Emmalie's Story

My girls are blessed with a creative streak, as are many children.  I'm blessed with a blog with which to subject you all to that creativity.  Emmalie narrated a story to Bethanie today, after watching her sisters do stories for school.  What follows is a keeper.


"I love all of my family", by Emmalie Kimball; age 5

Emmalie and Beth went on a walk with all my family.  We got some ice cream and we found a garage sale to get a pillow.  And we went on a sleepover with Uncle Jerry. Only two people, it was me and Delanie. We watched Sharkboy and Lavagirl and read a book and did a puzzle.  And then all of us went ice skating and we watched the Grinch steal Christmas one more time before we leave. And we went to Florida to go on all the rides. And Alex came too. And all of us drew pictures and played a game (Sorry). We played Chutes and ladders and we slept with Casadie and Mom. Fynnlie was sleeping with us. We found spacemen in the sky. And we put the puzzle away. And then my pencil broke and Mommy fixed it. It was a pencil with an eraser. And we watched Ned's Declassified. And we draw pictures of anything we want. And then we all loved each other. And then we get a lollipop. And then Delanie got hurt. She got a papercut on a box. And Fynnlie was crying and she dumped all the pencils.  Then we draw a car. Wait, I'm not done yet. Then we went on a field trip. It was Disney and Universal to get a milkshake. And then was a bird come onto our house to eat all of it.  Then we got all our money to go to the theater. We saw a unicorn and Daddy went to a vampire movie. Daddy said "AAAH!" and went to our unicorn movie. Daddy got stuck and all our family was stuck and a girl was helping us. We got out. Our car got stuck in the mud. And the guy said "No drawing on the car!" and then he said "You can draw on the car whenever you want." It was  a police officer. He said "Fine, you win." We said "Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah!"  And we played Peanut Butter and Jelly together. We lived happily ever after and we made dresses for everyone. Daddy got a suit and a tie. We played chess.

The end.

Emmalie will provide signed autographs of this masterful compilation of memories for the low-low-price of 5.99.plus shipping and handling. No sales tax!

Motherhood: Addicted to Love

There are so many moments that make up the experience we call motherhood.  There are "awww" moments, where the little special snowflakes snuggle up and say something very sweet, like "Mommy, I love to snuggle witch you."  Those make-your-heart-melt moments that we all live for, right??  I have a house of 5 girls, and I get plenty of those moments.  Someone always wants a snuggle.


There are the "Doh!" moments, too, that translate into something like this: "Mommy, you have such pretty brown eyes..they are the same color as my poop!" or..."I love your big boobies Mommy, they're squishy!" which is usually accompanied by the speaker pounding on them mightily in order to achieve maximum bounce.

Also, there are the unfortunate and frequent "ARGH!" moments when you are so angry and frustrated at something the snowflake said or did that you are strongly considering reverse International adoption, and you're about to speed-dial Angelina Jolie. These are the moments when you wish Nebraska (?) or whatever state that was, hadn't repealed their ill-advised 'drop off your unwanted child' law that neglected to specify age, resulting in sullen teenagers from neighboring states being left at hospitals and police stations all across the state.  Some of these moments include: "I'm sorry I gave Fynnlie a permanent marker to play with Mommy.  She drew on the kitchen floor with it.  Well, I kind of helped.  Actually, it was all me, Fynnlie was sleeping.  See how I drew a picture of YOU Mommy? I made you with some squishy boobies."

All of these ring familiar with Moms across the nation.  But let's explore what happens when they all flash-bang together in the middle of the night.  When Aww, Doh! and ARGH! collide. It's the trifecta of Mommy moments, and though rare, is a unique and special part of parenting, so you must be watchful.

