Shelli’s Sentiments

I hear people talk about how often you should do this or that and I realize I never quite measure up to their ridiculous standards, so I thought I’d put it out here for real people and see how you all do it and see if I at least measure up to you. I’ll give my answers at a later date.

1. How often do you change your sheets?
2. How often do you change your bathroom towels?
3. How often do you buy new pillows?
4. How often do you flip your mattress?
5. How many minutes per week do you exercise?
6. How many times a week do you eat fish?
7. How many hours per night do you sleep?
8. Do you make your bed everyday?
9. Do you wash your hair everyday?
10. Do you use just a bar of Soap, a wash cloth and Soap, shower gel and a wash cloth or shower gel and a pouf?

Okay, that’s all I can think of for right now. I reserve the right to ask more questions at a later date. Can you answer some or all of them for me? I’m really curious to know if I’m normal or a slob or have OCD. More than likely I fall into the slob category, though. Shut up, Mom!

I don’t think chickens like to get wet and that’s sorta where we’re similar. I like to get wet (don’t be perverted), but I’m chicken to get in the water. It isn’t because I think that I look bad in my bathing suit and I think everyone will laugh at me. Not at all. In fact, I think that I look better in my swimming suit than most anything else because my swimming suit is one of those magical kind that makes you look slimmer. What I’m chicken about is my ability to swim. I’d like to be able to swim at the Y, but I’m afraid that I’ll a) look stupid because my technique sucks or b) I’ll make it all of three feet and have to walk the rest of the way because I have no stamina. And then, what if I swim into the deep end, but can’t swim all the way to the side of the pool and I start to drown and a lifeguard has to throw me a line and everyone gathers around and says, “look at that funny old lady who thought she could swim!” and they laugh at me. Then what?

I keep thinking that I’m going to go swimming at the Y, so I bring all my stuff–swim suit, towel, flip flops, comb for after the swim–but then when I get into the pool area and there are other people there, I chicken out and end up in the hot tub instead. I don’t burn many calories in there. Mostly I just sweat a few off. Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, really good, in the hot tub. I just need the exercise that the regular pool offers. Someone said, “Try water aerobics!” I would, but they never seem to offer classes for times that are doable for me. I should start my own aerobics. I’ll just wear a swim cap that says, “Impromptu Aquaerobics” on it. I wonder how long it would take for the Y to kick me out. Plus, I’d just look silly.

I guess I just have to jump in the water and get over my chickeness. If people laugh at me, then poop on them.

Saturday I went to the gym and decided to try the bike instead of my normal workout on the treadmill. Holy hell! I went 4 miles on the bike. That may not seem like a lot, but when I got off, I could barely walk. My legs felt like rubber bands. Apparently there’s muscles in my legs that I’m not using for things like, well, you know, WALKING! Walking an average of 4 or so miles a day, I might add. And standing–what muscles in my legs aren’t being used for standing??? What the hell? I thought I was going to die! Or pass out. My legs still hurt today (Sunday)! My hips hurt. I don’t think I’ll be doing that again for awhile. Not until I’m much stronger on the challenging programs of the treadmill. Or after I can press #500 with my legs. (Of course that’s exaggeration. That will never happen.)

By the way, I gained again this week. I’m sick of the scale. It’s a liar. It’s not telling me the same things that my clothes, my rings and my body are telling me. Which is, I feel good! (Nanananananana) Well, except for my legs and my hips protestation of riding a bike. Oh and my husband, he’s telling me I’m looking good. Not with words, though, if you know what I mean. Even Isabelle told me that I’m getting skinnier. Oh, and I’m pretty. I love that girl!

I woke up to pounding. I thought it was Jason pounding on the wall between our bedroom and the bathroom to get my attention. I got up and went to the bathroom and asked him if he needed me. He said, “No, that was Sam pounding on something.”

I thought, “What the hell is he pounding for at 4:30 in the morning,” but I said, “Why?”

“He left the garage open last night and both our bikes are gone.”

I went out to look in the garage and Sam’s out there storming around, saying things like, “I’m gonna kill them when I find them,” and “I’m such a stupid idiot. This is all my fault.” He left the garage door open.

I asked him if anything else was taken and he said that they took his and his Dad’s bikes and pretty much cleaned out our refrigerator. I walked out of the garage and saw that there was a Mike’s Hard Lemonade (one of the things missing from our fridge) sitting on the hood of the neighbor’s (the same neighbors that I talked about here) car and that there was a bike leaning up against their basketball hoop. I called Sam over and said, “I think the bike is right there.” I couldn’t see very well because it was still dark. Sam walked over and looked at the bike but it wasn’t ours, but then he spotted his bike sitting in their driveway. He brought his bike back to our garage and grabbed a baseball bat and started towards their house. Luckily I was out there to stop him from bashing their cars.

