Tis The Season...

Today, I let my daughter eat a chocolate truffle for breakfast. Because I am super awesome like that. The caveat was that she had to eat two pear slices to offset the sugar. It makes sense, right? Besides, its Christmas time and we all know that calories don’t count at Christmas.

This month, we’ve been busy, busy, busy. Too busy in fact for me to feel like I was actually enjoying the season, I can’t remember that happening to me before. I feel like I should be standing on a street corner, belting out Faith Hill’s “Where Are You Christmas?” and then the spirit of the season might just come upon me. Or not…

But in truth, the moments of joy I have found have always been when I am doing something for someone else. The recurring theme of my life for the past few months has definitely been inward focused me equals feelings of doubt and discontent, outward focused me equals satisfaction and peace. That makes sense too, right? I know I am always most satisfied when I am a part of something bigger than me, though I confess, I really had to push myself to even care about being nice. Santa must surely have me on the naughty list. But I have learned that you can never put a value on something as small as just speaking a kind word to a friend and asking them how they are. How they really are, and caring about their reply.

We are winding down and I look forward to visiting with family and enjoying life in the slow lane for a few days. Above all, I am grateful to enter this sacred season with my health, my family healthy and presents under our tree. We are most fortunate and blessed. Laters.

Hmm... what she said.

I was thinking about this time of year and how I need to remember the sacredness of the event, and find peace in the frenzy, then Maya Angelou said it one hundred times better than I ever could, so I'll just let her run with it. (thanks Kara)

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem

 

snow in bethlehem

By Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.

Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
implore you to stay awhile with us
so we may learn by your shimmering light
how to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
to translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ

Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues the coming of hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices to celebrate the promise of
Peace.

We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Nonbelievers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at each other, then into ourselves,
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation:

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul

Great Balls Of Fire

I woke up this morning at 5 a.m. screaming from a killer charlie-horse. (another not so lovely side effect of my meds) I alternated between a weird wheezy scream and outright hollering.  Since I was awake and in need of some support, I made sure that K was awake too so that he could enjoy the moment with me. With the screaming, you’d think he’d be awake already, but what can I say, the man is a sound sleeper. I emphatically suggested that he rub my calf and he gave it his best effort, but again, he’s not on his game much that early so it was a little anti-climactic. The pain brought out some colorful phrases and the urge to yell "ay-yi-yi" and "Dios Mio" in a Spanish accent. The cramp lasted somewhere between infinity and eternity and made my calf so sore, I could barely walk on it this morning, not to mention wear my work heels. I schlepped around for most of the day in flip-flops and then gingerly tried on my heels for a walk to the post office. I was still no better and in fact in standing position, the muscles twitch and jerk and threatened to cramp again at any moment. I’m just lucky I guess.  Laters.

What I Saw

Today as I came into the atrium of my office building, the crazy lady who always asks for a dollar and wears flip flops in the snow was standing outside the plate glass doors on the other side with a large tooth comb, fixing her hair just so. She focused on her reflection intently and took time to reach every strand, smoothing the salt and pepper mass into a sort of wind tousled submission. She went over the stubborn places several times, until all the hairs were smoothed to her satisfaction and finished her coif just as I arrived inside. I saw her quickly pocket her comb to shuffle over to the man taking a smoke break to ask for a dollar.

Laters.

Midnight Convo

For the past few days I’ve had either a small head cold or an allergy flare up. The nose is running and the eyes are watering and the sneezes abound. I’ve been taking Sudafed to combat the symptoms and it works pretty good, but as I am a medicine wimp, I only take one at a time and not the recommended two, and still , I get a pretty jittery feeling. Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and looked at Facebook and did all kinds on mental sheep counting but nothing worked. Finally K said, “Can’t you sleep?” Which really means “Be still, I’m trying to sleep over here.” I said no and then I thought that I would share the fun, racing, jittery thoughts I was having with him.

J-“Babe”

K-“Hmmm…what?”

J-“Do you remember when we were in Dublin at Christ Church Cathedral and we saw the mummified cat and mouse?”

K-“Yes”

J-“Wasn’t that cool?”

K-“zzzz….snort, Yes”

J-“Babe, do you remember the curtains we had at our first apartment?”

K-“zzzzzz”

J-“Babe!”

K-“hmmm….yes… no, not really”

J-“says many other inconsequential things”

K-“snoozes and snores and replies occasionally”

THE GRAND FINALE

J- “Babe, do you like me?”

K-“Babe, I love you.”

J-“Tell me why you love me.”

K-“I love you when you are quiet and let me sleep.”

Laters.

On A Roll

There it sat; the lonely roll of toilet paper, far away from its spindle holder high on the wall. Why you ask? Why was the toilet paper lonely? It was I, I made it so because I am the only one, I said, THE ONLY ONE, who can put it lovingly on its holder to properly function for one and all. (did I write about this before? stop me if I have, no, no really don’t, its best to get it all out in the open)

I carefully considered it and I’ll have to say that this might be the thing that drives me crazy. I mean I say it all the time, (that I’m going crazy, I mean) but finding toilet paper on the floor while the bare, brown, cardboard tube dangles above just sends me into an instant state of rage. Did I just say rage? I know, geeze, see how shallow I am, how I lack self-control? Working on it now. Laters.

The Truth Is Out There...

