Tippy Toes and Tantrums

Home Gallery: The Wall of Frames 2.0

Soon after we moved in to this house, I bought a big frame and print for our living room wall. It seemed huge until I put it on the wall where it looked sadly disproportionate to the room. But still it stayed there, much like my half finished wall mounted shelf in my office. I'll get to it...eventually, I'd think.

About two years ago, I ditched the big print, bought a few smaller frames and put them up, but they didn't fill the space either. I bought a few more frames and made Kevin re-hang the whole thing. (He loooved that. There is nothing he loves more than hear me say, "A little more to the left, more, more, that's too much, back, back. Oh this is all wrong. Forget it." Ahem.) Eventually, it happened. It took the entirety of my 40x40 year, but the frames are up and filled. Filling them turned out to be the hardest part.

All of the art was purchased on Etsy. The only piece I created was the papercutting at the bottom center. I've wanted to try papercutting for some time, but it wasn't until recently that I pulled out my X-Acto knife and got down to work.

It was relaxing and meditative. I thought it would be fun, but I didn't expect to be so peaceful. Which is a good thing when taking up a craft featuring a knife.

Stress and How it Deformed My Face

I was not stung by a swarm of bees, even though it looks that way. I have a cold sore - maybe the second or third I've had in my life - but this one is special because it is called a Super Cold Sore. While exciting to be called special and super, the lower right quadrant of my lips is puffed out enough to provide shade for Angelina Jolie and her lips. When I have a stress-induced freak out, I don't just breakout or get a cold sore, I go for the knockout punch and develop a Super Cold Sore. Go me.

This whole thing makes sense after spending an unhealthy amount of time Googling my problem. A few years ago after Rocket was born, I got the worst canker sore of my life. I've gotten occasional canker sores for as long as I can remember, but the one a few years ago was massive. I patiently waited for it to go away, but one day while at a sewing class, my mouth started to feel additionally weird, then on the way home my right eye started to water, which I blamed on seasonal allergies. That night at dinner, I took a sip of milk and the milk shot out the right side of my mouth as if I'd intended to spray it all over the table. When I ran to the bathroom to assess my face, I realized my whole right side wasn't functioning normally. It was starting to feel numb and was moving slowly. By the next morning, the right side of my face was essentially dead.

I had Bell's palsy.

My friends asked why I didn't freak out or worry that I'd had a stroke and my only answer was that my grandfather had Bell's palsy when I was in high school, so I was fully aware of it. Also, other than my face and mouth, everything else was normal, including my blood pressure. When I went to the doctor that morning, I was a little nervous that it was something worse, but my suspicion of Bell's palsy was confirmed.

For those who have never heard of it, Bell's palsy is a nerve disorder where the seventh cranial nerve becomes aggravated, causing paralysis or weakness to facial muscles, generally only on one side. After seeing my general practitioner, a neurologist, and the all mighty Google, it was assumed that my giant stress-induced canker sore aggravated the seventh nerve, which likely swelled, but due to lack of space in it's little canal to accommodate the swelling, the nerve was damaged. My neurologist said he'd long suspected that there is a genetic component to Bell's palsy because genes likely define the size of the tubes or canals protecting our nerves. To him, having a small or large canal would likely run in a family, affecting the susceptibility to Bell's palsy. It's not life threatening, although some sites will say it can be, and then there was a report during an NFL game where Fox Sports featured Tony Gonzalez, a player who they said cheated death during the off season by surviving Bell's palsy. I had to reverse the DVR because I couldn't believe my ears. I know Fox Sports isn't the best source for health news, but it seemed irresponsible reporting. Or maybe now I should start calling myself a survivor who has also cheated death, even though that's not true.

Typically the nerve damage is only temporary and in a few weeks, it's back to normal. That was kind of my case. I went to acupuncture and physical therapy and while most of the function on the right side of my face returned after about a month, it's never been 100 percent again. My right eyelid is weak, my eye will water under minor fatigue, my smile is no longer symmetrical, and weird things happen on my right side when I sneeze. That doesn't even include the embarrassment or esteem issues.

Going out of the house during the worst three weeks of Bell's palsy was awful. My friends at Clover's preschool were so kind, and one of them who I've always thought was incredibly pretty, really reached out to me, which was exactly the kindness I needed. What was hardest for me was the reaction of baby Rocket. He was probably about nine months old and like a typical baby, he'd look to my face for cues. He'd look at me wondering if what we were watching funny or scary, or if what he was doing okay or dangerous, but my face couldn't help. As he'd stare at me, I'd cry.

