My Attitude Is The Best Attitude

Please note: I’m writing this post for posterity. In the event that I don’t survive the remainder of 2020, because there are so many hurdles left before Christmas, you guys — so many hurdles — I want to be remembered for my upbeat, can-do attitude.

** Robbie is reading this right now, wondering who I’m talking about. “Upbeat?” “Can-do attitude?” YES, ROBBIE. I AM UPBEAT. I AM THE MOST UPBEAT. **

Part of why I decided to go ahead and have “Trump” and “Pence,” (the two largest of my family of hemorrhoids) removed along with “Betsy DeVos” (the uterus, duh) is because this year is already terrible so let’s pour some more misery into this flaming fire, shall we? I am an all-or-nothing girl, so when things seem pretty bad, I like to ramp them up to nearly intolerable. That just makes sense to me.

Today I had my pre-op appointment. My surgeries are Thursday morning, bright and early. But here’s the important part: I learned during our discussion that Tammie, the nurse, talks to her dog breeder in Alabama more than she talks to her own son. The also instructed me not to shave any part of my body from now until after I return home from surgery.

I could feel my eyes widening, like REALLY REALLY WIDE, as Tammie talked.

Me and my Hibiclens.

“Um … Tammie? Can we circle back to what you just said about not shaving?”

I can’t.

I can’t not shave my armpits for, let’s see, 4 days. And I told Tammie this, very plainly, making sure my eyes were adequately expressing my level of alarm. I negotiated with her and was awarded permission to shave my pits but nothing else for the remainder of the week. The rest of the instructions — Hibiclens, enemas, whatever — didn’t faze me. I breezed right through, because administering two enemas back to back on Thursday morning before the sun comes up is no big deal. But prickly armpits? NOPE. Not having that.

Like I said, I have a wonderful attitude.

Speaking of attitudes, I wanted to tell you guys about my venture into the Land of Botox. I turned 40 in December. Then a lot of really stressful personal stuff that I’ll eventually write about, but can’t yet because I’ll scar my kids for life, happened.

Several days later, our world was upended by a pandemic, so by April I was really feeling terrible about my face. Now, I realize that is vain and shallow, but I was stuck at home 24/7 with the kids while my husband continued to work and every time I looked in the mirror, I just looked exhausted. Which I was.

But I don’t want to actually look as miserable as I feel inside, so at my friend’s behest I made an appointment with the best cosmetic dermatologist in town, Dr. Zedlitz of Z Dermatology. Now, I’m not telling you about her because she asked me to (she doesn’t even know me, she only injected my face one time, but SHE WILL GET TO KNOW ME, BELIEVE THAT). I’m telling you so you’ll know exactly what I did to make myself look well-rested when I am, in fact, not well-rested at all.

First, I got IPL which is this treatment where they put goo on your face and then run over it with a laser. The light attaches to pigment, so any dark spots, hyperpigmentation, or redness is drawn to the surface. I looked like a spotted disaster for like a week and then it all flaked off and revealed really remarkably even skin.

After my IPL, I walked down the hall for Botox. Dr. Z talked to me about “the look” that some women have when they’ve gotten too much work done and how it’s really important to her as a doctor and AS AN ARTIST, BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT SHE IS, to avoid “the look.” She will flat out refuse to inject a patient with anything that will give them “the look.” I think her exact words were “I don’t want anything to do with the look and I don’t want people associating me with the look.”

What I’m driving at here is how important it is to find a doctor who understands that cosmetic shit is supposed to make you look BETTER, not like a plastic robot.

So anyway, she parked Botox between and all around my eyes and a little in my forehead, but I learned during my visit that my eyes are deep set and my forehead is short which is an unfortunate combo for someone with a wrinkly forehead. As far as my forehead goes, there’s not much they can do and that is why some women choose to get bangs when they are approaching midlife. See also: Britney Spears.

It’s now been about 3 months since I got it all done and I’m really happy with the results. I’m supposed to go back for another round of IPL after summer has ended, and after that I’ll likely have something done to get rid of the scarring on my chin from years of hormonal cystic acne, and then I can just focus on keeping up my very intense twice a day regimen of retinol and vitamin C.

