MomDay Monday – Could the Fat Lady Sing Already?

It’s almost over.

Radiation is done and I didn’t even have to lose my hair. (Well, except the hair under my left armpit but I’ll just count that as less shaving to be done. Bonus considering I’m heading to Florida in 29 days but who’s counting.)

30 trips to the Cancer Center. 30 leave work, drive like crazy, park, run in, change, fight with myriad strings on johnnies, give name & birth date, give name & birth date again, get on table, line up tattoos, 97.6 on the lat, 100.3 on the vert, SSD 90.4, microwave my left breast from both sides, put clothes back on, make sure shirt isn’t inside out, drive back to work while shoving crackers & peanut butter in my face, try to get on with my day even though this is a tired like I’ve never felt before, fail miserably, go to office with coffee & cookies & pretend to read email.

30.

Six weeks.

And now I’m only one mammogram, one meeting with the surgeon, and one meeting with the oncologist away from being declared cancer free.

But…

It will never be truly over.

This has now become my life. This is now what I will have to do every six months. Mammogram. Oncologist. Mammogram. Oncologist.

I have never, throughout this process, asked “Why me?”  because frankly, why not me? It can happen to anyone. It just happened to hit me. What I did ask was “Why my kids?” Why do they have to have one more thing piled onto their young plates when they’ve already dealt with so much.

But now I’m faced with the six month follow-up and this is where I think “Why me?”. Like having to go to the dentist every six months. Because to be perfectly honest… I suck at keeping those appointments. I get the reminder call the day before & realize there is no way I will make it & have to call to reschedule. (My experiences with Bitchy McSnipe, Dental Receptionist are fodder for a future post.)

I can’t do that with this. I HAVE to go. I HAVE to stay vigilant. No choice.

So while it’s just about over, it will never be entirely over. It’s a specter that I will live with for pretty much the rest of my life. (I said “pretty much” because “for the rest of my life” sounded way too dramatic.)

Please say a prayer or wish me luck or send good vibes – whatever is your inclination. And if I could ask a favor… Remind me about my appointments.

MomDay Monday – Tanning from the Inside Out

I’ve spent the past couple of months seeing any doctor with the term “oncologist” attached to their title. Radiation Oncologist. Medical Oncologist. So many people have touched my left breast, the right one is getting an inferiority complex.

I was completely clueless going into this. Coming up with a treatment plan is like being part of a semi-well-oiled machine. The Surgeon meets with the Medical Oncologist. The Medical Oncologist meets with the Radiation Oncologist. And because all of my doctors are from different countries, The Philippines, Spain & Austria, I like to imagine a little UN conference going on over the fate of my left breast. Or what’s left of it.

After several meetings & one big test that got a piece of Lefty sent out to California, it was determined that I did not need chemotherapy.

Phew. Dodged that bullet.

Of course I have such issues with my hair, it would have been nice to get a fresh start.

So now I’ve started Radiation Therapy. Or as I like to call it – Tanning. I go tanning every day, Monday through Friday. Of course, I’m only tanning a one foot section of my chest, and it will end up looking more like a bad sunburn than a tan, but it amuses me.  And this way, I don’t have to call my boss over the walkie-talkie & say, “Hey. I’m leaving for my daily radiation treatment.” He knows where I’m going for that hour every day so it’s easier to just say that I’m going tanning. Bonus: It confuses the people who I’m not really close to & don’t really want to have the discussion with. One of the guys at work has said that he thinks I’m really going for a nooner every day. And since I don’t really get to eat lunch & end up shoving something in my mouth while I’m in my car, it kind of sounds like it could be a nooner.

Some things I’ve observed during my daily sojourn:

- I’m glad the johnnies smell like bleach. I’m comforted by the idea that these things have been bleached to the point that any living organism that may have clung to it from the previous patient is actually now extinct.

- Speaking of johnnies, the sign on the bin of clean johnnies that reads, “Please put soiled johnnies in the basket” is just a nice way of saying “If you wore it, put it in the hamper”. Just because you didn’t actually “soil” it does not mean it goes back in the bin with the clean ones. I won’t touch a johnnie in that bin that doesn’t look like it’s been folded there for at least a week.