The scene: It's 12:00 midnight.  I was going to write 11:30, so I didn't look like such a horrific parent, but then I said, what the hell, I'm all in.  So it's midnight (ok..1:00am, really..) and the girls had stayed up late (you think?) watching Prince Caspian.  Casadie (8 years old) was bopping back and forth between the movie and the schoolroom, where she was trying to bang out some schoolwork that she had been working on all day.  So the movie is over, the little girls stumble blindly toward bed, and Casadie is all smiles.  She begs to sleep with me in my bed (Daddy works the night shift) and I decline, telling her Mommy needs a night without an elbow/foot/knee/4 fingers and a toe slamming into her side/back/face.  Casadie's face falls. Then brightens. She decides to "clean up the living room" before she goes to bed.  I decline, and point her toward the stairs.  She heads up. She comes back down to hug me. (aww, moment).  She goes back up.  She comes back down to tell me I forgot her vitamin, again. (Doh! moment) She goes back up.  She comes back down to ask me if tomorrow we can play Dad's electronic battleship game. (ARGH moment!)  "GO TO BED!!!!" I scream.  She deflates, and slowly...ever so slowly... plods her way up the stairs in dramatic fashion.  Several long minutes later, I see her standing quietly on the landing....

I'm building up to a 'OMGIMAKILLYOU' moment, when she speaks softly.  "Mommy..? I don't know what it is..I think I'm just..I don't know...addicted to you! I can't be away from you!" (aww, moment)  I allow the hug, knowing that I'm being manipulated, but loving every second. After all, she's in that sweet spot of 8 years old, where for now, snuggling with Mom is still cool. It won't be long before BOP magazine (is that still in print??) and other such teenybopper things will consume her life and I'll be dropped like a limp piece of broccoli.  She continues. "It's like..it's like..well, it's like you're a drug. Kind of like how, you know, you were addicted to Diet Coke, and now you're addicted to Spaghetti and you know, it kind of makes you fat..." (Doh! moment)  "It's like that, and you're my..my..my sugar, I think. I'm addicted to your sugar, and I need to spend lots of time with you.  (awww, moment)  We snuggle and hug for a few minutes, and she looks slyly up at me, sees me tearing up a wee bit, and says: "That makes you feel good, right? NOW can I sleep in your bed??" (ARGH! Moment!!!) She got an "A" for effort, a not-as-gentle-as-it-should-have-been love pat on the butt, and a smiled admonishment to stay in bed.  I went to bed, confused as usual.  Motherhood. It's tagline could be: "This is your heart.  This is your heart on crack."

So what are some of YOUR awww, Doh! and Argh! moments?  Any "OMGIMAKILLYOU" moments you want to share? Anyone interested in a shared roadtrip to Nebraska, and see if they're still allowing the sullen teenager dropoffs?

Dream Interpretation

It's become a running joke between my husband and I, that I have intensely bizarre dreams after eating a Walery's pizza. Something in that spicy pepperoni sets my imagination to whirling and I wake up in awe of myself, and usually sort of peeved that I'm missing out on the rest of the story.  I will often try to go back to sleep in exactly the same position I was in, hoping to pick up where I left off.

Bill is often put in the unenviable position of having to listen to me rattle off these crazy adventures.  Most of the time, he just mutters something like "We'd better lay off the Walery's..." or something completely unhelpful.  If he's feeling chipper, he'll sometimes try to interpret them for me.  "The barking dog signifies your irritation at bill collectors, and the blue diamond embedded in the tree symbolizes your angst about moving from our home on Blue Sapphire drive, as you felt like you had roots there..." blah blah blah.  It's usually amusing, and sometimes, when the dream is really odd, and he gets to interpreting, I decide to leave out one or more of the weirdest details, for fear that he'll realize that I'm completely bonkers, and he'll run screaming into the night.

Here's one I'll share with you dear reader...and if you feel like you want a crack at getting inside my head, you just jot your interpretations below.  Oh, and before I start, I should mention that we've introduced a new dream generator.  This whopper was brought to us by hot, buttered popcorn. Munched with real butter, whilst watching an episode of Glee.

