My Sauna's like a Kitchen!

Marvin has been trying to get me to try out our sauna for a few weeks now, and I kept putting it off for one reason or another. Last night, I finally decided to go try it, mostly to get him off my back.

I entered the clubhouse bathroom, where there was a middle-aged woman with a blunt ebony bob sitting on the counter by the sink reading a Giddeon's Bible. I opened the wooden door to the sauna, and peered inside. It was a dim room, smaller than my closet, and cryptic messages like "I love Mark Futon" were scrawled on the walls and the ceiling. On one bench a Garfield mug filled with water was carefully centered, on the other were jagged grey stones in a haphazard pile. On the heater coils, where the stones belonged, were two covered stainless steel pots. The room smelled like an Asian restaurant, and the odor of boiling onion burned my nose. The saucepan was an enigma, with it's opaque top, but the large stock pot was a sort of dumpling stew, thick with mushrooms and onions. I sat for a minute or two, trying to enjoy what my husband feels is a very relaxing moment, but began chocking on the pungency engulfing my nose and throat.

I did call the office when I returned home, and they kept transferring me to have me tell the story to others, for they found it so outlandish! Marvin went to the men's sauna about an hour later, which was in the same building, but a different room. He said the smell throughout the building was so strong in there, tat he couldn't imagine how I even lasted a few seconds in the make-shift oven! I don't understand what would posses a person to bring food into a semi-public restroom, nor would I ever dream of cooking in such an unsavory place!



Later, I went to the store, and there were two interesting characters that I encountered: the first was in a flesh-colored unitard, and the second was dressed as a Luchador! If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that there was a full moon last night!

My drug of choice

There is something masochistic in being a mother. Beyond the whole idolization of painful wonders of childbirth, there is a strange sense of self-actualization when a person survives a rough night with a feverish baby, or a teething baby, or a hungry baby. One often feels pride in how well she handles herself and her household on a few interrupted hours of sleep. Babies must apparently give off a pheromone that produces an affect similar to amphetamines; how else would one explain the mother's ability to go without sleep for months on end, her frequent disregard to the fact that she is covered in drool, vomit, or worse, and her frequent need for a "baby fix" as her own children grow. Some women will do anything to obtain a baby, often wiping out their bank accounts, and some extreme cases will even commit crimes!

Fortunately, I am not seeking a "fix," for my child has not slept since she has begun cutting molars a few months ago. Prior to that, she was still only sleeping at most 5 hours at a time. Last night I was up most of the night tending to the grumpy and feverish little thing. Today I am exhausted, and look worse than I feel. I am heading into work, and then will return home, make dinner, kiss my husband goodbye, and have another long night. Tomorrow, I am off but will begin a long day of hopefully finishing my move in one more day. (Lord please let me finish quickly!) However, I would not trade this for the world!

"It's like a tornado in my nose."

I am awake, but the house hums with the quiet sound of sleep. I peer out the window at the grey sky hovering over the carbon lake, searching for glints of blue along the horizon. I should enjoy this moment of solitude, absorb it all, and drink it in, yet I can't help but to feel lonely, though I know I'm not alone. I feel isolated in a crowd, and invisible on stage.

A whimper breaks the icy calm of the room, and I quickly crawl down the hall and peek my head over the edge of the mattress.

"Momma!

As I scoop her up in my arms, her head nuzzles into my neck and her tiny fingers knead my back like a baker. I gaze out the window and see the streaks of cobalt; today will be better. She is the sunshine that starts my day.

Mirror

I have always been "like my mom" according to everyone who has ever met us, but the older I get, the more I realize that I am more and more "like my dad."

I need a vacation.

Grieving the Living

How do you handle it when your four-year old is clutching a family photo and screaming a prayer, "don't let my Grandpa die" and your one year old is crying and yelling "die, die, die?"


Lord, give me the strength to get my family through this difficult time.

Gumby

I wish I had more flexibility, though I thrive on routine. I wish my husband had a set schedule, and that he didn't volunteer to work his days off so frequently. I am frequently forced to scramble to find a sitter that is available assorted hours, or to take off entirely. Of course, I am the one who must always take off! I was told that I would have my position this summer, but have now been informed that it is likely I will not have that opportunity. I guess I need to find something, but that will be difficult with my husband's scattered hours. I only have a few hours of classes left to graduate- 3 summer credits and a course that is only offered during my workday apparently. I can not afford to quit and pay for school, so I always wait "until next semester." Unfortunately "next semester" never comes for me. I feel like I miss too much work now, and my paycheck feels the brunt of it. I feel like I've been pulled in a million directions. I'm moving, mothering, working and worrying; my day never stops!

La famille à jamais

Jenga!

I keep building myself up to where I long to be, ready to turn the next corner, and begin my life as the person that I believe I am. Then suddenly, the tower begins to wobble as a block is pulled from under my feet. I falter and sway, but regain my balance. I make a few more choices that seem to leave me nervous but more or less stable. I take a deep breath and carelessly take hold of the block that is providing me with a firm foundation; for a silent moment, all seems to be fine. In an instant, every wall comes crashing down upon me, and I have lost the game.


I guess it's time to try again.

Shrug

I wish I had a blog that people actually read, and moreover that I made money off of! I saw a thing on another site about some woman who makes $40,000 A MONTH off of her blog!! That's more than I make in an entire year; too bad I'm not that exciting.