Chirky

I've been thinking a lot about what moms really want for Mother's Day (this Sunday!). And I've been wondering if working moms and stay at home moms want the same things. (Note: By "working moms," I mean mothers who are employed by a company, since I know that stay at home moms also work, just in a different way.)

Lately I've been struggling with balance. (Lately equals the last eight months.) (Coincidentally, my sweet daughter is eight months old.) (I'm pretty certain these two are related.) My life is overflowing with busyness. I'm a full-time mom, and a full-time employee. And I don't mean that I leave the house to go to a full-time job, while someone cares for my daughter. I mean that I stay home and care for her, and that I'm also a remote employee for a company I love. So I work 40+ hours a week at home, while also *attempting* to spend that time with my little girl. Hiring a nanny is out of the question right now, because of the way this economy has affected our family's finances. Which makes for early mornings, and late nights, and busy days. Add to that meals, and grocery shopping, and cleaning the house, and laundry, and I'm willing to bet you can guess which of those slide. (Answer: that entire last sentence.) But I get to spend the entire day with our daughter, and for that I am thankful. She's pretty awesome.

Roger, on the other hand, usually leaves for work before Rayah's up in the morning, and comes home after she's gone to bed. He walks into her room several times a night, just to watch her sleep. And just thinking about that makes me depressed. To love someone so much, but not be able to hold her or read her books or even to listen to her "talk" about her day. To only to get to spend two days each week with her. And even then, it's a weekend filled with busyness, trying to do all the things that the weekdays denied us.

So I've been thinking about Mother's Day. I've been thinking that, sure, perfume or flowers or spa certificates are nice. A thoughtful card is nice. But what do I really want? I want time. I want time with my husband and daughter, without the added stress of everything else that needs to be done. I want a carefree day. A family picnic at the park in our neighborhood. Reading books together in Rayah's reading corner. I want a day to re-connect as a family, a day to take pictures, a day to remember.

But I realize not everyone wants the same things that I do - so I'm curious. What do you want for Mother's Day?

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This morning I received an email from my sister-in-law, Rosalyn, professing her love for spring: "...the daffodils are bursting open, the forsythia (one of my very favoritest signs of spring) is turning into solid rays of sunshine as the blooms appear, and all of the flowering trees are vying to get in on the act! I'm so grateful for spring!"

I couldn't have said it better. The past few days it has been 70 degrees in Dallas, and I've been chomping at the bit to get outside. Rayah and I try to take walks every day. We love watching the ducks swim in the creek by our house, watching the little baby muskrats leap into the water when we come near. The daffodils are blooming in Dallas, also, and last week Rayah and I watched a toddler squeal with delight as he ran through them toward his Daddy. The birds are chirping, and blue jays are fluttering around our neighborhood. The Bradford Pear trees are thick with white blooms - I love watching Rayah's face as she stares up at tree branches - and I'm looking forward to seeing my favorite shade of green as trees begin to bud.

I've always thought that spring is my favorite season - I love the life that begins to emerge. I love that sunlight is beginning to stretch the day. I love the bright, bold colors. I love the warm days and deep blue skies. For me, it's the promise of something more to come, the promise of life and growth and beauty. And I guess that's not surprising, coming out of a dark and cold winter.

Out on a weekend walk with my two favorite people!

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You know when you have surgery, and go under anesthetics, and you start to babble and feel loopy just before you're totally knocked out? On Tuesday, I had an epiphany while talking to my doctor:

Doctor: "How are you feeling, Jes?"

Jes: "Drunk."

Doctor (laughing): "Yeah, think of it as going on a date*." (And then trying to ease my mind) "...and we'll take good care of you!"

Jes (foggy): "Uhhh..." (looking around sterile white surgery room) "...I've never been on a date like this before."

Doctor (laughing): "That's probably a good thing."

Jes (struggling to form sentences): "Omigosh, I just had a brilliant idea."

Doctor (exchanging glances with the anesthesiologist in the room): "What's that?"

Jes (slurring): "You should open an anesthetics bar. You know? Instead of alcohol? Because then you wouldn't have a hangover after drinking, but people could still feel drunk, but then you can sober up practically anytime you want - just remove the IV! Isn't that an awesome idea?"

