The Evolution of Shaving

Whilst enjoying yet another stimulating (ie, heart pounding, breath stealing, contortionist, tear-filled eyes) leg shaving adventure I realized that while the last 20 + years of shaving have remained consistent in the actual act, that the motivation behind shaving has evolved over time.

When I was in 7th grade (summer birthday) and allowed to shave I mostly did it because it made me feel grown up and shouted my new hairless pseudo-adult status to the world.  I remember sitting in choir class with a friend's older sister and having her tell me and another friend in serious tones that we should ALWAYS remember to shave above the knee.  Failing to do so was akin to social suicide.  Those words of wisdom were carved into my head. 

Throughout junior high, high school and college I continued to shave because of peer pressure.  It was socially acceptable and I wasn't one to rock the boat.  Trust me, no one (aside from my friend J.C.) wanted to be known as the hairy girl. 

My early married years were a continuation of shaving habits.  Now it was motivated by the fact that (cover your eyes young readers) someone else would have access to my legs, and nothing is as nasty as running into stubble.  Or worse, long, soft, locks of leg hair.  Nasty.

With my first pregnancy I continued to shave because I was serious about retaining some pride and NOT sitting in those delivery stirrups with my leg hair tickling my doctor's face.  (Too much?) 

Then, motherhood set in.  Gone is my desire to be seen as an adult.  It doesn't get much more adult than early 30s with three kids, a job, a house, a minivan and the sudden addition of chin hairs (which I'm actually probably less concerned about than I should be).  Gone is my need to cave to peer pressure.  Even my peers aren't shaving as regularly.  We wear pants.  It's the new cool thing to do.  Gone is my desire for Hubs to only have contact with shining, smooth legs.  Or, as Hubs would probably say, gone is my desire.  Period. 

Only one thing seems to remain as a reason for me to continue shaving, however sporadically.  It is my last shred of pride.  I still refuse to have my leg hairs tickling someone during the delivery of my fourth baby.

What remains to be seen is, what will my motivation be after this?  There will be no more babies.  I stopped caring what my peers think a while back and, as established, I'm an adult. 

My glimmer of hope resides in the fact that one of my girlfriends told me that when you become geriatric you start losing hair on your body and don't really have to shave anymore.  Sweeter words were never spoken. 

I gently suggest to the public that you enjoy this brief reprieve of the last 30 days of my pregnancy.  After that I would suggest you avoid looking overlong at my legs, or sitting within rubbing distance.

And, Hubs could probably use a kind word or pat on the shoulder now and then, with love and compassion for the hardships he'll be facing.   

G.R.A.T.I.T.U.D.E.

What would Thanksgiving be without the "gratitude" post? 

I have to totally give The Hubs snaps because a week or so ago he came home with a stack of Post-It notes and a Sharpie marker.  At dinner each night we've gone around the table and each said one or two things we're thankful for.  Then we write them on the Post-It and slap it on an wall in our kitchen.  We've filled a wall with thankful notes and it makes me happy to focus on the positive among all the crummy stuff that can fill up your life.

This past Sunday I gave my primary girls the challenge to go home and make a list of things they are thankful for that start with the letters of GRATITUDE.  So, in order to not be terribly hypocritical over the holiday season, I will challenge myself to do the same.

Goldfish crackers - really, seriously, genius!!
Raisin-free cookies
Authors - without whom I couldn't indulge my need to read.
Toe nail clippers
IPods
Tumblers - for holding yummy drinks.
Umbrellas
Doctor Doofenshmirtz - if you don't know, you'd best find out!!
Exaggerated story telling

Now, go out and make your own list. 

The Accidental Project

Disclaimer:  Before I begin this post I must address an issue that has come to my attention.  My mother seems to be under the painful - and incorrect - belief that my blog is simply a forum for "throwing her under the bus".  I do not believe this to be the case at all.  All my stories are shared with good humor and sarcasm.  None of them are meant to be taken seriously.  (Although they DID all happen!)

Is it my fault that she provided me with many tales to share while growing up under her gentle tutelage?  I have been told tales of my grandmother and even of my great grandmother and their silly antics all my life.  I'm assuming my children will also tell tales of things I subjected them to when they become adults.  It's the circle of life. 

So, mom, buckle up....'cause here we go again...

As a child I occasionally became a victim of what I would refer to as "accidental projects".  You know, those times when, say, your mom decided to get a blanket out of the linen closet only to decide that closet was horrifyingly dirty and you suddenly found yourself cleaning.  If only mom had stayed out of the closet that day!!

The biggest and best example of this is the terrible

WAX SCRAPING FIASCO. 

