Fear. Nothing but good old fear. Fear of changes in home life. Fear of going to friends houses. Fear of going anywhere, my mother's house. the mall, the movies, Chadwick, everywhere! All these changes that will happen if I can ever get the nerve to do it. Some how I will, I must, get the nerve to start the inevitable. But oh, the fear of big change! I'm not talking about changing my appearance. Not getting a job or a dog, not even talking about having a child. I already have one of those. I'm talking about-
POTTY TRAINING.
I know nothing about training a child to use a potty chair. I can't even begin to fathom how to get a child to understand that she should sit on a chair to do what so easily can be done anywhere in a diaper? Thus all the fear.
So I went to the library to get a book. "Toilet training in less than a day". Yeah right. The title sounds so appealing, so easy, so ridiculous. We will see.
Her Auntie let us have her son's old potty chair. YUCK. It's amazing what a little, scratch that, a lot of hot water and a bunch of Comet can do. We went to the mall and bought some stickers. Stickers of dogs, dinosaurs and Care Bears for her chair. We sat in the bathroom and put stickers all over it. Now she feels like it's her own and she really likes touching it and sitting on it fully clothed. And that's all the further it went.
My first stab at potting training was at 20 months. And it was a minor.
Nope be honest.
Okay.
A total, flop.
Now I had overcome my initial fear and the child seemed somewhat interested. We talked about how big girl friends wear nice pretty panties and not diapers. That seemed to work. She really enjoyed the soft comfy feeling of the training pants. We took a little doll and potty trained it. (That was SO easy. Dolls do exactly what you want them to. If you have no children just get a doll everything is simpler.) She enjoyed that and then I sat her on the potty. She was successful the first time. The next time she put herself on the big girls toilet and did her "little deed", I was beside myself. My child is a genius. Not at all like her mother. I can't put into words exactly how happy I was.
What happened next I can't put into words. It started off slow then it gained speed and momentum and mass. There is only one word in the English language to accurately describe it...diarrhea. All over her, all over the chair, all over the floor. You can imagine after cleaning up two days of these disgusting trails around the house why I put a hold on any further potty training and called the doctor and she said to look for a new tooth. Darned if there wasn't a new tooth coming in my doctor is Brilliant. The doctor told me to wait a few weeks and start again. I started giving her Tylenol for the pain and the trials stopped. The only thing I can figure is she was snacking alot to help the tooth come through and wasn't being very efficient with her food. Thus the lack of solidity in the excrement. That's all I got to say about that.
9:00am.
"Sweetie get your backpack you'll be late for the bus!"
"I'm ready Mom."
"Come on then let's get to the bus stop. Did you grab more diapers for you backpack?"
I woke to this same dream several time. Each time I'd rush to her room to make sure she was still only two. I kept telling myself that no one in kindergarten wore diapers.
At least not yet.
Now stop that.
Yes. No one in school wore diapers.
But how about pull ups?
There I go again. Sometimes the nights were so long. and the question seem to never stop but a 2 1/2 years the potty training never ends. Day's end, movies and even years end but this potty training goes on and on.
Four months later the fear has turned me into a whimpering coward. Can I face up to my duty? I know I was trained and so was everyone around me. But I get so tired every time I think about it. Then the excuses start. "We will only be home two days this week." "Can't start on the weekend." "Oh look Christmas, Birthdays. There's New Years." "Gotta shop." "Can't be home this week." Finally a day to myself. Can I do it? Sure but boy I'm sure tired.
I put her in the comfy "big girl potty training pants." She really does notice the difference. We decided as a treat, if she potties in the potty chair, that we will put in her favourite movie, Hook. Five minutes later I want to strangle her. "NO! Want diaper on!" "Please Diaper!" I put my hands over my ears. "La la la la I can't hear you." Screams and whimpers pierce through my resolve and I buckle. I head down the hall to get a diaper. When I return there's my little angle sitting on the potty.
"Momma! Momma I potty train!" I rush to her and we hug and scream with delight. She takes the chamber, with my help of course, to the big toilet and flushes all by herself. I don't know who was more proud her or myself.
Now she's in the mood to train! She immediately sits back on the chair and points to the TV.
