Biscuit Legs

So I took the cooler weather as an opportunity to wear boots one last time. I love boots.  I originally discovered this during my I Hate My Legs phase.  I have ugly legs – they are thick and unshapely. They literally look like a stove pipe. A fat, fleshy stove pipe.

Very similar to this:

Like this, only flesh. And with varicose veins.

In an attempt to downplay this unfortunate feature, I spent a few years wearing dresses that were long enough to cover the majority of my legs.  As a non-Mormon and woman under the age of 80, you can imagine how difficult it was to find cute dresses that met that criteria.

Boots were my solution. My legs were hid, the dresses were cute and all was right with the world.

I’m over all that now.

I mean, I still have ugly legs. I just no longer care that they’re ugly. I'm on to better things, like hating my stomach.

But I still love a cute boot.

So I whip out some boots and…I can’t get the damn things zipped.

I have gained enough weight that my boots no longer fit.

Do you hear me people, I'm too fat for my boots!!

This is a serious new low.

But I am wearing these damn boots!

So I decide to literally stuff myself into them. I'm just going to stuff the fat into the boots. Zip a little, stuff a little, zip a little, stuff a little. Until I finally managed to get them zipped up almost the entire way.  The last little bit required assistance from a few items I found in the kitchen but by God, they were zipped!

About 2:00 p.m. I noticed some tightness. A little squeezing on my legs. Like they were wrapped just a little too snug.  It wasn’t painful, just mildly annoying.

By 4:00 p.m., all I wanted to do was unzip those damn boots and relieve the pressure. My legs looked like a can of biscuits had exploded.  The fat was literally puffing up and over the boots. This cute look had definitely gone awry.

The minute I got in the car I unzipped those suckers. I did it so fast I had both boots done before the car door even closed. It felt so good, it hurt.

Other than an indention across the front of my leg where the boot seam had been, everything seemed fine. I went home, made a mental note to Google “Boots for stove pipe legs” and threw them in the very back of the closet.

The next morning, as I’m running the razor up my leg, I hit something hard.  What the hell?

I have my leg hiked up on the wall so I bend forward to get a close look and I see a row of blisters. Those boots were so tight I am amazed that there was enough room for any kind of friction but apparently there was…and I have the blisters to prove it.

My fat blistery legs in all their stove pipe glory

I could cry about being so fat that my boots are rubbing wounds on my legs. Or I could just decide that I’m going to burn those freakin boots while I eat a box of chocolate donuts. I'll let you know what I decide...

Observations From The Deep Side

I'm sure you didn't notice but I've been trying to do a Monday, Wednesday, Friday post. For no particular reason except that I'm trying to bring some consistency into all areas of my life.

So far, I've done...okay.

I've missed a few days and it gets a little tricky when I post late at night because if it's past midnight it's technically the next day.

Like Monday, I didn't get to the computer until late because I was busy fighting tornadoes.

Okay, actually just the threat of tornadoes.

After our zoo adventure (which was fantabulous, by the way), we picked up M and went home. The girls were outside playing, I was cleaning and the tv was off. We had only been home about 15 minutes when the hubby called about bad weather.

If you're from this state, you know to expect bad weather. I've never really freaked out about tornadoes.  They're very dangerous and can be deadly but it's just part of living here.

It's a little bit different living in a tin can though.

We had storms last week and the entire place felt like it was about to tip over - and that was just strong wind. I can't even imagine if something serious were to come along.

So I called the girls in, we packed our "survival bags" and went to the designated city shelter, aka the high school.

That was an interesting experience.

Since there wasn't an immediate threat (although it was a bit unsettling when the sirens went off. Just a warning siren but still, there is something ominous about that sound) and there were people camped out in the hallways I took that as an opportunity for some random observations.

1. I was disciplining M2 and made my "Not A Happy Mommy Face" - this is a finely crafted expression that includes big, open eyes and thin, pursed lips and words that are clipped and Spoken. Like. Separate. Sentences.

I originally signed up for the "How To Make Not A Happy Mommy Face 101" while I was still in the hospital immediately after giving birth. Everyone said it was too soon but I was determined to prove them wrong. Unfortunately, I couldn't do it. Each time I would try, it turned into the "Awwww, She's So Little & Perfect Face". The instructor gave me a disgusted look, a failing grade and told me to come back when she began talking. I was back when she was 3 and I not only passed but was asked to be a guest instructor. I have that face down. 

So during the exchange, a girl sitting next to us was watching me intently.  Without taking her eyes off of me, she says to M "Your Mom..." and I"m sure she's about to say "is mean" or something like that but then I hear her finish with "has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen." And without missing a beat M says "Oh, you should see my Dad's - his are even brighter!"  And while he does have some pretty baby blues, I'll be signing up for that  "Hey Don't Steal My Thunder Face" session next week.

