"The Beatles Get Kidnapped!" or, Why I Love Kindergarden

Tomorrow is Samson's sharing day at school. It's kind of like show and tell, but with rules. The item you bring to share must be "special to you or interesting to us." And it happens every week, so we spend a good amount of time examining the kiddo's prized possessions and discussing whether or not they are special or useful. We talk a lot about the origins, history and intrinsic "meaning" of his stuff, from baby gifts to special pieces of cement, to books and awards. After brainstorming today on what might be a candidate for sharing day--the 1971 50-cent piece that we brought back for him from Las Vegas, or maybe a special picture of him with our old dog Ozzy--kiddo decided that he wanted to make a book based on a drawing we had done together last May--a drawing that's been hanging on our fridge since the glorious day it was created. A drawing called "The Beatles get Kidnapped in Neverland."

I proudly present to you the kiddo's first complete book--the publishing rights are currently available, and soon to be a major motion picture!

It's a gripping four page story of--you guessed it--The Beatles getting kidnapped in Neverland, where they are rescued of course, and proceed to sail their ship to Pirate Island.

This is where the plot thickens.

On Pirate Island, they find the X that marks the spot and dig for treasure. Spoiler alert: they uncover the treasure and it is their instruments! Now The Beatles are happy, and they have a meeting to discuss their happiness.

Full color illustrations in crayon, marker, and black pen, perfect bound with Scotch tape.

Happy!

Max keeps saying to Samson and me, "Happy first day of Spring!" What with Max being foreign and all, I calmly explain to him, no it's just daylight savings time. Spring begins on the vernal equinox on March 21. Then I look at the weather, see the work he did in the garden today, remember the fabulous baseball game that the kiddo and I played today at the park with Grandpa, and realize that we're sitting in the hot tub...and I shout "HAPPY FIRST DAY OF SPRING!"

Opening Day

I awoke just after sunrise to soft little hands and a quiet, whispering voice.

"Is it time for the parade yet?"

Although the Opening Day parade was scheduled to start very early (imo) at 8:30, it was still a good 2 hours before were even supposed to meet our team on the field.

Samson of course is very excited; it's his first year in our local league. Last year was awesome--wiffle T-ball in Foster City--but in the Belmont Redwood Shores league, he's old enough to play with an actual ball. And he wasn't the only one there who was super excited. It was my & Max's first Little League opening day events too!

Did I mention 13 teams in the T-ball division, 14 kids per team. That's somewhere around 182 five and six year olds. In the same place. At the same time. And there are 3 other divisions. That's a shit load of cheering parents.

Unstoppable Energy

Another after-school play date is currently underway in the living room.

One 5-year-old + another 5-year-old = LOUD and also TOTAL CHAOS.

The pirates are set up, as are the army guys, the knights, the Peter Pan set...it's some kind of mass action figure invasion, sponsored by Mattel and Play Mobil.

And the dogs have been locked out in the back yard.

And the cats are simply delighted.

And, of course, the kids are singing Shabbat songs all the while. Thankfully, as a more-or-less atheist, it just sounds like harmonious jibberish. However, since I was raised Jewish, I know very well what their songs mean (not to them, maybe, but still.). If you spoke Hebrew, you'd be listening to two adorable, innocent kids, shooting each other's action figures, while singing about the lord, our god, eternal and such, please bless our bread and wine as we usher in the sabbath bride. Yeesh.

Bad Move

Back when I was young, always and forever having a blast and living life to the fullest, I collected snow globes. I displayed them proudly on my desk at work, with a an old bookcase for the overflow. I didn't have hundreds, but there were probably a good four or five dozen. 

During one of the multitudes of moves I've made in the last 6 years, I've lost them. I keep that realization in the back of my head--I tend to bury it, quickly and successfully, whenever it pops up. It sucks, move on. But now that Samson apparently has such an affection for snow globes himself, I just have to continuously smack myself in the metaphorical forehead with the metaphorical palm of my metaphorical hand. I can't help but think I must have given them away or ditched them at some point, in a fit of sheer idiocy. What an amazing piece of my myself during a very awesome (who knew!) point in my life: my twenties.

Dream a creepy dream of Aloha

My tiny little baby of a sister-in-law is coming to visit soon, which is awesome. She wants us to come see a show in the city with her and her boyfriend...at TEN O'CLOCK PM ON A TUESDAY. That's when the show STARTS. What the hell does she think I am? Not super old? Even if we knocked over a Starbuck's on the way there and then did lines in the bathroom, it would still be out of the question. OUT. OF. THE. QUESTION.

I've been sick and bed-ridden the last two days, trading off my time between sleeping and feeling horribly sorry for myself. All of my dreams were a deeply troubling mixture of dark maroon and pungent orange, the unmistakable colors of DayQuil & NyQuil. And they smelled like cat breath. 

It felt mostly good to be back at work today, although it seemed cruel that my coworkers expected me to DO THINGS like ANSWER THE PHONE or REPLY TO THEIR EMAILS. The nerve. While protesting their demands by cruising Facebook, I saw that a friend of mine is looking for a cat sitter. For two weeks. At her home. IN HAWAII. Ah, I know which dream will be turned into frightful colors with NyQuil's rosy hue tonight!

Coming out of my hidey hole

I am still here. The blog is still on. The evil cold that followed me home from Las Vegas has prevented me from blogging these last few days, but I'll be back tonight. Swears.

Grazi, Palazzo

Is there such a thing as too much Vegas? Well, I think we all know that the answer to that is a big, resounding "DUH."

As this getaway comes to as close, I take pride in my highly refined ability to know when to say when to the City of Sin, and ensure that this is not a Too Much trip.

Now you can benefit from my time-tested wisdom so that you, too, can enjoy just the right amount of what Las Vegas has to offer.

1. Quantity, not quality. This applies to just about everything, especially alcohol. If 14 free well drinks are good, 16 are better.

2. When choosing a restaurant, look for the menu with the highest number of deep fried or crunchy items. This is applicable to both a romantic dinner out and a 3 am fill up. This method is less effective when gelato and fro yo are involved, in which case, you can replace "deep fried" and "crunchy" with "chocolate" and "caramel."

3. Is your kid expecting you to bring him home a souvenir? The pen and notepad from the hotel room totally count.

4. Save money by sleeping AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. You can't lose money at blackjack if you're snuggled up all cozy in your bed.

5. If you like to play slots, choose machines that have celebrity associations--and the more obscure, the better. For example, Wheel of Fortune is a great choice with Pat and Vanna watching down on you as you load another $5 into the cash slot, but the Caddyshack machine gives you a healthy double dose of Rodney Dangerfield and Bill Murray--plus a gopher! Extra tip: avoid jungle-themed machines. A crowded casino is no place for a tiger.

Viva some stuff!

Top 5 reasons Las Vegas is awesome

1. The dryness makes my hair look amazing
2. Ghostbusters slot machine
3. Shiny everythings
4. Free drinks!
5. Don't have to worry about potential outbreak of foot, hand & mouth disease at kindergarden until tomorrow

over and over

I'm flying over 280, over the reservoir, over the fog that flows in over the hills from the west, slowly, quietly, creeping in like kitty cat paws.

