Every morning, I face a difficult decision....do I work out?
After I pour my cup of coffee and sip it quietly while reading my book for approximately five minutes....and then the most pivotal point of my morning arrives.
On one hand, if I work out, then I will have a much better day. I'll have more energy, a better attitude, and I'll be less likely to eat my young in a fit of rage.
On the other hand, my workout clothes are all the way in my closet....and working out takes almost an hour. This hour could be much better spent sitting on the couch with my coffee and reading. Or doing dishes. Or watching whatever's on USA.
When I decide not to exercise, I end up being a total slacker. (Anyone who knows me also knows how I abhor not doing anything). I sit on the couch, I watch TV, I am a total bump on a log. The children stay in their pajamas until we have to go somewhere, or it's time to put on new pajamas. We almost don't eat breakfast or lunch because I can't hardly get up the energy to make either one.
However, if I exercise, I zip through the house cleaning up things as I go. I make breakfast before the kids are awake, lunch is already planned, and every bed gets made, every kid is clothed, every tooth is brushed. If we have to go anywhere, we end up being early.
So, why wouldn't I suck it up and exercise everyday? I do most days....but sometimes I need a break. And didn't you hear me? My workout clothes are all the way in my closet!!!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The difference between #1 and #2
Ivy was my first, and Story was my second. Even though they are only 2 years apart, their early days were totally different.
IVY- in the hospital, I was not going to let Ivy have one single drop of formula, no matter how much those nurses pushed it.
STORY- in the hospital, on the first night when Story cried and the nursing wasn't cutting it, I called for formula.
IVY- she wore Pampers and Huggies in cute designs.
STORY- Since Ivy was still in diapers, Story wore generic...didn't really matter where they were from, but they were the cheapest diaper in the store.
IVY- I knew the exact second when she was going to grow up a size in clothes, and the next size was already washed and hanging in the closet.
STORY- I would be buttoning something, and it wouldn't close! I'd look at the tag and realize I was trying to stuff my 9 month old baby into a 0-3 month onesie. And then I'd still wait a week to get the old baby clothes in the next size out of the attic. I think we skipped 12 month-sized clothes entirely because I kept forgetting to bring them down.
IVY- I could recite how many months, weeks, and days (and sometimes hours!) she had been alive.
STORY- I continued to tell everyone she was six months old until she was 10 months old. I just couldn't remember. One day a woman said, "But I thought you said she was born in March?" I responded, "She was." "But it's January," she said. Oops.
IVY- By the time she could put her feet down and stand on her legs with help, we were holding her hands and letting her pretend to walk. She never crawled, just started walking at 9 months.
STORY- As a result of our previous success with Ivy, I threatened the lives of anyone who tried to help Story walk. She didn't walk until she was 15 months old.
IVY- Every second of Ivy's day was planned. We had playtime, nap time, I did visually stimulating things with toys.....TV watching happened not very often, if at all.
STORY- She was watching TV at 2 weeks, and her "visual stimulation" was watching Ivy play with blocks and me cook.
IVY- rarely sat in a bouncy seat.
STORY- lived in a bouncy seat.
IVY- The doctor was called if her temperature went up to 99.1. Or if she sneezed. Or if I thought she has a tummy ache or an ear infection.
STORY- got Tylenol. I already knew the dosages. :)
IVY- I sang ABC's, kid songs, and lullabies.
STORY- I sang songs by Maroon 5, the Beatles, and Dave Matthews Band.
IVY- when she'd fall, we'd cry with her and wrap her up in band-aids.
STORY- when she fell, we'd say, "Come on, girl, shake it off!"
It's not that we were excellent parents to Ivy and bad parents to Story....it's just the second time around, you know what to expect. Of course, I can see the differences in their personalities- Ivy cries if she stubs her toe and Story would jump off the kitchen counters if allowed......but it's possible that has nothing to do with me, right? :)
IVY- in the hospital, I was not going to let Ivy have one single drop of formula, no matter how much those nurses pushed it.
