Do you Smell what I Smell?

I bet you didn't know that a healthy person passes gas about three times a day. I know some of you are thinking, "Eww gross, not me!" let me assure you that even if you NEVER fart, you in fact do... and it is probably in your sleep if you are so polite as to never do it during waking hours. Lets face it, farting is a fact of life and a healthy process over all.

So I'm sure you won't be surprised when I tell you that I do fart (we all do) but what may surprise you are some of a my fart stories. You expect these fart stories from guys; I had a brother growing up... but even if you are too polite to discuss it I bet we girls have stories too.

Getting over my shyness about farting happened in college living in a girls dorm. Christmas was drawing near and my room mate and I were hanging out in our room working on last minute papers and projects; the local radio station playing Christmas carols softly in the background. I was engrossed in the last paragraph of an English paper so I was attempting to hold in a monster fart until I could finish it and excuse myself from our room. Finally the paragraph was done and as I shifted to get up off the couch the monster ripped free just as the radio sang "Do you hear what I hear?" into the quite room. A suspended second of silence followed before Soul Mate began to laugh uncontrollably while singing "Do you hear what I hear?" between laughter and gasps for breath. I stood still as a statue not knowing what to do. Then she laughed again, sucked in a huge breath, grinned and with perfect pitch quietly sang, "Do you smell what I smell?" and proceeded to laugh uncontrollably. I left the room a bit red-faced. From that moment on it was our own private joke, "Do you hear what I hear?" We'd say it whenever we noticed that someone had farted around us or we farted in our room.

An unfortunate few of you know the lingering power of smells. You know, onions on your fingers after making dinner, no matter how much you wash the smell is still there. Soul Mate and I discovered that farts can linger... for days. It was a bright spring Sunday morning and we were off to church. As usual Soul Mate was driving so we headed into the parking lot and dropped into her cherry red nissan stanza. As the seat belts were sliding into place she turned down the radio and we stopped, sniffed, and looked at each other. "Do you smell what I smell?" I in a puzzled voice. As a rule you try not to fart in your Sunday best. Soul Mate sniffed the air again and proclaimed, "I can't believe it!" I raised my eye brow as I rolled down my window. "I gave a guy a ride home from work last night and he farted in the car. It wasn't all that bad but we rolled down the windows anyway." I gave her a look and said, "You're telling me THIS smell is a fart from last night? Are you sure he didn't crap in the back seat?" She gave me a dirty look in response. Despite my window being down the smell seemed to be getting worse. Soul Mate had a disbelieving look on her face and had yet to start the car. "Ok," I said, "I'm driving, this is amazing and way too overpowering. It smells like poop." I got out of the car and she followed after rolling down all the windows. A couple of days later I asked if the smell was still there; she glared at me and said "faintly." So as a general warning, while farting in cars may be fun when there are lots of people in the car and its too rainy or cold to roll down the windows - be warned that sometimes the smell lingers.

I don't know if anyone else out there has a place or time that they just KNOW they are going to have terrible gas. I'm not talking about certain foods like beans or broccoli but a place or situation. I have one. Although I'm not exactly sure of the cause, maybe the quiet atmosphere and contemplative people but I get silent but deadly gas every time I go to Blockbuster to rent a movie. Sounds crazy I know but Love of My Life can testify to this strange phenomenon. Every time I go into Blockbuster, I start at one end of the new release wall and usually before I hit the titles starting with "C" my bowls are rolling. It is never the kind of gas you can "hold" either. It is the kind that feels like your insides will explode if you don't let it out. So as my stomach rolls I cringe; I know what will happen when I reach the "H" titles. The first one that slips out is such a relief and I move quickly away down the alphabet of new releases and hope that will be the only one. It is oozing its way around the store and people are trying not to look around -it is truely terrible! By the time I reach the "S" and "T" my bowls are on a roll and there is a small but noxious silent fart with almost every step. I hate going to Blockbuster to pick out movies and I promise I won't be offended if you happen to see me there and wait for me to leave before entering. Needless to say NetFlix was a gift from God for more reasons that one!

