A difficult decision

And no, it’s not a post about the merits of chocolate chip vs macadamia nut, although I have given the topic serious deliberation at times in my life …..

Most of you that read on this site know that I have been a surrogate in the past. Three times, in fact. The first time, delivering a baby girl in May of 2002, was an incredible blessing for me. I knew before I was even half way done with the pregnancy that I wanted to do it again. I chronicled that journey here on this site and it was, without a doubt, one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

The second time, in Aug of 2003, I delivered twin boys for another wonderful couple. That experience, also, was a joyful, blessed event for me, even if it did leave me stretch marks on my stretch marks. It always cracks me up when people comment on what a “giving” thing it is for me to do …. When really, the happiness and fulfillment these families give me, by allowing me to share this miracle with them, is almost impossible to put into words. Again, I knew I wanted to repeat my surrogate experience, before I had even delivered the twins, and couldn’t wait to get started on my third journey.

Odd as it might sound, surrogacy is addicting. I mean, what greater adrenaline rush can there be than helping form families by bringing babies into the world? Not everyone can do it … not everyone even remotely WANTS to do it. But for me, those experiences have been second only to the happiness my own children bring me.

Six weeks after the twins were born, Kendrie was diagnosed with leukemia, and all surrogacy plans were put on indefinite hold. I waited a year and half before even considering starting again, and only then with the total and complete blessing of her oncologist. It took seven months, from the time I met my couple, until the day we found out we were expecting. At that point, Kendrie was only a few months from finishing her treatment, and the pregnancy went along smoothly. A 10 pound, 2 ounce, bouncing baby boy was the result in May of 2006. (I mention his weight every chance I get because holy Stromboli, that was one big baby I pushed out of my bagina!!)

And even then, after that delivery, I still didn’t feel …. Done. Finished. Like I was *through* with surrogacy. I was healthy, I had easy pregnancies, and I love it so much, why not do it as many times as I’m able? So I was very excited to start on my fourth surrogacy attempt, a sibling project with the twins’ parents. They had frozen embryos left from when we got pregnant with the boys, and after the high-caliber success of that journey, we just knew we would be pregnant in no time.

We did our legal work, medical testing, psych testing, etc, and were excited for our first transfer last fall. I didn’t really mention on this blog about the fact we had what is called a blighted ovum (a sac that attaches to the uterine wall, but then doesn’t grow anything in it) and subsequent miscarriage. I had never had a miscarriage in my life, and naturally, we were all very sad. It’s a fact of life, however, in the world of artificial reproduction, that not every attempt will work, every time. So we chalked it up to unfortunate statistics, and geared up for round two. Except, well, about then is when we moved to OKC, then the fertility clinic closed down for the holidays last year. So it wasn’t until early this past spring we were able to try again. Much to our delight, the transfer went as planned, the pregnancy tests were positive and the first ultrasound showed a perfect looking sac. Then, to our dismay, another miscarriage a week or so later.

Lots and lots and lots of testing later, it was suggested by the fertility doctor that my couple try their last remaining embryos with a different surrogate. I won’t lie, I was hurt by her recommendation. And baffled. I’ve been a surrogate three times … and carried twins for this very couple …. How could I suddenly be unqualified to be their surrogate??

I consider this couple to be friends, and have seen first-hand what wonderful parents they are. Of course I want it to work for them, and wish them only the best as they follow the doctor’s advice and try again with a new surrogate.

But still …. Ouch.

I talked to my own doctor about whether in his opinion I was a suitable candidate to carry again …. He said I was. I talked to Blaine about whether I wanted to try it again, starting from scratch with a new couple, or if I should take the doctor’s comments to heart and consider myself “unfit”. He said (spineless jelly fish that he is) that whatever I wanted to do was fine. If I want to try again, he knows how much it means to me and he’ll support that. If I don’t want to try again, that it’s ok to stop and be grateful for the three families I’ve been able to help.

The thing is, I still don’t feel done. I truly believe in my heart that I have the physical and emotional capacity to help another family with their miracle. And after three successful journeys, I certainly don’t want to end on such a negative note. But, it’s time to be realistic, as well.

I doubt everyone realizes the work that goes into being a surrogate. It’s not just that you decide to do it, have a few doctor’s appointment, and BAM! Nine months later a baby pops out.

It’s months and months and potentially even more months of legal contracts and medical testing and practice runs and scheduling issues before you even get to transfer. I would say on average, it’s six months to a year of “prep” work to get there. Then, every time a transfer is unsuccessful, it’s another two or three months before you can try again. Every miscarriage can add several months. And of course, don’t forget the nine months of actual pregnancy. It’s a very exciting, very thrilling, very frustrating period of hurry up and wait. Wait to find the perfect couple, wait on the lawyers, wait to get your appointments, wait to take your tests, wait to get test results, wait to get approval, wait to get your meds, wait to see if everyone is responding to meds properly, wait to see how the egg retrieval goes, wait to see if the embryos thaw properly, wait to see if you’re pregnant, wait to see if the pregnancy sticks ….. And when it works … when everything little piece of the puzzle finally fits together and the stars and planets align and CLICK, a baby is the end result ---- and you get to be present when the baby is handed to his parents for the very first time, and they look at his beautiful face, and then look over and thank you for helping make it happen ---- it’s one of the most magical things on earth.

See why I would want to do it over and over and over?

The thing is, though, that entire time … through all that waiting …. You are at the mercy of someone else’s schedule. The doctors, the clinics, your couple, the egg donors, your own body, etc. Sometimes you have to drop everything and be free to travel; sometimes you are not ALLOWED to travel. You are not allowed to leave the country at all, and not allowed to leave the state in the third trimester. Since we have a cruise planned for next summer, I knew I would have to wait until after that trip before I could try and get pregnant again.

But I had decided that yes, I did want to try again. I just couldn’t shake the feeling of how much I want to be a part of one more miracle. I’m capable … I’m willing …. I’m RIGHT HERE, let’s have another baby for someone!

Then earlier this month I went to Outdoor School with Kellen. That’s something I couldn’t have done if I’d been pregnant … too physical. And I commented to one of the teachers, who has a son the same age as Kellen and a daughter the same age as Kendrie, that in only two more years we’ll get to come back to Outdoor School with our girls. And she reminded me that before that, our boys will take a trip to Florida with the school next year, and we can go as chaperones. And my first thought was, “Ohhhh, fun!” And my second thought was, “Oh, wait, what if I’m pregnant and can’t leave the state?”

So I came home from Outdoor School and sat down with a calendar. And planned out every potential overnight trip or family vacation or school trip for the next three years, that could NOT be done pregnant.

With my first couple, it was eighteen months, start to finish, from the time I first met them until I delivered. My second surrogate journey happened at the speed of lightning, but still, it was almost a year from start to finish. My third journey was again, eighteen months. Since there is no promise that things will run according to schedule, and no guarantee that you will get pregnant on the first attempt, you have to be honest about your time table and what you can and cannot do.

And I was a little stunned, and a lot discouraged, to realize there is no block of time for me in the next three years where I can make it happen, without giving up something with my family. Postponing a vacation, or NOT going on a school trip as a chaperone.

I’ve missed a lot through the years, as a surrogate. I’ve missed baseball games and soccer games and holiday parties at school and birthday parties. And I didn’t mind …. When my kids were younger, those activities happened often enough that missing one or two wasn’t the end of the world. I missed getting to be with Blaine when he got radiation in Seattle because of a surrogacy … both when I was pregnant and not allowed to leave the state of Georgia, and after I delivered, when an epidural headache had me flat on my back and unable to board an airplane. And certainly, Blaine is a big boy and he survived without me. But still.

And, as my kids get older, I see these opportunities to be an active part of their lives coming along, and I don’t want to miss out. I want to take them out of the country on a cruise … I want to take them RV’ing to the Grand Canyon …. I want to take them to see Niagara Falls … I want to be able to go to Florida with Kellen, and Outdoor School with Kendrie, and wherever Brayden winds up going as well. I want to be able to do all those things without planning it around a very-temporary and precarious pregnancy calendar, that potentially can stretch out for a year … or year and a half … or even two years or more, depending on how things go.

Blaine’s cancer coming back again has reminded me that I need to be fully present for my kids. Chasing after toddlers while pregnant --- although tiring --- is doable. Chasing after pre-teens, when you want to go with them places, and travel --- is not as doable. Nobody is guaranteed tomorrow, and blah-blah-sappy-sappy-stuff about making the most of today. Me being pregnant -- getting pregnant – recovering from being pregnant – wasn’t that big of a deal when they were little and **I** was the boss of their schedules. But they are older now, and if I have to choose ……COULD I make it work? Probably. Could I make it work and be fully present in everything I want? Realistically, no. I think, unless I am willing to give up something with my family, that it’s time to let go of my dream of being a surrogate again.

Even if my heart breaks a little bit every time I imagine never doing it again.

What did you say again???

The other day, Kendrie brought home from school two little paper dolls ... or something .... that they used for a math game ... I think. I wasn't really sure ... she was just talking and talking ..... Obviously, I was paying very close attention when she emptied her bookbag and showed me.

A few minutes later, as I stood in the kitchen making dinner, she sat at the table behind me, playing with the dolls.

I heard the following words come out of her mouth: "You are total sexy, and fine!"

My head swiveled around .... "WHAT did you just say????"

She looked up at me, the picture of innocence, and replied, "Twenty-six, and five. The numbers on my math dolls."

I looked more closely, and sure enough, those numbers were written on the dolls.

Oh ... um.... never mind. My bad.

Proud Parenting Moment

"You're all ungrateful little brats and I'm sick of it!"

In the car.

On the way TO CHURCH.

Dear Landon,

Have I mentioned how much you totally rock?



This was your first year to play football -- ever -- and I've got to admit, when your mom told me you were going to play, my first thought was, "Hmmmm. Really? Landon???"

Not because you don't like sports --- you do. And not because you're not athletic --- you are. I've certainly watched enough of your baseball and basketball games this past year to know you were physically capable of playing.



It was more your temperament that had me a little surprised you wanted to play football. I mean, you're a great kid, no question about it .... but you're sort of laid back. Quiet. Some would even call you shy or reticent.

