It's Oh So Quiet

Wait a minute. What's that sound?

....

OK, except for the freezer making ice cubes and the dog sighing, all I hear is...nothing. Typing. Second hand tick tocking. No TV, no toddler dumping toy trains on the living room floor, no dishwasher running, no kitties meowing their demands (in, out, in, food, out, repeat). It's weird. And wonderful.

Max is back at work full time this week, and today is a playschool with Grandpa then off to the nanny share day for Samson. I have an hour and a half until my date at the gym, and I don't think I've had this much alone time since before Sept 21st. Sure, I've lots to actually do, but no distractions. Nothing higher on the priority list, like changing diapers or playing fire truck or cooking a deliciously lavish and butter laden breakfast with my combo husband-live in chef.

Feels nice. Real nice.

What Cancer?

So much celebrating lately! Between holidays, the end of radiation, and the general feeling of goodwill that seems to follow me wherever I go, it's getting easier and easier to push the tumor's invisible twin out of my head. Even thought the tumor is gone, the fact that it ever existed has been impossible to forget, or rather, impossible not to think about nearly every second of every day. There's always something to remind me, but here are the main culprits:

1. Still not allowed to drive. Kind of makes me feel like a prisoner, even though I have wonderful Max, awesome family, and terrific friends acting as my collective chauffeur.

2. Hair still falling out, and generally looking like ass. I found a nice looking salon on Yelp that I intend to try now that radiation is over, but every time I look in a mirror, I get a little sad.

3. Pretty much all of my skin hurts, pretty much all of the time. We can thank Tarceva for that, one of the trial drugs I'm taking through UCSF. Totally worth it, and I'm thankful for the trial and the opportunity to double up the chemo on this sonofabitch, but ow. In lots of inconvenient places, like my hands and ears.

4. The overwhelming emotion attached to this situation makes my far away friends seem so, so much farther away. Not emotionally, because every single friend (plus some new ones, some old ones, and many that I didn't even know about) has rallied for me and continues to be part of my physical and mental armor, but physically, I miss the hugs and the random shopping trips to Target.

Of course, I am very good at looking forward to upcoming fun stuff. I have a ridiculously long list of events and trips to plan and get super excited about in the next few months--I'll expand in another post, one that won't take three weeks to write--and that helps me forget as well.

Also, I had my first cocktail in 4 months this weekend. Bloody Marys rule!

I can't believe I ate the whole thing

My appetite came back tonight, just for the evening. I think it was a nice treat to help get me ready for Thanksgiving next week. Not that panko fried prawns, scallops and halibut with coleslaw and fries and extra cocktail sauce is anything like turkey et al, but hot damn it was tasty and very very enjoyable. Hell of a date night. Now while Max has guy date night on the Xbox, I'm watching the Sharks in Anaheim and trying to do some video journaling while Samson screams in agony downstairs, how dare we try to put him to bed! The nerve!

The funny part is that I'm mostly doing these video journals for him, so he'll one day have them should he want to know about how I felt during this time or how I saw things (of course I'll be here to tell him myself, but there ain't nothing wrong with insurance), and when we watches them, in many entries, he'll hear two year old Samson, screaming his precious little ass off in the background: "Mommy! Eeee mommy! Eeeee mommy! House! Mommy!" No, we don't make him sleep outside, "house" refers to any part of the house in which he is not currently. (That sentence felt awkward, but I know I'm not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition. Hmm.)

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.

Cowboy Up

I loves me some animal cruelty. As long as it's adorable!

I'm not that innocent

Whoops! I did it again. And I'm not just saying that because I'm wearing my hair in pigtails with fluffy pink hairbands.

I let a whole week go by without blogging about the wonders of my life, the joys of raising the kiddo, the unending saga of Ozzy's general health and well being. For shame! How will I be able to sleep at night knowing that I have deprived you, my tens of readers, a regular inlet to my existence? Like this: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I've been dealing with the realization that all of my pictures from February to August of 2009 up and left my computer. Poof. Gone. Abracadara, you're screwed. Luckily, I seemed to have more or less fixed the problem, and will hopefully heed the lesson here, you know, the one about regularly backing up your important files? Riiight. That one.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go reassure Samson that yes, Nemo got taken away, and yes, his daddy will find him.

We went, we camped, we came home

It already seems like years ago, but we took Samson camping last Friday. He did really well, as well as can be expected of a 21 month old spending his first night in a tent on the ground. He and Ozzy were so good and listened so well, I was really astonished. They played in the dirt and ate hot dogs and marshmallows and had a blast all around. Of course, asking Samson to sleep in the tent was like asking him to sleep in a bouncy house. He basically ran around in circles, waving my head lamp, for an hour or so. Finally, we all fell asleep, and we stayed that way for most of the night. Kiddo woke up a handful of times, screamed his ever lovin' head off, then fell back asleep. The weather was great, nearly every campsite had young children in it (which meant that Samson was not the only one who showed off his late night screaming skills, thank goodness), and we really enjoyed using my folks' old camp gear. When a camp stove that's older than your older brother still works without a hitch, you know you're in for a good night.