Doctor (laughing as a cover, but probably wishing he'd thought of that before): "I'll have to talk to Dr. Cooper about us going into business together."

Aaaaand then I was out.

But seriously, isn't that a clever idea? It kind of makes me wonder how many other ingenious things I could come up with while pumped full of anesthetics.

* In all fairness, he said something like this, but I can't remember exactly what it was. I was kind of spinning from the drugs at the time.

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Is it possible to possess symptoms of pregnancy without actually being pregnant? To wit:

On Saturday morning I went to the grocery store, ambled past the deli, and almost hurled when the scent of freshly fried chicken wafted toward me.

Last night I had an insatiable craving for Hooters’ Daytona wings. The wings won. So did the fried pickles.

Today I wandered down to the Smelly Deli, an appropriate nickname for the delicatessen on the second floor of my office building, and I had to coax down my gag reflex as soon as I smelled the bacon. Good God, I thought, what is that smell? Is that...is that BACON?

And that’s when I knew that something was wrong with me, the moment that thought entered my mind, because I LOVE BACON. I love the smell of bacon. I love cooking bacon. I especially love EATING bacon. And this sudden aversion to bacon? Well, it’s just not normal.

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(This is a series in Weird Things About Me. Part One is here and Part Two is here.)

When alone in the car, some people sing. I talk. I’m very talky, incessantly chatting, always giving speeches and monologues and holding conversations. And it’s not even that I’m re-playing past exchanges in my mind. No, they’re all one-sided discussions that I’m making up as I go along, where I play both (or all) parts. And if I don’t like how my talks turn out, I go back and re-make them up with different endings. It is a sickness. Kind of like having an imaginary friend. (Except I don’t, I swear.) (Diana, I didn’t mean it. Don’t be upset.) (Ha, kidding!)

Usually I’m just playing through scenarios in my mind, bantering back and forth with myself about whether I really should buy those shoes or watch that movie or blog about my house remodel. Innocent enough, right? Until I started confusing my inner monologues with real conversations, that is.

A few weeks ago I attended a friend’s wedding. While sitting with friends at the reception, I noticed a girl a few tables away. I knew her, though I couldn’t figure out from where we knew each other. I sat, staring at her, thinking to myself: her name is Kelly. She’s a pediatric nurse. She has a kind of raspy, deep voice – but she’s never been a smoker. She’s very animated when she talks. Just then, she stood up to greet someone and I heard her voice - just as it had always been! - rise above the crowd.

I knew all this about her, like she was a long-lost friend. And the longer I watched her, the more annoyed I became because I couldn’t remember our connection. I started running scenarios through my mind, hoping that would help jog my memory. We played on a girls’ flag football team together. I could totally envision it, us sweaty and laughing and high-fiving. We went shopping together, and I could see us walking and talking at the mall, having met up after work. We went camping, sitting around the campfire and talking about the deepest things that somehow only campfires and forests and the star-studded sky can draw out.

I finally got up to go talk to her, momentarily distracted along the way with other friends, and when I got to her table she was – poof! – gone. I’m left with this imprint of her on my mind, wondering where she is and who she is and why I know all these things about her.

And – I’m sorry – but I just have to know if I’m alone with these neuroses. Because in my opinion, talking to myself is one thing. But making up friendships? That’s just weird.

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Instead of saying, "I'll keep my ears peeled," shouldn't it be, "I'll keep my ears shucked?"

I mean, right?

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"Well, the day has come…" I say as I smile nervously, lingering at the door of my manager's spacious office.

He smiles and jokes back with me: "What day? What has come?" I silently wonder: If I keep everything light, maybe he won't notice the fact that I'm resigning...

In the end, he did notice. And while I'm sad to leave the friends I've made here, I'm ecstatic about making the move.

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I went to my first Catholic wedding ceremony this weekend, and it occurred to me:

Do Catholics have more knee replacement surgeries than other religions? Because they're up and down in those pews A LOT.

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What is it about sea salt and malt vinegar potato chips that makes me feel like I am sweating?

