For the last three days I had been looking for my most favorite lip gloss that disappeared from the kitchen counter. This morning, as I was gathering my daughter’s things for school, I saw the lip gloss laying on top of the mud bench.
“MY LIP GLOSS!” I shouted. “I found it! Oh
, THANK GOD!”
Gabby walked into the room, put her hands and her hips and said “Thank GOD? How about thank your daughter? I’m the one who found it and put it there. Not God.”
I was nervous on the way to day one boot camp. It had been months since I had been to a class. All of the progress I had made physically had vanished and I was embarrassed to face my instructor and fellow boot campers.
On the drive over to class, I had a conversation with myself in which I tried to Pump Me Up.
“No one will judge you. Your instructor will welcome you with open arms. She is there to help you! Sure, you had a set back, but you’re getting off of your ass and getting back in shape! Don’t be afraid! Leave the past behind! Look to the future. YOU ARE SO STRONG. YOU CAN DO THIS. BE PROUD!”
The first thing I had to do when I arrived was get weighed and measured. My weight was as bad I thought it would be– I’ve gained 21 pounds. My measurement were just as bad, although I’m not sure how bad because I closed my eyes and plugged my ears while she was saying/writing the numbers. There was no judgement, only a big hug and a “glad you’re back!”
As I was heading to put my things down, a woman who had taken the last class with me a few months back approached me. I had bonded with this woman over our hatred of running. I was happy to see her back!
“Hi!” She shouted enthusiastically.
“HELLO!” I said. “So glad to see you!”
And then, this came out of her mouth.
“Wow– you’ve gained a lot of weight, haven’t you?”
I paused before responding because did she just call me out on my weight gain in front of everyone? Oh, ha ha! She totally did.
“Wow– you’ve gotten bitchier, haven’t you?” I shot back. IN MY HEAD BECAUSE NO I DIDN’T. I just smiled and said “Sure have. 21 pounds.”
She wasn’t finished with me yet.
“Yeah, you were A LOT smaller the last time I saw you.”
I can’t describe to you how uncomfortable I felt with her rude words right up in my face, so I pulled the My Grandma Died of Cancer And It Made Me Sad So I Ate a Lot Card. I didn’t know what else to say to make her shut her mouth. It worked, she said sorry and left me alone.
As I laid my workout mat down on the ground, I couldn’t help but think of how what had just happened was exactly what I had feared about going back. I didn’t want for people to see how I had failed. And within the first five minutes of exiting my car , someone noticed and pointed it out very loudly with words in front of everyone who was there.
I was embarrassed, but only for a minute. She was just stating the truth. I have gained weight. I am bigger than I was four months ago.
Life has ups and downs. So does my weight. I’ve recognized where I’ve went wrong and I am making the necessary adjustments to my life. I’m back to boot camp. I’m planning healthy meals again. I’m taking my daily vitamins and drinking enough water. I’m going to bed at a decent time. My body will get back to were it needs to be and everything will fall back into place. It’s all good. I’m so good.
While I do believe her message was simply the truth, her delivery was rude and uncalled for. I plotted my revenge during the timed mile run. I was going to beat her at running! Except, she was in front of me the entire time. Every time I’d catch up (while she was taking a walking break) she’d start running again and stay a few steps ahead of me. During the last stretch of the run, I used her rudeness to fuel me. “I may be bigger, but I can run faster than you, lady!” I pushed myself as hard as I possibly could. With the end of the run in sight, I did it. My Much Bigger Self passed her up and I beat her.
Can’t wait to see what happens in class tonight.
A few hours after my Grandmother passed away, my mother suggested that we all go to this foot spa/massage place that she goes to often. She told us that for $25, we could get an hour long massage. We were all physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted and so an hour long massage sounded wonderful.
I talked my husband into going, but it wasn’t easy. He was not comfortable getting a massage from a man OR a woman, but mostly from a man. I was all “if you get a man, just close your eyes and pretend she’s a beautiful, strong woman.” He agreed to give it a try.
Honestly? I was so traumatized from having watched my Grandma’s body being carried out on a stretcher and placed into a beat up old car, I don’t remember much from the massage. I remember it was dark and that there were lots of chairs in the middle of the room. I remember we left our clothes on. I remember there was relaxing music. I remember they put my feet in a tub of water. I remember that I wanted to fart SO MANY TIMES and had to clench SO HARD SO MANY TIMES. I remember they put a towel over my eyes and feeling relieved because no one would be able to see if I cried during the massage.
The actual massage? I don’t remember much about it.
Last Saturday I invited a friend to go with me to try this place again. It’s easy to convince people to try a massage that only costs $25 and lasts an hour. She asked about it and I told her what little I remember.
“They don’t just massage your feet. They massage your back and your hands. It will be great! Let’s do it!”
We met at 10am on Saturday morning. When we entered the building
, I could tell she was a little bit nervous. There are no private rooms, just a few chairs lined up in the middle of the room. Kind of awkward, but it’s really not a big deal because you don’t take your clothes off! I assured her it was going to be just fine and that she was going to LOVE IT. How can you not love a $25 hour long massage?
