fur real

When I wrote about hairy feet a few weeks ago, what I meant to say is that I cannot imagine waxing my toes, from the sheer pain factor. I must have received at least 20 e-mails from people "confessing" that they waxed their feet and really, it's the most simple solution to foot hair removal. Granted, my experience with waxing is rather limited, but from what I can remember before blacking out, waxing hurts. And, it seems my body doesn't "respond" very well to have hair ripped out of it by the root.

Several years ago, shortly after Charlie and I began fertility treatments, my mother came to visit. And during her visit she commented on what she thought was dirt on my face.

I remember she held my chin in her hands and with her eyes squinting at my upper lip she said, "It looks like your face is dirty. Are you sure you're washing your face? Are you using soap? Are you scrubbing? Maybe you need to use a Buf-Puf? Do you want me to send you some?"

(Since my mom had retired as a nurse from 3M, she has a seemingly endless supply of Buf-Pufs.)

I exasperatedly replied, "Mom. My face is NOT dirty. Yes, I'm sure I wash with SOAP. And yes, I'm sure that I am SCRUBBING. I don't know what you are talking about. Maybe it's YOUR eyes?" Then, sensing an unfortunate fall out to my remark, I quickly added, "Or, maybe the light in here isn't very good...?"

We turned on another light and after more scrutiny, mom was convinced that there was something on my face that shouldn't be there and she gently suggested I have my lip waxed.

The day after I went through this brutal waxing process, the entire area surrounding my mouth broke out in a rash. Or, what I thought was a rash. Over the next two weeks, the rash turned in to large red pustules before finally fading away. But for two solid weeks, it looked like I had been blowing bubbles in hydrofluoric acid.

When I received a phone call from the "beautician" that I was due for another waxing, I told her what had happened and she was certain that my reaction was a one time ordeal. My body couldn't be allergic to wax. She'd never heard of such a thing! So, I went back and had it done again. And that second procedure hurt worse than the first and for the next month, the whole lower half of my face was covered in zits.

I had a zit goatee.

Then to add insult to injury, I had to have my driver's license picture renewed.

When I went to visit my dermatologist the year after our triplets were born and I pointed out what my mother believed was dirt on my face, she told me that the discoloration was frequently called a "mask of pregnancy" and was due to the increase in hormones from fertility treatment, and incubating another life (or three) in one's own body.

It had nothing to do with dirt. Or hair. So I just cannot imagine waxing my sensitive toes and inflicting that kind of pain on myself. My lesson learned from that experience is that I'll take a hairy face or hairy feet any day of the week and thrice on Sunday.

Or, I'll just wear clogs and a TurtleFur.

Now, speaking of fur.

A few weeks ago, it became obvious that some kind of animal had died in our garage. Within a matter of days, what started out as a slight odor grew to a stench that would knock the wind out of me. It got so bad that I couldn't even go out to the garage. Instead, if things needed to be put out there, I would just open the door and with my faced turned the opposite way, randomly throw them in to the stinky space, with the mental note, "I'll deal with that once the rotting carcass is removed."

Charlie ripped the entire garage apart trying to find the deceased critter, to no avail. Ultimately, he determined that a mouse or some kind of rodent, had climbed inside of our refrigerator and died. And to get the animal out, he would need to empty the refrigerator of it's contents, flip it upside down, and take it apart.

And since he had no idea how to do that, he didn't.

So the stench continued.

One afternoon, when the children were anxious to go on a bike ride, I gave everyone strict instructions before we entered the stink zone. I told them, "HOLD YOUR BREATH. Do not breathe through your nose or you will likely throw up. I will open the garage door and once I do, you need to RUN through the garage and stand in the driveway. I will bring out your bicycles and helmets. OK. ARE YOU READY?"

The plan was executed well. The kids ran through the garage, holding their noses, and they stood in the driveway waiting for me to grab their bikes and helmets. But as I was going to fetch their bikes, I spotted on the floor ... a dead rat.

Just laying there. Right next to the bikes.


How it was that Charlie missed that rat when he was pulling the entire garage apart remains a mystery. But there it was. In the middle of the floor. The kids all came running back in to the garage and were so interested in seeing the rat that they didn't even want to go for their bike ride. They just wanted to stare at the dead rat.


And through all of this, I screamed. And I'm not even sure why I was unable to stop screaming, seeing as it was a dead rat. Within a day or two of that unfortunate incident, I was in the process of making the girls bed.


And when I pull the quilt up, out pops a snake.


A fake snake, mind you. But a snake, nonetheless.


A toy snake that Carolyn had picked out when her father took her to the Science Center the day before. A toy snake that I didn't even know had been brought in to our house and added to our toy supply. And the screaming in the garage with the REAL dead rat was nothing like the screaming in the girls room when faced with a PLASTIC toy snake.

I can handle comments that elude to me loving one of my children more than another (I was seriously not offended by that). I can handle my husband telling me that the anonymous donor to his fundraising efforts was probably my mother because she favors him over me. I can even handle taking care of five people who were all struck with the stomach flu and vomiting at the same exact time.

But I can't handle waxing.

And I can't handle rodents.

And I can't handle toy snakes that are hidden within my daughters bedding.

And I think that this video might be one of the funniest things I've ever seen.



And now you know almost everything there is to know about me.