I did it. I just succumbed to an unbelievable, inhumane, torturous act that can only be described as coo-coo-ca-choo. Waxing. By myself. On myself. Not my face or my arm or even my leg, but I went straight for the jackpot - the bikini line. I know, as you are sitting there cringing at my utter stupidity, let me just tell you that I have heard the horror stories, read the recounts of the brutal, painful atrocities. I know all too well the story of the lady that waxed her hoo-hoo and got stuck to the bottom of her bathtub. Obviously, I thought, these poor women didn't do it right. I read the box, heck I even got the low-down from the lady I purchased them from at the store. Surely if I could push 3 giant children from my body, I should be able to tolerate the discomfort of a little hair removal. Not so much the case.
First things first, kids are a-snooze in their beds. Read all instructions before even removing my pants. Make sure there is adequate and recommended amount of hair growth. Warm up strips between hands to soften wax. Apply to desired area and swiftly pull in opposite direction of hair growth. Voila! Instant smoothness with minimal redness (all normal). Are you friggin' kidding me? Minimal redness is me on the Equator for 8 hours with no sunscreen. I have a giant rectangular patch on my inner thigh where I chiseled off the strip. The extra kicker? I removed 1 (ONE) hair. And I was still very waxy. Thankfully, there were after-waxing wipes that I think were bits of sand paper doused in nail polish remover. I am hopeful that I can grow my skin back before Christmas. It looks like I will need to order a bathing skirt or perhaps stand proud as a beacon for what not to do to yourself when you are bored, overtired and just a little loopy. Shnikies.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
livin' on a prayer (Bon Jovi style)
The past few days, my thoughts have strayed from "hooray for summer vacation!" to "how can I get out of this looney house?!" After a week of being held captive by a feverish child and dark dreary un-June-like weather, I have only one goal - ESCAPE! I love my children, I do, but I need a breather. Where is the challenge? THREE kiddos. Three wonderfully, angellic, noisy, cranky, ornery children. One kid is easy peasey grilled cheesey. Shoot, 1 kid for an hour could easily be 1 kid for 2 days. One kid fits in your car, eats just a little extra food, fits into anyone's bed, but 3 whole separate kids for 30 minutes, Holy Mary in a bathtub! It might as well be 45 vampire werewolves for a month!
I totally get it. Except, "getting it" doesn't get me freedom for any amount of time. I don't really have a stash of babysitters and the neighbors appear to speed up when they drive past #49. I can't leave them with the dog or even Little Jerry Seinfeld (or can I???). Strangely, when I can go anywhere solo, I don't really want to. Truth be told, I am a hopeless homebody. I enjoy being here with the family, but when I can not leave, I get a skosh squirrely. I fantasize about going to the grocery store all by myself - no fighting over breakfast cereal or stuffing unwanted bits of deli cheese into my pants pocket. No getting clipped in the heel by the cart or trying to funnel the wild hooligans into the check-out line. To leisurely try on unsensible un-mum shoes at Aldo without a gaggle of goslings sporting nude ped socks on their heads and pretending that they are bank robbers. No wonder I dressed so much nicer before - I could try stuff on before I bought it instead of guessing and trying it on at home later and then never wearing it because it's not-quite right but it's too much of a hassle to go back to the store for an exchange or finally getting back to the store only to realize that 1) I have forgotten the receipt, 2) I am a season too late or, c) I am at the wrong store.
So here I am - stuck. I could beg, plead, bribe, but I will most likely do nothing. Just vent. Venting always helps a bit. Thank you for listening - that helps, too.
I totally get it. Except, "getting it" doesn't get me freedom for any amount of time. I don't really have a stash of babysitters and the neighbors appear to speed up when they drive past #49. I can't leave them with the dog or even Little Jerry Seinfeld (or can I???). Strangely, when I can go anywhere solo, I don't really want to. Truth be told, I am a hopeless homebody. I enjoy being here with the family, but when I can not leave, I get a skosh squirrely. I fantasize about going to the grocery store all by myself - no fighting over breakfast cereal or stuffing unwanted bits of deli cheese into my pants pocket. No getting clipped in the heel by the cart or trying to funnel the wild hooligans into the check-out line. To leisurely try on unsensible un-mum shoes at Aldo without a gaggle of goslings sporting nude ped socks on their heads and pretending that they are bank robbers. No wonder I dressed so much nicer before - I could try stuff on before I bought it instead of guessing and trying it on at home later and then never wearing it because it's not-quite right but it's too much of a hassle to go back to the store for an exchange or finally getting back to the store only to realize that 1) I have forgotten the receipt, 2) I am a season too late or, c) I am at the wrong store.
