If you could be anything, I mean anything, irrespective of your true talents and reality, and irrespective of the money involved, what would you do? What is your true passion?
Mine is dance. If I had to it all over again, I would've been a dancer. I never took formal dance as a child, and I had never even gone to shows or performances as a child, really, but I wish I had. My parents just weren't very cultural and really didn't proactively get us involved in anything. I grew up with a bunch of boys, so I did what they did: played in the mud, went dirt-bike riding, built treehouses. Dancing in a frilly tu-tu just wasn't something I even knew could be an option for me. If I had, who knows what could've been.
But growing up, I found other ways to express myself through this outlet. I grew up in the 80s: the breakdancing era. After watching the movie "Breakin'," I ran out and got a Breakin' Board. My brother and our friends used to have break-dancing contests. We'd perform the back spin, the head spin, the "tick", the "centipede," and freestyle. I have pictures of me dancing on that board, with my faux-leather pants, leather tie, and big hair. I couldn't have been happier. Sure, something more refined would've been nice, but I took what I could get.
My oldest daughter also loves dance. She's normally very shy, but if you put music on, that kid will put on one heck of a show for everyone and anyone. At age two, she would sit still for hours to watch dance performances, and then she'd re-enact them. So at age three, I signed her up for tap and ballet at a local studio, and she had her first recital this past spring. I could not have been more proud. When that child dances, she dances with our heart: it's a passion. You can see it from the expressive and dramatic look on her face to the tips of her toes. Of course I am thrilled that we share this interest, but I try to keep it in check. It's easy for parents to confuse what they want with what the child wants. I don't want to live out my missed opportunity through my daughter.
With that in mind, I decided it's never too late to start something you're passionate about, so my husband and I signed up for salsa classes beginning at the end of this month. I can't wait. I'm looking forward to not only dancing, but also getting to spend some quality time with my husband. He is actually a very good dancer, and he is pretty excited about it. That is, until he found out classes are at 5pm on Sundays, which will surely cut into Football season. The sacrifices that man makes for me never ceases to amaze me.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Friday, August 04, 2006
Bad Pupil
Yesterday evening I had my annual appointment with my eye doctor. All I wanted was to get my darn contact lenses refilled. But in order to do that, I had to endure a slew of tests that I dread more than a trip to the dentist office. Don't get me wrong, my eye doctor is a nice guy, good at what he does. It's just the nature of the visit that I detest.
Let's take a look, shall we, at the plethora of tests you, too, can enjoy when visiting the eye doctor:
The Eye Chart Test
I know it sounds silly, but I start to break out in a sweat when they tell me it's time to stand behind that piece of tape on the floor. I feel like I'm back in college, getting ready to take a final exam. I feel such pressure to pass this test, even though my eyes are physically incapable of such. Read the smallest line you can, the technician says, but being the overachiever I am, I go for the smallest, and I fail miserably. Each time, I ask if I can give it another try, knowing this defeats the purpose of the exam since they want an accurate read of my current eyesight. Without my contacts, I cannot even see the big E on the eye chart. I know it's supposed to be there, but I just see a faint black smudge. Ever wonder why they always use the big E? We all know it's E, it was an E last year, it was an E 10 years ago, shouldn't they switch it up a little?
The Dang-Near-Shoot-Your-Eye-Out Test
You know it, you hate it, too. The glaucoma test - the one where the technician shoots a puff of air in your eye to test the pressure. There is something very sacrificial about this one. The technician asks you to basically set yourself up in the perfect position to be a target. Her target. Place your chin on the rest, press your head forward, and sit still so I can shoot a blast of air right into your eyeball. You know it's coming, any second now- Whap! I swear, every time it nearly knocks me off my chair. You just can't prepare yourself for that. At least I can't.
The Red-Light, Red-Light, Stop-It-Already Test
We know we don't have eyeballs in the back of our heads, but you should have one on the side, right?! This is the peripheral vision test. Lean forward and press your head against this button. Now look straight ahead. Is the light to your left or right? I know where it is, buddy, and it annoys me like an unrelenting fly. Instead of telling you where it is, why don't you just give me a fly-swatter please?
The Pop-Up-Test
This one, I assume, is to test your depth perception. There are various groupings of circles and you have to identify which circle is raised. It looks just like an electronic version of Whack-a-Mole. I just want to ask, Where's my mallet?! Yeah, it's probably not a good idea to give me weaponry of any kind in the mood that I'm in, lady.