It begins with Bill, Casadie and I driving down Lancaster drive here in Salem. We are on a publicity tour for Casadie, as she has just finished being the voice of the girl in "Bolt."  In the dream, I was describing her part as "she's the voice of Hannah Montana", so that's how I know it was the Bolt movie. Anyway....as we were driving, we turned onto Center street, and passed Roth's supermarket. Behind Roth's, I saw a HUGE grizzly bear. I pointed it out to Bill and Casadie, and then we saw the Papa grizzly, and two babies.  Bill and I discussed that Salem's animal control was so abysmally underfunded that even Grizzlies got to walk around unimpeded. We weren't particularly worried, but more fascinated by seeing them up close.  Our hotel was directly behind Roth's (whoo hoo..spectacular location, Disney..thanks! *rampant sarcasm alert*), and our room was on the 7th or 8th floor.   While Bill napped on the bed (typical), Casadie and I looked out our window to see if we could still see the grizzlies.  We noticed a huge menagerie of woodland-type animals; Moose, raccoons, skunks, etc...and a huge crowd was growing. Somehow, the random grizzly sighting had morphed into some sort of forest-themed petting zoo.  Casadie and I wandered down, and got our pictures taken with the animals.  They all appeared to be unrestrained, and when I voiced some concern to the manager, he pointed out the invisible fencing (very tron-like). This satisfied me, and we went back to the room.   Here, my dream went from a vivid but fairly normal to completely wacky.

The next thing that happened was that I was looking out the side window (we had a corner room, ) and I could hear/feel something huge approaching (think Jurassic park-type tension)  Out of the woods, came a HUGE animal/monster thing that was on two legs. It didn't walk, however, it sort of hopped. Like a kangaroo I guess.?? and it was approaching the other wing of the hotel. Everyone was in danger! I watched in horror as this huge creature made it way to eat us all.  To describe it is difficult..I have a very clear picture in my mind, and if I had any drawing ability whatsoever, I'd upload something...but alas, you'll have to settle for my descriptive skills. Start with an image in your head of the abominable snowman from Monsters Inc. That was the approximate body/head proportions and the right shape...It was roughly 40 ft tall...and dark brown.  Furry all over, but it's  head had more hair, kind of like a big, spiky mane.  It was wearing some sort of clothes, but there was no detail there. It looked awful. and mean. and hungry.

It hopped right up to the building, and glared inside at the -what I assumed to be-terrified occupants. I watched horror as he opened his mouth, teeth bared, and then proceeded to vomit all over the side of the building.  He then turned and hopped his nasty self over to our building...his height put him mouth-nose to our window, and yes, he proceeded to vomit again, all down the side of our hotel.  I was screaming for Bill and Casadie to wake up, because i was certain that once he emptied his stomach, he was going on a feeding frenzy and we were the targets.

It was at this terrifying, unfortunate moment......that I woke up.  I woke up saying WHAT....THE....HELL...WAS .....THAT????????   I just laid there for the longest time, trying to figure out what had just happened.   Here it is...over a week later, and I'm STILL trying to figure it out.  Every night, I nervously go to bed, wondering if he'll make another appearance.

I'm flummoxed on this one, friends and readers.  Help me out. Give me your wildest interpretation theories below. I'm looking forward to your input on my mental state.  I think. *be gentle..I turn 40 on Friday..I'm fragile this week!*  (that can't POSSIBLY fit into this dream, can it??)

Meeting Nowah Why-Lee *name changed to protect the innocent

As many of you know, my daughter Casadie and I got to spend 3.5 weeks in California as part of her acting camp.  During the day, I had errands and tasks galore to complete, but always kept a wary eye out for celebrities to report back to you with.  I was closing in on the last days with nothing to share but a fuzzy distant shot of John Leguizamo at Universal.  Discouragement was high, but then, a chance encounter with one of the great loves of my life salvaged the trip.  This is my account of that day. 100% factual in every detail. Honestly.  

(*editor’s note: we’ll see. *author’s note: seriously, it’s true!)

It was the first performance night for our kids. All of the parents were congregating outside, waiting for our cue to go in.  It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the chatting was pleasant. We were all eager to see our children do well.  I was standing by the door of the small café that was attached to the theater.  As I gazed toward Santa Monica Boulevard, a smartly-dressed man strode by. 

(*editors note: He was NOT smartly dressed, he looked like a bum! *author’s note: shut up! It’s my story..let me tell it!) 

