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

 

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.

Running. Falling. Skinny Dipping.

I grew up in a coastal New England town just south of Boston. I love my home town. And, I have always maintained plenty of consulting work in Boston to allow me to go back often. The last eighteen months have been the exception. Chemotherapy and radiation treatments have a way of keeping you on the ground. But, new work will begin take me back regularly this summer. Can't wait.

Alpine, UT : April 2011

Early this morning I drove up to the top of the ridge above my parents little cove. I planned to run the winding roads to their house. It would only have been about five miles total. But, the winds were too strong and way too cold. I had to lean with all of my weight  to keep upright.

The wind whipped my hair in to a Medusa-like mess. The length definitely works against me on days like this. It reminded me of one of my favorite memories of one of my favorite people.

We had a huge storm come through New England during the summer of 1991 (I think). All I know is that I had my mom's car, so I had my license. That summer I met someone I'd end up dating on and off for several years. One of the first real dates we had was the night the storm hit. We spent most of the night standing on one of the many sea walls, along Jerusalem Road in Cohasset, and simply falling in to the wind. It would pick us up and bounce us around a little bit and then drop us to the ground.

This was taken on that very sea wall a few months after the storm. I'm on the left.

The power was out all over the coast that night. I didn't bother to check a clock. I think I got home around dawn and I remember not really fearing the wrath of Nan. Maybe it was because it was totally stupid and badass and dangerous. Or maybe it was just him. He was always very persuasive. 


Jumping off of see walls in to wind is rather mild compared to some of the things he liked to do. Some day I'll write about scaling the walls of the Glastonbury Monastery to skinny dip.  I said he was persuasive.  He was definitely not a Candyass. Still isn't.

Mes coups de coeur! J'aime.

I'm very serious when I say that I'm a shoe whore. Think I'm exaggerating? My daughter did a little inventory tonight and then started taking pictures to document my addiction. She's threatening to start her own blog about it. (Name yet to be determined.) The truth is that I'd give up Diet Coke for shoes. Can't wait to hear the gasps. This is serious business.

However, THIS is also serious business. I love pretty things. I don't mean pretty girly things like flowers or jewelry. I can do without most of that. If you know me well, you know that my watch and my tiny silver chain with the turquoise drop qualify as most of my jewelry for the day, every day. The rest I could maybe live without. When I say pretty things, I mean things like these:

From the Odd Molly Spring 2011 Collection

I know, I know... the leggings!!  They are as hot as they are adorable.

Odd Molly has long been my favorite line of clothing. I love the beautiful colors, shapes, and the mixture of youthful fabrics and sweet embroidery with the sexy sophistication of the silks and lace-trimmed pieces. I adore the brand story. So does my 10 year old who is now able to wear their XS pieces without them drowning her. 

I know that clothes and shoes can make people seem shallow and silly. I have to admit that I generally think that about anyone I see in anything Juicy Couture. (It makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.) There's just something special about the pieces that give you goosebumps when you put them on. That's what Odd Molly does for me. Unfortunately that's also what really really pricey Italian shoes also do for me.

(For those that think this line might be a little too dainty and girly... you can check out my other favorite line but be for-warned that it's all kinds of naughty. No, not all skanky, just some well-placed super foul language on very sweetly embroidered tops and accessories. It's genius. If you get offended easily, don't go so we can still be friends.)

Kisses!

CREAM & SUGAR

My 2 year old consumed a tiny bowl of sugar and drank straight from a miniature pitcher of cream at a very brief lunch we shared with my highly entertaining friend Melissa. Sam kinda stole the show. I am sure that the Mother of The Year award is not far off.

OK, so that will never ever happen. But, I have a mother and she was Teacher of the Year last year. Let me tell you, she earned that stupid little plaque on her wall and the big bonus that went with it. She teaches special education and she loves it. Best of all, they love her. It is absolutely what she was meant to do. I have always been proud of her. She works harder than anyone I know and continues to take on extra projects, provide extra service, and make time for her kids, all six of us, and her sixteen grandchildren. She's remarkable.

