This conversation brought to you by the idiots at ABC

Last week, ABC dunked me and LittleG face first into a conversation I was hoping not to have for awhile. Some genius at ABC decided it would be ok to run a promo for the Grey's Anatomy/Private Practice crossover where McSteamy drops trou and ends up with Addison on top of him on the floor in her office. All of this at 7:30 pm. And so it went like this.....

LittleG: Mom, is that sex?
Me: Yes, LittleG, that is sex.
LittleG: Mom, do you and Dad have sex?
Me: Yes, LittleG, all married people have sex.

This would have been a whole lot easier on both of us if MrG had not been in the room about to either burst an artery or hyperventilate. Thankfully, we only skimmed the surface of the subject. We still have all those fun things to cover, like how sex works, and how sometimes unmarried people have sex, or people married to other people have sex. I think I'll go burst an artery now.

C'mon ABC, she's 6, and I'm having this conversation with my Kindergartener?? I hate to sound like a fuddy duddy old mom, but for the love of all that's holy, can we keep the naked guys off t.v. at that hour of the night?

Prudishly yours,
MrsG

The old switcheroo

Some substitutions are easy ones to make, and they work beautifully.

Are you out of buttermilk and need some for a recipe? Substitute plain white milk with a bit of lemon juice or white vinegar. Sour cream and plain yogurt are interchangeable just about all the time. Rum works as well in eggnog as bourbon does. Shower gel makes a nice replacement for bubble bath if you can squirt it in the tub when your kid isn't looking. Plain water in a squirt bottle works exceedingly well when you are out of Monster Spray.

All of these are good. Some, I've found, are not. My dad suggested one time that instead of baby wipes, I use the Clorox wipes in his bathroom to clean up LittleG. God bless his soul, he meant it.

Here are some other examples, from my real life, in the past two months. I have been either really distracted, or I am a total loser. You really can't make this stuff up, folks.

1. Do not squirt Shout onto your counter top in place of 409. It definitely does NOT Shout the stains out, and it does make one big greasy mess.
2. Just because your carton of Eggnog looks just like your carton of Heavy Cream, you cannot make mashed potatoes with Eggnog. Well, you can, but they are truly awful.
3. You should not attempt to wash your hair with conditioner. The bottles look the same. The result? Not the same.
4. You cannot substitute a brown shoe for a black shoe, even if they shoe styles are exactly the same. Someone at Starbucks will notice, and that's just embarrassing.
   
5. It's a bad idea to buy a big tub of Eucerin creme to use on all your dry scaly places when your big tub of hair goo looks just like it. Turns out hair goo is no better on scaly places than Eucerin is in your hair. Yes, I've done that switcheroo both ways, with equally catastrophic results. Sometimes a girl just gets busy and doesn't pay attention.
   
6. Don't wash your face using the moisturizer in the EXACT same packaging as your cleanser. Write your own joke here.
7. Part 2, don't put your facial cleanser on your face in place of your moisturizer, then get halfway through your makeup routine before you diagnose why things just don't feel "right." Laugh out loud at your own joke here.
8. Don't use baby powder in place of carpet freshener. You will be cleaning a fine mist of baby powder off of your baseboards and flat surfaces for as long as you live in your home. Don't judge me people, I had a musty room and a linen closet full of powder I was NEVER going to need for my now school age child.
9. A plain old tissue works well for cleaning up a smudge on reading glasses. A Puffs Tissue with Lotion, not so much.
10. Skittles may look like M&Ms, but they are clearly not candy coated chocolates. Therefore, you should not make cookies with them.
11. You can add a splash of boxed mashed potato flakes to thicken up mashed potatoes with too much liquid. You should not add Bisquick instead.
12. Hair Spray and Air Spray sound alike. But boy do they have a different effect on your hair. I'm just saying.
    

And one more I don't have experience with, but I find it hysterical to consider. Don't ever take your little blue Ambien pill in place of your little blue Viagra pill, or vice versa. Seems like no good could come from either switch.

Ever forward friends, until we meet again!
Lady Steele

I'm a MEXICAN?!

I've struggled for a long time with this post - it is a sensitive topic, but it's been on my mind for a long time now. I hope I do it justice.

