On this cold and windy Thanksgiving Day, I sit and I wonder at all that I am thankful for. I am thankful for my family, good health, a warm house, my friends, both old and new. I am most definitely thankful for all that I should be thankful for. For all those things that we take for granted. But I’m also thankful for other things.
I am thankful for you, DVR and On Demand. Without you, how would I get my weekly fix of Dr. McDreamy. Even though McDreamy was a second to McSteamy. I am NOT thankful that they killed him off. Why did they do that? I still mourn.
I am thankful for washing machines. As much as I bitch my life away while throwing in a load, I think I would just die if I had to squat down next to a river and bang rocks on my undergarments.
I am also thankful for dishwashers. And I am thankful that I can ram that little machine to the hilt and still get my dishes clean. (DH begs to differ on the ramming it to the hilt thing, but do I care what he thinks? No. Because then I would have dishes in my sink waiting for the next load. I have a “dishes sitting in my sink for any length of time” fear. It’s a real phobia. Look it up.)
I am thankful for down comforters. I am especially thankful for the down comforter when it finds its way downstairs on the couch (thanks, Kid). The only problem is I cannot get off the couch once I’ve sat my ass down with that comforter pulled over me. It’s a real problem. Thank God for dishwashers and washing machines. That shit gets my shit done. Fast.
I am thankful for those little tin foil pans. See #3.
I am thankful for indoor plumbing. I’ve been camping. Getting up in the middle of the night, getting dressed and going outside in the cold to relieve myself is not my idea of a good time. Especially when there is a skunk giving you the hairy eyeball as you make your way to the latrine. So, thank you toilet. Even though I do have to clean you once in a while.
I am thankful for tweezers. Thank you for keeping my face from looking like that of Sasquatch. You are the gift that keeps on giving.
I am thankful for elastic waistbands. Without you, I would run the risk of losing my pants when I have to unzip them to let out the turkey belly. Or as The Kid says, “my food baby.”
I could go on, but I have to go and prep some stuff for my Thanksgiving Day. Which brings me to being thankful for maids, cooks and butlers. Even though I have none of them. But I promise I will be thankful if I ever acquire any or all. In the meantime, I will be thankful for my toilet brush, oven and furniture polish. Those are the next best thing, right? Yes. That’s what I will continue to tell myself. Happy Thanksgiving to all! Go and eat too much!
A dear friend of mine recently became a Reiki Master. For anyone who doesn’t know what Reiki is, here is the official definition as taken from my google search:
“a healing technique based on the principle that the therapist can channel energy into the patient by means of touch, to activate the natural healing processes of the patient’s body and restore physical and emotional well-being.”
I know. It sounds like hocus-pocus medicine man witchery. But in my opinion it is not. Our bodies, the universe, everything, is made up of energy. So really, it makes sense. But I’m not here to discuss whether you believe in these practices or not. I am here to tell you my experience in the only way I know how. My way.
My dear friend wanted to perform Reiki on my bad knee. Actually, I should say on my “healing” knee. Because I’m seriously hoping it’s not bad any more. It better not be after this bull poo I went through the last couple of weeks. It’s ridiculous. I would rather birth 10 more babies than do this again. Okay, so maybe that’s not true. Birthing babies kinda really sucks. But I digress.
I’ve never had Reiki performed on me. So, I went in a little worried that I wouldn’t do it right. Even though I wasn’t going to be doing the “it.” The first thing my friend, and I’ll call her “Dee”, said is that I need to think of what the intention of the session is, relax my mind, call for my guides, God and/or Jesus to assist (or something like that). Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I am unable to relax my mind. I’m not talking about relaxing my mind of all the stressful, crazy crap in life. Because honestly, I really don’t worry about that. Just ask DH. I basically have a very difficult time focusing. Period. I think I am one of those undiagnosed ADD adult people. In fact, I must be. There are so many reasons why I think so. But again, I digress.
