Summer is over? What did we do? I forget.

I haven't posted since January. I keep thinking I need to, but I have no time. But, if I don't post I will forget. I forget everything. I was forgetful before, but this new forgetfulness is different. It is expansive and sometimes scary. There are empty months and years... empty summers, empty road trips, empty relationships. Seriously, there are whole relationships that I remember almost nothing about. There are long trips taken years ago that should have vivid and funny stories associated with them and the fun things we brought home from them, but I remember almost nothing. The evidence is in a few photographs and some bits and pieces of the journey, but not much more. 

I need to start using this as a place to share what I do remember when it happens or shortly thereafter. I learned the hard way how precious my own stories were and grieve for the lost journals every day. I need my kids to know what their childhood was like. I want them to remember it all. Some will be awesome, some will be terrible. We're experiencing a lot of both right now. But, mostly it will be an accounting... as much as I can as often as I can. 

This much I know about our summer...

FRECKLES! FRECKLES! FRECKLES! Snowcones!!

 Graduation induced yawns...

So, we had a killer after party at Nan's house. He looks like a mini frat boy.

This one was honored with an award that was equivalent of being the teachers absolute favorite pet ever...

then she turned 12 and my heart broke in to a thousand tiny pieces.

The mountains burned (see the giant flames behind the crazy kids) while we competed in the annual family olympics.

Jellybean consistently had the cutest haircut of the summer. 

Then these hooligans came back from china and we had the most fun of all fun that has ever been had with them  before they went back to the land of smog and street poopers.

We DID NOT spend enough time at the pool. But, the time we did spend was awesome and filled with best friends and diving board shenanigans.

Our week in San Diego was my favorite. Boogie boarding and sandcastles and surfing and  digging for crabs... heaven.

Carlsbad Beach, August 2012

Everyday Conversations Episode 1

This morning on the way to preschool....

Me: Sam, where's your school bag?

Sam: Mom, school bags are for losers.

Me: Oh, so you're not carrying a bag anymore? Where are you going to put your work?

Sam: Mom, you don't know anything about being cool. I'll fold it and put it in my pockets.

Me: So, I'm not cool?

Sam: Are you kidding me. Don't make me repeat myself.
________________________

This exchange happened in the car. Once the car was parked, my very COOL 4 year old had a meltdown and had to be carried in. Before we walked in the door to his classroom he told me he needed a minute. I put him down and he walked away a few feet and wiped his eyes and then did a little wiggle. Maybe he was shaking it off. Then he turned around, gave me a fist bump and walked in to class like he owned the place. Then he yelled "hey guys, sorry I'm late, I had to chill out a little".

Kids are weird. Period. 

Especially, this one.

My kid is brave. I think maybe I am not so much.

I broke a bone in my arm this week. It's numb and swollen but I still keep using it like nothing is wrong. Being broken is frustrating. Being sick, recently, has not been an excuse to not get up and go. I have kids to run around and a job to do and no time to deal with broken bones, broken hearts, broken cars.. or cancer. I have people tell me how brave I am and how amazing it is that I worked through two years of sickening, mind altering, treatment. It happened again today and I immediately thought of my Molly. My mostly naughty, very funny, very clever middle kiddle.

Molly is brave. When she was very small we noticed a growth on her chin. It feels like it just appeared overnight, but I'm sure it took much longer to grow in to the quarter size it was when we finally saw it taking over the better part of her chin. Four years and several surgeries and treatments later, her little tumor is finally completely gone. Fingers crossed!

What is most remarkable about her is that she was never afraid to say what it was or how it made her feel. We have discussed the scar and what people will think about it hundreds of times. She freely expresses her sadness and fear and embarrassment. It's like she understands already that acknowledging these hard things and saying them out loud and deciding how she will live with this now will help her as she grows up. She is young and sometimes a little flighty, but she is wise and she is brave. And she is beautiful.

I think I really just figured it out. If I were truly brave, I would have faced it head on and dealt with the emotional shit that comes with the reality of cancer. I have cancer. And, for now, as far as I know, I may always have cancer. Even with clean blood and clean scans, it is there. It waits. I will not always have this broken arm. But, I will likely always have cancer.