I told him, it all seemed too convenient. Why would they take our stuff and leave it sitting right there in their yard? Yes, their son is a known burglar, but that makes no sense to just leave stuff sitting right out there in the open. And leave an open Mike’s on the car? That would just be stupid. It looked like a set up.

We called 9-1-1 and when the cop got here, he took down all the information and then he went to talk to the neighbors. Apparently the son doesn’t live there anymore and the bike that was up against their basketball hoop wasn’t theirs, either. So the cop took that bike and then drove around the neighborhood in his police car looking for Jason’s bike. Sam took off on his bike to go down by the creek because sometimes people dump bikes there, I guess. It’s back off a paved trail in the woods, so it wouldn’t surprise me.

Sam is beside himself. He feels so responsible and terrible that his Dad’s bike is gone. He told me that as soon as he gets a job, he’s going to buy his Dad a new bike. He’s also extremely angry. He plans to go looking some more today.

I’m surprised that I’m not more surprised and upset by the incident. Does that make me jaded or a pessimist? It just really makes me tired. Or maybe that’s because I was rudely awakened.

Update: The cops called and they found my husband’s bike in another family’s yard. They also got their bikes stolen. Their bikes were more expensive than ours. I hope they get theirs back, too.

Sam’s out there playing private detective: he’s trying to see if anyone else got anything stolen or if he can figure out by word of mouth (he’s certain that the losers will brag) who did it. He’s also looking out for the bikes that belong to the people whose house our bike was found at.

I struggled with whether to post about this or not. Then Robin posted about it and Cissa posted about it and I thought and thought some more. The particulars in their situations may be a little different, but we’re in the same boat and it ain’t floating too well. I’m talking about the financial situation that so many of us are finding ourselves in lately.

I struggled with posting about it because I was afraid people would judge. You know, “Well why do you have this?” or “Why did you spend your money on that?” But, you know, we do what we think is best at the time. And it’s not like we’re getting public assistance (are you fucking kidding me we make “too much”) and then jetting off to Paris or something. (And, yes, I know someone like that, but I’m not judging. Well, maybe a little.)

I learned from the last several weeks that you don’t die when your satellite goes out and you don’t stop breathing if they shut your cell phones off. (Huge revelations for me, I know.) Those things were kind of liberating for me. We did have to figure out a way to get the cell phones back on for work reasons, but we still didn’t stop breathing when they turned off. It’s funny, when you don’t have satellite and you are down to just 5 or 6 channels, you find more time to do other things like read and go to the gym.

Our financial situation is actually what got us back to the gym–if we work out 12 times per month, we make $40 (our health insurance has a reimbursement program for gym memberships, so it’s not cash in hand, but still). Can’t beat that. Plus, with my high blood pressure, it was either start working out and make $40/month or add another medication at a copay of $13-$26/month. It’s pretty much a no-brainer. I’ve already been to the gym 13 times in the last 14 days. My resting heart rate has dropped about 12-15 beats per minute. (Of course, that’s just random, but it has been going in a downward trend.) I’ll let you know about my blood pressure.

Another reason I worried about posting about this is because I didn’t want to hurt Jason or embarrass him, but, it all comes down to what I am constantly telling him, we are not alone. A lot of people are dealing with similar struggles right now. Jason is certain it’s because of something he did, that he’s some sort of failure. I keep telling him he isn’t. Almost everyone I know is having some sort of struggle right now. It’s a sign of the times.

Jason has been working overtime and he is likely going to take over the job that his Dad was doing before he died (fixing up units for my MIL’s company that helps people who need housing) and he’s also applying for other jobs such as security guard, etc. I don’t want him to have to work more. I want him to be here for us, but it will make him feel better to be doing something. I have said I would get another job, too, but he doesn’t want me to. He thinks it will be too hard on me with my health issues. I have picked up extra shifts now and then and maybe I’ll do some of that, too.

It sucks. It’s frustrating. It’s not fun. Sometimes it’s very bleak and depressing. But here’s the part that makes it easier to swallow. We are not alone. We can help each other make it through this, even if it’s just through emotional support. And we will make it through this. When I was young and single and pregnant with Ashley, I kept telling everyone who would ask me, “What are you going to do?” (yes, in that tone), “It will all work out.” And it will. I just know it.