STORY- in the hospital, on the first night when Story cried and the nursing wasn't cutting it, I called for formula.
IVY- she wore Pampers and Huggies in cute designs.
STORY- Since Ivy was still in diapers, Story wore generic...didn't really matter where they were from, but they were the cheapest diaper in the store.
IVY- I knew the exact second when she was going to grow up a size in clothes, and the next size was already washed and hanging in the closet.
STORY- I would be buttoning something, and it wouldn't close! I'd look at the tag and realize I was trying to stuff my 9 month old baby into a 0-3 month onesie. And then I'd still wait a week to get the old baby clothes in the next size out of the attic. I think we skipped 12 month-sized clothes entirely because I kept forgetting to bring them down.
IVY- I could recite how many months, weeks, and days (and sometimes hours!) she had been alive.
STORY- I continued to tell everyone she was six months old until she was 10 months old. I just couldn't remember. One day a woman said, "But I thought you said she was born in March?" I responded, "She was." "But it's January," she said. Oops.
IVY- By the time she could put her feet down and stand on her legs with help, we were holding her hands and letting her pretend to walk. She never crawled, just started walking at 9 months.
STORY- As a result of our previous success with Ivy, I threatened the lives of anyone who tried to help Story walk. She didn't walk until she was 15 months old.
IVY- Every second of Ivy's day was planned. We had playtime, nap time, I did visually stimulating things with toys.....TV watching happened not very often, if at all.
STORY- She was watching TV at 2 weeks, and her "visual stimulation" was watching Ivy play with blocks and me cook.
IVY- rarely sat in a bouncy seat.
STORY- lived in a bouncy seat.
IVY- The doctor was called if her temperature went up to 99.1. Or if she sneezed. Or if I thought she has a tummy ache or an ear infection.
STORY- got Tylenol. I already knew the dosages. :)
IVY- I sang ABC's, kid songs, and lullabies.
STORY- I sang songs by Maroon 5, the Beatles, and Dave Matthews Band.
IVY- when she'd fall, we'd cry with her and wrap her up in band-aids.
STORY- when she fell, we'd say, "Come on, girl, shake it off!"
It's not that we were excellent parents to Ivy and bad parents to Story....it's just the second time around, you know what to expect. Of course, I can see the differences in their personalities- Ivy cries if she stubs her toe and Story would jump off the kitchen counters if allowed......but it's possible that has nothing to do with me, right? :)
Miscommunication
I was in a hurry. It was a lot later than I care to say, and the children were smack dab in the middle of the bathing hour.
Story was sitting on the toilet, wrapped in her towel. Ivy was in the shower rinsing her hair. I was trying to dry Story off. When I reached into the shower to wash Ivy's hair, Story looked at the upper left corner of the bathroom and said, "Look! It's froggy." (Which actually came out" Wook, is fwoggy!) I braced myself and looked in the corner, scared that there might actually be a frog there. There wasn't. So I ignored her.
But, Story has this really bad habit of not letting you ignore her. She repeats herself over and over again until you repeat what she just said correctly. So, 3 seconds later, "Mommy! It's FROGGY."
I said, "Where's the froggy?"
Ivy said, "Mommy, does Story have a frog?" She tried to peek her head out of the shower curtain to see.
I pushed her head back in. "No, there's no frog."
"MOMMY IS FROGGY!" Story said again in her satanic voice.
"Are you saying Mommy IS a froggy, Story?" I asked.
"Ha! Ha! Mommy is a froggy!" Ivy sang.
"Noooooooo!!!" Story yelled. "Mommy, is froggy!!!!!" She gestured up to the same corner.
"What's she saying, Mommy?" Ivy asked.
Good question, Ivy, I thought. "Maybe she has an imaginary friend that's a frog?"
"Story do you have an imamaiginary friend that's a frog?" Ivy tried to ask. Story just looked at us.
"FROGGY."
Ivy and I were sold on the imaginary friend idea. I stopped the shower and wrapped her up in the towel. "Hi, froggy!" I called, waving to the corner.
