Diamonds

I was looking for something in the bathroom today and in the back of the cupboard I found a ring that my grandma gave me for my birthday this last year. Whenever at her house, I’d use the bathroom and stay in there extra long, just to admire the collection of rings she had on her bathroom shelf. I always thought about taking one, but didn’t have the guts to do it because I knew that it was wrong. The ring she gave me this last birthday reminded me of something I would see with her collection many years ago as a young girl. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The 17 little jewels aren’t real but they resemble diamonds, our shared birth stone. I was my grandma’s birthday present, born on the same day. I always felt special because of that.

As I’m writing this post, my grandma is sitting in a rehabilitation center hooked up to a machine to help her do what most of us take for granted, breath. I have a feeling that my birthday was the last one I will be able to share with her on this earth. I pray to God to at least let me share one more. If I would have known what this year was going to bring, I would have hugged her extra hard, and told her how much I loved her.

Many fond memories that I have as a little girl were spent in the presence of my grandparents. When I stayed the night at their house I felt like their one and only granddaughter, and that meant a lot to me considering I was the youngest of three. We would spend the night playing card games like Uno or Skip-Bo, or watching game shows like Wheel of Fortune or Jeopardy. I would sleep in my very own king size bed, in my very own bedroom. I felt like a queen. In the morning my grandparents would wake me up and we would have breakfast around the table, something that was seldom at my house. We would hold hands and my grandma would pray. Afterwards, she would kiss my grandpa and I would cringe at the sight of my grandparents kissing. The sound of country music from the 1950’s would be playing in the background. The toast always had the perfect amount of butter, and the oatmeal was never too hot.

After breakfast we would get dressed and I would run off to play in their garage. Sometimes I’d get in trouble for getting into things but I couldn’t resist, there were so many treasures. Later we would venture out to go yardsale-ing. I always loved riding in their van because it had seats that would swing back and forth and a TV. I also used to gawk at the collection of stuffed animals they had suction cupped to the car window, Garfield was my favorite. For lunch they would always take me to their favorite Chinese restaurant, Asian Gardens. For true Walla Wallians you should know what I’m talking about. I would never order actual Chinese food though, just a cheese burger and fries.

My Grandma Arvilla, in the middle with
my mom on the left and my aunts on the right.

As I got older I stopped going to my grandparents house, except for family gatherings. I would still admire those rings as a young teenager, but just for a second. Everything else was a thought of the past. I even asked my mom this last year if my grandma was religious at all because I was thinking about giving her a book of devotionals, it wasn’t until just now that I realized their house being the only place I prayed as a young girl besides Sunday school.

My grandparents have over 20 grandchildren and they made me feel like I was their only one. It never crossed my mind the amount of people they touched with similar memories, I’m sure. I wish I could have shared many more…

Razor Burn

Hello, my name is Heather. I suffer from a rarely talked about but common disorder and I’m hoping to shed some light on the subject to inform women and men everywhere that it is ok to speak.This disorder has taken over my life and I have just learned how to get it back. I have Hairy Leg Disorder. 

It all started when I was a chubby, insecure, awkward tween, who so desperately wanted to become a woman, who gawked at all the lotions and perfumes and grown-up things that my mom used, to make herself a “woman”. Amongst those things were a razor and shaving gel. My mother instructed me to stay away from those murderous blades like it was the plague because I might cut myself and get hurt. This is when I chose to take a different, safer, route. Scissors.Those blades wouldn’t come in contact with my skin, just the hair on my legs. It was a perfect idea that no woman has ever thought of. I was certain I would become a millionaire by the time I was 13 with this discovery. That is, until my mom realized what I was doing and immediately instructed me to stop. She always ruined my genius ideas. With these instructions though, she gave me the permission to shave my legs. I was now able to become a woman.

The first time I had attempted to shave, my mother’s warnings proved to be true. It looked like a battle field. Blood everywhere. My legs were so infested with hair that I had to push down with much force in order to get the job done. Now, looking back, I probably had a cheap razor. With this first attempt to womanize myself, I automatically assumed that I knew exactly what I was doing, so I continued to shave my legs with the strength that I had used before. Eventually, my mom changed out that dull razor and shaving growingly became a much undesirable task. Each session became further and further apart. This is also the time that I banished shorts from my wardrobe. By the time I was sixteen, I had many concerning talks with my family about the fact that I always had hairy legs. I blamed it on the shaving gel not working well enough to prevent razor burn. My brother and his girlfriend even went far enough to buy me a razor with soap attached to it for Christmas to ensure that I had enough, lubrication, if you will.

Years went by and with great effort to find shaving gel suitable enough to get the job done without any pain, I convinced myself that the pores on my legs were abnormally large, and simply could not be freshly shaved every day. Soon, I had met the love of my life. He quickly became my best friend and someone I could freely talk to about anything. Of course, the subject of my hairy legs would come up and I would give him the same excuse I gave everybody else, but deep down I knew that he deserved a woman with silky smooth legs on a daily basis, so once again I gave it another attempt.

While I was getting ready to attack my legs like a ninja, I had an epiphany.  A flashback of a razor commercial with a beautiful woman in a spotless bathroom, bubble bath drawn, and a vision of her caressing her legs with the razor. Ever so slightly, she glided that razor across her legs. I had always thought that those actresses were instructed to use the razor like that to show the elegance and beauty of shaving. I would spit at the TV in my mind. But just then, I decided to pick up the razor like it was a delicate flower, and with very little force, glide it across my skin.  To my amazement, I didn’t have any razor burn afterwards.

Hello, my name is Heather. I am 24 years old and have just recently learned how to shave my legs. I had suffered from Hairy Leg Disorder for many years. I have been free'd of this disorder for over a month now...and yes, my significant other is a very happy man. For all of those mothers out there with tweens, please, for the sake of all socially guided man-kind, take a moment to go over the proper ways to shave your legs. You don’t want your child to end up like me.  On the other hand, I might be the only person in this world who stubbornly went on for 10+ years thinking that all hope was lost because she didn’t have enough common sense to know how to shave her legs. Gosh, I hope that’s not the case….