I have several modes.
Mom mode.
Wife mode.
Teacher.
Massage Student
Massage therapist
House fixer/painter
Cleaner of house
Dog parent
Friend.
Daughter/sister/cousin
I have trouble switching between them. When going between one and the next, I have to pause a second, take a breath, and mentally switch hats. Or shoes. Or whatevers. I don't like that I am so non-integrated, but I simply can't do it. At least not right now.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Best Burglary EVER
A few evenings ago, I picked up a few bags of groceries. As I came into the house, I thought of locking the car with the keyring fob thingy, but (inevitably) forgot. My hands were full. My thoughts were busy. Whoops.
The next morning, I was in the shower when I heard m husband stick his head into the bathroom and say, "Kate! I need you! Someone broke into the car!"
Oh. Crap.
I came out right away, wildly flailing the towel around, hurriedly drying off and dressing in yesterday's clothes. Hair still dripping, I dashed to the car.
"The door was open! The console lid was open, the glove box was open, and YOUR TEACHING BAG was unzipped and open!" He had his head in the car, looking things over.
Oh no. I have a wheelie little suitcase where I keep all my music and whatnot that I use when I teach flute lessons. Luckily I am paranoid, and never ever leave my instruments in a car.
As I looked through the car, I ... didn't notice anything missing. At all. Maybe some change from the little dish in the middle. Huh. Then I noticed that some of the contents of the glove box had been removed and placed on the passenger seat. The little manual, the registration, some CDs, a couple of pencils. I peeked into the glove box itself and saw a small envelope. The kind you get from the bank.
Full of money.
?
I pulled it out, mystified. Did the thief LEAVE A DONATION? I asked my husband, "Did you put this in the car?" He glanced over and then froze in mystified confusion. "What? No! What??" I looked into the envelope and pulled out $60 in tens and twenties. And a receipt. It was dated about 10 months ago, and was from our own account.
"OH! I remember! When we drove to Chicago, we stopped off at the credit union! I thought I lost that money. You took $40 out and put it in your wallet and handed the envelope to me to put in my purse. And then I never saw it again. And here it is."
By rifling through our junk, they uncovered our cash - AND DIDN'T SEE IT.
It was possibly the only burglary in which the "victims" make money.
I am mightily tempted to leave the other car unlocked some night. I'm missing a couple of pairs of earrings.
The next morning, I was in the shower when I heard m husband stick his head into the bathroom and say, "Kate! I need you! Someone broke into the car!"
Oh. Crap.
I came out right away, wildly flailing the towel around, hurriedly drying off and dressing in yesterday's clothes. Hair still dripping, I dashed to the car.
"The door was open! The console lid was open, the glove box was open, and YOUR TEACHING BAG was unzipped and open!" He had his head in the car, looking things over.
Oh no. I have a wheelie little suitcase where I keep all my music and whatnot that I use when I teach flute lessons. Luckily I am paranoid, and never ever leave my instruments in a car.
As I looked through the car, I ... didn't notice anything missing. At all. Maybe some change from the little dish in the middle. Huh. Then I noticed that some of the contents of the glove box had been removed and placed on the passenger seat. The little manual, the registration, some CDs, a couple of pencils. I peeked into the glove box itself and saw a small envelope. The kind you get from the bank.
Full of money.
?
I pulled it out, mystified. Did the thief LEAVE A DONATION? I asked my husband, "Did you put this in the car?" He glanced over and then froze in mystified confusion. "What? No! What??" I looked into the envelope and pulled out $60 in tens and twenties. And a receipt. It was dated about 10 months ago, and was from our own account.
"OH! I remember! When we drove to Chicago, we stopped off at the credit union! I thought I lost that money. You took $40 out and put it in your wallet and handed the envelope to me to put in my purse. And then I never saw it again. And here it is."
By rifling through our junk, they uncovered our cash - AND DIDN'T SEE IT.
It was possibly the only burglary in which the "victims" make money.
I am mightily tempted to leave the other car unlocked some night. I'm missing a couple of pairs of earrings.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
When Llife Gives You LLamas, Make LLamanade
Did I tell you about my brother? My oldest brother (I have two) has led a life of ... misadventure and adventure, and chaos and wonder.
When he was just a little sprout (waaay before I was born), apparently he was taken to the zoo (probably Brookfield Zoo) by my parents and my grandparents. He was snacking on peanuts, as was the tradition before peanut allergies brought us to our societal knees. He and Grampa were watching a hippopotamus in its enclosure, as it stood and walked about and did hippopotamusy things.
Brother reached into his bag of peanuts, pulled one out, regarded it thoughtfully, and then PLUNK threw it at the hippo.
Naturally, it went precisely into the hippopotamus's ear. And at that exact moment, the hippo decided to lay down. Now, when a hippo decides to recline, it's not a very graceful motion. It's more of a "crash to the ground on its side" kind of thing.
Brother shrieked, "Oh, GRAMPA! I KILLED IT! I THREW THE PEANUT INTO ITS EAR AND IT FELL OVER DEAD! I KILLED THE HIPPOPOTAMUS!"
