Sharon Y. Edlin's Blog, page 6

Eyelash Adventures

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Now, for some of you who may not know, it’s confession time, although if you know me, it’s kind of a duh what I’m about to say . . . I wear false eyelashes every day, thank you very much. You may ask why so I’ll tell you . . .

There is this “thing” in my family, no, not the fact that every damn one of us seems to have some form of ADHD/ADD, no, the nugget of information I gleaned from my mom 15 years ago or so was this, “Well, yes, Sharon, our hair seems to be less on our legs, armpits, and alas our eyelashes. This seems to kick in around our mid-thirties. I only shave about once every few months.” Whaaaaat?

Well, for me the armpit and leg hair can take a damn hike so this was great news but the eyelashes? Hell, I didn’t have so many anyway, what was even less going to be like?

I soon found out . . .

So, yes, just as she predicted around 34 years old, I looked like Spongebob with about 3 eyelashes on each eye. I hated it so much and I looked really weird.

One day, while getting my hair did, my awesome sauce hairdresser who is the coolest chick around, said, “You should let me teach you how to put false ones on.” I practically knocked her down lunging at her with pure excitement only I can produce with untreated, at the time, ADHD. So, I went and bought what she told me and came back a few days later for my lesson.

At the time, I was using single lashes, not strips. Well, the Village (pre-Professor) can attest to this as they meandered over one night to check my new lashes out. My one friend likened me to a doll that you lay back and her eyes close and then when you tilt her up, her eyes open. Do you remember the eyelashes on those dolls? Thick as hell and a bit frightening. I think they are still around, actually.

She was right, they were too long, I got medium-length at the time, and too thick.

And so began my eyelash adventures . . .

Now, when you have very few eyelashes to begin with and then lose more, well to the folks that suggested I get some “sewn” in, that’s pretty much like sewing up air cuz there’s nothing there, y’all!

I also had Lasik surgery a few years prior and they were not big fans of that eyelash growing goo so I was stuck with false ones.

On days when my eyelashes had gotten so thick that it looked like I had caterpillars above my eyes, I’d take a deep breath, take the old ones off, and then proceed to put in probably 50 individual eyelashes on each eye which was very time consuming and tedious. My kids knew to exit stage run when they saw me at my eyelash mirror because words and individual lashes would fly if things got screwed up or better yet if I got that damn glue in my eyes. It feels as if someone has poured burning acid in your eyes. Not kidding it hurts like hell!

So, the individual eyelashes thing continued and along the way, some rather interesting stories surfaced because glue can get old sometimes and not stick so good or it can get too humid or windy and that’s when eyelashes decide to take flight and commit suicide right off of your damn face.

One of the first adventures that I can remember was when I first started dating the Professor. We were at a Green Power race to see his son’s team. It had been warm, humid, and quite windy. As I was standing there talking with the Professor and another lovely couple I had not seen in awhile, I could feel the ever so slight slip of one corner of my eyelash row and thought, “Oh shit, they feel like they are going to come off right in front of the Professor and these two good people.”

Wouldn’t you know it . . .

The next gust did just that and as I felt them break loose from my right eye, the one that always gives me trouble when it comes to my eyelashes, I felt them flutter right down my cheek and into the wind. Of course, you can’t help but notice when someone’s entire eyelash colony suddenly falls off and blows away mid-sentence. These sweet people as well as the Professor spot the suicidal eyelashes and go chasing after them for me so as to keep my embarrassment at a minimum. Bless them.

As I stood there watching them chase the little suckers, it dawned on me that the general public standing around also observing the three of them well, it looked as if they were chasing a No See Um because from where they were, it looked like these 3 people had lost their minds. I couldn’t help myself and busted out laughing at the utter ridiculousness my eyelashes had caused.

Fast forward a bit, the Professor and I are married and one morning around 6 am when it was just a bit light out but not much, I fluttered my little eyes open because I had to go to the bathroom and right before my eyes, I spy a big ass spider on my husband’s back as he slept on his side turned away from me. I almost threw up but I was determined to save his life as I grabbed my flip flop next to the bed, whispered to the Professor to hold still, and then promptly pulverized the “spider.” The Professor was pissed and grossed out that I would smash guts all over him and as I watched the little sucker drop, I realized that oh shit, and reached up feeling a blank space on my right eyelid.

I had beat the shit out of another row of suicidal eyelashes and also beat the shit out of the Professor’s back in the process. I squealed with laughter and nearly wet my pants. The Professor, in his confusion, rolls over and looks at me like I have lost my friggin’ mind as I come back from peeing and says, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

I could hardly tell him, around my laughter, but finally, he understood, shook his head, and said, “You are damn crazy, woman.” You don’t wake the Professor, he no likey.

Forward a bit more, I’ve decided I can’t stand the tediousness of the single lashes so I end up going through several styles and brands of lash strips and finally find one I like. Gone are the hours and cussing it takes to put them on and a new day of easiness has dawned for me.

Well, the strips are tricky because they are a unit and can get bent and crimped especially if you are like me and sleep in them, so I find myself taking them off pretty much every morning and re-doing them but its cake, it really is.

So, the weirdest of my eyelash adventure stories, there’s a lot more but I have to tell this final one . . .

Last night, I was pooped because I have gotten a huge influx of sweet OT kids/referrals and I’m working A LOT, I’m thankful though but tired at the end of a day. I went to bed at 10:00 pm, which is early for me actually. I had re-done my eyelashes earlier that day and they looked really good and I was so happy because sometimes it doesn’t go so well.

