Happy 4th of July everyone. I'm spending my day lying naked in bed. I think it's a decent way to commemorate our country's freedom. I'm exercising my right to go without clothes. It's only the dogs and me (and the hamster) or else I'd probably not be naked.
I'm not exactly sure why I have decided to start posting again and I'm fairly certain that no one will even read this because, other than my husband, no one knows that I've fired up the ole blog. I just read a pretty funny book written by a blogger. I hadn't followed her blog (b/c in all honesty, I'm too busy reading the Drudge Report to devote time to any other internet sites) but parts of the book made me laugh so hard that the whole bed was shaking while Lee was trying to sleep. Even though it wasn't a fabulous piece of literary greatness, I have a deep and abiding respect for the author because she seems to write from the heart about the imperfectness of her life. I love the transparency. It's very validating to the rest of us poor slobs out here.
I used to write because I thought that maybe one day I'd get discovered and I'd be on Oprah. But now that Oprah doesn't have her own talk show anymore and blogs are about as ubiquitous as the air we breathe, it seems fairly unlikely. And, coupled with the fact that I don't think I am going to tell anyone that I am writing, I don't think anyone will stumble upon this b/c how many people are going to do a Google search for "hollerin chefs"? So, I guess it can kind of be my secret online diary that hopefully will never be discovered by my current or future employers. Not that I think my current employer would even care and not that I'm planning on having any future employers b/c I really like my current job. Also, I don't know if I want voyeurs peering into my life, but I do want to write about shit and I don't really consider myself to be an exhibitionist. Oh, and I also used to write when I was going through breast cancer treatment but that was because it was very therapeutic and people wanted to know what was going on and make sure I wasn't dead yet and they hadn't found out (that was before the days of Caring Bridge. I think). Then I just kept writing b/c I got positive reinforcement and I liked it. I guess I stopped because I got too busy and not just reading the Drudge Report (because I didn't actually start reading that till a year ago).
So, here I am again and I've just written 3 whole paragraphs on basically nothing. But,it feels good (I just had THE worst charley horse in my right calf. The pitfalls of lying in bed all day, I guess) and natural. I have a friend, Carie. If we were still 8 years old I'd venture to call her my best friend but I don't think 43 year old women categorize each other like that any more. Anyhow, Carie has always been a big proponent of my writing, which I kind of find ironic (if I am using that term correctly). Carie is probably the smartest woman I know. Like weirdly, Chinese, super genius smart without any chance of EVER being in her same league. I think we became friends in medical school partly b/c I thought it would improve my street cred by hanging out with one of the 3 smartest people in our class. That and a lot of other reasons. Anyhow, compared to her I always felt like, to borrow a Chelsea Handler phrase, a hot mess. But somewhere in the history of our 19 year friendship I realized that she wasn't friends with me just because I made her look smarter (like she ever needed that anyway). One thing I should add about Carie is that even though she is that special brand of Chinese super genius she is also drop dead gorgeous and pretty damn funny. So she was cool in that way that only geeks can appreciate. Anyhow, Carie has always subtly asked me about my writing since I started my breast cancer blog. Not a lot, but just enough to be annoying, kind of like when your faucet drips. Last year, after a trip my daughter and I took to visit her and her family I came home and immediately enrolled in an online creative writing class. I think I took 2 classes and spent about $1400 and exorcised a lot of demons and wasted a lot of time researching creative writing degree programs. But, like most projects I start, that one fell to the side when I got distracted by some other shiny object. Then about a week ago she told me to read this book that a female blogger had written because it was funny and it reminded her of me. After reading the book I'm going to choose that it reminded her of me in a lot of really good, mentally healthy and sane ways and that it was also another jab to start writing. Might not have been her intention, but that's how I choose to interpret the fates.
I wonder how long I'm going to get away with being completely and utterly selfish by lying here naked in bed ignoring any and all domestic responsibilities. Now the dogs aren't even in here with me b/c Lee put them outside before he went to Lowe's to buy parts to fix the toilet. It's just me and Tiny. Normally Tiny doesn't board in our room, but my middle kid got new furniture about a month ago and in the process Tiny came to stay with Lee and I till the room got situated. The new room is neither situated nor has Tiny returned to her proper location but because it might take me the next 8 years that Jake will be living at home to get his room properly situated, Tiny might be in here with us till then. Or until she dies. Which ever comes first. I hate to even say this out loud, but I feel like I have to put it out there. We are terrible stewards of pet hamsters. I could completely blame all of this on Jake since it is his hamster and part of the deal was that he'd feed her, give her water, change her shavings, but he never does. And honestly, who really expects their 9 (now 10) year old to actually follow through on their end of the bargain. Everyone knows that parents are just going through the obligatory motions when they make their kids promise to take care of pets that are about to be acquired. I have a small confession to make. Tiny's cage rarely gets cleaned out. She gets plenty of fresh food and water, but her shavings haven't been changed in about 2 months. I choose to ignore the unsanitary aspects of this truth. She doesn't seem to mind. She hasn't filed any complaints yet, her cage doesn't smell unless you stand right next to it for more than a minute and I'll be damned if my 10 year old gets the better of me in this bargain. I'll hold out forever before I clean that cage for him because I have principles and it is some sort of lesson that Jake doesn't even realize I'm teaching him and because I can be pretty damn lazy about the things I choose to be lazy. So, for now Tiny will continue to live in her own stink and luckily hamsters aren't the kind of animals that animal activists bust down your door because of the squalid living conditions to which they are subjected.
