appearance matters, believe it or not

Appearance.

This may seem like a trivial topic, but it crops up everywhere.  Most recently in my own life, where I’ve been taking extra care of my own appearance for the first time in years.  I remember growing up, and a memory from 5^th or 6^th grade in the school cafeteria.  I was just sitting eating my lunch (possibly from my New Kids on the Block lunchbox), when a girl (don’t remember who) commented on my hairy legs.  Around the same time, a boy in my class (I remember this one, but will never tell) suggested I needed deodorant.  At the time, around age 12, I was still very much a little girl.  I read books all the time, collected Barbies, and wore outfits such as this:

 I’m the one in the polka dots.  This is actually 4^th grade, but it doesn’t matter.  Times were different back then, or at least my little section of the world was.  Today’s girls of that age are dressing like hoochie mamas. 

Flash to age 13, when my mom allowed me to start shaving my legs and wearing makeup.  I had braces, contacts, and a perm.  I began a ritual in junior high of putting on a little makeup and doing my hair every morning before school.  By age 15, I remember being horrified if I forgot to put on mascara or curl my bangs for school.  I was actually pretty decent-looking in those days:

This is me at age 17. Hair in a ponytail, bangs curled, and mascara applied- all ready for work in my Hastings shirt.

You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone- this is very true.  The very next year, when I was 18, the process that gradually diminished my looks began.  Now, at age 30, I have literally lost my smile and any symmetry I had in my face.  Life sucks, and obscure medical problems really suck.

I believe I wore makeup at least half the time up until I was around age 24, when I started feeling like there was no point.  Deep depression ensued, and it was all about my having bad luck, bad genes, and no more smile.  I went through a brief period of time at ages 25 and 26 where I would sometimes make an effort to apply makeup or do something with my hair.  Then I had kids, and the makeup stopped almost completely.  I also developed an allergy to most mascaras.

At my very first job, I got paid slightly more than the other new hires because the recruiter liked my smile.  I used to smile all the time.  Now I can’t unless I want to look deranged.  Treasure your smiles, people!

Within the last month, I’ve started wearing makeup again and this time around I’m serious about it.  I feel more confident and presentable and attractive when it’s on.  Makeup, plus a little care about overall appearance, can work wonders on a trampled-upon, damaged soul.  For me, it’s a mask for the pain and anxiety and depression I fight constantly.  When I’m not in a moody funk, I will go the extra mile to look better nowadays because it makes me feel better.

 

 

for my dad

I love my dad.  He has always been there for me.  So has my mom, but right now I’m focusing on my dad. Here are the reasons I have the best dad ever:

1.     He rubbed my back till I fell asleep too many nights to count.  Now that I’m a parent, I recognize this as a great gift of his time.  I don’t remember why or how this routine started, but it lasted for many years.  I do know that my dad made me feel safe.

2.    He made me self-sufficient in many ways.  He taught me to ride a bike.  He taught me to drive a car (both standard and automatic).  He taught me to do my yearly taxes when I was 16.  He opened a bank account for me when I received my first paycheck at age 16, and showed me how to write checks and manage my money.  He made sure I could pump my own gas (again, at 16) and change a tire.  He took me to get my driver’s license and I passed on the first try.  He never handed out money willy-nilly, so I could learn the value of the money I made working for $5.20 an hour at my first job.

3.    So yeah, he made me self-sufficient, but he also came to my rescue when I needed it.  When I ruined a tire and the spare was full of spiders, he came and changed it for me.  When I locked my keys in my car, he saved the day-and this happened several times.

4.    He stayed the night at the hospital with me many, many times.  I’ve had several surgeries and extended stays at hospitals, and it was nice to have someone there.  Now that I know what it’s like to be alone at the hospital, I appreciate my dad even more.

5.    He is super intelligent and he can do anything.  He can fix anything.  He understands everything.

6.    He is always willing to help me: He’s helped me move a few times.  He went with me the first time I enrolled in college because I was super nervous. 

7.    He has good taste in music and is not ashamed to admit he likes female singers such as Alanis Morissette.

Caring for a heart baby

I love my kids more than I can ever express.  The hardest part of that love is when they get sick.  My youngest, Cougar, is 3 and he had open heart surgery at 3 months old.  He's had struggles ever since to reach normal milestones like walking and eating by mouth.  Right now he's in a special class at a public school that provides speech, physical, and cognitive therapy for 3-4 year olds.  Just a few days ago, I took Cougar to a regular appointment with his cardiologist to check on his heart.  I knew he had a moderate leak in his mitral valve, but that day we found out the leak had gotten worse.  This is bad news because now he will need another open heart surgery to repair or replace the mitral valve.  The doctor told me it will probably happen either this winter or next summer, depending on how Cougar responds to the increase in his medicine. 

