So, I mentioned previously about my glorious happiness at being able to shop in the regular size clothing departments … what I neglected to mention, in case you didn’t already know this, is that shopping sprees are damn expensive!  Plus, since I’m really not sure what size I will wind up being ….. bigger?  Because its inevitable I will gain a few pounds?  Smaller?  because my doctor tells me I’m still swollen and puffy with fluid?  The same?  Who knows?  So I haven’t wanted to commit to too many things, only to grow out of them, one way or the other, over the course of the summer.

I cleaned out my closet this week and tossed almost all of my old jeans, capris, pants, and skirts.  And as I was looking at the suddenly-empty space, I thought about the few items of clothing I had kept from my younger, smaller days.  Most I had gotten rid of twenty or thirty pounds ago, but I few things that I especially liked, I kept.

One of them was the dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding, fifteen years ago.  It’s dated, to be sure.  Its a rayon-y sort of fabric, in a small black and white floral print, with shoulder-pads, that buttons down the front.  No, it doesn’t have any kind of stupid doily collar, or anything like that, but everything else SCREAMS 1990′s. 

And I’ll be damned if the thing didn’t fit me again.  Or maybe I should say, at long last, I fit the dress again.  So I decided the hell with being in fashion …. the hell with being trendy and modern and Vogue-ish.  I’m wearing this dress to work today because it fits me …. because I can!  (and also because I only own two pair of pants now and they’re both dirty, but whatever!!)   Look, this dress is a size 12, and buttons up over my boobs without gaping!  The back of the dress lies flat, and doesn’t get stuck on my butt-shelf!  Because I don’t have a butt-shelf any more!!! 

I walked around work today feeling pretty good about myself and my 1990′s dress.  I felt confident.  I felt happy. I felt like the person I was meant to be inside, before pregnancies and breast feeding and laziness, and Mother Nature and her bitch of a sidekick, Gravity, came into my life.

Then I came home and changed clothes. 

And finally noticed the dry cleaning tag, from 1996, that was pinned to the outside of the skirt.  That I had apparently walked around all day, with it hanging off my dress.

Yeah.  That’s classy.

Not so smug anymore, am I?  Three clothing sizes smaller, but as big a dork as ever.

Or perhaps I have begun menopause without knowing it, and I am simply a raving hormonal lunatic.  But let me tell you what happened to me today, and you tell me if I’m being silly.

I needed to make 300 copies of a flyer, and I wanted them to be on brightly colored paper.  So I went to Office Depot, grabbed a package of neon copy paper off the shelf, and walked over to the self-service copy center.  The girl behind the counter asked if she could help me, and I told her I needed to make 300 copies of something, but that I’d like to buy this orange paper and use that.  She replied no problem, I could pay for the orange paper when I checked out.  She then helped me get the machine set up, paper tray filled, etc.

When the copies were made, the machine printed out my receipt, and I noticed the charge was nine cents per sheet, which is Office Depot’s normal charge for b & w copies.  I gathered up my copies, and the leftover orange paper that I hadn’t used, and headed to the cash register to pay.  As I walked past the girl who had helped me a few moments earlier, I paused, and we had the following conversation:

Me:  “Excuse me, but I notice here that I was charged nine cents per copy.”

Her:  “Yes, that is our price for black and white copies.”  I could almost here the undertone whisper “there’s a sign right there, Einstein.”

Me:  “I don’t get any sort of discount for providing my own paper?”

Her:  “Um, no.”

Me:  “But I am paying for the orange paper up front …. so technically I didn’t use your paper.  It’s not any cheaper that way?”

And she paused, and then looked at me, like I was the dumbest person to ever walk the face of the earth, and replied, “It doesn’t matter what paper its printed on, it still costs the same amount to make a copy.”

Me, annoyed at her snotty little tone, “Yes, but your nine cents a copy charge includes the cost of paper that is used.  I didn’t use any of your paper, I used my own.  And obviously I’m going to pay for that.  So I assumed the price of copies would go down that way.”

Her, still clearly superior to me:  “No, that’s not how it works.”

