Pardon me while I dust off the cobwebs...

Phew! Things get really dusty around here when no one's around!

Ah. That's better. Now, where was I? Ah, yes... I was having a birthday. Well, hell. That seems sooooo long ago.

You might be happy to know that I've made a mid-year's resolution. (Perhaps I'll be able to better ward off the New Year's Resolution Jinx this way.) I have resolved to renew my blogging. This past 6 months or so has been very stressful for me for no particular reason that I can determine (other than life, itself). Writing has always helped me sort through my feelings of anger, frustration, fear and inadequacy. For my own mental health, and the sanity of my family, I am back.

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Today I would like to direct your attention to an interesting headline I ran across this morning.

1. Breast cancer treatments impact work status. Well, now. There's a news flash! And worse yet, the article was not much more enlightening.


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In other news, I am reading my internet friend and co-blogger at Mothers With Cancer, Laurie Kingston's book, Not Done Yet: Living Through Breast Cancer. Laurie blogs over at Not Just About Cancer. I am sooooo loving her book and will be writing a review shortly.

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Lastly, as our typical summer would have it, my boys are having an extended visit at Nana's house. I really miss them. In theory. Does it make me a bad mom if I'm content to just hear their voices and see the occasional smiling pictures but don't long to have them back home?

I've pondered this question a lot lately. They've been gone 11 days today. Maybe it's because I know this respite has a finite time period; that they'll be back, larger than life, soon enough. Maybe it's because I welcome the peace that has settled over my house in the last 11 days. Maybe it's because Daddy-O and I realized this week that we don't fight when we don't have kids. We love each other when we don't have kids.

We will attempt to remember that once we DO have kids again.

Imaginary friends, clinical trials and the joys of poop

I've had a bunch of things to share with you, none of which seemed worthy of a whole post in and of themselves. So today will be a Tapas Topic day, in that the subjects will be small and plentiful yet not enough to make a post.


Tapa numero uno
First there is this new site called BreastCancerTrials.Org that lets you enter your health history, then matches you up with any clinical trials you might qualify for. All for free. How cool is that? Well, not cooler than not actually having cancer... but still pretty nifty.

I entered my information. Since I am currently cancer-free, am not undergoing any treatments and do not take Herceptin or any other receptor-positive treatments (praise God for all that), I only qualify for two trials, neither of which I am interested in at the moment. The first, categorized as Supportive, was on treating vaginal dryness for women with breast cancer. Um, yeah. No thanks. The second is Preventative in nature and one I would be interested in if it were closer to me. It is on diet and exercise to prevent breast cancer or a recurrence. So interested in that. Unfortunately, the nearest research site is Houston, TX. But that doesn't mean YOU won't have better luck so go fill out your own health history and see what pops up.

Tapa numero dos
And did I tell you that Danny has an imaginary friend. Yep. It's official. Absolutely no one knows who Brenden is - ergo, he must only exist in D's imagination - unless he suddenly grew a social life I don't know about. (And how unfair would that be since I don't have one?) I guess Brenden has been hanging around in conversation for about 5 or 6 weeks now. I actually thought he was a real kid. Danny talks about him the same way he talks about everyone else, in the third person, in question format, as if he interacts with them on a daily basis. (i.e. "Does Alayna clap at the soccer game?") I just assumed Brenden was one of the boys in his new preschool class. When I finally got around to asking, turns out he's not.

I've never known anyone that actually had an imaginary friend. Intellectually I know there is nothing wrong with it but I guess I've still always thought there was just a little something off about those kids. And that's not to say there isn't something a just a little off about Danny either... However, this article I found from the Seattle Post - Intelligencer Reporter was comforting nonetheless.

