Stop thinking...

So at the age of 32.8 years old, I have gone back to "school" to start a new career. I am very excited about the possibilities that will come with this new career, and that I have finally decided what to be now that I have grown up. I am going to be a medical transcriptionist. Yeah! I actually find it quite fascinating, for the same reason I find the obituaries fascinating, I like to know about other people's lives. I also read People magazine for this same reason--I find other people fascinating and yes, I am a people watcher. Anyway, back to the point. After studying occassionally for 1 1/2 years on the one year course that I could do online at my own convenience, and after having to get four 3-month extentions to finish the course, and then studying diligently for the last 5 1/2 months, I have completed the course! I took the final over a week ago, and in a test of my patience, am still waiting for the results. It is not the school's fault, they told me it could take up to 2 weeks to get the results back, but I had so hoped for it to be sooner! I am so ready to start contributing to our families financial income again!

I have practiced, and practiced, and then drove myself nuts wondering if I was good enough. Finally, I emailed my student counselor, who is so supportive, informative, and encouraging, to ask if my productivity was high enough to get a job if I do pass my final. When she told me that the expectation for new MTs was 100-150 lines per hour, my confidence boosted...I am currently averaging 164 lines per hour in a 9 pt font! Yeah!! Now it is just for the waiting!

I should really be used to the waiting part. My whole life has been spent waiting. I told my mom that I think that the Lord is trying to teach me patience, because it is the one thing that I can't seem to grasp the concept of, which is strange because when it comes to other people I have loads of patience. I just don't have any for my own life! I grew up in the land of "marry young and have lots of kids before you are 30," and I didn't get married until I was 29. We wanted to wait until our house was built before we had any children of our own because we were living with D's parents for "3 months" until it would be completed. Well, that 3-months turned into 11. Now we are struggling to have another child...oh, the patience that I am learning!

The funny thing is that when you are hoping for something that you have absolutely no control over (i.e. test scores), people tend to give you really good and useless advice. I was just chatting with my sister, Gillette, and she gave me this very type of advice. She said, "Don't think about it." Okay, because it only affects my whole life and my family's whole lives...it isn't important, so I won't think about it. The only problem is how do I not think about it! When I asked Gillette this very question, her answer was very helpful, "I don't know." And truth be known, I would have given her the same advice she gave me.

People always tell you to just put things out of your mind, but I really need someone to teach me how. Are there special pliers that can reach in through your ear and pull out the item that you need to "put out" so that you can just set it aside and reinsert it when the time is right? If so, I need some of those, and until then I will continue to hope to know if the next chapter in my job life can begin...

I'm in charge...

When I first started blogging, it started as almost a journal of the chaos that happens in our house daily. Well, now the older boys are in school, and they are only here with us every other weekend. I have finished my online medical transcriptioning course, and I am awaiting the score of my final. Five months after taking over being the full-time caregiver to Fuss, I have finally gotten him on a schedule, which helps me have a more planned out life. Life actually seems to be settling down a little...something big must be on its way! Nothing ever settles down around here for too long. 

I am still waiting for a full night's sleep as well. Fuss has this habit of throwing his binki out of his crib as he falls asleep. The problem with this is that when he tosses and turns in the night, if he wakes up even the slightest bit, he starts to cry because he can't find his binki. And since I have those super-mom powers that wake me from even the deepest sleep or most involved dream at the slightest little whimper, when this happens I lie in my bed and silently hope that he will find the binki in his bed. Inevitably, I always get up, go to his room, get down on my hands and knees, and search for the binki. If I remember, I actually put an extra binki on D's dresser before I go to bed so that I don't have to search in the middle of the night. Last night this was the routine. This morning, I was up early writing for my part-time job when I heard a second round of whimpering coming from Fuss' room. Knowing that I had work to do, and that I can't do it with Fuss up and about, I went into his room, crawled around his bed until I found the binki. Thinking it was time to get up (it was 6:30 am, which is what time he typically wakes up), he reached for me to hold him. I rubbed his back, and told him that it was still dark and that meant it was still "nite nite time." Happily, he lied down and went back to sleep, at least for another 30 minutes! Oh, the trickery that as parents we sometimes have to use.  