First, a little background. I am White. Lily White. Pasty White. I have blue eyes and freckles. Oh So White. My maternal grandmother traced our genealogy, and I'm pretty sure we are Scotch/Irish all the way back to Adam and Eve. MrG is Mexican Hispanic. His mother was born in Mexico, and his father was born in Texas to Mexican immigrants. Legal, I will add, not that it's any of your damn business.

LittleG is a perfect mix of me and her dad. She has beautiful brown eyes and long flowing dark hair like his side of the family. She gets her freckles and her temper from mine. She is quite possibly the most amazing White Caucasian Mexican Hispanic ever born. She also just recently found out she's part Mexican, and the news did not go over well.

We had never addressed the issue of her heritage with her, because for us, it's not an issue. My parents did not teach me to see skin color. Race was never discussed in our home when I was growing up, and clearly it wasn't an issue for MrG's family either, since they took me in to their very family with nary a bump in the road. And thank heavens for that.

And therein lies the problem. Skin color doesn't matter to us, so I guess we just assumed it wouldn't matter to her. Oopsie.

The face that little adorable Juanita makes in the clip above? EXACTLY the one we got when LittleG found out SHE is part Mexican. She is also part Lily White, but that doesn't seem to bother her much.

The only time skin color or race has mattered to me personally is when I've been asked to categorize the race of my daughter. I don't know how to answer that question. She is as White/Caucasian as she is Hispanic/Latino. And yet, there's no box for "Both" when it comes time to assign a race to your child. You're forced to pick one, thereby arbitrarily assigning her to a demographic category that will follow her for the rest of her life.

We saw this last winter when the headlines screamed "Black Man Elected President." Really? The guy is every bit as White as he is African American, but nobody was saying anything about "Half Black Half White Guy" getting elected to anything. I guess Mrs. Obama was forced to choose a box for her kid 48 years ago, and she selected African American over White/Caucasian.

Please don't misunderstand - I TOTALLY get it that we as a nation celebrate the fact that an African American was elected, even if he is part white. African Americans were, for far too long in our country, held as second class citizens, and Barak Obama's rise to the most powerful office in the land has historical significance that we are probably only beginning to understand.

But I don't celebrate his election because he's black. I celebrate because he was the right guy for the job. I voted for him, and in spite of current popular opinion, I would do it again. His skin color didn't have a damn thing to do with why I voted for him. And it shouldn't have mattered to anyone else as far as I'm concerned.

And there's the rub. We just can't look at him as a man. We have to see him as a black man. But as I said, he is as white as he is black. So WTF?

Minority groups have for decades asked for equal treatment - fighting for it, losing their lives in some cases. The civil unrest brought about by folks like Rosa Parks and nine brave students from Central High School in Little Rock Arkansas certainly shook things up back in the 1950s. Cesar Chavez and his band of farm workers took a stand in the 1960s and forever changed the face of migrant farming in our country.

And yet these same groups fight now for recognition and celebration of their races that would never be tolerated for Whites/Caucasians. We have Black Heritage Month, Asian Heritage Month, Hispanic Heritage Month. Hispanics have their own scholarship programs, 100% race based. We have Essence Magazine, "the black woman's guide to what's hot now."

History months and scholarships, and magazines, oh my!

But what's good for the goose isn't necessarily good for the gander, at least where skin color is concerned.

Can you imagine what would happen if my white brothers and sisters suddenly created their own White History Month? What about their own White Scholarship program? I can hear the motto now, "money for college, but only for the white kids!" And what about Lily White Mag, what every white skinned beyotch needs to know?

The outrage that would follow our celebration of our skin color to the exclusion of others is almost unimaginable. And yet, it's ok for minorities to celebrate their heritage and race, and we are not supposed to complain? Again - WTF?

As our racial groups become more blurred, I think the question of race becomes even harder to answer, and perhaps less important. What happens, for example, if LittleG ends up married to a man who is the son of a Pakistani man and a Korean woman? What little racial box will her kid fit in? Furthermore, why the hell should we care?

I think the answer is that we should just all go blissfully, stupidly colorblind. You want to celebrate your skin color? Do it, whether you're black or brown or white or red. But don't deny me the opportunity to do the same. You want to marry someone who is a different color than you are? Do it. I did, and it worked out pretty damn well.