- Another note on johnnies – I’m eight treatments in & I still can’t figure out how to tie these suckers. And you’re supposed to wear two. One with the opening in the front & one with the opening in the back. Really? There’s so many strings attached it’s like an Italian man and his mother. Maybe after I finish all 30 treatments I’ll have it figured out.

- Because you go for treatments at the same time every day, you see the same people every day as they’re coming & going from their appointments. Note to the older gentleman who goes before me: Please put the toilet seat down. Every freaking day I go in & it’s up. But thanks for the tip on the cafeteria food. Maybe I’ll give it a try sometime.

- That room is cold. And it’s winter. Kind of makes me wish I had brain cancer so I wouldn’t have to take my clothes off for treatments.

- Because of privacy laws, hospital rules & the fear of malpractice suits, I have to state my name & birthdate twice before I get on the table. Little joke that only my medical professional friends will get: “Knock Knock.” “Who’s there?” “HIPAA.” “HIPAA who?” “Can’t tell you.”

- And finally, I have the best rad techs. (Julie is my favorite, but don’t tell the others.) Somehow with all they see in a day & all the sick people they treat, they are the most upbeat, positive people I think I’ve met throughout this entire saga. I would not be getting through this every day without such a great group.

MomDay Monday – Blech Frizzy

As most of you know, when I’m not freaking out on taking joy in The Boy & The Girl, I work full-time in retail. Naturally, my job entails tolerating helping shoppers find the items they’re looking for & yelling at supporting the team that helps me do my job. Last week was Thanksgiving, which in the retail world means only one thing.

Survival.

My phone understands this all too well as has taken to auto-correcting “Black Friday” to “Blech Frizzy.” Seems oddly appropriate.

Having survived another year of Blech Frizzy madness, I’m still stunned that there are people whose Thanksgiving plans include standing in line for hours to purchase an $8 coffee maker or a $19 toaster. So here, some random thoughts & observations on the entire experience with a few words of advice for the shopping public.

Sir, I’m sure you take first place every year at the county fair whistling contest, but 20 minutes of your whistling rendition of “Hey, Soul Sister” throughout Small Appliances is quite enough.

- On earth it’s called a “scale,” not a “weighing machine.” And drawing little imaginary circles around your feet while you say it in your very thick Neptunian accent doesn’t help.

Ladies, One-Size-Fits-All is not a challenge.

- We actually sell cardigans for men. Gentlemen, listen to me; unless you are Mr. Rogers, there is never a reason to wear a cardigan.

Where can you find that green ladder in the flyer you’re showing me? Well, since the flyer is from K-mart, I’m going to go with… K-mart. We’re not them.

- Yes ma’am, we do still have the $300 50″ TVs. They’re right over there in that time machine. Just set the dial for 9 pm when we opened.

No ma’am, I am not aware of curling irons that use lighter fluid. And while I appreciate that you are aware of the internet and looked it up online, I”m not sure which website said we’d have such an item. You’ll have to be more specific about which site is “the place you go to online to buy stuff.”

- I don’t need the back story, sir. Nor do I need your design ideas & where you’re thinking of placing your new table. I also have no vested interest in which table you get. Please just pick one.

It’s okay if you don’t believe me about where the kitchen items are, ma’am. Enjoy your time in Automotive looking for measuring cups.

- Yes ma’am, I would assume that the electric carving knife would cut meat. But that’s just me.

And finally… don’t leave your shopping lists around. They will make their way to the internet. 

MomDay Monday – Cancer Isn’t Funny, Is It?

I know what you’re thinking. “Every post isn’t going to be about cancer is it?” No, but obviously, this is something that is on my mind right now so indulge me if you will. After all… I have cancer. You have to be nice.

I’ve explained to The Kids what’s happening with me & am doing my best to be honest with them. I had a friend tell me that his mom died of breast cancer, and no one told him or his sister for more than a year. He said what they imagined was so much worse than the reality & wished his parents had been up front. That conversation was huge in my decision to tell the kids everything. I had initially thought that I would tell them I was having surgery, but I didn’t need to actually say The “C” Word, did I? But I noticed as I said it more, it took on less power. It became less scary. The first few times I told someone I had breast cancer, I started crying as I said it. The last time I told someone, I didn’t really bat an eye. Just told them. Then gently pushed their lower jaw back together with the rest of their face & moved on.

