A New Beginning

Well, I must confess, I feel a wee bit silly, posting here about my "very first ever journal entry" when the truth is, I've been blogging for almost three years on Kendrie's Caringbridge site. And I'm not giving that up yet ... just adjusting my coordinates a bit as my focus has shifted.

I wish I had something really profound, or hysterically funny to start the blog off with a bang. Hell, I'd settle for interesting. But for now I need to play the NIKE card and JUST DO IT, otherwise it'll be another month that this blog sits here vacant. If I wait until I've got all the nuances of Blogger figured out ..... well, it's sort of like if you wait to have a baby until you can afford it, then you'll never have one.

So I'm going to treat this very first post as a chore on my to-do list that I've been dreading for a while, but am happy to check off with my pencil once it's done. In the meantime, I'll keep posting and trying to figure out how all this html code-template-sidebar-business plays out. While I've considered leaving Caringbridge for awhile, I must admit there is comfort in familiarity and at least over *there*, I know how to insert a damn link and get the music to play. And geez, is there any way to get some of those posts over here???? Not all of them, but maybe a few???

{repeat to self: you'll like it once it's done; you'll like it once it's done; in through the mouth; out through the nose; in through the mouth; out through the ...... oh, the hell with it, is there any Amaretto left?}

ER, DID I SAY *QUALITY* FAMILY BONDING TIME???

Well, I have no doubt that those of you who have read this journal for awhile, or at least through our last two or three family vacations, have come here tonight, expecting to read an entry about obnoxious children, ill-mannered, disagreeable, quarrelsome, ungrateful hooligans, and the hazards of traveling with such social boors.

You will not be disappointed.

Is it ALL children on the planet, or just mine, who somehow lose their brains when they travel? Who forget common niceties like saying please and thank you, let alone keeping their hands and rude opinions to themselves ….. who lose the ability to ride in the car more than two miles without fighting over the dvd player ….. who turn their noses up at all planned activities …. who, despite the plethora of fun things to do and neat things to see, declare themselves bored every five minutes, declarations accompanied by huge, aggrieved SIGHS just in case we didn’t believe how bored they were …. who decide picking fights with their brother and sister is the only activity worth doing …. and who somehow manage to become deaf to the requests and threats of parents? Parents, who, I might add, have vowed in the past NEVER to take said children on another vacation, BUT THIS TIME WE MEAN IT, YOU BRATS, WE’RE NOT EVEN KIDDING AROUND!!!!

There. I feel better already.

At last year’s Quiet Heroes Luncheon in Atlanta, I bid on and won a three-night stay at a villa at Callaway Gardens in Pine Mountain, Georgia. The villa was part of the silent auction, serving as a fundraiser for CURESearch, and I was so excited to be high bidder. We waited until now to use our stay, hoping to enjoy autumn and the beautiful fall weather, and picking this weekend, as the 3rd anniversary of Kendrie’s leukemia diagnosis. It seemed like a great time to make a fresh start as a family. To come together and make happy family memories. To make good times out of bad, and hold hands 'round the campire singing Kum-Buy-Ya together .....

(SNORT!)

They whined, they argued, they fussed, they complained. Mainly, it was the complaining that annoyed me. We took them to a nice restaurant for dinner; Kendrie griped that they didn’t serve macaroni & cheese. We let them pick souvenirs at a gift shop; Brayden griped that we didn’t give her enough money. I rented movies from Blockbuster and even BOUGHT A NEW DVD PLAYER WHEN OURS BIT THE DUST ON THE DRIVE THERE, DAMNIT; Kellen griped that all the movies I chose were dumb.

But hands down, the two highlights of the trip were when Kendrie dropped her fishing pole in the lake and cried for ten solid minutes because Blaine couldn’t go back and get it off the bottom of the lake with his Magical Fishing Pole Retrieving Abilities, and when Brayden proclaimed, halfway through our five hour bicycling trip around the lake (let me repeat that, in case it’s not clear --- I rented a bike and pedaled my fat ass FIVE HOURS around that lake) that she was bored (SIGH!) and I said, trying hard to be the happy, positive, encouraging mom that I am …. “Brayden, honey, the weather is beautiful, the sun is shining, we’re having a nice ride on a gorgeous day, couldn’t you just enjoy nature for a moment?” to which she replied, “They're just leaves” in a totally snotty voice.

At which point I told her to shut up. Me, the mom who doesn’t allow anyone in our house to say shut up to anyone else, told my 9-yr old daughter that if she couldn’t think of anything nice to say, THEN. JUST. SHUT. UP.

Go ahead and call DFACS now.

Despite their constant grumbling, I do have them trained properly (most of the time) to smile for the camera. And Lord knows I always have my camera. So I’ll give you the gist of the weekend, in pictures (those of you with dial-up, forgive me):

The beginning of our bike ride; still smiling.





Hey, it wouldn’t be a fall festival without a little happy requisite pumpkin painting. Yes, happy times. Afterwards, I put all three kids’ pumpkins in the basket of my rental bike and rode them all the bumpy way home, looking like stupid ole’ Miss Gulch from the Wizard of Oz, balancing Toto in my damn basket. All the bumping caused the pumpkings to rub against the basket, and some of the paint to flake off, which brought about a huge temper tantrum from Brayden, who claimed I didn't care about all the hard work she had put into the pumpkin. Did she thank me for hauling those frickin’ pumpkins all the way back to the villa for her? Or express any thankfulness that I managed to ride that entire way on a rental bike without killing myself? No, of course not. But she sure carped on the fact I let her pumpkin get scratched. You know. Happy times like that.





This was a pretty scene. No children to ruin it with their whining.





"Zip it and smile or I swear you’ll be grounded all weekend. I don't care if you're bored. Look like you're having fun."





Hey, wait, now he's actually starting to have fun. Of course, Kendrie hadn’t started in on her temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums about the fishing pole at the bottom of the lake yet. But it's coming, never fear.





This was Brayden’s favorite part of the weekend, the drive-through animal safari in Pine Mountain.





We rented a zebra-van and hit the road. We were the first family in the park that morning, and let's just say those animals have the entire Pavlovian response to the zebra vans down pat.





Kellen really enjoyed it, also, when he wasn’t squealing like a girly-man.






This was the view we had most of the hour-long drive. I felt pretty much the same way when I realized, the next day, that I had left my spare camera battery in the damn zebra van. Of course, no one turned it in. Why would they?





Kellen’s favorite part of the weekend, the bike rides.






The first day, I didn’t have a bike, so we headed over to the bike rental place, with Blaine and the kids riding and me walking. That’s why I’m still smiling at this point. I hadn’t yet begun the Buns of Steel Eternal Never-Ending Bike Ride Around the Lake. Did I mention it took us five hours??? Natalie, *how* does Eamon do it???? Better yet, WHY??? My ass STILL hurts!






Naturally, the kids complained that my walking to the bike rental facility was taking too long and slowing them down. So I got on Blaine’s bike. And he got on Kendrie’s 18-inch Rhino Booster. And pedaled her on the pegs. He is such a stud.






Actually, this was one of the (FEW!) spontaneous happy moments of the weekend. After visiting the Butterfly Center, we let the kids goof off on the grass, and they laughed joyfully and wrestled gleefully with one another. Until Kellen poked Kendrie, or Brayden hit Kellen, or some other calamity, who can even remember who was mad at who which time with these kids?





Requisite butterfly photo.






Requisite flower photo.




And lest you think the entire weekend, 24/7 was horrific ….. well, it pretty much was. No, I’m kidding, we did have a few pleasant episodes mixed in amongst the squabbling. The best moment of all? Saturday night, while Blaine and I hung out in the guest bedroom watching the Florida/Auburn game, and the kids were in the guest bathroom, mixing up “potions”, which consisted of emptying every shampoo, conditioner, and mouthwash container the villa provided and pouring them and arranging them in various ways with every utensil found in the kitchen, then calling those concoctions “inventions” and declaring they were in a “Science Club”.

You know what? Fine. But we could have done that at home, for a LOT cheaper, don’t you think? And my ass wouldn’t have been near as sore.

THE ONE WHERE I GET ALL REFLECTIVE AND SAPPY ON YOU

Fall has always been my favorite time of year. Football, leaves changing colors, cool, crisp air, jeans and sweatshirts, pumpkin patches, the whole she-bang. My very most favorite time. I pink puffy heart fall. If I could find a place to live that was fall year-round, I would move there in a nano-second.

Since 2003, however, fall has been bittersweet for me. On this day, three years ago, Kendrie was in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at our local Children’s Hospital while the doctors tried to figure out why she was so anemic and not responding to blood transfusions. I was in total denial that anything could be seriously wrong, and hoping she would get out of the hospital in time to visit the State Fair, and vacation in Tennessee with our friends the Deatons. Instead, this Friday, the 13th, will be the 3-year anniversary of the day she was diagnosed with leukemia. The day I learned you can be punched in the stomach and feel your heart being ripped out of your chest, even if no one actually touches you.

We were taken by ambulance to the Children’s Hospital in Atlanta where she underwent more testing, and then her chemotherapy regimen was started. As soon as my mom could get a flight to Georgia to watch Kellen and Brayden, Blaine came to Atlanta to be with us. We rented a room at a hotel a few blocks away from the hospital and he and I took turns sleeping at the hospital each night. Whoever’s turn it was to go to the hotel and take a shower would walk back and forth, and I remember how cool and crisp the air was. Fall had arrived. I remember putting Kendrie in a wagon at the hospital and pulling her around the koi pond, pointing out the leaves that had changed colors, and watching the late-afternoon sunlight shine down on her blonde hair. Her blonde hair. "Oh my God she’ll be bald soon", I remember thinking. I remember feeling that it was impossible for the weather to be this glorious, when I was spinning out of control and cracking up inside. This was fall. We were supposed to be visiting pumpkin patches, and watching college football games on the television. Instead, we’d been immersed in this surreal world of childhood cancer. How the hell did THAT happen?







