Woolly Mutts

Please don't let me, in my elderly years, be like those folks who sit around discussing their health problem.

A good friend, and a person in a position to know the truth of it, often told the that pain changes people. Being young and pain free at the time I considered her words and knew them to be true, but come on, every one lives with pain.  Can it really be a personality altering thing?

Oh yes, my lovelies, it most certainly can and in different ways for different people.  I wonder if perhaps pain opens some sort of door to a darker side.  A sort of get-out-free card from good behavior.  For me personally, I am more impatient (and let me tell you folks, I am one very patient person) and less able to deal with other people's stuff.  I get more quiet and require much more alone time.  It takes twice the energy to prepare for any activity and since I am also an introvert my pain reaction is - can't we just stay home? Alone?  Forever?

This smiling and clearly pain free woman above is indicating some of the many places I have pain.  Include down my arm, across my top rib and along my jaw.  One little herniated disc and POOF, I now understand pain.  Yay.  The good news is that it is not constant, nor it is all of the above mentioned places at the same time.  Bad news, anything or nothing can trigger it.  Good news, knitting seems to be a safe activity.  See....always a positive side. 

I had a conversation with my doctor last week regarding  pain and my ability/responsibility to say I'm in pain. He recently had surgery for the exact same herniated disc that is giving me fits, so he has a certain insight into the situation.  His theory is that people, meaning family and co-workers, can better understand me if they understand my pain level.  What I heard from that was, "complain about your pain and people will feel sorry for you and leave you alone."  Not acceptable.  I am not a complainer.  Ok, he counters, what about if when people ask how you are you give them a number?  Hmmmm.  10 being worst pain, 0 pain free.  Hmmmmm.  Maybe I can do that.  Maybe.  The whole things just feel so self indulgent.  My pain should not be a burden to those around me, though maybe if they are aware that I am experiencing pain, they can better understand any odd (bitchy) behavior I might exhibit. 

The other thing that I find is that if I talk about the pain I must defend it.  What am I doing to alleviate it?  Oh..I broke up with it, stop taking its calls, got a restraining order...  Like my suffering is due to my inability to kick it to the curb.  I have been to a pain management doctor and we discussed a plan of action that will keep me off the  OR table for as long as possible. I have drugs, that if taken any time other than bed time, will cause me to fall asleep, face first into my soup.  I am in traction twice a day.  Is any or all of that relevant?  I don't know.  It is what it is.

If I act strangely, I apologize.  I'm likely in pain.  If some one snaps at you or behaves poorly, they might be in pain.  Maybe you're in pain and, if so, I'm sorry and let me know if I can help.  Misery loves company.

Taking care of business. (In which there may be some TMI.)

In the last 10 days I have begun physical therapy for my neck (so far so good), been to the dentist, (no cavities) had my under-the-hood female check, (all good), got the boobs smashed while gazing at a beautifully cross-stitched picture that said in glorious script "We compress because we care", (all clear), my bones tested for density, (results still pending) and, finally, had a colonoscopy (clean and shiney).  When scheduling all this maintenance I considered spacing things out a bit, but hey, why not kill all birds with as few stones as possible, right?  Aside from my intestines still sounding like an impending storm, the repercussions of all of the above haven't been too terrible.  I won't be lining up to have the colonoscopy again real soon, but the test itself wasn't any big deal.  Once they got the IV in (after 3 tries while the dialogue went something like, Me: there is a good vein here in my right arm.  Nurse: Nah, we can get it in your hand. Me: My hands have crappy veins. Nurse: Nah, not to worry, I've got this.  Me: you've got one more shot and then we need for find another tech.  Nurse: Well look there!  You've got a great vein here in your right arm!) and got the dose adjusted I went away to sleepville and don't remember a thing.  The prep...now I'm not likely to forget that for a good long time.  Lord have mercy that stuff you have to drink is beyond vile. 

