My Sweet Sweats

A theory I have; everyone has a sweet sweat. Whether it be sweatpants or a sweatshirt. The ones you go directly to your room to put on the minute you get home. Sometimes it can be both, the pants and the top. Mostly, I think it is one or the other at any given time.

My first pair was the most comfy pair of gray sweatpants, I was 11. I wore those things until they were tissue paper thin and adorned with a few holes. My mom (who is not always a saint- see below) got sick of seeing me in them one day and stuck her finger in one of the knee holes. I tried to get away to save my lovely grays. With one little tug they were shredded right off me. My family got a good laugh. I shed actual tears.

Then, my sweet sweats turned into a navy blue hoody. It was infused on me. Day and night. I even got away with wearing it to work a couple of times. Then the sad day came and I lost it. Don't ever try to replace said sweats. They never will be the same.

Currently they consist of my blue sweat pants. These are not cool warm up pants, they are the traditional, cheapy, nerdy, elastic waist-band and ankle-band style. They are something to be desired. I am actually on the look out for a new one, maybe a sweatshirt again.

The Hospital Saint

This is a name for my mom. Now, I know you can't be titled an official "saint" until after you die, but the g-force may be an exception. She did something last night that is not uncommon for her, she spent the night in the hospital (and not as a patient.) My grandmother had surgery last week in attempts to dissolve a blood clot in her leg. The surgery was a success, but the relief short-lived. She was rushed in yesterday due to her leg swelling and an infected incision. So, my mom's saint"ing" continues.

Some background info on me... I hate hospitals with a fervent passion. Not sure exactly when that started since they seemed cool when I was little. I always thought of them as romantic before I was actually ever in one. You know, the whole "on your deathbed" melodramatic thing. I do hate them now though. Granted, the most joyous moment of my life was the only time I have been admitted to a hospital- when my son was born! The labor and delivery floor is something easier to tolerate.

I always get a nervous tick when I am visiting someone, especially if they are very ill. That is when I feel most awkward in life. Not knowing what to say or do. I nearly fainted while visiting my grandfather after his back surgery, and he wasn't even all that ill. Maybe the time that did it to me was when we got the call that my dad was in the emergency room. Rushing there, and seeing him all wired up to heart monitors. Felt like my soul split apart. Thank God he was fine after that.

I know it is irrational to talk so much about hospitals and death relating since most people don't come to the hospital to die. Welcome to my warped reality. The smells... just remind me of death. When I worked at ARI I would sometimes visit my clients, some of whom would not make it back home. I sometimes was the only visitor they had in their final hospital stay. Death lingers there.

So, enters my mom. She has been with several, if not more, people when they died in the hospital. She stays with people when everyone else has gone home. Even if she hasn't eaten or slept well in days. She is there. Her very good childhood friend, a mother of eight, learned she had a brain tumor while in her forties. It is too true that you know who really cares deeply for you when you are at you lowest. My mom fed her, bathed her, dressed her and helped her kids all through her hospital and hospice time.

She prays with people in the hospital. She has seen people want to know Christ literally minutes before they go. She swears there is a faint sound in the back of a dying persons throat when their soul slips out. And with each death she has witnessed she said they have all let out a huge sigh or breath as they let go. How scary for people to have to experience death alone.

Maybe that is why I hate hospitals so much, they represent unloved people to me. The people that don't have someone strong like her. Someone to help burden the intense emotion of those moments and hold their hand so they feel safer.

That is why my mom is a saint. (a proper third-grade essay closing)

You Goonie!

What is it about this movie that turns my crank? Could be any of these:

stellar acting by a couple of brat packers or wanna be bpkers... plus the side story of a mom led mobster family complete with horrible accents

the huge levels of slap-stick hilarity

the deformed brother they lock in the basement that loves chocolate

sean astin's braces - man, he is a hottie (at least he was when I was eight, in LOTR, um... not so hot)

Chunk's one liners

Scott had never seen this classic! We rented it and I suppressed the urge to recite it word for word. He hated it. I know it is a little different watching it for the first time when you are as old as he is, but COME ON! I was crushed. I can't be alone on this one. It still made me laugh, hard.

While watching it this time I figured out that sadly this movie and Uncle Buck were the basis of much of my maturing humor and maybe still are.

i've seen the christmas light

Ten or so years ago I was so cynical about Christmas. You know that despondent sophomore year of college, sick of normalcy and tradition. I lectured my parents about the american christmas culture and consumer lust. Staring at my dinner pate piled high with steaming food I felt sick as I figured out how many homeless people it would feed. Things change.

Some of those feelings linger, and for what it is worth that time helped shape my perspective. Thankfully it didn't squash everything good about it for me. This christmas is noteworthy because I have the fever. For the first time we have done everything... the cards, pictures, newsletter (yes, we are officially the older version of geeks), lights inside and outside, tree, hand-made crafts, cookies, and the evil presents. Not sure what got into me. I am sure having a kid helps perpetuate some of it, but I must admit to my former self, it is fun.

Of course some of it still drives me crazy; the stupid displays that are up well before thanksgiving, the people who think credit card debt is a must, the "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" banners. I don't like to completely release my bitterness. But, I am hoping this feeling of balance between celebrating my religion's hugest holiday and our culture's federal family fuzzy day will continue.

It Is Strange....

starting a blog about yourself, knowing that anyone in the actual world with one click could know more about you than your web-illiterate parents. Therefore, I start this cautiously and I am not sure I will keep at it. Why am I starting it then? My sister told me she would read it, so I have one guaranteed reader.

I haven't filled in a description since I can't pretend to have a theme. Some of the things that interest me and may show up here; nature/outdoorsy stuff, my work with adolescent girls, some new mommy thoughts, cooking, church, music, movies and books. Intriguing... for sure. Not sure it will be witty or charming or perfectly punctuated, but it will be real!