They brought a bucket for each of us to soak our feet in while we laid back and the men went to work on our bodies. I closed my eyes while the man started to massage my scalp. It was weird at first because he was chewing gum quite loudly and, well, there’s nothing relaxing about the sound of a stranger chomping on gum. However, one skill that I’ve mastered because I have three kids who are all very loud is the skill of Tuning Shit Out. I was able to tune the sound of his gum chewing out and focus on the peaceful music.
The first few minutes were pure heaven. Scalp massage, followed by an eye brow massage, followed by an arm and hand massage. He worked his way down my body to my feet. The foot massage was a bit rough. There were a couple of times where I instinctively wanted to kick him in the face (because it hurt so bad.) I took deep breaths instead.
Once he was done with my feet, he took the towel off of my eyes and asked me to turn onto my stomach. He started massaging my shoulders, which felt AMAZING. I have so much tension in that area from working on the computer all day. I was in heaven.
And then something pretty weird happened.
He touched my ass. On purpose. He started by pushing down on it, then he began to knead it, as if my ass was a ball of pizza dough that needed to be shaped.
It was so… awkward, so… unexpected. There I was, in the middle of the room, getting a Full Blown Unexpected Butt Massage. I could feel the laughter rising up within me. I laughed quietly to myself through that little hole that they make for your face in the massage chair. This was really happening! And it was weird! But then, it stopped being funny and started to be straight up painful. He began to rub The Butt in a very aggressive manner. It almost felt like he was angry with it and like he was “teaching it a lesson.” He pushed, he rubbed, he um, spread my freaking cheeks apart.
I wanted to get up and be all “HEY THERE, LITTLE FELLA! Watch yourself!” But I couldn’t move. I just laid there and let him brutalize my butt. (Because maybe this was normal? Maybe this was good for my butt and I just didn’t know it?)
It lasted for what felt like 2 hours, but was probably 5 minutes? And then, it was over. My friend’s massage ended at the same time. We both sat up and looked at each other. Our hair was a mess, or makeup was a bit smeared.
“What the heck?” My friend said. “I feel like I need to smoke a cigarette.”
I knew what she meant.
The next day, Tony wrapped his arms around me and grabbed my butt.
It hurt so bad, I got chills.
“I think that guy bruised my butt. Will you…”
Before I could finish my sentence, he pulled my sweats down to carefully, lovingly and longingly examine my bottom.
And sure enough, just a little left of crack was a blue-ish, oddly shaped bruise.
I’m no expert in How Massages Are Supposed to Work, but I’m pretty sure they’re never supposed to end with butt bruises.
I got married when I was nineteen years old. Needless to say, I did not have a chance to experience The World of Dating. I mostly feel grateful I didn’t have to experience bad or weird or scary dates to find the man of my dreams. However, my lack of experience in the World of Dating makes me very curious about the dating lives of other people. I love hearing stories of how people met, about their first dates, or about all of the bad dates they had to go on to find The One. My sister-in-law recently met the man of her dreams and married him in November of 2010.
Let me tell you about these two.
They are in love. Head over heels in love. They connect in every way-physically, spiritually, emotionally. A year later, they are still going strong. How did they meet?
On eHarmony.
As part of this program, I sat down to talk to her about her experience. Here is what she had to say.
Me: Was there a reason you chose eHarmony over the other dating websites out there?
Her: Yes, absolutely. The other sites had reputations for being “meat markets.” On one of the sites, it was possible for anyone to view your profile and see your photo. Most people base whether they want to date you or not based on your photo. That’s not the case with eHarmony. I had to fill out a very intensive survey that took me a long time to fill out. They really try to get to know your personality. Then, the only people who are allowed to see your profile are those who eHarmony matches you with, based on your personality.
Me: How many dates did you go on before you met Steve?
Her: Six. Most of those dates were meeting for coffee. I didn’t want to get stuck in an uncomfortable situation because I didn’t click with the person. Honestly? I clicked with every person I went on a date with. I had something in common with every one of them. We had great conversations. The only problem was that there wasn’t a romantic connection. I remember thinking to myself “even if I don’t end up dating this person, I could see myself being friends with them!”
Me: When you met Steve, when did you know he was the one?
Her: I knew right away, and so did he. We waited a year and a half to get married, but we only waited that long because we thought it was the responsible thing to do. We both knew in our hearts we were meant to be together.
For a chance to win a $100 gift card, courtesy of eHarmony and BlogHer, answer the following question in comments:What is the most important character trait your partner must have and why? Can’t wait to read your responses!
Rules:
Today did not go at all the way that I had planned. At about four in the afternoon, I was all “Oh, crap! Valentine’s Day is tomorrow! What will Gabby take for her class?”
She wanted to make the iPod candy’s she made last year, but there just wasn’t time. I am not a crafty person nor am I the kind of person who can come up with adorable ideas on the spot. I need to research and think and possibly pray/cry to make crafts happen. But you guys! I saw a bag of marshmallows in the cabinet and was like I’VE GOT THIS.
I sent Pighunter to the candy store with a short list.
Melting milk chocolate, sticks for suckers, heart shaped sprinkles and little baggies.
