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Five Things I Love About My Body (I think?)

5-things-thursday

It’s not my topic.  Go blame her!  Or better yet, join her!  (You don’t have to write about your body; you can write about anything.  I was just tired and ran with Peanut’s topic!)

OK, I’ve been known to post photographs of various body parts healing, but I’ll leave today’s images up to the imagination.  (I think the tick thing yesterday was a tad “in-yer-face” for some people.)

1.  Curly-Q Leg Vein: When I was four, a 250-lb fireplace mantle fell on me, crushing me beneath it, but only breaking the vein in one leg.  This was one serious miracle which left me with a small “curly-q” vein on the back of my right leg.  My entire life I have been able to look at this and be thankful God spared me a horrific injury.

2.  Impressive Stomach Scar: I’ve written in detail about this before, but while pregnant with Edward, I had a suspicious grapefruit-sized tumor on my ovary that threatened the pregnancy and appeared malignant.  Doctors removed it with a 14-inch longitudinal slice to my midsection.  In a series of miracles, my pregnancy progressed normally, the tumor was benign and Edward was born!  I used to be quite vain about my flat stomach.  I could gain weight elsewhere but my stomach remained Sahara flat.  After this surgery, however, my stomach bears a deep purple furrow with what I like to call meandering “pits.”  (Sounds lovely, I know.)  It’s taken a few years, but now I love this scar because it reminds me of God’s promise for this child and His protection.  This scar also keeps some of my challenges with Edward in perspective.

3.  Arrow-Shaped Feet: Yes, since I was a young child, my feet have been shaped like arrows.  In actuality I have inherited some serious bunions.  While I have come so close to having surgery to correct these lovelies, every time the surgery has been scheduled, something has come up and I’ve had to cancel.  Since I became a stay-at-home mom, however, and can wear any type of shoe I want, I no longer have bunion pain.  Thankful?  Absolutely!  However would I manage two separate 6-week episodes of bed rest and crutches?

4.  Separated Eyebrows: I’m wretched at plucking and shaping my eyebrows, therefore I am quite thankful they do not grow together into some sort of “mono-brow” because that would be a lot to maintain and I’m not sure I’d be very good at it.  (See, I never thought about that until today.  Thanks, Peanut, for showing me more to be thankful for!)

5.  Cavity-Repelling Teeth: Seriously the only time I get cavities is when I have a baby, so I have three and I think that’s the end of that!  Or it could be linked to my flossing obsession?

So go visit Peanut and do your own Five Things Thursday!

Posted on 7 May '09 by , under Humor/Disconnected Miscellany. 5 Comments.

Library Angst: It’s All About Me

Andrea at Crazy Jugs tagged me!  She’s a fascinating and extremely real blogger, so if you haven’t checked her out, please do so!

Three’s About Me!

Three Names I Have Been Called…
1. Forsh
2. You know, that girl with the long hair whose children used to go to **** and how she’s homeschooling…or something…
3. That Book Lady

Three Jobs I Have Had In My Life…
1. College English Teacher
2. Biscuit Maker at Mrs. Winner’s Chicken and Biscuits
3. Crystal Seller

Three Places I Have Lived…
1. Nashville
2. Atlanta
3. Birmingham

Three Hobbies…
1. Hunting for rare books
2. Bargain hunting at garage sales and thrift stores
3. Beth Moore Bible Studies

Three things most people do not know about me…
1.  I have a wretched temper when faced with unfairness.  For example, today I received a letter from my local library claiming I owed then $55.00 because I checked out a book that was “not allowed to be checked out by the library.”  I mean, they checked it out to me!  Now they are sending me rude, threatening letters.  I called today and they said my only recourse is to meet with this one woman tomorrow morning at 9 am.  With my children in tow.  I am so, so blooming angry!

Part B: My inlaws read my blog.  And I’m OK with that : )

2.  I had my last baby when I was 38, and it was by far the easiest pregnancy!

oldmother

3.  I am obsessed with flossing my children’s (and my own) teeth.  I floss at least three times per day, and I truly thrill to flossing their teeth too.  Perhaps I should have been a dental hygienist?  Here’s a picture of me in deep flossing concentration:  (I like using those flossy sticks.)

flossing

Three TV Shows That I Watch…
1. House Hunters International
2. The Property Shop – that woman has issues but that’s another post for another time!
3. Sell This House!