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This morning I flipped to my favorite radio show while driving to work, and the first thing I heard was a (male, of course, because no female would do this) caller saying ON AIR:

"Is it lazy that I reuse my bath water? On the first day I'll fill the tub a third full of water and take a bath. Then I leave the water in the tub, and the next day I add another third of hot water to warm the old bath water so I can bathe again."

I ask: Why not just drain the water each day and fill the tub one-third full of warm, clean water each day? You're not using any more water than you would otherwise. It just makes sense.

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Filed Under: Irrational fears

For the past two years, nearly every time I sit down on the toilet, I have a sudden and irrational fear of snakes. Snakes, guilefully lurking in the plumbing, waiting until my posterior is exposed, and then lurching upward, striking quickly, and biting me.

And then I'll be dead, with my pants down, and I'll probably have hunched over and fallen to the ground and my husband, Roger, will have to find me like that.

And that's not how I want him to remember me.

Look at these pictures! Also, these articles! How could I not be afraid? THERE HAVE BEEN FATALITIES!

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Best thing about taking the day off work?

Not having to figure out what to wear in the morning.

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If I store my half-sucked Tootsie Roll Pop in my glass of ice water, will the water preserve the Tootsie Roll Pop? Or will the water become flavored like my Tootsie Roll Pop? And if the water becomes flavored, will it taste as good as this red, artificially flavored candied shell?

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"I'm holding a dead piece of cow in my hand."

(After cutting an extra strip of leather from my shoe.)
(Which, really, why am I cutting my shoe?)
(Because I didn't like that particular strip of leather.)

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Until I can sit down and muster up enough strength to tell you about the haunted house in Manitou Springs, Colorado, the house in which we slept, FOR THREE NIGHTS, I will leave you with this tidbit:

Did you know...

...that a cockroach can live up to ONE WEEK without its head? It only dies because without a mouth, it can't drink water.

It's true.

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Lee Redmond has been named the winner in the Guiness Book of World Records for achieving the crowning glory of The World's Longest Fingernails On Both Hands. I mean, people. She hasn't cut them since 1979. That's nearly my entire life.

I want to know:

• - What does she do all day long?
  
• - I don't think she can cook with those things. Or type. Or even read a book.
  
• - Is her sole purpose just to sit around and let her fingernails grow?
  
• - Dude, y'all. She can't even use the remote to change the TV channel with those things.
  
• - And how much finger nail polish does it take to polish those suckers?
  
• - OMIGOSH! Can you imagine filing them?
  
• - How does she get dressed? Pull on pants? ZIP AND BUTTON THEM? Wear a pullover shirt? I would NOT want to pull my sleeves over those long fingernails.

I am, however, a little jealous that her nails don't break.

I'm also a little grossed out right now.

An undated handout photograph released on September 27, 2006 shows Lee Redmond of the U.S. who has won entry into the latest edition of Guinness World Records September 28, 2006 with the world's longest fingernails.

EDITORIAL USE ONLY NO ARCHIVES NO SALES REUTERS/Drew Gardner/GWR/Handout (BRITAIN)

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I've spent a good portion of the last couple of weeks as hungry as a famished pigmy shrew stalking its next prey. In public I have to force myself to stop eating, instead holding one hand in the other and squeeeeeeezing, hoping the pain will take the focus off of my growling stomach.

I don't understand why I suddenly have such a voracious appetite, but I've decided to start blaming it on a tapeworm. As such, I've created a list of many things I can blame on my tapeworm, because I'm always looking for something else to blame rather than my own lack of discipline.

Continue reading "Thinking: How to Determine (with very little accuracy) Whether A Tapeworm Has Taken Residence In Your Body" »

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In the past three hours I have chewed fourteen sticks of gum in an effort to curb my appetite. It is out of control: my stomach has demanded to be fed no less than every six minutes, hastily reminding me with a slow grrrruuuullllggghhphhb that it is still waiting.

I've fed it already, but it won't stop. The hole in the lining of my stomach is dropping all my food down both legs, I'm only now realizing why my thighs are so chunky.

I'm trying to combat the urge to take a walk to the vending machine, not because I'm THAT lazy: I'll walk just about anywhere for some chocolate, but because I know that anything I buy will end up shoved down my throat and swallowed in less than eight seconds, and I'll still be hungry afterward, so what's the point in wasting my 60 cents?

