Grown Up Permanent Tattoos

At the age of thirty, I got a tattoo near my right hip when I was at the beach in Delaware.  My flight attendant friends and I were there for the weekend to celebrate a colleague who was getting married the following month.  There had been a lot of talk about getting a tattoo and after day drinking, we all went in with our specific choices of what to get.  Such a great thing to seal the weekend fun and remember it forever!

When we arrived at the tattoo parlor, I decided upon my design for a tattoo before the others did and volunteered to go first.  I got a white daisy.  It was my wedding flower.  I loved it.  After an hour, I came out to show my flying pals, however by this time, they were all pretty much sober.  I excitedly showed them mine and then said, "OK, so who's going next?"  They all couldn't look at me.  NONE of them were going next.  Well, I won't ever forget that weekend.  In fact, I should send this as a story idea to the producers of my new favorite TV series, PAN AM.    

When O was three years old, she asked me why I colored on myself.  I told her it was because I like pictures of beautiful things that make me happy.  It's like my postcard from the beach in Delaware. 

When O was four years old she realized it was still there.  "Mommy, why do the tattoos I get wash off and your tattoo doesn't?"  To which I asked, "Good question.  Why do you think mine doesn't wash off?"  She replied, "Because you wanted it to stay there forever."  "You are right!", I said.

This past summer at age five she asked, "Mommy, can I get a tattoo?"

"That will be up to you when you are a grown up." I said.

"How old are you when you are a grown up?  she asked.

"I was thirty."  (debate that among yourselves)

"How old was Bapa when he was a grown up and got his tattoo?"  (My dad has a tattoo around his exit war wound that says "COMP USMC" which stands for compliments of the United States Marine Corp.)

"Bapa always says he will never grow up, but he got his tattoo when he turned sixty five."

Over the last ten years, I have noticed the fading of the flower and after just turning forty I thought it would be a perfect time for me to fix it up.  I was on a mission.  I began asking everyone about their tattoos.  I commented on every tat I saw and every conversation always led me to telling the stranger that I had one that I wanted to alter.  These tattooed people were always willing to offer recommendations on where I could go to get mine changed.  After all, drunk at the beach and getting a tattoo is a whole different mission than fitting one in at Tyson’s corner while shopping.  (Look who’s all grown up now!)

O had heard me ask strangers questions about tattoos so many times that she brought it up one day when we were playing barbies.  I was pretending to be Merleah, from the Barbie mermaid movie and she was Barbie Hannah asking Merleah about her tattoos and where to go to have one changed.  (The Barbie, Merleah has two tattoos, one on her belly and one on her arm.)

Most of the recommendations that I received were for a tattoo parlor in Georgetown called JINX.  I originally wanted to make it a date night.  That is, up until I realized that my husband couldn't go in the back with me and hold my hand while they injected ink in my skin using a needle  (he also wasn’t going to wait in the lobby with all the tattoo and piercing enthusiasts).  

Regardless, I sent some of my dearest friends an email asking for ideas on a revamped design for my daisy.  I received a few JUST GET IT REMOVED texts, however, most of them were intrigued and did not hesitate to offer lots of thoughtful suggestions, many at my expense.  

I’d encourage all of you to make a mental note that if you ever have a really bad day to send a note to your dearest friends asking them what kind of tattoo they could see on you!  Just be prepared.  

The best came from my girlfriend DeeDee who came back with the idea that since it's a daisy, I should add the words “Daisy Duke” next to it to highlight my country heritage.  She also suggested that I add a tattoo on the other hip of Bo and Luke Duke jumping in the General Lee with Sheriff Rosco B. Coletrain and Boss Hogg chasing after them all the way around my waistline.  I did have a preteen crush on the Duke boys, but I passed on the idea. 

After a conversation with a gentleman at the tattoo parlor about my wish to find someone who could create something that was a reflection of me, I was directed to setting up an appointment with a creative tattoo artist named Matthew, a Buddhist.  So I set up a consult for an appointment today.

