sun·screen (snskrn)

n.  A preparation, often in the form of a cream or lotion, used to protect the skin from the damaging ultraviolet rays of the sun.

We decided just after lunch to go to the beach and enjoy some sunshine. It always sounds like a great plan and it is usually fun overall, but never (let me repeat, NEVER) without drama. The 45 minutes it takes to pack up, dress the kids and load the car and the 15 minutes it takes to get the kids rinsed off and the car loaded again is sometimes more time than we actually spend on the beach, depending on the weather.


Today, by our usual standards, was pretty smooth. We were able to get the kids ready in record time and the car loaded in a matter of minutes. Of course, my husband was forced to quickly repair my flat tire, thanks to a stupid ass nail. It’s times like that when I realize that my husband is pretty great to have around. I, on my own, would have driven it on the rim until I found some place (on a Sunday mind you) to fix it or of course, called AAA. Anyway, we were on the road and at the beach within 30 minutes of deciding to go.

The beach was beautiful today. It almost made me forget that today was the anniversary of one of the saddest days in our Nation. The water was perfect, almost like sparkling diamonds the way the afternoon sun was hitting it. The sky was beautiful and blue, with only a few clouds in the distance. The seagulls were singing. It was just perfect……until my kids came running and screaming onto the beach like there was a fire or something. Aaaannnnndddd the peaceful moment was gone.

It is so great to watch them having fun, running and laughing. Ethan chasing the birds and Elena finding her favorite shells that she convinces me she must bring with us because “if she brings them to school on Monday, she will be the coolest girl in her class.”



They really are fun to spend the day with. It’s the getting the sunscreen on a moving target and the getting the mounds of sand removed from their pants that can be tiring. I inevitably have certain parts of my body that are less tan than others from the over spray of sunblock as I chase the kids and spray at the same time. I must look like an idiot, but whatever. My kids aren’t going to have skin cancer. Not on my watch. Besides, I can’t look any worse than the beach full of women dressed in two piece bikinis that apparently their husband’s were too afraid to tell them that they should reconsider…..just sayin. Know your limits ladies!! I know you are supposed to be proud of your bodies since Dove made those commercials, but seriously, no-one wants to see your ass shoved in a bathing suit that was obviously not meant to be a thong. Not to mention, they always seem to love looking for shells, which means a lot of bending over…and again, I look less like the idiot, so I guess I should be thankful for their suit selection.

This time I am pretty sure we actually brought half of the beach home with us. I have a good six pounds of sand in my car and a bag of shells that make it quite clear that something died inside of them recently. The shell of choice this time is the Pen shell….which is beautiful on the inside, however still holds the stench of its former inhabitant. So needless to say, my car stinks.

We arrived home, I scraped the sand out of my kids’ cracks and washed off all of the sticky sunscreen and off to bed they went. The one thing a day at the beach will do is knock the kids out. The next task at hand? Getting the sand out of my crack.

Goodbye Sweet Uterus…..

uterus (y t r- s)

Plural uteri (y t -r ) or uteruses

The hollow, muscular organ of female mammals in which the embryo develops. In most mammals the uterus is divided into two saclike parts, whereas in primates it is a single structure. It lies between the bladder and rectum and is attached to the vagina and the fallopian tubes. During the menstrual cycle (estrus), the lining of the uterus (endometrium) undergoes changes that permit the implantation of a fertilized egg. Also called womb.

 

I would like to take a moment of silence for my uterus, the home for my two children for a total of 18 months……aaaaannnndddd….the moment is over. Because for most of my forty years, that little ball of muscle or whatever the hell it is made of, has made my life miserable. Who else in this world could get away with (legally) making you bleed once a month? In my case it was every two weeks at best. I am fully aware that the uterus did not work alone. I know that the ovaries were involved in the chaos. Don’t you worry, they will get theirs. But, for now, the discussion is about the uterus.

I was really concerned that after having a hysterectomy, I would somehow feel like less of a woman. Like the one thing that defines you as a woman, would be gone and I would feel like something was missing. Well, nothing could be further from the truth! I feel free! Free from tampons and midol. Free from headaches and mood swings. Free from my husband being able to say “oh, you must be getting ready to get your period”. Dick.

So my uterus served its purpose and now it’s gone. I am so thankful that it gave me my amazing children, when so many people do not get that gift. That being said, I would still put it in a jar and torment it once a month if I could.