At some point, the Professor comes to bed and at around 3 am, I think I’m dreaming when this happens . . .

I feel movement next to me, I don’t hear it because I wear ear plugs because of the bit of snoring the Professor does sometimes. The next thing I know, a hand rests on my left eye and with precision of a damn Ninja, the Professor apparently thinks his hand is on a spider because he promptly rips my newly applied eyelashes off, rolls back around, then I see him throw it/them on his side of the bed, and he falls back asleep. Are you freaking kidding me right now?

I’m so damn tired, I fall back asleep and forget all about it.

As I reach up to my left eye, I feel flesh and no indication of my eyelash strip. Crap!

So I start to feel around in the bed, under my pillow, inspect the Professor to make sure it hadn’t stuck to him, next to the bed on my side, under the bed, and then it dawns on me suddenly . . . that wasn’t a dream but an assault on my precious eyelashes. As I leap out of bed and sneak around to his side, there lying all alone and cold on the floor, are my victimized eyelashes

As I leap out of bed and sneak around to his side, there lying all alone and cold on the floor, are my victimized eyelashes. Laughter escapes me again as I run into the bathroom so as not to wake the Professor up when it wasn’t time, again, he no likey and he grumpy.

Who knew that eyelashes could have an adventure of their own from suicide, to transforming into a spider, and now assaulted. Poor little things.

My advice to all of you is that if you ever decide to delve into the world of false eyelashes, take heed, there might be an adventure in your future.

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Shoe in the Road

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There is a phenomenon or call it a freakish anomaly of our society that I have known about since I could see and comprehend what a shoe was, further, who in the hell loses a WHOLE shoe in the middle of the road? This is something I have noticed my entire life and it baffles me that these shoes are so hard to control as one of the pair decides it can’t take it anymore and leaps out of a moving car preferring a dangerous and destructive life to what it had before.

If you just sit and think about it for a minute, why, it’s the weirdest damn thing to try and wrap your head around and I ask again, “Who in the hell loses an entire shoe out the window on a drive and why is it just one because I’ve NEVER seen a pair lying out there in the road.”

If you have seen a pair lying out on the road, you are shoe spying royalty in my opinion because to me that is about a rare as finding a 4 leaf clover, I have found exactly none in my whole life. My mother, on the other hand, has found about 45,678 of them and that was just last week, she’s some sort of clover whisperer I think.

I have seen all kinds of different lone shoes lying out there in the road such as a boot, a high heel, a tennis shoe, a flip-flop, a slipper, etc. etc. What is with these feet coverings that are causing this odd phenomenon on our roads and highways?

I can totally see a show come on about this because if we are going to do reality TV with people like, bless her, Honey Boo Boo or those freakish possessed housewives, why in the hell not do a show on the lone shoes that litter our streets in America. Better yet, I see it kind of modeling those folks that are looking for Sasquatch.

Now, I can totally see a 2-year-old figure out how to take his/her shoe off and chucking it out the window though oddly I think I’ve only seen 1 baby shoe so this doesn’t make sense unless you are a 40-year-old with a 2-year-old mentality and you get bored one day at a stop light, get an itch, yank your shoe off, and then just chuck it out the window because you can. More power to you and your 2-year-old self oh odd person of our society operating large machinery next to me on a road. They’re probably out there y’all, you know they are.

Some may call it a conspiracy as the placement of the shoe may be a marking for someone else or it’s a message for another person that says, “I have had sex on the side of the road and my shoe is staying behind to tell about it.” Whatever the reason, I say again, what in the hell is going on here?

I wouldn’t put it past someone to post a missing shoe sign on a phone pole because there are certain 2-year-old mentality grown adults that have honest to God put a sign on a light pole asking if you’ve seen their bird. I believe your shit outta luck on that one dude, seriously, it has wings, it flew away for a reason. Put down your crack pipe and face reality.

Now, maybe there is someone out there that knows the secret society reason that I have spotted one shoe on our roads my whole life and if you are that person, please enlighten me, please, this has bugged me for years. Earlier today, stopped at a light, I found myself talking yet again to myself as I spied another lone shoe on the road next to me in the middle of the street and no lie, I say out loud, “Who in the hell loses an entire whole shoe?” The lady in the car next to me says this, upon hearing me apparently, “I have wondered the same thing all of my life.”

I’m not the only one, y’all!

Seriously, if anyone would like to comment and fill me in on this, I sure would appreciate it but until then, I will spy those lone shoes in the middle of the road and say yet again, “Who in the hell loses a whole shoe?”

Love y’all!!♥

Couch Life

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When I was a little kid, living up in Illinois, it wasn’t uncommon for relatives to come over, steal your bed, and you’d end up on the couch with your two sisters and their long ass dagger toenails. Back then, couches were meant for normal sized people, not the super-sized people that we see today. No offense super-sized people, I was there. Because my sisters and I were little, we all fit on our couch, well sort of.

If I’d go to a friend’s house, say one that has 7 brothers and sisters, you’d just hang up the hope that you’d end up in a bed no, you’d get the couch. Good thing your friend owns a pair of clippers, unlike your rabid wild animal sisters.

If we’d go to a relative’s house, we’d get shafted again and end up on the couch or the floor . . . being on the floor depended on rank and if you’d have to share the couch with a cousin who had restless body syndrome, you’d end up on the floor at some point in the night so sometimes, even though your rank was higher, you’d just save yourself the fall off  the couch and start there.