So as I said, I have asked my friends, family and even some strangers what they thought might symbolize me.  They all had different creative ideas, including symbols of peace, yoga and wine glasses.  As I journeyed further in my quest, I realized that tattoos should not be chosen by someone else.  It’s my symbol and I’ll decide.  So I did.   

The daisy flower represents growth as it goes from a seed to a beautiful bloom.  The name for the daisy flower derives from "days eye", because it opens at sunrise and closes at sunset, (my two favorite times of day) and during the 60's the daisy was almost as popular as the peace sign symbolizing the peace movement.  Why not fix it up and add color.

Now, what color?  Orange has been my favorite color for the last few years.  I will do orange.  Wait.  What's orange stand for?  Some google searches led me to Frank Sinatra who was quoted saying, "Orange is the happiest color."  A few more searches and I summarized orange represents creativity and radiates warmth and energy.  Perfect.

I met Matthew at 12:30.  He was gentle natured and kind.  He was a good listener and open to my ideas.  After coming to a decision with Matthew's artistic thoughts added, I asked if he had time to do it today.  He said he did.  It was 12:45 and O didn't have to be picked up till 4:00.  Perfect.  I have plenty of time.

As I was walking out of the tattoo parlor in Georgetown, one that I highly recommend BTW, my girlfriend, who's daughter has a long standing play date on Wednesday's with O, texted me to let me know that Ella was sick.  I looked at my watch and realized it was 1:36 then I did what any mother who's walking out of a tattoo parlor on an early pick up day does, I screamed a curse word.  Because the tattoo parlor happens to be around the corner from the every day line up of over 100 people waiting for a $2.75 cupcake, they all turned to me with a look of disgust like I had upset the peace in my public display of frustration.  I didn't care.  I had less than nine minutes to make it to the bus stop and traffic in Georgetown on a rainy day is never easy.

Quickly, I dialed my girlfriend, G.  She assured me she would pick up O at the bus stop and I can take my time. ERRRRCCHHHHHH!  That was the noise my car made as I turned around the corner and flew over the bridge arriving at the bus stop with five minutes to spare.  As I parked my car near the stop, G walked up to my car and giggled as she asked about the car, since it was not my usual SUV, but instead a rented mini van.  I laughed and said, "My husband likes to call me hot mama in a mini van."  

She laughed, "Why were you in Georgetown?"  

I replied, "I was getting a tattoo of course."

"G, Thanks for almost saving me."

"No worries."  she said, "What kind of tattoo did you get?"  

"I can't talk about it.  It's all so unbelievable.  Today was early release day and I almost missed the bus because I was at the tattoo parlor fixing a tattoo to represent joy, creativity and peace.  The only tattoo I needed was the one that says '1:45 pm Wednesday' so I won't ever forget again.  Kindergarten SUCKS!"

Fascinations of a Kindergartener

Yesterday, on the way home from school, O said matter of factly, "Mommy, I know how to make snot.  You cough and get buggers from your tongue and put it in there with your spit, and it makes snot.  Really, mommy, buggers and water make snot".  YUCK!  The image alone is enough to make me want to vommit.  

Later, while making dinner, O shared with me that her classmate taught her how to burp.  "It's so easy, mommy.  You just suck in lots of air over and over and you will burp.  Like this.” Should I tell her if she does that over and over her stomach will hurt?

While stretching together this morning O farted.  "Mommy, why can't we make farts?"  Before I could answer, my husband informed her we could and then showed her how to do it by putting one hand in the opposite armpit and pressing down.  Much like the way the Three Stooges do it.  

Seriously, what is it about five year old's and their fascination with snot, burps and farts?  First time she drinks too much and wakes up issuing them uncontrollably, perhaps it won’t be so funny!  Kindergarten SUCKS!

 

Kindergarten "Turkey Trot" Program

For the past two weeks O has been singing parts of different songs about turkeys, a farmer named Brown and gulfstream waters.  Each day she adds a little more to each song.  Last week it all came together at the school Thanksgiving Kindergarten program.

