A lot of life is not total crap

So let's talk about the things in life that don't make want to curl up in a ball and cry and cry and cry until the giant hill I live on top of gets washed away by a mudslide of salty tears.

1. Two of the nicest people I know had a baby in late September. He is very large and has a great deal of hair on his head. He is adorable and sleepy, and I get to hold him all the time.

2. Samson is in a very enjoyable huggy kissy phase. We spend a lot of time cuddling and tickling and kissing and reading books and chasing the cat...it's like heaven.

3. The weather has been amazing, and you know how I feel about the weather.

I'm considering making myself a bunch of t-shirts with pictures of powerful people and survivor types on them. Because that's how I feel these days. People Like Xena: Princess Warrior and that guy who ate that whole 64 oz steak at that one Cattleman's restaurant...truly inspiring people.

Worst. Post. Ever.

So. Where have I been for the last 6 weeks? I've been here. And here. And spending lots of time in one of these. And getting one of these. Because, apparently, I have this.

Lucky Me!

Let's not get all wacko and out of control. Some shit sucks, I mean really sucks, but let's remember a few things:

1. I am young.
2. I am strong.
3. I refuse to become a statistic.

And even when my pillow is drenched from tears and I can't eat because of the chemotherapy or I'm just so damn tired, I will always have the motivation I need from these guys:



And, of course, a host of other wonderful peoples.

Clearly, posting will be light, and chances are I won't have much to say other than HOLY SHIT I HAVE CANCER. But who knows, I may surprise myself. And for the umpteenth time today, I will thank god or whoever is in charge of this mess that back on September 21, when I had the seizure that caused me to crash my car and sent me to the hospital so that the amazing doctors could discover this horribleness, that NOBODY WAS HURT, especially not Samson, who was riding in his super awesome car seat in the back of the now totaled Subaru Outback. The very same Samson who will turn two years old on Sunday.

Nice one, Mother Nature

Finally, after months of perfectly acceptable but hardly tank top worthy weather, Indian Summer (also known to us Bay Area folk as "real summer") is upon us. Every year, Mother Nature waits until all of the annoying youth are back in school and then unleashes upon us six amazing weeks of 90+ temps, the occasional dramatically humid thunder storm, and cool morning fog that quickly gives way to BBQ friendly afternoons. This will last until Halloween, when the chilly nip of autumn will grace our presence for about a month before plain old winter takes over until late April. Guh.

Sometimes this is may favorite season, this late September/early October perfection, but it's hard to compete with autumn (or any season that involves Thanksgiving dinner). Misty, cool, sweater-wearing late November rocks. But having just had my in-laws over for an outdoor brunch where nobody needed a sweater (heck, the baby didn't even need pants), and knowing that the pool at the gym won't be chock full of camp goers tomorrow like it was allllll freaking summer long...well, that rocks X 1,000.

Sure, sometimes I'm envious of people who live where the trees actually change colors instead of just going naked all of a sudden (Maggie), or where it snows occasionally (Dedi & Miriam), or even where it snows way too much (Richmans), but on a day like today, I just can't complain. And that's saying something.

Dear Play School: Will You Marry Me?

Just a quick update: play school ROCKS. There were some tears when I tried to make the kiddo stand still in front of our house for a photo op, but once we actually got to school, it was all "let's see how many toy trucks I can fit in my mouth" and "look how hard I can though gravel at that kid!"

Yes, I'm a very proud parent.

Samson loved it, and of course I had to drag him away from the toy vacuum cleaner when it was time to leave. Neither of us can wait to go back.

School Days

The kiddo starts school tomorrow.

What, what? Is he even two yet?

No. He is 22.5 months old, and has already been accepted to Harvard. Lucky us!

The thing that starts tomorrow, the thing that we have been referring to as "school" is actually two two-hour days per week of throwing sand, riding trikes and eating play dough. It's kind of like junior preschool, or maybe play school. It's also a parent cooperative, so he's someone else's problem now, in addition to my own. It takes a village, right? It's less casual than a playgroup, but not as advanced as preschool. My hope is that it will a great place to learn new and exciting ways to tire him out and that we can all make some friends who won't soon tire of listening to me talk about being the parent of a toddler. Because that's pretty much all I talk about these days

I haven't really considered this to be any bigger of a deal than swim lessons, baby gym, or any other regularly-scheduled, paid enrichment activity we've done so far, but as tomorrow edges closer, I'm definitely feeling like my little baby is somewhat less of a baby these days--which is, of course, bittersweet.

State Unfair

I could write 50 million blog posts about the fun things we did in Minneapolis, and it would still fall criminally short of describing the actual amount of fun we had. It was awesome. Stupendous. Heart warming. Impossible to describe with mere words or even with 748 photographs. But here are some highlights.



Fried macaroni and cheese on a stick!





Delicious.





Apple picking.





A friendly goat named Putz.





The high score of the day for Whack a mole!

Damn Sqirrels

Remember last Spring when I talked about our cracker jack plans for a garden? Well, we did end up with some fairly edible prizes to show for our labor. We ended up planting tomatoes (3 different kinds!), kakai pumpkin, black simpson lettuce, carrots, and approximates 42,000 strawberry plants. For a few months, everything was great--we harvested a bunch of lettuce, about 12 mamma mia tomatoes, a dozen or so strawberries, and had one heck of a pumpkin just sitting there, growing.



Then the squirrels caught on to or master plan. They found out that we intended to actually eat the foods that we grew, and they got together at their annual squirrel convention and came up with 14 different diabolical plans: each and every one culminated in them eating the veggies before we could enjoy them. For the last two weeks, as soon as a tomato turns even slightly orange, it's gone. The pumpkin was devoured, along with all of the lettuce and every single strawberry as soon as it showed any sign of turning red.



Or maybe it's the raccoons. Either way, I am pissed. And apparently, my cat is in on the deal. I mean, it's not like I ask much of him. Does a cat really need two eyes in order to spot, chase, and possibly eat a freaking squirrel?

At the very least, we have an herb garden on the back porch, growing in huge terra cotta pots: parsley, basil, rosemary, mint, thyme, oregano, thai basil, sage, cilantro, and chives. It would appear that our resident critters aren't fans of vibrantly flavored leaves and aromatic sprigs. There's no accounting for taste.



We had such grand plans for all of our lovely tomatoes. I'm glad we got to try a few of them, but it's very disheartening. This was our first attempt at gardening, and I hate to think that we've been had by some overgrown chipmunks. I just don't have the energy or desire to build fencing or anything other than watering and fertilizing the plants, and even that is starting to seem pointless. If they would just leave me one strawberry, maybe I'd feel more industrious. At least they haven't started digging the carrots out yet. We've been able to harvest about 7 or 8 tiny, yet delicious, little carrots. Sigh.