Tapa numero tres
For those of you sick to death of politics, please skip this tapa. Actually, this might fall more under the confession category than anything else. I voted "yes" on Proposition 8 - the ban on gay marriage. Weeks ago, actually. And now I wish I could take back my vote. I have never had an issue with civil unions or any of the other rights or privileges that come along with such a legal status. My single objection has always been with calling a same-sex partnership a marriage. How hypocritical of me. Who am I to deny equality to any segment of society? The worst of it is that I knew it was hypocritical and discriminatory when I cast the vote. And still I did it! I voted with my emotions and not my intellect. Gah! I hope it is overturned - again.


Tapa numero quatro
I promise this one is lighter by far. We've been seeing an ADD specialist for Ben, Dr. Flaton. I really, really like working with her. She's already given me great insight into what it must be like to be ADHD... helped me see things from Ben's viewpoint. At any rate, she gave Ben a bunch of questions to answer before our next appointment. They are haaard questions. At least I thought so. I guess they could be perfectly simple also. The few that Ben completed I thought were answered very well. (spelling has been corrected because I couldn't stand it.)

1. Tomorrow I will "go to the beach and play."
2. I wish that I "was rich and famous."
3. I worry about "my little brother."
4. I hope "I will never die in a 100 years."
5. My father "is going fishing today."
6. In school I "learn about science."
7. It isn't nice to "be a bully to other kids."
8. My teacher "is nice and kind."

Tapa numero cinco
Yesterday was our last soccer obligation for the season. It was an entire tournament day. We love soccer and have had a wonderful season - even though we haven't won a single game. Well, before yesterday. We actually won the very last game of the season. 4-0. Woohoo! The boys were thrilled! Here is a picture of Ben celebrating with Coach Daddy-O.

Sweet, huh? Oh course, that's not the real story here. Danny and I sat on the sidelines the whole day. We had a great time cheering an clapping for Ben's team.

Unfortunately, Danny had an accident in his pants because the port-a-potties were so far away.

Fortunately, I had thought ahead and put him in a pull-up before we left the house.

Unfortunately, I had already removed all kid stuff from my van in preparation for Daddy-O's fishing trip so I didn't have any wipes or other pull-ups. Yikes! It was only 10 AM.

Fortunately, one of the other mom's had everything I needed. Day saved. After lunch there was another small accident before we made it to the outhouse.

Unfortunately, this time there was diarrhea involved. Ack! Still no supplies and now day-saving mom had taken her diaper bag to lunch.

Fortunately, Danny doesn't mind going commando.

Unfortunately, the diarrhea wasn't an isolated incident.

Fortunately, he was wearing very dark, thick pants and there wasn't very much of it... that second time.

Unfortunately, there was also a third time.

All I can say is that my youngest son is such a trooper. He was swooped up, rushed home, stripped, thrown in a bath, scrubbed within an inch of his life, brusquely dried & redressed then back at the soccer fields within 30 minutes. Surely a record.

Portions cross posted to Mothers With Cancer

God's Country

We just came home from Yosemite. It's the first time I've ever been there. Man, did God ever work overtime on that place! He certainly out did himself.

Words really can't express how beautiful the park is so I will just give you a glimpse of my photos from Saturday.

Because Daddy-O is a complete dork

I am irritated with Daddy-O. I went grocery shopping last night and spent, well, an ungodly amount of money, as per usual. We had discussed having BBQd chicken for dinner. But because it was already late I also bought fixin's for burgers which are so much quicker. We agreed to have BBQ Chicken the next night - tonight. I had bought two picnic (bulk) packs of drumsticks and thighs which I break down into two meals each. I marinate them before I freeze them so they are already prepped when I take them out of the freezer. Since it was late I gave Daddy-O the bulk packs of chicken to put in the garage refrigerator until I had a chance to break them down today.

At dinner time I went to grab them. They were sitting snuggly in the freezer. Still in bulk. Still unmarinated. Not ready for BBQing.

The pizza was delicious.

In order to NOT take my irritation out on my husband who was obviously not paying attention when I was speaking to him, I will instead, post evidence of his dorkiness for all the world to see. Because he also does not read my blog as my words have very little meaning to him. (I only believe this a little bit).

