I got a Chemical Peel and lived to tell about it.

So, I'm approaching 40. Last time I was at the doctor he mentioned how I could benefit from a chemical peel.
"We could knock off these precancerous age spots with a peel. Medium-depth," he said while he held a magnifying glass to my face with his penlight shining a beacon on all my facial shortcomings.
When, I wonder, did my spattering of freckles go from "cute angel kisses" to "precancerous age spots"??
My doctor, a realist who is more than happy to tell you how it is, also said it would even out my "fine" lines and wrinkles. Hmmmm. You mean, I could get something done for cosmetically vain reasons and then blame the need for it all on the "precancerous spots." Awesome! Count me in.
So...I did it. On Monday. I should've known by the doctor's pre-procedure briefing that this was a tad more serious than I had imagined.
"You probably won't want to leave the house for about a week," he said.
"Ok," I thought, "that's okay. I could unpack that last box."
"I'll have two nurses with me, one to neutralize the acid and the other to wipe your tears so they don't roll into the acid that's still on," he announces.
Now I'm thinking out loud.
"Do what? Tears? I'm going to cry? It hurts that bad?" I ask.
"Well," he explains, "not everyone cries but it does sting a little. Don't worry, I'll have another nurse holding the fan on your face to cool you down."
So now I'm thinking okay...he's a doctor and he has to say this stuff just in case.
Right?
"We rarely have patients who scar from this procedure," he went on.
"Uhhhhh....scarring," I'm using my inside voice again. My inner dialogue is getting more worrisome.
"Okay," I think, "he has to say that just like the people with Plavix have to tell you that you could die if you take it. No worries."
sdjfwo;iejslk
When I laid down and he started smathering acid on my face while one nurse fanned and the other neutralized - I could only liken the experience to having a blow torch held to my face. It took longer than I thought and hurt worse than I had imagined.
"It'll be worth it," the nurses kept saying everytime I groaned.
"If you need something for pain later in the week, give me call," the doc said.
Great...I'm gonna hurt even more later?
What had I done to myself? The first day it felt like someone had put egg white on my face and let it dry. My face drew up and freckles that were underneath, rose to the top. It was like a bad, bad sunburn. The second day my face felt and looked like a dried creek bed. Then on day 3 the peeling started. Raw, tender freckle-less flesh shone from beneath the ravages of my acid baked dead skin. My kids were horrified. My son wouldn't kiss me good night.
"I don't want your skin to fall on me," he said.
Arianna was more sympathetic.
"Oh mommy," she said, "I love you anyway."
"Crud," said my husband. "Is that going to go away?"
I imagined how the lepers in the Bible felt. I thought of burn victims and how it's nearly psychologically impossible to leave the house when you don't look like everyone else.
I looked in the mirror and saw my biggest, darkest freckle losing it's battle to stay on my face. I peeled it off and threw it in the garbage.
My whole life I wanted that thing gone and now - it was, and suddenly, I wanted it back. Rob called me Freckles when we dated. What would he call me now?
Today I went back to the doctor. I am bright red, hurting - some has peeled, some has not. I can not envision ever looking normal again. I can't open my mouth or smile without some part of my face cracking open.
skdghjh93rujs
I'm sorry - chunks of my face keep falling on the keyboard and I'm tired of backspacing.

"Come back Thursday so I can check on you. You're on schedule," said the doctor.
"I'm a little worried about the forehead not peeling yet. It's behind but it will catch up. And these red spots, let's put some Polysporin on those so they don't get infected. And let's make that appointment for Tuesday instead. I can tell you need some reassurance during this healing process," he said.
Ya think? I wonder what gave that away.
Was it me pointing at my face over and over and over saying "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?? WHERE IS YOUR LICENSE TO PRACTICE??? WHEN WILL I BE ABLE TO GO BACK OUT TO EAT? DO YOU REALIZE I'M HAVING TO COOK INSIDE MY HOUSE? DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS THIS FACE IS FOR MY FAMILY?"
I took pictures of myself for you but now I don't know if I want anyone to see them.
I look soooo bad - I don't want to scare you.
Here's one from the internet:

I sent the ones of me to my sisters...
"You're nuts," said one.
Stay tuned. I'll let you know the progress. sldk54765fh weona34565slk

Black and Gold (Card)