Me, who at this point could have given two hoots about the cost, but now?  It was a MATTER OF PRINCIPLE …. (aren’t those three of the most dreaded words in the English language?  Matter of Principle?  Because you know its simply code for “I don’t care what comes next, I am digging my heels in and will not budge.”)   “So, do I get 300 sheets of white copy paper?”

Her:  “Sorry?”

Me:  “I paid nine cents a sheet, which includes the cost of 300 sheets of paper, that I did not use.  Do I get to take the blank sheets home with me for my personal use?”

Her:  “Uh, no.”

Me, at this point, totally passive aggressive because I *knew* she wasn’t going to give me 300 sheets of blank paper, and I didn’t even WANT 300 sheets of blank paper, but by golly, I felt like I was ENTITLED to 300 sheets of blank paper!!!  I really wanted to drive home the fact that I feel I got ripped off.   But, with a half-hearted ”thank you for your help”, and a lukewarm smile on my face, I walked up front to pay.  Because my confrontational ability is non-existent, even if I feel like I have a valid point.  And even if I want to smash that point into someone’s smarmy face more than anything.

I was annoyed enough that for about one nano-second I considered asking for a manager simply to prove my point.   Would you take fabric to a seamstress, ask her to sew you a dress, then let her charge you for the fabric?  Would you take left-over bricks to a mason, ask him to make you a mailbox to match your house, then let him charge you for the bricks?  Would you buy trees and bushes and flowers and shrubs, hire a gardener to plant them all in your front yard, then let him charge you for the plants?  Would you take ……….. oh, never mind.  You get my point.

Of course, in the time it took me to get from the copy center to the front register, I realized my point was ridiculous, just pay the nine cents apiece for the love of Pete and go home.

Still.  I’m kind of thinking Office Depot ripped me off today.

Clearly Kendrie and her best friend Katrina are at odds about whether you run faster wearing the hat on your head, or holding it in your hands.  Or, as Kendrie told me later, “I knew I would run so fast it would blow off and I didn’t want to have to walk back and get it.”

See?  Winning — It’s all in the power of positive thinking.

I went to Six Flags with Brayden and the middle school choir today.  Er, make that yesterday.  Saturday.  When was that???  I got up at 2:30 am, to leave for the school at 3:30 am, and drove myself, following the charter bus that held the kids, the director, and the parent chaperones who were much braver than me and willing to spend eight hours on a bus with young teenagers.  The choir competed at a local high school, then we spent all day in the park.  It is now 12:18 am, Sunday morning, and I just arrived home about fifteen minutes ago.  The bus isn’t due back for another hour, so I’m sitting here at my computer, trying desperately to stay awake long enough to pick Brayden up when they get in.    At this stage in the game, I feel a little punch drunk.  I’m not sure I’m thinking too clearly.  It just took me three tries to spell my name correctly to get on the computer, so perhaps I am more tired than I realize.

Anyway!

When I got up at 2:30 am this morning (yesterday morning?  Who knows???)   I had to come downstairs to wake up Brayden and her friend who had spent the night and were sleeping in the den.  Kellen also had friends spend the night, sleeping upstairs.  Blaine was asleep in the living room, and the house was dark and quiet.  As I walked through our downstairs hallway, trying to keep quiet, and not turning on any lights because there were people sleeping all over the flipping house, I stepped on something.

And I thought …. oh. my. gosh. 

Whatever it was, it stuck to my sock.

And I thought …. oh. my. dear. holy. gosh.

I reached down, and it was sticky.  Bracing myself, for the life-altering image of a maggot on the bottom of my sock, I flipped on the hall light.

It was a Corn Pop.

Those are Blaine’s current snack of choice, and he eats them by the boxful.  He must have dropped one in the hall last night.

I was never so happy to see a damn Corn Pop in my entire life.

Warning:  cursing ahead, because I am really skeeved out and annoyed.

So you remember a couple of weeks ago when Blaine came to me with a funny look on his face, and I was all prepared for him to tell me his cancer was back, and instead he announced that our cat had caught a mouse, and I was all, “Woah, that wasn’t what I was expecting to hear“  but then the more I thought about it, while OF COURSE being INFESTED with rodents is preferable to my husband having cancer, still, you’ve got to admit that its pretty fucking disgusting to know there is a mice in your house, but naturally being the optimist that I am I went on the belief that was the only mouse and now it was gone and we can live happily ever after, once I get over my abuse and over use of the run-on sentence …. right?

