Night time habits

My lovely house I lived in had 2 bedrooms.  One upstairs that belonged to my parents. One down stairs..that was mine.  It had 2, deep windows & blue flower wall paper.  I don't remember being scared to be alone at the other end of the house.  But I was uneasy about my room.  It was always freezing cold despite the fact that the wall was...kid you not....3 feet thick.  It always had a breeze swirling though it & the light didn't seem right. And...I hated the blue wallpaper cause if you stared at it long enough you could see faces in it!

My bedroom was later converted to a very small dining room once the upper level was complete.  We used the room 3 times out of the year.  Thanksgiving, Christmas & Easter.  Other then that, we hated being in there.  Can you see the deep set window...yeah....3 feet thick walls...awesome! Note the haircut....why mother, WHYYY????

One night, during the winter as I was fast sleep snug in my bed....my blanket was tugged. 
Tug, tug. 
Tug, tug.
 I remember being really angry that my parents were waking me up.  Soon I was woken up by the freezing cold.  My blanket had been completely removed from my bed....and I couldn't find it.  All I remember was being so angry.  Years later my parents told me that in the dead of night, they were awoken to their little 6 year old standing at the end of their bed yelling at them.  "Where's my blanket?!  I'm cold!  Why did you wake me!"

My Mom thinking I was sleep walking...trotted me back down the dark stairs, walked down the long hallway to my room & plopped into bed.  Apparently I cried & spit 6 year old venom at my haggard mother.  "I want my blanket!"  Once I was in bed....my mother started to get mad at me....my blanket was no where to be found.  She turned on my lights to find it.  It wasn't under my bed or in my closet.  She become steamed thinking I was messing w/ her.  Up the stairs she went to grab my Dad to talk some sense into me.  Fumbling down the the dark stairs my father grumbled.  No blanket = hysterical brat.  My Dad was now on the hunt for my cozy blanket.  He looked in the bathroom, in the den, kitchen then finally he clicked on the light in the living room.

There was my queen sized thick yummy blanket, laid out perfectly in the middle of the living room floor.




Sorry for the bad copy.  Here is part of the living room.  There are the stairs in the background, THEE closet door under the stairs & the hallway entry behind us.  The floor in front of my friend & I is where blankie ended up.Do you like my sexy fine perm?



At first my parents were mad at me...then...they thought about it.  Did I truly drag my blanket out into the living room, dragging it over the huge yellow couch only to splay it neatly on the floor...then to wind up screaming at my parents in my shrill little voice in the dead of night?

That night after they brought me upstairs to sleep on their floor my mother & father decided they would work on the upstairs bedrooms the next day so they could move me out of that room as fast as they could....of course it would take them about 2 more years to make it sleep able.

And for 2 years....it become custom every now & again for me to wake up in the dead of the night & feel that tug..then sliddddd of my blanket.  It become my cue to get up, go potty then hunt for my wandering blanket.  It would hide in the den, kitchen, crumpled on the yellow couch, laid out in the living room or hallway.

This is another picture of that great yellow couch of 70's sassiness!  I just can't get enough of it!  I wish I had it today...it's just breath taking!  carry on...

I would drag it back down the hallway & plop back into bed.  I would grumble a little thinking it was my Dad playing a joke on me.  Then I would complain to him the next day about his blanket joke & how it bugged me....I never caught the panicked look in his eye...only the nervous laugh of him lying to me..."sorry kiddo...I just can't help it." 

My room with a hazy presence.

Childs play

"I really need you to stop it.  I'm having a long day.  No one can play with me, Moms shopping, my Dad is working in the yard, my brother is a jerk & I'm bored."

"No really...you need to stop scaring me, that's not nice.  I'm going to be mad at you if you don't stop."

I often found myself having conversations like this in my house off Pleasant Grove Rd.  One day I was just...not having it.  Life was unfair!  I couldn't play with my friend, my stupid brother was visiting & I was stuck...at home...AGGGHH!  So hard to be a child!

I stormed down stairs after my doofus brother kicked me out of the bathroom.  Hey, it had good acoustics & I needed to perfect Barbara Streisand's Queen Bee...just...because!  Whatever fart face!  Stomp, stomp, stomp...down the stairs.  Flinging myself down onto the yellow couch I seethed & pouted & lamented.

"Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeek."  The closet door behind me slowly opened a crack.  It never took much to have it creeeeek.  You turn the knob...creeeeeek.  A slight pull....... creeeeeek.  The sound of the door was horrible.  No matter how much my Dad WD40-ed it....it would always creeeeek! The door was a heavy solid wood door with an old glass knob.  It was to a closet that was tucked under the stairs.  Pretty cool hiding place.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek open...creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek close. 
"creeeeeeeeeeek"            Stop it!
'Creeeeeeeeeeek"            I said STOP!
"Creeeeeeeeeek"            FRED!  AGGGHHHH!

I started to joke to my Dad about the ghost in the house.  He'd laugh & never take me seriously.  He told me as he ruffled my permed hair "Oh...it's just Old Fred.  Just say Hi & he'll leave you alone.  He's just lonely."    He did a fine job about teasing me...but I knew he was just messing around like Dad's do.  Little did I know...the poor guy was doing his best not to tell his daughter "yeah kid....seriously, this house is jacked up! He's watching you.  Run kid RUNNN!"

"Creeeeeeeeek"  ALRIGHT!  I'll play with you but the door has got to stop!

I heard my smelly brother stomping around upstairs yelling for me.  Something about his toothbrush...that I may or may not have rubbed on top of his nasty B.O. stick.

Sensing my own doom at the hands of my cracked out bro I dove into the closet.  The closet went all the way back under the stairs.  The space above my head just got smaller & smaller as I crawled under my Moms fur coats.  I finally wedged myself deep in the bowels of my cave.  As my brother pounded down the stairs grumbling, I watched the light fade as Fred closed the door.  "creeeeeeeeeeeeeek."

"Hey brat...you think I'm stupid!  I could hear the damn door all the way upstairs!  I know you are in there!  Come out or I'll go in after you!"

Gah!  I hate my brother!  I covered my self w/ winter shoes & scarves stored for the winter season & waited.  Doing my best not to laugh & cry.

"Fine!  I'm coming in!"

Try as he might....my brother could not open the door.  I could here him struggle & hit the door w/ his fist.  The old 50 lb door didn't budge.

"Hey twerp, the doors stuck.  You'll be in there all day by yourself!  Dad's out side & he'll never hear you scream. Have fun punk, I'm out of here!"

Exit poop head brother.

I laid under the shoes, in the pitch black slightly panicked.  All I could think about was how was I going to pee?  I had no problem hanging out in the closet, but to pee?  yeah...this would be a problem!