I had been putting all these tests off for a pretty long time.  I've put myself on the two year plan for paps and mams.  This does not thrill my ob-gyn, but I've never had a bad result, nor do I have any family history of problems in these areas.  The colonoscopy was supposed to happen when I turned fifty, and considering that I'll be 54 in 3 months, I dragged that thing behind me for a long time.  In fact, I considered not doing it at all.  Then one day I was meditating on the names and faces of my loved ones, especially the Marvelous Miss C.  The old adage "better safe than sorry" popped into my head and I made the appointments.

Now that they are all completed it is a relief to know that I have no ticking time bombs inside me....at least not ones that can be easily located.  After seeing my mother's final years, I have no desire whatsoever to live an over long life.  I would like to see as many of my grand-babies as possible create happy lives for themselves and maybe get the chance to hold one or two of their babies.  If a few preventative measures will make that happen, so be it.

Between all the kitchen mess, a terrible allergy season, and me feeling unwell, Samten has been beside himself with worry.

There can't be enough positive things said about the love of a good dog.  ♥

 

The hot dog or the bun?

Let us for a moment consider claustrophobia.  Dictionary.com defines it as "the fear of being closed in or being confined in a small space".  If you had asked me a week ago (and someone did) if I was claustrophobic I would have said absolutely not.  When I was 7 or 8 I played hide and seek with neighbor kids and hid in a closed cardboard box for so long that I fell asleep and no one told me the game was over.  (darn kids)  I'll admit to having a strong dislike for the dark, but I can handle small spaces.  The only reason I gave Mr. C any consideration at all was my appointment with an MRI.

I've had some sort of...well, not sort of...some really crazy bad pain in my right shoulder area.   You may recall from a past post that I went into the doctors office thinking it was shoulder related and came out with him thinking it was disc related.  Oh the joys of getting older.  After his treatment of pain meds and muscle relaxers are not helping and in fact the pain is getting worse and spreading up my neck to the back of my head and across my chest it was time for the next step....the MRI.

I called for the appointment, answered countless questions to assure them that no, I have no metal in my body.  Makes one wonder how many bad experiences regarding body metal and a giant magnet have occurred.  Icky.  Anyway, when I have been proved metal free (though they asked again before they put me in the tube) it was on to the "c" question.  Do I have problems with small enclosed places?  Nope.  We are good for lift off.

I arrived at the appointed time, which was near the end of the day and I think everyone was a little loopy with the thought of near freedom, or it is possible that there was a staff b-day party that served that wacky punch.  They were all sort of a funny bunch.  I assured them again, this time with a signature, in pen, that I was metal free and was ushered to a room where I was to remove everything but the undies and put on the assigned scrubs.  Now, I am not a  thin woman.  I'm not Godzilla either, but I imagine that it can be difficult to judge sizes and by the end of the day the supply may have some limits.  I pulled on the pants, pulled them up to right under the boobage and tied them as tightly as possible.  My feet had now disappeared so I rolled the bottoms.  The top wasn't as bad and as I looked at myself in the mirror a male tech came to get me and exclaimed,"Oh my, aren't you just adorable."  This is perhaps technician slang for "Lord have mercy" but either way we had a nice chat (where I was asked twice if I had to pee.  Clearly, needing to pee while inside the MRI machine is almost as big a problem as body metal and Mr. C) as we walked down a hall and entered a room where the temperature dropped about 15 degrees, which for the hot flash challenged, isn't a bad thing at all.

If you have never had the MRI experience (sounds like a theme park ride...he he) it looks like this.

I was ushered to the table and my head was placed where you see that little cage thing.  I was given ear plugs and then fluffly little muffs were put on either side of my head to help with the noise.  That little cage was then closed over my face. A pad was put under my legs for comfort.  They asked if I wanted a blanket and at first said yes, but the woman tech informed me that it got warm in there and sure as I had that blanket over me I'd have a hot flash and not be able to move to get the blanket off.  I declined.  I asked if they were sure I was going to fit in that tube and they laughed and said everyone asks that.  I was told that all I had to do was lie very, very, very still.  So far so good.  A bulb like object was placed in my hand and I asked if it was the emergency eject.  Ha ha....yes, if I need help or freak out (I swear, they said "freak out") squeeze the bulb.  At this point I was getting a little nervous.

