Weird Things Women Do

It’s genetic; I swear

Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

As women, we have a few go-to moves that make sense only to us. Men have seen us do these things and raised a brow in wonder. (They have their own quirks too, as you well know, but that would be another post, another day.)

Boobs are very multi-functional.

My daughter-in-law and I are big fans of The Cell Phone Stash. While this is usually pertaining to cell phones, it is a well-known fact among us women that the best, most efficient pocket we own is our boobs.

You can stuff all kinds of stuff there! Money, car keys, your infant, so many things. And between my daughter-in-law and I, for the record, she could actually lose things in there. For me, I’ve never lost anything in there but there has been the occasion when an item goes missing and I check my boobs, just in case.

It is the perfect place to park your phone, on speaker, so that you may go about your business, your conversation companion none the wiser.

A sister move to The Cell Phone Stash is The Boob Wipe. I know you’ve seen (and ladies — you know you’ve done this!) a woman end a call on her cell phone and promptly wipe the phone across her boob. Because again the boob is multifunctional and the perfect place to wipe away the face print on the cell phone screen. A good alternative, The Hip Wipe, but watch out for those sequined or bedazzled britches. (That’s Southern for pants — one day I just need to do a write up for y’all on Southern lingo.)

The bathroom quirks that unite us

Make-up often blurs our cell phone screens which is just nasty and brings me to another thing we women do, often in the privacy of our bathrooms or with the sun visor flipped down in the car. We do a very good impression I call The Darth Vader.

This impressive move is annoyingly left out of the mascara commercials — the ones with the lovely models all wearing lash extensions or full fake eyelashes and touting the miraculous wonders of the Lashy-Luschious Perfection Mascara 3000. If the extensions weren’t enough to convince us of their dishonest expression of care for the length and breadth of our lashes; notice the other bold lie.

They apply mascara with their mouth closed. When we all know this is impossible. Furthermore, bring on the heavy concentration, the focused deep-breathing and you have it — The Darth Vader. We truly impress, even without Lashy-Luschious Perfection Mascara 3000.

(And men who wear mascara — make sure you implement this important technique. Since the dawning of mascara, this is the way.)

We have a few bathroom tricks up our sleeves as well, like The Upside-Down Hair Toss — how else would you blow-dry your hair? And there seems to be a rule on this one. If the hair is not tossed violently enough, it must be gathered and the toss must be repeated. More injury comes from this weird women’s activity than any other.

Except maybe The Hover. Men, I implore you to try this once. It’s kind of like a game. Sit to pee — but no part of your skin may actually touch the toilet seat. I won’t go into the potential for injury on this one, but it is crucial, especially in public restrooms, to master this event.

Why? If you have to ask that — we cannot be friends. And while I have your attention men; would it hurt you to take a hint from your ladies? Do you really think we walk around without farting? The Squeeze is your friend. If you need instructions, I am sure any woman would be happy to demonstrate this planet-saving, marriage-saving, face-saving technique.

Speaking of saving-face, there are just some moments in a woman’s life that we are not proud. I am speaking of The Hide.

Because sometimes…you just have to

It’s tough to be a woman. There are those moments when you want it. You need it. And you have to hide to get it.

I can best describe this moment by sharing the story of a woman I know well, and admire beyond the limits of humanly possible admiration. She’s a strong, confident, successful woman and she has two beautiful small children. And even she, medical doctor she, has perfected The Hide, as demonstrated by a Facebook post I once read on her wall depicting the eating of Nutella — in the closet.

Sometimes you just have to Nutella — alone.

I am proud to say that the last time the grandkids were here to visit, my teenage daughter demonstrated The Hide by hiding in her closet to listen to Pandora. Earbuds in, she demonstrated efficiently the genetic component to weird women quirks — I’m pretty sure she’s never known about The Hide — at least not from me!

Take care of yourselves ladies! The struggle Bus has our names inscribed on the side but we carry on! Let your weirdness shine.

And can we please get some realness on our mascara commercials? Darth Vader and all?


Thanks for reading!
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The Cat is a Thief

and other ramblings

My cat December…on his throne (my lap).