Until we do go coast-to-coast colorblind, we'll still be forced to fill in our little race box when it comes time to apply for a job (for demographic purposes only, of course!!), get a drivers license, or fill out a a census. We'll still be able to read our racially biased magazines (or not, for us white folks). We'll still check a box on a birth certificate to indicate the racial make up of our child, even if it's only half right.

I think it's just a crying damn shame that my little Mexican kid might have opportunities available to her, or denied to her, that my little white kid might not have. It's too bad colorblind couldn't get here a generation ago.

Why am I in a crimson steed, with my boltcutters, anyway?

I've had a request from one of my most frequent readers (no, not you, Mom) to explain the origin of my blog name and by-line.

And so, I shall tell you the story, dear readers.

Once upon a time, way back in 2006, I began writing this little blog. Truth be told, I was trying to comment on someone else's blog, and it seems like the blog required me to have a blogger login. So I fell back on my old faithful, sdfgarcia.

I think it's awfully nice that my parents named me with the initials "SDF" and super nice that I married MrG, so now my initials are SDFG. Type it out. Go ahead and see how nice it feels to have your left hand just tap in rhythm across the keys. It feels good, huh? But I digress.

sdfgarcia has kind of been my go-to name for "stuff" like websites, emails, etc. It just followed that I would use that to create a blogger login.

So I created my login, and then I figured since I had it, I may as well use it. I wrote and wrote and sometimes people found me, but more often than not, they didn't. Was it my totally lame ass boring blog name? Probably, but I'll never know.

Because, dear readers, everything changed late in the night on September 1, 2008. I got a call from my BFF, who lives only a mile or so away. Here is how the call went, more or less:

BFF: Hi.
Lady Steele: Hello. You're calling late.
BFF: Yes. I know. Do you have any bolt cutters?
Lady Steele: Why yes, I believe we do. I think they are in the room where we keep the car.
BFF: Can you get them and come over right away?
Lady Steele: Why yes, of course. Whatever has happened?
BFF: You know the metal baby gate between the living room and the foyer?
Lady Steele: Yes, I believe I do.
BFF: Well, Toby has managed to get his head wedged between two bars, and we can't get him out!
Lady Steele: Holy mother of pearl! I will be there forthwith!!

And away I galloped.

Actually, I went into the room where we keep the car, found the bolt cutters, and hauled ass in my dorky red minivan to my best friend's house, where we proceeded to pry the metal baby gate open enough to release one very scared little weinee dog. (I should note for the record that no animals were harmed in the naming of this blog).

My BFF is a notorious night owl, and I suspect after her scare that she was up for hours just working off adrenaline. Nevertheless, when I awoke the next morning, I had an email thanking me for my late night trip over to save her (she would have done the same for me, and more!). In the email, she said I reminded her of a superhero, charging forth on my crimson steed, boltcutters ever at the ready.

And a superhero was born! Well, not born, but definitely named.

I do consider myself a modern superhero. I parent full time. I work full time. I do laundry ALL the damn time. I manage a house full time. Ok, so maybe the manage a house part is only part time, but I pay the damn maids to fill in the parts I can't or won't handle. I'm on the PTA. I'm a soccer mom.

Maybe I don't make the most money or keep the cleanest house or feed my family the best meals ever, but I do a pretty good job at covering the bases most of the time. And for that, I consider myself a modern superhero. As I consider every other working schmuck mom out there who holds down a full time job, then comes home every evening to start her second job.

I went to a terrific Thanksgiving potluck at a dear friend's house last month, and I was so thrilled when one of her guests hopped up, hugged me and said "you're Lady Steele!" As great as my initials are, nobody ever called me by them at a potluck. So I figure, I've got a winner.

Also, I think it's a nice tribute to my BFF, who is there for me always, asking nothing in return, except maybe a late night trip to her house with a tool of one sort or another.

And there you have it friends, a tale of the birth of a modern superhero. I hope it was worth the wait.

Hugs,
Lady Steele

It's hard to keep up with them Joneses

This whole Christmas decoration thing is becoming quite a burden. First I have to nag MrG to go into the room above the garage, which I think he refers to as "the attic." Then I have to listen to him yell in a muffled voice about how much crap we have up there and how much of it we really need to keep. Once he gets it all down the stairs, then I have to nag him and LittleG to help me get it all placed appropriately in the house and the yard.

