Tough Stuff

Have you ever learned something and immediately wished that you could turn back the clock just two minutes? Back to when you didn't know? Back to when life was uncomplicated and mostly good? It is true that ignorance is bliss. And yet, too often, the secret is out before we realize that our lives are going to be irreversibly changed forever. My dear friend learned just such a truth this week. She was going along with her merry little life; chasing kids, selling a house, building a new house, spreading joy and sunshine like she always does. I think she was probably like me; fretting over little things like what gifts to give for Christmas and how to find time to clean her house before the holidays and what she was going to make for dinner. Suddenly the "secret" surfaced and now she is worrying instead about her darling little girl and chest ports and IVs and spinal taps and chemotherapy and hospital recliners that never let you sleep. Instead of baking for Thanksgiving, she is struggling to put on a happy face for her little daughter as she brushes her long gorgeous hair and tries to find a way to tell her that all this beautiful hair will soon be found in big clumps on her pillow each morning until there is no more. Now she is curled up and crying in a hospital room by herself in the dark, wee hours of the morning only when she is sure her daughter will not see her fear. She is far from friends and family, worrying about her other children farmed out among relatives, worrying about what the next months and years will hold. And I wish that there was some way to take it all back, because, trust me, the road back to before seems so very much shorter than the long, long road through. And my heart breaks for her.

Then I think about the "secret" that I just discovered and wish that I, too, could go back. Back to yesterday when life was great as I knew it. And yet, the secret was still there. Not a menace that could hurt me physically, but an ugly monster just the same. I was blissfully oblivious but that doesn't mean that the damage wasn't done. It just means that the stench was not yet apparent, like the dead mouse under my freezer in the basement. Just because I couldn't smell it, doesn't mean it wasn't there, preparing to knock me down with its odor the next time I opened the door. And I have to wonder which I hate more, secrets or surprises. Then I realize that there is no reverse button on this roller coaster called life and that the only way past is right through the murky middle. So, my friend, I will gather my courage and brace myself for the journey, praying for angels for me and for you. Angels to carry us through.

Prunes and Windex

My favorite joke of all time says, "I suffer from CDO. It's like OCD except all the letters are in alphabetical order like they should be." This makes me laugh so hard because it is way too close to home for me. For example, each of my housecleaning tasks are assigned a day of the week. The bathroom gets cleaned on Tuesdays. However, last night I put my littlest ones in the tub and, as I stood in the bathroom, I noticed a little lotiony handprint on the mirror. So I got out the windex and paper towels and washed the mirror. It was getting steamy in the bathroom, so I opened the window. It was looking dirty, so I grabbed my windex again and washed the window. As I was washing, I saw that someone had dribbled toothpaste in the sink. Putting away the windex, I reached for the clorox wipes and wiped down the sinks and countertop. Then, because I already had the wipes out, I wiped down the toilet. Meanwhile, my poor kiddos are turning to prunes in their tepid bathwater.

Why can't I channel this compulsive disorder to work where it needs to? Why do I not feel compelled in areas of my life that really matter? Why doesn't this same disorder work when it comes to being physically fit, or serving my neighbor, saying my prayers, or preparing meals for my family? Instead, it seems that things that really matter (kids in the tub, perhaps) get sidelined for details that are so insignificant. I'll work on that. For now, I think that the pizza delivery boy is here, and is that a spill under the kitchen table?...

confessions of a poser

As I showered this morning, I started to think about my body. Hard not to, in the shower. Thanks largely (no pun intended) to my heritage, my body is the baneful shape of a pear -- or a weeble-wobble. And, as the mother of four, my children have given me, along with many joys, five pounds each that are impossible to lose. I tried, this summer. In a show of rare self-discipline I awoke every morning this summer at 7 a.m. to walk -- sometimes briskly -- for three miles. Along with healthful eating (only a small bowl of ice cream at 11 p.m.) I was able to lose 15 pounds...It was all from my chest!! And what is most amazing about that is that I am sure I didn't have 15 pounds in that region to lose.

So, this morning, I was realizing how deceptive I am, or try to be. Why am I not content with the body God has given me? Instead, I try to alter or conceal every inch of it. I paint my toenails. I shave my legs, under arms and, on the rare occasion that I am convinced to venture into large bodies of water, other areas. I use magical lotions that turn my milk white legs into bronzed, shimmering appendages. I love nylons because they can make me look 10 pounds slimmer instantly and, when I don't wear nylons, I wear a girdle with my skirts. I have been accused of false advertising in reference to my heavily padded bras. I color my hair, wear 10 minutes of makeup and use a lip gloss that plumps my lips. And I secretly wish for a boob job. But rest assured that my nose is my own -- I have never altered my nose.