I was recently reunited with an image of myself from a mere 24 months ago, an image at the time that I had considered an improvement of the person I was just 12 months before that. I was stunned silent-rendered speechless-mouth gaping blown away. It takes nothing like a slap in the face with an eleven second video of your past to wake you up. Anyway, this video I'm about to show you was me in August of 2006. We were in New Philadelphia, Ohio when we took the kids to a community park (yes, it has rides) after spending the good bit of the weekend at Aaron's grandmother's hospital room. She died a few days later. Anyway, while we were there, Aaron captured this gem:The first thing I notice is how self-conscious I am. My posture is atrocious and I cannot quit fidgeting with my clothing. I'm obviously uncomfortable.And then I start to laugh. I don't care! It does not bother me, in fact, it is quite the opposite. I would not share if I felt humiliated or ashamed. That is not who I am, not inside, and not out. I just never took the time to see the contrast of the then versus the now.And the contrast is amazing. I hadn't realized how my hard work for the last two years finally is starting to show. And now that I've started a sprint routine, I feel different, too. Seventy pounds is a lot, and I've taken it rather lightly.I'm not seeking praise, confirmation or reinforcement, nothing of the such. Some of the friends I've made in recent months have never seen the person in the video. Here, though, is a time-line of me: December 2005, Summer 2006, and Fall 2008:
Yikes! Okay, don't laugh TOO hard :)
It seems cruel and unusual that, after going to bed at 4am, I am awake again, and have been since the wee hour of 6:30am. Since I'm running out of things to look at on the internet (and my MySpace page has completely been overhauled), I figured, hey...I'll just write some random stuff. Aaron and I are switching babysitting shifts at 10:30am. It's a married-thing. We stayed up way too late drinking wine and talking, so there you have it. He's got my back. He's a good man.
Somehow, I need to get a good run in today. The radar seems to be cooperating, though I have to admit that my run in the rain yesterday was really incredible. I've started doing sprints: power walking for ten seconds, sprinting for ten, then back to the walking. It's abrupt, and that's what I like about it. As long as I can run outside I'll be happy. A treadmill is on the list of things to buy before it gets too cold to run outside, but I really enjoy, and prefer, the trail running. I especially enjoy coming home and making a protein shake. The first few days of running gave me some incredible charlie horses. Aaron to the rescue with a two pound container of whey protein. We're talking stupid amounts of potassium and protein. Yes. I mean, it's not like I'm getting it from meat. Besides. I'm addicted to Pomegranate juice. 100%. It's an expensive fix, but if you go to the grocery in the poorer areas, you can typically find it marked half off. I mean, really, who in their right mind on an normal budget pays ten dollars for a 64 ounce bottle of juice? Or sixteen if you opt for the concentrated version (cherry, too). So, buy bunches of it when it's cheap. Stock up. I'm learning a lot.
My new neighbor across the street got pulled over in front of their house last night. Haha! That's worth mentioning only because we live in the very far back of our neighborhood. The police don't typically come back here, especially for traffic control, since they are mostly perched near the entrance of our 'hood to catch all the speeders on the main road. It's Fishers, Jr. here in McCordsville. We've gotta get revenue somehow to grow this little town up into a bonafide suburb! Anyway, it's also worth a mention because I think it's FUNNY!
Do you have any idea how much I love vinegar? I think Aaron is starting to get concerned. But really. It. Cleans. Everything. Spotless. Shiny. Pair it up with a microfiber towel on glass. Newspapers, schmoozepapers. Vinegar and microfiber is where it's at. And it's cheap. And safe. I can spray it all over my kitchen and who cares if it gets on my veggies. I'm probably going to clean my veggies with vinegar anyway (if they're store bought). It cleans toilets. It cleans floors. Windows. Dishes (so long Jet Dry). Gets the stinky out of little boy laundry. It rocks. Really.
I wish it would rain. The radar is showing it all to be much further north of us. I really was hoping for a gray, drizzly day. Does it mean that I'm weird if I say those are my favorite kinds of days.
Rumor of the day...I keep hearing that I should run out and buy gas RIGHT NOW because gas will be over $5 a gallon this weekend. I have no idea if there is any truth to it, I sure as hell hope not, but I keep reading and hearing it. I think I shall abruptly end my blogging and go check it out.
Enjoy your Saturday (or whatever day it is when you are reading!) ... Go Buckeyes, Go Colts!
I feel like a bad mom.