For what? So we can try to one-up the neighbors in our quest for the perfectly decorated Christmas wonderland, deep in the heart o' Texas?

By the time we're finished, we're all three mad at each other and exhausted. And we never freakin' one-up anyone. So this year, we're taking another approach. Instead of trying to out-Christmas our neighbors, we're going to bow out politely and let them win. Here's my basic plan....



Don't hate me because I'm clever. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! And by the way, Miss Betty, you've got a light out on your eave.....

It's a Festivus Miracle!

Well, dear readers, I cleared a hurdle today. A big one.

This was my first post-op mammogram since finishing up my radiation, and I'm glad to say I passed with flying colors! Both of my girls are free and clear, at least for the next six months.

I won't go into many details, except to say that after my first diagnostic mammogram after two surgeries and 33 zaps of radiation, I will NEVER again complain about the old run of the mill screening mammo, which heretofore, I thought was the most painful thing ever. I know better now.

Get 'em checked girls. It's better to know than not know!

Hugs,
Lady Steele

Baby announcements from Mars and Venus

Reminders of how different men and women are can strike at the strangest times! We've had two babies born at work in the past couple of months. One's birth was announced by a woman, and one was announced by a man. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

You think you can guess which came from the man?

Subject: Baby Smith is here

John Alexander Smith was born 8 lbs 12oz and 21 inches long. Mom and baby are resting and doing great. Chris said something about the baby being cute…That’s the 48th time we’ve heard him use that word in the last 2 weeks.


Subject: He is here!!!!

I am happy to pass along that

Jackson “Trey” Young Brown III

Arrived at 4:02 am this morning – 9 lbs 3 oz and 20.75”

Mom went into labor on her own yesterday, they checked into the hospital yesterday afternoon at 4, she pushed for two hours, and Trey arrived via c-section this morning.

Mom is fine and dad is ecstatic!

I have attached a picture and will send more later.

Congrats to the Brown Family!!

The Brown family baby was born first and the announcement was made by...yes, you guessed, a woman. The woman was kind enough to use lots of happy punctuation and gave us both the time and date of the blessed arrival. The man, on the other hand, gave us straight up information. No silly talk about dates or how the baby got here. No fancy schmancy punctuation or special spacing. Baby is here, all is fine.

I was excited to get the news in both cases, and both of them pretty much got the job done. But it was striking how different the messages were, both in tone and content.

I guess there might actually be something to this Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus theory. Maybe I'll spend some time thinking about that this weekend during the celebration of the six anniversary of the birth of the most spectacular child ever born. Or as MrG says, that "damn party."

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.

You're sitting in a chair....in the sky!

This is Louis CK from an appearance on Conan. He is one funny dude.

My friend MK sent this to me months ago, and it's just been waiting patiently for me to share it with you.

I flew to Tampa, FL, two weeks ago for a trade show. If you want a true appreciation of how much we expect, the sense of entitlement we've bestowed upon ourselves, simply fly by yourself to a city you've never been before. Here's how myfirst day played out.....

1. I loaded my car and drove to a parking area near the airport where a man I've never met before picked up my luggage and transported me and my luggage to the American Airlines check in counter.
   
   
2. At the check in counter, two guys I've never met before looked at a paper print-out I brought from my office. They picked up my bag, put some magic numbers on it and put it on a conveyor belt. I didn't see the bag again until Tampa.
   
   
3. Inside the airport, a lady I've never met before scanned a barcode on my piece of paper and let me get on a plane, where a man I've never met before flew me...in the air... from Dallas, TX, to Tampa, FL. And while we flew, a nice lady I had never met before served me ice cold Diet Cokes.
   
   
4. At the Tampa airport, my luggage miraculously appeared before my eyes on a conveyor belt.
   
   
5. After collecting my luggage, I took it outside, where a guy I've never met before loaded me and my luggage into a yellow car, and took us both to the Intercontinental Hotel. By the way, I had no idea whatsoever of the address of the hotel.
   
   
6. When I got there, I handed my drivers license and a piece of plastic to a woman I've never met before. And she gave me a nice safe place to sleep and a place to hang my clothes.

Are you getting this? I went, by myself, all the way across the country and slept in a room with nice fluffy pillows, armed only with my drivers license, a print-out from Orbitz, a credit card, and a handful of dollar bills for tips and taxi.