I'd like to say the Bell's palsy is in my past, but I think about it almost every time I look in the mirror for more than a second or two. When I started to look into the cold sore thing a little more this weekend, I found that you can get a cold sore inside your mouth and that isn't the same as a canker sore. That giant thing I thought was a canker sore a few years ago was likely an internal cold sore.

My face blows up in response to stress and that sucks. It's a bad cycle because I've spent the last few days fearing that this cold sore and the accompanying swollen lip and numbness will produce Bell's palsy, which only adds to my stress. In the meantime, I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do to lessen the cold sore lifespan, but that doesn't make it any easier when I have a week full of important things ahead. Kevin suggested I tell people that Rocket's head collided with my face, I think it looks more like I fell off my skateboard while dropping in on a massive vert half pipe. Hopefully the lingo will make it sound convincing because I don't own a skateboard.

Regardless, this week I have to once again face the world with my face noticeably askew while I try to pretend everything is normal.

Mybrain Hurts

Rocket wanted to run through a few puddles after school, but I forced him into the car because I had a migraine and was feeling nauseous.

"Yeah, I got a mybrain too," he said. "My brain's been hurting."

He gets me. He also gets his sister. Yesterday, on the drive home from school with a sister who was whining and fake crying (her specialty combo):

Rocket to Clover: You know, cry babies aren't a myth, they're a real thing. Because you're one of them...BOOM!

I don't know where he learned to throw in the "boom" for extra impact, but the rage that erupted from Clover distracted her from whining.

40x40: The Thrilling Conclusion

40x40. Let's start with the low lights, shall we?

What I Didn't Accomplish

Complete a crochet project - I have the project - bought as a kit to make it easier to achieve - ready to go, but it's been sitting in my closet for...a long time.

Complete the Couch to 5K program - I got through week three, even though it took me about three months, but then it got harder to use the high school tracks (lacrosse and soccer practices start crazy early and I don't need an audience of parents watching me) and it got hot, so I took a long break. I'll restart sometime.

Organize idea binders - I've done part of this by organizing the many magazine pages I rip out for future reference. I need to put them in clear sleeves and organize them in the binders. Again, it will happen, some day.

Learn to hem pants, rather get the courage to touch Kevin's hems - Technically it happened because I have the courage to do the hems, but the time has been the thing that's hard to find. Maybe by the end of summer?

Eat at Foreign Cinema - This should have been the easiest item to cross off the list. The problem is that my parents are our main babysitters, but they give late notice on when they're available, and every time Kevin and I had a night out, we couldn't get into Foreign Cinema at a reasonable time. Reservations at 5 p.m. or 9:30 p.m. aren't reasonable for me. I'm 40, after all.

Get the journals for the kids up to date - didn't even start to do this.

Clear out the pre-marriage boxes in our garage - nope. And the sad thing is that it's only three or four boxes.

Listen to the Spanish language CD with the kids - No lo hiciste. The CDs sit untouched in the console table drawer.

What I Accomplished: A Lot

Turning 40

I switched on the radio as I drove away from the preschool this morning. The first song was a live version of Bruce Springsteen's Glory Days and the second was Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield. It was the most appropriate 40th birthday soundtrack: old enough to get caught up in the highlights of my younger days, but still hopeful enough to think the best is yet to come.

Overall, I have no problem with 40. I'm wiser than I was at 30, I care less about some things (relationship drama - any relationship, even Facebook) and care more about the right things (being with the people I care about the most and making certain my kids get into the best colleges possible*). Yet, I had a momentary freak out yesterday - in an airport, where the worst soul searching happens - wishing I could slam on the brakes for just a minute. While 40 doesn't bother me, 41 does. It's the never ending passage of time that picks up speed as one grows older. I never thought I'd turn 16 or 21 because the days moved by so slowly, but now the treadmill is running at full speed and I want to take it down just a notch.