I admire my little girl for being able to own how she feels and say it. I admire her for being present in the hard things and not shrinking from them. I am sure this is not the first lesson I will learn from her.

What holidays?

I started a dozen posts during the holidays, but I failed to finish any of them as I was busy reading books and watching movies and loving every minute I could get with my kids, with my siblings and their kids, with my labies, and with fewer and fewer visits with my doctors.

Christmas is a blurr. New years is a bigger blurr. I barely documented the holidays with my fancy camera.  What I did document looks something like this...

He's pretty super. Kid had Christmas loot coming out his ears, but this cape and mask I picked up at the very last minute at WalMart for less than $5 took the cake. He wears it every day. He asks for it before he's really awake in the morning. It often goes something like "Mom, where is my super suit.. WHERE IS MY SUPER SUIT." This is when I remind him that he is not Frozone and I am not responsible for his super suit.

We rarely leave the house without it. He has many drawings of his super hero alter ego. Today he called to tell me that we should probably think of a secret name so nobody knows that it's him. "You know, mom, like Mr. Incredible."



And this....

We gave my sister's kids Just Dance 3 for the Wii for Christmas. We threw it in at my mom's house one afternoon and this is what happened. For hours and hours and hours. He joined in without a remote. He won every dance off. Just ask him. According to him, he's the reigning family champion.

Our holidays were filled with crime fighting, dancing, and a lot of time together. There will be more about the girls. But, for now, enjoy his moves.

Admissions of a Stage Mom

We went to SoCal a couple of weeks ago so that Abs could compete in a ginormous Irish step dance competition. This is where my induction in to the Stage Mom guild/club/cult and then my dramatic removal from the same guild/club/cult was made official. 

We found out that Abby a problem with a ligament on her left foot about ten days before the competition. It sucked. She'd worked so hard. We had to take her off of the foot and she had to walk around in a horrible boot all day every day, except for the two hours of practice. I know, gasp, she still danced while injured. I'm a jerk. But, her PT said she could so I'm off the hook right?

As always, before any big competition, these girls are taken off of their feet for the week prior to the event. We took the week and headed to Cali early to Disney and beach for a few days. By the time the competition began, she was ready to dance again. That Friday she danced in the solo competition. Her hard shoe, which is always her best, felt slow and lacked her normal energy. But her soft shoe was perfection. The kind of dancing that takes your breath away. And, she knew it. 

The next day the teams danced their 8 hand figures. These dances are crazy hard. The big girl team (top row below - 1 dancer) danced first and did so well. They placed 15th overall. The littles, Abby and her friends in front row below, danced a few dances later and looked amazing until the end where everything just sort of fell apart. But, they had no idea. They all thought they were amazing. That's kind of the point, right? No matter how it all went down, they thought they were perfect. Just look at them... they were!

Abby and her team (s). She's 4th from the left in the front row. 

During the team dances there was a mom standing in the aisle waving her arms at the team on the stage. I assume she was trying to tell them to move in to the center of the stage. She looked like an idiot. Even if they'd noticed her, it would have been a disaster for the team. I was so embarrassed for her and the poor girls that have to live with her insane behavior. But, then I realized that while Abby was dancing I had the urge to yell "stomp harder" a few times. And that was it. My days as an almost insane stage mom were over.

Abby, I promise that I will never be the mom that stands in the aisle waving my arms at you while you dance. I'll never watch with my head bobbing to make sure you hit every beat, stomped every stomp, clicked every heel or stood up high on every toe. I will never be the mom that makes you nervous or worried about how stiff the competition is. Pinky swear.

This dance thing is crazy. But, my Abby is an amazing dancer. This last year has been a miracle for her. She's in the 6th grade. Everything changes during these years. She's battling hormones and mean girls (wait for the post on that one.. it's a doozy) and suddenly feeling like boys are awesome and hating her siblings and the desire to sass me at every turn, oh, and the math battle is a fierce one this year. But, she has this dance thing that gives her confidence and courage and the best friends any little girl could ever have and teachers that love her and and make her work hard and teach her the importance of really earning something.

