Just what I wanted to do today...

I’m not nervous…I’m not nervous…I’m not nervous!  Sigh! Yes I am! Breathe! Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale.  I’ll be okay.  I try to calm my nerves as I drive to the hospital for my appointment. 

I turned 40 just a week ago. I find it rather strange, odd and just a bit humorous.  I don’t FEEL 40. I mean…what EXACTLY does 40 feel like anyway? I feel like me.  Maybe a wiser, better version of me. But ultimately I’m me. 

I ALMOST slipped under the radar too!  Almost got out of it for another year. The nurse, at my initial appointment, made a comment about my not being 40 yet so I had another year. Ha! I should have left that alone.  Should have let her think what she wanted to. BUT NO!  I just HAD to correct her.  I replied, “I turn 40 on Friday.” DUH! Can I suck that back in? Take it back?!?! Gah!  WHY do I have to be so stinking honest?  Aagh! Curse that good side of me!  Haha! 

Fast forward…one week after my birthday… and I’m on my way to my first mammogram.  Yep. If nothing else makes me feel old, this just might. 

The receptionist is pleasant and tells me to come on in and go to the end of the hall and have a seat. So I do. As I’m walking in I notice an older lady getting called into the room.  She’s wearing a pink hospital gown on top and her pants on bottom.  I sit down. I want to keep myself busy but the TV in the waiting room is showing the weather. Why couldn’t they play something interesting? Maybe a light hearted comedy? Or a silly sitcom. Something to get my mind off the fact that I’ll be half dressed while a perfect stranger performs my mammogram. 

Yes, I know.  She’s a trained professional. And THAT’s supposed to make me feel any better about it? Not quite!

I stuff those thoughts back down. I’m okay. I can do this.

My name is called.  I glance up. I grab my things and stand. She’s an older lady…maybe in her 70’s. She asks me if this is my first time. Um yeah! Do I LOOK old enough to have had one of these before? Never mind! I won’t be rude.  That’s not who I am. “Yes,” I reply politely.

She directs me to the changing room and explains that if I have any deodorant on it needs to be wiped off and provides the cleansing wipes for me. Oh yes!  As If I’m not sweating enough already? Now I have to wipe off any protection I had.  Oh crap! I think I’m sweating more…

She tells me to remove all clothing from the waist up and put on the gown; opening in the front. Sigh. I nod my head. My replies are short. I don’t really want to be here. But I know I need to be.

You’d think I’d be completely fine with this after having been poked and prodded with 6 pregnancies.  But for some reason it’s different.  Uncomfortable.

Breathe…

Once I’m changed I go out and she’s waiting for me.  She tells me that she’ll explain everything she is doing so that I understand.  We walk into the room where the mammogram machine stands. She directs me to untie the gown. I do as I’m told. I try to be calm. Try to breathe. It’s impossible to carry on any small talk. My face is firm. I only speak when spoken to. I just don’t know what to say. Nothing I say can reduce the uncomfortable-ness I’m feeling. So I stay quiet. And I sweat…

She proceeds and explains exactly how I should stand. Relax my shoulders. Turn my head. Otherwise I’d hit my face on the machine. THAT one I could figure out all on my own! She positions me so the machine can get a good picture. I’m sweating. Now…without deodorant. That’s embarrassing. She steps back to her computer and takes the image. “Doing okay?” she asks. “Yep,” I say. Clicking and other noises commence. I breathe. I try to relax.

Thankfully it’s not painful. Just uncomfortable; being half dressed.

She takes 6 images; 3 on each side. In between images I pull the gown around me as much as I can. Pride has left me and I feel small.

She never made me feel uncomfortable. She was very professional. She did her job. She was quick and gentle.

I just want to get my clothes back on.

Finally dressed I have more composure. My face softens a little.

On my way out I stop to see a friend who works in the hospital. I can breathe again.  I can relax. I can smile. We laugh about my being old now.  She’ll be 40 soon too. 

I survived. It wasn’t that bad. Just…uncomfortable. Sometimes doing things that need to be done to keep ourselves healthy is…JUST CRAPTASTIC…

What is THAT!

“Oh no! The trash leaked on Cassie!” I heard Norissa say from the table.  My face crinkled in question. “What?” I asked as I spun around to look.  My eye brows furrowed and my nose wrinkled. 