So here I am - stuck. I could beg, plead, bribe, but I will most likely do nothing. Just vent. Venting always helps a bit. Thank you for listening - that helps, too.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
grab my butt(on)
I have launched a campaign to make my blog go viral. Not really sure what this entails, but I started a Twitter account and posted a tweet - sadly, the tweet was the "how to start tweeting" information link, but it was a beginning. And a very memorable start for my solitary follower (who are you anyway to follow someone that hasn't mastered the Twitter?). Then I think I linked a tweet to my facebook page and my blogspot. I might have created a badge, too. I am completely unsure of my actual accomplishments and I am positive that I could never re-create my accidental triumphs because my computer time was thwarted by a virus. Little O has got her 1st fever (not too shabby considering that she is 3+ years old) and she is not a good sicky.
She is like me - combative and needy and refuses to ingest and and all medicines. I brought her to the doctor yesterday and he ruled out the strep and an ear infection. This is how the visit went: me pinning the arms of my upside down spitting girl while the doctor scoped her ears and swabbed her throat. She screamed at me to simultaneously "get outta here" and "hold you mama". Thank goodness it was a slow day in the office because we might have scared away any new perspective patients. On my way out, the doctor handed me a bag of Lexapro in a Lunesta bag - because my insanity is a secret apparently. One look at me and the gig is up people. So, now, we are on a strict regimen of popsicles and juice and venomous spite. I cleared out the entire aisle of fever reducers at Rite Aid in search of a palatable selection (and also a bottle of Bio Oil. Totally an impulse buy, but while I am treating a sicky germ, why the heck not erase those unsightly, old stretch marks, right? Sounds easy, I will let you know. Maybe I will do a before and after analysis...)
Anyway, despite my attempts to get the girl to take liquid or chewables, the end game is the same - me with boiling, sticky, acetaminophen/ibuprofen in my hair and dripping down the inside of my t-shirt and pooling in my bellybutton, in the dark, tripping over piles of laundry and a grumpy, displaced dog (he prefers the end of the bed, but not with a thrashing toddler). This morning, I was successful in duping her with crushed pills in a bowl full of yogurt, but she might be on to me. She gave the "I am on to you and your reindeer games, woman" look. I tend to get that look a lot these days. So, for the next 3-4 hours she will be spicy and will dump every bucket of toys she owns. My really-should-have-been-steam-cleaned-3-months-ago-berber carpet is totally covered with wooden blocks and Mickey the Mouse figurines. She might be trying to recreate our favorite scene from Home Alone (the first one. Surprisingly, #'s 2 and 3 didn't live up to the typical sequel successes.) I really hope she is back to her typical convivial self by tomorrow. It is exponentialy more challenging to Facebook stalk with a cranky kid on one's lap.
If there is a Twitter tech among you, could you spare a speedy quick lesson? I will gladly grab your butt(on) if you grab mine!
She is like me - combative and needy and refuses to ingest and and all medicines. I brought her to the doctor yesterday and he ruled out the strep and an ear infection. This is how the visit went: me pinning the arms of my upside down spitting girl while the doctor scoped her ears and swabbed her throat. She screamed at me to simultaneously "get outta here" and "hold you mama". Thank goodness it was a slow day in the office because we might have scared away any new perspective patients. On my way out, the doctor handed me a bag of Lexapro in a Lunesta bag - because my insanity is a secret apparently. One look at me and the gig is up people. So, now, we are on a strict regimen of popsicles and juice and venomous spite. I cleared out the entire aisle of fever reducers at Rite Aid in search of a palatable selection (and also a bottle of Bio Oil. Totally an impulse buy, but while I am treating a sicky germ, why the heck not erase those unsightly, old stretch marks, right? Sounds easy, I will let you know. Maybe I will do a before and after analysis...)