The I-See-a-Color-That-You-Don't-See-and-the-Color-of-It-is-49 Test
The purpose of this test is to out those who are colorblind. If you fail, you get a permission slip to wear mismatched clothes for the rest of your life. That is unless you have a significant other who is not disabled in this way, and in that case you must defer all clothing decisions to them. It's the law. In this test, there are several clusters of colored dots, in the center of which is a number that is made up of different colored dots. Identify that number! I wrote the numbers down afterwards and I'm going to use them to play the lotto.
The My-Pupil-Ate-My-Iris Test
Luckily, this one doesn't have to be done every year. And it's a good thing or I would probably still be wearing my lavender, stop-sign shaped frames from back in 1988 to avoid a revisit. It's the pupil-dilation test. The technician puts in these eyedrops, apparently defects from Michael Jackson's Thriller video, so that your pupils nearly overtake the color/iris of your eye. The drops sting a little, but that is the least of my problems with this. Everything up close becomes a total blur, to the point that I become nauseous. After getting these drops, I tried to check my cell phone for missed calls while in the exam room waiting for the doctor. I felt like I was on some acid trip (well, what I imagine an acid trip must feel like) - the numbers on the phone were doing the Electric Slide. I thought it was a little curious that the technician literally ran out of the exam room after assaulting me with these drops. That little chicken...
The How-Close-Can-I-Possibly-Get-to-Your-Face Test
Now things start to get more technical, and personal, so they bring in the big guns. The optome-natrix, I mean optometrist. The MD. They are MDs, right? This is one of the parts I hate the most. The invasion-of-my-personal-space phase of the visit. I mean, I know every doctor has to touch you physically, and that's fine, but with eye doctors, they are so up in your face, close and personal more than any other. Within seconds of Hello, the lights are turned off, the flashlight stick comes out, and his face literally gets so close to mine that I could count his nostril hairs. I mean, can't you take me out to dinner or something first? And of course it is when we are nostril-to-nostril that the doctor decides to have a conversation with me. Doesn't he know that I cannot respond because I am holding my breath to avoid any unwanted odor?
The Gimme-An-Answer-Now, I-Said-Now Test
For this one, the doctor swings what I swear is my dad's old set of binoculars in front of my face and starts swapping out lenses for me to look through. And then starts the marathon. Deep breath, and here we go! Which one is better? This one....or is it this one? This one or this one? Or how about this one or this one? Now that one or this one? Gimme some time, dude! Pant, pant. I haven't been to the gym much since I had the kids. I swear, at times I thought I heard the Final Jeopardy music playing in the background, egging me on to give a quicker answer. The best part about this test is when he swings that lens machine back out of my way, I know I'm almost done. The final stretch. I start to hear Chariot of Fire and I envision myself running out, slow-mo.
The Wasn't-That-All-Worth-It-Now Test
By this time, the doctor has written out the presciption refilll. I go back to see the technician to get fitted for the lenses. I put them on and then go full circle to where I started - to that piece of tape on the floor to take the E-Chart test again. But this time, yes, this time it's supposed to be a happy, feel-good test - the Look-What-the-Doctor-Did-for-Me Test! This time, I feel even more pressure to pass, so as not to let down the good doctor. Just one day, however, I wanna say, I can't see crap now! What the heck did you do to me today???
I've been wearing contact lenses for 24 years now. Twenty-four years of these visits. I think it might be time to consider Lasik.
Let's take a look, shall we, at the plethora of tests you, too, can enjoy when visiting the eye doctor:
The Eye Chart Test
I know it sounds silly, but I start to break out in a sweat when they tell me it's time to stand behind that piece of tape on the floor. I feel like I'm back in college, getting ready to take a final exam. I feel such pressure to pass this test, even though my eyes are physically incapable of such. Read the smallest line you can, the technician says, but being the overachiever I am, I go for the smallest, and I fail miserably. Each time, I ask if I can give it another try, knowing this defeats the purpose of the exam since they want an accurate read of my current eyesight. Without my contacts, I cannot even see the big E on the eye chart. I know it's supposed to be there, but I just see a faint black smudge. Ever wonder why they always use the big E? We all know it's E, it was an E last year, it was an E 10 years ago, shouldn't they switch it up a little?