Grampa nodded, "Yep. You did. Let's go," and he took my brother by his chubby, sweaty hand and led him swiftly away.
When he was just a little sprout (waaay before I was born), apparently he was taken to the zoo (probably Brookfield Zoo) by my parents and my grandparents. He was snacking on peanuts, as was the tradition before peanut allergies brought us to our societal knees. He and Grampa were watching a hippopotamus in its enclosure, as it stood and walked about and did hippopotamusy things.
Brother reached into his bag of peanuts, pulled one out, regarded it thoughtfully, and then PLUNK threw it at the hippo.
Naturally, it went precisely into the hippopotamus's ear. And at that exact moment, the hippo decided to lay down. Now, when a hippo decides to recline, it's not a very graceful motion. It's more of a "crash to the ground on its side" kind of thing.
Brother shrieked, "Oh, GRAMPA! I KILLED IT! I THREW THE PEANUT INTO ITS EAR AND IT FELL OVER DEAD! I KILLED THE HIPPOPOTAMUS!"
Grampa nodded, "Yep. You did. Let's go," and he took my brother by his chubby, sweaty hand and led him swiftly away.
A Day Packed Full, and How It Went
Yesterday was a good day to be me.
Woke up, had a lovely cup of coffee, got snuggled on by my part-basset, Teddy, and talked to and listened to my kiddos tell me all of their dreams and adventures and plans for the day.
Kissed them, sent them on their way, and got myself over to a Junior High where I have been hired to coach their solos, their ensembles, and accompany the soloists on piano for their S&E contest next month. In between classes, I was working on beginning to organize the band director's solo/ensemble music files. Eugh. What a job. Somewhere between a treasure trove and a messy glove compartment.
After five hours of that, drove over to the car dealership where I needed to have them do some work (ON WARRANTY, so no $$). I got to hang out in their leather chairs, relaxing, watching some stupid Dr. Phil thing until I realized that I was getting all worked up at his stupidity, so practiced my calming transparent breathing ("I'm made of clear water, and it all goes through me."). It worked!
Got home and heard all about my kids' days at school and their Halloween plans for costumes, decorating, Trick-or-Treating. We hung out a bit and watched a little TV, then I went to prepare to give a massage. I ended up arriving early, so I sat in a park and admired the lowering sun through the red and gold leaves. Sigh. Then grabbed some GOURMET amazing food for my friend and myself, headed over to her place for a massage session.
I deeply enjoyed giving the massage, learned a lot, and tried to remember all my techniques (and failed). Then we sat and talked of beautiful things and thoughts and some of our greatest joys.
I got home to find that the kids had cleaned the living room, and they were all in their jammies and ready for bed and snuggling. We sat down and talked a bit and loved on each other, and were joined by the dogs who sensed a snuggling going on. We all then retired to bedrooms for reading and sleeping.
This was a great, fantastic, satisfying, tiring, lovely, thorough, full day.
Woke up, had a lovely cup of coffee, got snuggled on by my part-basset, Teddy, and talked to and listened to my kiddos tell me all of their dreams and adventures and plans for the day.
Kissed them, sent them on their way, and got myself over to a Junior High where I have been hired to coach their solos, their ensembles, and accompany the soloists on piano for their S&E contest next month. In between classes, I was working on beginning to organize the band director's solo/ensemble music files. Eugh. What a job. Somewhere between a treasure trove and a messy glove compartment.
After five hours of that, drove over to the car dealership where I needed to have them do some work (ON WARRANTY, so no $$). I got to hang out in their leather chairs, relaxing, watching some stupid Dr. Phil thing until I realized that I was getting all worked up at his stupidity, so practiced my calming transparent breathing ("I'm made of clear water, and it all goes through me."). It worked!
Got home and heard all about my kids' days at school and their Halloween plans for costumes, decorating, Trick-or-Treating. We hung out a bit and watched a little TV, then I went to prepare to give a massage. I ended up arriving early, so I sat in a park and admired the lowering sun through the red and gold leaves. Sigh. Then grabbed some GOURMET amazing food for my friend and myself, headed over to her place for a massage session.
I deeply enjoyed giving the massage, learned a lot, and tried to remember all my techniques (and failed). Then we sat and talked of beautiful things and thoughts and some of our greatest joys.
I got home to find that the kids had cleaned the living room, and they were all in their jammies and ready for bed and snuggling. We sat down and talked a bit and loved on each other, and were joined by the dogs who sensed a snuggling going on. We all then retired to bedrooms for reading and sleeping.
This was a great, fantastic, satisfying, tiring, lovely, thorough, full day.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
In Which I Do Not Begin At The Beginning
So today, October 10th, I went to class. Again.
You might remember that I'm in my first semester of Therapeutic Massage school. It is awesome. It is fun. It is DIFFICULT. And there are a whole buncha classes.
Mondays are 10-2, "Body Systems for Massage," or "what the body is made of, and what you call it, and how it all works." Harder than one might think, given that we have been walking around in these bodies for several years at the least. But yes, it's fun and tough.
