The Vasectomy: The end of an era and the birth of large baby

A vasectomy is something my husband swore he would never do.

For years, we couldn’t even say the word in our house because he would become so visibly uncomfortable. It was strange to see him so scared because, in general, he is a pretty tough guy. Sure, his favorite movies are Patch Adams and Mr. Holland Opus, but other than that, he really makes me feel safe. If there was an earthquake and an intersection fell on me, he would lift it off. If an intruder came into our home, he would kill them with his bare hands. If a tsunami washed our family out to sea, he would become a whale and let us ride all the way to shore on his back.

But this vasectomy thing had him all worked up.

Believe me, I understand that having someone cut your privates is not fun. The 42 stitches I had after my son was born don’t exactly provide me with warm memories. But the truth is, we were done having kids, and I had done my part. Someone needed to make sure it couldn’t happen anymore and that someone needed to be my husband. In a last ditch effort, I told a little white lie. “Honey, if you get this done, we will have SO much more sex because I won’t worry about getting pregnant anymore.” Maybe that statement, or the fact that our deductible was going up finally pushed him over the edge. Nobody will ever really know what happened...but once he agreed, I moved quickly.

The truth is we both knew it was time. A few months ago it became very clear to us that we were in the honeymoon phase of parenting. Both our kids can use a toilet, pour a bowl of cereal and sleep in a regular bed. They speak English, they go to school and they think we are great. Right now they are old enough to know we like to sleep in on the weekends, but young enough not to know anything about sex or drugs. These are the glory days for the Chittick family.

So, we said a prayer for his Vas Deferens, said goodbye to our days as a fertile couple, and made the appointment.

On Friday morning, I met my husband at home about 2 hours before the procedure. I arrived home to find my husband outside sitting on a stool. He was scared, sweating, and shaving his privates.

Me: Are you okay?

Husband: Not at all.

Me: Can I help?

Husband: There is nothing anyone can do.

Me: What are you most worried about?

Husband: My balls.

Me: It will go quickly.

Husband: I don’t want to do this.

Me: I know.

Husband: I am really scared.

Me: I know. Now that’s enough.

I was struggling to have compassion. He was going in for a thirty-minute outpatient procedure but was acting as if they were removing a limb. It took everything in my power not to remind him that during both my childbirth experiences I was certain that I was going to die. With each child, I was poked, prodded and pulled so much that I still struggle to talk about it. Each child was vacuumed out and on both miraculous occasions, I tore all the way through. I had so many people with their hands in my business that at one point, when the Janitor came in to clean my room, I fully expected him to lay down his mop, put on a glove, and check to see if I was dilated.

I wanted to care that he was scared and nervous, but for some reason, it just wasn’t happening.

His anxiety about this was very high (aka...off the charts). During his consultation, the urologist insisted that he take a Valium prior to the procedure. The problem is, my husband doesn’t take drugs. They make him nervous. He doesn’t smoke pot, he has never done mushrooms, and often claims that Sudafed and Mucinex make him hallucinate (shoot me). When we got in the car, he carefully swallowed the pill and looked at me with a serious expression, “How long until I feel it? Oh God, my heart is racing.” I tried to get him to relax, to talk about normal things, but nothing was working.

Eventually the drug started to take effect, but the result was less than ideal. He seemed very far away and still extremely anxious. At one point, as we pulled into the parking garage, he began whispering to himself like a crazy homeless person, “You can do this! Don’t be afraid! You are strong! You got this one!” It was uncomfortable to witness, but I did my best to be supportive.

During his surgery, I sat in the waiting room. I wish I could say I hurt because he was hurting, or that his pain was my pain, but that would be a lie. While he was under the knife, I found myself reveling in the silence and peace of the empty waiting room. It has been so long since I had been alone in a room, with nothing to do and no one around me. It felt like a mini vacation! I read a bunch of magazines from 2010, caught up on some emails, and ate a Snickers candy bar. To be honest, I had a lovely time.

Barely thirty minutes later, the doctor came out, said that all went well, and my husband should be out soon. As I looked up, there was my sweet husband, slowly walking towards me. He looked horrible. He was white, shaky, and appeared to have aged ten years. This is the conversation we had next:

While reading the dialogue below: Please picture a big, blonde man with a low deep voice that speaks very slowly while sweating profusely from his forehead

Me: How did it go?

Husband: It was horrible. The worst thing I have ever gone through.

Me: Oh honey, it only lasted ten minutes and now you are done.

Husband: I wanted to die, I felt so violated. I prayed for it to be over the whole time.

Me: Don’t you think that is a little dramatic?