So last week we had the exterminator come out.  He wasn’t even going to do anything until he saw some mouse droppings in our attic, so he threw down some poison and we hoped that would be the end of it.

I hosted Mother’s Day, and my mom, my sister, and my sister’s family were treated to a baked potatoe bar, a chocolate fondue fountain, and the lovely aroma of rotting, decaying flesh in our walls because apparently we had several of the little fuckers eat the poison.

I was on my way to bed just now …………. JUST NOW, like two minutes ago, and walked past the guest bathroom downstairs.  Where Blaine was standing.  Looking up at the ceiling.  With an odd expression on his face.

“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously.

“Um, you don’t want to know,” he replied.

“Oh. My. GOSH. Is there a mouse up there?  Is his disgusting little tail hanging down out of the vent?  Can you actually SEE IT?!?!?!”  I was all prepared for a mid-size freak out at the fact there might still be live mice in the house. 

But no.  No live mice.  It’s better than that.

See, summer is coming here in OK.  And we’ve had some rain, so its been slightly humid.  And apparently, unbeknownst to us, rotting, decaying animal flesh in your attic, if timed just right in a wet, warm, humid season, attracts flies. 

Who then lay eggs.

Which then turn into maggots.

Who then somehow make their way into YOUR LIGHTS IN THE GUEST BATHROOM OH MY HOLY HELL WE HAVE MAGGOTS IN THE LIGHT FIXTURE IN THE CEILING OF THE GUEST BATHROOM.

“I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t notice, and I was going to take care of it after you went to bed,”  Blaine said, ever my hero, hoping to spare me.

But now, I don’t think I’ll be going to bed tonight.  Because what if I’m sleeping, and instead of worrying about an enormous rat eating my face off, now I have to worry about MAGGOTS FALLING FROM THE CEILING AND LANDING ON ME.

For the love of all that is holy, I’d rather live in a haunted house than this place.  Does anyone know if there’s anything in Amyteville is for sale?  Because I am thiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssss close to bagging the entire thing and going to a hotel.

Aaaaannnnnnd, call #2 to the exterminator, first thing tomorrow morning.

Updated to add:

Actual conversation between Blaine and I, just now:

Me:  “Are they gone?  Did you get rid of them? Oh my GAWD I don’t think I can live here any more!”

Blaine:  “I think perhaps you are over reacting.”

Me:  “Blaine, we have MAGGOTS in our house.  How can I over react to that?  Now I can’t go to bed because I have to worry that its going to be a Fear Factor episode in the bedroom with hundreds of maggots falling on me in my sleep!”

Blaine:  “Kristie, seriously.  This will pass.  Once the mice are gone, and the flies have nothing to eat, they will be gone.  You just need to take a deep breath and relax.”

Kristie: “I can’t relax when we’re living with VERMIN!   We need to sell this house and move somewhere!!!”

Blaine :: eye rolling::

Kristie:  “No, listen, I’m serious.  What if this had happened and you hadn’t been here?  What if I had been in the restroom, minding my own business, and I had looked up and seen maggots crawling around in the light fixture?   What the HELL would I have done????   You know, I’m sorry you have cancer and all, but thank the good Lord above that means you have never deployed.  Because I thought I was pretty tough, and I thought I had what it takes to be a good military wife, but if this had happend and you hadn’t been here, I WOULD HAVE SHIT MY PANTS.”

Blaine ::more eye rolling::

I’m starting to think he’s not as sympathetic as I thought he was.

I went to my doctor’s today for my 4-week checkup.  When he asked how I was feeling, I replied, “I’m getting around pretty good by now.  At least, I choose LIFE again, which I wasn’t so sure about the first week after surgery.”

Great attitude, no?

He was looking at my scars, and making sure there was no swelling, or infection, and that everything was healing nicely.  I’ve simply accepted the fact that this man and his nurse have seen me naked more than any other human on the planet the past few weeks, and try not to cringe with self-consciousness while I’m there.   Ironically, I still find myself sucking in my stomach out of habit, although there is damn little there to suck.   And I told them about going shopping for new clothes, and how much I enjoyed getting to shop in the regular department for once.  My doctor might be the only man I’ve ever met who seemed to understand the significance of that. 