How do you do your garbage? We do ours stinky, gooey and running over the can before ANYONE (ahem, me) will take it out. We like our garbage in bags that rip just enough to spill curlicues of dried cucumber peelings, eggshells and coffee grounds over the kitchen floor upon extraction from the can. We like bags that leak a bit from the bottom so that the whole can is infused with the delightful aroma of chicken packaging goop that sits for a few days marinating. Ah, there is nothing, nothing I tell you that can match that assault on a person’s sense of smell. We like to scrape moldy leftovers into the can and let them blossom into their full bouquet; just the delicate bloom of scent that lingers a bit too long in the air.

Since we’ve lived in our house, a yard dweller of the animal persuasion has made nightly forages to our gloriously smelly trash to take part in an epicurean smorgasbord and this particular animal without fail, knocks over all the cans, that I know are quadruple its own body weight. I blame the two sassy squirrels who live in the apple tree; they just have a guilty look about them in general. K thinks that it’s a raccoon, and as he scoops up the goopy, smelly garbage every morning, I’m sure he would skin whoever it was alive if he could catch them. The two of us invented a system of bungees and an old piece of wood to weight the cans down and secure them and it has been working well for the tipping over part, but the animal is still partaking in the feast as evidenced by the torn bags inside and the leftover scraps on the back porch. Yes, this animal can get the lids off the can. Don’t look at me; I’m just reporting the facts.

On Sunday night, Reag went out to put something in the recycling bin and came face to face with what may be the actual perpetrator, a very large skunk. When I asked him what he did, he nonchalantly replied, “I shut the door really fast.” Laters.

Pancake Breakfast

The hubs informed me that he thought it was a good idea if once or twice a week, we got up early and all had breakfast together as a family. My immediate thought was, “ghaahh… what? early? breakfast? cooking?”  I love my kids more than anything, but my idea of a healthy breakfast is eating a piece of toast wrapped in a paper napkin while running out the door. And my idea of morning is to lie in bed until the last possible second, sipping coffee with eyelids half open. I can get ready faster than anyone you’ve ever seen and it suits me to laze about and ease gently into the day.

So I said, “yeah, yeah,” and then hoped he’d forget his great idea, but then he reminded me last night as we went to bed, so I said “wake me up and I’ll make pancakes.” It sounded like an awesome, motherly thing to do at 10 p.m. at night and I had pancake mix so it also sounded easy. But at 6:30 a.m. I wasn’t as excited and I wondered why I had so many darn kids in the first place and why they wanted pancakes at 6:30 IN THE MORNING!

In retrospect, I’m not sure that they did want them, as they were mostly sitting dazed at the table with massive bed-head, looking puzzled at why they were awake so early, but the hubs and I were chipper and we served o.j. and chocolate milk with verve and pizzazz! In true Martha Stewart fashion, I offered the children their choice of pancakes; blueberry or plain and after much bartering on their part, I relented and made some with chocolate chips. ‘Cause that’s just the kind of good mother I am. Laters.

Perfect Sense

A small peek inside my head.

This morning while waiting on the train:

“Should I have worn boots? I have awesome new boots! I don’t know, is it too hot for boots? It’s cold now but it might warm up later, but then my legs would be hot all day, and these jeans aren’t right for boots anyway. Way to go, you buying those awesome boots on sale in July when no one thinks of boots. Are my skinny jeans clean? ‘Cause I’d have to wear those with the boots. Shoot! Laundry, I should have started a load before I left. Left, eek! I left my book at home, what to do, what to do on the train now? Do I have towels in the dryer?  Great, I didn’t give Sher lunch money. Should I have worn boots? I don’t know, is it too hot for boots? Oh, look here’s the train” ** slurps coffee**  Laters.

Last Time?

Breast MRI yesterday, which was exactly one year since the last and final lumpectomy. In typical fashion, I couldn't help but second guess all my treatment decisions while I was stuffed into the tube with the knocking and clicking, wondering if I had done enough, been aggressive enough. Still have a headache from all the noise, but no I.V. bruise which is a miracle. If I get the "all clear," then I suspect the worry wort in my brain will start to settle down a bit and I'll be able to put it all behind me. That sounds good. A year is long enough to deal with that kind of stuff. What I need now is a year of good things, like shoe shopping every day and lattes delivered to my desk every morning and a vacation to Bora Bora. Just look at this picture, this is where I need to be. Laters.

Mea Culpa

Ok family, don’t feel too free to jump in and toss me under the bus, but I have a way with birthdays; mostly a way of forgetting them. Remembering birthdays is the most broken New Year’s resolution that I make, other than the whole losing 10 pounds thing. Sometimes, I look at magazines to store up good ideas for parties and vow that this is it! This is the year that I will make cakes of fondant and layers, that I will adorn our house with streamers and serve organic breakfast pancakes to the birthday child or spouse. That I will have cards on hand and lovely gift wrap ready to bedeck the thoughtful gifts that I purchased way, way ahead of time. So far, that year has not arrived. I have a sister-in-law who went to the “Martha Stewart School of Making Me Look Bad” who does all the fancy cakes and streamers and beautiful celebrations and I envy her talent and forethought.  (did I mention that she makes me look bad?) My mother is a wizard at parties and celebrations and you can count on her birthday cards to show up at least three days prior. But me, I am more of a text on the birthday of kinda gal. I’ll just say that this is my only major shortcoming in life and if you’ll agree, that would be great.