For your viewing pleasure:


Exhibit One:
The dork on the left is Squatter Dog and the one on the right is Daddy-O. The following pictures are from their July trip to Yosemite. Don't ask me to explain any of them because I can't even begin to...


Exhibit Two:


Exhibit Three:
I believe this would be posed...


Exhibit Four:
This is the whole crew: (r to l) Daddy-O, nameless friend, Gary, Squat, Mark. Otherwise known as The Marmots.



OK. No more dorkiness. Here are the spectacular photos taken on their trip.

Daddy-O tying his fly line.

Beautiful! Taken by Mark.


One of my favorites! Two marmots enjoying the view!


What I say to Daddy-O if he sees these pictures on the Internet!


Dragonflies!

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On a completely different weekend...

This is Ben's first lake fish. He caught it completely by himself. It's a big mouth bass. It took us a while to convince Danny that his brother hadn't caught a "bat", however. Apparently, someone needs to learn to enunciate.


And that concludes our photographic presentation. Thanks for viewing.

We're camping, damn it.

We camped at the KOA in Sisters, OR for two nights. We were supposed to stay there longer but we found the most incredible stretch of river and moved our stuff post haste.

I dropped Daddy-O off at the Metolius River to go fly fishing. Once I got a look at the campgrounds I was hooked. The trees were majestic. Tall and straight. The river, melodious.
Best of all, the campgrounds were mostly empty. Sigh. Everything a vacation ought to be. So I high-tailed it back to the motorhome, my Mom & the kids to convince them that we needed to pack up and move.

Next thing you know, we were completely broke down (camp wise) and waiting on the river before Daddy-O was done fishing for the day.

These cute little 'monks were all over the place! I always thought Chip 'N Dale were cute but the cartoons just don't do them justice. They would run through camp, lickety split, in a crazy game of Chase the Ace. And they can stuff an insane amount of Cheetos in their cheeks all at once!

Danny was not a fan of the camping experience. While he loved the idea of a vacation in theory... the reality fell a bit shy of the mark in his book. There was no bike to ride. Music was hit and miss at best. And he got a nasty cold right off the bat.

Here are a few photos of the local flora & fauna as I practiced with my new camera.

Daddy-O is off to fly fish and Ben is following close behind. Trying to be just like Dad. He could do much worse.



And here is Daddy-O in action. The Metolius River comes directly from under the mountain not far from here (less than 2 miles). The water is a constant 45-47 degrees. Daddy-O is very cold here. The fish are not.


I will post about our reunion when we get home. We drive from Redding to SLO today. Yeah!

3, 2, 1... Vacation!

Three mid-level arguments, two days of driving, and one saddle-sore preschooler later we are in Bend, OR. It was a very, very long road... but also beautiful.


Daddy-O and I have officially fallen in love. With Oregon. I think I want to move to Oregon. Big surprise for a Californian to move to Oregon. I hate to be a cliche. But Daddy-O says he would be content to fly fish up here on a regular basis. Humph! I'm one of those all or nothing type of girls.

We stopped by The Fishin Hole Fly Shop in an awesome little town on the Rogue River called Shady Cove. It was a fly shop / delicatessen / gift shop. The owner gave Danny a little fishing bobber/indicator thingy (whatever! I am not required to know what it is called) and a push-up pop. We spent an inordinate amount of time there but I was happy to do it. Because... I found my first major Christmas gift in the gift shop. Shhhhhhh. It's for Daddy-O.

Just past Shady Cove we ran across this gorgeous little strip of the Rogue.






Danny and Ben were sooooo happy to see each other. They slept in their own sleeping bags yet their heads were drawn together in the night. Even in sleep they missed each other.

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Also, thank you for the kind words about my motherly confessions. It's nice to think that perhaps I am not the only one who feels just so.

