Chicken Pox

Grace, Josiah, and Simon have the chicken pox. Poor Gracie has them the worst so far. Nothing worse than chicken pox in your hoo ha. Josiah started first on Friday, then Grace on Saturday, and Simon today. The incubation time is 14 days. I am just hoping Olaf is immune enough to varicella to not get reinfected. Chicken Pox would literally kill him.

I am watching the Super Bowl right now. Mostly for the commercials. There have been a few good ones so far. Simon is sleeping in my arms, so I am typing one handed. He is three years old and I still hold him... I wonder how long he will let me?

Camille had a great People to People meeting yesterday. She made a few friends. I am already buying stuff for her trip and calling it Birthday presents. Today I bought her a portable clothes line, Dr. Bronner's soap to wash her clothes, some Loksak's to use to wash her clothes, some travel toilet paper (since Japan public toilets do not have toilet paper in them) and a few bandanas to use to dry her hands because the bathrooms don't have paper towels either. I also bought her some shoes that she can slip on and off easily, not only for airport security, but also for the Japanese custom of removing your shoes before entering a home. I already bought her a Kindle, and lighted Kindle Cover, and a Flip Video Camera. Olaf got a new Fugi Digital Camera as a gift for his 20 year anniversary with Delta, so she will be taking that as well. She is so prepared!!

Love this video!

Pretty by Katie Makkai

Pretty by Katie Makkai

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, “What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? What comes next? Oh right, will I be rich?” Which is almost pretty depending on where you shop. And the pretty question infects from conception, passing blood and breath into cells. The word hangs from our mothers' hearts in a shrill fluorescent floodlight of worry.

“Will I be wanted? Worthy? Pretty?” But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dryad: teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey-long and pox-marked where the hormones went finger-painting. My poor mother.

“How could this happen? You'll have porcelain skin as soon as we can see a dermatologist. You sucked your thumb. That's why your teeth look like that! You were hit in the face with a Frisbee when you were 6. Otherwise your nose would have been just fine!

“Don't worry. We'll get it fixed!” She would say, grasping my face, twisting it this way and that, as if it were a cabbage she might buy.

But this is not about her. Not her fault. She, too, was raised to believe the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable facade. By 16, I was pickled with ointments, medications, peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs. Laying in a hospital bed, face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved.

Belly gorged on 2 pints of my blood I had swallowed under anesthesia, and every convulsive twist of my gut like my body screaming at me from the inside out, “What did you let them do to you!”

All the while this never-ending chorus droning on and on, like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood. “Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Like my mother, unwrapping the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her? Pretty? Pretty.”

And now, I have not seen my own face for 10 years. I have not seen my own face in 10 years, but this is not about me.

This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painted ourselves clowns in. About women who will prowl 30 stores in 6 malls to find the right cocktail dress, but haven't a clue where to find fulfillment or how wear joy, wandering through life shackled to a shopping bag, beneath those 2 pretty syllables.

About men wallowing on bar stools, drearily practicing attraction and everyone who will drift home tonight, crest-fallen because not enough strangers found you suitably fuckable.

This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, “No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.

“You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely 'pretty'.”

Disappointed

Today we were supposed to have company. My friend and her children were supposed to come over for lunch. About 10 minutes before she gets here, I notice Josiah is not acting like his normal perky self and I take his temperature. 101.5. ARRRGHH! I am not sure if this is the same thing (possible chicken pox) that Caleb had two weeks ago. I guess only time will tell. He seems fine right now, except those droopy eyes that give him away every time he is sick. He always looks tired when he is sick and his energy level drops considerably. He is usually bouncing off walls and jumping off couches.

Tomorrow is Camille's first real People to People meeting. They cancelled the January meeting because of the snow. She is super excited. It is all the way over in Locust Grove so we need to leave bring and early in the morning.

I made Buffalo Chicken Dip today for our company that didn't come. I love that stuff. I actually prefer it without the Ranch Dressing in it. Here is the recipe in case some of you have been living under a log:

A bag of frozen chicken breasts-boiled and shredded

1 cup (but I use the whole bottle 12 ounce bottle) of Frank's Buffalo Sauce

1 cup Ranch Dressing (I leave this out)

2 bricks of cream cheese softened

Mix it all together, top with shredded cheddar and bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Eat it with Tostitos or Crackers. I prefer Tostitos. I think I'll go eat some and grab a beer. Yum!! Gosh, I wonder why I am the fattest I have ever been in my whole life?

An Open Letter to My Friend

Dear Friend,

I am glad I got to speak with you on the phone today. Even though I felt a bit blindsided by the conversation, I am glad it occurred. There are things I still want to say, so I will say them here. This gives me time to process (like you had your time) and to rewrite if the words are not making sense, or are sounding too harsh.

Friend, this is my blog. It is where I share my feelings, frustrations, joys, and life. It is about me. It has never, ever been about you. If you have issues with something I write, then it is your duty as a Christian to come to me and have a conversation. I remember a time when a Bible Study Group I was a part of was offended when I madly stomped out in the middle of the study. Instead of coming to me with my behavior, the leader of that group directed another member of that group to call every person in the Bible Study (except me) to ask if they were "OK" with my behavior. Was my behavior childish? Probably. Was it right for her to call everyone except me? No frickin' way! This is an example of what not to do when you are offended by a sister in Christ. Especially from someone with such... what were the words you used today on the phone? "Godly Character?" With that said, you never did call me. I called you. I had no idea you were upset. You had taken 6 weeks or more to "pray about it" and "get your spirit right." And of course, you have been busy, I understand that too. But during that phone conversation, you already had time to process your feelings. Me? I was working on pure adrenaline.

Like I said on the phone, I respect the decisions you have made even though I do not agree with them. I have honored you in my words and deeds. I have never blamed you for anything. I have never mentioned your name when telling my story. I have never made you out to look like the 'bad guy.' We both know who the bad guy is in this story. And the bad guy affects me so much more than he affects you. My life. My relationship. Even though this affects me to the very core, you are upset because you feel like I lied in my blog. About you. Really? You care so much about yourself in this situation that you cannot feel the deep despair that I am going through? You are more concerned that I might have posted an untruth than feeling the pain that those words were trying to express? Can I tell you something? It's not about you. Those words I wrote are as true for me today as they were the night I wrote them. Should I have prefaced them by "I feel like..." Perhaps. I am sorry that one sentence in my blog offended you.

So, in closing... In my opinion, there is a strain on our friendship that makes it hard to bear. I am not the same person I was when we were close friends anyway, and I think that bothers you. I cannot pretend to be the old Misty when she no longer exists. I am still a Christian and you would think Jesus would be enough to hold a friendship together. I've learned the hard way, that is not true. Will we always be sisters in Christ? Sure. Sisters don't have to be friends. I harbor absolutely no animosity toward you. I have nothing but love for you as a sister in Christ. I wish you love, peace, and happiness in your life. In a time of need, you can always count on me. But I want you to know that I will no longer pursue an earthly friendship with you. If you want to remain friendly, please do not hesitate to call me or email me. I will always reply. But I feel that I have been the one who has sought you out and this friendship feels a bit one sided to me.

Much love,

Misty