Still Standing and Delivering

I have been wanting to post about my grandpa Dwight for quite a few months now...since his 85th birthday. He is actually closer to 86 now but as he just gets more remarkable with age, I guess there is no harm in the wait. Plus, as it is Father's Day, there is no better time to feature someone whose fatherhood directly impacts my existence.

Recently, he was featured in the Record Gazette, which highlighted his extensive (and ongoing) teaching career. I have witnessed him in the classroom and found his ability to adapt and connect to today's generation and demographic amazing. He even incorporates Spanglish to get the attention of his students ("ojos -up here").

The article captures the spirit of my gpa as well as a brief article can. It mistakenly lists that he has three daughters (make that granddaughters) and it fails to mention that he does 200 reps each morning with his dumbells (I believe they are 20 lbs each) and that even at 85 he might build a block wall or two, maybe pour a driveway or any other miscellaneous concrete work that he has more years experience in than I have breathing. When he is not working or working out, you might find him in the hot tub, in the kitchen frying up some delicious meat product, studying scripture or watching the Angels play ball...or women's basketball (he may be the only one).

My kids keep laughing that their grandpa (great) is in the newspaper and I love that the interviewing gathered some of his words of wisdom to be passed on to my/his posterity. Miles always says that gpa tells him that he is "full of beans" and the gpa Dwight phrase that I associate most with him is "oh, fudge!", which rings as clearly in my ears as if he were standing in the same room...wearing swim trunks, a ball cap and making "goulash".

32.

Me at 33

32...33??

Here I am, the big 3-2 - actually the big 32 and 9 days to be exact - and although 'big' is not the operative word here, I do hope to look a little less...um...healthy when the next bday comes around, but for now I'll just enjoy the fact that carrying some extra padding fills in the burgeoning wrinkles ;)

Until a couple months ago I thought I was going to be turning 33 this year which I was kind of excited about (I just like the way the number looks) but it turns out that I was only 31 all of last year so I guess I get a bonus year. So here's to being 32 all over again!

Gymtime - A family affair

Here are some pictures from the gymnastics class I took back in March- May. I did two sessions then have taken a break because moving takes so much time/energy. It was a lot of fun and I was pleasantly surprised that my tumbling is as strong as it is after all these years. Flexibility - not so much. Front tuck - better than ever. Front walk-over - forget it.

Ben took a class and the kids just love getting thrown in the pit.

(This is as far as Ben can stretch)

What I learned in gymnastics this week.

Two things a thirty year old should never do-

a) wear a leotard
b) jump on a trampoline or spring floor, especially if you have given birth

Look out. Momma's starting gymnastics class tonight.


I should have started stretching yesterday.

Thirty is the new Fifty.

Thanks for the invitation American Association of Retired Persons. Even though you put out a decent magazine and I'm sure you offer great discounts at establishments I probably don't frequent, I'm going to have to pass for now. Call me again in twenty years.

I feel younger already.

I wish I could say that I got Botoxed to cure headaches, excessive sweating or some other medical necessity but I didn't. I wish it were for research or investigative reporting but it wasn't. A shameless plot to increase our stock in Allergan? Afraid not.

Pure and simple vanity, curiosity and a good deal got the best of me.

And I love it.

I've been thinking about it off and on since Ben mentioned that I might want to try it about two years ago (this time frame most likely correlates with a rotation in plastic surgery, dermatology or ENT). The area of concern is the vertical crease between the eyebrows (corrugator muscle). Which for some reason - genetics, overworking the muscle (i.e.-one too many years of dirty looks directed at B.), sun-exposure (only in the last four years have I become a sunblock addict, which leaves a lot of years of outdoor sports and lifeguarding to account for), etc. has resulted in a fairly deep wrinkle that even when I try to smooth out, remains. It may be one of the reasons the bang thing was working for me. Furthermore, and what pushed me to the edge of actually researching it, when I wake up in the morning the line is deeper and I feel like I have been scrunching up my face for hours. I blame this on not having shades for our windows, causing light to stream in multiple sides of my room in the morning; I think I must be trying to block it out by scrunching. So maybe I should have invested in some shades instead, but when I get something in my mind I usually have to try it before I can be through with it.

Long chain of events shortened, I got half-off a treatment from a renowned plastic surgeon and the appointment was set. I briefly considered canceling it, but after being reminded that this was a preventative (as well as corrective) measure I went ahead with it.

Being in a plastic surgeons office is a strange thing, especially at my age. You want to size up the people in the waiting room and guess what they are having or have had done. For some it's obvious. I was hoping that anyone giving me the once over would be wondering what I could possibly be needing, or guessing that I had been skillfully attended to already. I was fairly confident that the doctor himself would question why I was there. I couldn't have been more wrong. If I thought that going into a nail salon for a manicure and being asked if I was there for an eyebrow wax was unflattering then I was about to be humiliated.

The doctor, who is in his 70's, comes in and without even introducing himself grabs a handheld mirror and holds it in front of my face while saying "I wish you would let me do a brow lift" (brows spontaneously go up at this point, perhaps in horror and fear of being displaced) and he proceeds to show me where my brows are headed and where they "should" be as well as indicating that he would simply remove the corrugator muscle entirely, resulting in a completely smooth forehead, no Botox required (I picture Nicole Kidman). He says it will instantly "youthinize" you (I am actually just guessing here that he meant it as a made-up word and not euthanize although I didn't verify this). So I say, "if you remove that muscle then how will my husband know when I'm mad at him" and he replies "well you don't want him to think you're mad at him when you're not". Touché.

He leaves the room to prepare for the procedure and leaves me with the mirror which I make a few faces in and then put down. Still stunned by the turn of events, I am resolved not to even think of such a thing. He even wanted to remove the mole beneath my left eye. Never! Suddenly Botox doesn't seem so extreme. I see an eye cream I am interested in trying out advertised in a magazine and start searching for a pen to make a note of it. I can only find surgical markers in a drawer but I use one anyway.

He returns and 5 minutes and 4 (I think) slightly painful injections later I am handed a purple ice pack and am good to go. I pick up the mirror one last time and am amazed at the transformation. I look 28 again!


Before

After