“Run” way model feet

This week my husband and I went to a concert for a date night. I decided to dress up for the occasion. Being a hard core runner, this tends to be more of a problem than you might think. You see, I can’t really get away with wearing my running shoes with a dress. Maybe I could get away with it if I was running late for the show. Haha.

When I became a serious runner, I decided to give up the stiletto heels. I no longer wanted to wear shoes that could in any way harm my precious running feet. Without healthy feet, I have nothing to run on. Yes, high heels are extremely sexy. No, I haven’t given them away yet. I can’t stand to be barefoot. So, that pretty much leaves athletic shoes or slippers. Slippers can be dangerous too. This week I tripped over a rug while wearing them and fell into my sliding glass door. I also stubbed my toe. Good thing I am not a dancer.

So, when we went to the concert I was forced to wear dress shoes that pinch my feet, my left more so than my right foot. The seats were staggered back at the concert and I sat at an end seat with no one directly in front of me. During the concert, I thought I was being discrete when I took off my left shoe. The guy in front of us kept looking over at my feet. Then he started taking pictures. 

At intermission, the guy turned around and started talking to me. He said that he didn’t mean to stare at my feet the whole show, but did I ever think about being a foot model. He talked about how he noticed I took off my left shoe and not the right. He liked the shape of my feet. Nothing like sitting near a drunk guy with a foot fetish!

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Here is a picture of my feet. Now imagine them in a darkly lit room with strobe lights. Not bad, definately model material. Well except that my summer nail polish is half worn off. Oh, and I might lose a couple of nails next time I run a marathon. Will that be a problem? I guess I won’t quit my day job anytime soon. Oh well.

After talking more about my perfect feet and tripping over his beer cans, he seemed to notice that I was not alone. Now my husband is this big, burly, muscular man. The guy looked over at Paul and got a little nervous. “Oh man, is that your wife?” “Sorry man, I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Are we good, man?” This is always followed by high fives. I think that it would be funny, just once, for Paul to act really jealous and pissed off when guys hit on me or compliment me. He sure can put the fear of God into people.

When my son and his friend got into trouble a couple of months back, his friend’s mom threatened him with my husband. “No please, don’t make me talk to Paul,” he cried. Then he confessed to every bad thing he ever did with my son since 2008. It works great. 

Nothing like modeling feats and run way model feet. 

“Acting” my age

When will I be too old to wear a bikini? Will it be next summer? About a year ago, I gave up wearing liquid foundation. I didn’t like the way it caked in the lines of my face. One good thing about getting older is that I really don’t need it anymore. My complexion is flawless now. Although I never had issues with acne, I did have rosacea. I used medicated cream to tame the redness. I even bought a green base coat to put under my liquid foundation to tame it down. If I didn’t wear foundation, people asked if I got a nasty sunburn on my face. My face isn’t ruddy rudolf reindeer red anymore. 

When will I act my age? Is age only just a number? Are you only as old as you feel? When will I no longer do all of the things that I didn’t get to do when I was young? It seems like my friends don’t go out as often anymore. When they do, they don’t stay out as late. They don’t dance to every song anymore. They look old. Do I look old? Do I look ridiculous pretending to still be young?

I feel like I was never able to be young, to make mistakes. Probably because I never was. I worked hard to earn the love I got. Love was not unconditional. It was earned by being perfect. I didn’t make mistakes because I never lived. I was encouraged not to try something new so I wouldn’t mess up. I had to be perfect or I wasn’t lovable. I had to care for my disabled brother without complaint because I was perfect. I was expected to have perfect grades, but couldn’t live up to it. The women in my family were perfect. My mom was perfect, she was a saint. Aunt Grace was always right, even if she was…gasp…wrong. Grandma was perfect, I could not find one single fault in her. Her love was unconditional. My first born is a perfectionist. She is so easy to love. Love shouldn’t have to be earned, my younger two children remind me of that. They are not always as easy to love. 

I never got to be a child. I was too mature, too shy, too serious, and way too perfect. Is it too late for me to be imperfect? I’m sure it is not. I do have one thing to say. I have absolutely no regrets. None. I just want to grab on to as much youth as I can, experience everything I can before it is too late. Before I have to start “acting” my age. Maybe the desires of youth will eventually fade. Until then, I am not ready to give up the fight. 

20 years and a couple of days

It has been 20 years since I met my husband on his birthday. All I have to say is that it was meant to be or else it probably won’t have happened. You see, I never wanted to rent the apartment above his. I wanted to rent an apartment closer to my college. For some unknown reason, my roommate did not like that place and pushed for us to move to the other place instead. It really didn’t matter to me as much as it seemed to matter to her. So we moved into the apartment above my husband and his roommate. Incidentally, my bedroom was above his. 