While Daddy-O's away, Mommy will play

Shhhhh. Don't tell Daddy-O... but I cut D's hair. Ooooh, he's gonna freak when he sees it! Not that it doesn't look absolutely adorable or anything. You have to understand that when Daddy-O was D's age he looked like the prettiest little girl you'd ever care to see. He had huge brown eyes with lush, thick eyelashes and long, dark hair that hung in perfect ringlets down below his shoulders. A real beauty... unless she's a boy. Then, not so much.

So, if Daddy-O had his way D and B would have long hippy hair. They would also only wear tye-dy and never wear deoderant. I willingly acquiesce on the first but will firmly draw the line at the second once puberty gets around to our house.

We tried the long hair route with B with mixed results. The poor boy has my hair through and through. The best he could ever manage without looking like a vagrant was a mullet. yes. You read correctly. Didn't you realize the mullet is totally making a come back? Well, maybe not the way B wore it, but a come back none the less. You should make the rounds at an elementary school these days. They are filled with mullets, mohawks, fauxhawks and completely unkempt Beatles doos.


Just look at that. That there is pure Joe Dirt mullet. Or at least it would have been if we hadn't buzzed him before he left on the cross-country trip with Nana. B'ness in the front, party in the back.

Of course, if B had his way he'd comb his hair like this.


Kind of makes that ole mullet look good, doesn't it...

So.... this is what D's hair looked like before Daddy-O left for his backpacking trip.


And this is what it looks like now.


Don't you think he looks more grown up this way?

Oh yeah. And D's hairdresser gave us a cat. Everyone, please say hello to Razzmataz.

She's still in hidey-hole mode because we only brought her home last night. She is a beautiful 3 year old calico. Sydney is NOT pleased with losing his only cat status. I'm sure he'll come around though. At 11, he's mostly all howl and growl with very little motivation to back it up.

Daddy-O is going to come home all exhausted from his first backpacking trip in since 9/11 and find that I've gone and acted on my own again. I'm thinking of telling him when we cut off all D's hair there was a kitty under there.

Things that made me cry or almost cry this morning

This article in our paper. I don't really know why. I read it and thought it was very touching. So much so that I read it out loud to Daddy-O and B. Ha! That was the kiss of death.


I got to just about the words "laid his head" and the water works started. See if you don't understand after you read it yourself.

Well? Want a tissue? No? I guess I'm just sentimental that way. B asked if I knew them. Wasn't I embarrassed to tell him no.

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In the "I didn't cry but should I?" department:

B was interviewing Daddy-O in preparation for his class Share Your Father Day tomorrow. One of the questions was: If you had three wishes what would they be? My ears perked up oh, so expectantly for Daddy-O's answers.

Wish #1: "Hmmm. To be healthy."

Wish #2: "Should it be for D to see or for us to have a bigger house?" Daddy-O asks. B points out that D is quite fine just as he is. (points for B) But Daddy-O notes that he would be even better if he could see so "no blindness it is."

Wish #3: "My last wish. Some where, some how to have a large garage or workshop all to myself."

Notice that nowhere in there is a wish that I don't get sick again. At least I noticed. And I said something too. To Daddy-O's credit he stumbled a bit over his words, hemmed and hawed. And then said one of the sweetest things he's said in recent history. "Well, I guess I just don't think of you as sick anymore."

Just like always, a woman's self-image is her own worst enemy.

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Oh yeah. I almost forgot. We're launching today over at Mothers With Cancer. Go check out the new diggs.

America's game

Little League baseball season is over. Daddy-O coached for the first time this year. Farm League. That's one step above T-Ball and one below Minors, for those of you with a life.

We almost didn't let B play. I was completely against it. The last time he played (T-ball) was year before last. Just like the year before that, he was very excited to start and by the 3rd game or so was building sand castles in centerfield from sheer boredom. We skipped last year because of it and I wasn't up for more of the same: battles to get him ready and sitting through games in biting spring ocean breezes.