So, it's just me and Tiny with the dogs outside and other people watching my kids and Lee doing the middle-aged male homeowner thing by choosing to do something he really has no business doing and could be accomplished in a fraction of the time if done by someone who is trained in the toilet arts. And even though I'm starting to get kind of hungry and my Diet Coke isn't really doing anything to make my stomach stop growling, I'm going to lie here until I'm forced to get out of bed because it is a rare day in hell that a working 43 year old mother of 3 gets to actually sit in her bed all day with absolutely no one bugging her, not even the dogs.
Lee was lying here naked with me earlier (you fill in the blanks. No kids and 2 consenting adults). Anyhow, I asked him "Would you rather lie here naked all day or go work out all day to your heart's content?" He chose the work out option and I told him that was the fundamental difference between him and me. He said I was only choosing to be lazy because I just did 2 12 hour shifts in the ER, but I'd like to think of myself as a completely self-indulgent person so I ignored his insensitive attack on my character. While we were laying (lying?) here we played the "would you rather game". Like, if you had to eat one of the dogs/hamster to survive, which would you choose first? Or if you had to watch a set of our parents/stepparents having sex, which couple would you choose to watch? Or if you had to tear down a neighbors' house to have a double lot which neighbors would you rid yourself of first? Mostly we were in alignment on all of our choices but he chose to eat the small dog over the big dog first because he likes the big dog better. I told him that was a strategical error that would cost him, but he wouldn't budge (right now the dogs are going nuts barking outside and I should go and yell at them to shut up or bang on the window, but I don't even care that I'm being a bad neighbor by letting them bark. More proof that I am completely self indulgent and thoughtless to the needs of others). I also wondered aloud if, when we were 72 after having geezer sex, would we lie in bed with him running his knobby arthritic fingers over my liver spots? He said he would.
Last thing before I go forage through the refrigerator...has anyone read the People magazine excerpt from Rielle Hunter's forthcoming book? Can anyone say stupid whore? Seriously, I am embarrassed for her and for John Edwards even though he is a completely narcissistic, stupid douche bag. I couldn't even be sick because it was too much of a parody to even get nauseated. That poor kid Quinn doesn't stand a chance. Maybe both of their gene pools will cancel each other out and she'll actually be even more resilient. Unlikely, but it could happen. Elizabeth Edwards timed it right by dying before she had to be subjected to the real life equivalent of a bad Mexican tele-novella. I'll probably download the book on my e-reader because that kind of cheap entertainment is rare. I'll make sure to give a summary because I know it's one of those things that's hard to delay gratification.
Happy 4th of July!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Homework Sucks
The start of the school year is always more stressful for me than for my kids. I just wish they'd realize this. Tonite was almost the last straw and it's only the 3rd week of school. Either I'm a bad mom or my kids are over-demanding little f*cks. I already finished elementary school. I don't see why I should be subjected to 1st, 3rd and 5th grade homework all over again. It's the homework that is sucking the life source right out of me. It should not take a 9 year old 3 and a half hours to finish his homework. He should be able to get it done in an hour. Hour and a half, tops. It's the hemming and hawing that takes more time than the actual homework. And the hand holding that he wants. Good God in heaven above, I don't have the time or interest to validate every single answer as he completes his work. Child number two isn't much better. His initial attestation that he had no homework was disproved by his father at about 5 o'clock this evening when suddenly he recovered from his amnesia. Rather than just sit down and do it he commenced with all sorts of whining and moaning and gnashing of teeth. It wasn't fair that his 6 year old sister had easier homework, he was too hungry, he didn't understand it, he didn't want to read the paragraph...At this point I had to leave the room. I could no longer be physically present in the same room as my children. I didn't care if they finished their work or fed it to the dog, I was done. Good or bad, their dad came to the rescue and he force fed my middle kid just to get some calories in him and then he went thru each and every sentence that he had to answer. My 6 year old is by far the easiest. I don't know if it's because she has 6 year old homework, it's her personality or the fact that she has two X chromosomes, but she can do her work all by herself without mommy holding her hand and telling her how wonderful she is.