Here is the thing, my son already seems to understand manipulation. What Fuss wants, Fuss gets--he makes sure of it! If he wants to get into a room, he throws a fit until he figures out how. If he wants something to eat, he will stand at the pantry or fridge until I pick the right thing. If I pour him milk instead of juice, he lets me know he isn't happy about it. And Fuss is very jealous of my computer. I can understand it some; I use the computer for my job, my studying, my blog, to check the news, read the obituaries (yes, I read the obituaries because I find other people's lives fascinating) and although most of this is done while he is sleeping, he doesn't like it when I am on the computer and he is awake! Just moments ago my toddler climbed on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. He hugged me so tight that of course I put computer on the floor next to me. As soon as I had done so, he let go of me and ran off to play...that is my life now...everything revolves around Fuss, and I am thinking that maybe I need a new boss.

Don't share with me...

Our family has the habit of sharing food with each other.  If D orders food that I didn't, but upon seeing I think looks good, he gives me a taste and I do the same for him.  We also share with the boys, and they with us and each other.  If someone can't finish their fries, someone else will.  When Fuss eats only 1 of his chicken nuggets, the other 3 never go to waste.  When I cook, everyone gets the same thing anyway so no sharing is necessary.  However, during the day Fuss and I occasionally share breakfast or lunch, depending on what it is I decide we are having.  Because of this family ritual, Fuss also likes to share his snacks.  Recently every time he has a snack, he thinks that he has to feed a part of it to me.  There is nothing quite like chocolate covered fingers, drenching in saliva reaching into your mouth to give you a Reese's Pieces.  

Fuss has his favorite snacks, and all of them are messy.  He loves Cheetos, Kit Kats, Reese's Pieces, crackers and chips of nearly every variety, various fruits, and cheese.  His favorite thing to do with a bag of chips, crackers, or Cheetos is do dump the entire bag upside down on the floor and eat them from the ground.  My carpet has never been vacuumed more since he started this ritual that I cannot seem to stop.  It was when Fuss offered me a Cheeto with a hair on it that I realized 3 things: 1. I need to vacuum even more than I do.  2. Since it was long, I may be balding, and 3. I have got to somehow teach my 1 year old to stop sharing.  It isn't like he just offers either; he shoves the food in my mouth without even asking and without warning.  I will just be sitting there, and without any notice an item of food is shoved between my lips.  

Today, I was carefully watching Fuss eat his Cheetos from the bag in an attempt to prevent the inevitable dumping, Fuss took a bite of a Cheeto, licked the cheesy side of it, and then put the Cheeto back into the bag. This visualization taught me something.  Obviously, I can't share snacks with him at all, even if I do feed them to myself. 

I'm not buying...

I have started to wonder why I purchase expensive toys for Fuss or the other boys. We have so many toys lying around this house that no one even remembers what they have. This past weekend the boys went through the toy boxes in their bedrooms and in the family room to throw away the things that are either broken or that they are no longer interested in. Now I have 3 small garbage bags of McDonald's, Burger King, and Wendy's toys that no one wants...shocker. There is also the the lock box that Olie had to have, and numerous other odds and ends. However, there are still too many toys that haven't been touched in months in our house. I keep thinking I should have a garage sale, but I am not really sure that anyone would buy a half-deck of cards.

