Evolution of (womanly) torture

I’m not one to tell others what to do, but if anyone is planning to torture someone, I have a perfect product to get the job done. The Me Tenda… makes your victim tenda’

So at some point in history, the powers that be said that a woman should be hairless. I’m sure there was a good reason (sorry girl, I can’t tell if you’re fat or your hair is just fluffy). I’m sure women were brilliant, but some man said, cut it off… so we began to shave. But shaving must be done every week if not every day. It’s a pain in all women’s side. And leg. And lip, and armpit.

And women don’t just deal with the man remarks, we now deal with other women. You know, the women who only have to shave once a week and it comes in fine and blond, they suddenly notice if you miss a patch (come on you miss that patch on the back of the ankle, or behind the knee .. or or or, on top of the knee where you can look like you blindfolded yourself, took a butcher knife, played piniata on your knee and that’s when you’re taking your sweet time and paying attention to “detail”). Those women will point out  in public, no doubt, because they must be “encouraging “ you to work harder, daily, instead of say, having a life.

*sigh* I might have a little hair on my legs. I have been known to be called a wooly mammoth by those sweet girls who have perfectly shaped eyebrows, oodles of money for a personal assistant, and a manicure that never seems to be chipped. I’m sure they were loving me into humiliation for the sake of my health and safety… oh what? Hairlessness isn’t for my health.. oh…

Ok so, one day some woman said, “this shaving thing must stop!!” She was smart enough to know that daily sacrifice to the leg gods needed to end, but in a fit of pms , I’m guessing, she decided to use tweezers to rip out each individual hair because it keeps you from having to do the job as often. Yes. Yes, that’s true, but are you kidding. So a man stepped in when she wouldn’t stop nagging about the pain of plucking her hair.. he invented… the epilator. A device consisting of dozens of tweezers stuck on a rotator that plucks multiple hairs out of your leg at the same time in a “fast” fashion… I don’t care how fast it is, you might as well tell me that you’re gonna waterboard me because I’m holding my breath and gasping every 3 seconds as I contain the pain because my kids are in the next room and they are all girls. One day they too will have to choose what type of torture they prefer because they too have my genes of black lion mane hair on their legs.

I’ve tried other types of pain.

I waxed… I actually like it. 1 hour, rip it all off and the dead skin to boot. It stays off… well for like 3 weeks, then you go back… but man 100 dollars later, I’m hairless and broke and red-skinned and walking funny. And if you live in florida, you can then go to the beach and cry for a while when you forget and saltwater hits it. Periodically I’ll just rub lemon juice in the wound (sarcasm noted)… but when you account for longest –lasting, price comparable ways to remove the monkey growing on your leg, you might choose this. I WILL say it’s also a conversational piece. I have been known repeatedly to share my faith with the waxer right when she gets to my bikini line because maybe she’ll do it faster or atleast we will all be distracted.

Another lovely way I learned my lesson was by fire. I have done the laser hair removal… imagine someone calmly loving on you, placing a cool compact on sensitive areas like lip or bikini, and then ZAP!!! You’ve been blinded by lightning which struck on your private area with a fire that sinks in all the way to your uterus , all while they soothe you with the sounds of waterfalls and Kenny G coming from the sound system. And as soon as you reach out to scream that God came back for you piece by piece, the light is gone and you’re left with the smell of burning hair and another cold compress. And if you’re really lucky like me, you’ll have a laser-er that probably isn’t certified (wondered why it was so cheap) and you get burned a couple times right in the V-jay jay. Come back every 3 weeks for 6 months willingly and you’ll get the picture.. and this only guarantees your hair to be gone for 10 years max… or for me… 1 year.

Threading: some lady in Asia said, “tweezers! Ha, I can do the same thing with dental floss for cheap”. Somehow they can hurt you good, make you look great, and degrade you by telling you how ugly you are all at the same time… enough.

Laser epilation: the worst thing I ever experienced. They stick a wire, into each pore where hair comes out, one by one, and light it on fire once it’s in there…

Sorry, I blacked out for a minute… but they claim that this form of treatment, once every hair has been gotten… obviously takes some time, will last a lifetime.. I don’t know. After 3 hairs, I slapped the lady and she said, maybe it wasn’t for me.

So now back to the beauty I bought. I lived in Paris for a year and a half and didn’t know the word for wax, and when I did learn it, I couldn’t afford it. I kept seeing adds for the epilator everywhere and it seemed like everyone I asked said, “yah… I do /did that.” I should have taken note of their pause. I researched good ones and bad ones since you can get them for 20Euros or 500… I found one called the ME… it was highly rated and was an epilator and a home-laser-hair removal system in one. It was on super sale at the “best buy” in town. So I went for it, shelling out a 100 euros, thinking of all the money I’d be saving in the long run as after 10 uses, my hair wouldn’t come back for years!!!