Let's Get Dirty

Max and I are taking the kiddo camping tomorrow, and we're super excited. It will be Samson's first camping trip, Max's and my first camping trip together (wha? how is that possible?) and my first camping trip since the summer of 2000 (oh, that's how). We're going very close by, and only for one night--the perfect starter trip for a lapsed life-long camper. Between borrowing and renting, we won't be using any equipment of our own (which is good because we have none--the victims of many poorly planned moves). But who knows--if it's as much fun as I hope it will be, you may all want to buy REI stock real soon.

New World Order

A few weeks ago, Samson and I went to Portland to visit good ol' Dedi and spend some time with her toe headed progeny. We had great fun; everyone got enough sleep and took good naps, we beat the heat with a wading pool and a trip to the river. Auntie Mir was on hand to spoil the kiddos rotten. We even made s'mores. The best part, though, what the gift we got when we came home.

An obedient toddler.

Whaaaaa?

Well, obedient-ish. To be fair. But compared to pre-Portland Samson, this new kid is some kind of Catholic school honor student. Like, Mary Poppins couldn't improve on this guy. And it's all about being a no-nonsense, parent-channeling, voice-raising disciplinarian. As in SAMSON GET DOWN FROM THAT CHAIR RIGHT NOW but instead of your voice, it's the voice of a demon from hell that resides deep in your gut and hell yes I'll get down from this chair please don't eat me. Awesome!

I can't do it in public yet. Lord, no. Keeping a kid quiet at the grocery store is what videos on the iPhone are for. But when we're safely behind closed doors, I am a parenting force to be reckoned with. And all of a sudden, the cat can come out from his perpetual hiding place under the bed without the fear of a well intended but painful nonetheless toddler hug. I can finally keep the animals' water bowl in the kitchen without it doubling as a wading pool. He's definitely not perfect, but he keeps his grubby shoes out of the fish tank and things are just a little more manageable these days. Thanks, Dedi! Or rather, thanks, Dedi's mom!

My New Blog

To better reflect the direction my life seems to be going, I'm changing the name of this blog. The top contenders, in no particular order:

What Will Go Wrong With Ozzy This Week?
Crisis Mode
Blarrrrrrrrrrrg
Extra Super Crap

The other day, Ozzy began bleeding from his ear. A couple of trips to the vet and some super sonic ear surgery revealed a teeny tiny tumor on his ear drum, causing his ear canal to fill up with blood and spill forth from his giant doggy ear. Pathology reports are forth coming. Yay.

But there's no need to change our name, is there? My life is still Extra Super Fantastic, right? It's just a little pointy. And bleedy. And expensive. Right?

Right?

Whimper.

Just Call Him Lumpy

Of course the lumps are benign. And of course they aren't worth removing. And of course we can expect him to get more and more of them as he ages. It will be not unlike having a cuttlefish covered in fur as a pet. At least, I imagine cuttlefish to be lumpy to the touch. And to have horrible gas.

Lumps live on

Nanna's passing brought with it the end of fetching, the end of stick chasing, the end of the snoring dog. There is no more squirrel chasing, no heavy dog head, pressing against your knee and drooling while you sit on the couch, just waiting for you to glance down and catch a glimpse of the quick and low tail wag, and finally turn off the TV so we can go in the back yard and play.

And, so I thought, the end the of lumps. WRONG.

Recently, three suspicious lumps have popped up on Ozzy's not entirely lump-free body. In his 11 years, he's had two lumps. One was surgically removed, and the other was deemed benign and continues to chill on his ribcage. So I guess, historically, he's got a 50/50 chance that the vet will simply poke him with a needle and hand us a bill, and we won't have to discuss surgery or treatment options. We'll see in a few hours.

BBQ Sunday

Thank goodness for marriage. If it wasn't for marriage, Max and I wouldn't have flow to Brooklyn last April for my brother's wedding to a lovely girl from St. Louis. If we hadn't attended said wedding, we'd never have tasted the amazing BBQ that was served at the reception. Had we not tasted the aforementioned BBQ, we'd never have had the discussion about how much we LOVE barbecue with the bride's parents. And if we'd never had that conversation with the extra super fantastic couple from St. Louis, they wouldn't have found it necessary to send us an amazingly generous box of barbecue which we are currently preparing in our kitchen.

And that, dear friends, would have been a tragedy.

Turns out I wasn't ready

God bless Dramamine.