This year, I blew it worse than ever with my hubs. It started with the fact that he had to perform a wedding on his birthday, and our kids not being with us for the day, and me thinking that I would have time to shop on the way to the wedding, (I know, I know, call me crazy) and then me leaving his birthday cards on the dining room table as we rushed out the door. Then we stayed overnight, so I couldn’t make the cake until the next day, (homemade cheesecake, though) and then he had to work and I still didn’t have a gift, so I thought to myself, “I’ll stop on the way home from work to buy one.” Except then I forgot to stop and he never got a gift. I mentioned a few weeks later that I needed to get him something and he testily told me that I had passed the statute of limitations. What a jerk I am and so insensitive. I’m still getting him something; I just haven’t figured out what yet. Laters.

Sunday Drive

Did I ever tell about the time mom was hot-rodding our obese green van and we had a wreck?

As I recall, it was a Sunday morning and we were running late to church and as the pastor’s wife and kids, it was generally frowned upon for us to arrive after the singing started. I can’t really blame mom though for our tardiness as she had about a dozen kids (no joke) to get ready. So we all hopped in the green machine for our mad dash into town for service, flying down the Oklahoma thoroughfare with red dirt pluming behind and gravel spitting. Just after the bridge, mom lost control; we skittered and veered, did a slow and easy tip, landed on the side of the van and slid ever so neatly past a cattle guard and into a barbed wire fence. With a fence post punching through the side window, mere inches from mom’s head, we came to rest, suspended half on the road and half hanging off in a ditch, shaken but not stirred.

After a chorus of “are you ok’s?” mom started dropping kids out the window and we all climbed our way up the ditch to the side of the road to wait for a car to pass so we could get help. I can’t remember who picked us up, but I’m sure that he got more than he bargained for with all us kids crammed into his pickup. We made it to church only minimally late and any brownie points that were deducted due to our lateness were promptly restored when all the good saints heard about our harrowing experience. Oh, and by the way, did I mention when we dropped into the ditch, that it was rife with poison ivy? And that I was wearing a dress? And that all the flora and fauna came in close contact with my inner thighs and abdomen? (and arms, and legs, and hands and feet) And that I spent the next few weeks of my summer with the worst case of poison ivy known to man? In all the most tender spots. Laters.

I Wear Short Shorts

I never mean for it to happen. But I was seduced, seduced I tell ya! Summer, that sneaky vixen came in a rush and all my good intentions flew away to hover somewhere above the heat dome.

Each year around March, I give myself a stern lecture about how the time has come to put away childish things (AKA-string bikinis) and how this year, I **should** buy a sturdy, motherly swimsuit. I shop around, L.L. Bean, JCrew, WalMart just to see what’s out in the responsible swimsuit department but what can I say, I’m not interested.

All it takes is sunny skies, a few days of temps in the ‘80s, and a jamming ‘90s mix on Rhapsody; and I tell myself while hurriedly pulling on my trusty two-piece, dashing to a friend’s house to swim, “Ah, you don’t look that bad.”  Then, I let it all hang out.

Literally, in some kind of delicious summer denial that grips me in its madness and holds me ‘til  early September where I sit in a Panera Bread wearing a pair of micro cut-offs, counting spider veins on my legs, wondering how on earth I ever wore them out in public. And then, the next year, it all begins again. Laters.

Apple Tree

We have an apple tree in our back yard. Last year it had no apples. This year it is covered with tiny apples, but I noticed that it is dropping a fair amount of apples before they have time to grow.

I work at a land trust- our primary focus is to steward and maintain open space and in conversation with our environmental director, we somehow strayed to the topic of apple trees and I shared the scoop on our apple-dropping tree.

“Well, you know that trees are like people,” he said. “They shed things when they are stressed.” So, apparently, I have a “stressed” apple tree. But a tree that is smart enough to shed the stress.

I like to take good advice where I find it. I leave on vacation today. Here’s hoping I can shed some apples while I’m gone. Laters.

A Year In Somewhat Fuzzy Pictures

One year ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The best part of breast cancer is that you get Percocet and dinners from your friends while you re-cooperate . The worst part is that you have cancer and that you have to wear ugly socks. Laters.

August 2nd Surgery Hawt Hospital Socks

Leaving for the hospital August 2010. Notice that we are all attired appropriately in pink! 

Before they wheel me away 3rd Surgery Sept 2010

Ok,  well maybe one more shot, 3rd Surgery

Ye Olde Faiythful Ice Packe

Bruise easily? All I.V's are torture!

Bracelet by my niece, Hayley. Reminded me to stay strong!

Note from my bro after I started radiation. The darling gift box made by my sis-in-law. One present for each day of treatment.

Radiation markers or perhaps my new tattoo?

Last day of radiation, I wish I looked more excited.

One year later- happy but stuck at work.

What I Did For A Klondike Bar

About 4 years ago, K and I were separated for a little over a month when he moved to CT to start a new job. The job came about very quickly and we weren’t ready for a big move, so I stayed behind to organize and pack the house. I worked hard during the days, closing out accounts, paying bills and packing our belongings into bubble wrap, but most of the nights, I spent watching NCIS or CSI reruns and eating Klondike bars and potato chips. The reunion of our family was to be at Disney World in Florida, and about three weeks into the Klondike fest, I realized that in a few short days, I would be in a swimsuit. In public.