No sooner had I thought that...the door clicked and

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

A little sliver of sunlight peeped in through the door.

I crawled out from under the tangle of hanging coats & out through the door.

My brother no where to be seen, my 9 year old life spared.

"Thanks Fred!  That was fun! I'll see you later!"

Out of the house I ran, to play with my ducks.

And somewhere in the house, I knew Fred would be waiting for me to come back & play. 

Things that go bump in the night

I was 6 when my mom happened to drive by an old barn in a little town & fell in love with it.

She drove home & told my Dad to buy it.

And so he did, because he loved her.

We left our custom built house down a winding lane a few hop, skips & jumps from a river and moved to

"Podunkville"

Population: 4,000

The house was built in the 1860.  First as a barn that housed pigs.  Then it was converted to a cheese shop in the 1880's, then converted into a house early 1900.  There was a bigger barn for cows that was razed.  That became a beautiful sunken garden.

When we bought the house in the 80's it was falling apart.  It had only 2 bedrooms.  One bedroom (mine) was on the first floor.  My parents bedroom was the only room upstairs.  You walked up the stairs & to the right was their bedroom.  To the left was a locked door to...well....the upper half of the barn.

This what was behind door #2!  A very large, open, dusty unfinished room.  My Dad eventually built a laundry room, bathroom (with a lovely sunken tub) small office & a large master bedroom.  The roof was so high he even was able to install a pull down latter that led up to more storage.


My Dad worked on the house making it, at first safe & livable.  Then finally he made it perfect.  We then after living there for 7 years moved... after all that hard work.

I loved the house.  It had about an acre or 2 of land.  It had an old horse barn for a garage.  I could play in a little forest, climb apple trees, catch frogs in the creek or pick flowers in the prairie section.  I had a rabbit, ducks, a dog & gerbil.There was always something to do.

I grew up with just my parents.  It was nice, just me, my mom & Dad.....and

something..or someone.......else.

When we bought the house....it wasn't empty.  It came with peeling wallpaper, a deadly furnace, leaking roof, rotting carpet & a ghost.

My parents never, EVER said anything to me.  But I found out years later we were not alone.  They had experienced things too.  My mom said the first night we slept in the house she felt it.  The haunting.  I remember it too...but I was so young...it must have been all in my head........

The house was cold that night.  The furnace didn't work.  Our furniture hadn't arrived, so we slept on the living room floor in sleeping bags.  The house was infested with mice so I got a kick watching them scurry around the baseboards.  My Mom...not so much.  Between the whimpers of my scared dog & the sound of the old barn moaning, I barely slept that night.  Coyotes cried somewhere in the fields & the shadow that floated on the ceiling fascinated me.  There was a blue hue to the room.  (I remember asking Mom were the light came from.  She said it was a blue moon that night.  Well, let me just say...that moon wasn't blue.  So I don't know what kind of hog wash she was telling me.) The shadow was in a shape of a man.  Sometimes it would hover above us...sometimes he would dart.  I enjoyed watching him....figuring at first, it was my Dad shuffling around.  But my Dad was asleep, snoring on my left, my Mom on my right.  I remember being confused at the man shadow & a bit uncomfortable.  By morning I was fine & happy to explore.  My Mom, I found out later knew...she made a grave mistake buying the house.

The fireplace was massive & was able to heat the rooms upstairs through vents.  My dog Tasha always by my side.  This was the room we slepted in the first night. 

I was never afraid of the house or the barn where my Dad like to tinker.  My dad loved his little garage/barn.  There he placed all his tools.  He was always working on something.  Handing me nails, hammer & wood I would work along side of him making airplanes.  But the garage was also the favorite place for.... Him.  Apparently my Dad was well acquainted with Him...who he named Fred.  (we named everything Fred.  The garter snake's in our garden, Fred.  The wounded birds I would find & feed, Freds.  The brown bunnies dotting our yard, Fred)  Fred was notorious for messing w/ my Dads tools.  My Dad would yell at me because I would move tools as he turned to grab something...but I never moved the tools.  After awhile my Dad realised...it was never me.  He thought he was going mad.  He became more aware of me...being out in the yard & his tools...disappearing right under his nose.  Most of the time they just moved around the table.  He would turn & the tool would be gone...only to find it under a cloth or another tool. (My Dad was scared of losing his mind he even went to a Dr. to see if he has dementia.  He did not)  One day one of his prized tool went missing.  He looked under benches, in his tool box, on the floor.  The tool was gone.  Vanished. 

A few days go by & still no tool.  He couldn't finish a job without it.  He got a hint one day as to where his tool might be.  He heard footsteps above his head.  He heard these steps all the time.  But when you live in the country, raccoons are as big a medium sized dogs.  They were always in our attics...garage & house. My Dad often had to cage or shot these very pissy, nasty things.  This day...he pulled up a chair & listend.  Really listened.  "Stomp, Stomp, Stomp."  His hair on his neck stood straight.  Those were not raccoon feet.  Those were feet w/ boots on.  He yelled up to the ceiling "Hey...I have a gun!  You have a choice, you come down now & I let you walk off the property alive or I go up there & fill you with lead!"

Silence.



"Stomp....Stomp...Stomp"...... Silence.

My Dad got the latter & his hat w/ a light attached to it...& his shotgun.  Up the latter he rose.  He slid off the ceiling panel & climbed up into the dark attic of the old horse barn.  Poor guy was sick & nerves.  He really didn't want a gun in his face & he didn't want a racoon to jump on his face either.  But he was sure a hobo was up there.  As he climbed up...he saw nothing.  No escape route, no hobo, no raccoons.  Nothing.  Just wood beams, barn dust and

His prized tool propped up against the wall.

My Dad flung himself out of the ceiling,  Crashed down the latter & ran  out of the garage.  He thought he was having a heart attack.  He laid down on a patchy piece of grass to calm down.

It had been confirmed in his mind...we...were not alone.

summer of recovery

Did you hear that?

That was the super sonic sound of summer whizzing by.

It's amazing how fast time has gone now that I can walk upright, without digging my fingers into my bum muscle just so it can relax a little to move.
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My life went horribly slow as I moved my body...left foot step, fingers digging into right butt muscle, push in & up...drag. step...drag, step....drag....on &and on. Worsening week after agonizing week.

All that pain, fear, hopelessness...gone!

Just a slice, trim & scrap of the Dr.s knife...I am healed.

