Peace and Quiet

I remember once being at a gathering of women where we were playing some "get-to-know-you" games. The following question was posed: "If you had one day all to yourself, with no responsibilities and no one else's needs to attend to, what would you do?" My response came easily, without requiring much effort to think it over. Here's what I presented as my perfect, carefree day:

Wake up when my body is ready to

Eat a leisurely breakfast

Go for a run, not worrying about how long I'm gone or how far I go

Return home and shower, taking time to pamper myself with all of those extra at-home spa treatments -- like facial masks and exfoliating creams -- that I never have time to use

Fix lunch and sit down to enjoy it

Spend all afternoon reading a book

Have a light dinner

Watch a period drama (with Austenian men wearing breeches and speaking with British accents) while eating a big bowl of ice cream

Go to bed whenever I feel tired

Seems really simple, right? It wasn't until we kept going around the room, hearing the responses of the other women, that I realized something about my ideal day: it involved no one else, and aside from going out to run, it didn't include me going anywhere. Other women talked about making plans to go to lunch with a friend, or calling someone they hadn't spoken to in awhile, but not me. All I wanted was to be alone. Which doesn't surprise me one bit, because it's something I've known about myself for a long time: I love solitude.

This is not a new phenomenon -- I have sought peace and quiet since I was a kid. Being raised the 4th out of 5 kids meant I was born into noise and clamor. While I have many fond memories of growing up, most of my memories of my childhood homes involve me finding a quiet space to play, all by myself. Sometimes it was a closet, or a group of trees in the backyard, or even an oft unused space, like the dining room. The first time I had my own bedroom I was 10, and it was such welcome change. Not that I didn't love my siblings, or enjoy spending time with them, because I did (and still do). I just craved time to myself, a feeling that hasn't diminished in adulthood.

I wouldn't classify myself an an introvert. In fact, I love talking to other people and making new friends. I've had times in my life when I have felt lonely, and it feels awful. For me, there is a difference between loneliness and being alone. Loneliness is when you feel like there's no one who likes or cares about you. Being alone is when the people who care about you just aren't around. Maybe it doesn't make sense to anyone else, but it's the definition that works for me. I would classify myself as a "homebody." I love to be in comfortable surroundings, and for me there is no place more comforting than home.

But home, while sometimes peaceful, is rarely silent. With three kids and a spouse needing attention, moments for quiet reflection are rare. When my kids were very young, I could count on naptime for a brief respite. Now that my kids are a bit older, during the school year, there are windows of time when my oldest two are in elementary school, my youngest is in preschool, and I have time to myself. Often I use the time to get errands run, go to the doctor, pay bills, volunteer at school, or have the occasional lunch date with a friend. It's a little bit of freedom, and I don't take it for granted.

It's been two weeks since school let out for the summer. I certainly don't mind having a break from packing lunches and helping with homework, but there has been a whole lot of togetherness, and just like in past years, it has taken some time for me to adjust. Last night after the kids were in bed I went to the store. As I was driving from my first stop, Costco, to my next stop, SuperTarget, it occurred to me that for the first time in 8 days, I was by myself. It was an ordinary trip to pick up some groceries, but it was something. It was a break.

Please don't misunderstand... I love my family. I love spending time with my husband and my kids. But I don't handle chaos well. When life is hectic and days are crazy, I need time and space to recuperate. I doubt I'm the only person who feels this way; I imagine it's quite common. Forget flowers or perfume, one of the best gifts Scott can give me is to take the kids somewhere on a Saturday afternoon and let me stay home. This afternoon, he and the kids went for a bike ride. Even with the house to myself and endless possibilities for how to kill the time, what did I do? I cleaned the kitchen, swept the floor, vacuumed the family room, and began to write this post. I was a few paragraphs in when they arrived home. But it was enough. Enough time for me to recharge and get through the rest of the day.

I know they say that someday, when I'm old and gray, I'll miss the noise caused by an active family and a busy life. Perhaps they're right. It's hard to imagine, but I'm sure it's true. And I don't know that I'll ever have a day that's completely free from any responsibilities, but I'm quite certain I know what I would do if I did.

How about you? If you had a day all to yourself, with nothing to do and nowhere to be, what would you do?

The Ones I Got Away From...