I remember my mom's 40th birthday, which to me, really marks my age. I am old enough to remember my parents at my age. Two years into her 40s, while grocery shopping with my mom, I remember her having a conversation with the male cashier (I think the male part is relevant) where she happened to say that she was 40 years old. My youngest sister, sitting in the cart, corrected her as if she was doing my mom a favor. "No mom, you're 42!" My mom blushed and asked my sister if that was necessary. I was used to my mom lying about her age. She had dark Italian hair that was so brown it looked black, making it easier for her to knock a few years off her age.

Kids change so quickly as they grow up. You may not see someone for a summer, then when you do, you notice the kid has grown three inches. The changes are constant and seem to come so fast. Sometime in the 20s, it feels like looks stay stagnant. Yes, hair colors, cuts, and styles change, but for the most part, my friends and I all looked about the same for a good 10+ years. Now it feels like the next change is beginning. It's so odd to run into an old friend and notice new lines on her face. It's not a judgment, it's an observation of time. And if it's happening to her, it's happening to me. While in New Orleans this week, Kevin and I sat on a couch under a window, which is when I noticed his hair was turning gray. He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but I wanted to ask when this happened. When did the gray hairs happen? Or the laugh lines? Do I need glasses? What did I walk into this room for, anyway? When did we start to age? I know it was always there, happening slowly and quietly, but when you notice it, it's shocking.

This birthday begins a new chapter, but I won't know the story until I look back years from now. My 20s were spent going to college, living in Washington, D.C., going to grad school in Boston, working, moving around some more, and meeting Kevin when I was 27. It was a decade of me. We got married soon after my 30th birthday, ushering in a decade of family. With my kids getting older, they need me slightly less...and less and less with each year. By the time I'm 50, Clover will be in college. So much is going to happen in the next 10 years, and while I can't wait to see what happens, I wish it would happen in slow motion.

*Calm down, it's a joke. We're going to homeschool college them.

A 40x40 conclusion will be posted soon. Spoiler alert: I did not finish the list.

Doll House Fight Club

The kids have rediscovered our doll house, probably because I was quietly considering getting rid of it. They always seem to sense what toys are on the chopping block and conveniently start playing with them before I've moved them into the charity collection.

The funny thing is the differences in their play. When Clover uses the house, the people are always talking out conflict and hurt feelings. Rocket's people aim for hurt.

From his doll house play yesterday (all roles voiced by Rocket):

"Hey, Johnson! Where's Johnson?!"

"Yeah?" (Johnson, presumably)

"Wanna fight, Johnson?"

"Yeah."

"pppfeew puumb pachew!" (Fighting sounds?)

Then it was all over and Johnson went back to whatever he'd been doing before. Is this how boys see the world?

Top Three Tips for Managing Personal Finances

Thank you to TurboTax for sponsoring my writing about household finances. Learn more about how TurboTax can help you find every tax deduction you deserve. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

1. Hold a Stakeholder Meeting. I'm a planner and I like to set clear goals, which means early in the year, I like to have a sit down meeting with Kevin to talk about money, where we stand financially, and potential expenditures for the year. I mean the big stuff, I don't mean that all anticipated trips to Target need to discussed. My husband is not a planner, but he does a good job of refraining from rolling his eyes as I show up at the table with a clip board, paper and a pen to take notes for our official record. We talk about tuition, the mortgage, work that needs to be done on the house, work that we would like to do on the house, etc. It's not a fun meeting but it is so much better than when I was young and would hold my breath while waiting to see my bank statement or when just out of college, I didn't even know if I had $20 to withdrawal from the ATM.

While the kids aren't around during this meeting - they go out of their way to sure we know each and every toy they'd like to own, so their annual planning would look like their list for Santa - we meet at the dinner table during the day so that if a kid happens to walk through, they can see the planning in action. Clover is suddenly aware of how much things cost, which is hilarious because everything is a "rip off," according to her, yet she still wants it all. She's saving for a $150 Harry Potter Lego set, which somehow is not a rip off, yet she seems to think that we're being scammed every time we open our wallets. During one of her rip off rants, we showed her the tuition statement for 2011-12. I can't remember the last time I saw her speechless. Life isn't paid for with a handful of spare change.

