Running Red Momma

I got my eyebrows plucked a few days ago.  She was the master hair remover.  She told me she speaks Persian.  Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, she pulled out this string thing between her fingers and started removing my hair. I have read about this method before.  I have read about it in books about Iran and Iraq.  Wow! I did not think something was more painful than waxing. It kind of felt like a mix between a rug burn and a sticky rubber band.  The one wax rip is worse.   It was the tedious movement of the string that makes you want to cry "Oy enough of the rub already!"   Just to make conversation, I asked her if she did men.  Well, P. does get a monobrow sometimes.  She said, "oh just the eyebrows.  I do not do bikini or Brazilian."  Um, wait, what?!!!  What person thinks that looks good on a man?  Or more to the point, does she use that string technique?  

Speaking of raw and ridiculous, I have a nasty skin condition, psoriasis, which requires a yearly doctor visit.  It can be itchy and ugly.  Sometimes,  people may wonder if I fell on my  knees. It is just my personal pal--an ugly non-contagious skin condition.  During my yearly doctor inspection, I sat there under the bright lights while he checked all of my "areas".  As I sat in the gown, with my poor posture creating a mother-gorilla-sitting-in-the-zoo-skin-folds, I looked at the young assistant. I thought, "well, it can't get more embarrassing than this." Nope, I was wrong.   He also popped my underwear back, like a parent checking a diaper.  Yup! It doesn't get better than that.  Just in case you didn't know, psoriasis lurks on elbows, knees and bums.  So, watch out world.

I'm almost took that last post down.  It sounds so mean-spirited.  What kind of person says those things?  Well, besides me and teenagers?  I started this blog as an attempt to present another side to myself and maybe my kids.  It also feels fun to play with font/colors, say immediate things and add silly pictures.   Every time I read my journal, I think no one would believe that is me. It is  so pondering, meditative and serious.  Heavens, they might think I was some type of serious-spiritual pioneer.  Which of course, I am not.  It clearly didn't show all of me.   But, I also promised myself I wouldn't run from the ugly parts.  It just makes me feel kind of lame when I read other mother-type blogs.  They seem to rejoice in the journey, hug and kiss their young ones,  have homes knit with love and beauty, present beautiful photos of an idyllic world....and so on.  Me?  I am holding true to my promise that this venue will not run away from the bitter, sarcastic, immature,  

It has been a long ride lately.  Sometimes, my husband's company expects 60 hours, or more for a quarter of the year.  We are in that phase right now.  In addition, we are painting our kitchen. (Ha-ha to that getting done.)  Because of all that crazy, we try to combine family time, couple time and things which need to be done into one big errand.  I tried to go running, while talking to my husband and taking the kids along.  We picked a quiet part of the neighborhood.  As we headed home, we passed some young teenage girls. I looked at them and kept jogging along.    After we passed them, we heard them yell " put on some pants!"  I looked around the quiet setting. Hmmmm,  since it was just my family and those girls out there, it had to be me in my little running shorts.  Now, my legs were probably not shaved and very white.  I am knocking on the door of 40, so my skin is a losing a little firmness.   However, I am in great shape thanks. It took all of me not to march down

In my local church, I have been asked to spotlight a person of my choice.  I ask them about their present interests as well as some of their history. I got to know a person from The Greatest Generation.   This older woman has lived it all.  She had driven an old Tin Lizzy.  She watched her father die, in their home,  from cancer in his late 40s.  I'm sure he died without much pain relief or hospice care.  Thereafter, she supported her family for a while.   She told me she does not remember working for her family.  She just remembers not doing well in school that year!  Her mother reminded her she supported the family.   As I looked at her scrapbook, her husband recorded how he had never previously been asked to talk about his WWII experiences.  He was uncomfortable doing so, but shared some stories on paper. He had been a prisoner of war and had come home to live a full life.  This gentle, unassuming couple has raised a large family and lives a quiet life.  Their history contain