Lastly, and probably best, you all know I teach middle schoolers. Middle schoolers are at that wonderful age when adults are not quite human yet because they don't expect adults (especially teachers) to have the same issues they do. I have classes all day long, including after lunch. Well sometimes the food at lunch just doesn't agree with me and I feel a little gassy later in the day. One day it was particularly bad and there was no way to hold it in until class was over. Normally, while they are working I would excuse myself into the hall to get a drink of water and come back relieved. This day I was lecturing on chemical bonds and we were running behind so there was no stopping. As I stood in the front of the class talking about ionic bonds I let a silent one go and never missed a beat, just kept right on talking like it never happened. The students in the front row began to wrinkle their noses then look at each other. The girls all immediately looked down the row at the boy sitting at the end. His eyes were wide and he shook his head as if not say "not me!" I pretended I didn't notice any of this and kept right on with the lesson. To this day I don't think they are aware who the real offender was that day... or the many days since. You see, I learned something that day too. The middle schoolers never suspect the teacher of such an offense. Since then I've never worried about farting in class... cruel as it may be; someone else will take the blame.

Enjoy your healthy poofs today!

Hiding from Eighth Graders

As many of you know I had a miscarriage in July so when I found out I was pregnant in late August Love of My Life and I decided to wait until the second trimester to make the announcement.

And then school started...

To really appreciate this story you must understand that I teach at a teacher's paradise. My average class size is about 16 students with a class as few as 5 and a max of 20 students. I have three 45-minute plan periods and a free lunch. To top it off we have an award-winning health and wellness program and as a result the lunches are actually good.

In this paradise I teach science to 7th and 8th grade students. Because I'm the only 7th and 8th grade science teacher I get to teach my lovely students for two years in a row. Needless to say, we get to know each other very well. To further deepen our relationship in 7th grade I act as an advisor/mentor to help them through the challenges of middle school.

Last year I was blessed with the greatest group of kids I've had the pleasure to teach. They are talented, funny, smart and all round great kids. There is not one of them I wouldn't take home to call my own (well maybe one or two) but you get the idea. Over the course of last year we had fun, learned science and I honestly thanked God each day for the wonderful kids and work environment. We got to know each other very well and I actually looked forward to this school year starting because I knew I'd get to teach my wonderful kids one more year.

That's when things got crazy..... I got pregnant. I figured out I was pregnant a few days before school started. So the year began with doctor visits, migraines and morning (round-the-clock) sickness. I missed several days of school and was battling fatigue and sickness. However, I've always considered myself a trooper and I was certain that while at school, my kids were getting the best of my day. I soon figured out when and what to eat and was prescribed some great anti-nausea medication. I was back on top of the world and feeling great. I was careful to not breath a word at school about being pregnant just in case I miscarried again I wouldn't have much to explain.

So about eight weeks along a fellow teacher approached me at lunch. "Now, I don't mean to pry but I have the 8th graders for study hall and they have some pretty wild ideas!" She is a motherly older woman and her face was full of concern. "Some of the 8th graders think you are pregnant!" She felt this would shock and concern me and quickly followed up, "but really, dear, I don't think you've gained a pound since last year so I can't imagine what has gotten into their heads." Wringing her hands, I'm sure she felt she would offend me. I laughed and patted her hand, "Its ok. I'm not sure how they know either but I am pregnant." Her eyes widened and she said "Oh dear! How wonderful for you!" I then quickly asked her to keep it quiet for now that I would announce it soon enough. She gave me a conspiratorial wink and said, "I'll keep an ear out in study hall and see if they mention it again."

This gave me one more thing for my poor brain to try and process. My pregnancy had not been leaked by anyone because there was no one to leak the information. I had too many other things going to worry about... until the next day at lunch my friend approached me again.

"Well they were discussing it again today in study hall." She apparently was enjoying the secrecy and stealth. We leaned in closer, "Today they were wondering who, if anyone, would ask you if you are pregnant. It didn't seem like they came to a conclusion." She looked from side to side to see if anyone was listening then continued, "apparently they concluded that you are because of the absences, you are eating in class and the fact that you are so much more cranky this year than last year seemed to be the clincher!" She smiled triumphantly.

CRANKY?!?!?! ME CRANKY??? That is middle school speak for witchy with a capital B!!! My head was swimming? Was I more cranky? Was I being mean to my favorite, sweet, innocent kids? I had to admit it was probably true.

