No-Shave-November

There is this 'tradition' called No-Shave-November.  Maybe you've heard of it?  I would say it's not so much a tradition as much as it's a bet or competition.  Who can go the longest without shaving.  Who can grow the longest, fullest beard.  Who can turn their facial hair into a masterpiece of artwork.  If that was the case, my brother Josh would win hands down for the longest beard.  He can grow a full on beard in like a week.  When I first moved to the East Side, I lived with Josh and my sister-in-law Darla for awhile.  One morning, or maybe it was the middle of the day, Josh came down the stairs, after just waking up, looking like a homicidal maniac with his tore up shirt, flannel pants, and crazy, long mountain man beard.  I've heard that small animals have nested into his beard and never came out.  But that's just an urban legend.

Some guys like to look at No-Shave-November as a month of celebrating masculinity or that it is supposed to be some sort of male bonding experience.  

"Dude, yesterday I ate the best nachos I've ever had."

"Oh, yah man.  There's still some in your beard."

"Far out.  Dude, you should totally try some."

"Rock on, these nachos are awesome." 

I don't know how women feel about their men not shaving.  I'm sure it varies.  Of course, if your man is already a grizzly bear and not a sea lion then this 'event' doesn't really apply to you.  For some women, it's the opposite and you may feel the way he does when you decide to chop your hair and die it bright red.  Who is this person?  I don't even know you.  It's just too much for some to handle.  Men either deal with the consequences or they cave and shave.  To be perfectly honest, I really don't care if Kris shaves or not.  I think he looks like a thug bodyguard cute boy whether he has a beard or not.  Except there's one problem.

For the most part, I have good skin.  I've never had any major acne problems or some other skin condition that is hard to treat and could make me feel self conscious.  I do, however, have extremely sensitive skin, which means I have to really take care of it.  I have to be careful about what products I use from perfume and body wash to laundry detergent and cleaning products.  My face regularly breaks out in hives during allergy season and sometimes just because it feels like it.  This all may sound horrible and annoying, but as long as I'm careful, it's not too much of a bother.  What does this have to do with No-Shave-November?  Well, Kris's facial hair and my face do not get along.  If Kris has any kind of stubble on his face, my skin gets all red and patchy.  It hurts like someone just took a dull razor blade to it.  Even if Kris grows a beard out long enough, it's still rough.  He just has rough hair.  The only thing that doesn't bother me too much is his small, soul patch.  But even that can cause me to look like I've been making out with a pine tree all day.  And just to be clear, although I have no problem with make out sessions, the reaction I'm talking about is from a long kiss or nuzzling.  The bottom line is that my face wouldn't live through No-Shave-November.  In fact, my face lasted less than a week.   

Exhibit A

Now here this.  Even though it looks like I bit a cactus, I'm a confident enough woman to show you this picture.  Not really.  I just want to provide evidence in my stand against No-Shave-November.  This is what happened after Kris went a few days without shaving.  It was just a kiss.  Not too short, and not too long.  My face, rather my chin, freaked out on me.  This picture was taken two days after contact and even though there was much improvement, it was still raw and it hurt. 

So what could I do?  Kris was so excited about not shaving as if he was imagining some kind of Christmas light show he could incorporate into his beard; or maybe he wanted to turn it into a Christmas tree.  I don't know.  I could try to counter by saying that I would participate in No-Shave-November as well.  But it simply wouldn't be effective thanks to my freakishly, hairless legs.  Some people call it a blessing, but it can be a curse.  I have very fine hair, and only in a few sporadic patches on my legs up to my knees.  I do have to shave, but only every few months or so.  That's just long enough for me to forget how to use a razor and maim myself every single time.  For real, if you've ever nicked yourself, you know what I'm talking about.  I don't just nick myself.  I carve out a slice for later.  I pretty much just try to avoid the whole thing all together and stick with Nair or something like that when I need it.  Kris could really care less anyway, so telling him that I wouldn't shave wouldn't deter him from his 'tradition'.  

I decided on this approach.  I told him that No-Shave-November would also mean No-Kiss-November.  Harsh?  People, I call your attention again to exhibit A.  That was after one kiss.  If he went a whole month without shaving, I wouldn't have a face left.  His kisses would be torturous.  I would probably need reconstructive surgery.  Okay, possibly a little dramatic. maybe. only slightly. and I like my face.  Plus, Kris totally had no problem shaving.

After less than a week into No-Shave-November, Kris has thrown in the towel.  His face is baby soft again, just the way I like it.   

