My perfect summer

Oh, you guys, I am no longer scared of summer vacay.

I'll admit, we had a rocky start because we had to cancel our Memorial Day weekend trip to a conference in Minneapolis because Jack was under the weather-- fever, cough, terrible, terrible diaper rash. He probably would have been just fine in retrospect, but we weren't sure, and we didn't want to travel 5 hours to hang with a sick kid in an unfamiliar city. Still, we hemmed and hawed and packed anyway (even though he spiked a fever the afternoon before we were scheduled to leave), and Harry lost his shit a little because he was so excited about the hotel-- the kid loves hotels. So, yeah. A little rocky. (And he is coughing while I type this. So is Harry. Awesome sauce).

But then we did the best thing ever. We joined a pool. *Cue angels singing*

All of my childhood summers of spending all day splashing and sunning and snacking poolside came rushing back the moment we swiped our cards at the front desk and emerged from the locker room into the bright chaos of the pool deck. The boys and I played poolside for 3 hours, and it was bliss.

Now my days have structure, and unstructured days were what was freaking me the freak out:

Morning: Play at a park or at the zoo or in the yard before peak sun rays. Go to the gym. Come home for lunch and naps.
Afternoon: Snack. At 3:00, go to the pool. Have another snack. Come home at 6 to do dinner, bed, and bath.
Evening: Drink wine with husband (but not on the deck because oh my holy hell, we went out there last night, but our cocktail hour was called abruptly on account of BATS. Eeeeeeeeeew.)

Notice nowhere in this plan is sit around the house and scream at each other with the TV on. (Unless it rains. But I even have tricks up my sleeve for the rain: The library. Barnes and Noble. Cooking class. Pump it Up. Little Gym day camps (for H) Indoor swimming at the Y.)

We may mix the mornings up with some swim lessons for Harry in the late summer (we are enrolled already in early summer lessons somewhere else) and trips to some teeny little beaches in our town. And for a few weeks, I'll be spending my mornings teaching summer school, but I'll be home by 1-- plenty of time to swim the day away.

I am anxious about getting too much sun, so we are going to avoid going outside between 11-ish and 3-ish, and we're using lots of sunscreen (with lots of trepidation). I also have the kids in super long swim trunks and rash guards (which? I would like to find long-sleeved-- anyone seen them anywhere?), and I am wearing the most ridiculous large hats and sunglasses. And the dreaded mom-kini. I even bought a 1-piece for the first time in literally my entire life. I'll have a post up about my suburban makeover at AKoP soonish. My sunxiety is funny, considering I spent the first 20 years of my life tanning with baby oil and watching my skin turn the color of lattes. Now I worry about chemicals in sunscreens and watch my moles like it's my job.

Even Ben is stoked about the pool, mostly because it means I will leave him the crap alone in the tantrum filled afternoon, will feed the kids at the pool snack bar (grilled cheese! pizza! ice cream!) a couple days a week, and just generally lay off him if he needs to work late. Also, he wants to play in a tennis league and take advantage of the wifi to work from pool part of the summer. Other than that, he's not a huge fan. While the kids and I played yesterday, he drank beer and watered his grass seed and bushes. He also trimmed the grass between his hostas with scissors because the lawn guys avoid our plants altogether, which is good, but the grass around them is crazy long. Actually Ben had the best afternoon ever because this is the first summer we've lived here (and this is the 4th summer in this place) that we have realized we have a faucet outside and can actually use a hose without having to hook it up to the deep sink in the laundry room and leave the garage door and the door to our house open. We're idiots about stuff like that. Now we can use our sprinklers and baby pool. Duh. So Ben bought a hose and a hose storage thing and hose accessories and had the most fun ever watering his stuff. Whatever makes him happy, right?

zOMG-- Thursday so soon?

Seriously, how awesome is the Hipstamatic iPhone app? It makes all my pictures look cool.








This week has FLOWN by for me precisely because I have spent the whole time trying to savor some significant moments. Harry had his last days of school this week-- his MWF class at the school he's attended for 2 years and his TR class at the odd little school he went to this year. Not only am I sad about the end of my alone time with Jack (and I am really sad about that. I get alone time with Harry everyday while jack naps, but the only time I ever got t hang out with just Jack was when Harry was at school), I am totally freaked out that they don't have school again until September 7th. That's a long time from now.