Not once, in all the time I lived with my parents growing up, did I see one of them on the couch after a fight or something. Not once. They never fought in front of us so I had an altered sense of what marriage was supposed to look like in this department so my first year of knock down drag out fighting with the ex was quite alarming as you can imagine. I should have known then . . .

Fast forward some . . .

Aside from the sleepovers where you’d end up on the couch or better yet, your friend had a double bed so you’d just bunk with her, there were a vast amount of other reasons you’d find your ass on a couch for slumber.

Now, awhile ago my folks had a lake house. It was one of the coolest places around and I absolutely loved being there. After 182 hours in the sun, though, you’d heat stroke it out, become tired, and end up on one of their 2 lake house couches. This couch beat out any fancy schmancy ole top of the line mattress, I swear. It was the most comfortable nap or good night sleep if your ex snores like a banshee, you’d ever get.

After the lake house was sold, I ended up with those couches and boy do they have some good sleeping and lounging memories. Good times y’all, good times.

In those 16 years of torcher, I found myself happily sleeping on the couch quite a lot. It was sad really how much I slept on the couch. I had a special little leg rest that opened up for storage where I’d keep all my bedding because it got to be so often that it became necessary.

Aside from sleeping on the couch after yet another fight, I’d often find myself on there because even though I had supposed sound proof ear plugs, the snoring somehow penetrated even the guarantee that I’d hear nothing that came with those ear plugs. Not kidding. Losing sleep was killing me and making me quite the zombie. Come to think of it, I may just very well have been an unbeknownst to me founding zombie apocalypse member because my lack of sleep was quite bad at times and I looked like hell.

The last two of the 16 years, when it got so bad I just wanted the hell out but wasn’t “allowed,” the couch became my permanent bed. As I lay there at night looking out the windowed back wall into the night sky or the woods, I felt sad in so many ways that I had given up 16 of my years and for what . . . well, to sleep on the couch I guess.

Now, my 16-year sacrifice gave me my two kids and they are pure awesome! It also taught me a lot about abuse, what I wanted, and what I didn’t want. If there was to ever be a next time to fall in love, my expectations were vastly different and my signals to failure were crystal clear now.

Cue the Professor . . .

The Professor suffered a similar marriage like mine but his end result was horrible, especially for his three kids and later, after he got much necessary custody of them, he realized that they were gifts too and even though the marriage was not a good one either, there were blessings and maybe made the suffering understandable.

The Professor and I don’t bicker much, we really don’t and in the almost 5 years we have been together, 4 as a married unit at the end of this July, I have only slept on the couch once and he has slept on the couch maybe 3 times because of a bicker session. Otherwise, we fall asleep on the couch by accident and remain there ’til the wee hours of the night before we realize our sleeping arrangement is in the wrong place. Oh sure, we try to pry each other off of the couch to gently lead the confused sleeper to the right area, but sometimes we are just too weary.

My couch life has probably been a lot more than some as my life has floated along, sometimes there were rapids, sometimes a waterfall plunging me downward onto the jagged rocks below, but my plunging couch life days are over, well, 99.5% over. Sure, we will bicker and end up on the couch eventually but a solid couch life neither one of us will have, I am 100% sure of that much.

I thank God every day for my second chance at love and no, blending a family is NOT perfect and it sux quite a lot sometimes but as I have said before, I’m loving every minute of it.

Love y’all!!♥

 

Have You Seen My Vision?

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When I was a little girl, yes, “100 years ago,” I had the most perfect vision that I likened it to that of Superman’s x-ray vision or whichever superhero had that, hell, I don’t remember, I’m losing that too, my memory.

I remember when one of my friends had to get glasses, I felt like the poor thing had caught the plague. I felt so sad for her having to support some very unattractive glasses and alas, she did too.

You see back then, we didn’t have 5,437 different brands and styles to choose from. Ya had maybe a dozen and fashionable glasses were not a top priority back then, believe me, just look at Harry Caray’s giganto glasses. Love that guy but those glasses…

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I had good vision up until college because prior to that, I didn’t read or study much. Yes, I sucked at school thanks to ADHD and very low motivation. My parents wondered if I would be a failure to launch kind of girl but once I got to college I thought, “There is no way in hell I’m living with my parents for the rest of my life. I gotta get my shit together and now is the time!”

So I did and because of all of the reading and studying close up, my far away vision began to suffer. Now, there were a few more additions to the glasses selection but I’ll tell you right now that my mom wasn’t about to fork over $300 for the most fashionable glasses and I wouldn’t let her anyway because I’m no fashionista, trust me.

I was plagued with the glasses I so hated but it was quite necessary because I couldn’t see squat otherwise. It sucked because they hurt my nose and my ears so eventually, I got the other plague of having to make contact with my eye in an unnatural way with my finger and a little circle of soft plastic. It took me awhile to be okay with invading my eye with plastic and my finger as I had a very strong blink reflex. Oh hell, and don’t put them in backward, that feels like you just put on a shirt or your underwear on backward. It feels freaking weird. Oh lord, and don’t sleep in them either because the next morning, you feel like you have tape on each eye and getting them off well, imagine pulling tape off of your eyeball. It’s no picnic, y’all.

So I stayed in contacts until about 10-12 years ago, hell I don’t remember really, and ended up allowing another human being to burn out my corneas with a laser as he made small talk and I smelled my burning flesh. He was also grossly near my face and had bad breath, just the bonus I needed intermingling with my burning flesh smell.