Husband: Not at all, you have no idea. There was smoke coming from my balls.

Me: Honey, I had two kids. They were 8lbs each and left me with 42 stitches. But you are right; the smoke thing would be strange.

Husband: I am so glad it is over. It was awful. Oh, I was so scared!

Me: (giving husband side hug while thinking to myself “What a baby!”) I am so proud of you.

Then the doctor came out and explained the procedure and what we needed to do next.

Husband: So doc, you cut into my balls and snipped the thingy that the sperm travel in?

Urologist: Yes, I made an incision into your testicles and cut the vas deferens.

Me: So his balls are going to be swollen for a while and there is no way we can do it for at least a month, right?

Urologist: Yes, his gonads will be slightly enlarged for a period of time and it would be best to abstain from intercourse until he heals.

Me: So I don’t have to do it for a while?

Husband: He didn’t say that.

Urologist: (visibly uncomfortable) That’s something that you two can work out later.

Me: But really we should give that area a break, right?

Urologist: (more visibly uncomfortable) Again, it is up to you all how you want to move forward.

Husband: How soon can we do it again?

Eventually the doctor realized this conversation was going nowhere and quickly excused himself.

Today, for the third day in a row, I woke up next to a very large man with a bag of frozen peas on his privates. I have done my best to take care of him but, I am pretty sure I won’t be winning any awards. I am trying to understand that what he experienced was traumatic, but on some level, I am just not buying it. After having my kids, I know I didn’t come home and spend the entire weekend watching football, drinking beers and laying on the couch with my friends. If I remember correctly, I was woken up every two hours by a small newborn who would gnaw at my breast, scream in my ear and poop all over me. When my husband says he can’t stand up and would I mind bringing him his breakfast in bed, it takes all I have not to lunge at his throat.

In the end, I am grateful he decided to go through with this and provide me with the assurance that the days of breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and hemorrhoids are over. Yet I still dream that one-day, just for a day, he could know what it is like to be a woman. And then maybe, just maybe, he will understand.

Dear Facebook...we need to talk

Dear Facebook,

It’s a new year and I think its time to start off with some new resolutions. Over the past few years, you have changed a little bit and honestly, you have made some people get a little weird. You started out as this great avenue to help people connect with friends, family members and old boyfriends. But as time went on, you have lost sight of your original goal and its time to get back to the basics. We can no longer sit back and witness people making fools of themselves. It is time we addressed the people who say to much, post too often, and unknowingly make themselves look like idiots.

In honor of new beginnings and being better people, lets set a few guidelines for 2012:

1. If you look good in a bikini, we are SO happy for you! Weight Watchers worked, you laid off the McDonalds, or you simply have good genes. That is awesome and we are glad you loved your trip to Cabo…that place you stayed in really looked beautiful. All we ask is that you go easy on the bikini photos, and please don’t make them your profile picture. We all want our ex-boyfriends to see us looking skinny, tan and happy. Let’s be honest, that is the main reason we post those pictures in the first place. Just go easy on the semi nude photos or you start to look a little desperate.

2. We are so happy you had a nice meal. Everyone deserves a good steak once in a while. And your dessert looks great too, even though we have all seen a nice piece of cheesecake or tall glass of cold beer. Go ahead, put the phone down, take a bite, and enjoy the people you are eating with. If you are eating alone, and that’s why you keep taking pictures of food, we feel your loneliness and are sending you a big hug. I promise, it is going to be okay.

3. Ladies, we know you love your husbands. That is why we assume you married them in the first place. Here’s an idea…if you love them so much, go ahead and close your computer, log out of Facebook, and do something to them you haven’t done since before you were married. On the other hand, if you only say gushy and overly sweet things about your husband to cover the fact that you two hate each other or don’t want to admit that your marriage is barely hanging on, we understand. The reality is that we know the truth about your relationship and it is clear to many people it is probably not going to work. Remember, a lot of us were at your wedding and thought it was a bad idea in the first place.

