I've never in my life been so sore after a rub down. My massage therapist was not playing around. No sir. She warmed me up then actually got on the table with me. This was a very involved, very deep massage. And I'm still not seeing straight. Good Lord. I feel bruised. So deep. She went so soooo deep. Luckily I can take it, she knew I was no beginner.

We have another date in 3 weeks. Unless I can't wait that long.

Today Ava learned that the word compass has the word ass in it. Yay science! (There was lots of giggling she had to explain.)

I would say that the most therapeutic and gently kind way I recovered from being raped 10yrs ago came through massage therapy. It was healthy beyond imagination to allow touch to heal what had been a physical assault to my body and soul. I remember often laying on that massage table sobbing the entire session while my therapist worked on me, glad that my walls were falling and my body was allowing her access to heal. When we started, I had such a terrible protective posture and my shoulder blades were locked tightly in position. So tight, in fact, it took a couple of months (going once or twice a week) for her to be able to move them at all. But over time, I came to body and spiritual wellness. I believe in the power of touch.

I continued in massage therapy for years, until Ava was born, because it was so good for me. Since then, I haven't honestly given myself that gift. Being a mom, I've given myself to everyone else. I've completely prioritized myself last. That's not working for me any more. My counselor encouraged me to do something good for myself for once. Something just for me. When she asked me what I thought I might do, I didn't have an answer. I'm not used to thinking about what I need, this has to change. She suggested that I try getting a massage. I busted out crying.

If you know me, you know that means she struck emotional gold, the tender place, the place of truth. When I had words again I told her yes, that I thought that I could do that. She gave me the number of her massage therapist.

Whose practice is called The Power of Touch.

I've always believed in the power of touch.

My appointment is Wednesday.

What just unfolded before me touched my heart. I was sitting on the front porch, eating a banana and drinking a glass of cold water while watching my kids ride their bikes in our driveway and cul-de-sac. They suddenly stopped because they saw a caterpillar. A small, white, fuzzy one was in our driveway. Isaiah got really close to it. Ava, afraid he was going to squish it, shouted, "don't kill it! It's a gentle creature, we should do something, it doesn't belong in the driveway." They discussed, between the two of them, what to do. And settled on using a leaf to gently scoop it up and put it, still on the leaf, in a green bush.

This proved problematic because there was a bit of a breeze. It took a long time, but finally, together, they gently got it on the leaf and as Ava began carrying it to the chosen bush, the caterpillar crawled off. He landed in some dirt. According to them, he crawled into some of the dirt. This made them sad, but Ava said, "Isaiah, I don't think he wants us to put him in the bush. Maybe he has a family." Isaiah concurred, "yeah, he just want his family." They left him alone and went back to their bikes.

For all of 30 seconds. Because Isaiah saw another caterpillar. This time they already had a plan and they went ahead with it. When they deposited the caterpillar on the leaf into the green bush, they were so excited! "We saved a creature! Now he can grow into a butterfly with all the nutrients he needs! Doesn't it feel good to save a life, Isaiah?" Ava said.

They walked inside discussing how important all living creatures are and how we should protect them. All.

And I feel like maybe I'm doing a good job afterall.

I really effin hate nightmares. I'm officially psychologically damaged for the rest of the day. #2 worst bad dream, ever. #1 was when I was pregnant, so I could at least blame hormones for such horrendous lucidity. I have no such excuse this time.

...in a mood.

Ava: I'm gonna practice drawing hearts (with chalk on the driveway). *aggravated noises* (mumbles) It just looks like a butt.

LOL

That moment when your 7 year old casually informs you that your 19 y/o babysitter is gonna be a mommy. 0_o

...through further questioning of Ava, I learned that Anna (the sitter) told her that a baby is in her tummy. And that she's one month pregnant. We met her boyfriend once, he's a marine. Oh boy...

The things you learn from your kids!

I'm a Metal Monkey.

I want to have control over my own comments. If I leave a comment on someone else's page, I want to be able to delete it if I want to. It should be my prerogative.

I want to have control over my own comments. If I leave a comment on someone else's page, I don't want them to be able to edit it and change my words entirely while still attributing them to me. Particularly since there is no notification that a change was made. All appearances indicate that a comment is originally as it was made by the person whose name is beside it. Which can also be forged.

I want to have control over my own comments. If I leave a comment on someone else's page, I want to be notified if I get a reply to my own comment. It's just polite.

I want to have control over my own comments. I call that intellectual property. And it's mine.

I never realized how much I identified with Natalie Imbruglia's song, Torn.