I have to admit though, the next morning after the eye burning, I began crying at the miracle of being able to see without glasses or contacts. It was AMAZING!!

But, I was warned by the flesh burner that it may move forward my need to have reading glasses and as I chuckled at him in disbelief of this thinking he was just silly, little did I know that I would have a new plague to deal with a little later on.

I now have 692 pair of reading glasses scattered all around my life. They are in every room of the house for example, I have a pair in the bathroom for light reading if I have to stay a bit longer than normal, on my bedside table so I can read the clock in the middle of the night to see how many more precious sleep minutes I have, I have a pair next to where I sit at night to relax with the Professor and watch our TV shows, I have 3 in the kitchen, no 4, because 1 isn’t enough evidently, I have 2 pair in the car, one in the laundry room, about 7 in the clinic, and so on and so on.

Now, before the Professor got progressive bifocals, he would borrow my readers and if I couldn’t find them where they were supposed to be, I’d have a come apart . . . a bad one!

I now have to wear damn reading glasses to see my food y’all and one time I went to a new restaurant with the Professor in another town, and he and I had to pass my readers back and forth to read the damn menu. The other day, while at lunch with my kids, I made my son go back out to the car and get my readers so I could read the menu and see my food.

This not seeing up close crap sucks and drives me to madness ESPECIALLY when I can’t find one of my 692 pairs. I went so far as to buy a string so I could wear them around my neck and then almost hung myself and then knocked out an OT kid when I bent over to help him with something and they swung forward and whacked him. That was short lived.

I’ve even heard of this new eye surgery where they can correct it and I’d love to get it but you have to have money to pay the eye burner and because it’s so new, that scares me too. Plus my far away vision is still 20/20 and my fear is it will turn into some damn see-saw where I will lose my far vision again and then be back getting my eye burned every few years.

I also recently found out another little nugget of information about my eyes, I have the beginnings of glaucoma. Will my visual nightmares ever end?

Bringing all of my complaining into perspective though . . . I’m damn thankful I can see. I saw Edward Scissor Arms yesterday and I laughed my ass off at those deadly swinging arms on his morning walk, I’m just glad I could see him. I love looking at my smiling or laughing children and I especially love looking at the Professor. I love seeing a good sunset, I love looking at my friend’s horses, and I love looking at all of the beauty the good Lord has provided us. Although my vision is blurry and requires a little crutch, I can still see and that’s truly what matters.

My thought for the day is even if your parts aren’t perfect but they are still functioning even with help, be thankful, y’all, be thankful.

Love y’all!!♥

 

For The Love of a House

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They say that a home is a person’s castle or your home is where your heart is and many many other things about a home, but for me and my two kids, our home helped us to heal.

Let me back way up . . .

I gave up 16 years of my life to a man that didn’t deserve me or my love and although those 16 years were hell, I got two of the best prizes from it . . . my son and my daughter. Now, I know I’m biased but my kids are two of the coolest kids around. They don’t meet a stranger, have many many friends, have good manners, for the most part, get complimented a lot on what good kids they are, are funny, smart, and so on.

Now, this always surprises me, not because they aren’t good kids but because my fear of the exposure they had to those years born into my empty abusive marriage and the aftermath of the divorce over 5 years ago. My prayers at night were that we hadn’t ruined them because of our bad choices and ultimately, our divorce.

You see a home that is good for kids born into them needs to be tranquil, kind, loving, and peaceful but this was so far removed from that and I worried.

Moreover, building a ridiculously too big and too fancy home to save a marriage or at least busy the mind and heart in another direction so as not to look at the ugly marriage we had just doesn’t work.

Oh yes, I had the big ass house on the hill, the big ass house on the other side of the tracks but it wasn’t a home y’all, no, no it wasn’t. Oh yes, we had every upgrade, every gadget of amazement to make our lives easier, oversized rooms, a big ass kitchen, which is ironic considering I really never cooked in it because certain people have food issues and preferred to go out, and on and on. We had the perfect neighborhood, perfect friends, and what appeared from the outside, the perfect life. Ha!

You can have all of the niceties of life, the nice house, the awesome car, the 2 kids who just happened to be a boy and a girl (yay, one of each), you can go to church every Sunday, play golf anytime you want, etc, etc, but all those fancies don’t make a home and can’t cover up the cracks that you are trying to hold together by your material things and false outside appearances.

I had it all and was damn happy when I lost it all because honestly, I had nothing because I didn’t have love. There was not love in my big house on the hill . . . oh sure, I had tremendous mama bear love for my kids and shielded them from a lot, protected them, and hid them when necessary, yes, it was that bad, but not spousal love, nope, not at all.

I was promised, after the divorce, that we could stay in the big house for several months so as not to pull another rug out from under the kids, but that promise was broken a few months later. My two kids and I were devastated but it was necessary, it really was.

As soon as my realtor showed me my “healing house” I knew, “This is the one.” After negotiations, some flooring that needed to be laid down, a roof for the front porch, closet makeovers, paint, and blinds . . . it dawned on me that I had just bought a whole house all by myself and I was damn proud y’all, I really was.

For the first time in 16 years, I finally knew what peace and tranquility felt like in a home, yes a home. Our healing home was full of love, some pain, and active healing. You see, my son became a heavy gamer for the first time in his life. He stayed up in his room gaming and healing for exactly 1 year and I let him even though it went against everything that I believed in. I just knew that he needed it for his healing and after that year was up, he brought down his gaming system and everything that goes with it and said, “I’m done with this, I’m ready to be with my friends and be outside.” His healing was done and I was so glad.