For this I truly praise God....& all the intelligent people who worked on my pathetic spine. What a wonder medical science is!
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I praise God that I finally pulled my head out of my arse & dropped the tomfoolery nonsense of chiropractic, happy thoughts, bad exercises by people who got their learn'n at "quackery iz us" & herbs. Yeah, yeah....that crap has helped people....but sorry kids....it did not one drop of good for me the 6 months I lived through agony. In fact...I believe it made things worse. And THAT has become my proof that witchery brews are a sham. Glad it works for you...but for me...I learned the hard way.
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I saw Dr. Sparkles 2 weeks after surgery & when she saw me walking she squawked out "Look at how well you move! Oh sweetie...I wish you could have come to see me sooner. You wouldn't have to have gone through all that pain & heartache."
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She's right...I could have avoided all that pain. I could have avoided that pain that caused me to question if suicide would be the answer. I could have avoided the pain that made me willing to have nerves slashed, bones broken, muscles torn to become paralysed & placed in a wheelchair...just so I could live a "normal" life. I could have avoided the fear my pain caused my family & friends. I could have avoided the pain that made me take steps back towards Jesus Christ & my Heavenly father.
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Sure I could have avoided a whole lot of heart ache.
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But the growth it forced me to endure was pretty neato....and I wouldn't trade that for the world!

DISCLAIMER: I never, NEVER, NeVeR want to have THAT level of pain EVER again in my life. I get ghost pains once in awhile & it sends me into shock. I realise I have PTSS. Great...another thing I have to pretend doesn't exist!
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Looking back I can see I did survive. My family survived.  I learned some hard lessons in life. I did every thing I could to "fix" myself. ...and in the end...after all that could have been done by myself...I reached out to a pro & got me some much needed pampering....by a surgeon!
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God lead me kicking & screaming to what needed to happen. I can imagine him gently but firmly dragging me as I arch my back & screech to where I needed to go. Like a good parent that says..."listen, you won't like this, but trust me...I know what I'm doing."
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And of course, he was right. And for once...it was nice to be the kid instead of the parent!
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So goodbye summer! Goodbye pain! Goodbye wee-wee pads! I got a new back... back! My spine, habits, movements are forever altered....but by golly.....I'm BACK BABY!

A sad post of loss & heartache. Families can be together forever.

My heart has been put through the cheese grater. My head pounds & my tummy tumbles. I have a hard time typing because my fingers are jello. Tears threaten to explode from my face at any moment. I feel drained, angry, tired & broken.

These things I feel are all from a little soul that I never knew. At first I felt guilty....almost feel....like I'm barging in on a grief that can't be shared.

When someone dies we are told life goes on. We will see that person in the hereafter. Our souls do not parish at death. But what happens when that person never got to have their first breath? We never get to see their personality. How tall they grow. Never get to see them progress through life. What happens when there can be no comfort because we never got to know who that soul becomes? How does one process that?

Tragedy come faster & faster these days. I blame it on age. The older we get the more things we see. The more people we come to know, the more heartache we share.

A sadness I can not even begin to fathom blanketed a friend today. Her child was born full term, quiet & still. A child that I like to say, took years in the making.

There really are no words. Nothing I say or do will lighten her sorrow. All her friends stand in stunned silence. All we can do is stand behind this invisible line & watch her walk through what will be the most hellish years of her life. Each one of us wish we could take a tiny piece of her sorrow & tuck it safely away in our own hearts. Maybe then, the pain will lessen.

We know, her pain will be all hers. We can grieve, moan, rage, pray & wish. But in the end, she is alone in that piercing, soul drenching pain.

She will sit alone with her wounds...in a silent car...a new car seat will be empty. She will pass a car with laughing teens in it. And her only thought will be

"How can YOUR life go on....when my world has stopped spinning?"

Any women who has children....can picture this vividly in her mind. We are all linked. Whether we push out our babies or they are pulled out or cut out...or even picked up for the first time at an adoption agency...we all can weirdly feel a tiny bit of her agony. This particle we feel...is so deep and black. We feel just a particle...she feels it completely. Lord heal her.

Lord heal her.


The Lord Jesus Christ will be the only one...who can heal her.

We can help. Food will be made & delivered. Her house will be cleaned. Her children will be played with. We will pray with her & hold her hands. We will say to her..."tell me about your son. Was he bald? How much did he weight? What is his name?"

But at night, when all is quite. When her belly aches & her head stuffed with "should haves". The only thing I hope is whispered into her brain are the words.

"Be still and know that I am God."

I hope, in the silence, right before she drifts off to sleep...the Lord speaks to her the words..."He is here, safe & happy. He fell asleep right in the crook of my neck. You did good Momma. Please know I will hold him & rock him & care for him until you come home."

There is joy when the one you loves dies. For they are home...safe & happy after a long day out in the world. It's the ones that get left behind that we grieve for. It's sad, painful, maddening & empty. We don't want to be left behind. We don't want to be left alone...without the ones we love so much. When the black cloud of grief comes, our lungs collapse, are eyes sting & our ears ring.....through the bleakness of it all...... the only words I feel are:

Be still and know I am God.

Reeco Suave

Sitting up on the gurney I look around my room trying to figure out how to get off this thing. I have to go to the bathroom before the surgery...because I do NOT want to float any air biscuits while on the table.....on my stomach...tush in the air!


To make things worse....Mr. Reeco/Dr. Sparkles assistant walks in.


He's...kind of cute...in a really weird, stalker, Jersey Shores kind of way. "Hi, I'm Reeco, Dr Sparkle's assistant...let me mark your back."



Let me paint a picture for you....

Reeco is tall, young, thin..."awwww yeahhhh!"
Olive skin......"aahhhhhh"
He has jet black hair..."talk to me Jen!".....which is perfectly qwaft...."grrrr baby!"...into a shiny,huge back swept tidel wave off his head...."ummm, ok...I can work w/ that, big-ness"

His eyes are, how do I put this...stoned looking..."CHECK PLEASE!"

Then his voice is like a soft, cooing dove.......well more like the coo of a SURFER DUDE...."End scene! Sorry buddy, you lost me at "like.....I'm gonna...... mark,..... like...your back..mkayyyyy?" Dude.....don't say M'KAY...it's creepy!


Mr Reeco smells divine as he hunches over me & pulls aside my gown to place a black mark on my back. And I don't know quite how I feel. I think I'll just go to my safe place....again.


He marks me, then floats out of my room.


My husband asks me..."Ummm did a homeless, stoned man just mark your back w/ a Sharpie? That was weird."


Oh yeah...this just keeps getting better!

And I'm off!

5am. I'm at the surgery center....trying not to shake. Trying to believe this will fix me. Trying to believe this will bring back...me.


I get called back into my room. My husband has to wait while they "get me checked in."

Seriously people...he's my husband. He's seen me more then naked. Why can't he come back? I try not to punch someone...well I can't punch anyone because they are so nice.


I get naked, step into my gown. I realise I have to poop. Awww geez...really?!