She earned her championship status this year. She earned her ranking. She earned every bit of time I spend in that car driving her to and from the studio and the time spent waiting for her and the insane amount it costs to keep this up. She earned it ten times over. I would do it again and again and again to see her smile like she did when she got off that stage after dancing the most beautiful soft shoe dance I have ever seen her do.

** Very special thinks to our Mel who hauled her cookies to watch her dance and run around Disneyland with us.

Lobes, Lesbians, and The Ugly Step Sisters

Standing in line for Buzz Lightyear with Sam is one of my favorite things at Disneyland. He can recite along with the life size Buzz in the entry. Last week he was doing it subconsciously while I was holding him and not paying attention to what he was reaching for. Finally my mommy radar kicked in and I pulled his hand away before he stuck his finger the the GIANT hole in the earlobe of the man standing in front of us. It was like a magnet. He resisted me  I started to laugh, then cough, then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. Sam was sure he was going to pull that low hanging earlobe down because it "wobbled to and fro" could tie it in a knot or tie it in a bow." 

The guy was probably in his early 40s. He'd clearly put those huge things in his earlobes. I don't even know what they call them, but they are horrid and there should be a caution sign at places that do those for people that says "you may want to think about how lame you'll look in line at Buzz Lightyear when you're 40 with giant holes in your earlobes" before you go forward with this terrible terrible decision.

Later in the week I was in the elevator heading down to the lobby with Sam and Molly. We stopped on the 8th floor and a woman walked in with a shirt that said STR8 for PROP8. It made my skin crawl. I totally support marriage between people who love each other. And no, I do not mean plural... that's just plain ridiculous. She also had a giant pink bow in her hair and hot pink velour sweatpants with PINK on the butt. It was one of those moments when you might not be surprised if What Not To Wear ambushed that girl right then and there. But, before Stacy and Clinton could run on to the elevator and grab her and show her the horrible fashion footage they'd been collecting, another woman(?) got on the elevator. It took me the rest of the ride down to see that she was, in fact, a woman. And, then I spotted the rainbow triangle tattoo on the inside of her forearm. And, then I saw her face staring at that stupid shirt the other woman had on. And again... laugh, hold breath, snort, tears. You have to admit, that is funny. She could have torn the pink prissy one right up. Sadly, no girl fight in the elevator.

BUT, there was a girl fight later that night during the new holiday parade at Disneyland. We were not planning on seeing it at all, but we got stuck on the way to Small World. We did not plan on doing that ride at all, but somehow Sam remembered it from our last trip and demanded it so fiercely that it could no longer be denied. Waiting through the parade was horrible. He was so angry when they blocked the street to small world. But, when the ugly step sisters came trotting down the street, he squealed like a little piggy. They kept smacking each other and pushing each other all over the street. Of course they start trotting again the second I start filming.  

I stopped and the one in yellow was on her way over to deck the one in pink one more time.  They were definitely the highlight of the Disney character onslaught of 2011. Bring on the villains, they're our favorite. And, we do appreciate a decent girl fight from time to time. 

Disneyland was an adventure as always. I have plenty of other stories from the trip, but most of them include whiny grandparents and I'm trying hard to purge my brain of their silly tantrums. 

Dancing and my induction in to the stage mom cult will follow...

SERENITY NOW

Sick kids = work from home = Yo Gabba Gabba on all day = I hate Nickelodeon

Thankfully my iTunes is pretty much as badass as ever these days. Thanks in large part to some new recommendations from Tay and Shep and Kalli K.

While YGG plays in the background I'm listening to:



Try to stay still when you hear this one:
And this too:
And this (yes, her lips are so strange, but she's pretty much smokin otherwise)
And this (you cannot help but love this, right?)

I find a lot of serenity in great music. I love it even more when the recommendation came from a friend. It can help drown out any amount of BS.

Happy Monday!

W

I love

Earlier this month I found a stack of neatly wrapped letters in a box in my basement. The box was filled with photos and tokens... reminders of my youth, friends, neighbors, adventures, loss, love and change. I was sure the letters were gone with all of my journals documenting much of my life before I was married. Finding them felt a little like winning.