The time has come, my little friends, to share some more stories from my past life as a single flirt. Today, as the title of this post implies, you will learn about guys I used to like and/or date. In order to allow these fellows some small amount of anonymity, I've changed their names and certain identifying details. But first, a disclaimer:

Mom, I know you read this blog and I don't mind, but you might want to skip this one. Or, at the very least, remind yourself that I am now a very happily married adult who turned out just fine. Also, I'm not going to tell you who these guys were, so don't bother to ask. (Love you!)

Also, it is worth noting that there was a time when I didn't date guys who lived the standards that I follow. There were pretty slim pickins among the church boys back then. Anyhoo.....

First up:

Jason
I met Jason during my college years. We hit it off instantly, but it took a while before we started dating because I was involved with someone else. Eventually, we began to hang out and spend more time together. Jason was really charming. He was cute, funny, tall, engaging... and he knew it, too. What I didn't know when we first started dating, but what I discovered over time, is that Jason was also a compulsive liar. I don't think I ever got a straight answer out of him about anything. He lied about his family, where he lived, what his major was -- he even lied about how he spelled his name. ("It's actually spelled Jaysen," he told me.) I'm not kidding. Every time he picked me up for a date, he arrived driving a different car and he always had an explanation as to why.

So why did I keep seeing him? First of all, I didn't realize he was lying right away (I must have been blinded by his charm). It wasn't until I caught a glimpse of his driver's license that I realized he'd lied about how he spelled his name. Also, he was fun! On one of our dates we skipped class and went skiing. He kept taking me down black diamond runs, and I'm really more of a blue square kind-of girl, so he spent a large part of the day watching me snowplow down moguls, but still, we had a good time. Then one day he just sort of vanished. He stopped calling, I found some other guy to like, and I forgot about him. Six months passed and during that time I figured out what a catch he wasn't. Then one evening he showed up on my doorstep with a story about how he had temporarily moved to the East coast, but now he was back and wanted to start seeing me again. In his hand was a bouquet of fresh-picked roses that he claimed to have grown and cultivated by himself, and all I could think was how some poor old lady was going to be really ticked when she next stepped into her garden and realized her flowers had been violated. That night, I let "Jaysen" down gently, deflected his attempt to kiss me, said goodbye, and never saw him again.


Bill
Ah, Bill. He was quite the guy. Another charmer and a total heart-breaker. There aren't a lot of details I can share about him without the risk that some of my readers might figure out who he is. But I will tell you about the time, after we'd been seeing each other off and on for several months, that we went out on a group date and in one night I lost every ounce of attraction I'd ever felt for him. Ready?

One night a group of us went out to dinner at swanky restaurant and then went dancing. I remember three things about our meal:

1. It was a nice seafood restaurant and I was the only one out of 4 girls who ordered fish. All the other girls got fettuccine alfredo. Lame.

2. At one point all of the girls except me made one of those group trips to the restroom to freshen up. When they returned to the table a few minutes later, I was surrounded by all of their smiling dates, telling what I'm sure was the most charming and hilarious tale ever told, which resulted in me getting the stinkeye from each girl.

3. Since everyone but him was underage, Bill decided he wanted to impress us all by ordering a glass of wine with his meal. Not cool. Idiot move. Not only did he get carded, which is just embarrassing, but he was a lightweight. One glass of wine made him tipsy and made me annoyed because it meant I'd have to drive for the rest of the night.

When the dancing portion of the evening arrived I learned something shocking and horrible. Bill could not dance. I mean, it was awful. He had no rhythm and flailed around like Elaine on that episode of Seinfeld.

I was mortified and not surprisingly, instantly lost every ounce of attraction toward him. After the dancing we all decided to head back to my place to hang out some more, but on the drive home I sent Bill packing. And that was the end of my relationship with Bill.

Mike
Mike was older, really popular, and in hot pursuit of one of my sisters. Since I had a crush on almost every guy my sister liked or dated, it shouldn't surprise you that Mike was no exception. One night he called to talk to her, but I answered and she wasn't home, so instead he tried to work his charms on me. The only part of the phone conversation that I remember, lo these many years later, was when he decided to serenade me over the phone with his own version of Prince's Could you be the most beautiful girl in the world? <--------(unfamiliar with it? click the link and brace yourself.) It was the most repulsive thing I'd ever heard. When will guys learn that unless they have a voice like Michael Buble, they have no right to serenade a girl? All she wants to do is cringe and escape. What's truly sad is that these tactics must have worked on others because this Mike was rarely without girls fawning all over him. Thankfully, after that phone conversation, I was over him. I'm pretty sure my sister was wise enough to avoid his cheese as well.