I didn't know a single soul who helped me that day, but I expected nonetheless that each of those strangers would perform his or her function and my trip would go off without a hitch, which it did.

What a remarkable world we live in!!

Clorox Wipes and Lysol and Potty Covers....oh my!

We have this woman in our office who never fails to amaze me when she sneezes. She lets loose a full blown, snot flying ACHOO-echoing kind of sneeze. I've seen her stifle them in meetings, so I know she's physically capable of doing so. In general, when this woman sneezes, everyone hears it. And many in adjacent areas feel it.

There is no attempt to cover the sneeze or to come out with some little delicate "ah-choo" (or the "study hall sneeze" as my little sister used to call it). It's a big ugly nasty, loud, snotty affair.

I've been quite put out by this for the entire time we've worked together, but I can't really figure out a way to bring it to her attention that it's totally offensive to those of us who office near her to hear her shout ACHOO and see her blow spittle across the office without sounding snarky.

So I was a little shocked today when I walked into the ladies room in front of her. I headed in to my designated stall (yes, I have a favorite) and heard her file into a stall just down the row. At that point, the Toilet Cover Rustle began. You know the one - I've got to fish this potty cover out of its tissue box home and spread it on the potty so I can sit down on it. Rustle, tug, tug, rustle, spread, rustle.

REALLY?!?!

Let me make sure I understand this. The SNEEZER is worried about germs?

Trust me lady - my booty cooties ain't got nothing on your lung butter.

If you're so worried about germs, try sneezing into the crook of your arm. Or perhaps a tissue. Make an effort to protect us from your germs. Or for the love of all that's holy, don't attempt to protect yourself from ours.

It seems a bit out of line for me to point out to her that she's spreading a lot more germs when she sneezes than she's protecting herself from when she uses a potty cover. Maybe I just need to work on my delivery a little. Subtletly has never been my strong suit.

SNEEZER, if you somehow got ahold of this post and it hurt your feelings - so sorry. My bad. Someone should have pointed out to you gently a long time ago how bad it is to sneeze uncovered, especially in the land of Swine Flu and The Hygenically Correct. It's nasty. It's unsanitary. It's offensive. And it hurts your credibility as a professional.

In the meantime, I'm really glad to know you won't be picking up any nasty germs on your on your lady parts. We, on the other hand, will be walking around with your snot in our hair. Thanks a bunch for that.

Hello.....is anyone there??

Dear Right Brain,

Hey. I know you've had a rough summer, and I've tried to cut you some slack. Quite frankly, I feel like I've filled in the blanks pretty well. After all, I've kept up with all the scheduling tasks for the past three months. The bills have been paid on time. You and your family have gotten where they are supposed to be at the time they were supposed to be there - that's including soccer practice, soccer games, radiation treatments, doctors appointments, PTA meetings, boys day out, work, school, travel. Prescription medications were taken on time by the appropriate family member. Pets have received heartworm medication. The grocery list has magically appeared each week. And you know what? I'm freakin' done for awhile.

You have been curled up under your desk in your mental fetal position for long enough. You've not published a blog in weeks. You're not decorating cakes. You've not made a necklace in heaven only knows how long. It's time you just get over yourself. Put your big girl panties on and get back here and blog, for the love of all that is holy.

Some of your friends have been understated in their desire to see an update; some have been more outspoken. Regardless, this is your gig, not mine, so pull yourself together, sister.

Love,

Left Brain

Hello, all.....

Just wanted to pop in and say hello. I have lots to share with you, but not enough energy to sound witty or interesting. Snarky, mean, or just plain old unpleasant? I can pull that off. But witty or interesting? Not so much.

Here's the Cliff's Note version.... LittleG has started Kindergarten, Big Girl School, with BOYS in it. I am in the midst of PTA Board Member Boot Camp. LittleG has ventured in to the world of organized sports in the form of 5-year old soccer, which is about as close to herding cats as you can get without actual four-legged beasts.

I am just over halfway through with my radiation treatments. I am exhausted. And itchy. And blistered. And bitchy. And braless as often as possible. And still, I have 14 more treatments to go. Heaven only knows how bad I will be three weeks from now.

My big challenge this week is to figure out how I can go to LittleG's soccer tournament this weekend without a bra and not look like total white trash. Given that it's September in Texas, I'm thinking that the layered sweater approach is not going to work.