Half or more were the letters that I remember reading over and over again. Their worn folds and ragged edges show the wear of many hours of review. They are sweet reminders of what were magical, though challenging, years for me. Their authors were vastly different, but now reading back through their words they expressed things so similarly, so simply and beautifully.

The letters were found on the same day I got a link to the Love Letter mural project in Philadelphia. The murals were created to "collectively express a love letter from a guy to a girl, from an artist to his hometown and from local residents to their neighborhood." For those lucky commuters on the elevated transit line along the Market Street corridor, there can be no better way to begin and end your day like this...

OR this...

It should really be this simple. Right? Maybe not when you're young. Maybe it's supposed to be all dramatic and sensationalized when you're young. But, now, it is this simple. Some relationships are complicated. Some families are complicated... mine is a mess. But, the mess seems to be getting blurrier and the way I love my people just expands and then sometimes it oozes all over them and you find that I say it out loud anywhere I want... even in business meetings in front of a whole group of other people and every time I hang up the phone or squeeze them goodbye.

Whether it's romantical or familial or the closeness of true friendships... it's kind of all the same. (Except for the mushy parts.)

Now, if whoever painted that wall would swap out juice with Diet Coke, you would all really understand the depth of my love.

Yes, he said "Google Me"!

Last week I met a man who introduced himself as the "(insert name of very successful CEO here) Whisperer" only moments before he told my colleague and I to "Google" him when asked him what his specific role was on the project we were meeting about.

I've worked with plenty of odd people before. Egomaniacs. Sociopaths. Cross-dressers. And so many more. But, I've never ever met a man that made me dislike him with less than ten words out of his mouth.

He is one part of a larger team of men, also in that meeting, that are paid millions for absolutely nothing of value. They tout their successes, but when they are "Googled" those successes seem to be fabricated. They tout job histories that include some factual references but not in the order or magnitude that they are constantly spouting about. As a group they are dangerous.

As an outsider, they appear to be pirates... hijacking the management infrastructure of a fragile organization, adding fear and distrust among the masses who have worked so hard to build something good, something of value, something with values. They have devalued the work that built a billion dollar company. They are stripping the company of its character as they prove that they have little character.

I hate doing work that is destroying good work done by some of my best friends. I hate supporting a brand change that I would never get behind because I have no belief in their message or story. Even worse, though, is that this is not uncommon. Many companies are in this position, doing this very thing, making unfortunate and destructive decisions out of desperation, uncertainty, insecurity, and a pressure to do nothing more than make money.

And, really, who the hell says "Google me"? Who? An asshat.

Well done Starbucks!

Let's be really honest. Starbucks Chai sucks. It's horrible. I hate it. I have broken down and given it another shot a few times and have always been disappointed. They need to fix it. It makes me sad.

BUT, this does not make me sad. This was a sweet surprise. I love companies that really follow through with community action. I love it even more because it is in a place that I love more than any on earth. Boston.

 

I want to work in the gardens. It's hard not to be a Starbucks fan when they understand the importance of service and good works for others. Well done Starbucks!

Sometimes I need a megaphone

My kids are screamers. It's all they do lately. They scream at each other, me, the neighbor's idiot dog, my sisters, their cousins. I'm in the market for a megaphone or one of those really annoying horns they use at football games. I just want to scare them a little and shut them up a lot. Kids are loud. My ears are tired.

While I was having my 'holy crap you kids are damn loud' meltdown I found this...

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR! Genius. Now, does anyone have a real megaphone I could borrow?

My brain is bubble gum. Original flavor.

Earlier tonight Mojo told me that my brain was just made of a gazillionty pieces of ABC bubble gum.

She says, "you know, the kind that tastes like bubble gum?"

"As opposed to what? The kind that doesn't taste like bubble gum?"

"OMG Mom, duh, the kind that doesn't taste like bubble gum is all gross like cotton candy or watermelon." (now go back and read that sentence as if an 8 year old valley girl was saying it to you with her hand on her hip and a little sass in her tone) She said with her nose all puckered up like something smelled bad.