Someone needs to tell me, am I just enabling my 2 boys? Are their future mates going to hate me b/c I molly-coddled them their whole lives or is this just normal parent stuff? Do I make them do it themselves even if it takes 3 and a half f*cking hours or do I sit with them and do it for them just so I can not be a psychotic lunatic at the end of the night? What is the right formula? Do they do their work as soon as they get home or after they've run around. There has been no running around since school started and they desperately need it.
To make matters worse, I tried to start my no caffeine, no alcohol, low carb diet today. If there is anyting that can turn a girl into an uber-b*tch, it's lack of the 3 aforementioned food groups. Someone send me the answers please. Or validate my plight. Or send me an electronic b*tch slap to gather some perspective. Gonna go break my own rules and eat some ice cream.
Someone needs to tell me, am I just enabling my 2 boys? Are their future mates going to hate me b/c I molly-coddled them their whole lives or is this just normal parent stuff? Do I make them do it themselves even if it takes 3 and a half f*cking hours or do I sit with them and do it for them just so I can not be a psychotic lunatic at the end of the night? What is the right formula? Do they do their work as soon as they get home or after they've run around. There has been no running around since school started and they desperately need it.
To make matters worse, I tried to start my no caffeine, no alcohol, low carb diet today. If there is anyting that can turn a girl into an uber-b*tch, it's lack of the 3 aforementioned food groups. Someone send me the answers please. Or validate my plight. Or send me an electronic b*tch slap to gather some perspective. Gonna go break my own rules and eat some ice cream.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Great Worm Escape
Torrential downpours from Huricane Alex resulted in some minor flooding on our street. Nothing too bad, mainly just a nuisance. The inch or two of water in my neighbor's garage brought a whole battalion of earthworms along with it. I sent my 3 kids down there in a humanitarian effort to save the worms from certain death and to save my neighbor from having to do the chore herself. Their new home was to be my compost heap. The thought of dozens of new earthworms working for me for free made me almost as excited as the prospect of a new bag or a new pair of shoes. Really, I would be the one to benefit from this transaction while my neighbor, my kids and the worms were each thinking they were the winners.
I was at work all day yesterday; 12 hrs in the emergency room leaving the kids in the capable hands of their father and the babysitter. I had been on my way to work when my neighbor told me about her uninvited guests and I offered up my children as her earthworm removers. I called home and instructed my babysitter and the eldest on their task. Simple.
Apparently the actual harvesting of the worms was a success. Whole fist fulls were scooped up to everyone's delight. My middle kid was quoted as saying "this is awesome!" As they squished between his fingers he assured them of their hope and their future; "Don't worry, I'm taking you to a happy place!" Little did he or his invertebrate friends realize that this was just a foreshadowing of what was to come.
Rather than put them in the outdoor compost heap, my middle kid collected the 50+ earthworms from his brother and sister and brought them to the climate controlled environment of the indoor compost pale (for scraps). This might have been okay were it not for the ventilation (read: lid left slightly ajar) that was so thoughtfully provided by my son.
When Lee & the kids finally got home at the end of the day they walked into the worst earthworm genocide in history! Little earthworm corpses were everywhere: the counter top, the sink, the floor. Dozens and dozens of fallen soldiers; women and children, grandparents, aunts & uncles. All of them gone! The search and rescue team began their recovery mission but there were no survivors. The bodies were thrown into a mass grave and all but forgotten. Until....
Late that evening, after the kids were in bed and Lee had told me about the great earthworm escape, we were cleaning the kitchen and I opened the lid to the pail to drop in some scraps and out came the stench of rotting flesh. The souls of those worms had come back to haunt us in the form of the most offensive odor imaginable!
I shouldn't judge, but I will! Two adults in charge of 3 kids whose cummulative age doesn't come near either of theirs and I come home to the smell of rotting earthworm carcasses! I think we might be able to market a new air freshner.....
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I was at work all day yesterday; 12 hrs in the emergency room leaving the kids in the capable hands of their father and the babysitter. I had been on my way to work when my neighbor told me about her uninvited guests and I offered up my children as her earthworm removers. I called home and instructed my babysitter and the eldest on their task. Simple.
Apparently the actual harvesting of the worms was a success. Whole fist fulls were scooped up to everyone's delight. My middle kid was quoted as saying "this is awesome!" As they squished between his fingers he assured them of their hope and their future; "Don't worry, I'm taking you to a happy place!" Little did he or his invertebrate friends realize that this was just a foreshadowing of what was to come.
Rather than put them in the outdoor compost heap, my middle kid collected the 50+ earthworms from his brother and sister and brought them to the climate controlled environment of the indoor compost pale (for scraps). This might have been okay were it not for the ventilation (read: lid left slightly ajar) that was so thoughtfully provided by my son.
When Lee & the kids finally got home at the end of the day they walked into the worst earthworm genocide in history! Little earthworm corpses were everywhere: the counter top, the sink, the floor. Dozens and dozens of fallen soldiers; women and children, grandparents, aunts & uncles. All of them gone! The search and rescue team began their recovery mission but there were no survivors. The bodies were thrown into a mass grave and all but forgotten. Until....