Anyway, despite my attempts to get the girl to take liquid or chewables, the end game is the same - me with boiling, sticky, acetaminophen/ibuprofen in my hair and dripping down the inside of my t-shirt and pooling in my bellybutton, in the dark, tripping over piles of laundry and a grumpy, displaced dog (he prefers the end of the bed, but not with a thrashing toddler). This morning, I was successful in duping her with crushed pills in a bowl full of yogurt, but she might be on to me. She gave the "I am on to you and your reindeer games, woman" look. I tend to get that look a lot these days. So, for the next 3-4 hours she will be spicy and will dump every bucket of toys she owns. My really-should-have-been-steam-cleaned-3-months-ago-berber carpet is totally covered with wooden blocks and Mickey the Mouse figurines. She might be trying to recreate our favorite scene from Home Alone (the first one. Surprisingly, #'s 2 and 3 didn't live up to the typical sequel successes.) I really hope she is back to her typical convivial self by tomorrow. It is exponentialy more challenging to Facebook stalk with a cranky kid on one's lap.
If there is a Twitter tech among you, could you spare a speedy quick lesson? I will gladly grab your butt(on) if you grab mine!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Day 2 of summer vacation...
Cleaning and purging tear continues. Took door off hinges. Washed and dryed and re-hung shower curtains. Thought I broke Kenmore washer. Cursed at stupid clothes shredder for a bit. Fixed it all by myself. Happy with my ingenuity and disappointed because I really wanted to call Sears and buy snazzy new front loader. I figure with the money that I saved by not purchasing a brandy new appliance that I should reward myself with a lovely swishy skirt from Boden. I haven't fed the kids yet, but it's only 11:35A and no one has complained yet. I did see some cheese crunchies on the kitchen floor though - evidence. Maybe I should apply for a CSI job? I do need a new job. (Note to self: research employment options for mum with awesome skills.) The front wildflowers, side lilacs, porch hangers, rock garden and fruit and veggie gardens are watered but I noticed that they are all in desperate need of weeding. (Side note #2: send all 6 kids out to pull stray, unwanted greenies.) Seems terribly, wonderfully quiet...
Head count done and each accounted for. (Good thing I keep a few spare blondies around.) I have just ironed the 97th melty glow-in-the-dark bead creation and am preparing for the Tuesday Lip Sync contest (I have chosen a plucky rendition of Lisa Loeb's "Stay" and I will be competing with favorites from Taylor Swift, Bruno Mars and the Black Eyed Peas. Lewis, the nearly toothless, slightly OCD Yorkie will judge.) After today, I think that I will have accomplished a whole week's worth of chores, arts and crafts and I will allow Operation Brain Rot to commence. As you might have guessed, I have consumed 4 cups of iced coffee and to combat the imminent caffeine crash, I will probably have 3 more.
These are my lazy days of summer, my absolutely ultimate favorite time of year. The time to reconnect with my little lovies and find the best self-tanning lotion on the shelves of Rite Aid. How could I possibly be more fortunate? I am so grateful that I am coming out of the funk that has plagued me for, what feels like, ever. Happy Summer Solstice!
Cleaning and purging tear continues. Took door off hinges. Washed and dryed and re-hung shower curtains. Thought I broke Kenmore washer. Cursed at stupid clothes shredder for a bit. Fixed it all by myself. Happy with my ingenuity and disappointed because I really wanted to call Sears and buy snazzy new front loader. I figure with the money that I saved by not purchasing a brandy new appliance that I should reward myself with a lovely swishy skirt from Boden. I haven't fed the kids yet, but it's only 11:35A and no one has complained yet. I did see some cheese crunchies on the kitchen floor though - evidence. Maybe I should apply for a CSI job? I do need a new job. (Note to self: research employment options for mum with awesome skills.) The front wildflowers, side lilacs, porch hangers, rock garden and fruit and veggie gardens are watered but I noticed that they are all in desperate need of weeding. (Side note #2: send all 6 kids out to pull stray, unwanted greenies.) Seems terribly, wonderfully quiet...
