New Year's Resolution

"I decided on a resolution" I said, while driving North. "And I want you to be supportive."
"Sure" somewhat absently he remarked.
"No, I'm serious. I don't want you to dissect it, or to comment, or to pull it apart and judge it."
He sighed.
"But you DO that" I enunciated.
"Fine" he said. "I'm not going to judge."
"And you won't pull it apart? Or comment on it?" I asked.
"Well I'm probably going to comment..."

So I told my husband a couple of days ago my plan for the new year.

"I'm not going to help anyone this year."
Silence
"I'm serious. I'm not angry, I'm just done. I'm not picking up clothes and dropping them off because someone has five kids, or doing charity drives or delivering meals or offering to pick people up, or watching anyone's kids or giving away my stuff or donating toys to the gym. I'm done doing things for people."

Him.
Silent.
Me "Ok, fine, say it"
Him: "I just think that's a little harsh."
Me: "It's not harsh. I just don't want to do it anymore. I'm forty year sold and I don't want to spend the next 20 years living like the last. And yes, I know it sounds shitty. I hate people like that. People who say 'I'm going to do what's right for ME'. I think that sucks. But I just don't want to anymore. I mean sure..."now backpedaling "...if I go to the store and someone drops a can of Dinty Moore I'll pick it up. And you know me, if someone can't lift a box of course I'm not going to walk by. But I'm done offering. I'm done volunteering or matching people to services or dropping things off from one house to the next. I'm done driving to Salvation Army for people, to the grocery store, I'm done leading the playgroup."

"So basically what you are saying is that you are going to put yourself first."
he clarified.
"Actually no."
Him "well that's what us sounds like."

"No no no." annoyed. "Basically what I am saying is that I am not going to put people ahead of me. I don't need to come first, we can all be equal."

"I think it's fine that you want to take time for yourself" he patronized. " I think that's great. But you can't NOT do things for other people."

Which is not at all what I meant. Because I am perfectly willing, if not incapable of not, doing for someone else. But here is what I am done with. I have decided that unless someone specifically asks me for something, I'm not going to offer. I'm not going to jump in and loan dresses, run errands, offer rides, add value, for people who are perfectly capable of doing it for themselves.

I'm not volunteering. And that's tough actually. Because it's a new year, and I was all set to adopt a soldier and volunteer at the Food Pantry on Thursdays. I was all set to use the two days a week my daughter is going to preschool to plan curriculum for story time. I was all set to spend the "new" 6 hours making sure I was getting things done for someone else.

And now, suddenly, I'm not.

And not because anything happened - or because I'm mad - or because I think I don't have the time, I think it's just...time.

With No Real Fanfare

I'm back.
After a long, extended absence. Feels like months.
I should have had something drafted "in the can". Something uber witty and remarkable to mark my comeback tour but alas. If I wait for that, nothing will appear in type.

So no updates, no catch up. Just moving forward.

Christmas 2009

Lester & Me

I have this lump.
It's big - big big for a lump. Maybe 2 inches, a little less.
It moves, shifts if you will, - anchored in place by connective tissue but like a ball under a sheet you can press around it to rotate it.

I also have the TINIEST boobs on the planet.

So it's like "Here's NearlyA boob one, here's NearlyA boob two, and here's Lester. The lump."

I saw a doctor a couple of years ago.
"Oh what a lovely lipoma! It's just beautiful."
me: "LYMPHOMA??"
Him: "Lipoma. Fat. It's a big lump of fat."

My husband can see it from outside of my clothes.
Him: "Your shirt's wrinkled"
Me: "That's Lester"
Him: "You should get that checked"

So it's now really five years or so since I had Lester checked. He's not growing, not painful. He just...sits there. When I work out he looks bigger, when I don't, he retreats into the company of other fat cells.

Back then I asked my doctor.
Me: "Can I have it removed?"
Dr: "You could but why would you undergo a procedure when you can just leave it alone. If you treat it, you'll have a scar. So scar, or lump?"
Me: "So what can I do?"
Dr: "Well you could gain weight." chortle chortle "Then you won't notice it."

That doctor. He's a barrel of fun.

This morning I put on a pastel pink lycra tank top.
For BootCamp.

And saw my third boob.
Prominently.
One.
Two.
Three.

And I think Lester days are numbered.