More Than We Can Handle

People always say God won't give you more than you can handle.

That is bullshit. God frequently gives you more than you can handle. Or maybe he is targeting me specifically. But I am frequently overwhelmed and under prepared to meet the challenges that face me everyday.

This morning I spoke to a friend and her 2 year-old daughter has a brain tumor. See that's really more than anyone should have to handle. Add to that Abby was already ill with a rare chromosome disease and where are we? Literally her daughter is missing part of a chromosome and she will never recover. Now she has a brain tumor.

Did I mention this family also survived Katrina?

This seems like more than God intended for Michael and Laurie to handle.

I was thinking about this all day today because this really is pissing me off. What am I supposed to say to my friend? How is she supposed to tell her son Jacob about this? What the hell kind of God would come up with this test?

The link is faith. That has to be the link. Because there is no logical explanation or rationalization for getting from my daughter has a brain tumor to God wouldn't give me more than I can handle.

So we suspend belief and rational thinking and pray that there will be some miracle. We pray for closure. We pray for safety from and understanding of death for our children.

Who really is equipped to handle this and why would God present us with this tragedy?

I was thinking about this all day. Thinking about it during my bullshit conference calls about marketing blah blah blah. Thinking about it when I found two dead sparrows under my bird feeder because the hawk is back in his killing fields. Thinking about it when I thought of my friend and her daughter and my son who is healthy.

What I am beginning to think and I'm just putting this together so bear with me. But what I'm beginning to think is God puts reminders in front of us, heavenly and deathly and otherwise. God reminds us of nature and health and the big picture. When a child is sick, it is a vivid reminder of how small everything else is.

I believe God gives us more than we can handle and then asks us to suspend belief and rely on faith. I believe this is because we stray too far in the direction of thinking what we do matters all that much.

I honestly don't see why those signs should manifest as a sick child. I think two dead sparrows are enough of a reminder that we are not in charge.

I would ask God to remember the Azzanos and all they've been through so far. Have mercy on them and on Abby. Let Abby's long life be a reminder of what we can handle and get through. By hook, by crook, by faith or other means.

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/abbyazzano

Part Deux: Is it Bad that I Forgot My Husband's Birthday?

Really there is no excuse for this one. I don't even know how it happened. I woke up and went to get coffee. I put in a load of laundry. I started making my son's lunch for camp and realized we didn't have hot dog buns. I jumped on my scooter and went to the grocery, raced back and my husband was on his way out the door. Goodbye kiss.

Downstairs to put laundry into dryer and I started thinking that it was Wednesday. Wednesday, hmmm, sounds familiar. Is there something I need to do today?

Oh shit. It's my husband's birthday.

Now I'm going to have to think of something genuinely nice that I can do for him. I have something in mind. My son and I are going to bring a cake to his office. Make a big fuss about him. He won't be expecting that.

One possible drawback is the cake will draw attention to the fact that he is the oldest creative director on staff. But I think he'll like it. Plus all those kids he works with must love cake. All kids love cake. Right?

The Edward Scissorhands of Bikini Waxing

WARNING: Friends and family should not read this post as the accompanying mental image could result in hysterical blindness.

Okay I don't even know how to explain what just happened. First of all I've been having these psychic flashes all week. I guessed a friend was pregnant. I was telling my husband over lunch how embarrassed I was about something I'd done at work and thinking how could it get any worse.

Suddenly on television they started airing and re-airing the scene of a Wimbledon ball boy bumping Serena Williams in the boob. Over and over again. Close up on the boob. Close up on the ball boy. A diagram of him hitting her boob. Sign from god. It could get worse.

The other night my husband and I were talking and yada yada yada he said something about becoming a bikini waxer and I said if he were a bikini waxer he would be the Edward Scissorshands of bikini waxing...because he's so anal and a graphic designer and all...get it?

Here's the latest psychic flash. I just met the Edward Scissorhands of bikini waxing or to more accurately describe it, I was the victim of said person.

You see it all started when I went to Lake Compounce, an area amusement park, with my friend Sylvie and her son Alex. Sylvie is this beautiful, rich French woman that I'm becoming friends with. Normally I would not make friends with a beautiful, rich French woman but she also happens to be very funny.

So we're going to Lake Compounce and Sylvie says, "I hope you don't mind being seen with a gorilla. I am growing my hair out for waxing." You see French women never shave. They only wax. It's considered uncouth to shave, the way American women do is really what they're trying to say. Having lived in France for a year and gone the way of waxing, I thought I'd ask who she uses in town. Does she have some secret French waxing connection no one else knows?

She told me to go see this girl at Angel Nails.

Lina from Angel Nails in Fairfield is the Edward Scissorhands of bikini waxing. We've just come face-to-face (sort of) and I'm still in shock and awe. Lina is from Vietnam. I ask her if she speaks French. She says no the young generation doesn't speak French.

The implication being I must be from the older generation since I'm even aware of a generation of Vietnamese people who once, many, many, many years ago spoke French. Then she looks at me and asks if I have any children. A boy I said. She says, "No stretchmarks. You're lucky" Okay so right there I should've surmised that I am but a piece of meat to Lina.

I have never experienced anything like what happened with Lina nor will I go into detail as many of you know (pretending I have loyal readers) my policy regarding anything sexual is silence and shame. I absolutely do not discuss it.

Normally how this goes is the waxer will ask the waxee their preference. Telly Savalas etc you've heard the jokes. Lina just dove right in and I have to say looking back on it that I could've easily overpowered her at any moment. But I lay there in silence, watching in disbelief.

And now I am so thoroughly waxed I think I could wear a thimble as a bathing suit bottom and no one would see a thing. Just skin for miles. I feel a bit like I've been given the "one who is pursuing a job in the sex trade" bikini wax.

Lina is most definitely in a class all her own.

Is it Bad that I Can't Remember My Anniversary?

After a couple of pretty serious blogs, I've decided to move on to some good clean fun which of course means slagging on my husband.

This weekend is our anniversary. At least I think it is. Before we got married I asked my mother to look at our astrological charts and pick a divine day for our wedding. She chose July 6th. I think.

Grand fire trine was I believe the rationale for that date. It could also have been the day the sun passed closest to the Earth. It was about 175 degrees by the time we hit our reception. An awesome day to be stuffed in a corset.

My husband and my mother both have birthdays in July. Mom's is the 4th of July. That's easy to remember. My husband's is the 9th of July. I think.

This brings up another funny family story. As I was waiting outside the church with my dad, we somehow got on the topic of Rod's birthday. My dad suddenly realized Rod's birthday was also in July like my mom. So my dad says, "I see you decided to go with your mother." An hysterical reference to the popularly held belief that we marry one of our parents and spend the rest of our lives trying to work through the relationship a second time.

By the way I did marry my mother but that's another story.

So here I am again in early July trying to figure out if my anniversary is the 6th or the 9th and then the other day will be Rod's birthday. Either way I have nothing prepared and no gift.

Honestly I'm more like a man than a woman. I'm like a man trapped in a woman's body with a baby poonch stomach and big boobs. How did this happen?

So before I forget I'm going to look in my husband's secret document box for our marriage certificate. I'm feeling strongly it's the 6th. Or the 9th.