But this year rocked!!! B's Focalin made all the difference in his ability to focus on the game. He had a great season and really enjoyed himself. And what a joy to watch he and Daddy-O play catch in the back yard every evening, bond over baseball games on tv, and share the joy of collecting baseball cards & comparing stats.

I'm doing a video for the end of season pizza party. It has been a labor... but definitely one of love.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, a few photo highlights of B's season.



I'm glad B wants to play again next year. And I think Daddy-O will coach again too. But right now, I can't wait until soccer...

My limits...

Ugh. Sigh. Great. Big. Fat. SIGH.

It's been a rough few weeks and BLOGGER ISN'T HELPING. I keep trying to post but my linking stuff doesn't work - nor do any other things like bold or italics. **sigh**

Between my sciatic nerve being pinched (!) or something (?), and Daddy-O being on the last one (nerve) I have, B complaining of earaches, knees hurting and his most recent "it hurts my heart when I take a deep breath" almost constantly, and D making mower-blower-weedeater-vacuum noises continuously I am ready to scream. Or cry. Take your pick, because I could really go either way right now.

I have officially reached my limit.

Stop #1 on the Roadtrip to MY LIMIT:

Almost 2 weeks ago D decided he didn't want his diaper changed. Of course, he chose to show his rebellion by kicking and twisting and thrusting just as I bent over to pick him off the ground. Good-bye lower back. Hello slow torture and burning that runs from my lower back, around my hip to my groin and also down the back of my leg just for good measure. Fast forward past six (!) trips to the chiropractor, each requiring 2 hours off work, and I don't really feel any better (though much poorer, thank you very much) yet.

Stop #2:

While men can fool around with sciatica if they have an accomidating partner - women CAN NOT. Please tell Daddy-O.

Stop #3:

Wonder Sitter called in sick two days in a row. Bless her for deserving time off to be ill herself when she's a God send for my own ill kids. No begrudging here. Just another stop in the journey.

Stop#4:

D has a videoed playdate yesterday that plainly illustrates that I have NOT been imagining the "is he autistic?, Nah, he isn't." behavior. Concensus from TWO therapists... Perhaps the Autism Diagnostic Center in Fresno might be a good side trip on this little road I'm on. Also, I got to hear a word I'd never heard before used no less than four times in relation to my son. PERSEVERATING. Contrary to popular opinion of therapists who shall remain nameless, this is NOT a blindism.

Stop #5:

B's routine (I thought) appointment for chest pain that I wrote off as growing pains ended in lab work & chest x-rays for anemia, & perhaps Mono & just to "rule out any bone things..." Gah!

Stop #6:

Daddy-O called to ask (none to kindly) why the baseball uniform wasn't washed and I am still at work when B has a ball game.

Screach! Skid! Crash!

Limit reached.

The title of this blog has been temporarily overridden by tax season

We are simple folks. Our taxes are fairly straightforward. I work for the government and Daddy-O is a self-employed Landscape Contractor with no full-time employees. Fortunately for our marriage, we pay someone else to do the actual preparing and filing of said taxes. Unfortunately for me the collection and organization of aforementioned tax docs is left to me.

Please tell me I'm not the only one in this boat lost in the fog on a Sea of Hell. Oh, the personal tax papers are a piece of cake. I keep them in reasonable order all year. But the business taxes. Oh ho ho. Now that is another story entirely!

Daddy-O is not the most organized man in the world. He is very proud of himself for keeping a file of each and every receipt this year. Yeah for him! Of course, he didn't bother to keep any of his credit card statements.

We keep our finances separate. (That is our recipe for a happy marriage.) So he became uber defensive when I had to go through his checkbook registers. Hello??? Separate does not equal Secret. What is it about taxes that bring out the worst in people?

I'm not even done yet (our tax appointment is Thursday. Ack!) and I'm pretty disgusted with the numbers I'm seeing. I can tell you without getting into exact figures that we spent roughly the same amount of money for Blue Cross/Blue Shield PPO premiums (self & family), gasoline for Daddy-O's landscape business and copays for prescriptions and doctors visits. And the three amounts combined were more than my salary my first year working for the Government.