4. Everyone has questions in life. “Where do I find a painter?” and “What’s a good song to jog to?” and “Does anyone have a good Dentist?” We know that there are times we all need some help, but let’s go ahead and bring back the idea of community. Go outside, knock on a neighbor’s door, or call a friend. I know it’s not as fun or easy as getting 42 comments on your wall in response to your question about “Is an iphone or Blackberry better?”…but you’ll survive. The next time you are out on a walk, stop a stranger and say “Hey, where’s the best place to get Mexican food around here?” It will be great because you might make a new friend and we won’t be bored with your unending questions about where to get a new washer and dryer. See, everybody wins…

5. Cryptic statements are never good. When you post something that says, “Waiting and waiting…will tell you all more soon!”, it makes us very concerned. Then, after we realized you didn’t sound very sad in your post, we automatically think you are pregnant. All this does is cause a lot of people to say things like, “OMG are you Pregnant?” or “WTF! Call me soon! I think I know what this means!” Save the guessing game and just tell us what is going on. If you have some good news, let the world know. If you are waiting for a new job, tell us and we’ll send prayers. If you posted that lame comment so you could get a thousand comments on your wall, we forgive you. Just next time, instead of a weird, strange message, simply say “Hey I have nothing to say but need some love…can 20 of you comment on my wall to make me feel special and popular?” It is a lot less annoying and makes us like you more.

6. Most people have pretty busy lives. Between work and family, nobody has a lot of time to spare. If your status update has to do with carpooling, grocery shopping, or getting ready for holiday parties, no problem. But if you make those things sound like the reason you are stressed, overwhelmed, or busy… we can’t help but hate you. We don’t want to be judgmental, but if your biggest problem is the fact that you can’t find 600 thread count sheets at Pottery Barn, we really don’t give a damn.

7. Most of us need a good motivational or spiritual quote each day. Sometimes reading an inspirational saying can change our whole day. Jesus, Buddha, and a lot of other smart people have said some pretty amazing things in the past and we love when you share them. Just be careful…too many spiritual quotes in one week and we start to get suspicious. How can someone so filled with wisdom have so much time to post on Facebook? Shouldn’t they be out raising a foster baby or working at a soup kitchen for the homeless? If, on the otherhand, the quotes are posted in order for you to remind yourself not to be the angry, uptight, and stressed out person you tend to be…that’s another story. Every now and then, mix up the spiritual quotes with the honest mean and rude things you really want to say.

8. It is never, ever, ever appropriate to post the following status update…“Off to bed, what a great day!” First, people don’t really care when you go to bed. Second, don’t let people know that last thing you did before you went to sleep was look at the Christmas album of your 8^th grade boyfriend…it doesn’t look good. Enough said.

9. Here’s a rule of thumb, if your baby isn’t born yet, don’t post pictures of it on Facebook. Sonogram pictures are strange and unattractive, and the truth is most people don’t even know what they are looking at. We don’t want to see a picture of an alien with a circle around his privates with a comment that says, “Looks like he has his father’s genes’ already!” That is creepy. Just hold out…Let the first time we see your child be moments after he has shot out from between your legs and is all swaddled and cozy in your arms. It makes for a better first impression.

10. The MOST important rule of all: Women keep up with old boyfriends on Facebook. It doesn’t matter if we dated them, had a crush on them, wanted to marry them, or simply hooked up with them at a bar…no matter what the story is, we are going to stalk your profile page often. Because we get tired of looking at the same photos of you over and over again, it would be nice if you could do us all a favor and update your pictures regularly. If you want to go the extra mile, hit the “like” button on one of our bikini pictures from Cabo…it would really make our day.

Halloween 2011- The Longest Damn Holiday of My Life

I was putting my son to sleep on Thursday October 27^th, and he couldn’t settle himself down. I asked him what the problem was and he said, “Mom, Halloween starts tomorrow and I am so excited that I can’t sleep!” I reminded him that Halloween was four days away and he better get some sleep. As I kissed him goodnight, he just said “Mom, you don’t know what you are talking about.” Truer words have never been more spoken.

Looking back, it seems like it was months ago that we were first putting on those plastic Target costumes and getting ready for the school parties. I can’t remember when I last ate something that was green or not wrapped in cellophane paper. My memory of this holiday is just one big blur of a Twix/Snickers/Fat Tire/Tantrums/Candy Corn/Tantrums/Football/Tantrums extravaganza.

Today, the day after Halloween, I don’t feel right. For the past four days, water, vegetables, and sleep have been forsaken. Because of all the sugar my kids have ingested, their mood swings have been unbearable. They have gone from depression to elation and back again like a never-ending roller coaster.

To begin…we started last week with a party at the preschool on Thursday, which was then repeated again on Friday. Because my daughter is nothing like me (fashion has never been my strength), she wanted to have a different look for each party…Cinderella on Thursday, Southern Belle on Friday. I barely managed to remember the $5 for the Thursday party, the Pin the Tail on the Cat game for the Friday party, the individually wrapped candy for my son’s after school party, and the video camera for the Spooky Song Fest. At the last minute I remembered to bring the required copy of my TB test to the school so I could help out with the parties. Who knew you have to prove you are not a carrier of some communicable disease in order to hand out orange and black frosted cupcakes. It was never ending.

