Spin Cycle: Flaming Red

This week’s Spin Cycle stumped me a little bit. It took me a while to think of my most embarrassing moment. I got more hung-up on WHY I couldn’t think of my most embarrassing moment than the actual moment itself.

I came to the conclusion that I had difficulty recalling that one, singular moment when my cheeks turned redder than my hair for one of two reasons:

Either I was so painfully shy as a child and therefore overly aware of embarrassing myself that I never did anything daring.

Or I’ve done an extremely good job of blocking all embarrassing memories from my brain.

My money is on the second choice.

So I sat and thought. And thought.

Sure there are plenty of times I’ve shown up to work with oatmeal or toothpaste in my hair from an enthusiastic toddler kiss on my way out the door. But I don’t feel that motherhood counts in this particular contest. That would be too easy. Anyone who’s ever given birth knows that you lose all modesty in that process. And after that, raising small children is just a series of stains, leaks, smells, and blobs.

Then it finally dawned on me. The moment in my life when I truly wanted to crawl under the floor boards and DIE of embarrassment.

Before I relay the story, please note that I’m the mirror image of my father (and he of his mother). When my father and I are in the same room, there’s no mistaking that we’re related.

My story takes place in college and no, it doesn’t involve alcohol. I attended a Catholic university and was required to take a few theology credits. I selected Theology of Moral Responsibility. Quite the weighty sounding course title, eh?

The professor was what we called a Father/Doctor… a priest with a Ph. D. The first day of class covered the basic first day stuff. Fr/Dr passed out the syllabus and each of us filled out the standard student info card. At the bottom of the card, there was a non-standard question:

Tell me something unique about yourself so I can identify you in class.

I looked around the class and thought, Pfft. This is easy.

I quickly wrote, I’m the only person in this room with red hair.

At the end of class, Fr/Dr went around the class collecting the cards and reading what each person wrote on the bottom of the cards. He picked up my card and read it while I packed up my backpack. He looked at me, smiled, and asked,

Where did you get your red hair?

Without even thinking, the answer I heard my father say a thousand times while I was growing up came flying out of my out of my mouth…

The Milkman

OH. MY. GOD! Did I just say that to a PRIEST? In a class called Theology of Moral Responsibility? At a Catholic university? I was mortified. My cheeks were on fired and I was sweating. I grabbed my stuff and flew out the door. Out of the building and into the falling snow before I ever got my coat on.

You can be damn sure that was unique enough for Fr/Dr to identify me because he called me by name EVERY. SINGLE. CLASS.

****

For more embarrassing Spins, visit Gretchen at Second Blooming.

My Other Mother

Saturday my parents and I drove across the state to Vero Beach to visit with "my Other Mother."

In the photo above we're holding up the quilt Mom and I made for Mrs. V. Ok, I picked out the fabric, Mom pieced it and quilted it, and then I finished the hand binding (by Braille).

I'm embarrassed to say that the last time we saw each other G-Man was an infant. There really isn't any good excuse for not making the easy, 3-hour drive through rural Florida. Saying "life" got in the way is such a cop out but it's the only answer I've got.

For a good portion of the visit I just listened. I enjoyed hearing the "grown-ups" talk. Mostly I thought about how much I loved the people in the room with me. My Mom, my Dad, and my Other Mother. I also thought about how much I used to be afraid of Bud and how silly that seems now. I chuckled to myself when I realized that he's probably getting a rip-roaring laugh out of that wherever he might be.

My blog gets its name from where I grew up. I loved my childhood so much that it helped form my identity as an adult (and I'm not just talking about my pseudo-name). So it's safe to say that my Other Mother was instrumental in making me the person I am today.

Now if only I could keep my house as clean and my plants as green as she does.

Spin Cycle: No Chicken Fingers!

I’ve written before how I think that my Sweetie is the craziest man on the planet for marrying me. In fact, it was a Spin Cycle post from a couple of years ago.

He was crazy because at the time we met I was in the process of a long divorce. Plus I came with two kids in tow. Of course, I felt that my kids were totally awesome but I’m their mother. Just because I thought they were the best kids ever that didn’t mean that S would feel the same way.

