Sick House and Tattoos

So far in our family--four out of five down. One little Noah, age 6, to go.

Last week I had a sore throat and a headache. No big deal, except that I passed it onto Jordan (8) and Andy (old man), who then passed it to Lara (4). And each of them got hit so much harder than me...
Ouch. Bad Mommy.

The result is that I have been shut up in this house for the last week tending sick people. Jordan is finally back at school, but now Lara has hit peek sick-ville. Her little four-year-old breathing sounds way worse than that of Darth Vader. Plus she's stressed out b/c she feels so lousy, and when she's stressed out she tugs at her hair.  In the last 48 hours she has created a nice little bald spot on the right side of her head. Sigh.
I did just give her more Tylenol, though, and she's pepped up a bit. Right now she's sitting next to me, playing with my I-Phone and jamming out to Michael Jackson's PYT, which she somehow found on U-Tube. I love watching 4 year-olds jam.
Except. Oops. Jamming stopped.
It's 30 seconds later, and she just asked if she could take a nap.
It's 9:00 a.m.

Three stories later and I'm back. I will shoot myself in the head if I have to read that Sealed with A Kiss Ariel book one more flipping time. Ariel is so damn perky and annoying--always playing with cute little seals and that stupid yellow fish.

Yesterday Andy stayed home from work because he felt so crummy, and I was able to escape for a bit and go into the big city (or sort of big city--Cambridge). 

In the big city I went to a snazzy tattoo parlor...

I always imagined getting a tattoo to be something I did with a few girlfriends, late at night, after a night of partying. Apparently, however, you can't get inked with alcohol in your blood. Also, I don't generally go wild with my girlfriends at night in the city these days...quite unfortunately, I will add.

So it didn't go like that.

Instead I set up an appointment last week when I went to check out the tattoo establishment--Redemption Tattoo with Marathon Mama.  We met some of the staff, chatted with the recommended artist, Mike, about what we wanted done, and then I made an appointment. The date of inking was set to be noon on Thursday. My tattoo man would be Josh. Josh seemed warm and friendly, and looked a little like he came straight out of  ZZ Top. He took the sketches I had ineptly scratched out, and promised to improve upon them before I arrived next week. Then MM and I left, and went to drink some vino and eat a little Cambodian chow at The Elephant Walk. yummmmmm.

I spent the week quizzing every tattooed friend I have on the level of pain I would experience, what I should expect, and whether I should go for the hip, the back, the ankle, all of the above, or none. Thank you all of my tattooed friends.

Heading into my appointment with Josh felt a little like I've felt before going to get a bikini wax. I knew it would hurt, and I was scared. In fact, the ambiance of Redemption Tattoo and that of Elizabeth Grady (my spa of choice) aren't entirely dissimilar. Yes, at Redemption heavy metal music played as opposed to the music of guitars, waterfalls, and Enya, and the tattoo clinicians wore intricately designed sleeves instead of little white coats, but in both places you lie atop a cushiony bed, you're told to relax while they fiddle with their instruments, and in both places you lie there, waiting for the torture to begin.
(Just in case you're wondering, I now know it hurts more to have your pubic hair ripped out with wax then it does to get inked.)

Josh began with the ankle. I was told by numerous folk that getting the ankle tattooed hurts a great deal more than other parts of the body. I will tell you now, though, that having one's ankle tattooed does not hurt as much as having the hip tattooed. At any rate, I turned on my side, took a deep breath and he turned on that scary needle zapper. bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

It felt at first like a sting, and then, as he continued, like he was boring a hole into my skin and trying to reach for bone. The outline took the longest and was the most painful. When that was done he asked exactly what blue/green shade he should use for the inside of the tattoo. He held out his arm so I could use it as a palette, and I selected the prettiest blue and green I could find, which I found on a majestic dragon breathing fire into some sort of symbol I didn't' recognize.

Here she is! The W is a play on the M dot. I like it because it's strong, but the colors are cool and soft. The dot I turned into a triple moon. It is a Goddess symbol that represents the Maiden, Mother, and Crone as the waxing, full, and waning moon. It's also associated with feminine energy, mystery and psychic abilities.

Onto the hip. Holy MAMA did it hurt. It was very hard not to squirm, and I winced the whole freaking 1/2 hour it took Josh to complete it. That said, I'm glad, naturally, that he didn't rush.

I chose to place it on my hip because, to be honest, it's close to my left ovary, from whence my eggs were released (and yes, I know they leave alternately between the right and the left ovaries) and my uterus, where, obviously, my little tots grew from little tadpoles into actual human babies.

The symbol is Celitc and called a triskele. I like the symbol because it appears to be in constant forward motion. Its meaning, according to the Celtic symbol book I used, has to do with motion, action, revolution and moving forward. The three protrusions (legs, angles, branches) vary in their meaning depending upon the era, region, culture, or mythological history one uses to define them. To me this means those branches can mean whatever the hell I want them to mean. The meanings I like best are:  the spirit, mind and body, the father, mother and child, the past, present and future, and creation, preservation, and destruction.

The number three has many meanings, but I personally like that it points to the measure-marks of the phases of the moon. An interesting side note is that lunar creatures are depicted as only having three legs in early European esoteric art.  When you add lunar meaning to the triskele you bring to it mystery, the feminine, intuition, the subconscious, hidden desire and illumination. Nestled into branches of the triskele I had Josh inscribe a J, an N and an L--my own magical number three.  The open space in the middle of the triskele is in the shape of the uterus. J, N, and L are connected to me, but now in my three branches as opposed to inside me.

If you made it through all that meaning mumbo-jumbo than FANTASTIC. If not, I still like you. I just don't think you're very deep. KIDDING!

The end.