Wax and Whiskey

I love every hair on my husband's head. I do not, however, love every hair on his back and ass. Jasen could grow a mustache at 14 years old. He's down right burly in the winter when he "needs the hair for warmth," or in the summer when he just forgets to shave.
Shaving days just plain suck. He swears every time that he's cleaned up after himself. I beg to differ. I have to completely re-clean the entire bathroom sink. But really, that's okay. It's every other day of the week that gets to me.
He sheds. Constantly. In the shower, on the bathroom floor, in the closet. Two-inch black hairs. Undeniably his. And mine to clean up. If the floor is wet, I take a piece of toilet paper before I get into the shower, wipe down the floor, and toss it in the toilet. The vacuum doesn't like his hairs. Every now and then the drain clogs, and I sit there with a wire, cussing for an hour that he has enough hair on his back to make wigs.
A few years ago I decided to wax his back. I gave him a glass of whiskey on ice, and smeared hot, gooey, thick wax. Over his entire back. There was no turning back. I know it's sadistic, but that was my point. There would be no turning back. No strip of wonderfully smooth skin surrounded by the normal forest. I figured if we waxed his back, it would gradually get thinner. When I shave it, there's still stubble. Who knew men were wussies when it comes to beautification.
The first pull wasn't so bad. A shock, maybe, but not too bad. After that the whole experience (for him) went to hell.
"Holy mother of God that hurt! What the hell, babe!"
"Dude. Sip your drink. It's not that bad. Look...King of the Hill is on. Watch that and lay still."
"Just give me thirty seconds..."
He starts breathing like a woman in labor, grabs the rug, and holds on for dear life.
"Okay. Go!"
Riiiiiippp.
"F#%@. Am I bleeding?"
"Of course your not bleeding. Grow up. Let's just get this over with."
Okay. I lied. He was definitely bleeding. Tiny drops of blood started pooling out of each pore. At this point, I began to laugh. Uncontrollably. I don't know why. Maybe it's because women shave, we birth babies, we have yearly exams, and my Redneck Husband can't have his back waxed. Maybe it was his reaction...like I was scalping him. Maybe it was because he held his breath with each rip, and then cussed. I don't know. I just got tickled, and he did not find the situation as hilariously funny as me.
"Jesus Christ, honey. It's effing hot in here. Can you turn up the A.C.?"
"Oh for the love of God."
I turn up the air conditioner, and return to my wax-o-pain.
Riiiiiipppppp.
"Okay! That's enough...you just pulled off a mole. And don't tell me I'm not bleeding. Get this shit off of me. Now. I'm done."
"Ummm...honey, there's no way to get it off. That's the point. We have to keep going. Otherwise you're just going to live with wax on your back. Suck it up, and lay down."
"F@%#. Just do them all. Turn up the television or something, so I can't hear myself scream. I can't believe I let you do this to me. You suck. I hate you right now."
"It's called Manscaping, honey. And I like a smooth back. It's sexy. You like smooth legs, I like smooth backs. Okay...hold on."
Riiiipppp.
"I don't care if I'm not sexy. I'm a man, damn it. I'm supposed to be hairy."
"Not this hairy, honey. This is ridiculous."
"F@%& you and your wax. This sucks. I'm never doing this again. You tricked me."
Yep...sure did...and it's friggin hilarious. 

