The Life and Times of Poopwa Foley

Archive for the ‘relax’ Category

For those of you who are squeamish, please, for the love of God, look away now.  Don’t read any more.
For those of you who yearn to live vicariously through me…please, pull up a chair.  Let me tell you about my day.
At 45-almost-46, my baby factory has been shut down for quite some time, due to the fact that I had my tubes tied after I had my youngest daughter almost 20 years ago. 
I am now 240 months postpartum; I guess I should work on getting the baby weight off.  (#tryharder)
About 2 months ago, despite having my tubes tied, I exhibited every single symptom of pregnancy.  Sore boobs, lack of period, bloating, mood swings, nausea.  In short, I was really, really fun to be around.   When I say really, really fun to be around, I am lying through my teeth.
Just when the symptoms made me think I should go buy a pregnancy test, (despite the slim odds) or a priest for my exorcism, what should happen? 
Aunt Flo came to town.
And the flipping bitch didn’t want to leave.
I asked her nicely to leave.  When that didn’t work, I pouted.  I threw fits.  I threatened.  I drank.  I bribed. 
My family wisely hid the knives behind the furniture. 
I finally said Uncle.  I went to the doctor, explained everything, was examined, had blood drawn, levels tested, and a negative pregnancy test.  All tests normal.  (Praise God.)  So far, so good.  She then started me on something to help staunch the…well…you know.  Besides the referral to an actual gynecologist, I thought that was the end of that.
Except that I had to get an ultrasound today.  And not just any ultrasound, mind you. 
(*here’s where I would normally insert a picture.  However, I don’t have any pictures from the events of today that would be appropriate here.  After all, I don’t know you that well.)
The medical test from hell started when I had to drink 48 oz of water from 12:30 until 1:00 pm.  I’m quite the water drinker.  I drink water all day long.  However, drinking this much water in ½ hour was enough to make even me gag.
I parked the car at the hospital and despite having my legs crossed tightly the entire time was able to get to the ultrasound department.  It was approximately 7.5 miles from where I parked.  I was afraid I was going to be late.  The panicked staccato taps of my high heels on the tile floor took my mind off how badly I had to go to the bathroom.

Chris has a bad day

The first part of the test was uneventful.  I greatly enjoyed the warmth of the ultrasound gel on my lower belly.  It was very soothing.  The room was quiet and the light was dim and I would have fallen asleep except for the excruciating pressure on my straining bladder.
When the test was over, I was led to the bathroom and told to take my time.  I peed as if I hadn’t seen a toilet in a month.  The relief was immediate and immense.
The ultrasound tech was hiding in the hallway and sprang out at me when I exited in the bathroom. 
Her:  “Are you ready for the second part of your test?”
Me:  “Do you mean the part where I walk down the hall and find the exit?”
Her:  (chuckling expansively) “Silly you.  The second part, the internal exam.”
Me:  (smile fades, face pales.)  “No.  No, I’m not ready for that.”
Despite the elfin size, her iron grip lead me directly back into the room, where I am forced to “take off everything below the waist, but if you want to leave your shoes on you can.”
Leave my shoes on?  Really?  And take everything else off?  I have on black high heels, no pantyhose.  The thought of being nekked below the waist except for black high heels was a bit…pornographic to me.  The shoes came off with all the other below the waist things, and I was grateful that I had a cute pedicure.
Funny what you think of, grooming wise, when you’re having an internal ultrasound.  My feet were not the only thing I had groomed, and I was glad.
“You’ll feel a slight pressure.”  It was the only warning I got before the “wand” was “inserted” by Vlad the Impaler.
She apologized for the “pressure” over and over while applying said pressure and also for the fact that a couple of times I choked on it as it was coming up my throat.   
Finally she finished up and withdrew the entire 3 feet of wand.  I am thrown several dry washcloths to absorb all of the gel.  I feel like the guy in the shower in “The Crying Game.”
She escorted me down the hall.  I noticed that she kept looking to the right and left.  
Me:   “Did you lose something?”
Her:  “No.  I’m just looking for the right sized broomstick.  You’re not my only ultrasound today.”
***
Stay tuned.
*I went home and told my friend Lambrusco all about it. 

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Why is it that time seems to go so fast? 

I find there are just not enough hours in the day to get everything I need to get done…done.

Sometimes when I am planning to sit down and write after work or on the weekend, I notice the bathroom needs to be cleaned.  A co-worker mentions a clothing drive at Hilander.  Our black lab is shedding the equivalent of one dog per day; I see black tufts of it floating into the corner.

While I do like to “keep house”, it is not my passion.

Writing is my passion.

Finding quality time to write is hard.  That’s what I say.

I believe everyone would agree with me when I also say that if I were to have an entire Sunday alone to write, I wouldn’t. 

I’m being honest.

I would clean the bathroom.  Sort the clothes.  Vacuum.  Talk on the phone.

When only an hour or two is left until dinner, and my house is satisfactorily clean, I suddenly find the “zone”, where everything I put on paper is golden

Time flies during those moments until I realize I can hear everyone’s stomach growling, including mine, and off I go to the kitchen to make dinner.

I am upset with myself because I had the entire day to write and I only used a portion of it.  No one really cares if the bathroom goes one more day or if they have to reuse their last bath towel.  It’s just my excuse. 

Why is that?  Do other writers do that?  Why am I compelled to, say, clean the microwave when I get a big chunk of time to write?

I tell myself sometimes, I’m brainstorming.  I’m developing my characters.  I’m plotting out the next great American novel.  I’m not, though. 

I am procrastinating.  I’m being lazy. 