Late that evening, after the kids were in bed and Lee had told me about the great earthworm escape, we were cleaning the kitchen and I opened the lid to the pail to drop in some scraps and out came the stench of rotting flesh. The souls of those worms had come back to haunt us in the form of the most offensive odor imaginable!
I shouldn't judge, but I will! Two adults in charge of 3 kids whose cummulative age doesn't come near either of theirs and I come home to the smell of rotting earthworm carcasses! I think we might be able to market a new air freshner.....
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, January 24, 2010
New Year, New me
I'm supposed to be working but there is no work to be done. So, I've gotta find other ways to make 12 hours go faster. I have a window and it's a beautiful day.
Why is it so easy to be fallible? Most of us are struggling to be a better version of our selves and it is exactly that, a struggle. I think I just have what Lee refers to as, post-alcohol depression. A few too many glasses of wine, some conversational indiscretion and I'm reevaluating my entire exsistence. I'm too old to deal with the I security that a hangover brings. It was fun drinking that wine last nite, but today I'm paying the price. The sad part is that I really want a big, greasy hamburger but I know if I actually eat one my self esteem will plummet even lower than it its present state. I should pray or something but I think even God is probably disgusted with me right now.
Well I'd better get back to work.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
A Year in Review
It's hard to believe that I started doing this almost 3 years ago; writing. Since we start a new decade in 2 days, now seems as likely time as ever to recap this past year. I don't have any huge insights or words of wisdom. Most days are all about survival-surviving one moment to the next with my sanity and sense of humor intact. Some days I do a better job than others. As I was texting Lee this am to tell him about my morning with the kids he texted back and told me that, in writing, it was all very funny-the eruption of the rice crispies volcano all over the table at the hotel bfast buffet, the wet sheets, the bathtub drain soddered shut at my 9 year old's hands, the arguements over who gets to open the hotel room key with the plastic card and the dead battery in the car because some kid forgot to turn out his light (and more importantly-I forgot to check). And, as I explained to him, I suppose that is precisely why I write. Because on some level I know if you take these situations and isolate them and look at them objectively, even I can find the humor in them. The alternative-loosing your shit with your kids (which I do aplenty regardless of my attempts to the contrary)-is much more damaging. But, as I told my middle child the other day (right before he ran out into traffic and nearly got squished by a car because he 'got confused'-just as squirrels and dogs do as suggested by his dad) when he was crying that I was never nice and I was always mean: he can save his money to go to an expensive therapist one day and tell him or her how awful I was. Then that therapist can tell middle child to get over it and realize I did the best job I could with what I had. Unfortunately I think the moment was lost on him when he became fractionally close to becoming road kill.
I wish I could be all 'leave it to beaver' but is near impossible for me. Last nite I had a dream about this other mom that I know who, in real life gives the appearance of perfection. In my dream another mother quickly dispelled the myth and explained that said mom is a true hot mess. I quess I had this dream because I screamed at my kids about something and then I had to work it out in my guilty subconscience. I could feel better about myself because the 'perfect' mom was the true stark raving lunatic who repressed all of her rage.
Still, despite my daily frustrations I still have moments when I love my kids unconditionally (mainly when they are asleep or at school). About a week ago my heart almost cracked in two when my daughter, who is my youngest, overhearing her older brother asking about my breast cancer realized that it could return. I was getting dressed in my closet and my oldest son, surveying my surgically reconstructed breasts commented on how lucky I was and how many good things I had gotten from the experience. As she was walking by in her towel she overheard him say that he hoped my cancer never returned. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked me straight in the eye and said "it can come back? You can get breast cancer again?" This is not a conversation you want to have with your 6 year old daughter and I'm fairly certain if I googled 'discussing your own mortality with your kids' that whatever might pop up wouldn't actually be that helpful. So there I sat, half naked on the floor of my closet trying to reassure my kindergardener but without sugar coating anything. I don't know if I said the right things to her but I knew that conversation would eventually take place. God in heaven knows that I'd love to tell them that I'm completely cured and the cancer is never going to come back, but I honestly think that lying to them would be worse. Just to be clear about things my oldest asked me for a refresher course this afternoon. I guess this explains why he needs so much reassurance and mom time.
Well, I don't know if this was really a review but it was cathartic for me nonetheless. So, I'll you in 2010 and hopefully I'll be a little more patient and still cancer free (God, I hope you are listening).
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I wish I could be all 'leave it to beaver' but is near impossible for me. Last nite I had a dream about this other mom that I know who, in real life gives the appearance of perfection. In my dream another mother quickly dispelled the myth and explained that said mom is a true hot mess. I quess I had this dream because I screamed at my kids about something and then I had to work it out in my guilty subconscience. I could feel better about myself because the 'perfect' mom was the true stark raving lunatic who repressed all of her rage.