I'm not buying school pictures this year, and that seems so strange. I've been brainwashed to believe that school pictures, and their insanely inflated prices, are a must-do in the world of perfect parenting. My parents have school pictures of my brothers, sister, and me all the way from kindergarten to graduation. They even have our senior pictures still proudly displayed on a wall, even though the oldest photo is almost thirty years old, and the newest is fifteen years old. I have trading-sized photos of myself at age eight and nine, smirking at the cameraman and his hideous attempts to make me smile. Not that I can remember it specifically, but if you had school photos taken in the early 80s, you surely can understand.
This is the smirk...Kind of a smile, kind of sarcastic. And the dress, oh the dress. And it's fun having the ability to go back and have a great laugh at your 3rd grade photos.
My mom was never the type to send pictures back, even my freshman year when I had a horrible earache, fever, and you could tell by my grimace. Immortalized in the yearbook that way, thanks Mom. But my point is, I've never not had school pictures, and to opt to not get them feels weird.
My friend Cara first regarded me with amazement when I mentioned picture day. Her emailed response was, "School pics??? I am not taking school pics today WAY TOO EXPENSIVE you can go to Walmart for pics for $6.00" Now, I won't be taking the boys to Wal-mart for pictures (don't even get me started on Wal-mart), I will take them somewhere. Yay. Anyway, I debated back about how I'd regret not spending the extra money, but when I typed the words "besides, it's only $20 for a 5x7 and a class group picture," that I realized that she was right. It is ridiculous. Then the other child I watch in the morning arrived and said his mom wasn't buying school pictures, either. I admit that surprised me for a moment, but then the numbers and the logic suddenly didn't add up. I decided to keep my money and take a deep breath. I'm pretty sure I'm in the majority on this one; the light came on.
It is a shame that picture day is becoming a thing of the past. In the age of digital photography it is outlandish to charge $37 for a 5X7 and a class photo. Even with the processing and paying employees I'm sure they're still making a killing. If Wal-mart *cringe* can do it for $6, why can't these companies?
I love fall. I love everything about it, the smells, the colors, the crisper air, the Indian summers, the foods, the holidays, the sports, the sounds, the newness of a school year...I could go on and on but the point is, down to the bare bones of it, I love fall.
Now that Labor Day has come and gone and the air has cooled, even temporarily, and I've spent a weekend with football in my realm of conscious, I'm finding myself really psyched. I can't wait to wrap on a scarf and go for a late-night walk with the man who I love to walk with the most. I can't wait to buy a new winter coat this year, because the ones I have are desperately needing replaced; they no longer fit and I've earned a new one. You know, I think I'm going to buy a red wool trench coat.
Reds and oranges and yellows excite me right now. Burnt variations of the hues draw me in, I can almost smell the scent of fall leaves and hear them crackling under my feet as I walk. This, too, is why I love fall. I have decided that adding cork bushes to my landscape is a must. I want to plant a few trees around the yard in the next couple of years and one of the important things in deciding what kind to plant is the fall foliage. I want reds and golds. I love reds and golds. (And if they can grow 20 feet in less than five years, well, I'm sold.)
I made apple butter. I've made a great friend who has helped me make the leap from "wanting to do" to "getting to do" when it comes to fruits and vegetables, and homegrown, homemade varieties. She has been wonderfully generous and brought over a box of apples that I was able to turn into a domestically-goddess ish jar of butter. Only one jar because many apples, and all of the peaches, were devoured by the boys and their friends. And I admit it, I've saved the peels and added it to my collection of compost, which will be dumped on the future site of the garden and covered for the winter with a tarp. But its the things like cooking apples and the smell of cinnamon that really bring home how intoxicating a season can be.
This year is the year for Ohio State/Michigan games for us. Due to a wonderful opportunity and a incredible turn of events, I believe I will have Aaron home with me for a long, long time, making the tailgating weekend a reality for us. I wish we could get into the game, but bar crawling starting at 4am sounds insanely fascinating, as well as a terrific opportunity for a great blog. (That's going to take some advance planning to pull off, since we really do start bar crawling at 4 am on the Saturday of the OSU/MI game.) Come hell or high water, this fall, we're there. And I couldn't be more excited.
I should also mention I'm starting the prowl for firewood. We opted for a wood-burning fireplace so we could use the thing as much as we want. A roaring fire, football with the sound up, jerseys, chili and chips...AAAARRRRHHHHH!!