They made the thumbs up signal, I gave it back and off I went.  The table moved up a bit and then slowly back into the machine.  I was told via the magic interior intercom that I could open or close my eyes; whatever I was most comfortable with, so I opened them.  It was at this moment that Mr. Claustrophobia and I met for the first time. 

Holy sh*t.  I'm sorry, but that is the only response I could think of.  That ceiling is right, and I mean RIGHT in front of your eyes.  I was smooshed inside that thing like a hot dog in a bun.  Holy @#$%.  My eyes slammed shut and I struggled to get my breathing under control as the voice in the magic intercom suggested that I do. Then the machine began doing a fairly commendable impersonation of the smoke monster from LOST.

I can meditate.  I can meditate while the dogs bark and run back and forth down the hall outside my door.  I can meditate while AH has phone conferences  with the phone on speaker. And, as it turns out, I can meditate inside an MRI machine.  It took some time and control, but I managed to calm down and zen out.  Every 10 minutes or so the voice would tell me what a good job I was doing, and I was.  Take that Mr. C!  Sort of.  I never did open my eyes and as they pulled me out of the machine I made darn sure I was all the way out before I opened them again. 

The cage was opened, ear plugs removed and the kind male tech helped me up to sitting and had me sit still for a few seconds to get my bearings, which was sort of a great idea.  Then I was free to get dressed again, was handed the a disk of my MRI and shown the door.  There were many images on the disk and not being trained I'm not sure what they mean.  I see the doctor on Thursday, but even my untrained eyes can see the little trouble maker.

Isn't that cool?   I now have documented proof that I have a brain!  See the dark horizontal lines?  See the one that looks like it's bulging out?  I'm pretty sure that's our culprit.  Time will tell.

So, I've learned never to say never and that even when faced with fear it can be overcome.  Also, I think I'd rather be the bun than the hot dog.  Just saying.

The drama of the dresses or further evidence that I am loco en la cabeza.

*I apologize right off the bat.  This one is gonna be a little long and perhaps not a little tedious. Crazy takes awhile to tell.

I have two weddings to attend this summer.  Two very important weddings.  The first is the wedding of the completely lovely daughter of my BFF in late June, and the second the marriage of my son and his beloved (yay!) in late July in Vegas (baby).  The first wedding is a fancy schmancy affair in the Chicago suburbs.  This may come as a shock to all reading, but I am not exactly a fancy sort of woman.  Not that an excuse to get dolled up isn't a grand thing, it's only choosing the ensemble that takes some consideration.  The second wedding is less in the fancy, but more in the life milestone/picture taking variety and the mother of the groom needs to not embarrass said groom.  Clearly some shopping must take place.  And so begins the drama of the dresses.

Dress number one I found a couple of months ago.  Of course, I can't find an online reference anywhere, but trust me, it's fabulous.  Perfect for Karl's Vegas wedding.  It's well fitted, just a little flowy and all sorts of fantastic color. It has only one fatal flaw....no sleeves.  Why I have issues with my arms, I have no idea, but I would prefer them covered. But wait!  I knit! I can knit a short shrug/sweater sort of thing, right?  I spend hours on Ravelry and decided on this pattern. Nifty little sweater with a nice lacy texture for hot Vegas days.  I can make the sleeves a little longer.  During a trip to Ruhamas in Milwakee I find the perfect purple Cascade 220 Ultra Pima, which, btw, is fantastic cotton yarn to work with.  I cast on and away we go.

There is a better than average chance I will finish on time because I'm in the groove now.  Dress one crossed off the list.