Apparently, those traits fall FAR by the wayside on the football field, and I shouldn't have worried at all. I mean, what happened to the kid who doesn't have a mean bone in his body? Who gently collects every lizard and spider he catches as a pet? Who rarely speaks up, or has never voiced an opinion in front of me? You know, "The Quiet One", as I always called you .....


Look at you ... you're all up in his grill.


And all up in *his* grill ....



And all, "dude, if I catch you, I'm going to totally be up in **your** grill" ...



And then all, "no way are you getting up in MY grill" ....

I mean, you came alive on the football field this year. Who knew??? But I'm so very proud of you, and am thrilled you found yet another sport you enjoy.



You rock, little man, and Aunt Kristie loves you for it.

Julie

To the Julie that left a comment about what to do in bricktown with kids .... please either e-mail me (kristieokc@cox.net) or leave *your* e-mail address in the comments section so I can respond to you ... I do have some suggestions!

Dear Dalton,

Have I mentioned how much you totally rock?



This was your second year of middle school football ... the first year where your team actually played games against other schools.



You're not the tallest boy on the team, obviously. You're also not the heaviest.

You might, however, be the one who is enjoying himself most.



You are always -- ALWAYS -- excited for practice, and games, and give it 150 percent. Even the coaches say you are an ideal player .... Twelve years old, and 72 pounds of pure heart.



Never giving up, never quitting, never complaining. Which is good, considering it was sort of a rough season for you boys. But I admired your attitude and perseverance.



I also admired how you were always willing to do whatever the coaches asked you to do .... whether that was play defense, trying to take down boys much larger than you (thank goodness you're so speedy!) or play offense, hoping for that touchdown pass to come your way ....



Mainly, I admired that after last night's game ... the last of the season ... even though your team got creamed, you came off the field and said simply, "That was fun; I just love playing." The size of your attitude is what matters, dude, and yours is without a doubt big enough that it will take you places.

You rock, little man, and Aunt Kristie loves you for it.



PS. You look awfully cute in your uniform, too, but I would never embarrass you by saying that out loud.

I can't believe I'm going to tell you this ....

Yesterday, I was putting on a pair of jeans and thought I should depress myself further by looking at my rear in the mirror. You know the trick, right? You stand with your back to your "big" mirror, then hold a hand-mirror strategically over your shoulder so you can get the full view. Which is an unfortunate thing to do, and every time I do it I think "holy cow, my butt is even bigger than before" (or, as I was told by a professional yesterday, I have the genetic tendency to gain weight in unfortunate places .... um, thanks???)

So anyway, I was doing the whole backwards-mirror-depressing thing when suddenly I noticed a spot on my elbow. Sort of like a bruise, or an indention ... or maybe a deformity. And I (honest to Pete, I so totally did this) laid the mirror down on the bathroom counter and tried to look at my elbow by twisting my arm around. Did you know it is pretty much impossible to actually LOOK at your own elbow? But because I had forgotten that, I (again, no lie) starting turning around in circles, like a dog chasing my tail, trying to see whatever calamity had befallen my poor elbow.

Finally I realized how idiotic I looked, and that it was never going to work, so I grabbed the handmirror, and came to the conclusion that my "deformity" was nothing more than a crease from where I had been leaning my lower arms on the hard plastic armrests of my computer chair.

And after I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn't have elbow-cancer or anything, the thought that honest-to-goodness went through my head was, "I'm so glad nobody saw me do that."

Famous last words, right?

Later in the day I stopped at our local grocery store to pick up .... I don't even remember what. And as I walked from my car to the front doors, I glanced up and noticed my reflection. And as I walked right up to the entrance door, I got a *really* good look at the saddlebags on my thighs.

No lie, I sort of paused right there, a foot from the front door, in shock at how big my thighs are. (That's the part of our bodies we call saddlebags, yes? The poochy-out part of our upper, outer legs .... right?) So without even thinking about it I sort of slapped my upper thigh, and then shook it around a little bit, and said to myself in the reflecting door ... "My gosh, has my metabolism completely stopped??? .... and shook my head in disgust and walked into the store .....

where Kendrie's little friend Matt and his dad were in the check-out line right in front of the door, watching my insane-ness the entire time.

Egads. I'm going to go live in a cave somewhere and quit interacting with humans. A cave where no mirrors or reflective doors are allowed.

#37

You know how sometimes in life you hang on to things, or ideas or beliefs, even when you can't remember why? You have no idea how a silly little tradition even started, yet it continues? Like wearing a favorite shirt on Fridays, or eating all your fruit before your meat, or obsessively lining all your canned goods up facing frontwards in your pantry (not that I know anyone who would be **that** anal-retentive ... ahem) or whatever ....

My silly tradition is the number 37. I have said for years that it was my favorite, lucky number, although I have no idea why. In fact, I've said it for so long that even though I no longer believe it to be true, I feel a certain loyalty to good ole' 37, and I notice it all the time now .... on signs, in stories, whatever. I always scroll to number 37 on a list, or select 37 if given a choice, etc. Goofy, I know, but there you go.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I put a widget on this blog for people to sign up as "Followers" of Not Quite. Sort of a neat little tool, over there on the right hand side, showing thumbnail pictures of the people kind enough to let me know they visit here, and also letting the rest of us check out their blogs, as well. I love it, because it's an easy way for me to quickly click on other people's blogs and check up on them (and yep, I do it a lot, although I'm pretty guilty of lurking, if I'm being honest.)

Naturally, I noticed the day my 37th regular follower showed up ... although if I count backwards now she is no longer 37 (does that mean someone already signed up, then dropped off my blog???? Wow, that's humbling) she was definitely the 37th to sign up, so I'd like to introduce all of you to her today:

Lucky #37 was Marci, of The Crazy Connell Family and Our Daily Lives. I've "known" Marci for years now through this insane contraption called the Internet. She and her fellow Prayer Bears followed Kendrie during her Caringbridge days, and were always kind enough to stop by and let us know they were keeping her in their thoughts and prayers during her leukemia treatment. Marci was kind enough to follow me over here to this blog, and let me peek in on her life -- and her beautiful daughters -- through a blog of her own. I *think* you have to have a Blogger ID to view her site, but I hope if you do, that you will. (huh? did that even make sense?) I'm also glad she's so laid back, since I totally just posted the link to her site without asking her first.

\\waves to Marci: hi! total internet transgression! hope you'll forgive me and look the other way!/>

So Marci, thanks for being such a great support to our family through the years. And thanks to the rest of you, #1 - 45, who signed up here as well. Your happy smiling faces on the sidebar of my site give me a happy, smiling face as well. :) (See? There it is!)

Blaine Update

Well …. Good and bad, I suppose.

Bad simply in the fact that yep, he’s getting radiation to his head, and naturally that comes with side effects. He’s starting to get that burned feeling, both inside and out, and his pain medication isn’t giving him near the relief it normally does.

He’s fatigued, and says vacuuming the living room yesterday about wiped him out. (I know! You’d think I would have offered to vacuum it myself, wouldn’t you? But …. Um ….. it’s character building. Yeah, that’s it. It helps him to feel useful. ) (And, to be honest, I was sucked into Facebook for most of the afternoon …..)

One of the radiation beams is sort of “nicking” the bottom of his right eye and he feels like there is a constant piece of grit in his eye that he can’t get rid of. Sounds silly, doesn’t it? But it’s driving him crazy and will most likely not go away until this is over.

But --- the good news. The fatigue has actually led to him taking a few afternoon naps, and considering he sleeps so little normally, I think it’s great his body is trying to get the rest it needs to heal. (No, I’m not a doctor, nor do I play one on tv. But anytime you can take a nap, it’s a good thing, right? That’s my motto, anyway.)

He got his first case of supplemental nutrition delivered. It was the wrong kind, sadly, and will have to be returned, but hey! At least we know the paperwork red tape is moving.

He started convalescent leave today. He had really hoped to work all the way through, and it just didn’t happen. In a way, it’s discouraging …. And in another way, how moronic was it of us to think radiation --- REPEAT RADIATION --- to his HEAD --- wouldn’t cause him any problems?

Sometimes optimism can be a tricky thing.

Someone expressed surprise to me last week when I mentioned these problems were chronic and ongoing. Five and a half years since his initial diagnosis, fifteen (16? 17? Who the hell can even keep track?) surgeries later, an MRSA-staph infection where he almost lost his leg, total oral reconstruction, and over 60 rounds of radiation ….. and this person acted shocked to think Blaine might have permanent complications. It was definitely a “no shit, Sherlock” moment. I try not to be all gloom-and-doom when people ask about Blaine because my gosh, that will bore the pants off anyone. But maybe I’m not doing an honest job of reporting things, either.
I’ll have to think about that.

Best news of all?

Radiation is half-over.

Facebook

I struggle to find time to update this blog. I haven't scrapbooked in months. My house is in disarray, I haven't put up the Halloween decorations yet, my library books are overdue and not yet read, and the laundry piles are about to overtake the family.

So what's a smart time-management strategy?

Why, join Facebook, of course.

And spend hours looking for old military friends, old co-workers, and people I haven't talked to since elementary school.

What a time-suck.

(sigh)

But guess what? I found the boy everyone had a crush on at 7th grade church camp!! (and no, I did *not* send him a friends request.)

The Rules

Rules for enjoying Fall Break at Great Wolf Lodge and Indoor Water Park in Texas:

Rule #1: When you invite your mother to go with your family, since your husband can't go (pesky darn radiation treatments ....) make sure she actually realizes you are staying three days, and not two. Otherwise there might possibly be a clean underwear dilemma.

Rule #2: There is no graceful, lady-like way for climbing into the back half of a two-person float tube. Just spread your legs, pull down your swimsuit, go for it and enjoy yourself without shame.

Rule #3: When your brother-in-law climbs the stairs to ride the same toilet-bowl slide that you are already in line for, and he's four or five people behind you, do not turn around and say "Hey, good looking" unless you want the gentleman in between you to assume you are talking to him. (Funnily enough, he didn't appear to know whether to be flattered, or horrified.)

We have 48 more hours to go .... I'm sure plenty more rules will be forthcoming.

High maintenance

"My life is obviously filled with stress."



"Clearly, I am riddled with anxiety."

"Now, could someone pass me a doggie biscuit, please?"