"Hi, froggy!" I said. "That's so cute, Mommy."
Ivy and I asked Story all sorts of questions about her froggy. She looked at us like we were stupid, and just kept repeating, "No, it's froggy!"
I sat Ivy up to brush her teeth, and then picked Story up to look in the mirror as I brushed her teeth. She gestured emphatically to the mirror. "See? it's FROGGY."
I looked at the mirror...and it was steamy. It was foggy. "Story, the mirror is froggy?"
"Yes, is FROGGY."
"No, that's foggy. The mirror is foggy."
Story pondered this for a moment. "No, I say froggy."
Story was sitting on the toilet, wrapped in her towel. Ivy was in the shower rinsing her hair. I was trying to dry Story off. When I reached into the shower to wash Ivy's hair, Story looked at the upper left corner of the bathroom and said, "Look! It's froggy." (Which actually came out" Wook, is fwoggy!) I braced myself and looked in the corner, scared that there might actually be a frog there. There wasn't. So I ignored her.
But, Story has this really bad habit of not letting you ignore her. She repeats herself over and over again until you repeat what she just said correctly. So, 3 seconds later, "Mommy! It's FROGGY."
I said, "Where's the froggy?"
Ivy said, "Mommy, does Story have a frog?" She tried to peek her head out of the shower curtain to see.
I pushed her head back in. "No, there's no frog."
"MOMMY IS FROGGY!" Story said again in her satanic voice.
"Are you saying Mommy IS a froggy, Story?" I asked.
"Ha! Ha! Mommy is a froggy!" Ivy sang.
"Noooooooo!!!" Story yelled. "Mommy, is froggy!!!!!" She gestured up to the same corner.
"What's she saying, Mommy?" Ivy asked.
Good question, Ivy, I thought. "Maybe she has an imaginary friend that's a frog?"
"Story do you have an imamaiginary friend that's a frog?" Ivy tried to ask. Story just looked at us.
"FROGGY."
Ivy and I were sold on the imaginary friend idea. I stopped the shower and wrapped her up in the towel. "Hi, froggy!" I called, waving to the corner.
"Hi, froggy!" I said. "That's so cute, Mommy."
Ivy and I asked Story all sorts of questions about her froggy. She looked at us like we were stupid, and just kept repeating, "No, it's froggy!"
I sat Ivy up to brush her teeth, and then picked Story up to look in the mirror as I brushed her teeth. She gestured emphatically to the mirror. "See? it's FROGGY."
I looked at the mirror...and it was steamy. It was foggy. "Story, the mirror is froggy?"
"Yes, is FROGGY."
"No, that's foggy. The mirror is foggy."
Story pondered this for a moment. "No, I say froggy."
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The Tooth Fairy Tale, as told by Story
This is Story's version of the Tooth Fairy, as she told it to me last night.
I has toofs. (Opens mouth, shows me)
Dey wiggul wiggul wiggul. (shakes her hips back and forth)
Faw out!
Puddem unner da piwow. (raises imaginary pillow)
Go sweep. (closes eyes, lays head on hands)
Toof Faiwy fwies. (she flaps her arms like wings)
She take dem, weave monies!
I turned to Ivy and said, "Where did she learn this?"
Ivy said she and Story learned all about the tooth fairy from Yo Gabba Gabba. Ivy also says she'd like to just keep the teeth she has, thank you.
I has toofs. (Opens mouth, shows me)
Dey wiggul wiggul wiggul. (shakes her hips back and forth)
Faw out!
Puddem unner da piwow. (raises imaginary pillow)
Go sweep. (closes eyes, lays head on hands)
Toof Faiwy fwies. (she flaps her arms like wings)
She take dem, weave monies!
I turned to Ivy and said, "Where did she learn this?"
Ivy said she and Story learned all about the tooth fairy from Yo Gabba Gabba. Ivy also says she'd like to just keep the teeth she has, thank you.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Legends of the Falls
Tonight, Ivy and Story both fell. Twice.