Lucky for me there was a faculty meeting after school so I went ahead and announced it to all the faculty and staff. The following day I made the announcement in my classes. There were shouts of "I KNEW IT" from my 8th graders.

Yet again, proof that kids are watching you all the time.

Love Ya class of 2014!!!

"Falling" in Love

Imagine me, the somewhat shy yet self-involved teen, entering 9th grade. It was the height of the 90's grunge movement that, like all the outcast movements before it, couldn't quite stamp out the jocks and "popular" girls. Nor did they seek to remedy the woebegone status of the geeks and terminally normal kids.

That was me, terminally normal. I wasn't ugly, wasn't beautiful, wasn't trendy, and yet not nerdy either. I was helplessly stuck in some ambiguous state of normal and thus ignored by everyone; including the nerds. Make no mistake, I was relatively happy. As happy as any self-conscious ninth grade girl can be. I had a few great friends and was lacking any serious self destructive obsessions that plague young teen girls. I made pretty good grades and performed pitifully at cross country but at least I was "involved" with school. I was cruising through the year with little trouble and had avoided developing any major social complexes when "he" arrived.

The moment he stepped foot on campus every girl, from the nerdy book worm to the hottest cheerleader, took notice. His name spread like wildfire down the halls and through classrooms, Luke. Luke was mysterious. He had shoulder length dirty blond hair that was wavy and unkempt and had somehow turned money into grunge. It was apparent that he was rich and because he was trend-setting grunge, he was every mother's bane. Every silly girl's dream.

My friends and I noticed him too. At first I was put off by his grungy clothes and then he dropped from my mind whenever the girls weren't gossiping about him. I couldn't get away from the stories and speculation that ran wild through the whispered longings of my peers. Apparently he was wealthy and sent to live with his uncle (the ROTC teacher) because he was too much of a handful for his poor mother. Not only were his parents rich but he was independently wealthy, having a trust fund of his own courtesy of Disney World when he lost his thumb on a ride there at the age of seven. The more I heard the more I though "freak" and tried to ignore the endless babble around me. This being impossible, I also learned that he played guitar and wrote songs and poetry. I had a few classes with him and like all the other popular people I ignored him and he ignored me.

Despite my attempt to remain ignorant I eventually had to introduce myself in order to complete a group assignment. I noticed he had two thumbs and decided not to believe a word of all the crap I was hearing. Like always I finished the assignment while cheerleader 1 and cheerleader 2 cooed like birds and flirted with Luke. I was happy when class was over and I could go fume with my friends about having to do all the work. Thankfully this was all the interaction I'd had with him and life went on as normal for about two weeks (which is an eternity for a high school girl.) During those weeks Luke hadn't asked out a single girl or showed particular interest which really had all the girls anxious and uptight. The subtle girl fight began to win his heart. The opening line of Pride and Prejudice rings true... if on a less "permanent" level. "It is a universally known truth that every single man in possession of a fortune is in want of a wife." It was apparent to every girl that he must be in want of a girlfriend.

I was having a strange week. It was only Wednesday but strange things were happening. Girls I normally talked to wouldn't say a word to me while those who never talked to me were giving me the evil eye. Guys who never looked twice were looking enough to make me blush and my friends had no explanation. On my way to my locker that morning was creepy. It felt like the whole school was watching me walk down the hall holding their breath in anticipation. Oh sure, I know, they weren't ALL looking at me; but many were and some I felt were trying to appear not to look. I mentally confirmed that I had put clothing on that morning and fumbled with the combination lock on my locker.

The door swung open with a creak that shattered the silence and there, taped to the door, was a rumpled, folded piece of note book paper. For a moment I stared at the paper wondering who'd gotten into my locker then snatched it down and shoved it in my backpack. With my luck it was from some hopeless puppy dog type guy that it would break my heart to say no... so I didn't want to read it.. that way I didn't have to say "no". I unloaded my homework and gathered the stuff for first and second period. I swung the door closed hoping for some privacy before I read the note, whoever it was from.