The following was part of a text exchange that took place shortly after I was diagnosed with my beautiful niece – let’s call her, oh, say… Alyssa.

Alyssa: “Do the kids know about the cancer? That word is terrible. I feel guilty even saying/typing it. Like if I whisper, it won’t hear me.”

That’s when I realized… Cancer is like the Voldemort of diseases. It has become “It That Cannot Be Named.” And dammit, I’m going to do what I can to stop that. What I’m trying to say is a long, convoluted way of explaining why I wanted to be fully honest with The Kids. Why hide it? Why create more of a stigma around it? And why make my family & friends tip toe around it  & wonder what & how much The Kids know.

So I sat them down one night – it was right after Trick or Treat so they were all sugared up & ready to have a good ol’ serious one-on-one with mom. I told them that I had something that needed to be taken care of & that I was going to be having surgery. Then I asked them if they knew what cancer was.

The Boy: “I’ve heard of breast cancer.”

The Girl: “Me too. We did that walk with Girl Scouts, remember?”

Me: “Awesome. (high fives all around) Do know what cancer is?”

lots of head shaking

Me: “It’s a disease where bad cells start growing in a person’s body & if it’s not taken care of, those bad cells will start to take over good cells. Mine was found really early so once I have surgery, I’ll have some other treatments & then hopefully it will be all gone. Does that make sense?”

And this is where the sugar kicks in….

The Girl: “So it’s like the bad cells are sitting there telling the good cells: ‘Come to the dark side. We have cookies.”

Me: “Um…. Something like that…”

The Boy: “See, I pictured it more like the bad cells got hit by lightning & mutated into like a Godzilla thing & started rampaging through your city.”

Me: “Okay… so we seem to have a clear grasp of what’s going on. Any questions?”

The Girl: “So where is your cancer?”

Me: “In my boob.”

The Boy: “I will pay you to not ever say ‘boob’ again.”

They have both since had good days & bad days. The Boy wanted to be home with me immediately following the surgery, claiming that he needed to be here to help me. The Girl has told everyone she’s met & has often come home with comments such as, “My CCD teacher has cancer, too. He’s going to call you.” I’m glad she’s talking about it. She’s probably reached more people than this blog.

One thing that many people have told me is to maintain my sense of humor. It seems as though The Kids are trying to take that approach as well.

Of course, nothing has made me laugh more than a comment made by The Joan as she was trying to explain my particular type of breast cancer: “It started in her Milk Duds.”

She may need her own blog.

MomDay Monday – The “C” Word

No, not that one.

The other one that everyone hates.

Cancer.

It took my friend Dianna (see Dearest Dianna). It’s been annoying a good friend of The Ex’s for the past four years. It took my grandmother. And my aunt. And the moms of two dear friends. Two women at work are battling it even as I write this. And there are countless others waging this war every day.

Now it’s my turn.

I found it myself. About a month ago, I noticed a strange dent on the top of my left breast. “That’s new,” I thought as I started poking at it. And there it was… a weird lumpish thing underneath. It wasn’t round, it wasn’t smooth… It wasn’t supposed to be there.

There’s a moment of panic where your mind goes immediately to the worst. But I went through this two years ago. Even had a biopsy. It was just a cyst. “I’ll just schedule a mammogram,” I thought, half kicking myself for not having one last year. It was the high tide of the divorce storm last year and a mammogram never crossed my mind.

The day of the mammogram – or mimmeogram as The Joan would call it – arrived without fanfare. “It will be nothing,” I told myself again. After the mammogram, I was told they wanted me to stay & have an ultrasound done on the area in question. Okay – same thing they did two years ago. And just like two years ago, the radiologist came in after looking at both the mammogram and the ultrasound. ”That doesn’t look good,” she said.

Wait… What?

No no no. You’re doing this wrong, Doctor. You’re supposed to give me the generic “9 out of 10 times it’s nothing but let’s follow-up” speech. She told me she was calling my primary care physician as I was leaving the office & to follow-up with her & schedule an appointment with a surgeon. “Any questions or concerns?” she asked.

“Yes. I don’t like the looks of the dent on the top of my skin,” I said, giving her one more chance to tell me it’s nothing & we’re just doing the surgeon/biopsy thing to be sure.

