Never Ever Dull
With every conversation, I always seem to end with "Never a dull moment"....our lives are rich, complex, and beautiful stories. Join me in laughing about everyday things and appreciating life-bumpy roads and all.
"It's all about my Banks, 'bout my Banks, all trouble"....sung to Meagan Trainor's "It's all about that Bass".... That's what I sing as I encounter more and more mischief from my big, lovable puppy. Each day, I walk in from school and ask my boys: How was Banks today? Did he get into anything while we were away?
I ask because you simply never know with Mr. Banks. You see, Banks has a strong and weird obsession with paper. Yes, indeed. We have found soggy corners of dollar bills chewed up with the nice "20" as the only remnant, evidence that he once again found my son's cash. Now, my son is protective of his money. Banks just has a nose for the green. So much so, that he has been known to climb on beds, bridge over to bedside tables, and into drawers to find the money. Seriously. Cash isn't the only paper he loves to devour. Recently, he found my son's driver's education certificate which we had proudly displayed just hours before on the middle of our dining room table. Banks, with his stilt-like legs that stretch to unbelievable heights, was able to reach it and chew off the corner. Thankfully, the nice lady at the DMV only smiled and shook her head. I wanted to explain and tell her that we really do take precautions and do not carelessly leave items out and about for our dog to find. Banks. It's all about my Banks...so much trouble. But at the end of the day, when he turns his goofy head sideways and looks at me as if I was the Queen of Dog Food World, he's so worth it.
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Move over, Bo Derek. I'm the next 10. Yep. TEN but in a very different context. Last summer, I learned that I was very iron deficient. "SEVERE" plastered on all my charts. My team of doctors was concerned. They told me to return in 2 weeks. So, during that in-between time, I started pumping iron. Iron supplements, that is. And iron rich foods. Anything to bump up my iron numbers since I had seen the look on their faces. After two weeks, I weighed in at a crazy 2 for my iron (ferratin) levels. That is crazy. "Normal" women have something close to 50. I barely made the grid. More concern from the doctors. So, I become more determined. I doubled, then tripled my intake of iron. Imagine Popeye toting his spinach cans-- that was me. Again, I go to the docs and learn I'm a 5. What?!? This is nuts. My expectation was that I'd be close to that "normal"range-at least, double digits. I had been the Iron Nazi, crazed with those little pills and red meats, green veggies, etc. After all sorts of testing and monitoring, the docs say to keep pumping iron. I have. I can tell you every food and the number of grams of iron it holds. I can share about the different types of iron supplements. I am an iron pumping expert. It's slowly working. Slowly. Last week, I returned to my normal routine: spin classes and running. I had to rest a bit afterwards-kind of embarrassing to run a couple of miles only to crawl to my bed with absolutely zero energy.... but my dream is be like Bo, a 10, a perfect 10. This week, I scheduled an afternoon to pamper me. I hear of women getting facials all the time and decided to make an appointment as part of my Splurge-on-Me day. I guess I'm not like the other women out there because the receptionist people were stunned when I said I am new to facials. As I tried to relax and enjoy "the experience", I begin to compare it all to a car wash.
First, Christopher, the aesthetician who seemed overly eager to start my transformation, placed the steamer near my face. I felt the warm spray but started to consider it like the "pre-rinse" cycle I turn to when I wash my car. The only real difference is that I don't have mud, snow, or bird poop caked on to my face. Christopher continues to tell me to relax as he spreads some pumpkin mixture on my face. My cheeks tingle and he lathers it all into my skin. This would be the "soap with brush" cycle now being applied to my face. Again, Christopher emphasizes that facials should be relaxing. But my brain races and I keep wondering what he is putting on my face: a thick layer that smells like a fresh salad with cucumber, lemon something, etc. I want to ask exactly which meal he is making on my face but can't because I keep getting "rinsed" off with hot (really smokin' hot towels). Then there's the final extra layer of lotions that are massaged into my skin. I think this would be the "wax" treatment that finished my entire car wash...I mean, facial experience. I walked out realizing that I did feel new and refreshed or was that just the "new car smell"? Hmmmmm..... This week, a friend posted on FB a quick video of her daughter talking for the first time. My friend shared that this was a milestone because her daughter had been diagnosed with apraxia. I gulped and remembered those days of working through apraxia with my own daughter. I messaged my friend that I too had been on that journey and I could share our story.
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AuthorFun-loving mom to 4 kids and 1 big puppy. Fifth grade teacher of amazing little people who have never ending things to share with me. Love to discuss Jesus, diy projects, and life. Trying to keep it simple: Love Jesus, love people. Archives
December 2021
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