The night before, O told me she wasn't going to participate in the program.  To which I replied, "Performing on stage is part of being in Kindergarten.  It's just like riding the bus"  (much like drinking a nice glass of Pinot Noir each night is part of being the mother of a kindergartener).  

The morning of her performance we didn't discuss anything about it until we were on our way out the door.  I told her that I was looking forward to watching her perform that morning.  She replied, "Well that's nice, but I won't be performing.  I don't want to.  My stomach hurts."  “We all have butterflies in our stomachs sometimes,” I told her. 

I dropped her off at the bus and then headed home.  Before heading to the school to see the program I noticed that I too had butterflies in my stomach, but they were for her.  After contemplating a glass of wine for courage, I abandoned the idea and drove to school.  I went straight to the multi-purpose room (I know, we all use to call it “gym”).  The kindergarteners walked in with construction paper turkey hats all the while shaking beans in toilet paper tubes covered with American Indian symbols and decorated with feathers.  The beans made the sound of turkeys ruffling their feathers.  I looked for O's class.  Finally, we made eye contact and smiled.  She was so excited and proud of herself.  She beamed throughout, sang every song and made all of the hand motions.  

My favorite song was the one sang to the tune of Yankee Doodle.

"Farmer Brown went out to find a turkey for his dinner

And when he passed I held my breath and tried to look much thinner

Farmer Brown, keep away

Farmer Brown, don't pick me

Farmer Brown, why don't you have a hot dog for Thanksgiving."

It was very cute.  Afterwards there was a party in the classroom.  Privately, her teacher told me O had said to her that morning she wasn't going to perform.  Mrs. M. asked her if she would like to pick where she wanted to stand.  She did and never said another word after that.  

I'm so grateful Mrs. M gets my child.  O needed a little control over the experience and Mrs. M ensured that she had that.

Why, in fact, Mrs. M's quick thinking and last minute rearranging saved a kindergarten turkey from missing out on a Thanksgiving performance.  Way to go, Mrs. M.

Of course, the Farmer Brown song is stuck in my head.  I go to bed singing it and wake up singing it.  I can't stop singing it.  O says that I should sing it all the way through then it won't be stuck.  I tried that.  I even tried singing it standing on my head.  No luck.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

Life Lessons and the Power of Hope

In October, O's three year old cousin, E, was diagnosed with a rare genetic disease called LBSL (leukoencephalopathy with brain stem and spinal cord involvement and elevated lactate).  If it sounds ugly, it’s because it is.  Over the last two months, her parents and our family extended have begun to try and figure out what we can do help save E.  

E’s mom and dad have always been great, loving and wonderful parents, but the courage, caring and persistence they’ve shown over the last couple of weeks through testing and diagnosis has proved them to be extraordinary ones.    

Because O and E are so close, I felt it important that O know about her cousin.  So after I had received the news and collected myself, I told her.  In a perfect scenario it would have been my husband and I sitting down and telling her, however, after talking to him, I knew that there wasn't time as we were in different places and both of us were very shook up.  

O crawled on my lap and asked me why I was sad.  I explained that she may sense tears and sadness in all of our family in the weeks to come.  I told her that doctors have told Uncle M and Aunt B that E has something that's called a disease.  She asked what it meant and I explained that it means exactly what it sounds like … that there will be times where little E will have discomfort, much like her Godmother, Darcey who has MS.  

O asked, "Mommy, is that why E's feet and legs have been hurting her?  And mommy, is that why E sometimes falls?"  I confirmed that these were all part of her illness.  Her eyes looked down and I saw a sadness come over her and remembered my experience with children when hearing about someone getting hurt … they often feel for some reason that it's their fault.  


"O, you know this is not your fault?  This is not anyone's fault. God makes us all both different and unique in our own ways.  It's all the imperfect things about each of us that make us perfect.  Every child, including you, comes into this world to teach lessons.  E has taught us many lessons … and will teach us many more.  And you've taught E a lot of things already like trick or treating or turning on a flashlight (or manipulating people into doing things they normally would not on sheer cuteness alone).  E is now teaching us about a disease that we knew nothing about before today … she is teaching us about perseverance and she is teaching us about appreciation.  Most importantly, she is teaching us about the power of hope."