“Neither do I. That’s very troubling,” came her reply.

Again, doc, you’re doing this wrong.

A little shaken, I got dressed and went home. Waiting for me was a voice mail from my primary care doctor – not her office… from her – telling me to call right away to schedule an appointment with her before I saw the surgeon. The next two weeks became a whirlwind of appointments with doctors, surgeons & eventually a biopsy. I so wanted to believe that this would be nothing but with each conversation with each doctor, my hopes were sinking. Unlike two years ago, there was no reassurance. The radiologist wasn’t encouraging. The surgeon talked to me like I had already been diagnosed. The only time someone tried to be reassuring was when my doctor brought in a medical student she was working with. But I think he only tried because, from the looks of him, mine was probably the first booby he ever touched.

I had to bring my mammogram films & ultrasound CDs to the surgeon so of course I opened them up & tried to see something by holding the images up to the kitchen light. Not sure what I was looking at or even which side was which, I pulled out the piece of paper with the written report. And there, in large black letters, were the words, “Highly Suggestive of Malignancy.”

That’s when I started bracing for the worst.

That week between biopsy & results was perhaps the longest week I will ever live through. And then the words that I will never forget… “Unfortunately, it is cancer.” I had wondered what I’d do if I had to hear those words. Would I cry? Yes, briefly. Scream? No. What would be the first thing that crossed my mind? The Kids. How would I feel? Utterly alone.

Only I haven’t been alone. You can never know what it feels like unless you’ve lived through it, but time & time again, as I’ve told people, I heard, “My mom’s going through that now.” Or “My aunt has been cancer free for 23 years.” Or in the case of my boss, “I know how you feel. Wait… no I don’t. But I’m still here for you.” People have been offering their help in droves. So much so that I sometimes want to make something up so they can help. (Who wants to rake my leaves?) The Joan has been with me every step of the way so far. The Ex is taking The Kids for a few extra days while I have surgery. KK & Hyde have been in touch almost daily just to check in. The few people I’ve told at work have been generous with their time, one of them sending me a surprisingly eloquent message reading in part, “Do what you have to do to get healthy and I will personally make sure whatever work you can’t finish gets done.”

It’s what has been keeping me going.

When I got home from getting the original diagnosis, The Joan said to me, “You’ll be just fine. You’re strong.” I know I am. It just gets so damn tiring sometimes. That’s when I need all the support I can get.

So thank you to everyone who has offered their help, thoughts, good vibes & prayers. I’ll keep you posted. You just keep on helping me be strong.

MomDay Monday – Needy Bitch

Ever have one of those times where you know something is off but you can’t put your finger on what it is? So then you just over think it & come up with some weird conclusions that have nothing to do with reality?

No?

Liar.

We’ve all done it.

I try not to be needy although there are those among you who I’m allowed to be needy around. The KK – my big sister. The Hyde – my former college roommate and favorite ass kicker. The Joan – although she’ll just tell me that I need to stop drinking & “go to a meeting.” But for everyone else, I try to keep the neediness down & let things roll. It’s really hard to do sometimes.

I’m still learning how to let go & let things happen as they will. But sometimes, when I care about something a lot, I can fall into that routine of over thinking & coming to conclusions not based on reality. And sometimes, I have to give in to it & ask. Ask the other person if what I’m thinking is true. As a friend said, “Put on your big girl pants & take the world one ass kick at a time.” In other words, suck it up, make the call & get the answers you need. (Actually, I don’t really know what that whole ‘big girl pants/ass kick’ thing means, but it sounded good.)

Will the other person think you’re crazy? Maybe. Okay – probably. Will you get the answers you want? Absolutely not. But you’ll get the answers you need.

So where does this temporary neediness come from? We are all a product of our past. Let’s face it – if your past involves a roller coaster, you’re going to brace yourself for a roller coaster. You’ll see dizzying heights & plunging lows where there aren’t any. But once you’re on something more like a Ferris wheel – slow & steady but when you get to the top, it’s breathtaking - you can’t look at it like it’s a roller coaster. (Not my best analogy but it’s late & I’ve had a long day.) What I’m trying to say is that we can’t look at the present & expect it to be the same as the past. We need to judge each situation on its own merits & try our hardest to not let the those past roller coasters take us for a ride.