Three places I Have Been…
1. Jackson Hole, Wyoming
2. Vienna, Austria
3.  Kauai, HI

Three places I want to go…
1. China
2. Japan
3. Israel

That’s three about me, now three’s about you too?

I’m randomly tagging the last nine people who commented on my blog.  If you have already done this self-absorbed meme, just move on!  And if you don’t want to write about these things, please don’t and I’ll never know because I can’t keep up with anything anyway!

Peanut

Patty O.

Rhema’s Hope

Mrs. Bear

Crooked Made Straight

Piece of Cake

The Domestic Fringe

The UnMom

Stone Fox

Posted on 19 February '09 by , under Accidental Homeschooling, Humor/Disconnected Miscellany. 14 Comments.

The ‘Good Mother’ in the ER

Tonight, I had it so made.  My wounded leg afforded me the luxury to relax with my foot propped up, swathed in a 1970s era mothball-infused heating pad, courtesy of my parents.  (So many things they loan me smell like moth balls and I’m not sure why because I’ve never seen them actually use moth balls.)

Anyway,  I had my laptop in bed, the TV on, and had actually closed my bedroom door.  I breathed that rare sigh of relief as I started catching up on comments and Twitter.  I was in the blogging zone.  Yes, I’m that corny!

And then the shrill, piercing scream.

If you’ve been a mommy for any length of time, you know the various tones and cadences of screams.  You are familiar with the generally affected “He-pulled-my-hair-to-distract-me-from-my-juice-box-which-he-then-stole” scream, or the indignant “He’s somehow overridden the Wii controllers and is controlling my Mario Cart man” scream.

Then there’s the tortured “She’s destroyed the Lego creation I spent 9 hours on” scream, or the woeful “He’s mined all the chocolaty chunks out of the Moose Tracks ice cream” scream.

Yet there’s one scream that’s the “I mean business and I’m most likely bleeding profusely” scream.  And that’s the one I heard tonight.

I flipped back the heating pad, tossed my foot-prop pillows to the floor and ran to the kitchen only to find my sweet Sue clutching her tiny chin, blood flowing.

Ugh, I thought.

We applied towels and ice, and got her generally calmed down enough to take a look.  It was a bit gaping and deep so I knew that meant the ultimate.

The dreaded.

The Saturday night ER trip.

Thirty minutes earlier and our local after-hour pediatrics clinic could have stitched her up in no time. Yet time was not on our side, so backpack filled with diversions and snacks, we trudged off into the darkness toward our local ER.

Because I’d been in this ER “impending stitches or staples” type situation before with Edward three times, I knew a little bit about the expectations a three-year-old has regarding any sort of medical escapade.  So I began, in three-year-old detail, to explain absolutely everything that was going to transpire a few minutes before it actually did.

We role-played how the nurse would take the bandage off to examine the wound.  We practiced seeing how bright the light would be when it shined on the boo-boo.  We talked about how cold the numbing medicine would be when the nurse poured it on our chin.

And, friends, for the first time in my life, all this stuff actually worked!

Sue never cried, never fussed, never whined.  It was one of those times when everything just goes so smoothly you know God has covered this experience completely.

The ER nurses and doctors were unusually kind and attentive.  I guess in an ER where it seemed half of the patients were only there to obtain enough methadone to make it through the weekend, we were somewhat of a bright spot.

(Incidentally I learned so much about the various excuses one can make when attempting to obtain methadone during this ER visit; it truly was an education.  Even Sue at the end was asking about ‘methdone’.  Great.)

The kind hospital staff kept waxing on and on about what a good mother I was, and how they never see good mothers any more.  And this was such a strange feeling for me because you see, I haven’t felt like a particularly good mother lately.

I haven’t been patient enough or intuitive enough or compassionate enough.  I haven’t made one single meal with two vegetables or bleached my sink to avoid bacteria or flossed my children’s teeth.

So many days I feel stretched so thin that I don’t have the energy to do the basic “decent mommy” things I ought to do, much less the truly “good mommy” things I want to do.  I have become torn between so many competing priorities that some days I’m not sure what is important anymore.