On to dress two. In case you're wondering, yes I probably do have something in my closet that would have worked.  The dress I wore for Kysa's wedding, for instance.  It's a little tight across the shoulders (I saw a funny mug the other day that said "chocolate makes my clothes shrink") which might impede dancing, and I intend to do a great deal of dancing with my honey.  And, let's face it, I want a new dress.  I start to scan the internets and come upon a dress I love at Nordstrom.  (love me some Nordstrom)  I show it to Kysa and Santa and get a double thumbs down.  I am discouraged, but determined.  I try Kiyonna and find this:

I have a previous relationship with this dress, but in brown.  Black is much more slimming, right?  I order it.  Well, not horrible, but unlike the beautiful model, I have no discernible waist and even black can't make me look all houchy mamma sexy in this dress.  Bye, bye dress.

Next up I give Overstock a try.  I've never had the Overstock experience before, but their customer service is impressive.  I find three dresses at extremely reasonable prices and they arrive at my door two days later, free shipping.  I think the big O and I may have the beginnings of a good thing going here.  Dress one, which I admit romanced me with the purple, made me look like a fluttery purple sausage, or perhaps some sort of sea creature.  Dress two, was all kinds of chiffoniness and very comfortable, but the top was, um, let's just say the girls were not adequate to the task of filling it out.  The top looked like something that had once been inflated and met with a sad end.  Dress three, now we're talking. I love this dress.  Even the lack of sleeves cannot deter my affection. I have a shawl that will work. It's not fancy enough for Meghan's wedding, but it matters not.  Dress one and two head back to Overstock and now I think maybe I might like dress three enough to wear it to Karl's wedding instead of the first pick.  I even have hot shoes that will work.  WHY does life have to be so complicated?  (Answer - because I make it so. ergh.)

Between the Overstsock return and the final product (yes, this will all end well) there was a bit more drama.  A lavender and black number that was a contender for about 5 seconds and a glorious teal, sleeveless again, that was so wrong I try not to even think about it.  The people at the post office now laugh when they see me coming.  I have become a dress joke and one of my own making.  Santa picked her wedding dress in like 4 minutes and I'm spending weeks agonizing.  Of course she is young and thin and gorgeous.  Whatever. :-)

As promised, this tale has a happy ending and can you guess which dress I finally decided on?  The very first dress from Nordstrom.

   

Don't I always say "go with your first instinct"?  Once the real thing arrived and the girls saw it they agreed that it was fab.  I love it like crazy.  I love that it has a little ethnic feel to it, that is flows away from my body so there is no need for the tortuous under garments, and it has sleeves.  It makes me feel pretty. I'm still working on the shoes.  Silver, don't you think?  Some great earrings and I'm set.  Finally.  Hallelujah. 

In case you're wondering, I'm still knitting on the sweater because I haven't decided on the multicolor dress or the black/white dress for Karl's wedding.  What's life without a little drama? :-)

Perception vs Reality or the Power of Words

I've been having a teensy little problem with self esteem lately.  Ok, fact is that there probably hasn't been a day in my 52 years 4 months and 10 days that I haven't had a problem with my outward appearance, but I think most women can agree that it changes from day to day.  In general, on an average work day, I'm pretty good with me.  I like my LB straight leg jeans and my tunics.  I like my hair (mostly) and my legs and my feet.  Overall, though, I have a really hard time getting an honest perception of what I truly look like.  I mean, I know that I'm a little round woman and that I will mostly likely always be a little round woman.  I think I'm ok with that.  But, am I that cute little round, motherly woman that everyone loves, or am I that little Mac truck of a woman that people move clear of to avoid being run over by? 

The root of this most recent problem is pharmaceutical.  As you may remember, I've had a few problems with anxiety attacks over the last 4 or 5 months. I've been seeing a therapist and with her help, as well as the little pink pill I take every night, I'm doing SO, so much better.  Normal, even.  Yay, me!  Except for the fact that one of the side effects of little pink pill is the fact that I am now frequently ravenous.  Starving, and not the carrot sticks kind of starving. It's salt and chocolate kind of starving.  You know what I'm saying here.  Add to this equation that I've also just gone off of all my hormone replacement therapy and have returned to my hot flashing, night sweating, menopausal self, and we've got a woman who is not to be messed with.  Hand over the chocolate now and no one will get hurt. 