O then asked if the doctor's could fix this disease and I told her that they are doing everything they can to help her.  She asked if E will be ok.  I told her, "We have great hope that she will be."  I added, "Just like you and me, E will have good days and not so good days.  We will be there for her .. and she will be there for us.  We will love her and make her laugh … and she will love us and make us laugh.  We will play with her and let her rest … and she will play with us and probably not let us rest!  We will do whatever it takes because she's our E."  

I added, "E doesn't know any of this because she is only three, but since you are five and in Kindergarten, you can and should know.   You've had some really good questions and thoughts, and I'm sure you will continue to have more.  So as these come up, please come to me and daddy and we will answer them the best way we know how.  You may hear a lot of conversations about little E and if you hear or see things that don't make sense … just ask us."

She said, "So mommy, do we all get a disease?”  I told her that we all have diseases inside of us.  Sometimes they work with our bodies and sometimes they don’t.  We never know.  But that is why doctors are so important.  They work to figure these things out.  In the meantime, we simply have to celebrate each other every single day."

She then paused and said, “OK mommy, I understand.  Can we go play barbies now?"  I 

replied, "Sure."  

O's kindergarten year is proving to be a year of very difficult and valuable lessons in life and for that reason kindergarten SUCKS!

Three Out of Three

O woke me up this morning with a big smile on her face and said, "Mommy, it's 8:31.  Did I miss the bus?"  When I confirmed her suspicion she said, "YIPPEE!  You get to drive me to school."  Right.  And I also have to look the "tardy" lady in the eyes for the third time in three months.  Kindergarten SUCKS!

 

A Veteran Called "Tiny"

On Friday, O woke me up to tell me she doesn't have school because it's Veterans Day.  She went on to tell me that Veterans Day is the day we thank all the people who have "fighted" in our families.  Not quite, but OK.  Then she added Veterans Day is the day we will thank Bapa (her maternal grandfather) because he fought in a war and was wounded.  Questions then went on from "Mommy, why did Bapa get in a fight?” to “Who shot him?"

It was only this past Spring that we shared with O the story, albeit without too many details, about Bapa’s heroic service.  Talking about Veterans Day in her classroom apparently brought up many  more questions for which she wanted answers.

"Bapa is a Marine Corp veteran.  He fought for our country when he served in Vietnam many years ago.  The people who hurt him were fighting for their country.  They fought to build a communist country.  We fought against Vietnam because our idea of freedom was much different than theirs.  "Mommy, what is communism?" she then asked.  My husband heard the questions and quickly responded “Communism is when you lose the right to make your own decisions and the government makes all of them for you.” 

“I don’t get to make my own decisions all the time,” said O.  My husband responded, “Well, in your case it’s more like socialism for kids; it’s a little different.  And when you get older you’ll know what I mean.”  Let’s hope. 

A few seconds of silence and O asked, "Who won the fight?"  Daddy replied, "Nobody, really."  I added, "Bapa did because he lived and all of us did because we have Bapa in our life."  

She then wanted to hear the story again, "Mommy, will you tell me the story again about Bapa when he ate peanut butter sandwiches for every breakfast, lunch and dinner.”  She was referring to what Bapa always ate in Vietnam.”  And then she added “and also tell about when he got shot?"  

"Ok, here's what I know.  Bapa was shot with a bullet while trying to save his buddy Carl.  The bullet from the gun went under his arm and out through his back.  He was hurt really bad.  O, you have met a few of the people who carried Bapa down the mountain including Doc, Tommy, Ray and even General John (Lieutenant John at the time).  After three rainy, scary days of slowly carrying him down the mountain and through the jungle, all while the Vietnamese soldiers were trying to hurt them, they finally arrived to safety at their camp.  Towards the end, they thought that he had passed away, that he died, and placed him with others who had died in the battle."

O asked, "If they thought he had died, why did they still carry him down the mountain?"  