Then he asked me to remove my bra so he could examine the reduction/lift work.

“Good, I’m pleased.  They are very cute,” he said.

Cute?

CUTE???

My breasts haven’t been described as ”cute” since I was a teenager ………. well, nope, I doubt they could have even been called “cute” back then.  And Lord knows after pregnancy and weight gain and breastfeeding, and more, more, more pregnancies, they certainly haven’t been confused with “cute” in quite a few years.  Like, TWENTY or so.

So I responded the only way a mature, grown up, emotionally healthy woman could ……

I blushed.

And with that remarkably TMI story out of the way, I’m off to enjoy the weekend, and specifically Mother’s Day, with my family.  I hope you enjoy yours, as well.

I went back to work on Monday.  Well, technically, I went back for the first time last Friday.  I walked in, after a three week absence, and my desk was empty.  My files were gone, pens, pencils, post-it notes were gone, etc, and my computer was gone.  I turned to the assistant office manager and said, “Was I fired, and nobody told me?”

Thankfully, no.  There was just a wee bit of reorganization while I was gone, and I was moved to a new area.  Same job, different space.   Needless to say, I spent my first day back simply getting moved, sorted, and rearranging my new desk.  For an ocd control-freak like me, it was heaven.   Getting to set up a new desk the and space the way I want it is a dream ….. topped only by the visit to Office Depot that I will later make to purchase the last little few items I need to make it perfect. 

Anyway, that really isn’t my point and has nothing to do with this post.   What I’m getting at is that I worked Monday, and Tuesday, and today of this week, and knew for certain by then that none of the dress clothes in my closet were going to work for me any more.  I had to pin up the waistband of a skirt I wore Tuesday and walked around all day fearful that if the safety pin came undone, the skirt would fall to my ankles.  I don’t own a ton of dress clothes because let’s face it, I hadn’t worked in 14 years before I started working last fall.   I was pretty much the epitome of “soccer mom”, and my closet reflected that.  But I only work a few days a week, so three pair of slacks and a skirt were enough.  All three pairs of pants were size 16.  That is what size I was when I started working last fall, shortly after I had Shaylah, and before I began dieting in preparation for the surgery.

By the time I had the surgery, I was down probably to a 14.  Its hard to tell.  Because of the way my body was shaped (I was SUCH an apple ….. biggest around the middle, with not a lot of junk in the trunk) and because I refused to have a muffin roll above the waistband of my pants, I would have to buy them big enough to fit AROUND my stomach, the biggest part of me, which meant then they were usually baggy every where else.   Or as my mom puts it, “Like I was carrying a load”.   Not attractive, but what’s a girl shaped like me to do?

So by the time I was ready for the surgery, and had lost some weight, I was pulling the waistband of the pants an inch or two and fastening those with safety pins, too.  But now, after the surgery, no safety pin in the world was going to make those pants work.

So, last night, I went to the mall and went shopping.

Now, here’s what you’ve got to understand.  If you are female, and weigh more than 160 pounds or so, and do NOT feel comfortable wearing skin-tight fashions, then shopping sucks.  You’re pretty much relegated to the plus-size section of the department stores, or the few stores in the mall (very few) dedicated to plus-size fashions.  Except that, at my previous size, I was sort of in between.  In most stores, 16 bottoms were not easy to find, definately the bigger end of the spectrum.  And because I am chesty, and do not want my clothes tight, I needed 2x tops.  Which meant I HAD to shop in the plus size stores, but often, I was on the small end of the spectrum there.  So I would find nothing, and go home discouraged.  If I found something I liked, that actually fit well and didn’t make me look pregnant, I would buy one in several colors, then get sick of it before much time had gone by.

Shopping just stunk, and although I went, and could usually find *something* that would work, I never really enjoyed it like I assumed other people did.  Typically I would leave the mall feeling worse about myself and the way I looked.