The space was beautiful. I really love that word “space.” I don’t know why. It’s just…cool. The music was calming. Warm. So I laid down and allowed Dee to do her work. I think I started out okay. Here is pretty much the conversation I was having with myself, inside my head which is supposed to be kinda empty at this point:
“(inhale, exhale) okay, I am focusing on my knee, feel the light surrounding it, let me see…ok I’ll visualize the inside of what my knee looks like. Loosen up, scar tissue. Be free. Mmm, what is that scent? I think it may be lavender? OMG, that is my fave! oh, poop. Focus. Knee, knee, knee. Ummm, please let my knee heal. I wonder if I’m doing this right? I hope Dee can’t read my mind or that her guides snitch on me. That would be so mean. Those tattletalers. Oh wait, I forgot to ask for God’s help. Dear God, please come help Dee and me pull bad energy out of my body. Wait. Where should I visualize the bad energy going? Through my head? But then it will go by my heart. Is that bad? Maybe it should go through my eyeballs, ears and nose? I mean, does it need to go out a hole? Oh, my feet are closest though. Lord I hope it doesn’t go through poor Dee. Does she really need my bad energy? Speaking of which…Lord, please help me heal. And spirit guides, if you’re listening, you help too. I really need to stop by the liquor store for some wine. I wonder what book I should read next? Ugh, I hope the dollar store has baskets because otherwise those mothers can be expensive. I love the dollar store. I really should start buying my cleaning supplies there. Do you know how much money I could save? I think I’ll blog about this. I wish I could take notes. Oh, darn. I’m doing it again. Knee, knee, knee. Go out of me swelling and pain. Vanish. I didn’t poop today. I hope I don’t fluff right here on this table. I will just die. Oh, but it’s only Dee, she’ll understand. Fudge. Oh, sorry. That probably wasn’t the best choice of word at this moment. I’m sorry God. Hey God, please help. Ok, let me visualize all that ugly swelling in my joint dissipating. I wonder if Dee will give me bad feedback. What if she feels that I have something wrong with me. OMG. Speaking of knees, I haven’t done my exercises today. Boy is my therapist going to be mad at me. I’m such a bad patient. I think everybody is sick of my drama by now. Freaking A-Balls…KNEE, KNEE, KNEE. THINK ABOUT YOUR FRICKIN’ KNEE DANGIT!!! We would look so weird if we didn’t have necks, wouldn’t we?”
And with that, it was over. 30 minutes gone in a blink of an eye and some serious brain chatter. But all kidding aside, it was a wonderful experience. I was completely relaxed (except my brain, but that’s my own fault). I felt heat in my knee and felt a zing here and a zing there. I literally got up off that table and felt more flexible. Seriously. It feel good. Really good. And guess what? I practically ran down the stairs, using BOTH my legs when I got home. That right there is a bonus because until today, it has basically taken me about 2.4 minutes to complete that task. Also at work, I was able to bend my knee. Like, really bend it. Total bonus #2 since it’s felt like I’ve had 2 pounds of cotton shoved in my knee joint for the last 2 weeks.
All in all, I would say it was a success. I think I’ll be going back. But this time, I will try to leave all that chatter at home. You do realize that if we didn’t have necks, it really wouldn’t be weird. But it would be weird if we, the un-necked species, imagined having necks…or would it?
I am in awe of anyone in the healthcare profession. Particularly those who can look at, touch and fix broken, bleeding and cut open body parts.
Yesterday I went to have the stitches in my knee removed. I was full of complete anxiety all day long. All day long. I kid you not. Every time I thought of it, my heart rate would speed up, I’d break out in a little mini sweat and my extremities would curl up within themselves.
When I got there, I told the so-young-he-could-be-my-son physician’s assistant who was to be doing the removing that I am a big fat baby and that I was utterly disgusted by the fact that there is thread in my leg holding together pieces of skin. Utterly, utterly disgusted beyond words. I’m not sure if he thought I was funny or just another nut job. But I’m guessing the latter. Because his giggle was more of the “I hope I get the hell out of here alive” anxious type.