They hand me lederhosen to squeeze on my legs. Grrr baby! I can't bend over to put them on or even sit onto the gurney. I start to panic...I can't get onto the BED! They are going to have to operate w/ me standing up!!

I just stand there as the old nurse keeps asking me to get into the bed. Why can't I ask for help? Why now? Oh yeah...because the nurse is like 80 years old & I'm afraid I will break her hip if I use her as an elevater!

Before she starts to believe I am stupid........I finally open my mouth & ask for help. The 80 year old nurse nearly shot-puts me into the bed. I think she actually threw me on her shoulder & hucked me into it...can't quiet remember because I went to my safe place as she did it.


Now time for the Squeezie Mc Squeezes a-lot hosen. "Sweetie, put these on."


Ummm, I can't. I need help.


So 2 nurses pull up my tube socks. The older nurse pats my feet & walks out.


So far so good! I am positioned painfully in bed, wearing a gown that's not mine, socks that look sexy fine...and...I have to POOP!


This is going to be a GREAT DAY!

A goat is less stubborn

I sat on a hot morning in a waiting room. Waiting....for the neurosurgeon to see me. Waiting for over an hour.

I had the conversation I would have w/ her in my head down pat.

Dr. "I suggest we cut you open. Because that's what Dr.s do....we cut. We don't care...we cut. It won't help you at all, but I really need to pay off this 24 carat diamond ring....ya know what I'm say'n?!!"

Me: "Gee thanks Doc. But everyone tells me you are out for $$. And besides...you are right....surgery won't help. How do I know? Well....I Goggled it. So I would just appreciate it if you prescribed me physical therapy. I mean....I'm doing everything right. At this point in my life I know more than PT's do. But I think I could really benefit from PT...because I goggled it....& I'm a recovering crunchy freak."

I soon get called back to a very cold (as in "this place could use a dash of color" cold) very...medical room. And

I

Wait some moreeeeee.

I sit going over my cue cards. "no surgery, no surgery...no think you....just PT please."

Finally, in breezes my new sparkly Dr.....wearing a diamond as big as the largest bruise on my leg (thanks to the chiropractor...just thought I would share that sexy picture w/ you....cuz I CAN!)

She is very nice, but I view her as the "The Man." One not to be trusted. I had years of grooming to view medical people with question. My poor Mom trusted a Dr who pretty much killed her....for his ineffectiveness & his blase' treatment of the growing tumor in her breast. Luckily she found a great, sweet, gifted Dr who was able to prolong her life. But the damage had been done. "Daughter dear, NEVER trust a Dr. Always investigate, get 2nd 3rd, 4th options. Push for proper treatments. Always question. Never lay yourself down on the alter of a Dr." Andddddddd cue neurosis!

Dr. Sparkly poked my foot. Had me counter presser her hand. Tapped my hip.

"That's IT?! You tap my foot & that's it for diagnosis?!!! I don't think I like you much. Scam artist!".........don't worry...I didn't say my thoughts out loud...I wanted too...but I refrained.

Then she had me waddle down to show me the x-rays. She praised my great spine & how "juicy" all my discs looked. But then showed me the "sad" little disc that was collapsed on one side & "oozing" out onto my sciatic nerve. As she sat in a chair opposite of me she asked me to place my good leg on her knee. My leg straightened a little. She said that was normal for the good leg to start to stiffen up. Next was my bad leg. I couldn't even place it on her knee. She had to do it for me. I couldn't even point my knee cap up. My leg just sat crooked on her leg. She tried to gently straighten it. It was totally useless. The pain was so bad I punched her in the face......well...no I didn't....I restrained myself. My stupid leg had atrophied in the bent position.

Then this evil Dr. said...as she rubbed my foot. "Oh you poor thing. This is real bad. You have suffered too long. I'm sorry you hurt so much. But we can fix this. Don't worry!" And she carefully placed my foot down onto the floor & helped me up.

I did my cough & sniff...."stupid allergies routine" to hide my threatening tears as she walked me back to the room. DANG IT....why did she have to be so NICE?!

Of course the first thing out of her mouth was "Sweetie, we can make you pain free in a few days. Just a small, quick SURGERY. We just go in & clean the bulging disc material off the nerve & that's it! You'll be able to get up & walk like you haven't walked for 6 months out of the surgery center. So how about tomorrow?"

And you know what my crunchy little heart said. "Surgery? But everyone...& I say NO!"

And what came out of my mouth. "HELZ YEAH, Do it NOW....NOW"

Lucky I couldn't do it the next day. The nurse talked me out of it because I had to close on our new house that day. Whatever. I was totally for it! Yeah baby! Spine surgery & house closing!

What happened to me?!!! Who was this person? What about a 2nd option?! What would Google think?!

So surgery was scheduled for the next week.

I went back to my friends house & my crunch chastised me. "Stupid GIRL! You caved!"

I questioned what I had done. Maybe I could cancel the evil surgery in a few days. Better yet...have my husband do it for me! Yeah...that's what I would do! I didn't need the surgery. I could work it out myself.

4 days after that, I laid on my belly to do my back exercises and then I froze...up on my forearms...belly on the floor. Cobra pose top be exact.

My body became paralysed with pain. Searing pain ripped through my body. I couldn't go fully on the floor because the wave of agony was shocking. I screamed & screamed for my son to help. But could he hear me? OH NOOOOOOO cuz he was watching tv in the other room!

So I cried once again, in my friends house, on her floor. Just me myself & the devil. I finally got my son to get the bottle of Tramadol (which as my Dr friend said is a "Jr High joke, not a real pain killer"....greattttttt) I popped 2 pills & then rolled the bottle far enough away for me to reach it....cuz I would down the whole bottle.

I was sweating from being stuck. Did I mentioned..I was in THIS POSE?!! DID I?!!!

Finally after an hour, I was able to lower my upper body onto the floor...in a funky weird position. My husband came home & tried to move me. But this pain was NOTHING like the last time. This pain was worse. I begged God to make me go unconscious. I was face down, eating carpet, begging God not to leave me. I saw no way out of the pain. Finally after 3 hours on the floor my husband was able to move me...as I screamed..... onto a futon mattress on the floor. I was in hell, but at least I was on my side on a futon. I stayed laying on my left side....for 14 hours. Every once in a while I would try to move, but I couldn't. Peeing in granny pads had become the norm. But paralysed for 14 hours was not norm!

At 9am the next day I was able to stand after struggling to get up for 20 minutes. As I shuffled to the bathroom is agony....I remembered the conversation I had w/ God telling Him he would need to physically guide me..... blared loudly in my head.

Point....taken.

God had for sure, physically stopped, dropped & rolled me into what I need to do.

"That's IT! Stop this non sense! Get thee to Dr Sparkles & get surgery for the love of Me!"