What the heck is THAT?!  Cassie sat on the floor covered in what MUST have come pouring out of the trash bag as Johnny took the trash out to the can.  I ran for the stairs to stop Johnny, “Johnny!  Stop!  There’s a whole in the bag!” But there was nothing else on the floor or down the stairs…I realized.  Weird! 

“There’s no hole in the bag, Mom,” he yelled back.  What!!

Cassie continued to scream as she sat in the pile of…sludge…dripping down her legs and off her hands.  I ran to her side and took a closer look.  OH MY GOSH! It smelled like fish.  No joke.  At first it looked like meat chunks that smelled fishy.  Ugh. Yuck.  SO G. R. O. S. S!

Cassie’s screaming got louder and more intense.  She wasn’t hurt.  Then what was her problem?  Oh yeah.  She’s covered in this…sniff…sniff…OH CRAP…it’s dog vomit…from my parent’s dog.  Light bulb! Hahaha!  No wonder it’s such a big pile! Still she sat screaming. Her little leggings were covered from bum to feet with puke.

I grabbed paper towels to clean up the pile on the floor.

Somewhere in the short minutes between me asking Johnny to take out the trash and him taking the bag down the stairs the dog got sick; a nice huge warm pile. No one heard it!  So he’s a silent vomit-er? Apparently Cassie came running into the kitchen and slipped on said grossness…covering herself in goo.  EWWW!  I was having a hard time not laughing…

She was still screaming…and getting louder all the time.  I stood her up and tried to take her clothing off but she kept screaming and wiggling.  I tried to speak calmly to her but she couldn’t hear me over her wailing.  I raised my voice and asked her to stay still so I could get her clean.  She wasn’t having ANY of that! REALLY?!?! Apparently she couldn’t hear me through the vomit covering her skin. I guess it was grossing her out too much. The more she moved, the more she smeared goo on the floor.

Trying to prevent more smear-age…I finally hollered to Johnny to hold onto Cassie. And that’s when I realized she continued to freak out because it was still on her hands.  Gag! Seriously! I quickly wiped her hands and stripped her down.  But she continued to wail. When will the screaming stop?? I forgot to breathe. I was trying not to laugh…through the screaming…

Johnny carried her screaming, flailing little body into the bathroom and set her into the tub. Norissa stood by keeping an eye on the upset little wiggler in the tub. I can’t even remember when the screaming stopped because I was still trying to clean up the mess on the floor.  I kept finding more splatters... It was awesome!

AT LAST…all clean…I ran the bathwater and scrubbed Cassie clean.  I guess my dad called and asked what we were up to. Haha!  Funny! My sister told him the story. He replied, "I bet you wish I had called 5 minutes ago!" Bahahaha…perfect timing!

This whole time I was supposed to be working on dinner. The chicken was finally thawed. And it was already 5:00pm.  Sigh! I guess Hawaiian Haystacks would have to wait until tomorrow.  Left overs it would be!  Isn’t it just craptastic!!!

Oh yeah…breath…inhale…exhale…giggle, giggle. What a circus!

And this is how we start the day...

“I WANT another piece of toast!!! GRRRR!” Yep, that’s exactly how I wanted to start my day today.  It was going so smoothly.  And then this…this…crazy maniacal look takes over my once sweet little girl.  She had already scarfed down a bowl of cereal and three slices of toast.  Um, yeah…growth spurt maybe.  I suggested that she have a string cheese or a banana.  Oh My Gosh!  What was I thinking? Seriously!  How DARE I suggest she eat something other than carbohydrates for breakfast.  My WORD!

She proceeded to kick her feet and scream at me while I told her it was time to do her hair.  The entire time I’m telling myself to take deep breaths and reminding myself that I don’t really want to hurt her right now.  Really I don’t. When really all I want to do is make the screaming stop!  Logically I know that is not the way I should handle this.  I want to throw a huge fit too!  I bet that would look cute!  Mental image successfully created. Haha!

I’m ready to do her hair and she is “hiding” at the top of the stairs.  She KNOWS this frustrates me and yet she LOVES to do it.  Seriously…I think having children could be used as a form of torture…okay, not quite, but at some moments it feels just a WEE bit torturous.  I took a deep breath, walked to the bottom of the stairs and counted backwards “5….4….3…2…1…0.” She didn’t move.  I think she just might think I’m blind.  Oh yeah! I can SEE her laying on the floor.  Sigh!  “I’ve already counted.  Do you WANT to lose snuggle time?” She pops up and growls/yells, “I was COMING!”