My daughter and I drowned ourselves in Sponge Bob Square Pants shows and any other cartoon she wanted to watch. We cuddled, cried, hugged, healed, and came out better on the other side.

Both of my kids required counseling and the Professor, while we were dating, became my counselor, but I didn’t know this at the time. He made me strong, he made me trust again, and he fell in love with me and I with him. My healing house became filled with love, a love I had never known before and doubt I had it when I married my first husband.

My kids adore this healing house and it has many memories, some bad, but mostly good. When me and the Professor got married, we made the decision to live in his house and I’m so glad we did, I love his house. I tried to sell the healing house but it just never sold so I have been renting it for the last 4 years.

I will be putting the healing house up for sale again on June 12, 2017 using my best friend and realtor to do this. I hope and pray that it sells this year and that it is a healing house for someone else and their kids. Lord knows it was for us.

My wish for all of you is that your house is full of love and if it’s not, you can either find it again, end it if necessary, and find peace and tranquility in a healing house of your own. A house should be a home filled with love and peace.

I finally have that now and I am more blessed than I ever thought possible.

Love y’all!!♥

Hippotherapy

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About 100 years ago when I was able to cognitively process what a horse was, I became obsessed. I begged at every holiday for a horse and even non-holiday’s. I eventually began a collection of horse toys and those plastic horse figures as well as a barn to keep them in, but it just wasn’t the same, ya know? I also watched The Black Stallion movie about 2,345 times and got a book on how to draw horses.

My dad and his brothers owned a farm that we would frequent almost every weekend. We’d have hay rides, bond fires, weenie roasts, marshmallow roasts to make smores, get chased by snakes, deer hunt, squirrel hunt, shoot, and anything else you can think of. There also happened to me a horse on the farm next to ours that was very neglected, to say the least, but as friendly as could be. His name was Golddust and I believe he was a quarter horse with Palamino coloring. He was gorgeous. I used to pretend that he was my horse and I’d bring him carrots and apples when no one was looking.

One day, as me, my sisters, and my cousin were petting him, I got brave, climbed up on the fence, and ended up bareback on ole Golddust, thus fueling my obsession further and much more bareback riding from then on out until we moved away when I was 13 years old.

All my life I have been fascinated by people who have the privilege of owning and riding horses and later, after becoming an Occupational Therapist, I dreamed of one day being a part of a practice known as Hippotherapy.

And guess what . . . over 24 years later, I’ve gotten my wish!

Now, Hippotherapy is not therapy with hippos as a lot of folks think and quite honestly I don’t know why they have used the Greek word for horses as the word that stands for therapy using horses by an Occupational Therapist, Physical Therapist, or Speech Therapist, but they, whoever they are, did and it has stuck. But I guess my career being called “Occupational” Therapy is misleading as well because no, I don’t help your children find jobs. I wish we would have called ourselves Functional Therapists, that makes a helluva lot more sense . . . I’ll digress.

There is a difference between Therapeutic Riding and Hippotherapy and these terms get mixed up a lot. Therapeutic Riding is performed by any horsewoman/man that is seasoned and in my opinion should have what is called a PATH certification, although there are folks out there practicing without a certification and still call themselves Therapeutic Riding people. Any and all kinds of people and kids can do Therapeutic Riding. I’ve also seen some pretty cools articles on Therapeutic Riding with folks that have PTSD or post-traumatic stress disorder here lately and it really does help them.

Now, Hippotherapy is only done by a certified and licensed Occupational Therapist, Physical Therapist, or Speech Therapist. For me, all the therapy is the same, there’s just a horse involved, which not only builds confidence but also helps with balance, core/trunk strength, and leg strength. It also aides with sensory processing and there are about a billion other things it helps with and I am proud and honored to now be a part of it.

By the grace of God, I have two friends/partners on this adventure and they are two of the coolest ladies around, y’all. One has about a million titles and is as smart as a whip. She has the absolutely lovely farm that we will be using her horse Zayla for our Hippotherapy. This lovely lady teaches riding lessons, I am one of her students currently learning English style riding, and is PATH certified, which is thrilling and a big deal.

The other gal owns a business for children that has a specialized school and ABA therapy. She also owns a couple of horses and has a lovely farm as well, although I haven’t been there yet but knowing her, it’s lovely. I’ve known her forever it seems and we’ve been through a lot together. She’s also hilarious and a hoot to hang out with.

So, with the farm lined up, the horse lined up, my two outstanding partners, and my certification being completed officially in July, although I’ve passed several exams for it already and get Western riding lessons and barn time with my very dear friend out at her friend’s farm where she keeps her horse about 2-3 times per week . . . this thing is going to take off probably safely predicting a June time.

Now, you may ask, “What in the hell does this have to do with blending life and family?” Well, I’ll tell you that the Professor has had to put up with my diarrhea of the mouth about all of this and I feel like I’m that little girl again dreaming about horses and wishing for one 52 1/2 times per day for one. I have been begging him to come ride with me but he gently says, “Babie, that ain’t for me.” Sigh.

He has promised me that once we have the Hippotherapy area up and running, he’ll come then and I can’t wait to show off my riding skills and all the hard work that I’ve been doing that has been taking time away from him. He doesn’t like sharing me sometimes. Bless him.

My wish for all of you is that the one dream that seems to have always been out of reach well, I hope you get the chance like I have to reach out a grab it. I thought this dream was unobtainable but by the Grace of God and my two partners and my dear friend, they are making it real for me and I will forever be in their debt.