Three years later, things are good. Things are great. Kendrie’s monthly bloodwork, done earlier this week, showed perfect numbers. She’s playing soccer, loving school, and we had to have her bangs cut for the first time in ages. But still, when I feel that early-morning chill in the air, or see the Halloween decorations in the neighborhood, or hear the local high school marching band on the field next to Kendrie’s soccer team, practicing for their Friday night half-time performance, I can’t help but reflect back on our very own Fall of 2003. I remember the ambivalence; the world was beautiful, the world was falling apart. I am so grateful to be done with that world, and so terrified that we could be thrust back in it at any time.

It’s a fine line to walk, being grateful for the life lessons, yet wishing we had never experienced them. And while I know we should look forward, and we do, it’s hard not to look back. It seems insulting to the courage she showed, and the struggle we faced as a family, NOT to look back. I’m so proud to look back and see how far we’ve all come. I hate looking back and remembering any of it.

{Warning: This is where I start to ramble and really go off on a crazy-lady tangent and just basically blah blah blah to hear myself talking more blah blah …. } How can I complain about what she went though, when there are so many families not as fortunate? How can I gripe for one second that fall has been contaminated, when she is here with me? It’s so bizarre, this time of remembering. It’s exhausting to go through life looking over your shoulder, scared about what *might* happen. It’s impossible to go through life with a constant smile on your face and Pollyanna attitude, knowing your earlier naiveté is gone, and missing it, but knowing that you look like an idiot now if you pretend nothing ever happened. I don’t want to dwell, or feel bitter. I don’t want to act as if it didn’t exist. When will my own personal timeline no longer be divided by “Before Kendrie got sick” and “After Kendrie got sick” ….. When will I quit being a crazy person? When will the simple act of a change of seasons no longer hold such significance? When will fall no longer feel tainted?

On the one-year anniversary of Kendrie’s diagnosis, I pretty much had a nervous breakdown in the parking lot of my hairdresser’s salon. Freak. (me, not her.) The second year anniversary was much less climactic. This year, it’s not difficult, but I find myself remembering. And hating it. And being grateful, all at the same time.

We are spending this anniversary of Kendrie’s diagnosis away for the weekend, relaxing as a family. I feel the need to pull my children close to me and enjoy fall the way it is supposed to be enjoyed. Nature walks. Leaves changing. Cool, crisp air. Our first fall since 2003 with no chemotherapy, no shock of diagnosis, no steroid tantrums, no spinal taps. No bald heads, no pain or nausea. No need to take Zofran on vacation. Just the five of us. No leukemia allowed. Just us.

We’re gearing up for Blaine’s next step. I’ll write more about that later. For now, I am readying myself. Spending the weekend with my kids. Enjoying us. Enjoying fall.

FOR EVERYTHING ELSE ……

One Adult Admission to State Fair: $6

Kids under 10: Free

Four Unlimited Ride Wristbands: $60

Playing games on midway to win piece-o-crap prizes because Lord knows your kids don’t already have enough crap in their toy-boxes at home: $6

Three hotdogs, two caramel apples, two bags cotton candy, seven sodas, one order chicken strips, one pork pulled sandwich, and one funnel cake: $47

Hearing your 7-yr old daughter’s infectious giggle on the Yoyo swing ride: Priceless

Watching your 9-yr old try so hard to stay cool and nonchalant on the Super Himalaya ride, then burst out laughing when she just can’t contain herself: Also priceless

Introducing your kids to the time-honored State Fair tradition of cotton candy for lunch and funnel cakes for dinner: The most priceless of all

Letting your 8-yr old eat an entire bag of cotton candy, then ride three spinning rides in a row until he renders himself completely sick: Not quite as priceless

Having to explain to your kids why it’s not OK for teenagers to look that way or dress that way or act that way: Less priceless

Having to listen to your son complain, despite the fact you have spent $119 and seven damn hours at the fair, that you didn’t buy him a root beer float like you promised: Even less priceless. In fact, it’s down right annoying.

Why do I let these kids out of the house, anyway???

PS. Kidding, really. The kids and I had a great time today; beautiful fall weather, the yummy goodness that is fair food, holding baby chicks, learning to spin wool, plowing with real plows behind real horses, holding our noses while we ran through the cow pens, and no fighting because I threatened them within an inch of their lives before we ever left the house. Ahhhhh, good times.

Except for the root beer float incident.

AND I MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT HAVE …..

Despite appearances to the contrary, I am a very organized, neat person. And by “appearances to the contrary”, I mean the fact that my house is always a mess and I’m constantly griping about how I can never find my car keys, I forget people’s birthdays, I am never able to catch up on my e-mails, I have a to-do list a mile long, and I’m the type of person who spends ten minutes looking for sunglasses that are on top of my head. But if you can get past **that** sort of thing, I’m very organized. A place for everything; everything has a place; and all that jazz.

A few years ago, we bought an entertainment center with a very short, very deep cabinet under the tv which we use to store some of our tapes and dvds. We have a bigger cabinet for the rest, but the movies we’ve watched recently are usually under the tv. And of course by "we" I mean the kids, since it seems they are always the ones choosing which movie we're going to watch.

Over time, we wind up with a hodge podge of tapes and dvd’s, all flung willy-nilly into that cabinet space, none of them returned properly to their holders. Basically, it looks like a Blockbuster threw up in the cabinet. Every few months I’ll go through the cabinet and match up movies to cases, re-arrange, stack neatly, and swear that THIS time, the space will stay organized.

And a few weeks ago, I might or might not have thrown a complete temper tantrum when I couldn’t find the dvd case for Nanny McPhee, and while searching, realized what a disaster area this cabinet truly is, once again.

And I might or might not have griped about the mess, while transferring tapes from this cabinet here to the big cabinet there, putting away movies into their proper cases, knowing all the while that while it looks good now, it’s only a matter of time until it’s a mess again.

And I might or might not have made some sweeping pronouncement about how sick I am of this disaster area and how I’m going to take action right now!

And I might or might not have gone online and ordered a special media storage cabinet with doors on the front, convinced that the cabinet will help us stay organized, or at the very least, the doors will conceal the Blockbuster vomit.

And the cabinet might or might not have arrived very quickly. And I might or might not have been very excited.

And I might or might not have told Blaine that I planned to assemble the cabinet the next day while the kids were in school.

And Blaine might or might not have reminded me of the extremely crappy job I did assembling our last bookcase.

In fact, he might or might not have made some incredibly rude comment about how the blind kid with no arms in his seventh grade woodshop class was handier than me and could probably do a better job.

And I might or might not have been extremely insulted by his condescending, superior handy-man attitude and told him congratulations, he had just awarded himself a new can-do project, and that media cabinet would sit, unassembled, until HE put it together.

And the cabinet might or might not have sat in our entryway, in its original box, for over a week.



(In case you don't believe me that it sat here like a lump for an entire week, notice that the kids are using it as a platform for their toy cars.)

And I might or might not have made snide, rude comments under my breath about “Well, I guess Ty Pennington Jr is too busy to put my new cabinet together” every time I walked past it.

And I might or might not have gone away this past weekend with my girlfriends, and feeling a little guilty about the fact Blaine, recovering from radiation, would be alone with the kids for four solid days (did I mention that they were school holiday days, so he had the kids 24/7?) I might or might not have left a list of suggested fun (read: time-consuming!) activities, such as “Go to batting cages” or “Go to matinee” and the like, hoping to help him fill his days with them. Because I'm organized like that.

And apparently, Blaine might or might not have decided to take matters into his own hands, strapped little tool belts onto the kids, and put them to work assembling our new cabinet.

And it might or might not have looked pretty darn good when I got back home this evening.




And I might or might not have looked inside, counted 89 DVDs, 122 VHS tapes, and 44 home movies (more on this later) and wondered why it is we spend the vast majority of our TV time watching Hannah Montana reruns and none of the movies we’ve paid perfectly good money for. We have enough home entertainment to watch a different movie every day for almost three-quarters of a year, yet we spend all our spare time with Zach and Cody. What's *wrong* with this picture????




But it doesn’t even matter, because the anal, neat-freak part of me is happy.

At least until it looks like Blockbuster threw up in there again.

YET ANOTHER GLIMPSE ….

In keeping with our theme of “Kellen and his Bodily Functions”, I give you a glimpse into my life from yesterday afternoon, which explains why rock stars and celebrities and game show hosts weep in jealousy for the glamour that is my life:

I was on the phone with a friend when I heard Kellen calling from the other room, “Mom …. Mom …. MOM!!!! The toilet is fixing to overflow! MOM HURRY THERE’S WATER EVERYWHERE IT’S A FLOOD AAGGGGHHHHH!”

And I walked to the bathroom, expecting a clogged toilet, only to discover our own Trevi Fountain, with water pouring out and overflowing the bowl at a rapid rate. “I’ll call you back!” I said to my girlfriend and threw the phone down. As I stepped into the bathroom, I realized the rugs were soaked, the water was already standing an inch deep, and still coming. Straddling the toilet so my shoes wouldn’t get wet from the sheet of water raining down the sides of the bowl, I jerked the tank cover off the back of the toilet and pulled up on the round float-y thing that connects to the chain hanging from the metal arm hook-y thing. (Yes, I’m pretty sure that is the exact scientific descriptive term.)

There wasn’t much else I could do from this position because if I let go of the float-y thing, the water would begin pouring out again and there was already a lake in the bathroom. So I turned to Kellen, “Quick! Go grab a towel! Hurry, hurry!” He ran out of the room, with me shouting, “Hurry! Bring me a towel!” after him the entire time. I could see the huge puddle of water ebbing closer and closer to the hardwood floor in the hallway and the rugs couldn’t soak up any more. … “Run, Kellen! Get a towel! Faster!”

And the child, I swear I am not making this up, ran back into the bathroom, full of support and resourcefulness, and threw a Single. Paper. Towel. into the lake.