I would get surgery next week. I would yell & rage at my father on the phone as he said not to get surgery. I would not read anything anymore about spine surgery on the Google. I would gladly pop Vicoden to get me through the week. I would not feel bad about this! I would gladly pay for Dr Sparkles 24 carat diamond ring!

God had spoken & I finally would listened!

Surgery...here I come...pleasepleaseplease work.

Piss and wind

2 weeks ago, my world changed.
2 weeks ago I could not get out of my van without whimpering & burning with pain.
2 weeks ago I walked out of the surgery unit, without pain.

6 months...everyday...pain. Not one day of relief came to me. Sure I had good days, but always with pain. Around 5 months I told God.

"God....I don't do well with "listening to the still small voice." I have a real bad connection down here. It ain't for the lack of trying. It's just me I suppose. So I need you to throw me a bone. I really need you to phycially guide me to what I need to do next. If I need to do Chiropractic treatments everyday for a year I will. Acupuncture? Massage? Drug treatment? Surgery? Standing on my head in a pool? I'll do it. But I can't hear ya down here so just do what you have to do to get me the treatment that will heal me."

I asked this knowing full well the trouble I would be borrowing. I did not ask this lightly. I was ready to accept to be physically taken where I needed to be.

I am shocked I survived.

A day after talking to God, the pain left. And what replaced it was indescribable. White hot burning agony....yeah...that about sums it up.

I could no longer sit, stand or lay w/o extreme constant pain.

A week later I got stuck in my friends bed...my Friend's bed...not even my own. Ohhhh no...I had to be paralyzed...on my friends guest bed.....and I had to pee.

I usually could lay down to relax, but this day was different. I could not move. Not to roll over. Not to sit up. Not even to move my legs. Not to push myself up. I was completely paralyzed. And if I tried to move the pain would shoot through me so bad I wanted to vomit. I started to sweat & moan for God to kill me. I couldn't even touch my skin. My whole leg was on fire. It felt like a charlie horse...through my enter leg...that lasted for 4 hours. There was no letting up on the pain. All I could do was lye on my side, in my friends bed, alone. My husband went shopping 3 hours into this little personal hell. As he left he asked if he should buy me pads. At first I said no...through clenched teeth. Surely this hell would pass. But then I recognized pride & I changed my mind. I would need pee pads.

He left & I cried. He was gone for over an hour. I would try to calm myself & tell myself just to relax. Slowly I would try to sit up. The pain would rip through me & I would stuff a pair of socks in my mouth to stifle the screams.

Soon I couldn't deny it. I had to pee. Not only pee...but piss...a lot. Even if my husband was with me, he would not be able to move me. I needed the pee pads...I needed them NOW! I start to panic. Then I beg. "please, please, pleaseeeeeee, not on my friends bed." Over & over I begged Jesus. After a half an hour of begging.....my bladder began to loosen & give up it's fight. On the small dresser by my head was a bunch of clean socks I never got to put away. (If you are confused as to why I am in my friends guest bed w/ my laundry....be confused no more! We were staying with our friends while we waited to close on our new house. We had sold ours & now had to wait. We were at our friends house for 3 weeks. They are saints!)

I bundled all the socks together to form a pad (see, all my years of being crunchy paid off!) I Then...painfully...jammed them in my pants....stupid leg was so painful to move. I barked out "Throw me a bone here God! If you are not going to help me hold my piss at least help me move this damn leg so I can protect MY FRIENDS BED!" Soon...I began to laugh. Hard. I can't believe...I'm doing this. Between the hysterical fits of laughter....I pissed....on a pad made of socks......in my friends guest bed.

5 minutes later, my husband walks in...with the pads. I don't know whether to be humiliated or angry or relieved. Did God....really just ignore my pee pleads?! It wasn't a crazy request God!

My saint of a husband helps me out. I then relax...& wait.

Finally.... painfully, but steadily, my husband is able to pull me up off the bed. I feel like I have been hit by a bus. Grumbling, I drag my paralyzed leg to the bathroom. Plopping myself down onto my throne..I wait & murmur. I'm still mad at God. Mad, angry, humiliated. I just pee'd on myself. Yeah...thanks for noth'n God!

Then I pee.

& pee.

& pee.

Let me just tell you.....I pee'd like a frat boy after an all night bender. I pee'd so much I could have read the last book in the Harry Potter series. I think I even took a nap while peeing. How the heck it didn't come out while I was laying on the bed is beyond me.

I sat dazed..on the pot. (I really hope you are visualising this.) Maybe God did help me out. Walking back to the bed I was scared of what I would see. My husband said it was dry.

Ummm what? I just empty a pint of piss on that mattress, are you sure?

It's dry as a bone.

I made him smell it. He didn't want to. SMELL IT! Smell it NOW! (he did) Then I smelled it. I almost called my friend down to smell it.....but I didn't...cuz that would be weird.

I'll be damned. The bed was dry. It smelled fine. Some how I managed to pee a lung out, but not have it get on the mattress.

I guess God did hear my prayers.

I later apologised to Him for ragging at Him. Then I recognized I had a serious problem.

God had psychically placed me where I now needed to go. Soon he placed my down on the door step of a neurosurgeon. She would be the one that was an answer to a prayer.

But first...I had to second guess....& again God physically told me were to go.

And this time....would be more hellish then the last.

That girl

I am the type of girl who....



Didn't wear tampons till I was 15 cuz my Mom told me I would get TSS & die.



Didn't like to take pain medication like Tylenol or Ibuprofen in the 80's because Mom said I would be poisoned & die



Had 4 babies...3 of them drug free.



Uses a neti pot...Sick invention that sometimes work...but always makes a mess & gags me.



Eats raw garlic when I feel a cold coming on...then my farts & sweat smell like garlic...sexyyyy.



Used FAM (Fertility Awareness Method) for birth control successfully for 9 years cuz you know, BC is of the devil & makes me cranky & moody.



Goes to the Chiropractor when my back is wonky.



Has breastfed for a total of 73 months.



Used cloth diapers.



Does/did yoga.



Thinks positive thinking can ease pain.



Exercise will make all your aches & pains go away.



Sniffs eucalyptus oil when I get a sinus infection.



Ahhh, yep...that's me! Crunchy girl!



Oh how young & stupid I was. Yeah crunch worked...when I had no real problems! I was the girl telling people that if they put their mind to it they could achieve a healthy drug free birth, pain free nursing, a healthy body & mind, & goop free sinus.



To all those people....I was YOUNG & STUPID.....forgive me!



Now at the ripe o' age of 38...I have learned my lesson. Drugs are good! Sometimes positive thinking can't change your health!