It’s not easy. But it’s got to be done.

And since I’ve never really been a fan of roller coasters, I’ll take two tickets for the Ferris wheel, please.

MomDay Monday – When is a Couch Not Just a Couch?

I bought a new couch.

Not normally fodder for a blog post, but The Kids reaction to this new piece of furniture was not what I expected. I told the kids last week that I would be getting a new couch & getting rid of our old one – a yellow monstrosity that was actually quite comfortable in its hey day but has long since suffered the effects of kids & pets. Well, one pet. George. Our cat. Or rather our former cat having gone to that great big litter box in the sky a few years ago. They were upset because, as they said, our old couch “held so many memories of George.” “Of course it does,” I quipped back. “You can’t escape the claw marks everywhere. Sorry. It’s going.”

The Kids returned home today from their weekend with The Ex & were greeted by the yellow couch in its temporary home on the sidewalk in front of the house. The reaction was immediate. There was wailing & gnashing of teeth, much like an Italian funeral.

The Girl: “Why can’t you save this for dad for when he gets a place?”

The Boy: “You know that little table next to my bed. Get rid of that & put the couch there.”

The Girl: “Well, can we at least keep the cushions?”

The Boy: “I’m naming it Winter because it’s chilly out tonight.”

At first I thought they were being ridiculous. But as I thought about it, I realized that maybe this was really a reaction to ALL of the change in their lives in the past few years.

And they’ve had so much.

Their parents divorced & they had to get used to a schedule of when they were going to be at mom’s or at dad’s. They had to leave the private school they’ve attended since they were 3-years-old & start over in public schools where they know no one. I started working full-time, so they have to go to before & after school programs. And now, silly as it sounds, they have to give up the couch that, as The Boy says, “Has my butt imprint just perfect.”

To them it’s another loss.

Maybe I’m over thinking it. I mean, these two would keep everything from baby toys to old clothes if I let them and they’ve always been that way. I fully expect a far distant episode of A&E’s “Hoarders” to feature one of my children. But it just seems like they’ve been through so much recently, that it wouldn’t hurt me to be a little extra gentle on this one.

But it’s really hard not to laugh.

MomDay Monday – Goodbye Friends

Four years ago, I signed The Girl up for Girl Scouts. We were placed in a troop with Shannon, a young leader who had three kids of her own and was leading this troop for her oldest daughter who was the same age as The Girl. I used to stay around the meetings because it was something I wanted to do as a mother/daughter thing & it was fun watching this group of girls create things & learn together. And with a boy barely a year old along for the ride, I figured Shannon could use some help with the troop while her son ran naked. (He’s starting to outgrow that phase but it’s only been 4 years. Don’t rush him.)

Shannon’s husband, John, is in the Navy. I’d like to name his exact position as though I know what I’m talking about but all I know is that he was recently promoted to Chief Petty Officer. What’s more important is that after two years in Guam while his wife & children lived 8,000 miles away, he is finally heading back stateside to a post in Virginia. Initially, Shannon was going to stay up here until her house sold but once John got back & they helped him move into Virginia, the waiting became too much and she made the difficult decision to just go. House be damned. And in that moment of trusting that it would all work out, they got a buyer for the house just days before her departure.

So with all that said, I bid farewell to a wonderful family. They just walked out my door for the last time leaving behind a lot of great memories and a pet chinchilla that we have now adopted because they couldn’t take her with them. I am trying to be happy for them and not sad for me.

I’m failing miserably.

So with that, I want to let each one of this fabulous fivesome know how I feel. I may not do it eloquently or even halfway decently, but I do it with my whole heart.

Dear Angelina: You are one of the most mature 11-year-olds I know. And I know a lot of 11-year-olds. Thank you for always being a friend to Grace and Sam & for being such an enormous help to your mom especially in the past two years. Don’t forget to be a kid sometimes, though, too. You are an amazing young woman & I’m sure you will go far in whatever you decide to do. Keep singing. The world needs to hear your beautiful voice.

Dearest Abigale: You are a spirit unlike any other. Except maybe Sam. You two really are kindred spirits. You’re just the girl version. Keep your sense of style & your wonderful silliness. They will help you get through whatever you face because a sense of humor & great shoes can help overcome anything. And if all else fails, throw yourself to the floor.

