What's Up Your Nose?

I know many of you are wondering why exactly my nose is so large.  And, no, my answer is not going to be "because I'm Jewish" because that is very stereotypical of you and that is only part of why my nose is so large.

It all started the second I was born, or should I say about to be born.  My mother does not have the best "birthing hips" I guess because as my large head was trying to pass through her pelvis, my nose was smashed flat in the process.  I guess this might explain the whole ugly baby comment my mother made upon my birth.  My nose recovered from being smashed flat as a pancake and thought it would teach my mother a lesson by becoming larger than it should.

Jump forward to when I was a toddler and I had a cold or allergies or something.  After my illness not going away my mother finally took me to the doctor.  He took one look up my nose and then asked my mother what she had done?  There was something up my nose.  The doc got some tweezers and in what seemed like a hankerchief up the sleeve trick proceeded to pull an entire latex balloon out of my nose.  My mother, of course, had no idea that I had shoved a balloon up my nose and swears she only left me alone for a minute.  Typical.  I had access to a balloon after my birthday in which my mother had thoughtfully filled the entire living room with balloons.  Bet she never does that again.  

Flash ahead again to elementary school.  I used to help my grandma in her garden.  She grew all sorts of things including beans.  We used to sit together and peel/shuck/pull out of their casing (whatever you call it) the beans together while my mother was at work.  Well I was a kid and I was tired of shucking (?) beans and decided to play with them instead.  To be specific, I decided to stick them up my nose.  Well, of course one of the beans got stuck.  I couldn't blow it out and make it fly across the room like I had done with the rest of them.  Grandma was no help because she was afraid she would just shove the bean farther up my nose.  She called my mom who rushed home and took me to a 24 emergency clinic.  Another run in with the tweezers and the bean was out and I was promising my mother that I would never shove anything in my nose again.

So, to sum it up for you, my nose is large.  It is large because I am Jewish, was squished through my mother's vagina, shoved a balloon up my nose, and shoved a bean up my nose.  Oh, the regrets of childhood.

Playground = Torture Chamber

Recess was suppose to be the best part of the day at school.  You got out of the classroom and got to go outside and play and breath fresh air and talk to your friends without getting in trouble.  But, for me, recess was the worst part of the day.

I was transferred to a new elementary school in second grade because some higher up got the bright idea to build a new elementary school and change the boundary lines to make some kids have to switch schools.  I was one of those kids and so was forced to leave all of my friends behind and started second grade out friendless.  This would not be the last time in my life for this situation.  Being shy and quiet I, of course, formed a bond with the other shy and quiet girl, K.  Our recess included walking the concrete ties around the exterior of the playground trying not to lose our balance and fall off.  Having taken all of two months of gymnastics my balance was amazing and I always won.  Which was great because falling off meant death.  We thought the concrete play yard was made of lava, or boiling water, or whatever inane situation we could come up with that day.  I was content with this daily activity.  I didn't have to talk to anyone and it kept me at the perimeter of the playground so as to avoid being hit by a stray kickball or the feet of some kid trying to kill himself on the swings.  I was content that is until the day I was invited to play Red Rover.

My mother, being the overprotective mother she is, had forbid me from playing Red Rover because it would obviously break my arms and I would die.  So, when a group of girls from my class asked me to play Red Rover with them one day, being the amazing child I was, I politely declined and started to walk away (on the ties of course, lava, hello!)  The girls followed me and said I had to play and that they would follow me until I did.  I was being confronted by bullies!  I had thought that whole bully thing was a myth.  But these girls were serious and started to follow me along the ties and stand in my way taunting me.  I tried to get away but they were chasing me.  Now, if you know me you know how I feel about being chased.  I didn't know what to do and thankfully recess was over so I had until the next day to figure it out.  

Well, I hadn't figured anything out by the next day or the day after that.  The girls continued to stalk me around the playground and taunt me for not doing what they told me to.  I even went so far as to ask a playground monitor for help which was completely useless.  What exactly is the purpose of a playground monitor if they don't help kids being bullied?  I wasn't expecting much though as I had had a bad experience with a playground monitor in Kindergarten.  But, now I'm sidetracking.  Eventually I decided that I needed to immerse myself in the middle of the playground with other kids so that the girls couldn't stalk me.  Not being athletic, I chose the kids at the four square area.  Who knows how to play four square?  Not me.  Neither did the kids at the four square area.