Uggg, I'm the girl who judged harshly those trollops that got an IUD shoved up into their lady parts. For SHAME! Putting a foreign object into ones cavity! Insanity!



Yeah....then I went into peri menopause & bled buckets for 10 days a month. Oh yeah...I battle mental illness that didn't go away w/ yoga & positive thinking...so the thought of having another spawn had me day dreaming of how I was going to kill myself.



I was the girl who"humfpt" when young moms wanted nothing to do w/ a drug free birth. Why would they want to deny their baby the gift of a drug free birth? (note to reader....I had that thought for less then a year....cuz then I started actually WORKING with birthing moms. And birth %&$#ing hurts!) Then I got pregnant w/ my 4th & my body broke down. That birth was 25 hours long & very VERY painful.



Rolled my eyes at the fear mongers who said that we should fear the flu. "the sky is falling! Get a flu shot or go see your Dr!" Fevers are good, they help your body kill off the infections. Raw garlic & large doses of vit C will take care of things.



Then I got walking pneumonia (thought it was just the flu), cracked my ribs from coughing for 3 months. Then finally crawled into prompt care screaming "give me drugs, DRUGS!" I could hear the Dr. reading my nose culture in the hallway. He actually said "holy S&%$, this ain't the flu!" This no named Dr, who I grew up to think didn't care (Some Dr's are evil, but not all) held my shoulders, looked into my eyes, told me I was very sick & I must take these drugs. If I don't get better in 24 hours I had to go straight to the ER. Pneumonia can kill quickly. I remember the fear in his face. Then I remember nothing for a few hours as I convulsed in pain & fever....reeking of garlic. Hearing my husband say it smelled like death in our bedroom.



10 hours later I came back to earth. The drugs working their magic. Me realising what I fool I was for nearly killing myself.



That was the day the crunch....got punched in the face.









I now have a herniated disc, spinal stenosis & severe sciatica......Let me just say, all those years of "baby wearing" shot my back to hell. Dang babies! They look cute but deep down inside they only live to destroy & maim!

For almost 6 moths I have done "physical therapy" at home. I did back exercises twice a day. I sleep on my side now ...which I HATE. I breath deeply & meditate. I even saw a chiro. ...who worked on me for about a month & saw me worsen...then promptly told me "Maybe it's time to try an MRI & drugs."


My pain has worsened so much I now take Vicoden. Yeah...me...the chick who does acupressure on myself for headaches instead of popping pills. A month ago I had to leave my job. I never walk off a job. But 2 hours into cleaning I started to panic from the pain. The pain making me want to vomit. Soon my leg wouldn't move. I found myself on the marble bathroom floor trying not to scream out from the devil grip on my leg.

And so that's my life. Caught somewhere between face down on my friends carpet shaking in agony, sweating, howling to God to kill me & pissing myself in my bed because once I lay down I can no longer move. (don't worry, I use real, old lady "oops I crapped my pants" pee pads.....I don't crochet my own!)

But fear not! I am on my way into surgery! With a Mayo (& not the kind you spread on bread) trained Dr!

A real Dr!
A Dr. with drugs! (For SHAME!)
A Dr. with tools (Rub some garlic on your arse!)
A Dr. who can slice into my spine! (But that's not the way nature intended!)
A Dr. who will bill me an arm & a leg...& I won't care! (positive thoughts are free!)



Oh yes my friends...this girl has gone



MAINSTREAM!



I'm kick'n the crunch to the curb & embracing Doctor MAGIC!



Next....I will shop at the MALL instead of Goodwill!



So my friends, I will return after my evil surgery to report how it worked. Wish me luck. Sprinkle me with fairy dust. Dance around The Burning Man. Howl at the moon. Or....just pray for me. And if anyone needs some cloth menstrual pads or a neti pot....come on over. I'll trade those things for Vicoden!

Float

For this brief moment this ol' questioning skeptic has felt peace, calm, joy & faith.

I'm just going to sit here & enjoy it. I'm going to silence my rambling mind. I'm sure soon, this feeling will blow away as a tissue in the wind. I have spent so long questioning & analyzing all the feeling & thoughts that jump into my head. "Oh, well that's just how the brain works. God is not involved. The Holy Ghost is not involved. The Man in the Moon is not involved. I just heard something that feels nice...like a nice song. It means nothing, or does it? Is it my brain firing off neurons or is it truly the spirit speaking to me?"

Then I just keep tumbling down the rabbit hole. Questioning & judging & doubting & analyzing....round & round my mind goes.....It has become draining....this bullet train my sick brain has put me on.

But for now I will allow myself to say...I felt the Holy Spirit. I'm not going to question right now but just enjoy it. Let it float me away to a place that has been lost to me for so long.

Blessings? Where?!

Blessings....sighhhhhhhhh.

For the most part I see them all around....kind of...if I'm in a decent mood.

But then I get pissy.

My eyes are crap.

My house won't sell.

The laundry breeds.

The car is in the shop...again..

My leg hair is getting thicker.

Don't even ask about the neck, chin & lip hair.

My back is whack.

Whine. Whine. Whine.

I must say...it's hard to see through blinding pain day after day. Pain makes me cranky. Pain makes me impatient. Pain makes me madder then a cat on fire.

Since I stopped working out...which was the single most stupid thing I have done in a long time.... I gave up...so has my back. For 4 months I have had Sciatica...every...dang-nab-it day.....four months.

Did you hear me? 4 months

So what sciatica is..is basically a mashed nerve that shoots pain from my arse straight down into my foot. At it's worse, the pain literally cripples me...at the least...it makes me want to chop my leg off. Really, I have thought...Just whack it off! But then...with my luck, I would probably have phantom pain & then I would just end up eating a bullet.

Yes, I have seen a back cracker. It was relaxing....but the thought of paying this man thousands of $ to crack my back & squeeze my butt (yeah...I totally get felt up...most enjoyable part !) takes any relaxing thoughts & beats them w/ a baseball bat. Plus...there is no proof that after I spend 1,000 of $$ it will work.

Yes, I work out...well more like grab my arse as I moan in pain as I try to move my body... in a way to ease the pain. If I work out 3 times a day, the pain can be bearable.

Yes, I hop myself up on Ibuprofen. But I find I need to up my dose every time just to be able to breath...so that's not working.

Yes, I have considered ingesting medical Mary Jane...Hey, it's an herb of the earth & it's safer then Vicodin or Oxycontin....but then again I am not a hippie & it's not legal in my state...whatever.

Yes, I eat lots of chocolate.

Sigh...what's a girl to do? Live like this forever? Holy crap I'm only 37! I can't bend over to put on my socks w/o pissing my pants from the pain!