So there it is. I love fall. It's the perfect season. I wish it would last forever. Everything is clean and fresh, but also warm and soothing.
Who's ready to hit the pumpkin patches?
I can still remember when I was probably sixteen years old saying, "I'm going to get my nose pierced." It was one of those things I said over and over as something I'd wanted to do, but knew deep in my heart that I probably never would, that I was too chicken, and especially too chicken for something that was so outwardly obvious. I pierced my ears many, many times; the lobe, the middle, the cartilage up top. I even got brave in my early twenties and pierced my belly button. That was before I had the boys, so obviously that went by the wayside and I'm left with a shrunken hole (I can't believe I just said "shrunken hole." he he) in my navel that I was excited to discover is not closed, but also not big enough to ram a bar back in it. All it takes is some special instrument and $10 and I'm back in the belly charm biz. But I just chalked up my nose-ring talk as just talk, and went on about my life.
Over the course of the last sixteen years, since I was sixteen, I've revisited the idea of a charm in my nose. Not anything too weird; I'm not the type of person who would look right (or be able to stand for the drama of that needle!) with one in the septum, or even anything too big and strange. Just a small little diamond (okay, cubic zirc) in the corner of my nose, started sounding appealing all over again.
I did what I did best, which is make up my mind and change it. Over and over. All talk, no show. Famous. For years, I wanted to do it, but frankly, was too scared. Obviously it had to hurt, right? And I remembered the burn of the belly button needle (and the look on my friend April's face when they went to stab me in the gut) and kept pushing the idea of a nose ring back, again.
Of course, too, I am brilliant when it comes to making up excuses. I'm the queen of them! It didn't matter that I was in sales (insurance sales) where I convinced myself that it would be "tacky" and "unprofessional." I grasped on the "unprofessional" label and ran with it, like a football tucked under my arm. So, fear, talking big, and rationalizing my fears with excuses...Sound familiar?
I'm 32 years old. I suddenly no longer care what people think. If someone likes it, I'm happy. If not, so what? What matters to me is that I like it, and that my husband does, too. And it was his reaction to my lofty talk about doing it that finally convinced me that it was okay. That if that's what I wanted, well, go for it. In a way, he was calling me on my talk.
So...I did it!
I spent quite a few hours first on the internet, researching how it was done, what the tools looked like (no more big surprises! I don't need a reason to change my mind again!), how long it would take, and of course I wanted to know how bad it hurt. I stayed far, far away from the YouTube videos that came up in some of my Scroogle searches. But finally, I decided I was ready.
Friday afternoon I dropped Willie off at school and I turned left out of the school parking lot instead of right and headed off towards Greenfield, the home of the place where I ultimately decided to get hole-punch done. I turned up the tunes and drove fast on the country roads, getting myself psyched. I was just as scared as I was excited, but dammit, the time had come and I was not turning back! I stopped by to see a friend (who recently had hers done at the same place) for support and then went off to have mine done, too.
I pulled up in front of the small blue building, okay maybe it wasn't that easy. So I had to drive around it a couple times to figure out where to park, since there was an insurance agency adjoined to their building, and that agency took up the parking lot. I finally found a sign for parking on the side, parked the car, and walked in. Marching up to the display case of body jewelry, I took a look around to make sure the place was clean and somewhere I would feel safe. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and coupled with people I trust having been customers, I was finally 100% totally ready. Onward ho!
I knew that I wanted a gemstone stud. I preferred the look of a diamond, but considered the other colors available. I was immediately drawn to red but I also liked the blue and the green. I didn't care much for the pinky-purple stone, because frankly I hate pink. And purple. I dismissed blue because my eyes are green and I don't want any other colors to take away from my eye color. I dismissed green when I thought to myself, "what if someone thinks its a green booger?" Yuck. Okay...green is out. Red? Love it...but what if it ends up looking like I always have a zit? Nahh...White, aka diamond, it is!
