Painthology

Every few months I have a few days when I'm convinced I should be locked in a padded room. I'm not sure if it's the moon or equilibrium problems or what, but I seem to be accident prone for a few days. Could it be the blonde that peeks out at me when I need to color or little distractions that cause me to unwittingly injure myself? I'm just not sure. It started a couple of days ago doing laundry. I literally brushed my knee against the dryer door. It wasn't a bang, or a boom and it didn't even hurt that badly, but I have one heck of a bruise on my right knee. There's also a scratch that accompanies it. This makes no sense considering the smoothness of the door itself. I suppose my fair complexion contributes to the darkness of the bruise. This, I can do nothing about. I'm also going to continue to wear shorts regardless of the pretty purple affliction on my knee. It's been hotter than the surface of the sun lately (ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration and I would just like to point that out in case you, dear reader, thought the surface of the sun was around 100 degrees. It is, in fact, much hotter) and I will risk damage to my beautiful porcelain skin (this is called sarcasm, children, and is used in this instance because of the ginormous amount of freckles that seem to be multiplying on my previously mentioned epidermus) to be about 3 degrees cooler. After all, three degrees is three degrees.

While making casserole Monday I burned my finger. Much to my changrin a blister didn't immediately appear. You see, without a blister or other assorted marks, there was no attestation to the pain I had encountered. There was simply my word. And boy, oh boy, was my word colorful! I complained about it for nearly 10 minutes (with other gripes here and there throughout the night) and needed proof to confirm that I wasn't simply being a drama queen (a few weeks ago a metal grate of a deal fell on a bone on my wrist. While recovering from that I somehow managed to let a window fall on my hand. These experiences happened within 2 minutes of one another so pain dances were performed and words were uttered that made Nathan look at me like I had come from the ninth circle of hell. Only a tiny purpley tint emerged to affirm that I had been injured. It was a miniscule mark to show tiny slivers of death that went all the way to my elbow. I was disappointed) and that I had ample reason to put off finishing the casserole another 15 minutes or so. The next morning a beautful blister adorned my middle finger! I paraded it around as if it were my second born child. Dear, sweet justificaton!! Of course, I'm sure they believed all along that it hurt like a bitch, but I wanted to give them something concrete. Thank you little blister for presenting yourself. You make me happy...kinda.

Tonight I was bored. Nathan and I were having our "talk time" on the couch and he was using it to work on his comic book of "Spike and Cy" while ignoring me. I tried fruitlessly to attain and keep his attention. I walked dinosaurs across the couch singing "doopy doopy dooo" and pretended to fry up a spider silly band. Both of these attempts were met with a "What the heck?!" and a giggle after which he returned to the land of the cyclops and spiky dude, drawing clouds in each panel. Then I saw them. It should have been a harmless venture really...I was simply going to pick them up, look at them and set them back down. I had spotted needle nosed pliers on Adam's desk. After examining them I noticed they were the type that have the wire cutters at the base near the handles. Uh oh. This would not end well. Of course I didn't think that at the time and started to return them to their previous home when I spotted a paper clip. It wasn't one of those tiny little paper clips either. It was one that would hold about 100 sheets of paper with no problem and had a thick layer of plastic coating. So, I do what any red blooded American would do...I cut the paper clip with the wire cutters. This took quite a bit of umph being that it was a thick paper clip and the cutters weren't very sharp. Yup...you've probably guessed it by now. When the clip finally gave and went flying I realized my hand was in the area where the springy part was. For this little brain blocked moment, I have proof already. Two tiny blood blisters. Moral of that story? Don't give Steph sharp objects when she's bored. Just don't.

But despite all my clumsiness, with a dash of luck and a sprinkle of divine intervention, I remain in one piece. For this, we can be grateful.

Leaving Home

I don't normally put things like this on here, but this is absolutely amazing. Nathan had to write a poem about an immigrant coming to the New World so long ago. He said he put himself in the person's position. I absolutely love it. This is the first stanza. I'll post the rest when he's finished.

Leaving Home

I step on the boat to depart

Sobbing, my mother waves, goodbye

Silently, I pray that I am not making a mistake

Suddenly I fall, sobbing for hope

Wondering if I'll make it

Wishing I could stay, I float out to sea

Shaking, scared, alone

I go away forever, hoping, dreaming.