I was watching my neighbor's little boy while she ran a quick errand. I took him up to the house, got a stroller, and planned on following Ivy and Story on their bikes as they trolled the neighborhood. As I pushed the stroller down the hill, I heard screams.
Ivy was laying face down in the grass of my neighbor's house. I started to walk faster toward her when my neighbor moved slightly and I saw Story spreadeagled on the pavement. I had no idea what was happening.
Apparently, they simultaneously fell. Ten feet away from each other. I gathered up the crying ones, grabbed the stroller, and made my way back to the house. The girls sat in the driveway and my little buddy and I went in and got band-aids, peroxide, and neosporin. I came back out and administered all three on knees and hands. The girls were instantly better, and went back down the street to play. I put the boy back in the stroller and away we went.
Before we caught up to the girls, wild screaming commenced. Why? Because Story was spreadeagled on the street again in the same place. Squealing and sobbing. Luckily, my neighbor was back to collect her son, so I scooped Story up and tried to get her to stop screaming. She didn't agree with me, and continued.
It was definitely time to go in. I walked down the street with my neighbor, Kellie, to yell for Ivy to come in. We stopped at the corner to chat for a moment while the kids ran around and Story flitted between laughing and squalling. In that short amount of time....Ivy met the pavement.
She scraped up both of her hands, and in the twilight I thought that was the worst of it. She cried and yelled the entire way back to the house on her bike, but I followed and soothes as best I could. She went in the house while Story and I put away the bikes and stroller. Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from inside the house. Story and I dropped everything and ran (okay, she kind of toddled). All I could think was, "Someone's in the house!!"
Ivy came out of the bathroom with tears all over her cheeks. "Mommy, look at my eye!!!!!!!" she wailed. It was scraped up, puffy, and red. And it hurt a lot worse now that she had seen it. Relieved that no one was getting kidnapped by a stranger in the house, I ushered both girls to the couch, and laid out the materials needed to doctor them up. I endured a lot of screaming and pleas to stop as I cleansed the wounds.
When my husband came in from golfing, I gave him the task of trying to give them both ibuprofen (just so you know- convincing them that broccoli is candy would be easier). I told Ivy how good she'd been, and how brave. Of course, she looked at me like I was totally wrong (a disturbing new trait she's picked up lately). I said, "Really, Ivy! You rode your bike all the way up here hurt and everything!"
She responded with the funniest thing I have ever heard leave those cute little lips: Mommy, I am not brave. Did I cry? YES!!
I burst out laughing, which you know helped the situation tremendously. No, actually it just exaggerated the dirty looks.
Then Ivy laid her head back on the couch and screamed, "This is the worstest boo-boo I've ever had!"
I was watching my neighbor's little boy while she ran a quick errand. I took him up to the house, got a stroller, and planned on following Ivy and Story on their bikes as they trolled the neighborhood. As I pushed the stroller down the hill, I heard screams.
Ivy was laying face down in the grass of my neighbor's house. I started to walk faster toward her when my neighbor moved slightly and I saw Story spreadeagled on the pavement. I had no idea what was happening.
Apparently, they simultaneously fell. Ten feet away from each other. I gathered up the crying ones, grabbed the stroller, and made my way back to the house. The girls sat in the driveway and my little buddy and I went in and got band-aids, peroxide, and neosporin. I came back out and administered all three on knees and hands. The girls were instantly better, and went back down the street to play. I put the boy back in the stroller and away we went.
Before we caught up to the girls, wild screaming commenced. Why? Because Story was spreadeagled on the street again in the same place. Squealing and sobbing. Luckily, my neighbor was back to collect her son, so I scooped Story up and tried to get her to stop screaming. She didn't agree with me, and continued.
It was definitely time to go in. I walked down the street with my neighbor, Kellie, to yell for Ivy to come in. We stopped at the corner to chat for a moment while the kids ran around and Story flitted between laughing and squalling. In that short amount of time....Ivy met the pavement.