"Good question, O.  Bapa is a Marine and Marines never leave their fellow Marines behind no matter what.  The great part of the story is that after one of the medics noticed out of the corner of his eye that Bapa was still moving, he pulled him over to those who were wounded, but still alive.  General John was one of the few who knew he was still alive at that point as the others had left the evacuation center. Bapa was then placed on a helicopter that took him to a hospital.  It took a long time for him to get better, but he did and luckily he came back to his family in Kansas.” 

“Many of his fellow Marines thought he had died though.  Years later Bapa saw General John who was being interviewed on TV.  He then contacted General John.   The General said, “Tiny, is that you?  I thought you were dead.”  They talked for a long time and are now good friends who see each other often.  In fact, Bapa called a whole bunch of friends who also thought he was dead and now they get together often. 

O asked, "Why did they call him Tiny?"  

"Because he was so big" I said.

"That doesn't make sense.  Why didn't they call him big?"  

"You can ask Tommy the next time you see him,"  I continued. "When General John got to your Bapa he was being put on the helicopter.  He asked, "You OK Tiny?"  Bapa gave him a thumbs up, which was the sign for all good and let's go up.  So up he went and he was taken to a really huge hospital ship where he was operated on and then sent back to America.  Your Bapa is a War Veteran and today is the day to honor him and other heroes.  So you are right, he is in our family and he fought for our freedom and we should thank him and all Veterans for all they’ve sacrificed for us." 

Such a story makes it hard to say Kindergarten SUCKS!

Credit Card and Traffic Accident's

O didn't have school yesterday due to election day, so we had a "girls lunch" and then did a little shopping at the galleria.   After all who, other than my husband, wants us to miss the Nordstrom's Anniversary SALE!

O and I had lots of fun.  These days she is always noticing environmental print and today she sounded out the big red signs in Nordstrom's that said SALE.  That's my girl!  Last March when she was playing dress up with her grandmother who is not a fan of shopping, she said, "Grandma, after this we can go to the mall and shop at the President's Day Sale!"  I take full responsibility for that comment!

On our way home while sitting in serious traffic on I66 in the middle of the afternoon, O dropped her stuffed animal on the floor and asked if she could get out of her seatbelt and grab it.  I hesitated for a second thinking that maybe I could let her out for just a second - "be the cool mom."  Then instinct kicked in and I quickly replied, "No O, you will have to wait.  We are in traffic and it's just too dangerous."

Traffic was inching along.  I was focusing on keeping O's mind off the wait and trying to make the trip a fun one.  Soon traffic had eased and cars were starting to move a little faster than 5 mph.  What seemed like out of the blue, our car was struck from behind.    Later it appeared that he must have been changing lanes as his passenger side fender connected with my driver's side bumper.  I immediately checked to see if O was ok and she confirmed she was.  I pulled to the side of the road and the driver followed me.  He was a nice guy and immediately asked if I was ok, if O was ok.  He accepted all fault and apologized.  We exchanged information by photographing our papers and O and I headed home.

I called my husband.  I said, "Honey, no need to worry.  We are all right.  It was an accident...the car and the credit card."

I know what you are wondering, how will I ever connect this experience to kindergarten.  Well, if O would've had school today, she would've never been in the car and even though there is a VERY strong possibility that I could've been coming back from the Nordstrom's Anniversary SALE, I would not have been on the road at that time, and instead, standing at the bus stop waiting for O to run off the bus and into my arms.  And that right there is my reasoning of why kindergarten SUCKS!

Worst Nightmare - MRSA - A Strain of Staph Bacteria that is Antibiotic Resistant

For the last three months O has had a small red raised dot below her eye.  From the angel kiss she was born with to the eczema she had due to her allergies with dairy, O has a history with skin issues. She's a fair complected child, thanks to her Irish freckled dad, so when this popped up, I didn't think too much about it, until today.  