Bread and Water

Hmmm. I have no good explanation for why some of you see green and some of you see blue. I get green on my desktop, and blue on laptop, yet they are both Dell. It doesn’t seem to be a Mac vs. PC issue, or a browser issue (maybe???) or a green eyes vs blue eyes issue (although that suggestion made me laugh). It’s bizarre, isn’t it? But, since the positive comments outnumbered the negative comments about ten to one, I’m going to leave it as is. (Actually, I’m going to leave it as is because I’m too lazy to dink around with changing it …… )

Now, on to more pressing matters. Like the state of my refrigerator.

The thing you need to know is, we are out of food at our house. Out of food in a yes-I’ll-use-the-heel-of-the-bread-for-toast kind of way. Normally, I go to the grocery store once a month, around the 15th. I make a huge, ginormous, three-carts-full-of-food trek to the commissary, and the pantry is overloaded for a few weeks. But I didn’t go in September because I was just back from the cruise and feeling overwhelmed, plus we had all that meat we had cooked and frozen from when the freezer door was left open, so I figured we were fine for a few weeks. Then I didn’t go on the 1st because I was headed to camp with Kellen, so I just made a quick trip to stock up on milk and bread and toilet paper and cereal, and decided we could manage two more weeks …. It would just require a little creative cooking on my part.

It wasn’t a problem, until yesterday. Yesterday morning we used the last two pieces of bread (yes, the heels) for toast. And I had a huge crockpot full of psuedo-homemade chicken noodle soup** on, so decided I would use my bread maker to make psuedo-homemade bread (because it’s common knowledge you can’t properly eat chicken noodle soup without lots and lots of bread to sop up the juices … no, I have no idea why I have a weight problem.)

So. That gives you the background to my story.

When I got home from taking the kids to piano lessons, Blaine said, “The school called and said Brayden’s lunch account is at zero.”

“That can’t be right,” I replied. “I just put $35 in each of their accounts on the first.”

“Well, that’s what they said.”

“They must have put her money into Kellen or Kendrie’s account by mistake. I’ll go talk to them tomorrow.”

Then I got to thinking …. “Brayden, you know how we told you that once a week you could buy a special lunch from the fast-food vendors? But the rest of the week you have to buy the regular (ie, cheaper) school lunch? Have you bought anything besides fast food? Or have you bought it more than once a week?”

And she said, “Only one time. I bought an extra drink.”

So I turned to Blaine and said, “I’ll go talk to the lunch people tomorrow and ask to see her account. I’m sure they put the money on the wrong account.”

Then Brayden said, sort of hesitantly, “Weeellllll, I *might* have bought some pizza one day. Or maybe two days.”

And I looked at her.

“Oh, *really* ??? And is there anything else I should know about, before I go in there tomorrow and accuse them of messing up their accounting???”

“Well,” she started stammering, “It’s just that everyone else buys a special lunch every day. And I’m the only kid in the entire sixth grade that has to buy a boring plain lunch, and so I bought other stuff like everyone else.”

And basically, she blew through $35 in less than two weeks.

OK, so, not the end of the world, right? I’m sure most kids do this sort of thing when they first get some credit in their possession, and haven’t quite mastered money-management skills. In fact, my nephew did the exact same thing last year when *he* was in sixth grade, and fast food lunches were an option for the first time. So I really wasn’t that upset about it, just resigned to the fact that this is one of life’s little teaching moments, and a good opportunity to educate her about consequence.

“Well, honey, I’m sorry, but if you’ve already spent all the money I put in your lunch account for the month, you’ll have to take your lunch from home the rest of the month. So I suggest you go in there right now and take a look at what you want to make yourself in the morning.”

She replied, hopefully, “Could you go buy me a bunch of Lunchables to take?”

And I sort of laughed as I said, “No, me going to the store and buying you a bunch of stuff to take pretty much defeats the purpose. If you want Lunchables, I'll take you to the store and you can buy them with your own money. Or you can spend your own money at school. Or, you can go through the pantry like a normal person and make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

At which point Blaine so tactfully pointed out …. “Um, we don’t have any bread.”

And I sort of sighed and said, “Fine, then she can make a sandwich with some of the psuedo-homemade bread that will be left-over after dinner. It’ll be a sandwich like Pa Ingalls used to eat, with huge slabs of homemade bread.”

Only …. Well ….. I guess maybe the yeast was outdated or something, because my “light and airy and delicious” loaf of homemade bread was short and squatty and dense as a rock, and had about as much flavor as a rock would have, too.

(sigh)

So last night saw me at our local grocery store, buying bread. And some pretzels. And some Oreos, because my gosh, the girl’s got to take her lunch for two solid weeks, which is a lot by our standards, so I figured a few Oreos wouldn’t hurt.

But I drew the line at Lunchables.

**Recipe for psuedo-homemade chicken noodle soup

Combine in crockpot:

6 oz pkg Wyler’s Mrs. Grass Hearty Homestyle Chicken Noodle Soup Mix

1 can Campbell’s double-noodle chicken noodle soup

1 pkg boneless skinless chicken breasts, boiled (baked, whatever) and cut into bite-size pieces

9 cups water

Cover and cook on low heat for 6-8 hours

Quick Question

OK, as you probably noticed (or not) I changed the layout/background on this blog a few weeks ago. To be honest, I can't even remember why I did it .... I know there was a reason ... something to do with Blogger .... holy cow, I'm pre-senile-dementia.

Anyway, who cares why? Not me.

My quick question is this: when I selected the new layout, I chose a green-ish color template. Not quite olive-y, but one which I found not-terribly-jarring to the eyes, and thankfully *didn't* look like a graphics program had thrown up on my screen. (Much like Kendrie's little boyfriend threw up in my car on the way home from the amusement park yesterday ... but, that's another story for another day.)

But when I brought up Not Quite on my laptop yesterday, the template was as wedgewood-y blue as I've ever seen.

So let me ask you: When you bring up this site, is the background green or blue? Or otherwise?

And so it begins

Actually, it began thee or four days ago, but because I am a procrastinator, and grumpy, and one of those head-in-the-sand people who believes if I just ignore a problem it will go away on its own, I haven’t mentioned it yet. But I guess the time is here to let you know that Blaine? Feels pretty much like lukewarm dog shit.

Some of the typical side effects from this kind of radiation can include dry mouth and pain. He not only has both of those, but has the bonus of a lovely thrush infection as well. His sleep, which is crappy even on a good night, has been interrupted even further by the chronic burning in the spots being radiated. He asked me last night – rhetorically, of course – "how can a teeny tiny laser like that make you feel so crummy?” Unfortunately, my Cancer Caregiving for Dummies book provides no easy answers. We remind each other to be grateful for modern medicine, in spite of the drawbacks of treatment. It’s sort of a play on the old adage: “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” We’ve revised the saying for our own needs: “That which hopefully saves you makes you feel crappy in the meantime, so just suck it up and be thankful this option even exists.”

I know he’s disappointed that the effects are happening more quickly this go round. When he had five weeks of radiation in 2006, he felt pretty decent until week 4-ish. This time, he started hurting after only one week, and its getting consistently worse each day. At this point, he has four and a half weeks to go. His goal of working all the way through treatment is not looking likely. I reminded him that it’s probably to be expected, considering two of the areas they are radiating have already been radiated. It’s not like the tissue on that side of his head is healthy and normal to being with.

But still ---- discouraging. Disheartening. Probably a few more “d” adjectives I could share if I wasn’t too lazy to open a thesaurus.

My decision to stay home this weekend and skip my trip to Chicago was the right one. Could he have managed the kids in my absence? Yes. Would he have felt good doing it? No. And would I have enjoyed myself while I was gone, knowing he was struggling back home?

Would I?

(crickets chipring)

Heck yeah, who am I kidding? I *still* would have had a great time, because that’s how shallow I am. But I’m relieved I stayed home, because it makes things easier on him. And that’s the sort of thing a caring, compassionate wife would do. Not that I’m necessarily caring and compassionate …. Just that I’m racking up some major brownie points for later!

We still are thankful for the many blessings being thrown our way. First and foremost, the large number of people who are praying for his recovery. If you could add “strength to feel as good as possible during treatments,” it would be most appreciated.

Also, I normally avoid talking about money on this site because it makes me feel skeevy, but the Air Force has agreed to provide his supplemental nutrition for the next few months while he’s undergoing treatment. That’s something that has come out of our own pocket for the past two years –- and we’ve done so happily because it makes him feel one hundred percent better -- but even a few months worth is a bonus, so we’ll take it, and gladly.

His boss, who has been incredibly understanding during this.

The pain management doctor in San Antonio, who not only confirmed that Blaine’s current pain management program is perfectly acceptable, but who expressed disbelief that anyone here would even question it, thereby making Blaine feel validated and not like some low-life-drug-seeking-scum-bucket like the doctors and pharmacists here make him feel. (Oh, hello, Mr. run-on sentence.)

And …. Um …. Milk Duds. I’m very grateful for Milk Duds.

She might not always get it right ....

Assignment: create a board game based on the 6th grade English book report, and draw scenes from the book to decorate the board game. Brayden's book had a graveyard scene.



She might not always get it right, but she tries hard, and sure makes me smile.

Man, I love that kid.

The Biggest Whiniest Loser

OK, not to diminish or take away anything that anyone has accomplished, because holy cow, thirty or forty pounds in four weeks is amazing, and those people are working their tails off, quite literally, while I do nothing more than sit on the sofa and operate the remote control and continue my non-stop anxiety-related-stress-eating of chocolate chip cookie dough, so really, who am I to belittle anyone, but with all that said ..........................

Holy cow, are there a lot of stinking crybabies on that show this season or what?!?!

It's "being voted off a weight loss show" ..... it's NOT "discovering your home was lost in a hurricane" or "finding out a loved one has cancer" or for pete's sake, it's not even "backing over your dog with your car."

I understand the concept of drama and ratings .... but for the love of all that is holy, stop with the whining and crying already. I'm so annoyed I can't even enjoy my cookie dough.

Tri, Tri again

So, what's the most obvious choice of something you should do after spending three days at Outdoor Camp .... three days of hiking and walking and fishing and canoeing and physical activity after physical activity after physical activity ... followed by late night clandestine underwear-up-the-flagpole activities, and early mornings, and did we mention the sheer exhaustion that followed? (Oh, wait. Maybe the exhaustion was only the grownups.)