Before my parents put actual tile in their kitchen they had some pretty fancy 20+ year-old linoleum type stuff designed to look like tile.  One day my mom got a wild hair and decided to get a butter knife and scrape the "grout" in this flooring.  She accidentally found out that the grout was actually white, not brown.  She figured that after 20+ years there was some serious wax build-up and that it needed to be broken down in order to make her kitchen floor sparkle again. 

She also accidentally experimented on the dead center "tile" on the kitchen floor.  Nope, she couldn't experiment under a shelf in the pantry.  She had to light up that center tile in the kitchen like a beacon of torture.  Of course, with the center tile sparkling like a Christmas tree she had no choice but to do the entire kitchen.

Thus, the most outrageous accidental project of my life.  All four of us children were recruited, given kitchen butter knives and put to work.  It took an extremely large amount of time.  Extremely large.  It was the worst, worst, worst. 

We still talk about it to this day.  I'm pretty sure it was only a year later that she got real tile. 

Slap. In. The. Face. 

This experience taught me a valuable lesson about not wanting to scratch away that dirt and to leave layers of grime well enough alone.  You don't want to know.  Trust me.  Ignorance is bliss.

Then, this morning, I apparently forgot all that and found myself involved in an accidental project.  I sat down at the top of the stairs going from my kitchen to my family room to talk with Joel about something while he was downstairs.  As I sat there I noticed that what I had heretofore assumed was kind of an off-white/cream colored railing may actually be white.  So, I foolishly grabbed a cloth, got it wet and began wiping down the railing.  Yep, it was white.

#*$(@&$(*%&)@(&$ !!!!

And now, I had one lovely pure white railing, gleaming like a Christmas tree among the other dulled, finger print and kool-aid spotted rails.  So, I hunched down and spent my morning wiping down railings.  But then the wall next to it - with it's lovely cream...oops, I guess white...wainscoting - couldn't be left alone. 

My accidental project took up most of my morning.  And I was so mad at myself for not remembering that long ago lesson.

But, hey, at least it didn't involve a butter knife!

8 years and a lotta miles

Eight years ago on this very day I became a mother.  After several years of disappointments and worry Eliana Mae changed my world.  Her delivery wasn't easy.  There was coaxing, begging, setbacks, and finally she was forced out regardless of her desire.  I went into labor with her at my grandmother's 90th birthday party the night of the 13th.   Eliana was born at 10:30 p.m. on the 14th.   Stubborn little button!!

No one can tell you until you become a mother what that word truly means.  People try.  There are quotes everywhere about having your heart walking around outside your body.  And that's true.  But no words can express the depth of emotion you feel about that child. 

No one can explain to you the way you fall in love the minute you know of their existence.  No one can tell you that those first kicks are like your first conversation.  No one tells you how some days when you're resting your hand on your swollen stomach, that you honestly feel like you can communicate and express love for that child.   That by feeling their little bum, or elbow, or heel push into your hand it's like getting to know each other.  No one can tell you....

No one can prepare you for that drive home from the hospital.  How you are suddenly aware of all the "idiot drivers" around you who never existed until your baby was born.  No one can tell you why your house will suddenly feel too hot or too cold or too noisy.  How you'll start whispering and sneaking around when you used to feel no such need.

No one can tell you about the sleepless nights, the sudden terror of a sneeze or cough, the wondering, wondering, wondering.  Are they getting enough to eat, are they sleeping okay, are they warm enough, are they happy.... do they know that I LOVE THEM!!!??

You can not understand how their heartaches will become yours.  How their successes make you want to shout for joy.  How their struggles will keep you on your knees, pleading for answers on how to help them.  How your hopes and fears for their futures will occupy your thoughts.

No one can tell you, because you wouldn't believe them.  Until you become a mother you would think they were being melodramatic or sentimental. 

It's the most amazing ride you can ever hope for. 

And I'm so grateful that my little button girl, all 6 lbs and 4 oz of her, came screaming into my world and changed it for the better.

I love you Els. 

Happy Birthday!!

Merry Sunshine

On my mother's side of the family I am a victim of a genetic abnormality known as Morning Personism.  It isn't an easy burden to carry.

Good Morning!!

As a child when I would visit my grandparent's home in Arizona I would inevitably be woken in one of two ways.  (1) Grandma bursting into my room singing the Cream of Wheat song (yes, there is a jingle about Cream of Wheat) or (2) my uncle coming in to give me a "Blood Circulator".  This involves rubbing arms and legs so vigorously that the person ends up exfoliated while also somehow making the victim's body bounce up and down on the mattress.  It takes serious skill to accomplish this task without breaking a limb or causing a seizure.