Flash forward eight years or so. Juni was scratching Jasen's back, and apparently scratched off a mole. One of those red, weird looking things. Benign. Pretty much every time I shave Jasen's back I usually nip a few, unintentionally. Which is why he basically doesn't let me near his back side with a razor.
So Juni scratches off the mole. I tell Jasen to get it checked out, because that's what my dermatologist had always told me; that if you injure a mole, it can easily become infected and can change the makeup of the cells. Raises the chance of cancer or something.
Of course Jasen says he's fine. The next day, he comes home.
"Babe, can you come in here?"
"What is it? That bump on your head is NOT a tick. I've looked at it every year for nine years. And I'm not looking at anything on your butt. Get a mirror."
"I want you to look at this thing on my back. It hurts like hell. But you have to promise not to touch it."
There is only one way to describe what was left of the mole. A giant, very full cow tick. They're gray, bulbous, and just plain nasty.
"Ummm....honey, this doesn't look so good. It looks like an inflated cow tick. I think you should see a doctor. And it's all red around it."
"It's fine. As long as nothing touches it, it's fine."
The next day we take Juni to a birthday pool party. Jasen wears a white shirt, and sits in a high-backed chair. He gets up looking like a mobster has stabbed him square in the back.
"Babe, will you look at my mole? It itches."
"Holy Hell, Jasen. It looks like someone's stabbed you. Get in the house before you scare the kids."
The blood had mixed with the sweat, run down his back, and soaked the waistband in his shorts.
"Just put a band aid on it. It's fine."
"It's not fine! You look like you should be on the Sopranos! Go. To. The. DOCTOR. Now. Otherwise, the sympathy is gone."

Two days later, Jasen comes home during lunch and swipes on extra deodorant. He's having his moles checked. An hour later, I get a few texts. Remember, My Redneck Husband has huge fingers, so texting is not his thing.
"Carp [crap]. They want me no clothes. I got no underwear on. What I do?"
"Ha! What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't your mom teach you to always wear your undies to the doctor? Ask for a paper blanket or something. A paper towel. A napkin. Anything."
"Shut [shit]. Here comes doc."
Thirty minutes later he calls.
"Babe. It was horrible. I can hear the nurses laughing, and in comes the most beautiful woman in the world. Seriously. Of course, I had to have this 25-year-old doctor, and there I am naked-assed. It was horrible."
I start laughing. And them remember...shouldn't I be the most beautiful woman in the world? I give him shit for the slip-up, but really it's just too funny. It would be like Brad Pit (before he was all shaggy) coming in for my yearly girlie appointment.
"It was horrible, babe. I started to sweat and everything. I felt like an idiot."
"You didn't wear underwear. You are an idiot. Hows the mole?"
"Gone. She took it off...said it looked like it was getting infected. But she checked everything else out, and all the other moles are good to go."
"Lovely, honey. Hey...can I shave your back tonight?"
"F@%$ no. What's for dinner?"

What I learned from Whitewater Rafting

I knew our vacation would rock. A cabin, rafting, zip lines, and lake with tons of floating toys. I also knew Jasen and I could very well kill each other in the car (that's for another post). Juni was an angel in the car.
What I didn't know, was that our guide would make me really thing about life, what it means to be happy, and the obstacles people can overcome.
He had an accent, so of course I asked where he's from "South Africa, born and raised. And no, I'm not black."
Ummm...yeah, I got that your white. Thanks.
He got us down the river, picking on me and Juni the whole time, making jokes, talking about his wife and schooling, and smiling the whole time.
During a swim break, I asked him how often he returned home to see his family. He immigrated to the U.S. 9 years ago.
"My mother was murdered 15 years ago. My father killed himself 4 months later. And my brother killed himself 4 months ago. My last sibling lives in Australia, raising his family. I will never return home. There's no one to return to."
Okay. There are very few times when words evade me. This was one of them. "Ummm...I have no idea what to say. I'm sorry doesn't sound even remotely close to what you went through."
"No worries. I did start smoking again when my brother killed himself, though. I just focus on the present, look forward to the future, and remember the good things in my past. "
What amazed me about this man (he's 37) is his zest for life. Almost everyone in his family has died untimely, and yet he does what he loves. He guides rafts, holds two degrees from WVU, and is working on his nursing degree. He shows no fear.
One of my largest fears (and I have a lot of fears, believe me), is anyone in my family dying too soon. Especially my sister. I couldn't imagine the hurt, pain and sense of loss. And then to have half of your family kill themselves. I would be a shell. An empty, fragile shell. It would change me forever.
But Brian was anything but a shell. He was smiling, playing, and living his life. He inspired me to live my life not in fear of losing someone, but with the realization that living in fear is not living at all. He taught me that people can survive the most horrific events, and find happiness. All this, on the New River in West Virginia.
I stepped into the raft looking for a relaxing good time, and left with so much more. A refreshed outlook, and an incredible sense of admiration for a man living every single one of his dreams, despite the death and despair plaguing his past.

