s not amazing but it is completely my style and I will wear it a trillion times. Probably I do have similar tops, but not with that sassy colored edging.

Let’s move on.

Ok. I know this grey sleeveless sweater thing must be stylish. I think with younger ladies who are not fully mature women yet, and like to wear clothes with vital parts missing in the name of fashion. I see plenty of cut off, and backless tops, even tops with strategic cut outs. But this just feels wrong to me. Where are the sleeves? Why the big cowl neck and nothing to balance it?

And white jeans. This is no fault of the stylist, but white jeans have no place in my life. They call attention to every flaw, they shine like a cellulite beacon, and they attract things like grubby sticky preschool hands. No thanks.

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I am truly stumped. I can’t tell if this is something I like or not. I love the color. But do I look like I stole it from my fancy grandma?? Should this be accessorized with burgundy heels, or spectacles? Bifocals? Hearing aide? Alas, my oldest is not here to guide me. I will keep it and believe I look romantic and not elderly.

Easiest part, throw what I don’t want in the postage paid bag.

Goodbye white jeans. Goodbye weird sleeveless but otherwise really biggish and shapeless sweater thing. Goodbye pinkish knit cardigan that I could not actually wear over a shirt because your sleeves are far too tight to layer effectively.

No, I’m not quitting. Some boxes are better than others, and it must be really hard to style someone who actually has no sense of style or personal style beyond comfortable and striped.

Kudos to all those people who have figured out how to dress themselves well. Some of us are still learning.

 

Death to technology

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I’m floundering here….

laptop is dead. New one won’t get here for another week!!!

18 year old kicked a ball into my hand, as I was holding my iphone…. sending it face down into a rock.

Imagine how hard it is to post a blog, check my email, text… even make a call with  a very cracked up screen. part of it stuck to my face yesterday. It came OFF on my face as I pulled the phone away.

I don’t know how the touch screen still works.

I have this laptop I’ve stolen from my husband, and every 10 minutes it shuts down and runs an everlasting update… I’m racing against time right now.

I have to find alternative ways of communication. Like, talking face to face!!??

……help…..

Charlie saves the day

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We had a play date today, me and the 2 youngest.

Jenna at any moment is usually carrying one or several pet dogs or horses, the stuffed variety. Today she insisted on bringing “Chip”, a beagle looking stuffed dog with her.

after 3 hours of playing, we left. All of us forgetting Chip behind.

The mom sends me a text, they found him…how do I want to arrange getting him back?

I made an executive decision, counting on Jenna to not remember that we forgot her baby behind. Just send him to school with her youngest on Monday, I’ll have Sammy bring him home.

Wouldn’t you know, Jenna sure did remember her dog…..

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She didn’t take too well to my plan of letting him stay away for a few days. Even promising to get him tomorrow didn’t stop the tears.

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I thought she’d taper off, go do something else, but she stayed focused on her misery. The only thing that slowed the tears was actually watching me take her photos…she would slow down enough to inspect each image. I pointed out tears and tried some filters to catch her anguish at its best advantage.

She is excellent at expressing her despair.

Finally, in desperation, I made a deal. I offered her the companionship of my own best stuffed friend, Charlie. With me since the age of 3, he is kept in a place away from grabbing hands where he can sit in peace and reflect on all the good years he’s shared with me.

I every so carefully brought him out and told Jenna she could take care of him until Chip comes back. She was taken with the idea of befriending my elderly raccoon.

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No, Chip is not forgotten….but for now she is content.

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And tomorrow….tomorrow that beagle is coming home.

 

Plodding along

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It’s been a little while since I booked our upcoming vacation…only 3 weeks away!

I’ve surprised myself by actually sticking to my plan to workout daily. I think I’ve missed one day per week, totally acceptable.

Even my diet has improved…despite the Easter bunnies attempts to smother me with carmallow eggs this week…l persevered. And I bought inferior brand chocolate eggs so as not to tempt myself excessively.

Even today, I’m driving and start thinking about taco salads. There is no one to stop me…maybe I should just get one and scarf it down, as if eating it faster will somehow negate the fact that it happened.

But no. This guilt thing is really inconvenient. So instead of calorie laden goodness, I semi-enjoyed my salad. My regular salad.

Well played by the teenager

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I have probably mentioned a few times….. I am a clean freak. Just a little bit.

Not surprisingly, the kids don’t appreciate a sparkling floor as much as I do. Gleaming fixtures do nothing for them. The smell of lemon fresh pine sol doesn’t spark joy, it just makes them hide.

I was in whirlwind clean mode today after bringing Sammy home from school. When Jake, the teen got home, I followed him up to his room…. this is after I’d washed floors, vacuumed, and cleaned 2 bathrooms….

“Look,” I said to him, holding a box of miracle Clorox singles scrubs.

“These things are amazing! Even YOU can keep your bathroom clean-FINALLY-if you just use these once or twice a week!”

He wasn’t impressed. Kind of lingered in the doorway and I could tell I was losing his interest. It looked like he needed a demonstration.

Desperate to get his attention, to engage him in my cleaning fetish, I force him to watch as I blast the sink and start scrubbing it.