I began riding my bike around the neighborhood 2 or 3 times a day to burn calories and started doing lunges on my front porch steps, throwing in some arm exercises for good measure. If you know the June humidity levels in Tennessee, you realize that June in TN is no good time to start an outdoor exercise program padded with 3 weeks worth of Klondike bars, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. I reduced my portions and sweated the time away packing and exercising. I can’t remember if I lost much weight, (sigh…probably not) but I think just putting the effort into it made me feel better.

The week before the trip, in addition to losing the pounds, I realized that I **had** to bleach my teeth. Why? I can’t really say. I was traveling with my parents, who never care if my teeth aren’t at the peak of whiteness and K would be glad to see me either way, but I spent the last few days carefully applying bleaching strips to my teeth to achieve a pearly smile. K noticed neither the bleaching nor the weight or lack thereof. Hmph.

Laters.

Recommendations 3

Our family has been using www.mint.com to set our monthly budget and help us manage our money. Mint categorizes all expenditures, synchs with your bank accounts, credit cards, loans, etc. and lets you see exactly what you spend and exactly where it goes. (eek, for me on the Starbucks and shoes) In the words of my sis-in-law, “that sounds scary,” but in reality setting a budget and sticking to it is a good thing. They also have an iPhone app so really, being fiscally responsible couldn’t be easier. Oh, and it’s free. 

A beauty product I love right now is Nars Illuminator. For me, it works a little like a bronzer and it looks good with my fledgling summer tan. A little shimmer on the décolletage is nice too, and this works nice for that.  As always, my go-to for this kind of stuff is Sephora, but I’m sure you can get it at most department stores. http://www.sephora.com/browse/product.jhtml?id=P284301&categoryId=B70

I know its summer when it’s time to buy flip-flops and tanks at Old Navy. I think that their simple cotton tanks are great and I wear mine all year for layering and they usually get pretty threadbare by the time the next summer rolls around so it works out perfect. Don't think I need to list this site as I'm sure every closet has a pair of their flip-flops, but just in case you've not been informed, www.oldnavy.com 

Trader Joe’s; bad for my waistline mini-milk-chocolate peanut butter cups. So tiny and tasty and the perfect size to grab a handful (or 3) as you walk past, I keep them in the fridge so they stay cool in the summer temps.

Me First

I expect it was the enormous lunch stuffed in my back pack that gave me the edge or maybe it was the Monday angst, but either way, I won.

There is a certain fellow, I like to call him “Mr. Not So Nice Guy in a Yankees Cap,” or worse things depending on my mood, but everyday he pushes in front of me to get on the train.

Raised in gentler, more mannerly climes, I expect men to defer to a lady or least not push her out of the way, but I’m pretty certain that this is a Jersey boy or a Bronx man, or from wherever they raise chubby, rude, sweaty men who don’t have manners.

He is a train runner, by that I mean he is the type who likes to start at the end of the platform and run alongside the train as it comes to a stop. Runners seem surprised by the whole process each morning and determined not to miss their golden opportunity. I am waiter; the train stops every day in the exact same place, so I pick my spot, wait there, the doors open, I enter and I am whisked magically away to work.  I suppose Hat Guy does not understand the mechanics of routine, or of waiting his turn, or of being nice. He must have been a terrible kindergartner.  

As I saw him making his sweaty run for it this morning, I thought, “not today, Bub!” and I put myself squarely in the path of his running, angling my overstuffed-backpack laden frame just perfectly, so he had to stop and wait his turn. He could hardly stand it, and he tried to squirm in front of me at the last minute, even as I was stepping onto the train from the platform. Which I don’t have to tell you is dangerous business; ohhh, it makes me steamed just thinking about it. Since I was first, I took the last open seat in the car. Sayonara Sweaty!! Laters.

Recommendations 2

For a dye hard (haha, get it?) do-it at home hair colorist, I like this product, Clairol Perfect 10. It literally takes 10 minutes, so you have to be quick when you apply, or else before you’re done, it’s time to rinse. It comes with 2 different applicator tips so you can do only roots or whole head- I usually do a little of both. You can get more info here. http://www.clairol.com/niceneasy/perfect_10/index.jsp

Back on the Sally Hansen bandwagon, this stuff, Nailgrowth Miracle Serum works! My nails, especially my thumbs, split way down into the quick as a rule; ugly and painful. I’ve been using this in conjunction with the polish strips and no breaks in over 4 weeks. A real record for me, but since I’m singing SH’s praises, I’m sure I’ll break one today. http://www.sallyhansen.com/products/nails/nail-care/nailgrowth-miracle-serum

Off the beauty subject and not relevant unless you live in CT, but oh my goodness, the chicken salad from Stew Leonards is AMAZING!  We been buying it for a while and it never disappoints. I prefer to eat it on crackers, (Trader Joe’s has these amazing, tiny rye crackers that compliment it superbly) that way I feel like I eat less, but delish any way you serve it.

