Last night a friend came to visit. He had a meditation class and showed up close to 10pm. We stayed up, ate some treats (thanks to some wonderful friends, I received about 20.000 calories in the mail - home baked goods!!! Rye chocolate chip cookies, and nanaimo bars - a Canadian delicacy!) Perfect timing, more than anything these days, I crave comfort. Of course, I also crave 10 lbs less on my body - all this healing is ruining my usual workout schedule! But, heal first, and maybe I'll be so immune to this whole surgery deal that I'll just go have a plastic surgeon rebuild me, around my new breasts. Hmmm.
Anyway, it was nice to see our friend, have a drink, eat lots of calories, talk about life. We started talking about The Four Agreements - hubby and I are huge fans, and in fact, the audio book was his first gift to me. I listen to it all the time, it starts where it stopped, and always is appropriate. I had the book out to show him last night (I think he wants his own copy, and quite frankly, the audio book is way better!) so my daughter saw it on the couch this morning and started reading. She does that - she loves books. Fast Food Nation is something on her must-read list, simply because it was out one day. She used to get in trouble in grade school for reading while she was supposed to do other things, but I think her teachers appreciate her love of books in Middle School. She still should be paying attention, but hey - I'm glad that reading is her worst offense.
I woke up to get her in gear for school and hubby took her. I was so tired, it was stupid. Sat up and trolled facebook, deleted a shitload of email, and when my man returned, he announced that it was time for a nap for him - he's got a very late work night later on and won't be home until 2 or 3am. So I followed him in after 2 advil (I woke up in a lot of discomfort - hence the "Can't Get Up" heading) and laid down next to him. We chatted. I feel so fortunate that I finally met and married my best friend. I also feel fortunate that he's adorable and pretty smokin', too. That's the vanity in me, but the truth is that I love being attracted to him - something I haven't had a lot of experience in with former relationships. I think I picked men that I found a lot of fault in, to try and fix. Projects. I wouldn't change a thing about my man (though I did sway him to more unusual socks, as well as a slight shoe fetish to match mine!) But, I cried this morning as he rubbed my shoulders which hurt like hell. I cried for all the women who don't have their best friend in bed, rubbing their shoulders, as they recover from cancer. I think of my mom and how alone she must have felt.
Then I think of "little me" and what I did for her. In hindsight I would have done more, but I was a kid. I cleaned the house as much as I could. I remember once scrubbing all of our pots and pans with brillo until my arms were swollen and throbbing, and my skin was raw from the water and cleanser - we were very poor and never had new stuff. I wanted so badly for my mom to have nice things. Later in her life, near the end, I finally convinced her to polish her nails (yes, at 49, she had never used nail polish!) and I sat in her hospital bed and painted them fire engine red. I bought her black lacy panties to wear in the hospital, because I knew for real that life was too short for her, and that she was a beautiful woman who never did or bought things to make herself feel that way. Not only modest, but also very aware of our dire financial situation. I couldn't say exactly how poor we were, but there were holes in our walls in our house that sat in front of a power plant. Everything in it was cheaply built, ceilings sloped, bats in the attic, nothing could be considered nice. It was the only house they could afford that would enable us to move out of a tiny apartment in a small suburb of NJ so that we'd have more space. I always hated our house. It was a shambles and a mess - and as my mom got sick it got worse and worse, hence me cleaning all the time. My father was a hoarder, though I didn't know the term at the time. But I could never have friends over, except for birthdays when my mom would clean nonstop, no matter how she was feeling. She would make homemade pizzas and homemade ice cream. My friends never knew that this was NOT my life. But I loved her endlessly for it. And I know she wished it could be our life. I definitely carry those memories into my life now. And today, in my state of discomfort, a bit of pain now and again, and exhaustion, I managed to vacuum and rearrange my daughters room a bit - including moving some furniture. Maybe I'm an ass. But I feel my mom in me, and I AM able to do a lot more than she could. I don't want my girl to look at me as I did my mom - feeling awful for her and feeling such responsibility to take over as an adult, missing childhood.
Though, I wish she would clean her room without prompting. She's getting better and we talk about it a lot.
Time to try and do some stretches, maybe even attempt to lift my old lady weights again. My pec is pissed but maybe I can sweet talk her over time to not only behave, but act like a team member again. Seriously, can she be mad at me forever??? I didn't want this. I want to be on a bench press right now, lifting Man Weights. Instead of these lame ass ones. I might as well wear a big flowered housecoat and curlers in my hair, yelling at the kids to get off my lawn.
Nah. I'll work my way back to Man Weights again. I'll be telling my guy to shut up as he tries to encourage me in his hysterical way as I struggle for the last rep of 21's. I'll someday see my deltoids pop out like I have shoulderpads built in under my skin. Unless I do that whole body plastic surgery makeover. I would DEFINITELY get delt implants!
Unlikely. I want them to work, not just look cool.
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