Sunday, May 25, 2008
When my oldest child graduated from high school, I was asked, "Do you feel old now?" To which, my snappy come-back jumped into gear and replied. "No. But when my youngest graduates, then I will feel old." Well, here it is, seven years later, and in a few days that youngest child will be all dressed up in a bright blue cap and gown and receiving her high school diploma. So I ask myself now. Do I feel old?
Actually I don't. I have discovered that old is in the eye of the individual. I have met youthful 80 year olds and ancient 20 year olds. To me age is less in the condition of our bodies, and more in the way we view ourselves as a person. I don 't need or want botox, liposuction, or breast augmentation to make me feel young. I just had surgery for authentic medical reasons thank you very much, undergoing more just to "make my self all purtified" is just more pain then I want to undergo. I do color my hair, but leave a rather large white streak right in front. The color helps hide my pre-mature grey, and the white streak left behind is left for two reasons. First, it is distinctive, and second, covering it up, means I have to do so every three weeks, my hair grows that fast. I'm too lazy to do it that often. I could leave off the color, but I'm a hairdresser by trade, so I do color it. It's been a nice variety of shades and hues. In fact my hair hasn't been its natural color in a very long time. Yep, I admit it, my hair is addicted to pigment.
My body just is what allows me to walk around this old earth. So I have stretch marks and a pillow belly. Big deal. I still have a sense of humor, the ability to appreciate and enjoy life, the knowledge that my body works quite well for what I've put it through, and enough creative juices a flowing to keep my brain from getting bored. Now if I could only keep those pesky chin whiskers from cropping up.
So when will I feel old? Ask me again when my first, and currently only grandchild graduates high school, in 18 years.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The second week was better as I could get up and around a bit more and even fold some laundry. By Saturday I had braved a short car trip to pick up my husband, and I put all other shoppers in danger as I test drove those little motorized carts at the grocery store.
Just a note for future reference. Using those carts at a Super Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon is NOT a good idea.
On Monday my doc gave me the green light to return to work on June 3, and to slowly, (and he emphasised slowly) increase my activity level and what I could pick up. It had been reduced to five pounds or less. Of course I immediately began to test my limits. The next day I did two loads of laundry and cleaned my bathroom. Yeah, I spent most of the next day reclining on various reclining pieces of furniture. Thursday I went to Sears for laundry bags. They did not have those little motorized carts. By the time I had found the bags, purchased the bags, gone to the bathroom (hey I had bladder surgery too, it doesn't like to wait) and walked back to my car I was beat. THEN I went to meet some co-workers for lunch. I spent most of the next day, being generally inactive.
Today I had a wedding party, bride and mom, over to the house so I could do their hair. Yeah I know it's too early to do that work, but I had promised her a year ago I would do it , and I try not to go back on my promises. It didn't take that long, they were thrilled, and I was soon flopped on my couch watching What Not to Wear reruns. Then I took my daughter and granddaughter with me to the grocery store. I needed a few things. My daughter soon realized her purpose for accompanying me. She was the pick up and carry-er. We discovered the little motorized cart for shoppers when we were checking out, drat. So back home to the couch I went, and she fixed dinner. Good daughter.
Thankfully I am generally improving though not as quickly as I would like. That is most likely a good thing as I want to be completely healed up. Even when I return to work in a few weeks, my boss insists on me starting out a few hours a day and working up to my full, burning my candle at both ends with a blow torch speed, over a couple of weeks. I just hope someone remembers to fill that blowtorch with propane for me. I'm fresh out.
Friday, May 9, 2008
There is a place where few fear to tread, where unspeakable horrors reign unchecked, and where one must fight to return from alive. That place is of course a certain room in my house most used by my two teenaged daughters. I usually avoid the place, assuming they will keep the terrors inside from creeping out to the rest of the house, but I also know that their idea of cleaning is tossing wet dirty towels into the hamper.
So today I braved the confines of their bathroom, determined to conquer the place. Armed with cleaning supplies and a toilet brush I entered. I began my cleaning frenzy at the sink. First I had to uncover it. The vanity is small and every inch was covered with hair bows, bobby pins, toothbrushes, used q-tips, and styling tools. Once done, I sprayed the surfaces liberally. I started cleaning it, and I swear the thing changed color. The toilet was not littered with girly objects, just horrifically dirty. I stood back as far as I dared as I added cleanser into the bowl. I just didn't want anything reaching out and grabbing me before I was done.
That conquered, I faced the tub. First of all, I do wonder if my daughters understand that when a bottle of shampoo or shaving gel is empty, that it belongs in the trashcan. From the number of empties I threw away, I believe that this simple concept has not sunk in. I then peered into the tub. I saw a ring around the tub. No surprise. Younger daughter holds some kind of record as a marathon bubble bather. However upon closer inspection, I saw that that ring had a ring around it! It took large quantities of cleanser AND scrubbing to render the tub clean. I then quickly cleaned the floor, gathered up all the towels and the rug and beat a hasty retreat, shutting the door firmly behind me, lest the nefarious dirt monsters make a quick return.
Next time they can clean the bathroom. Oh wait, their avoiding that particular chore far too long is what prompted me to brave the task of doing it myself. Sigh. Well on to one more "bathroom". Its user wouldn't clean it herself if her life depended on it. She prefers me doing it. But then you can't expect a cat to clean out their own litter box, now can you? Let's see fresh litter, cleaning supplies to wash box out, gas mask I think I'm good to go.
It is now 10 days post-op and although I have a little pain and not too much physical energy, I can tell that recovery is going to be difficult in the next few weeks. I get bored really easy, and am not used to allowing others to do the things Im used to doing myself. Like laundry,cleaning, cooking etc. On the plus side, my daughters are getting hands on training for the time in the near future when they have their own places to manage.
I should be able to drive next week. I am starting to get a little cabin fever. However I know that in a few weeks, I will be looking back to this much needed time of leisure, and wishing I could be lazy again. OR maybe I will finally learn the benefits of not trying to burn my candle on both ends with a blow torch. Or will I?