2. For the love of God, if you're a woman who doesn't wear a bra inside the house, listen up! I happen to wholeheartedly agree with you. I walk in the door, set my purse on the desk, walk directly to the bedroom, take off my wedding ring and take off my bra. Then I take a deep breath and relax. FREEEEEDOM!

So we're cut from the same cloth. I get you. But here's the rule, and it's an important one, you MUST NOT under absolutely ANY circumstances walk out of your home that way.

Don't. Do. It.

You'll be tempted. You'll dread putting the bra back on. You'll wonder if you can disguise it with a baggy sweatshirt. You might even try to tell yourself no one will notice. NO, NO, NO. Have some decency, suck it up and put the girls away.

But there are always rebels.

This rebel was easy to spot because her boobs were literally swinging. They hung down lower than mine, which is an impressive feat in itself, but apparently were light enough to kinda...float. Like with every step there was this wild side to side circular type movement somewhere around her navel. I knew I shouldn't stare but I couldn't help it - it defied gravity.

Heavy enough to hang (and hang low) but light enough to swing in circles. How? How is that happening? I was mesmerized. And severely grossed out.

And I get that we had bad weather coming in but please, you had time to grab that bra. You know you did. But just in case, may I suggest that for the remainder of tornado season, just keep one near the front door. Or perhaps in the car? Even if you threw it on over your shirt, it's still gotta be better than nothing.

3. I saw a dirty toddler running down the hall in nothing but a baggy diaper. No shirt, no shoes - nothing. He was immediately followed by an identical copy. Same thing. Two dirty twin naked babies.  It was awful. The people that appeared to be "parents", and I use that word loosely, were both fully clothed and had shoes. Lucky them.

M looked at her friend with an appalled expression and said "Oh my gosh! Did you see those kids, they don't have anything on but diapers!"

Of course, I said "Honey, let's not be judgy. We're not gonna worry about what other people do."

Oh I was 100% judging them. But my goal as a parent is to create humans that are actually better than me.

Hypocritical?  Yes.

But at least I had my bra on...

Zoo Daze

Today was zoo day with M2.

School field trips are always interesting. It's like playing Russian Roulette - am I going to get extra kids?  Is it just gonna be me and my kid?

I'm always scanning the line - that one looks nice, I could do that one. And that one. That one's okay. Oh, there's  a booger eater - yeah let's skip that one. You're fine. You're fine. That one looks like they're about to cry - pass. You're good. Good. Good.

And then you land on the one. 

You know it immediately- the "bad" kid. I know you aren't supposed to say things like that about kids but the truth is some kids are just little shits. And they usually grow up to be big shits.

Please, please, please don't give me that one. 

So this morning I was pleasantly surprised to find no easily identifiable little shits. I'm thinking I've hit the holy grail. This. Is. Perfect. There isn't a bad one here - we are set!

I'm assigned a cute little blonde girl.  I try to talk to her but she isn't much of a talker. She actually kinda looks scared. Or a little nauseous. I couldn't decide.

Just as we're about to leave the teacher pulls us over and is about to say something when she looks at the girl, pauses and asks if she needs her inhaler.  This is mildly alarming.

Then she whips out this huge mask-like device. This is not just an inhaler. It's the Mercedes of inhalers. It's a MegaDelex Inhaler 53S. The teacher turns to me with a half-smile and says "Don't worry, she knows exactly how to use this." Which is good, because I don't.  It's also ironic since she assists her throughout the entire process.

Yeah....I'm thinking this is not a hands-off type activity.

And ya know, I'm not 100% comfortable having someone else's kid to begin with. There's just something I find inherently strange about being responsible for someone else's child. I gotta watch them and keep them safe...it has the potential to get messy.

So I'm really hesitant to be responsible for one that may need help breathing.

Especially since I would not have asked if she needed her inhaler. I wouldn't have known to - I didn't see anything that would make me think she needed it.

The teacher obviously saw something I didn't, which is concerning.  You wanna send this kid with someone that's not even observant enough to notice she's having trouble?

I did note the girl didn't tell her teacher she needed it, the teacher asked her. But why wouldn't the girl ask? If you're having trouble and you don't ask your teacher who you know, are ya gonna feel comfortable asking me?

So before we get too far from the responsible adults, we kinda need to figure out what we're doin here.  What's our code? Am I asking you every 10 minutes if you need your inhaler?  Am I waiting for you to ask me for it?  Or am I just supposed to wait until you're a slight shade of blue and then throw it at you with a "Good luck, kid" as I run away to find help?