So, Spring/Summer is upon us and I have several weddings and showers to attend and with them comes the age old question.....what do I wear?  Sunday afternoon I go through my closet and try on everything that might work....... except nothing works.  Everything I put on makes me feel like that naked guy with the barrel around his middle held up by suspenders over his shoulders.  Arms not bad. Legs good.  Sexy shoes.....what the heck is going on in the middle and when did my boobs deflate and drop dangerously close to my navel?  Ack.  I hate myself.  I go outside and say to AH, "Did you know I was fat?"  Poor man, he tried real hard not to laugh.

Yesterday I decide that I have to find SOMETHING to cover this body and really, nothing makes a girl feel better about herself than standing half naked in front of a three way mirror, right?  I have a Lane Bryant coupon and I decide to head over there and grab any tent in the store that covers the current acreage that is my body.  The first person I see is the store manager that I have developed a little friendship over the years of my shopping there.  We also share the same hair color.(We rock the red.) I explain to her my dilemma, and off she goes, grabbing this skirt and that top.  As I reach for size 50/60 (numbers changed to protect the innocent) she politely removes it from my hands and gives me a much smaller size and then escorts me to a dressing room.  Before I enter she, in her kindest and wisest voice tells me," You know, we're all bigger girls.  You wouldn't be shopping here if you weren't, but you always look adorable and I'm always so happy to see you come in. No matter what size we are, it's up to us to be best people we can be. Be who you are.  OWN who you are."  I'm aware that as managers they are probably required to take a 5 day training on how to talk a fatty off the ledge, but I heard her words and took them to heart and you know what else?.. I looked kinda of cute in those big old mirrors. With a bag full of cuteness and much better attitude I departed the store.  And, big surprise here, everything I purchased was the same size or smaller than I have in my closet.  Perception vs reality ..... tough concept.

Store managers words were right, we do need to own who we are.  I may be a little round woman, but it's a body that moves, a mind that thinks, and a heart that cares.  I work out 3 times a week and do yoga on the days off.  I'm down to 1 coke a day (you may be unaware, but for me, this is HUGE), and increased my water intake.  I walk more, read more, and care more than I ever did in the thin years of my youth.  I'm even more willing to leave the house without make-up.  (scary) I doubt that I will ever be able to truly own my body the way I see so many other larger women do, but I'm going to give it my best shot.  We are who we are intended to be; who we allow ourselves to be.  Believing in ourselves makes us all more beautiful.

Never enough of a good thing.

I like feet.  More specifically, I like my feet.  That may seem an odd admission, creepy even, but for a person who can't find much positive to say about my body in general, to say I like my feet (well, except for that second toe on my right foot that is like an inch longer than the rest of my toes. What happened there?) is actually kind of a great thing.  I adore the pedicure (pictured polish is OPI DS Extravagance).  I mean I ADORE the pedicure.  I think every woman in the world should be given bi-weekly pedicures as part of a government mental health plan.  Maybe men, too.  There is no way you cannot feel fantastic after a pedicure. 

As one might imagine of a person who likes her feet, I have a tensy tinsy little shoe problem.  Not a problem, really, more of an appreciation.  Shoes are fascinating to me.  A cute pair of shoes can make for a happy day.  (Nifty sandals pictures from Target.)  I'm an equal opportunity shoe lover.  I buy them at Payless, or Target, or Nordstrom, or my absolute favorite place, Zappos.  Free shipping, both ways, one day delivery.  I ordered 2 pair on Tuesday afternoon and they arrived Wednesday.  Seriously.  I have a few pairs of heels, though only for special occasions and never for prolonged wear. It's hard to be a happy person when your feet hurt.  I have....ummm....several, yes, let's say several pairs of Keens.  If you want a shoe that will give you all day comfort and support, Keens all the way.  Latest shoe company find is Blowfish.  Adorable.