This morning I awoke to the terrible pain I’ve been dealing with the last few weeks and decided there just weren’t enough “soft” foods in the house.

(If you need to catch up on “why the pain?” you can do that here.)

At the store, my jaw clenched and dogged determination to get sustenance, I gathered in my cart the crucial supplies for survival when chewing is difficult: Spaghettios, Ravioli, soups, low-sodium broth for making egg drop soup (we have chickens after all,) the softest baked chips I could find (because I am quite addicted to Baked Lays) and my favorite Ranch dip.

How are you today ma’am?

I’m doing great, thank you.

The lie slid so easily from my tongue, although getting past my crooked, pursed lips it came out in a bit of a slur.

The weather was beautiful but it was hard to concentrate on that. I hauled myself and the few bags of groceries home. Too spent to make anything, I settled on the chips, the dip, and to plop myself back in front of the 37 Medium tabs of articles I had opened on the laptop to read.

Chewing — oh so carefully. Read. Highlight. Comment. Clap clap clap.

Sliiip Sliiip Sliiip Sliiiiiip…..sliiip sliiip…

The cat is licking my Ranch dip.

Sigh. *Insert your favorite expletives here.*

December is a fabulous cat.

He is pretty certain that he is a celebrity cat, although the Paparazzi has never come calling. He’d put them to work if they did.

Here, sir. Yes. You scratch there, and I’ll lick that salty amazing spot on your arm.

He is fat. Faboulous. And entitled.

Case and point:

How December helps out.

The point here?

Not to give December more credit that he is owed — and to him that is a substantial and often exhausting amount — it is to deal with this “ranch-dip-licking” disappointment in stride.

You know every day is full of its ups and downs right?

There really are those moments when you’ve done all you can think to do, taken all the BS from the world that you think you can take, and that one more thing happens.

That flat tire.

That phone call you’d been dreading.

Worse yet — the internet …goes…out.

How do you deal when you are sapped of strength, sapped of energy, sapped of the patience to handle one more thing?

Life can hand you a basket of burden but you don’t have to analyze the contents so closely that you forget to notice the sun shining down on you, a glorious day going on in spite of your burdens.

Set the basket of burdens down.

Take in the sun. Feel the breeze lightly across your cheeks — and deal with the contents one at a time.

  • Is there something I could have done to avoid this?
  • Now that it is here, how can I handle this with a measure of grace?
  • Is there a way to diffuse the situation without making the problem worse?
  • Can I deal with this a bit better if I’d just take a deep, cleansing breath and steady my resolve?

Burdens are only burdensome if we forget these are just temporary things that we can manage carefully, with our emotion in check. Keep the Negative Nancy that’s raging in your mind strapped to a chair. She does not own you. And if you tell her to be quiet, she will often listen.

Thanks for reading this “a-day-in-the-life-of” and take some time today to share the ranch dip with your cat.

After all — the cat is happy!

Outrage at Actresses Indicted in College Admissions Scandal

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Actresses Felicity Huffman and Lori Loughlin Indicted, With 44 Others in College Admissions Scheme

You have probably seen the news of two well-known actresses, Felicity Huffman (best known for her role in ABC’s dramedy Desperate Housewives) and Lori Loughlin (best known for her role in the ABC sitcom Full House) being indicted for their part in an elaborate college admissions scheme. Huffman and Loughlin took part in a scheme involving faked athletic participation and achievements, and faked test scores, along with other parents, who were willing and able to pay substantial amounts of money to get their kids into some of the most elite colleges in the country.

A California business man, operating under the guise of a non-profit, took money from parents to get their kids into the college of their choice, and then funneled that money to various athletic coaches and college exam SAT and ACT administrators. Coaches arranged fake profiles, took fake athletic pictures of students who were not even playing the sport, and exam administrators hired proctors to take exams for students…are you disgusted yet?

The two actresses have been the brunt of a Twitter-expolosion of jokes and memes since the news broke. Parents are outraged. We all should be.