Still, despite my daily frustrations I still have moments when I love my kids unconditionally (mainly when they are asleep or at school). About a week ago my heart almost cracked in two when my daughter, who is my youngest, overhearing her older brother asking about my breast cancer realized that it could return. I was getting dressed in my closet and my oldest son, surveying my surgically reconstructed breasts commented on how lucky I was and how many good things I had gotten from the experience. As she was walking by in her towel she overheard him say that he hoped my cancer never returned. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked me straight in the eye and said "it can come back? You can get breast cancer again?" This is not a conversation you want to have with your 6 year old daughter and I'm fairly certain if I googled 'discussing your own mortality with your kids' that whatever might pop up wouldn't actually be that helpful. So there I sat, half naked on the floor of my closet trying to reassure my kindergardener but without sugar coating anything. I don't know if I said the right things to her but I knew that conversation would eventually take place. God in heaven knows that I'd love to tell them that I'm completely cured and the cancer is never going to come back, but I honestly think that lying to them would be worse. Just to be clear about things my oldest asked me for a refresher course this afternoon. I guess this explains why he needs so much reassurance and mom time.
Well, I don't know if this was really a review but it was cathartic for me nonetheless. So, I'll you in 2010 and hopefully I'll be a little more patient and still cancer free (God, I hope you are listening).
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Scouting Gone Bad
The dog just walked by with a pair of dirty underwear in her mouth. She kind of glanced over at me from the corner of her eye to see if I was going to do anything about it and then walked into another room very sheepishly. As a dog, she can't control her urges, but there was shame in her eyes. Her proclivities, though unsettling, are not limited to intimate apparel. Her palate extends to shoes, socks, stuffed animals or anything else that she might feel inclined to destroy.
I just returned from a weekend away from home. It was a lovely chance to reconnect with two of my dear college friends. While no one was looking, we became middle-aged. But, sitting around with them we might as well have been back in our freshman dorm. I wonder if it will be the same when we are sixty? I hope and pray that my daughter has the benefit of strong female relationships. Not having any sisters, my female friends are incredibly important to me and they have helped shape me. I want her to experience the satisfaction of having best friends in her life time. Girls that she can giggle with when she is both 6 and 36 years old. There is nothing more reassuring than sitting around in your pajamas with your girlfriends and laughing at nonsense. It's a sense of security that you are loved and accepted, regardless of how you look or feel.
I tried to impose the strong girl relationship on my daughter through a cookie-selling organization that I'll refer to as 'the female adventurers'. If felt wrong from the outset and I should have known better, never having been a member of any sanctioned girl-club. First of all, my daughter could care less if she was to be a pansy or a lemon-square or whatever the groups may be. Secondly, it was just too hard. A gathering of girls should not be as difficult as this organization makes it. If we forget about the colossal lack of planning that went into the registration rally, which was a bunch of grown women panicking about whether or not their daughters were going to get into the right pansy group, and we talk about the commitment that is required of the mothers you might as well jump directly into the briar patch. That is precisely what I did-lock, stock and barrel. I drank the kool-aid and worried that my daughter might not get picked to go to the ball if I didn't sign up and sign up all the way. So, I sat through the first meeting and the second and the third. I made excel spreadsheets and I e-mailed other mothers about meeting times and philosophies. I read the introductory manual. Still none of it seemed right. The mountain of required paperwork seemed more prohibitive than filing your my own taxes. I was ready to take my blood oath...until some crazy, bee-atch mama went off on me b/c, according to her, I was slacking (not pulling my weight, being lazy, making excuses....fill in the blank). The weirdest part about it was that I didn't even know this woman. I had talked to her on two or three prior occasions and all of the sudden she feels compelled to critique my intentions and offer advice on how and when I should obtain childcare so as to not miss any opportunity to be involved. Believe me, I was not mistaking helpful for critical. She was downright nasty to me. And this organization is supposed to be about fostering great female relationships.
Because she accosted me in the middle of the school cafeteria I decided that I couldn't back down. I felt like a movie character-Norma Rae comes to mind. I wasn't going to let this mean lady talk to me in such a derogatory manner, so I told her to stop. I think she was shocked to have someone stand up to her and shocked that neither intimidation nor manipulation, which seemed to be her ace cards, were working for her.
So, it's been almost 2 weeks since my little 'female adventurers' drama and I am finally starting to realize that both my daughter and I are going to be okay without them. Maybe sometime in the future we'll try again, but next time it is going to be because she is begging me to do it. Otherwise I don't need to impose my insecurities of wanting to be included in a group onto her. So, thank you Deb and Sand. Thank you for being my friends for 20+ years and for helping me to realize that, like her mama, she is gonna be just fine.