So, I laid down on the bed/gurney/whatever it’s called thingy and put a magazine over my face. I yucked, gagged and basically made an ass out of myself. I asked him what was taking so long to which he replied, “I’m done.”
What do you mean you’re done? So, it took him 3 seconds each “hole” to remove my stitches. I guess I should say “stitch” because that is what each incision had. A stitch. All that anxiety over that? Come on. Those people really ought to make it look better. I mean, how dumb will I sound repeating this story to my friends and family (like right now) without any drama. Embarrassing.
So, now I have another issue. I’m freaking out because I have to deal with this weird pulling sensation. Where my stitches were. I’m so incredibly grossed out by this feeling. I don’t know what I’m going to do. And there is something on my bandaid. I had DH look at it last night to make sure there is no blood. He says there isn’t blood. He’s no doctor. But I think I need one. Pronto. Or I may bleed to death. Don’t you think?
It’s funny the crap that creeps into your brain while you are sitting about trying to recuperate from surgery. With too much time on my hands, my brain is literally having a conversation with itself. Honestly, I’m afraid of short circuiting it. There hasn’t been this much activity since The Kid tried to teach me how to do the new fangled way of figuring out division.
Gawd, I’m getting a little sick of a song always playing in my head. Actually, now that I think about it, there have been rare times when there was just empty vastness. But then as soon as my brain realizes that, “Copacabana” rushes up in there and fills that empty space. I would prefer something soothing. Like “California Dreamin’.” “All the leaves are brown/her name was Lola, she was a showgirl/the preacher likes the cold/She would merengue and do the cha-cha.” Darnit. Barry Manilow wins every time. No amount of inner brain song screaming makes Lola go away.
Am I supposed to still have that swelling? Is that normal swelling or could there be water in there? If I stick a pin in my skin, will I get a bath? Ohmygod. I feel nauseous. Ohmygod. Ewww. Think of something else. Think of something else. “Her name was Lola…”
What’s on TV? Dr. Phil. Nope. Don’t like him anymore. Dr. Oz. Nope. Boring. Program about murders. Nope. Depressing. The Brady Bunch. Now you’re talking. I wonder which episode it is? I really liked the one where they went to Hawaii. I remember Hawaii Five O. I never really watched that show but I did like Charlie’s Angels. Farrah Fawcett was the best. When she left I didn’t watch it anymore. I remember my brother had that poster in his room of her. You could spell SEX in her hair. Man, do I need my hair cut.
I wonder if I will injure myself if I walk up the stairs like a normal person. Or at least try to go up the stairs like a normal person. (insert sudden image of me falling backwards down steps) Ooh. Probably not a good idea.
That magazine on the coffee table is kinda hanging over the edge. It’s really bugging me. Bad. I should get up and push it over. (two hours later) That magazine is really bugging me. I should get up and push it over. (getting up to pee and sitting back down) I forgot to push that darn magazine over.
Now when I go to a new doctor and I have to fill out the paperwork, I have to add this to my list. I remember when all I had on my list was nothing. I was pretty proud of that nothing. No. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
Does a tree make a sound if it falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it?
Some people suck poppycock. What is poppycock? Isn’t it candy or something? Hmmm, I wonder if we sell poppycock at My Retail Job? I wonder if they miss me at My Retail Job. I should go in there tomorrow and say hi. Nah, I need gas.
I really, really need to get my hair cut and colored. Hmm. When should I make the appointment? Definitely before I go to Rhode Island. Oh crap. That’s in two weeks. Can I sit in that chair for 2 hours? With my knee bent? I wonder if they have a hassock I can rest my leg on? My upper lip needs a good waxing. How am I going to shave my bad knee? Oh my God. I am going to Rhode Island in 2 weeks. I’m not going to be able to run around like I usually do. What if someone bumps into me? Maybe I should have waited to schedule my surgery. Think I’ll be able to go Christmas shopping?
Man, I’m getting sick of laying on my back. I wonder if I can get some pillows and put them between my knees so I can sleep on my side. Sleeping on your side adds wrinkles. And my arm gets numb. I wonder when I’ll be able to sleep on my stomach again? I really need to sleep on my stomach. I really need to. I think I’m going to have a panic attack.