She scraped up both of her hands, and in the twilight I thought that was the worst of it. She cried and yelled the entire way back to the house on her bike, but I followed and soothes as best I could. She went in the house while Story and I put away the bikes and stroller. Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from inside the house. Story and I dropped everything and ran (okay, she kind of toddled). All I could think was, "Someone's in the house!!"
Ivy came out of the bathroom with tears all over her cheeks. "Mommy, look at my eye!!!!!!!" she wailed. It was scraped up, puffy, and red. And it hurt a lot worse now that she had seen it. Relieved that no one was getting kidnapped by a stranger in the house, I ushered both girls to the couch, and laid out the materials needed to doctor them up. I endured a lot of screaming and pleas to stop as I cleansed the wounds.
When my husband came in from golfing, I gave him the task of trying to give them both ibuprofen (just so you know- convincing them that broccoli is candy would be easier). I told Ivy how good she'd been, and how brave. Of course, she looked at me like I was totally wrong (a disturbing new trait she's picked up lately). I said, "Really, Ivy! You rode your bike all the way up here hurt and everything!"
She responded with the funniest thing I have ever heard leave those cute little lips: Mommy, I am not brave. Did I cry? YES!!
I burst out laughing, which you know helped the situation tremendously. No, actually it just exaggerated the dirty looks.
Then Ivy laid her head back on the couch and screamed, "This is the worstest boo-boo I've ever had!"
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Rubber Bands
This morning I woke up at 6:10 AM naturally. I felt good. I did yoga. Then, I decided to put Law and Order SVU on the TV upstairs and tackle the playroom. I got that done and everyone was still sleeping, so I tackled the office (otherwise known as the bane of my existence).
At 10 AM I was shredding papers and the only thing that was left were two rubber bands and a trash bag on the floor. I absentmindedly decided to put the rubber bands up, but then Ivy came in the room. She wanted to understand the ins and outs of shredding papers, why I did it, how the thing worked, etc. I forgot about the rubber bands.
She came downstairs with them minutes later, and I promptly took them out of her hand.
"Ivy, you can't play with these."
"Why, Mommy, why?" she asked.
"Rubber bands are dangerous," I said.
"How?"
I put some heavy thought into my answer. "Because you can poke your eye out." Poking your eye out, getting a shot, going to the hospital all strike fear in the heart of Ivy.
She regarded me with big-eyed awe. "How? How can you poke your eyes out??"
I was sure it could be done, but I wasn't sure I wanted Ivy to try it. So, I got down on her level and looked her square in the eye. "Ivy," I whispered theatrically, "I can't tell you that."
"Why?" she whispered with the same dramatic flair.
"Because, then you might try it. On your sister." She thought for a moment, and then nodded.
"Okay."
New score? Mommy: 1, Ivy: 29874026.
At 10 AM I was shredding papers and the only thing that was left were two rubber bands and a trash bag on the floor. I absentmindedly decided to put the rubber bands up, but then Ivy came in the room. She wanted to understand the ins and outs of shredding papers, why I did it, how the thing worked, etc. I forgot about the rubber bands.
She came downstairs with them minutes later, and I promptly took them out of her hand.
"Ivy, you can't play with these."
"Why, Mommy, why?" she asked.
"Rubber bands are dangerous," I said.
"How?"
I put some heavy thought into my answer. "Because you can poke your eye out." Poking your eye out, getting a shot, going to the hospital all strike fear in the heart of Ivy.
She regarded me with big-eyed awe. "How? How can you poke your eyes out??"
I was sure it could be done, but I wasn't sure I wanted Ivy to try it. So, I got down on her level and looked her square in the eye. "Ivy," I whispered theatrically, "I can't tell you that."
"Why?" she whispered with the same dramatic flair.
"Because, then you might try it. On your sister." She thought for a moment, and then nodded.
"Okay."
New score? Mommy: 1, Ivy: 29874026.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Daddy's morning
This morning, I did my "really early grocery trip" where I try to get to Wal-mart before seven so I can shop in peace and actually think without having to respond to phrases such as "I want DOWN" and "Mommy, she pinched me!!!"