So, this weekend I faced the part of my closet that has become known to me as "The Shoe Monster" and decided it was time to organize.  I divided into warm weather/cold weather/special occasion/frequently worn/pitch.  The pitch part was a little painful at first, but once I got into the swing of it I could say goodbye with only minimal tearage.  Goodwill will be needing to make some space for this donation.  Since we are coming into warm weather, the cold weather bunch went into a plastic bin under our bed. The special occasion bunch I put in shoe boxes with photos of each shoe taped to the end.

 

They fit well on the top shelf of my closet. (This is less than half of them.) They stay clean and in good shape, yet are easy to find when I need them.  The frequently worn group hang on the back of my bathroom door in a cloth pouch thingy that I got at IKEA a couple of years ago.

I know the pic isn't great.  It's a small bathroom and I couldn't get a good angle.  You get the idea.  And, yes, I have a lot of pairs of black shoes, just like I have a lot of black clothes.  I'm not in mourning.  I just like black.  Shoe Monster under control and I am a happy camper.  There will be more shoes, of this we can be most confident, but now I have a plan! Yay me!

In fact, if I hurry, I might have time to browse the Zappos site right now.........

Warning: possible TMI regarding my digestive track.

My intestines and I have never gotten on well.  I've had each and every unpleasant medical procedure to diagnosis the problem and the final answer is, IBS.  IBS, or irritable bowel syndrome, is a sort of clearing house for nasty digestive issues that have no real medical cause.  My gastro doctor says I am a gut reactor.  Nice.  Everyone has their weakness and mine happens to be my gut. Super nice.

I have drugs.  Drugs for going and not going.  Drugs to relax and drugs to rev up.  I hate them....would rather not take them at all.  The problem is, I hate suffering even more, so I take them when I must.  Over the years (and it has been almost 30 years I've been trying to play nice with my gut) I've learned a few tricks, but there were times when I got in such bad cycles that I rarely left home.  (Here comes the TMI) Cause when it goes bad it's not just a little inconvenient, it's curled in the fetal position on the bathroom floor sweating and cursing bad.  (OK, you can look now.)

A couple of months ago my doctor suggested that I up my calcium intake, which I know is a really good idea.  Problem is that, for me, calcium and my gut  are like the Hatfields and the McCoys.  No love there.  At all.  Choices, choices, brittle bones or unhappy gut?   Ah ha!, says my doctor, I have the answer.....gut bacteria of the good kind.  You take a pill (yet another pill) and it makes your intestines go to the happy place.  Really?   Hmmmmm.  So I go to the pharmacy, purchase the calcium AND a box of Align.  I bring them home and....look at it but don't take it, cause what if, instead of going to the happy place it goes to the bad place?  I mean, just because the doc says so doesn't mean it's always true.  Right?  (Back me up here.)

Two weeks ago I broke down and took the Align and guess what?  It worked!  It took a little over a week, but my intestines are indeed, in the happy place, or at least I think so since I haven't actually been to the happy place in a LONG time.  I feel good.  I haven't added the calcium yet.  I'll keep you posted on that one.  (I bet you just can't wait.)  

Moral of the story is; some times you have to have a little faith and just do it.  Now if I can only make myself open the bottle of fish oil capsules.  (I really hate fish.)

 

And, just in case you've forgotten that we have a new family member, a picture of Miss Cambria Joy in all her Halloween pumpkinness.  Not everyone can pull off orange, you know.  I've decided that I bore the daylights out of her cause she is sleeping every time I see her.

The siren song of urban living.

Every now and then I get a bug to move to a city.  A big ol' city like Chicago or Minneapolis or NYC where I could have a grand  (more like closet sized on my budget) apartment with a view of the night lights.  A place where we could walk to our local grocer and get things for dinner or meet friends down the block in a cute little cafe where the owners know our names.  A walk to the subway or the museums or the trendy shops.  A place where I would not spend the better part of a day mowing or weeding or watering and could just walk out on the the patio and tend the pots of lovely things trailing over the rail.  I think I could enjoy this life for.....maybe 2 months and then the noise and population and lack of green space would suffocate me.  I suppose it's a *grass is greener* thing, except that the grass here in my little corner of the planet is very green already.