Luke was walking up the hall, cool as ever. He did actually have beautiful eyes. I was startled when I realized those pretty green eyes were intent on my face. I must have looked amusing because he smiled a crooked little smile that made his eyes light up. My heart fluttered and I dropped my head hoping to brush by quickly. Obviously I was between him and some girl, how embarrassing. Even more embarrassing was when he grabbed my arm as I brushed by, "Paige. Wait." The silence in the hall was deafening and I wondered if everyone was slowly suffocating.

Startled, I stopped and looked up at him a little confused. "Hi Luke."

"Did you get my note?" His voice was honey with a bit of sand and gravel - sweet but rough.

I continued to stare. "Your note?" I said stupidly, my brain failing miserably to make the connection that the most sought after guy in school had put a note in my locker.

He began to look a bit nervous too. "Yeah. It was in your locker. Didn't you see it?"

Realization hit me and I blushed to the roots of my sandy blond hair. "Yes, I did. I have it but I haven't read it yet."

His smiled widened. "Let me know when you do." With that he continued strolling down the hall.

I was shell shocked but suddenly everyone was breathing again. Not only that - they were buzzing like flies on dead meat. And I was dead meat. My best friends were tugging on my arms squeaking things like "what did he say?" "did you read the note?" "WOW". I brushed them off and while it was still ten minutes before first period began I sought out the Algebra room for some peace and quite - because really... who'd hang out in Algebra class?

With trembling hands I pulled the note out and read a beautifully written poem asking me out on a date that Friday. (I'd insert the poem here but in truth I've lost it and I would never do it justice to attempt to recreate it.) I'd never really been on a date before; after all, who would drive? My mom? No way!

I couldn't believe it; the most popular guy in school had just asked me out on a date! Me! Plain, ordinary, terminally normal me! I realized that it must be some kind of set up or dare... I'd seen too many Molly Ringwald movies not to know what was going on... but still my heart soared at the idea that for a moment I was a star.

Knowing that it wouldn't last I decided to play it cool. This was my one shot to be the envy of every girl; I wasn't going to mess it up with all my stammering and blushing like I did that morning. True to my word I breezed by him in the hall later and at his questioning look said, "Oh right. Sorry! I'll read it next period. Promise!" and rushed off with my heart pounding at my dare devil self. Wheww this was fun! My English class with him was coming up quickly so I'd have to tell him my answer then.

What would I answer? If it was all a joke I knew I should say no. BUT. But what if it wasn't a joke? Country song lyrics, "ride this ride far as it will go..." floated through my head and I decided to say yes. Perhaps he wanted to get to know me, well, I figured I could get to know him too and thought I just might like alternative music and baggy clothes.

He seemed genuinely pleased that I said yes and slipped me a tattered spiral bound notebook with a black scratched up cover. I spent all that day reading through these amazing poems that were dark, edgy and endearing. They spoke of loss, heartbreak and loneliness. My mom is reading this blog now, understanding me so well that she knows I was on a mission. My heart was putty yet resolved to show him that he wasn't alone, that someone cared. I cared.

Thursday and Friday at school rolled by in an unreal haze. Apparently my accepting his invitation for a date on Friday was also an acceptance to being his girl friend. He walked me to every class, holding my hand and offering to carry my books. These strolls through the halls earned smiles from other terminally normal kids and scowls from the popular girls. I couldn't get enough of his poetry, the supply of beat up notebooks seemed endless.

Although high school football wasn't really anywhere we'd normally go; where else would our parents let us go together without them? So Friday evening his uncle drove him over to my house and waited in the car as Luke came to the door.

I was wearing an outfit I hoped was cute but a little sexy and a bit grungy (only a high school girl could even think that was possible). I'd even borrowed a pair of combat boots and my older brother's jeans and flannel for the occasion. The only thing that was mine was the small, tight cut off shirt that showed more than normal now that my brother's jeans were hanging on my hips. I was glad to have the flannel to cover my belly with.. I was quite shy.

I wanted to make an entrance so my mom got the door and let him in. Luke sat down on the sofa to the right of the stairs. My mom made a face at me from the bottom of the stairs and I waited at the top for another minute. I took a deep breath and started down the steps wondering if he'd like the outfit.

