Taking It Easy

Sniff sniff… Shark Girl is sick. I took it easy today, which included a nap. Husband doubted I could do it.

            “You, take it easy?” he said,

            “Yeah, I’m going to take it easy today.”

            “Like last night, when you did the elliptical machine and then trained Brazilian Jiu Jitsu? Easy like that?”

            I don’t like to be slowed down by being sick. Sometimes when life gets really crazy and I feel overwhelmed, I think, “If I could just be sick so I could take a day off and relax!” Then, if I do get sick, I’m pissed off. I have too much to do. Doesn’t this virus realize that I have children to cart around? How am I supposed to make a decent dinner when I can’t even stand up? If I stay home from school today, I have to scrap all the plans I already made for my classes, create new, sub-friendly plans, and then tackle the back-log when I come back. Sometimes it’s just easier to go in and suffer through it.

            Whenever I push through my sickness, I hear my conservative doctor’s voice in my head. She once told me not to run while I was sick. Was she kidding? Running clears the nasal cavities and a slight rise in body temperature is sure to be good for killing off things. (That’s what I tell myself, anyway.) When I asked her why I shouldn’t run sick, she seemed a bit perturbed with me. “Because if you have an infection, it could spread to your heart and kill you!” she fired at me, clearly trying to put the fear of death in me. It worked, like, kind of, for a second.

I’ll admit it; I did go out for a power lunch with a colleague today. But we’ve been trying to get together since October. I’ll admit it; I was thinking about getting a facial or a massage tomorrow, because I “happen to have time” since my school is on a midyear exam schedule. (When else am I going to use the gift certificate I got last year for Christmas?) What’s stopping me is that there nothing is worse than lying on your stomach for a massage and having all your sinus ick forced to the forefront of your nose. It’s kind of hard to concentrate on how awesome the rubdown is when you are being suffocated by snot.

How sad is it that I use my “sick” time to catch up? I’m doing it right now. I should be working, but I’m sick. I can’t read and grade papers with this cloudy head. But, wait, if I’m not working, this is a great time to update my blog.

Well, gotta go. I’ve got to put the kids to bed. Then I’m going to snuggle up with a bottle of Nyquil and hit the sack early. I’m taking it easy.

The Boob Squish

Last week I had my second-ever mammogram, or as I like to affectionately call it, the boob squish. I recall my first mammo: two technicians man-handling my breasts, trying to get all the flesh on the table and then pushing a button to press the plates together. It was a comedy of errors and took forever. I attributed the difficulties they had positioning me properly to my small breastal region, but perhaps my technicians were inexperienced, because last week I met Carol.

           

When I walked into the clinic, I chummed it up with the front deskers. I saw them last week for my kidney x-ray, and Oldest Son was in recently for a chest x-ray. We’re on a first-name basis now.

“Here I am again!” I said to Shanyce.

“Don’t worry; you’ve got Carol. She’s great!” I wasn’t worried; I do Brazilian Jiu Jitsu—I’m used to having my personal space invaded. Plus after giving birth to Oldest Son in front of ten doctors and two nurses I’d never seen before (high risk babies in teaching hospitals bring them out of the woodwork, and I was in no shape to complain), I’m not really the shy type. However, it’s still nice to get the “experienced” tech.

Carol called me in. She was a look-alike down to the jewelry for Oldest Son’s third-grade teacher. There’s a lot of touching in a mammo, and I imagine many people are disconcerted by it. I can tell because Carol starts explaining everything she’s going to do as she does it. “You don’t have to say all that,” I say, but she continues and I realize that maybe it helps her.

Carol is good and I am compliant. It only takes a few snapshots to get all the pictures she needs. “Tell me if it’s uncomfortable,” she says, but I don’t, because it’s really not that bad.

            “Wow! That was like, twenty pounds of pressure!” Carol marvels after our last picture, in awe of the force my boob is taking. My thoughts go straight to Monday night, and the side control my 230-pound friend had on me. Ha! Twenty pounds! I thought to myself. She has no idea!

The Jiu Jitsu Widows

 Shark Girl spent Christmas Day over her Aunt and Uncle’s, the parents of Cousin of Shark Girl. We ate lots of great, hearty Italian-American food.