Let me set a scenario for you, one probably you may find relatable. Picture a single mom, 2 young boys, waking up in the early morning hours with ice on the roads. This mom was me. I was in my early 30’s at the time, and school was closed for my boys that day- on the day I had to take my college state final for Chemistry, likely the most difficult test I would have to take in my college education.

I fed my boys, bundled us all up, and my car door was frozen shut. Running late, driving on the icy roads, and bringing my two children with me I showed up at the classroom door, in tears. My professor was kind. Understanding. He set me up in the hallway at a desk we drug out the door, in front of the other staring students, and I took that terribly difficult test while my kids played Legos on the floor next to me.

I did not have the
“PRIVILEGE” of having a proctor. Nor the money to pretend I was present. I showed up. I rested on the laurels that the few midnight hours of study I’d managed would be enough…

SHAME on these scheming people for manipulating our college system and allowing money to take the place of their moral compass. Students all over this country are working, studying, showing up in tears for exams they’ve lost sleep over. It is a terrible thing to teach our young people – that money can get you whatever you want.

I chose to teach my boys a different lesson – that hard work, dedication, and being fearless will get you a well-earned B on the hardest exam. It will get you self-respect.

Christina Ward, Staff writer at O.N.E newspaper
@fnfwriter on Twitter
Fiddleheads &Floss
https://fiddleheadsnfloss.com/

A Stunning Prose piece, Recurring Dreams Of a Happy Child

Of Water and other Dreamy Things

I  had the BIGGEST IMAGINATION when I was a child. One recurring dream I had was that our house was full of water and I could swim all around in it like a big aquarium. Now, I am sure there are all kinds of interpretations of this, but for me…it sparked this lovely piece of prose. Enjoy!

Water Bubbles Under the Sea

Of Water and Other Dreamy Things

 

          I used to dream of water. Not the kind of water that winds down hills, shifting itself, a great endless slinky stepping across land to a vast and hungry sea, but a strange, floating, weightless water that filled our tiny house from wall to wall, window to door, toy box to floor. Iridescent blue, glowing, breathing, holding great bouncing bubbles in its belly, it welcomed me. Moonlight crept in the windows, wrapped its arms around each bubble, and danced a quiet waltz down my arms, across my back, and into my floating brunette spirals.

          I swam from room to room. From my bedroom I swam, down the quiet hall past my brother’s room with the great clown walls, past my parents ’room with the drawers of pencils and paper and the gray flat table where Daddy drew lines that made buildings grow up, to our white-flushed simple bathroom. There I’d float before the mirror, a tiny princess. I’d brush my teeth and get ready for school; my jeans legs pulling on easily without the usual tug and jerk. Jeans weren’t heavy in liquid dream. Mom didn’t have to shove her arm up the pant legs to tuck in the extra length., knuckles scraping knobby bone. My sleeves hung like moss, a velvet hug on cool skin.

          I used to dream a lot of things and not always in my sleep. I used to hear monkeys in the woods. They sang to me as I sailed on wooden swing, feet stretched toward sky, waiting for the night to bring its firefly dreams. A crimson sky would yield once more while toads tucked themselves safely under stone.

          I used to dream. I was a magical child.

If you enjoyed this, please like and comment, and check out these prose pieces as well:

“Clarity,” Winner of the Arrowhead Awards Best Prose Work, 2004

Today~

Horizons

Desperately Seeking Oblivion

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Desperately Seeking Oblivion

He wants to taste it,
quick on the tip of his tongue
sliding with ease
down into his gut…

Someone should tell him to stop
swallowing it whole.

A strange enigma,
[oblivion]
tasting like nothing,
encompassing, delivering, numbness…
a capsuled oasis in vast desert
to which all will dig and crawl
our tongues in our hands.

Sometimes the depth to which he thinks
is too deep for him to take…

So he swallows down, an
emptiness that won’t settle.
Again and again it rises
hissing in the back of his throat,
an esophageal argument
without victor.

He swallows it down again.

Thank you for reading my poetry. Be sure to follow, and check out my other poetry posts. 

