Burn Baby Burn

There are times in your life where you can sit back comfortably and say "Well I'm never doing that again!"

This is not one of those times.

Seeing how I can't sit comfortably at all.

But I'm never doing that again, all the same!

The 'that' that I am talking about is falling for one of those Group Buying sites, which purport to offer bigger better bargains on a whole host of needful things.

Foolishly my hips and I thought I needed to try the new body-shaping salon at our local shopping centre.

It sounded promising enough (well they always do don't they?) Save 70% on Two Sessions where "you could lose centimetres" from a chosen body part, without anaesthesia, scars, and no discomfort, if you can believe the hype.

I should've known something was up when the store itself wasn't actually named on the voucher, simply 'Shop 21' at the given address. Next hint was when I called the listed number and got an answering machine: "Sorry we can't take your call right now, but please leave a message and we'll get back to you." Again, no name, so no message from me.

Attempt number 3 proved a little more positive and I got to speak to an actual person- albeit one with a very strong accent.  I tentatively booked in for the next day.

Came the day I headed for the address, clutching the precious piece of paper that promised so much and trotted along with my hopes and my head up looking for the elusive 'Shop 21'.

I was received with great welcome and the offer of Chinese Green tea, which I respectfully declined...I was keen to start losing those centimetres!

Shown into a cubicle barely big enough for the bed, I was told to remove my jeans and lay down.  At least I think that's what I was told. So that's what I did. On her return the friendly little female fired up the machine destined to do the dirty work. Next thing that should've suggested this process was probably not recommended by doctors were the words 'Explosive Speed Grease' exploding across the front of the thing (What the hell?), but no, having spent my money with the rest of the Group, I was determined to suck it up, or at least let the machine do it for me...

First step, squirting cold conductor gel onto my flabby bits, followed by a gentle soothing massage with probe number one whose ultrasonic pulses start attacking the fat cells inside (the Radio Frequency mode).

Sorry, did I say 'soothing'? The thing emitted such a painfully high pitch while it worked that I was sure dogs from surrounding suburbs would come running to see what all the fuss was about. Either that or disappear in the opposite direction. Which is what I should have done. 

The sound was a strange robotic chime that went straight to the very centre of my hearing centre, which is a whole lot worse than it sounds (think Dentist drill times 100). It set my teeth on edge, and apparently also had a similar effect on my muscles as the friendly little female had to remind me to "Relax". (Guess she couldn't gently massage my gluteus maximus while it was maximised...) Trying to follow her instruction to "Enjoy the music" I had to tune out the squealing in my head to focus on the easternised version of a popular song: Simon and Garfunkel's 'Sounds of Silence'. (Does that sound like irony to you?)

Phase Two was a heat treatment designed to start breaking down the fat cells, ready for easy removal by the body (the delightful sounding Fat Cavitation). Unfortunately, the aforementioned female didn't reapply the gel and I started leaping off the bed every time she hit a dry patch of skin with the heat probe. "Solly! Solly!" she said as she then squirted enough gel to cover the necessary bits...along with my undies, the towel attempting to cover what remained of my modesty, and the bed itself. So now I'm lying there, butt in the air, in a puddle of cold conduction fluid. My only saving grace was that I had worn the 'good' undies.

Having survived Phase Two it was onto the final step- Lymphatic Drainage- a mini vacuum cleaner type attachment that promised to somehow start sucking that fat right outta there.

By now I was way beyond relaxation, way beyond enjoying the sounds of silence, and much more in tune with my body saying it was not at all happy with my choice today.

So I wasn't particularly peeved when the friendly little female told me that my two hips equalled two sessions and my voucher was now used up. I walked out of there a lot faster than I walked in, and was indeed starting to 'feel the burn'. So much for 'no discomfort'! Unfortunately, I kept on feeling the burn well into the night (rather like sunburn on the inside), despite drinking the recommended water, and applying cool packs to the affected areas. By 5am, I was totally over the sensation, so here I am, sitting on a cold pack, dosed up on painkillers, with just as many centimetres as I set out with.

So no, I am absolutely, definitely, positively, and painfully never doing that again.

And as for Group Buying, methinks I have been well and truly burned.

Jx

©2012

Gone Fishin'

Whoever claimed that fishing is a relaxing pastime has never been fishing with our family.

My Beloved got to do that activity a lot as a child- with the added luxury of his father owning a small runabout to run about in- so he’s a big supporter of the sport.

On the other hand, the closest I ever came to dropping a line was ‘crawbobbing’ in the creek behind our campus, and only did that once or twice throughout high school. Oh and unless you count the plastic fish with magnets-for-mouths that the kids used to cast about in the bath, they’ve never had a crack at it either.

