Mother of The Year, indeed

Can any of you more experienced moms please weigh in on this?

LittleG: Mom, these shoes are too tight (use your whiney voice for best effect).
Me: I will fix them when we get to Nana's .
LittleG: Mom, these shoes are too loose!
Me: How can your shoes be both too tight and too loose at the same time?
LittleG: Because you won't fix my shoes.
Me: LittleG, do you realize that tight and loose are opposites? It is not physically possible for something to be both too tight and too loose at the same time.
LittleG: Nuh huh. Because YOU. ARE. THE. WORST. MOM. EVER!

All of this at the tender age of 6. Before, by the way, 8 o'clock in the morning. On a Monday.

Thanks, Mom, for taking one for the team this week. I'm sure you are having a delightful day already. Thank heavens you quit being the worst mom ever about a decade ago. I guess it's my turn to take the reins.

Happy Birthday, Little Duck

Lots of cool people have birthdays today. A guy named Peregrine White was the first child born in the New World to Pilgrims after a journey aboard the Mayflower as it sailed towards a new land and a new promise. Two Nobel peace prize winners (Selma Lagerlof and Karl von Frisch). An astronomer, Edwin Hubble, who discovered galaxies and is the namesake of the Hubble telescope. Several important political figures, Oliver Wolcott (governor of Connecticut who signed the Declaration of Independence), Robert Byrd, (D-Sen-WV, majority leader), Robert Kennedy, (D-Sen-NY assassinated), and Joseph R. Biden Jr., our very own VPOTUS. There are authors and humorists and prima ballerinas, and even Bo Derek, sex symbol extrodinaire.

But by far, the birthday that deserves the most attention is my LittleG, who turns 6 today. At 8:09 am on November 20, 2003, LittleG came in to this world at a healthy 6 lbs. 13 oz, surely the most beautiful child ever to grace the nursery in Irving, Texas.

She arrived to the joy and relief of family and friends who had prayed for her arrival for years (shout out to you and the Sunday School Girls, Mom) and went from the nurses' capable hands into the arms of her father, who knew at that moment in time that his only job in life was to keep that baby safe and happy.

To say that the first six years has flown by would be the understatement of the year. It seems like just yesterday we ushered her into her new bedroom and stared at her wondering "what now?"

Together we have watched her navigate her early years, the first tedious steps that turned into full blown running within a few days. The first words we thought would never come that now fill our home and hearts constantly. The cataclysmic growth spurt that has thrown her head and shoulders above her peers. The transition, seemingly overnight, from the Dragon Tales and Dora of her babyhood to Hannah Montana and Wizards of Waverly Place that so define her now.

I sit here, in shock and awe, of what we have created and grown together. A beautiful little girl with the sweetest smile and the warmest heart, an undescribable fashion sense, and a stubborn streak a mile wide.

I don't know what her future holds, whether she will become a famous astronomer or writer or God forbid, a politician. But I do know this - her father and I, along with her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a swarm of family friends will be there for her no matter what. With the exception of the sex symbol. She's on her own if she goes that way....

Happy Birthday, Angel, we love you BIG MUCH!

Where exactly did this child come from?

My adorable little cherub is growing like a weed. She stands fully a head taller than most of her classmates, and she's already in a size 2 1/2 shoe. I am blaming this on her father, by the way, as I am a nice normal 5'7" tall and he towers over 6''3". But I digress.

Fact of the matter is, fall is upon us here in Texas, and I have nary a garment to keep my little darling warm during the cool fall months. Since she's been wearing uniforms to school, regular clothes have not even been on my radar. Yep, Mom of the Year, here I come!

So last weekend, we set out to solve the problem.

Me: Ok, LittleG, we have a problem.
LittleG: What's the problem, Mom?
Me: We don't have any cool weather clothes for you to wear, and we are going to see Abuela over Thanksgiving.
LittleG: So?
Me: So it's going to be cool there, and you don't have any clothes to wear.
LittleG: Can't I just wear my shorts?
Me: No, shorts won't be warm enough.
LittleG: Can't I just wear my pink dress?
Me: No, you pretty much outgrew that this spring but I didn't fight you on it.
LittleG: What are we going to do? (Read this using your best whiney voice for full effect).
Me: We have three options.
LittleG: Hit me with them, Mom.
Me: You can wear your uniforms at Abuela's house
LitteG: No way.
Me: You can go shopping with me and pick out some new clothes.
LittleG: Shopping is SO BORING, Mom.
Me: Or, you can just let me go shopping and pick out some new clothes for you. But if you do that, you have to wear what I buy for you.
LittleG: Girrrrrllll, THAT ain' gon' happen!