The Dang-Near-Shoot-Your-Eye-Out Test
You know it, you hate it, too. The glaucoma test - the one where the technician shoots a puff of air in your eye to test the pressure. There is something very sacrificial about this one. The technician asks you to basically set yourself up in the perfect position to be a target. Her target. Place your chin on the rest, press your head forward, and sit still so I can shoot a blast of air right into your eyeball. You know it's coming, any second now- Whap! I swear, every time it nearly knocks me off my chair. You just can't prepare yourself for that. At least I can't.
The Red-Light, Red-Light, Stop-It-Already Test
We know we don't have eyeballs in the back of our heads, but you should have one on the side, right?! This is the peripheral vision test. Lean forward and press your head against this button. Now look straight ahead. Is the light to your left or right? I know where it is, buddy, and it annoys me like an unrelenting fly. Instead of telling you where it is, why don't you just give me a fly-swatter please?
The Pop-Up-Test
This one, I assume, is to test your depth perception. There are various groupings of circles and you have to identify which circle is raised. It looks just like an electronic version of Whack-a-Mole. I just want to ask, Where's my mallet?! Yeah, it's probably not a good idea to give me weaponry of any kind in the mood that I'm in, lady.
The I-See-a-Color-That-You-Don't-See-and-the-Color-of-It-is-49 Test
The purpose of this test is to out those who are colorblind. If you fail, you get a permission slip to wear mismatched clothes for the rest of your life. That is unless you have a significant other who is not disabled in this way, and in that case you must defer all clothing decisions to them. It's the law. In this test, there are several clusters of colored dots, in the center of which is a number that is made up of different colored dots. Identify that number! I wrote the numbers down afterwards and I'm going to use them to play the lotto.
The My-Pupil-Ate-My-Iris Test
Luckily, this one doesn't have to be done every year. And it's a good thing or I would probably still be wearing my lavender, stop-sign shaped frames from back in 1988 to avoid a revisit. It's the pupil-dilation test. The technician puts in these eyedrops, apparently defects from Michael Jackson's Thriller video, so that your pupils nearly overtake the color/iris of your eye. The drops sting a little, but that is the least of my problems with this. Everything up close becomes a total blur, to the point that I become nauseous. After getting these drops, I tried to check my cell phone for missed calls while in the exam room waiting for the doctor. I felt like I was on some acid trip (well, what I imagine an acid trip must feel like) - the numbers on the phone were doing the Electric Slide. I thought it was a little curious that the technician literally ran out of the exam room after assaulting me with these drops. That little chicken...
The How-Close-Can-I-Possibly-Get-to-Your-Face Test
Now things start to get more technical, and personal, so they bring in the big guns. The optome-natrix, I mean optometrist. The MD. They are MDs, right? This is one of the parts I hate the most. The invasion-of-my-personal-space phase of the visit. I mean, I know every doctor has to touch you physically, and that's fine, but with eye doctors, they are so up in your face, close and personal more than any other. Within seconds of Hello, the lights are turned off, the flashlight stick comes out, and his face literally gets so close to mine that I could count his nostril hairs. I mean, can't you take me out to dinner or something first? And of course it is when we are nostril-to-nostril that the doctor decides to have a conversation with me. Doesn't he know that I cannot respond because I am holding my breath to avoid any unwanted odor?
The Gimme-An-Answer-Now, I-Said-Now Test
For this one, the doctor swings what I swear is my dad's old set of binoculars in front of my face and starts swapping out lenses for me to look through. And then starts the marathon. Deep breath, and here we go! Which one is better? This one....or is it this one? This one or this one? Or how about this one or this one? Now that one or this one? Gimme some time, dude! Pant, pant. I haven't been to the gym much since I had the kids. I swear, at times I thought I heard the Final Jeopardy music playing in the background, egging me on to give a quicker answer. The best part about this test is when he swings that lens machine back out of my way, I know I'm almost done. The final stretch. I start to hear Chariot of Fire and I envision myself running out, slow-mo.
The Wasn't-That-All-Worth-It-Now Test
By this time, the doctor has written out the presciption refilll. I go back to see the technician to get fitted for the lenses. I put them on and then go full circle to where I started - to that piece of tape on the floor to take the E-Chart test again. But this time, yes, this time it's supposed to be a happy, feel-good test - the Look-What-the-Doctor-Did-for-Me Test! This time, I feel even more pressure to pass, so as not to let down the good doctor. Just one day, however, I wanna say, I can't see crap now! What the heck did you do to me today???