Until last night, when I went to the mall to try and find a new pair of pants.  I knew that my 16′s were too big, even cinched up with a safety pin, and assumed 14′s might be too big, also.  So, I found several pair of pants that I liked, and took size 12′s, and size 10′s, into the dressing room.

Oh my holy mackerel, the 10′s are what fit best.  I was standing in front of a 3-way mirror, looking at the 12′s, and trying to decide.  Another woman was leaving the dressing room and I stopped her ….. “Excuse me, do you think these pants fit me ok?”   And she looked at them and said, “No, they’re too big around your hips and waist.”

I almost grabbed her and kissed her.

16, to 10.  Do you know what a difference that is to my self-esteem?

Then I figured why not try on some tops, too.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not skinny.  Even with this surgery, even with a thousand more surgeries, I will never be skinny.  I’m broad waisted, and broad shouldered, and although I had a breast reduction, I didn’t have them removed entirely.  And because I had them lifted, they technically feel bigger than they were before.  You know, now that they are no longer pointing TO THE GROUND.

So while I still wanted an XL top, the point is, I fit into an XL top.   From the regular racks.  In one of the new tops I bought, the L fit best.

Do you know how profound that is?  And what that means to me, as a female shopper?

I was able to buy all my clothes last night from the regular section of the department store.  No digging through the racks looking for a size that wasn’t there.  No trying on the largest size they had, only to realize it was still too tight.  No going to Lane Bryant, only to realize the smallest size there was still too big.

I can buy normal people clothes now.

And while that might sound silly to some of you, especially if you’ve never faced this issue, it was a huge deal for me.  Honestly, I got a little emotional and overwhelmed in the dressing room at the fact I could now buy NORMAL clothes.  Its all mine for the choosing, the world is my oyster, think of the doors that are open to me now (mainly, doors to the other 90% of stores in the mall!)  blah blah blah.  But seriously, its a huge deal to me.

Lets make something clear …. I like myself as a person.  I liked myself as a person before, and I am certainly the same person now as I was.  No matter what size the tag inside your pants says, if you’re a jerk you’re a jerk.  Just because I can fit into smaller clothing now, that doesn’t suddenly make me more worthy, or nicer, or prettier, or anything like that.

But to imagine shopping now, pretty much where ever I want, is such a liberating idea.  I was so thrilled I bought new shoes, too.  My feet, however, are the same enormous size they ever were.   All those pregnancies not only gave me stretch marks and a buddha belly, but I was blessed with two additional shoe sizes over the years.

Then, to celebrate, I went to the Nestle Tollhouse kiosk and ate two cookies.  Because that’s how I roll.   I’ve given myself my six weeks’ recovery period to eat pretty much what I want.   I figure my body has been through enough trauma, I’m not going to deprive it of calories that might be needed to heal (see?  see how I can justify that?)  After the six weeks, I’ll go back to a high-protein, low-carb diet.  And I can feel that I’m closer to walking for exercise.  Because more importantly, I’m almost walking upright again.  Which will be nice, instead of looking like I have the world’s worst posture.

Today, at work, I had on my new pants, and a new sweater.  A patient commented, “That’s a pretty sweater,” and I said, “Thank you, I just bought it last night at JC Penney!”   I swear, it was all I could do not to blurt out, “In the regular size section, can you believe it???!!”

Now if I can just get over my paranoia about swimsuit shopping, that might be next.  Because as everyone knows, Memorial Day is right around the  corner, and that clearly signals the beginning of summer.  Of cookouts and hot weather and swimming season.

And also the arrival of coats and jackets in the stores, so I better buy that swimsuit now while I still can, whether I feel ready to not.  As overwhelming as the mall was last night, I can’t even imagine the mental chaos of being able to choose a bathing suit that doesn’t have a blouson top and/or a skirt.  Although some habits die hard, so I might still wind up with that anyway. 

Baby steps, right?

Today begins the annual testing at our middle school …. those crt, or crct, or occt, or whatever initials might be used, wherever you are, that kids take every year.  Kendrie took hers last week in the elementary school and this week its Kellen’s and Brayden’s turn.  Kellen took to heart the suggestion made over the announcements last week that he begin his testing mornings with a good, healthy breakfast, and has been asking for eggs and bacon.