I woke Rob up about seven and told him I was leaving. The kids are never up before nine, so he usually doesn't even realize he's watching them. This morning was different.
Story woke up at 7:20. "Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy," she chanted. Rob heard her over the baby monitor. He got up, pulled her out of the crib. He went to the bathroom. When he came back, she was laying on the couch. "Want to go lay on Daddy's bed?" he asked.
"No."
"Want to go to Mommy's bed?"
"Yesh."
So, when she went to "Mommy's bed" she found out that Mommy wasn't there and started crying. After a minute, she was content to lie on my side. Rob went back to sleep. Five minutes later, she said, "Daddy I firsty."
He went and got her cup out of her bed, gave it to her, and laid down. "Daddy, I no want water, I want juice." He got up, filled the cup with juice and laid back down.
Somewhere in the middle of the next dream, Story said, "Daddy, I need a band-aid." He went back to sleep, and a couple of minutes later she was back in bed with a box of band-aids. "Daddy, o-pen!!" Rob groggily opened a band-aid and rolled over. Ten minutes went by before she said, "Okay, I done wif band-aid." Rob pulled it off of her. "Ow!" she squealed.
Then, Ivy came in. Rob got up again and searched for the TV remote. After finding it, he put on cartoons and went back to sleep.
I got home and the house was quiet. I thought everyone was asleep. I brought the groceries in and laid them down quietly on the floor. "Mommy!!!! Mommy!!!!" Ivy and Story screamed, and rushed me in the kitchen. They ooohed and ahhhed over the things I'd bought. Then, they started taking the groceries in to show Daddy, who was still trying to sleep.
I made them breakfast, and then Story started crying for bologna. Except I had no idea what she was asking for. She opened the fridge door and started to clin=mb the shelves when I got up and stopped her.
Then she screamed. A lot. Rob yelled from the bedroom, "Story! Stop yelling!!" I felt bad for him, so I went in the bedroom, turned Dora off the TV, and shut the door. Ivy was in bed, but I hadn't seen her. "Daddy....Daddy!" she yelled. "Why did Mommy turn off the TV??" At this point, Rob knew he'd lost the battle, and finally got up.
When he told me this story, I couldn't stop laughing. I've lived this morning many many times.
I woke Rob up about seven and told him I was leaving. The kids are never up before nine, so he usually doesn't even realize he's watching them. This morning was different.
Story woke up at 7:20. "Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy," she chanted. Rob heard her over the baby monitor. He got up, pulled her out of the crib. He went to the bathroom. When he came back, she was laying on the couch. "Want to go lay on Daddy's bed?" he asked.
"No."
"Want to go to Mommy's bed?"
"Yesh."
So, when she went to "Mommy's bed" she found out that Mommy wasn't there and started crying. After a minute, she was content to lie on my side. Rob went back to sleep. Five minutes later, she said, "Daddy I firsty."
He went and got her cup out of her bed, gave it to her, and laid down. "Daddy, I no want water, I want juice." He got up, filled the cup with juice and laid back down.
Somewhere in the middle of the next dream, Story said, "Daddy, I need a band-aid." He went back to sleep, and a couple of minutes later she was back in bed with a box of band-aids. "Daddy, o-pen!!" Rob groggily opened a band-aid and rolled over. Ten minutes went by before she said, "Okay, I done wif band-aid." Rob pulled it off of her. "Ow!" she squealed.
Then, Ivy came in. Rob got up again and searched for the TV remote. After finding it, he put on cartoons and went back to sleep.
I got home and the house was quiet. I thought everyone was asleep. I brought the groceries in and laid them down quietly on the floor. "Mommy!!!! Mommy!!!!" Ivy and Story screamed, and rushed me in the kitchen. They ooohed and ahhhed over the things I'd bought. Then, they started taking the groceries in to show Daddy, who was still trying to sleep.
I made them breakfast, and then Story started crying for bologna. Except I had no idea what she was asking for. She opened the fridge door and started to clin=mb the shelves when I got up and stopped her.