So, that's my brain. ABC gum. Lots of it. That explains a lot. Really, if that were true the last few years would be totally explainable and maybe even normal. Except the cancer part, that's not very normal. But the rest could be. You know me well enough and you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you happen to also be on my late night, not entirely coherent, text circuit... well, you are just lucky. It's a treat. And, you know exactly how much fun it is to crawl inside this head and jump around in it, like a bounce house. There's a lot of hot air, some weird mesh fabric to keep things in and other things out, some duct tape patching up a few holes, and a few turrets because those houses are always shaped like sad little castles.

Today was a day worth forgetting until about 4:30pm. In fact, I really don't remember much of what happened today except for an "I love you" text that I totally needed when it came in because there could have been no better time to be reminded of that than that very moment. And, oh, my most favorite developer of all time ever quit today. But, around 4:30, after I had given some blood for more testing, eaten a digestive biscuit (my oncologist keeps HobNobs in his desk) and then vomited that precious biscuit in to my very own tiny little bucket, my doctor handed me a 44oz Diet Coke with pebble ice. And, then, he told me that I wasn't crazy because he knew crazy and it was in the form of a Polly Pocket sized, spray tanned orange, platinum blonde extension wearing, woman who had visited him an hour before with a stack of literature that she'd printed off of some online resource. In that stack she believed that she could prove that all of her symptoms would lead him to believe that she had leukemia.

After a full exam and some very quick tests he was able to tell her that she had some odd things in her blood stream and asked her if she had implants. Apparently in a very short amount of time he was able to narrow her symptoms down to toxic shock and was able to locate a leak in one of her giant implants.

Based on his play by play, this was her reaction:

"That's not possible, I went to the very best plastic surgeon in Las Vegas for these. I probably should have someone with more experience with this tell me exactly what this is."

And, this was his:

"I can assure you that there are few doctors in the state that have seen as many leaky implants as I have.   You have a leak. It is compromising your blood. If you don't take care of this now it will get worse and lead to any number of problems."

Her answer:

"Can't you just patch it?"

Yes, she won the booby prize for the day. I got the giant Diet Coke and confirmation that my brain is made of bubble gum.

Leaky fake boobs kind of gross me out. Thankfully I had a bucket handy.

W

My kids are stupid awesome.

On Sunday morning I piled my kids in to the car and drove up the mountain to Sundance for a little breakfast and some quiet time away from what is THE WORST WEEK in the history of weeks. Maybe you've had worse weeks. Maybe. I doubt it. But, try me.

Mine went something like this. Death. Cancer. Chemo. Surgery. Stitches. Radiation. Chemo. Wal Mart. Death. Dancing. Crying. Insomnia.


The details are fascinating. I promise. But, I'm still not sure how I want to remember the mess. So, I'll just tell you that in all of the drama of the week, while I felt helpless and a little bit out of control, my kids were pretty remarkable. And, in all of her grief, the little one with fresh stitches lifted me and comforted me and told me "sometimes some of us just get all the hard stuff because other people will freak the heck out." She's a wise one. 

The last couple of years have mostly.... sucked. My kids learned quickly how to handle things my parents had a hard time dealing with. Cancer is scary. Mom's with cancer are super scary. Big changes at home are unsettling and can cause kids years of worry. They understand fear and grief. They have endured plenty of both. And they surprise me everyday with how much they do to overcome both... every single day. My champion dancer, and my middle blondie with freckles for days and humor for miles, and my boy who learned to cope early by putting everything in to his drawings. My kids are stupid awesome.


Today I miss my tiny dog who died last Saturday. I didn't realize how much I loved him and how much space he really filled in our home. It is quiet now. My kids are so noisy, but it is still quiet without him there. Last summer I went through six solid weeks of chemotherapy. It was my first summer home full time.... ever. It should have been so fun. But, I was sick.

Fenway - The day we brought him home.

We spent many hours piled in my big bed watching movies last summer. That tiny dog never left me. He knew. It was like he needed to be there to hear that I was OK. On nights I wasn't OK, he would bark and wake up the whole house if I woke up and needed something. He knew. As I near hard days like those again, I miss his comfort. Instead, I have a 35 lb kid with a huge head climbing up next to me in the dark and snuggling his giant head in to my neck. He talks in his sleep and begs for drinks in the middle of the night. Right around 2am he'll scream "I need to pee". It's a treat.