If you are interested in learning more about Hippotherapy in general, just Google it, there’s a lot of stuff. If you are interested in it for your child who has any of the hundreds of diagnosis and its not contraindicated, such a seizures, look me up and I’d be glad to talk to you about it.

My website is www.dragonflypediatricot.com and you can also find me on Facebook at Dragonfly Pediatric Therapy. Thanks, y’all!!

Love y’all!!♥

 

Death by Cycling

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About 100 years ago, I lived in Grand Junction, Colorado for a time. It was actually one of the best times of my life and I was so spiritually, visually, and mentally moved by the West that I decided that I’d marry the hunky weatherman, buy a ranch with him, raise horses, cows, and chickens and then have kids, oh, and a few dogs roaming around too. I had it all planned out.

While living out there, I took up mountain biking and in addition to being a killer workout, you’d get to see some of the most beautiful scenery there was. One of my favorite biking trips was to the Arches National Park in Utah. Talk about God’s country.

Before I started mt. biking, I had cycled on my ten-speed bike for exercise here and there. Mt. biking, though, was my cup of tea and I ended up sticking with it for quite some time, even after moving away from my Colorado dreams and back to Alabama.

I had several near death experiences in those Utah and Colorado mountains. I had another biker collide with me nearly knocking me off of the mountain one time and had a raccoon scurry in front of me scaring me to death and over-breaking, nearly falling down the mountain again. I’ll stop there, don’t want to scare my Ma too much.

Anyway, I’m 45 years young now and my mt. biking days are over because my joints just can’t take it anymore and I don’t have time to die, really. So, I purchased another less cool bike a few months back because we have this fantastic paved trail right off of my neighborhood and since I’m Weight Watchering it for life, I decided I’d ride again because I love the feeling of it, it’s good exercise, it gets me outside, which is my favorite place, and it’d be tamer compared to mt. biking . . . hah!!

Now, I love people, all kinds of people. I love the tall ones, short ones, foreign ones, clueless ones, skinny ones, hearty ones, etc. But every once in awhile one of these “ones” will inadvertently try to kill me while innocently cycling on my beloved paved trail running along a lovely creek and then eventually connecting to the Tennessee River, where I love to sit and gaze at the murky water and wonder what horrors might lie below.

Well, the other day my near-death experience nearly got me cut to shreds as this giant grass cutting tractor comes barreling down the paved trail. From my vantage point, I felt as if the dude had seen me and would eventually move off to the side so I wouldn’t get shredded, but no, they must have had a blind grass cutter on the job because the next thing I know, I have to scream and scream loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine as I violently veer off to the side and nearly land in the creek where the jagged rocks are. I was so pissed, scared to death, and flabbergasted that I didn’t even stick around to hear apologies from the blind man, I just didn’t have it in me.

If that wasn’t enough on this particular day, on the way back home, still feeling the rapid beating of my heart, a runner in front of me suddenly became drunk and staggered sideways towards me right as I was about to pass him. I literally stuck my foot out and booted him back to his side as he sobered up suddenly and waved an apology. Thank God I have good balance on a bike or this one might have gotten me a compound fracture in my leg and come to think of it, I just booted a stranger out of the way with my foot, glad he didn’t kick my ass in retaliation.

Last week, my ride to the river what shockingly uneventful barring the swarm of creek flies that I ended up getting in my eyes and about 12 in my mouth. As I’m passing through the picnic area I got this eery feeling as I drive by this parked car that I’ve seen there before and I’ll be damned if the same dude is in there just staring at me like he wants to rape me, choke me out, and dismember me for a picnic BBQ later that evening. I really need to ask the folks at the dock house what in the hell his deal is. I see him nearly every time now and it scares the hell outta me but lately, the river and the docks are so heavily populated because the weather has been perfect, so I’m not too worried unless he’s got a gun, then there may be some trouble.

I ride up the hill that will lead me to the bench that I sit on and do some meditating before heading back and as I crest the hill and smile because I’ve made it, there sitting on my bench is one of those shirtless dudes that loves his body, works out constantly, loves mirrors and frequents them about 247 1/2 times per day, and wants everyone to look at him too. Well, not this chick, I can’t stand dudes like this. I ride past him without one look and I can feel him staring at the back of my person probably thinking that I’m a lesbian because why else would I not have looked at him as I make my way to my second choice of murky water observation seating and I’m just as happy.

I sit on top of the picnic table, sit criss-cross applesauce, close my eyes, and start my breathing exercises. I’ve been at it for about 2 minutes when I hear this, “Well, would you look at you.” I open my eyes to two little old people each walking a dog looking at me like I had died sitting on top of the picnic table. Now the death part almost came because they gave me a freaking heart attack as I was trying to breathe and center.

I explained to the geriatric Americans that I was simply breathing and calming myself. They were dumbfounded at this so I had to give a small dissertation on what it was that I was doing in old people terms and seeming satisfied that I was a crazy person, they both moved on shaking their heads and peering back at me a few more times.

So, heading back after a near heart attack situation, I come upon a line of rapidly Spanish-speaking women. . . The 4 Amigas. They have blocked any hope or prayer of passing them as I had to slow down to try and figure out how to get around them without impaling myself with a tree branch. I finally said, “Hola, hola!” They all turn around and begin speaking to me in rapid Spanish. Now, I only know a very small amount of Spanish so this is what I say back, “Me gusta pass-o on la bike-o.” They all laugh hysterically at me and one of them says, “We will let you pass,” in perfect English. Sigh.