I immediately recognized him as the famous doctor from that famous doctor show! My heart skipped a beat or two, even more so when our eyes met, and he winked at me seductively.  As I drew a sharp breath in surprise, he chuckled, and turned into the café. 

(*editor’s note: He did NOT wink! OR chuckle!) 

I stood, frozen for a moment, while rapidly trying to decide what the etiquette would be in Hollywood. Would it be ok for me to ask for an autograph or photo? Would he turn me down flat? I wondered if anyone else recognized him...so far no one else was kicking up a fuss, so I followed him inside the café.  He ordered his drink, a super-tall, mocha, double-light, half-fat, vege-chino, vanilla caramel strawberry frappe.  He ordered a second drink..a hot chocolate. My heart skipped a beat…that was MY favorite drink…could it be? No, of course not.

He stepped back outside, and into the melee. The other moms were on to him. Flashbulbs were popping everywhere.  Like the professional that he is, he graciously allowed a few photographs, including one with me. He chatted with me briefly while someone figured out my camera, asking us why we were there, crowding his favorite café.  He made pleasant conversation with me, took our photograph together, and then he was gone.  I very maturely and calmly 

(*editor’s note: HA!) 

walked about half a block away so that I could text my friends about this very nice moment.   

(*Editor’s note: all of the following is a complete and utter fabrication. It simply didn’t happen. *Author’s Note: You’re not fun at all, you stupid editor. Shut up and stay out of my head!!) 

All of a sudden, I heard “Hey…hey! Over here!” A loud stage whisper called my attention to a side alley.  I walked over, and was surprised to find Nowah peeking out at me.  He beckoned me to come closer and when I stepped into the alley, he relaxed and smiled.  “I noticed you right away. I could tell you’re a big fan of mine, right?”  Coquettishly, I replied “why, yes, I’ve watched you once or twice on that doctor show.” He laughed heartily..”Once or twice, yeah..that sounds right. Walk with me.”  He handed me the second cup. I looked at him with wide eyes, and he just said “Hot chocolate, right?”  We walked northbound for a block or two, through a cluster of small houses that seemed misplaced in such a dirty, industrial area.

We chatted lightly about the acting camp my daughter was a part of. He seemed interested and was very encouraging.  He spoke of his new show, a post-apocolyptic alien type thing. He said he was enjoying it very much.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of a small bungalow. He said “This is my place”, and opened the small metal gate, and ushered me through.  As we entered the house, I noticed it was definitely a bachelor pad. I expressed in the most polite way that I could, that it didn’t seem like the kind of place I would think he would live in, given his celebrity status. Chuckling, (I love how he chuckles), he said “this is just the place I stay in when I’m in Hollywood. It’s close to my studio.”

He set down his super-tall, mocha, double-light, half-fat, vege-chino, vanilla caramel strawberry frappe on the end table near the door.  Taking two steps, he reached for my hot chocolate, and set it down as well. Then, he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. Shocked..I didn’t respond for a moment, but then I stepped back and said “No, Nowah! I’m married!” Smiling, he said “But, Jennifer…you’re so beautiful. I love voluptuous women who are passionate and fiery. Be mine!”  I remained firm, and reiterated my love for Bill. I said I was flattered by his attention, but that we would have to remain friends only.  He looked sad, forlorn.  He said “I’ve never been turned down before, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met! Remember me if you ever change your mind!” I looked into his eyes, and put my finger to his lips. “No, Nowah, it can never happen. There can never be anything between us. You must forget me.”  As he wiped away the single tear that coursed down his cheek, I grabbed my hot chocolate. No sense in letting it go to waste, after all.  I looked at him again, and said my parting words. “Your new show is very good…can your post-apocolyptic band of alien fighters find a Walgreen’s to raid? Your character needs to find a razor. You’re much better looking when your cleanly shaven.”

I turned and stepped outside, closing the door behind me.  I could hear Nowah sobbing softly inside.  My heart melted for him, but my resolve didn’t waver.  I marched down the steps, and back up the block, ready to sit and watch my darling daughter in her debut performance.

