"My Amish Swimsuit"

I could have sworn there was a post or two about my Springtime-inattention and angst, about a minor crisis of conviction, about reading The Phantom Tollbooth.

I thought I had already written about my desperate and unsucessful quest to find a film version of Five Children and It to rent after we finished the book. And why do I remember a a long,tear drenched post about my socialization-infatuation and subsequent activity mania of overscheduling the Spring? About all the evenings sacrificed (needlessly) on the altar of YMCA activities?

Could all those potential blogs really have passed me by?

I'd feel guilty if all my dear, devoted readers weren't non-existent and non-interested to boot.

Well, at any rate, summer is upon us.

Of course, here in the g-forsaken desert it's been in the upper 90's for at least a month regardless of season. We spent 7 hours melting in the sun at Scote's flag football playoffs two weeks ago and I swear my feet are still sunburnt around the distinctive triangular shape of my sandals.

A cactus could wither and die in that heat. And that was still Spring...Still mild, if you will.

Summer around here means no more Park Days unless you want 3rd degree burns from the plastic play equipment, no more field trips that are not air-conditioned, no more picnics outside before 6pm unless you are next to a large (man-made, as they are all around here) body of water, no more "Go outside and jump on the trampoline so I can get this done" breaks.

Sad.

It also means mornings at the Y outdoor pool, which the kids unabashedly love and I unabashedly loathe.

It's not the pool I hate (who could hate a pool in these temperatures?) but I am not so fond of exhibiting myself half-nude in the glaring, unforgiving morning light to all and sundry. Who can lounge comfortably with peach-fuzzed arm danglies swinging free and soft, burning pink in the sun? Fleshy lumps oozing from elastic waistbands when you bend over to pick up a small child, or towel?

I can't. At. All.

So I try to cover up the best I can without looking like a middle-eastern refugee or some pseudo- Amish religious modesty-nut.

I wear a tankini top that covers my whole belly, boy short bottoms two sizes too big so they don't dent my hips, covered with a sheer black swim tank that covers the tops of my chest that always want to pop out while swimming, and then a white swim dress overtop. If there are a lot of people around I swim in the dress.

If I could find a long-sleeved swim dress I'd wear it. I've considered wearing surf-gear but it would attract too much attention, since there is no surf at the wading pool.

I think this compulsive covering-up seems bizarre to most people, since to be honest my figure is not too bad, at least when it is covered up, and I see much, much worse flopping blissfully unaware all around me. I fluctuate, but have never surpassed a size 5P, but I am ultra-short so this isn't as tiny as it seems. Besides not being obese, I seem young enough to care about fashion and/or sex appeal.

I don't.

Never have.

I am also roughly ten years older than people take me to be. I still get carded for lottery tickets, okay? Last season's football coach thought Scote was my brother. But I am an unabashed Geek. Capital G. Sex appeal would be anathema to me!

I would be quite comfortable wearing one of those old-fashioned frilly-knicker-thingy swimsuits from the turn of the century. With some sort of oversized/floppy headgear to shade my entire face, and I'd still be happy to make use of one of those clever "bathing machines".

How could anyone think that dressing that way is oppressive?

It would be liberating for me. Isn't it more devaluing to parade around showing every one of your cellulite dimples, stretch marks, and with every single errant stubbly hair on the back of your thighs bristling for the amusement of random passersby? Fearing that at any moment a key part of your anatomy will free itself for their further amused scrutiny, and most likely one you used for a total of three years of breastfeeding (3 separate times...I am not quite that weird yet), and so as a result said appendages are tough as leather and impervious to the elements? So that, concievably, you could saunter around unaware of said unvelied, dangling, and unattractive appendage?

It is truly a frightening place for a woman, the public pool.

This post may be unintentionally coming across like I have a self-esteem issue.