Chris
I met Chris while I was in high school. He was older, seemed wiser, and was the type of guy who made whatever girl he was with feel like she was the only girl in the world that mattered. Unfortunately, Chris also was a big fan of movies about the mafia: The Godfather, Casino, Goodfellas, you name it. But I didn't know this until after he suckered me into believing that he had ties to the mob. (See, now this is where I get really embarrassed because I sound like such a gullible twit, which, maybe I was). One night he told me the most elaborate tale about how he had gotten involved with the mafia, how he had this huge showdown and almost killed someone, but instead just shot him in the knee. It all sounded so ridiculous, but I really liked this guy (for reasons that must not seem obvious) so I chose to accept that part of his past since he said he'd managed to get out. Many months later Chris finally confessed to me that he'd made the whole thing up and he had felt guilty for lying to me about it. Why any guy would think that ties to the mafia makes him more appealing is beyond me.

Steve
I had a massive crush on Steve when I was in high school. You might think that detail would be a dead giveaway for who "Steve" really is (for those who knew me when), but if you knew me at all in high school then you know that I had, on average, about five massive crushes going on at any given time. Yes, if you hadn't guessed already, I was really boy crazy. Steve and I were good friends who shared a lot of classes together and ran in the same circles. I don't think my crush on him was any secret to Steve. We just had really bad timing. When I was interested in him, he was involved with someone else. By the end of our senior year, we were both involved with other people... but that didn't stop him from asking me to go with him to our post-graduation senior celebration night. I declined.

Once when I was home from college for a visit, Steve asked me out. We went to dinner and then over to the house that he was sharing with some of his college buddies. As we hung out, it slowly began to dawn on me that all residual feelings I had for him were gone. He was a great friend, but nothing more. Unfortunately, I think at the exact time I had that revelation, Steve decided that he had feelings for me. Like I said, we had really bad timing. He started to give me a shoulder massage, and I was excessively creeped out. I think random massages rank right up there with serenades when it comes to automatic turn-offs for most women. I politely excused myself from his presence and was more than happy to return to school a few days later.

and finally...

Todd
This is the only circumstance described in this post where I am willing to admit that I was the bigger idiot, so enjoy:

When I was in high school I worked at a local brew pub/restaurant as a hostess. On Monday nights, I moonlighted as the "weenie girl" in the bar, selling hot dogs during Monday Night Football. It was on one of these nights that I met Todd. He was cute and funny, and he must have liked me too because he kept leaving his table of friends to come back over to talk to me. I learned that he was a 24 year-old grad student attending the major university in my hometown. When Todd asked me where I went to school, I told him that I also went to said major university, which wasn't a lie and here's why: My senior year I applied for and was accepted to the High School-University program. I spent the morning at my high school, then a few days a week I left campus after lunch and earned college credits by attending classes at the university. It was actually a really wonderful program and I'm glad I did it.

Anyway, when I told Todd that he and I went to school together, I didn't think much of it. Yes, it was technically a half-truth, but I was just flirting and it seemed like no big deal. That is, until he asked me out. You know how they say that you shouldn't tell lies because before you know it, you've spun a web of deceit? Yeah, well, here's a cautionary tale for you, friends: If you tell a guy that you go to the same school he does, chances are, if he's interested in you and wants to prolong the conversation, he's going to ask you questions like what's your major? and what courses are you currently taking? and pretty soon that little white lie has spun itself into a big ol' mess.

Because I couldn't pass up the opportunity to go out with a really good looking college guy, I accepted his offer and thought not about how I would get away with it. I gave Todd my number and he called the next day to set up a date. That's when things started getting tricky. He commuted over an hour each way to and from the university, so there were limited windows of time that he was able to meet me. After comparing class and work schedules, the only times he and I were both available happened to be in the middle of the day when I was supposed to be attending high school. Logically, there was really only one solution to my predicament: ditch school to go on a date, of course!

The appointed day arrived, we met at the parking lot of the place where I worked, then drove together over to the botanical gardens at the university. We walked and talked, and had a lovely time, marred only by the creeping sense of guilt I felt because I knew I was being dishonest and I needed to tell him the truth -- that he was on a date with an underage high school girl. After the botanical gardens we headed to lunch at Applebees, and I slowly built up my resolve to confess. Wait until you hear my brilliant plan to break the news...