For the most part I handled these two awakenings in good humor, knowing that there was a possibility that Grandma had whipped up a chocolate cake for breakfast, but baked it in muffin tins in order to pass them off as "bran muffins".  (Word to the wise, NEVER say no to one of my grandmother's "muffins"!!)

On the home front my mother's tactic of choice was to flip on the light in your bedroom and sing an operatic version of "Good morning Merry Sunshine, what makes you rise so soon?  You woke up all the little birds and scared away the moon!"  {shudder}.  It still makes me feel ooky to this day.  Even typing those words made me want to crawl under the covers and go to a dark quiet place.

The one or two times in my 13 year public schooling experience that my mother consented to drive me to school (yes, barb intended) it involved her chatting happily with me and the sibs or friends.  She was met with silence, which she seemed to find hilarious and encouraging.  It was like Snow White was caught in the driver's seat babbling away in a foreign language while we all stared in horror. 

I could see the sympathy written on my friend's faces.  Most likely I was the only teenager our there dealing with this!

Now that I'm a mother I've realized I have the power to stop this cycle.  It does not need to be passed down to the next generation.  What a relief!

I never flip the light on in my kids rooms.  I gently scratch their back for a moment and then leave, letting them get up and dressed without the perky "natural high" morning moments I was forced to endure as a child.

And yet, thanks to this {bleepity bleep} time change, my kids have suddenly found their inner morning person.  GULP!  For the past three days they've gotten up cheerfully and chatted my ear off while getting dressed, making beds, doing hair, eating breakfast and even while brushing teeth.  They even broke into dancing and singing while putting on their backpacks and coats to head out to school this morning.

When they left I stood in shocked silence wondering how to handle this latest threat to our family.  The genes are attempting to rise and I am going to have to help my children learn that we are not victims of our heredity.  We have the ability to overcome!

We have the ability to slunk around in silence.  We can do it....we can!!!!

Losers Unite!

Occasionally - like every other day of the week - I worry about what areas of my life I'm completely failing in.  Last week I was really rising to the occasion of railing against my weaknesses.  I called Hubs for a bit of perspective, because hey, really, this was one of those times that he was allowed to say it was hormone related.  I'd have given him a free pass.

When he answered the phone I immediately began rambling about how I can't seem to do it all lately.  Either the house is clean or my job is done.  Either my boss is unhappy or my kids are neglected.  I gave this little vent session my all, even adding an occasional wobble to my voice when I felt that it was warranted by the depth of my failure. 

After I'd purged my soul I waited with baited breath to see what words of wisdom my darling Hubs in shining armor would impart.

"I know, babe.  I feel the same way.  I feel like I can't do anything right lately" was his soft reply. 

Wait... huh?  Next I found myself changing tactics and becoming the comforter rather than the disillusioned mother of 3.5. 

"That's not true, Hubs.  You do a lot of things well.  We both do."  I insisted.  It sounded weak to even my own ears.  While I believe in him I was still feeling a little less than stellar about myself.

"Like what?"

I quickly glanced around the room I was in as though the walls would hold the answers I was seeking.  Then, I looked down at my girth and began to giggle a bit.

"Well, I'm really, really good at eating!" I said.

No giggles from Hubs.  Although, really, if he'd have giggled I'd probably have found it a bit odd. 

"Nope, you can't even say we're good at eating.  Last week we spent three days failing at even that" (we'd had a nasty flu!).

This got me laughing even more.  "We have even failed at eating!!  We are the world's biggest failures.  We should form a club for losers.  People who can't do anyting right at all.  We won't even eat.  We'll just sit around staring at each other wishing someone could do something, but finding comfort in the fact that no one can."

Finally he laughed.  "Yep.  Losers Unite!"

Care to join us?

Halloween.

Well, we were lucky to have a Halloween miracle performed on our behalf.  Yep, the family finally recovered from the flu enough by Monday morning to actually enjoy our holiday.  This is good because if I'd have gone to all the costume efforts only to have them gather dust in the dress-up bin I probably would have been forced to throw a major conniption fit.  But, as it was, I've been calmed by dressing up and eating candy. 

Here is the gratuitous picture section:

Fairy Princess, Rock Star & Thomas

Sadly - the only family pic we've taken for the past 18 months.

The Hadley Spooks

The Ridges Monsters

Of course dressing up wasn't without its perils.  Hairstyles to be discussed, positioning of sparkles, appropriate height of "rockstar hair", discussion on make-up application techniques and whether or not my muu-muu was going to actually fit over my baby bump.

Somehow we came through it unscathed. 

Happy Halloween!