Oh, and sunscreen. All the sunscreen.

I used to think women who got their face lasered and/or other cosmetic procedures done were wealthy. That is false. Robbie and I aren’t wealthy, and my decision to do this right as the world is basically imploding might have been a bad move financially, but know this: if I’m going down, I’ll go down looking damn good.

Also, I’m a grown woman and I can do what I want.

Within reason.

Ish.

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Removing Body Parts During A Pandemic

Okay … having Asher’s tonsils and adenoids removed during a pandemic was not actually a “nightmare.” It was an intensely stressful experience that likely aged my appearance several years.

The nightmare was the part where our recently-paid-off, 2-year-old refrigerator stopped working and Robbie had to run out and buy a mini fridge literally the night before the surgery so that we’d have a place to keep our popsicles. But before that, I spent the better part of an hour on the phone with a Customer Service representative from LG. During that time, she took down my name, address, phone number, email address, the model and serial number of the refrigerator, and the information on the repair company who told me the compressor was out.

Why did giving LG that information take almost an hour?

GOOD QUESTION.

The second part of the nightmare occured when Robbie (pictured below) dropped me and Asher off at the house after his surgery and immediately went shopping for a new refrigerator and did not return for the better part of the afternoon.

It took much longer than anticipated because Robbie is in sales and therefore he takes no bullshit from sales people. I genuinely feel sorry for the sales people who come into contact with my husband. He not only takes their tactics, twists them around, and somehow turns the situation in his favor, but he can also do math in his head at a startling speed and often calculates the prices two steps ahead of the person who is supposed to be “helping” him.

After spending a significant amount of time dealing with a salesman that Robbie later deemed to be incompetent, he took our business elsewhere to Best Buy where he found a unicorn of a fridge with all of the things we wanted for a way low price because someone stuck the wrong price tag on it. Until it is delivered, we’re making it work.

This thing is housing all the ice cream.

Asher is 8 years old. He is a quirky conundrum — delightful, but puzzling. He requires patience like all children, but I’m learning that there is a very specific brand of patience that he needs from me and it’s the kind I don’t come by naturally.

He is a quiet little guy. He shuts down if people are too loud, look too long, press too hard with questions, or are in any way aggressive. So that’s tough, because I am kind of aggressive when I’m under stress. It’s one of my biggest hurdles as an adult because when I’m agitated, I just want to burn shit down. I am extreme. I’m working on it, so moving forward, let’s just call it “passion” and “energy,” okay?

Right now, during the pandemic with all of the uncertainty which is another thing I don’t deal with very well, I have to work really hard to stay calm and even and kind and keep my voice at a normal level instead of screaming WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING HELL IS HAPPENING NOW at my laptop or cell phone screen.

Because I have passion and energy.

I was prepared for the worst. I expected Asher to hemorrhage from the throat or come out of anesthesia throwing up and I thought everything at home would be terrible.

None of those things turned out to be true, thank goodness.

He’s been a really, really easy patient. His brother and sister have been SO sweet and kind and my belief in our ability to raise good people is bolstered.

We finally figured out that mixing his pain meds with Sprite is the easiest way to get him to cooperate. He’s been eating a tiny bit, mostly ice cream, smoothies, and yogurt, but mostly he’s just drinking water because my second biggest fear after throat hemorrhage is dehydration so I push water on him passionately and energetically.

I’d like to give a shout out to my friend Jess, a working mom of 4 whose husband also works in the car business and is not home much, for bringing that yellow ice chest full of ice to our home. I wanted to hug her, but instead I smiled and waved and prayed that our family doesn’t end up giving her family the virus.

I prayed both passionately and energetically, so I’m sure it worked.

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Do You Want To Build A Deductible Snowman?

This morning during the short drive to summer camp, Maverick and I were talking about the virus. We all know which one. I don’t need to type it out.

“If an 11-year-old can understand the importance of wearing a mask, what is wrong with all of these adults running around without one?” His face reddened with anger.

WORD.

He’s worried about his grandparents and his great-grandparents. My kid, who already suffers from anxiety, chews his fingers until they bleed. He can’t understand how anyone would refuse to do something as simple as wearing a face covering in public, an act that shows respect and concern for our fellow humans. I mean, I don’t get it either — I have no explanation to offer him.