Fuss has more than enough toys for a one-year-old. He loves his Leap Frog music table that he got for Christmas. He also loves the Leap Frog fire truck that Nana gave him for his birthday. We are both learning so much. I know now all the lyrics to "I'm fire fighter Tad. Let's give a shout! If you see a fire, I'll put it out before you count to..." I am such a good counter now. I am also learning the alphabet in Spanish thanks to the musical table. The thing is, that Fuss loves the basketball hoop that he got as a hand-me-down from D's sister. Even more than that, he loves to play with toys that are regular household items, things I didn't have to spend more money on. He currently enjoys playing in the bathroom cupboards, which motivates me not to do the laundry and refill them with towels. He also loves to play with the step-stool from the kitchen that allows Olie, Skater, and Moo to reach the kitchen sink so I don't have to get all their drinks for them. Fuss thinks it is a hat, a bucket, or a chair that is meant for him to carry throughout the house for his own convenience. The other day he thought that the baby wash sitting on the edge of the tub looked fun, until he spilled it all over my bedroom carpet. At least he tried to clean it up, and he wouldn't let me help him once I had showed him how. Yesterday he discovered the joy of a spray bottle full of water. He drenched himself and my bed. I don't ever have to buy him a little table, because he has discovered that if he sits on one pedal of the elliptical machine, the other pedal is the perfect height for a table. He loves mirrors, pots and pans, measuring cups, and a variety of other household items, including the computers and cell phones. He would rather play with these things than his own actual toys, which is fine because the older boys think that Fuss' toys are more fun than what they have.

This doesn't make sense to me since Fuss loves his brothers' old toys, like the game boys. So, with Christmas lingering in the not-so-distant future, (yes, it is only 3 months away) I have to ask myself if it is worth purchasing more toys when the ones I have bought are hardly used, at least by the person it was intended for. I am thinking that maybe I should wrap up the toys we have in the house right now and rotate them throughout the boys. Maybe Moo would like the rocking horse, and I know Fuss would like his I-pod. I am also considering giving Fuss a new set of glasses and some matching serving dishes would be nice. Maybe Fuss would like a new sweater in my size also...

Pay attention...

Attentiveness has always been an issue for me.  When I was younger and in trouble, I would actually get myself into more trouble because I couldn't look at my mom when she was talking to me.  If I did try to look at her, I couldn't hear a word she was saying.  It was simply too much focus on one thing, but trying to explain that to a normal person is a difficult fete.  My mom questioned whether or not I had ADD as a child, but since I got good grades no doctor would treat me for it.  After I had struggled through two and half years of college, I did some extensive research on ADD for myself.  Then I went to a doctor and asked him to help me focus.  I was 21 years old, and it had taken me that long to realize that things that I thought were logical weren't to other people.  If a brainstorm picture (where you draw a bubble with the main thought and branch off to sub-thoughts) were a normal brain, mine would look like a mess of bubbles overlapping each other. Thoughts that most people think are not related, are in my mind. Things that take most people 5 to 6 steps to complete, I can usually do in 2.  I never did well in classes where you had to list your steps and you got a point for each one, because even though my final answers were correct, I lost points in the steps.  I was explaining this description of an ADD mind to my friend and her son, who also has ADD, and his face lit up, like he couldn't believe that someone else thinks the same way he does.  When you realize you aren't "normal," it is always comforting to find someone that does understand you.

Usually when I make comments about needing to take my Ritalin, people laugh because ADD is the butt of many jokes, and that is fine because I think it is a funny excuse too. I don't mind, and I am not embarrassed that I take it.  While ADD has a few downfalls, it also has a lot of benefits.  I can type this while watching the evening news, and I will remember both.  I can talk and listen at the same time.  In school, I could doodle, talk to my friends, pass and read notes, and still hear what the teacher was talking about.  I could do my homework in front of the TV.  I can drive better while I am talking on the phone, or talking with other people in the car.  My mind can literally focus on more things than 1 at all times.  I had a friend once question why I would read during church meetings, and he laughed when I told him that it was so I could listen better, but it was the truth.  I have decided that my dentist is trying to test my patience though.  I am what he refers to as an "aggressive brusher," and it shows in my gums.  Because of this, he asked me to get an electronic Sonicare toothbrush.  At first I thought this was a great idea.  That is until I realized that you cannot do anything else while you are brushing your teeth with an electronic toothbrush. Using an electronic toothbrush is a timed event...TWO MINUTES! Two minutes of doing only 1 thing...it is enough to drive me crazy.  I had to make a compromise that my dentist doesn't know about, I only use the Sonicare every other day, because it is too hard for me to give up two minutes every day to focus on one thing and one thing only.  Oh the pressure that I cannot handle.  Especially because I tried to pull the toothbrush out of my mouth once just to spit, and I had to wash my entire bathroom from the splattered spit and toothpaste that had been spun around by my Sonicare wonder brush.  