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Here is a picture of B a the Scitechatorium. He's getting electrocuted by a Van de Graff generator. It was really neat and it made his new mullet stand up all over the place. Interestingly enough, Nana said when she was a girl she got to be the class volunteer for the same experiment. Only in her class she touched the ball and another student touched her, another touched that student, etc, etc... all around the room. As the electrical charge passed through each one to the other their hair stood on end. Pretty soon the whole class's hair was standing straight up!

I love this picture of D. He's talking to his Nana on the phone. I kept trying to take the phone from him but he wouldn't let me. I can't get over how old he looks. And mature. And like a guy. Look at that body language. Add 12 or 13 years and it will be a girl he's talking to on the other end of that phone. Just like his daddy.


Speaking of his Daddy... D is still trying to work out which is the working end of a lawnmower. Is the love of motorized objects inherently male? He can't see the levers and wheels and blades and such. He only had to hear the motor once to fall in love. It must be some sort of testosterone poisoning.

Happy Birthday, Daddy-O, Thanks for the buzz!

Pardon the posting while buzzed... but today is Daddy-O's 41st birthday. We just got back from a great dinner and drinks with friends we don't see often enough these days. There were about 20 of Daddy-O's friends from his soccer days. I always love to see them. But one particular guy, Chris, is not so much a friend of Daddy-O's as a friend of his friend's... and also a guy I used to work with.

We were just acquaintances when we worked together... we BS'd when we ran across each other & talked smack/flirted with a marked lack of seriousness. Then I was diagnosed with cancer... I had no idea he had connections to my non-professional life at the time. When I ran into him as a groomsman at a good friend's wedding I was pleasantly surprised. Actually, I felt a bit on the spot when his fiance (that I didn't know existed) came upon him partially undressed while showing me his tattoos. Actually, it's pretty incredible that he has a worthy (where worthy = life-altering) story behind each and every one of them.

So, at any rate... Chris was there tonight. And after I had a few glasses of wine he confided in me that my attitude when I was going thru chemo is what helped him thru his grandfather's death from cancer. I guess his grandfather (who was more like a father to him) was dying about the time I was under treatment.

I was really too buzzed (yeah for me!!!) to catch all the details of the story (so sorry, Chris). But the general gist was that I (where I= my general attitude) was an, encouragement, help, amusement, whatever, that helped him get thru those trying days. Whatever, I'm so glad I could help.

I love hearing things like that. It makes me feel like my chemo was all about them. And that's not as bad as it sounds. I prefer that it was about them than me. I guess I'm too buzzed, does that make sense?

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Daddy-O,

You are still the best gift receiver I've ever met. I think that's why I married you. We are the perfect marriage of a gift-giver and good-receiver. Thanks for always making it a great time for all.

3,287 Days = Just Yesterday

Last night was magical. Not magical by the standards I used to hold, where a man would woo me in some enchanting location with softly whispered words of passion and promise while my head swam from too much drink and sexy hormones. But magical in a much more realistic, we've been married for nine (!!!) years, have two kids and a heavy mortgage but I still think you're hot, kind of way. Yesterday was our 9 year anniversary. That's 606 days of marital bliss and another 2,681 days of marriage after we had kids. And I wouldn't trade in a day.

Who would have guessed our wedding vows would turn out to be so prophetic... "for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health..." Had I only known I was charting a course I might have picked some different ones. Maybe some with out the down side.

My gift to Daddy-O was an obligation-free morning (no dropping off children at school and daycare) so he could have and early morning surf session with all his contractor buddies. And I arranged for the kids to stay the night with the sitter. Daddy-O's gift to me was a meal prepared with his own two hands that I didn't have to lift a finger nor a brain cell for. It was heavenly!!! There was spinach salad, t-bone steaks cooked to perfection, warm fresh baked bread, baked potatoes and steamed mixed veggies - all washed down with my favorite Cakebread Chardonnay. Mmmmmm. And there wasn't a sippy cup or a raised voice to be found. He also pulled a little surprise out of his hat (figuratively speaking, thankfully) and had dropped by the lingerie store. It was a very nice night. Daddy-O's all full of surprises.