I don't know if I have mentioned recently how much I love my job. I love my job. Every second I spend at work is a delightful one. I love what I do, and I am still excited about my research, and my office could use a coat of paint, a new bookshelf and a couch, but I love it, too. I. Love. My. Job. BUT, I don't have a ton of summer childcare because our beloved sitter is leaving soon, and this causes me lots and lots of stress. it is one thing to balance work and life with good, reliable help, but it is impossible to keep all those balls in the air without lots of dedicated childcare. I have some time to prep fro fall while I teach this summer and before Jamie leaves. But I know there will be last-minute stuff I need to do in August when I have no sitter, and I am already stressed about it in May (which, now that I type that, seems stupid).

My goals for this summer are to have fun with my kids. Join a pool. Lose 4 pounds. Write an essay. Revise another essay. Download more iPad apps.

How about you? Tell me your vacay plans!

So hard to be me

My massage therapist wore a fanny pack of massage oil that she accessed several times throughout my session (that's what she called it-- my session. As in "You will feel so sore from your session." Yikes). I could tell she was about to lube up her hands by the zip and the sploosh sound her fanny pack made. Dreamy.

She was not the type of therapist I was looking for. Me. A mom who left her kids home with their nanny and read essays in a coffee shop for a couple of hours before showing up for my massage because you know, I've just been so stressed lately. This woman was not interested in my new-age, mindfulness discussion of my tension and anxiety. She demanded to know where my pain was.

Well, you know, I said, my left shoulder is sore from carrying my bag and my toddler, And I tend to store tension in my neck and upper back-- she cut me off and told me to make sure I took off my earrings because she didn't want to accidentally rip my earlobes off. Um. Okay.

When I was facedown (braless, in case you're wondering), she asked me if I usually felt sore the next day when I got massages. No, I told her. Hmph, she growled cracking her knuckles.

In retrospect, I should have declined the face massage.

I'm definitely going to see her again, though. I guess I like a scary massage. Who knew.

The Environmental Working Group put out their summer sunscreen guide, which is absolutely fucking horrifying. Apparently, there is no real evidence that sunscreen prevents skin cancer, but there is evidence that the most common chemical ingredient in sunscreen causes tumors to grow faster. Great.

We already use the 2 screens that get the highest marks, and I like them a lot.

We use Badger all over and California Baby stick for squirmy little faces, ears, and necks. Both are SPF 30 (and the EWG says that higher SPFs may just be bullshit ) and both are physical blockers, not chemical blockers. This means they contain nano particles of minerals like zinc, which may be safe but may also fucking kill you. The jury is still out. Still, the EWG says take your chances with the nano particles.

The best thing to do, though, is to wear lots of clothes; wear a hat, and avoid the sun during peak hours (10-4). When you don't feel like living like a vampire, use a safe(r) sunscreen and reapply. (But don't get too little sun, or you risk a nasty case of vitamin D deficiency. Crap).

Here's chatty Jack from earlier today. Lucky for him, pasty is in.

Interview with a Jackpire from sarah on Vimeo.

Summery Saturday

Harry faced and solved his first sartorial conundrum yesterday. He was wearing an orange shirt and a red hat, and he didn't know which flip-flops to wear-- red or orange.

I think he made a good choice. You would not believe the ring around the tub that remained after he took a bath last night. Or maybe you would. Look at those filthy piggies.

Not only does Harry refuse to listen or follow even the most basic of directions (at least not until he has been asked at least 6 times with increasing agitation on my part and received multiple-- and totally lame and ineffectual-- threats pertaining to the demise of his toys), when he sees that I am starting to get upset and raise my voice, he says, "Waaah, waaah, waaah." (as in "here comes the wambulance"). Totally deadpan. It makes me see red. Red. So, I downloaded a bunch of flashes and lenses for the Hipstamatic app, thinking maybe I could capture his lippiness and my feelings about it. This is close but not quite. I'll try again. (Hey, it's better than giving in to my desire to throttle him, right?)

We had another preschool birthday party yesterday, and Jack was so, so, so happy to be invited. When we finally got there 25 minutes late, he clapped and said "Oooooh," as we approached the party.