"Watch Jack!" A deal is a deal. She sat and watched two and a half hours of 'Hook' on that potty chair.
After I had to make her get up so I could massage some feeling back int her legs. She never did anything on the chair during the movie. But five minutes later while sitting on the bar stool in the kitchen she pottied her pants.
What's a mother to do???
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Trains
This one is dedicated to Shortrest. You know who you are.
When I was a kid I use to push my bed (yes this was before the water bed) in front of my window every summer night and open it as wide as it would go. My sister and father are now nodding their heads as they realize why their allergies were so bad at night. The wind would gently blow over my face and I could tip my head back and look at the stars twinkling in the heavens. But the stars and the wind were not the reason for the nightly bedroom make over. The reason was never seen and really can never be seen.
I live in a suburb or Kansas City, 'Cowtown'. Coined by some clever chap years ago as he watched the cattle being driven down, or over, or up to Kansas City, and to the stock yards west of downtown and to the railroad lines where they would board a train bound for slaughter houses and grocery stores across the country. Kansas City Southern Railway, Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railway, Union Pacific, just to name a few of the railroad that call Kansas City home. The tracks for the railroads spring outwards from Kansas City like a crack in a windshield. Allowing passage to places like Washington, Oregon, California, Texas, Minnesota you get the idea. So no matter where you live in Kansas City there's a good chance that a railroad line runs very close to your house. (ask Brent)
Summer nights brought a symphony of sounds into my room, cicadas and crickets, owls hooting, dogs barking, and that lone whistle of a train off in the night. Like a French Horn add so much emotion and depth to a song, the train whistle floating on the night air brings a longing, an aching to belong somewhere, anywhere. Knowing it will never stop for long, no where to call home. It rides the night rail to destinations unknown. Here for a moment and then gone, the darkness enveloping and concealing it's passage. I lived for those moments. It was a lullaby for me.
When I grew older I married and we moved down town, not far from the trains. I no longer needed to push open my windows to hear my beloved whistles. They drifted through the apartment and brought music to my days as well as my nights. A few years later we moved away from downtown and out to the subburbs. But as I said before when you live around Kansas City you are never far from a train track. There are two lines that run just a few miles from our home and with several crossings in their paths the trains sound their whistles at least three times a night for me.
It is winter now and the windows are shut but I look forward to this summer sitting outside on the deck looking up at the stars and listening to my symphony of trains.
When I was a kid I use to push my bed (yes this was before the water bed) in front of my window every summer night and open it as wide as it would go. My sister and father are now nodding their heads as they realize why their allergies were so bad at night. The wind would gently blow over my face and I could tip my head back and look at the stars twinkling in the heavens. But the stars and the wind were not the reason for the nightly bedroom make over. The reason was never seen and really can never be seen.
I live in a suburb or Kansas City, 'Cowtown'. Coined by some clever chap years ago as he watched the cattle being driven down, or over, or up to Kansas City, and to the stock yards west of downtown and to the railroad lines where they would board a train bound for slaughter houses and grocery stores across the country. Kansas City Southern Railway, Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railway, Union Pacific, just to name a few of the railroad that call Kansas City home. The tracks for the railroads spring outwards from Kansas City like a crack in a windshield. Allowing passage to places like Washington, Oregon, California, Texas, Minnesota you get the idea. So no matter where you live in Kansas City there's a good chance that a railroad line runs very close to your house. (ask Brent)
Summer nights brought a symphony of sounds into my room, cicadas and crickets, owls hooting, dogs barking, and that lone whistle of a train off in the night. Like a French Horn add so much emotion and depth to a song, the train whistle floating on the night air brings a longing, an aching to belong somewhere, anywhere. Knowing it will never stop for long, no where to call home. It rides the night rail to destinations unknown. Here for a moment and then gone, the darkness enveloping and concealing it's passage. I lived for those moments. It was a lullaby for me.