For the first time in my life I felt the creeping  depression start to find its way in. It is not a natural feeling for me and it worried me. So, naturally, I just doubled up on my "happy" pills. Kidding. I just got my running shoes out and got back on the road and it helped a lot. 

I am sad that my children have to go through so much and that I can't hide the hard things in the world from them. On the flip side, I want them to know the hard stuff early and learn how to handle it well now so that they can spend their energy on better things and overcome the shitty shit life might deal them with ease. I'm also making sure they always have a good pair of runners for the days that things blow.


-W

 

Some times someone sends you a song that is stupid good and you have to share it

Thank you, my beautiful samurai-like warrior princess.



You know who you are. Yeah, you, the hot one. I love you.

- W

It's you. Totally knew it!

I remember the day Ben was born. I remember staring down at him and thinking "Oh hi you! Of course it's you." Like we were old friends. Like we'd always known each other. Like we had always been connected. Like we shared a secret. And, we did.

He captivated me. He was perfect. And he was only mine for 48 hours. And then, he was theirs. Letting him go began well before his birth. Still there are not words for the kind of grief that held me for many days following his adoption. And then, one day, months later, it lifted and now what I remember most is not the pain, but instead I remember that I knew him and that he knew me and we had a secret. We had an agreement.

I work with a sweet girl who has been chosen with her husband to adopt a baby boy when he arrives in December. She met the birth mother recently and she had that "Oh hi you! Of course it's you" moment. What could be more comforting to a young woman not yet ready to be a mother and a woman who has tried for many years in vain to have a child? Like a friendship had been renewed and an agreement remembered.

I struggle with God daily. I struggle with much of the organization in the church I was raised in. But, oddly, I never struggle to find or recognize what I know can only be the hand of something much greater in my life.

I have girlfriends that I have looked at and said "Oh hi you! Of course it's you." Like how the hell did this reunion take so long? These women... I love them. I love them with that deep choked up grateful kind of love.

I have a brother who I know I've been connected to for time that spans far beyond this life. And I have these children who are so totally mine. As they grow I have those "Oh hi you!" moments often.

I wonder if they'll have that with Ben. I know they have it with some cousins and a couple of my friends who have firmly planted themselves in to our inner circle, and they have an unbreakable bond with their uncle. Odds are pretty good.

I'm kind of a girl about this mushy stuff. But, I'm not a Candyass. Wussy girl, yes. Candyass, no. 

Dear Summer, your days are numbered.

The kids class lists were posted this morning. Three weeks and they're back in school. I can't wait. I love the schedule and the rhythm of a school year, but I am sad that this summer has passed so quickly and I feel like I've missed so much of it. Maine and my beautiful town South of Boston are long gone.

We've had cousins visiting from Beijing and they've kept my kids busy with every activity a kid could imagine during the summers here. Rock climbing, swimming, hiking, swimming, camping, swimming, skating, night games, sleepovers at grandparents, golfing, baseball games, and swimming. And, bunches and bunches of other things.

Mojo tackling a steep wall in American Fork Canyon, July 2011

If you know me well, you know that I've recently been a tiny bit sick again and that my Mojo had surgery two weeks ago and her summer was halted quite suddenly with the new piece of hardware in her chinny chin chin. I've wanted to throw in the towel and quit working full time and just hang out with my kids. And, to be really honest, to also spend more time with my friends. Have I ever told you that I have the greatest friends ever. I do. They are smart and funny and SMART and they always show. Always. And, guess what else. I love their kids. (The ones that don't have kids get mine by default, so I REALLY love their kids.) Their kids are adventurous and clever and kind and one gives the best kisses on the planet.

For mine, summer has been made better by their deep connections to their cousins, all of these new friends, my mother and her beautiful yard built for her 16 grandchildren and the cinnamon rolls that seem to appear magically in her kitchen, and by a swing that makes butterflies and belly laughs in Kalli's backyard.