You would think with all of this multi-tasking ability that I have, I would be able to accomplish numerous tasks each day.  Luckily, I have my patience pills, which is what I call my Ritalin since it gives me the patience to try to figure out the way "normal" people think.  My patience pills help to slow my mind down, that way I don't become too much of an overachiever.  I don't need the pressure of people expecting too much from me...especially not from D.

Carefree and happy...

So, as I am watching TV last night, I see a very familiar commercial that states, "Have a happy period."  And I had to ask myself, was that written by a single man or a prepubescent girl who is eager to jump into that "happy" time of her life? I never in my life have had a "happy period." What is happy about a period? It must be the cramps, because as much as I love the bloating and swelling of every ounce of my being, I love the cramps more.  I don't really love that I get moody, but my husband does and that truly makes it a "happy period" for everybody!  The boys don't even know what a period is, but I think they recognize how "happy" I am each and every month around the same point in the month.  It must be all the "happy" tears that I cry.  Maybe it is all the chocolate that comes into the house each month...that really does make everyone happy, except me when I step on the scale at the end of this "happy" time, and see that all the bloated weight has been replaced with chocolate weight....it makes me so "happy."  The announcement that we are, in fact, not pregnant again is such a "happy" time also....well, I guess that one could be if I were not wanting a baby and thought it could be a possibility that one was on the way, but that isn't the case for me.  Oh, the happiness that comes in abundance each month!  The happiest part of my "happy period" is the period at the end of the sentence when I get to say, "It is gone for another month." But that really should be an exclamation point!

That is a treat...

My children and me define the word "snack" completely differently.  To me a snack is something to put a hold on my stomach's grumblings in between meals.  A snack could consist of several different items, maybe crackers, chips, some sort of fruit, or possibly even something in the vegetable family.  To my boys, a snack is something that I would define as a "treat."  To me a "treat" is something sweet.  It is something that I can hold over the boys heads if they don't behave.  I could never say, "If you don't pick up your toys, you cannot have any carrots tonight after dinner!"  My house would be a pigsty.  I can say things like, "If you don't stop hitting your brother, there will be no brownies for you tonight!" That they will listen and respond too.  Maybe it isn't the best way to get them to behave, but it works.

Yesterday morning I was feeling especially domestic, and so I decided to get up early (or Fuss decided I would get up early) and make the boys breakfast...something other than cereal for a change.  I made scrambled eggs with cheese, sausage links, and toast.  Moo refused to wake up until 2 1/2 hours after breakfast was over for the rest of us. So, his breakfast was cold, and I didn't warm it up for him.  I think about it now and it seems cruel, but he should have taken advantage of my window of domesticity....his loss.  Skater ate his meal and left all his dishes on the counter.  Olie had about 2 bites of egg and 1/2 sip of milk, and he left all his dishes on the counter as well.  Heaven forbid they move them to the sink, or rinse them off.  They could at least hide the evidence that they didn't eat anything healthy.  To make matters worse for themselves, they left wrappers from the mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on the counter, next to their full plates of food.  Evidently, they prefer to make their own breakfast.  Later on, Moo asked me if he could have a snack, meaning he wanted candy.  I asked him if he really thought that he deserved it since he didn't dispose of his uneaten cold food, or take care of his dishes either.  I told him that they all should know that if they don't eat something healthy, then they don't get treats later.  I don't think that this is an unfair rule.  And we agreed that he didn't get any more treats than he had already taken without permission.

