Ready For Some Ew.
With this new blog layout I’m “supposed” to put a picture up with each entry. The temptation was quite strong to photograph what I’m going to be talking about. But instead? I’ll show you some flowers. To counteract the “Ew…” factor of this entry.
Last year when I started really running, it was to train for a local famous 10K. I ran on a lot of hills to train for it because the race covers a really BAD hill that everyone likes to talk about being dreadful. I ran in shoes that had always been fine for 5Ks, but the increased distance made me realize that the shoes were a bit too small. As I got several black toenails while wearing them once I started running more than about 4 miles.
One was on my big toe on my right foot. I’ve had black toenails on my big toes before, I ruined both of them after a bad hike several years ago. But this time seemed weird. It took FOREVER for it to fall off. It just did it last weekend. Like 8 months after the toenail was first injured.
There’s new growth under it and MAN, after the old toenail fell out? That growth started hurting like HELL. I treated it the way you would if you felt like you were getting an ingrown toenail. I soaked it constantly for several days. It always felt fine for several hours after I soaked it, as the nail was made more pliable. But I was waking up at 2am every morning in pain, needing a soaking. And of course, it took an hour or so to feel better and by that time it felt silly to go back to sleep. (I usually get up around 3:45 or 4am.)
So…basically I’ve spent the last several nights getting minimal sleep (going to be later too) all because of this DAMN GROSS TOE.
But I think it’s working, which is why I wanted to write about it as several of you have emailed me about your own black toenails. I didn’t have to soak it at all last night, even after my run. It felt fine. I slept all night without waking up in pain and this morning it feels fine too. It’s tender, for sure, the new toenail has no guidance so it’s going to hurt a little growing in, but I’m not in severe pain anymore.
I’ll probably soak it again this morning for good measure, but I feel better knowing that I got a reprieve. I was worried I was going to be doing soakings every 5 hours just to manage the pain until the damn thing crew substantially further along the nailbed. And in case you’ve never noticed: TOE NAILS GROW VERY SLOWLY.
You’re welcome for not showing the visual aid I considered initially.
An Open Letter To ‘Popular’ Bloggers
I read several “popular” bloggers. I put you in the “popular” category when you get frequent attacks of hate. I never said “popular” was a good thing. I often feel like it’s a bad thing.
I have only had hateful occurrences on my blog a few times in the last 8 years. Nothing major. Someone made fun of me for not washing my hair. Someone criticized me for not bathing my child every day. Obviously, the internet has a thing for hygiene.
I was upset both times, of course, and definitely publicized it too much. This is exactly what you popular bloggers tell us not to do: DON’T FEED THE TROLLS.
Yet, more and more lately I see you popular bloggers call attention to hate you’re receiving. Either directly or with snarky off-hand comments. Let me make this clear: my two instances make me totally understand the need to call out the haters. Inevitably, your supporters will jump to your defense and I don’t care what anyone says: THIS FEELS AWESOME. It helps dull the pain of the hate. Some days I wonder why more people don’t rally their troops in their defense.
But, I’ve been thinking about it a lot as a reader. And as a reader? It tends to hurt my feelings.
Let me explain. When you make an offhand comment about, “the people who email me telling me that by homeschooling my children I’m warping them for life” you are replying to the haters. It may be a funny, off-the-cuff comment, but the people who have sent you ugly emails about homeschooling? Take your off-the-cuff remark as a reply directly to them.
Why do I care? Because I really like you and I want you to make a comment directly to me.
I’m not sure if you think about it this way, which is why I wanted you to know that your readers do. Maybe we’ve commented on your blog (Not me, because I never comment anywhere) or maybe we’ve emailed you. Maybe we’ve sent you a tweet or “Liked” something of yours on Facebook. Either way – we probably read (and enjoy) almost every word you write. And chances are, you’ve never responded to us. Because you are very popular and busy and we TOTALLY GET THAT.
But when you take a moment to address a hater? It hurts my feelings because they don’t deserve your attention. They’ve done nothing to earn a response from you. Especially not compared to your fans which I’m certain are in greater quantities than your detractors.
I always tell my husband that I would like him to make a point to pay me 10 compliments for every criticism. This is how I wish my favorite popular bloggers would shift the balance. Look at how many times you call out your readers, or reference comments and emails. You should acknowledge 10 X more KINDNESS than HATE. I mean – everyone needs to vent about an obnoxious hater once in awhile. I wouldn’t want to deny you that, but maybe figure out a way to balance that out with several shout-outs to your supportive readers too?
I understand the need to add a curt reference to your haters, I don’t think anyone can resist that urge when bombarded with hate on a regular basis. But, maybe also add a loving reference to your kind commenters. When you reference your readers who think you spend too much time running, also reference the readers who thank you for your inspiration.
Just remember, your fans are quiet. There’s hundreds/thousands/millions of us out here who never give you anything other than positive reinforcement from the silence of our computer monitor. You only know we’re here because your stats tell you we are. You must trust that, because we come back with ever entry, that we love your words. Yet, when we see you mention those who dish out the negative, we feel sad because you rarely mention we quiet supporters.
And in the long run, don’t you want more of us and less of them? Because I like you a lot. You’re funny and kind and wise and you inspire me in many ways (Yes..I’m talking about YOU.) and I don’t think the haters deserve as much attention as you give them.
Me, on the other hand? I deserve the attention. Specifically in the form of Hot Glazed Krispy Kreme Donuts.
Thanks.
