Mom Meets Sensory Deprivation

What does a Mom of two do to prepare for three days with both kids at home with very unreliable sleep? Well this Mom took the afternoon off and booked a sensory deprivation float session (it was cheaper than a massage).

Sleep has been a battle for most of the time that we’ve had BaeJ in our life between her and Nono being on different schedules and the sheer amount of wakeups that A. and I battle through. What’s it like to sleep more than 4-5 hours in a row? I’m honestly not sure I remember.
How I’m doing during the week depends heavily on how many rough sleep nights in a row it’s been. And on one such jag I looked at the upcoming 3 day weekend where there would be no breaks and requested the Friday afternoon off to relax. Then on a different sleep deprivation day I felt desperate for a way to unwind and relax and started looking at spas and cringing at the cost. I eventually found a spa that offered floatation therapy in a deprivation pool with a discount for the first time and thought, alright that sounds like heaven. Just shutting off my brain and everything around me for 55min? Let’s do this!IMG_5652
Just about everyone I spoke to was intrigued so I thought I’d share how it went.
Because it’s me, there was of course a comedy of errors.
First was running late and being stressed out that I wasn’t going to get my full appointment that I’d already paid for to relax. It took me longer than I’d planned to pump and get everything sterilized and ready for my return (when I’d have to pump again). (That’s my weekday in a snapshot, organizing my work and life around a pump schedule and it can be a very precarious thing at times, such as Friday). So I left the for my 25min drive with roughly 10 minutes to get there.
Cue the anxiety and stress. The irony was not lost on me at the time that I was heavily increasing my stress level trying to get to my appointment to destress.
I got there and they were totally cool about me being late and my anxiety started to decrease.
I got the walk through of the “chamber” which was a large tiled room with an open shower, the egg shaped pod, and a bench to put personal items and some toiletries like soap, shampoo, ear plugs, and a pool noodle for your neck. They turned the water on in the pod and I took a shower to clean off before getting in the pool.
So in order to float there’s a ton of salt in the water. Like dead sea levels.
And did you know once you’re all wet (like from a shower) that other liquid spreads on you reallllly easily and it’s like really difficult to get that off because you’re all wet?
I’m sure you did. I mean I do, but I didn’t think about what that would mean when I got out of the required shower and into the salty water to mostly submerge. I definitely didn’t think about how easy it would be to get salty water in my eyes even while closing them.
So here I am in this “relaxation tank” in the dark with salt in my eyes and rubbing isn’t helping because my hands are wet and also covered with salty water. Sounds relaxing right?
I finally had to hop out and run over to the bench and grab the towel and scrub against my eyes to fix the situation. Fortunately I was able to stop the stinging and dry my face off enough to successfully enter the pod again, although my eyes definitely felt dry after that.
Ok, starting to get the hang of this now.
Then my neck started to get sore. I tried the pool noodle piece, but it was too high to be comfortable so I settled with having my hands under my neck which helped the tension.
Ok, floating. Floating.
There’s some light coming through the door cracks and it’s kind of cool to be able to open my eyes. Maybe I should close the top of the pod.
I close the top of the pod.
Well this is definitely dark now. Can’t see anything.
Is the air getting warmer in here?
Oh man the air is definitely getting warmer in here.
Ok I don’t think I like this.
Nope definitely need to open the top again.
The inside is smooth. HOW DO I OPEN THE TOP!?
At this point I am kneeling on the bottom of the pod and pushing against the top, trying to open it while full on panicking. Can’t see a thing.
I finally run my hand along the inside and find a handle that easily opens the top of the pod when used.
You are an idiot.
No idea how much time has passed since I salted my eyes and then gave myself an almost full on panic attack, but guessing I still have a while to go.
The rest of the time was mostly uneventful with just floating and changing my hand position periodically to support my neck.
It was relaxing and a few times it did feel pretty cool.
But it’s not for me.
It highlighted for me the sore places in my body (which there are quite a few this days from kiddos) so I found myself wishing I’d gotten a massage before getting in.
I also had a hard time turning off my brain and I think the physical sensation of a massage does a better job for me of distracting my “what about…” that’s constantly running, as well as helping me feel less sore. And obviously it’s nor necessarily made for the accident prone.

Liar, Liar: March 16th

It is super weird when you first find out your pregnant and you can’t tell anyone. Especially when it’s your first pregnancy so your mind is totally blown and you’re trying to act like everything is normal instead of irrevocably different.

So for those living in a cave, people tend to keep things secret first trimester because it has the greatest chance of miscarriage, which unfortunately is much more common than people think. So you’re faced with the thought process of “would I want to talk to this person if that happened” and the answer is usually no. So that fun guessing game you like to play, outing your pregnant friends? You’re being a dick. Stop it.

So anyways, I found myself in the liar camp, which was super hard for me because I’m paranoid, carry a guilt complex, and am normally an over-sharer. Seriously, it’s miracle that I kept this under wraps. (more…)

RIP Theodore

Theodore, I fight the urge to say that you were taken from us too soon, but really you lasted beyond any expectation we had for you. You came into our lives about a year ago with a circus themed box from Barkbox. Your brother, Telemachus the tiger, was only with us for a few short months before meeting his end.