It's amazing what the human mind can overcome. And he is a testament to the strength we all have, somewhere within ourselves. He inspired me to find that strength within myself. And I could never thank him enough.

Feeling like a Heroin Addict

I've mentioned depression is slow. Before you realize you're depressed, it's too late. You've fallen into the hole, tried scraping your way out by your hands, and are left with bloody stubs.
Apparently I tried to crawl out of my hole by filling my body with cookie dough. 15 lbs of cookie dough, to be exact. It's been a long time since I've dealt with depression. The meds have worked for six years. But after a while my body develops a tolerance. As usual, I maxed out my dose years ago.
Juni getting onto the bus to begin kindergarten began my depression. My baby is growing up. He doesn't need me any more. It's only a matter of time before he's married. You get the gist.
I realized the depth of the depression when, in the spring, Jasen said "Just get off the couch a DO SOMETHING. What the hell have you done today?"
Ummm....let me think...clean, watch tv, stare at tv, and eat cookie dough. Yep. That was my day. Oh...and I took a nap.
So, I made an appointment to begin changing meds, and stepped on the dreaded scale. 15 lbs to show for a winter of depression. Lovely. Six months I'll never get back, and 15 lbs I never needed in the first damned place.
Some medications are easy to switch. You stop taking one pill, and begin the other. Not so much with mine. You slowly take your dose down, and begin taking the new one once you get down to 75 mg. Here's the issue...it takes Wellbutrin, my new drug, 6-8 weeks to begin working. So my doctor and I decided to go from 225 mg of Effexor to 75.
My husband knew it would be rough. "Shit. Here we go again. You're not going to sit in the freezer at Harris Teeter this time, are you?" My Zoloft withdrawal hit me in the freezer isle, and yes, I was hot and confused. So I sat my fat ass into the freezer. Juni was 3 weeks old.
OUCH. I woke up the next morning feeling like I had the flu. There were migraines, brain shocks, the shivers, night sweats, trembling, and a general feeling of anxiety and panic. Xanax became my friend, once again. It's been 4 weeks, and I'm still at 75 mg. Eventually, I'll start taking them every other day, then none at all. But I'm not through the first stage of withdrawal.
Seriously. I feel like a heroin addict. And the withdraw symptoms are similar. The shakes. Nausea. And the oddest feeling, a brain shock. Like something just misfired in my brain, and I'm totally effed for a minute or two. Completely not in the world or this moment. It makes my stomach drop just like a roller coaster. And if I turn my head, my vision doesn't catch up. Bizarre.
But it's worth it. Depression is a bitch. She sneaks in your back door and stays on your couch until you kick her out with steel-toed boots. My depression is gone, for now, just from the thought of feeling better with the Wellbutrin. The thought that things will soon begin working has gotten me off the couch, out of the fridge, and back into life. I spend every moment loving and enjoying Juni. yes, I let myself cry at night that he's 6, getting older, yadda yadda yadda, but it's better than all day. And no more naps. I have energy. Okay, more like anxiety, but I can sometimes channel that feeling into energy and walk the edge of panic.
My body isn't happy and my brain is literally in shock, but the withdrawal is worth it. I've begun to channel some of the anxiety into exercise. I've lost 10 lbs. Of pure cookie dough. Which has shed the tube around my stomach, but failed to touch the cottage cheese permanently in residence on my thighs. Maybe that last withdrawal step will strip that away. Wouldn't that be nice. Smooth legs in themselves would be worth the withdrawal.