 

The next day, with bellies distended, Cousin and Shark Girl tried to find some BJJ near the hometown. The closest place open was an hour away. Yes, we made a “jookie” run. Without our respective spouses.

We also left them alone on New Year’s Eve Day to pursue our jiu-jicular behavior. When New Year’s Eve came, it was apparent that Husband and Cousin’s Wife were feeling a special bond . . . of neglect. They were now calling themselves “Jiu Jitsu Widows.”

We should have known better than to leave them alone with a computer while we sipped wine by the fire, discussing various chokes and joint locks. They interrupted us, smiling, and informed us that they had written Shark Girl’s next blog post. Oh, really? I thought to myself, Who do they think they are? I was feeling a little threatened. Then I thought, Oh, really?! They’re doing my job for me?! This is great!

            And so here, together for the first time anywhere, I introduce to you  . . . Husband of Shark Girl and Wife of Cousin of Shark Girl, otherwise known as “The Jiu Jitsu Widows.” (Please disregard any subtle resentment you detect in their post.)

 ***

Top Ten Things Jiu Jitsu Widow/ers Say About Your Habit

Hint: "What really goes on at that place?" is not in the top ten. (It's not even in the top 100!)

 

10)  Getting arm-barred four times does not count as an excuse.

9)    I'm always on my guard, why should I get in yours?

8)    Find your own damn cup!

7)    Oh, the guillotine choke again . . . not sexy.

6)    Rash what?

5)    No, I don't wanna roll, I'm cutting back on carbs.

4)    No, there will not be a mat room in the new addition.

3)    There must be a twelve-step group for gi addicts.

2)    Not now honey, I'm tapped out.

1)    I hope that's just staph and not MRSA.

BONUS: You may wear the gi in this family, but I wear the pants.

Shark Girl Kisses Santa Claus!

Shark Girl is feeling cranky and curmudgeonly tonight. And yesterday. And the day before that. Even a good jiu jitsu workout didn’t really cure it. Wait. A good jiu jitsu workout? When did I have that last?

Oh, no. This can only mean one of two things: it’s either a) PMS, or b) the dreaded winter blues.* I started jiu jitsu last year in part to stave off these winter dips into melancholia. It seemed to work. Although I followed up with heavy doses of Vitamin D. I stopped the D this year because of the kidneyberg. Remember that? Yep, It’s still with me. Large and looming. And I think I feel some kind of . . . thing going on in the kidney region. I’ve been loading up on cranberry juice to keep that in working order.

Now would be a good time to buy stock

in Ocean Spray.

But you don't want to hear about my health problems. You really want to know what I got for Christmas, since I dropped big (public) hints to Husband. Here’s what I swagged:

• gift certificate for a massage
• Saulo!!! (Saulo also played a part in our annual New Year’s Eve celebrity guessing game.)
• Snarky Jiu Jitsu T-Shirt (Husband did not opt for profanity.)
• a nail clipper (I have to try it before I rate it “great.”)
• books off my Amazon Wish List (He can do that because he knows my real name.)

 I did not swag:

• that portable mat
• and the babysitter
• the sports bra (Husband said he didn’t know what size to get. Really? The whole Internet knew what size to get me.)

Here is my evaluation of Husband’s holiday gift giving this year:

Creativity:   C-    He basically checked off my list. Everyone loves a gift registry, but let’s not pretend there’s any risk taking there.  

Resourcefulness:   A+     He found a jiu jitsu tee shirt in a woman’s size that did not say something like, “My Boyfriend Can Tap Your Boyfriend Out,” or “Babe of Mr. Jiu Jitsu” with nipple holes cut into the front. Rock on, Husband!

Personalization:   A        I didn’t get any “selfish” gifts. You know those. The ones we really want for ourselves but then we give them to our significant other and say it’s for “them.”

Sentiment:   B               He took Child #2 to the jewelry store to pick out a Pandora bead.

Hygiene:   A         Nail clippers and floss, too! Shark Girl is “cleaning up”!

This was a high-scoring year for Husband.

I hope you all had a lovely holiday and that your coming year is filled with the wonderful things money can’t buy: health, happiness, friendship, and intact joints.

Stay tuned . . . my next post is written by not one but two special guest bloggers! Oh, the suspense!

*Answer: Most likely both a) and b), but I’m hoping it’s just a).