I just returned from a weekend away from home. It was a lovely chance to reconnect with two of my dear college friends. While no one was looking, we became middle-aged. But, sitting around with them we might as well have been back in our freshman dorm. I wonder if it will be the same when we are sixty? I hope and pray that my daughter has the benefit of strong female relationships. Not having any sisters, my female friends are incredibly important to me and they have helped shape me. I want her to experience the satisfaction of having best friends in her life time. Girls that she can giggle with when she is both 6 and 36 years old. There is nothing more reassuring than sitting around in your pajamas with your girlfriends and laughing at nonsense. It's a sense of security that you are loved and accepted, regardless of how you look or feel.
I tried to impose the strong girl relationship on my daughter through a cookie-selling organization that I'll refer to as 'the female adventurers'. If felt wrong from the outset and I should have known better, never having been a member of any sanctioned girl-club. First of all, my daughter could care less if she was to be a pansy or a lemon-square or whatever the groups may be. Secondly, it was just too hard. A gathering of girls should not be as difficult as this organization makes it. If we forget about the colossal lack of planning that went into the registration rally, which was a bunch of grown women panicking about whether or not their daughters were going to get into the right pansy group, and we talk about the commitment that is required of the mothers you might as well jump directly into the briar patch. That is precisely what I did-lock, stock and barrel. I drank the kool-aid and worried that my daughter might not get picked to go to the ball if I didn't sign up and sign up all the way. So, I sat through the first meeting and the second and the third. I made excel spreadsheets and I e-mailed other mothers about meeting times and philosophies. I read the introductory manual. Still none of it seemed right. The mountain of required paperwork seemed more prohibitive than filing your my own taxes. I was ready to take my blood oath...until some crazy, bee-atch mama went off on me b/c, according to her, I was slacking (not pulling my weight, being lazy, making excuses....fill in the blank). The weirdest part about it was that I didn't even know this woman. I had talked to her on two or three prior occasions and all of the sudden she feels compelled to critique my intentions and offer advice on how and when I should obtain childcare so as to not miss any opportunity to be involved. Believe me, I was not mistaking helpful for critical. She was downright nasty to me. And this organization is supposed to be about fostering great female relationships.
Because she accosted me in the middle of the school cafeteria I decided that I couldn't back down. I felt like a movie character-Norma Rae comes to mind. I wasn't going to let this mean lady talk to me in such a derogatory manner, so I told her to stop. I think she was shocked to have someone stand up to her and shocked that neither intimidation nor manipulation, which seemed to be her ace cards, were working for her.
So, it's been almost 2 weeks since my little 'female adventurers' drama and I am finally starting to realize that both my daughter and I are going to be okay without them. Maybe sometime in the future we'll try again, but next time it is going to be because she is begging me to do it. Otherwise I don't need to impose my insecurities of wanting to be included in a group onto her. So, thank you Deb and Sand. Thank you for being my friends for 20+ years and for helping me to realize that, like her mama, she is gonna be just fine.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Pink is The Word...Have You Heard?
I have been given the task of writing a brief history of my own personal story. I love assignments. There is enough school girl still left in me that I thrive on pleasing the person who is doling out responsibilities. In my own personal report card on life I want to make sure that I get a check plus on 'completes all tasks in a timely manner.' This is just as important as getting the good grade on the completed assignment itself. I want to be in the National Honor Society of life. Everynite I have my own little induction ceremony in my head with bowed heads and dimmed lights and lit candles. Is someone tapping me on the shoulder? Am I doing my best? This is a question I continually ask myself. Where does that come from?
My sense is that my overall life GPA is probably enough to meet the requirement of induction, but when you breakdown the point system, the numbers are all over the map. Before I was diagnosed with breast cancer I was a fairly self-reflective individual. Since the diagnosis, it (the self-reflection) actually means something to me. When you are going along in life with the tacit expectation that your life span is going to fit neatly into the actuarial tables you figure you have some wiggle room. There is plenty of time to work on aspects of your life that, for now, you have swept under the rug. After the diagnosis of a life threatening illness, you have to recalculate your time line. Of course you have the absolute expectation that after all the godforsaken medical interventions you have had that you are one of the 80% plus who will never experience a recurrance of their cancer, but, just in case...You are going to play the odds game and try to outwit fate.
When I was diagnosed with stage 2a breast cancer two and half years ago the trajectory of my life acutely changed. Whatever sense of control that I once thought I possessed had disappeard into the ethers. My 3 children (at the time, 3, 5 and 6 years old, respectively) and my husband now faced the very real prospect of life without a mother/wife. I was terrified not only for myself (at the time a 38 year old woman with no family history of breast cancer who decided to get screening mammography at an early age based on a passing suggestion by my gynecologist), but moreso for my family. I'll be honest, regarding my husband, he is amazing and we have a great ride together and I love him dearly. But, I figured if I died (which every woman who is ever diagnosed with any life threatening illness immediately thinks), he'd just be able to go out and get himself a younger, cuter, blonder, more petite version of myself. It's not like he'd be cheating on me because I'd be dead. But, my kids...that's a whole different ballgame. How can a child be left motherless, especially at such a young age. Sure it happens to...'people'. But according to my plan, I wasn't one of those 'people'. This scenario was not in my play book.