The most obvious thing to do?

Get up the next morning at 5:30 am to compete in a triathlon, of course!



After watching his cousins take part in a triathlon earlier this summer, Kellen immediately announced he wanted to compete in one as well. When I expressed concern about his swimming abilities(or lack thereof) (hey, 125 yards is a long way if you're not Michael Phelps) Kellen tried to squash my doubts with the bold proclamation, "Mom, we went swimming almost every day this summer!" He didn't seem to understand that "sliding down water tubes" and "floating the lazy river" and "bouncing in an inner tube in the wave pool" don't *quiiiiiiiite* count as true aquatic training.

But I decided to let him try, knowing full well that if things got too rough, the lifeguards could throw him a floatie.

I watched as his cousin handled the swim without any real duress:



Then as his younger cousin managed fine as well (although, ok, maybe there *was* a little bit of kickboard action involved, but after one lap he tossed it back up to the official as if to say, "Pfffft, don't waste my time!"):



And overall, Kellen manged the swim without too much trouble. I do think he was a little shocked at how far five laps of the pool can be, when "noodle races" is as competitive and fast as you've ever gone beforehand ....



Then, as he got out of the pool, I noticed how red his face was. I also noticed that it appears as though we don't feed the boy.



And then I quit worrying about his skinny arms and legs and took a good hard look at his face. I mean, seriously. I was worried he was going to have a stroke, right there at the side of the pool.



Then, thank goodness, the swim was over. Time to move on to the bike, the part of the competition that Kellen predicted he would enjoy much more. By then, I was just glad that drowning was no longer a possibility. And you can see his grandma cheering him on in the background. Who says triathlons aren't a family sport???



Because of the staggered starts, you have no idea how the boys (and girls) are actually doing. I was trying to get photos of everyone, Kellen, his two cousins, and the two friends who had joined us, but at one point we had kids on the bike path, already running, and still in the pool. Things got a little hectic, to say the least, and I spent quite a bit of time running (code for huffing and puffing) back and forth).

I was very impressed to see my nephew running, and managing to hydrate himself, at the same time. Obviously, he doesn't get his coordination from *my* side of the family, or he would have fallen down at that point. Twice during the race, as I ran from pool to transition area to finish line, I stepped in potholes and almost fell down myself. (Sadly, I am not exaggerating.)



My other nephew, despite swimming for 125 yards, biking for over three miles, and running for just over a mile, *still* managed to turn it on in the last hundred yards and give the guy ahead of him a good little footrace. You can tell by the look on that poor kid's face he has no idea my nephew is about to blow by him and finish the race in front. On a side, note, where on earth do these kids get this kind of energy??? Are they all on speed and I just don't know it??? You can also see my oldest nephew running alongside, giving encouragement. Bare-footed. My gosh, orphans, all of them.



And here, a photo of what might have been the first-ever spontaneous display of brotherly love and congratulations ..... I'm just glad I got a picture of it, since it might never happen again:



Kellen had the same weird, freaky, burst-of-energy at the end and finished his run in a sprint. Don't these kids know to slow down and smile at the camera at this point??? At least we know the mile and a half he runs every night at soccer practice is paying off. I was exhausted just trying to keep up with all of them with my camera ....



And in the end, they all agreed it was worth it, and they can't wait to do the next one, as well. Especially the younger cousin, who won 1st place in his age division, proudly wore his winners medal to school the next day, and is fairly confident the Olympic committee will be calling soon. And, just think how good they all could have done, if any of them actually knew the proper way to swim and breathe at the same time! Thankfully, this youth triathlon season is over, so it won't be until May before the next one is held. Thank goodness, too ... I think I'll need that time to recover.

That’s not what I was upset about

Dear Family Practice Clinic that values my business according to the sign on the wall,

I am writing to let you know I spent a little time in your waiting room today, and perhaps had a sour look on my face, which could probably have been attributed to many things --- but to clarify:

I was not upset about the fact that although your voice mail says your office opens at 8am, that no-one actually answered your phone until 8:17am. I know this to be true because I called every 30 seconds starting at 7:59am. Thank goodness for the redial button.

I was not upset about the fact that once your automated system *finally* picked up my call, it was another ten minutes before I got to talk to a real, live person.

I was not upset about the warning that the wait for a same-day-work-in appointment might be long. I worked for three years in a Family Practice clinic, and I understand what Monday mornings can be like. In fact, considering there was no blood, chest pain, or eye injury involved, I was pretty impressed that you were even willing to give us a same-day appointment at all.

No, really, I wasn’t upset about the first hour we sat in your waiting room because hey, you warned us.

I wasn’t upset about the fact that there were no restrooms attached to your waiting room. I found it odd, but I wasn’t upset about it.

I was perhaps a teensy bit upset about the second hour we sat in your waiting room, especially when I was told that our name had been called half an hour earlier, apparently when we were across the lobby in the bathroom, especially considering we TOLD the receptionist where we were going and she obviously forgot to tell the nurse so our file folder went back to the back of the line.

Whatever.

No, what upset me was the fact that for the entire two hours we were sitting in your waiting room, you left the television turned to a PBS documentary about the life cycle of the poisonous American mushroom, and told us it couldn’t be changed.

Seriously?

Do you really think my nine-year old daughter gives a rat’s ass about mushrooms? Don’t you think it might have been even remotely helpful to have put the television on Disney or Nickelodeon or for goodness’ sake, even the Today Show would have been more interesting. And for a large portion of that time we were the only people *in* the waiting room, so it's not like we would have offended any mushroom-lovers out there.

Mushrooms????

For real???

By the time we were finally put back in an exam room, I wasn’t sure if we should ask you to treat Kendrie’s cough, whatever illness she probably picked up after (no lie) ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR OF YOUR WAITING ROOM IN SHEER BOREDOM, or the wound on the back of my head, from where I had been hitting it against the wall for the last half hour.

Sincerely,

Kristie

PS. For the record, I am normally pretty good about bringing along Gameboys or ipods or for goodness sake, even something as old fashioned as a !!BOOK!! for the kids to read in a waiting room. Two and a half years of pediatric chemo appointments taught me the value of being prepared. This day, however, I honestly didn't expect a same day appointment and was out running errands when the clinic asked if we could get there in 30 minutes (apparently, it was important that we rush there, in order to sit and wait for two hours) and so I dashed by the school and picked Kendrie up without having ANYTHING for her to do. I even offered to read her the "Humor in Uniform" jokes out of the waiting room copies of Readers Digest, I was that freaking desperate.

And now we know the reasons why

Top seventeen reasons someone (meaning ME) is not cut out to be a camp counselor. Or to go camping. Or perhaps even go outdoors. Ever.

1. Remember how I said I thought I would enjoy hiking? Well, the first day was fine. But no-one explained to my thigh muscles how they would feel the next morning, with two more days of hiking to go.

2. It is damn near impossible to take quality photographs while sweat is dripping in the one good eye you’re keeping open in front of the lens.

3. I do not enjoy the stickers (teeny tiny poke-y tumbleweeds???) that attached themselves to me. Especially my socks. By the dozens. I mean, I was like a magnet for those stickers.

4. When a centipede lands on the head of one of your campers in your cabin and all the girls are squealing like banshees and pointing and jumping all over and you’re looking around for someone to kill it and you realize, “Holy Crap, **I** am the grown up here and will have to do it myself.”

5. I stink at every single activity. Archery, target shooting, fishing, identifying fossils, spotting wildlife … you name it, my only useful capacity was to take photos of *other* *people doing those things well.

6. Having the class asthmatic pass me on the trail was a little humbling.

7. None of the kids in my group wanted to stop and wait while I whined about the stickers in my shoes.

8. Because when the student behind you in the canoe is trying to do a fancy dig with his oar and accidentally flips a huge wave of water in your face and you yelp a bad word, you will not be setting a good example.

9. Cell phone going off during campfire skits: (see bad language example of number 8.)

10. The HELL!?!?! Seriously, what is up with those stickers?!?!?

11. When you’re perched on the side of the mountain trying to take a good picture, and your brother in law asks, “When you fall, which do you want me to save, you or your camera?”

12. When you realize that honestly? The camera is more valuable to you.

13. You do not find coyote poop as fascinating as ten year olds do.

14. Much to your shock and dismay, there is not a Sonic at the top of the mountain.

15. Listening to the Burrito Song for two solid hours on a bus will make your ears bleed.

16. When a wasp buzzes right by your ear, and you slap it away, that is perfectly acceptable behavior. Unfortunately, if you slap it onto the arm of the mom sitting next to you and it stings her …. You probably have not made a friend for life.

17. When climbing the steepest hike of the week, and you ask the coach, jokingly, if you are the fattest, most out of shape parent who has ever attended camp as a counselor …. And he has to think about it.


**disclaimer: I’m kidding. Well, about some of it, anyway. I really did hate the stickers poking me through my socks, and the centipede thing was pretty disgusting, and I felt bad about the bee sting, but overall, we had a great time. No-one had to push me, pull me, or in any other manner help me up or down any of the trails. I had seven of the most pleasant, agreeable, cheerful 5th grade girl campers in the history of camping, and enjoyed my time with them immensely. (Again, except for the centipede episode.) The weather could not have been better, I greatly enjoyed getting to spend time with my brother in law, watching Kellen learn and have fun with his classmates and friends in that environment was wonderful, the other parent-counselors were fun to be with (except for whoever put Vaseline on our doorknob and our toilet seat and if I find out who that was there will be hell to pay …….) and best of all? There were s’mores. Quite frankly, it doesn’t get much better than that.


Kellen, fishing. This was before the entire hour of fishing passed by without him catching a single fish. The look on his face afterwards was perhaps not quite as cheerful.



Kellen, hiking. Please take note that if I'm *above* him, taking his picture, I get credit for climbing the same damn mountain.



My nephew ---- the second most cute kid there this weekend.