While we were eating, I mentioned that there was something I needed to show him. I then proceeded to pull out my wallet and placed on the table before him two school IDs with my picture on them, one from my high school, on from the university, both with the current year clearly showing at the top. When he looked confused I explained that while I technically went to the same school he did, I also had yet to graduate from high school, was only 17, and was ditching school to go out with him. He handled it as well as a man who had been completely blindsided could. He said it was no big deal, but it was pretty obvious that it was in fact a VERY big deal. We ended the date back at the parking lot, with him promising to call and me knowing he never would. He had confessed a secret of his own while we were at lunch -- that he had once had his license suspended for a DUI -- so in all honesty, I think we both felt like we'd dodged a bullet by the end of that date.

So, that was a completely accurate and unbiased re-telling of my encounters with some of the men of my past. Sorry I couldn't post pictures of these fellas for you. Instead, I'll post a picture of Jason's celebrity look-alike and assure you that all were just as handsome:


You would put up with a little compulsive lying to date this guy, right?

What a headache...

I've decided that it's time for me to have a brain transplant, because my head is clearly broken. I've spent the last four days battling a nasty migraine, and I'm still not sure if I can declare victory at this point.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, we should probably talk about what constitutes a migraine. I can only write from my own experience, and refer to basic headaches not of the sinus/tension/vision variety. Also, I should let you know that I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. I don't like going to the doctor, so I definitely have a suffer-through-the-pain-and-hope-the-problem-goes-away mentality. That said, having been a headache-prone individual all my life, I classify them thusly:

Headache -- a dull ache that is annoying and painful, but you can still go about your daily routine. You can usually get rid of it by taking two extra-strength Tylenol and drinking a diet coke. Sometimes all you need is something to eat and a tall glass of water.

Intense headache -- a strong ache that is not easily gotten rid of. You can still function, but the ache in your head is ever-present and quite irritating. After trying all the above methods of pain relief, it may also help to get some rest and sleep it off. But often, these intense headaches are just a preamble to a...

Migraine -- a debilitating headache that stops you in your tracks. Your head feels like it's caught in a clamp that's being squeezed tighter and tighter. The agonizing pressure is at the front of your head, just above your eyes. Everything hurts. Light hurts, sound hurts, muscles ache, the thought of eating anything is out of the question because you feel extremely nauseous. Throwing up is not uncommon. All you can do is turn off all the lights, shut yourself away from any sound, curl up in the fetal position, apply pressure to your forehead (sounds counter-intuitive, but it's what works for me), force down some prescription meds and pray that it will go away.

When you have a migraine, you are in bare-minimum, basic survival mode. If you are able to have a normal phone conversation, watch TV, text your friends, update your facebook status, post on your blog, or surf the web, you do not have a migraine. You can't think of anything beyond "Make it stop!" There is no way to "power through" it. Honestly, it feels like your body is revolting against you. Plans are canceled, kids are left to fend for themselves, and life is put on hold while you try to make it go away.

Migraines often come at times most inconvenient. I've had migraines appear on Christmas, at Disneyland, during romantic getaways (insert your "not tonight, honey, I have a headache" joke here). Migraines don't discriminate.

It was about 6 years ago that my headaches really began to get out of control. I was having intense headaches several times a week, I had a preschooler and a toddler at home with me, and I was struggling. I got my eyes checked and ruled out any kind of connection between my headaches and my eyesight. My doctor recommended I get a CT scan, as a precaution. The results showed an abnormality in my brain. While that wasn't the most promising news, in a way I was relieved because I had hope that there was at least an explanation for what was going on. I was advised to have an MRI, and I did. Here's a tip for those of you who may someday need to go in for a brain scan: don't wear a thin white shirt to your appointment. They make you remove all metal from your body, including your underwire bra, and they keep the room with the machine in it very cold. While you are lying perfectly still with your head strapped to a contraption and placed inside a large tube, you really shouldn't have to worry about indecent exposure.

The good news: the results of my MRI showed that while I have an abnormal skull/brain, there was no sign of of a tumor or anything problematic. The bad news was that I was no closer to figuring out the cause of my headaches. I was referred to a Neurologist who helped me get a grasp on the mysteries of migraines. My understanding is that while there are certain identifiable triggers -- diet, stress, monthly cycle, lack of sleep -- the actual cause of migraines is unknown. Thankfully, there are many medications that can help migraine sufferers, and I've had to try quite a few.