I had pink pipe cleaner and paper for tags.
Then this happened.
And that’s about as creative as it’s gonna get up in here for Valentine’s Day.
“Can someone please tell me why there is a stick of butter on the bookshelf?”
My daughter came skipping into the room. “Oh, I put it there this morning.”
“Why? Why would you put butter on the bookshelf, Gabby?”
“Because, Mom. I wanted it to be a buttery kind of day! OR! Maybe a ghost put it there. I can’t remember.”
I have a feeling I’ll never know the real story of how a stick of butter ended up on the bookshelf in the living room.
My daughter was outside, riding her scooter while her brother watched her. I was in my bedroom working when I heard the familiar cry.
I jumped up out of my chair and ran to the front door.
My daughter was crying
, holding her hand close to her chest. She had fallen off of her scooter and scraped her hand and knee. Nothing serious, just a couple little scratches.
I asked her if she was okay and knelt down to kiss her hand.
“It burns!” She cried.
“I know it burns. But it’s just a little scratch. We’ll clean it up, put a bandage on it and you’ll be fine.”
We washed the cut, applied some ointment and put bandages on the scratches. I hugged her and told her to lay down for a few minutes.
A minute later, I heard her crying again.
My felt annoyed. It’s just a scratch. There’s not even any blood! I wanted to tell her to stop crying. I wanted to tell her to stop being dramatic. I wanted to tell her it was okay, to take a deep breath and chill.
But then I thought of my son. My little baby boy who is now driving my car without me in it and waiting to ship off to Marine boot camp. I thought of holding him in my arms when he would get hurt. I thought of how he was once little just like her and now he’s a grown man. And it all happened in the blink of an eye. Every bit of annoyance that I felt with her dramatics melted away. I just wanted to hold my little girl. Because she’s still little enough that I can, but she won’t be for very long.
I sat down on the sofa next to her, scooped her up into my lap and held her tightly. I kissed the top of her head.
“I know, sweetie. I know. Boo boo’s hurt. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”
I lifted her hand up to my mouth and started to blow gently near the bandage.
“Does that help? Does that make it feel better?”
She nodded and buried her face into my chest.
“I’ll hold you for as long as you want me to, baby girl.”
I may not be able to hold her in my arms for much longer, but I will hold her in my heart until my very last breath.
When your kids are little, one thing you can’t help but wonder is what are they going to be when they grow up?
A teacher? A fireman? A veterinarian?
When my first born was little, I would ask him what he wanted to be when he would grow up and he always had a different answer. He never had a passion for a specific career. “He’s little. He’ll figure it out as he lives his life.” I’d tell myself.
When he was a junior in high school, he had to make up credits for failing a class. He enrolled in a criminal justice course. After week two of the class, he decided he wanted to be a police officer. Of course, that made me both proud and also kind of sick to my stomach. Such a courageous choice– to protect and serve– but one that comes with great risks. But, I was happy that my son finally had decided on a path for life after high school.
He had a plan.
And then, one day after graduation he went with a friend to the Marine Corp’s recruiting office.
The next day, he informed me that his plans had changed.
“I want to join the Marines.”
My heart sank. I tried not to panic. I told myself once he researched and talked to people who had been through boot camp, he’d change his mind!
He started going to physical training at the recruiting office every day with his friend.
One thing I’ve learned is that when you tell people that your kid wants to join the military, they tell you that you should be proud! How brave! SUPPORT THAT BRAVE SON OF YOURS! The truth is that was not my first reaction. My first reaction was “No. Not my son. Never my son.”
Over time, it became clear to me that my son wasn’t going to change his mind. In fact, he became more sure with each passing day. We had many conversations about why he wanted this for his life. He articulated “why” in a thoughtful, intelligent manner. After one particularly intense conversation, I decided that I would stop saying “not my son!” and support the hell out of him.
Earlier this month, he went to LA for two days to go to MEPS. He passed his test and the physical. He was sworn in as a Marine Reserves recruit. He’s just waiting for an official ship out date for boot camp. Yesterday, he was told it’s very likely that date will be March 19th. (But possibly as late as August.)
So, how am I feeling about his decision at this very moment?
I’m a mixed bag of emotions. I feel proud– My son is courageous and brave. I feel nervous– My son will be away for 13 weeks at boot camp where he will be challenged physically, mentally and emotionally in ways that I can’t even begin to comprehend. I know he is strong and that he is smart, but I can’t help but worry about what he will go through during those 13 week. I feel sad, I feel excited, I feel unsure, I feel SO MANY THINGS.
The other night I was sitting on the couch with my husband watching TV. During a commercial, my husband turned to me and said “can you believe our son is going to be a Marine?” I could see that he had tears in his eyes. “STOP IT.” I said. “JUST STOP IT.” We both just sort of lost it. We started to cry and talk about how quickly our first little baby grew up and remember how we used to just hold him and look at him and be in awe of him and kiss his fat little cheeks and sing to him and rock him and just LOVE OUR SWEET LITTLE BABY?
That baby is all grown up now and in a few weeks , he will be a changed man. I am looking forward to the day I can say that I am The Proud Mom of a Marine.
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