I'm looking forward to the next nine. I wonder what other tricks he's got up his sleeve?

In and out and up and down and uh oh

I've been solo parenting all week while Daddy-O enjoys the solitude of fly fishing on the Trinity River. I must say it's been going remarkably well considering half the state is on fire (thankfully not the half Daddy-O is in) and the smoke induced in yours truly an asthma attack / allergic reaction the likes of which I've never experienced before. Otherwise, the kids have been great and things are going well.

Well, there was this one thing. After I put D to bed the other night he began his nightly Party In My Crib routine. This usually involves a lot of jumping and screaming in glee and the throwing of bottles across the room. After a few minutes I heard his door knob turn and his sweet little voice say "Open da door." as he stepped out into the hall. I had forgotten to put the side of his crib up and he had climbed out of his crib. !!! WTF? So part of me was all proud of my little blind boy for making it out of his crib, clear across his room to his door, opening it & walking to the living room without a hitch. The other part of me was screaming all sorts of denials that I'm not ready for a big boy bed or dealing with a toddler that can't be contained when & where I wish!!! Ahhhhhhh! My life is over!

Then tonight it got worse. Tonight the boys took a shower together as usual. B was being helpful and dried D off when they got out then put him in his room. I heard D jumping on his trampoline while I was finishing up an email. Pretty soon D was calling out to me those magic words every parent loves to hear, "Mama, I got poopies." When I walked in his room my heart sank. I freaked out. I didn't quite know what had happened. There D was, standing buck naked in his crib, with the side down. And he had poopies. Lots of poopies. And he'd been jumping alright but not on his trampoline.

Of course, my first reaction was to get mad at B. But he swears he didn't put him in there. D must have climbed into his crib. I ask you, what kind of sick child climbs into his crib? Then poops? Then jumps in it and squishes it between his freshly showered toes and all over his laundered blankets? And just for good measure (and I'm guessing because he didn't like how it felt between his toes) wipes it on the inside wall of is crib and lets if fall down between the mattress & the frame?

And the more important question here is how am I going to make Daddy-O make it up to me when he finally gets home?

Once upon a time

It seems that Inflammatory Breast Cancer is getting a lot of play these days, what with WhyMommy's campaign over at Toddler Planet and all. I really wish I had been introduced to the whole blogging world before I was diagnosed for many reasons. First, it would have given me lots of reading material during those l-o-n-g days otherwise spent in front of the tv. Also, because it would have been, oh, so theraputic to write about the whole process. And also, mostly, because I wouldn't have felt so alone. And since I have a whole slew of people, well, three - three people who swing by here every now and again to looky-loo at the IBC survivor freak show I thought I might tell my story. So here goes...

Once upon a time, in a sewerless small town on the left hand side of America there lived a mother, a father, and a son. Mommy and Daddy-O had been living happily with thier son B for 3 years but wanted another baby with whom to share their life. But sadly, it seemed babies were not as easy to come by as all that. Just when all the family was giving up hope the happy news of a new baby was discovered! Mommy and Daddy-O and B were thrilled!

D was born a bit on the early side as Mommy said he would be. Mommy is very smart about these things so people should learn to listen to her. Because he was still so young, only 35 weeks, but still pretty big, 7 lbs 3 oz, he had to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and learn to eat. It was a very frustrating time for B - being a big brother but not having a little brother to show off around and all that fun stuff he'd been looking forward to for so long. That part kind of sucked.

Then things got better. D got to come home when he was 3 weeks old. At his six week appointment Mommy asked the doctor when he would start focusing. She was told alot of stuff about adjusted age and such which all meant, "not yet". Then things got worse. Four days after D's six week appointment his right eye clouded over.