Did I mention I'm on my way to Las Vegas?

No sleep for the cuddlers

I realize it's hard to say no to a sleepy five-year-old, especially one in fuzzy pajamas, one who wants to get in bed with you, one who is your only little five-year-old and will always be you sweet, precious what-have-you, but Max, please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD learn to say NO. Learn to say HELL NO, GO BACK TO YOUR OWN BED.

How did I sleep last night? I suppose you can guess. Feet in my face. Elbows in my face. At one point, a sweet and tiny arm across my chest, attached to a small and fluffy head, eyes closed, yelling in my face, "Six one five! Six one five, Mommy!" Adorable? Absolutely. Conducive to a restful, good night's sleep and dreams that are not about a post apocalyptic community college? Not as such, no.

Max, the next time you let him into bed before 6 am, I'm going to sleep on the futon. You can deal with his uber-cute sleep attacks.

A side order of guilt

Apropos of last night's post, I can't think of anything to blog about tonight. All I can think about is that I have my weight check-in tomorrow morning, and I know I've made a few *questionable* decisions this week, so I'm hoping the scale will have mercy on me. I'm also wondering which of my clothes are the absolute lightest.

I'm also thinking about our impending trip to Las Vegas and (not surprisingly) all of the off-plan foods I will be eating while I'm there. I don't intend to eat whatever the hell I want whenever I want it, but I am planning a few predetermined meals that actually have (gasp!) carbs in them. I imagine it will be easier to enjoy my transgressions if I have a good weigh-in this week.

I can't believe I'm blogging about this. About dieting. I hate it that I have such a negative and unhealthy relationship with food and weight right now. This is hardly a new issue in my life; still, it's been exacerbated by (what, you thought I wasn't going to mention it tonight?) The Cancer. You see, for a whole year, it seemed like I was working OVERTIME on the Get Fat project. Freshly off of 12 months of chemotherapy--three kinds! at once!--my taste buds began to work again, slowly recognizing the joy and succulence of things like Beli Deli turkey sandwiches on Dutch Crunch rolls and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups that I had gone without for so long. Seriously, for a good 14 months, it was nothing but dry bagels and the occasional bowl of Kix with rice milk for me. And my poor Temodar, Avastin and Tarceva laden tummy didn't even accept THAT menu of beige very well. Hell, I was pretty damn sure I'd be dead in a year or two anyway, so I might as well enjoy the things that tasted good while I could. You know what didn't taste good? Broccoli. And self control.

Hey--I guess I DO know what to blog about tonight!

working it out

In this last run of regular blogging, I've struggled. With words, ideas, how to define the point in what I'm doing--its all been quite a challenge. I think that's how this chapter is supposed to go. One of my therapists has thrown down the gauntlet and tasked me with daily blogging as a means to help reignite the part of my brain that seems to have atrophied or otherwise been effected by the 2.5 cm tumor that was discovered in the left side of my brain 3+ years ago.

Most days, I take the obvious route and report on an event from the day, maybe something brief about music. It's difficult to come up with something blog worthy when life, in general, is so boring. I woke up. I fed everyone. I drove to school and work. And then I did the exact same thing in reverse.

Holy crap, my life is a palindrome.

I find the real challenge--the brain-buildy part--to be coming up with the words to describe things. It is tough as shit to take the thoughts and turn them into actual words that mean actual stuff and make sense when put down, one after the other. Kiddo has been learning how to do mazes, and I imagine that we are experiencing similar feelings as we work through our puzzles. Frustration, concentration, pride. Repeat.

Darn Good Weekend

It has been a long and illustrious weekend, chock full of birthday parties, play dates and comparatively indulgent food. Those of you around the SF Bay Area know how amazing the weather has been, and my mood has reflected the vitamin D in spades.

The kiddo is washed, fed and put to bed, and it's time for Max and me to watch a cheesy movie on Netflix, enjoy our adult beverages and countdown to our little trip to Las Vegas that's just around the corner. There's really not much that could make me feel any better.

Except this!

You Can Thank Me Later

Need to shake your booty tonight? I know I do!

This will help.

Really?

Tonight, I only have two things to say: I have had a few vodka and Cherry Diet Pepsi drinks, so I will not be blogging tonight.

And also this. Really? Seriously? Who did they hire to name their company, the League of 13 Year Old Boys? Sheesh.

Gettin' Our Purim On

There's a parade and festival at kiddo's school tomorrow to celebrate Purim. For the kids, it's a costume and cookies holiday, so you can imagine how much excitement and anticipation is building up around this house. And it's not just the five-year-old; Max and his father get to relive the good old days when Max would wear the awesomest homemade costumes ever at their local Purim celebrations in Ra'anana. Behold Young Napoleon:

My father-in-law is killer with cardboard and an ace with duct tape. And Samson, who is already obsessed with the air force (hence one of the kittens being named USS Ronald Reagan), is FREAKING OUT about his super awesome costume...which I should be putting the finishing touches on instead of blogging. But here's the gist:

I'll have a better picture tomorrow after the festival. Hooray for quick dry silver spray paint!

Using the C Card

How awful is jury duty? Pretty damn awful. The last time I was called up for jury duty, I was a freshly diagnosed brain tumor patient a scar that Dr. Frankenstein would be proud of. My neuro-oncologist provided a letter that stated as much, and I was excused from jury duty for three years.

Fast-forward to today, barely finished cleaning up the confetti from the celebration of my passing the three-year survival mark, and what do you think I get in the mail? I immediately asked my neuro-oncologist for another letter. She politely said no, that she wouldn't feel comfortable stating that I was disabled.

Fats-fast-forward to tonight, where I go into a semi-belligerent rant about how I shouldn't be on a jury; after all, I confuse words like "justice" and "pickle" all of the time! My brain was sliced, diced and pumped full of chemicals! My head is stuck for hours in a microwave oven mascaraeding as an MRI tube four times a year! I certainly wouldn't want me on MY jury were I accused of anything.

Max wasn't having any of it. He shook his head, over and over. "Nope. you're perfectly capable of serving on a jury. You know the difference between right and wrong. If it were a bad idea, Dr. Clarke would have written the letter."

Foo on you. Foo on logic. And foo on jury duty.

Warm and fuzzy

The weather has been amazing lately. Mid-February has brought clear, sunny days, 70 + degree days and long, lingering sunsets...until today when the temperature barely got above 50 and I froze my sweet ass clean off.

I may not have had the good sense to dress appropriately myself (even though my desk might as when be in Alaska), but I bundled the kiddo in multiple layers, found his raincoat, and even pulled out his rain boots. He missed seeing the hail that pelted the area in the early afternoon, but there is talk of lightning later tonight, so he may get to enjoy this insipid weather after.

That being said, this post was written from my bed, under the winter down comforter, with the heater cranked...and two dogs on my ankles and hips. And it's not even 4:30 in the afternoon yet.

The Easy Way Out

"Pretend I fell on the floor and you cut my head off."

"Pretend I have power to make you go back to life."

"If you step on that part, it will kill you."

"Ok, then I won't step on it."

"Now I am a kitty, and this kitty is scared."