In our house, we believe in science. We have spirituality, too, although we don’t have a name for it — I tell the kids that something looks out for us, and I call that power God. Even though I’m unsure of God’s location or gender or even how much of the Bible is rooted in reality, I know there is a God, I know I am not God, and therefore, I do NOT need to know the details about how God chooses to operate. Because at the end of the day, why does it matter?

So back to the virus. There are countless conspiracy theorists out there producing countless conspiracy theories and I just don’t have the energy to even.

Guys.

There is so much actually happening … how do you have the mental capacity to come up with this extra stuff that may or may not be going on behind the scenes? Every time I start going down a rabbit hole online I get like 2 pages in and I’m like, NOPE. Just nope. Don’t have the bandwidth. Can’t. Real life is already crazy enough, I cannot handle additional crazy.

I cleaned my office this week and came across a few Christmas presents I never got around to wrapping or gifting to my friends. I think nothing could EVER BE MORE APPROPRIATE.

Speaking of bitter, our 8-year-old, Asher, is having his tonsils and adenoids removed tomorrow. I’m not bitter about that — I’m actually excited for him because he hasn’t been able to breathe properly since infancy. I thought it was allergies, so we had him tested. It wasn’t.

Then I thought it maybe since he shot out so fast at birth, maybe something was defective in his facial structure? Like, can that happen? Reddit says it can.

Anyway, multiple tests and scans later, we learned that his adenoids are enormous — what does that even mean? I plan to find out tomorrow. Are we talking golf ball size? — and blocking his nasal passages.

The part I’m bitter about is this: my husband picked our health insurance plan and I’m sure he pragmatically selected the cheapest one because that is how husbands are, and our family deductible is an actual pile of money. By that I mean I could withdraw said money from a bank, but I’d have to get a loan first, and I would have such a large pile that I could lie down on the floor in it and make a deductible angel.

Since Asher’s surgery is really important, because hello — our kid can’t smell anything — I figured 2020 should be the year that I finally address my messed up asshole.

The asshole repair deserves its own post. You’ll have to wait for that one.

(It will be worth waiting for.)

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I Mathed Today

Um, guys?

I write this from a very low (emotionally speaking) place where I ate half-baked brownies for lunch.

Today’s afternoon meltdown was triggered by a conversation I had with friends, via text, about herd immunity. Now, let me just say, I am by no means a medical expert, mathematician, or analyst. I’m just a mom who has taken to feeding her children microwaveable popcorn for dinner, because I am too busy clinging to my sobriety to think about preparing balanced meals.

I took the time to do the math and realized that in order for America to achieve herd immunity, approximately 65% of our population has to be exposed to Covid-19. We are currently at about 7%. SEVEN PERCENT.

And how long will it take to get to 65% at the rate we are going? FIVE FUCKING YEARS.

I will be 45 years old in 5 years. Maverick will be driving a car. So this means that I’ll have to keep being mad at people not wearing a mask for the next half a decade? How will kids get educated if they’re trying to learn in chaotic or abusive homes? And more importantly, how will the next generation do better if they aren’t getting an adequate education?

It’s like everything that was already super wrong with America warped into overdrive and it is all colliding together to create the Biggest Clusterfuck Ever.

People are out there acting like nothing is amiss. Uh, EVERYTHING IS AMISS. Our President is Tweeting about the CDC … I can’t even coherently tell you what he said today because it is just that crazy. You just need to see it with your own eyes.

Okay, Donald. YOU DO THAT.

Listen. I am a registered Independent so I feel like I can say this: we have no leadership. The shit has hit the fan and it’s slinging all over us and WE ARE JUST SITTING HERE BEING COATED IN POOP.

I have no solution. I am merely stating facts.

Yesterday I wrote a blog post and I felt so much better when I was finished, so I am going to commit to writing here again as much as possible because there is something about knowing I’m not alone. Other people have crazy lives too. We are all wondering if other people feel like they are being covered in poop.

I think the shitastrophe is probably the thing that binds us all together. But it smells, you guys. Like … REALLY, REALLY BAD.

PUT ON THE MASK.

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