We had Preschool parties, Kindergarten parties, Costume Parties, Halloween Block parties, Chili + Costume Parties, and a 3 hour Trick or Treat Marathon Party. We ate, we drank, and we carved pumpkins that did not turn out that well. When we weren’t eating or putting on costumes, we were taking Halloween pictures. My kids wore their costumes for so many days that I am afraid to wash them...I am confident the slightest bit of water will cause them to disintegrate. We took photos of every moment, every parade and every party…at this time, I now have over seven hundred pictures of my kids in the Exact. Same. Outfits.

Looking back, I am amazed at the intensity and effort that goes into Halloween. The only thing that amazes me more is the amount of pictures people have uploaded onto Facebook in the last five days. The fact that the website has not crashed over the last 96 hours is a miracle. Was Facebook really prepared for a Halloween that fell on a Monday? Did they know that for five straight days, millions of people, all across America, would literally lose control and upload pictures by the thousands? Every costume imaginable and every pumpkin patch in the country is somehow represented on my News Feed. The comments are endless…“Aw, cute costume!”…“OMG, precious!”… “I can’t believe how BIG they are!” I am just waiting for someone to say to a woman who made her children’s costumes by hand, “Is that all you got?”

When I somehow find the one picture where I look relaxed, rested and young, I too will change my profile picture. It may take awhile…

I just don’t remember it being like this when I was a kid. All I know is that my dad got home from work, took off his tie, and poured himself a tall stiff scotch while yelling at us to get ready. My brother and I would quickly slip on our costumes and head out the door. We always made our own costumes from what we had in the house. They weren’t homemade in a “cool creative” way…it was more like the “you are on your own” way. For a couple of years, I was a cockroach (black garbage bag covering my body plus foil attached to a headband) and I was happy. Normally, once we were ready, my mom would take ONE picture of my brother and I in front of the house and have it developed in the next two to three years. You never realized how ridiculous you looked until many years later.

As my dad followed behind us, with his red solo cup and flashlight, we would knock on doors, get some candy, and go home. Once home, my mom would tell us that she hoped we had fun but that we were not allowed to eat any of the candy until she inspected it. Growing up she had many fears…from satellites falling from the sky to having an amoeba swim up our nose and eat our brains away. Yet one of her biggest fears was having us be poisoned by our Halloween candy. Once home, that woman became an FBI agent. She left no Starburst unturned, no Snickers unopened. Nothing makes Halloween scarier than a deep embedded fear that one wrong Tootsie Roll could end your life.

I remember dumping the candy on the floor and getting to choose the ten pieces I wanted to keep. Back then there was no such thing as the “Candy Fairy” that allowed you to trade your candy for a special toy. Instead we had the “Parent Fairy”, which was a little different. Basically when you weren’t looking, your parents would grab all your candy and throw it away…no toy, just a promise that they knew what was best.

Last night, as my husband and son were walking home after literally canvassing the neighborhood, my husband said “Son, I am getting pretty tired. I think we need to be done.” My son looked at his father and shook his head in disappointment. He walked up to his dad and said “Come on Dad, be strong. You are better than that…we are not done yet.” And so they kept walking, and the holiday kept going, and the longest Halloween of my life continued on.

This morning my son woke up with the attitude of a sullen teenage boy. He wouldn’t talk, smile or say good morning. He didn’t want cereal or a bagel for breakfast, and he said he wasn’t going to school. I asked him what the problem was and he just rolled his eyes at me. As he walked away he turned around and said “Mom, this was the worst Halloween ever! I didn’t even get to hand out any candy BECAUSE YOU took me trick or treating for too long!!!!”

REALLY?!?!?!?

Next year my kids are going to be roaches and I am going to have a water bottle filled with scotch…

Too old to go so low - Why Girl's Weekends are Required

This weekend I headed back to Chapel Hill, North Carolina to meet up with my girlfriends from college. It had been a couple of years since we have all been together and I was very excited about the trip. Although it would be much cooler to say I didn’t care what I looked like for the weekend…that what I wore, how much I weighed or how dark my roots were didn’t matter…that would be a lie. The truth is I did care. It wasn’t about impressing my friends or trying to look better than them...it was simply about showing some improvement.

I love the emails that start about three weeks prior to these trips. One girl will say, “Hey ladies! What’s the plan?” Someone will email back “Plan? I PLAN on getting drunk from the time I am there until the time I land back home! I SO need a break!” Another friend might say, “You know it! The old girl is back so WATCH OUT! HOLLER!” And so on and so on. It is important to note that most of these emails are most likely sent while these women are driving minivans, packing lunches, and unloading the dishwasher. Good to remember when you are setting expectations.