And on to a more boring subject; laundry. Gosh, how much time have I spent doing this and to make it easy, the Bounce bar has an adhesive strip and you just stick on your dryer and forget about fabric softener. I think that it works well to control static cling and keep clothes soft; my only negative comment is that it doesn’t leave a strong scent. I like my laundry to smell like summer rain or fresh cotton, or lavender fields (fill in fabric softener tag line) and I don’t notice it as much with this. I feel like I have to replace mine a bit more frequently than they recommend, because my laundry day seems to be every day, but from a convenience view point, it can’t be beat.  http://www.bounceeverywhere.com/en_US/products/dryer-bar/video.jsp

Pa Rump Pa Pum Pum

Looking the mirror getting ready for a friend’s birthday party, I remark to K, “wow, I have a Kim Kardashian butt!”  What I meant is her rump is like mine, and they are both substantial. Sometimes when the new Victoria’s Secret magazine comes to my house, I peruse it for hours, not for the bras or swimsuits but to try to see what make those skinny flanked models tick. It is inconceivable to me how anyone could have such tiny haunches. How exactly does one roll down the street without the weight of a sizeable derriere to ground them? Given our unknown (to her) connection, I found it amusing when one of the grocery store rags blared the headline over the weekend that Kim K’s mamma is to blame for the size of her rump by forcing her to get “cheek implants.” I suppose my mother is to blame too, for marrying my dad and forcing the ba-donk-a-donk rump into my gene pool. It is entirely my dad’s fault. He is to blame when I have to jump and stuff myself into my jeans after I wash them, and he is undoubtedly at fault when I have to shamefacedly ask the sales girl for the next size up (or two) when trying on pants. Truthfully, having a unicorn horn sprout on my forehead would be no stranger to me than imagining having a svelte posterior. Yikes, TMI, is this the weirdest post I’ve ever written or what?  Laters.

Vasovagal Syncope

Last night I went to a “fun raiser” to support the Whittingham Cancer center. I thought that it would be a nice thing to do since they have done so much for me (though I am not very thankful for the boob burning) they are all nice people and were very kind to me in my hour of need. The event was a wine tasting, with several different restaurants present cooking delicious food. (shout out to B.J. Ryan’s for the excellent pulled-pork sliders)

We meandered around tasting food and wine at all the stations but by the time we gathered to hear the speeches from hospital V.I.P’s I was fanning myself furiously with my tiny paper napkin. I had been having pretty severe hot flashes all night and at this point, I was feeling pretty miserable. Things went from bad to worse in about 30 seconds. I began sweating profusely and my vision started getting black around the edges and dotty. I whispered to K “I don’t feel well. I feel very light headed!” At least, that’s what I think I said as I immediately passed out cold, striking my head on the marble counter top as I fell. (K says it was very hard and that the sound was so loud in the room)

This was my first attempt at fainting. I’m hoping that I pulled it off well; though K says it was a very dignified faint so I’m taking his word for it. Evidently, I was out for about 2-3 minutes and K thought I wasn’t breathing which scared him to death. I came to very confused, wondering why a million people were calling my name and slapping my face.(very gently) All of the 25 doctors at the event, (Excuse me, is there a doctor in the house?) made it their business to resuscitate me while we were waiting on the ambulance. Yes the ambulance came, and we proceeded with all pomp and circumstance out the door, past the crowd of attendees, and into the ambulance for a ride to the hospital, with me trussed up on a back board like a Thanksgiving turkey, neck enclosed in a cervical collar.  

I went to the hospital, had a barrage of tests, i.v. fluids and found out that nothing is wrong with me and that I hadn’t cracked my head. My doctor said it was the “perfect storm” of events for fainting, hot room, hot flashes, standing for a long time, etc. One of the oncologists who had attended to me post fall came by the E.R. to see how I was and one of the very lovely VP’s of the hospital (whose speech I interrupted with my fall) came by as well and held my hand while I got my i.v. I am a huge baby about things like that, even after all the surgeries.

I went home with a lump the size of a lemon on the back of my head, a possible concussion, and the sweet sound of this; as she was holding my hand, the VP said to me, “Oh, as they were rolling you out, we were all commenting on how cute your shoes were.” Take me to the hospital fireman, my work here is done! Laters.

Recommendations

A few of my favorite things right now:

Tom’s Shoes- comfy, cute and such a great cause. You can find them here. www.tomsshoes.com

Sally Hansen- Salon effects nail polish strips that last about a week. Adorable prints! Also available in chic, fun colors. I love these because I **hate** waiting for nail polish to dry. These go on quick (the first time took a bit longer, after I figured it out, a breeze) I buy mine at the local drugstore. http://www.sallyhansen.com/products/nails/nail-color/salon-effects-real-nail-polish-strips

Urban Decay Eye Shadow primer- for real, use this and your shadow and liner will stay put ‘til the end of the day!! I like Sephora so I buy it there to get the freebies. http://www.sephora.com/browse/product.jhtml?id=P284716&categoryId=B70

Adorable dresses for any taste (cute swimsuits and things for little girls too) www.shabbyapple.com

In The Spring

Yikes! I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been emotionally cranky. In my head, the point of my blog is to be inspirational and humorous. I’ve recently felt that I was drifting off that a bit because of my internal emotions and I thought I would just stop and center and see if I had anything left to say. I guess I do. Or I’m pretending to at least. It’s hard to stomach the fact that you might have lost your “inspiration and humor.”

Our family shared a nice Easter together and it was the first warm, sunny day in a long, long time. I industriously tried to take my Sunday nap, but it was so warm out that I took the dog for a long walk instead. I **love** warm weather! Here we are in our Easter finery, in case you want to see.