Now, fast forward several hours.  I prepare dinner, the boys sit down to eat.  Moo refused to eat his Macaroni and Cheese (I know...how domestic am I), but he did eat 2 helpings of salad and all of the tomatoes from Skater's salad as well.  Skater refused to eat his Mac'n Cheese as well, but he also ate a hearty plate of salad.  Olie refused the salad, but ate his Mac'n Cheese.  And they all cleaned off their plates and put them in the sink.  I was so pleased that each of them had at least eaten something with nutritional value, and had paid attention to my early rants about not being their maid.  So, when Olie asked me if he could mix up the box of brownies in the pantry, I told him to go ahead.  As the smell of fresh baked brownies drifted through the house, Moo came running.  As soon as he got to the kitchen, he asked me if he could have a brownie.  I told him that he could. The end of the word "yes" was still coming from my mouth when Moo said, "You said I couldn't have any treats."  Is it just me, or is there something wrong with a 7 year old arguing about whether or not he can have a brownie when he is the one arguing against him getting it?  I tried to explain to him that since he had eaten his dinner and cleaned up his plate, he had earned the treat.  When he wouldn't stop arguing with me about what I had said earlier, I finally told him, "If you want me to tell you that you can't have it I will, but you really won't get one then."  He shut up...finally!

As the boys were dishing up their brownies, I asked them if they would like to have some ice cream with it.  Olie told me he wasn't in the mood for ice cream, a concept I don't understand.  Ice cream doesn't require a mood, just its presence is enough.  That statement from him alone is proof that we are not genetically linked, and that I have so much to teach him.  Skater wasn't in the room at that time, so the offer wasn't extended to him...mostly because I didn't think about it when he came in for his brownie.  It was Moo's answer that made me regret asking though.  He said, "Sure, I would like some ice cream, but only if you have my favorite kind."  We had several containers in the freezer so I asked, "Ok, what is your favorite kind?"  To which he replied, "I don't know."  Unfortunately for him, I knew we didn't have that kind, so I didn't even look...

Call the concierge...

Last night as I asked the boys to pick up the toys that they had so kindly left out, I received a series of moans and groans.  I rolled my eyes and told them that this was not a vacation.  To which Skater informed me, "But this is our vacation house! This is the only place we can come to get a break."  Well, if this is their vacation house, I guess I must be their concierge, chef, maid, and chauffeur.  What I would really like to know is, where is my vacation house? I want a house where I can go, sit, relax, watch TV, play video games, ride my bike, and have someone cook for me, clean up after me, and buy me stuff.  That does sound like a good deal, but then who would do it for my family if I weren't here.  As I turned off the TV and left the room that I had just helped the boys clean up, I kept repeating Skater's words in my mind, "This is the only place we can come to get a break..."  And I wondered, "Where do I get to go to get a break?"  If I suddenly showed up at my mom's house, I do not think that she would wait on me hand and foot, and then allow me to complain if I didn't like what she made me for dinner.  She wouldn't let me roll my eyes at her, or stomp and pout all the way downstairs if she asked me to pick up the crap that I left out.  She wouldn't buy me new toys and then let me leave them out for a baby to play with and break.  She wouldn't let me spend all day in front of the TV watching episode after episode of Ben 10 and Naruto (not that I would want to).  What have I done to create an atmosphere in my home where after 3 years of the same ridiculous arguments, the boys still think that this is their hotel?  Where did I go wrong?  