2. Keep a Paper Trail. Bank online. I am so thankful that the days of balancing a checkbook in my little check register are over. Maybe it's because I hate math, but I love seeing everything in front of me, in writing, with amounts tabulated. I can see where our money is going, where with cash, I can have $60 in my wallet, only to notice it's reduced down to $4 in two days time. Using a debit card or a credit card makes me more accountable, which is the opposite of what I would have previously thought. Our credit cards are paid off monthly, so calm down, Suze Ormon. If you still pay with checks in stores, assume that everyone in line behind you is cursing you under their breath. That goes for people who pay at the store in $50 or even $100 bills. If you do, everyone either assumes you're a grandmother, just got a birthday card from your grandmother, or you've got some insecurity that requires you to flash the big bills. Either way, you're holding up the line. Next time, use your debit card.

3. Don't Take the Financial Experts Too Seriously. I cannot watch any of the shows or read the books of the people proclaiming to be experts. If you really need basic help getting out of debt, check out one or two of their books from the library, but don't make them your messiah. When questions or problems arise, seek help, but don't freak out in the way that they want you to do. They make a living through panic. It's one thing to seek advice on how to prioritize which debt to pay down first, it's another to feel like you are inadequate. Not to mention, as a home owner in Silicon Valley, I laugh when I hear advice about paying down a mortgage early. I hate that our housing prices are high, but even more, I hate when someone proselytizes about an early pay down, offering tips for those who haven't seen the light. If my down payment was more than the total cost of your house, I don't want to hear from you. While some regions may have a similar cost of living, most are different, which means financial advice is hardly one size fits all. I don't want to hear about the cost of your house, private school tuition, property taxes or the size of your nest egg just like you don't want to hear about mine. Make your plan and stick to it, but don't freak out.

Third Graders with Sephora Rewards

Clover is oblivious - or she just doesn't care - about many pop culture things. She's in love with Jon Stewart, but doesn't give a thought to Justin Bieber. When it was announced that Radio Disney will be at the softball opening ceremonies, the other girls jumped and cheered, while Clover stood there wondering if that meant Mickey Mouse would be there too. I love this about her, and I always credit the hippie school because the kids seem to have their own trends and things to follow, centering mostly on crafts or imaginative play. It's a nice protective bubble, I thought, until this week's homemade makeup invention.

As I went into her classroom on Monday to see an ocean life model they'd built, Clover and the other girls had blue and green powder on their eyelids and in streaks around their faces, which I figured was an improvised costume. When I motioned to their faces and said that I like how they went along with the kelp theme, I was corrected immediately. "This is makeup!" I rolled my eyes and moved on. Kids these days, you know? Using chalk dust as makeup.

At school pick up the next day, clearly Clover had refined her makeup application skills. This time it was only on her eyelids, but it was shocking blue all the way to her eyebrows and she looked like a junior prostitute. She took offense at the look on my face, which was in response to the look on her face, and I tried to explain in child-appropriate terms why this was so startling, but nothing seemed right.

You look like a hooker! I didn't say that because that would beg too many questions.

You look like a contestant on Toddlers & Tiaras! She wouldn't get the reference. Or understand how inappropriate that is, anyway.*

You're prettier without the makeup. No girl EVER believes her mother when she says that.

You are too young! This would only drive her to it even more.

You look like someone who doesn't respect herself. Too harsh.

Before I could find the right words, a carpool kid spoke up. "Why are you wearing that? Why do you want to wear makeup? It looks scary. Are you trying to look scary?" He peppered her with all the questions I wanted to ask, but would have been quickly dismissed by Clover. Carpool kid, Clover's closest friend, was the perfect person to ask her. It ends up she was trying to look scary, she said. It was more like warrior paint. All of this was a great relief until I saw this makeup kit that she made in art class.

Spots for more chalk dust makeup, "fluff" batting as cotton balls, old art sponges, and Q-Tips. Somehow this warrior put together a pretty elaborate makeup kit. It's hard to read, but it says 'makeup" on the purple duct tape. Not scary warrior kit, but makeup. Although, I have no idea what purpose the paperclip serves. Maybe this doubles as an office supplies organizer.

Today, I am ready for her. I'm packing my makeup remover wipes in the car. I always thought that when she was ready to wear makeup (and older), I'd take her to the mall, so that the MAC people could show her how to properly apply a reasonable amount of makeup, ensuring she didn't make the mistakes I did in the seventh grade with purple eyeshadow, making my self look like a junior prostitute or an overgrown Toddlers & Tiaras contestant. I expected this day, just not in third grade.

I would link to the Toddlers & Tiaras show site, but it allows viewers to rate the contestants. Really sick, TLC.