Well, you gotta get past the first time. I mean, wow, I refused for anyone in my family to be home because the crying, and stopping, and wiping of my brow took hours to finally get just half a leg done. My husband came home and said, “only up to your knees? You doing the laser?” Seriously, one thing at a time. Took me a month to get up the nerve to laser that half a leg… Every time, I get the look from him, “ you gonna try your upper leg soon? Your bikini… “ I’m gonna duct tape him down soon and just do his chest… it doesn’t have much hair… then we’ll talk about new forms of torture for next time he makes a comment.

So, I hope this was helpful as you choose what would be a good form of leg hair removal…

And yes, I’ve tried Nad’s sugaring, nair (found out I was allergic the hard way)… but never tried the pinterest coffee grounds suggestion… maybe when I’m feeling masochistic …

My mom and French

About a month ago I was asked to write an essay for french class . Some of you asked me to translate it into English. Keep in mind I'm not sure on ANY of the dates, I had one night to write it and I... took liberties. Also, I'm at like a 3rd grade level at french... be kind.

" Recount in the past tense the biography of someone who you feel is important (and then there are some criteria)

My mother was very important to me. She shared the good news with 100s of women. She made 1000s of gifts with her two hands. She had changed my life with her example of how to be a real woman.
Jane Logan was born the 21st of February 1945. While studying geology, she learned how to sew. She practiced this art for many years. In June of 1980, Jane opened a store where she taught sewing and sold sewing products. That year, she learned "smocking" (sewing between the pleats of a piece of clothing) and she also gave birth to me.After many years, she passed the store to another person and began a biblical study called BSF. She was taking these courses when a friend asked if my mother would like to teach the class. She was a techer for the next 7 years. In 1990 she became the distributer for BSF until her death.
I also took classes with BSF when I was younger. I told my mother that I had liked the study, but it was no longer possible to continue. I had wanted the papers for children that BSF had but they had told me it was not allowed. After the death of my mother, I was helping my sister arrange her affairs when I found 3 notebooks. My mother had made 1 notebook for each of her children containing all the biblical studies for children.... my children. She had done things like this for everyone. She loved to put forth the love of Jesus to anyone who needed it.
At her funeral, Most of BSF had come. Some did not know her. Others had known her her entire life, but each person there knew that she loved Jesus and them. We sang her favorite songs and laughed because she died in bed, sick, but NOW she ran in heaven. It was marvelous. Jane Logan Mixer was indeed unforgettable.

My former self

Even a year ago I was a completely different woman.
I was a girl who read, but maybe only right before bed. I drank atleast like 2-3 cokes a day. I couldn't pass a fast food restaurant I didn't like.
I loved parties. I had to throw em, go to em, host em, organize em, have em for no reason. I love to entertain.
I loved to sew. every day, all day, it took my stress, it made me creative, it was a way to teach my girls, and encourage others.
I loved a good craft. Tell me there was a craft show and my juices started flowing. I couldn't help it. I promenaded down the isles of joann's, ac moore, hancocks fabric, Michaels... the thought of it makes me smell nastalgia.
If you knew me longer than a day you probably heard me ask, "is there anything I can do for you?" It was like a catch phrase, I couldn't help but ask and then of course do my darndest to follow through.
I loved kids. Of all ages. I wanted to teach them, listen to them, soak them in , laugh with them.

A lot of things have changed. I still love a good coke, and france produces the tastiest. But I read a lot. I have gone through more books in one year than ... well, a really long time. I rarely have time for fast food, but I CAN get food fast, if I plan well.
But when you live overseas and everyone is on a budget, parties can be hard. I try to be a good hostess and make snacks for people "just because" but it almost insults them. I mean to them , who has time for that? am I showing off? And when I threw a birthday party, it was cheap. I mean a couple bags of candy and popcorn and some glow sticks... but to them I was showing them up. "you lifted the bar too high" they said. Now I'm not saying that it wasn't fun and they didn't have a good time, but I expected people around me to relax... to feel at home. And that wasn't the case.
And I live far away. My apartment is small and people don't like to ... idk, get out?
See school is stressful here. It's a guilt thing. We've been told this lie that we have to be superwoman or we aren't good enough. And when you pull something off... it's a slap in the face to all those who couldn't.
So what used to be a release to me. a stress reliever, a mind distraction, is a burden.
Crafts are expensive and time consuming... and when you study and cook and homework all day, well, I don't know bout you, but I don't like to clean up after a craft before I go to bed. And there's no such thing as inspiration and dare I say, craft stores...
on top of that, i thought I would take MAYBE a year off from sewing , sell my machine and get a new one in a new country, including bells, whistles, and a european plug. But a year later, there's no machine and I won't get one for AT LEAST 6 more months.
have you ever had stagnant creative genes... pretty sure they're atrophying, or atleast crying out in agony. I can hear them... "make a purse, a blanket, I'd even make... barbie clothes, ok maybe not! Maybe just a coozie. Can we sew by hand? is that a possibility?"
And then there's the fact I'm learning to speak french on the job... I don't even know if I can say, is there anything I can do for you... let me think. "Est-il n'importe quoi que je peux faire pour toi?"