We had a grumpy time of it getting ready to go, mainly because I was running about, oh, 25 minutes behind schedule and Jack was too excited to nap, so he fell apart over every little tiny injustice-- and Harry made sure that justice was scarce. They boys acted like I was torturing them when I put the gate up outside their door and asked them to please play in there with the door open while I folded a few loads of laundry and threw a giant hat over my terrible hair. Yes-- it's really hard to be in a huge room with 400,000 toys for 20 minutes. Someone should call the authorities. And I thought someone might-- there was so much brother-on-brother violence and calls of "Mommy! I want to come out!" and some not-so-cooing replies from me. Picture. Perfect.
At the party, Harry was offered a popsicle or a rice krispie treat. He chose both. That's my kid.

After the party, Harry and Jack were covered with popsicle and playground filth, but I still had an hour to kill before their much anticipated breakfast-for-dinner at a greasy diner, and I ws reluctant to take their grimy selves back home. The solution? Another playground!

We lucked out and ran into Harry's old friend from preschool last year, and the boys played for a happy, super hero-filled hour

No-nap Jack was frantically tired, but he held it together kind of.

Then we ate breakfast for dinner and both boys were asleep by 7:15. Aaaaaaaaaaah.

I was supposed to get a massage today but I spent that time untangling my iPhone earbuds from my steering column. I'm achy.

Jack was saying cheese in this picture, which I found more adorable than when Harry first started saying cheese because Jack has been such a man of few words. He talks a lot now, though, and very clearly. He strings together phrases and sentences, and while he is not at all the talker Harry was at this age, he is well within normal range for a 2 year old. Phew!

I let Harry have a piece of gum the other day for the first time because I made him run into Target with me on the way to a birthday party (so I could pick up clips for my wretched hair), and he was agitated about being late to the party. I gave him a stick of Juicy Fruit to stop up his whine hole, and he LITERALLY could not walk and chew gum at the same time. He was concentrating so hard on not swallowing it. Then I almost fell down laughing my ass off.

These pictures have nothing to do with gum, but they're cool. While Jack played completely unattended behind me, I took about fifty bajillion pictures of Harry jumping off this thing and got exactly 2 good ones:



I'm trying this new thing where I don't drink caffeine except for a single cup of half caf in the morning. I bought a bunch of decaf pods for my Kuerig, and I drink them all day. Most of my love of coffee is the taste and holding a hot mug. This drastic change in caffeine consumption has had a wonderful effect on my mood and my patience level. That is to say, I am in a good mood and am patient. It's pretty nice.


Oh my god. This kid. When did he get so big?

And so tidy? He spent most of the time at DQ mopping up spills with his clutch of spitty napkins


I'm done prepping my summer class! Yay! Now it's time to turn my attention to fall before our babysitter leaves town for good. Yikes! Did I mention we're not signed up for camp at all? So once my class is over and Jamie moves to Colorado, it's just me and my kids. For days on end. That patience I was just bragging about? Gonna need it.

Dude, you guys, cows are stinky

Dairy farms are weird. In one barn are stalls and stalls and shit-splattered stalls of baby calves-- some less than 24-hours old-- and in another barn are their mothers, standing as still as their swollen, ballooning udders will allow. Farmers feed the calves with outsize baby bottles, and cows are hooked up to giant (shit-splattered) pumps. Luckily I didn't have to ponder the irony of all those baby cows fed artificially while their mothers' milk is shipped off to feed human babies artificially because all the milk on this farm becomes mozzarella cheese. Mmmmm, cheese.

I have never considered myself an animal rights activist by an means (I even like lamb! and veal! and I'm sure I would dig other soft, fat little baby animals. oh! and foie gras is delish, screw the geese!), but the farm tour I took with Harry's class yesterday made me rethink our relationship to animals. When the farmer told the kids about things like tagging the cows with giant "earrings" and cauterizing their horns with something "that looks like a big cigarette lighter," the children were horrified, and the farmer explained that ultimately, these practices-- like immediately separating moms and babies-- were best for the animals. Really, though, she meant that they were best for the farm, for the industry, for us.


At snack time in the farmhands' lunchroom, Harry ate 5 pieces of string cheese.



The cow in the above picture is 3 days old and pretty wobbly.