When I grew older I married and we moved down town, not far from the trains. I no longer needed to push open my windows to hear my beloved whistles. They drifted through the apartment and brought music to my days as well as my nights. A few years later we moved away from downtown and out to the subburbs. But as I said before when you live around Kansas City you are never far from a train track. There are two lines that run just a few miles from our home and with several crossings in their paths the trains sound their whistles at least three times a night for me.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
I want my FIT TV
I have started to exercising again, outside the pool. We have AT&T Uverse and in looking for FIT TV I stumbled across a Fit 360 on demand video. It has three different programs. One for cardio. One for weight lifting and the last, Yoga (of course). I flip through the descriptions and decide that cardio should be day one. Why not I should be able to tackle it the information says it's only 22 minutes. I find my tennies and some stretchy clothes. Hit play and the instructor comes to life on the tube. She talks about how we will be meshing cardio with some weights. 5 or 8 lbs are recommended.
Darn.
I hit pause. Where are those weights I bought for Brandon when he started carrying cymbals his freshman year? 15min later, success.
I return to the TV hit play.
And we will be on the floor for some floor exercises.
Pause.
Where is that yoga mat I got for a birthday present from Traci a few years ago? 10 min later success.
Back to the TV hit play.
We warm up jumping rope. Luckily we are using an imaginary rope or I'd have to hit pause yet again. I pretend mine is a fire rope. We are jumping 'rope' when a count down clock shows up in the corner of the screen.
Cool!
I can see how far I have come or got to go.
Jump, jump jump. "We are working the heart right now warming up the muscles." Ah ya right it's getting pretty hot in her. I jump over to the fire place insert and turn the blower off. She halts the jumping and shows a new move. Reverse lung a couple of bounces and jump in the air to switch legs. After about 3 reps I am ready to switch legs with her. Mine are burning up. I lung over to the window and pop it open a smidgen.
On to jumping jacks. I remember these from school. I just don't remember my knees feeling like someone is sticking a knife in them.
I check the count down clock.
16:34.
REALLY?
3 and a half minutes.
Next we lean how to do squats, stepping sideways, back and forth. I squat to the window and push it all the way up.
On to the floor. Oh here is where we use the weights. Learn how to do the butterfly movement. Whee. I am a beautiful butterfly. But it's getting a bit cold. Wish I hadn't pushed that window up so far. Whoops we are doing sit ups with the weights. That's a new one for me.
Time to get up and do some more imaginary jumping rope.
13:00
Ugh. I thought I was going to like that clock but it's not moving very much. I watch it while we are squatting again. This time with weights. Yippee! It seems to be working correctly. I inch closer to the window so my legs and rear can cool off. Jumping jacks. Why did Jack get an exercise named after him. What about Jill? Did she get anything? Oops supposed to be doing those lunges with the weights. Where did I put those? Should be around here some where. 5lbs don't just roll away.
11:00
Will this work out ever end?
It's an endless rotation of Jack jumping Jill, someone lunging out of the night, jumping rope with a candlestick, sit up and downs. and pretty butterflies.
5:00
Where does the time go? I think it might be time for a cool down. OH wait one more time around.
Now! it's time for a cool down.
We stretch and breath and then it's over. The little clock says
0:00
and it's time for my new friend to leave me drenched in sweat and shaking. I shut the window, stumble outside and collapse in the snow. Steam engulfs me and I lay there until my wet clothes tell me it's time to go in.
And the 22 minute work out only took 47 minutes.
Darn.
I hit pause. Where are those weights I bought for Brandon when he started carrying cymbals his freshman year? 15min later, success.
I return to the TV hit play.
And we will be on the floor for some floor exercises.
Pause.
Where is that yoga mat I got for a birthday present from Traci a few years ago? 10 min later success.
Back to the TV hit play.
We warm up jumping rope. Luckily we are using an imaginary rope or I'd have to hit pause yet again. I pretend mine is a fire rope. We are jumping 'rope' when a count down clock shows up in the corner of the screen.
Cool!
I can see how far I have come or got to go.
Jump, jump jump. "We are working the heart right now warming up the muscles." Ah ya right it's getting pretty hot in her. I jump over to the fire place insert and turn the blower off. She halts the jumping and shows a new move. Reverse lung a couple of bounces and jump in the air to switch legs. After about 3 reps I am ready to switch legs with her. Mine are burning up. I lung over to the window and pop it open a smidgen.