I will never remember THAT on the spot...
So what do I have that still makes me... me?
I'm sarcastic. I'm a better listener. I do it before I speak now too. Instead of caring for the masses, I try to think on a one-on-one level. I'm looking internally too, instead of drowning it out with other "things".
Some days I wonder why HE put me here and what good could come from the choices i've made or why are things so drastic... but maybe it's time to put a listening ear to that one too. no, I'm not who I was and the more I think about it, I NEVER will be again. home will never be home again. friends move, relationships change, monkeys might start flying... but I'm still HIS creation. I'm still ME. so what if I cry now (whaaaa) I'll get over it. and then I'll pull my big girl pants on, maybe put on a french scarf because it's time to have new "normals" and be the best ME I can be... til next year.

deps and death

I've written a lot of things on depression and there is so much to understand that I can't even tell you all of them. This week was a bad one for me, and it's hard for Johnny to understand, communicate, and even talk to me during a time like this.
Then I saw that Robbin Williams died. It broke my heart. I have to write about this.
He was an amazing man. He WAS funny, but there was so much more to him.
I once watched a Lifetime movie on his life (about the time of Patch Adams coming out) and of course I was on the edge of my seat.
But the more I watched the video-ography, the more I could see that he was depressed. That was the day I started pr*ying for Robin Williams.
See, I can totally understand. He was funny, but he had absolutely no outlet for sadness or anger or even a normal day. Then add depression into the mix. That is why I think he branched out into what dreams may come and law and order... he wanted to vent his dark thoughts, but people criticized him.
See, supposedly I'm funny too.
When people hear me complain or even talk like I'm having a hard day, people automatically walk away from me. They want me to lift them up. They want me to be funny. Then when you add depression into the mix, I feel like I've REALLY let them down. I should have hid it better, I should have held it in.
his movie Photoshop was a way for him to be sad by only acting sad. It's the same for Chanda Pierce. It's the same for a lot of people. Actually, the funnier a person is , the more I reach out and love on them.
We need to let those who have deps let it out. Don't walk away. Don't pity, Don't frown... just acknowledge and then remind them of awesome things... mourn with those who mourn, but also rejoice with those who rejoice...
The news of Robin Williams broke my heart because I don't believe he ever found Hope or the Truth. But instead of just saying depression is a cruel lie... take action. Be a light to all those around you, stranger and otherwise. Say a kind word. Point out the worlds beauty. Give a reason for thankfulness for themselves. Even a smile.
Make sure Robin Williams doesn't happen again!

Go to bed

8:30: Ella, go to bed. I know it's hard for you to fall asleep, so I'm giving you time to calm down and read... kisses, hugs, goodnights, sleep tights, pr*yer, love you, door cracked.
9:15: ella comes out to pee. Comes in the living room on the other side of the house. "sorry, I just had to pee. I'll say goodnight now."... kisses, hugs, goodnights, love you... off to bed
9:35: I see a shadow walk across the house. "who's up?" Ella: it's just me. It's really bright in my bedroom, so I'm going around the house turning lights off. Can I turn the light off in the room you're sitting in "no, I'm in here, if you don't like the brightness, close your door" Ella" it's too hot. ok I'll go to bed now.
9:40:Ella: I forgot to kiss you goodnight when I went to my room a minute ago, I'll do it now
"You've already kissed me three times now. I love you, but you have to go to bed. Stop getting up."
Ella: I'm done. I'm off... kisses, hugs, love you, shove to her room.
10:00 Ella: I can't sleep.
I try to ignore, but she stares blankly at me for 5 minutes and wins the staring contest.
"of course you can't sleep. You keep getting up. If you'd just lay there, you'd fall asleep. Why don't you read your book."
Here comes one of 2 answers; Either she finished her book, or it wasn't entertaining enough so she can't read it.
"well, it is 10 pm. Really you should fall asleep or you'll never wake up in the morning."
Ella: ok, well, I love you.... I begrudgingly kiss her AGAIN, and say, please stay in bed.
ALL IS QUIET.
until 11:15: Ella comes into my room: I have to pee. Is it ok if I go?
"well, if you don't go, you'll be up all night thinking about it right?"
Ella: yes
"so why do you have to tell me you have to pee? I mean, you'll go whether I give you permission or not right. Just go... and go to bed!"
Ella is in the bathroom so long I forgot she even woke up.
11:45: Ella: ok night I love you...
 "don't kiss me. just pee. go to bed. stop getting up. you're worse than your 3 year old sister"
Ella: I'm so tired. I love you.