I've got a stack of books to read but not enough energy to follow a simple story line, or in some cases, a sentence. I am working my way slowly through one about lessons learned (and not learned) about breast cancer. It's struck a chord with me, and it's a shame I can't just sit down and knock it out in one sitting.

I am having a challenge at work that makes me very unhappy and I don't know what to do to fix it, or even if it can be fixed.

We have sort of adopted this crazy little dog and we are working him into our family. He's fitting fairly well, but adjusting to another living being is just another interesting turn of events for us.

My life sounds kind of like it sucks right now, but truly, it doesn't.

Did I mention my kid started school? And soccer? And that I've been entrusted to make school a better place for 900 kids? And that I have health insurance and a job to pay for it all?

School has been eye opening, and at turns, hysterical. Seems our LittleG is a tiny bit boy crazy. I don't for the life of me get where she gets THAT. But that's another blog.

My home life, new canine notwithstanding, has been pretty darn good. MrG has really stepped up and helped me when I've been too tired to function, letting me nap on weekends, and running taxi duty to and from school. He might just turn into a pretty good soccer dad, too. He doesn't coddle me, but he has been supportive, and dare I say it, nurturing. My sweet baby girl is at turns empathetic and caring, and totally self-absorbed, just as a five-year old should be. My mom, ever present, would do whatever I asked of her at the drop of a dime. My sister, from across the miles, channels energy to me and I feel it from afar, even when I'm too exhausted to let her know.

My friends continue to amaze me with their support and love. From random niceness at the office to an unexpected afternoon with my BFF last week, it's clear to me in every way that I'm not bearing the burden of this summer by myself. I have no way of telling them, without sounding patronizing, how much it means to me when they check on me, or when they leave me the hell alone when they get the vibe that what I need most is solitude. Somehow, they just know what I need, and they give it to me, again and again, asking nothing in return from me.

I have found the most ridiculous way to divert my mind....I'm playing Farmville and Farmtown on Facebook. It is absolutely inane to me that I am harvesting pretend crops and collecting pretend eggs from pretend chickens on a pretend farm with pretend money that I only pretended to earn. And yet, I am almost foolishly proud when I click in and see that I have a row of pretend squash to harvest. I guess it makes me feel like I am at least accomplishing something, when I feel like in real life, I'm missing the boat a lot of the time.

Soon, I hope, I will return from the land of pretend back into the land of reality. In the meantime, I am going to keep pretend farming my pretend crops, and do the best I can to keep my head above water.

It's probably good for all of you that I am as quiet as I am right now, because ohmygosh if I could form coherent thoughts, I would be ALL OVER the scandal that is POTUS speaking to the school children. Hopefully, when I do make it back to the land of the living, the subject will still be timely enough to debate. That will be worth waiting for!

Keep those cards and letters coming in. I'll be back next week. Or not.

Important Parenting Advice

LittleG is starting Kindergarten in two weeks, and I've been dunked head first into the What Not To Say in The Principal's Office pool....

Certain schools in our school district offer a Dual Language program for children, but the elementary school to which we are assigned is not one of them. Since our last name is Garcia, I feel like it might be a benefit for LittleG to learn a little Espanol. Since you can't get no Spanish teachin' in our 'hood, I do a little internet research and figure out which 'hood can teach my chula the mother tongue.

I trudge across town, notebook and checkbook in hand, to visit one of the campuses that does offer the program. I march my Caucasian (Irish/Scottish descent), blue eyed, freckle faced self into the principal's office, fully ready to write whatever size check it takes to get the office staff to approve our transfer to the predominatly Hispanic school. I figure between my lilly white skin tone and checkbook, I've got a pretty good shot at improving the English to Spanish ratio in Mrs K's Kindergarten class.

And that's when it goes downhill.

Lady Steele: Hello, nice offfice ladies.

Office Ladies: Hola, guera. {Hello white lady}

Lady Steele: I understand that your school pioneered this cutting edge dual language program and that the original dual language teacher is still on staff and teaching Kindergarteners.

Office Ladies: You are absolutely right! Clearly, you are one highly informed parent and you've thoroughly researched the program.