I’m afraid.
I’m futzing away my time, only to get aggravated later when I have to rejoin the real world and put the computer away.  I think, bitterly, I never get time to write.
The honest truth is, I have plenty of time to write.  Yes, I work full time.  Yes, I have a family, a house to clean, laundry to do, a husband whose hand I love to hold.
I also have best sellers floating around in my brain.  Great characters that are just clamoring for attention; funny characters jockeying for the same thing.  Plot lines that would delight, amaze, and thrill you.  Amazing screenplays that would have theater lines out the door, should they ever come to light.

Don’t I owe it to myself to let that creativity come out? 

It doesn’t matter whether or not anyone likes it.  I write for me; I write to please myself.

do have time to write.  I just need to be disciplined enough to take it.

I need to face my fear of failing.  I also need to face my fear of success.

I think I need to quit standing in my own way.

You can smell the heather and freshly cut grass in the air.  The sun is shining down; the wind is blowing the perfect breeze to ruffle your hair just the littlest bit.  There are ducks and geese in the lake, some with downy babies comically following behind them. 
There are families fishing, people reading on the shores of the lake or on one of the many picnic tables or gazebos.  Many, many people are walking, biking, or rollerblading on the bike path, some with leashed dogs.
Where is this magical place, you ask?
It’s Baumann Park. 
Baumann Park is located at 300 South Walnut in the quaint, charming village of Cherry Valley.  It’s where lots of people go to enjoy the beautiful setting it presents…pretty much any time except winter, although I’m sure you could take some gorgeous pictures and go for a brisk walk in January, too.



Cabin in the Woods.  haha
It’s only about 10 short minutes from Rockford, and actually accessible from a bike path that runs parallel to Harrison Street.
Although you can’t put a boat in the water there, you can fish; the lake is stocked with bluegill, bass, and northern pike.  Be sure to have a fishing license, as there are policemen who actually come by and check. *  There are limits posted here and there so you know what exactly you can take home and fry up.



The Kishwaukee River.  Where I will never be.



On the other side of the bike path is the Kishwaukee River, where throngs of people are found on warm weekends during the summer putting anything that floats in the water and having one heck of a good time.  (author’s note:  I’m not exaggerating about how many people do this…sometimes it’s hard to find a parking spot…and they sure do make it look fun!)
It’s also an extremely popular spot for wedding parties and prom goers alike, due to the picturesque setting. 
Close to the bike path is also a baseball diamond.  For those with small children, there’s also a little playground; sometimes people grill their lunch of hot dogs or hamburgers nearby under the pavilion (which is for rent).  It makes those walking pretty hungry sometimes!
The total picture is really something else.  It is the complete embodiment of summer.  People tubing, the smell of hot dogs on the grill, the sun reflecting on the lake, squawking or singing birds, walking alone, as a couple, or with their dogs, the unbelievably fresh smell in the air…it is so nice.  Visiting this park definitely charges up your batteries as it’s one of the most serene parks this author has ever visited.
Get your pedometer or rollerblades; put on your walking shoes and sun block.  Go shake loose the stress of the day.  Grab some water to bring with you and enjoy the amenities of Baumann Park.  You will be glad you did.
*the police checked on fishing licenses for my daughters once.  They really do check.




It’s probably much, much greener now…2 months later.
It’s scarier than Insidious, more terrifying than Paranormal Activity, and far, far worse than the Exorcist.
It’s…bathing suit season. 
It’s February, I know.  Why should anyone be thinking of bathing suit season?  And with Girl Scout Cookie season in full swing, no less.  What are we, masochists?
Knowing hot weather is on the horizon is bad enough, but knowing that you don’t have three months left to diet, you only have one…that will slap the taste of Thin Mints right out of your mouth.
Here’s another thing that will turn that cookie taste to sawdust—actually taking two or three suits in your size into a tiny, yet horrifyingly bright fitting room with an excessive (I feel) number of mirrors.  
Oh wait, you just THINK they’re your size.  After squeezing, pouring, and contorting your body into one of them, you stare into the mirror, out of breath, and think to yourself, did the cottage cheese miss my mouth and stick to my thighs?  Did I misread the size on the tag?
Perhaps if I had eaten more cottage cheese, I wouldn’t be so scared of being alone in the fitting room with spandex.
Today my oldest daughter and I went to Plato’s Closet knowing they had scads of beautiful sundresses…just perfect for the warm weather and sunny beaches of the Riviera Maya…at prices just perfect for the budget.
This is actually Puerta Vallarta, but you get the idea.
I carefully chose 9 different swirly sundresses, certain that they would be perfect.  I tried on each one of them and, as a kindness to you, my friends; I will spare you the sordid details…suffice to say that out of the 9, I bought one.  And even that one is iffy…I kept the receipt. 
Let’s not even talk about the bathing suits.  I need one more week of dieting and perhaps some sort of sedative before I will even think of trying on bathing suits.
Before I do, though, I will grab a fresh cup of coffee study the floor plans of different department stores and figure out who’s got the fitting rooms with the fewest mirrors and the dimmest lights.
And nothing goes better with a fresh cup of coffee than a shortbread cookie. 

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  • Mary Fran Says: Thank you for contributing to Sweeps Week! We make a great team. Maybe we'll collaborate in our next lives? SISTERS! lol :)
  • Mary Fran Says: What's better than a Baby Shower aka Early Baby Birthday Party? Baby's FIRST Birthday Party! (Although it's hard to call them "baby" by one! They grow
  • Ann Jones: I'll have to check it out, thanks for the heads up!

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