I got my headaches under control and then became pregnant with my youngest child. One of the few perks of pregnancy for me is that the headaches seem to go dormant. I was uncomfortable in every other possible way, but at least I was headache free!

But like most problems that you think you've overcome, my headaches came roaring back a couple of years ago. Most often, my migraines arrive in the wee early hours of the morning. I'll wake up at 2:00am with a headache that is so intense it roused me from my sleep to make itself known. Sometimes I'll even be dreaming that I have a headache before I wake up and realize that it's not just a dream. I stumble out of bed, fight off the urge to puke, hunt for my medicine, force myself to swallow some down, crawl back in bed, then pray that I can fall back asleep and wake up headache free. Other times, it is so subtle at first, and comes on during the day so gradually, that I don't realize it right away, mistake it for a milder headache, treat it with the wrong cocktail of medicines, and then by nightfall it's in full blown migraine mode.



Though I get migraines less frequently than I used to (it's once or twice a month now), they are the worst they've ever been. In the past 96 hours I've endured a most persistent headache, and have used the following drugs in an effort to get rid of the pain:

4 Excedrin Migraine
3 Advil
2 extra-strength Tylenol
2 Imitrex
3 promethazine

It just doesn't want to go away. I'll think I've got it beat, and then it comes back. Twice in the past four days I have been pulled from sleep, once at 2:30am and the other at 4:45am, with my head feeling like it might explode. My week was wasted. At this point, I've been headache free for 12 hours. Wish me luck that I might finally have knocked this one out.


Sorry this isn't a very funny or witty post. For whatever reason, I've felt for awhile now like I needed to write about what it's like to live and cope with migraines. I know I'm not the only one who gets them. I'm curious to know if what I described is what others experience. So tell me, fellow bloggers and possible migraine sufferers, does my description sound familiar, or are your headaches different than mine? What is it like for you?

I Like Things That Sparkle

Before you read any further I should warn you that, despite its title, this post has nothing to do with Twilight or Edward or vampires. (Though if you want to read something humorous and Twilight-related, might I suggest you follow this link?). Alright, now that I've made that clear, one of the sparklers shown in the blurry cell phone picture below is my new ring. These were the options I narrowed it down to before inviting my husband along to help me make my final choice. (I figured I would let him offer up an opinion considering he was the one paying for it). Can you guess which one I picked?

I'll give you a hint: it's sparkly, it suits my hand well, and I love it! Not a good enough hint? Oh well... I guess you'll just have to wait and see for yourself.

Lest you think I'll be sporting a ring that's quite ostentatious, keep in mind that the center diamonds in the settings above are slightly bigger than the one I'll be replacing it with. Now I just have to wear my fake one a week more while the ring I selected is sized up, naturally, and the stone is reset. Would you believe that some of the rings I tried on didn't even fit my pinkie? My fingers are so lame.

Ring Shopping

When last I wrote, you learned all about my wonky hands and a bit about my struggles with ring- wearing while pregnant. What I didn't confess to you at the time, but am now willing to divulge, is that the wedding ring I currently wear is a fake. FAKE!!! False, bogus, phony, fakety-fake fake fake!

While I was pregnant with my youngest, my hands swelled and made it impossible for me to put on my wedding ring. Unfortunately, after my baby was born, the sausage-like expansion of my ring finger made it difficult for me to wear my wedding band on any finger but my pinkie. Since that would look ridiculous, as I am not a member of the mafia, I decided the next best alternative was to head on over to amazon.com and find the classiest fake diamond ring my money could buy. With a whopping $30 budget and the only qualification that it had to come in a size 10 — I know! — I began my hunt. After an extensive search wherein I realized that almost every woman in the world wears a ring at least four sizes smaller than what I needed, I finally found a few decent options to choose from.

$29 and two days later (thanks, Amazon Prime!), my tarnish free rhodium plated sterling silver band with a clear, brilliant cut cubic zirconia ring arrived.

When I pulled it out of the box, I was relatively satisfied that it did not look any cheaper in person than it did in the pictures. I chose to overlook the fact that one of the small accent "diamonds" was missing, since clearly I got what I paid for. Nevertheless, I slid it on my chubby little hand and rejoiced in the fact that I no longer had a naked left ring finger.