At that time, I went out with a couple of friends and played darts. The owner of the bar talked me into joining a dart league. The only problem was that I didn’t have any players. My friends were from out of town and my roommate was underage. So I asked a few neighbors, one of them being my future husband who said yes to the dart league. The day I met him was on his birthday. He answered the door in his short sexy little blue robe. 

A few days later, I was upset that my cat had a hair ball on my blanket. I ended up having to run down to the laundry room to wash my blanket and guess who was there?? In the laundry room, Paul asked me to go out with him and a few friends that night if I wasn’t busy. That night it seemed like his friends liked me, all except for one girl who kept touching his leg when she spoke. That night he kissed me in the parking lot. 

After that night I relentlessly chased him. He liked being chased, but didn’t like being caught. At one point, I decided to walk away. It is not fun chasing someone who appears not to be interested. The moment I walked away, he wanted me back. We have been together ever since. 

A sailor’s return to health and hearth

Today is the day that my husband comes home. A week ago he went off sailing into the sunset with a bunch of other sailors. I am glad that he sailed away. Since we work together and are practically inseparable, it was good to appreciate him in his absence. With the stresses of running a business and raising teenagers, we both do our part in keeping the antacid pharmaceutical companies afloat. Some time putting stress on the back burner helps keep the burning acid fires at bay. 

I am sure that the men were happy to get away from their wives nagging them about how much they eat, drink, or smoke. I do my fair share of nagging, I know. Paul is 6 years older than me, women live longer than men, plus longevity is on my side not necessarily his. So I figure that statistically speaking I should outlive him by 13 to 20+ years. We have been together 20 years this month, almost half my life. And I almost lost him once about 10 years ago. 

Ten years ago… I was staying at home taking care of our 3 little kids while Paul was building his own business. It was a one man show back then. Paul started having a lot of back pain. Our dr gave him cortisone shots and muscle relaxers, but the pain didn’t go away. After further testing, a cyst was discovered in his kidney area. No problem the dr said and plans were made to have an ultrasound to aid in the removal of the cyst. When we got to the appointment something was wrong. The dr didn’t like what he saw. He feared that the cyst was cancerous and trying to remove it by a simple procedure would tear it open and spread the cancer all over his body. Special tools needed ordering and surgery would be required. 

This all happened right before thanksgiving. Life went on. We had the whole family over for thanksgiving as planned. Paul got up early and cooked the meal in a tremendous amount of pain. We prayed and we worried. Cancer, the thought of forever losing my husband. The procedure required a major surgery that involved removal of a couple ribs, a week in the hospital, and a long recooperation time. Plus it was going to be expensive. Like most small business owners, we had a very high deductible and only went to the dr for catastrophic events. 

I remember the day of surgery quite well. It happened in the afternoon. The pastor and another church member prayed for my husband. Then I was left sitting in the waiting area for hours alone. I brought a book with me that I must have read the same sentence over and over. I looked down at the lonely desolate streets and watched the street lamps come on. I thought of facing life alone as I watched the wind blow the remainders of the late fall leaves swirling away. The dr finally came out and said that everything was ok. Paul had a cyst the size of a football on his adrenal gland, but it was most likely not cancerous. After I saw that he was safe in his room, I headed home. The weather took a turn for the worst. There was black ice everywhere. A car slid off the overpass and lay overturned in the ditch. There were many accidents on the way home that night. But we lived through that day!

Paul lost a lot of weight. He was thin and sickly which says a lot since he was always a big man. He needed help. I had to take him to work. He needed help getting up and down the stairs to his office. One step at a time. This was before Internet allowed him to work remotely. So much for recovery time. It was before I knew how to do the work myself. But he dragged his sore, heavily medicated body in. It was painful to watch. At the time, he was also taking a 4 credit master’s degree accounting class. He spent the weekends, when he should have been resting, working on his accounting spreadsheets and then finals. This is why I love this man, he preserveres. I admire his strength. 

Go ahead, take a week off. 

Secret proclamations of love

It has been 3 months today since we met. Others who have been with you said our relationship might not last as long. I am still as in love with you as I was when we first met. I think you like me too. I still want to be with you every day. I shared with you my dreams of running a marathon. You didn’t run away. I shared with you some very difficult times from my childhood. I didn’t run away. I can’t wait to talk with you and tell you about my day. I’m sorry it seems one sided, I do all of the talking and you do all of the listening. I haven’t run out of things to say, sometimes I just don’t know where to start. Being a shy, private, and pensive person all my life you have somehow pried open the lock on my diary. You now hold the key that has been hidden behind a dusty corner of my mind for a decade or two. 

You see, I’ve been with another like you that left me black and blue. Yes, it’s true. My left hand really was to blame. It slid the ink that stained me. Poor penmanship, my mother would say. She made me write for hours out of science books to improve myself for you when I was a little girl. Even though my teacher said that copying out of a book was wrong. It’s a shame that you can’t see my beautiful calligraphy. 