7am: "ella get up."
7:15: "ella get up."
7:30: "you have to get dressed, or you'll miss breakfast and I'll have to start dragging you to school"
8 am: "you have 10 minutes "
8:10 Ella: will you braid my hair? you promised last night. you did Zoe's and Ada's...
"yes, because they woke up"
Ella: well, you talked to me all night, I couldn't go to sleep.

And so the cycle continues the next night....

Yes, I'm uber holy

Josh is in the middle with the beard. He seemed to enjoy the party at our house!

I know, you look at me and see a freak with a super gift... called hospitality. This past week, I took a lesson in stupidity hospitality.
How to take your talents to the next level:
1. Have a common last name. This allows for everyone to call you or ask for you by said common last name and someone will just give up your personal information without blinking twice. For example: the last name Campbell. Someone could just show up at your school and say they're looking for the Campbells and There might be a person at the school who just hands over your phone number. (don't I wish I was still a Mixer now?)
2. Have an unsuspecting spouse. Yes, someone who takes EVERYONE at their word. For example: there might be a husband who believes every time he logs on to the computer that he has won the lotterie or that a poor defenseless African man needs money wired to him. Now, this husband might get a phone call from someone claiming to know him and ask for room and board at your house. and without a second thought, he might say yes (to his defense, he saw my face and said, "let me talk to my wife and I'll call you back")
3. Play 6 degrees with your spouse. For example: If your wife asks who this guy knows at your school, you should just say something like "I remember talking to person A who knew person B and said they might visit sometime this year and need to bounce medical ideas off of me" I don't know who this could be, but it might happen, you never know.
4. Agree to disagree, until you get to the hard part, asking questions. I mean, For example, you might argue back and forth at the validity of a hypothetical situation (person A and B) and insist that the husband call back the man and find out who he REALLY knows and who gave your # to him. This is  hard and pride hurting, but it's humility (another awesome gift)
5. When you find out that this person knows absolutely no one that you do, that you had a common last name, but STILL asks for a place to stay for 3 days, don't question it. For real, it's a hurting man who needs shelter. Your kids safety is in His hands , right? plus, it's a small apartment, you'll hear if anything happens.
6. Pick him up immediately. Don't waste time with cleaning or thinking, that'll just make you doubt your hospitable nature. Bring him in.
7. Throw a party that night. Invite him. Have him meet all your other friends and find out that he is 6 degrees to someone in the room.
8. The next morning, be sure to leave him in the house alone all day. Give him a key. Don't question anything valuable, or keep him from eating your peanut butter cups. you've already shuffled all your kids so he can have a room alone, why not the crown jewels too.
9. Have another party, in town, which you pay for him to travel with you because you don't want him to feel too cooped up in your home.. Give him breathing space. Buy him a train ticket.
10. Breathe. You've achieved a true level of hospitality. Everyone survived and he even left you a nice note. You trully are blessed.

Actually, it probably wasn't that bad. Josh (I don't know his last name) ended up being a pretty stand up guy who actually was a doctor on his way to Africa but needed visas. We found people to vouch for him eentually and my girls weren't afraid of him. Now, how do I teach them about stranger danger... next blog.

If the sweedish chef were French

That would be me. I have to be the messiest cook in the world. Every time I cook noodles, they are all over the kitchen. I can't break an egg without it drooling all over the counter... and flour. Let's not talk about flour.
So I've really been trying to keep up our tradition of making pancakes every saturday once we got here. I went online and searched for the french names of the ingredients (no, my girls do not like crepes). I have gone to 3 stores and STILL cannot find all the ingredients.
Our school was offering a french cooking course every friday (mainly to know  the words found in french recipes), so I jumped on it. HOW FUN. I love to cook, and I get to make french pastries. Win-win.
I showed up today and we labeled ingredients. Then we read (in french) the directions. Then she split us up into groups of 3or 4 to make our first dish: profiteroles (creme puffs). Of course , all the beginners were in a group together, but we actually made the best batch thanks to Sonia, our portugeuse grandma. They were great! I am going to love cooking class...
So I took the oportunity to ask my teacher where I could find baking powder. She couldn't understand me. I thought maybe I was pronouncing the word incorrectly, so I repeated it and then asked other students to help me. She really had NEVER heard of baking powder. She tried to tell me to get yeast. I kept telling her no, but when she finally walked away, another girl told me what the problem was. THERE IS NO SUCH THING HERE. and baking soda is only for cleaning. She said that's why french people love cookies so much from america is because they don't have anything like that they can make.
Then the girl disappeared and returned with a new can of baking powder that someone had mailed her and told me I could have it... sniff sniff... I'm gonna love it here (and perhaps teach a few things myself)