Another C Word

Colonoscopy.  My husband is having one tomorrow morning.  This will be his second time at bat.  Every five years they say.  I really do not think I could do it.  Not the procedure - the preparation.  I get extremely nasty when my blood sugar drops.  After even just a few hours of clear liquids I'd be up in a tower with hubby's gun.

Then there is the 800 gallons of "stuff" you have to drink.  "Stuff" which cleans you out.  He follows the instructions and always, and I mean always, achieves the desired result.  I just know if I tried it, they would get halfway through the test and find some corn from 1996 and I'd be rescheduled to do the whole thing over again.  

Plus, I'm just not compliant.  I'm the one who eats a peanut butter sandwich and drinks a can of diet Coke four hours before general anesthesia.  Why?  Because I can.

I'm Not Stupid

I'm not stupid.  I'm not stupid.  I'm not a brain surgeon either.  But I am reasonably intelligent.  If I really want to learn something, I am capable of learning it.  Even brain surgery.  At least, I used to be capable.  Probably way too old to learn it now.  But I do have incredibly steady hands and a love for working with tiny things in small, cramped spaces.  The mechanics of a light bulb should not defeat me.

My small gooseneck over the work table lamp was fluttering.  Assuming the bulb had loosened ever so slightly, I gently turned it to the right.  Because....righty tighty, lefty loosey, correct?  I'd like to be able to tell my ultra handy husband what I did to separate the light bulb into two pieces, but I have no idea.  He can look at a piece of furniture in a magazine and build an exact replica.  It's a real jolt to my pride to have to tell him I couldn't tighten a light bulb.

I could be a modern woman and attempt to fix it myself.  But I'm smart enough to know (see!) not to mess around with a light which is still plugged into the wall.  To unplug this light would require me to crawl underneath my work table.  I may be a gambler in Vegas, but not so much with my injured rotator cuff.  It just isn't worth moving or  twisting the wrong way.  Much more prudent to wait till hubby gets home.

In the meantime I've been working in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet.  That adds a whole new layer to the glamour of being self-employed.  And yes, the lid is down.  After all, I'm not stupid.

Quote of the Day

“I have found that when you are deeply troubled, there are things you get from the silent devoted companionship of a dog that you can get from no other source.”

- Doris Day

The C Word

Cholesterol.  It's an old person word.  An old person concern.  And strongly influenced by those who came before us.  My numbers are awesome.  My husband's are not.  It sucks, especially these days when I don't want to cook and I don't want to think about what people are going to eat for dinner.  If I were living alone I'd go to Papa Murphy's and order a family size Chicken Garlic, no tomatoes, sub mushrooms, and that would keep me fed for three days.

My hubby is a great cook, but he likes to be told what to cook.  A menu, a plan.  My son is 19, engaged, popular, and it's summertime.  That adds up to him rarely being here for meal times.  I'm just going through a cranky food time of life.  I'll snap out of it!  Really.....I will!

Summer Attire

95% of women who wear sleeveless clothing.....shouldn't.  The word "hamhock" comes to mind.  Or is that two words?  Either way, cover it up.

If I Ran the World - Bratty Kids Would Be the Exception, Not the Norm

I cannot tolerate bratty kids.  I could use 300 point font, all caps and a million exclamation points and still not convey the true depth of how much I hate bratty kids.  Then there's the word "hate."  Strong word.  Do I hate the actual child?  Of course not.  The hate is reserved for the parents.  Especially the parent who laughs nervously, rolls their eyes and mumbles "I just don't know what to do with him/her!"  I seriously want to shake people like that.

There are no perfect children and there are no perfect parents.  But parenthood is not rocket science.  Parenthood is common sense, cause and effect, action and reaction.  To be a good parent you have to embrace the Golden Rule and be able to share that knowledge with your offspring. 