Then she screamed. A lot. Rob yelled from the bedroom, "Story! Stop yelling!!" I felt bad for him, so I went in the bedroom, turned Dora off the TV, and shut the door. Ivy was in bed, but I hadn't seen her. "Daddy....Daddy!" she yelled. "Why did Mommy turn off the TV??" At this point, Rob knew he'd lost the battle, and finally got up.
When he told me this story, I couldn't stop laughing. I've lived this morning many many times.
Hair Removal
***DISCLAIMER: If you are at all squeamish reading about my armpits or Nair, then please do not read past this point***
Since the second I started shaving, my armpits have waged war against me. Never did I have those seamless, beautiful under-arms that girls would proudly display by waving at a friend in a tank-top or raising their arms for a high five.
Instead, I was bestowed with red, angry, bumpy, splotchy armpits. At the ripe old age of eleven and a half, I spread shaving cream on them, applied the razor and voila: instant horror movie. They broke out within an hour and caused me such pain that I almost decided that shaving there was definitely against some Biblical rule.
As a result, I do not wave at anybody in a tank top. I have never high-fived anyone unless I was wearing sleeves.
I had the bright idea yesterday to attempt Nair, a special gel that was made for "super sensitive skin" like mine!!! It said, "Apply a thin layer, wait for five minutes, wipe the hair off." Sweet! Simple, right? And my armpits wouldn't get the chance to be freaked out by a razor! Finally, I would be able to raise my arms freely!
I showered. I squeezed a dollop of creme into my hand. I applied.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
The burning was unbearable!!!!!!! Sensitive skin, my butt!!! I thought. In my agony, my husband though he'd help by reading the label. "It says not to put on broken or irritated skin," he offered. When exactly was my skin there NOT irritated? I wondered.
I bravely waited the five minutes, and then screamed as I wiped it off. It was okay- a necessary step in my quest to have beautiful armpits, right? In a second I was going to look and see that it had all been worth it......
When I looked, the first thing I noticed was that the hair was.....still there. Then, I saw the angry red bumps that were now sprouting....way redder and angrier than I'd ever had. I reached for the lotion. Didn't help. I finally applied Neosporin+pain relief.
Today, I still have angry, red armpits. And hair. And I'm getting my wish for "waving at my friends" because I can't put my arm down.
Since the second I started shaving, my armpits have waged war against me. Never did I have those seamless, beautiful under-arms that girls would proudly display by waving at a friend in a tank-top or raising their arms for a high five.
Instead, I was bestowed with red, angry, bumpy, splotchy armpits. At the ripe old age of eleven and a half, I spread shaving cream on them, applied the razor and voila: instant horror movie. They broke out within an hour and caused me such pain that I almost decided that shaving there was definitely against some Biblical rule.
As a result, I do not wave at anybody in a tank top. I have never high-fived anyone unless I was wearing sleeves.
I had the bright idea yesterday to attempt Nair, a special gel that was made for "super sensitive skin" like mine!!! It said, "Apply a thin layer, wait for five minutes, wipe the hair off." Sweet! Simple, right? And my armpits wouldn't get the chance to be freaked out by a razor! Finally, I would be able to raise my arms freely!
I showered. I squeezed a dollop of creme into my hand. I applied.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
The burning was unbearable!!!!!!! Sensitive skin, my butt!!! I thought. In my agony, my husband though he'd help by reading the label. "It says not to put on broken or irritated skin," he offered. When exactly was my skin there NOT irritated? I wondered.
I bravely waited the five minutes, and then screamed as I wiped it off. It was okay- a necessary step in my quest to have beautiful armpits, right? In a second I was going to look and see that it had all been worth it......
When I looked, the first thing I noticed was that the hair was.....still there. Then, I saw the angry red bumps that were now sprouting....way redder and angrier than I'd ever had. I reached for the lotion. Didn't help. I finally applied Neosporin+pain relief.
Today, I still have angry, red armpits. And hair. And I'm getting my wish for "waving at my friends" because I can't put my arm down.
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