Darling Owen: I can’t tell you how much I have loved hearing you talk. You are funny & charming & a pain in the butt. A naked butt. Please keep your pants on. You make Grace yell things like, “Owen’s got a toy  hammer. Cover your private parts!” And you’re the little brother that Sam never had. I will miss you shooting at me & sticking your gorgeous face through the mail slot in my door. My doorbell will never be quite the same again.

Dear John: You’re the one family member that I don’t really know. What I do know is that you recognize how amazing your wife & children are. I have watched you & Shannon fight to maintain a solid foundation with 8,000 miles between you. This can only be done with hard work, determination & a tenacity that few men have. Take care of your beautiful bride. You know what an amazing woman she is and in the unlikely event that you ever forget, call me. I have watched her over the last two years and can fill you in on what she’s dealt with not just with the kids, but with work, Girl Scouts, babysitters and schools. It hasn’t always been pretty. But you are married to a woman of grace & fortitude who will fight for what’s important and you and your children are the most important things to her.

And finally, my dearest Shannon: I’ve written this part a half-dozen times & it’s still not right. I guess sometimes there aren’t really words that can be put onto paper to express your thoughts. To say I’m sad is an understatement. You are spontaneous & glorious and have taught me how to lighten up and how to fight it out. You have become the type of friend that can never be replaced. You have brought me tacos, gluten-free treats & enormous wine glasses. You’ve walked in moon shoes on my lawn, made me concoctions with pineapple vodka and gone skydiving with me. (Dear Readers: Not literally. I would never jump out of a perfectly good plane. It was just a term we used for escaping when kids & life got overwhelming.) But mostly, you have cared for my kids as if they were your own and you have been there, time and time again, for them & for me. I can only hope that I have been able to do the same for you.

I love you all & I will miss you. God speed.

MomDay Monday – Say What You Need to Say

If you’d asked me 6 months ago about dating, I would have said absolutely not. I was just beginning to figure out who I was & what I wanted out of life after a year of divorce proceedings & I declared at the beginning of 2012 that I wasn’t going to date for the entire year. Just spend the year focusing on me, The Kids, the house, the job, friends & family.

But then a friend introduced me to someone she knew & I quickly found out that just because you’re both single doesn’t mean you should be together. Any man who starts a text with, “Yo, bitch. Whatcha doing?” should probably consider a life in the monastery since he’s going to be celibate for a very long time anyway. But it got me thinking that maybe I did want to head back out there. Toss my cute shoes in the ring again. (I don’t look good in hats.) The Joan was appalled. “You said you were taking this whole year off!” Sorry, Mom. I made it 7 months and besides, it’s not like there’s going to be a line at my door on January 1, 2013 and the phrase, ”Hey, thanks for showing me where the toasters are. Want to have dinner sometime?” has never been, nor ever will be uttered by any sane person. But off I go anyway.

So as I venture out into this brave new world of meeting people, I wanted to take a good look at where I may have gone wrong in the past. This is a Mulligan – a chance to do it over. Erase the mistakes & missteps of past relationships & get it right. Well, maybe not right, but as close to it as a flawed human being can get. We’re supposed to learn from our  mistakes, so what mistakes have I made in the past that I can try to avoid this time around? And the one thing that kept coming up was that I was never truly honest. I spent too much time in past relationships not saying what I should have said. Either because I figured things were good enough & I shouldn’t rock the boat or because I was so afraid that disagreeing would drive the other person away, I failed to open my mouth at times when I knew that things weren’t right. And in the end, those relationships failed even though I kept my mouth shut and probably in large part, because of it.

So this time around - why hold back? Why keep it in? I think initially we all gloss over some of the things that make us look weird (I prefer “quirky”). I don’t recommend walking into a first date saying, “I suck at math, I can’t follow directions & I can’t figure out how to change the in-dash clock in my car…. Oh, and here’s a photo of what I look like when I first wake up.” That’s third date stuff. What I’m talking about is just plain being honest. I’m old enough to know who I am and what I like and want or don’t like or don’t want. So why not say it? No one wants someone who is just going to go along. Eventually they’ll figure it out & wonder why you weren’t honest in the first place.