On to jumping jacks. I remember these from school. I just don't remember my knees feeling like someone is sticking a knife in them.
I check the count down clock.
16:34.
REALLY?
3 and a half minutes.
Next we lean how to do squats, stepping sideways, back and forth. I squat to the window and push it all the way up.
On to the floor. Oh here is where we use the weights. Learn how to do the butterfly movement. Whee. I am a beautiful butterfly. But it's getting a bit cold. Wish I hadn't pushed that window up so far. Whoops we are doing sit ups with the weights. That's a new one for me.
Time to get up and do some more imaginary jumping rope.
13:00
Ugh. I thought I was going to like that clock but it's not moving very much. I watch it while we are squatting again. This time with weights. Yippee! It seems to be working correctly. I inch closer to the window so my legs and rear can cool off. Jumping jacks. Why did Jack get an exercise named after him. What about Jill? Did she get anything? Oops supposed to be doing those lunges with the weights. Where did I put those? Should be around here some where. 5lbs don't just roll away.
11:00
Will this work out ever end?
It's an endless rotation of Jack jumping Jill, someone lunging out of the night, jumping rope with a candlestick, sit up and downs. and pretty butterflies.
5:00
Where does the time go? I think it might be time for a cool down. OH wait one more time around.
Now! it's time for a cool down.
We stretch and breath and then it's over. The little clock says
0:00
and it's time for my new friend to leave me drenched in sweat and shaking. I shut the window, stumble outside and collapse in the snow. Steam engulfs me and I lay there until my wet clothes tell me it's time to go in.
And the 22 minute work out only took 47 minutes.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Diary of a Non-Swimmer Day 2
Back at the pool. Day 2 of my swim odyssey.
Brent still can't bring himself to enter the pool until he complains (read whine) for at least 15 min. I myself shower with really cold water before I get into the pool so the pool water feels warm. It's 25 degrees outside. Did I mention that I put my suit on at home so I don't have to dress in the girls, I mean, women's locker room.
I enter the pool to find a party going on. Lots of little kiddies swimming and jumping off the diving board while eating cupcakes. Causing quiet a ruckus and producing very large waves. Only two lanes are available during open swim and both are taken. We opt for the open water next to the lane line. After a few near misses, involving a little girl and my foot, the little kids don't bother us. Some of the kids think Brent is one of the life guards. ha ha. They are even skittish of me. Must be the professional speedo I am wearing.
People in other lanes are like robots. Back and forth, back and forth. Who do they think they are kidding? I snuggle up next to the lane line and set off. I feel stronger today. First 100 yards feels wonderful. The next 50 yards not so much. 50 after that worse. Whose idea was this again and why does the wall seem so far away. I have begun to switch from free to back stroke so I can keep count of yards. 100 free, 100 back.
Brent gives me some tips on my backstroke.
"Kick your feet so they break the water. It will shoot you out on top of the water and you'll go faster."
Shoot me out of the water?
Shoot me out of the water!?
YA NO.
There is no shooting happening.
The higher my feet go the deeper my head goes and there's the bottom of the pool again. And here I thought backstroke was my stroke. For some reason the gravity in the deep end is stronger and I end up on the bottom of the pool struggling to the top and the air promised there. I imagine I am a hump back whale breaching the surface. In a great show splashing all the others as I flop back into the pool lungs filled once again with life giving air.
I manage to eek out a thousand yards and cling to the wall trying to calm my heart. It's causing little ripples through out the pool as it tries to escape my chest. Trying to catch my breath I decide I am not fond of the flip turn.
As I hang on the wall arms out to the side I ask Brent to put my hurt arm flat against the wall to stretch it out. I SHOULD have added gently. Snap my arm is flat against the wall.
Son of a nutcracker!
A sheepish look spreads across his face. "oops?"
After a few (15-50 what's the diff?) minutes I pull myself out of the water.
GRAVITY SUCKS!!!
I decide I will retire on the Moon!
I shower, changing discreetly, too many little kids, don't want to traumatize any of them. We head for home.. I am famished. How does this help me loose weight?
1,000 yards 45 min.