Because he is nothing if not helpful.

That boy, he’s not right in the head.

RETHINKING THAT X-BOX 360

So, while I doubt we are the ONLY house in America without a gaming system, I do know that our kids are in the minority, not owning a Gameboy or Playstation of X-Box or any of those things. Kellen has a Gameboy Advance (hand held electronic thingy) that he bought with his own money last year, but he really doesn’t play it too much. Combine our lack of a gaming system with my recent No-TV-During-The-Week-Decree, and to hear my kids tell it, we might as well haul our own water from the river and make lye soap and sew our own clothes from burlap flour sacks.

But Blaine and I have held firm. We believe the studies that say kids who don’t watch as much tv or spend as much time on the computer or video games do better in school and are more creative. While we’re certainly not opposed to any of those things, we simply think moderation is key. Plus, to be perfectly honest, sitting in front of the tv doesn’t wear them out like bike-riding or roller-blading, and parents everywhere know **THAT** is the ultimate goal in life so they go to bed without any complaint each night, tired to their very core. Right?

So every time I see my kids spend an hour drawing pictures, or reading, or building massive forts for their stuffed animals, or playing baseball in the front yard or whatever, I pat myself on the back. Kellen recently turned his bedroom into a “camp” for his sisters, complete with a list of activities they can do “during camp” …. the activities list is posted on his bedroom door, along with the amount of time each activity should take.

It’s actually very clever and creative and I was feeling quite smug about my imaginative children and how resourceful they are. Kids can find very ingenious ways to entertain themselves when they have to. Then, Kellen came to me and made the following comment:

“Hey, guess what. Brayden and Kendrie and I all just weighed ourselves to see who was heaviest.”

And I’m thinking, Oh, good. A little math and creativity at the same time. Sort of like their own personal health experiment.

Then he said: “I weighed 73 pounds. 73! That’s a lot! Then I pooped. Then I only weighed 72.”

Um, ok. THIS is how he’s filling up his free time? Maybe I should get him that Playstation after all.

WHY YES, I HAVE. THANKS FOR NOTICING.

Apparently, I was correct when I stated to Blaine that owning an iPod would help me lose weight and get in better shape. My intent was to use it at the gym to listen to music and enjoy my workouts better (of course, by “better” I mean AT ALL.) But I was wrong. You don’t even have to go to the gym to lose weight with your iPod. I have discovered the secret, and am happy to share it with you:

TWENTY EASY STEPS TO LOSING WEIGHT WITH YOUR IPOD

1. Open birthday present containing iPod. Toss and fling wrapping paper and bow around room, exercising wrists. Later, once your children realize there is cake in the other room and leave you stranded and alone, pick pieces of wrapping paper off floor, pretending to touch toes a few times.

2. Pat self on back that husband picked up on your oh-so-cleverly-disguised clues about wanting an iPod for your birthday. Subtle, faint hints along the lines of “Blaine, they sell iPods at Wal-Mart. You DO know my birthday is next week, right?” When you open gift and see iPod, self-back-patting can commence. Pat with each arm 50 times, working those tricep-y things in the back of your arm that hang down and frighten you at baseball games.

3. Immediately put iPod in closet and do nothing with it for the next two weeks. Spend lots of time mentally compiling play list that you want …. But admit to yourself that “thinking” isn’t a Weight-Watchers approved activity.

4. Finally, finally, get iPod out of box and get ready to make music history.

5. Spend hours on iTunes downloading music, snacking on Quaker caramel-corn-flavored rice cakes the entire time, convincing yourself that if you eat food while listening to the very music you INTEND to exercise to later, those calories don’t count.

6. At long last, prepare to copy music to iPod.

7. Discover that apparently your computer is such an old piece of crap that it is incompatible with your new iPod because of some hi-speed vs. lo-speed USB something. Of some sort. Or something. Yell at computer screen. Pound computer desk. Kick leg of table. Swear. Shake fists at the heavens. Total body workout.

8. Dig through every fricken’ fracken’ piece of literature that came with the damn computer to find out if your USB-whatever-the-heck-that-is is hi-speed or lo-speed. Taking all those stupid manuals out of the computer desk, looking through them, and replacing them surely burns calories of one sort or another; bending, lifting, and replacing will whittle the waist.

9. Fire off extremely pathetic e-mail to girlfriend whose husband owns an iPod that works, begging for help. Acknowledge that finger-activity burns very little calories, so the typing itself is not helpful, but the hatred for all things technological coursing through your veins has GOT to be revving up your metabolism.

10. Go to local electronics store to ask about getting a new USB whatchamacallit, having to chase down sales representative in store. Walk at least a mile to and from registers to computer area, looking for elusive salesperson named “Dave”.

11. Accept that "Dave" has gone home for the day and wander up and down every aisle looking for the damn thing yourself. Stomp around the department when you can’t figure it out -- it’s like a step class and good for the calves. Power walk through the department, cursing and mumbling under your breath, until you realize the employees suspect you are shoplifting. Or crazy.

12. Buy something that looks like it might work and bring it home, only to discover you have no idea how to install it. Again, see: technology; burning hatred of; vein coursing.

13. Determine that to install new whatsitwhoozy, you must remove cover off hard-drive. Summon screwdriver, and husband to use it. Once cover is removed, commence to choke on the 79 pounds of airborne dust that is suddenly flying through the air. Coughing is VERY good exercise for the stomach muscles.

14. Remember that “supervising” from your computer chair is a very involved, high energy activity. Constantly leaning forward, to peer over his shoulder and offer helpful pointers, such as “I think that poke-y thing goes there” and “It looks like you need to line up the doo-hicky with the black blobby thing” and then leaning back to snort in contempt, is good for the abs.

15. Once new card is installed and working properly, and hard drive cover has been replaced, sweetly thank husband for his help and reassure him you can take it from here. Bonus calorie burn for smugness.

16. Realize you’ve somehow dropped your digital card reader behind the computer desk. Spend ten minutes trying to squeeze your size XL butt into a size M space between the wall and the desk to pick up the reader. Twist, turn, shimmy; all good for the hips.

17. Admit defeat. Yell for husband. Again. Louder when he pretends not to hear you. Throat and vocal cord exercises will prevent the need for chin-lifts later in life.

18. At long last, get all USB devices re-hooked up. Turn computer on. Jump up and down for joy when it actually WORKS! Jumping is good for the thighs, although not so great on the bladder control.

19. Attempt to transfer music from iTunes to iPod, holding breath the entire time. Breath-holding is a form of cardio and every bit as good for you as working on the elliptical.

20. Dance around the room in a combination of relief, happiness and pride when you discover the whole thing is working just as it should and you have jammin’ new tunes for your next visit to the gym. Dance into the living room to thank husband for cool gift and for his help. Dance around the room, congratulating self on your own fabulousness and extreme techno-savvy, until 7-yr old daughter states, “Mom, quit dancing. Seriously. I’m not even kidding.”

Number of cool new exercise tunes: Seventy-four and counting.

Total pounds lost: One. Half.

Blows to Ego: Too numerous to count

MAKE - A - WISH

(Yeah, I wish ice cream had no calories and cured heart disease, but that’s another story.)

I’m sorry it’s been so long between updates. I appear to have been stricken with a severe case of Jamaican Sleeping Sickness …. About 8:30 each night, I fall asleep on the sofa and dream I am on a cruise to Jamaica. Instead, I am sprawled on the sofa, surrounded by take-home projects from my kids’ teachers. Put some reading glasses on my nose and a newspaper across my stomach, cue snoring in the recliner, and I’ll have turned into my dad at the rate I’m going.

Anyway, on to bigger and better things:

I have never been in a bar brawl or a street fight (shocking, I know) and I’ve never been struck by another human being in my life. Unless you count those “this hurts me more than it hurts you” spankings I got as a youngster, or the fact Blaine let go of the truck door last Thursday night in a wind storm and I was standing at the perfect wrong spot and the damn door blew shut right on my face and I swear I thought it broke it my nose …. But, I’m rambling, and that’s another story, too.

My point is that although I’ve never been physically hit by anyone else, I don’t think any sort of uppercut to the jaw could possibly hurt worse than the shock and pain of that first gut-wrenching moment when you’re told your child has cancer. Only really, it was more like a sucker punch to the stomach, because I walked around the first two weeks feeling like all the breath had been knocked out of me and I could vomit at any second.

I’ve talked about it in this journal before, but it was close to a week after Kendrie’s initial diagnosis before I found out leukemia isn’t always fatal. The day after diagnosis, all I knew was that we were being sent to Atlanta because our local pediatric oncologist said he couldn’t take on her case. Then, a few days into things in Atlanta, the social worker came in the hospital room to meet with Blaine and me and discuss the resources available to us. Kendrie was out getting a heart function test, or ultrasound, or x-ray, or something {one of the many tests they have to perform before starting chemo treatment} and it gave us a quiet hour to visit with the social worker. We were SO overloaded with information, and still in shock, and most likely not asking any intelligent questions yet. I’m sure she could sense we were overwhelmed, and to close the meeting on what she must have thought would be a cheerful note, she said, “Well, just think, at least your daughter will get a wish from Make-A-Wish!” And I promptly burst into tears. And thought yet again about vomiting.

Ironically, about a week after we got home from that initial hospital visit, I opened the mailbox one afternoon to find an envelope from our local Make-A-Wish organization. Although by this point I knew things were not quite as dire as they seemed initially, I was still pretty deer-in-the-headlights and reeling from the changes that had taken place. Opening the mailbox and seeing that envelope wrecked me. I thought, “Oh my gosh, do they know something I don’t know? Is that why they’re sending me information on getting the wheels in motion for her wish NOW?” Once again, I was struck with the inability to take a deep breath …. the nauseous, sick-to-my-stomach feeling …. It was pretty much becoming a theme for me by that point. Come to find out, though, it was nothing of the sort. It was a fundraising letter; I’m sure everyone in our town got one that day. But how ironic that it arrived just a few weeks after finding out Kendrie would be eligible for a wish of her own.