OK --- here's the story behind this picture. While I don't consider myself a hypochondriac, per se .... I *do* make sure I'm prepared at all times, for all circumstances, with a veritable cornucopia of drugs in my purse. Tylenol, benadryl, immodium. Well, actually, those are the only three I carry. Plus a couple of Excedrin Migraine, when it's necessary to pull out the big guns. If one of *those* medications won't take care of what ails you, then you're sick enough you should go home. But at all times, I've got it covered. EXCEPT for the week at 5th grade camp, when you (I) follow the counselor instruction note and carry a back-pack instead of a purse, but you (I) won't realize until you (I) actually GET TO CAMP that without your (my) purse, you are (I am) also without any of your (my) trifecta of pharmaceuticals. So after a night spent feeling as though my allergies had been assaulted by the great outdoors, no caffeine in 24 hours, and crawling out of bed at 7am to pound on the nurse's infirmary door begging -- BEGGING -- for some kind (ANY KIND) of headache medicine .... *THIS* is what I looked like. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.



They next day, after mooching Tylenol from the nurse, a Benadryl from one parent, two Advil from another, and my cabin-mate parent finding me a Diet Dr. Pepper (thank you God, for Jacob's mom Shannon) I was raring to go! And just in time, too, because forty little kids were waiting for me to NOT find them any fossils.

I’ve never been a Campfire Girl, but look at me now

Growing up, my parents had a place “at the lake” which is where I spent a good chunk of my summers. While it certainly wasn’t fancy, it had electricity and indoor plumbing and screened windows and actual beds and kitchen appliances. Which meant my idea of “roughing it” at the lake meant no television or phone. And fighting for the right to sleep in the room with the window unit a/c. The time I spent at the lake as a youth without a doubt helped form my number one rule for camping today ….. basically, don’t do it.

Technically, there are aspects of camping I think I would enjoy …. Hiking, swimming, fishing, and hey, who am I to turn down a quality s’more? But my policy in life has been: If I have to put my shoes on and carry a flashlight in order to go to the bathroom during the night? Then it’s too “rough” for me. The one time I floated the Talequah River with my friends and we drove down the night before to “camp” and everyone else slept in tents? I slept in my car with the windows rolled up and the doors locked and horded my lone roll of toilet paper. I don’t even REMEMBER where I went to the bathroom, which just goes to show you it was a traumatic experience that I’ve blocked from my memory.

Imagine my delight when I found out the 5th grade at my kids’ new school (they’ve been going there ten months …. How much longer can I call it “new”?) goes on a 3-day, “Outdoor School” adventure every fall, and this year I get to go along as a chaperone!!! Woo-hoo!! (said with sarcasm) Actually, according to legend, it’s apparently great fun for everyone involved, and Brayden has been sulking since we moved here – a month after last year’s 5th grade trip - that she missed it and didn’t get to go. Yet another way we’ve ruined her life, but that’s another post for another day. The kids hike and fish and shoot rifles and look for animal tracks and study nature. They ride in canoes and perform skits, makes movies and bonfires …. which means I’m responsible for making sure no one from my cabin drowns, shoots themselves, puts an eye out with an arrow, wanders off the trail and gets lost or eaten by a bear, falls in poison sumac, or catches their clothes on fire. Aaahhhhh, good times.

No, I’m kidding --- I *am* looking forward to it. Especially because we sleep in real beds, in cabins that have air conditioning and electricity and bathrooms. Thank goodness, still not too “rough”. Although we were warned at our Parents’ Meeting that it’s a good idea to put shoes on before going to the bathroom at night …. Which doesn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling at all.

Blaine wanted to go, but they already had enough male chaperones signed up, and not enough females, so here I go. I get to herd guide seven little girls through the entire adventure …. From getting them up in the mornings, to meals, to outdoor activities, back to bed each night. And our girls’ cabin is teamed with Kellen’s cabin, so I get to spend my days with him and his cabin mates as well, which was pretty much the whole point of me going. Thankfully I don’t have to do any “teaching” because what the hell do I know about astronomy or survival wilderness skills or hiking or archery?? Mainly, I’m just hoping I don’t fall down a mountain.

My brother-in-law is going as a boys’ chaperone. I’ve already told him he might have to get behind me and push on the way up.

So I’ll be gone Wednesday through Friday this week, and will probably come home and collapse Friday night. Blaine will carry on gamely in our absence, shuttling the girls to and from school and activities, overseeing homework, working at his own job, and getting the rest of this week’s radiation treatments. I went with him yesterday to his first one, and actually got to go back in the radiation room while they got him ready. I watched as he climbed on the table and they fitted his radiation mask over his head and shoulders and face, and then bolted it to the table. The purpose is to keep his head perfectly still, and then I watched as they aligned the laser lights over his face and took x-rays. All in all, it was ….. interesting. And creepy, if I’m being honest. He had *talked* about the mask, he had told me how much he hates being bolted to the table and how suffocated it makes him feel. After yesterday, I think I understand little better.

But, claustrophobia aside, the appointment went well, and I’m certain he’ll manage fine while I’m gone.

Seriously. It’s me, my uncoordinated body, and overweight ass trying to hike up those hills we need to be worried about. There is a Camp Nurse who attends, but it’s my neighbor, and it would certainly make for an awkward Block Party next year if the poor guy had to resuscitate me right there in front of all the kids. Wish me luck ... getting eaten by a bear might be less embarrassing.

Second Verse, Same as the First (although technically, I guess this is the third verse, no?)

Or, as the oncology nurse was so kind as to point out during the visit last month where it was confirmed that yes, the cancer is indeed back: “Well, it’s not your first time at the rodeo, that’s for sure.”

Um …. Thanks??? I ….. think???

Anyway, it seems the wheels of progress are either excruciatingly slow, or spinning at top speed. After not hearing anything from anyone, all week, we got a call late Friday afternoon confirming Blaine begins radiation today. Although he’s scheduled for thirty-two sessions in a row, we already know he’ll miss day #2 --- because let’s not forget that in the middle of this little bitty minor nuisance we like to call “CANCER RECURRANCE”, we still can’t find a doctor at Tinker, or in the greater metro area, with the gonads to write a script for the narcotics he takes. That he has taken for four years. Four years of medication, without a single problem, yet no-one here is sure they are ok for him to take.

Whatever.

So the government will waste an entire days’ work for him, and taxpayer’s money, to fly him to San Antonio, to meet with a military doctor THERE who states (and has stated since he had his first visit almost a year ago, in complete agreement with Blaine’s pain management doctor in Georgia) that his prescriptions are completely and totally appropriate, thank you very much. So that a single button on a single computer screen can be “approved” and Blaine can then fly all the way home and have the pharmacy on his base actually fill the prescription. At least we hope. They told him last month that the pharmacy doesn’t think Blaine needs these meds; at least not in this amount. Isn’t that helpful?? I’m so glad they are able to make that judgment based purely on ….. what? Can anyone tell us what they are basing that on? And why .... in the face of 32 upcoming radiation treatments ... now would be the time to DECREASE his pain meds????

Again --- Whatever. It’s not like I’m frustrated.

But bottom line is Blaine will miss radiation day 2 for travel, and although they said it was six weeks of radiation at five days a week, if *I* do the math …. Not that math was ever my strong point ….. but if *I* do the math, thirty-TWO sessions is a little more than six weeks. So six weeks, plus a session or two, or maybe even three or four if he has to make up the ones he misses ….. drop the zero …. Carry the one ….. round to the nearest decimal ….. the way I figure it, Blaine will be finishing radiation sometime around mid-November.

Egads. That’s like a lifetime away.

So. If we could be so bold as to give all of you a list of specific prayer requests …. Or warm thoughts, or chanting, or incense, or positive imagery, or whatever else it is you prefer to do unless it’s sacrificing a live chicken because while I have no qualms about eating meat and absolutely no desire to go vegan, I would still hate to have the death of innocent chickens on my shoulders for nothing more than good thoughts for Blaine ….

(deep breath)

So, if we could ask you to pray specifically, it would be for the following things:

That *this* radiation, *this* time, kills the active cancer cells for good, and they never come back again, and this is absolutely the last freaking time he has to hear the words, “I’m sorry, you have cancer” for ever and ever, amen.

That he tolerates the side effects of radiation well.

That they (meaning the people who administer the radiation) are able to spare his remaining salivary gland. Since the right one was zapped with the first go-round, he’s already operating on decreased capacity …. For someone like me, who has a tendency to gleek when I’m excited, less spit doesn’t sound so bad. But apparently, so they tell me, spit also helps you swallow, eat, and protects your teeth. Lord knows operating at 50% capacity is bad enough …. Let’s pray he doesn’t go down to zero.

That the radiation isn’t too hard on his teeth. (Seriously. Who knew radiating certain parts of your head could affect all those other parts in such a negative way???)

That we win the lottery. Oh, wait. Wrong journal entry.

Several of you have asked how Blaine is holding up mentally. Honestly, he’s just ready to get this show on the road. Ironically, the weather here is cooling off and the humidity is lower, and he’s felt better the past month or two than he has since we moved here. Sucks, really, that he’s fixing to lose all that.

Or, you know, maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll come through this with flying colors and never miss a day of work and absolutely NOT feel like his entire head has been microwaved, like it did last time.

Hey, a girl can dream.

Although, is it terrible of me to admit that since I canceled my annual Girls Scrapbook Getaway (with the best stinking girlfriends on the planet) in Chicago next week …. I must confess I’m going to be a wee bit annoyed if he feels great the entire time and doesn’t need me at all to pat his hand or bring him 7-up or mop at his brow with a damp cloth .... ?? You know. Not that I’m shallow or petty or anything. It’s just that if I’m giving up Chicago, I *better* feel needed while I’m here!

So for the most part, he (we) just want to get this over with. I'll be going with him to his first appointment today to talk to the doctors and ask lots of very important questions, like "why this?" and "why not this?" and most urgent of all, "Can you validate our parking??"

Then, there is a small part of us that feels annoyed and offended by cancer in general --- still stinging a bit at the insult of a recurrence. Not so much a “Why Me?” or “Life’s Not Fair” …. Just “Wow, This Really Bites” sort of feeling, and not a whole lot you can do about it.

And even a small part of us that feels embarrassed ... admitting something is wrong, and asking for help in any capacity, time and time and time again, is humbling and frustrating and exhausting. Fortunately, the vast majority of friends and family have come through for us with flying colors over and over. To be honest, it's always a little bit of a surprise to discover who bails .... but I suppose all life lessons are helpful, whether we realize it at the time or not.