With the girls safely on the other side of the playground eying me up and down I proceeded to make up the rules to four square.  They turned out something like tag only in a really confined space.  The corners of the four square area were safe bases and the person that was "it" had to stand in the middle trying to catch someone off base.  Pretty simple and not that imaginative if you ask me.  But, apparently to a bunch of elementary school kids it was miraculous.  Within days, everyone on the playground wanted to play with us.  Even the stalker girls gave up their torture of me to try to get in and play a game.  The corners of the four square were loaded with at least five kids each and even the useless playground monitor noticed the action.  Somehow I turned into miss popular overnight just for creating a poor version of tag.  I, of course, was the best at the game.  My strategy was to sit down in the middle and close my eyes.  Trying to tempt the beast, the kids would run past me and I would just sit and wait.  Finally when one kid got a little too close I would catch them.  Didn't even have to move to win.  Everyone was amazed with my prowess at always catching the first person I went after.  

This was the life and recess was amazing, until about two weeks later.  Just as quickly as I had risen, I had fallen again.  The game got boring and everyone went back to their old routines.  I went back to walking the ties with K and the crazy stalker girls went back to their death defying Red Rover without even a glance in my direction.

Swimming is Not for Everyone

Yes, I am 27 years old and yes it is true, I don't really know how to swim.  Really this is all my mother's fault.  She can't swim therefore she didn't bother teaching me how to.  

At some point in elementary school she decided that I should probably take some classes and enrolled me in one at the YMCA.  A beginners class, as in little three and four year olds.  Needless to say, I was the oldest kid in the class which was not too embarrassing as my mother did this to me a lot (we'll talk about beginners gymnastics another time).  I was also the best kid in class since I was the oldest and was actually able to follow instructions unlike the three year olds.  I learned how to get from one side of the pool to the other and I learned how to hold my breath and float.  Of course, right when they were getting ready to teach me all of the really important stuff like how to hold your breath AND swim at the same time my mother pulled me out of the class because we were out of money.  

Flash forward a few years and I knew how to get from one side of the pool to the other and how to hold my breath under water by holding my nose (I am not the best independent learner).  Not the coolest thing for a middle schooler.  I avoided the deep end of the pool like a plague because I was just sure that I would start to get sucked under and everyone would assume I was alright because what middle schooler doesn't know how to swim.  I never joined in on Marco Polo and never ever dove into the deep end of the pool.

In high school gym class when we did our swimming unit I was put into the "non-swimmer" group and allowed to just hang around in the shallow end and talk to the other "non-swimmers" i.e. losers while most of the class had to do laps and learn how to dive.  Didn't really motivate me to learn how to swim if you know what I mean.  

Now, every year for my birthday from middle school through high school I went to a hotel with a pool for the weekend.  I know, how weird is that? But, you will have to wait for another post for me to explain the theory behind my birthday extravaganzas.  Anywho, one year I decided I was going to try jumping into the deep end and touching the bottom.  It took a lot of talking to myself to get to the point where I thought it would be a good idea.  Finally, after much debate I held my nose and jumped.  I successfully made it to the bottom of the pool and back up to the surface.  I even made it back out of the deep end without drowning only to have my friend tell me that there was something horribly wrong with my face.  Upon looking in the mirror I discovered that many of the blood vessels around my nose and eyes had burst leaving purplish red marks for the next week.  I guess the pressure of the water was too much for my skin to take.  I had finally gotten up the nerve to try out the deep end and this is what happens?  Never again I told myself; never again that is until I was on my honeymoon.

My husband and I decided to honeymoon in Mexico so of course, water activities were expected.  I was fine with the kayaking and boat rides but I somehow got talked into snorkeling.  Little did my husband know that this was the worst mistake his life.  First problem was that the guide warned us that there was fire corral in the water and that we should avoid touching it because it would hurt, duh!  What the guide didn't say was A. what the corral looked like B. how to avoid it and C. the fact that all of the corral was about a foot below water which made it all pretty much impossible to avoid.  Add that to the fact that I am not a swimmer, do not do well in deep water (hello broken blood vessels), plus on top of it I am klaustrophobic (yeah, I know) and couldn't seem to breath under water with the useless snorkel mask on.  I made it about five minutes before I couldn't avoid the corral, tried to use my new husband to propel myself away from the corral (pushing him into it in the process), and asked the guide if I could just go back to the boat.  The guide acted like it was no big deal and sent me on my way back to the boat.  I guess he forgot to mention that the current was heading toward me and that I would have to be a pro swimmer to make any progress against it.  After paddling and attempting to swim to the boat for what seemed like an hour, I made it back aboard exhausted, shaky, and worried that I had possibly killed my husband with fire corral.  Of course he made it out alive but will never let me live it down and will never take me snorkeling again.