So one day I talked to my religious leader. I call him The Man. Not as in "Sock to The Man, man..he sucks!" More like..."Golly he's the nicest Man in the world, man." I talk about my religious mind screws & he gives me hugs & candy. Pretty sweet deal. One day I was talking to The Man with my husband. As I sat in his office I asked...NAY Demanded he help my husband give me a blessing to relieve my pain.

So yeah...I am in that much pain. Anyone who knows me, knows I cock my eyebrow at spiritual healing stuff.

The Man & my husband agreed to give me some healing. Now do I believe that people can be healed by "laying on of hands"? Well, I have never seen the evidence, but I like to believe in the possibility. I am a pretty harsh critic when it comes to spiritual stuff.

But I trusted these guys & I thought..I need this or the LEG IS COMING OFF!

So what happens during a blessing is simple. The Man puts a drop of anointed Virgin Olive Oil on my head. Then resting his hands on my head he says my full name & "anoints" me with the oil. Then his hands are lifted for a second. Next, 4 hands are now placed on my head as the husband seals the anointing. The man sealing the anointing then says a non scripted prayer. He speaks as he is moved to & I sit there....all the while the hands of his friend rests on top of his.

I sit there with 4 warm hands on my head.

Big, man hands.

The words my husband speaks are simple & sweet. No revelation is spoken. No speaking in tongues. No lightning is shooting through my head. Just plain & simple words.

And I relish it.

I am struck by how lucky I am to have these hands perched on top of my head.

I am lucky to have these men in my life who are sweet & kind & funny.

I am lucky to know, if I ever suffer from pain of body, mind or spirit...there is always to safe place for me to land.

I am lucky that these men believe in God more then I do.

I am lucky they take my ranting with a grain of salt & a grain of fear.

I am lucky that these men help guide me when I am blinded.

I am lucky that I feel their love.

How many gals really know that the men in their lives love them?

That Sunday I got up from the chair after the blessing. My butt muscle seized like it always does....just to let me know my nerve is still damaged....but this time the only thing I was focused on was the faces of 2 really great guys. Just men. Just dudes, fellas, gents. No God stood before me. No kings. No rulers. Just 2 guys who loved me.

I really didn't care if I was healed or not. I cared more about the love these fellas pumped through my brain. I cared more that they believed.

Funny thing though. The next day I feel ill. Ya know the type... every-time-your-heart-pumps-the-blood-pounds-so-loud-in-your-head-you-want-to-scream ill. Then fever, shivering ill. Yeah. I know, RIGHT! After I just got a freak'n blessing! Not funny God! But as I broke down in tears about my sinus revolt & weeping that I can be sick AND have butt pain...the pain...went away. So for 2 days I was really sick. Sinus head pounding sick. But my back? Barely a throb. I didn't hobble to the bathroom. I could roll over in bed w/o out Lamaze breathing. I could sit w/o a knife in my back. I could stand up straight.

When my sinus pain went away...my butt/leg/foot pain came roaring back.

So my blessing? Well, I have chronic, searing, life altering back/butt/leg pain. Maybe w/ therapy & other treatments I will be able to get a handle on it. But the blessing is

I'm not alone.

And I happened to be surrounded by really, truly, lovely, funny, kind men. Men who take my kids out to hockey games. Men who can take a joke. Men who let me sing rock songs w/ them. Men who sit by me in the movies & offer me popcorn. Men who high 5 my daughters.

Men who who are not afraid to show me or my famliy love & feed me candy....

even when I swear, spit venom, dance like a wounded chicken....while clutching my butt for the world to see.

Letters

Seeing my Dad reclining on the couch fighting sleep makes me smile. There is work that needs to be done, so I sneak off into the front room. I can feel the blood pump through my veins. I become startled at how slow it is. I blink & I am face down into the blue carpet...drooling.





How long have I been laying here?





I find I can't get up to my feet. I'm on my hands & knees panting. I realize my time is running out. I am not frightened at all. I am very excited. My head is about to explode with joy, but my body doesn't respond.





I hear my Dad ask me when will my family return home from shopping. I try to respond in a way that won't frighten my Dad. In the strongest voice I can muster, I crock out "Soon, Dad..soon." He is pleased with my response & goes back to his couch induced sleep.





I am calm & happy as my body starts to break down. My letters to my family have been written. The clothes I will wear have been set out. The only thing I worry about is their pain. I did my best to explain in my letters how excited I was & how happy I will be with my new adventure. The letters would help them cope. I have done all that I can do to prepare them for my death.





I blink once more...& again I am face down in the dark blue carpet. I feel the wave of death getting deeper. My belly is excited. It jumps with wild abandon...just like it did the time I went down those crazy water slides at the park. I can't contain my happiness. My eyes close as I start to descend down that eternal water slid.





"CAW-CAW!"





What the heck?!





"CAW-CAW!!"





Opening one eye I see a jet black crow by the side of my face. I ask her what she wants...I'm kind of busy dying here.





"What about the notes to your friends?"





CRAP! My friends! Oh no! They need notes too. I roll to my back as the crow moves to stand on my toes....her feet a fleshy and cold. The words I have in my head refuse to move to my mouth. I need help...but my lips are starting to numb. The great bird cocks her head, understanding my plea. Her beady black eye moves slightly off to the left, I follow her gaze & find my child's crayon laying on the floor. It takes every once of strength I have to grab at it. With the crayon held in my weak grip, I frantically start to write my love notes to my friends.





My pulse slows & my breathing comes in short bursts. I start to panic as the names of my friends leak out of my brain. So many names. Men & women I love. Stupid lack of oxygen is giving me death brain farts. I see each friend as clear as day...but their names have escape me.





Scribbling on bits of paper I find scattered on the floor, the crows start to gather. One by one, they swoop gracefully down to the floor. They hop & chatter. excited. joyful. I tell them to wait. Waitttt. The crows start to caw at me, begging me to play with them.





"Give it a rest! I'm trying to write here!"





A crow hops on my chest & ask me why I panic.





"If you haven't noticed I'm dying here & I have to write these notes to my friends. They need to know how much I love them. They have to know how unique they are. They have to know how much I admire them. So stop the Caw-Caw pow wow & let me write!"





The crows scatter & watch...still cawing to themselves...I am now unnerved...those dang crows...never can take direction.





By now the names of the friends escape me...I am left to address them by nick names. The Hugger, The Crafter, The Nurturer, The Fiesty, The Saint, The Mother, The Bishop, The Giggler, The Beadmaker, The Musicman, The Dreamer, The Godfather, The Writer, The Classic...name after name. Paper flies. My crayon turns to dust. A crow drops another crayon onto my belly. My writing become weak squiggles as my life drains into the carpet.





Soon the paper runs out. I try to write on my clothes but it won't hold the words.





"But my friends...they have to know."