"Meow, kitty, let's make a kitty house so we can hide together."

There are three five-year old boys downstairs in Samson's room, and they are LOUD. The are playing, yelling, SHOUTING--and I am on cloud nine. With neighbors across the street who are just the right age and just the right kind of kids, I hardly ever have to crawl on around on my hand and knees pretending to be a kitty anymore. I can do Legos and books and arts & crafts no problem, but this endless imaginative play is not my cup of tea. Hooray for friendly, active, loving and like-minded twins that live across the street!

Dreaming of the Emerald Isle

In 2006-2007, Max and I had the amazingly good fortune to spend a year living in Dublin, Ireland. The country was chock-full of beautiful landscapes and powerfully emotional history, not to mention kind and welcoming people. Our time there led us to some thrilling places (like Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, in the above photo), and handed us some unforgettable memories with friends, both new and old.

Today we met up with of my favorite results of living in Ireland, a wonderful friend who was there at the same time as us with the same group of folks from Max's company. I haven't seen him much since we all came back to the states (remember? wedding, baby, multiple moves, home buying, terminal illness, etc), but today's San Francisco lunch date with Max, Samson, our buddy and his 9 month old son made for some seriously joyful memories of days of yore, and grand expectations of times to come. Slainte!

The Gambler

It's true--you do need to know when, in fact, hold them. I usually do know when it would prudent to hold them, and in this case, "them" is my tongue, or whatever snarky, defensive, or downright mean thing I'm about to say. Ah, but knowing when to hold them is different from know how to hold them. No, Kenny Rogers didn't cover that part of the relationship game when he sang his professorial top 40 hit. Enter joke about Kenny Rogers' Roasters being super gross here.

When I was growing up, I found solace in sayings like "acknowledge, move on" and "knowing is half the battle." For me, half of the battle was PLENTY, especially if it was the first half. That's when the threats are thrown down, when the posses gather with bicycle chains and bandannas. The second half of the battle is when everyone dies, and the victors, breathing heavily and bleeding from their arms and heads, survey the battlefield, collect their dead, and head back to their homes. No thank you.

This explains why I excel at ditching in the middle of fights--no, let's say arguments--with my husband. If I decide it's time to fuck shit up, I do just that. And that gets old pretty darn fast. At some point, usually after he's tried to diffuse the situation or unsuccessfully pacify me three or four times (which is also when he starts to get pretty pissed off at me, and therefore invested in said argument), I decide it's time to acknowledge something obvious ("We have different perspectives on that" or "That's the difference between men and women" or "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree") and move. the. fuck. on. And of course, that's just about the time Max has gotten riled up and ready to see this thing through.

It's amazing that he has the power to just shake his head, step aside, and let me drive the argument. I tend to steer that wreck over to shoulder, pop the hood and wait for the tow truck to arrive. Tonight, the tow truck a vodka cocktail. Good night.

Everyone, I mean Nobody, Wins

Which smells worse: dog diarrhea or burnt popcorn? No matter--my house smells like both!

Hooray for a nice February day in the upper 60's so I can open all of the upstairs windows and air out the house before the family shows up for shabbat dinner. Note to self: just because Turkey Sandwich is super cute, that does NOT mean she can eat bacon for breakfast, even if her eyes tell you differently. Thanks, self. LESSON LEARNED.

A Heart Full of Fancy Ingredients

(For those of you who are keeping track: that last post was written yesterday afternoon, and I thought I had posted it last night. When I opened my computer this morning, I realized that I hadn't actually hit the "Publish" button. Still totally counts for yesterday!)

I have had such a terrific Valentine's Day, and I hope all of you have, too. I got to watch the kiddo's face EXPLODE with joy when I gave him his very own box of conversation hearts and then IMPLODE with joy when I gave him his very own heart shaped box of chocolates (with a kitten on it! squeeeeeee!). Another Valentine's Day like this and the kid won't have any face left.

On the way to work, I listened to the awesome Valentine's Day playlist on Spotify that I made for Max--really, it's amazing. A little bit of soul, a little alt-rock, some Mr. T Experience and absolutely ZERO Air Supply.

At the office, I was the surprised and thrilled recipient of flowers and chocolates from The Best Coworker Ever. After kindergarten pick-up, I got to watch Grandpa smile as kiddo delivered a Valentine's Day card and quick kiss to my folks. And as if all of that wasn't enough, after walking Turkey Sandwich tonight, I got hand made cards from both of my Valentines and SUPER FANCY CHOCOLATES with things like LAVENDER and PISTACHIO in them. Well played, husband.

Heal Thyself

Everything was going along just fine. And then Max and I decided it
would be just fine to get married, have a baby, move twice and buy a
house (oh wait, move three times) all in one year. And then my brain
decided to go all out of service on me. It's no wonder I'm sitting in
the lobby of one of my two weekly therapists offices. It's no wonder
there are a pile of folded clothes permanently affixed to the top of
the shelf in my bedroom. It's no wonder I ask myself daily, almost
hourly: "What the fucking fuck?"

Anyone with a five year old will tell you, get used to it. Life at
home now consists of doing laundry and dishes, packing lunches and
playing with Legos (or dolls or pillow pets or play dough...). In a
rare and shining moment of me time, you can find me paying bills or
grocery shopping. Sleeping in means sleeping past 7.

I know it sounds like I'm complaining. That's probably because I am.
Even five + years after welcoming my tiny new housemate/employer, I am
taken aback by the massive change being a parent has made to my life.
OF COURSE for the better. But also for the annoyinger, the busier and
the tireder.

T-Ball Furies

If any single age group knows how to intimidate me, it's five-year-olds. Boundless energy. No sense of socially appropriate filters. The ability to whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine like nobody's business. And my five-year-old, in particular, has some intense negotiation skills. And that is how I lost $1.50 in the token-ticket game area at Mountain Mike's tonight.

On the plus side, we met Samson's new Little League coach and most of his teammates. And on the plus plus side, the coach is not me.

Double Duty

You know how they say the shoemaker's children go barefoot? So. Freaking. True. At work, nary a thing goes by my desk or inbox without at least getting labeled and added to a list or two. Most things get done within the same week if not the same day. Need a document? A seven month old invoice? A half-written contract for a client that we never landed? Give me 2 1/2 minutes and it'll be on your desk. Yet visitors to my home need hard hats to protect their heads lest a pile of paper should fall upon them between the front door and the kitchen.

This evening has been devoted to paperwork, paying bills and checking items off of lists. Plus, my underpaid, part-time admin laughed at all my jokes, just like a good employee should. I'm thinking of giving him a raise--what's 5% of absolutely nothing? My kind and generous father's sole form of payment for his good deeds is the occasional bag of pretzels or mostly-stale potato chips, whatever's left in the snack box we keep in the pantry that the kiddo hasn't eaten. A true testament to the idea that when your last kid goes off to college, you should CHANGE YOUR ADDRESS, my dad is helpful and patient, and donates one the most precious resources a person has: his time. Thanks, Dad!

Sunday purge

With Max finally home from airport purgatory, we got straight to work by purging our tiny-yet-completely-full-of-crap, spare-ish room in preparation for extra trash pick-up day I scheduled for tomorrow. Man, that's a lot of hyphens.