And then, odd as it might sound, there is a huge part of us that is feeling: Gosh Darn Lucky.

(Yeah, “gosh darn” isn’t quite emphatic enough …. But even someone with a sailor mouth like mine has to draw the line at certain curse words.)

Here are the good things that have happened this past week, and part of the list of why we think we’re lucky:

Blaine got an all-clear from his dentist to proceed with radiation. Radiation to the oral cavity is extremely hard on the teeth (see above prayer list) and add to that the lack of spit in his mouth (again, see above) well, he’s had chronic problems with his teeth since this whole shebang started. I’m pretty sure he has permanent dentist-chair impressions on his butt. So to hear “No cavities, good to go” was a huge blessing.

Doctors and nurses have actually returned our phone calls, and apologized that we were left in the dark, even for only a few days.

Friends and family have reached out and offered us support and encouragement. (Dixie, the only thing in the world I love as much as chocolate is peanut brittle, so that box was perfect, thank you!) and (Kristin, the Quiet Heroes bag had so much amazing stuff in it … thank you so much for thinking of me, even though I couldn’t join all of you in Atlanta this year!) and (Renee’, I’m going to wear my bracelet the entire time ya’ll are in Chicago …. And possibly get drunk on Amaretto Slushies so I’ll quit feeling sorry for myself for missing it this year ….) and (to the person who sent our family the box from Jelly Bellies … dear Lord, I’m embarrassed. In their haste to rip open the box my children must have eaten the note or return address because I could not find it ANYWHERE --- thank you, and I’m so sorry I can’t thank you personally! Who are you?) and even more than the packages and cards and e-mails is the knowledge that so many of you are keeping our family in your thoughts.

And lastly, that although this is a trial that we’d rather not have, it’s certainly not the hardest one we’ve ever faced, and no where near as hard as the trials of others. Sadly, Blaine and I know too many families who would give anything to trade places with us. Surely the good health of a parent is bittersweet when the life of a child has been lost. How many families would be willing to trade the health of one of the parents if that meant they could have their child back with them, healthy and whole?

So whenever I get all pity-party-ish and feeling sorry for myself, I remind myself that WE. ARE. LUCKY.

And we better not ever forget it.

PS. Mitchell, I only met you once, at a 4th of July party. Your mom and I sat and talked about having kids who had undergone leukemia treatment, and compared stories and notes. Although that was as close as I ever got to you, I can see, even from here, what an impact you made on this community. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind how much your parents miss you. Your sister misses you. The kids at the school miss you. The boys on your baseball team miss you. As the anniversary of your death passed this weekend, it was the kick in the pants that I personally needed --- to remember to count my blessings, which thankfully far outweigh the bad.

Name That Celebrity

Does anyone besides me see the resemblence???



Anyone? Anyone at all???

I'll give you a second to think about it .....

really study the photo ......

dredge your brain for some long-forgotten memory .....




Still not getting it????

OK, maybe it's just me, but I think his hair makes him look just like Farrah Fawcett ... circa 1970's ... Charlie's Angels era.

So very proud

I’ll be the first to admit that over the years, I’ve said (and said in front of my children) a few things that probably aren’t as nice as they could be. One of my favorites, of course, is when I allow my kids (only in the car, and only with the windows rolled up) to call bad drivers, or people who take up two parking spaces, “jackass”. No, not something to be particularly proud of ……. But what can I say? I’m hardly perfect as a parent.

I also downloaded "Baby Got Back" off the internet and let my kids listen to it. FAR from appropriate, but they laugh hysterically whenever they hear it, which makes me giggle, too.

Another of my favorites is what I said to my kids the first time they questioned why their dad and I make them wear bicycle helmets, when some of the other kids in the neighborhood don’t. I merely looked at them and said, “Well, I guess their parents don’t love them as much as we love you.” Simple …. And to the point.

I took Kendrie to the doctor this afternoon for her 9-yr well child visit. No illnesses, no complaints …. Just listening to the lungs, checking for scoliosis, open your mouth and say Ah kind of stuff. In an attempt to verify home safety and what have you, the doctor was asking Kendrie about her lifestyle (assuming 9-yr olds actually HAVE a lifestyle). He asked if she played any sports, watched a lot of tv, buckled her seatbelt whenever she was in the car, and if she wore a helmet whenever she rode a bike.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Your mom and dad always make you wear a helmet?” he questioned again.

“Tell the doctor what we say about kids who don’t wear helmets,” I said smugly, thinking how funny it would be when Kendrie told him the bit about the parents not loving them.

But before she could open her mouth, Kellen blurted out, “We call them jackasses!!!!”

Ahhhh, yes.

So very proud.

Actually, the best part was when the doctor simply smiled and said, "In our family, we call them organ donors."

Can anyone tell me Why?

Nine days out of ten, I get up in the morning an hour before my children. I sit bleary-eyed in front of my computer for a few minutes and hope I’ve gotten some e-mails in the night. Something *besides* online sales and ads for Viagra, that is. Then I drink a big glass of chocolate milk. This is the part of the morning where I wished I drank coffee like a grown-up, but I don’t. So chocolate milk it is.

Then, I shower. Get dressed. Put on my make up. Fix my hair or at the very least put it up in a ponytail. Get the kids breakfast ready. Wake the kids, eat breakfast with them, and spend a little time refereeing bonding with them for the next half hour. Then, we walk to school together. I walk all three of them in the front door, saying hello to the various teachers and staff scattered about. I kiss Kellen and Brayden good-bye for the day (ok, I admit, we’re down to the “eye-rolling while I give them a hug and a quick peck on the top of the head” category of kissing, but at least I still get that) and then I walk Kendrie to her room, saying good morning to her teacher and the other teachers in the hall. I leave the school, saying good BYE to the staff, and walk home, whereupon I normally have nothing substantial to do but get back on the computer and hope once again for some good e-mails or blog reading.

So can anyone tell me WHY, on that tenth day, things do not go as planned? The tenth day (which was TODAY, by the way) is the day I try valiantly to sleep as late as my children. It’s never successful, especially lately, but I do try. I skip the normal (ie, hygienic) parts of my morning such as showering or brushing my teeth. I throw sweat pants on under the t-shirt that I slept in, still have yesterday’s eye makeup running down my cheeks, and my hair is sticking out everywhere. I wake the kids just a few minutes after I get out of bed, throw granola bars at them, and then I drive my kids to school so as not to face anyone. Yes, I know our country is paying through the nose for gasoline and driving my kids one hundred yards to school is ridiculous, but I do it on those occasional mornings. I put on my sunglasses, smile and wave gamely to the crossing guards, and get the hell back home before anyone notices (not that they care, but before they notice) how truly awful I look.

So WHY, I ask again, is it THOSE mornings, (THIS morning, to be exact) when I arrive back home three minutes later, hair askew, pajama top still on, and wearing house-slippers, that my daughter calls to tell me she left her glasses at home and can I please bring them back to the school???

They are ganging up on me now

Last night, Kellen and Kendrie and I were in the van together, driving to (where else? The black hole of my life) soccer practice. Out of the blue, Kendrie asked, “Mom, when are we moving back to Georgia?”

I sort of sighed to myself, because I had hoped we were past that --- past the missing of friends so much that she wants to pack up and go back. Right after we moved to Oklahoma, she told us constantly that she wanted to move “home” to Georgia, but I hadn’t heard it in a while, so I had hoped she was finally feeling settled here.

“Honey,” I replied, “we’re not moving back to Georgia. Oklahoma is our home for good now. We’re never moving again.”

“Pssschnnghhhh!” (You know that noise? That goofy, nasally noise that people make when they’re trying to get a point across? Yeah, that was the noise Kendrie made just then, even if I don’t know how to spell it.) “Maybe YOU’RE not moving back, but I am! As soon as I turn 16 and get a car, I’m out of here!”

She was laughing when she said it, so I don’t think it was anything sinister … just that she was making clear the point that her heart still lies in Georgia (Hello, Nicholas! I’m looking at you!!)(Even though, I have to admit, Matt is growing on me more and more every day.)(And how funny is it that Kendrie refers to them as "her Georgia boyfriend" and "her Oklahoma boyfriend."??)(Good grief, do nine-year olds understand the concept of bigamy???)

“Well, you can stay here, but I am GONE when I turn 16!”Then, she said, in a sheepish little voice, “But, um, I’ll need you to give me directions.”

I was taking a deep breath, to try and explain to her about “good” friends and “old” friends, and how I’m so happy she still feels strong ties to her old school and old friends, but that, in all reality …. Sixteen is a life-time away. While I certainly hope she is still in touch, and still has fond memories of Georgia and our time there, I doubt she will still feel like relocating once that time comes. Instead, I want her to be entrenched here, with her new friends, and her time with family, and to be happy and content with her Oklahoma life. It's hard to explain to a nine-year old that they won't always feel like they feel now, but I guess I needed to try.

Kellen, however, beat me to the punch.

He said to her, “Kendrie, things will be SO different by the time you are sixteen!”

“Ahhh, good!” I thought, “He *gets* it. Maybe coming from him, the concept of faraway and long-away will seem more reasonable. I’m so glad to know I’ve got such a reasonable, practical son.”

Then he burst my bubble with the following words: “By the time you’re sixteen, you’ll know how to read a map! You won’t need mom to give you directions!!”

Ouch.

Kendrie came home from school yesterday very excited, and said to me, “Mom! Great news! We’re starting the Reading Buddy program at school this week!”

Absentmindedly, I replied, “Oh, that’s nice.”

She went on, “I loved it at our old school when the big kids would read to us …. I’m excited to do Reading Buddy here, too.”

And I sort of paused …. hmmmm, had a lightbulb moment …. and asked her, “Are you sure you understood right? And your class is doing it this year? Because it seems to me that you and your friends, in 3rd grade, should already know how to read pretty well. I mean, aren’t you a little old for a Reading Buddy?”

Kendrie laughed (in that “my mom is a moron” way she has) and said, “Mom, I don’t *get* a Reading Buddy, I *AM* the Reading Buddy! I’m going to be reading to a kindergartener! I’m the big kid now!”

