Brown Baby No More

My Italian mother used to mix iodine and baby oil and rub it on her skin before sitting out in the sun. The same mother who is responsible for my worried nature was also a main participant in the "brown baby" contest every summer. My mother and her friends would compete to see which elementary school-aged child could get the best tan every summer. For the record I never won, my dad is fair-skinned Irish.

Despite all of the neuroses I have learned from her, lathering myself in sun block was not one of them. In her defense, the message that the sun kills really only hit the airwaves in the past 10-12 years. (And "Kudos" to you Coppertone public relations team.) Over the past few years I have become a diligent member of the 30 SPF brigade, but from 0-27, I burned until I blistered at least once a summer.

Which brings me to my current worry: skin cancer.

The other day I discovered two freckles on the underside of my right breast. (Note: I have never sun bathed naked.) How would sun get there? Upon making the discovery I made a mental note to ask my new primary care at my appointment next week, and also schedule an appointment with the dermatologist for me and my husband. The freckles are not discolored, raised or otherwise suspicious, so I did not rush out to the doctor that morning. (Yes, very level headed, indeed!)
As I scanned the Internet for information on freckles, one of my closest friends was dealing with an uncomfortable skin situation of her own. She is translucent and a diligent member of the 45 SPF brigade for as long as I have known her. Her doctor found two suspicious freckles right on her bum, which were removed, requiring stitches. As she sat precariously on her sore tooshie we debated this new phenomena of freckles in the most unlikely of places. Could it have been seat warmers in cars that caused her situation? A hot metal bleacher? Nothing really made sense. There were even fewer possible causes for my under-breast freckles.

Never mind the cause, as neurotic wife I am focused on prevention. The only possible solution to sun exposure is more prevention. I am good at this! Rather than putting my bathing suit on first and then applying sunblock, I'll apply before I dress. Also, I always love the look of sun hats, and I think I can find one that is large enough to cast a shadow out over my chest. Let's face it, I should have embraced the beach cover up years ago, here's one more reason to do so.

Now we are (slow) cookin'

Yesterday I conquered a fear. I left the house while my Cuisinart crock pot was running.

In the winter I love making stews and soups in the crock pot-- great comfort food for a cold, winter day. However most crock pot specialties cook for 9-10 hours. With the exception of "work-at-home" days, I am never in my house, and awake, for nine hours.

I had heard that it was safe to leave your house with the crock pot on, although this belies any kitchen-common-sense I ever learned from my neurotic mother. You don't leave your house with the iron on, the stove on, or the oven on, so why is it "ok" to leave with the crock pot cooking? Nevertheless, yesterday as my crock pot made creamy, bacony, clam chowder I left the house to run to Best Buy. In an emboldened act of courage, I also went to Bed, Bath & Beyond. I was gone for a good hour and a half.

I rounded the corner to my circle (stopping to look for children of course) and my stomach felt queasy with butterflies. Joyous day! My house was still standing.

Today I learned it is ok to leave the crock pot on while going out for short errands. I dont think I would leave it for a whole day of work, but for an errand or two, that's fine.

How it began

I blame my mother. Actually, "blame" may not be the right word since my mother takes great pride and pleasure in my neurosis. I worry; she thinks, "my job is done."

When I was in college, my brother was in law school and my sister was about to graduate first in her high school class. My mother tied a ribbon around all the beds in our house. "To ward off bad thoughts from others," she said. I had always thought we were liked enough in the community, so this step seemed peculiar. Whenever life is going really well my mother is certain something bad will happen. After 31 years of study I have perfected her thought process.

I am happy. I am happily married to a great man, who just happens to be using paint thinner to clean up our recently painted and expanded closet. He is working in a tight space (the closet). What if he inhales too much paint thinner? How much paint thinner can you inhale before your lungs bleed? If his lungs were bleeding I would call an ambulance. The hospital isn't too far away. This is my thought process.

When I am worried I often turn to the Internet. I just looked up "inhaling paint thinner" and I learned from Wikipedia that you should not drive a car after inhaling paint thinner. Luckily, we are in for the night. It doesn't say anything about bleeding lungs. It looks like I made that up.