If you’ve followed this journal for very long, you’ll know that Kendrie’s wish was for a trip to Disney, and to stay at Give Kids the World in Florida. MAW handled everything. We took the trip in February of 2005 while she was half-way through her treatment. I wish I could say it was the best trip EVER, but it wasn’t because my children acted like the spawn of Satan and I seriously thought about leaving them on the side of the highway with “Free to a Good Home” signs around their little necks.

But regardless, the Make-A-Wish organization did a wonderful thing for our family by making the trip available, at no cost to us. So when I heard that Cold Stone Creamery was having a fundraiser night for MAW last Thursday night, there was no doubt in my mind that we would go. A fundraiser? Combined with ice cream? Really, the only thing that would have made it any better would have been for Brad Pitt to personally scoop up my Rocky Road,then feed it to me with a little silver spoon. Naked. (Him, not me.)

So the kids and I had ice cream for dinner that night, then I let them run off the sugar high at soccer and baseball practice.




I made a point of letting the CSC manager know we were a wish family and thanking him for having the fundraiser. I also thanked the two MAW interns who were there passing out flyers and told them how wonderful GKTW is. I also told the CSC cashier that we had gone on a wish trip and that I wanted to donate, when I purchased the “star” to put on the wall and show our contribution.








By the end of the visit, everyone in Cold Stone thought I was a lunatic. A lunatic with a camera. A lunatic with a camera who never shut up.

I suppose they’re probably right. But if I could figure out a way to get those calories out of the ice cream, I’d be the genius blabbermouth lunatic who had the last laugh, wouldn’t I? Of course, it would help if I could stay awake past 8:30 pm.

BAD NEWS FOR SAMMY

Conversation overheard on the way to Kellen’s baseball practice last night:

Kellen: “I love baseball. I want to play with Sammy Sosa sometime.”

Brayden: “Who’s that?”

Kellen: “You know, a real ball player. Like Barry Bonds. I want to play baseball with one of them.”

Brayden: “Kellen, first you have to go to middle school. Then high school. Then college. And grow up. Then by the time you are old enough to play, that Sammy guy will BE. DEAD.”

Poor Sammy. I don’t know where these kids come up with this stuff, but it doesn’t sound too hopeful for *him*, does it?

LITTLE KNOWN LATE TERM EFFECTS

There are many late term effects from chemo and radiation for which cancer-kids have to watch once treatment ends. Apparently, the most prevalent for Kendrie appears to be: extreme un-coordination. **

After tripping over her own feet at soccer practice tonight and poking herself in the eye, her coach thought she had gotten dirt in her eye so he poured water over her face to try and wash it out. She came over to where I was sitting on the sidelines to get a Kleenex to dry off her face, and asked me, in the most pitiful voice possible, “Why did God give us fingers, if he knew we were just going to poke ourselves in the eye with them????”

Well, honey, I’m not sure. But I’ll put that question on my list for someday when I see him, right behind questioning him about war and famine …. Why, oh why, must we have fingers?

**If you think I’m going to admit fault in this situation, you’re crazy. My nickname in high school might have been “Klutz”, but my genetics and DNA will NOT be taking the blame for HER lack of coordination. I’m blaming chemo, and nothing you say can change my mind!

PS. Thanks to all of you who ate at your local Chili’s for lunch or dinner yesterday. The kids and I met friends there for dinner and had a really nice time. And I would like to publicly say THANK YOU to the anonymous person who bought our dinner for us. {I think it was you, kind lady in the lavender scrubs who recognized Kendrie and came to the table and said hello, although the waiter wouldn’t tell us, so I can’t be sure!} You probably didn’t know this, but the other little girl at our table (Haley from middle Georgia) was a fellow cancer patient as well, recovered several years from treatment for Wilms Tumor ….. so your picking up the tab was a kindness to both of our cancer families, and we really appreciated it!! I know St. Judes did, too! But I still would have liked to say thank you in person!

PSS. Don’t forget that Thursday is a fundraiser day for the Make-A-Wish Organization at Cold Stone Creamery ..... eating ice cream is a sacrifice that I guess I’ll just *have* to make …. for the good of the children .... (sigh)

MANIC MONDAY

My kids love school; they really, truly, do. They just don’t like getting out of bed in the morning. Especially Monday morning. No matter how much rest they’ve gotten over the weekend, how much relaxation and fun we’ve had, they’re never ready for Monday morning. They let me know this in various ways, such as moaning when I wake them up, rolling over and burying their faces under the covers.

Kellen and Brayden normally only need one reminder that it’s time to get up and start getting ready for school …. Kendrie usually makes it as far as the sofa before collapsing with fatigue, and would stay on the sofa, huddled in a blanket, complaining that “I'm cold!” or “It’s too early!” or “I’m still tired!” all day if I’d let her.

Once they get to school they’re ok, although Kendrie and I did have the following conversation this morning as I walked her to her classroom:

Kendrie: “I don’t want to go to school!”

Kristie: “You’re just grumpy because it’s Monday. You should go to bed earlier on Sunday night.”

Kendrie: “No, I really don’t want to go to school!”

Kristie: “Why not? You love school.”

Kendrie: “Yes, but it takes too long! It takes up my whole day!”

Kristie: “Well, just be glad you don’t go to school in China or Japan or any of those places. Those kids have to go to school from 8 in the morning until 5 at night, like a real job. They stay MUCH longer at school than you do.” {I have no idea if this is true, but I heard it somewhere and at this point, I’m looking for anything to make this kid quit whining.}

Kendrie (in her most “well DUH, Mom!” voice): “Well, yeah, but they’re studying cool stuff -- They’re all learning how to be ninjas!”

So there you have it. The REAL reason that Mitsubishi and Sanyo and Fujifilm are such successful international companies: The ninja training of their CEO’s. Bet those guys don’t bitch about Mondays, what with all the cool ninja fighting they get to do.

WHY EAVESDROPPING NEVER PAYS OFF

So, this gym where I’ve started working out (I figure if I keep mentioning it in this journal, then I’m more likely to continue going, what with the public accountability and all, right?) is primarily a physical therapy/rehab place. Lots of older people, recovering from accidents and illness and surgeries and what not. But they also have a “wellness” program for people who are interested in getting healthier, which is what I’m doing. I had to meet with a personal trainer-type person to discuss my overall goals the first day, and then he designed a workout plan for me. For some reason, he laughed when I said “Abs and Buns of Steel” as my primary goal, so we downgraded to “better overall health and fitness”. Hmmm. Imagine that.

It’s been interesting to me this first week to go in and see some of the other people, and play the guessing game in my head about what’s wrong with them, or if they’re there for “wellness” like I am. The guy riding the reclining bike with both legs in casts? I’m guessing car accident. Stroke victims are obvious. Etc. But I like this place for that very reason --- it’s not a bunch of PYT’s in spandex making me feel bad about myself. Granted, the 80 year olds who can out-lift me and out-walk me on the treadmill, yeah, *that* makes me feel bad about myself, ha! But overall I’m very comfortable there.

I do my warm up on an elliptical, and for the record, I am the most uncoordinated person on the planet and when I fall off and break my neck, don’t be surprised. Yesterday, there was a very fit, good looking guy on the elliptical next to me. He got off and started a circuit on the machines, lifting quite a bit of weight without any apparent problems, so I thought, “Aha! Another wellness person like me.” He was working out in a t-shirt and scrub pants that had happy faces all over them. An older lady with a very LOUD VOICE on the machine next to him struck up a conversation with him, and to take my mind off my flailing limbs on the elliptical, I was eavesdropping:

Older Lady: “I like those pants you have on. Where did you get them?”

Good Looking Guy: “You can buy them at {name of local medical supply store} but I got them when I was a patient at the Burn Center.”

OL: “Oh? You were burned?”

GLG: “Yep, over 50 percent of my body”

OL: “You look really good, I can’t see any scars”

GLG: “Lots of the burns were internal”

OL: “My house burned down last January but we weren’t home. Praise Jesus for you firefighters and the wonderful work you do.”

GLG: “Oh, I wasn’t a fire-fighter”

OL: “Oh, did your own house burn down?”

GLG: “Um, yes. Sort of”

OL: “Were you sleeping? What happened?”

GLG: “Actually, I was making meth.”

She never missed a beat.

OL: “Well that fire and you getting burned was a wake up call from the Lord!”

GLG: “Yes, ma’am, it sure was”

And then, I’m still not quite sure how, she went from praising Jesus to bashing President Bush and praising President Chavez in about 60 seconds, never taking a breath, with no end in sight. GLG was like a deer in the headlights, unable to escape, and all I could think was, “Yes. This is why I must get my iPod working immediately so I can NEVER eavesdrop again.”

And with that, on to Part 2 of this journal entry: the play-list. I want half of my play-list to be upbeat music, probably dance remixes and high energy songs that will be good for working out. I want the other half to be power ballads …. You know, the kind of song that you belt out while singing along to the radio in your car, quite confident that Celine Dion has NOTHING on you, baby!

Perfect example is Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart, which if I could give you just one more peek into last week’s karaoke debacle, was sung by me, NOT as a karaoke song, but by someone else, and I “helped” with the singing from the table, using a beer bottle as a microphone, which is made funnier by the fact that not only do I not drink beer, so it wasn’t MY bottle, but the bottle was given to me by the table next to me, two couples who were obviously in awe of my awesome vocal singing ability and encouraging me in my awesomeness by giving me their bottle to sing into.

No, I don’t drink much. Why do you ask?

So, I’m asking all of you for your song ideas in those two categories: “Good Upbeat Exercise Music”, and “Songs That Everyone Is Guilty of Singing In The Mirror Using a Hairbrush {or, beer bottle} For a Microphone”.

Any suggestions?