The entire time she's inhaling into this contraption I'm thinking I do not want this kid to have an asthma attach when she is with me. Despite the misconception, I am not good under pressure. If something happens, there is no calm and collected. I'm gonna freak the hell out. And then crumble into a pile of uselessness.  Crisis, mini-crisis or even anything just mildly bad - I am not your girl.

Sure I'm capable of reaching into a bag and pulling out an inhaler and giving it to her. And if you give me 10 minutes I will Google the instructions and maybe even be capable of helping her to use it. It's the worst case, what if  things don't go right scenarios that were scaring me.

And the panic must have been evident in my face because after a few bad coughing fits the teacher decided it was better the child stayed with her for observation.

I think we can all agree that was for the best.

I mean really, I'm a 40 year old woman that still likes to ride the carousal - I can barely be trusted with myself...

Take Two: Part III

I have an update on my waxing experience.

I promise this will be last time I mention anything related to my lady parts for a while. But I got a terrible wax job.

You know how I was so happy that it didn't hurt that bad? Well, maybe it should have hurt. Maybe it didn't hurt because it didn't really work.

I don't really know what protocol is but I didn't look at the salon. I don't know, besides the fact that I was just trying to scramble to put my clothes back on, it seems kind of awkward to do a self-examination while someone is standing there.

So it wasn't until I got home and checked things out that I realized things did not look so great. I look down and it's immediately What is this??

She may have been thorough with my backside but she definitely wasn't with the front. And that's the only part I care about. They are supposed to pluck out any stray hairs - and she did. Like two. Oh honey, nooooooo there was way more than two there.

And you have to grow it out to have it waxed, so it's not like they could be missed. Those suckers are obvious. And ridiculous looking.

So I ended up with something similar to this:

Pretty, huh?



*In case you don't know, that's a picture of Stimpy from the late 90's cartoon Ren & Stimpy. Which I was not allowed to watch but somehow managed to watch anytime I was at a friend's house.  It was totally inappropriate so we loved it. 

Easy Bake. Or Not.

Okay, so that was heavy.

I promise to keep it superficial and meaningless for a while to let you recover. I mean, who wants to hear about a bunch of serious stuff, right?

So this house.

First, let me just say I am grateful. I really, truly am.

You know I have to say that because everything else I'm about to say is going to sound like I'm complaining, right?

So we go to look at appliances. Two hours. In one store.

I should have known I was in over my head when the salesman asked what kind of stove I was looking for and I responded "One that cooks?"

Is there really that much difference between one oven and another? Yes. The answer is yes.

And of course I hadn't done any research prior because, well my false assumption that one appliance could boil water just as fast as another. But that, my friends, is a myth that you should not believe.  At least according to the sales guy.

There was just so much.

I spent two hours hearing about features and gadgets and a whole bunch of other things that make my head spin.  And all it did was make it worse for me because now I have more options. No, no, no! I'm trying to move in the other direction.

I walked in wanting a double oven and now I've got to decide between a double oven, wall oven and steamer combination or a wall oven convection/microwave combination.

And I don't cook enough to know what I'll use and what I won't use. And that's my concern - spending extra money on something I won't ever use.  The salesman highly recommended the steamer combination, he actually said it was a "game changer" but then also said there was a learning curve to cooking with steam. I have trouble cooking without a learning curve...so this makes me nervous.

It was a useful experience though - we narrowed it down to two brands and realized something that wasn't even on our radar.

The salesman was comparing the two brands and was telling us one was seamless - the two ovens literally sit on top of each other as opposed to the standard 2 inches between that you usually see.

Option 1: Standard space between ovens

Option 2: No space

Then he asked if I was doing side by side or stacking. I hadn't even considered (see lack of research statement above) side by side and our electrical wiring is already in so there's no options at this point - stacking it is.

Then he says "Then the seamless feature might be especially important for you." Why would that be impor...oh. Ohhhhhh.  It dawned on my husband at the same exact time, he asked "Are you saying that because she's short?" Stacked ovens and a short girl. I'll need to be able to see into the top oven, which could be a problem.

How did we not even think about that?

An then we moved on to refrigerators. You know how the new french door ones that have the freezer at the bottom and the fridge part at the top?  Really cool design - my husband really likes them. Which is unfortunate because when we opened the coordinating fridge it was immediately apparent that there was no way. I could barely reach the top shelf. I've never had that problem before but the way these particular shelves were set up - it was a no go.

You'll be relieved to know that I am tall enough to operate the dishwashers. We tested, just to be sure.