Ouch.

Excuse me while I pull the bbq spear out of my heart, at the realization that my “baby” is now one of “the big kids”. Vasectomy reversal, anyone?

Because amidst all the pity partying and drama and freaking out there is an actual life still going on ....

We spent our weekend:




Flailing our legs about on the soccer field.





Falling down. Because apparently that's what all the best players do. But did you know this is also considered an illegal kick? Because that is the foul Kellen had called on him for this play where he basically ..... was responding to that pesky gravity.




And celebrating with our team mates who thank heavens are more coordinated and actually scored enough points to win the game.

Hurdle #1

Well, it only took two days for Tricare to approve the radiologist’s request for a repeat PET scan. I knew they would come through for us … they always have …. Just seems frustrating to wait at a time like this. (Yes, my Canadian socialized-medicine friends are rolling their eyes and thinking, “Wait? You think two days is waiting for a test??? Lady, you don’t know NOTHING about waiting for no medical tests!!”) (Actually, that sounded more like Bronx friends, didn’t it???)

Without going further into boring, personal, medical stuff, suffice it to say this is not the first run-in Blaine has had this week …. With Tricare …. With the medical staff on base ……. With the pharmacy …. With the Air Force in general. So the waiting for this was just a teeny tiny straw on a teeny tiny camel’s back, and it will all be fine in the long run. (In through the nose, out through the mouth.)

Now, we …………… wait some more. Good thing Blaine’s cancer is a slow-growing kind, or all this waiting would have killed him. As it is, I think it might kill *ME*, considering I was born without the DNA for patience.

The radiation-oncologist wants to meet again with the head and neck surgeon, and they want to confer with the tumor board, to decide the best plan of action. Which is fine with us, because the more smart people you have reviewing your case, the better. But one doctor is on vacation next week, and probably the week after that it’s the Jamaican New Year, or annual Tumour Board Conference in Barbados, and then the hospital will flood,or there will be a fire, or a nationwide shortage of gauze, or some other such crap, and LET’S JUST GET THE SHOW ON THE ROAD ALREADY!!! There are two tumors that have shown up in the previous site … and one new tumor on the other side of his head. Yippee, at least he’s symmetrical!!!! Now, let’s decide what to do about it!!!!!!! And, I’m using lots of exclamation caps to chase away the hysteria!!!!

Biopsying the new tumor is a strong possibility, but not definite. *IF* a biopsy takes place, the results might or might not affect the treatment plan, which is also undecided.

That’s about clear as mud, isn’t it?

Repeat radiation (same, but different) is very, very likely.

(major suckage)

Both (biopsy and radiation) bring with them their own set of possible benefits and probable concerns. No sense delving into them today, though …. Until we know for sure. THEN I will bombard you with a whole list of complaints and worries and fears. Until then, rest easy --- this post only contains whining, but lots of it!!!

Thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for your notes and e-mails and phone calls of support and kindness. I started out trying to reply to each one individually, but just got weighed down. My sense of organization and time-management seems to have taken a hit this week. I’m also (since a few of you were kind enough to ask) feeling a wee bit stressed. And cranky. This happens every time though. Or at least it happened the first time Blaine was diagnosed, and the first time he relapsed. And on a MUCH greater scale, when Kendrie was diagnosed as well. *THAT* time included early-morning awakening, crying in the shower, and perhaps even panic attacks, in hind-site. So really, what I'm feeling now is minor in comparison. I’ve never suffered from anxiety on any sort of regular basis, so I don’t know if that’s what this is. This feeling that I can’t concentrate, and am overwhelmed by daily life, and have a strong, serious, severe, CRIPPLING need for alcohol.

Kidding.

Maybe cigarettes.

No, kidding again.

I deal with my stress by eating. Currently, as I type this, I have a bowl of chocolate-chip cookie dough in front of me with a big-ass wooden spoon in it. I type a paragraph, then take a bite. Probably not good for my cortisol level, …. Definitely not good for my ass.

I worked really hard this summer and lost twenty pounds. I gained back eight on the cruise …. I’ve gained back at least three more this week. I know kvetching about my weight is shallow and insignificant and just plain silly at a time like this …. But come on, how many days in a row can I wear yoga pants because 1) the thought of getting up and putting on real clothes is overwhelming to me, and 2) by the end of the day, the waistband around my blue jeans wouldn’t fit anyway.

And I’m not really overwhelmed, that’s not the right word. It’s more like I can’t care --- SIMPLY CANNOT BRING MYSELF TO CARE --- about the pesky, little, exasperating, trivial SHIT that happens in daily life. (I KNOW!!! Can you believe it??? She’s STILL talking about herself, and her husband has CANCER, and she’s got to be the most self-centered person on the planet!!!) It’s more like I am …. Um ….. what’s the word? Annoyed? With everything in the entire world??? Sidetracked? Distracted?

Yes, perhaps “distracted” is the best word to describe how I’m feeling.


Luckily enough, I know it will pass. It passed every other time before, so it will this time as well. No need for anti-anxiety meds, or anti-depressants …. Maybe just a few bottles of wine, then I’ll feel better. Or even a good night’s sleep. It's simply taking me a little while to find my focus in the meantime.

So again, because of my distracted-ness (yes, it is a word, I just made it up) I feel the need to apologize if you’ve been kind enough to write and I haven’t answered. Or if you’ve called and I haven’t returned it. It’s as if, *mentally*, my wheels are spinning all day long. Then at the end of the day I look up and I’ve actually accomplished nothing.

Unless eating an entire bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough counts for something. Then I'm on a roll.

Priorities

Kellen: "So does this mean you have to go back to Seattle for your treatment again?"

Blaine: "No, I think this time they can do everything right here. We'll know more later."

Kellen: "Oh."

Kristie: "But the doctors here are just as smart, so that means Daddy staying with us is a positive thing, right?"

Kellen: "Well, yeah. It's just that he always brings back good presents from Seattle."

A series of unfortunate e-mails. Well, actually, just one.

Rather than re-write and re-word and go through the drama --- again --- I'm simply going to cut and paste an e-mail that was sent out earlier this evening to our friends and family.

Not that you people reading here on this blog AREN'T our friends and family --- of COURSE you are!!! Just that I don't know all of your private individual e-mail addresses, and some of you are even "anonymous", and perhaps would prefer to NEVER get a personal e-mail from me ..... but you're here now, so you're stuck with it. :)

****************************************************

Hey, everyone, it's time for one of those bulk e-mails that drive most people crazy with their impersonal messages, delivered to dozens of people .... just how personal can it be, right? But sometimes it's the best way for accomplishing what needs to be accomplished. So forgive me. :)

Things here with us are crazy, just like they are for everyone, everywhere. Kids keeping us busy with school, piano, choir, soccer, homework, etc. But it's exactly the way we like it and much like yours run you ragged as well, I'm sure in spite of all the grumbling about taxi-service, we're all enjoying ourselves.

So, small talk aside, on to the real reason for the e-mail.

I feel a very unfortunate sense of deja-vu, writing once again to tell all of you that Blaine's cancer is back, and to ask for your prayers and support. I would most definitely prefer to be writing with the announcement that we've won the lottery, or some other such fabulous news, but I'm afraid that's not the case. (At least not this week --- we're not giving up hope!) :)

In all seriousness, we would appreciate if you could keep our family in your thoughts. We've known for sure for about a month, but waited to tell anyone until my mom and I returned from our cruise to Alaska this past weekend. While she is our biggest supporter, she is also our biggest worrier, so we decided to *not* tell her until after the vacation-of-a-lifetime, in the hopes we wouldn't spoil the trip for her. Now that she's been told, and the kids know, we feel free to let everyone else know .... selfishly .... so we can ask you to pray for Blaine and his health. And for wisdom and discernment for his doctors as they decide on (yet another) treatment plan. We're currently helping them get their ducks in a row ..... sort of a logistical nightmare, having medical records and surgical reports and cat scans and pet scans and biopsies and MRI's from all over the country that have to be brought together and evaluated. Pray also, please, for help with our insurance. Although Tricare has been great, and gave Blaine permission to be treated at a non-military facility (OU Physician's Center, exactly where we wanted him to be treated) it's been a bit of a struggle getting them to approve the various tests that need to be done, so decisions can be made. Just the sort of red-tape hassle that no cancer patient needs to face when we're busy facing everything else.

As we find out more, we'll be sure to let you know. If you're receiving this e-mail, it's because we consider you a friend, and Lord knows our friends have held up our family lots during the previous years ---- I hope I'm not pushing the boundaries of our friendship by asking, one more time.

In the meantime, if I've spoken or written or e-mailed with you the past six weeks or so and have seemed distracted, or curt, or short-tempered, this is why. Please know it was nothing personal, just stress and anxiety. If you haven't heard from me in a while, it's the same reason. And to the people who have inquired about Blaine's health during the past few weeks .. and I've point-blank lied to your face ... I'm sorry. I hope you can understand why we felt the need to wait before telling people. I also apologize for giving you this news in an e-mail ... this was the best way we could think to get the word out quickly, but I'm sorry if it seems impersonal.

So pray for Blaine's healing, wisdom for the doctors, and my crappy attitude!!! :)

(ok, that last one might be un-fixable ---- but in all honesty, Blaine covets the prayers more than you can know! Personal, private, prayer chains ... he's not picky!)
Thanks,
Kristie

He's so much smarter than me I am

Last night I was reviewing some of Kellen's homework. He had written a sentence for Language Arts, and although it's certainly not my policy to technically *DO* my kids' homework for them, I do look over their work and make any simple suggestions that I think they might have overlooked in error.

He and I had the following conversation:

Me: "Kel, take a look at this sentence. I think you have a mis-spelled word."

Kellen, looking: "What word? None of those words are wrong."

Me: "Look at the word "somthing". Does that look right to you?"

Kellen: "Yes. That's how you spell it."

Me: "Well ...... actually ..... there should be an "e" in the middle. It's s-o-m-E-t-h-i-n-g."

Kellen, looking again very closely: "No, there's no "e" in it."

Me, thinking that arguing with a 10-yr old is kind of silly: "Uh, yeah, there is."