"STAY AT HOME”, MY ASS. AND A LAZY ASS IT IS, APPARENTLY.

Today, in review:

6am: Alarm goes off, take shower, get dressed.

7am: Wake kids. Make breakfasts, help with clothes, help with hair, prepare snacks and lunches for school, continue helping with clothes and hair brushing because God forbid anyone do anything for themselves around here.

8 am: Drive kids to school, visit Book Fair with smallest child since allowance is burning a Junie B. Jones-sized hole in her pocket. Agree to help teacher with spelling project.

8:30 am: Return home. Start a load of laundry, fold a clean load of laundry. Clean bathroom, pick up living room. Put away remainder of fall decorations, pay bills.

10 am: Leave house. Make third visit in one week to newly opened Hobby Lobby store to begin shopping for Christmas presents (yes, I am that anal and begin shopping this far in advance.) Visit wellness center for first work out session complete with strength training and cardio (note to self: NO NEED to tell the internet about the geriatric who totally kicked my ass on the treadmills.) Stop by grocery store and pick up all the items our family simply cannot live without yet manage to run out of every three days: dog food, paper towels, and bananas; items which somehow manage to make mad passionate grocery-love and multiply into $94.00 worth of stuff in my cart. Make side trip to bank to wire money to title company in Oklahoma who just informed us today that they cannot accept personal checks, which is what I sent to close on a home Blaine and I are purchasing, and oh by the way we have until the close of business today to get them the money or the contract we spent an hour getting notarized and signed earlier this week will be null and void. Make quick trip to Sonic because all this running around is making me thirsty, naturally, and I can always justify my daily DDP.

1pm: Arrive back home, unload groceries and Christmas presents, put away. Fold another load of laundry. Eat dinner leftovers for lunch. Return two phone calls; pack small cooler with snacks and bottled water for kids.

2:30 pm: Leave to pick kids up from school. Make two more phone calls while waiting for them to be dismissed.

3:15 pm: Take Brayden to ceramics class across town. While driving, dispense drinks and snacks in car. During her class, while she is doing whatever it is creative types do, help Kellen and Kendrie with homework.

4:30 pm: Drive all three kids back across town for baseball practice (Kellen) and soccer practice (Kendrie) stopping for quick dinner on the way.

5:15 pm: Do the “kid-swap” with Blaine, so he can take Kellen to his practice and I can take Kendrie to hers.

6 pm: Sit through hour and a half soccer practice, working on sorting/flashcard/spelling project for Kellen’s teacher the entire time.

7:45 pm: Drive Brayden and Kendrie home from soccer practice, stopping at Burger King because Brayden has to use the restroom and swears she simply CANNOT make it home first.

8 pm: See teacher from their elementary school pull up in parking lot. Listen to numerous pleas and whining to go over and say hello to teacher. Wait a moment, notice teacher is not getting out of car. Tell children NO, that you are tired and you just want to go home.

8:03 pm: Overhear, with your little ear, your youngest child say in a petulant voice: “Yeah you’re tired, because you’re lazy and you don’t ever do anything.”

8:05 pm: Wonder how much reconstructive work I will need, after the way my head swiveled around and my eyes bugged out and the top of my head exploded like Mt. St. Helens.

OUTSIDE MY COMFORT ZONE

Sorry for the delay in updates; my mom has been here visiting and she and I have been very busy eating, running errands, eating, shopping, eating ... did I mention eating? My computer time was cut a bit short since it's difficult to type when you are double-fisting gingerbread man cookies .....

Anyway, on with the update:

Various and assorted ways in which I have stepped out of my comfort zone this past week, none of which will change the world, but might hopefully expand my tiny little corner of it:

1) At the suggestion of Heidi S in the guestbook, and because September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, I tweaked the previous journal entry, about Kendrie playing in her first soccer game, and submitted it to our local newspaper. It would be great if they would run an article (or two or three dozen) about families walking this path through the world of pediatric cancer, and bring attention to childhood cancer and survivorship issues. It made me feel a little presumptuous to send an unsolicited article to the attention of the editor, but I’d certainly be willing to promote the cause of awareness here in middle Georgia, even if things like that make me nervous. Of course, it’s been 48 hours and I haven’t received a response, but at least I know I tried. Perhaps I should send another e-mail, or even make a follow-up call ….. Mayday! Mayday! Leaning Waaayyy outside the comfort zone!

2) Also outside my comfort zone with regards to cancer, I have agreed to consider serving as a breakout speaker for a local cancer coalition conference. Not as a “cancer mom”, but as a “cancer spouse”. I have to get more details, and notice I haven’t **technically** said I would agree to speak --- I said I would agree to CONSIDER speaking. Huge difference!!! But since any form of public speaking more pronounced than placing my order into the clown’s mouth at McDonalds gives me hives, even agreeing to think about it was pretty daring for me.

3) Pimping for Chili’s. Actually, this isn’t outside my comfort zone, because promoting worthwhile causes is easy to do:

“Chili's to donate all profits from Sept. 25 to St. Jude

You can make a meal count on September 25 by dining at your local Chili's Grill & Bar. On that day, Chili's will donate 100 percent of profits to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.

This special day is part of Chili's "Create A Pepper to Fight Childhood Cancer" campaign occurring throughout September, which is also National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. During the entire month, Chili's is asking its guests to donate $1 or more for the opportunity to color a pinup of Chili's signature pepper; pinups will be displayed in restaurants for the duration of the campaign.

In addition, supporters can visit Create A Pepper to purchase Create A Pepper T-shirts that can be customized with permanent marker to fit their individual style.

Also new this year are Create A Pepper Gift Cards, which offer a means of giving to those you love while giving back. Chili’s will donate $1 to St. Jude for every $25 purchased in Create A Pepper Gift Cards, which can be customized with permanent marker or crayon.

The funds raised help ensure that the life-saving research and care provided by St. Jude can continue. For more than 40 years, St. Jude has been dedicated to finding cures and saving children with cancer ad other childhood catastrophic diseases. Its research breakthroughs have helped push overall childhood cancer survival rates from less than 20 percent in 1962 to more than 70 percent today. No family ever pays for treatments not covered by insurance, and families without insurance are never asked to pay.

So get your co-workers or your family together on September 25 for lunch or dinner at a Chili's near you. The meal you share can give kids with cancer a fighting chance.”
We’ll be eating dinner at the Chili’s in Macon that evening, and would love for any local families to join us (Denise? What do you say?) Last year’s dinner is a bittersweet memory for me. We ate with Haley and her parents and talked and visited like any normal people would. We watched our kids, sitting and playing in another booth (because all parents look forward to the day when their kids are old enough to eat OVER THERE in their own booth!) Then, Haley passed away shortly after, on the list for a liver transplant. How is that possible? We had just had dinner with them and were stunned to hear the news. Cheryl, we are thinking about your family as the anniversary of Haley’s death is coming up and send lots of comforting thoughts your way.

4) I joined a gym. Well, not really a gym, but a wellness center at a physical therapy/rehab place. Which is actually pretty funny, when you consider that the vast majority of the people exercising there are either in their 70’s, or recovering from car accidents or back or knee surgery. Neck braces, ankle braces, canes ... etc. The only magazine I saw in the waiting room was a monthly issue of AARP and I was feeling smug about how much better shape I will be in than any of those people, until I noticed the gray-haired grandma in the knee splint was bench pressing twice the amount I was. Not so cocky now, am I???

5) The final and most profound way I stepped out of my comfort zone this past week involved a karaoke machine and a bottomless pitcher of Amaretto and honestly? Should probably not be shared with the internet.

PS. Ya'll!!!! We're closing in on a cool one million in the Caringbridge guestbook; how awesome is that??? Unless you consider the amount of times my mom visits the site, and the embarrassingly large number of typos and grammatical errors I have to go back and correct. Then, not so impressive. But if you find yourself as the one-millionth hit, let me know! The only rule is: NO REFRESHING just to get it! :)

FULL CIRCLE

Three years ago, in the fall of 2003, Brayden was playing her first season of fall soccer. She was so cute, only six years old, and Blaine and I loved going to her games. She was never very aggressive (or even very talented!) but she had fun running around, getting a little fresh air and exercise, and most importantly, getting a juice box and a snack at the end of the game, and really, what else do you need in life?

Also in the fall of 2003, Kendrie started complaining that her arms and legs hurt. I remember thinking she was being lazy, or manipulative. I remember getting frustrated at her requests to be carried everywhere, or crying in her car seat that her legs were continuously falling asleep. I remember wishing that the virus her pediatrician had diagnosed her with would hurry up and run its course already so she’d quit whining. I remember saying to her, “There is nothing wrong with your legs! You are four years old now and you are too big and heavy for me to carry you all the time!” (insert big, exasperated sigh)

I clearly remember, in the fall of 2003, taking her to one of Brayden’s soccer games and her asking to be carried from the car to the field. Blaine and Kellen didn’t go with us that day, and I remember being annoyed because I had to carry the chairs and the water bottles and my keys and my camera, also, and schlepping her from the parking lot to the playing field was the LAST thing I wanted to do! I remember there was a huge dirt mound from a construction project next to the field, where Kellen and Kendrie always wanted to play during the games. Being ages just-turned-four and five, they didn’t have the attention span to patiently sit through a one-hour game. I didn't care if they got dirty, but if Brayden was playing soccer over *here* and the two of them were playing King of the Hill over *there* I couldn’t concentrate on and enjoy the game as much.

That particular Saturday, Kendrie never got out of her chair. In fact, she fell asleep at the game. I remember feeling partly grateful, because if she was napping, it would be a whole lot easier for me to enjoy Brayden's game. I remember feeling a little ashamed of my selfishness; that I was *glad* she was tired enough for a nap. And I remember thinking it was odd she would take a nap anyway … she quit napping at 18 months. But hey, I had an adorable 1st grader playing soccer and lots of picture-taking to be done, so why look a gift horse in the mouth?