My son was precocious, opinionated, stubborn and hard-headed.  No doubt at all who his mother was!  Thankfully he was not a biter, but he did find it amusing to poke people in the eye.  Actually that's worse than biting now that I stop and think about it.  First poking incident was met with a stern but gentle admonition because, after all, he's two years old.  Second poking incident the message was stronger and harsher, hopefully to get the point across.  Unfortunately, there was a third poking.  It was swiftly followed by a fourth, that being my finger into his little eye.  A look of horror came across his face.  Then the tears fell and the crying commenced.  And here's the shocker!  He never poked anyone in the eye again.  He actually tells that story to illustrate the no-nonsense way he was raised, and to proclaim he will raise his kids the same way.

He threw a hissy fit in a restaurant.  Once.  He laid down and pitched a mega fit in Target.  Once.  He did many if not all of the things every normal kid does.  Once.  When his behavior did not achieve the desired result and backfired on him, he was intelligent enough to learn his lesson.  Kids are incredibly more intelligent than we give them credit for.  Sadly, most are far more intelligent than the people who brought them into this world.

Girls vs. Boys

I only have one child (that I know of).  Years before I got pregnant I began to very respectfully ask God to bless me with boy children.  I knew in my heart boys would be best for everyone concerned.  I found out I was having a boy at the actual moment I gave birth to a boy.  My son was shy and managed to conceal his privates during two ultrasounds.

I still believe I was a better boy mom than I would have been a girl mom.  But every once in a while, boy oh boy (mega pun intended) do I wish I had a girl to talk to.  A girl would understand my emotions.  A girl wouldn't stare at me with absolutely no clue what to say.  A girl would get me.

20 Years

I'm 54.  Hard to believe.  Even harder to type.  So, statistically speaking, I have roughly 20 years left on this earth.  This whole "getting old" thing has been many things: scary, funny, enlightening.  But mostly surreal.  Yes, surreal is the word to sum it up.  My mind is constantly flashing back to things from my teens.  For example, California Dental Association night at Disneyland.  They'd rent the whole park.  I looked forward to that one night all year.  I remember thinking - when I'm an adult I can visit Disneyland as often I want and no one can tell me no.  Now I live two states away and finances, work and just everyday responsibilities tell me no.

All of the cliches I heard growing up now apply to me.  I relate to the essays of Dave Barry and find myself thinking a lot more cranky thoughts than I used to.  I've begun to view life as a train trip.  You take your seat and gaze out the window as the scenery goes by.  I long ago passed diapers and daycare.  Now I'm cruising slowly through college tuition.

But....whatta ya gonna do?  Can't stop time.  Can't even slow it down.  And that's another thing!  How time passes so much more quickly the older we get!?!

Why Am I Here, You Ask....

Hello!  You are most likely here because we have first "met" on eBay and I have given you the link to this blog post because you need my email address or I need yours.  Mine is xposales@aol.com and if  you are curious as to why I had to ask you to come here, please read on.

eBay prohibits potential buyers and sellers from exchanging email addresses.  In fact, their message system has filters which prevent the sending of any message containing an email address.  If you try to disguise the address by typing things like "(at) a.o.l dot com" the filter will catch it and you will not be able to send the message.

Isn't She Lovely?

Jacob and his beautiful girl at her senior prom last weekend.  Over three years now and they are still going strong.  Won't be long till she has a ring on her hand and I'm fine with that.

My baby's heart was broken many times before he met his princess.  Usually girls would get bored with how he treated his parents with respect, had no interest in drugs or alcohol, and believed sex should be saved till the wedding night.  Not exactly a bad boy huh?

Well, one of the girls he dated was a wild child.  And since I myself started my adulthood as a wild child I never judged her, but I doubted she was the one God had chosen for this future Pastor.  Their relationship quickly fizzled and they went their separate ways.  She and her current boyfriend just had a baby a few months ago.  They are now engaged.  Meanwhile Jacob is finishing up his freshman year of college.

We live in a big "small" town.  The baby daddy works at a nearby restaurant where I am a frequent customer.  He is a perfectly lovely young man and we chat.  Jacob has sworn me to secrecy and I am forbidden to tell the young man that I am Jacob's mother.  I understand completely because in this big "small" town a familiar face is never far away.  But every time I see that young man I thank the Lord for not making me a grandmother yet.