-Nathan Haycraft

Undefeated She Remains

This morning I witnessed two cellar spiders performing some sort of bizarre mating ritual. Or...at least I think that's what it was. Their bodies were just a bit different which led me to believe one was in fact male, the other female. I suppressed the urge to smoosh them into oblivion as I watched. Cellar spiders are no threat. It reminded me of an argument. Their legs would entwine, then separate hastily as if the male had accused the female of stealing the blanket and leaving him in the cold. She readily disagreed and retorted with a sort of curling her legs motion and pretty much told him if he didn't like it, he should get his own cover. She was finished with him and the whole bedclothes junk. I think she was just annoyed because her suggestion would mean she would have more laundry. Next time she'll think before she speaks. He casually mentioned that he had been awake half the night trying to get the said blanket, but she would have no more of it. She told him it was about time he was the one lying awake. He snores.

He was stubborn. He would have the last word, but she had other things in mind. He put all eight of his tiny feet together in a huff and waited for a moment. She would relent. He was sure of it. How on Earth could he think such a thing? This was not her argument, he had started it! She furiously started tying his feet together with her web. He saw her trick and quickly dropped about three inches below her on his own silken line.

He must have came to his senses and apologized then because there was a flurry of graceful spins throughout the web they had created together. They weren't near one another...neither touched, but a certain calmness had overtaken them. Cautiously he approached her. She retreated only a small amount, but let him pass her as he ventured up the wall. I had apparently missed something because he then disappeared. She remained motionless, no doubt triumphant in knowing she had drawn an apology from him.

There she still sits. I haven't the heart to kill her. I'll let her bask in the knowledge that in the near future she will be a mommy. Maybe I should throw her a shower...hmmm...

A Woman's Wish List

A cup that only runneth over.

A whole yard full of four leafed clover.

Indian givers who don’t take back.

A gallon of water in a paper sack.

The ability to fly without a wing.

A hamper full of only clean things.

A smile that fades only at night.

A window that lets in only the light.

A car that runs on love alone.

Ice cream that doesn’t melt on the cone.

A self mopping floor, a self wiping table.

A guy who’ll give us completely free cable.

A computer that doesn’t lock up on a whim.

A flower that doesn’t wilt on the stem.

No expiration dates, no expired milk.

A self made bed completely of silk.

They think they have us figured out.

That they can please us, they have no doubt.

Oh honey, why do you look so sad?

This list isn't really all that bad.

Aww, babe don’t cry, it’ll be all right,

You’ll have to sleep there only one night.

The couch can be lumpy, and it’s no fun,

But that’s only because we need a new one.

Radiant Red Locks

It's that time again, folks. I blame vanity for this chore. I'm not sure why I wasn't born with lovely red locks to accompany my pale complexion. I personally think hair color companies mixed up genes somewhere just to take my money in some sort of crazy hair brained conspiracy, but that's just me.

I refuse to get my hair colored in a salon and pay three times as much as I could by doing it myself, although it might be a bit easier. It's quite the process, but in the end I'm usually happy with the result.

Normally I open the box and only remove the instructions to retrieve the gloves. I've done this so many times I could recite the steps while dancing the hula and balancing a ball one one foot. Of course, the only thing I would succeed at of those things would be reciting said steps, but one out of three isn't horrible. For only a moment I think about rereading the timing step just to be sure, but usually dismiss it while assuming it's the same as it has been for years. If it ever changes I may be writing a completely different blog about wig shopping or getting my hair stripped.

After mixing the two primary ingredients comes the fun part: application. Our bathroom is about the size of a refrigerator box (slight exaggeration, but not much). If ever a member of our family gains too much weight he or she will have to be buttered up to slip past the sink to make it to the toilet. The application in it's self is, of course, the most difficult. With gloved hands I meticulously cover my head with deep red goo careful not to miss any. In my younger days an overlooked spot here or a missed spot there wouldn't be a big deal. I would simply write it off as if I were expressing my individuality. These days, however, I prefer full coverage.

Before today I had enough hair to cover the heads of 15 newborns or 20 preemies, so this was no small feat. Bumping elbows on the walls and trying not to completely cover everything, I work section by section, unwittingly staining ears, forearms and quite possibly the back of my neck. After all of the solution is on my head I search the mirror one last time for missed spots. I seriously look like I have been in a horrible accident from the forehead up and fully expect my brain to fall out at any given second. I set a timer and survey the bathroom. I'm not sure how it happens, I'm usually very careful, but the bathroom always looks like a small animal has come to a very violent untimely death. I have even unintentionally dyed a spot on a Pomeranian about the size of a quarter. He didn't seem to mind.