Now here's the part that's a bit embarrassing... I frequently get compliments on my ring. I've never known how to handle these comments because on the one hand, if I simply say "thank you" I feel like I'm being deceitful, but if I point out that it is indeed fake, I feel like I'm insulting the taste of the complimenter (like, "you're so dumb that you can't tell a real diamond from a cheap knock-off"). I usually just try to change the subject as quickly as possible so as to avoid any more awkwardness.

It's been four years and my fake ring is showing signs of wear. Once I tried to clean it using jewelry cleaner, but it started to literally disintegrate the moment I dipped it in the chemicals. Luckily with a little buffing, I saved it from an untimely demise, but from that point on I knew that the only way my ring could get cleaned was when I washed my hands. ("Rhoduim plated sterling silver" can withstand water, so it seems). I bought for my husband a watch as a gift last Christmas, and while I was there the jeweler offered to clean my ring "for free" — I was mortified and declined as politely as I could. Handing my $29 ring over to a jeweler for closer inspection was obviously not an option.

As it turns out, my original wedding ring fits me once more, and the size 10 phony ring falls off my finger. So why, you ask, am I still wearing the fake? It's simple: my old ring is busted (from being sized up and down too many times, remarkably), a prong is loose, and frankly I don't really like it. [Gasp! The Horror! How can your husband still love you after a statement like that?!] It's true, I said it, I don't love my wedding ring.

What I am about to write will come as no shock to my husband, so there's no need for you to worry about the state of our marriage after this post gets published. When Scott and I were at that point in our relationship where marriage was discussed and we were "unofficially engaged," he asked me what kind of ring I would like. At the time I thought it was tacky for a girl to pick out her own ring (silly, naive, judgmental little old me), so I gave Scott a few guidelines and wished him luck. [Looking back, this was probably the first of many times in our relationship that I later learned my husband could not, in fact, read my mind]. When the time came for him to present me with my ring, Scott, bless his heart, gave me exactly what I asked for, which means I clearly wasn't specific enough.

The ring was simple (what I said I wanted), a diamond solitaire (perfect), set on a thick gold band (uh oh). Here's what Scott couldn't have know but what I would have realized if I'd tried it on before he bought it: the ring, though lovely, made my finger look like an overdressed bratwurst. Thick band + fat finger = bad news. It's not that I hated it, I just felt really self-conscious about the girth of my finger. But I wore it for years, had it sized up and down each time I had a baby, and was generally content with the effort that Scott made to pick out something like I said I wanted. But after my last pregnancy, due to the reasons listed two paragraphs ago, I put my ring in a safe place and the rest you already know.

A few months ago, Scott said the most beautiful words I always longed to hear: "Darling, why don't you get your diamond re-set?" Turns out, he's not a fan of my amazon.com special. He loves me and wants me to be happy, so it doesn't really bother him that my original setting isn't working for me anymore. He wants me to stop wearing a CZ and start wearing the lovely diamond he scrimped and saved to buy me 12 years ago with his hard earned money. (Oh, have I ever told you about how I had established a "ring fund" for myself when I started college? I tucked away part of my wages from each of my random jobs, put it in a savings account, and planned to present it to my future hubby when ring shopping time arrived. I figured that whatever my soon-to-be hubby could afford, I'd probably want something that cost a little more, so my slush fund could make up the difference. See, I was such a catch!).

So here's where I need your help. You see, I'm in the market for a new ring setting, and I want your opinion. What is it you love about your ring? What, if anything, don't you like about your ring? (Don't worry, I won't tell your husband). I'm excited to pick out something new, but feel overwhelmed at all of the choices out there. Tell me what to buy, would ya?

Murderer's Thumbs

There was a cute boy who lived in my building while I was in college. Okay, to be honest, there were many cute boys who lived in my building - I even married one of them - but it is one particular boy who I am remembering today as I prepare to write this post. We were hanging out in his apartment, having one of those casual, surreal conversations about what qualities we were looking for in our future spouse, when he mentioned how important "nice hands" were to him. It was at that point when I hid mine from view and realized he and I were not meant to be. [Looking back, that guy was super lame. Of all the qualities you want/need in a spouse, "nice hands" really shouldn't matter, right?]