All parents of kids with cancer look back after the fact to the days and weeks before diagnosis, when the warning signs, that seemed so random at the time, come into focus and we have an “AHA!” moment where it all suddenly makes sense. We wonder if we could have done anything to prevent it (NO); if anything we did or didn’t do caused it (NO AT LEAST I DON’T THINK SO); if we should have somehow realized what was happening more quickly, or if knowing would have changed anything (AGAIN, NO); and we berate ourselves for not immediately seeing what was unfolding before our eyes (HEY AT SOME POINT YOU’VE GOT TO CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK).

That day, my warning sign that something was wrong was a normally exuberant four-year old, who would rather sleep in a chair at her older sister’s soccer game than play in the dirt and pester me for grape soda and hot dogs. I put an umbrella over her so her face wouldn’t get sunburned and turned my attention back to the game. But the image of her in that chair, curled up and sleeping, with my red umbrella opened up over her, will stay burned in my mind forever. I no longer feel guilty because I didn’t see it for what it was --- a little girl whose bone marrow was filling with leukemia cells and whose normal cell production had slowed so drastically she would be critically anemic within a few days. I don’t beat myself up about it anymore, but I won’t forget it.

Yesterday, my mental storage cache had to make room for NEW images, images which make me much happier, and which fill me with joy and happiness and pride, instead of guilt and stress. Yesterday, instead of being the sick little girl asleep in the chair, Kendrie was the kid ON THE FIELD!! Playing on the same field, in the same league, in the same uniform. *SHE* got the juice box and snack at the end of the game ….. and yes, the other two still preferred wandering off to play in the dirt. But as I watched her run around (ps. running in the grass, laughing with her team-mates, enjoying the fresh air and exercise ---- coughing and hacking up A LUNG!!! … we are SO off to the pediatrician this week to see if she has allergies!) I couldn’t help but think about the fact she has come full circle. She is healthy; happy; strong.

And my fervent prayer is that she is never the kid, sleeping in the chair with an umbrella over her face again.











Because check out the difference three years makes --- Kendrie during induction, puffy, aching, fatigued, bloated from steroids, ravenous:



And check out the svelte Kendrie of today:



Because I have no idea if the waves will stay, and suspect they will be gone with the first hair cut, but I plan to enjoy them as long as I can:




And because sometimes, despite two and a half years of chemo, you run so fast you are a blur, and even *those* photos are beautiful to your mother:

HAPPY GIRL ON A FLASHBACK FRIDAY

To the millions and millions of people … ok, thousands of people ….. well, maybe hundreds ….. OK to the HALF DOZEN people who have commented that Kendrie looks just like her dad, I offer the following photographic proof that she is indeed the fruit of my loins (in case my twelve hours of labor wasn't proof enough):



Kristie and Kendrie. Both photos taken at age 3. Hmmmm, notice I am eating cake? Not much has changed in the past 37 years. Notice also the complete incongruity of my mother's faith in me and my eating skills: I am eating my birthday cake off a crystal serving plate, but forced to sit on cartoons from the newspaper so I won't spill cake crumbs all over the carpet.

Who do I think she looks like now? I don’t know for sure, but I **DO** know she is one happy girl. So take THAT, big fat poopy head cancer.

PS. Amy in the guestbook: No, I'm not six feet tall, although I wish I were so my height would (then) be appropriate for my weight, unlike the disproportionate mess I am now. The tiny pixie-fairy standing next to me is Nicholas's mom, Susan ... my short neighbor and friend ... and possible potential mother-in-law! Er, wait ... she would be *Kendrie's* MIL ... what the heck would she be to me???

Tracy in the guestbook: Thanks for the nice comment, but the sign hid the bulk of my ass and thighs. Too bad "Eating" isn't an Olympic sport ... that gold medal would have my name written all over it.

LOVE IS ….

Thanks very much to so many of you who have taken the time to write in the guestbook the past few days with your well wishes and good thoughts for Blaine. He tried reading the notes on the hotel computer but wasn’t able to get through them all …. A pretty nice problem to have. :) He’ll read every one when he gets back home and I know he appreciates them as much as I do, so again, thanks.

I *did* send him, just for the record, with a list of questions for the oncologist. Unfortunately, they were all relevant for either scenario #1: “Yippee the cancer is gone now what do we do?” or scenario #2: “Oh dear its not gone now what do we do?”. Like Chandler’s mom Kim said, Blaine and I were both expecting a declaration of NED “No Evidence of Disease” and when they tossed out the word "dormant", I think it took him a bit by surprise as well. And then the doctor started talking in that Charlie Brown-Teacher voice, “Wah, wahh, wahh” and all the questions I had written down flew right out of his brain.

He is meeting with the oral surgeon today to discuss plans for reconstruction, which he is really excited about. Kind of like the way you get excited to have a huge boil lanced off your butt ---- you know it’s going to hurt like hell while you’re doing it, but in the long run, you and your tush will feel much better. While he’s at the clinic, he is going to ask for the oncologist’s e-mail address so I can write him with my laundry list of questions. You *knew* I couldn’t just let it go, right?

And that, officially, is two and a half journal entries dedicated to Blaine and his cancer. Plenty of time, I believe, in between journal entries about me, myself, and I. Because as anyone who follows this journal can tell you ---- IT’S. ALL. ABOUT. ME. My mother should have named me Mimi.

So, with that out of the way, let’s go back to the second half of my birthday entry, which I didn’t get to write about when it was happening.

When you turn 40, Love is:



Love is pretending to believe your wife when she tells you she could really, truly, HONESTLY start working out if only she had an iPod to listen to some jamming tunes while exercising.

Even more importantly, love is not pointing out the fact that the iPod is still sitting in it’s original packaging a week later, and your chubby wife hasn’t downloaded a single song or as much as walked to the mailbox. Luckily, Blaine is polite enough not to mention these things.





Love is having a great group of girlfriends who not only invite you to lunch on your birthday, but even pick up the tab and bring you really cool presents. Hmmm. Wonder if they'd believe me if I claimed to be turning 40 again next year?????







Love is having neighborhood friends who think it will be funny to position 40 pink flamingos on your front yard, along with a “Lordy, lordy” sign. Actually, I must confess, it *was* pretty funny. :)





Love is coming to visit from OKC and bringing two dozen delicious gingerbread men from your daughter’s favorite bakery …. Cookies that your daughter makes you bring every time you visit, because she loves them so, so, so, so, so, so much, even though thanks to the new airline travel restrictions about food and water on the plane it meant you had to totally check your luggage so you could get the stupid cookies to Atlanta and then fight the crowd at baggage claim all for two dozen stupid cookies.

But evidence of the biggest, most all-encompassing love of all:



Photographic proof that I shared the cookies with my children, and didn’t even complain when they left a bunch of crumbly arms and legs, and one half of one gingerbread head, in the bag. THAT, my friends, is love.

AND THEN THERE WAS OPTION NUMBER 3.

Which I didn’t even realize was a possibility: No change.

I don’t know which is worse …. Bad news; no news; or confusing news. Well, yes, bad news would have been the worst and thankfully we didn’t get that. At least, I don’t think so. But I’m not really sure. All you tumor-veterans out there will have to explain this stupid process to me, so I can understand what today’s results mean. Because Lord knows my husband is incapable of asking the doctor the questions that **I** need him to ask. And since we were too cheap to pay for the airfare for me to go with him, after the Air Force turned down my request to accompany him on *their* dime …. I was unable to interrogate the doctor myself, so I needed for Blaine to understand my questions telepathically and relay them to the oncologist, which he failed to do. Nineteen years of marriage and the guy still can’t read my mind.

Apparently the day started off badly when they were unable to do the MRI with contrast like they wanted, because Blaine has the veins of a 7-yr old butterfly princess and no-one could get an IV going, even though “They poked me at least ten damn times and none of them worked!” So he only got one of the scans for which he was scheduled.

He had a meeting with the oncologist several hours later, and thanks to the time zone difference, it took me until after dinner tonight to get the results from him. But the oncologist had looked at the pictures, and that was his official, executive, authorized, I-went-to-medical-school diagnosis: No change.

What does that mean?????

This is the phone conversation we had. Verbatim. I swear, you will wonder how we’ve stayed married for so long.

Blaine: “So how was your day today?”

Kristie: “Knock off the chitchat and tell me what they said”

Blaine: “About the scans?” --- My hand to God, he said that. No, about the price of rice in China …. Yes you bonehead, about the scans.

Kristie: “Yes, about the scans”

Blaine: “The tumors are exactly like they were before, no change”

Kristie: “What do you mean no change? They’re supposed to be gone”

Blaine: “They’re not”

Kristie: “Well then they’re supposed to be smaller”

Blaine: “They’re not”

Kristie: “So the radiation didn’t work?”

Blaine: “I think it worked. The tumors haven’t grown.”

Kristie: “But what does that mean?”

Blaine: “It means they’re not any bigger.”

Kristie: “Yes, I’m aware of what the word ‘grown’ implies. So does that mean you still have cancer?”

Blaine: “I think it means the radiation made the cancer cells dormant”

Kristie: “So what does that mean?”

Blaine: “Dormant means it’s not growing”

Kristie: (really gritting my teeth about now) “Yes, I own a dictionary. I know the meaning of the word dormant. What does it mean with regards to your cancer? The tumors in YOUR head???”

Blaine: “I’m not sure”

Kristie: “So did the doctor say it will stay dormant?”

Blaine: “I don’t know”

Kristie: “Will it start growing again at some point?”

Blaine: “I hope not”

Kristie: “Did the doctor say this was good?”

Blaine: “Not really”

Kristie: “Did the doctor say this was bad?”

Blaine: “Not really”

Kristie: “So what happens now?”

Blaine: “I don’t know”

Kristie: “Are you going to be able to get that one test done again?”

Blaine: “The doctor didn’t mention it.”

Kristie: “Did you ask? Would it make a difference in the results?”