Brent still can't bring himself to enter the pool until he complains (read whine) for at least 15 min. I myself shower with really cold water before I get into the pool so the pool water feels warm. It's 25 degrees outside. Did I mention that I put my suit on at home so I don't have to dress in the girls, I mean, women's locker room.
I enter the pool to find a party going on. Lots of little kiddies swimming and jumping off the diving board while eating cupcakes. Causing quiet a ruckus and producing very large waves. Only two lanes are available during open swim and both are taken. We opt for the open water next to the lane line. After a few near misses, involving a little girl and my foot, the little kids don't bother us. Some of the kids think Brent is one of the life guards. ha ha. They are even skittish of me. Must be the professional speedo I am wearing.
People in other lanes are like robots. Back and forth, back and forth. Who do they think they are kidding? I snuggle up next to the lane line and set off. I feel stronger today. First 100 yards feels wonderful. The next 50 yards not so much. 50 after that worse. Whose idea was this again and why does the wall seem so far away. I have begun to switch from free to back stroke so I can keep count of yards. 100 free, 100 back.
Brent gives me some tips on my backstroke.
"Kick your feet so they break the water. It will shoot you out on top of the water and you'll go faster."
Shoot me out of the water?
Shoot me out of the water!?
YA NO.
There is no shooting happening.
The higher my feet go the deeper my head goes and there's the bottom of the pool again. And here I thought backstroke was my stroke. For some reason the gravity in the deep end is stronger and I end up on the bottom of the pool struggling to the top and the air promised there. I imagine I am a hump back whale breaching the surface. In a great show splashing all the others as I flop back into the pool lungs filled once again with life giving air.
I manage to eek out a thousand yards and cling to the wall trying to calm my heart. It's causing little ripples through out the pool as it tries to escape my chest. Trying to catch my breath I decide I am not fond of the flip turn.
As I hang on the wall arms out to the side I ask Brent to put my hurt arm flat against the wall to stretch it out. I SHOULD have added gently. Snap my arm is flat against the wall.
Son of a nutcracker!
A sheepish look spreads across his face. "oops?"
After a few (15-50 what's the diff?) minutes I pull myself out of the water.
GRAVITY SUCKS!!!
I decide I will retire on the Moon!
I shower, changing discreetly, too many little kids, don't want to traumatize any of them. We head for home.. I am famished. How does this help me loose weight?
1,000 yards 45 min.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
More snowy days
Snow day at the Ince's. Look out window at beautiful snow. Watch husband and son dig out the cars and wood. Make breakfast for aforementioned boys. Contemplate cleaning house for Brandon's up coming birthday party on Saturday. Start to make cleaning to do list. Brandon's phone rings. 20 sec. later 4 boys invade home. Fresh from sledding, shedding wet snowy clothes on entry way floor. Glad I only got to the list making part of cleaning the house. Gotta love the snow days
SNOW DAY!!!!
Snow days are an amazing things to kids. At night the white stuff starts falling from the sky and they go to bed expectant and hopeful that the school district will know how dangerous this stuff is and realize the importance of a calling off school in the morning. They toss and turn torn between hoping there is no school in the morning and the real possibility there will be. It's hard to fall asleep.
The next morning as quietly as possible the parent tip toes into the room and gently caresses the child's face and whisperers, "Snow Day there's no school." Kisses the child on the forehead and tip toes out of the room. Two seconds later the kids eyes pop open as the realization of what the parent has just said reaches their barely conscious brain.
Snow Day!!
They throw off the sheets and bound out of bed giggling. They run around the house jumping on every piece of furniture, (it's a rule), throw their hands into the air, they shout (another rule) and and squeal the notes only the dog can hear.(That's a law). Then they bump mom off the computer where she is writing her blog to get on face book to make sure all their friends know it's a snow day. (The ones they haven't already texted or gotten texts from). They begin to make plans. To get together, to venture out in the white stuff that the school district has already deemed to dangerous to venture out in. They plan to go sledding at the... school because it has the best hill for sledding. (Ironically) They plan to go to the mall after and check out the guys or girls who also have snow days. They are looking in the cabinet to see if they have the proper amount of Swiss Miss Cocoa for when they return from their snowy adventures.