At this point, I was still feeling confident. Everything I read, teemed up with everything that I had been told by friends who had it done, said that the pain would last between five to ten seconds and then that was it. I hopped up on the cot and waited while the piercer (is that what he's called?) prepped the jewelry and his tools. We talked about how piercings have changed since we were younger and how more generally accepted they are, and how that was a big factor in why I waited until my thirties to have jewelry on my face. And finally it was time. He showed me first what he was going to do, which was exactly how I read it would be done. After prepping my nose, he inserted the metal tube inside my nostril that catches the needle and then it was time. I felt the heat from the needle prick pushing against my skin. I shut my eyes and waited for the tears to come, because they do. I don't care who you are, the tears will pour being in such close proximity to the tear duct. And they did. You would have thought it hurt a helluva lot worse if you were judging by the waterfall. And it did hurt, don't think for a second it didn't. But it was so quick. Ten seconds of a sharp, intensive pain and then it was almost over. Just putting in the jewelry itself was left, and that wasn't painful, just awkward because the stem of the ring is actually somewhat cork-screw shaped so that it doesn't just fall out and so that there is no earring back inside my nose. It was done! Time to clean up the blood (yes, blood. It's a hole being punched in my face, of course there's gonna be some blood!) and voila! I finally did it.
I looked in the mirror and instantly loved it. It is in the perfect place, it's not glaringly obvious, and it finally makes my nose look like something I like! And if you've known me for very long, you probably know that I have hated my nose since, oh, birth. I always thought it was big and awkward-looking, especially having been broken many years ago, but now I like it! I felt fine, despite looking a little pale, but I sat for a couple minutes so the piercer could be sure I was okay. I guess people pass out often from having piercings and tattoos, and I was looking like a candidate for hitting the floor. The only discomfort I felt was the puffiness of the swelling that came immediately after inserting the ring. Other than that, the pain was gone. I couldn't wait to stop and show my friend that I didn't chicken out! I hurried over the whole two blocks to her salon to show off my new pretty nose, and then hurried home to show Aaron.
It looks great, it doesn't hurt, and the swelling went down within two hours. I love, love, love it and I'm so proud of myself for finally doing it after all these years!! As for pictures, well I wanted to put one up but my camera batteries have to recharge. But I'll put it up. You'll see it. Promise!
For months and months and months and months I've been running my heiny off waiting tables, not taking any weekends off, except for maybe a total of three weekend days since December. Five and six day weeks: for a "part-time job," I sure have been spending more time there than at home with my family. Which sucks. If it weren't such an easy gig that pays very well, I'd probably have returned to an unemployed status a long time ago. Alas, I march on.
On top of my servitude I give to the fine folks of Fishers, Fortville, Geist, and McCordsville, I also am a part-time caregiver of three extra children for a brief couple of hours in the mornings until the wonderful yellow bus comes 'round the bend. Because of the long holiday weekend, I was going to be relieved of my indentured servant, er, babysitter duties for a few days. Why not take the entire weekend off, right? Genius!
I love it when a good plan catches on! Aaron is home, too! Okay, so maybe my exact order of events is a bit off, but just play along. The point ends the same. Anywhoo, here we are, home! Home, home, home. Home-ity home home. Never a better opportunity for becoming junior DIY-ers. First stop, master bathroom! Small enough to tackle on a tight budget with one semi-pro painter and one (me) who has never been afforded the opportunity to wield a roller. Can you imagine?! Anyway, especially with my newbiness, it was a good room to start. My bathroom is now Terra Cotta! Like? 
We trimmed out in high gloss colonial white, and will be using a slate green/blue as an accent color. We thought Necco wafer green at first, but it came out a little to minty and the bathroom suddenly took on the role of Thin Mint. Not for us. Though we did kind of enjoy the momentary craving for some mint chocolate chip ice cream that I blame entirely on the fact that the bathroom had absolutely zero ventilation for about an hour while we were forced to shut the door. Yikes. Okay, anyway. Here's what I want for the trim:
And that's not all!! Aaron spent most of Saturday (at least, I think it was Saturday) sealing the driveway. Now I have the prettiest driveway on the block! Okay, it is really cool, though, because it's shiny, and Linda loves shiny things!
Best of all, tis really nice to have him home. It's been a great weekend, just hanging out, going for walks/sprints, hotboxing paint fumes in an unventilated bathroom together. We've been so busy, though, we haven't had time to just "be."
Monday was the celebration of the end of the long weekend (can I get a few more "of the"s in there?) with swimming and cooking out. Aaron made a new friend and I good-naturedly took the bulk of their teasing when the vegetarian forgot to buy hamburger for the grill. I mean, really, aren't 3 cornish hens (complete with Guinness can sodomy show!), twelve brats, and 24 hotdogs enough for sixteen people? Let us not forget all the cold salads! Sheesh. So, yeah I did. I totally skipped out on buying burger for the grill. My bad. Save a cow. Eat a squash. Hehe.
So there you have it. My glorious weekend.
XOXO
Linda