WTF? That ain' gon' happen? She just figured out she's half Mexican, and now she be tryin' to go all ghetto on me? Straight up, gangsta bitch!

Clearly, I am going to need therapy and some really good drugs to get me through the pre-teen years. I don't know what it's going to take to get me through the teenage years, but I'm certain there will be vodka involved. If you'd like to contribute to my mental health therapy, feel free to donate through paypal.

Peace out, peeps.

Going Stupid

I’ve not commented, on purpose, about Our Lady Sarah Palin and her antics of late for a lot of reasons. Probably the number one reason is I don’t want to be that “bitchy sick girl who doesn’t have anything better to do with her time than gripe.” But today, I’m commenting. So if you’re on Team Sarah, go ahead and step away from today’s blog. I recommend clicking here: www.sarah-palin.com. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

For those of you who hung around, this won’t be a total bitch session. But I will be bashing Lady Palin today on the rollout of her new book, Going Rogue.

It troubles me that She Who Would Have Been Queen VP chose Going Rogue as the title of her book, based on the actual meaning of the word “rogue.”

Webster’s Dictionary defines “rogue” as follows:
1. Vagrant, tramp
2. A dishonest or worthless person: scoundrel
3. A mischievous person: scamp
4. A horse inclined to shirk or misbehave
5. An individual exhibiting a chance and usually inferior biological variation

Check it here: www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/rogue. Really. You can’t make this stuff up, folks!!

Anyway, does she have an editor? Is there anyone in her camp who can point out to her that she’s now labeled herself as a tramp, scoundrel, or scamp? Or at least that she’s headed that direction, given that the word “going” implies she’s moving towards something?

I’m assuming based on previous media interviews that she has a ghost writer, since she has been unable to compose a coherent sentence on her own. Maybe the ghost writer could have pointed out politely that she might have spent a few more minutes thinking up a better title.

I watched the Oprah interview on TV yesterday in its entirety, and I have to say it was certainly more sympathetic that I had thought it would be. And I do have to admit that I hate Lady Sarah a tiny bit less today than I did yesterday. Still TOTALLY NOT a fan, but my hard little heart might have warmed up towards her just a tiny smidgen. A smidgen, mind you. JUST a smidgen.

She was either uberprepared for the Queen of Talkshows, or she might just have a lick of sense after all. She was well-spoken and kept her composure. She answered hard questions pretty credibly. She did not wink at the camera or play the “you betcha” card one time! There was none of the good old girl, pitbull with lipstick crap we saw in the campaign.

For the most part, she sounded like she had a brain and actually knew how to use it. Things might have been a whole lot different if that’s the Sarah Palin we had seen last fall. Good thing she was coached so effectively by the good old boys in the McCain camp.

Now for those of you (mostly Mom and Robin) who might be holding out hope that I’ll jump on the Palin for 2012 bandwagon, stop it right now! I think she’s totally unqualified to be the leader of the most powerful country in the world. I disagree with her on most issues, and I think it’s a crying damn shame that she played the good old girl card last fall when she’s clearly perfectly capable of portraying women as smart and credible.

She could have used last fall’s campaign to show that women can be credible politicians and play alongside the men. But her campaign, like this stupid book title, fell far short. And with that, she failed us all.

Lookin' for love in all the wrong places

From the Dumbass Criminal Files....




Please write your own joke. Thanks for tuning in.

Bouncy Bouncy Bouncy Bing!

I'm finding this bouncing back from cancer thing a lot harder than I thought it would be. Remember back in July, I was all optimistic and bright eyed about how this was just another inconvenience along life's journey? This was just going to be unpleasant and expensive and then I would bounce right back, no worse for the wear? My glass was half full, and by gosh, I was going to enjoy every last drop of it!

Now? Not so much.

Welcome to the stage tonight, if you will, Dark & Twisty Lady Steele.