Pleased with how their day is shaping up they graciously allow their mother to have the computer back. Nonchalantly adding. "So what are you doing today Mom?" Mom will turn to them giving them her full attention and they can't help but launch into a narrative of how they see their day unwinding. "Oh and can you take me?" Sneakily added at the end. Along with a few Please, please please. I will do anything. added for good measure. And THAT'S when they see it. The smile that passes over Mom's face that shows they have made a horrible tactical blunder. She stands gives them a hug and tells them, 'Sure I will take you but first I need you to do something for me.' Clean your room, feed the dog, wash the cat, so many things zip through there head that they are blindsided when she hands them a shovel.
"Dig out first."
"D'OH!"
The next morning as quietly as possible the parent tip toes into the room and gently caresses the child's face and whisperers, "Snow Day there's no school." Kisses the child on the forehead and tip toes out of the room. Two seconds later the kids eyes pop open as the realization of what the parent has just said reaches their barely conscious brain.
Snow Day!!
They throw off the sheets and bound out of bed giggling. They run around the house jumping on every piece of furniture, (it's a rule), throw their hands into the air, they shout (another rule) and and squeal the notes only the dog can hear.(That's a law). Then they bump mom off the computer where she is writing her blog to get on face book to make sure all their friends know it's a snow day. (The ones they haven't already texted or gotten texts from). They begin to make plans. To get together, to venture out in the white stuff that the school district has already deemed to dangerous to venture out in. They plan to go sledding at the... school because it has the best hill for sledding. (Ironically) They plan to go to the mall after and check out the guys or girls who also have snow days. They are looking in the cabinet to see if they have the proper amount of Swiss Miss Cocoa for when they return from their snowy adventures.
Pleased with how their day is shaping up they graciously allow their mother to have the computer back. Nonchalantly adding. "So what are you doing today Mom?" Mom will turn to them giving them her full attention and they can't help but launch into a narrative of how they see their day unwinding. "Oh and can you take me?" Sneakily added at the end. Along with a few Please, please please. I will do anything. added for good measure. And THAT'S when they see it. The smile that passes over Mom's face that shows they have made a horrible tactical blunder. She stands gives them a hug and tells them, 'Sure I will take you but first I need you to do something for me.' Clean your room, feed the dog, wash the cat, so many things zip through there head that they are blindsided when she hands them a shovel.
"Dig out first."
"D'OH!"
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tell me a story Daddy
Story time at our library is a time for young kids to watch a movie, hear a book, wiggle, (dance and sing, limbo and hokey pokey) and do a craft every Tuesday and Thursday. It's a wonderful time that mothers look forward to. To see their kids creativity flow out of their little bodies and into the world, and then later, if mom is lucky, they will have a nice long nap.
Lately mom and child have been lucky enough to include dad into the mix. Dads of all ages started showing up to story time on a regular basis about six months ago. Possibly when dad lost his job or had his job outsourced to, oh I don't know, India? But instead of sitting home feeling sorry for themselves they have ventured out of the home to the library where they can shake their booty to "If your happy and you know it" or "Jump down turn around get your body movin". Watch a good movie with their little prince or princess on their laps and have a contest to see who can make the best puppet out of a popsicle stick and a paper plate.
Imagine the angst they are going through of having no job and no way to pay for their little one's college tuition or the lunchables they love so much. The worry that is gnawing away at the back of their brain like an out of control termite is just unbearble. But there they are with a goofy grin on their face. One arm full of picture books and a sweet little child hanging off the other, as they make their way out into the world.
Some day soon, God love them, they will have another job and these worries will fade from their minds. Just an old agonizing memory for them to wince at when they are older.
On the other hand, the child will have a fist, possibly two fists, full of wonderful memories of how Dad used to go with them to the library for story time and good round of limbo.
And that my friends is what The Edge of a Butter Knife is all about.
Lately mom and child have been lucky enough to include dad into the mix. Dads of all ages started showing up to story time on a regular basis about six months ago. Possibly when dad lost his job or had his job outsourced to, oh I don't know, India? But instead of sitting home feeling sorry for themselves they have ventured out of the home to the library where they can shake their booty to "If your happy and you know it" or "Jump down turn around get your body movin". Watch a good movie with their little prince or princess on their laps and have a contest to see who can make the best puppet out of a popsicle stick and a paper plate.