As my husband and I settled into the diagnosis and we realized the course of action set before us we were faced with the very real challenge of how to explain this to our children. What we quicky determined is that there is no one way to do this and it wasn't going to be just one conversation but an ongoing discussion. We enlisted the help of websites, doctors, books, match book covers...Just about anything we could find. To some extent, the young age of my children was beneficial for both them and for me. They were too young to understand fully the implications of my diagnosis so this limited some of their long term worries. They were impacted more on the basis of my inability to mother them in the way that they had become accustomed. When I was sick from chemotherapy, they had to be quieter or go on play dates with friends. They had to adjust to a bald mom (of whom they have long since forgotten). They couldn't be held when I was recovering from one of my many surgeries. I'm sure that this made them feel scared and insecure. We talked about it and talked about it and talked about it some more. Everyone went to therapy. Everyone went to some more therapy. In the midst of my treatment, my kids switched elementary schools (and, by the grace of God, my family was embraced at their new school). I was the new bald mom. The kids didn't really care, but they had to explain to their friends why their mom had no hair and always wore a bandana on her head. My middle son told his new friends that I had cancer; skin cancer (he was 5 and after all, the mastectomy had affected my skin). When taking my 3 year old daughter to get a haircut she was asked how short she wanted it and she responed, "Let's just shave it!" With both a bald mother and father (my husband kept his head shaved in solidarity), that seemed to be the norm in our family.
Thirty one months later (since the day of my diagnosis) we have weathered the storm. Knock on wood, I'm good (though I do think I'm dying every time a get a sniffle or a hang nail. Just ask my husband and my massage therapist-Yes, once you have cancer or a chronic illness you enlist the help of every alternative therapy practitioner that has ever been listed in the yellow pages-chiropractic medicine, accupuncture, Reiki, cupping...). But, we still experience residual effects from the storm. Two of my kids require a lot of verbal and physical reassurance. Not so much about my illness. It manifests itself in other ways (am I going to be late for to pick them up from school? am I always nearby in the house? if I step outside to take out the garbage, I have to announce it, etc...) and I have to remind myself not to get impatient with them. Just like me, they are still processing the course of events that have transpired thus far in their very young lives. The other child has responded differently. This one is impish and pushes the envelope on just about every situation and we have to walk the very fine line of tolerance and accountability. This too requires patience and discernment on a whole different level.
All of this is very basic parenting stuff, but confounded by our situation. We are not unique in having had 'circumstances' befall us; everyone has a backdrop on which their lives are created. As I mentioned earlier, having had breast cancer while raising young children has been beneficial. Not only for the reasons previously mentioned, but it has been the gift of clarity. It is much easier to sort out what matters and what doesn't matter (though I still get caught up in the nonsense of life just like everyone else). That is a true gift and one for which I am continually grateful.
So, everyday I wake up and thank God for the gift of life with all the good and the bad. I thank Him for the things that really matter, my husband, my children, my friends and the relationships I have with each of them. I thank Him for the color pink which, in my mind, has come to represent hope and gratitude. Since my diagnosis, almost unconsciously, I usually have something on my person that is pink. I'm not a tremendously girly, girl but this color is a visual reminder to me of all that I hold dear. I have had the good fortune of being in a city with so many available resources. One of them, introduced to me by a dear friend who has since continued her journey beyond this life, has been The Pink Ribbons Project. Through this non profit organization that provides avenues of art therapy for those whose lives have been affected by breast cancer, I have been able to assist in the creation of a program called Pink Alive Kids. This program will help those families with children, very young to teen, navigate the complexities of having breast cancer and raising children. And it will be a resource and an outlet for children who have no 'kids of breast cancer moms/dads' cohort to call their own. They will see that their are other kids who share in their insecurities and they will be offered healthy and safe ways to express the gamut of their emotions. So, in the month of October, despite the overtones of black and orange and all that is ghoolish and scary, I challenge you to Think Pink, if for no other reason it reminds you to have hope and to be grateful!
My sense is that my overall life GPA is probably enough to meet the requirement of induction, but when you breakdown the point system, the numbers are all over the map. Before I was diagnosed with breast cancer I was a fairly self-reflective individual. Since the diagnosis, it (the self-reflection) actually means something to me. When you are going along in life with the tacit expectation that your life span is going to fit neatly into the actuarial tables you figure you have some wiggle room. There is plenty of time to work on aspects of your life that, for now, you have swept under the rug. After the diagnosis of a life threatening illness, you have to recalculate your time line. Of course you have the absolute expectation that after all the godforsaken medical interventions you have had that you are one of the 80% plus who will never experience a recurrance of their cancer, but, just in case...You are going to play the odds game and try to outwit fate.