As we walked into the church in the midst of the birds and sunshine, I fervently said, “Thank you Jesus for such a nice warm day!” Sher looked at me and said, “Mom, it’s not Jesus, it’s Mother Nature.”  Ha, that kid! Laters.

Socks

Sometimes late night in the basement, it’s just me and the washer and dryer; the washer chugs along, whompa, whompa, whompa, and the dryer whirs along right beside. I spend my time there folding clothes and sorting clothes and looking at stacks of junk stored haphazardly that we don’t really need. My least favorite part about laundry is folding socks. I always leave that part to the very end and even then I try to put it off as long as I can, then I just sigh really loud, shake myself and then go ahead and get it done. But I still don’t like it. Socks are a big mystery at our house. We buy lots of socks, yet somehow, no one ever has any. Most mornings, the boys go from bedroom to bedroom looking to see who has socks available and there is usually a rumble over who gets the last pair. I suppose that part of the problem is that no one likes to come down to the basement to pick up their clean laundry; I do my part by washing and folding (even though I don’t like it) and then the clean clothes often sit, waiting on the appropriate child to come and claim them.

Last week while folding, I found myself exasperated because the piles of clothes were getting large and I had reminded the kids but still, no one had showed to pick up clothes. I was especially irritated because just 15 minutes before, K had told me that we needed “to buy socks.” I was alone in the basement thinking,” If they need socks, why don’t they just come down here and get them? They need socks, here are the socks they need, but they don’t have them because they haven’t come for them.”

In the quiet basement, God reminded me that he works like that too. He has good things for me, folded up and ready, but if I don’t pick up my stuff, he can’t give it to me. The socks are ready and waiting whether my kids pick them up or not, and so is God’s grace and provision. He is there working for me (for my good) even when I don’t accept or acknowledge it. God never stops caring for me and never stops matching up things that I need. I like thinking about all the socks God has folded for me just waiting for a pick up. Laters.

Coffee Break

Today, like a direct snub from the cosmos to me, everyone on the train (except me) was sipping from a hot cup of coffee and my seatmate was very elderly. I seriously contemplated snatching his coffee and running because I didn’t think he could catch me.  Yes, his coffee smelled that good. He must have sensed my wicked intent because he kept giving me furtive glances, and he moved across the row as soon as a seat became available. As I walked to work, I called K and told him the story and he mentioned how I might be the kind of person, who in an apocalypse kills/maims other people solely to hoard and drink the last bits of remaining coffee. I couldn’t deny it, and in fact the only other person that I would be afraid of in the coffpocalypse would be my mother, who might love coffee even more than me. I suspect that she might have already hurt a park ranger for his coffee once when we were camping and my dad forgot the coffee pot. All I know is that there was no coffee to be had, she disappeared, and then there she was, smugly sipping a steaming, white, to-go cup. I can tell you, we children gave her a wide berth that morning and minded our p’s and q’s.

 I was able to restrain myself until I got the coffee pot going at work, but, in the coffpocalypse, it’s everyone for themselves!! Laters.

It Was The Right Time

For almost two years, I’ve lived in my current house. The walls are white because it’s a rental and I hate them. What’s my ideal color scheme? Think the Caribbean, vibrant blues, bright pink, rich yellow, purple….birds of paradise and peacock feathers; I love color.   Every time I pass a white wall (which is often because I live there) I think, “ugh!!” I almost painted last year but things were in a toss-up whether we would stay in the house or not, and I thought of all the work involved and the repainting if we moved, so I just decided to take a nap instead. But sometimes the heart needs things that it really doesn’t need. Sometimes we need adventure and excitement and things that don’t make sense except to make us happy. Sometimes we need to paint things, even though tomorrow we may be moving on. It took me almost 2 years to realize how happy that one simple act would have made me, but I will remedy that this weekend. I am painting.

Addendum: I wrote this last week and my mom came for an unexpected visit over the weekend and we painted. I am happy, happy with my new turquoise kitchen. **smiling**

Laters. 

I Bear-ly Slept Last Night

It’s often nice to have someone to sleep with, unless that someone is a cover-hogging, black bear type. Sleeping with my hubs is like goat wrestling at the rodeo. It sounds like fun, but sometimes it isn’t.

K has a bad habit of cover stealing. He also pulls the sheets untucked from the end of the bed. Sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning, I wake up, unable to untangle my legs, completely encapsulated in a large king size sheet that has no beginning or end. (I can’t sleep with the sheets like that, so I am forced to re-smooth and re-tuck right then and there or else I would lie awake all night thinking, “the sheets are untucked, the sheets are UNTUCKED!!!” 

And though we have a king size bed, we typically use very little of it. I lie on a miniscule 5 or 6 inch portion right by the edge and he lays on me. I figure that we could easily go to a twin, open our bedroom up space wise, and add a latte machine in the corner. In addition, he has the core body temperature of a small black bear. I appreciate the waves of heat in the winter when I have cold feet, but most of the time it feels like sleeping while hugging a space heater set on high. And now with the Tamoxifen induced hot flashes, it borders on sleeping with a space heater, set on high, vacationing in Dante’s Inferno, in the hot season.

At times to garner a little relief, I kick him (softly, oh, so softly) in the leg so that he will move over. And he always does the same thing; he sits straight up in bed and in a puzzled voice says, “Babe, why did you kick me?” I usually answer something witty like, “just for the fun of it,” but my reply doesn’t really matter- he never remembers any of it in the morning anyway. And besides, I know, that he knows why I kicked him, it’s just a little game we play.