When it was over, I stepped outside to wait for Casadie to appear. The crowd was thick with parents and performers all greeting each other with kisses and flowers, agents walking around with thick sheaves of headshots, chatting with those they wanted to pursue.  A few times, I noticed a tall, good-looking man with a beard peeking around trees and lightposts at me.  Oh Nowah, how I hated to break your heart.

(*Editor’s note: does anyone here realize how DELUSIONAL the author is?? I mean SERIOUSLY. DE-LU-SION-AL. With a capital D.)

(*Author’s note: You’re just jealous, you ridiculous editor. Just sitting around editing people’s blogs. What kind of life is that? Just because Nowah falls in love with a  voluptuous mother of six that he cannot be with, isn’t a good reason for you to go crazy in the editorial notes.  Get a life. Really.)

(*Editor’s note part 2: Seriously. This blog is a complete fabrication. This did not happen. She saw him at the café, got a picture with him, chatted briefly, and then he left.  She was a hot mess for 15 minutes afterwards, but the whole seduction thing did not happen. This blog takes no responsibility for this. Nowah, don’t sue. Author has nothing but her imagination.)

Our California Adventure Begins!!!

The life of a compulsive planner is fraught with danger.  If not danger, at least drama.  If not drama, at least some irritating inconveniences.  Today, Friday, we were supposed to get on the road by noon, according to my gloriously detailed timeline.  But, after some last-minute primping appointments went long, we ended up deliriously late.  I mean, when you’ve got an adorable 8 year old wannabe actress ready to hit Hollywood, you can’t skip the basics.  So we got our nails done, had a spray-tan, got a weave to make her hair thicker, tattooed some eyeliner on so she always looks perky, a little seaweed/sea salt wrap for brighter skin, a bikini wax, and a couple of botox injections, and then we were ready to go!

Ok, I’m kidding.  But do you REALLY want to read that I had to get gas, and the cheapest way for us is to go alllll the way down Lancaster to the Fred Meyer where we get three cents off a gallon, and that I had to pick up homemade chocolate chip cookies at Grandma’s, and battle the crowds at Winco to purchase 4 weeks worth of Spaghettios and Apple Jacks?  Oh, wait..you WOULD rather know that I’m human??  Ok, suit yourself.

So anyway, some things we learned in 24 hours on the road, and in our first couple of days.

1.       Two Kimballs with baby bladders can make a 15 hour drive into a 24 hour drive.

2.       Expecting Casadie to entertain me and keep me awake was an exercise in futility.  After an hour and a half of excited chatter, she was out like a light and snoring.  This continued off and on throughout the day.

3.       When you pull over to pee on the side of the road, and you painstakingly park the car at JUST the right angle so it’s less obvious that you’re illegally participating in public urination, and a trillion cars are passing you at 80mph, and next to the freeway is about 500 cows….at least 10 of those cows will stare. Uncomfortably so.  When they get their fill of the peep show, they will immediately go moo to their friends, and it spreads like wildfire throughout the herd.  200 miles later, cows were seen ripping up the “Eat mor Chiken” signs, and posting new ones that said “Got bladder?” Damn gossipy bovines.  At least I keep my udders covered, you bitches.

4.       Some idiot, somewhere, at some time, decided that it would be a good business venture to take ACTUAL Scorpions and place them in lollipops. That you put in your mouth.  They looked like the amber-covered mosquitos from Jurassic Park.  I’d sooner battle a velociraptor than lick one of them damn pops…  On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED NOTE,,..Bethanie..we got you a souvenir!

5.       One hotel’s “kitchen package” is not necessarily like another’s.  We have been temporarily bumped to another extended stay facility due to capacity, and the kitchen is stocked with exactly 2 forks, 2 knives, 1 spoon and a pan.  My other place is supposed to have wine glasses, pot holders, artisian cheese slicers from Italy, a melon baller and a 214-piece Tupperware set among the more tepid offerings.  These managers have no idea who they are dealing with.  To downgrade a former Disney Manager who brought a block of Tillamook Cheddar cheese and now has NO GRATER TO GRATE IT WITH…heads are gonna roll,  I tell you.