I've been wearing contact lenses for 24 years now. Twenty-four years of these visits. I think it might be time to consider Lasik.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Oh No, She Didn't! She Did.
Today we are celebrating one-week of being completely diaper-free in our house for the first time in four and a half years. Woo-hoo. It will be nice to have that $30/month back.
I hate to make comparisons, but my two-year-old is having a much easier time mastering this new skill than her sister did at her age, but I credit her sister's influence for the shorter learning curve.
My two-year-old had been nearly accident-free this entire first week, until last night. My husband suggested we go out to a nice dinner. I was enjoying my first few bites of a nice filet mignon, when my two-year-old looked right at me from across the table and said, I peed.
Not wanting to believe her, I said, You mean you have to pee?
She then screamed, I PEED!!!
My husband, who was sitting next to her in the booth, looked over, saw the puddle that was growing closer to him, and said, Crap. Luckily, it wasn't that, just pee, but pee was bad enough.
Embarrassed, my husband asked the waitress for a towel while I carried my soaking-wet daughter out to the car to try to find something with which to clean her. I knew I didn't have a change of clothes in the car, which goes to show the difference in parenting between child one and child two. With our first, we wouldn't have even dared to go out until she was at least a month or two accident-free. And even then, I would've brought at least four different changes of clothes in the suitcase I called the Diaper Bag. After the first child, you no longer have the time or energy for such preparations.
So our steaks were boxed up and we hung our heads as we did the walk of shame out of the restaurant.
I guess it will be some time until we try that again.
I hate to make comparisons, but my two-year-old is having a much easier time mastering this new skill than her sister did at her age, but I credit her sister's influence for the shorter learning curve.
My two-year-old had been nearly accident-free this entire first week, until last night. My husband suggested we go out to a nice dinner. I was enjoying my first few bites of a nice filet mignon, when my two-year-old looked right at me from across the table and said, I peed.
Not wanting to believe her, I said, You mean you have to pee?
She then screamed, I PEED!!!
My husband, who was sitting next to her in the booth, looked over, saw the puddle that was growing closer to him, and said, Crap. Luckily, it wasn't that, just pee, but pee was bad enough.
Embarrassed, my husband asked the waitress for a towel while I carried my soaking-wet daughter out to the car to try to find something with which to clean her. I knew I didn't have a change of clothes in the car, which goes to show the difference in parenting between child one and child two. With our first, we wouldn't have even dared to go out until she was at least a month or two accident-free. And even then, I would've brought at least four different changes of clothes in the suitcase I called the Diaper Bag. After the first child, you no longer have the time or energy for such preparations.
So our steaks were boxed up and we hung our heads as we did the walk of shame out of the restaurant.
I guess it will be some time until we try that again.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Sun Day
A week or so ago, my daughter saw a commercial on TV for a local, well-known waterpark, which boasts the world's largest re-circulating swimming pool. Since then, she has begged and pleaded to go. My husband was not too keen on the idea, largely because he's not a big fan of the sun.
He's of German-Irish descent, and his skin is typical of such. He's very fair, so he burns extremely easily. One afternoon shortly after we had met, he participated in a local basketball tournament. It was a very cloudy day in March, so he elected to not wear any sunscreen despite the fact that he was wearing a muscle-shirt. He visited my apartment immediately after the tourney, and when I opened my door to let him in, I barely recognized him. He looked like one giant red welt. For the rest of that evening and the next day, he laid atop a stack of pillows so that only his stomach (which had not been exposed to the sun) would touch any surface. He was in that much pain. Within an hour, large blisters appeared all over his arms, shoulders and neck.
My roommate and I, clearly not schooled in basic dermatology (or perhaps even common sense in this instance), decided he needed to exfoliate his skin. So we rubbed his burnt skin down with a rough sponge, popping all of the blisters. I know now that was the worst thing we could've done. Why he didn't run from our apartment screaming and never turn back I will never know.
Since then, he and the sun have not been buddies, which makes he and I very incompatible when it comes to leisure activities and vacationing. I have had a love affair with the sun for as long as I can remember. I'm Italian, andI tan easily. I'm smart enough now to know that even those with dark-complexions should wear sun-screen, but as a teen, I was reckless enough to not only go without it, but even tan with Crisco Oil. Yes, the stuff in the baking aisle in the grocery store. Stupid.