Everything was going as planned until two weeks prior to the trip when I received the following email:

“Kelsey, bad news…no good on childcare for girls weekend. Husband is going to be out of town, looks like we are going to have to bring baby Carson with us…grandma will pick her up when we arrive… Lsorry”

Normally that news wouldn’t have been a big deal. But when your flight consists of completely sold out, 6-hour red-eye from LAX to RDU, this becomes a problem. In one quick email, my hopes of an ambien + wine + kid free start to my weekend were over.

There is not much to say about the flight except that it was close to unbearable. That sweet child who we all love so much on Earth became a demon while 40,000 feet in the air. From the moment we went through security, until about 2 hours into the flight, she screamed as if she was being tortured. She wiggled, banged, screeched, and spilled until eventually, as her mother held her in a hog wrestling rodeo hold, she finally fell asleep. The fact that we didn’t have a ticket for her made it even more fun. For the remaining 2 ½ hours, we sat frozen, afraid to move and overwhelmed with fear. At point during the flight, my girlfriend and I looked at each other and said, “This was a bad idea. We should have just stayed home and organized our linen closet.”

Somehow we made it, handed a naked and exhausted one-year old to her grandma, and headed into Chapel Hill. When I saw all my friends, they strangely recognized me right away. I could barely believe it because I was certain all my highlighting, self-tanning, crunching, and shopping would have made me unrecognizable. Not so much. We all hugged each other and spent a good thirty minutes telling one another how good we looked, how much fun we are going to have, and how great it was to be back. We checked our phones one last time and then committed to the next 48 hours.

With no sleep, a time change, and deep desire to relive our past, we met for cocktails at the hotel bar. We started the evening with adult drinks like Cosmos and beer…we ended the evening with not so adult drinks like Irish car bombs and Goldshalger shots. We went to every bar on Franklin Street, both old and new, and relived each minute of our four years in college. Eventually we found an Irish bar that played Hip Hop, Katy Perry, and JLo…we had found our home and things were looking up.

Throughout the night, I brought out dance moves that I haven’t used in over 10 years. At one point, I fell down on the dance floor. My friends may say it was because of the drinks, but in my heart, I know it was simply because I took it too low for my legs to handle. Later in the night, a few of us decided it would be a good idea to buy some cigarettes. There is nothing cooler than watching a bunch of moms who have never really smoked before, pick up the habit around 2am in a college town. Slowly, over a span of 5 hours, we had become those thirty something women I used to feel sorry for. Why did we think dancing in a circle holding hands was a good idea? Is requesting “Get on the Floor” at age 34 really appropriate? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

I am not sure when we all knew it was time to go, but the signal was given, and we eventually got into a cab. The price of the cab ride was $30…the distance we traveled…3 blocks. Some things never change. We got back to our hotel room, threw on our pajamas and listened to old school rap. We laughed, we made fun of each other, and we ordered pizza to our room.

The following day we took it down a notch. We all walked to the football game, bought UNC gear for our kids, and had dinner together. And this is what I realized…getting away these days takes a lot of work. There is a lot scheduling, organizing, and planning that has to take place. Lists have to be made and car pools have to be set up. But in the end, no matter how much we have to do to make them happen, they are a necessity. They remind us who we were before life got complicated. They make us laugh, and in the end, they give us a reason to take off our sweats, throw on self-tanner, and show everyone that we have made some improvement.

First Day of Kindergarten…Almost

Is there anything more exciting than the first day of Kindergarten? Is there anything more important than getting your child ready, organized, and prepared for their first day of school? What is more exciting than packing up their new lunch box, combing their hair, and then watching them walk into their new school for the first time, with their whole lives ahead of them? In terms of parenting moments, the first day of Kindergarten is up there at the top.

This is not a day you want to screw up …

Yesterday, my precious little boy was starting Kindergarten. I had marked it down on the family calendar with lots of smiley faces, stars, and big hearts. We talked about who his teacher would be and what kids he knew in his class. We packed a special lunch and picked out a new T-shirt at Target. When he woke up that morning, he had run into my bathroom with messy hair and sleepy grin and said, “Mommy, today I am starting Kindergarten!”

It was a lovely morning…no rushing and no stress. We had breakfast together, nobody fought, and we even left the house ten minutes early. When we got outside, I got a little teary eyed. I took hundreds of pictures of him to remember the day. He was all dressed up, his hair was combed perfectly and he even remembered to brush his teeth. After I finished, I texted the best pictures to my family and friends with the following caption, “Today is a big day. My sweet Jack starts Kindergarten!”