My crow scoots a black marker towards me. It bumps my pinkie. I look at her. "But I'm dead."





Not yet...your not done...we'll wait.





The panic leaves me. With all the strength I can muster, I remove my clothes. I continue to write my love notes to my friends on my flesh. Words of encouragement, love, humor soon begin to blacken out my skin.





I finish my quest. The crows gather all my paper notes & begin to cover my body. I sweep them up w/ my arms & I am amazed by all the notes I have. The paper is warm & soft. I close my eyes.





"I'm ready to play now."





My crow friends dance and hop. Their caws lift me up & away.





"Caw-Caw_Caw-Caw"


Beep-Beep-Caw-Peep-Caw-Beep







I awake to the weird chorus of the alarm clock & a pack of cackling black crows perched on the tree outside of my window. By the hazy light coming through the crack in my window blind I know it will be another gloomy January day.



Pushing up from my pillow I notice that I had been drooling...so...gross.



This...... is my morning.

What...the...Heck. Seriously?

These dreams are nutty!



My friend "The Nurturer" will have a hay day dissecting my weird a$$ dream. She thinks dreams holds the key to our lives. The can unlock our pain, joys,sorrows & fears. We just need to learn how to interpret them.



I, "The Skeptic" thinks it's a bunch of flaky crap...although...fun flaky crap.



I sit on the edge of my bed listening to the sounds of the wise crows. I think about how I have been seeing them a lot lately, sitting in trees.... picking at the neighbors garbage bags. Most people don't like crows. But I do. Black crows are one of the smartest birds out there in bird land. The best part of the crow....their personality. They are jokers. They will dive bomb other birds...even birds LARGER then them....just so they will be chased. They play tag...TAG! Who doesn't love tag?!



I get 2 distinct massages out of my dream. (The Nurture would be proud I'm putting so much effort into this dream crap) The first message;



Tell my friends & family how much I love them. Be more open with my admiration & love for them.



Second message...and the most important one;





















Stop drinking chocolate milk before bed.

Sexy fine mental issues

I have issues.

Raised by older parents, partying with older people...it messed me up as a girl. I spent most of my youth shopping at women's' stores. I couldn't stand stores like the hip Fashion Bug or the "teen" isles at JC Penny's. Oh no! I shopped at The Silhouette, a swanky little store for OLD LADIES! (Think Clearwater Creek...but a bit fancier)

I didn't realise I had a problem until my Aunt came out to visit me (which...she never did before...it totally freaked me out!) after my mom died. My Dad & my Aunt drag me out to the mall to go shopping for new school clothes since mom was no longer shopping with the living. I go into my favorite store & go hog wild! I come out with soft, green dress pants, a cream turtle neck & a matching green sweater w/ cream colored leaves on it. It was beautiful....for a 50 year old!





Here's a little detour. Ya'll know by now...I love pictures! Enjoy this small picture gallery dedicated to my love of turtlenecks pared w/ sweaters. I wore them all the time....yes, I even wore sweaters in the summer.




Rocking my blue knit sweater at my 15th. birthday.













I'm 15. I'm cranky. I hated how I looked. Notice my bangs. My mom was horrified that I sat for our Christmas picture with "greasy spikes for bangs.". And I....didn't care.

Sexy Freshman sweater combo

Still 15...not as cranky. Here's Dad & I on spring break after Mom died. Notice...the sweater. We went to the Virgin Islands...& I wore a sweater. I even wore it over my bathing suit....did I mention we went to the very hot Virgin Islands? Those were the days I didn't sweat.

18....wearing my fathers turtleneck & sweater. Cuz nothing says awesome then a retro mans sweater......and sausage roll bangs.

This has concluded my pictorial stroll through my sweater years...carry on.

I was confident as I strolled out of the dressing room! My Aunt gasped. She thought I was joking. She argued & argued with me that the clothing I wore was...get this...not appropriate for a 15 year old girl. I looked like a 35 year old soccer mom. Of course that was the look I was going for, but she still refused to buy it for me. So we were at a stand still...either I buy the funky teen crap or nothing. I voted nothing & walked out of the store.


My Aunt & Dad argue about me...the problem child. How dare you wear a sweater young lady! Slut it up for Heavens sake! Be a un respectable teenager for once in your life!


My Dad finally stood up for me & said if I feel comfortable in a sweater set then so be it. He went back & bought the outfit for me...as my Aunt wrung her hands.



So this old lady grew up. I now can wear what I want. And I do...oh yes, I do! First & foremost...it has to be comfortable. I have SIDs....... Sensory Integration Dysfunction so comfort is a must, not a want. SID basically means if it feels weird...I'm off all day & can't function.


Some times I can't sleep cuz my tum tum hurts.... because I'm having a bloated day & my waistband is killing me. So I strip off the offending tight undies. OHHH YEAHHHH my husband says...then he cries silently as I put back on my baggy sleep pants sans the tighter then heck undies.


I can't move...honestly move.... if my waist band is too tight, my butt is squeezed, my thighs are squeezed (let's stop here & give thanks for stretchy jeans! Oh my heck what a Godsend! remember when you would have to warm up your thick jeans? Auuggg, I shutter at the thought!) my bra is off center a millimeter, my socks have bumps in it, my neck is squeezed or my armpits restrained. Oh my goodness I'm a child!


So I now walk around town in this......

O' my plum, velveteen sweat suit! How I love thee! You are like butter! & your waistband doesn't make me fart!


While I'm at home I need my house shoes. I have 2 pair...1 for summer & these...






for winter. (Note my winter thermals. RAWWWRRRRR) My shoes help me get through the day. When I can't find them I cry "MY SHOES! WHERE'S MY SHOES!!! I...CAN'T......FUNCTION!" "Shoes? SHOooOOooES?" (like...my shoes will answer me...I need meds!) Then I flap my hands as if I'm shaking off the dish washing water. I frantically pace, I moan & kvetch all the while flapping my hands until I find them.


My husband screaming "KIDS! Find your mothers shoes! FIND THEM!"
The house is in a panic. "For all the love that is holy...Find your mothers Dang SHOES!"


I find my comfortable, loved shoes & sigh.


My husband then cries a little.




I hope I never get too fug-tagualr with my wardrobe. I rely on friends that say "Seriously Jen? That won't do." I have a husband who is not afarid...no...he is afraid...but he does tell me when something might look...."off."

I hope as I get older I can continue to merge fashion with comfort. Lets face it....life is too short to have your butt get flossed everyday. I don't want to be the women who smells like mothballs as I wear my velveteen track suits. BUT...I do want the be the women who wears velveteen track suits....good luck peeling those babies out of my cold, clammy hands!



But I have confidence in my future. Really, I'm already out in public with plum sweat pants....I can't regress anymore....... can I?