It was Black and Gold day today.
What is that you ask? So did I. My kids informed me that it was Spirit day today and they could where Black and Gold or any kind of Saints gear to school instead of their uniform.
"Oh, neato." I thought. And off we went to the mall. When we got there we were greeted by 10,000 other parents who were looking for the coveted black and gold shirts, jerseys, anything with a fleur de lis...anything with Bush or Brees on it.
"Hmmm...all the schools must be doing this," I thought. And they were. All schools. And every single parent of every single school in the state of Louisiana had gathered there in JC Penney at the Mall. Apparently, everyone was out of Saints stuff everywhere else. We went through cosmetics and saw the aisle laden with black and gold ahead...Arianna found her favorite shirt right away. Then...I saw it...draped over a hanger - all alone on the youth rack. It was a number 9 Saints Jersey. I grabbed it, looked it over, thought it was too big for Eli, looked at the tag and gagged - decided it was too much money to spend on one kid for silly Spirit Day and just then, as I started to put it back I was suddenly surrounded. Surrounded by at least 10 sets of parents...foam dripping out of their mouths as they asked, "Are you going to get that?"
Well I wasn't - but suddenly I thought..."I'd better."
"Yes...'" I said.
Yes I am going to buy the overpriced, black and gold, 100% nylon, Official NFL Jersey, with breathable mesh, flat-knit ribbed with v-neck collar in honor of the great Drew Brees and America's Team, the New Orleans Saints. Yes I am. And after I do, I'm going home to face my husband and explain to him why, after just selling our house to get out of debt, we were BACK in debt...over a jersey....for Spirit Day."
Against my better judgment and all common sense, I took the Jersey and Ari's shirt to the register. Some followed - hoping, no doubt, that I would drop it on accident so they could descend on it (like a Saint on a Viking fumble). Other fretful parents approached me.
"Where did you get that?" they asked.
"It was the LAST ONE," I said - laughing with glee on the inside.
The last one. And it was mine.
It was a long night. Rob was still depressed over his Vikings loss - how would I convince him that I spent all his boat money on an NFL Jersey for a team he had just barely decided to root for.
"But honey, it was the last one. It was like the Christmas that people fought over the Tickle Me Elmo doll. I had to have it. I wanted it because everyone else wanted it - We can all take turns wearing it on Sunday for the SuperBowl...I'll mow lawns on the side to pay it off..."
He forgave me for my knee jerk, impulse buying and before they headed to school this morning I heard Rob dressing Elijah in his room.
"You're getting peanut butter on your jersey. Don't do that. You can't have brown on your nice Black and Gold."
"Wonderful," I thought...He's been sucked into the Saints Vortex of Fandom..he cares about the JERSEY!
Imagine my surprise, as I picked up the kids today, I counted over a dozen Drew Brees jerseys. And then at Karate class - there were more.
"Where did you get yours?" I asked one parent.
"Family Dollar," she said. "They had replicas."
Go Saints.

Still Awesome

It's 1am and we tucked the kids in for the fourth time. We just got back from Frontier Fest in Arlington, TX. If you don't know what that is, it's a massive concert/sermon fest for Christian Youth. Somewhere in the middle of the praise and worship time at last night's session the legion of participants burst into a rendition of "Awesome God". I always get a little sad when I hear that song. It was written by the late Rich Mullins: someone I had the privilege of knowing and interviewing during my time as a deejay, CCM writer and concert promoter way back in the day. So while the kids sang, my husband took his cell phone and snapped a video in a futile effort to capture the perfect sweetness of the moment. I uploaded it here:

It always bothers me when people talk about Rich's death and connect him with the song, "Awesome God" - because "Awesome God" was the least of his lyrical work. He came up with the song back during the time we all thought stuff was "Totally Awesome." He wrote so many great songs since that one and, if you asked him, he would tell you Liturgy was his favorite album. His music had blossomed so much from that simple anthem but it would be the one he was known for. "Rich Mullins, the song writer who penned Awesome God." So the kids sang it loud and long and waved their arms and I sat there, a little sad - thinking about my friend who was gone. I thought of the first time I met him. I worked for a radio station named SuperPower 103 in Chattanooga, TN. It was my job to meet with him, interview him and get what we called 'a liner.' It's those quick little recordings you hear before a song. An artist will say something like, "Hey this is _______, thanks for listening to ________FM!!" We always pre-wrote the liners so they could read them easily while we recorded them. The one I wrote for Rich went like this: "Hey, this is Rich Mullins and whenever I'm in Chattanooga, I always listen to SuperPower 103!" Cheesy, but fun. I put my script in front of him and held my microphone to his mouth. I'd done it so many times before with so many artists, it was mundane. I didn't expect a fight but he gave me one. He read it to himself and looked at me. "I can't say this," he said. "What?" I was shocked. Artists love deejays because we play their music. Deejays love artists because they give us music to play. Didn't he know the rules? This never happened before. What was his problem? Why was he being difficult? I was bewildered and bemused. "I can't say this because," he continued, "what if - when I'm driving through Tennessee - I'm on a vow of silence? If I'm on a vow of silence, I can't listen to the radio." He looked at me, half smirking, and waited. Was he serious? Was he being sarcastic, provocative? Is he being a jerk, or messing with my head? And is there really such a thing as a 'vow of silence'? "Well," I shot back....you could say "Hi, this is Rich, and if I'm NOT on a vow of silence and I happen to be in Tennessee, I listen to SuperPower 103!" He looked relieved and happy with the suggestion. "Oh...okay. Great," he said. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. He did the liner - in one take and even gave me a 3,2,1 countdown before it. He was different, he was fun. I sat through his concert and began to understand that no interview with Rich would be like the other canned, cookie cutter artists. He was the real deal. He'd kick off his shoes and spout profundities and play every instrument known to man in between. He gave the best interviews EVER and if his dog, Bear, wagged his tail for you, you'd get one more hitch-hiking story, a free concert t shirt, a quick dulcimer lesson..."My dog is the best judge of character," he'd say. And so this complicated, sweet soul wrote the song that you have probably sang a hundred times..."Our God is an Awesome God, He reigns, from heaven above..." You're singing it now, aren't you? I wonder how many times Rich has re-written it since he left this earth. If he were here and I could lift my mic to him one more time I'd bet he'd apologize for the understatement that is "Awesome God". That is...if he weren't on a vow of silence. It makes me happy to think that Rich and his music are a bigger part of my future than they are of my past.