When we first moved into our house, D and I decided that we would have consistent rules for all of our children whether the boys were here or not.  We did not want to have one set of rules for Fuss and any possible future siblings and another set for the older boys.  We also didn't want Fuss to think that he could get away with whatever he wanted just because his brothers were here.  I am not one who makes the boys slave away washing walls whenever they are here.  I only did that once, and it was because Olie volunteered to wash the walls because he thought it was fun to use the "Magic Eraser" on them.  I don't make them do dishes, laundry, vacuum, or dust.  I have only asked them to clean their own bathroom not mine and D's, and that is only because I had it cleaned before they arrived, and they were the ones that let the tornado in to destroy it.  I ask them to keep their own rooms clean, and I don't even uphold my standard of what clean is in their rooms because they are downstairs and no one ever sees them.  I ask them to pick up the family room, because it is their messes that need to be cleaned.  And really I don't ever ask them to clean, I ask them to straighten.  Yet, they need a break?

At this point, I can see their point.  Just thinking about trying to get them to help out is making me exhausted.  I think I am going to take a hot shower or a bath.  If only there was someone that could get that started for me, and bring me some fresh towels.  I would really like it if there was a mint on my pillow when I went to bed tonight also...too bad I don't have a vacation home.

Will you be my friend...

I am addicted to the online social network of Facebook. I kid you not...I am addicted, and at the same time intimidated by it. I feel like I am in the midst of a popularity contest, and sometimes I get a little anxious about it. I worry how people will perceive my life, and if they will be comparing that perception to their own lives. I have to admit that I feel like I am in high school all over again. I joined facebook over a year ago when a friend of mine told me I should check out his Facebook page. I had no idea what he was even talking about, but I logged on anyway. He didn't tell me I would have to create a profile in order to see his, but I did. I was a member of Facebook for 8 months and had only 3 friends. I didn't know that I was supposed to look for friends, family, aquaintances, people I wanted to compare my life too, etc, etc...so, I just let it be. I never logged on, and I never really cared. Then one day, I received an email from Facebook letting me know that one of D's cousins wanted to be my friend! Oh, the joy of acceptance! I love D's family, so of course I accepted. This is what began my addiction.

There was the first cousin, then there were all the other cousins the first one was friends with too. Then there was their spouses. Then I thought that perhaps I should see if my cousins were members of the addicting society...some were. I requested to be friends, and they accepted. I found some old friends from high school, college, and various other aspects of my life. I had friends that I hadn't thought about it years. It was all very nostalgic for me. I was feeling very popular as I had gone from 3 to 39 friends in just a few short weeks. Since I had never been popular in my whole life, I was thinking that maybe I hadn't given myself credit. Then my siblings started to join... My sister, Gillette, joined first. She was followed by KM, then Fluff. They all 3 started connecting with friends immediately, and their friend counts were quickly catching mine even though I also continued to add. It was when my older brother, RJ, and his wife, Jonsie, joined that I realized I will never be as popular as I had hoped. They had both been very popular in our high school. They were the kind of people that you would want your kids to be friends with and look up to. They treated (and still do) everyone with respect and kindness. So, it should be no surprise that after 3 days of joining Facebook they each had nearly 50 friends. Granted, I did all the leg work for finding our cousins, which of course they are friends with. Since everyone else in my family was on, I called Agee and made her join immediately. She in turn called my mom and made her join. Yes, my mom is my Facebook friend, and I couldn't be prouder than to call her my friend. One of my cousins gave me credit for recruiting the fam, but I didn't recruit anyone except Agee and D.

D is not addicted to Facebook. He couldn't care less if he was on Facebook. This whole thing has caused me to realize that at 32 years old, I still feel the need for constant reassurance. D is my security blanket. He is the one man that chose to love me, not because he had to, just because he did...and does. I made him join Facebook so that I could have his name listed under mine as my spouse. I know it seems ridiculous, but I think that I am not the only one out there that feels this way. I just maybe one of the few who are willing to admit it. Still, I have a lot of friends...and I am very grateful for each one of them. Even if my brother has more.

Flip Flops Forever...