Blaine: “Um, no. I don't think so. I don't know.”

Kristie: “What did he say about your pain?”

Blaine: “He doesn’t know.”

Kristie: "Does he think it will get better anytime soon?"

Blaine: "He's not sure"

Kristie: “Well, what did he recommend you DO about it?”

Blaine: “See a neurosurgeon”

Kristie: “A neurosurgeon? Why a neurosurgeon? What could a neurosurgeon do?”

Blaine: “A neurosurgeon has something to do with nerves”

Kristie: “OH MY GOD I TOOK MEDICAL TERMINOLOGY IN COLLEGE I KNOW WHAT NEUROSURGEON MEANS WILL YOU JUST TELL ME WHAT CAN THEY DO TO HELP YOU??!?!?!?!?!”

Etc. Etc. Etc. Seriously, it’s a good thing we were on our cell phones because if I’d had a phone cord handy, I’d have strangled him with it.

Bottom line is this (I think): The tumors aren’t any bigger, which is good. But they’re still there. I don’t know the risk posed by dormant tumors. How often do they stay dormant? Can they stay dormant forever? Since they’re not smaller, they don’t plan to operate. Unless they grow larger, I don’t think we do anything. The oncologist wants to see Blaine in four months for repeat scans. And he gave him the go-ahead to meet with the oral surgeon on Thursday to discuss continuing the reconstruction work.

So overall, I guess its good news.

Isn’t it? Is it? Why did four weeks of radiation not eradicate the tumors? Or even shrink them? Is a dormant tumor no more threatening than any other non-malignant tumor? Are they just like fatty tumors now, in his head? Are there still cancer cells there? What might trigger them to become active again? Will the tumor shrink on its own? Why the hell do I mis-type tumor as tumour every single time I type the damn word?!?!?!?!?!

I’m sorry if I’m coming across as frustrated. I’m grateful they’ve not grown. Really. I am. But I had every intention of sitting here tonight, updating you with the fabulous news that they were GONE. I had already picked out the celebratory song I was going to put up on the site. Instead, we’re back to Seal’s “Crazy” because that’s my permanent state of mind these days.

His head is not the one I’m worried about anymore. It’s mine. It’s going to explode. Although since my brain is so tiny and confused, it probably won’t make that big of a mess.

The Truth About Cats and Dogs.

And Turtles and Frogs.

And the big fat lump of cancer in Blaine's head, which doesn't rhyme with anything.

Excerpt from our 2005 Annual Family Christmas Letter:

“Blaine and I finally traveled to Seattle for his major reconstructive surgery (two YEARS after he was originally diagnosed) UP; Blaine contracted a staph infection after the surgery and had to have six weeks of self-administered IV antibiotics, and two additional surgeries to clean up his leg, DOWN. The Seattle surgery wasn’t a complete success, DOWN; so he traveled to Augusta for corrective surgery this fall, UP. *That* surgery wasn’t successful, either, DOWN; but his doctors reassure us they can fix everything in the spring (Perhaps back out to Seattle we will go --- we’re still hoping for an UP ending to this whole saga!)

And with regard to his ongoing, never-ending reconstructive process, well, seriously, I figure it should culminate with the doctors finishing everything, and him finally getting a full set of teeth, about the age of 92, just in time for them to yank them out and give him dentures. Funny how “getting rid of his cancer” wound up being the easiest, least-stressful part of this whole process.”

And with teeth like a piranha, **that** final sentence came around to bite us firmly on the butt when we found out, just six weeks later, that the cancer was back.

The doctors hoped to remove it surgically this past spring, but there were two tumors; one diffused throughout his cheek, and one extremely close to his carotid artery; neither of which could be operated on. So they sent him back to Seattle for four weeks of a relatively new type of treatment, neutron beam radiation.

I remember back in high school, my sister Kelly had one of those personal-size suntan lamps you could use at home. A girlfriend of mine borrowed it and held it too close to her neck for too long and burned the ever-loving crap out of herself. Seriously, it’s a miracle she’s not scarred for life.

Blaine’s face and neck looked just like that when he came home from Seattle this past May. And if the OUTSIDE of his head looked like a lobster that had been left in boiling water too long, with the intensity of a thousand burning suns and a magnifying glass pointed right at him, I could only imagine how the INSIDE of his mouth, throat, sinuses, and neck must have felt. Raw hamburger meat, anyone?

His salivary glands were zapped and he can no longer produce saliva. Sucks if you’re trying to whistle. Or wet your lips. Or eat. Or swallow. Or sleep. Or breathe. He suffered at least a 10 percent permanent hearing loss. We’re hopeful that when he gets new tubes in his ears (what is he, four years old?) that he’ll be able to hear a little better. And then they’ll re-test him to see if it’s actually more than 10 percent, which I think it is, that or he’s perfected the art of ignoring me and pretending he just can’t hear what I’m saying, especially if I want to discuss anything earth-shattering like whether or not my new black dress makes my thighs look big or if he thinks Kate Hudson really left Chris Robinson for Owen Wilson. You know, important things like that. Any kind of spice or seasoning in his food or drinks had him reeling in pain. He pretty much lived on oatmeal and non-seasoned mashed potatoes for months. No coffee or soda, which was basically hell on earth in his opinion. His teeth are falling apart, a common after-effect of the radiation, but especially maddening to someone whose only goal in life the past three years has been to ACQUIRE teeth. The bald spot on the back of his head still hasn’t grown any hair. Ad nauseaum.

It’s been four months. We were told it takes four months for the full effects, and the success or failure, of the radiation to be known. I remember when he came home …. I thought four months sounded like a long time away. I thought things would be better by then. Things *are* better. They are still not great.

When he first came home he couldn’t sleep more than an hour at a stretch due to pain. Now he’s up to three or four hours in a row … but that’s all the sleep he gets at night. He’s exhausted. When he first came home, he would nap during the day because he was getting so little sleep at night. Then he started working half-days. Now he’s up to not-quite-full days. But at least he’s able to work. He still can’t have anything spicier than salt in his food, and he’s lost almost fifteen pounds, but he avoided a feeding tube, and best of all, he can drink coffee once again. He hasn’t had a beer in almost two years. Not that he was ever a big drinker, but it’s a little insulting to someone who named his dogs Fosters and Lager, that it’s painful to drink a beer.

Surprisingly, he is not bitter. I have never heard him ask, “Why me?” His faith is stronger than it has ever been. But he is discouraged. And tired. It has affected his self-esteem, his self-image, his psyche. It completely and totally de-railed his military career. It has affected his relationships with friends. With family. With me. Sometimes in a good way; sometimes not.

I admit to feeling frustrated. And a bit cheated. Ever since Kellen was born, one thing Blaine had looked forward to doing, as a previous baseball player himself, was coaching Kellen’s baseball teams. We couldn’t wait for t-ball; those adorable little kids with bats bigger than they are, hitting the ball and then running the bases backwards, or missing the balls in the outfield because they are too busy digging in the dirt. Blaine didn’t get to coach Kellen’s first year of t-ball in 2003; he had just been diagnosed with cancer and was recovering from his major resection surgery. Blaine didn’t get to coach Kellen’s second year of t-ball in 2004; Kendrie had been diagnosed and we didn’t feel he should commit to the responsibilities of being a coach with her still in the thick of harsh treatment. Blaine didn’t get to coach Kellen’s first year of coach-pitch in 2005; he was in Seattle having his free-flap procedure done, and all the lousy stuff that went along with that. Blaine didn’t get to coach Kellen’s second year of coach-pitch in 2006, he had just found out his cancer had returned and he was preparing for another surgery to have it removed, and then preparing for radiation when the surgery wasn’t successful.

Tonight, as I sat through Kellen’s first game of kid-pitch fall ball, I checked my watch to see if Blaine’s plane had landed yet in Seattle. He is returning for his four-month scans …. This week we find out if it worked. Once again, Blaine is not coaching.

Three and a half years since his original diagnosis. Remind me to tell you the story sometime of how he told me he had cancer. Funny, actually. But three and a half years …. I know people who don’t keep cars, houses, or jobs that long. It’s longer than some marriages last. He hasn't caught a break yet.

Best case scenario is the radiation got rid of all the cancer …. Then he can continue with the reconstruction work that was derailed when the cancer came back. It will be another big surgery in Seattle to fix the holes in this head (I know, that sounds so insensitive, but how else do I explain it?) and then give him some teeth. But maybe, just maybe, he could consider himself on the road to recovery at that point. Second best case scenario is that if the cancer isn’t all gone, it is at least shrunk enough that what is left can be removed surgically. Then the reconstruction would be pushed back -- again.

He just wants to finish. He wants to be done. Cancer-free. With a normal (or as close to normal as they can get) oral cavity. With teeth. With no holes in the roof of his mouth, so when he eats, food won’t come out his nose. One night he blew his nose and a piece of metal came out of it. If I hadn’t been so busy laughing I would have been totally grossed out. He would like to eat normal food. Drink a beer. Have teeth so he can feel comfortable smiling. Have normal speech patterns again. Sleep through the night. Get off the painkillers.

Coach his son’s baseball team.

Please pray for clear scan results tomorrow.

BUT I DON’T *FEEL* LIKE A HERO. AND I’M CERTAINLY NOT QUIET.

I was fortunate to attend the 2nd Annual Quiet Heroes Luncheon in Atlanta yesterday, honoring the mothers (and some fathers, too) of children with cancer, and serving as a fundraiser for two worthwhile organizations, CURE Childhood Cancer and CureSearch. And much like I looked around earlier this week at other 40-yr olds, and thought, “Well, sure, THAT person is a grown up, but I’m not” I found myself looking around the room yesterday at the luncheon, gazing at the other pediatric cancer moms I’ve gotten to know these past three years, thinking to myself, “Well, sure, they are heroes, but I’m not!”