Once I cleared the line where wall becomes banister I looked over at the couch with the sexiest smile I could manage. That's when everything went wrong. I felt my feet stumbling over the untied laces of the boots, saw his eyes widen as my sexy smile became a grimace of horror knowing I would fall.

The baggy, flannel I was wearing over my too tight cut off shirt seemed to trap my arms at my side in the wealth of material. In what I know was an ungraceful, sloppy head-first fall I tumbled down the remaining stairs. I was more mortified that hurt, looking up from my back at my feet still splayed on the stairs, one boot coming off and resting by my ear. Then I heard a sound that I knew heralded my death by mortification... Luke was laughing hysterically. Like a doomed damsel turning to watch the light of the train barreling toward her, I turned my head just as Luke rolled off the couch holding his sides in laughter.

I wanted to crawl under the couch he'd just vacated and hide until high school was over. I knew that this was the climax of the cruel social joke and I'd handed it over like a fool. Visions of laughing students filled my mind and I wanted to cry. I put a hand over my face in effort to hold in the tears of shame as Luke finally got his laughter under control.

To my surprise he croaked out, "Are you ok?" and seeing my hands helplessly trying to hind my tears quickly came over to help me up. I let him, knowing for sure the date was over. "Hey that was pretty awesome. I needed a good laugh, I hope you're ok though." his gravely sweet voice was so sincere that I chanced a look at his face. There was no guile, no triumph, just amusement and concern. I let out a shaky breath unsure of what to say. "Well, are you ready to go?" he asked. It turned out to be a great first date.

So that was one of my embarrassing moments. Luke was a genuine article and we "dated" as best two teens without transportation can for about three months (forever in teen girl time). Instead of his catapulting me to fame, he dropped into my obscurity but stuck with me anyway. I was the happiest I'd been up to that point in my life and he became my first love. It fizzled in tearful good byes when he went back home, miles and miles away but I'll always have nice memories.

Bikini or not to Bikini

If you've ever been to the beach you know the ratio of bikinis to hot babes is way out of proportion. More often than not you see chicks in bikinis that probably shouldn't be wearing one but at the same time it isn't obscenely gross either. You walk away saying, "What was she thinking?" Well here is your answer.

So why do these average, soft around the middle types wear string bikinis at the beach? I can tell you because believe it or not... I've done it. Please don't cringe... I'm not sure I'll ever do it again; but there is a reason I joined the ranks of those I'd criticized in my slimmer days.

Any girl can tell you that when you're not fat but don't have a hard, slim well-defined body bathing suits are especially cruel. I began my search for a swim suit to wear in Hawaii; and yes, I knew it was coming and like any typical girl I went and got a gym membership. The problem was that the gym only helped marginally - there is only so much you can do in three months without drugs and starvation (neither of which I'm willing to do) while working full time.

So the search is on; at first I exclusively tried on one-piece suits..... after all I knew how soft and wobbly my belly was. Now I know swim suits have to be tight so they don't get pulled off by the waves but seriously! Every suit I tried on that fit the leg holes and straps around the back and arms were always tight. So tight that the one piece suits actually created fat rolls in my back, gave me four butt cheeks and bulges just above the straps near my arm pits... eww gross! Now I know some of you are thinking, "Just get a bigger size." Well I tried that. I'm short and in the world of one piece suits bigger also means taller.... so I end up with a suit that doesn't bulge but has straps that reach my ears or a crotch that reaches my knees. What's a short, wobbly girl to do?

So now I've gone from having somewhat of a nice shape to rolls, bulges, and multiple cheeks that hadn't been there before. After days of shopping and a myriad of complains, a girlfriend of mine threw a blue polka-dot string bikini into the dressing room. "Just put it on!" she said. So I did.

I was amazed! No, I didn't look fabulous, but all the rolls and bulges were gone and I was back to my standard two butt cheeks. Not only were the bulges gone but it wasn't tight and the circulation to my legs was flowing normally. As I stared into the mirror I realized the problem. My tummy wasn't too attractive.... and I was looking at someone I would have thought shouldn't be in a bikini.

My choice was either a tight, uncomfortable one-piece that created unsightly bulges or a two piece that was comfortable but might have people shaking their heads at me saying, "What was she thinking?" Remembering the black one-piece at home that Love Of My Life referred to as the "baby seal" suit I made up my mind to buy the silly polka-dot bikini.