Ooh, I love it when House Hunters is in Italy. I would love to retire to Italy. I really should start that Rosetta Stone DH got me for my birthday. But if I learn italian now, I know I’ll forget it. When are we retiring? Let’s see, I’m 46 now. DH is 52. He probably should be done working by the time he’s 65 so that’s in 52 to 62 plus 3 is 13 years. Right? Did I do that math right? I have plenty of time. Well maybe Italy could just be a vacation. A nice warm tropical place would be really nice to live. On the beach. Think there will be drink boys there?
Okay, that was exhausting. I don’t know about you but I need a nap. Honestly, I have been thinking way too much. I need to go back to work and cut this crap off. Wait, when am I going back to work? Will I be able to stand for a long time? What if my knee locks up? “The hottest spot north of Havana…”
The day was perfect for surgery. Rainy, windy, disgusting. Perfect. Perfect for me to lie around sleeping off my anesthesia. Which, I have to say was awesome! The anesthesia, I mean. Honestly, I’m so glad I didn’t cave to peer pressure when I was a teen. Because there would have been a problem. A serious problem.
I woke up at 5:30. Because I had to pee. But I didn’t get up to pee because I was too lazy. So I laid there thinking that in less than 3 hours a surgeon would be cutting little holes in my knee. A knee that I’ve always liked. A knee that on our second date, DH commented on how cute it was. I was wearing shorts. Get your head out of the gutter. But I wasn’t nervous. The morning of my hysterectomy I was like a child gripping the doorway. Kicking and screaming. Not wanting to go. But this definitely was less invasive. And if I survived one bout of anesthesia, I knew I would survive another.
The nurses were super, super nice. A little too nice, actually. I was hoping for a bit of a Nurse Ratchet so I had something to talk about. But, no. It didn’t happen that way. I got to change in an area where the only thing separating me from all the other patients was a curtain. “Everything off except your undies. Gown, opening in back. Robe, opening in front.” I’m just glad I opted for the grannies with a touch of lace instead of my usual thongs. The entire Operating Room probably didn’t need to see my ass cheeks. Which, by the way, no amount of running makes those suckers go up to where they were once upon a time.
They asked me the same questions over and over again. I signed my life away a million times over and told them they better try to save my life if I die. Okay, I didn’t say that. But I did say I would have a blood transfusion. That’s the same thing, right?
They wheeled me into a room. A room they take you to before you go to the Operating Room. Again, only separated by a curtain from the other patients. It was like a cattle call or something. Then the party began. The needle containing what I could only describe as liquid heaven was inserted into the back of my hand. “Ooh, I like this, I wouldn’t mind having a little of this every day, I don’t seem to care about a thing” was the last comment I remember saying to the doctor. Or was it a nurse? I don’t know. They were all starting to look the same to me.
What seemed like 30 seconds went by. The first face I saw was my doctor’s. Asking if I was okay. But boy did I feel good. I’m sure I said something silly or stupid because that’s what I do. But I guess I’ll never know. Which makes me kinda sad. They should let you record these things. Really. I’m not kidding. I wonder if someone would have taken notes if I asked them? This shall be one of my biggest regrets.
So, here I am. With my downloaded Cow Bell app, having DH wait on me. He’s being a very good servant man. I’m sure by the end of this weekend, I will be on his last nerve. But until then, a little higher to the left honey, oh and would you be a prince and fetch me a bucket. This Vicodin makes me feel like I’m going to vomit. Because my nerve block wore off and I’m not feeling so great anymore. Where’s that Liquid Heaven when I need it?
I am not a lover of Halloween. I’m guessing it’s purely for selfish reasons. It sucks when all you want to do is finish your glass of wine in peace and the damn doorbell rings every 2 minutes. But as a kid, I loved it. Our parents didn’t make a fuss over our costumes. If it wasn’t homemade, it consisted of a cheesy plastic mask with a matching outfit made of more plastic. If you were to even look at a lit candle, you would go up in flames.