The room looks amazing, in that I can see the floor, and the new printer is hooked up and seems to printing actual things! Now it's time to go out for carbolite and celebrate our amazing success.

Third wheel date with the sasquwatches

Max and I had a double date planned tonight with our awesome neighbors. They have twins that are Samson's age, and the three kids will spend a few hours the at the local gymnastics center so the old folks can go out for dinner.

That was the plan.

Well, poor Max got stuck in Hawaii an extra day (it's worse than it sounds, he's been stuck in the airport for about 20 hours), so our double date night turned out slightly uneven. But I never complain when there's child care and Japanese food involved! So this me, not complaining, getting ready to binge on some premium sashimi. Imagine my ear to ear smile--although it would be bigger if my partner in crime were here, too. 

Cities made of yogurt containers and egg cartons

Samson's class revealed their city to the public today. Super Kid City is amazing and well thought out and planned, and professionally managed by a queen in a kindergarden teachers costume. It was amazing and unreal and reminded me of the fact that my amazing child needs this. He needs lots if things, I need to give him lots of stuff, sure. But he needs a kindergarden class where he has to stop an evil cow from turning into a bowling ball and ruining the city. It must be this way.

Whoops again!

I've been blogging daily for a while now, about a month or so. And yet, somehow, I completely forgot to post last night! I'm sure it had nothing to do with the extra glass of vodka and diet cherry Dr. Pepper.

Regardless, I don;t have much to say this evening, and I really just want to go to bed early. Thank you for understanding, and please-oh-please, be mine!

When it's my moment in the sun

Oh how beautiful I'll be!

Join the Army

My pal Liz--over at The Liz Army--is such an inspiration. Her blog design, her tenacity, her commitment to community and spreading the word are all amazing testaments to her character. I have a hard time identifying with cancer in any way unless it involves a serious bout of depression and flooding rivulets of tears.

All of my Glioma Girls are amazing, no doubt. Erin is constantly working, remastering the skills associated with using two legs and two arms. Liz Z. has gone through craniotomies and treatments--and STILL has the strength to carry a child, give birth and raise her first baby. Katie is raising three kids under the age of 10. YIKES.

Most days, I'm fine. Better than fine, even--some days, I'm downright good.

But some days, I can barely get through my six-hour work day--despite my doting and attentive husband, two healthy and retired parents who are, 24/7, chomping at the bit to help with the kiddo, and a warm and inviting community of friends and classmates. It seems that I have everything around me that I need to be fulfilled and successful. To be happy.

But tonight, I am sitting in bed, and I am SAD. Kiddo is fast asleep, there are two dogs sprawled across bed and a tangled up pile of pink-toed feet and striped tails atop the cat tree. Hockey is on, belly is full, dishes are done, laundry is folded. SO WHY AM I SAD? I've had 3+ years of clean, consistent MRI's since my Glioblastoma IV diagnosis in 2009. I'm as close to remission as someone who has a cancer that doesn't have remission can be, for heaven's sake. What will it take to get the sadness out of my soul?

Still don't want to drink Budweiser, though

I want a horse!

And if you watched the Superbowl today, so do you.

School Book Sale Fundraiser

Huh.

Way Back Machine

I recently found the old playlist we used to play at Samson's bed time when he was teensy tiny. We added it to his current bedtime playlist on Spotify, and now I get my tearful, joyous, nightly dose of nostalgia--you know, because there aren't enough things already that make me cry.

Track one just send me so far back, I can almost feel the old rocking chair against my back; I can almost smell the lavender nighttime lotion...and the pampers swadlers...



Nighty night, tiny little infant Samson.

Struggling

I'm watching the Sharks struggle more than they have in the 6 games they've played this season. They're not congealing as a team, the communication is weak, they should be making better plays. Everyone is expecting more--not only because they've been so stellar this season, but because we know they can be better. They're not failing; at the end of the first period, it's tied at zero. And everyone is disappointed in them. They are disappointed in themselves.

Now let's change the pronouns around. 2011 was my off-season. Time to rest up after surgery, radiation and a year of chemotherapy. Time to spend with my family after a season on the road, a season of 100% commitment to the team, to the game. 2012 should have been the next season, but my player's union and my owners COULD NOT AGREE on some of the basic rules of how to be comfortable and to happily exist as a regular person. So the off-season ran about 4 months longer than intended, and has been in danger of losing a significant number of fans, and training camp was pretty much ignored. Complacency settled in, I got straight up lazy and some of my best players hit the road to keep from going crazy.

It's 2013, a deal has been reached and the lockout is over. Drew and Randy are providing color commentary and always routing for me to be successful. The fans are back, the Dippin' Dots are plentiful and my season, so far, is one for the record books. It's time to overcome adversity and play for a full 60 minutes.

Some friendly tips for the homeless people that hang out in front of my therapist's office in San Francisco

1. Don't address me as "girlfriend," "girl" or "honey." Please.

2. Finish urinating on the building BEFORE you ask me for money.

3. If you are indeed as hungry as the cardboard sign in front of you says you are, maybe you should eat your puppy.

Movie Night

The kiddo and I are prepping for movie night--which, when you're 5 years old and it's a school night, is more like movie late-afternoon. Popcorn is popped, Pocahontas is on Netflix (NOT MY CHOICE), and we are all teams go. The dogs are intermittently begging for popcorn and helping clean up the popcorn that the kiddo is dropping--we are a symbiotic picture of a happy family--minus Max, who's (cue eye-rolling) exercising. HIS LOSS.

Samson: Mommy, how does electricity even go through wires?

Mommy: Very carefully.

With a cherry on top

This had to be among the longest, most frustrating Mondays in existence. Please don't make me recap any of the painful details--just cover yourself int he pillowy softness of these pictures from our trip to San Diego last weekend.

The Leatherneck Aviation Museum. Ammunition!

La Jolla Cove. Beach Glass!

The San Diego Fire Engine Museum. Olde Timey!

The USS Midway. US Ronald Reagan's cousin. 

Flying with Satan's Chief Negotiator

To the passengers of today's 3 pm flight from San Diego: yes, our five year old can be a total asshat. The whining, the bickering, the blaming, the loud and demanding voice, the threats, the disproportionate claims of wrongs perpetrated against him--all of it must be expressed, discussed, debated and reexamined at a volume high enough for eeeeeeeeeeeeveryone on the airplane to hear him, and to hear his plea for gummy snacks, AKA his rightful possession, and obviously part of his mother's plot to rid his life of joy.

Please understand that during the 30 minute battle, we tried to negotiate a peace treaty, a simple and gentle exchange of verbal claims of good will. This, too, was met with a loud and high-pitched protest against the degrading implication that any of his claims were less than god's honest truth and the only suitable way to handle this injustice would be for him to GET MORE GUMMY SNACKS.

In the end, the delegates from The Grown-Ups met with the delegates from That Asshat Kid, and a mutual push toward happiness for all was established. Currently, both parties are enjoying the last 20 minutes of the flight back to San Francisco, with the promise of a great era of peace and prosperity on the horizon.