So it was with much excitement and a little trepidation that we ventured forth the first time with our entire entourage in tow (consisting of 2 adults + 3 kids, yet strangely, enough food to sustain the SS Minnow on its three seasons lost at sea…you get that when you let kids pack the picnic).

Ironically, in spite of the fact that my Beloved had grown up with a boat in the family while I originally sat the test to impress him, we discovered that he had inadvertently let his license lapse so it was up to me to chart our course across the lake for a local fishing spot rumoured to be brimming with biters. Or so we’d heard.

Yet since it was his area of expertise, and I was worried about impaling myself on the hook given my history of hand-eye coordination, my Beloved was in charge of preparing the lines. Never mind his bait of choice was prawns and he happens to suffer an allergy to shellfish, he stoically sat and speared the soft flesh while the rest of us got our sea legs (or sea butts, to be more precise- the boat was way too small to stand up in).

We’d barely dropped anchor when the first cries of “I’m hungry” started across the stern, and barely had my Beloved got one rod ready before the chorus changed to “I’m bored”. But I was enjoying the sunshine and saltwater lapping at the sides and tried to engage our offspring in some bird-watching and sea-life spotting. That lasted about as long as it took for my Beloved to bait the next hook.

Seems the gentle bobbing of the boat was relaxing enough for our daughter at least, and she crawled under the wheel for a small snooze while the grownups tried to encourage the remaining two children to drop a line and please try not to scare the fish away. Easier said than done, especially with sons.

On the upside, we had a lot less weight to carry back across the lake as the boys proceeded to empty the esky of all edible contents, and made a small contribution to the waterline (not quite so easy for we females to achieve given the space and the circumstances). Our youngest even managed to reel in a bream and a whiting (both of kiss-&-release size) before deciding he’d had enough of this fishing stuff and was again calling for anchors aweigh. Ignoring his best efforts to frighten away anything living in the lake, we pressed on for a little while longer (if only to get our money’s worth out of the bait).

Unfortunately, in the process of catching and casting, my Beloved and I got a little too close for comfort and I ended up with a hook in my finger anyway. What’s worse, he also suffered a mild reaction to having his hands in a bucket of prawns (but then slept very well that night thanks to the combined effects of the sun, the sea, the stress, and the antihistamines).

Having dozed through almost the entire excursion, our daughter crawled out from her hidey hole just as we were making the return journey, and in the confusion that followed, our son lost his hat, which made like the waves behind us and was merrily bidding farewell until I caved in to his cries and turned the boat around, went back, and scooped the soggy cap out.

During the clean-up once safely back on home soil (which also did not appeal to the children, for some reason), my Beloved and I reflected on the whole experience:

All I managed to catch was a hat.

And all he managed to catch was me.

As for our daughter, she just managed to catch a few Zs.

But you know what, we just can’t wait for the next time we can all go fishin’!*

Jx
©2010

Mind over Matter

It seems like such a simple concept.

Leaves on a stream.

It’s the basis of this technique in relaxation that's been suggested for people like me who can’t seem to shut down their thoughts long enough to get some decent shut-eye.

‘Mindfulness’ it’s called.

What you have to be mindful of, is that you don’t let your mind run away with you, and by imagining leaves gently floating down a stream, you’re on track for some quality meditation. When you get that going, you imagine that each leaf is carrying an unwanted or unnecessary thought, which you pop on the little bits of foliage and let them just drift away. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that.

Now, the problem I have- and have always had- is that I overthink things. So what seems a simple application of imagination becomes a full-scale exercise in geography, botany, and logistics.

Here’s the thing…

I start out well enough: there’s the stream, here come the leaves, and here I am standing by to plop my errant thoughts on board.

But then I start wondering where I am to have such a verdant setting – it’s obviously not the drought-stricken paddocks I’m used to seeing here in Australia, as the area is lovely and lush and the water is running clean and fresh at a cracking pace. If I can get beyond my initial mind meanderings, I start to wonder what sort of leaves they are. What kind of trees or plants are nearby that are dropping their vegetation at a constant rate? And simply because I have that creative streak in me, I conjure up many different species of shrubbery, just for variety, which only brings me back to the original musings of where the heck I am to have such diversity?!

Can you see my problem?

OK, so if (and I do mean if) I can get through all that without totally stuffing up the whole relaxation mode I’m meant to be in, I then seem to have a bit (ok a lot) of trouble with placing aforementioned thoughts on aforementioned leaves in order to let them drift off down aforementioned stream.

