Thanksgiving Minus One
Today was a good day, but it was also a tough one. I thought about it as soon as I woke up this morning. My Grammom is gone. This is the first Thanksgiving without her.
I figured that the first round of holidays without her would be difficult, and I was right. My sister made the Cope's corn that my Grammom always insisted on making. Grammom didn't like it baked, the easy way. She liked it soaked for hours in milk and then cooked on the stove top. When it arrived at our Thanksgiving get together, it was usually partially burnt and the casserole dish that housed that corn was overflowing with dried on liquid corn. It didn't matter that it was partially burnt. It always tasted amazing.
Today I tried to give my Pop-Pop some extra love. I knew he had to be feeling it as much as the rest of us were. When we finally sat around the table, my Dad decided to say the prayer. At one point, he stopped speaking and I snuck a peek at him. The words, already in his head, couldn't come out without hesitation and some choked up tears. He then asked God to continue to watch over my Grammom and said that one day we'd all be joining her. My Pop-Pop didn't cry. He just nodded. I know he'd like to join her as soon as possible. Knowing that makes it even harder.
Today, my Mom picked up the Grammom tradition and gave each of the women a bag of dish towels. Grammom never went anywhere without dish towels for everyone. That dish towel was yet another reminder that she is gone. I tried not to allow myself to think about it too much because I just got choked up and it made my throat hurt.
When we were getting ready to go today, I put a sweater and scarf on and my Grammom's watch. Sassy insisted on wearing a sweater and scarf too. She brought me the scarf she has from my Grammom and asked me to tie it around her neck. I asked her if she remembered where she got that scarf from and she said, "Yeah, it's Great Grammon's scarf." She's still so present in our house.
Last Christmas, I had to turn away to wipe tears as my Grammom handed present after present to my Mom. Each one seemed to stab me deeper. They were all her prized pictures of her Mother and Grandmother. They are family heirlooms and she wanted them to go to my Mom. She knew what was coming, despite the fact that she only started hospital admission after hospital admission after the holidays were over last year, before finally leaving us in April.
I know that Christmas is going to be even harder this year. It is so hard to keep her memory alive without letting it eat you up inside and out at the same time. I had a wonderful day today with my family, but I know we were all missing her terribly. It just wasn't quite the same without her.
To Password Protect or Not
It happens to every blogger. At some point, someone leaves a rude comment or even one that might be scary, and it makes you think. Am I taking unnecessary risks? Am I putting myself out there in ways that I shouldn't be? Is blogging really worth whatever risks I might be taking?
I've taken pause several times over the last almost five years of blogging. The first time came when one of my pictures was stolen by a forum rampant with pimply 12-year-olds with internet muscles. It nearly wrecked my family vacation when that happened. However, I didn't take it lying down. I fought back and eventually everything related to me was removed and I received a written apology.
I read with horror a few months ago, when a picture from Heather's blog of her deceased daughter, ended up on the computer of a child predator overseas. She was notified by authorities and it was a moment that I'm sure probably shook her to her core.
Yesterday I received a comment on my blog regarding a post I put up years ago when my self-tanner and I decided we weren't going to get along. The pictures that accompanied that post were crucial to the overall post. One picture featured the bottom of my foot, stained indefinitely with self tanner. It was a funny post and it took a lot of guts for me to even take a picture of my feet. Personally, I can't stand feet, even when they're mine. This is the comment I received on a recent post yesterday. Comments on individual posts close two weeks after the post goes live:
your feet in *that* post are great. I cant believe you blocked the comments. anyways I now added them to "collection". u should post more.
I guess I thought the person was kidding, so I joked back that I was happy to see their IP address was in the UK. The first rule of self defense, after all, is creating distance. I felt secure in that distance being a giant ocean. It's a creepy comment.
And then today, a second comment:
Do not fear woman, I actually live in the US I just use Proxies. You should be smart enough to know that what goes online stays online. I actually found the site thanks to a popular foot forum. I do offer my compliments. It is a very nice foot.
It's certainly a friendly enough comment, but it gave me pause. First, my picture (or I should say, another one of my pictures) has been added to a site without my approval. Second, the distance that I took comfort in before, is no longer there. Third, Hannibal Lecter was kind of charming in a polite but scary kind of way too. It is a stark reminder for me, that not all those who frequent this website are here because they are interested in me, my life or my writing. Not all are here because we've bonded through martial arts, raising daughters, or going through a torn ACL. Some readers are just interested in pictures of my feet, maybe my face, or God forbid, the rare picture that I post of one of my children.
So what's a blogger to do? Heather installed a Word Press plug-in that I really wish my blogging platform would offer. Perhaps a transfer to a blogging platform that allows me to do this is in order. However, moving almost 1000 posts from one site to another seems daunting and overwhelming. How does one even do that?
There's also the option of password protecting my entire site. However, how does one manage the permissions? What if some crazy person has been pretending to be a nice little reader all along when in reality they have a bulletin board of pictures of me somewhere in a dark closet? I'd also be giving up the ad revenue that this site generates. Although it's not much, it is something and it does help our family.
Perhaps I should relax a bit. When I told Mr. BBM over the phone about the comments, he laughed hysterically. "It's not funny!" I told him. "What do you think these people are DOING with that picture of my foot?" He got quiet then too; but then reassured me that it was simply a picture of my foot. Maybe I should relax about it a bit.
But then again, it's a picture of one of my body parts and it's been used without my permission, on a website forum where I would never frequent. It feels dirty and wrong. I don't like it one bit; and I'm considering all options that might make me feel better.
The Dark Side. . . Revealed
It is really challenging to get a 5-year old to hold a camera really still.