6.       Do NOT pack your favorite jeans on the bottom of a 700-gallon suitcase. You will experience 10 minutes of extreme panic that you have no pants for a month, and WILL be experiencing every teenage nightmare of being pantsless.  In Hollywood.

7.       While I did find my pants and do not have to subject the greater Hollywood population to me being pantsless, they do have to deal with me being off my feed from not having my hair dryer.  Yes, the hotel has a substitute...but you just don’t understand.  I’ve had my trusted hair dryer for 20 years.  Yes, 20 years.  It’s a professional model, so the buttons are on the wrong side, and I’m used to it.  Any old substitute won’t work...because if you know me, you know I have thick hair...these little crappy “squeeeeeeeeeeeeee” type motors won’t cut it.  I need a reconditioned 747 jet engine strapped to a vent and an electrical cord.  Seriously.

8.       I CANNOT sleep in the same bed as Casadie for 3.5 weeks.  I was looking forward to the snuggle time, because she’s such a good snuggler, but OMG, that girl flip flops like a trout slapped up on a beach.  I swear she was kicking me on purpose.  I have bruises that are in places I didn’t know could bruise.  Yes I do.  I lasted exactly 15 minutes after she fell asleep before I jumped to our other bed. When we are moved back to our studio apartment we’re supposed to have, that girl is relegated to an air mattress, which I very intelligently threw in the car, just in case.

9.       Casadie is very astute.  When trying to convince her to go on California Screamin’ when we were let into the parks by friends, I explained that “even Aunt Gina went on it, and she’s a chickenbutt!”  Casadie retorted, VERY OFFENDED, “Aunt Gina’s not a chickenbutt!!! She’s just short!”  As I nearly flipped my car on the freeway from laughing so hard, Casadie further mused “It’s true. She’s not as tall as real ladies, but I love her anyway.”

10.   Do not allow yourself to get hungry and dehydrated before going on the giant fun wheel at Disney’s California Adventure.  I’m not joking.  I’m doing this trip on a severe budget, so while in the parks, I bought meals for the girl and just picked a little off her plate, figuring it would hold me over until we got back to the hotel.  Casadie wanted the swinging cars, which are jaw-droppingly scary if you aren’t expecting it.  If you board with a slight hunger headache, and the beginnings of heat exhaustion…fuggedabowdit.  I learned I have a whole new capacity for “throwing up a lil’ bit in my mouth”.  Who wants to puke in a cage with 3 strangers and sit there and stare at it for 20 more minutes?  Not this chicka. “Gulp.”  The last time I got motion sickness was a whale-watching cruise 17 years ago when I was pregnant with Bethanie.  I don’t GET motion sickness.  Totally ruined the ride, and my very nice chat with my very nice friend Erick who met me there since we haven’t seen each other for several years.

11.   On a much nicer note, I learned that Casadie is a sharp and keen observer of details.  She THRILLED future imagineer Alex Williams by pointing out subtle themeing details at the parks.  She knew it was an oddity and should be considered wrong to place “Brother Bear” references on an “UP” themed area. (It had previously been a Brother Bear area, and Disney left several references to BB intact…it’s policy of late being to cater to the lowest denominator of Guest, it saves money that way.

12.   Finally, I’ll sign off saying that I learned this camp is going to be one rollicking roller coaster ride for Casadie and myself.  As a camper, she gets INTENSE preparation from working actors, and as a Mom, I get intense preparation in being the best type of parent for a working child actor.  Agents and Casting directors sometimes cast for the whole package, knowing they have to work with the parents almost as much.  I’ve learned about Coogan Savings Accounts, Work Permits…etc.  We also learned that Casadie will already be part of a commercial shoot on Wednesday…Adrian is using all of his campers in the background for a website commercial.  More details as I get them.  She also gets to attend a taping of Good Luck Charlie, including a backstage tour and photos/autographs.  I’ve got one bouncing-off-the-walls kiddo here.

See you later, so much to do!  Casadie looks a little tired…now where did I lay that botox syringe????  J

***For those readers not following me on Facebook....This post refers to my daughter Casadie who desires to be an actress, and her opportunity to attend an acting camp in Hollywood with Adrian R'Mante, from the Suite Life of Zach and Cody, as well as other celebrities.  Casadie and I are in Southern California for 3.5 weeks so she can have this adventure.