This morning she woke up with another red dot below her nose and she told me this one hurt.  To top it off she's had a cough for a while.  As parents, we all have a threshhold of how long we wait before we see the doctor.  I had finally reached mine today.  I couldn't help but wonder...what if it's MRSA (a strain of staph bacteria that does not respond to some of the antibiotics used to treat staph infections)?  This of course escalated to...What if she has to be quarantined?  We have 13 people coming for Thanksgiving...we may need to cancel.  Oh, but we've already ordered the turkey.  And then, of course, the poor "my little girl" thoughts entered in once I got beyond the entertain obstacles imagined. 

My mind immediately went to the only horror story I knew about MRSA.  My girlfriend Erma's husband  had MRSA.  It started as a red raised spot on his cheek which looked like a zit.  He kept popping it and it kept getting bigger.  He started covering it with a cotton ball soaked it in alcohol and covered it with a band aid.  Rumor has it he tried every zit cream imaginable and when he that didn't work he tried toothpaste to dry it out.   

Erma kept telling him to go see a doctor.  He wouldn't.  The extended family began to taunt him about the cotton ball and band aids he wore all the way to Easter brunch.  His almost- teenage girls were so embarrassed by the sight of his covered up wound, they didn't want him at their sports games.   

Finally, after a few weeks, he gave in and went to the doctor where he was tested and it was confirmed he had MRSA.  Erma threw him in the basement where he was sequestered until it healed.  He was forced to do his own laundry, eat by himself off paper plates, drink out of paper cups and watch TV by himself until it healed.  It's said that they communicated through an intercom system when their cell phones were dead.  Erma bought VATS of hand sanitizer which the entire family used incessantly.   

Now, post-MRSA, he is the biggest germaphobe I've ever met.  He always has some sort of sanitizer with him and he can ramble off the best brands, types and ways to apply...tri-closan gels, alcohol based gels, alcohol wipes, essential oil based, anti bacterial soap.  He is a wealth of knowledge about hand washing and hand sanitizing.  He knows how to remove hand sanitizer from furniture and how to start a fire with it, which can come in handy when camping.  I'm surprised he hasn't gone to work for the Center for Disease Control!  

So this morning, I called the school and without telling them about MRSA, I told them I was taking her to the doctor to get a couple of dots on her face checked out.  The school secretary wished me luck.  

We arrived at the doctor's office very soon after they opened.  I mentioned to the receptionist that we didn't have an appointment, however, O had some dots on her face that I wanted a doctor to look at.  Before today I knew our doctor's office had three waiting rooms...one for the sick...one for the well...and one for the infants.  However, this morning I came to find that there happens to be one for the quarantined.  That's the one we were rushed to until a doctor would see us.  

One of our favorite nurses came in to get O's weight.  She usually has a hug for O but not today.  I could only conclude that she, like me, thought my daughter had MRSA too!  We were brought into one of the offices to wait for a doctor as our regular doctor wouldn't be able to see us due to his busy schedule (and the likelihood of getting MRSA himself). He must have seen us in the hallway and before long he was standing in the door asking why we were here.  As he asked, he checked O's chart.   

We have been through a lot with him.  O's first year of life brought RSV and the 10 day Rhoda virus.  His Argentinian greeting is always one of love...a kiss on the cheek for me and one on the forehead for O.   

Today I received the usual kiss on the cheek, O received a smile. Oh no...it appears he, like me, also thought my daughter had MRSA too!  Anti-MRSA-ites abound. 

The doctor arrives.  She gives a thorough examination.  GOOD NEWS!  It's not MRSA!  In fact it is nothing but a broken capillary and a fever blister.  I wanted to shout it from the highest mountain! 

When I dropped off O at school, I so wanted to jump up and down and yell, "She doesn't have MRSA!"  However, I thought better of that idea and after saying goodbye, I headed home.   

I was meeting Jackie for lunch in Georgetown so I pulled down the mirror to put on some lip gloss.  There it was...a big red bump on my chin.  Oh please tell me it's just a pimple.  Wait!  I'm forty.  I don't get pimples.  Call Erma!  Call the doctor!  Kindergarten SUCKS!