The idea is, it’s ok to have thoughts pop into your head, it’s only natural in our conscious state after all…but for the sake of this exercise you need to learn to let them go again. I seem to have some issues with letting them go before I have reached some conclusion depending on what is warranted by the thought at the time. Not to mention the decision of which leaf to use (don’t want some flimsy little frond sinking under the weight of a life-changing concern now do I?)!

A good place to attempt this whole Mindfulness technique is the bath or shower, according to the good lady who gave me the exercise. Apparently the water (running or otherwise) helps create the metaphor of the stream. Unfortunately, I’m too mindful of the water bill to stay under the shower long enough to get the process going properly, and if I lay in the bath too long I start to get distracted by the renovations still required in the room. Not very conducive to relaxation, wouldn’t you agree?

You can also do it in bed. The nice lady also gave me a CD with a softly-spoken bloke talking me through the exercise. Trouble is he has a really unique accent so the first few times I heard him I was busy figuring out his ancestry and missed a whole lotta leaves. I finally decided that he was probably born in Liverpool (UK) but has spent some time in Australia. Turns out I was right. So at least the next time I laid back and listened I could put that particular idea on a leaf and wave bye-bye as it sailed off into the sunset.

Now, if only all the other thoughts that stray into play while I’m standing near my metaphorical stream could be as easily resolved and relegated, I’d be laying ‘em on leaves like nobody’s business.

I guess that’s what you’d call mind over (leaf) matter.

Jx
©2010

Flat Out

There’s an old saying: be careful what you wish for…it just might come true.

As a mother and stepmother, with two out of three children classified as ‘special needs’, you don’t really get a lot of time to yourself. Even husbands take their fair share of work.

But there’s a big difference between wanting some down time and being forced into it.

10 days after I blew my back out I’m getting a touch of cabin fever.

And I’m fast running out of ideas here.

I’m trying not to get stressed about the mess that’s sitting there staring me in the face waiting for me to get to it. I’m trying not to feel anxious that there’s people to see and places to be. And I’m trying not to anticipate more pain from simply doing the basics of childcare and housework. But there’s really not a lot one can do when one is forced into staying still.

So I go from lying flat out on the bed, to being strapped to a TENs machine, and moving slower than a turtle (and way slower than the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles my son so loves) from room to room.

This evening my Beloved thought I was up to a bath, so he turned on the taps and sloshed in some special stuff in a bid to help me unwind.

Unfortunately he was a little too generous with the bath products, probably thinking the more the merrier.

If you’ve ever seen pictures or those TV shows where someone adds a little too much laundry powder to the washing machine, you can guess what happened next.

With the spa jets on full, and my back frozen into position once more, I found myself slowly disappearing beneath a white wall of froth. And with the sound of the motor echoing around our miniscule bathroom, it seems no one could hear my pathetic little pleas for “Help!” from their spot in front of the television.

To make matters worse, when I finally was able to break through the pain barrier in order to make a desperate lunge for the ‘Off’ button on the spa, I sloshed enough water up the sides to promptly douse the candles my Beloved had ever so thoughtfully lit to set the mood, and upended my little tipple of Baileys by the bath. The sight of the ice cubes disappearing beneath the waves brought back memories of the ‘Titanic’, destined for a similar fate to Jack (for the solitary soul who hasn’t seen James Cameron’s version, rent it when you get a spare three hours or so and you’ll know what I mean).

I could only console myself with the thought that if milk baths were good enough for Cleopatra, they’re good enough for me. (Not sure about any beneficial effects Baileys Irish Cream® might have on the skin, though.)

It was at this time that the children decided Mama needed company in the bath, and I was joined by two slippery little critters amidst the bubbles.

After 15 minutes of this I was given permission to leave them to it, and hauled myself out of the tub and into standing position, flailing about for the towel which was just out of reach, before I finally caught hold of a thread on the corner and attempted to dry myself off.

Sadly, the entire episode didn't quite have the desired effect of relaxing me, and I shuffled to the bedroom and crawled under the covers, completely exhausted and still slightly damp around the ankles.

Luckily it was my Beloved’s night off and there was sufficient food in the freezer for him to rustle up some grits for himself and the kids. I was also in prime position for the regular bedtime story then simply bid them all goodnight, took my evening dose of painkillers and drifted off to sleep.

With a bit of luck this bad back will all be behind me soon enough (pun intended) and it’ll be business as usual before too long (minus any scrubbing of showers for the foreseeable future).

And if I happen to notice any significant improvement in skin tone- who knows, milk might make a regular appearance in my bathing beauty routine. But I think I'll keep the Baileys out of the bubbles just the same.

Jx
©2010