Grandma makes great comic strip hats and her poppies are the MOST beautiful in Alpine. We love the trees in Kalli's backyard and love that we get to play there often. We also love how close we are to the mountains for hiking and campfires and, most of all, for s'mores.

 For years I have wanted only to get out of this state and head back to my beautiful New England. Both for me and my children. I have always felt that they would thrive away from here and away from the things I find challenging and frustrating about this place. But, they have much here that would be greatly missed if we were to leave. And, so do I. So, for now... we stay and love it.

The time that my sweet non-drinking girlfriends mistakenly ordered beer at my daughter's birthday party

Last Friday I took five little girls to Pizzeria 712 for a birthday party. I also invited a few friends along. That proved to be the best decision of the year because two of my super sweet friends who do not drink beverages of the alcoholic persuasion ordered beer... accidentally.

The drinks came. The drinks were sipped. The mouths puckered. The eyes squinted at the label that said "70% beer" and I peed a little as I watched them both drain their bottles in to the plants behind them so that the waiter didn't think they were completely stupid.

 

 Just in case you were wondering, the beauty with the smoking red hot lips here on the right had a baby a mere three weeks ago and looks like a million bucks.

I love that I have girlfriends and sisters who show up on the days I need them most. I didn't know it until about an hour before that party, but I needed those women around that day. It was the morning that I found out that my cancer had spread to my colon. The day I had a meltdown at work. The day I finally broke for just a few minutes since my first diagnosis. The day I admitted I was scared. The day I decided that specific brand of beer was icky.

It was my daughter's birthday party. But, I was the one who really needed the party! I am incredibly lucky to have sisters that I love and that I love to spend time with. And friends make me laugh and let me cry and that show up and make the party. 

P.S. The eleven year old girls also love it when Aunt Mel comes because she has hot legs and guys like to flirt with her. Apparently that was the highlight of the party for the tweeners. Hear that Mel... hot legs!

No Candyasses in this circle.

He belongs to me.

This week we celebrated 4 years with this little one. We didn't do much. He's pretty easy to please. The only thing he ever wants to do is draw. So, he got a stack of sketch books and some fancy colored pencils and even fancier markers. It was top notch stuff. It was upstaged by a $1 bubble wand (which he refers to as his sword) from my little sister. Honestly people, all it takes is a buck!

He is the perfect ending to the baby making chapter of my life. Honestly, I decided a long time ago that I was done. Then I waffled and thought that there may be a reason to keep that door open. Then cancer made the decision for me. I hate cancer a little bit more for that. Mostly because I'm the boss and having something be the boss of me for awhile was total BS.

I am surprised by him every day. The kid can draw 3d shapes and spell the word trapezoid and he knows all of the planets in the correct order and he can sing every Justin Beiber song without help (don't judge, he has sisters) and he is the best pancake flipper in our house. The best part of my day is when I spend the last few minutes of the day with him and he tells me how great his day was. Every day is a great day with him. He never complains. He sees good in everything.

Fact is, though, that this kid is totally the boss of me.

You let the butter dribble on vacation

I took my kids home a few weeks ago. To the place I feel most at home. To Boston. To Hingham, the town I grew up in. To the house I grew up in and the neighborhood I loved. To the streets between my house and Jeannie's and the million and one memories that live there. To the beach, the water, the smell of the salt air and the winding roads along the coast. To the cemetery on High Street where Mitch is remembered. To the North End, Quincy Market, and my new digs in Cambridge. Up to Boothbay Harbor and back.

We went to places that meant the most to me growing up. And still, they hold strong as the places I love best. These places are the backdrop for so much of the color and texture and pattern of my life. In them I grew close to my family, made unbreakable bonds, fell deeply in love, learned the value of friendship and loyalty, had my heart broken a few times, and had more fun than any teenager should ever be allowed.

So many of my memories of these places are lost. So many are vague sort of shadows and I wonder if I remember them correctly. I wish I had those pages filled with my stories. I wish I remembered more details than I do. Not just because there was something magical about this place I got to live, but because I want my kids to know some of those stories. Not all of them, but a few are worthy of sharing.