Yet during this ER visit tonight, there were no other children, no competing chaos, no conflicting diagnoses…just a calm, clean blond-headed three-year-old clad literally in cat pajamas with a mild, straight cut to the chin.  We needed to have it stitched, and that was our simple, straight-forward goal.

There was a certain peace in this simplicity.

Several times I toyed with the idea of hiking up my jeans and just asking the doctor to take a gander at my wounded leg.  But I didn’t want to push my luck.  It had all gone too frighteningly well.

So now as I complete this, Sue sleeps in the bed next to me, wearing her brother’s tye-dye shirt and clutching her pink suppy cup, her tiny lips working a familiar rhythm…even at the old age of 3, she’s still nursing in her sleep.

Posted on 7 September '08 by , under Faith is the Evidence. 38 Comments.

It’s No Cheap, Showy Trinket

The last time I felt truly good about myself (for all the wrong reasons) was about three weeks ago when I took my children to the dentist.  We arrived clean, pressed, on time and with shoes.  I flossed everyone until their gums bled, and I used my own bleaching toothpaste on their pearlies to make them gleam.

Everyone sat perfectly still for their X-rays, and I did not drug them with dye-free Benadryl.  Nobody cried, flailed, spit, kicked an adult, shot a foul-tasting flouride stream across the room or asked an inappropriate question about a dental hygienist’s undergarment.

As far as anyone could tell, we fit in the box this day.  Was the box of behavior, decorum and cleanliness somehow wide enough for us, or did we cram into it inexplicably? 

We all know the answer.

Yet it was a strange feeling, I tell you, to fit in that box–even if only for a moment.  And a dangerous one, too, because I honestly felt this swell of unhealthy pride.  I actually looked for a moment with disdain at another little boy slathered in post-lunch ketchup beaming Legos at stuffed animals in the waiting room.

His mama didn’t pack two extra shirts in the van; she should know better.

Behold the Fall.

Today our horseback riding teacher called to say we were simply not stable enough on the horse and would need to find some true Hippotherapy.  And then right before football practice, two of us smeared pokeberry juice on our cheeks and foreheads because we were urchin Indians.  Then we swung from a poison ivy vine.

(Apparently this can happen if you read Oliver Twist followed by Last of the Mohicans.)

Then one brother pulled another brother’s tooth a bit prematurely.  There was a lot of blood for a time.

Fast-forward to the part of the day when one child could not bear to look upon a gremlinish face carved into some wooden tree trunk tchotchke at a local Cracker Barrel, and unbeknownst to the parent, walked across the parking lot with his eyes closed, and ran smack dab into the Town & Country with a thud that sounded like an anvil had fallen on the van.

Because his guardian angels are so diligent, he emerged with only a large forehead bruise.  Still, this is “way-outside-the-box” kinda stuff.

I still look back on that day of dental greatness with a wistful sigh.  It was a stellar day.  Yet then I remember that God made my children the way they are for an incredibly specific reason.  And I embrace that, and them, and Him.

And after the excitement of today, just when I am growing weary of my “plight” that is truly a blessing and looking with longing toward my peers in the box, my dear blogging friend Mrs. Bear at Out Numbered Two to One comes to my self-concept rescue with this fine award:

Yes!  Now I finally can use the word “ass” on my blog without offending.  Maybe.

And I get to choose 5 others:

Go ye forth!

1.  The Bon Bon Gazette

2.  The Girl in the Middle

3.  Down-To-Earth Mama

4.  Weenuts

5.  Another Piece of the Puzzle

If I didn’t pick you, it was probably because I didn’t think you would be comfortable with the word “ass” peppering your blog.  You know who you are!

Rules are meant to be broken, but here they are anyway:

1. Choose 5 bloggers that you feel are “Kick Ass Bloggers”.

2. Let ‘em know in your post or via email, twitter or blog comments that they’ve received an “Award!”  Share the love and link back to both the person who awarded you and back to www.mammadawg.com.

3. Hop on back to the Kick Ass Blogger Club HQ to sign Mr. Linky then pass it on!

Fun times!

Posted on 19 August '08 by , under Humor/Disconnected Miscellany. 11 Comments.