Tuesdays (10-2) are Ther. Massage 1. First half of classes are (up to last week) theory, such as "if so and so is hurting here, what might you do?" or "If so and so has a suspicious, oozing, dripping, stinky sore, what might you do then?" (Answers: check with their doctor, and OMG RUN AWAY) The second half of the day's class is hands-on, where we practice our new-found skills (not the running away, though). BEST. CLASS. EVER. Free massage once a week.
Wednesdays (10-12) is Pathology. Here, we talk through all the gross, nasty stuff that can happen to a person's body and/or mind. Not pretty. Nobody ever brings snacks to this class, if you get my drift. The pictures... oh, the pictures. This is a really tough one, because if you've never had it, you have probably never even HEARD of hypoparathyroidism. Etc. (FYI: Even Blogger hasn't heard of that one.) (It's when your parathyroid glands --right behind the thyroid-- underproduce, and because of that, not enough calcium gets taken from your bones into your blood stream and ...bad things happen.)
Thursdays (10-2) have a short-semester class that is super duper practical "how to be a massage therapist" class. For instance, how to talk to physicians and get them to call you back, or how to handle a client who shows up late. What to wear, what not to say, how to not get sued. Where to locate your (future) office, what art to NOT hang on the walls, how to not give yourself carpal tunnel, what to do if you meet up with a client and her boyfriend at the mall.
(Answers: use accurate medical language, and leave a working phone number; mention the lateness but don't give them extra time at the end of the session. Wear scrubs or khaki pants/polos unless you're in a place that doesn't make sense; no sex, politics, or personal stuff about the therapist; don't ever date a client and don't give medical advice. In a place on the first floor or someplace accessible by elevator and WITH a bathroom; anything abstract or that could be interpreted as unprofessional or threatening/weird, use good body mechanics, and don't say hi unless she does first.)
There's also an online class called "Medical Elements of Massage," which is basically a medical terminology class with a smattering of "here are some commonly-used drugs and how you might need to change things to make sure you don't kill anybody." This is actually pretty hard, since it involves learning lots of Latin and Greek terms and word bases.
We're also supposed to do lots of home practice, so I have a personal goal of giving 150 full or partial massages by the time I finish the program. You see, one of our teachers said that "you don't really know what you're doing until you've given, oh, 150 massages," so I want to get those out of the way before I go out and try to get paid for this.
Whew. It's fun, but lots and lots of time. But really, what better job could there be?
You might remember that I'm in my first semester of Therapeutic Massage school. It is awesome. It is fun. It is DIFFICULT. And there are a whole buncha classes.
Mondays are 10-2, "Body Systems for Massage," or "what the body is made of, and what you call it, and how it all works." Harder than one might think, given that we have been walking around in these bodies for several years at the least. But yes, it's fun and tough.
Tuesdays (10-2) are Ther. Massage 1. First half of classes are (up to last week) theory, such as "if so and so is hurting here, what might you do?" or "If so and so has a suspicious, oozing, dripping, stinky sore, what might you do then?" (Answers: check with their doctor, and OMG RUN AWAY) The second half of the day's class is hands-on, where we practice our new-found skills (not the running away, though). BEST. CLASS. EVER. Free massage once a week.
Wednesdays (10-12) is Pathology. Here, we talk through all the gross, nasty stuff that can happen to a person's body and/or mind. Not pretty. Nobody ever brings snacks to this class, if you get my drift. The pictures... oh, the pictures. This is a really tough one, because if you've never had it, you have probably never even HEARD of hypoparathyroidism. Etc. (FYI: Even Blogger hasn't heard of that one.) (It's when your parathyroid glands --right behind the thyroid-- underproduce, and because of that, not enough calcium gets taken from your bones into your blood stream and ...bad things happen.)
Thursdays (10-2) have a short-semester class that is super duper practical "how to be a massage therapist" class. For instance, how to talk to physicians and get them to call you back, or how to handle a client who shows up late. What to wear, what not to say, how to not get sued. Where to locate your (future) office, what art to NOT hang on the walls, how to not give yourself carpal tunnel, what to do if you meet up with a client and her boyfriend at the mall.
(Answers: use accurate medical language, and leave a working phone number; mention the lateness but don't give them extra time at the end of the session. Wear scrubs or khaki pants/polos unless you're in a place that doesn't make sense; no sex, politics, or personal stuff about the therapist; don't ever date a client and don't give medical advice. In a place on the first floor or someplace accessible by elevator and WITH a bathroom; anything abstract or that could be interpreted as unprofessional or threatening/weird, use good body mechanics, and don't say hi unless she does first.)
There's also an online class called "Medical Elements of Massage," which is basically a medical terminology class with a smattering of "here are some commonly-used drugs and how you might need to change things to make sure you don't kill anybody." This is actually pretty hard, since it involves learning lots of Latin and Greek terms and word bases.
We're also supposed to do lots of home practice, so I have a personal goal of giving 150 full or partial massages by the time I finish the program. You see, one of our teachers said that "you don't really know what you're doing until you've given, oh, 150 massages," so I want to get those out of the way before I go out and try to get paid for this.
Whew. It's fun, but lots and lots of time. But really, what better job could there be?
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