La Jolla Cove

We really had a splendid day tooling around La Jolla with our peeps. There was some rain, some drizzle, some sun, and lots of humongous seals and sea lions. And all of that was after the Leatherheads aviation museum. Jam packed day, overflowing with good friends, good kids, good sites and great food. Behold: the splendor!

blog #800

8 o'clock this morning: So I'm sitting on the airplane with max & Sam on our way to San Diego. Sam is a joy to fly with these days--I make sure to pack lots of snacks, crayons & paper, books and some hot wheels. Not that any of that matters because his chrome tablet is all he really needs. Games, cartoons, music and Buzz Lightyear headphones and we are GOOD TO GO.

Now, AKA a million, bazillion hours later: Here in San Diego, it never stops raining. Kids stay up 2 hours past their bedtime to eat significant amounts of sugary sweets. Finally, we go to sleep--and we do it all again in the morning.

Visiting the Hevre

We're off to San Diego to visit a sweet new baby. If she's anything like the other sweet new babies I've met lately, she will not like me, not one bit. Which suits me fine; I've got Samson and four furry friends, who needs another squishy, pink, sweet smelling bundle of poop? No me, that's who.

If I don't blog for a few days, its probably because  my hands are busy trying to win the affection of a 4 month old.

Less awesome than expected

So. I turned 37 yesterday, and I'm bummed to say that it was not awesome. Getting older is a double-edged sword for sure. It goes like this:

Cons:

Wrinkles

New music is crappy

Teenagers are far more annoying than they were the last time I checked

Gravity

Pros:

I'm still alive

And then there's the part where you realize that most of your very good friends live in other states or countries or are very jet-lagged or have infants to care for or are sleeping off some jetlag and there's no one around that you can really celebrate with. If you wanted to celebrate. Which you don't.

Sigh.

So I think 38 will either be completely ignored in order to avoid the inevitable let-down, or celebrated jubilantly with excessive pre-birthday planning.

Big thanks to the Sharks for scoring those 6 goals in the first period ALL FOR ME!

Happy birthday to me!

Yep, it's that time of the year again. One more year of experience, opportunity, and questionable decisions. Here's to 365 more days wanting to do the right thing, and sometimes doing the wrong thing instead. Here's to me!

Cocky

All it takes is one little brag, and I loose my consecutive daily blog post streak. Figures.

Besides, it's hard to blog when you're surrounded by CUTE. And laundry.

In other news, I just posted my 800th blog post. I think it was the one from Friday that didn't post until Saturday. Amazing! What on earth could I possibly have blogged about for almost 9 years? I'm going to have to go through the archives tonight. You can bet your bum that there will be some golden oldies up here in the next few days...

CORRECTION:  this is published post #796. Expect fanfare and jubilation in four more posts.

Oh, Android

For the record--that last post was created and seemingly posted last night, but awesome new Nexus 7 is saddled with faulty Android apps like Blogger, AKA completely useless.

So happy birthday to my brother YESTERDAY, and that post totally counts for Friday. Consecutive daily post #13, booyashaka!

Early birthday gift

My new nexus 7! And a lovely pale blue case/stand/cover thingie. I love it and I'm so ready to name it and start referring to it in 3rd person.  Off to search for more apps.

Also happy birthday this guy, my bro!

Keepin' it real

Kiddo's in the bath, Max is at a work dinner and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open for another hour. Put Samson to bed, clean kitchen, fold laundry and...zzzz. In reality, it will be something more like fall asleep while I'm reading his bedtime story.

I'm a turkey for your love

Max just laid on the floor to cuddle with Turkey Sandwich, who was not interested. Says Max "Hooker, please!"

I love my family.

This is the Turk at the beach one year ago, almost to the date.

And this is last Sunday. 

Poplar Beach in Half Moon Bay. Quite different without the fog. 

On the dock of the bay

Beautiful shorebirds outside my office this morning. Pretty picture for me, goose poop buffet for Fizzy.

Max and Elvis the Girl

It's been great fun having the kittens join us. We adopted Elvis the Girl and US Ronald Reagan from 9 Lives Foundation during their July 4th BOGO sale last year. They are sisters, and they are fucking adorable. I love, love love them, and they have made my life better in so many ways. So many things, in fact, that I believe I will make a list.

Pros:

super soft

purring

waking up in the middle of the night to find a car sitting next to my head

being head-butted

so very pretty

Cons:

LITTER BOXES

I...am...speed...

Kiddo and I took the dogs to the beach this morning. So in case you were in the Half Moon Bay area and heard the sound of pure, unadulterated joy--that was Turkey Sandwich and the Fizz.

Root, root, root for the home team

I'm watching the 49er's game. It's actually pretty fun. I mean, it's always fun when the local team is winning. I started watching it with Samson, and now it's hour after he went to bed and I'm still watching.

While I was typing that last sentence, a very awake voice from downstairs asked me who was winning. HMMMMMM.

The kid and I had a great time tonight. We spent the evening enjoying Shabbat dinner with friends, two of whom are under four months old. It was a nice night out and a good way to start our weekend without Max. My lovely husband is spending the weekend in Las Vegas with a couple of countrymen, so kiddo and I are on our own for the next couple of days. We have some fun stuff planned--basketball game, airplane museum, taking the dogs to the beach. Good times!

Little Dog

Meet Fizzy Bubbeleh, the newest member of our family. She's a Schipperke/Miniature Poodle cross and she just turned one. We adopted her in September, and she and Turkey Sandwich immediately became best friends. They are the well matched in everything except size--she fits right in to our crew.

Pros: 

great to have at the office

doesn't eat much

companionship for Turkey Sandwich

portable

does tricks

Cons:

excessive licking

chases cats

not quite entirely house-trained exactly

toy thief

I must say, I'm glad she's here. She's definitely the last pet we'll be getting for long, long time. We're back up to full capacity with Turkey Sandwich, Elvis the Girl, US Ronald Reagan and now Fizzy. We are just the right size. 

Hitting the Cerebral Gym

I learned from one of my therapists this evening that the fuzzy, muddy feeling in my memory is fixable. He said that if I exercise my brain regularly, it will reconnect the parts that were goofed up--either as a result of the tumor, during surgery, or from treatment--and eventually, I'll be able to remember the parts of things about which I feel forgetful. It should also help with my word-finding and recall, which would make me feel much more confident at work.

One more thing about brain cancer: Liz is awesome.

Rocky's Choice: Day 3

Three unexpected or less obvious things that are direct results of eating healthy, which I have been doing for about three months now:

1. The amount of food I used to eat in one meal at Benihana now lasts for three meals.

2. My pee is always bright yellow from all the vitamins I take.

3. I'm less likely to give junk food to Samson since I won't be able to partake.

Answering my own question

Will 2013 be the year that Extra Super Fantastic finally awakens from its long and often troubled sleep?

There has been an awful lot of tossing and turning during the Great Blog Nap of 2010-2012. But there were also a great many wonderful dreams, and I will once again try to create sentences that accurately represent the weirdness and wonderality in which I live...like back in the olden days when I wore my Blogger sweatshirt with pride. I know you've stuck by me, dear internet, and I fully intend to repay you in spades. As a peace offering, please accept this picture of a mouse that I found when I searched Google images for "genuine apology."