  

Blurry

I haven't posted in a week.  It's not that I don't have anything to write about.  Trust, when you have Izzie and the Beast as the two little joys of your life, there is always something to write about.  I usually blog at night, sometimes early-early morning, when the house is relatively quite and the only sounds I hear are from the T.V. and Dakota.  He snores, whimpers, growls, and does all sorts of things in his sleep.  I imagine his dreams are really vivid.  Sometimes I think he's chasing a squirrel over a waterfall or dodging rush hour traffic to nab that wabbit.  It's a good thing we have a fenced in yard, but I wonder if his suppressed desires to join in the chase on the other side of the fence are released through his dreams.

It seems like October has flown by.  The past two weeks have flown by super fast.  Last Wednesday was the beginning of parties, candy, baking, parties, trick-or-treating, parties....Did I mention there was a lot of partying going on?  We are all partied out.  Shocker, I know, considering most of us Weltons and Burls never turn down a good party.  

I have trouble sleeping.  Instead of having bouts of insomnia, I have bouts of being able to sleep.  The past week has been particular rough on the dream land front.  Couple insomnia and asthma with party mayhem; throw in Izzie's recent health issues, and a cold that is wreaking havoc on my already disagreeable Beast; and you have a Momma who would love nothing more than to take a very large sedative and blend into her comforter until winter is gone and spring has come again.

I do have lots to write about the children, the party train they rode throughout the weekend, and pictures to share with you all.

Soon... 

Dear....

Dear Amie,

We need to have a talk.  On Friday you went with Izzie on her field trip to an apple orchard and farm.  You fed the ducks; pet chickens, sheep, and even a baby piglet.  You got to see the horses and spend time holding the bunnies.  You went on a hay ride and finished off the day by picking out a pumpkin to take home.  I know that you wanted to be a part of Izzie's first field trip.  I understand that you adore fall and anticipate going to the apple orchards and farms.  You thought you would be okay if you pumped your lungs full of steroids and drugged yourself up with Benedryl.  You can't fool me.  While you were doing your best to smile and enjoy yourself on the hay ride, your lungs were working overtime just to get air.  I saw what you were thinking.  What would happen if you passed out?  How embarrassing would that be?  You left your Epi-Pen in the truck.  How long would it take for someone to retrieve it?  Would they be there in time?  Your face was smiling, your mind was racing, and your lungs were doing everything they could to keep up.  Your sweater and jeans covered the hives breaking out all over your body and your sunglasses hid puffy, red eyes that made you look like a stoner.  You did a pretty good job of keeping it together, minus one incident in the bathroom when you took your sunglasses off and one of the parents gave you a questioning look to your stoner gaze, in which you responded, "I have allergies."

This is the thing.  You are not a farm girl.  You can't pet the animals.  You can't walk through the fields.  And you really, really can't go on hay rides.  Just don't do it.  I don't enjoy scraping you off the living room floor from an over medicated state of extreme drowsiness.  I hate Calamine.  Not enough ice packs and eye drops in the world can help your face when you been taken over by allergies.  Hawking up loogies and hacking like a smoker are not your best qualities and quite frankly, embarrassing in public. 

Tempting as it is to pick up produce and cider from the orchards right now, let's just stick to the roadside and local markets.  And the next time you feel the urge to pet a baby lamb or romp around in some hay, think of that moment...Friday night, when you thought you took your last constricted breath, before shoving an Epi-Pen in your thigh, that in my opinion is a brutal and completely preventable course of action.

Repeat after me.  I am not a farm girl.  I am not a farm girl.  I am not a farm girl.

Love

-Me

Welcoming the Change

Is anyone else super excited about fall?  I am.  Fall is my favorite season.  The streets are shaded with rich, vibrant hues of purple, red and orange.  Homes are filled with the intoxicating fragrance of apples and spices.  The smell of burnt wood and toasted marshmallow perfumes the air.  The leaves dance in the twirling fingers of fall's breezes that can go from gentle to violent at the snap of a tree branch.  Gleeful screams of happy children echo throughout cider mills, corn mazes, hay rides, and petting zoos.  Fresh baked doughnuts, hot apple cider and baked goods laced and loaded with the fruits of fall warm the soul and the body.  The great hunt for the perfect pumpkin begins.  You get the chance to be whoever you want and it's the only time it's acceptable to ask strangers for candy; unless they look like this.

How did my perfect vision of fall turn into a homicidal maniac whose weapon of choice is a wicked, chain whip?  No worries, this is my brother and trust me; the risk is definitely worth it for the best candy.

The only thing I don't like about fall is that it brings out the worst in my family's allergies and asthma, but we deal with it.  Thankfully, fall is full of so many wonderful things that any health problems can suck it. 