Head count done and each accounted for. (Good thing I keep a few spare blondies around.) I have just ironed the 97th melty glow-in-the-dark bead creation and am preparing for the Tuesday Lip Sync contest (I have chosen a plucky rendition of Lisa Loeb's "Stay" and I will be competing with favorites from Taylor Swift, Bruno Mars and the Black Eyed Peas. Lewis, the nearly toothless, slightly OCD Yorkie will judge.) After today, I think that I will have accomplished a whole week's worth of chores, arts and crafts and I will allow Operation Brain Rot to commence. As you might have guessed, I have consumed 4 cups of iced coffee and to combat the imminent caffeine crash, I will probably have 3 more.
These are my lazy days of summer, my absolutely ultimate favorite time of year. The time to reconnect with my little lovies and find the best self-tanning lotion on the shelves of Rite Aid. How could I possibly be more fortunate? I am so grateful that I am coming out of the funk that has plagued me for, what feels like, ever. Happy Summer Solstice!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
can I see you naked?
Now that I have stripped down to my emotional birthday suit, I am faced with a new hurdle - I don't know what to wear. Of course, this age old mental reservation plagues me and my six year old clone each morning, but I am referring to the new me - the inside me. I have been un-well for so long that I honestly don't think that I know what "normal" looks like. Right here, you are thinking, "normal? That's a loaded piece of crap question!" But, I am always an all or nothing kind of gal. Where is the middle? The grey?
I have this recurring dream where I am a kind, patient mum with a tidy house, a clean van and my children are well behaved and have little British accents. Then I wake up and scream at my yowlings to "just put ANY darn shoes on! I don't care!!!" and the dishes from last night are still in the sink and the only time that the van floor gets a smidge less crunchy is when the dog sneaks in and gobbles up the crumbles. I see other people and try to imagine what how they are so (seemingly) put together. Shoot - some even smell good and speak in complete sentences! What are they like at home? Do they hate the way their husbands chew and load the dishwasher? Do they roll their eyes at the endless questions posed by 3 year olds? Do they think 9 year old boys are annoying and pesty and bicker with their daughters about dresses and music and jumping on the beds? Do they lock themselves in the bathroom for 5 minutes of solitude under the guise of, well, going to the loo? This is me. Is this how other people live? Do I need to be concerned that I am hitching a ride back on the crazy train?
I am afraid of falling off the sane wagon and I worry that if I feel sad or glad or bad or mad or like making pathetic Suess-like rhymes, that I might need to increase my meds or my sessions. Last night, I struggled very muchly. I had some not so good thoughts and just crashed into bed. I wonder if this is because it's the end of the school year and I am overwhelmed or is it something more? How do I know? I wish someone would just write a book on mental wellness and how to get rich quick (a two-fer). Oprah must be bored by now. Maybe I can entice her?
I have this recurring dream where I am a kind, patient mum with a tidy house, a clean van and my children are well behaved and have little British accents. Then I wake up and scream at my yowlings to "just put ANY darn shoes on! I don't care!!!" and the dishes from last night are still in the sink and the only time that the van floor gets a smidge less crunchy is when the dog sneaks in and gobbles up the crumbles. I see other people and try to imagine what how they are so (seemingly) put together. Shoot - some even smell good and speak in complete sentences! What are they like at home? Do they hate the way their husbands chew and load the dishwasher? Do they roll their eyes at the endless questions posed by 3 year olds? Do they think 9 year old boys are annoying and pesty and bicker with their daughters about dresses and music and jumping on the beds? Do they lock themselves in the bathroom for 5 minutes of solitude under the guise of, well, going to the loo? This is me. Is this how other people live? Do I need to be concerned that I am hitching a ride back on the crazy train?
I am afraid of falling off the sane wagon and I worry that if I feel sad or glad or bad or mad or like making pathetic Suess-like rhymes, that I might need to increase my meds or my sessions. Last night, I struggled very muchly. I had some not so good thoughts and just crashed into bed. I wonder if this is because it's the end of the school year and I am overwhelmed or is it something more? How do I know? I wish someone would just write a book on mental wellness and how to get rich quick (a two-fer). Oprah must be bored by now. Maybe I can entice her?
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