 I suppose it’s no coincidence that as he often reminds me; his love language is “touch” while mine seems to be “giving (soft) kicks in the leg.” Laters.

Lions, Tigers, and Bears

I can’t remember if I’ve told you this one before, so stop me if I have.  A few years ago K and I drove from Albuquerque, New Mexico to a little town in Colorado close to Aspen.  We were there for some introspection and time away.  While the scenery was lovely, I had been white-knuckled for most of the drive due to how close the road was to the side of the mountain.  We drove higher and higher into the mountains and the drop became more intense, and in this part of Colorado, there were no guard rails. Despite the elevation, we enjoyed our trip and as night fell, we had almost reached our destination.  Several miles before, I had begun to see wildlife signs with, “Watch for Bears,” “Moose Crossing” and the like.  I was pretty excited about seeing wildlife alive and its natural habitat, when suddenly in the darkness, I saw the amber reflection of animal eyes and I yelled at K to turn around. I’m not sure why, but I was immediately convinced that I had spotted a mountain lion. Why a mountain lion? I don’t really know; there weren’t signs posted for mountain lions, and I’d had about 2 seconds to come to my conclusion, but I was convinced. We whipped a quick u-turn on the deserted country road and whizzed back to see the mountain lion, which was really a cow eating grass in a ditch. Imagine my bitter disappointment.

This is a similar story to the time that I saw a shark when we were on vacation in South Carolina that was really a dolphin, but that story is for another time. Laters.

Lovey Dovey

Because I often think about weird things, I’ve thought a lot about this: if by one death (yours) salvation came to many, would you voluntarily lay down your life? I could say a pretty strong “yes” for my kids, a shaky “yes” for family members, and an “I hope I’m that big of a person” for the rest of humanity.

Romans 5:7-9 states: “We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him. Now that we are set right with God by means of this sacrificial death, the consummate blood sacrifice, there is no longer a question of being at odds with God in any way.” For me, understanding Scripture is realizing how I can best apply/interpret them for my life. I thought about this verse today and as I tend to be an object lesson learner, this is what I got.

K says that his song for me is “Wave on Wave” by Pat Green. (I’ll post the lyrics below) One line states, “Am I the one you were sent to save?” And I feel like that; he is the one. The one I was sent to save, the one I am supposed to be with. And in doing so, sometimes I have given up everything to be that salvation. Love in the good times is as easy as falling off a log, but love in difficulty is another matter all together.  Often when we choose to love, we consciously choose to die to ourselves by giving that love to another, even when they aren’t good and noble; even when they don’t deserve to be loved. Even when they let us down and are of no use to us in a literal sense.  Love works perfectly just like that. I don’t pretend to understand the concept, but I like it, I like laying it all down to rescue the “one” and I like receiving the same splendid love in return.  Laters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJWnIFlYKjs 

Wave On Wave

Pat Green

Mile upon Mile I got no direction. 
We’re all playing the same game 
We’re all looking for redemption 
Just afraid to say the name 
So caught up now in pretending 
What we’re seeking is the truth 
I’m just look for a happy ending 
All I’m looking for is you 
It came upon me wave on wave 
You’re the reason I’m still here 
Am I the one you were sent to save? 
It came upon me wave on wave 
I wandered out into the water 
I thought that I might drown 
I don’t know what I was after 
Just know that I was going down 
That’s when she found me 
I’m not afraid anymore 
She said, you know I always had ya baby 
Just waiting for you to find what you were looking for 
It came upon me wave on wave 
You’re the reason I’m still here 
Am I the one you were sent to save? 
It came upon me wave on wave 
Wave on wave 
Wave on wave 
The clouds broke and the angels cried 
You ain’t gotta walk alone 
That’s why he put me in your way 
You came upon wave on wave 
It came upon me wave on wave 
You’re the reason I’m still here 
Am I the one you were sent to save? 
It came upon me wave on wave

Bad DOG!!

Last night, we guesstimate that our dog ate up to 12 Hershey Kisses. K brought her upstairs to me and said, “Guess what she just did? She ate 12 HERSHEY KISSES!!”  Holly (the dog) snuffled in her endearing way, pretty much clueless to the fact that I reminded her about. Me: “Holly, you dummy! Chocolate can kill dogs!!”  (Again, picture her cute, hairy, and unconcerned)

The real culprit; our darling daughter, always the completer of tasks, long before they are due and her bag of prematurely finished Valentines for her class, left untended in the floor. Each Valentine had a special note and included a fun size bag of 3 Kisses. This special bag of goodies was left next to her backpack ready to be taken to school. The mudroom door was open and Holly managed to tear into the bag and gorge herself on chocolate.

After reading about chocolate online, (luckily milk chocolate is less toxic than dark, see here-Doggy Chocolate Chart) converting ounces of Kisses to her weight, and gauging her behavior, we decided to wait it out to see if she displayed any symptoms. She didn’t.  I feel fortunate that she is ok for several reasons, one- we like having her around and two- the only thing worse than a midnight trip to the E.R. is a midnight trip to the doggy E.R.

Laters.