Some strange phenomenon happens when you are diagnosed with cancer, even the "not bad" kind. Suddenly, all you think about is cancer. Is it going to kill me? Will I lose my hair and throw up for the first time in 22 years? (I'm really not making that up, but that's another blog). Will I leave my poor sweet child an orphan and her father a widower at 36? Will he remarry a woman that's able to keep up with the laundry? Will my mother and my sister and my brother lose someone else they love to this dreaded disease? Will I get fired? How will we pay for this? Will I lose my boobs and have to wear a part of my butt in my bra for the rest of my life?

What sucked most for me was the time between the "hey you've got cancer" talk and the "ok, now we at least know it's not likely to kill you" talk. I don't know why it is ok to think that waiting a couple weeks to get an answer about how bad this really might be is acceptable. But for some reason, it is. And so, you wait.

I've survived the lumpectomies, both of them. I have a scar and some soreness still, which seems odd to me since my last surgery was four months ago. I made it through radiation, all six and a half weeks of it. I have a fistful of vicodin from the surgeries that I'm saving for a special occasion.

On the surface, I ought to be good to go. But now every little mole, every headache, muscle twitch, or tummy ache sends me to the computer in search of what might be slowly killing me now.

I had the strangest thing happen about a month ago. I won't burden you with the details, but if you'd like to read more about a REALLY fun affliction, click here: Trigeminal Neuralgia. The short version is that I was knocked upside the head with this horrid pain that stung quickly, struck hard, and stuck around anywhere from seconds to hours. Was I optimistic and bright eyed when this thing struck? Hellll no. I was convinced that my non-metatastic (a fancy word that means "doesn't spread") breast cancer had spread to my brain, where a giant tumor was slowly taking my life. Turns out, not so much. A trip to a couple of new docs, some really great medicine, and bing, bang, boom. I'm cured. But it was scary.

MrG and I have been battling some type of upper respiratory thing. Coughing. Snot. Lots of both. He's been sick for more than a month, and I've had it for a couple of weeks. Is it the swine flu, I wonder? Bubonic Plague? Pleurisy? Tuberculosis? Not so much. Turns out it's simply seasonal allergies and a compromised immune system.

My friends look at me differently now. The previously casual "hi, how are you" has now turned into "how are you, really? Are you ok? Do you need anything?" I have a friend (shout out to you, Shelly) who walked for 3 days with my name emblazoned on her pack. My dear sweet friends at work wrote checks to the Komen during a month when no one should have been asking them for anything. Well earned praise at work due to a decidely kick-ass sales year is now tempered with, "and you've done it with all of the challenges you've faced."

The old me has been replaced by the Me 2.0, Cancer Upgrade Pack.

The point is, Cancer has defined my life since June of this year, and I'm having a terribly tough time shaking it.

Some really good things have come of it - our company will now be making screening mammograms available EVERY YEAR for our women, not just every other year. And that is due in part to my story. I have friends who are getting their first mammograms because of me, and they are sharing my story with their friends. I know to the center of my soul that my fight will help another woman win a fight. Somewhere, somehow, I know this. I've raised money, my friends have raised money, and together we have raised awareness. So it's not all bad.

I'm really ready, though, to shake out from under this black cloud that has hovered around me. My inner writer is with me again - she's talking to me in the car and at night as I try to unwind for a night of restless sleep. I'm finding myself amused by every day stuff and making little notes that I promise myself I will act upon. Days later when I find the note, it seems beyond my scope of comprehension that at any one time those little scribbles made enough sense to me to convince me that I could indeed write about them.

I must admit I feel a certain amount of pressure to be witty and interesting here, and I suspect that my blog niggling at me is just one more thing that my overtaxed brain has to work through. But we're getting there. Like I tell LittleG, "we're not there yet angel, but we're getting closer."

Hang in there, dear reader, because I am on the upswing. I'm headed into Holiday Hysteria, which commences next week with LittleG's sixth birthday. I've already considered my holiday baking, which is good, but I don't think there is a way in the world I can pull off the 12 Days of Christmas this year.

I might surprise us all, though, so keep those cards and letters coming. And cross your fingers that I bounce up more often than down. I'll get there, friends. Ever forward.