I wore a bra for the first time today. Whoa, let me rephrase
that. I wore a bra for the first time in 1984 at the ripe old age of 9. I wore
a bra for the first time today since my surgery, October 1. Today is October
24. I’m not going to lie. I’m actually going to be cliché and say the same two
sentences that EVERY woman I have EVER met who has had breast reduction has
uttered with total certainty:
1. “It is the best decision I have ever made.”
2. “I should have done it ten years ago.”
In last week’s post, I stressfully summarized my state of
mind/blog ability for the day by writing, “See Theory 52.” I literally (no pun
intended) had time to type two words and one number. As I explained in Theory
52, I have BIG things happening now and in the near future. Let me recap and
update you readers who are probably already sick of hearing me write about me
(thanks, by the way, because your attention and comments and emails truly help
me):
ISSUE 1: Breast reduction surgery.
STATUS: Completed!
Whooooooooooooop!
That/they is/are out of the way. Yay! I honestly believe
that getting Atlantic and Pacific reduced and out of my way has changed the speed
at which I operate. Burdens were lifted. I can mop faster, reach higher, high
five without bumping boobs with the other high-fiver, lie on my back and read.
Heck, I can even cross my arms! My buddy Digits is working up the nerve. She
took one look at me and emailed my surgeon. Go girl! Get rid of those girls!
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| My surgeon |
ISSUE 2: MASTER’S DEGREE
STATUS: Lucky
me!
I have earned the privilege of sitting in one spot for four
straight hours tomorrow (Saturday) to take a comprehensive exam. I must articulate
my teaching philosophy. That’ll be fun. Oh, and did you all know that tomorrow
is game day, Tennessee vs. Alabama? Buck Fama. Sorry. Had to. #VolForLife#GBO
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| Pimp that ride |
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| #VolsForLife |
ISSUE 3: STUDENT ANTHOLOGY PROJECT
STATUS: Yee.
Freakin. Haw.
Delicious, Red Hot Backspace, and I edited, formatted, proofed,
and labored through the impossible: inserting footers to finish the manuscript.
I uploaded the big fancy final
project to my publisher/distributor yesterday and ordered a hard copy proof.
Even the cover looks good! Next, I get
students to collect orders from family and friends. We are planning a book
launch with the Scone-Ad’s Teen Living and Family & Consumer Science
classes. I can’t wait to launch this book with my students. I am unbelievably
proud of my students. I can’t wait!!!
ISSUE 4: FAMILY PHOTO SHOOT WITH BIRTH
FAMILY
STATUS: I feel some major adoptive mother guilt here.
While I barely
have time to come up for air (though I am breathing more easily thanks to ISSUE
1), I still desire to do anything and everything Tinkerbelle (Gnome’s
birthmother) desires. She is more than reasonable and very sweet and respectful.
Even my subconscious is stressed about this issue. Two nights ago, I dreamed
that she was pregnant again. We were at a party together and all my cousins were there to meet Tinkerbelle.
(No one in my family has met Tinkerbelle). Anyway, she and I had on long,
layered, neon dresses. The dresses were designed to burn one layer at a time,
from the bottom up. HUH? Once our dresses were mini-skirts, we got tattoos together. Say what?!? Ideas? Suggested prescriptions for me?
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| MOST FAVORITE PICTURE EVER IN MY WORLD |
ISSUE 5: POTENTIAL CAREER CHANGE
STATUS: SAFE, BUT INSECURE, BUT SECURE, BUT UNSURE
I'll just say this. Look, insurance is the name of the game. The moment Tall Child
and I left the safe harbor of my banking career and all its benefits, Sharky
tripped and broke his two front teeth in half. Then, I had a female “issue”---nothing
shameful, just aggravating. Then, we adopted Gnome. All under the
fake-pathetic-rip-off whatever coverage of a BCBS (BS) self-employment policy.
Needless to say, we paid premiums AND all medical expenses. As Tall Child put
it, “The only way that insurance policy was going to pay off was if one of us
got cancer.” Well, I guess that’s why they call it catastrophic coverage. It’s
catastrophic alright. Let me think of all the C words that apply:
Catastrophic
Costly
Con
Credit goes to crap
Corrupt industry
Can’t go to the
doctor when you are sick unless you won the TN State Lottery
Continuous anxiety and expense
Certainty that
your “self-employed” rear will leave that comfy house-wife sofa to land on a
teacher stool
Okay, I’m off the insurance soap box. Anyway, my job and
health insurance status are safe, but I’ve gone and applied to a fantastic
former employer. I am waiting to hear if they have an offer, and for how much.
