Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Secrets of the STANDER

Conversation of the Day:

"Mom..."

     "Yes, Honey?"

"What hurts worse? Having a truck run over your ankle or giving birth?"

     "Giving birth."

"Yeah. That's what I figured. Know what?"

     "What's that?"

"I think girls can stand more pain than boys can."

     "Really? That's not what you usually say."

"Well, you know that I'm a 'stander,' right?"

     "Son, NO ONE says 'stander.' Everyone else on the planet just says 'I have a high threshold of pain."

"Whatever. Yesterday, Samiya took the lid off of the teapot with her bare fingers and set it on the counter so that she could pour her tea and she forgot to put the lid back on the pot. So I picked it up to put it back on and it was so hot it burned my fingers and I threw it across the kitchen. Samiya is a better 'stander' than I am."

     "Again. NO ONE says 'stander.' In fact, I don't even think that's a real word."

"Mom?"

     "Yes?"

"Don't tell Samiya that I said that."

Monday, October 15, 2012

Vulnerabililty

The candles are lit and I'm showered, perfumed and all dolled up. There is "don't-let-the-kids-hear-us-through-these-paper-thin-walls" music  playing softly from the stereo on the dresser. He comes in surprised and then the clothes begin to come off. Everything is perfect...and then he turns toward the nightstand and
blows out the candles.



"Why'd you blow out the candles?"
 
    "It's better in the dark. What if the kids come in?"

"That's why I told you to lock the door."

     "Oh. Too late now."

And so the evening proceeds but in a much more mechanical and obligatory way, with me wondering in the back of my mind why he doesn't want to see me naked anymore.

I am well aware that my curves that once attracted him are now a little lumpier...okay, a lot. And the fact that he was blessed with this metabolism that still burns at 46 like it did when he was 19 is not helping in the "Honey, I understand" department. And maybe I shouldn't have eaten those 10-pound seafood and crab submarine sandwiches with everything and bulgoki for dessert while I was pregnant with the first child so many years ago. But five kids later, I am still the same hot and sexy and funny and intelligent woman that he married. More so even....no pun intended.

And I know that I still turn him on and that I am the woman of his dreams. I know from the way he looks at me across the room while I'm doing something mundane like folding another 6 tons of laundry and how he'll hold my hand when we're sitting on the couch watching movies together and how he goes out of his way to fix things for me in the kitchen to make my life easier.

And maybe he has other reasons for not wanting the lights on when we're alone in each others arms. Maybe he doesn't want me to see how thin he's gotten or how gray he's become or how much muscle mass has been lost since we first did this so many years ago. Being "MAN" sometimes causes him to swallow those feelings and insecurities and they won't be shared with me for fear that I will see him in a smaller, less manly way.

I know that I'm an amazing woman whether I'm tipping the scales at the 200-lb mark or whether I've managed to stick to my exercise program and portioning restrictions at meal times. I know that I am not defined by the size of my pants or by a number on a scale. But I still have those days when my shirt clings just a little too tightly around the middle or my inseam rips while climbing up the steps of the city bus and then my usually strong self-confidence is shot to hell in a New York minute. And if I am trying to make up for those feelings of self-loathe and fantasies of liposuction that I know we can't afford by making myself sexy for him, then can't he just suck it up and close his eyes and let me just pretend that he wants to make love to me with the lights on?

Sunday, October 14, 2012

It's Official...He's Out of the Nest

I took a ton of  photos on my digital camera of the boy and his brothers and sisters before he left for the U.S. to live with his father. And apparently my purse is not a safe  hiding  place for my camera anymore. Randa found it, reviewed the photos, and then DELETED EVERY SINGLE ONE before I could download them onto the computer.

EFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-WORD.

So, I will have to wait for him to download the ones I took with HIS camera once he settle into his new digs with his father. I am missing him a lot. But I'm also strangely comforted by the fact that his father's mood should go nowhere but up now that he's got his son with him. (He gets depressed when he's working abroad because he's so far away from us.) Also, I think that the two of them may develop a much closer relationship since they have to rely on each other now. This is good.

But I still miss him and it is going to take me some time to remember to only buy 4 packages of cookies when I'm on my way home from running errands instead of 5. But I guess that's okay. I know that this is what our family needs for now. And so I'll continue, begrudgingly at first. Acceptance is sometimes hard for us moms. 

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Eau de Butt Funk

Have you ever been in a crowded place waiting, like a hospital or bank, and all of a sudden been keenly aware of a pungent odor that sort of turns your stomach but you can't find the smelly source?

In the United States, you don't run into that many people who smell bad. Americans have been convinced/brainwashed/conned into bathing everyday, wearing deodorant, putting on cologne, wearing their clothes only for brief amounts of time before washing to the degree that unless you are 5'3" and stuck on a crowded subway next to the guy who just finished a double-header basketball game holding onto the safety handle above his head, you probably aren't going to run into anyone who truly stinks.