See you soon!

I mean it.

No, really!

Stop looking at me like that.

haiku thursday

it's been so, so long.
can't remember the last time
that I blogged at work.

the tiny goslings
are now giant, stinky geese.
they poop everywhere.


turkey sandwich sleeps.
curled up in an old dog bed.
a great place to work.


aw, good old KFOG!
10 at 10 was '88.
they might be giants!

not that there's anything wrong with that

By the way, that baby chicken in the photo in the previous post is called Two Cheeps, and by the time we got back from camping, she had turned into a boy. Hmm.

Way up north

Samson & I are having a great time in Portland. We're heading to Bend tomorrow with friends to camp in the Three Sisters area for the week. Such great friends, such great weather, amazing luck and all around summer vacation-y-ness. The playlist is supreme and the photo album is already brimming with winners. Such as:

Happy Monday

Beautiful weather continues, an adorable 2 year old and collecting pretty pods on a nature walk. Yay!

haiku wednesday

I want to eat food.
mostly the kind that's no good.
mmmm, butterfinger.

max is in texas.
san antonio, but wait
there is no basement.

the last day of  school.
big party--hot dogs, music.
we'll miss our school friends.

time to watch tv.
will it be law & order?
it's on TNT.

Sitting in the waiting room

All I could think about was how hard it was to think. I imagine my brain is like a water weenie that's filled with baked beans or polenta, and nothing can ever be in a solid state. I can't hold on to a memory or an idea long enough to recall it, and the things I can focus on are gooshy. It's moderately difficult to form an educated opinion based upon fact, and very hard to later on remember why I had chosen that position. One of the results of this state of being is that I am absurdly awkward at social events. And I'm about to enter the ultimate world of awkward social events--elementary school. Well, the kiddo, not me, but it comes with the whole package: PTA, volunteer stuff, fundraising, etc. And it's k-8 so these are quite likely our community for the 9 years minimum. Or at least I hope so. Let's all keep our fingers crossed and see if i can keep my social ineptitude at bay.

Also, I had a clean scan yesterday. Not as clean as previous scans, but the spot that dr. Clarke found last april hadn't changed at all--no growth or anything like that. No more scans until September...after kindergarten starts.

haiku wednesday

I love my laptop.
It it small, black, and brand new.
It is a PC.

Kid got a haircut!
I can hardly tell it's him.
He's nearly a man.

Threw Max a party.
All of the guests wore his face!
It was kind of weird.

Turkey is the best.
Although I miss the old dogs
she brings my soul joy.

Check me out! Big shot!
My feet are moving forward.
(The feet in my brain.)

OK, Mom, I blogged.
Thanks for the pushy email.
I mean, like, really.

Big Ass Moon

Kiddo and I went backpacking with some friends last weekend. It's been 12 years since my last backpacking trip, and this was the kiddo's first camping trip as someone with with a brain capable of creating viable memories. In broad terms, it was successful. There were a few freak outs, and definitely more dangerous bugs than I'm used to seeing in any given 24 hour period. But there was also a Mega Moon.

I tend to do things half-assedly in general, so I when I read the brief email from our camping pals earlier in the week about the mega moon, I didn't actually click the link that would explain to me what a mega moon actually, in fact, was. No, instead, I took what my brain decided a mega moon was and mixed it with some random (and, more likely than not, imaginary) statistic and came out with a variety of outlandish claims ti attach to the impending mega moon.

"You know, the moon's supposed to be the brightest it's been in like 900 years or something."

"Oh yeah, the mega moon is going to be closer than it's been since the year Haley's Comet was last here."

"There's only a mega moon once every 27 years."

Despite my lack of ability to speak the truth (generally speaking), we all enjoyed the massively mega moon. The kiddo really dug sleeping outdoors, which was helpful considering that the tent didn't stay entirely upright the whole night. Regardless, to quote the little dude, "It was the best night ever in my whole life." It was great to be reminded how much I love camping.

Top 5 Formative Things That I Need to Instill into the Kiddo While He's Still Spongy

1. the Beatles
2. dogs
3. drums
4. duets
5. collecting

power through

how on earth did nearly 6 months go by without a single blog post? i'm floored! shocked! and yes, ashamed. mildly.

coyote point and number 2

At the CuriOdysssey exhibit this afternoon, all the animals were asleep. One of the bobcats was sitting in a black plastic bucket, but the pretty much everyone else was fast asleep. The raccoon, the river otters, the porcupine, the fox, the badger, the coyote...this is starting to sound like a children's book. It was cool to see all the mammal snuggling going on. We didn't spend more than a minute or two looking at bugs and bees (thank goodness). A great time was had by all. We're going to meet the same friends next week to go to the planetarium!

Day 3 of commando hardcore potty training: success phase I was fruitless. I'll take that over a poop-related accident any day!

most days I know it's not true

Laying in my clean, nicely made bed, listening to the Mountain Goats on the rdio system Max set up in the bedroom...dawn of a new musical era this week. washed, folded and put away all of the laundry in house. Picked up dry cleaning. Mailed a package to Gill. Got stuff for dinner tonight. All that's left is to put away dishes and set the dining room for shabbat.

Two weeks until Max and I leave for Disney World and then New York to meet up with Samson and the family. I am overwhelmed with excitement, desire, and the need for the 2 of us to get away. Also the need for cotton candy and root beer. And Space Mountain.

No excuses...

...except for some extreme laziness. Didn't I mention? I'm training for the lay on the sofa and watch crap TV 500. I'm hoping to get Snuggie or the E! network to sponsor me. Ahem.

Brief catchup: clean MRI in June. Samson is in summer camp. Ozzy has ESF (extremely stinky farts). I want to make out with nearly every character on Game of Thrones.

Oh! We went house boating on Lake Shasta! So amazing and awesome, I can hardly believe it was real! Great friends, great water, great times.

Coming up this summer: trips to Israel, Disney World, San Diego and upstate New York.

Still macrobiotic with a few carefully orchestrated cheat meals. Think I may have finally acquired an appreciation for Pink Floyd.

I continue to think about cancer everyday and talk about it nearly every chance I get. It defines me so much more than I'd like it to. Hopefully, with help from my awesome therapist, I'll be able to get through this whole-self-encompassing phase and move peacefully into a better, more emotionally healthy part of the rest of my life. I am much more than a cancer victim, and need those other parts of me to SPEAK LOUDLY and SHOW ME WHAT I CAN DO. And who I can be, besides a schlumpy, pitiful, self-fulfilling prophesier with her eyes shut tight and her fingers in her eyes screaming LA LA LA LA LA to keep all of the noise out.

Sigh.

So onwards and upwards!

What happened to April?

I have NO idea. I was doing fine, and then...nothing.

I started a macrobiotic program on April 1, that's been pretty damn consuming. Lots of chopping. Lots of chewing. Lot's of grinding my own fresh organic almond butter at Whole Foods. Ahem.

Had a good MRI early in the month. Samson's been home for the last 2 weeks; there was walking pneumonia and then a week off of school for passover. Can't wait till school starts back up tomorrow!