Imagine the angst they are going through of having no job and no way to pay for their little one's college tuition or the lunchables they love so much. The worry that is gnawing away at the back of their brain like an out of control termite is just unbearble. But there they are with a goofy grin on their face. One arm full of picture books and a sweet little child hanging off the other, as they make their way out into the world.
Some day soon, God love them, they will have another job and these worries will fade from their minds. Just an old agonizing memory for them to wince at when they are older.
On the other hand, the child will have a fist, possibly two fists, full of wonderful memories of how Dad used to go with them to the library for story time and good round of limbo.
And that my friends is what The Edge of a Butter Knife is all about.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Diary of a Non-Swimmer
Brent and I acquired pool passes for a 25 yard pool.
Brent my loving husband is an awesome swimmer In fact I met him at a swim meet when we were teenagers. He was there to swim, I was there to watch. He won everything all summer and I watched.
Over the years we have gained a few pounds and he suggested we swim to loose it. I suggested we go to Dairy Queen and talk about it over a Chocolate Extreme Blizzard.
11am. Wearing a too tight swimsuit and cheap goggles I stand pool side watching men and women swim back and forth,waiting for the love of my life to exit the men's dressing room. I see him swagger out of the locker room, cross the pool deck to stand by me. We claim a lane and I jump into the water. He squats down next to me and instructs me to 'swim that way, turn around and swim back.'
Growing up my family owned a lake house where we spent many summer days playing in the water. I can water ski, do a 1 1/2 off the top of a dock, I can swim just not with real strokes. I left that to my best friends Sheila and Brent. I left the technical strokes, the early morning practices, and competitions to them. I would watch and then try to mimic them when they weren't around. I have an awesome butterfly, with flippers on.
So 11am again. Brent is going to figure out I don't really know what I'm doing. I start my lap underwater. He can't see me underwater, hee hee. I take a few strokes turn my head, breathe. A few more strokes, breath. I keep waiting for him to catch me, pass me, any second now. Nothing. The wall shows up. I try a flip turn, seen Brent do hundreds of these, how hard could they be? Turn kick my legs behind me. Nothing but water. Crap. Kick, kick, kick. Surface BREATHE wonderful, cool air.
Stroke, breath, stroke stroke breath. wall again. Brent is still standing poolside. 50 yards, yeah me! I look at Brent smiling. 'Hey did you see that I survived my first lap' He points to the other end of the pool and shoos me off.
Back under water, swim, swim, swim. Wall again. Closer this time, turn toes on wall, small thrill, followed by small push. Where is the air? Not a fan of drowning. Swim, swim, breath, stroke breath, oh ya kick, knew I was forgetting something. Here comes the wall and there is Brent still standing out of the pool. I see where this is going now I swim and he watches. I don't know how he is going to lose weight watching me?
"Hey how do you know you're close enough to the wall?" I ask.
"Count your strokes."
Why didn't I think of that? He finally enters the water and is off. He looks like he is loafing but his wake reveals his speed. For a moment I am 13 again. Bam he's at the wall and back in no time, No breath, turns and is off again. I hate him.
OK count strokes. One, two, oh wait breathe. Do I count the breath stroke? OK wait five, six, crap forgot to kick. OH breathe is that ten or twelve? Sneak a peek a the wall and am drowned by Brent's wake. Sputter, cough, smile, wave off the lifeguard. Breathe, all this and count too? Right?! 150 yards down. Can I rest?
500 yards later I decide I am a HUGE fan of AIR. 800 yards later I have decided there needs to be a law that all pools should come with oxygen tanks.
I am spent. 800 yards 45 min. Did I mention it was 33degrees outside? Can we go for that Blizzard now?
Brent my loving husband is an awesome swimmer In fact I met him at a swim meet when we were teenagers. He was there to swim, I was there to watch. He won everything all summer and I watched.
Over the years we have gained a few pounds and he suggested we swim to loose it. I suggested we go to Dairy Queen and talk about it over a Chocolate Extreme Blizzard.