My Snuggle Bunny
This kid…THIS KID…is SUCH a snuggle bunny. If he knows you at all, no matter how casually, and if you’re female and ask for a hug? He’ll give it to you. He’ll wrap his tiny arms around your neck, his legs around your waist, he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and he’ll stay there FOREVER.
I’m not exaggerating. When there’s a hug-off between Wes and any adult female? She caves first, just because she inevitably has to be somewhere OTHER than holding my son. But he’s usually there for an extended period of time.
At least once a day I find myself demanding a hug from Wes. Of all three of my kids, he’s the only real snuggle buddy I’ve had and I take FULL ADVANTAGE of it. If I feel like I’m running around too stressed, I force myself to sit down and demand a hug. And then I sit there until the anxiety wanes because – I’m telling you – those arms? Better than 10 Xanax.
Do you have a snuggle bunny? If not…you can borrow mine any time. As long as I’m not using him.
That Time Of Year
3 years ago, I was spending a lot of time in Knoxville dealing with my (suddenly) dying father. This time of year is still hard on me because I spend a lot of moments thinking, “This time three years ago I was…” It all happened so suddenly that those weeks in February and March 2009 etched a permanent spot of anxiety in my heart and it’s hard not to look at the calendar and think about those days. The days in the hospital finding out his body was ravaged with cancer, the days at home as he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t continue with dialysis or chemotherapy. Then the weeks in hospice, everyone just…waiting.
I still miss him so much. I called my brother a few weeks ago and said, “I just did something I really wish I could call and tell Dad about, so you’re getting the call instead…” I do that often. At first I thought it was because I knew he would understand that need, as he would call Dad to tell him certain things too. But then I realized it’s because he’s a lot like Dad in that he’s sincerely interested in hearing about these new adventures, but he’s BETTER than Dad because he’ll actually talk back on the phone. As much as I loved my Dad, he was a DREADFUL phone person.
But those weeks in February and March, especially the ones he spent in hospice, were so hard that I often look back and wonder: HOW DID I SURVIVE?
But most of the times I think about my present and wonder: HOW AM I SURVIVING?
Because, while the pain of his death is not as raw or as fresh, the pain of missing him is still so strong. And it’s a different type of pain. The pain of losing him is the one that has faded over the last 3 years, but the pain of missing him? That pain seems to grow stronger. As the list of things he is missing grows, my agony over not sharing those things with him strengthens. And while it’s not a debilitating pain like the initial loss, it’s one that seems ever-present. It is always a part of me.
So, yes, time does heal that raw pain that death brings. But there’s another pain that strengthens…the pain of absence. The pain of knowing that another musical is coming and going without being witnessed by my Dad. The momentous achievements of my family are building up and will soon outweigh the achievements that he was alive to witness. He’ll never see E on stage. He’ll never get to feel the glory of a Wes hug. He’ll never get to see Nikki dork out over learning addition. I’ll never call him to tell him about trail running. This is the pain that will never fade. And certain times of year, or certain moments in life, I’m acutely aware of how the pain is growing.
And when all of those moments he’s missing occur during the 2 months I think of him and his death the most? Then that pain outlines every moment of every day. I close my eyes and fight back tears. Not the same tears of loss that I cried when he died, but the tears of longing that I cry when the hole in my heart that he left behind is aching to be filled.
Damn Flaky Tooth Fairies.
Nikki lost a tooth this week and I received the DREADED text message on my way home from boot camp the next morning: “Nikki woke up and found her tooth under her pillow :/”
SHIT.
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
That’s verbatim, if you’re wondering.
I didn’t even forget entirely! I had the dollar in my PJ pants ready to sneak under the pillow! It’s just that the previous night was one of those “Wesley is screaming and I’m tired so I’ll just lay down with him” kind of nights. He woke up crying before I was even in bed, so I just opted to lay down with him since I couldn’t soothe him. That made me forget ENTIRELY about the damn tooth fairy.
I resisted the urge to point out that The Tooth Fairy has been very busy lately with work and 3 kids in one play that just wrapped and 1 kid in a musical that she is producing and that MAYBE instead of focusing on her FAILURES the Tooth Fairy needs everyone to take a moment to tell her how AMAZING she is for being able to juggle all the balls with just the periodic drop. GIVE HER A BREAK, DAMMIT.
But – like I said – I resisted.
Luckily, Nikki is used to disappointment from fatastical beings. The Elf on the Shelf didn’t move one night either. So, we told her we had NO IDEA why the tooth fairy didn’t come, but we did propose hypotheses. Which she joined in on.
- Maybe she’s sick?
- Maybe it fell out too late?
- TRAFFIC!
- Maybe she got lost?
- Maybe your head was too heavy…you do have a melon head like your mother.
I finally told her that the tooth fairy hasn’t met me for lunch for WEEKS (Spoken with my most sarcastic tone, which cracked her up.) so I had no idea what would keep her from doing her DAMN JOB ALREADY. But, Nikki insisted we write her a note DEMANDING an explanation for her slacktitude.
So we did.
And she did.
And the tooth fairy explained that a LOT of teeth were lost that day so some of her Fairies In Training were taking responsibility to deliver some of the money. Evidently the Fairy In Training who came to our house? Is scared of dogs. And she panicked when ours barked. The Tooth Fairy was very sorry and even left FIVE dollars instead of the usual: ONE dollar. (The tooth fairy has a guilt complex.)
So…tell me: What did you do when the Tooth Fairy slacked at your house?