After cleaning up the mess, changing my socks and rinsing the goo out of my hair I'm normally pleasantly surprised I didn't completely screw it up. Tonight I will follow these steps to have radiant red locks once more. Stupid vanity.

Just for Today

I'm sure all of you have heard of the 12 Steps of Recovery. Integrated into the steps is something called the Big Book which basically assists recovery efforts and gives ideas on how to recover successfully. At the end of each section there is a daily meditation that an addict vows to do that day to empower them to stay clean. For example, on page 381 of the basic text the mediation reads, "Just for today I will look for opportunities to be of service in everything I do." Page 17 says, "Just for today I will strive to forgive rather than be forgiven. I will try to act in such a way that I feel worthy of self-love."

Today, I am going to list for you my "Just for today" meditations. Please note that this is in no way belittling the 12 Step program or the big book. Just for today I am going to laugh at myself before anyone else has a chance.

Just for today....

...I will look down when I'm walking to avoid stepping on legos, matchbox cars and broken gum ball machine bubbles. This will also aid in a lack of stubbed toes.

...I will tone down my awesomeness as to not make others jealous. I realize how hard it is for them and will try my best to make it easier.

...I will not reflect on the effects of gravity.

...I will shun narcissism and only look in the mirror 3 times (ok, maybe 4, but that's it.)

...I will not take so much joy in killing ants. They are creatures too even if they are little pests.

...I will do my Yoga workout (if it's under 70 degrees in the house and there's time).

...I will unhide all of the people whose statuses I have hidden on Facebook because they annoy me for exactly one hour. It's not my fault if I have to log off afterward.

...I will try not to be such a grammar Nazi. I may even force myself to misspell something. Maybe.

...I will not throw away an ink pen just because it skipped once. I can not be responsible if it skips twice.

...I will not suggest ice cream for breakfast out loud. I'll just think it.

...I will not be sarcastic more than twice.

...I will not roll my eyes more than twice.

...I will suppress the urge to curse when I step on a toy because I forgot to look down when I was walking.

...I will not threaten to "throw it out the door and run over it with the truck" if something isn't working right.

and finally...

...I will forgive myself instantly for forgetting any of these throughout the day. After all, these are my meditations...no one has to know.

I am infinitely happy that these are meant for only one per day. If I had to put so much conscious effort into a day to do all of these things, I think I would end up in the fetal position crying by the day's end. Especially throwing in the awesomeness one. That one's going to be exceptionally hard to live up to anyway.

Once again, these are not meant to put down the steps or the Big Book. It's all in good fun, I assure you. Don't take yourself so seriously. ;)

Writer's Block

I sat in front of my monitor for nearly half an hour staring drowsily at a blank blog form. The little blinking cursor continuously mocked me as I racked my brain for words to silence it. Suddenly it occurred to me! I didn't need that dang cursor anyway, so I grabbed a notebook and my favorite pen and headed to the couch. The pen has been neglected lately, but there's just something about the flow of words on paper from a kick butt pen that no cursor can top. Take that you little blinking menace!!

So now I sit on the couch staring at a half blank piece of notebook paper racking my brain for words to fill it...

I try to start each day with a touch of optimism. Whether the sun is shining or has been kidnapped by greedy clouds, it is still a new day where nearly anything can happen. I don't really expect to win hundreds of millions of dollars in a lottery I don't play, but there is definitely potential for finding a penny on heads an it giving me a bit of good luck...or a little extra change. Sometimes you have to celebrate the little victories.

This morning, however, optimism flew out the window about thirty seconds after I rolled (or climbed considering I sleep next to the wall) out of bed. We need a new alarm clock. It's extremely reliable, don't get me wrong. I mean, it even goes off when you don't tell it to and refuses to be silenced by the likes of me. It continued to bleat out it's horrid scream for what seemed like five minutes. I inwardly threatened to forcibly introduce it to the far wall several times before it mercifully shut it's mouth.

I turned around and proceeded out the door wiping five hours of sleep out of my eyes. Almost the very moment I left the room pain exploded halfway up my right leg. I was fairly certain the next time I looked at my foot my toe would be crammed into it, boggling the minds of even the most experienced doctors. I stifled several choice words that would make my dad say "Quit your cussin'" while hopping on one foot. Surprisingly, after the agony subsided my toe was in it's rightful place with not even a mark to prove my story. It still feels like my worst enemy got revenge with a pair of pliers on it, but there is still no mark indicating my torment.

To my delight, my day did not continue in this horrible haunted house fashion. It actually turned out pretty good. Guess it goes to show you can't judge a day by the first 5 minutes.