Wallace adored you. Unfortunately, that kind of love can also be damaging. While he affectionately groomed you and carried you around and tried to share you with whomever was sitting on the couch, there was a dark side to this as well. At times he would gnaw on you and chew, and we feared the end was near. Despite this hot and cold love, you lasted for months, enduring it all without a complaint (one of your finest attributes was truly that you didn’t have any squeaker).

I wonder if Wallace knew that the violent part of your relationship was reaching an escalating moment, because the week before your end he placed you on the kitchen stool next to me and went and laid down in the living room. It was the most reverence I’d ever seen him give to a stuffed animal.


A few days later it was all over. I looked over at Wallace, who was on his dog bed, and there you were. For the first time, Wallace looked sad gazing upon your fluffy entrails that surrounded him. I’d never seen him show remorse after murdering one of his stuffed companions, you were the first, and there have been many. Wallace remained there with his ears back and I truly believe if he could have undone his actions, he would have. It was much like the harsh childhood lesson I experienced at a young age when I learned the hard way that My Little Pony manes don’t grow back after you cut them off.

So thank you Theodore for your endurance and your companionship. You were missed, it’s unclear if Wallace retains memory of previously adored stuffed animals, but in that moment you were mourned.

Theodore is survived by the Quilted Pig, Puppy (the cat stuffed animal), the rope toy, some Mardi Gras stuffed throws, and a collection of outdoor toys.

Why Nice People Can’t Hang Out With Me

I was going to title this “Why We Can’t Have Anything Nice”, but I’m going to save that one because that’s really a whole separate tangent. I’m going to change some names/facts to protect the innocent in this post, aka try and make sure these people might hang out with me again in spite of myself… Also unrelated, but you know how everyone has those words that they just can’t spell correctly for the life of them? (Unless you’re one of those copy editor types), “separate” is one of those for me. It is a deep seeded belief of mine that it should be spelled “seperate”.

Anyways, a few years ago A. and I were hanging out with a group of friends and one of our friends had a new significant other. Everyone else hanging out had known us for years and had a pretty solid comfort level with each other. So we were acting naturally. AKA not necessarily in a manner that’s fit for public or new people. (more…)

The Internet Is Weird

But we already knew that. So fun game, google image your first name and “meme” and check out the results. It gets weird fast. Here are mine for your amusement and credit to the Bloggess for the idea (also check out her memes, are they better or worse than mine?)

Here are my Jenna memes in the order that they popped up.

Meme #1. Good Start.

I started to type that I didn’t understand this one, but then I got it. Thanks Damon.

Mikaela is about as far from Jenna as something really far.

I really have no idea why this one came up.

This one is by far my favorite.

Getting creepy.

Is it still suicide if suicide is spelled incorrectly?

I’m never sorry about Mr T

This once was true, but I think these days not so much.



If anyone thinks I should not have shared this story, talk to my Aunty Babs, because she encouraged me.

I have a funny story about how this whole “I have breast cancer” thing started. Crazy right? Well I’m in a shitty mood today about things, so I’m going to write my funny story.

First, the back story:

A. and I have been together about 9.5 years, we started dating in college which was about 45min from my parent’s house, so we spent a fair amount of time there when we first started dating. My family already knew him because we’d been really close friends for the 3 years before and he’d been over many times.

Fast forward to 2 years ago, we’d been together for over 7 years, were married, and living in SF. I come back home for a few days the end of June by myself and my Mom flies back to SF with me. Somehow she tells me that she and my Dad were arguing that day about whether or not A. grabbed my boob in front of my Dad when we first started dating. This was the first I’d heard of this and was pretty much like “what the hell?” So my Mom proceeds to tell me that according to my Dad, A. grabbed my boob while we were sitting in the living room talking to my Dad. First off, My Dad is a very tall man and intimidating. Second, A. is a respectful guy. There is no way this happened.

So we get to SF and I tell my Aunty Babs and she tells me that the rest of the family has known about this for years, but she agrees it couldn’t have happened. It’s a very strange experience finding out that your family has been arguing about whether or not your now husband grabbed your boob in front of your Dad for around 7 years. Hilarious and strange. Obviously I never bring this up to my Dad because the last thing I want to do is discuss my boob and their proximity to A.

I had always assumed my Dad’s initial grumpiness about A. for the first few years was because he’s my over-protective father (he discussed buying land for my and my Brother to live on together in VT when I was in college, he thought I followed A. out to SF rather than came for my own interests, etc. A tad over protective of his daughter. The first two guys I dated came over to my house for the first times and he was cleaning his guns. True story.)

Another side note, my Dad loves A. now, one of his all time favorite people.

Fast forward to my diagnosis, which was a pretty shitty day for all of us. Dad is sitting in the dining room and A. is across from him both eating. I walk in and sit down rather smugly and say “This is going to be awkward for A., but I have one thing to say to you Dad.” I have both of their attention now.

“Remember that boob grab that you think happened, but totally didn’t happen?”

“How did you hear about that?” and some additional shocked comments from Dad.

“Whatever. Anyways, I just want you to know that A. grabbing my boob probably saved my life, because he found the lump.”

My Dad sat there for a few seconds and then looked at A. across the table, grinned, and said “Nice grab” and high-fived him.

My father, ladies and gentleman.