This little calf was born yesterday


Harry was leading these little boys on a path of mischief that ended with him falling in a slimy trough of cow shit run-off. COW SHIT. He fell in it. Before the field trip, I swore that if either of us encountered cow shit, I was calling a taxi to take us home. Instead, I rolled up his pants-leg and tried not to stand down wind. I almost puked in my mouth in the milking barn, when Harry kept resting his head against the shit-splattered side of the raised milking platform. Why was everything covered in shit? WHYYYYYYYYYYY?


Adorably, Harry was scared of the cows' soft, fat tongues, and he kept dropping his hay all over the (shit-splattered) barn floor. Then I would say "Heeeeeey," and no one would laugh. This happened at least 16 times.

According to family legend, when I was a toddler and preschooler, the only way I could deal with the stench of a petting zoo was to bravely clutch a Chanel No.5-soaked tissue to my nose as I waded through the goats and pigs and chickens. Clearly, I was a natural choice to chaperon a cow field trip.

I went to my office in the afternoon and stayed until after the kids were in bed because I am still not done with my summer class (and may not be even after today). Also because I suck as a person and missed the cuteness that is tee-ball.

Ben took lots of pics.




When I saw this picture of Harry playing in the dirt, Ben told me that the coach said Harry needs to be allowed to get dirtier, so that the dirt won't fascinate him as much. Whatever, I told Ben. I bet all the kids were playing in the dirt. Look at the next picture, he told me.

Oh.

I still think he's playing in the dirt because he is 3 turning 4 and all the other kids are 5 turning 6 (Harry is on the very young end of the 3-5 spectrum on this team), not because he has a fastidious mother. Also, tee-ball coach, he rolled in cow shit yesterday-- is that not dirty enough for you?

Gasp! I didn't clean the whole house today!

Have you heard this poem?

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.


by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Today, instead of giving the house its weekly Silkwood shower*, I rescued Jack who was crying in his crib (he's been having a hard time going down for naps for the past couple of weeks-- we usually leave him alone and he quiets downs in 10 minutes or so, but today he seemed sadder than usual), and laid down with him in my bed. He was really excited to nap with me-- he brought his own Buzz Lightyear blankie and was asleep within 30 seconds of hitting my pillow. He smiled at me, patted my cheek, sighed, and closed his eyes. I might have drooled on him a little in my sleep.

Remind me when I am bitching about washing the floor tomorrow that I really enjoyed myself.




*I couldn't resist spending a blissful 40 minutes scrubbing the shower. I also did the bathrooms, washed the inside and outside of the fridge including all the magnets and Leap Frog sets on the front of it, and removed and scrubbed all the oven knobs and childproof covers. I couldn't help myself.

OMFG. I am so old.

Kate has a post up today about 32 being the new old, and I was reading it on my iPad (which is f*cking awesome, by the way) and thinking "Yes! Yes! Yeeeeeesssssss!" Because oh shit do I feel old today, on this day, my 32nd birthday.

In honor of being so old, here are some Hisptamatic bath pics that look like the old ass pictures of me in the tub at my parents house taken with an old ass camera that wasn't even cool at the time. Just a camera. But now? Old is cool. But only in a trendy, ironic way. Shit.




I made Ben take me out for coffee when I got to campus this morning (what do I get to do on my birthday? Go to meetings. And more meetings. And MORE meetings. Also, prep my damn summer class already, jeez.), and walking back to my office, I looked up at the balcony of the Starbucks I used to study at with my grad school friends, and I felt old on so many levels. I felt old being here on this campus 7 years after entering grad school, while all my friends have moved away (old in a townie sort of way). I felt old for being nostalgic about a freaking coffee shop because that is such an old person thing to be nostalgic about-- not a bar or a club or something. A coffee shop. So I was old even in this glorious past I am recalling for myself. Shit, man. That's old. And then I felt old because I was drinking decaf (because if I have a drop of caf past 10 am, I'll never get to sleep) and looking at the balcony and the people on it while thinking, "it is too cold to sit up there without a sweater on a day like today."

A day like today.

