I have spent the past two weeks being a more attentive student of Life. And I realize, in hindsight of course, that I have learned some rather expensive lessons.
Shall I?
Lesson #1: Knee pain can actually be cured with flexing and clenching exercises.
Yep. Go figure. Moderate stretching of the leg muscles wasn’t doing it, and my knee was aching to the point that standing for 15 minutes straight was almost debilitating. But a very kind and wise orthopedic doctor advised me of a particular exercise to do which involves tensing of the muscle rather than trying to stretch it out. And whaddaya know…it actually works! Cost of that lesson: a $40 copay. Moral of the story: Use it or lose it. The bright side: meds and surgery are most often NOT the answer. Score one for good old exercise.
Lesson #2: Don’t haul a problematic yet necessary appliance to the dump without first formulating a GENUINE AND DO-ABLE PLAN for its replacement.
True, I was ecstatic when The Hubster suggested that we hoist the four-decade-old oven onto a dolly and roll it out the door and down the yellow brick road, but after the oven was gone we had some pretty harrowing conversations, one of which went like this:
Him: “It sure will feel good to get this kitchen re-done!”
Me: “Oh, I’m so ready for that! We’re gonna have to replace cabinets, so I have been planning and picking some out.”
Him: “How much do cabinets cost? … (Looking at my notes) Holy {expletive deleted}!!! THAT much? We can’t do that now!”
Me: “Any new oven is going to have to have a different cabinet configuration to fit. Ya think maybe we should have thought this through before tossing out the oven we had????”
That particular conversation offered much more in terms of emotion than I am conveying here. Just trust me…It wasn’t pretty.
Confession: Though I’m trying to improve this, at my core I am a stubborn, selfish, FLAMING perfectionist who is afraid of making a mistake and having to (heaven forbid) reverse a decision. These characteristics do not often lend me to proper collaboration with The Hubster, who lives life charmingly led by his own whimsy. So the fact that I had planned a SEVEN-PHASE REMODEL of our kitchen (complete with color-coded prerequisites) did not score me any points when Dom’s whimsy smartly reminded him that we might have to add a car payment to our budget before this “new kitchen” is paid for, and he put the brakes on my planning. I argued for what it was worth, but I too realized he was right, and in dramatic and ceremonious fashion TRASHED the seven-phase flowchart.
Now, with the idea of the kitchen remodel stalled on the runway, we still had the arduous task of selecting a new oven that will likely not fit into the future plan of our “new kitchen.” Oven selected and gas line to be extended next week, the cost of this lesson is well into the 4-digits. Moral of the story: A bird in the hand isn’t worth a damn if you have to blow your nose. The bright side: New cabinets or not, I am sooooo excited about cooking on a brand new stovetop with Dom by my side.
Lesson #3: Not all omegas are created equal.
Victoria’s enthusiasm for any new Omega 3 supplement lasts merely a day or two, and then we find ourselves back at Square One wondering how in the heck to get her the omegas her mind and body need. After I found Mabel absconded with an unconsumed packet of Coromega, Victoria confessed that she could not stand the taste of the orange gel. (Aaron, however, thinks the gel is great.) I did some research and found that the same company that makes her organic multi-vitamin also makes an omega supplement in chewable tablet form. She likes the multis, so this had to be the perfect solution, right?
Yesterday morning, Day Two of the chewable omegas, Victoria announced after downing the required three tablets that she felt like she had just eaten a whole fish. She whined about the taste of the tablets for a few seconds before ending with, “I sure hope I don’t burp again today. I’ll taste fish all over again.”
I was instantly curious. “Wait, I thought they were cherry flavored.”
“Yeah. Cherry fish! It’s disgusting, Mommy.”
Ever-determined to not have my children go through anything I am not personally willing to experience myself, I tried one.
EEEE-GAD!!!!!!! That has to be the most awful thing I have ever put in my mouth!!! It was literally ALL I COULD DO to get that thing down my throat. And Vic was right…it was cherry flavored fish. Blech!!
Vic now wholeheartedly agrees that the Coromega packets aren’t so bad. Cost of this lesson: $15.98+tax for the cherry fish tabs. Moral of the story: Shut up and grill some salmon. The bright side: At least now she is willing to take the $18 Coromega.
Lesson #4: Thank the good Lord for veterinarians, Bissell, and my parents’ generosity.
Mason, our eleven-year old Lab, has an upset tummy. A really bad…wretched…awful upset tummy. The kind of upset tummy that has caused us to clean the carpet twice and the tile twice more in just 24 hours. The kind of upset tummy that makes my husband yell and curse at 5:00 in the morning, and again at 1:00 in the afternoon. The kind that eventually sent us to the vet to find out if there might be any END to this terror, no pun intended.
Historical side note: Oddly, about every full moon, Mason pukes. No rhyme or reason to it, he just starts gagging in the middle of the night and urps on the carpet by the bed. (Which elicits more cursing from The Hubster.) Three times I borrowed my mom’s brand new Bissell Green Machine for stain removal, and it worked B-E-A-utifully. I think the frequency of Mason’s episodes elicited sympathy from my parents, though, because shortly after that third time they presented me with a Green Machine of my very own!
For the current episode, I became acutely aware of how very grateful I was for my own Green Machine. There is no way on earth I would have borrowed my mom’s cleaner for the project at hand over the last two days. It was some-kinda-nasty, and I wasn’t sure if my own machine could handle it! I called mom to tell her once more how much I appreciated the fact that they bought me one. It made my afternoon of carpet cleaning much easier, and allowed me to worry about more important things…like why my dog is sick.
Cost of this lesson: 2 hours vacation time and a $116 vet visit. Moral of the story: Poop sucks, parents rock! The bright side: My two hours of carpet cleaning earned me a heartfelt apology from the cursing hubby, an apology which was heartily accepted!
So now that I’ve learned these costly lessons, does it all mean that life will be perfect from this point forward? Oh, surely not! It does mean, however, that I am learning to recognize blessings in the midst of chaos, and hopefully that will translate into my being a little less pig-headed somewhere down the road.
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