Really! Because I’m pretty sure you were just lying there. I think I would have seen movement…just maybe…if you were actually coming down the stairs already!  Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“It’s time to do your hair.  Sit at the table,” I tried to say calmly as she proceeded to stomp past the table.  “Sit! NOW,” my voice rose. This is so fun.  Sometimes I dream of running away to a deserted island far away.  Yes!  Can you imagine all the blissful silence?  Oh I CAN! Silence is “Golden”! Haha! 

She angrily sat on the edge of the seat and huffed, shoulders slumped.  “Please sit correctly.” My voice was stern and held an edge of frustration in it.  Desperately I tried to hold back the anger that was growing inside of me.  “You better cover your face so I can spray your hair,” I said. She whined and slapped her leg when the towel that was around her shoulders fell down her back and she couldn’t reach it.  I put the towel back onto her shoulder and she grabbed it angrily and pulled it up across her eyes.  She hates having the water in her eyes.  I sprayed her hair and told her I was done with the water.  She dropped the towel…still angry. 

Sometimes I think that if I could just reason with her she would calm down.  She would see that she is the one who is in control of her emotions.  She would see that only SHE can make her choices.  But reasoning with her isn’t working.  “LOOK AT ME!” I raised my voice again.  Crap.  I turned her chin so she HAD to look me in the eyes.  Her glaring eyes only made contact with mine for a second before she ripped her face out of my hand and looked away.  I made threats without knowing how I could possibly keep them. Yep, this is great! I do this too often.

There is a war that goes on inside of me; one that protects my children from my anger. It’s a darn good thing too because moments like these make me think things I should never think; things I never thought in a million years I would EVER think.  One side makes me want to cause harm…in the moment.  It’s a fleeting thought.  The other side, the more rational side, stops my hand from flying…or worse. Thankfully I push the negative thought aside with a reminder to breathe.  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  

I finally finish her hair and she jumps down from the chair and stomps all the way to the bathroom…hair flying as she marches to her angry beat.  My voice is calmer again. Barely. “Get out your toothbrush and toothpaste.”

“I’m DOING it,” she yelled at the bathroom mirror.  Her eye brows furrowed and her lips puckered.  Her eyes would throw daggers at me if they could. I can feel her anger.  I make sure she begins brushing before I leave the room and go to change my clothes.  I say a silent prayer pleading for help.  Calming breaths enter my lungs. I exhale the negativity, pushing it away from me.  Inhale the positive. Exhale the negative. Inhale. Exhale. I’m more relaxed as I ascend the stairs again.  A thought comes to my mind.  Play “Let It Go” for her.  But she doesn’t deserve it. She’s already lost privileges.  Sigh.  Just play the song. 

She’s in the living room giggling.  What!  Who flipped the switch?  How does she do it? A few minutes ago she was madder than a hornet. Now she’s happy as a clam.  Do de do de do.  Te he te he! Aaagh!

Apparently the poor mood disappeared while I was downstairs.  I start playing the song on my phone.  She nicely asks me if she can take her toys to school in her backpack.  While we are both calm it’s the perfect time to talk to her about how it makes me feel when she acts the way she’s been acting all morning.  It’s a good talk.  Finally!  She decides that a behavior calendar with stickers could help remind her to make good choices.  We hug.

Inhale the good. Exhale the bad. Inhale. Exhale. Calm. Peaceful. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward.  Smile. This won’t last forever.

Yep...that's just GREAT!

Just CRAPTASTIC!! I bored MYSELF!  I KNOW it's bad when I read my own work and I'm about to fall asleep. Oh! My! Gosh!!  Can I really expect my husband, whom I'm reading it to, or anyone else for that matter, to seriously enjoy this if I'm not? Um NO!

I sat there, at the table, reading my latest blog post to my oh so sweet husband. He listened kindly as I BORED THE CRAP OUT OF BOTH OF US!  What am I doing? I've been writing because I feel like I should, not because I enjoy it.  Duh! And I'm efficiently ruining my blog!

I LOVE to write!  But when I'm not even enjoying my own work I need a change.

Oh yeah. Right here. Right now. The start of a brand new blog.  A real blog about real things that REALLY happen.  The nitty gritty of life.  The ugly truth of the day to day.  The moments when I feel like I'm going to rip my hair out of my head...piece by piece...

That's right.  It'll be Just Craptastic!

Drawing his idea of Craptastic...

A pile of crap...hehehe...