And Rite Aid Makes it Rain

The Radio: “Traffic is brought to you by Walgreens.”

The Boy: “Nice going, Walgreens. Now we’re going to be late.”

Calgon Take Him Away

The Boy: “I like baths better than showers.”

Me: “Yeah? How come?”

The Boy: “It’s kind of nice to lay in your own filth.”

Parents Have the Worst Ideas

The Boy: “You know who invented school? I’ll tell you who… Some deranged parent who had a bad childhood.”

The High Cost of Marriage

I love this song by Need to Breathe. It’s my go-to song when I need to remind myself that things will get better – that there’s always Something Beautiful just around the corner. I play it in the car quite often & The Kids have gotten to know it. I heard The Girl singing along today…

Actual lyrics: “I know that I’m in reach ’cause I am down on my knees.”

Lyrics according to The Girl: “I know that I’m married ’cause I am out of money.”

 

What’s That in Dog Years?

Me: “Dad’s birthday is in a few weeks. You guys need to start thinking about what you’d like to do for it.”

The Boy: “How old is he going to be?”

Me: “50.”

The Boy: “Thousand?”

Would You Like Fries with That?

I admit I’m not the world’s greatest cook. I’m not even the world’s most mediocre cook. Sometimes this fact is pointed out to me.

Me: “Guys. Come get dinner.”

The Boy: “What are we having tonight? Hopelessness with a side of despair?”

 

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.

Gaga for Adele

The Girl: “Who is this?”

Me: “Adele.”

The Girl: “Oh. I started to guess Lady Gaga but then I thought there’s no way she could do something this good.”

Fat-mommy-itis

As I sat on The Girl’s bed to give her a shove gentle nudge to wake up, I inadvertently sat on her pinky toe.

Me: “I’m sorry! Is your toe okay?”

The Girl: “Yeah. It just has a case of Fat-mommy-itis.”