Well, my bike ride yesterday was . . . well, I don’t even know a word for it. Starting out on the trail, things are going good, The 4 Amigas aren’t there, the fighting Asian sisters aren’t there fighting in the middle of the trail, the clueless family who has no idea where they are in space and fill the entire trail thus blocking everyone, aren’t there, and praise the Lord the blind grass cutter isn’t either. All was not well, however . . .

I soon came up on a threesome riding their individual bikes and I could hear they were speaking some sort of Chinese. They are spread out across the road and I’d get off the path but it was too muddy and I’d get stuck for sure. So I gently yell, “Hi there, I need to pass on your left.” One of the rider ladies says, “Oh, don’t pass there, she a new bike rider and she will fall. Go down the middle, we make way for you.” I think, okay, that will work. Well, not exactly . . .

As I’m passing up the middle, the “new” rider becomes drunk followed by an immediate panic attack and she starts veering all over the place like her arms were going into spasms, I sped up so I wouldn’t get caught up in the vortex of confusion and end up dead from the panicked drunk biker and I had just about made it too when she clipped my back tire before running into a fence along the trail. I stopped to make sure she was okay, along with her riding companions, and I’m pretty sure I was cussed out in Chinese, though I didn’t do a thing. Damn new bike rider drunk spastic lady!

People are so funny, y’all and just loads of entertainment.

If you ever want a good dose of people watching, perhaps losing your life, or learning a new language, as there are a lot spoken on that trail, get yourself out on a neighborhood nature trail. It’s a load of laughs and treachery.

Love y’all!!♥

Naked and Afraid . . . Very Afraid

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Now, I have NEVER been much of a television watcher until I met the Professor. If I did watch any TV it was usually Spongebob, The Backyardigans, Max and Ruby, Adventure Time . . . you get the point. It was kid stuff as the kids were into that stuff for awhile.

Many moons ago, I did get briefly into Friends because I loved to see what hairstyles they were supporting and wanted to see who hooked up with who, but again, short lived as I was not interested in TV so much.

Well . . .

Since I have met the Professor, I watch CSI Miami, Big Brother, The Voice, Bar Rescue, The Booz Traveler, Diners, Dives, and Drive-In’s (or whatever order it’s supposed to go in), Survivor, The Walking Dead, Dating Naked, and now Naked and Afraid and not just that one, Naked and Afraid XL.

At first, I thought the Professor just watched the Naked and Afraid show to hope for a glimpse of a nipple or two, which I find amusing actually, however, there is a lot more to the show. It’s about survival, survival when you got bugs crawling up your butt and your lady garden and even in your weenie. It’s about figuring out how to get along with another human being and how you can work together to live and see it to the end together. It’s about going back to where we came from because the cavemen were in this boat thousands of years ago. It’s also about validation that you can do this, that you can survive, therefore, increasing your confidence. I’d say you are one badass dude or dudette if you survive this show to the end.

I have seen horrific cuts, bug bites, breaks, vomiting, diarrhea, starvation, fights, lack of fire, torrential rains, lack of sleep, and just plain going slightly insane. No wimp could master this, nope, not at all.

Well, here in good ole Alabama where things can get a bit strange and unusual, we have our own version of Naked and Afraid.

Bear with me, y’all . . .

As I was sitting in my chair at Hair and Nails by Southern Belles the other day yacking it up with my colorist, we observed a rather scantily dressed young lady who had come into the shop and was really letting it all hang out and my colorist’s next door seat mate, you know, the dude who was nearly run down by the crazy lady that almost went through the window, were going back and forth about how tacky this was, I agreed. I couldn’t help myself as I said, “Hell, she’s naked and I’m afraid. Who the hell dresses like that in public.” We all laughed it up because it was shocking, really shocking!

We spun around this Naked and Afraid comparison for a long time until I brought up a recent situation I found myself in and we laughed it out pretty good, y’all.

Here’s what I mean . . .

Now, I’m a fair weather friend when it comes to Wal-mart. I have been witness to some pretty insane stuff and have to really prepare myself when it comes to making a trip to there, I really do.

Well, I usually park at the garden center so I can hopefully see one of my very favorite employees who I can’t help but hug and shoot the shit for a bit with her. She’s awesome y’all and I’m so blessed to know her.

Anyway, after hugging it out with her, I went and got what I needed, dodged a few weirdo’s, and then checked out at the garden center, hugged again, and then headed out to my car.

So, there is this hill that is to my back as I’m loading my car up with my purchases and it’s all woods. I’m the only one around when suddenly, I hear voices. I look around and see no one and think, “Crap, the schizophrenia has kicked in. I’m hearing damn voices and I can’t damn well find the source.” I go slightly insane for a minute really trying to come to terms that I have become insane and hearing voices when I spotted movement up on the wooded hill behind me.

In Ninja moves my mother would be proud of, I darted to the bottom of the hill to get a better look at what in the hell was going on in the woods up the hill next to Wal-marts garden center parking lot.

Here’s what I see . . .

There is a shit ton of trash surrounding 3 tents and there are about 3-4 people sitting up in these woods in the trash in front of the tents. And yes, I think to myself, “This is just like Naked and Afraid only they are at damn Wal-mart next to the garden department.” They are arguing something fierce and I notice that they are scantily dressed as well so it’s really almost like Naked and Afraid, just Wal-mart style I guess.