“Watch me!, just watch….. see how easy it is!!!”

I lather, I rinse, I repeat…. and off to the toilet to show him how the SAME sponge has enough cleanser to continue the job here. You can use the same one!!!

All the while he is mumbling about how it doesn’t even look dirty to him as I bitch about the toothpaste marks, hair, and good old dust showing up all over the place.

I finish.

And it’s sparkling, clean…. I feel great!

Except I was supposed to make him do it.

Oh well. At least I know I have a good day or two before my beautiful job is buried under another coating of grime and apathy.

Daddy’s girl

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nails1

When we had Sammy, the husband was over the moon. Not because he was a boy, but because it was his child, his first.

In truth, I believe he was actually hoping for a girl when we found ourselves expecting.

He has a niece, Jenna, and swore if he had a daughter he was going to give her the same name because he just loved her so much.

He talks about his younger sister, born when he was a teenager, and how he loved helping take care of her, she was like a little doll. He is such a softie. I have often compared his personality with the kids to a grandma, because he is seriously that doting.

Obviously, I’m the mean one.

When we found out we were having a girl the next time around, I expected him to be thrilled. After all, Sammy wasn’t a month old before he was asking when I was going to give him a daughter. (you don’t want to know how that conversation went…. )

He was not thrilled. He was terrified. Hoping the ultrasound was wrong.

I was shocked. And kind of pissed at him. And thrilled because I “knew” it was a girl. I was ready for another girl after having boys the last 2 times.

the husband fretted about the responsibility of having a daughter…. I heard him muttering things about boys….and periods…. a bit overwhelmed.

We named her Jenna. And at first…. I worried that she wouldn’t get the same love from the husband that he gave to Sammy. I feared that he loved his first child so much, there couldn’t be room for another. Especially now that he seemed so scared of having a daughter.

As time has gone on, Jenna has made her place in the family. She is not gentle natured like her brother and her dad. She is bossy, and sassy…. and the tougher of our two little ones.

But still, it happened. He is a slave to her whims. He begs for hugs and kisses, and she doles them out very sparingly. She blatantly uses him to stay up late when I say no, or to get things I say she can’t have. He knows this, but he is powerless to tell her no. (that grandma syndrome again)

She is three now, and very secure in her dads affections.

And he has turned into a hair-styling, nail-polishing, awesome dad who is grateful for his boy and his girl, even if she is as prickly as a cactus sometimes.

vegan cancer dilemma

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vegan

courtesy of: mamamia.com.au

I have a friend with cancer. This really sucks and we all wish it wasn’t so…. but so far wishing hasn’t done much to change it, so she’s going to stick with chemo, radiation, and then surgery.

She’s got 2 little ones, the same age as my little ones. Right now, with daily treatments she’s pretty tired and wiped out. Can’t stay awake let alone manage the household the same as before.

On the positive side, people want to help. And why wouldn’t they? She’s wonderful, kind, helpful, and would do the same for them.

So what do most of us do when tragedy strikes someone close to us? When we don’t have any special ability to fix their problem, but still want to do something to help….

We bring food.

And here I am wanting to bring her comfort food…putting myself in her place, thinking of all the things I would want to eat to make up for the crap fact that I had cancer. Like anything chocolate, cookies, bread….comfort foods. Whatever really, but an alfredo sauce would probably help, right?

So she says “anything vegan and gluten free”

I’m horrified.

Why??!  is this something to do with the cancer? Thinking this is a crazy and barbaric treatment option…

NO… that’s just her diet.

OMG. and she has cancer on top of it.

that really sucks.

How am I going to comfort her with blueberries and bananas? What in gods name can she EAT?

Well, I’m figuring it out. It’s my mission to find something delicious and open my mind to the possibility of whole meals made without meat/dairy/gluten. I guess it’s possible to find comfort in a salad….with peanuts…..

In the meantime, I’m including a link to her Gofundme page. In case you are feeling charitable, or you think there is a chance donating to a worthy cause might improve your cosmic/karmic standing. I have it on good authority that every person who donates will find themselves richer for doing so… and prayers are definitely an acceptable donation as well 🙂

I’m a cave man

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cave

leanandmuscular.org

I really have enjoyed finding other bloggers here, reading their posts, getting to know them, following them in a completely non-stalker way. Mostly.

I’m having some trouble right now. There is a blogger who was kind enough to follow me, and after checking out his blog I also followed him. He had a sense of humor and I enjoyed his most recent post.

That, I think, was his only post in English. So now, I get all these posts of his to see…. with photos that really captivate my attention… and titles that promise to have me laughing along with the story….. but I can’t understand any of it. And why are the titles in English, raising my expectations each time I see a new blog posted…. that THIS time I will be able to read it…. only to be disappointed.

What’s a tutti????

Tempted to use Google translator, one paragraph at a time. Or learn Italian. Not sure it’s Italian though.

But… I still “like” his posts. Because I just KNOW I would really like them, if I could just read them. Not his fault that I’m a cave man with only one language in my repertoire.

Hey…. if you ever read this… you know who you are. I really. REALLY want to know what you are saying.