Fast-forward through an emergency trip to Children's Hospital Los Angeles, several references to "masses" and "blastomas", an eye ultrasound and an Exam Under Anesthesia (EUA) and we find Daddy-O dazedly listening to Dr. Tawansy tell him how D's retina's are detatched and are causing some sort of very bad glaucoma-like pressure build-up in his eyes so he had to remove his lenses... The rest is a blur and a distant murmur as Mommy wanders the room looking at cross-section eye diagrams through unquenchable tears wondering how D will ever appreciate the brightly colored dancing bears on his bedroom walls when he'll never, ever see.

Slowly over the next several months the little family adjusted to it's newest member. As with everything else, B, Daddy-O and Mommy were up for the challenge and opportunity D's blindness provided. Mommy and Daddy-O were awed that God had placed so much faith in them and felt honor-bound to not let Him down.

In September of 2005, when D was 5 months old, Mommy went back to work. Also, around this time she began limiting D's play time with his booby friends. This upset D so much that he decided he hated one of his booby friends. In fact, he hated Right Booby so much that he refused outright to associate with her at all. He would scream and arch his little back if Right Booby so much as pointed her little nipple in his general direction. Mommy chalked this up to a Blind-Boy Downfall, that is, positional aversion, which can be very common and unexplainable in vision impaired children. Also, Right Booby was feeling very sad, and lonely and engorged about now.

Soon September became October and D and the Booby girls quit playing together entirely. But poor Right Booby was never quite right again after her rejection. She always felt engorged and bloaty and generally cranky for the effort. Slowly it seemed that the little soft spot for D inside Right Booby just hardened up into a rock. It was a rock the size of Mommy's fist. This kind of tripped Mommy out. Mommy started asking her other Mommy friends about it and many of them assured her that they too had felt rocks in their girls on one side or the other after weaning... but they had gone away after a few weeks. So, not being in any pain at all, Mommy decided to wait a few weeks.

Enter the Holidays: Thanksgiving with all it's office closures and vacations. Also enter Mommy's first cycle since having a baby. In all the frosty coldness of late fall the only thing growing is the rock in Right Booby. Mommy decides to see her doctor. After much debate with the nurse about how she was NOT comfortable waiting until December 23rd to be seen she was worked in the next week - December 12th, 2005. Soon there was a mamogram on the 14th (showing nothing followed by an ultrasound which showed nothing), a surgical consultation with a fine needle biopsy (VERY mean procedure) which was inconclusive, followed by a core needle biopsy (not too bad at all), followed by an unbearable 24 hour wait for results. On December 22, 2005, she was diagnosed with stage IIIb Inflamatory Breast Cancer. Her tumor was 9+ cm.

Whew! I'm pooped just writing about the journey to diagnosis. I guess the thing I want people to take away from this part of my story is this... I never had a lump. I had a thickness that solidified. Even though it's IBC, my breast was never red and I never had any skin changes until the very, very last. And, folks, my tumor was HUGE!

I'll finish the story tomorrow.

Stripes are in

Today was a day of firsts in our family. D had his first shower. He doesn't look too sure about the whole process, now, does he?

But he warmed up to it fairly quickly. All my boys are water babies at heart.

It's all good in the end. He even cried when he had to get out.


And yesterday I bought D's first pair of these at the Gap.

So now I only have one very important question...





Has anyone seen my baby anywhere?

And where did this little boy come from?

Just Because

Because I love my husband more than life itself. Because he is such an awesome Daddy. Because he tries his best every day to give our boys what they need in life. Because we both fail sometimes, the boys and each other. Because I am so lucky to not be a single Mom - doing it all alone. Because I don't say often enough how much I truly appreciate and respect the father of my children. Because Father's Day is a convenient time to remind myself and the world how much women cannot - should not - do it alone. Because I have two wonderful sons and a handsome Dad to make my life and family complete...

I offer this.