So I'm feeling a lot of pressure about these appliances, mainly because we're trying to get really good ones that will last a long time. Which means they are super expensive. And will last a long time. And that's a problem because if I get something and decide I don't like it...I'm just out of luck. I'll be stuck with it. Which my husband keeps reinforcing with his constant mantra of "You better get what you want because these are going to be your forever appliances."  Which is his way of saying get what you want despite the costs but I hear as "We're spending a lot of money so don't make a mistake in what you pick."

In case you're wondering, no the house isn't finished enough for appliances. We have to pick them out now so they know the dimensions when they build our cabinets. So we'll buy them and they'll store them for us until the cabinets are done.

We're having our cabinets custom built, which means we have to pick out everything. When we gutted the kitchen in our old house, I just went to Lowes, pointed to a cabinet that I liked and ordered it. Boom, done.

This isn't as easy.  At least for me.  My husband's like what kind of wood do you like? What kind of design do you want? I have no clue. I don't really know the difference between Alder, Cherry, Oak or Walnut. And I can't visualize things in my head, I have to actually see it.

So one of the trim carpenter invited us out to his house to see some of his work. We're driving out to his house in the middle of nowhere and I'm like is this really safe? To just be going to some strangers house? I watch too much crime tv for this...

But I'm here so I guess it was safe enough.

Actually, he was great. His wife and him were both great - we stayed for about an hour talking wood and visiting. They were both just really friendly, nice people. He then called a builder and they let us go into two new houses that were under construction so we could see some of the wood grains on real cabinets.

He also sent us to a client that had just remodeled their kitchen. Again, it was kinda weird just showing up at a strangers door like "Hi!  I'm here to look at your cabinets." But at least I know what kind of wood I like. And of course, it's the more expensive one.

So I thought of going with the cheaper one. Because really, if I was buying an existing house it's not like I would go into the kitchen and say "Oh, look at this grain! I don't like it, we're not buying this  house!" In fact, I'm not sure I would even notice that much. So really, it won't matter that much here either. But my husband said no, we're getting the wood I like and not to worry about the money.

But I am worried. Mainly because he's not.  He's lost his mind. He's encouraging me to upgrade and saying to take costs out of the equation.  Who are  you? I mean really, I don't know this guy.  This is the same man that wouldn't buy a $12.99 dress shirt because he thought it costs too much. Twelve. Ninety-nine.

I get this is our forever home and you want it to be nice but babe, we still gotta eat.

Take Two: Part II

Well, it's true...the second time really is easier!

I went in telling myself that it was going to hurt like hell.  So if nothing else, at least I was prepared.

We actually had a chance to talk this time. Last time she was busy trying to keep me on the table and I was just trying to remember how to breathe so there was no real conversation. Of course, I was trying to use the conversation as a way to distract myself.

And it totally worked. Because I had intended to tell her that I didn't want a full Brazilian. Not that you really need to know, but that really isn't the best look if you have an ugly vagina. Girls like me need a little something to help detract the ugliness. Which is why I totally get the bedazzling trend. What? You didn't know that was a thing?  Hey, sometimes a glued on rhinestone can make all the difference...

But I was concentrating so hard on what she was saying, and not what was happening, that I completely forgot to tell her to skip that area. I didn't remember until about .0002 seconds before I felt the wax being applied. Dang, I needed to keep that!

And I'm pretty sure the conversation distraction worked both ways. Because she spent a lot of time on my backside. Like, a lot. She was telling me about her ex-husband and just kept going and going. And I know that I'm a hairy beast but that hairy? Not that I don't appreciate the thoroughness, because I do.

So my rules for a successful wax are simple: prepare for the pain, mark the spot you want to keep in advance and make sure and ask about that ex!

Take Two

I'm about to go for round two of waxing torture.  

And it is a form of torture. Forget capitol punishment - just wax a hairy person for a minute or two and I bet they decide to straighten up real quick.

I should have gone last week but was too busy. I also may have been avoiding it just a little. But I'm at the stage that I can't avoid it any more. Which is about a week away from "Ummm, are you gonna take care of that?" and two weeks away from "You need to something about that NOW."  Us hairy girls can't mess around.

I'm nervous now that I know I have a reason to be. I was all "No Fear!" at my first appointment and we all know how well that went. This time I'm anticipating the pain. Which actually kinda makes it worse because my legs clamp shut just thinking about it. Natural instinct.

The Bringer of Pain, also known as the wax lady, told me it gets better, that the first appointment is the most painful. But she's getting paid by the job so of course she's going to say that, she's banking on girls like me believing her. Or being gluttons for punishment. Or buying a three pack before the first appointment. Why, why did I do the three pack?

So wish me luck. I think I'm really gonna need it.