11am. Wearing a too tight swimsuit and cheap goggles I stand pool side watching men and women swim back and forth,waiting for the love of my life to exit the men's dressing room. I see him swagger out of the locker room, cross the pool deck to stand by me. We claim a lane and I jump into the water. He squats down next to me and instructs me to 'swim that way, turn around and swim back.'
Growing up my family owned a lake house where we spent many summer days playing in the water. I can water ski, do a 1 1/2 off the top of a dock, I can swim just not with real strokes. I left that to my best friends Sheila and Brent. I left the technical strokes, the early morning practices, and competitions to them. I would watch and then try to mimic them when they weren't around. I have an awesome butterfly, with flippers on.
So 11am again. Brent is going to figure out I don't really know what I'm doing. I start my lap underwater. He can't see me underwater, hee hee. I take a few strokes turn my head, breathe. A few more strokes, breath. I keep waiting for him to catch me, pass me, any second now. Nothing. The wall shows up. I try a flip turn, seen Brent do hundreds of these, how hard could they be? Turn kick my legs behind me. Nothing but water. Crap. Kick, kick, kick. Surface BREATHE wonderful, cool air.
Stroke, breath, stroke stroke breath. wall again. Brent is still standing poolside. 50 yards, yeah me! I look at Brent smiling. 'Hey did you see that I survived my first lap' He points to the other end of the pool and shoos me off.
Back under water, swim, swim, swim. Wall again. Closer this time, turn toes on wall, small thrill, followed by small push. Where is the air? Not a fan of drowning. Swim, swim, breath, stroke breath, oh ya kick, knew I was forgetting something. Here comes the wall and there is Brent still standing out of the pool. I see where this is going now I swim and he watches. I don't know how he is going to lose weight watching me?
"Hey how do you know you're close enough to the wall?" I ask.
"Count your strokes."
Why didn't I think of that? He finally enters the water and is off. He looks like he is loafing but his wake reveals his speed. For a moment I am 13 again. Bam he's at the wall and back in no time, No breath, turns and is off again. I hate him.
OK count strokes. One, two, oh wait breathe. Do I count the breath stroke? OK wait five, six, crap forgot to kick. OH breathe is that ten or twelve? Sneak a peek a the wall and am drowned by Brent's wake. Sputter, cough, smile, wave off the lifeguard. Breathe, all this and count too? Right?! 150 yards down. Can I rest?
500 yards later I decide I am a HUGE fan of AIR. 800 yards later I have decided there needs to be a law that all pools should come with oxygen tanks.
I am spent. 800 yards 45 min. Did I mention it was 33degrees outside? Can we go for that Blizzard now?
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Dream Weaver
Dreams are magical. Dreams help us work through problems we can’t face when we are awake. Dreams let us visit places we knew as children. They take us to the far reaches of possibility and through nightmares only our subconscious can imagine. Some dreams allow us to play with our fantasies, whatever they may be. And some just have us wandering through the halls of a school we once attended, unprepared for tests and speeches that will determine our final grade.
I remember a dream I once had as a child. I was on a play ground with a couple of my friends. We were sliding down slide that was in the shape of a tornado. We all lined up behind one another and clasped our hands around each other’s waist. Like a train we all yelled “Whoo whoo” as we descended to the bottom. There was a mud puddle at the bottom and we all ended up covered with dark muddy water dripping off our faces and clothes. We were giggling and laughing all the while the mud dripped off our clothes. There was a boy in my dream who was my friend, although I couldn’t recall his name, lying on the ground laughing and rolling in the mud puddle. He reached up and grabbed me. He pulled me into the puddle with him. We started splashing and throwing mud at each other. I woke up laughing in my bed. Trying so hard to remember that dream. Bits and pieces have floated away over they years but I still remember the boy with brown curly hair and that mud puddle. What’s his name? I don’t know, never did. I always wondered if somewhere across town, across the state or across the planet there was some little boy, with brown curly hair, waking up giggling and wondering who that little girl was that was in the mud with him.
Doesn’t it make you wonder when you dream of people that you don’t know if they are also dreaming of you? Do they wake up and wonder who you are? I know I do.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)