Deep Pressure

Picture yourself, laying under a sheet, in a darkened room…soft music playing, and in walks a hot Russian massage therapist.  He quietly asks “Where do you need special attention?” and for a brief moment, you want to tell him. Ha!  But then you lie, and say “Nowhere *special*, but my shoulders have been tensing up.”

No, this is not some daydream or trashy romance novel; this was my real massage experience just the other day.  My life has been stressful lately.  Wait.  I need to rephrase that...my life has been over-the-moon stressful.  Highly agitating.  Pressure-and-stress-beyond-what-the-typical-full-grown-adult-can-handle kind of stressful.  Cross country move for 7.5 people (one kid staying behind to go to college, but he’ll be travelling with us for the summer, and I’m taking his stuff) and a dog; no heater in our house through the winter, and no A/C now, so our house is hotter inside than it is outside. Car troubles, new job responsibilities, pest problems in our house, oodles of people to see and commitments to meet before we move…it all adds up to Mom being shipped off to the funny farm.

So, for Christmas, my very generous mother gave me a very generous gift certificate to my favorite massage studio.  There, I found the nirvana that is: male therapists.  I had never had a male therapist before…being a large, ample, pooh-sized woman, it’s an uncomfortable and embarrassing thing to be semi-nude in a dark room with a man other than your loving and supportive husband…but one day, I simply had no choice, so I accepted.  AND I WILL NEVER GO BACK.  I have a theory about why my male therapist experience was so life-changing.   I prefer extremely firm pressure.  Stress-filled muscles like mine, hidden under a couple of extra layers of….skin, (yeah, extra skin!) require someone with sharp elbows, steel bones, and a sadist’s outlook on life.  If I don’t get an elbow ground down deep into my shoulder blade, it just ain’t gonna cut it for me.  It’s not a true massage if I’m not near tears at least a few times during the hour.  Yes,  yes... soothing soft touch is wonderful too, and I want a balance, but my muscles need to be beaten into submission.

When you ask a woman to do this, they really have to ramp it up.  Let’s face it…political correctness aside, we ladies generally are not as strong as men.  So to apply the REALLY hard pressure that I need, a female therapist has to go beyond her normal application of pressure, and summon up all her strength. This rarely, in my limited massage experience, lasts long enough to truly work out the kinks.  After a ferocious burst of effort, I can feel the strength ebb out of her fingers and arms...and eventually, the huffing and puffing begins while she slowly winds down and tries to get her heart rate back to normal.  I end up feeling bad for them, and the next time she asks if she's doing it hard enough, I say "Oh yeah, that's perfect."  *sigh*

But for a guy…they often come equipped with near-monstrous levels of strength.  During THEIR massage training, they simply have to learn to harness their strength, and get to spend the entire time learning to perfect the art of soothing, supplicating and caressing.  So when I say “I like firm pressure…like REALLY hard,” their eyes light up, and their little boy excitement of being able to use their entire physical range is fun to watch.  They spend the entire massage asking constantly if the pressure is too much, and I purr back “No, it’s perfect…more, please.”

So Dimitri and Austin at Hand & Stone spa at the Loop, I salute you.  I thank you for spoiling me for any future female massage therapist in the world.   All inappropriate references to a hot Russian asking me if I ‘want any more special areas taken care of’ aside, my husband might thank you too…I have not asked him nearly as often lately to work out my knotty (naughty..haha, see that very appropriate word play I inserted in there??) shoulders for me, because I come home a melted puddle of happily relaxed, bruised and subjugated muscle…ready to do battle with the world.  At least until I enter that 97 degree house and do battle with that itty-bitty bug.

Love Notes

I realize that it’s been a long time since I’ve posted on this blog.  I extend my heartfelt apologies to anyone who uses the blog as their toilet reading. (Yes, I have followers that do exactly that.)  Since early February, I’ve been deeply involved in arranging our upcoming cross-country move.  I will definitely be sharing some stories and thoughts, both funny and unfunny about that whole process and the thoughts and feelings behind it.  Today though, in a slightly related-mostly unrelated topic, however, I want to talk about love notes.