I had a wonderful time, re-connecting with women I hadn’t seen in a while, visiting with and meeting some of the dozens and dozens of volunteers who worked so hard to make this event possible, enjoying a wonderful lunch, silent auction, and listening to speakers that I enjoyed thoroughly. My mom is here visiting, so I was able to take her as my guest, and it was a lovely girls’ day out. Getting dressed up, fancy desserts, and waiters who pour your salad dressing from a silver gravy bowl with a cloth napkin draped over their arm ….. sure beats taking my kids for a Happy Meal at McDonalds!

The Quiet Heroes tribute is the brainchild of Chris Glavine, wife of professional baseball player Tom Glavine, and Kristin Connor, executive director of CURE Childhood Cancer --- more importantly, Kristin is a personal friend of mine. MOST importantly, she is mom to Brandon, a neuroblastoma survivor, and his brother Ryan.

I could go on and on about how inspiring this luncheon is for cancer moms, and how connected I feel to the other women who come from all over the state --and the country -- for this event. In addition, it raised over $100,000 for pediatric cancer research last year, and sold out again this year, hopefully raising even more. I know Kristin would say it’s not about the money, but I’m sure every mom there, in addition to appreciating the work and effort that went into the event, also appreciates anything that will further the cause of finding and funding a cure. So a big thank you to the hundreds of people and businesses who donated silent auction items, and sponsored the event. Most of all, thank you to Chris and Kristin for all their hard work.

The keynote speaker for the day was Allison Clarke, Executive Director and Founder of Flashes of Hope, and mom to Quinn, a rhabdomyosarcoma survivor. Flashes of Hope is an amazing organization and I hope Allison and all her directors, photographers, makeup artists, and volunteers know how very grateful we are for their work. The photo-quad of pictures of Kendrie and I on this site was taken by Flashes of Hope at Scottish Rite. They have photo shoots in cancer clinics all over the country and you can visit their website to see if they’re coming to your clinic anytime soon. You can also visit their website to learn more about this fabulous organization and how you can help by making a donation (all photos are provided to families free of charge). I guarantee if you have pictures taken of you and your child, or even just your child, you will have a fun time, and will receive beautiful keepsakes to treasure always. I’m still simply glad that on the day Flashes of Hope was at **our** clinic, I had actually gotten up that morning and “dressed” before going out. I’ve shown up at the clinic in sweat pants, with no make up and my hair in a pony tail, more times than I can count!

But hands down, the best part of the day was spending time with the moms I’ve gotten to know. It’s odd, that I could feel such a connection to women that I only see once or twice a year. These are ladies that I would never have met otherwise, and we don’t live near enough to one another to visit on a regular basis, yet when I talk about them, it’s always, “My friend this” and “My friend that”. I truly consider these women friends and care about what happens to their kids, just like I know they care about Kendrie. It’s a warped, demented little sorority, but I’m so grateful to be a part of it.

To "Gentle Reminder" in my guestbook:

So many thoughts on how to respond; so little time.

Thought #1: If you are correct, and I offended anyone with the contents of my “Birthday Bitching” post, I’m truly sorry. I have to assume you don’t read this site regularly, or you would know that my self-deprecating sense of what (I hope) passes for humor is the norm here …. but it is never intentionally hurtful or insensitive or disrespectful. I would be crushed to think I had insulted the families of Haley, Jay, Cameron, Marcus, Clare, or anyone else I “know” through Caringbridge and consider a friend. If I did, I’m genuinely, truly sorry.

Thought #2: You bring up a valid point …. Caringbridge is a service provided for families in need. Another reason I assume you don’t read my journal regularly is that if you did, you would know that I’ve mentioned several times in the past month or so leaving Caringbridge and moving my journal to a more traditional “blogger” platform. However, although I don’t mention it much, my family is still in “need” thanks to Blaine and his stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid times infinity head and neck cancer (see Thought #3) and so I’ve decided to stay here a while longer. And, while I don’t want to give anything away prematurely, I’m collaborating on a writing project with someone that I hope will be beneficial to the CB community and eventually allow me to give back some of the kindness that has been shown to me and my family.

Thought #3: Cancer sucks. I could tell you about the half hour I spent with Kendrie and her ONCOLOGIST yesterday, talking about LATE TERM EFFECTS of her CHEMOTHERAPY regimen, and RELAPSE SIGNS of LEUKEMIA but that’s not too cheerful. I had an entire journal entry ready to go about Blaine, and how he’s feeling, and what is happening for him next week, because people have been kind enough to ask in the guestbook. I could write about how he hasn’t slept through a single night in the past four months due to the extreme burning and pain from the radiation. How he wakes up at midnight, or 2am, or 4am, and has to sit on the side of the bed for ten minutes before he can even get up and walk, and then he spends hours sitting on the sofa all night waiting for his pain meds to work so he can go back to sleep. Or about the frustration he feels about not being able to go outside and play with his kids because the heat and humidity wreck his sinuses and he’s so fatigued and exhausted and depressed all the time. But then I wonder if griping about the crappy parts of our life would be better or worse than poking fun at the good parts of our life, which thankfully, the latter outnumbers the former. Crappy = bad. Funny = good. At least to an insensitive person like me. And then I think about how you can’t please all the people all the time. And then I think about why do I care what you think, anyway?

Thought #5: {{{{{ internet raspberry to you }}}}}

Thought #6: You’re not the boss of me.

Thought #7: The beauty of Caringbridge is that it’s a VOLUNTARY community, meaning I VOLUNTEER to write about my life and you can VOLUNTEER not to read it.

Thought #8: Wow, that was really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really immature of me to say. But it made me feel better. And that’s all that matters here in Kristie-ville. Me, feeling better, about myself. Well, I’ve got to go. I’m a very busy person, you know, with lots of things to do. Like knock some blind, crippled people over, or flatten the tires on some wheelchairs. (Oh, shoot. Now I’m being all disrespectful again.)

Although, in all seriousness, see Thought #1.

Can You Guess What Day It Is?

Well, can you guess what day it is? Can you? Do you need a hint? Do you maybe need FORTY of them????

On a side note, thanks to those of you who reminded me that I *can* purchase the Jon Almett CD online, directly from his website. I tried to find it at iTunes and when it wasn’t there, I panicked a bit. Because I didn’t remember the very website I had recommended to others, so many times. Nope, not a clue.

They say the mind is the first thing to go.

The body is running a close second.

I have an appointment for my “annual” exam next week and decided since I’m getting so old and decrepit turning 40, I would go ahead and meet with my new, extremely-good-looking-according-to-Blaine physician for a whole physical, head to toe. I can’t even remember the last time I had a physical. Ten years??? So I grabbed a post it sticky-note and started jotting down things I wanted to ask him about. I’ve now graduated to a full-length sheet of notebook paper.

I am flat-dab falling apart.

The funeral music is appropriate, no?

So I will go next week and bombard the doctor with a laundry list of things that are wrong with me. Because that’s what old people do. We complain about our health a lot. And gripe about the cost of everything. And wonder what the hell is wrong with young people these days. And knit. And tell anyone who'll listen that "this crap isn't music!" And start lots of sentences with, "Well, back in MY day ..........." And reminisce about the past. And tell my kids about having to walk to and from school, uphill both ways, in the snow, in my bare feet because we couldn’t afford shoes. Then, and only then, when I’m done doing all that, I’ll make Blaine take me to dinner at Luby’s at 3pm.

Speaking of Blaine, when I woke up this morning, I said to him, “Let the mocking begin. You are married to an old lady.” He replied, “Don’t feel bad, honey, 40’s not old.” At the look on my face, he said earnestly, “Really! It’s not so bad.” “Oh really?” I said, “You got cancer when you were 40”. “No,” he responded, “I got cancer when I was 38. When I turned 40 I got bifocals, high blood pressure medication, and had hernia surgery.”

OK. Good. That makes me feel a lot better.

Well, I should go now, and fix myself some Cream of Wheat for breakfast. And complain about my rheumatism to someone. And have you seen how much a pound of hamburger meat costs nowadays????

Ack. There’s no hope.

EIGHT STEPS TO A QUASI-SUCCESSFUL BIRTHDAY:

1. Take birthday child to restaurant of her choice, which is Steak & Shake this year. Make all three children pose for cheesy photos, until birthday girl is totally distracted by arrival of "hottie" at next table.




2. Continue making kids pose for photos, threatening to withhold cake and ice cream if they don't cooperate.






3. Feel relief that you found a box of candles in the cupboard, since you remembered the cake, icing and sprinkles, but forgot the candles. Laugh when you remember conversation you had with birthday girl's brother earlier in the week:

Kellen: What kind of cake is Kendrie getting?

Kristie: Chocolate with chocolate frosting. That's what she picked.

Kellen: But what kind? Spiderman? Superman? What kind?

Kristie: No kind. I'm making it myself. Plain chocolate cake.

Kellen: But WHAT SHAPE is it going to be in???

Kristie: The shape of my 13x9 pan, you doofus.




4. Feel resigned when the birthday child effectively ends family time by insisting she eat her birthday cake in the living room so she can watch her new dvd of "Cheaper by the Dozen 2" at the same time.





5. Feel happiness as you admire the joy on the face of birthday girl as she poses with new bicycle that she loves more than anything on this earth. Truly, you couldn't have picked a better, more perfect gift.




6. Feel some concern when you realize you have maybe, just possibly bought the wrong size bike .... considering birthday girl can't touch the ground or stop herself without falling over or running into the back of Blaine's truck.





7. Feel relief that you've married a relatively handy man who can remove reflector off back of bike and lower the seat another two inches.






8. Feel extreme guilt when you discover even the extra two inches isn't enough, and you have to face the disappointment from birthday girl that the greatest bike on earth is going to have to go back to the store.

Photo Not Available:

Spend last hour of the evening at Toys 'R Us, letting birthday girl ride every bike up and down the aisle until she finds one that is even MORE perfect than the one before. Thank heavens -- that was a near disaster, averted.