In the rest of the world, people don't usually change clothes as frequently as we do in the US. In the Middle East for example, we wear pajamas or sweats in the house all the time and only wear our "going out clothes" when we actually go out. And if you wear them for only an hour or two, it's a waste of water, soap, electricity and time to wash them unless you've spilled something on them or you've gotten really sweaty. I've lived in Egypt for 11 years now, and when in Rome....

So, as a woman who wears hijab, I usually go out in a pair of pants and a t-shirt but cover with a loose-fitting overdress called an abaya and then wear a scarf on my head. Over the last 2 years, with all of the errands I've been running, I've managed to tear the crap out of 2 different abayas and I'm down to my last two. One is dark blue with burgundy trim and it's lightweight but it's also 100% some kind of  polyester and I hate wearing it because the sleeves stick to me. The other is black with beige and burgundy and gold and while it's heavier fabric (some kind of rayon blend,) I'm actually not as hot in it as I am in the blue one. Sooo, because I'm wearing a cotton t-shirt for maximum sweat absorption, I can usually wear my abaya for at least 3 days before washing it. Also, I'm still American enough that I still shower everyday and wear deodorant and all that so it's not as gross as it sounds.

Two days ago, I put on the black abaya fresh off the clothesline and went out to pick up a few things. I was gone all of 20 minutes. When I got home, I hung it up on the hook on my bedroom door for easy access for the next time I needed to go out. Yesterday, I wore it again for an extremely long outing from 8am until around 2pm. This outing required a lot of public transportation, walking around in heavy traffic areas and whether the calendar says AUTUMN or not, here it's still pretty hot. The last place on our list was the dentist's office and it was air-conditioned and I cooled off and had a nice rest in the waiting area and since it was just a short walk from there to our apartment, I was comfortable and seemingly dry by the time we got home.

Now due to all of this running about, I've been kind of behind in my duties at home. I'm grateful the 4 teens and tweens that stayed at home all day didn't kill one another or break anything so I sort of blew off the fact that they'd been walking around the dirty pile of clothes waiting to be shoved into the washer next. So I threw them in the washer and fell asleep.

This morning I remembered that I needed desperately to go to the bank. Only when I awoke from my nap I had totally forgotten that my blue abaya was in the washer and had sat all night wadded up and wet in the machine so I had to re-run the load. I figured....eh, it's only been one day plus 20 minutes in the other abaya. How bad could it be? I did a  "sniff-test" on the scarf and it smelled okay, so I threw it on, "scarfed up," tied up my tennis shoes and hustled on over to the bank.

So I got my number out of the "hurry up and wait till we call you" machine and found an empty seat. They were on number 50 and I was number 66. I pulled out my recent purchase; a yellowed old copy of A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickins that is so old that it doesn't even have a copyright date in it. I started to read and by page 2, the smell of hairy butt sweat hit me. I gave the woman sitting next to me the stink-eye.
"Gross. Really? That's like middle school boy smell....Why would she smell like that?" I asked myself.

I looked around me. There was a man who had what looked like dry cement stains on his clothes. It had to be him. But when his number was called and he walked past, all I could smell was cheap cologne. Not even cheap cologne covering sweat...just cheap cologne. I went back to my book. I finished the third page and turned to page four. "Ball funk!" I thought to myself. "That's what I'm smelling! Man alive! What is that?"
I noticed the door to the bathroom down the hall was open and figured maybe that's where it was coming from. I sniffed my scarf but it smelled like shampoo from this morning's shower.

I looked at my sleeve and noticed what looked like white paint had brushed onto it when I walked past. But I hadn't bumped into any white walls at all so far. I couldn't focus on my book. I closed it and put in into my purse. I tried to zip it closed but realized I was sitting on the strap. As I maneuvered to pull it out from under my leg without accidentally breaking the strap, the smell I'd been trying to pinpoint punched me right in the face. I put my sleeve to my face and breathed in. "OH. DEAR. GOD. It's ME!! I smell like hairy gorilla ass! WHY??!"

"Now serving customer number 66 at window 5."

I did my business and raced home to take another shower and burn the abaya. 

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Nearly Time to Fly....OH GOD!

Stomach....knotted up
   Bowels....loose
      Armpits....sweaty
          Tongue....dry
       Head.....pounding
    Palms.....dripping
Focus....none
                                 
                                          He leaves in just 2 days
                                          He is the same age I was
                                          What the hell were my parents thinking?

I know it's for the best
I know his future is there and not here
It doesn't make it hurt any less
This emptying nest shit is for the birds.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Today Is 123-Friday!

In honor of my 123rd post on Squarer Pegs, Rounder Holes, I thought I'd mix it up a little bit and just write about all of the little blurb-y type things as they pop into my head. How is that different from my usual postings? Well, ordinarily I would have to scrunch up my eyebrows a bit and squint my eyes and focus really hard to stay relative-ish to the one subject. And what is the relevance of the 123rd posting? I like simplicity, counting, and while the number 123 is NOT a prime number, it does consist of the first 3 prime digits and so I like that. I like math. And I do hate round numbers so much, unless it's a string of zeros on the left of a decimal point as it relates to a check made payable to me.

