Friday, October 22, 2010

If I could

What would I say if I had one more afternoon with you?

I'd tell you how much I love you.

Tell you that you were such an amazing example of love and kindness. I mean 65 years of marriage? Who does that anymore? And we both know Grandma isn't particularly easy to live with! That you have set the standard for marriage in my book.  Everytime we would take either you or Grandma to the doctor or somewhere where only one of you would be going, you'd give each other a kiss goodbye. I loved that.

I'd make sure Ethan got to spend as much time with his great-Grandpa, so that he would be forever burned in his memory. You and your legacy living on in my family.  That our next child, if it's a boy will carry his great-Grandpa's name, proudly.  Because you are so dear to me.  So loved. 

I'd talk to you about all the random things we used to talk about. 

I'd remember your scent, peppermint, because you always carried them in your pocket. I'd breath it so deeply as I gave you the biggest hug.

I'd tell you again how very much it meant to me to be able to dance with you at my wedding.  I'd tell you the same thing I told you that night. "You know how much I love you right?" with tears streaming down my face, just as they were then, and just as they are now.

I'd want to know more about your 90 years on this earth.  What changes you saw, what things you miss and what new things you love.

Do you ever hear me when I talk to you, I'd ask.  Do you ever visit us? Grandma?

I'm not sure if it was a blessing having you in my life for so long.  Because it was so hard to let you go. It's been over a year and it still hurts.  But it would be one of the best afternoon's I could possibly ever spend, being with you just once more. 

This post is part of The Red Writing Hood prompt "Spending an afternoon with someone who is no longer living."


Monday, October 18, 2010

Crazy (wonky) fatchick rantings

I'm not sure how I'm feeling today.  Pretty certian I'm going through some PMS, which if you have been following me at all means we failed at baby making.  So naturally I cried my eyes out in the shower today.  (Um, Aunt Flo isn't due for about a week, so welcome back obsessive lady!) Then I ended up getting so sick to my stomach I felt that naturally, I was indeed pregnant.  So I took my last pregnancy test. Negative, of course, since they aren't that sensitive. Stupid girl.  Early detection is five days before your missed period, not eight days.  Well, to my defense, I was never good at math. Nor do I have great patience.  So I may have chalked up the nausea to my vitamin, which I had taken about four hours earlier.  And the new zit that I have acquired? PMS OR due to the fact that last night I was too lazy to wash my face before bed? You tell me.

I don't know.  So I then proceeded to eat almost an entire pizza (during the course of the day kids, don't get crazy with the judging and staging of interventions just yet.) Preliminary cravings or just me being fat and PMS-y? Fuck! This whole thing has been waaaay too difficult.  I am torn here today with my wonky, effed up, emo ball of hormones, pregnancy or period induced. On one hand, I would be pretty devastated if despite all my efforts, calculations and money spent on massive efforts to get knocked up, have indeed failed. But like, really? It's been ONE month? STFU and try again next month with out the fucking dog and pony show! Which is what the hubby has pretty much been telling me.  But if I am pregnant and this is just a part of all that jazz going on in the good ol' uterus? Bra-fucking-vo! There will be no living with me after.

Yes, I am certifiably crazy. More on that later.  And on whether or not I am with child.

Yea for my first Word Up, Yo post!!!

Thursday, October 7, 2010

tales of a former dancer part 1

It's insanely appropriate that Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" is playing on the radio right now as I regale you with my tales of all things dance. I'm feeling all inspired, maybe I should go find some stairs to conquer first....
Ok! I'm back....Just kidding, like my fat ass would go scale some stairs with out someone holding a gun to my head, right?

But I digress.....

I used to dance.  Now if you say that around here (aka Vegas) people seriously think one thing, no, I was never a stripper, (though I did consider it a few times, sorry mom and dad.) I mean ballet, jazz, modern. The real kind of dancing. 

In my day I did all things art related, theater, singing, painting, sculpting ect...but my artistic forte was definitely dancing. 

I danced for a little while when I was around 5 or 6 at a community center, but apparently that stage was way too small for a little star such as myself and I decided to quit.  I picked it back up in high school, and while I wasn't particularly good at that point I sure thought I was.  I had no formal training except for a few random things put on by the school. But my sophomore year in high school I managed to make it onto the high school dance team. So naturally I thought I was hot sh*t. 

The day before our first football game, and first performance, I was at a church youth function with one of my good friends, and naturally there were cute boys there too.  I had just learned about grand jete's (pardon the lack of accent's there) so I figured I would show off to these boys my crazy awesome dance skills and super high jumps.  Now never before or since have I EVER fallen on landing a jump, but this time? BAM!! I landed wrong, and hard, and rolled my ankle.  Way to go dipshit.  But me being the badass that I am, pretended that it was nothing.  Ha ha! I'm cute and kind of gravity-challenged! Notice me!

The next day, the day of the big first football game/first performance, I got out of bed for school and collapsed into a heap on the floor.  Couldn't walk on that ankle. At all.  Shit balls.  So my mom made me an apt to see a doc right away, where my ankle was x-rayed and later presumed un-broken, but badly sprained.  I was told to stay off it for at least a week.  Psh, ya right.  I was so not screwing my team over for a measly ankle.  I performed that night at the football game, ankle tightly wrapped, happily smiling in the front row, displaying all my star power to the world. Ok maybe not quite like that, but I still rocked that football game.

Years later, every now and then that ankle still bothers me somethin' fierce!  Guess I should have stayed off it right? But that is how I received my first dance injury.

Badasses to the core, I mean look at those headbands? This is proof of two things, that 1) I am  naturally blond and 2) Andrea at crazy with a side of awesomesauce and I have been besties for a long ass time. Seriously, ask her about band camp, or about a cold September night behind Albertsons.  Good times man, good times.

dance on

Monday, October 4, 2010

How are babies made?

No seriously.

Getting pregnant the first time was so easy.  I got off the pill, thinking I'd have a good three months for the hormones and shit to leave my system and BAM! One month later I'm knocked up. I didn't have to do a thing. (well....)

But this time around? When we are actively trying to have a child? I am consulting every resource known. Calculating the exact moments of menstruation to ovulation to conception. Re- examining how the whole female cycle works (do you ovulate 14 days after your period and or 14 days from the start?) Re-visiting old health class lessons on how a baby is made. Because when you are trying to have a baby, this shit is a matter of science!

I think that I am driving my husband crazy here. Yesterday I bought a set of ovulation testing kits and he looked at me, with a tiny shred of fear in his face and said,  "really?"
Two days earlier I told him, after aunt flo leaves, we're copulating every day until I get pregnant or the next visit commences or I WILL divorce you!

Clearly obsessed.

And not only having a baby in general, oh no. But a female child at that.

Oh yes, I have done some homework here too. Chinese lunar calendar, the "girl" diet (high in Magnesium and Calcium) (mmmm, pumpkin is high in magnesium), different positions conducive to having a girl.

I even know the intimate ins and outs of the female swimmers.  Did you know that they are slower than the male swimmers, but stronger and therefore live longer? Hmmm?

See? Bat shit fucking McCrazy sauce right here!

My husband, who's sex drive has suddenly plummeted a little, is terrified. But he should know that when I want something, it's going to take hell's army to try and stop me!

My calender is full of "test for ovulation here" and "estimated period arrival" and "test for HcG (pregnancy hormone) here." Because I really don't know how exactly to have a baby. But I'll be damned if I do not get knocked up this month!