Unabashedly, I am a sucker for love notes.  Somewhere in my primordial ooze, a gene established itself as a complete romantic, mushy-gushy scrapbook type of individual, and I cherish and love each note of encouragement, love, affection, holiday greeting, etc that passes through my fingers and my heart.  What this means is that as I pack and purge, I am constantly faced with an impossible choice…to save or toss this amazingly precious bit of paper?  Always. always the choice is to save it, after all, it says so much..and so the packing pile grows.

The love notes can be from anyone.  Of course, notes from my husband and beautiful children melt my heart and are always a good way for any of them to get out of trouble.  And they know this.  My quiet, introspective husband writes a damn fine love note and although you, dear reader will never know their contents, you are certainly allowed to be jealous.  He’s goooood.

But right at this moment, as I make one of the biggest changes in my life, after some of the most stressful years of my life, I find that some of the most precious love notes I have are those that came from my Cast when I was their manager.  Adventureland-Liberty Square Cast Members are people exuding with personality and vitality, and filled with creativity and with no fear of expressing it.  As the job, schedule, policies and other assorted work-related headaches are more extreme than necessary for what should be such a magical place, the Cast was often left feeling discouraged and without advocates.  When I would step in and assist my Cast with whatever they need, or at least listen with a sympathetic ear, I would often return to my office after a long shift and find little love notes written on post-its and pasted to my cubicle.  Anything from the silly: “Jennifer is the lemon in my iced tea” to the suck-up: “Your kids are the cutest kids on the planet!”  Frequently, they were veiled taunts at my other team members: “Jennifer is my favorite manager!” surrounded by swirly hearts.  Once, after loaning my jacket to a former Cast Member who was visiting from England, I put the jacket on 3 days later, reached into the pocket, and found a little slice of sweetness in the form of a hidden note from her.  That note, worn and faded, still resides in the same pocket, and always warms my heart when I wear the jacket.

My cast also enjoyed my subversive ways of dealing with ridiculous management dictates.  My boss, an unnamed ass who will go down in the annals of spectacularly ineffectual and uninspired pseudo-leaders, once pulled me into the office and demanded that I “do something about all those notes.”  I asked what he wanted me to do with them.  He replied that my desk looked messy and disorganized because of all those notes and “all those pictures of your kids.”  Now, keep in mind, other managers had so much Disney/Baseball/Simpsons/Whatever memorabilia that there was no room to write or effectively use a keyboard on their desk, but MY desk was the problem desk.   Even HIS office was a mish-mash of Disney crap, Dolly Parton altar, and ugly cat pictures, but I was supposed to remove the photos of my children.  No waaaay, Mister.  I clung to his claim that it was disorganized, and promptly walked out to my desk, removed everything, and meticulously put it back, in nice neat rows.  All pink post-its were lined up vertically to the millimeter; all the smaller, white ones went horizontally across my cubby door.  My childrens' pictures in frames were lined up in a precise row across the back of my desk, in age order, and all the snapshots under my clear plastic blotter magically became arranged by size.  All the cast leaving notes in the future followed my lead, and each subsequent note continued whatever pattern suited it best, and never did the subject come up again. 

Upon my layoff, one of my greatest fears was that during the packing process, my beautiful and meaningful notes would get “lost.”  Thankfully, a friendly face was assigned to pack up my things, and very sweetly she included every single note.  They reside in a box, ready for the day when I can go through them without bawling my face off, and can put them in a scrapbook of my Disney career.  Each Cast Member who took 15 seconds on some random day to thank me, to brighten my spirits, or to leave me a reminder of some crazy inside joke has no idea how much those notes buoyed me on my difficult days, and how they remain close to my heart to this day.

I challenge you today to write a love note to someone.  Make it long and heartfelt, make it short and silly.  Make it spontaneous and meaningless, or a ridiculous declaration of your love.  Whatever.  Just make someone happy for at least the time it takes to read it, and whether or not they are a pack-ratting scrapper like me who will save and cherish it, it will make an imprint on their heart.