One of the excellent things about being so old is all this wisdom I have accumulated (wink wink). Lately, I have been mindful of the mundane beauty of my everyday. Being woken up by Harry's creepy stare (seriously, he stands at the side of my bed, right about level with my face, boring into me with his eyes until I jerk awake from the force of the creepy stare. Then he greets me with the words, "I need to pee mama. I need your help."), crammed in bed with both kids and Ben before the sun comes up, holding one of Jack's icy foot blocks in the palm of my hand under the covers. Listening to Harry and Jack fight over what show to watch during breakfast, making them both bagels every morning and knowing that they will only eat a bagel once every 3 or 4 days but demand them on their plates everyday-- like a bagel lovey, brushing my teeth with the bathroom door closed and the exhaust fan on to mask the sound of the water because if Jack knows I am anywhere near a toothbrush, he is all over it, rummaging through the drawer for his and demanding, "Me," and my oral hygiene takes back seat. Talking to Harry about his vivid dreams and every.single.thing he sees out his window on his way to school, watching him hesitate for just a second at the door of his classroom before carefully washing his hands, shyly telling his teachers good morning, and then running full-steam toward the rug in the back of the room to dump out a basket of Plan Toy people. Picking Harry up at school, spying on him on the playground, almost falling down from the weight of his springing hug. Carrying jack even though he can walk and loudly kissing his cheeks until he squirms to be put down, hefting him over my shoulder after lunch as he drapes himself over me and blows Harry a kiss and tells him "bye bye" as we climb the steps for nap. Holding towel-wrapped Jack in my lap after bath while Ben snuggles a wet Harry, drying their hair by rubbing it with their towels until it sticks up on their heads and they laugh and point at each other. Watching Jack check himself out in the mirror after I put his pajamas on-- he even turns and checks out his butt. Pulling up Harry's rainbows. Collapsing on the couch with Ben and our DVR, a plate of cheese, pretzels, and wine between us. Sneaking into the kids' room on my own way to bed and taking pictures of the strange sleeping situations they've entered into in the time between their orderly tuck-in and my unannounced visit. Slipping into sleep grateful that my day will dawn with Harry's creepy stare and end with me staring at my sleeping babies, a little more wrinkled and better for the wear.

Sleep Trouble

I don't usually complain about sleep because my kids are usually great sleepers. In bed by 7:30 and not a peep until around 6. Sure, I'd love it if they slept a little later, and if I can find the time to put them down at 6:30, they'll usually sleep a full 12 hours. The problem is I NEVER can get them in bed that early because we are eating dinner and cleaning it up and doing other early evening family stuff.

The last couple of nights, though, they boys have been staying up past 8:30 and waking BEFORE 5. It has been totally brutal, and I don't know WTF is going on. The later they go to sleep, the earlier they wake up. Last night, they went to bed at 7:30 but were awake until around 9. At the crack of 4:45, they were both up for the day.


I, meanwhile, was up late transferring pictures to my hard drive (and this was a pain in my ass because I have 10,000 pictures and because I have had 3 different cameras and I never rename my pics, so some of their number-names overlap and I had to either replace or not a bunch of pics, and I don't know what I replaced with what. Argh.), so I slept or maybe 4.5 hours last night (after Monday when I got home from a final exam at 10:30 and stayed up for another 2 hours decompressing. Ugh).

This entry has turned into guttural parenthetical utterances, so I guess that's a sign I have run out of things to say. So tired. Blurgh.

Oh! But the kids! Are just as crabby and exhausted as I am! So imagine the fun we'll have together! Not napping! So that maybe we can sleep tonight!

Update: I just saved my MacBook from certain death in Kentucky

The Geek Squad sucks, and the Genius Bar rules.

I took my precious little computer whom I love very much even though I have been totally neglecting it for my shiny new iPad to Best Buy because that's where I purchased it and a $300 protection plan in October of 2007. First of all, the place was a ZOO. Second, the guy had dirty hands, and he touched my computer ALL OVER. Third, he ripped off the sticker that was covering the hole in my case and turned the computer roughly on its side. He tried to open the bottom with a quarter instead of a nifty little key, and he told me my computer was going to KENTUCKY for 3 WEEKS to be fixed and that I should probably let them back up all my data before they shipped it for $150. I left my computer (upside down) on the counter to go to customer service and have them print my warranty. They couldn't find it. They acted like it was my fault they couldn't find it. Then they found it, but they were unable to print a receipt because the system was down. I went back to the Geek Squad where a woman's busted down Toshiba was sitting ON TOP OF MY COMPUTER. The Geek yelled at me for not bringing the right receipt and then booted up a register next to him to print it his damn self (why was that not an option before he sent me to customer service?) I called Ben and told him I was just going to buy a new computer. he was like, "What the F ever. I am in a meeting. Do what you need to do. But maybe you should go to the frigging Apple store first." I was all, but I'll have to PAY for repairs there, and he was like, "Okay. So that new Macbook Pro you wanted 3 minutes ago was going to be free?" I was like yeah, pretty much, I was just going to charge it.