If I want to satisfy this urge, I might as well go to Costco and buy a concession-stand size box of Snickers for $5.99. At least then the chocolate would last a minute and eight seconds.

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"Want some fresh air?"

(Asked by one man to another, when trying to find someone to go with him on his smoke break.)

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I've suddenly come to the realization that I'll never lose weight if I don't actually exercise. And since I'm planning on doing a triathlon sometime in the next few months, it seems that exercise would be a key part of my monthly weekly daily life.

So I'm sitting at work, wiggling my legs back-and-forth. How many calories do you think I'll burn?

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Part of my lunch today included eating a small amount of cottage cheese. It started to taste weird when I realized that there's just something wrong with chewing my milk.

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Wasabi peas are hot. And addictive. And burning my scalp.

Note to Self: When eating wasabi peas, do not close mouth. Closing the mouth only increases the heat searing the tongue. However, flaring the nostrils and deeply inhaling does lessen the electrical shock I feel in the nerves attached to each hair follicle on my head.

Curious: Wasabi paste served with sushi is typically green. This version is white. [Touch tongue to white part. Then green part. Then white part, again. Yes, the wasabi is the white part. It is very hot.]

Note to Self: When nose is running from such fiery wasabi, try to remember to not have face peering into wasabi container. Droplets of snot will be very difficult to find in such container.

Curious: How many wasabi peas can I suck on, with my mouth closed and my nosrils not flared? At what point will my head detonate, and will the ceiling catch fire from the lightening bolts exploding from my skull?

Note to Self: Do not try that again.

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When a man's head begins to bald, why doesn't he also lose his eyebrows and eyelashes?

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Do diet pills actually work? Or do you just lose weight because you can't eat as much when your tummy is full of water because you have to take a pill before each meal?

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At this time, this is all I can say:

I'm at a loss. I have toyed for so very long about what I should write about on this website, how I should write it, and whether the Internet wants to read it. I've mulled over how the Internet's opinion of me would be changed if it knew what I don't want to say.

I am really a man.

Continue reading "Dissatisfied" »

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Roger and I looked at each other like, "Did she really just say that on the radio?" And then I thought, "I wonder how many guys are going to be calling the radio now, trying to get her number?" And now I'm wondering, "Was she successful?"

I began thinking about the human heart, and thought I would open my comments section as a soundboard today. What do you think?

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Is it so wrong that I arrived at work at 6:30am this morning, already wishing it was Friday night again?

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That string makes me want to vomit.

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My head itches, but I swear I don't have lice. Even though I think RID makes your hair feel soft, and I like the smell of it in the same way that I like the smell of paint and gasoline.

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I'm really awful about remembering to water my plants. So, if I put a few ice cubes on the soil, which will melt and which will BE LIKE WATERING THEM, sort of, is that sufficient?

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Sometimes, when I go for prolonged periods of time without exercising, and more specifically when I know that I haven't been eating healthfully, I can feel my thighs start to tingle like a low-voltage electrical shock. That is when I know that they are e x p a n d i n g.

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I was going to post a picture of me on the beach, in which I have a gorgeous deep tan and no sunburn whatsoever (what? you don't know!), but instead I'm in an internet cafe (taking time away from my precious tan), fiddling with a computer. The CPU has no USB in the front. I'm determined though, so just for you I squatted down and crawled UNDER THE DESK, where I scraped my back, and plugged the cord into the backside of the CPU.

I turned on my camera, I thought it shocked me. So I touched it again. And it did it again.

I put my finger on my straw hat, a darling, floppy straw hat that makes my heart swoon, and then on the dirty keyboard that I'm certain has never been swiped with anti-bacterial cloths, and neither of those items shocked me, though one might have passed me a disease.

I thought that either a) the current going through the cord is WAY too strong, or b) i have spent WAY too much time in the sun today.

So I touched the camera again, just to make sure. In that short period of time before I touched it, the surge grew exponentially and now my hair has loosened from my ponytail and is sticking straight out from my scalp, like I walked straight out of an '80s music video, what with all the teasing and hairspray they used back then.