She's also funny as hell and she has more stories than any single person I know. Earlier today we were sitting around her big dining room table listening to the funny stories of the week from the oldest grand kids. One of them said something that none of us can remember because my mom started to laugh until tears were rolling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. This alarmed the babies and the dog. They were all crying too. We just waited for the story. And, it was so worth it.

She has a study hall period for kids to come in and get a little bit of extra help with math or science, or anything they may be struggling with. She has a group of girls that come in and use a corner to study together. They mostly talk about boys and other girls. The last time came in they were passing a bottle of lotion around and talked about how great it smelled and how soft it made their skin and how much certain boys liked it. These are 16 year old girls that may not be as witty as the slutty cheerleaders on Glee but the voices are a dead match. Somewhere during the conversation one of the girls explained that she got the bottle of lotion from her mom and that the coolest part about it was that it was also edible. She then reads from the bottle "Good for an intimate midnight snack." And some girls sampled!

My mom was sitting at her desk texting the teacher in the room next door a play by play of this conversation. They decide she needs to confiscate this bottle of lotion and encourage the girls to study. She takes the bottle and puts it on her desk and takes a few photos of it so that she doesn't forget. The funniest part, for me, was that the name of this product was Cream & Sugar edible body lotion.

I suppose that even funnier than that is the fact that it first belonged to her mother. My mom will never look at that parent the same again. She's no Candyass though, she'll still look her dead in the eye and be fair, but she might giggle a little at the same time.

Can't really fault anyone for keeping a little sizzle in their life, but for giving a little bit of the sizzle to a kid is totally stupid and terribly comical.

The No Talk List: Got The Boogers Out

Sam is three. He is a mess. His face is always dirty and probably permanently stained. His fingernails have unknown matter under them. I will clean them and it will reappear immediately. He has strawberry blond hair that sticks straight up all over his head making it look much bigger than it really is. And, it's already big. See... 

I frequently quote So I Married an Axe Murderer right at him. "Look at your head, it's like an orange on a toothpick. Got its own weather system, it does." I hope he grows in to his head someday. For now, I love how fuzzy his hair is and how he still lets me kiss him all over it. I know those days are not going to last much longer.

The other day he snuck up behind me while I was working and said (with all the pride a 3 year old can muster) "Mom, I brushed my teef, and my hairs on my head, and got all my boogers out."

We're not allowed to talk about it in front of him anymore. It makes him scream like a girl and threaten to bite and pinch. For now it can go on the no talk list with the Fluffernutter sex sandwich.  You know what though? I'd totally buy tissues from a company that showed a kid getting the boogers out and putting them in to the tissue. My niece wipes them on the wall. I've witnessed it and it makes me gag. Gagging is never good for a girl on chemo. It is always followed by dry heaving or vomit. Ohhh that would scare the little shizzle right out of her. Could it get her to use a tissue though?

(The word gagging kind of makes me gag too.)

Speaking of gagging...

We have dinner at my parents house with all of my local siblings and their kids every Sunday. I love it. It's one of the best parts of the week. Except for one part. My grandma. My dad's mom is the most unhappy, unkind, unfriendly, old crab EVER.

Little kids have crappy grandma radar. There is an invisible forcefield that won't let them within five feet of her. We've tried to tell her that kids generally don't like to be told they are fat, mean, or ugly. But, she contests that, as the matriarch of the family, it's her right to tell them those things. All I can say to her is that karma is a bitch. And, she's been storing that bad karma away for a long time.

A couple of weeks ago at our weekly family dinner she got the payback of a lifetime when she stood up from the dinner table and let out a series of noises (gag now) with their own special brand (fragrance) that now have the kids calling her "Machine Gun Granny". They have to call eachother every few days to talk about the fart that put all other farts to shame. The fart that had the power to make the house shake as those kids erupted. This is a giggly bunch of monsters. But, these were belly laughs. And, the biggest laugh of all was my dad. He has selective hearing when it comes to her. There was no escaping the rat-a-tat-tat though.

Farts and boogers are gross, but anything that makes kids light up and laugh together like that is ok with me.

If you're a Candyass about saying FART (I know plenty of people who are, but are ok with the other 4 letter F word... go figure) you can say it with a British accent and it doesn't sound so bad.

And, I'm off. Peace out.