You already know about my feet, but it's time I let you in on a little secret, which, if you've ever taken a good look, you already know... I've got wonky hands. My fingers are short and stubby, my nails are weak, and my thumbs are bizarre. When I was pregnant, my hands swelled up so much that my fingers looked like little sausages. Once my wedding ring stopped fitting, I insisted on going to a mall jewelry store to get a plain, cheap gold band to wear so as not to look like an unwed swollen mass. The ring I bought was a men's band, size 12. SIZE 12!!!! By the end of my last pregnancy, even that didn't fit. Fun fact (and reason #57 for why I have no desire to ever be pregnant again): I retained so much water in my last pregnancy that after my son was born, the excess liquid in my body trying to escape caused me to get water blisters all over my hands and feet. It was absolutely as horribly uncomfortable as it sounds. For a mother of a newborn recovering from a c-section, it was a nightmare.

Anyway, all that was to say my hands are wack. And like my feet, my hands have been the subject of my family's musings all my life. Of all my siblings, I am the only one with mutant feet. But with our hands we share a common bond, because 3 out of the 5 of us got some form of odd fingers. Mine are the worst, naturally, but I have a brother and one sister who also suffer from strange digits. When we were all together for a family reunion this past summer, we sat around and laughed about our hands (then everyone pointed and laughed at my feet). It was my affected sister who sent out a family email recently which seriously made my life:

To: my family
From: my sister, Amy (who we affectionately call "Amo")
Subject: Our thumbs explained...

I was talking to a friend the other day when she noticed my thumbs. "You have that dwarf thumb syndrome thing!" she exclaimed. (She's very sweet but not always super tactful). So I decided to get to the bottom of the "Grant thumb" issue. For those of us who have been blessed with one or two of these delightful looking digits, we technically have "clubbed thumbs." The scientific term is Brachydactyly type D (or BDD), although the condition is also known as "murderer's thumb" (fabulous). It's a genetic condition that's actually fairly common. You might also like to know that at least one movie star reportedly has this condition - Megan Fox.

I don't know about you, but I'm ready to OWN my thumbs. No more refusing to share the hymn book with my fellow relief society sisters! No more hiding my thumbs under the plate when handing Christmas goodies to my neighbors! Join me fellow "clubbers!" Say it out loud - I have clubbed thumbs and I'm proud!!!

Wanna join the "club?"
Amo

Never in my life had I sought to find an explanation for my odd thumbs. I just figured, when combined with my feet, I was being taught a divine lesson about avoiding vanity. Then lo and behold! There is a legit medical reason for our thumbs. Clubbed thumbs impact each of my affected siblings in different ways. Amy has normal looking fingers and two dwarf thumbs. My brother Brian is the luckiest of all, since he has one normal thumb and one squat one. As I've previously stated, all my fingers, as well as my toes, look clubbed.

It was the last part of Amy's email that resonated the most, since I absolutely hide my thumbs from people. When sharing a hymn book, I place my whole hand behind to support it rather than have one of my thumbs displayed. I conceal my hands in pictures, try to avoid ordering meals that I must eat with my hands, and never get manicures. While I was in high school, in an attempt to make my hands look more presentable, my mother encouraged me to get acrylic nails. While I doubt they made much of a difference, beautification-wise, I will never forget the first time they tried to fit my thumbs with fake nails and couldn't find a size large enough.

So there you have it. I have dwarf thumbs and wonky fingers. I'm thinking that this must qualify as some sort of disability. What perks could someone with genetically ugly fingers be entitled to? Must do research to find out.

While I'm not sure I'm quite ready to "own" my thumbs like my sister encouraged, I can promise that I will now be more generous with thumb-involved hand gestures. Perhaps someday soon you'll even get a "thumbs-up" from me. If I can work up the courage...

ZEMAS

On a scale of one to ten, one being equivalent to "okay, she's a little bit odd" and ten being roughly like, "wow. she's a pathetic loser!" how bad is it that the highlight of my day was seeing these photos...

...and discovering that a certain inappropriate crush of mine is currently filming a movie called The Lucky One, based on a Nicholas Sparks (The Notebook, Dear John) novel?

I'm thinking another gathering of the ZEMAS (Zac Efron Mutual Admiration Society) will take place sometime next year. Ladies, brace yourselves.

Oh, and if you can't wait that long, I'll try to find a way for us to convene and watch Charlie St. Cloud at my house once I get my hands on a copy. It's totally on my Christmas wish list.