I do remember running up the path from my house to the playground at Plymouth River School, across Harvard and Stanford to Blackhorse Lane hundreds of times. I remember smoking pot with my brother and his best friend on that very playground before our huge family dinners on Sundays where there were always at least ten extra people. (If you knew the chaos that often came with ten or more extra people, you'd have been at that playground with us.)

One Berkley Circle with overgrown hedges and the sinking walk that my dad put in by hand. 

I remember my mother's terrible pink and green wallpaper and how happy (and terrified) we were when my dad left oil on the stove one morning and the kitchen burned up so that we would never have to see it again... only, she put the same crap back up! I remember driving to school on snowy mornings and taking the turn on to Main Street a little too fast every time so that the back end of my mom's Jeep would fishtail just enough to make our little sisters pee a little.

I remember long walks down my street to the side yard that led to Ward Street. Wishing Berkley Circle were miles longer so I wouldn't have to say goodnight. (Mosty I just didn't ever want to stop making out with my boyfriend on that big patch of open grass that ruined my favorite white jeans.) I remember the night I was supposed to be at Dances With Wolves and instead had the best date in the history of dates. I remember spending more time at Jeannie's house because that's where our boys always were. And, long summer days laying by her pool with sun-in in our hair and ridiculously long discussions about summer camp and her boyfriend's smelly feet and debating whether her adopted brother was gay or not.

I remember standing on this very deck behind the Lobstermen's Co-op in Boothbay Harbor, Maine and taking a similar photo with my whole family, including Bruce and Diane. What was so amazing about this vacation with my kids was how incredibly easy they were. They fell in love with my beautiful Hingham instantly. And, they were no match for Boothbay Harbor. They are fully under the spell.

As am I.

NOW, I remember these three running up and down the street I lived on and the beaches I played on through the tiny town I spent summer vacations in. I watched them eat their first whole lobsters without worrying about the weird insides or the dribbling butter. And I watched them stand quietly over the tiny harbor in Cohasset and stare at the boats going out to the open water. It was where Molly turned and said that it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. I remember how easy they were in these places that always bring me comfort. They were happy and for a week they didn't argue or call names or whine. There will be many many more of these trips. Longer versions with more time for nothing and less driving and sightseeing. For now, though, I remember a tiny bit of perfection.

My very best memories... and theirs

I have awesome kids. I do. They are smart and funny and terribly clever.

We went to my Papa's grave a couple of weeks ago to drop off some flowers and notes and blow him dozens of kisses. I have a hard time not welling up when I visit him. I was five when he died. I remember learning how to ride a horse that day. I have very few clear memories of my childhood. But, that day feels like it was etched or carved in to me so I would never forget. Like a tattoo on the insides. It would be an image of me on a brown and white painted pony with a red ribbon braided in her white tail. And, me in my very worn and faded Harvard sweatshirt with a big huge wad of pink gum stuck in my long blond hair and a pair of dirty black boots up to my knees.

I loved him madly. He was quite possibly the most handsome man... ever. He had dark hair and was always tan and had the happiest eyes I'd ever seen. His smile lines made it look like he was always smiling. I remember him only happy, only healthy, only smiling. He had cancer. It took his life terribly fast and far too early.

While we were standing there, at his grave, Molly said "he's probably really glad he's missing this mess" and pointed to Sam. It broke my heart just a little while I sucked in a little laugh.

He would have so loved these children. These little ones I'm watching run around a campfire on the beach right this minute. Yes, I'm letting them run around a fire. We are on vacation. I'm giving the rigid mom bit a break this week. Oh wait, that's not even in my repertoire. I'm even more relaxed than normal this week.

I have smile lines like his. They only show up because I have been in the sun so much. I'll take them though. They are great reminders of this week that made my kids fall in love with the best parts of my favorite places. I don't remember everything the way I remember the day my papa died. I wish so much that I still had all of my journals that document the best days of my life so that I could share those days with my kids. The ones they ask about all the time... what my family was like growing up, what my friends were like, my first kiss, my first love, dances, dates, and heartbreaks.

I want to help them make the best memories and hear about the good ones that happen without me and help them through the times that will deliver their worst. Mostly, I just want them to have full, colorful lives. Like me. But, also, I want them to remember them!