When S and the boys met, they eyed each other up and instantly bonded. Once all parties approved, S was in it for the long haul and he jumped into parenthood with both feet.

Two years after our first date, we had a wedding. The boys were 7 and 10 years old at the time. They were so handsome in their tuxes as they walked me down the aisle.

At the reception, the two most popular questions seemed to be:

Where are you going on your honeymoon?

Are the boys going with you?

I feel the honeymoon was a big decision for S and I. We decided to go by ourselves and leave the boys with my parents rather than do a family vacation. We felt that we really needed that alone-couple-time before we took on family life 24/7.

Deciding where to go took a long time. The most popular suggestion from other people was a cruise. To that my reply was, Why would I want to go on my honeymoon with 3,000 other people?

No cruise.

Since we lived in Florida, we ruled out a tropical destination.

I said I wanted to see mountains. But we married in March… the height of ski season and I don’t ski.

My resourceful Sweetie suggested wine country in Sonoma, CA.

We had a wonderful time!

Ok, I’ll be upfront. We drank A LOT of wine. So I won’t be able to share too many details of the trip but I’ll hit the highlights…

Our honeymoon was my first trip ever to the west coast and California. We drove over the Golden Gate Bridge! (The roads and directional signage in California suck. At least they did 8 years ago.)

We stayed at a cute, little inn off the town square so we were able to walk to dinner every night. Bonus!

Our room had a fireplace. So romantic!

Our favorite winery was Sebastiani.

After about three days of touring wineries I turned to my husband and said, I don’t think I can drink anymore wine.

One day we went for a drive and visited the Armstrong Redwoods Natural State Reserve. I had to Google the name of the park based on the photos we took because I couldn’t remember which park we went to. Is that bad? However, I did learn three things at the Redwood forest:

1. I’m just as allergic to Redwoods as I am to cypress.
2. S and I were so intent on spending time alone that there wasn’t anyone around to take a photo of us together.

3. According to the park ranger, it’s extremely rare (and apparently very exciting) to see a banana slug out in the open. I almost stepped on the daring slug trekking across the pathway. (That's my Sweetie's boot in the photo for size reference.)

The same day as our trip to the Redwoods we drove down the Pacific Coast Highway to the Point Reyes Lighthouse. That’s a LONG drive out to the lighthouse. A long drive past many, many historic dairy farms.

What did we learn on our visit to the Point Reyes Lighthouse?

The lighthouse is closed on Wednesdays and yes, we were there on a Wednesday.

Our honeymoon did have one stressful event… My Sweetie lost his wedding ring and he felt AWFUL about it. Lucky for him, I found it in his jacket pocket when I did laundry back at home.

The best part about our honeymoon? Oh my gosh, we didn’t have to pick restaurants based on whether or not chicken fingers were on the menu!

****

For more Honeymoon Spins, visit Gretchen at Second Blooming.

Vulnerable to Colds and Other Stuff

My baby is sick.

No, I don’t refer to G-Man as my baby anymore but he is my youngest.

He caught some sort of cold that’s been ripping through the high school like wild fire and it’s turned into a sinus infection. Hand sanitizer can only do so much. I asked G-Man if he’s been licking the door knobs at school or kissing lots of girls. No reply.

Our family doctor told us that it’s extremely contagious and I need to stay away because this particularly nasty bug doesn’t play nicely with asthma. I vaguely recall the phrase, “drowning in mucus.”

Not exactly a delightful thought. I wanted to remind the doctor that I spent the past 48 hours with G-Man and I’m probably already screwed. But I just nodded and promised to make him flush his gooey Kleenex rather than let them pile up in the bathroom trash can.

G-Man isn’t too bad to be around when he’s sick. In other words, he doesn’t act like the typical male and whine and complain. Even as a baby, he always had a pleasant disposition when he was battling chronic ear infections. He rarely complains when he’s sick. His demands are so minimal that it's almost like a vacation day for me. Why can’t eldest son and husband be like that? They make me want to leave home.

****

This morning as we sat in the waiting room, I felt vulnerable as a mother.

Sounds silly, doesn’t it?

My child is sick and there’s nothing I can do about it.

It sounds silly because my child is sick with a bad cold and a sinus infection. That’s it. We are blessed that our family is healthy. How does a parent feel or cope with the serious illness of a child?