I had taken the morning off from work…I didn’t want anything to get in the way of this momentous occasion. Because it was a special day, I decided we would walk to school as a family. At one point, while crossing the street holding hands, my kids began to sing “Wheels on the Bus.” That just might be one of my top ten parenting moments, and at the time, I could barely contain my joy. I looked at them both, squeezed their little hands, and said, “Kids, it’s going to be a great year!” As we walked to school, my son looked so old, so proud and so excited.

While we were walking, a friend of ours pulled up beside us and said, “Hey, what are you all doing?” I smiled and put my arm around Jack and said, “We are heading to Kindergarten! Today is Jack’s first day!” We both beamed proudly. Our friend looked at us with concern. “I think school starts tomorrow,” he said slowly. I looked at him with compassion and said, ‘No, it starts today…Sorry you got confused”. At that moment, the word ‘Wednesday’ did jump in my head, but I ignored it and moved on. I had marked this day, Tuesday the 6th, on my calendar and so far, my dry erase board had never let me down. As we walked away, my son looked at me and said with a grin, “Can you believe it? That dad doesn’t even know when school starts!” We laughed together (poor dad), held hands again, and skipped the rest of the way to school.

When we arrived, it was quite calm for the first day. I couldn’t believe all the kids were already in their classroom. As we got a little closer, I saw a friend of mine coming out of the office. She looked at us strangely and said under her breath, “What are you doing here?” I didn’t understand why people kept asking me this question. Wasn’t it obvious, we were going to school? As I began to answer, she slowly started to move her head side to side and quietly mouthed the word “tomorrow”. At that moment, my son looked down at the ground and began to shake his head. When his little face looked up, he had tiny tears in his eyes. He reached for my hand and said softly, “Mom, you have got to be kidding me…”

I couldn’t believe this could happen. I was so close to receiving the “Mom of the Year” award, and now, in one second, it was quickly swiped from my grasp. We went from the perfect day to the ultimate let down and I couldn't have felt worse.

I wanted to blame someone for this mistake, the principal, my dry erase board, or possibly my husband. But in the end, I knew it was my fault. I apologized to my son a hundred times and tried to tell him how great it was that we had a ‘dry run’. Eventually he started to calm down as I continued to berate myself. I kept whispering under my breath "How did this happen? I am an organized person. I am a good mom. How do you screw this up???" Eventually my son stopped me and put his little arm around me. He turned and grabbed my face and said, “Mom, it’s okay. We all make mistakes sometimes. We’ll just try again tomorrow”. I couldn’t have loved that little boy more.

Today Wednesday the 7th, we tried again. Unfortunately, this time, our morning didn’t go as smoothly. There was a lot more rushing, yelling, and arguing than yesterday. My work phone kept ringing and my daughter didn’t want to put on any clothes. The lunch we packed wasn’t special and the shirt he wore had stains on it. I was late for a meeting and couldn't find my computer. As we got in the car (because we didn’t have time to walk) my son looked at me and said, “This isn’t a dry run is it?” I told him it wasn’t and that today school started for real. As he buckled up his seat belt and sat down in his chair, he smiled at me. "Mom, I am really glad we didn't have to walk today. Today felt much more normal than yesterday. I think this is going to be a great year!"

Starting Kindergarten really is a big deal…

(Many people have asked me if this really happened. Unfortunately, the answer is yes. Everything I write about on this blog is true...because honestly, you can't make this stuff up.)

The Korean Spa

A couple of weeks ago, I was looking through my underwear drawer and found a gift certificate from my mother-in-law for the Korean Spa in downtown L.A. It was perfect timing because I needed to get away, do something different, and take a little time for myself. I asked her if she would watch the kids and called to set up an appointment for the "Pure Bliss" experience. Little did I know then, but the Korean spa would end up changing my life.

In the past, the spas I have visited smelled like tea tree oil, lavender and mint. They were filled with women in white robes silently being ushered into dark massage rooms where ocean sounds play through small IPod docks. I knew the Korean spa would be a little different…mostly because my mother and mother-in-law (who are both unique individuals and avid fans) kept telling me, “Now remember Kelsey, everyone is NAKED, completely NAKED. It is so WONDERFUL that women can be so NAKED. Our generation was NEVER comfortable with our bodies. It is SO liberating. Stay the WHOLE day, you will LOVE IT!”