At this point Kellen looks at me with all this disdain and contempt that his {obviously} superior intellect could muster, and says to me in a patronizing tone: "Mother, there is no "e" in "somthing". I should know, I've been spelling it this way my whole life!"

Ummmmm, remind me again how the boy got in the gifted program!??!

Clarification

I think I should clarify, to avoid having Nickelodeon slap me with a defamation lawsuit:

These are two separate channels. Nickelodeon (think Spongebob, Jimmy Neutron, Fairly Oddparents) is the channel aimed at young kids. My kids love this channel and watch it quite a bit. Although we have re-initiated our "no TV Monday through Thursday rule now that school has resumed, and they are chafing quite a bit, and I'm once again hearing the rumblings about how I'm the meanest parent in the world...)

The "N" is a channel aimed for teenagers. In fact, it's tag-line is something like "Nick Teen" and the shows they air at night are DEFINITELY off-limits for my kids. But during the day on Saturday and Sunday, they also air Nickelodeon shows my kids *are* allowed to watch, such as Drake and Josh, iCarly, and Zoey 101.

I'm sure it was naive of me to think the commercials aired during these kid-friendly shows would also be kid-friendly. (Much like I got my panties in a wad about the evening soap operas that aired during "Dancing with the Stars" last year, which prompted several of you to tell me how much of a hypocrite I was, and how gullible I am, thank you very much ..... )

But now that we've banned the entire "N" channel, I suppose it's a moot point. I mean, we've already been forced to discuss the provocative Vanessa Hudgens photos, and the Jamie Lynn Spears pregnancy ---- surely we're still ok with Disney CHANNEL???? At least until Zack or Cody go buy their first condoms, or Hannah Montana starts giving blow jobs, or those wacky kids from High School Musical go off to college and start experimenting with alcohol and drugs. *THEN* I suppose I'll revamp again.

News

The good news: My mom and I are back home, safe and sound.

The eye-rolling news: I've got about 400 pictures to download, re-size, crop, tweak, and upload. Then I will share them with you. Of couse.

The thank-goodness news: It will take at least a few days before I have time for that, so consider yourself warned. Maybe take a vacation yourself, to avoid it.

The "I need a vacation to recover from my vacation" news: In fact, I probably won't even blog again until I get unpacked, tackle the mountain of dirty laundry still in my suitcase, go grocery shopping, and dive right back into the piano-soccer-choir-homework-housework routine. Blaine did an awesome job while I was gone but my gosh, LIFE just never stops, even for Alaska, does it?

The "you probably don't care but I'm going to vent about it anyway" news: You. United Airline. Consider yourself warned. In fact, ALL airlines can consider themselves warned. Unless it is logistically impossible to do so, I will be driving on all vacations from now on. Flights have been scaled back to cut costs, so every single flight is always over-booked. Which means there aren't even enough seats in the freaking waiting areas at the airport --- not to count the traffic and congestion in the airports themselves. Then you start charging for checked luggage, so everyone decides to carry on everything they can. Then you act surprised that we can't fit nine thousand pieces of carry-on luggage in the overheads. So we're forced to cram it under our feet, then some fat guy named Bubba plops himself in the seat in front of us and jerks his seat back so far that I've got my own knees up around my ears and shocker! It's not comfortable! Then you charge me three dollars for a bag of granola. All in all, NOT a way to end a vacation after I was waited on hand and foot for seven days. The least you could have done was put my cheap cocktail napkin in my lap. Oh, wait. You couldn't SEE my lap because of Mr. Let's-Lean-Back-As-Far-As-Our-Chair-Can-Go in front of me. So trust me. Once I get back from my Girls-Scrapbook-Weekend-Away in Chicago next month, it will be Route 66 and stopping to see the World's Biggest Ball of Twine for the Escoe Family from here on out.

The in case of emergency news: There is one fast food restaurant, on the 4th floor, of the shopping mall in Anchorage, Alaska, that sells DDP out of their fountain --- God bless Arbys.

The "Holy cow, did you just SEE that??" news: Not exactly a news flash, but has anyone besides me noticed how rank the commercials on the "N" channel are? My kids were watching "Drake and Josh" earlier today, a show that I think is perfectly acceptable, and that is rated Y-7, meaning ok for anyone over the age of 7. But in the course of ONE SET of commercials, we saw two teenage girls kissing, one teenage girl taking off her shirt, undoing the belt in boy's pants, and two girls in a bathroom stall where a vibrator falls on the floor. Um ..... I don't think so. Channel 154 is no longer allowed in the Escoe house.

The "Oh, yes, back to reality" news: I was home exactly seven hours before the kids started fighting over whose turn it was to play on my new laptop and then arguing over what tv show to watch and then interrupting me every six seconds I was on the phone and I knew I was solidly back in the land of normalcy.

Wildlife

Wildlife that has been seen on this cruise, both from the ship and from various locations during excursions:

Mama bear with two cubs, whales, dolphins, porcupine in a tree, bald eagles, sea otters, bears catching salmon, and many, many salmon running in streams.

Actual animals that *I* have seen on this cruise???? Two measly bald eagles. And a whale, if you count a teeny tiny black dot about a bazillion miles in the distance as a “whale”. The rest of the wildlife spottings have been reported through the grapevine, by people who are obviously much more observant than I am.

Although I did get to see the digital picture some lady took of the mama bear, during our salmon bake.

Does that count as a wildlife spotting for myself???? Does the salmon I saw during the salmon bake, grilled, on my plate, and covered in a yummy brown sugar sauce, count?

Perhaps I should have spent less time on my laptop, and more time actually looking out windows.

And binoculars. Remembering binoculars might have been helpful. Because unless a whale swims up to the ship and waves its little fin at me, or blows the message "Hi, Kristie!" through its hole, I doubt I’ll even notice it.

Absence makes the taste buds grow fonder

The setting: The Sweet Tooth Cafe on Broadway Street in picturesque Skagway, Alaska

The need: Desire to break a $20 bill so I could properly tip the shuttle bus driver

The action: Purchasing a drink, to break the $20, to get the singles, to tip the driver

The discovery: That while it wasn't so perfect as to be a fountain soda, the good folk at the Sweet Tooth Cafe actually *did* have a Diet Dr. Pepper in the back that they were willing to pour over ice in a cup

The outcome: A glistening tear of happiness rolled down my cheek

Potential Alaska posts I have started and then quit because they are too stupid and boring.

The post about how is it possible that I’ve got seven days of free food and drink on the ship, some of the nicest, yummiest, fanciest food and drink imaginable, all mine, at the snap of a finger ….. All free …. And yet I still managed to spend $19 at the local fudge shop today. No, I have no idea why I’m chubby.

The post about how I finally ran into Andrew’s Grandma J …. not once, but twice today! Yippee!!

The post about how it might have been 112 degrees in Palm Springs last week, but when you are packing to take a cruise to Alaska in September, you need to pack something a little more substantial than flip-flops, people!!

The post about how it seemed really indulgent to pay $100 for 280 internet minutes on the cruise ship, but then I realized my Sprint coverage totally sucks and I was paying $2.49 a minute for international roaming rates to call home. Suddenly, twenty-eight cents a minute to exchange e-mails with my children seems quite consumer-savvy.

The post about how during the glacier lake stop-over we had yesterday I slipped on a moss-covered rock and fell flat on my left butt cheek, causing my camera to whip around and hit me in the face, and how I was mortified someone might have seen that so I hopped up so quickly that I almost slipped and fell down again. Truly, not one of my more graceful moments.

The post about how after my big fat ass hit the ground, the weight of the force basically started an avalanche. More on this later.

Things You Don't Want

Something you don’t want to have happen to you three days before you leave for a cruise:

To be in charge of the fun, exciting, smiley-face rainbow concession stand for PTO Skate Night, which means you will spend an hour moving heavy boxes of soda and candy from the storage room at the school to your car. You will be sweating like a pig from the manual labor and then you will drop one of the boxes on your ankle because the cardboard was cheap and flimsy and I swear you will think you have broken whatever that top part of your ankle is called and you will seriously consider renting a wheelchair for the cruise because my God how much do those Airheads weigh anyway and did the school kids in the cafeteria hear me cussing????


Something you don’t want to have happen to you two days before you leave for a cruise:

To realize one of the bags of ice that you had in the back of your van for the not-as-much-fun-now Skate Night Fundraiser was forgotten, and melted, and now the back of your van smells like an animal died and rotted in it. And not a teeny tiny sweet-smelling animal, either, like a cute little chipmunk or bunny rabbit. I’m talking big, stinky, gut-rot odor like you would get from a dead yak. And you’ll have to run all your last-minute errands with that stench filling your nostrils and you will wonder if there is enough Febreze on the entire planet to help.


Something you don’t want to have happen to you the day before you leave for a cruise:

To realize that when you were unloading (see above) bags of ice out of your deep freeze in the garage for the )#($*#(%&#)* Skate Night, that you accidentally left the freezer door cracked, and all your meat thawed and is now dripping down the inside of the deep freeze. And you will beg your husband to brown all the hamburger meat, and boil all the chicken, and separate the meat out and put it in freezer baggies so you can re-freeze all of it, because my GOD you are leaving in less than eight hours and you haven’t even finished the laundry, let alone started packing, and I swear if you have to stand here for two hours cooking all the meat you will have a nervous breakdown and never be ready for your 5 am flight tomorrow…..whimper.


Something you don’t want to have happen to you on your first day of vacation:

To discover that the hotel you are staying at, while very nice and pretty and happy, apparently can’t handle the electrical demand of dual-hairdryers, because while you are blow-drying your hair in the bedroom, and then your mother turns on *her* blow dryer in the bathroom, you will blow the fuse in the room and every outlet except ONE will be non-working, so you will then flat-iron your hair while sitting on the mini-bar because good grief, birds will try to nest in it otherwise.

Something you don’t want to have happen to you on your second day of the cruise:

To be sitting in the beautiful atrium on the ship, enjoying Wi-Fi internet, and the breathtaking scenery, and listening to the strains of the wonderful string quartet before dinner, only for the musicians to break into a haunting rendition of the theme to Titanic.

Seriously?????

That doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

PS. Grandma J, are you here????

PPS. Going on a float plane in Ketchikan with my mom today ..... if that doesn't promote mother-daughter bonding, I don't know what will!!!