When I was diagnosed with stage 2a breast cancer two and half years ago the trajectory of my life acutely changed. Whatever sense of control that I once thought I possessed had disappeard into the ethers. My 3 children (at the time, 3, 5 and 6 years old, respectively) and my husband now faced the very real prospect of life without a mother/wife. I was terrified not only for myself (at the time a 38 year old woman with no family history of breast cancer who decided to get screening mammography at an early age based on a passing suggestion by my gynecologist), but moreso for my family. I'll be honest, regarding my husband, he is amazing and we have a great ride together and I love him dearly. But, I figured if I died (which every woman who is ever diagnosed with any life threatening illness immediately thinks), he'd just be able to go out and get himself a younger, cuter, blonder, more petite version of myself. It's not like he'd be cheating on me because I'd be dead. But, my kids...that's a whole different ballgame. How can a child be left motherless, especially at such a young age. Sure it happens to...'people'. But according to my plan, I wasn't one of those 'people'. This scenario was not in my play book.
As my husband and I settled into the diagnosis and we realized the course of action set before us we were faced with the very real challenge of how to explain this to our children. What we quicky determined is that there is no one way to do this and it wasn't going to be just one conversation but an ongoing discussion. We enlisted the help of websites, doctors, books, match book covers...Just about anything we could find. To some extent, the young age of my children was beneficial for both them and for me. They were too young to understand fully the implications of my diagnosis so this limited some of their long term worries. They were impacted more on the basis of my inability to mother them in the way that they had become accustomed. When I was sick from chemotherapy, they had to be quieter or go on play dates with friends. They had to adjust to a bald mom (of whom they have long since forgotten). They couldn't be held when I was recovering from one of my many surgeries. I'm sure that this made them feel scared and insecure. We talked about it and talked about it and talked about it some more. Everyone went to therapy. Everyone went to some more therapy. In the midst of my treatment, my kids switched elementary schools (and, by the grace of God, my family was embraced at their new school). I was the new bald mom. The kids didn't really care, but they had to explain to their friends why their mom had no hair and always wore a bandana on her head. My middle son told his new friends that I had cancer; skin cancer (he was 5 and after all, the mastectomy had affected my skin). When taking my 3 year old daughter to get a haircut she was asked how short she wanted it and she responed, "Let's just shave it!" With both a bald mother and father (my husband kept his head shaved in solidarity), that seemed to be the norm in our family.
Thirty one months later (since the day of my diagnosis) we have weathered the storm. Knock on wood, I'm good (though I do think I'm dying every time a get a sniffle or a hang nail. Just ask my husband and my massage therapist-Yes, once you have cancer or a chronic illness you enlist the help of every alternative therapy practitioner that has ever been listed in the yellow pages-chiropractic medicine, accupuncture, Reiki, cupping...). But, we still experience residual effects from the storm. Two of my kids require a lot of verbal and physical reassurance. Not so much about my illness. It manifests itself in other ways (am I going to be late for to pick them up from school? am I always nearby in the house? if I step outside to take out the garbage, I have to announce it, etc...) and I have to remind myself not to get impatient with them. Just like me, they are still processing the course of events that have transpired thus far in their very young lives. The other child has responded differently. This one is impish and pushes the envelope on just about every situation and we have to walk the very fine line of tolerance and accountability. This too requires patience and discernment on a whole different level.
All of this is very basic parenting stuff, but confounded by our situation. We are not unique in having had 'circumstances' befall us; everyone has a backdrop on which their lives are created. As I mentioned earlier, having had breast cancer while raising young children has been beneficial. Not only for the reasons previously mentioned, but it has been the gift of clarity. It is much easier to sort out what matters and what doesn't matter (though I still get caught up in the nonsense of life just like everyone else). That is a true gift and one for which I am continually grateful.
So, everyday I wake up and thank God for the gift of life with all the good and the bad. I thank Him for the things that really matter, my husband, my children, my friends and the relationships I have with each of them. I thank Him for the color pink which, in my mind, has come to represent hope and gratitude. Since my diagnosis, almost unconsciously, I usually have something on my person that is pink. I'm not a tremendously girly, girl but this color is a visual reminder to me of all that I hold dear. I have had the good fortune of being in a city with so many available resources. One of them, introduced to me by a dear friend who has since continued her journey beyond this life, has been The Pink Ribbons Project. Through this non profit organization that provides avenues of art therapy for those whose lives have been affected by breast cancer, I have been able to assist in the creation of a program called Pink Alive Kids. This program will help those families with children, very young to teen, navigate the complexities of having breast cancer and raising children. And it will be a resource and an outlet for children who have no 'kids of breast cancer moms/dads' cohort to call their own. They will see that their are other kids who share in their insecurities and they will be offered healthy and safe ways to express the gamut of their emotions. So, in the month of October, despite the overtones of black and orange and all that is ghoolish and scary, I challenge you to Think Pink, if for no other reason it reminds you to have hope and to be grateful!
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