Needless to say, my husband and I were devastated, and everyone else we know is giving us all the support they know to give. I also feel guilty because it is my gene pool that the heart condition comes from.  I have a leaky mitral valve myself, but it's only a small, manageable leak.  I've had 2 open heart surgeries- one to repair ASD and the other to repair cor triatriatum.  My mother and grandmother have also had surgeries due to ASD.  My older brother, whom I never met, died at 3 months old because the surgery to fix his coarctation of the aorta did not work.  I thought it was bad going through surgery myself, but it's a million times worse when it's my baby.  I am essentially rendered helpless in the face of this boo-boo that I cannot kiss better. 

A mother's love is all-encompassing and never ending.  I will do what I can: I will stand by Cougar's side, take care of every little need he has, and live in his hospital room until he is ready to come home.  I will let him know I love him, and I know my husband will, too.  We will give him our encouragement and the familiarity of our presence. 

This is going to be a very stressful and tiring several months while we go through this process, and I will probably break down several times.  I just can't handle the reality of my baby, who will be 4 when he has this next surgery, going through this again.  Just when we think he's gotten better and he's reaching milestones and acting like a regular kid, he has a setback.  I would take his place in a second.  He is such a special little boy, funny and sweet and precious.  I hate it that bad things like this happen to kids, and I hate the injustice of it all. 

For Cougar

Dear Cougar,

          At the time of your conception in 2009, your brother was 6 months old.  Your dad, Tyger, and I lived in a rental house.  I was 26 and your dad was 37.  Daddy was working as a detention officer and I was a stay-at-home mom and online college student.  Being pregnant with you was much more eventful than my first pregnancy: I gained more weight and at 8 months, I began itching severely on my belly.  Also, about a week before you were born, there was a bad snowstorm and Daddy got stuck at work for 36 hours.  That was bad because I was worried about going into labor with no one to help me. 

          However, the worst part about the pregnancy was the news we received after I underwent a fetal echocardiogram: You, my precious, innocent baby who was yet to be born, were diagnosed with a serious heart condition that the doctor thought was probably AVSD (atrial ventricular septal defect).  The cardiologist and the geneticist both encouraged me to also have an amniocentesis done to check for any chromosomal abnormalities you might have, such as Down’s Syndrome.  We were very happy when your chromosomes turned out to be normal.  As for your heart problem, the doctor assured me that it could be corrected by surgery sometime after you were born.  All I could do was hope for the best.

          I began having contractions January 1^st, 2010, but the pains stopped after a few hours and didn’t start again until the next day.  You were almost a New Year’s baby, but you ended up being born the evening of January 2^nd, 2010.  I walked into the birthing center with your dad, and within an hour you were born.  It was an emergency C-section because you were breech and your heart rate was dropping fast.  You were 9 pounds, 1 ounce and almost 21 inches long.  You were immediately rushed to a children’s hospital and checked out.  They let you come home with your dad and me a few days later because you were stable. 

          The first 6 weeks of your life were as normal as they could have been under the circumstances.  Your dad took off an entire month when you were born to help take care of you and let me recover from the delivery. He mostly watched you when I needed to sleep, and one of my favorite pictures is one taken by a nurse right after your birth- you were lying on a hospital table and your dad was sitting beside you with the happiest smile I have ever seen.  Anyway, I breastfed you, but you were not gaining much weight due to your heart condition.  You became weaker by the day and you were having episodes of turning blue and not breathing.  At 6 weeks old, I took you to the children’s hospital where you stayed for the next 2 weeks while various doctors checked you out.  By then, you were too weak to take the breast or bottle, so I was taught how to insert a feeding tube into your nose and down to your stomach so that you could receive my breastmilk that way.  When we took you home, you only lasted a week before we had to take you back to the hospital.  Your episodes of turning blue and not breathing were becoming too frequent for me to handle at home.  This time, you stayed a week at the hospital and came home with oxygen tanks and a heart monitor in addition to the continuous feeding pump and feeding tube.  You had tape on your face to hold the various tubes in place, and it was a juggling act for me or your dad to hold you and take care of you. 

          Unfortunately, you landed back in the hospital after about a week at home because your blue episodes had gotten much worse and too often.  Since I had the heart rate monitor at home always attached to you, I knew what was happening when you stopped breathing.  Your heart rate would drop to zero, and this would happen several times a day.  Anything could set you off, even taking your temperature or clipping your fingernails.  Back in the hospital, the cardiologists and the heart surgeon told me that you needed an open heart surgery as soon as possible.  However, they wanted you to be 12 pounds and at least 3 months old to increase your chances of surviving.  So it was a waiting game while we pumped you full of breastmilk and medicine and oxygen.  You made it to 12 pounds, but you did not make it to 3 months old before your situation became so dire that the surgeon decided to bump another patient off the surgery schedule in order to get your surgery done. 