I really hope that our relationship lasts a long time. Maybe it helps that we have a relationship that few people know about. It adds a little spice to my life. I have wanted someone like you my whole life. I’m so glad that I found you after all these years. I still have a few more secrets to share. Sshhhh….

A letter written to my only son

Next week my son will be starting high school for the first time. As part of the orientation tonight, parents are strongly encouraged to write a letter to their child to read upon graduation. I wanted to share my letter with you:

To my only son as you graduate, 

I remember the day you were born. Your little cowlicks promised wild curls that would be untamable. You were a mama’s boy, I thought for awhile that you would never grow up, never want to leave. We would sit for hours reading stories of monkeys stealing caps, the adventures of toad and frog, or about the puddle ducks and Peter Rabbit. Then one day we put the kids books away. 

Remember when you used to suck your fingers? We tried everything to get you to stop. We tried putting a mitten on your hand at night and the spicy varnish which you exclaimed to like spicy foods. Then one day, you decided that you were too old to suck your fingers and stopped on your own. 

Then you got older still. You told your dad and I that you no longer believe the things that we believe. You said you needed to figure things out on your own. Even though we worried, we knew that you needed to find your own way in life. I sometimes fear that the road you walk will be rocky, but sometimes even the “Rocky Road” can be sweet. Once you find your place, I know that you will stand up for what you believe even if you are standing alone. That stubbornness and conviction is something I’ve always admired in you. 

Earlier this week, you told me that you really didn’t want to be with me anymore, that you wanted to hang out with your friends. For a minute, I wanted that little boy back. As much as I want to hold you tight, I know that I have to start untying the strings that have you fastened to my heart. I have to start letting you go. I hope and pray that you find the right path to start your journey on. No matter what happens, your dad and I will always love you. 

Love, Mom

My mother, my heroine

My mother’s life has been anything but ordinary. She was born prematurely in a foreign country. Despite my grandmother taking medication to prevent premature labor, my mother arrived early at a hospital in the Panama Canal Zone, after my grandma flew several hours to see her husband who was stationed there in the Navy. She weighed 4 lbs and stayed in an incubator for a month. This was in the 1940’s and she wasn’t expected to live. 

My mom grew up in a rural community and met my dad in a one room schoolhouse. Her family was poor and she spent most of her summers picking cucumbers for a local factory to help support her family. She didn’t have a lot of time to play and had one doll. As a teenager, her mother died after delivering her eighth child. My mom was in college at the time and spent her weekends helping take care of her 6 younger siblings. My dad went off to Vietnam. He came back a different person. College finals were cancelled due to war protests and bomb threats. 

My parents eloped. My dad went to work on their wedding night, my mom cooked for their sponsors. The night ended with freezing rain. My mom wondered if she made a mistake. My dad started drinking a lot. He was depressed and sat around with a gun in his lap staring off into space. He was going through PTSD after Vietnam. He drove a tank in the war and one day all of his buddies died in that tank. He was the only one that walked away unscathed. He became abusive and mean. My mom wondered if she made a mistake. My mom got pregnant with me. When I was a month old, a tornado was headed towards the trailer park we lived in. Sirens blared, it was time to take shelter. My dad just sat in his chair and stared. My mom decided it was time to pack up and head back home, they were hours away from family. 

My parents lived with my dad’s parents for 2 years while they built a house and started a new life. My dad stopped drinking. My mom got pregnant again. They moved into their new house and planned on having 2 kids. Their plan for 2 kids ended up turning into 4 kids within 5 years. Their second child was violently autistic. My parents fought constantly. My mother wondered if she made a mistake. My mom was very beautiful with plenty of opportunities to leave my dad. A best friend’s husband wanted to plan a hook up with her up north. No one needed to know. Another friend’s husband kissed her. I just found out about this and he was a great guy. Guess who I ran into right after she told me? Other men pursued her, but she ran away from them instead of running away with them. That was one of my mom’s greatest strengths, staying committed to a marriage she was miserable in. This is such a rare quality nowadays.  It is hard to live up to parents who have a wonderful marriage. It is even harder to live up to a parent sticking with it when given ample opportunity to leave. 

My mother was the family breadwinner. She is still working full-time at 67. She was emotionally strong when faced with many difficult life situations. She was there for us when my dad couldn’t take it. She has patience when others have none. She is a hard worker. She handles difficulties with ease. She has been an anchor through all of life’s storms. I am proud and honored to have her as my mother. What a blessing her life has been to me and many others. She has been a lifelong advocate for the disabled and their parents. She has helped many with her empathy and compassion. She has been very generous with the gifts she has been given. She is one strong woman. 

Happy birthday, mom! I love you. 