So, to sum it up for you, I am not a swimmer, nor will I ever be a swimmer.  I enjoy a pool on a hot day but don't ask me to do anything but take a quick trip around the shallow end and then hop on a lounge chair with a nice book. 

Let's Talk Clowns

So, every kid loves clowns right?  Wrong, very wrong. 

When I was growing up I had a clown for my birthday every year.  I loved clowns.  I was a kid, kids love clowns.  I even had a circus themed birthday party one year.  My mom made our living room look like a circus tent with streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling.  All of my guests had to put these ruffly collar things on that were suppose to be clown decorations but just made everyone uncomfortable and look very weird.  We had a clown/magician come with his bunny to entertain.  It was amazing.  Until I went to some other kid's clown birthday party.

I was still in elementary school and I still loved clowns.  The party was at the YMCA and we started by going swimming (did I mention I can't swim).  But, we will save that for another post.  Anywho, after the so called swimming we were ushered into a private party room where there was a clown.  I was psyched; I loved clowns.  This clown thought he was funny; he was mistaken.  He had one of those bicycle horns for God knows what reason and proceeded to chase me around the room honking the horn at me.  How is chasing a child funny?  Explain this to me.  I immediately ran to hide behind my mother in complete terror and this stupid clown had the nerve to continue trying to chase me.  Now, clearly I was cowering and afraid and this clown was completely oblivious.  Welcome to the rest of my life of being irrationally afraid of clowns and of being chased.  I have never played tag again.   


Jump ahead a few years to Disneyland.  The land of happiness and joy right?  Well, I was in love with Snow White and there just so happened to be a Snow White ride.  The ride was awesome and as we were exiting there was one of those statue things of a giant dwarf.  Snow White and her seven dwarfs right?  Well, being as how I loved Snow White I asked my mom to take a picture of me next to the statue.  Can you see where this is going?  I reached up to pretend to hold hands with the dwarf statue and told my mom that this was a very lifelike statue as the hand was warm and somewhat squishy.  Now do you see it?  She was oblivious and proceeded to snap the picture.  As I started to walk away, you guessed it, the statue came to life and started to follow me.  Just like the creepy clown.  Now I was being chased by a giant dwarf.  I again cowered behind my mom and this time the person was smart enough to realize their mistake and apologized for scaring me.  What Disneyland worker thinks it is a good idea to frighten kids?  I mean, really?  


So, now as a grown adult, not only am I afraid of clowns, I am afraid of anyone dressed up in a costume.  Clowns, Disney characters, mimes, sometimes even people at the Ren Fair.  Plus, on top of that, if you try to chase me I am guaranteed to curl up in a ball in the corner and cry.  I hope that clown is proud of what he's done.

The Beginning

So, I guess I will start at the beginning.  I was born fairly normal, if by normal you mean 28 days late.  Now, from what I am told by my nursing friend and mother of one, a woman would never be allowed to be 28 days late and would have been induced much earlier.  So my conclusion is that either my mother is a liar (quite possible) or the medical profession has decided since the '80's that waiting a month past your due date is no longer acceptable.  

Regardless, I was a healthy eight pound baby and the first words from my mother's mouth were "she's ugly".  Welcome to life little A, your mother hates you.  After the nurse almost took me from my mother out of shear panic and concern, my mom decided that I was indeed adorable, even if I was squished from having been forced through her vagina. 


My mother has told me this story many times, but the part of welcoming her only daughter into the world that she talks about the most is how much weight she lost giving birth.  Of course, forget the fact that she had just delivered, what I like to consider, the perfect child.  My mother went to the hospital, was starved of food and water while in labor for almost a day, had an eight pound baby plus all of the disgusting after birth junk, was starved some more until the next day and left the hospital weighing exactly the same as she had going in.  Now, I'm not a doctor but I do find it odd that someone can expel eight pounds of baby and not lose at least eight pounds in the process.  Now, anyone that knows my mother knows that she is crazy so I am not quite sure if she is exaggerating this story or if it's just plain weird. 


At least my mother was relieved to find that I was a baby girl.  She had been praying for nine months (ok, ten)  that she would have a baby girl.  Forget praying for a healthy baby, she wanted a girl gosh darnit! She has even told me that if I was a boy she might have given me up for adoption and tried again.  Now, I don't think she really would have done that as she had already picked out a boys name just in case.  Dustin.  As in Dustin Hoffman.  As in Dustin Hoffman from the movie The Graduate.  As in, my mother has very poor taste in men and thinks Dustin Hoffman is hot.  Ugh, thank goodness I'm a girl.


So, welcome to my life invisible readers.  I hope you enjoy and laugh, though not at me.  I am sensitive to that you know.