          It was the last day of March, 2010, and I do not remember much about it except that you made it through surgery.  The doctors told me that you had Tetralogy of Fallot in addition to the AVSD, and your heart was in worse shape than they had originally thought.  You spent 5 weeks intubated in the pediatric ICU before you had the strength to breathe on your own.  You spent another 3 weeks in the hospital after the breathing tube was taken out, and ended up having a fundoplication and gastrostomy tube insertion surgery.  You were feeling a lot better, but you had forgotten how to eat, so the g-tube enabled me to feed you with a feeding tube that connected directly to your stomach.  By this time, you were 5 months old and you could not eat, talk, sit up, or do any of the things other babies your age could do.  When we brought you home, we set up a physical therapist to help you regain your strength and catch up on your milestones.  You could not walk until you were age 2 and a half, and you did not get the feeding tube taken out of your stomach until you were almost 3. 

          Today you are 3 and a half and you are walking, talking, eating, and playing like a regular kid.  You slept through your first birthday party.  You were a skeleton for your first Halloween, and a smurf for your second.  You were Scooby Doo for your third Halloween.  We went to Chuck E Cheese for your 3^rd birthday.

          You like Scooby Doo and Mickey Mouse.  You dance when you hear music.  You love and look up to your big brother, even though he picks on you all the time.  You LOVE swimming, especially at Grandma’s house.  Your favorite thing to eat is pizza.  You are unbelievably sweet and precious, and everyone loves you so much. 

Married Life

Things you didn't know: Married life

I just read the information at the above link, and I thought it was interesting and pertinent to my own life.  I know about marriage, having been married twice for a combined total of 10 years.  I have experienced being married too young, divorce, and marrying again.  I have some personal input for the statistics reported on that site. 

Marrying younger than 25 drastically increases the risk for divorce. I believe it, especially in today's society.  Sometimes teenagers get married right out of high school, or sometimes people meet in their early 20s before they've really had a chance to spread their wings.  It doesn't take long for the novelty and the feeling of "playing house" to wear off.  There must be a solid foundation and real commitment for the couple to stay married.  Here's an example: I was married at age 20 and divorced at 24.  I firmly believe that that marriage was built on a rocky foundation, and never shored up.  We just weren't ready for marriage, and so it didn't work out.  Looking back, those 4 years are my biggest regret, because I should have spent that time going to college or experiencing life on my own.  I view it as time wasted, but also a lesson learned.

The most successful marriages are between the older sister of brothers and the younger brother of sisters; the least are with only children.  This is a very cool factoid to me, because I am the older sister of a brother and my husband is the younger brother of a sister.  I wonder why this is true, though: Are the older sisters better wives because they grew up managing younger brothers?  Are the younger brothers better husbands because they grew up being managed?  I think maybe it's because the younger brother learns to respect women and communicate with them.

No sex in a marriage has a much more powerful negative impact on a marriage than good sex has a positive impact.  This is completely true.  We all want to feel loved and desired, and expressing that love in the most natural way positively reinforces the bond we have with our mate.  When no love is expressed, we begin to feel lonely in the relationship.

my ideal wedding

My husband and I never had a wedding, which I find depressing.  We should have had a wedding, tailored to suit us, and lots of pictures to show for it.  Instead, we were married in an office near the courthouse, and we have very few pictures of that day.  If I could having a wedding now, I would follow my heart and my creative instincts.

For my dress, I'd pick something like this:

 

 

 

It would definitely be purple or periwinkle, have some kind of little straps, and not be poufy.   I would not be ashamed of my tattoos and scars.  My husband would incorporate purple into his tux, because that is his favorite color, too- we were both born in February.  I would let him style himself however he wanted in order to reflect his personality and be happy.  I would go barefoot, but he could wear shoes if he wanted.

I would have a maid of honor, probably my best friend, and he would have a best man.  My maid of honor would have to wear a dress in a color complementary to purple, but of a flattering style to her.  I'd have no ring bearers or flower girls, to keep the wedding ceremony simple. 

I like the idea of lighting a unity candle during the ceremony and speaking traditional vows.  I believe that marriage, TRUE marriage, is a pact made between the two people and witnessed by close family and friends.  We would of course invite our families and friends, but I would like to keep the list to only those people we enjoy being around and who truly want to be there. 

The reception could be held anywhere big enough to fit 50 people and a dance floor.  My husband and I would each make a list of songs to be played by a DJ.  The songs would be another reflection of ourselves, our personalities merging.  We'd have lots of classic rock and 80s music.  There would be a free bar.  I would learn the Thriller dance, and actually do it when the song came on.  I'd also get out there on the dance floor for the electric slide and any disco music. 

The best man and maid of honor would each give a toast.  I would have one dance with my dad. I would get my husband out for at least one dance, no matter how embarrassed he feels.  Then people would just continue to dance and talk and have a good time until late at night.

That's my dream, and I'm sad that it will never happen.