I remember my costumes to be simple. One year I was a ghost. A sheet thrown over me with cut-out eyes. Another year I was an angel. With wings made of wire hangers and some nylons. When I got a little older, I made my own costume. I can’t even count how many times I dressed as a hobo. Wearing my dad’s shirt stuffed with some dirty laundry and blackening my face to make it look like I needed a bath. The final touch was a stick with a handkerchief tied to the end.
But the best part of this holiday was the candy. We went house to house with our little flashlights and pillow cases and within a couple of hours, filled that sucker with so much candy that the only way to get it home was to drag it. And if it was possible to subsist on sugar, we could literally feed a small village with what we collected.
At the end of the night, my 2 brothers and I would dump all our candy out on the living room floor. After my mom raked through it to make sure there were no apples with razor blades or unwrapped candy dipped in poison, we organized our loot into piles. And we swapped. “I’ll trade you 2 Bazooka’s for one Charleston Chew.” And we had enough candy to last until the following Halloween. Sometimes longer.
Today, I live on a street that is about a half a mile long. If that. There are about 16 houses in total. There is enough space between each house to land a small plane. Walking at a snail’s pace and then stopping at each house to beg for candy would take well over 2 hours. We would meet up with the other neighborhood kids and go Trick or Treating together. Our kids loved it. They got so much joy out of it. And you know those little plastic pumpkin head “bags?” Well, they would just about get filled. Just about. But The Kid would dump out her loot and her face would light up. She would ooh and aah and scream, “MOM AND DAD, LOOK AT ALL MY CANDY!” All the while, I am saying “sucker” to myself. Because she was actually getting scammed. Bad. Real bad.
Well, guess what? She finally smartened up. About 3 years ago, it dawned on her that her candy loot kinda sucked. Now she insists on going to bigger neighborhoods. Neighborhoods that have houses that are right next to each other. Neighborhoods that consist of hundreds of houses. With a thousand children milling about. With lots of festivities and laughter and fun. Houses with strobe lights and monsters hanging from the trees. A Halloween just like mine.
Do I feel guilty? Nah. Because at the end of it all, when you ask her if she has good memories of her Halloweens, the answer is a resounding “YES”. Sucker.
When did my life turn into one big commercial? From the moment The Kid was born, conversations range anywhere from what diapers do you trust most to what college does your child want to apply to. I used to laugh at those commercials where women are having coffee and talking about bladder control all the while wondering who actually does that? Unfortunately, I literally could be the star in that commercial.
Today, I am trying to get some housework done. I have close to 7 stainless steel items in my kitchen that need cleaning. SEVEN. Because when we were redoing our kitchen, I HAD to have the “in” thing. Which is weird for me because I don’t really care that much about that stuff. My master bath still has wallpaper from 1979. And I actually own and wear a jacket my mother bought me before I got married 21 years ago. Oh, how I love that jacket. But I digress.
I haven’t cleaned my appliances in a couple of weeks because I dread it. Ok, maybe it’s been more than a couple of weeks. Ok, so it’s been exactly 7.35 weeks because my cute little niece’s handprint is still on my fridge from their September 7th visit. Yes. It has been a while. But come on. I think I’d rather be forced to watch an “Overhaulin” Marathon on the Speed Channel for a week. Ok, that’s not entirely true because I could really go for a good eye gouging before that happens. But cleaning stainless steel really, really sucks.
Anyone who has stainless steel in their home, knows what a pain in the f@#*ing ass it is. I do love the way it looks (minus the streaks). So I’m not quite at the point where I am having buyer’s remorse. I think I’ll wait a couple of years for that to kick in so DH doesn’t smother me in my sleep with the plastic wrapping our toaster oven came in. So, back to my commercial. Here is a text exchange between a friend and me earlier today:
Me: What do u use to clean ur stainless steel?
K: Perfect Stainless
Me: Does it work? Cuz everything I try leaves freaking streaks.
K: Yeah. Until my kids get home.