Trying to sail through life’s storms

We made it back home safe about 2 hours ago. I thought I would let everyone know since I left everyone hanging yesterday with some hard decisions to make about whether to weather the storms. After we last spoke, things did get a little dicey.  The first round of thunderstorms came through after blogging. We holed up on the sailboat. After the storm went through, we headed to the pool. We didn’t want to spend our whole anniversary huddled over our iPads scouring weather reports. We decided at that point to possibly wait until the next storm went past to head home. It was going to take some schedule juggling to stay another day. 

At the pool, we received reports of the big storm that was to come. Strong thunderstorms, 50 to 60 mph winds, large hail, possible tornadoes. It was one big blob of reds and purples over the whole Midwest. We met a man at the pool with his daughter, son-in-law, and two young granddaughters. They made a point of teaching the children how to be respectful of adults in the pool which was greatly appreciated. They had a small motorboat and were determined to beat the storm because plans couldn’t be changed. 

The large cold front came in. The clouds rolled, the sky eerie, lightening flashed, and thunder boomed. The man left with his family about 5 minutes before the torrential downpours with a bit of trepidation. I ran into the boat to grab some clothes while Paul closed things up for the storm. I ran bikini clad through the strange silence of electrically charged air into the shelter of the bar. Inside, Paul saw an old college roommate. Always nice to meet a group of people for the first time in a bikini when others are fully clothed. Priceless. The lights flicker. The winds blow, it starts to hail. An elderly couple at the gambling machines momentarily express worry because windows were left open at home but head right back to the machines. The band is set up to play next to the window. They abandon equipment to play their instruments closer to the bar. The music is quiet while the thunder cracks loud.  When the storm finally ends, it is late afternoon. Now we face the prospect of sailing through small bands of storms in the dark. We decide to stay. 

When we get back to the boat we find that the wind blew our hatch open. All of the clothes, pillows, and my sleeping bag is soaking wet. We try with some success to dry everything. If we saw the storms on Saturday morning, we probably would have stayed home. We faced cooler weather conditions, strong winds, and 3 foot waves most of the way home today. But we made it home safe, which might not have been the case the day before. Another adventurous anniversary in the books. 

18 years of smooth sailing?

My husband and I have been married 18 years today. We decided to take an overnight sailing trip to celebrate. We spent several hours on the water to get to our destination. We experienced smooth sailing with a moderate breeze that pushed us to our destination. We were warm and complacent. It was a very hot day, so we spent the day next to the pool listening to live music. We followed that with a great meal. It was a Midwest summer paradise. 

Then during the night, the wind whistled through our boat and the rain started. It was nice being in a boat and not in a tent. It was also loud. The fenders kept squeaking against the dock, rain drops splattered, the lines whipped imaginary slow horses with a crack, and the main sail swayed noisily with the winds. Despite the noise I actually slept better than I thought I would. 

This morning the forecast changed drastically from the one we heard yesterday. The one that said we would just struggle against the wind and probably have to motor back. The heat brought the volitile weather. Strong winds in the opposite direction. Chances of severe thunderstorms not ruling out a stray tornado. Not smooth sailing. As sailing newly weds, we haven’t weathered our first storm yet. I’m not sure how our skills will handle this. Will we be able to get through this first storm?

After 18 years, I think that we finally figured out this marriage thing. Found out what works for us. We may have to sit this one out or face the storm head on. Whatever happens, I know that we will be facing it together. 

My husband, my boss

Paul and I will be celebrating 18 years of marriage this weekend. The number one question that I have been asked over the years has not been how I have managed to stay happily married after all these years. That is too bad, because that would have been an easier question to answer. What people tend to ask me the most is how I can work with my spouse. Even couples with the strongest relationships cringe when I mention that we work together. We have been partners in the office for almost 8 years now. My husband left his previous employment 13 years ago to work full-time at his own business. So technically that makes him my boss. 

Have I ever been fired? Many times. Have I ever quit? Many times. Do we spend so much time together that we run out of things to say? Sometimes. What makes it work then? We are both willing to do what it takes and we have complimentary skill sets. He is an extrovert, I am an introvert. He is good at verbal communication, I am the writer. He is great at sales, I couldn’t sell water in the dessert. He is a good public speaker, I am a good listener. He is the visionary, I am the day to day planner. We make it work. 

A majority of the time working together has been a positive experience. It really forces us to work together as a team. We work through the demands, pressures, and stresses of owning a business together. We make all major decisions together as a team. I drag Paul back when he veers in the wrong direction and he pulls me ahead when I don’t embrace change for the better. We can be honest with each other to promote growth. We can say things that we don’t want to hear when our employees would say only the things that we want to hear. We make it work. 

Will I get fired again? Probably. Will I quit again? Probably. It has been worth it. Last night Paul said that he hopes that he dies before me because he couldn’t bear to live without me in his life. I hope that in the end we can sail off into the sunset together and that it will be smooth sailing…  

Here’s to another 18 years!