Lest you think I don’t get up every morning and cook my family a four course breakfast meal ………… well …………. I don’t.  Especially since he has track first hour and runs half a mile, and would puke up anything substantial.  So we agreed for testing week he would get the breakfast he asked for, instead of the small bowl of cereal he normally eats.

Except yesterday I realized I didn’t have bacon.  And I was too lazy to go to the store, so I asked Blaine to.

And he did.  And Brayden went with him.  And he was too lazy to carry the groceries in, so he asked her to help grab a bag.  And she did.

Except she was too lazy to actually put the groceries up, so she just laid the bag on the counter.

Where it sat all evening.  And I walked by it at least ten times, but I was too lazy to put the groceries away, too.  In my defense, all I could see was a box of cereal.  I didn’t notice the package of bacon under the cereal.

Blaine noticed it, around 2 am, and put it in the fridge.  And started googling.

According to most, bacon has been cured and has enough presersatives in it that it can sit out for up to twelve hours without going bad.

Hmmmmm.  Not enough time to go back to the store this morning (but time enough to type this, no?)  and buy fresh bacon.  Do we chance it?  Kellen might wind up puking anyway, not from track, but from rancid pork.  That’s an awesome way to start a test morning, don’t you think?

Yep.  Passing the buck.  Its what we do best around here.

***Updated to add:  Just couldn’t do it.  The thought of giving my sweet angel babies salmonella on test day was too much for my conscience.  So Blaine has been sent back to the store with instructions to break the speed limit if necessary, but return in ten minutes with a fresh package of bacon.   Biscuits in the oven, eggs on the stove, and bacon cooking to commence forthwith.

***Updated AGAIN to add:  I am married to a flipping genius.  He rushed to CVS and Walgreens, the two closest stores, and neither had bacon in their mini-grocery refrigerated section.  So he drove across the street to Grandy’s and bought two orders of bacon, already cooked.  Granted, he probably paid eight times as much, but how clever is that?  :)

My most sincere thanks to those of you who have commented, or contacted me personally, to let me know that you’ve experienced the same surgery-after-effect yourselves.  You have truly, honestly, made me feel better. 

I would cry tears of relief to know I’m not a circus freak, but I’m too dehydrated from all the sweating.

OK, I’m not sure which is less private, this blog, or Facebook.  But I have a question, and it seems a little too personal to slap up on Facebook, so I’ll ask here.  

For anyone who has had major surgery before ….. is sweating, particularly night sweating ….. afterwards, common? 

At first I thought it was my body trying to metabolize the pain meds, but I’m not taking anymore.  Then I thought maybe it was my body trying to rid itself of the swelling and extra fluids, but its been three weeks, with no let up in sight  ……  then I wondered if its just me, getting hot, wearing that stupid compression garment all night, but its happened a few nights that I haven’t worn it, either.  It’s neither hot nor cold in our house, and I’m comfortable the rest of the day.

But I wake up a sweaty, disgusting mess.  I’m talking, sticky, clammy, night shirt wet, hair sticking to your head, kind of sweating.  I wake up wet and freezing, despite being under the covers. So typically I grab another blanket, and feel hot and cold at the same time. I’m sure the blankets make me sweat more at that point, but to throw them off would be intolerable …. I’d freeze to death.   Its quite disgusting, to be honest, and I’m sick of it.

I asked my doctor about it and he didn’t act like it was anything typical, nor did he seem concerned.  Just sort of a …. oh, nobody really has complained about that before.     Its never happened to Blaine, either, after any of his surgeries.   The same thing happens after I give birth for a week or two each time while my hormones get back in whack. 

Hmmmm.  You know what?  My doctor asked me to go off my bcp before this surgery to reduce the risk of blood clots …. I wonder if this could be hormonal, as well?

Good grief, do you think I’ve had the colossally unfortunate timing to have had my surgery the same time I’m going through menopause?  At 44?   Or is this something that just happens sometimes after surgery? 

Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to head to the shower.  I feel rank.  But if anyone else has experienced this and could make me feel like less of a freak by sharing in the comment section, or e-mailing me personally, I would greatly appreciate it.

Love, your sweaty friend,

Kristie