Me: how I long for the days of white appliances
Really? What happened to our conversations geared around going out dancing, grabbing a beer or shopping? (ok, so I never actually called a girlfriend to go for a beer because I can’t drink it anymore after this specific episode in high school. And I would have said wine, but that sounds a bit too Buffy, don’t you think?)
So, what am I doing now? Writing this blog. In my kitchen. And looking at my cute little niece’s handprint on my fridge. Not getting a damn thing done. But the streaks are so bad. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow. And my cute little niece’s handprint is on my fridge. How can I erase that?
Why do I apologize for everyfreakingthing? When someone bumps into me, I am the one who says “I’m sorry.” If someone says to me that they have a headache, I say “I’m sorry.” If someone gets in my way, it’s always “oh, I’m sorry.” It’s irritating. There are other, more important things to say “I’m sorry” for.
I remember being a school age kid and letting other kids cut me in the cafeteria line at lunch. “Can I get in front of you?” “Yes, please. Go ahead. In fact, why doesn’t the whole school get in front of me because I really don’t need to eat today.” Even now, if someone is in a rush and wants to get ahead of me in line at the grocery store, I let them. You know what? No. No, you cannot get in front of me. My time is just as important as yours so the answer is “No.” Oh, but I can’t do that. Because that wouldn’t be nice. Then I would feel like a total and complete bitch for an entire week. But I can behave in other bitch-like ways and be fine with it?
Back in January, I started turning over a new leaf. Like major. I went from a Crab Apple to an Oak. It is taking months, but I’m getting there. I am a work in progress. It started with this blog. Then I changed my poor eating habits. I began exercising. I lost a shitload of weight. I got a job. So, in less than a year, I discovered a talent I never knew I had, got healthy and became an active participant in contributing to my family on a monetary level. You know what else I discovered? That I am not perfect. I have been judgmental. Participated and believed in rumors. Maybe made fun of someone for a laugh. Said something that was hurtful to another person or to someone else about that person. Every one of us has done at least one of the above-mentioned things. At some point in our lives. Because it’s human nature. But it doesn’t make it right.
Too many people don’t take accountability for their actions. They don’t apologize. And I’m not talking about bumping into someone at Shop Rite either. They don’t apologize for doing or saying something hurtful to you or even worse, behind your back. Spreading rumors, or just being plain mean. We would have more respect for people who will admit that they are human. That they made a mistake. They said or did something that wasn’t so nice. Said or did something that was hurtful. And that includes me.
As part of turning into an Oak, I am learning to be a better person. Be less judgmental. Not participate in gossip. Not believing rumors. It’s a constant battle. To be aware. So, for anyone that I was judgmental toward, said something that was inappropriate or was not my business, I apologize. For allowing myself to believe rumors and perpetuating these rumors by helping to spread them, I apologize. I am so sorry for anything I did or said to hurt you. Truly. I was wrong. And I am really sorry.
I want to be accountable for my actions. All of the above is mean and ugly behavior. I do not like it when others act this way. So why would I? It would be so nice if everyone followed suit. It would make such a difference.
Integrity. That’s what we need to have. Integrity. If every human had integrity, the world would be a better place. I’m working on my integrity. And as for apologizing when I get bumped into? I probably will always do that. No matter how annoying it is.
I had an MRI the other day. I’ve never had an MRI before, so I didn’t know what to expect. But really? Why does it take 30 freaking minutes to scan ONE knee? My experience in 6 bullet points. In case you were wondering.
There is one thing they need to add to the “How to Prep for an MRI” list: “Don’t bother waking up early to spend extra time in the shower shaving your legs because we will be providing lovely pajama bottoms for your convenience.” And I totally would have loved my 3XXL pj bottoms if I were sitting around pigging out on pork rinds and Krispy Kremes watching back episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” on a Saturday afternoon. Totally.
Thank you so much for the headphones with the volume set on 1. I assumed they were meant to drown out the sound of the MRI, not Barry Manilow. My bad. “Oh Mand…bangbangbang…you came and you…boomboomboom.”