Less than 2 weeks until the Brain Tumor 5K in SF! I'm excited to see all my GBM buds and out of town pals and my in town pals, too. If you're feeling give-y, please donate to my fundraising page.

hello, april

April, so far, has been nothing but awesome weather and the world's crankiest 3 year old. Also the world's crankiest mommy, due in part to the afore mentioned child and in part to three full days of macrobiotics. Some of you would be happy to point out that macrobiotics is more than switching to whole grains over white and almond butter over Skippy. Yes, thank you for that. But ooh, gasp, I've been eating my veggies too. Mostly with hummus or goddess dressing, but still. The only thing I can't quite keep on track with is the tea. I'm supposed to be drinking 2 cups of tea a day, and I have't had any yet. I've never been a tea fan, and with this one being decaf, I'm even more inclined to "forget." But other than that, I'm keeping on track and enjoying the tuna, the quinoa and the blue agave. The lack of Carl's Jr, not so much.

Here Comes the Sun

Still on the Beatles kick. This was a very bad week for my car stereo to have been stolen. Fancy new anti-cancer diet starts tomorrow. The first item is to go directly outside and get 2 minutes of sunlight the second I wake up. It's a good thing my folks found that old Grateful Dead tape...kinda feel like I should bust out an old tie dye.

The White Album

I'm in the middle of a corrective Beatles experience. After about 4 years of avoiding the Beatles, I've been overtaken by a distant yet familiar passion, and I'm astounded by the accompanying emotions. For the last 72 hours, I've gone on a catalog-wide binge of personal favorites and these great 5 minute mini documentary videos from the iTunes store. I decided to unclick "shuffle" and listen the white album and it feels AWESOME. Like, really fucking awesome.

and his matchbox cars smell like mac 'n cheese

Let me start this post by saying that I am officially a single parent for the next 10 days.

Today, my kid fell off of:

--his tall seat at the kitchen bar.

--the sofa.

--my bed.

--the aero bed that we're "camping" on upstairs.

--the toilet.

waiting and anticipating

Watching the Sharks score 4 goals in the first period and still hardly holding a lead. At least I'm not at the game like Max, poor sucker. Although pizza he get, to be sure.

I had my initial phone interview with the Block Center today. After this coming Friday's scheduled call with Dr. Block himself, I should have a pretty good road map for the next as of yet undetermined period of time for how to handle this stage of cancer. I'm in the weird, anxiety-ridden, hazy stage where the tumor--according to my 2-month MRI/MRS cycle--is not getting bigger, I'm not taking chemo or getting radiation but I'm still draining that insipid crap through and out of my system, and I'm getting my menstrual cycle back. Just to name a few of the minor annoyances. The real hard part is being stuck between really sick, like, dying sick, and dead. Because in between treatment and death, as luck would have it, is a whole mess of grumpy. I feel fine, I can eat like a horse, sleeping enough to put a newborn baby to shame, can almost win an arm crossing contest with Samson the Angry Three Year Old and I'm slowly squashing my poor husband into a fatigued pulp of a man. And I can't remember shit.

Did I mention that I'm having memory problems?

Help put more red pixels in my inline thermometer

Here's another little blargh about the brain tumor walk on May 7th in SF. If you you're on a let's-save-the-world kick or all high from donating to Japan, hop onto my train, too!

Bite Me, Cancer

Come join a whole freaking bunch of us for a 5K walk through Golden Gate Park. The more you donate, the better your chances of being invited over to try out our new hot tub.

Wait, what?

no words

It's been a pretty odd couple of days.

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but, boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live.

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song.
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross.
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do.
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.

Doggone it

I don't know how so much time goes by between posts. I feel like so much as happened in the last week, even though almost nothing actually did. Oh, wait, yes I do know: housekeeping. I've actually been doing laundry, dishes, organizing, etc. The funny part is that time just flies by, I nap less (which not to say I need fewer naps), and I actually enjoy it. STRANGE.

One good thing that happened last week: Max and I had a terrific date night that consisted of getting our shop on at Bed, Bath & Beyond and open skate at Ice Chalet. Unbelievably fun.

Another good thing that happened last week that started out as a bad thing: Ozzy went AWOL on Sunday. Sadly we were so engrossed in organizing and finally decorating the master bathroom that we didn't notice the lack of snoring dog on the bed for about three hours. Even sadly-er, he lost his ID tag while out in the rain. Driving around the neighborhood in the rain did not produce the presumably cold, wet and anxious dog, and we had a tough time getting through the night thinking about what might have happened to him. After a post-preschool-drop-off trip to the pound at 9 am the next day, I discovered I had to wait even longer since the pound did not open until 11 am. I think it goes without saying that by that point, I did not have any fingernails left.

But the story ends well. When I came back at 11, filled out the required forms, and was led to the dog area, Ozzy was in the first kennel I checked. His eyesight must be getting worse, as he didn't really recognize me until I was right up in his face and talking to him. But still and all, pretty good for a 13 year old canine convict.

Turns out one of our neighbors had found him checking out their yard, and being big dog lovers, took him in for a while, canvased the neighborhood, then took him to the pokey. He was actually only on his own for about 30 minutes.

Fun Facts:

--When the neighbors had Ozzy, they decided to call him Peter.

--It costs $30 to bail a dog out of dog prison.

--It took over 24 hours for Home Again, the microchip location company, the contact me after Ozzy's chip info was submitted. Not such a fun fact, actually.

Needless to say, we're very glad to have the senior member of our family home (in dog years).

All's Well

After five days of antibiotics, the ear infection is long gone and the kid is back to normal. Those of you who know him can decided whether or not that's a good thing.

We--get ready--ORGANIZED THE CLOSETS yesterday in anticipation of me finally doing the 20 odd loads of laundry that have been piling up in the bathroom. Hopefully, we'll actually room for everything. Assuming it gets folded. Ahem.

We three went to a great and fun birthday party on Saturday; two awesome brothers turned 2 and 7 respectively, and we had such a great time, it was easily worth the trek out to Davis--great job and kudos to Erin and Steve for throwing an awesome party in the drizzle.

Number One

Samson's first earache reached it's pitiful high around 1:30 this morning. The day has been sprinkled with bits of heavenly cuddles, he and I snuggled undercovers in a king sized bed, Bubble Guppies or Sponge Bob barely audible behind us. There has also been a juicy center of tears, cries for mommy, one distrustful visit to the doctor and a a sleepy shopping spree at Safeway while waiting for antibiotics. He just went back to bed in his room, and I expect him to join us again within the hour. We're taking this time to blog and play Call of Duty, respectively.

My Son the Shark

Samson started big kid swim lessons today. He and another adorable kid have a teacher all to themselves for half an hour weekly of floating, kicking, head dunking, and making bubbles--all of which makes a happy three year old. And I get a tired out kid who falls asleep by 7:30 without an argument. SCORE.