A Letter

Dear Michigan,

I realize we have always had a somewhat mercurial relationship.  I haven't always been fair to you.  I've cursed your freezing temperatures.  I've closed my house off from your violet winds, blazing temperatures, and allergen filled air.    I've refused to open even a window to you.  I've made threats to leave you again and again, but...I'm still here.  When others left, I stayed.  When you threw a blizzard at me during the birth of my daughter, I stayed.  When you plastered my car, house, and town with fish flies I stayed.  When you drenched me with unsightly, sweltering heat, I stayed.  When you sucked the air out of my lungs with your humidity and made me miserable with your pollen and others irritating personality traits, I stayed...Because...Because there are things I love about you.  When it comes right down to it, I have always defended your fickle behavior.  I'm a girl and while not every girl fits in this mold, most of us are indecisive, so I get it.  You can't decide if you want to wear a sweater with your favorite pair of black boots or that new floral print dress you just got.  You don't know if you want a steaming bowl of clam chowder or a chilly bowl of Gazpacho soup.  You can't decide between painting your living room atomic tangerine or hazelnut cream. (Pss, I would go for the hazelnut cream, it's dreamy.)  

 

But can I just say...This is getting ridiculous.  Make up your mind all ready.  My head cannot take this back and forth hot and cold.  I'm getting migraines and my children are confused as to why they have to wear long sleeves and a coat one day and a t-shirt and shorts the next.

If you're trying to decide which direction to go, can I recommend fall?

Much Love Michigan

-ME

P.S.  Are you ready for some football!!!!  Whoever you're rooting for, have fun, watch the language and don't put any fists through the wall.        

What Holds You Down?

Sometimes I feel like I am a slave to my laundry, held hostage by the soils of food, dirt, grease, vomit, poop, and others who wish to remain anonymous.  I try to escape but they're numbers are too great for me and I have to submit in order to rid my house of their stench.  Anyone else every feel this way?  No?  Just me?  Why do we spend so much time on laundry?  What if we weren't so obsessed with cleanliness?  What if stains were trendy and the smell they carried was the new 'it' fragrance?  Do you know how much water and detergent we would save?!  But, as it happens, I don't like stains.  Stains, however, love my children.  It's like my children have a gravitational pull or something and food literally flies off their plate and attaches itself to my babies.  Dirt flies out of the crevices of the cement outside and clings to my babies for dear life.  And they don't give up without a fight.  If I am ever able to free myself from the tyranny of my laundry I will serious consider joining a nudist colony.

FREEDOM!

Ugg

Is Ugg even a word?  I mean, I know it's the brand name of a boot but when we say 'Ugg' what do we mean?  There must be a better way to articulate what we're feeling than using a word that's not even in Webster's Dictionary.  Has our language not evolved enough to be more creative when expressing how we're feeling?  Well, this what I think.  Sometimes the only word I can muster out is no longer than three letters.  Whether it's Ugg, Arg, Ugh, Ahh, etc...Sometimes that's all I have in me.  I don't think I'm lazy with my words.  Sometimes I'm just too tired to articulate, to put into the exact words how I'm feeling at that very moment.  Sometimes it's just easier to say, "UGG!".

The last thing I saw was a flash of light...

The babies were playing in the living room....nicely.  Kris was about to take a shower.  I had a wicked migraine so I decided to take those precious moments and go lay on the bed.  Kris came in to change in one of light bulbs in the light fixture that is directly above our bed.  I was laying in a fetal position with my hands over my face, moaning something about how I was about to die.  Little did I know my premonition was about to come true.  Kris was standing in the middle of the bed holding the light fixture and new bulb in one hand and unscrewing the dead bulb with his other hand.  I don't know where things went wrong but somewhere in the process of screwing and unscrewing (rephrase)...changing the light bulb he dropped one of the bulbs.  It fell against the fixture he was holding and shattered all over me.  The last thing I saw was a flashing light.  I screamed.  Then I froze.  Thank God I was already in the protect yourself from being impaled by a light bulb position, otherwise, it would have been all over.  I stayed frozen while Kris cleaned all the glass off the bed and off of me.  The good news is I forgot about my migraine for 2.5 minutes.  I decided to get up and go lay on the couch.  I felt safer around Izzie and Beast.  At least they wouldn't try to impale me...well maybe...

Not So Secret Confessions

Sometimes I have things to say that I would like to keep separate from all the messes, dirty diapers, food tantrums, and the destructive chaos that comes in the form of two tornadoes whom I fondly refer to as my children.  So, from time to time or maybe all the time I will post things here.  My thoughts, reflections, weirdness, my own temper tantrums, just kidding...but not really.

So here is where you can find my 'Not So Secret Confessions.'