I do not love feet.  I do not in any way, shape, or form think that they are attractive. There is nothing sexy about them.  There is no reason to show them off.  Yet, I do not like to wear shoes. I think that pedicures were invented to try to convince people like me that feet can be attractive.  While I am a BIG fan of the pedicure, feet will never be attractive.  I am okay with baby feet, but that is because babies rarely have shoes on, and they don't really sweat. So, baby feet are still touchable, but they are the only ones.  I knew that I loved D the day I let him give me a foot rub, and then I gave him one in return.  I remember thinking, ""Oh, crap...he gives a good foot rub, that means that I will have to touch his feet if I want another one.  And if I am willing to touch his feet, that means we are in it for the long haul."  That is the real reason we got married.  

While I love to shop for shoes, wearing them is a different story.  Closed shoes are so restricting, and that is just the beginning of their problems.  They make your feet sweaty, sticky, and not so pleasant smelling, which wouldn't be bad if the smell remained only on the feet and people could only smell it if they were on the floor next to your feet.  That, however, would be creepy. So, feet smells just drift up to offend anyone who may be in the vicinity like an announcement "ANNIE JUST TOOK HER SHOES OFF AFTER 9 HOURS OF WEAR! STAY AWAY!!!"  To try to minimize the smell, sweat, and stickiness, socks are worn.  Socks, however, only add to the sweat and stickiness.  They also add the element of toe fuzz.  There is nothing more disgusting than trying to generously give your husband a foot rub (while trying to pretend it doesn't bother you) and having sock fuzz between his toes.  D knows that I don't love feet.  Because of this he kindly washes his feet when they are really bad, like after a full day of shoe wearing rather than just a couple of hours.  

As a woman there are several varieties of foot wear available; however, the majority either cause the above listed problems or pain.  I do not know how women wear high-heeled shoes all day long.  While working outside of our home, I tried to wear heels to work once...after that I gave up and swore it would never happen again.  I promised my feet that if they would continue to walk, I would not make them face more than 3 consecutive hours in high-heels ever again.  And I haven't!  If it were up to me I would wear flip flops all day, every day, all the time...either that or I would go barefoot.  And no, I don't know why it isn't up to me, but people think your weird if you wear flip flops in the snow.  Therefore, I guess it isn't up to me because I am afraid of society's opinions...oh, society...

My feet, above all others, are disgusting.  My heels are cracking under the pressure of the extra weight and stress that I can't seem to ever rid myself of.  My toes and the balls of my feet are callused due to me walking with my heels off of the ground to protect myself from the pain of the canyons in the heels.  I do not currently have a pedicure, so the nail beds of my toes are not even trying to pretend they are attractive.  And structurally...let's just say there hasn't been hope for my feet since the beginning of time.  I have an extra bone in my foot, which wasn't discovered until I broke one of them at 18.  I have another bone that is longer than it needs to be.  The tendons are too long and ball up below my ankle, making it look as if I have 2 ankles in each foot.  The combination of these items means that I have flat, wide feet....so not attractve.  Someone once told me that he could tell what any girl was going to be like just from looking at her feet.  I replied, "I could see that...flat and wide...that pretty much sums me up!"  

In an effort to rid myself of the hideousness that has become the bottom of my feet, I bought a "Ped-Egg."  I saw one on TV, and I wanted it.  I saw one at Walgreens, and I bought it.  D asked me if I realized that it is basically just a little "cheese grater" for my feet.  I don't care if it is a blender for my feet, if it gets rid of the dry, cracked calluses that used to be skin, which it does! It is amazing!  I never thought that I would be able to touch my heels again without having to get a band-aid for my bleeding finger, but I can.  I can even play footsie with my husband again.  I haven't, but I could.  Feet will never be attractive, but at least now I have the tool to let me wear my flip flops with confidence.  Just because I don't like them doesn't mean I am going to cover them up...at least during the warm months.