Then he hung up.

You know what, I said to the Geek. I am just going to use this one until it dies and get another one. I can't be away from it for 3 weeks. I grabbed my computer and ran. Across the mall parking lot to the Apple store.

In 15 minutes, the Genius behind the bar had fixed my broken optical drive, diagnosed my hard drive problem, and made me an appointment tomorrow morning for a new case and a new hard drive-- both totally free. And my computer will be ready in an hour. I could have gotten it fixed right away, but I wanted to try to salvage all the pictures I took in February, March, and April, which are the only things not backed up. (and to make sure I have my dissertation because zOMG that would be JUST LIKE ME)

In short, Apple is awesome.

Here's an iPhone pic of Jack taken one year ago today:

Computer trouble.

I am putting my iPad to the test because I have to take my computer to the shop today. GULP.

It has a hole in the case; my disk drive doesn't work, and I can't do my regularly scheduled Time Machine back ups.

In other words, I am screwed.

I have a fantasy that the Geek Squad guys are going to be like, "Oh, dude. So sorry. Take a new one off the shelf," but I feel like this is probably just a fantasy.

I'm worried, though, because I don't want to lose the totally awesome and flattering pictures I have of my family. Like these:

My iPad dreams came true! I love my husband! Also my adorable children

So yesterday.

Yesterday was a scary day. The basket of shit Ben keeps on his dresser got spilled on the floor and before we knew it the kids descended on the non-child-proofed mess. We bickered for a minute about whether or not they would choke on stuff and then bam! We were fishing a wet Tylenol pill out of Jack's mouth. We decided we had to assume that he swallowed some, so Ben took him to the ER for blood tests while I took Harry to a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese.

Who would have thunk that preschooler duty at the big mouse's house would be the preferable way to spend the afternoon? Poor Ben. Poor Jack, who didn't, by the way, ingest any Tylenol.

This morning Ben went out early to get donuts from my favorite Kosher bakery, and Harry gifted me my own lint brush.

Jack hung out in bed getting bunny crumbs everywhere, and when Ben came back, I opened my gift---


The iPad I wanted!!! I am typing this post on it right now while my students take a final exam (on Mothers Day).

It's like a big iPod but way, way, way cooler. The book app is totally awesome, and I think I will finally read more newspapers. I can also put my course readers, attendance sheets, and videos I want to show in class on it, so I think I can finally stop carrying 45 pounds of shit in my bag everyday, which is something my massage therapist has told me i need to do.* I am in the market for a skin so I can drag it to the gym and subscribe to all my magazines and download lots of trashy books. In short, awesome Mothers Day present and perfect for screwing around on the Internet when my students are writing essays for me to grade


Jack colored me a card at the gym daycare yesterday, and Harry painted the hell out of Tera cotta pot in which he planted something. He also made me a cool set of stationary and a tissue paper corsage. I was really touched by his projects because he used SO much paint and glued about 15 hearts to my card. He usually does a very cursory job on his art projects, and I am so happy he put so much fat-fingered effort into these gifts.

Ben says he doesn't see the resemblance but I think it looks like he is holding himself.


*About the massage therapist. I have been getting massages every 3 weeks, and I have been seeing the same woman. She is really young. So young that the first time I saw her, I didn't take off my bra because I felt uncomfortable. But my problem area is my left shoulder, and the bra strap got in the way. The second time, I kept my bra on again for some screwed up reason (I get lots of massages and have NEVER left my bra on before). Last time, she unhooked my bra, and I said really loudly (because I was half asleep before that second and lost the ability to control volume for a moment there) "Should I just take it off?". And she was all, "no," and it was weird. So I think I am going to switch massage therapists because I want to take my bra off and enjoy the massage (oh god that sounded so weird), and I feel like I have come too far bra-on with this woman. The problem is, she's really good. So what do I do? Take it off? Leave it on? Switch therapists? I'm feeling my shoulders tense up as my next appointment approaches, and it's supposed to be RELAXING!