Justin Bieber-  Really?! I mean, yeah, I come from the generation that brought us the likes of Milli Vanilli, Nu Shooz, and Tiffany.....but they didn't walk into glass walls and doors and then threaten to walk off of an interview set. Dude! Your following will ALWAYS be 12 year old girls. Game over.

American Football- I don't follow it anymore. Living in Egypt has sort of ruined sports for me since I don't give a crap about Al-Ahly soccer team OR Zumalek soccer team. I've heard people talking about NFL teams that weren't even in existence when I left the US back in 2001. So if your refs are on strike or suck now....I'd like to be concerned, but just can't be bothered. My apologies.

I attended high school (first 3 years) in Stuttgart, Germany and right now as I type this there is an all-year alumni/faculty reunion going on IN STUTTGART in conjunction with the Stuttgarter/Canstaadt festival and some of my friends are there now, reliving memories in our old school, football field, and stomping grounds and I am SOOO jealous that I couldn't be there with them. Hope you guys all have a great time. Go Stallions! Class of 1986 RULES!

Mosquitoes- I frickin' hate them. Especially those little tiny beige almost invisible ones that you can't ever kill until after they've drained at least 2 pints of blood from your fingertips, ears, toes, and legs! And then when you finally do, they explode with YOUR blood splattering all over the walls, curtains, and your skin where you've smacked 'em.

Why do we always run out of garbage bags when there is old food in the back of the fridge that needs to be thrown out? And then you leave it in the fridge because this inevitably happens at night and if you leave it on the counter as a reminder to throw it out, your whole kitchen stinks. But then you forget that it's in the fridge and needs to be thrown out and you don't find it again until you're ...that's right!....out of garbage bags again. Oh. And as long as I'm on the refrigerator  path, could you please...someone, anyone?....tell me what is the friggin' direct correlation between every member of my family and the top shelf of the refrigerator??? I use the top shelf for tall or "careful this is spillable" things or large things that won't fit on any other shelves. My kids (and sometimes my husband) will place the following things on the top shelf:  1 egg, a tiny dessert dish with 1/2 Tablespoon of fava beans, anything that requires use of the crisper drawer (because the crisper drawer is where they apparently hide things that they don't want to share with each other,) and the empty milk container. *sigh*

Word of Advice:  Never accidentally drop the f-bomb in front of your autistic teenager, because while MOST of her verbal skills are learned from movies and tv and books, the shit you DON'T want her to say in front of her grandmother to reinforce your shitty parenting skills, is EXACTLY what will enter (full time) into her vocabulary. *Score one more on my parental WIN card.*

Pinterest is AWESOME/DEVIL- I've now managed to complete 10 items from all the thousands of pinned items on my boards. Hey. That's not so bad considering we don't have craft stores or American conveniences here like chocolate chips, instant-ANYTHING (except coffee) or cool stuff like double-sided sticky tape or stencils. The entire DIY-concept is new to Egypt.

In a conversation on Facebook with my sister, MJ, last week, I decided that my list of favorite words included:  diphthong, bracket, penultimate, frivolous, superfluous, and sublime. My list, of course, is not limited to these. She prefers crapulence, kerfuffle, hornswaggle and canoodle.

I love my family...I want to build a garden-butterfly sanctuary in my backyard one day. Can someone tell me why leg hair after 40 is less frequently in need of shaving but some single damn chin WIRE because it's too coarse to be hair continues to pop out ever week or so no matter how often you pull the f***er out?! Will health insurance cover operations that shave bunions off your feet using lasers so it can be done outpatient? And why can't Rush Limbaugh just frickin' overdose already or spontaneously explode into little tiny piles of Rush-lets that only spew minute bits of bullshit at a time and are all polarized so that they can never be in the same place at the same time like tiny magnets? I think the movie "Idiocracy" should be run as a public service announcement to get intelligent people to do their civic duty and repopulate the planet with more intelligent life and stop waiting so damn long to have kids. You're NEVER going to be better "financially prepared" for kids. They will just suck MORE money out of you if you have more of it. Poor people know this. Just have them.

And I'll leave you with one last irrelevant thought:  Kids who are wearing their very last pair of hole-free jeans three weeks before payday will ALWAYS be able to find a tree to climb and "slide out" of it hooking the ass of their pants on that single spot of tree trunk that ISN'T smooth and rip a hole in the back. Murphy's Law? Yes. Me and Murph go way back.




Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Just Sharing ....

Okay, my friend, Leslie, tipped me off to this and OHMIGOD! It's hilarious.
So, I thought I'd share this dope jam as a shout out to all my soccer-moms and dads fans!

Check it out:  http://youtu.be/ql-N3F1FhW4

Love this!