So, no picture of my deep, dark tan. Instead, I sat in this dirty stall with its infected keyboard and electrifying USB and I drew you a picture. But now I really need to get back to that sun, and that kalamansi juice, and that perfect, crystal clear water that makes my heart break when I think about leaving it.

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Often, when I use the restroom in a public facility, and when such restroom has an automatic flusher, I think to myself, "I wonder if there is a video camera, or if little gnomes are hiding back there waiting to push the button so that I will think that it is automatic, when really it isn't. And if so, they can see my bare bottom squatting down right now!"

And then I get kind of freaked out.

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I have noticed that the eyelashes on my left eye are naturally clumped together, which makes wearing mascara VERY annoying for me, because I have to manually separate them so they won't look like spider legs. Gross.

Can you imagine a spider lodged in your eyeball, with its legs poking out? And a bulge under your eyelid where the body of the spider and its other four legs were nestled under your skin?

What if it got stuck and became dismembered, and then you had spider legs permanently hanging out of your eyelid, with a big bulbous bump under your skin, and four random spider legs were floating around your brain? What would you do then?

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Recently, I have noticed a theme in the stats on my site. I have had a number of visitors who get to Chirky.com by searching "Should I marry him?" or "Should I marry her?" or a similar phrase.

Should I marry him? Her? How do I know when I should marry, or whom? These questions are rampant among dating couples, even among people who are just friends.

In my opinion, your spouse should be your best friend. That doesn't mean that women and men don't have other best friends or close friend of the same gender. It just means that when you marry, that person should know you. The REAL you. The inescapable you. It is a friendship that is natural, and that builds over time - not something rushed or forced.

Your spouse will know more about you than your parents, your closest friends, and sometimes, it will seem like your spouse knows you better than you know yourself.

So, when do you know? How do you know? What qualities do you look for in a man or in a woman? In a spouse? I'm not an authority on the topic, but I do have opinions. Strong opinions. I am also married, which gives me a TINY bit of knowledge on the subject. I spent a wonderful year in a courtship with my husband before we married. He
still pursues me. He still dates me. Our love continues to grow, and though we have been married just shy of a year (married May 2004), I am confident that our marriage is built to last.

Because so many people have accessed my site expecting to find this information, I have decided to create a list of qualities that I believe are important in marriage. This is not a conclusive list. This list is not in any particular order. Please note that all listed qualities should also exist in reverse. Not only should he love you, but you should also love him.

Ergo, I present to you...

CHIRKY'S TOP 10(+) REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD MARRY HIM (or Her, whichever the case may be):

1. He respects you.
2. He is a man of integrity, honesty.
3. He is gentle, tender with your heart, emotions, thoughts, feelings.
4. He encourages you to become a better person.
5. He is a leader in your relationship.
6. He enjoys spending time with you.
7. He communicates with you - not just on a superficial level, but on a deep level.
8. He supports your interests, activities, and hobbies.
9. You trust him.
10. He continually pursues you with love, romance, kindness, respect and communication.
11. He has a forgiving spirit.
12. You are attracted to him physically, emotionally, intellectually, his humor.
13. Your religious beliefs are the same.
14. You are headed in the same direction in life. (Example: desire for children - if the man eventually wants children, and the woman does not, this relationship does not seem to be headed in the same direction.)

Not to be cliche, but love is an art. Not a word, not a ceremony, not an official document. I think that Tommy Nelson said it well:

"The way a woman spells love over time is tenderness. The way a man spells love over time is respect.

Show me a woman who feels that her husband deals with her tenderly - with kindness, good manners, generosity, genuine affection, and understanding - and I'll show you a happily married woman, regardless of external circumstances that may come against their union or family. This woman will have no desire to seek tenderness from someone outside the marriage.

Show me a husband who feels that his wife deals with him with respect - admiration, appreciation, upholding his dignity as a man, thankful for his protection and provision - and I'll show you a happily married man, regardless of the stress he may feel from the outside world. This man will delight in coming home and closing the front door behind him so that he can be with his wife and family."

Do YOU have anything to add?

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This morning, as I was backing out of my parking space, I noticed Roger walking behind my car on his way back to our apartment.

I braked and heard the words forming in my head: "Whoa! I don't want to run over my husband. That would suck."

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