Move Along

Home, yes. My body is here, battling with all of it's strength not to catch what kiddo had last week. My mouth is here, devouring cookie dough and Golden Grahams and anything sweet and unhealthy. But my mind and soul are...somewhere else. Not sure how or where, but it almost feels like part of me didn't make it back from my road trip. My heart is heavy and my head aches. I sleep, drink coffee, drive the kiddo to or from somewhere, sleep more, drink more coffee...sigh. I can still find joy in things, like Charlie Sheen ridiculosity or kiddo's first no-parent swim lesson tomorrow, but as soon as a thing ends or my pace slows down, I am just...sad. I start therapy next week.

Home Again

Sorry, it's hard to type with a three year old attached to my everywhere. Turns out, Samson missed me. A LOT. More details and pics of the Road Trip coming soon. Like as soon as school starts on Monday. Sheesh.

Getting the heck out of dodge

Leaving Lubbock, off to Albuquerque!

...after a quick stop at Denny's :)

Group(on) of the Day

Max and I just returned from a wet but lovely night out in Palo Alto, brought to us at half price by Groupon. Two new hoodies for Samson at American Apparel and a delicious dinner at Three Seasons, all for pennies, PENNIES, I tell you. Thanks, grandparents, for feeding the kiddo and watching Cailou with him.

My single parenting week is over a day and a half early, thanks to Max surprising me by coming home from NYC this morning instead of tomorrow evening. What an awesome way to say I love you; he was really very missed on this trip. Samson and I both were just beside ourself with longing Monday night--it's no fun coming home to an empty house with no Aba to watch for from the living room window.

Had a terrific brunch yesterday morning with another glioma gal (we're EVERYWHERE), but this one's also a friend from high school! How wild is that? She's been fighting the good fight for 9 years now, and is crazy awesome. In fact, you would do well to donate to her Brain Tumor Society 5K page. Feeling double generous? Donate to my page, too.

Why is the sky spitting on us?

Something weird happened today. When we left for school, the ground was all wet and there was water dripping from the sky. WTF? It's February, not April.

The last 2 weeks have been downright tropical, and thankfully, we spent the last two days of sunshine outdoors in SF and Sacramento. SF Zoo was Saturday, celebrating a friend's birthday and watching as before our very eyes, some of tiniest, teeniest babies we know became proper toddlers and little kids in general. It still seems weird for some reason.

The we drove to Sacramento (which a productive and jelly bean filled stop at the Vacaville outlet mall) so we could indulge in some room service before everyone passed out. Sunday was the Train Museum for a corrective experience for all of us, since our last visit had gone so, so horribly wrong.

Surprisingly-ish, the best part was Funderland! Go Sacramento, you really know how to make trashy and run down into fun and only slightly deadly. We'll be seeing you next summer. Ka-CHOW.

Dig Deep

I hate fundraising so I'm only going to post this once.

Unite to fight brain tumors! Seriously, even $10 will help.

Thanks for your continued support, team! Cancer sucks!

Check None

With only 3 hours of free time today, I took a 3 hour nap. Goddamn, it felt good. It most definitely not feel good to shirk my responsibilities, ignore piles of laundry (dirty, clean, or folded, take your pick), ignore piles of mail, ignore piles of filing. Thursday and Friday I am Samson free from 9 to 4, so if I get my ass in gear, I should be able to put a serious dent in the list.

We went out for a Groupon dinner at a new-to-us kabob place in San Carlos tonight. It was pretty good, but they get extra points for having Iskender Kabob on the menu (my favorite meal from Turkey.). And extra points on top of that for tolerating Samson's crappy mood. We had spent the afternoon with Safta Sheva at the Donkey Park in Palo Alto, and that place always tires him out. He's mostly dropped his afternoon nap, but couldn't resist a late afternoon/early evening snooze--and who am I to argue with a nap?

Check One

I have a short-ish, 4 item list of things that I need to accomplish. Some of the items aren't one shot, do this types of things, but rather do a some fo this each day until goal is reached. So, do-over: I have a short-ish list of 4 goals that I need to accomplish, I can check one solid item off that list. Damn I love being able to say that.

Last week, I gathered my 719 page patient file from Stanford and with help from Super Mom, got all of my questionnaires, MRI disks and requested record sorted, organized, copied, and sent out to The Block Center for Integrative Cancer Treatment. Maybe the good Dr. Block has discovered a special combo of banana, corn flakes and jelly beans that prevent tumor recurrence. Or maybe he can recommend a good local voodoo practitioner.

Clean MRI

Hoorah, another MRI at UCSF today came out clear and sparkly. Two more months to keep on keeping on before we spin the wheel of chance again.

The awful thing that happened this morning: when I met Burt, my MRI nurse at Mission Bay, his eye and much of his head and face were covered in gauze. He told me about his Friday night, which unfortunately involved a mentally unstable man at the bar throwing a wine class in his face, which shattered and got in his eye, face, and scalp. He was only at the lab today because there was no backup until tomorrow. He'll probably need surgery and may loose his eye! Shocking and horrible. I adore Burt, and wish him many fine pain pills and two eyes that work well.

Happy Sad

Happy!



I have an amazing, kick-ass, stellar group of Glioma Gals in my life. Enough said. Well, not really enough.

I've known Erin for a YEAR now (what?!) and we clicked big time from day one. We chat frequently, and have met up (she lives in Davis) and good number of times. She has adorable children, a love bug husband, is an excellent mother and a ridiculously right on person. We have the same kind of Glioma and are in the same trial at UCSF. I know I owe my survival thus far in part to her.

Toby I haven't known as long, although I enjoy getting to know her as we meet more often. She's local to me and lives near the best park in the area. Her youngest child is Samson's age, she's got a great dog, and she is a hoot.

I met Liz from Roseville yesterday for the first time. All I will say for now is A. I have a huge girl crush--short hair, glasses, tattoos, hmm who does that remind you of? and B. what an intelligent woman.

All of these gals are whip smart, have amazing factual recall, and are full of energy. I know that I'm a little more caffeinated and hyper than normal when I meet up with other survivors, but damn, these chicks are like speed to me. A just jibber jabbered the afternoon away with no filter whatsoever. It felt great.

Sad!

The headaches are crap. It's like I've always got a headache, either a dull one that lasts for days or strong one that only lasts a few hours. I'm irritable lately, tense, and down on myself for not doing more or doing better. I've gained weight since my appetite came back around Thanksgiving, and I'm not exercising or eating healthfully like I (DUH) should be. I can't get enough sugar, with the internets say is like inviting the little webby bits of my tumor that are left in my brain over for protein shakes and some Wii Fit. Left Over Tumor + Sugar = BAD. Left Over Tumor + Pregnancy = BAD. And all I want is to get knocked up and bathe in a tub full of wild berry flavored gummy Life Savers.

With some luck, I'll be able to keep blogging more regularly. Even if the entries are mostly suck ass and whiney and full of expletives. It makes me feel better, it got zero calories, and I've got a lot to say these days.

Note to Self

After having read the last 18 months or so of posts, one thing is painfully clear: I need a copy editor.

twinkle twinkle, little star

I wish I wish I wish I could follow Dr. Liz's example and start writing again. It may not be a place or happiness or contentment that I write from, but it's still an important place and it's still a valuable way getting my thoughts and feelings straight--I seriously tall order in my poor, poisoned brain.

Maybe I need to get some Hawaii sun too? Hummmm?