My first day in Hawaii I was too self-conscious to put it on... so off I went in my blue and white, full-coverage, vertical-stripe one-piece with the bulges and rolls. After being on the beach for a day I realize that I looked about like all those other not-ugly but not-pretty girls out there and I could handle that if it meant comfort.

So there you have it... those girls aren't attempting to say their mushy tummies and soft thighs are the next hottest thing.... bikinis are just more comfortable at least physically... it takes some mental courage to wear them and thus those girls should be applauded. I'm a little older now and a bit more squishy and I've discovered tankinis... perfect solution to cover the belly wobble... so you'll not see me in a bikini again (at least I say that now but comfort will rule out in the end!)

Hair Trauma

Thin hair with a bit of wave can be boring; especially when you have no interest in spending time primping in front of the mirror. So in college I cut it very short, about 3 inches long all around. While I was confident I didn't look like a boy - I didn't look too feminine either. Once my hair grew out again I did long layers and it has been that way for the past 7 years. Boring!

So Love Of My Life gets deployed to the Middle East for three months and I jump at the chance to mess with my hair. All you girls know how guys get about hair; so you know why I waited. My wild hair for a change turns into a bunch of wild hairs. A spiral perm (no matter how big the curls) was a terrible idea. I knew from the moment the rods starting coming out of my hair that I'd made a colossal mistake. Talk about a throw back to the 70s, I looked like a free-love hippy. Part of the choice to perm was that I thought it would be a wash and go type situation. Well after the perm fried my thin hair it was nothing

but curl and frizz.

At least I had the sense to laugh. And laugh I did; all the way home in fact. When I got home I followed my first survival instinct when things go horribly wrong in life - I called my mother. Of course there was no way to describe my new do so I snapped a few pictures and sent them.

Always diplomatic and supportive my mom remarks that "it doesn't look bad". I laugh at her evasion and attempt to get her to say it looks terrible. After prodding I finally got her to say "Well, I wouldn't like it on me." Close enough.

With no remorse and high hopes of restoration of boring hair I washed my hair the very next morning with lots of pulling and brushing. Then I blew it dry using a brush to pull it straight. Surprisingly it worked. My hair was still fried and the perm was tenacious but the next day at work no one noticed anything.

I decide never to tell Love Of My Life about my $80 lapse in judgement. In the end we went to visit my family and I decided to tell him on the way there just in case my mom brought it up. She did; and he still makes fun of me.

Now, four months later my poor hair is still dry and damaged but at least it is growing out.

How do I make a baby?

With my husband in the military, I'm staunchly opposed to government health care based on the level of service and care I receive from my doctors on base. Here a funny but true story.

My husband and I are planning to start a family and my OBGYN suggested I have several tests done before we even attempt to conceive. Because I needed my insurance to pay for the tests, I had to get my primary care physician on base to order the tests. I tried to be hopeful, but thoughts of "here we go again" kept rolling through my head. At least this time I knew what I needed and hoped I could bully the doctor into the tests if he was not so inclined.

I made the appointment and once in the office and explained the reason for my visit.... that my OBGYN wanted some tests done and I wanted them done for free on base. The doctor (a different one) was a young guy, probably late 20's early 30's with no wedding ring. To my delight he agreed to order the tests for me. I was having such good luck I decided to press it a little bit. Because I've never had a child before I didn't know if I had to use base doctors or if I could get referred to use my private OBGYN (which I really want to do). So I asked the doctor... "If all the tests come back great, what do I do from here. Which office on base do I contact?"
He responded with a sheepish grin and a slight blush, "well, there are all kinds of websites and information on line on how to best conceive a child." Wow.... I quickly interrupted him, "I'm quite clear on "how" to conceive a child. Let me rephrase my question. Once I am pregnant which office on base to I contact next? I realize that you don't do pregnancy care here do you?"
He cleared his throat and turned a deeper red, "No we don't do that here. I don't know what office you would contact after you are pregnant. I'll get one of the nurses to help you."

Crazy! I sincerely hope that once I am pregnant I am able to get referred off-base.. the prospect of having a baby in the hands of these government doctors is scary. Wish me luck!