Winter Wonderland Or Something

Snow and more snow, I felt a tinge of the Donner party madness coming on me last night after a long snow day when the kids were being super loud and emitting teen pheromones in my personal space. Luckily (for them) no one was eaten. We settled for salad and mac & cheese instead.

After a week of self-reflection for the upcoming year, I’ve decided a few things:

1.      I still need that tummy tuck
2.      I need a project or cause to work  on, something that motivates me passionately
3.      I would gauge myself as aware of my issues, overcoming some and working on a few (don’t question my evaluation process- it’s very complex)
4.      One can never get the space between in hard wood floors really clean
5.       I need a new mattress-I’m thinking a memory foam or sleep number
6.      Waiting on things is very, very hard
7.      So is not knowing
8.       Peace in spite of all the unknown is the icing on my cupcake (and boy do I love icing)

Here’s hoping that sunny days are here to stay to melt all this snow. (I know, I know, snow in the forecast for tonight but a girl can dream, right?) Laters.

This Reminds Me........

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/40885541/ns/us_news-life/?gt1=43001

I saw this on MSN the other day and it reminded me of a funny experience I had growing up.

The year was 1988 and I was rocking a spiral perm and a pair of leg warmers. Or maybe my dad’s old trench coat and a pair of black combat boots; I was always pushing the envelope of fashion. In our Christian community, the small paperback version of “88 Reasons Why The Rapture Will Be In 1988” was making the circuit. Not that we were believers in the theory personally, but my dad liked to have his hands on the hot sheets as it were, to form his own opinions. The pros and cons, the possibility of accuracy was weighed in on by the faithful at many of the small bible studies held at my parent’s dining room table. I alternated between dreamy dozing on the couch and blatant eavesdropping on conversations I could only understand pieces of; though the parts I heard were enough to worry me. Based on my imperfect information, I began to worry that I would be left behind in the rapture.
The day of the predicted rapture dawned, and I woke apprehensively, tuning my ear so that I could hear the trumpet just in case the angel sounded. I gave myself a few testing sort of jumps to be certain that I could leap heaven bound at a moment’s notice if called upon. My parents were surprisingly blasé about the whole thing and didn’t mention it at all. Honestly, the day passed pretty uneventfully, until I got home from school. My mother was a stay at home mom. When I say, stay at home. I mean that she stayed there. She rarely went out, and hardly ever in the middle of the day. I suspect now that she spent most of her time taking naps and eating bonbons, but I can’t prove it. Throughout the day, I had been doing surreptitious checks on other kids that I thought might make the rapture too, just to make sure they hadn’t been called away without me noticing. When school ended, we were all present and accounted for and my brothers and I rode the school bus home.
Instead of the usual hustle and bustle of our home, dead silence greeted us at the front door. We let ourselves in and when I saw the vacuum cleaner standing all alone in the middle of the floor in mid sweep, I knew it, my mother was gone and I had missed it. The Lord had taken her up right then and there as she vacuumed. My brothers and I went around the darkened house calling in vain for our mother, who had clearly gone on with Jesus leaving us behind to fend for ourselves. As oldest, I didn’t want to let on to them what a mess we were in so I encouraged everyone to have a snack while I thought about what to do. I sat bemused on the couch for a while, wondering how such an event had transpired without my knowledge and what I could do to fix the situation. But then, sweeter than candy, the most welcome sound in of all my 15 years, I heard the sound of the turning door knob as my mother returned from her mysterious errand. We were saved! Laters.

Under the Influence

Sometimes when you have cancer, kind people from the hospital will call and match you with a “cancer angel.” Cancer angels are like minded in their suffering, breast to breast, pancreas to pancreas, throat to throat, if you catch my drift. It is a mentor who has been there, done that, to walk you through all the difficult decisions and tell you that things will work out just fine. I signed up for my cancer angel hoping to find someone who had faced my decision of mastectomy versus lumpectomy and lived to tell about it. I wanted someone who could give me a little information to sway me towards the decision that I needed to make. As it turns out, I had to think about my decision rather quickly and without any help at all from my cancer angel, I decided to go for the lumpectomy and pray that the outcome was good.


I think that I have mentioned this before, but while anesthesia and I are good friends and well acquainted, when we go out, I’m not left standing at the end. After arriving home from the procedure, still heavily sedated, I dozed in my room, essentially unaware of the comings and goings of my friends and family, my phone rang. I couldn’t tell you why I answered it, but I did, perking out a gravelly hello, that would have done a chain smoking truck driver proud. It was my cancer angel calling to chat with me and answer any questions I might have about my upcoming treatments. With a tongue that felt a mile long and twice as thick, I proceeded to explain to her that I had just returned from surgery not two hours before. She seemed taken aback and sweetly stated that she would call me back at a more convenient time. I kindly told her that it was a fine time for to talk, it wasn’t like I was going anywhere and using careful words and speaking slowly I began to share my story. I imagine that on her end, she felt the similar amusement a police officer experiences when pulling over a drunk driver while listening to proclamations of innocence, slurred speech, the painstaking use of signals, and driving 5 mph in the fast lane. I told her all about my diagnoses, my tests, my vacation, my surgery, any anything else I deemed appropriate for at the time. She listened, making commiserating noises at all the right times and when I couldn’t hold my eyes open or the phone any longer, she told me to feel better soon and said goodbye. I am now very embarrassed by all my ramblings and while I haven’t heard again from my angel, I suppose that times like those are what angels are here for. Laters.