WooHoo! I massaged a new client on Saturday, and they called today and want me to come back! Yippee! That's sixty whole dollars towards L's tuition! I'm so happy :) 10 massages a month would cover all my expenses and L's schooling. I'm 2/5ths of the way there if this client continues to want massage weekly.

The nifty thing about massage is that if I do it properly, I end up feeling better than when I started. It's a good workout for my body, the reflexology is a good workout for my mind, and I'm doing something I want to do... healing!

I've always been afraid of reaching out and making a difference in people, although I've been told I do it all the time without noticing. I'm really comfortable with that. If I'm not trying to change them, then I can pretend nobody sees it. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of more, trying and failing or trying and succeeding. I was raised Catholic, so there's a big mea culpa living inside me. I fear not being worthy of my gifts. I fear developing a messiah complex. I'm afraid I'll discover on my death bed that all the times I thought I was helping people, I was really doing them a disservice.

If you read my other blog, you'll know that hardship makes one stronger. I can see it clearly with my own son. He's not hungry, he has plenty of clothes and games. He has both parents, and we both lavish love on him. I get to stay home with him, so he's not a latch key kid... and he doesn't have the toughness that I developed in my own childhood. I see him going out of his way to create hardships for himself, because I somehow missed out on giving him that to grow on. I don't regret it, either! He is, in so many ways, a normal healthy middle class boy. I'm proud of him, and I wish he had more self-sufficeincy. (sigh) You can't have it both ways, of course. If I worked outside the home, he would have learned self-sufficeincy. Yet middle class children tend to do just fine too. They get their "I can take care of myself" as teens, I guess. Not that L is helpless or anything. He's just not as motivated as I was.

Oh, more on the school clothes rant. This morning, he comes out of his room wearing a dirty school shirt! I don't know where he found it, but there it was, in all it's wrinkled glory hanging on his body. I almost laughed out loud. I said, "Where did you find that shirt?" He replied, "I guess I should have grabbed one of the ones hanging up?"
So today, we go through his drawers and pull out anything that might possibly be less than freshly clean. Looks like I'll be doing laundry all week. ;)