If I lived in a city I would miss moments like last night when all the baby toads emerged from the old pond to experience life on dry land.  They were so tiny and so eager to get off the lily pads and discover new ground.  I wish I would have taken a few pictures.  AH has purposely been keeping water in the old pond so the toad babies would have a place to live until old enough to move on.  Good timing on their part since excavation for the new pond has resumed.

A city dwelling would not have an abundance of these milkweed plants.  Many fuzzy bees were enjoying a morning drink of milkweed nectar this morning when I went out to check on them.  These plants are volunteers in an area that used to be a garden space, but too much shade took over and plants needed to be moved.  One day we will reclaim this area, but until we do the 5 or 6 milkweed plants are most welcome since in a few weeks the monarch caterpillars will come and make the change to butterflies right here in our yard. 

Mrs. Wren has made her home in the tail of our dragonfly again this year.  Wrens are funny little birds with big voices and I enjoy watching she and her hubby fly back and forth to the nest area with bugs for the babies which fledged early this week.  AH would have been able to get a better picture, but he was not here.  You can look right into the tail and see the nest.

Our large amount of land gives up a place to have a garden with plants like these roma tomatoes still dripping from their morning drink.

And the green beans working their way up the poles built just for them.  Their leaves begin this almost chartreuse green and then turn to emerald as they get bigger.  I say over and over, no once does color like Mother Nature.

And finally, city dwelling would not have space for our glorious pin oak tree that gives such joy to be able to stand beneath and gaze upward.  It was planted almost 30 years ago as a little tree and today it is SO tall and majestic offering home and shelter for birds and animals and wonderful shade for us.

I think I'll continue dreaming of urban living while being suitably grateful for the green life I already live.

More Lush to Love!

*Before I even begin, I've got no connection to LUSH whatsoever.  If they ever brought a store close enough for me to work there, that might change.  For now, I am just a very satisfied customer.

I am a barefoot kind of girl.  I know, not good for your arches and the two scars across the top of my foot from where I dropped a glass pitcher on my foot attest to the safety concerns, but I'm just happier barefoot.  This being the case, the bottom of my feet are always a disaster.  About a year a go I met a super sweet girl who introduced me to the wonderful world of the pedicure and I was hooked.  LOVED them, but also, really love her.  Part of the fun was spending the time talking with Beki.  Bad news is that Beki is moving to Madison, and while I am confident there are many competent people to take up where she left off, I'm hesitant.  Maybe I could just save the money and do it myself.

Here is where LUSH comes in.  Remember we went to the burbs on Sunday?  Gotta hit LUSH when we go there, so I did some research and came up with a couple of products that I thought I might give a try.  Earlier today I did just that and am thrilled to proclaim that I have, again, struck LUSH gold.  Meet Volcano.  Volcano is a mixture of vegan ingredients that you generously apply to your feet, cover in plastic bags or plastic wrap and take a break for about 10 minutes.  I think I gave it more like 20, but anyway, after that you rinse with warm water.  I followed by a quick scrub with Running to the Embassy , a pumice body butter, and a nice coat of Dream Cream.  ( I'm also a fan of Pied de Pepper which has a great clove aroma.)  Kids, my feet are soft, tingly fresh and happy, happy.  It's not magic, I've still got calluses, but I think with regular use I could say goodbye to the pedicures forever.  Seriously.  Ok, there was no one fun to talk to, or to paint my toe nails a nifty color, but I can do that myself (paint, not talk).  All of these products are middle of the road in pricing and come in cool black jars that can be returned to the store for recycling when you've emptied them.  Personally, I use them for other storage, buttons, hair ties, etc, but options are good.  LUSH has such a great enviromental philosophy that's a nice plus to super products that generally do what they say.  (Bath Bombs, people.  Get them.  Use them.  Have FUN!)

I love you LUSH. 

A word about wii fit.

FUN!  It hasn't been all wedding stress and garden work around here.  We've found some time to play with the wii.  Fun, fun, fun.  Really.  Oh, and that isn't me in the pic....like you might have thought it was. :-)  My tree pose is good, but not that good.