And then I’ll do the math. The mental math.
Here are the variables in this
equation:
Income
Time off
Stress level
Opportunities to be creative
Opportunities to make even more money
Opportunities to help my family and help others
Further education/training
Here are the constants:
Sharky
Gnome
Tall Child
Delicious
TIME I NEED to party in Townsend, which brings us to ISSUE 6
ISSUE 6: RIVERDANCE
I told you that Delicious (a retired school teacher who
knows exactly how much it costs in gas to get from Sevierville to Knoxville and
back) and I, a fledgling school teacher/possibly banker/unsure really, are
trying to buy a second home in Townsend, TN. Look. We dream big!!! We do not
factor money into our dreams. Why would we? Sometimes we have it. Sometimes we
don’t. We are still here. When we dream, we work. And, despite what we lack in
the beginning, we usually see our dreams come to fruition.
When Pooh passed away, Delicious made about $25,000 a year
and I was a freshman in college.
I took my pitiful self to IHOP and worked. Hard. I helped her pay bills. I high
school, I busted (burst) my behind to secure scholarships. I worked. Hard. I
graduated early with no debt.
When I met Tall Child, I knew I wanted to marry him. I was a
perfect girlfriend. No ultimatums. No pressure. I never did one stick of his
laundry. We didn’t live together. Heck, I bought my own house when I was 25. I
worked. Hard. Many years later, he fell prey
to my predatory ways. Happily ever after…sort of…you know the drill. Poor guy.
After Sharky, we wanted another baby. For the next eight
years, Tall Child and I struggled through the misery of infertility and its
treatments, then the mental/financial/emotion
test from Heaven and helk: the adoption process. I worked. Hard. When we
applied for adoption, I had $100. Two years later, we brought home our Gnome. I
worked hard and was blessed beyond
measure to meet Tinkerbelle.
I dreamed of becoming a published author. I dreamed of
writing something that would minister to the adoption community. Tall Child
said I was crazy and didn’t have time. I woke up at 5 a.m. for a solid year. I
worked. Hard. I published The Eye of Adoption
in March 2013. Since then, I’ve published a small collection of essays, a short
story, and I’ve written countless articles and blog posts.
So Delicious and I want a second home, a dumpy little cabin
that’s more like a box-shaped tent, close to the Little River. Why? Because that
was Delicious and Pooh’s dream. Just looking for a place has given her new
life! We act in faith, ya’ll. So should you. I bought diapers and baby blankets
in the eight years I waited for Gnome. Delicious and I scavenge through
Goodwill and thrift shops for river house furniture. We aren’t greedy. We aren’t
even materialistic. Once, I did a spreadsheet and showed Tall Child my figures.
I spend around $1500 on myself per year. (That amount even included two
Dollywood Gold Passes and two Knoxville zoo passes)! I’m frugal from day to
day. I’m conservative.
In The Eye of Adoption,
I quote an acquaintance who said, “If what you are doing is right with God, the
money will show up.”
Delicious and I are dreamers. And, we share the spoils of
our dreams with those we love. We don’t buy stuff. We buy experiences and
memories!
Do I come across as self-involved lately? If so I apologize.
And, at least I admit it. Hey, I’m a stereotypical only child. I like
attention, I may communicate in an odd fashion from time to time, I need my
mama, and I see the world through a focused view (from me outward). Not sure
about all that grammar right there. I’ll get mama to proof. Anyway, thanks for
listening/tolerating. Once I get all these big things wrapped up and finalized
and over with, I’ll get back to being funny. I promise! I warned you, readers,
waaaaaay back in Theory 1: People write
diaries hoping someone else will read them.
Readers, what are your dreams? Do people laugh at them, only
to respect you later for having the intestinal fortitude to bring those dreams
into reality?
Hey, thanks for hanging with me and being this lonely only’s
online friends. I value your insight and love you more than you’ll ever know. I
wish I could hug you. Though I’m not sure the hug would be as enjoyable as it
would have been a month ago.
If you need me, I'll be here (eventually):
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| Don't let people laugh at your dreams. If they do, don't invite them to the second home you can't afford. |
See you next post. Until then, DREAM BIG and think outside
the barn, no matter how big it is!