I can’t change how anyone reacts to me. I can’t make someone like me. If the fact that I can’t eat ice cream in the winter is a deal breaker, then so long. I can only be honest about who I am. And in the end, if they stick around long enough, they’re going to learn about how I can’t eat Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups because the chocolate to peanut butter ratio is all wrong so I hold out for the seasonal versions (Peanut Butter Pumpkins are rapidly approaching!). But more than that – more than the quirks & little things that come along with everyone – I need to be honest with how I feel. As The Joan says, “Say what you mean. Mean what you say. But don’t say it mean.” I need to stop being complacent the way I was in the past & be able to say what I like, or don’t like – what I want & don’t want. I don’t want anyone to have to guess where they stand with me. So people… ladies & gentlemen… join me in this. Say it.

Just say it.

Tell that person that you really like them and tell them that you’re petrified of really liking them because of your past track record. If you wonder sometimes why they keep coming back, ask them. Tell them when something they did was really sweet & touching. Don’t assume they know how you felt about it. Tell them when you can’t stop thinking about some part of your past date. Tell them you want to spend more time with them. Say all the things that you think are awkward. This is the time to find all of this out. And on the flip side – if it’s not working for you… say that, too. Don’t drag things out to spare someone’s feelings. It will just be worse the longer you delay. And for goodness sake, don’t start a text with “Yo, bitch.” Or if you do, don’t be surprised when the response you get is, “Hey, douche bag… lose my number.”

I never thought I’d be here at this point in my life. But it’s a chance to maybe get it right. A chance to start a new adventure and a chance to let someone else know exactly how I’m feeling in the hopes of getting the same level of honesty in return. But more importantly, it’s a chance to let someone in to learn about who I really am and in return, get to learn who he is, too. After all, I’d hate to buy someone peanut butter cups only to find out years later that they never really liked them. There’s no betrayal like lying about candy.

MomDay Monday – Bitch

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. I’ve struggled with a few different ideas… The Boy’s First Communion & how it was also the first combined event with members of my family & The Ex’s family… More shenanigans from the retail world… Maybe something thoughtful about the upcoming school change that The Kids are facing.

But none of them were coming together. Nothing worked. Everything I wrote sucked. And that’s how my life has felt lately.

Nothing is coming together. Everything sucks. And I feel like I’m wading through quicksand trying to keep my life & responsibilities together when all I really want to do it just throw my hands in the air & yes… actually wave them like I just don’t care.

I want to bitch.

I want to piss and moan about all the things that are wrong with my life. I want to cry. I want to yell at someone. I want to have a little hissy fit & kick my feet & pound my fists & whine about how unfair life is sometimes.

So I did.

Sometimes we need a day to just throw ourselves a Grade A Pity Party & invite all of our friends. (Of course, the friends who had invitations forced on them today may or may not be speaking to me anymore.) One of them told me to “lose the ‘tude” (He’s British. He can’t help it.) then gave me a hug & let me cry. One of them told me how others have it so much worse than I do & that I should consider myself lucky. That one kind of pissed me off. Pity Parties are only to be crashed if you’re bringing wine or Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs (I still have a stash from Easter. I’m hoping they hold out until Halloween when the Peanut Butter Pumpkins arrive. My issues with the chocolate to peanut butter ratio of the original Peanut Butter Cup is a blog for another day.) So how dare you crash my Pity Party with common sense?

In the end, I needed both of those perspectives. I needed the one who let me wail & whine & get it out. And I needed the one who told me basically to suck it up, buttercup. They’re both right.

We need people who will let us bitch. Who will listen & nod & tell us how right we are even when they don’t agree or have no idea what we’re talking about. And we need people who will kick us in the ass when we’re getting too far down into what my mom (The Joan) refers to as The Pity Pot. (I’ve tried my whole life to picture what this proverbial Pity Pot might look like. I’m glad I haven’t been able to put a visual to it.)

I’m not saying my life is horrid. It’s not. I have plenty to be grateful for. I do feel lucky most of the time. There are people who have it far worse than I do. And there are people who have it far better than I do. So forgive me if sometimes the quicksand gets too thick & I get overwhelmed because that’s when I’ll need to bitch.

And if you get an invite to my next Pity Party, remember…. wine & Reese’s always makes a nice hostess gift.