Besides the sun issue, my husband's vacationing and idea of "leisure fun" differs greatly from mine. My idea of a great weekend or vacation is to relax (often by the pool or beach), go swimming or do anything water-related, take in beautiful scenery, and go out at night while the sun is tucked away. My husband, like my two-year-old, cannot sit still. The idea of lounging by the pool (in the baking sun) is torturous and boring to him. He'd rather be out bungee-jumping or golfing, or snow skiing -- that is, if he could convince me that going someplace cold could ever be considered a vacation. To me, being cold is painful. I'd much prefer sweltering heat over frigid temperatures. My husband feels the opposite. On more than one occasion, we have snuck behind each others' back to mess with the thermostat at home. I'm always turning the heat up, he's turning it down; I'm turning the a/c off (I HATE A/C), he's turning it back on.
But being the adoring husband and father that he is, he reluctantly agreed to go to the waterpark this past Sunday. If it were up to me, we would've opened and closed the place, and it would've been an hour too short in my opinion. My husband was done with the idea an hour before we even got there.
What I realized Sunday, however, was that our children have enabled us to find some common ground in this area of incompatibility. When we were out in the blazing sun on Sunday, splashing each other and playing Simon Says in the pool, my husband barely noticed that his forehead (the one place we forgot to apply SPF 500000) had fried to a scarlet hue. And it made me think that maybe with this gang, even a trip on the snowy slopes might not be too bad.
He's of German-Irish descent, and his skin is typical of such. He's very fair, so he burns extremely easily. One afternoon shortly after we had met, he participated in a local basketball tournament. It was a very cloudy day in March, so he elected to not wear any sunscreen despite the fact that he was wearing a muscle-shirt. He visited my apartment immediately after the tourney, and when I opened my door to let him in, I barely recognized him. He looked like one giant red welt. For the rest of that evening and the next day, he laid atop a stack of pillows so that only his stomach (which had not been exposed to the sun) would touch any surface. He was in that much pain. Within an hour, large blisters appeared all over his arms, shoulders and neck.
My roommate and I, clearly not schooled in basic dermatology (or perhaps even common sense in this instance), decided he needed to exfoliate his skin. So we rubbed his burnt skin down with a rough sponge, popping all of the blisters. I know now that was the worst thing we could've done. Why he didn't run from our apartment screaming and never turn back I will never know.
Since then, he and the sun have not been buddies, which makes he and I very incompatible when it comes to leisure activities and vacationing. I have had a love affair with the sun for as long as I can remember. I'm Italian, andI tan easily. I'm smart enough now to know that even those with dark-complexions should wear sun-screen, but as a teen, I was reckless enough to not only go without it, but even tan with Crisco Oil. Yes, the stuff in the baking aisle in the grocery store. Stupid.
Besides the sun issue, my husband's vacationing and idea of "leisure fun" differs greatly from mine. My idea of a great weekend or vacation is to relax (often by the pool or beach), go swimming or do anything water-related, take in beautiful scenery, and go out at night while the sun is tucked away. My husband, like my two-year-old, cannot sit still. The idea of lounging by the pool (in the baking sun) is torturous and boring to him. He'd rather be out bungee-jumping or golfing, or snow skiing -- that is, if he could convince me that going someplace cold could ever be considered a vacation. To me, being cold is painful. I'd much prefer sweltering heat over frigid temperatures. My husband feels the opposite. On more than one occasion, we have snuck behind each others' back to mess with the thermostat at home. I'm always turning the heat up, he's turning it down; I'm turning the a/c off (I HATE A/C), he's turning it back on.
But being the adoring husband and father that he is, he reluctantly agreed to go to the waterpark this past Sunday. If it were up to me, we would've opened and closed the place, and it would've been an hour too short in my opinion. My husband was done with the idea an hour before we even got there.
What I realized Sunday, however, was that our children have enabled us to find some common ground in this area of incompatibility. When we were out in the blazing sun on Sunday, splashing each other and playing Simon Says in the pool, my husband barely noticed that his forehead (the one place we forgot to apply SPF 500000) had fried to a scarlet hue. And it made me think that maybe with this gang, even a trip on the snowy slopes might not be too bad.
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