Little Kite Girl

So after my weekly (haha, yeah right) breakdown yesterday crying about life and just freaking out in general about holycraplaundrydustingdishesyourdayoffwewon’tdoanythingfuntogether John was like, “Hey, why don’t you go get your toes done?” Yes, expensive. But less expensive than therapy. Or so I hear.

I asked my mother to come along and we went to yet ANOTHER place looking for a replacement for the great Spicy Nails we found in Utah when I was pregnant.

We sat down in the chairs and stuck our feet in the water and I thought I was going to DIE. It was like when you stick your foot in the bath and it hurts and itches at the same time and you hop around the bathroom all nekked and then have to stand there with your arms wrapped around yourself with the cool water on for a few. Except that I was not nekked, not alone, and the guy doing my nails looked at me like, “Wimp.” So I just closed my eyes and tried to bear it. Then I noticed a weird kind of bubble/soap globule floating on top of the water that looked mysteriously like the weird bubbles floating in the hot tub the night of the Victoria’s Secret Whirlpool Dermititus Incident. (Yeah. That landed me in the hospital with a fever, a rash and a doctor thinking I had shingles and hooking me up to IV’s when really I just needed some meds cause the hot tub was CONTAMINATED.) I tried not to think about it. The guy took my foot out of the water and started to do his thing, except that my foot looked like a bloated lobster.

So he added some cool water.

So after that it went ok, except for the fact that the whole process (Spa Pedicure? Anyone?) involved a few different kinds of scrubbing, clipping and moisturizing. At one point they put my feet in plastic bags full of searing hot wax while putting icy cold lotion on my calves, and I literally thought,

“Holy crap. I’m going to pee myself.”

Meanwhile my Mom is fine. Shes takes REALLY HOT baths, so the heat wasn’t getting to her.

They finally got my feet scrubbed and pruned and de-waxed and started the whole toe-nail painting process. I stared in wonder at my legs and felt like my feet were very, very clean. And then all of a sudden we were done and my mom and I looked at each other and were like, “That’s it?” To have all of that deliberation just to have it end like that. I don’t know what I was expecting at the end but it definitely would have included more hurting and more blood. (Oh yeah, did I tell you at one point my mother and I both saw blood coming out of my foot into the water? Huh? He didn’t say anything so neither did I.)

And while we were waiting for our toes to dry a woman from CANADA (she announced it very loudly) came in to get her eyebrows waxed. She had to sit on a kitchen stool as the guy kind of straddled her to get at her eyebrows. Eyebrows and lap dance in one, apparently. How awkward. I wonder if she tipped extra.

So yeah. I don’t think we’ll go back to that place. But they look pretty.

Yeah.

There is a song we sing in our church which contains the lyrics:

“Come little child and together we’ll learn of his commandments that we may return home to his presence to live in his sight, always, always to walk in the light.”

Now, aside from the random Hocus Pocus feelings googling those lyrics brought up for me (I remember them when singing them, but not when I go to blog) I also conjure up a very real moment from my childhood when I sat, hyped up on sugar from candies surely containing Yellow 5 (super Yum) singing about how we wanted to return to God.  Because God had presents, yo.

No wonder I’m so messed up. (Due to the the willful and selfish misunderstanding of doctrine, not the Yellow 5.  I’m sure that did little more than make me happy at the time.)

I had written an entire post about my findings from a book I just read, The Unhealthy Truth by Robyn O’Brien.  It was long and full of vindication for my personal mistrust of soy products and a new longing to purify our food supply. I also included the things we’ve also done well foodwise so far, since Camper has been born, and a bit of wonderment about how I can care so much about his health and well-being while not thinking twice to down a Diet Coke, myself.  But then I erased it.  Because if you want to you can read it yourself and figure things out on your own.

But there is one thing I wanted to talk about.

In her book she said “Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.”

I had to think about that for a minute.  And then I realized that it was profound and relevant to MY ENTIRE LIFE.  I so badly want to be perfect.  Perfect Erin, perfect family, perfect house, perfect health and perfect situation.  And every day I fail.  Big surprise, right?  But in letting that ideal get me down when I am unable to achieve it, I sometimes also just fail to do any GOOD.  But the last few days I’ve worried less about the perfect and enjoyed the good.  And sometimes I even fail at that.  But I think it helps.  I think it will help.  I can’t give up on things I think are important just because I can’t do it perfectly.  I can do it well enough and just move on.

Or, as I like to say to myself lately, “Do what you can and call it good.”

Today was a wet and snowy day. Yuck. Camper watched poppop plow the driveway, I drove through the slush to teach piano. Didn’t get enough done. What’s new? Maybe Spring will come soon.