So, as I’m telling my colorist and nearly taken out dude, I remind them of the chickens and roosters that often wander the Wal-mart parking lot. Yes, y’all, we have a rooster and damn chickens at the Wal-mart parking lot, I have no idea why. I can’t help myself as I say, “You know they’ve run outta food if you see those chickens or rooster missing because they probably done caught ‘um and cooked them up for dinner.” More peels of laughter at the hair salon.

There is another phenomenon that is happening just adjacent to Wal-mart and that is what I like to call Disgusting and Afraid. It’s happening right in front of Game Stop and the liquor store and it involves two 18-20 something’s who have obviously run away from home and thought that it is okay to make out and grind on the outside table that is in front of what used to be a pizza place. In mid-grind or mid outside of their mouths tongue make-out session, it is not uncommon to have the dude come over and ask for money. I’ve shooed him away several times and think in my head, “He is so freaking disgusting with his girlfriend and now I’m afraid.”

It’s madness, y’all! But really, I think they are living in the woods with the other crazy’s. I really do.

And yes, I feel bad for them but crap, there are soup kitchens and homeless shelters. You can’t play Naked, Disgusting, and Afraid in the damn Wal-mart parking lot woods while hunting down the rabid chickens/roosters that roam the area. The famous reality cameras will never find you and have you ever heard of not littering? I mean, live in the woods until you get kicked out but clean up your shit! There’s a damn dumpster, no, actually two on either side of you!

I don’t get it, I guess I never will but we sure had a laugh at the hair salon a few days ago!

Love y’all!!♥

 

Dancing with Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing

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Blending a family sux, y’all. I’m just going to be honest and say it. It really does. I have hit a wall this evening and have to vent so hang in there with me as there is a lot to cover.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing can describe a lot of people. People who are manipulative, evil, greedy, and liar’s warping reality to fit their own messed up world of deceit to trick the cubs into thinking they are perfect, victims of circumstance, or God fearing.

I have married into a wolf in sheep’s clothing situation and so has the Professor marrying me.

The cubs are the ones that suffer and suffer deeply they do.

You see, the wolf warps reality to fit its layers of lies and deceit so that their acts, no matter how horrible, seem frivolous because that is how they paint things. They warp reality to fit their needs, therefore deceiving the cubs.

Some of the cubs think that everything the wolf tells them is truth when in reality it is a warped sense of truth to cover up the lies that made their way into the wolf’s life because the wolf was greedy, weak, and pathetic . . . desperate even.

The other wolf takes them on vacation to exotic places, hides behind the religion, and then treats the cubs like shit, confusing them to the point of depression.

You see, a wolf in sheep’s clothing tricks the cubs into thinking that everything is okay, that the way they behave, the choices that they have made, and the shit they put them through is okay. Well, it’s not, no way, Jose!

The wolves are deceiving you, young cubs, be aware, ask questions, see through the smoke and mirrors that are being placed in front of you. Seek the truth because yes indeed the truth will set you free. It set me and the Professor free and it will set you free too.

If you don’t know where to find the truth, ask the elders for they know the truth and have been keeping it to themselves thinking it is helpful to not rock the boat.

It’s time to rock the damn boat! Set the cubs free, it’s time. I’m tired of seeing these cubs as victims wrapped up in the shit the wolves in sheep’s clothing have created. Set yourself free for crying out loud, cubs! Set yourself free!

I have to stop here or I will implode! Pray for the cubs, y’all. Pray with all your might!

Love y’all!!♥

 

 

Fun with Ring.com

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So, because we have nasty men making happy with their body parts while staring at my home and sitting only feet away, I’ve had my car broken into, and a few other unmentionable happenings at my home, you know who you are and man are you just a sad little person, I have invested in the Ring.com.

Well, at first the Professor was ticked saying that I didn’t need to spend that money and I explained the above to him and also added that if I were to be eating lunch inside and an OT kid comes early having to go to the bathroom, which has happened a lot, or a package is delivered or needs signing, I can be alerted by this nifty little gadget. Of course, the Professor rolls his eyes and walks away.

However, what the Professor soon discovered is that he can spy on me and did so today scaring the baJesus out of me because you can also talk to the person from the camera/your cell phone. It also scared my daughter who is home for one more day after getting quite sick over the last several.

So, there I am outside on the driveway putting together a climbing dome for my OT kids and my daughter is sitting in the rocking chair just outside the clinic getting some sun when all of a sudden, we hear this . . . “Hello, hello, can anyone hear me?” My daughter leaps out of her chair as I look up and think, “Oh hell, please don’t let Mr. Make Happy with Himself be in the damn bushes I will rip him apart!”

Oh no, it’s the Professor tinkering with the intercom and says it again. My daughter and I finally realize that it is my husband messing with us and I bust out laughing because although the Professor will act like he’s pissed with the new purchase, secretly, he is tickled to death that he can now spy around his home and scare the shit out of me and my daughter and whoever else ventures near my home.

After saying hello and what are you doing, etc. he signed off. However, within 30 minutes, we hear, “Hello, I’m looking at you.” I busted out laughing and so did my daughter as I said, “Do you have anything better to do, Professor?” He laughed and signed off again. Work must be slow.

He is having way too much fun with this little gadget and what was once going to be a helpful tool of protection has turned into a tool of torture and getting the shit scared out of you when the Professor gets a wild hair.

So, here’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to turn it on him the next time he’s out on the driveway but I’m just going to scream at the top of my lungs and see what happens.

Stay tuned . . .

Love y’all!!♥