I felt vulnerable because just as that cold snuck into my child’s body something else more villainous could too.

Now if I were to obsess about that thought, that would border on paranoia.

But I don’t obsess about that sort of thing.

As parents, we do our best to keep our children safe and do our best to teach them how to be safe. After that, we have to be confident that we did our job well and let them out into the world.

One of the aspects of PTSD is the desire, the NEED to control everything. EVERYTHING.

Well, that’s just not possible. I had to learn to that I couldn’t control everything in my life. I had to learn how to be vulnerable again. Let me tell you, that transition can be terrifying.

I feel that I’ve done a pretty good job of relinquishing some of my need for control. But it wasn’t until today in the waiting room that I was aware of my vulnerability and to my greatest surprise… I was comfortable with it!

****

In case anyone is wondering… Yes, I’m doing a tremendous amount of hand washing anyway.

Still Unfocused

My eyes hurt. I spent the entire afternoon hand sewing the binding on a quilt. I haven’t done any hand sewing since Thanksgiving. Since that time, it seems my eyesight has gotten a tad bit more middle-aged. In other words, I was threading the needle by Braille. So I either need to get my eyes checked or stick with knitting.

More than just my eyes are unfocused. My brain still feels unfocused. I certainly can’t focus on the Super Bowl at the moment. Well, that could be because my Sweetie keeps channel surfing.

In truth, I’ve spent a large portion of my weekend watching movies and TV. Well, at least A LOT of TV for me… and three movies.

S and I took a vacation day on Friday. I slept until 8:45 and stayed in bed until 9:30. It was magical. After a greasy lunch in restaurant full of retirees, we saw The Iron Lady. I really wanted to see this movie because Meryl Streep does such an amazing job when she portrays historic figures. And even though I’m not big into politics, I’ve got to say that I’m fascinated by Margaret Thatcher. As it turns out, I didn’t think so much of the movie.

Later at home, I watched Skeleton Key on TV. I’ve sort of avoided watching that movie before because it’s set in Louisiana. Silly reason but I really did not enjoy living in that state. Anyway, I’ve got to say that I didn’t see that ending coming.

On Saturday, G-Man came home early from playing golf because he was running a 102 fever. A sick kid is the real reason I stayed at home and watched so much TV. That night we watched Dream House. Apparently, Daniel Craig has more than just back moles. He also has a tattoo on his upper, right arm. Dream House had plenty of twists and turns in the plot. I was able to figure out the first one but the second surprised me.

My eyes still hurt and I’m guessing that typing isn't doing anything to improve that feeling. I’m also tired. Amazing how tired I can be after sitting on my butt all weekend. Ok, there may have also been lots fever checks, glasses of water, and a few scrambled eggs.

4 Reasons

So I’ve been a little absent in the blogosphere lately. Not completely absent. Just a little. Maybe I should say a little absent-minded. I’ve been hanging around and visiting all of my favorite reads. But I haven’t been commenting much and as a result there hasn’t been that bloggy interaction

Since blogging is something I do to blow off steam, I don’t feel that I should make excuses when I don’t blog on a regular basis. However, if YOU or anyone else is going to stop by PLRH, I should have an explanation as to why I may not be here at the moment.

Here goes…

My reasons (excuses) why I haven’t been all that focused lately…

1. The end of January is an emotionally draining time for my family. I really didn’t think my Sweetie would appreciate me posting on a daily basis that he was so grumpy that he wasn’t fit to live with.

(I realize I shouldn’t have ended that sentence with a preposition but I’m too lazy to fix it.)

2. We’re doing budget planning a work. As if accounting alone didn’t make my brain hurt bad enough, sitting in a meeting with others who grasp it even less makes me want to stick a pencil in my eye.

3. The pollen count for oak and pine is high. What does that have to do with anything? I feel like crap. My brain is foggy. Not from allergy meds but from my body being unable to exchange oxygen as efficiently as it would like to due to my asthma.

4. I’ve been knitting A LOT lately. As I’ve mentioned before, knitting is very meditative. After a day of wheezy number crunching it’s nice to veg and get into a rhythmic trance.

That’s all I’ve got.

Thanks for stopping by.

Back to my knitting.