Like I am one of those whiney "just-a-salad-for-me" or "if-only-I-could-lose-these-5-pounds" tiresome ladies, but really I'm not. I could look like a model and I'd still be more comfortable out of the scrutiny. I like my privacy. I like my private parts...well....private. I like not having to care about how I look to other people. Part of my introverted Nerdy-ness, I suppose.

Ah, the sacrifices we make for our children.

Sigh.

Narcissus, the dwarf

Dwarf rabbit, that is.

My (not so) little Dodo turned 8 today, and chose as her present a tiny black dwarf rabbit. I suggested we name him after one of Snow White's dwarfs, but Dodo said this was "lame".

She named him Narcissus because she said that when he was hopping around her room for the first time he hopped over to the mirror and tried to sniff it. She said this means "he fell in love with his reflection and wanted to make babies".

Let's hope not.

We had quite enough of that hanky-panky before Rosey got married to Evil Veela, had babies, tried to have more babies immidiately after their birth, and promptly got fixed.

Before all that, Rosey "fell in love" and tried to "make babies" with my calf, my shoulder, and Ugha's stuffed giraffe.

The poor deluded thing. I can understand he couldn't possibly avoid falling in love with me. but didn't he realize I only mate with men who do not eat their own feces?

Or at least I try to, anyhow.

~EH

SSgt Eccentric in Action

Odysseus, the hamster

We have many pets.

Two nearly-invincible northern leopard frogs survived their metamorphosis and spend their days hiding under plastic rocks wondering why we forget to feed them for weeks on end. They are extremely boring, and if we hadn't grown them from tadpoles, and if we didn't live in the desert we would probably liberate them and use their tank for something more interesting. Like moss.

We also have a 29 gallon freshwater tank full of the meanest, orneriest, breedingest convict cichlids you'd ever want to meet. They have so many babies so frequently (and then eat them) that we have no idea how many there are in there. They range in size from nearly 5 inch Sharky, who is the patriarch, to baby Poo-Poo bandit at the size of Ughabugha's baby toenail. In between we have Tuna, Playdough and Aris-toddle, and Fifi who has adopted highfalutin French manners since she is the only pink fish since the unfortunate fin-ripping incident of '05 that took the life of her mother, Pinky. Then there are the as-yet unnamed masses. These are not so pretty as some aquarium fish, but by heck they are interesting.


And please don't forget Rosey. Sweet, gentle, lonely Rosey Rabbit, who this time last year had a wife (Yep, Rosey is a boy. The particulars of baby rabbit reproductive anatomy were subtle for a 5 year old Dodo) and cage full of baby bunnies with him. Then we get him fixed, sell the babies, and two weeks later Evil Veela (the bunny wife) goes to rabbit Nirvana.

So he's alone now. We only had Veela a few months, and she hated us, but still it hurts. I mean, that rabbit would growl at us like a dog. We've had our Rosey for years and he put up with all sorts of "lets-put-Rosey-in-a-bonnet-and-push-him-in-the-doll-stroller" antics. She bit us when we tried to pet her, she scratched me when I fed her, she even fought with gentle Rosey. In short, she was a terrible pet, but she was the first pet I ever killed. We think her heart broke when we sold the babies and she stopped eating.It was so sad. I haven't the heart to get another rabbit just now, but eventually we will.

Okay, so we have plenty of animals just now, so whatever possessed me to buy a hamster? Dunno. It was a whim out of nowhere one day.

Scote says, " Can I have some sandwhich cheese?" And I'm like, "How about a hamster?"

I suggested we name him Archimedes or Einstein. Scote looks at me as if I am the most retarded person in the world. He does this weird thing where he squinches up his lip, and cocks one eyebrow. "He's not even that smart, mom." he says, " He's a hamster."

Oh yeah. Gotcha.

Dodo suggested Odysseus. "Or Ulysses. they mean the same thing." She says.

"Is he the one with the cyclops that bashes heads on the rocks?" Scote asks.

"Yep."

Odysseus, the hamster welcome to the Eccentric Zoo.