It had been a rough week and I was determined to relax; not talk to anyone and enjoy my time there. Both the relaxing and not talking (are 4,000 cell phone minutes each month a lot?) are very uncomfortable for me. The relaxing required me not to worry about the following important items that kept running through my head “What if my daughter gets sunscreen in her eyes? Should I have sprayed for roaches so close to the kitchen cabinet? Why does my downstairs couch smell like a dog, even though we don’t have one? Does my minivan make me look fat?” All of these questions, along with hundreds of others, bombarded my brain as I checked in at the front desk.

At this point, it is important to note that I grew up in locker rooms. Most of my life was spent alternating between being in a pool and a locker room...I am used to women changing, showering, and walking around naked. Therefore, I didn’t think twice about the ‘naked’ requirement of the Korean spa...I was sure it wouldn’t affect me. I checked in with this nice Korean woman whose English was as good as my Korean. She did her best to give me a tour, but unfortunately, I got sidetracked. When we first walked in I looked over at the famous jade floor and froze. There, in the center of the floor, was a large, naked 300lb elderly Korean woman lying on her back. She was asleep, peacefully snoring, covered with only the invisible air around her. My tour guide noticed my distraction and grabbed my arm. She turned and said in a loud whisper, “Pay ttention! Follo Me!” Never had a spa trip been filled with so much pressure.

Inside, the spa was filled with pools…hot, cold, freezing, tea filled, and normal. There are also saunas, showers, oxygen and steam rooms. In the middle of the room is what appears to be a trough or little "creek" of water. The creek is important because this is where women of all shapes and sizes, ethnicities and age, sit NAKED on stools and hand wash themselves while rinsing with big buckets that sit next to the ‘creek’. I kept staring and couldn’t look away. It was as if I had been transported to Africa or the countryside of Asia…without the wild animals or change in climate. I did my best to look unaffected and concentrated on acting like this was no big deal.

Because I hadn’t been listening to my tour guide, I wasn’t really clear on how to best utilize the facility. Because I have always been an overachiever, I was determined to get the most out of my cultural experience. I began to go from hot pool, to normal pool, to freezing pool as fast as I could. Who needs to relax when there is so much water to explore? At one point, I thought I was having a panic attack because my heart was racing so fast. As I got out of the freezing cold pool I began to feel lightheaded and needed to lean against a wall. Suddenly one of the spa people came up to me and said in a whisper, “Be CAFUL, you get dizzy, feel no good, heart beat too fast, relax!”

After an hour of using every pool, room and shower, I knew there was no way I going to be able to keep this up until my appointment, which was still an hour away. I decided I should just lie down on the jade floor, next to the naked woman and try to rest. By the looks of it, I really didn’t think there was anything special about this floor. I had been warned about its Ambien drug inducing powers... but I wasn’t buying it. I got a blanket and laid down on my back while my current ‘to do’ list ran through my head and then... good night sweetheart! The next thing I remember was hearing a woman yelling “Numbr Theerty, Number Theerty!” It was similar to being at a deli and having your number called to pick up your sliced meat. I jumped up and headed into the treatment room.

To call it a treatment room is pushing it. There were no walls or doors and everyone could see what was happening inside. I laid down on one of the four massage tables that were lined up in a row. No need to take off my clothes because I was already completely naked…how convenient! Three other naked ladies were already being plucked, scrubbed and massaged by old Korean women in black bras and panties…I was the last one to join the party. Each table was covered in a plastic fabric that looked like a picnic tablecloth. It was waterproof, which worked out well because the first ten minutes consisted of my lady tossing buckets of water over my entire body while yelling commands like “Head down! Turn! Side! Eyes closed!” For the next hour and 45 minutes I was plucked, scrubbed, rubbed, massaged, kneaded and rinsed like a chicken on a farm.

And then, at some point during this experience, I realized a miracle had happened…I was relaxed!

Not only was I relaxed, but something had happened to me. I was a different person. As I dipped in and out of pools and washed myself by the creek, I was moving as if underwater. I had no where to go and nothing to accomplish. I suddenly began to fantazise that I lived inside this little building, with all these naked women, and the magical jade floor. I sat alone and realized in this place, no one wanted me to get them another chicken nugget. No one needed me to wipe their bottoms, tie their shoes, or shave their backs. I reveled in the fact that it was silent…no football games or Yo Gabba Gabba played in the background. I almost cried I loved it so much.

Every now and then I would remember that eventually I would have to leave. At some point they would turn off the pools and the saunas and ask all of my naked friends to go home. It was scary because I wasn’t ready. Did they know it had taken me almost 8 hours of silence and a small home cooked Korean meal to feel normal again? How could they send me back out into the real world…with all those demands, chores, and people wearing clothes? What if I wanted to be surrounded by naked old ladies for the rest of my life? I kept asking the lady what time it closed and after a while she kindly said, “Don wory, you stay long as need.”

Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that I couldn’t sleep by the creek. There was no way around it…I had to go home. As I sat in my minivan on the 405, happily stuck in traffic, I realized I didn’t need much to make me happy. I realized one day alone in complete silence without any kids, husband, boss, or blackberry was much needed for my soul.

And most importantly, I realized that no matter what people think, not everyone in Los Angeles believes in Brazilian bikini waxes…

Love is in the Air

This was a big week for me. On Monday I had a birthday and on Wednesday, I celebrated 9 years of marriage. Because this birthday fell on a Monday, I already had super low expectations. The high point of the day was when I woke up to the sounds of an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” being sung by two cute kids with morning breath and their father who took off his sleep apnea mask just in time for the chorus. The truth is that I believe all birthdays after you turn 21 are anti-climatic. If my plans don’t include flashing my new driver’s license to some bouncer, followed by taking 21 shots of Goldschlager while my best friends drag me on to the dance floor to “It’s Getting Hot in Here”, then really, what’s the point?

The big event for me this week was my anniversary. I mean nine years…how is that possible??? How can it be that I have slept next to the same man, shared a last name, and made little human beings with the same guy I met over 13 years ago at an “X-Files” party?

I remember everything about night I knew he was the one for me. It was 1998 and we were having drinks at a bar in Chapel Hill on Franklin Street. At the time, he was a svelte, 6’3, 302lbs, Defensive Lineman. I myself was a knock-out sex kitten, who at 5’2, 145lbs, decided that flip-flops, khakis pants, and a blue v-neck from Express was a hot outfit to wear.

At some point in the night, a slow song came on and he asked me to dance. As I rested my head on his hip-bone, we swayed together for a bit and then he headed off to use the restroom. After he left, some of the guys at the bar came up and said “Hey Kelsey, you know what you two look like…Beauty and the Beast.” I was really upset. When he came back I said angrily, “Do you know what those guys just said about us?” He shook his head No and I answered, “They said we looked like Beauty and the Beast.” At that moment, I was certain he was going to go beat someone up, but instead, he took my face in his hands and quietly whispered, “Kelsey, don’t you ever let anybody call you Beast again.” From that point on, he has been the man of my dreams.

Celebrating my anniversary is always a big deal. It means that we made it another year without killing each other. It means that my husband didn’t text pictures of his privates to any random strangers. It means that he didn’t father a child with our nanny or leave me for some IHOP waitress. It means that although he says at times the sound of my voice makes him want to run away, I have found a way not to take that personally. It means that although our sex life isn’t the hottest thing on Earth, we still try to do it regularly (our individual definition of ‘regular’ continues to widen.) Mostly, it means we are both still in the game.

In terms of our anniversary gifts, I have never expected much. Sure, I would have loved a little piece of jewelry, maybe a tennis bracelet or a new wedding band, but it’s not something I needed. The truth is, I would be happy with a simple dinner at Olive Garden. But this year, he just went overboard. As we sat on the couch one night he said, “Hey Honey, we’re good with gifts, right? I mean, we just got the security gate for the driveway…I know how much you love the kids to be safe (insert big smile where he mocks my OCD personality). Can we just consider the gate our anniversary presents to one another, you know call it even?” Of course we can sweetheart, how kind of you. What girl wouldn’t be happy with a pet/security fence to honor her marriage? So this year, instead of gifts or a loving card, I am left with the peace of mind that comes with knowing that no basketball, animal or toddler will ever accidently roll or run into my street. I get chills just thinking about what next year’s gift will be.

In terms of going somewhere for our anniversary...not so much. I guess we could have gone to Europe or the Caribbean, but what fun is that? Instead we spent our anniversary evening at the neighborhood recreation park, playing in our 8:45 game of Co-ed Softball. I didn’t need a fancy dress for the occasion…yoga pants and a white t-shirt with the team name “Swingers” on the back was more than sufficient. We started at a Mexican restaurant, indulged in tacos and fried chimichangas, and headed down to the game. It’s a good thing I don’t like champagne, because I spent this special night sipping on cans of Bud Light in the Dugout while hoping to get a base hit.

After the game, which we won in a nail biter, we headed to the local tavern with our teammates and took shots in our honor. There was a "Happy Anniversary" balloon and cake on the table with our names written on it…I have never felt so much love. When we got home and climbed into bed, my husband rolled over and said it was the best anniversary he has ever had. I had a great time too...but next year, I am hoping for Positano...