Christina

Tomorrows ~ a poem about HOPE, by Christina Ward

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This poem is about hope. About reaching into tomorrow and becoming whatever you want to be. It is about connecting with the world around you and truly feeling inspired and blessed by it. What will your tomorrows bring? Will you embrace it? Here is my newest poem:

Tomorrows

 

Here it is.
A new year rising,
a great orange ball
of fire in the sky,
wearing my name
like a smile.

The door behind me
closes so easily,
the dust slipping away,
falling away like ash.
Grays can be
so deceiving.

This year I will dig
through colors and words
and paint them out
with a new fury.
Unbound and imperfect
I form and take flight.

Possibilities hang,
towels in the wind, clean,
smelling like summer,
tomorrow peeking through them
smiling at me.
Hope is fresh in the trees.

I am a fiddlehead
rising,
unfurling.
Can you see me?
The winds that drive me
are ever-changing.

I am feathers and fury,
green and growing,
Cirrus and stratus
stretching my arms in the sky.
I release and release
and unfold.

 

 

 

 

Comments and likes always appreciated. Have a great day everyone! (Note here, if you enjoy my poetry please do share it with others that may enjoy it. My group of readers is slowly growing and I would love to have more readers who can appreciate my work. Thank you so much.)

 

Christina ~

Flosstube Video 1 – Two-Handed Cross Stitching and Parking Method

Hi fellow stitchers and the curious stoppers-by, it’s a dreary North Carolina day and perfect for stitching. Some of you are aware that I am participating in the United Stitchers of America : Stitching George Washington project and I have been meaning to post a few updates. It is nearing the end of year one of this project and my panel#77 is coming along. I am currently stitching pages 9 and 10.

A fellow stitcher and I were discussing stitching methods. She stitches the “classic” cross stitch way (one hand holding the hoop or q-snap, and one hand stitching) which is how I learned but had to abandon due to some health complications. I created a video for her and my group, but wanted to share it here for my cross stitching followers.

You can find it on my NEW Flosstube channel:

 

 

Trust me, it’s pretty raw and my cat is howling hysterically in the middle of it, but still a good demo of two-handed cross stitching and parking method. Please remember  to like and comment to let me know your thoughts. Thanks you! Happy Stitching!

Christina

The Poet Cleaning ~ (a poem about being a poet/writer)

2 Boats on Seashore Beside Brown Tree

Ripped from the belly of the sea
pregnant with vowels
our tails slap hard
pendulous swings,
our eyes are benign, panicked moons,
fibroadenomas
sitting inside our heads.

They must be plucked out.

We climb outside ourselves,
hold the knife steady,
scrape against the grain,
shedding our silvers
until we are clean,
carve a canoe-slice across our necks
another, neck to belly,
our insides slide free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is a great honor to be a writer. Pouring yourself out like we do is both burdensome and liberating. This poem is about the process of self-examination, opening up our authenticity, and putting our inner-most thoughts on display, even if that process can be uncomfortable or revealing.

Scroll down for a “categories” box to help you explore blog posts that may be of particular interest to you. If you enjoy my writing, I invite you to follow this blog. Click out the green “Follow” button, on the right for computers, at the bottom for mobile devices.

Please leave your thoughts, interpretations, and responses to The Poet Cleaning in the comment box below.

Thank you,

Christina

A Poem Entitled “Coming Home” – An Honest Look at Life

 

 

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Let’s face it, living in cheap rental homes is no fun.

But while you are stuck in the financial setbacks and the upward struggles, this “limbo” IS your home. May as well slap a $3.25  Dollar General wreath on that door and make the best of it!

…see my poem below, about making the best of a situation.

Would love to hear your response to the poem.

 

Coming Home

 

There’s just something wonderful
about coming home again.

The back-porch steps know the weight
of your tired ass in the evenings,
the feel of your toes scraping
back and forth
on the cool concrete steps.

The grass knows the shapes
you carve into it.
The blades bend in submission,
then grow tall again
and wait for you.

The music knows just how
to crawl out of windows,
bend itself around corners,
disappear without capture.

Mockingbirds sit and wait,
sing you awake in the morning,
always too early
for sleepy ears.

Coming home,
to a place you don’t belong
is better than having
no place to be.

At least the door knows your key
and turns to let you in.