The nice technician lady told me that when it makes a “clicking” sound to be very, very still. Because I am a rule follower, I did as I was told. The only problem is I never quite heard a “clicking” sound. What I did hear was a jackhammer and a machine gun. There is nothing worse than lying in the same position for a half an hour scared shitless of what will happen to you if you so much as breathed too deeply. It took 15 minutes to get feeling back in my right foot.
I find it funny that when you can’t move, itches multiply. It’s an odd phenomenon, isn’t it?
It’s probably not a good idea to let your mind wander during one of these things. My mind happened to wander into a story I heard a long time ago about an MRI gone bad. All I could think about were the keys hanging by the door that unlocked my locker. It was possible that they could have come flying off the wall and stab me in the brain, right?
I kept wondering when it was going to be over because I really needed to move my foot. Then 27 minutes into it, I noticed there was a timer above my head. I just love how detail-oriented I am.
Whelp, the results are in. Not only is my left meniscus torn in one place, but in two. Apparently, it’s both a quick fix and a quick recovery. In fact, they do it while you are awake. Great. I can’t stand the thought of having a bloody nose. Imagining that they will be making two holes in my leg while I lie there awake will most likely freak me the freak out. I’m hoping they give me something other than a knee numbing drug. A brain numbing drug would be really nice. Yes, I would like that very much. Taking the chance I may say something inappropriate while under the influence is one I am willing to accept. Oh hell, let’s face it. I say something inappropriate even when not under the influence. Bring it on.
And as far as running is concerned…I am going to run my ass off for the next 7 days. Because after that, I can’t do much for a week. Ok, two weeks. Ok, after I ran into someone I know today at My Retail Job, it turns out I need to not run for 6 weeks. Shit. I’m now thinking I should have crammed a pair of those 3XXL pants into my bag. I may be needing them.
When I was a teen and was crushing on or dating a boy, I would wait with anticipation for the phone to ring. And when it did ring, no one in the house stood a chance. I would run, climb, claw my way to the phone before the second ring was halfway through. I would knock over a brother standing in my way if I had to. Then I would stand tethered to the wall while we had a conversation. An actual conversation. Where words were spoken. When the conversation ended and we said our good-byes, we hung up (“Hang up. No, you hang up. No, you hang up first. Okay, on the count of 3…”). It was that simple. And the boy always called me. It was never the other way around.
I am always telling the kid that she needs to have an air of mystery when it comes to boys. I don’t want her making the same mistakes I did. I would bend over backwards and make sure I was available. I would always answer the phone. Always be around. So my advice to her has always been to play a little hard to get. Be yourself, be kind. But don’t be so readily available. Make them work for you. Give them a little bit of a challenge. I mean, don’t be the queen of Iceland, but leave them wondering. Even if just a little.
There is a post that an author wrote recently. One of my Facebook friends shared it (click here to read it). Everything about this is smack-you-in-the-face true. Why didn’t it occur to me that in this day and age it is difficult to uphold an air of mystery? Nothing is sacred anymore. That being said, I have been approaching the whole thing incorrectly. And now, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late to fix. I was advising her as if we were living in the dark ages. I forgot about technology. I should have been taking a different approach. From a different angle. Now what the hell do I do? Take away her texting privileges? Good Lord, the girl would “totally die.” I think she’d rather have an arm cut off. It would take her twice the amount of time to text, but at least she could.
Like the article says, “conversations” don’t end. Until bed time or they literally cannot physically have their phone on them because of field hockey practice or dance class. For the love of God. It’s insane. I’m not so sure I could handle all this back and forth banter. It would be enough to drive me absolutely up a tree. She could have her best girlfriends over and I would go upstairs to her room to find them all sitting on the floor texting. Who are they texting? Who knows. Maybe each other. To avoid actually speaking. Because they don’t know how.
Well, I try to look at the bright side. At least I don’t have to fight with her over who gets to use the phone. And keeping an air of mystery? How about stop responding to a text within 4 seconds? At least make ’em wait 5 seconds. That should leave them guessing.