Exhibit A
The pictures I tried to take of myself didn’t turn out so great either. The flash made my hair look bright red.
So these are the best I can do for now. . .
I actually think I prefer myself blurry.
So what do you think? Am I dark and mysterious or should I go find a bottle of blonde, stat?
Going to the Dark Side
On Friday, I had a hair appointment. I went in expecting that I would get some highlights. I figured I'd leave there with a darker blonde overall look and the same cut. I left looking a lot different than I expected.
My stylist told me that the fall colors are deep, rich shades without highlights. I mentioned something about when I had gone darker last winter and he basically said, "Pshaw right" and went off to mix up something new and different. I sat there while he was mixing it up thinking that doing something different is good. It would be nice to have a change. Then I flipped through a hair magazine and looked at all those light blondes and wondered if I should yell for him to mix up a nice batch of blonde instead. I kept my mouth shut.
As he put the color on my hair, it looked like deep red blood. I felt a little panicky but he told me it would darken up. It did. As I sat there, I watched the red turn into a deep brown. Then it was time to wash it all out.
When I returned back to the chair I almost fell over. My hair was wet, sure, but it was really dark. REALLY dark. Then we started discussing cuts. He casually mentioned cutting about five inches off the back and I got sick. "Put your hand where you want to cut to," I told him. I negotiated down to three inches and joked that he probably cut four anyway.
When I was completely dry and styled, I couldn't believe the difference. I didn't look like me at all. I liked it but told him I was going to need some time to get used to the very surprising new me.
I went to pick up Sassy from my Mom's house. When I arrived and peeked through the door, they both thought I was my sister. When they realized it was me, there were a couple "Woah's." Then Sassy said, "Um, I don't really like your hair. I think you need to get some blonde highlights."
Awesome.
My Mom said she liked it but would need some time to get used to it.
I came home to Big I and Mr. BBM. Big I said, "Woah" and stared at me for a while. Mr. BBM was all "Woah" too. That seemed to be the word of the day.
After bridal gown shopping with my sister, I dropped her off and saw my dad. Always blatantly honest, he said, "you need to go buy a bottle of bleach." As I got closer to him, he said "Well, it's not that bad. You just look really different." I'll take that. It's the best I'll probably get from my dad.
On Saturday night, we went out for a bite to eat and I noticed they had Bass Ale on the menu. I asked the waitress, "How big is the pint?" since they had three sizes. She sort of laughed and Mr. BBM looked at me and said, "16 ounces, duh. . . "
I was about to say I was having a blonde moment, and then I realized I couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. "Brunette moment" doesn't quite have the same ring to it.
This morning, I nearly attacked my mirror when I went to brush my teeth, thinking there was some crazy dark-haired girl in my bathroom. I like the change, but I also think I'm going to need some more time to get used to it.
I realize writing this post without a picture is just pure evil, but the one I have just doesn't do it justice. I'll get the husband to break out the good camera and put something up soon. Promise.
Revealing Leg Vanna Style
Filed under: Back in the Classroom, Mental Strain for Mama
Yesterday I was making my way around my classroom and dropping in on peer editing groups. I joined one group and was in the middle of telling my student that she should really avoid ending sentences with prepositions when I realized it was a bit drafty in my basement computer lab classroom that lacks any and all windows.
It was then that I glanced across the room and out of the corner of my eye, caught a view of skin that wasn't supposed to be there. With my left leg crossed over my right, the undone side seam of my upper thigh pant leg was gaping and making a huge diamond shape on my thigh of blind-you-with-the-whiteness skin.
I gasped and quickly put my hand over the hole in my pants. I mentally calculated the number of minutes I still had left in this class and the one after it. I instantly revised my lessons plans so I could sit for the next class with my legs under a desk and far out of view. I went back through time searching for something that would have ripped my pants. When did this happen? How did this happen? I bought these pants TWO weeks ago and have worn them exactly twice!
I quietly excused myself from the peer editing group, mumbling something about needing a tissue and made my way out into the hallway. As I walked, I looked down at my leg and gasped again. My pants weren't ripped. The side seam was just coming completely undone from the inside out.
I made my way down the hallway to one of my favorite secretary ladies and stuck my leg out, Vanna White style, for her to see. Her eyes got wide and she immediately started searching through her desk drawers for something, anything that would seal up my pants and allow me to return to the classroom and survive until my work day was over.
She found a small sewing kit, which seemed all kinds of promising, right up until I told her that all sewing done is our house is done by my husband. Instead she grabbed a safety pin. A nervous, partially nudist wreck, I fumbled in the bathroom until my pants were closed up the best I could get them without having to take my pants completely off. It reminded me of the time last year when my bra strap came completely undone as I was busy lecturing about annotated bibliographies. These count the two times in my life when I have been grateful for my allergies. One sniffle in front of an attentive class, and I can make an emergency run to the bathroom for nostril evacuation, or so they think.
I stopped back in the office to show the secretary my leg once again. She gave me a nod of approval.
By now, I figured my writing class would have figured out that I wasn't blowing my nose. I also realized that many of them had probably seen my pant leg slit during the 15 minutes that I took explaining to them what I wanted them to do. So I walked into the classroom and shamed them for not telling me I was revealing some serious leg.
They stared at me like I was an escaped lunatic. Not one of them had noticed, yet now they were ALL looking for the big reveal. Sometimes I forget that I teach at the crack of dawn and these kids can barely open their eyes. It's all kinds of wonderful for when you're having wardrobe malfunctions.
Thankfully, my safety pin and one strategically placed binder clip kept that thigh under wraps . . . for the most part.
The other day I told you my thighs and butt were big and hungry. Now there is proof. They clearly ate my side seam.
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