Lady Steele: Yes I am, and yes I have. And I AM. DESPERATE. TO. GET. MY. CHILD. INTO. YOUR. PROGRAM. I will do WHATEVER it takes to enroll her here.

Office Ladies: Lady Steele, how do you feel about the PTA? Drop your checkbook and step away! That's not going to work here.


And that's how I ended up serving on the Board of the PTA before my child even crossed the threshold of the school.

Truth be told, I am pretty excited about it. My real life gig has prepared me well for the challenges of whatever being the Chair of Donations and Special Projects will bring. I certainly am not afraid to ask for things, and good gawd y'all, the public schools in our 'burb have a long list of needs and wants.

So any of you out there whose children have NOT yet started school, please write the following phrase in BIG TALL LETTERS using the scented marker of your choice, then post it on every flat surface you come in contact with:

I will not, under any circumstances EVER utter the phrase,

"I will do whatever it takes" in the principal's office at school.

I can assure you that if you offer, they will take you up on it, and you will find yourself with an irrevocable seat on the elementary school PTA for the next five years. My mom (a teacher herself) is already predicting a meteoric rise to the top of the PTA food chain.

Peace out, friends. I gotta go buy some new pencils and scented markers.....

Four Women, 1 Man, 1 Tube of Krazy Glue

From the Krazy Glue® website:

Whatever you're making or repairing, there's an Instant Krazy Glue® formula or applicator to help you do the job - in an instant.

Meanwhile, from our friends at the Associated Press

WAUSAU, Wis. — A married man who planned to rendezvous with one of his handful of lovers at an eastern Wisconsin motel instead found himself bound, blindfolded and assaulted by a group of women out for revenge, according to court documents.

Four women, including his wife, eventually showed up to humiliate the man, who ended up with his penis glued to his stomach in a bizarre plot to punish him for a lover's quadrangle gone bad, according to the documents filed in Calumet County.

Now it's the women who face punishment, perhaps six years in prison, and at least one said Monday the story has gotten twisted and she's embarrassed.

"I am disturbed. I am upset. I am having a hard time handling life; an emotional wreck," Wendy Sewell, 43, of Kaukauna, said in a telephone interview from her home. "I am ashamed."

Sewell, Therese Ziemann, 48, of Menasha, Michelle Belliveau, 43, of Neenah, and the man's wife are charged with being party to false imprisonment, a felony. Ziemann also is charged with fourth-degree sexual assault.

The women are free on $200 cash bails. Investigators say all the women but Belliveau were romantically involved with the man. Online court records didn't list defense attorneys for any of the women Monday.

The Associated Press is not naming the man's wife to protect his identity as an alleged victim of sexual assault.

The women's plot for revenge unfolded last Thursday at the Lakeview Motel about 30 miles southwest of Green Bay in the tiny village of Stockbridge near the scenic shores of Lake Winnebago.

Criminal complaints filed Friday allege the man agreed to be bound with "sheer sheets" and blindfolded with a pillowcase for a "rub down" by Ziemann. She instead cut off his underwear with a scissors and summoned the others to the room with a text message.

Ziemann struck the man in the face, and used Krazy Glue to attach his penis to his stomach when the other women arrived, according to the complaints. The man told investigators he also was threatened with a gun. Ziemann told investigators she didn't have a gun but may have told the victim, "Do you know how much I want to shoot you?"

He started screaming and the women rushed off fearful that he could get loose and hurt them but allegedly took his wallet, vehicle and cell phone.

Ziemann told investigators she met the man online through Craigslist, fell in love and paid for his use of a room at the motel for the past two months. She said she gave him about $3,000. Then last Wednesday, she learned from the man's wife that he was married, had other girlfriends and was "using them for money." She expected the money to be repaid, according to the documents.

During Thursday's confrontation with the man, Ziemann told investigators Sewell asked him, "Which one do you love more?" and the man's wife made a derisive remark about him being scared.

The man got free from the bed by chewing through one of his bindings, went outside and borrowed a telephone from the motel owner to call police.


~ You no-good cheatin' bastards outta watch out fer yerselves. That's all I'm sayin'.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. Peace out, friends, and be faithful.

Things that make you go 'hmmmmm

Turns out that my inner writer must be something of a lush. After I fed her a little white zin last night, she kept me awake, for a long long time, working on a series of posts I've been thinking about since March.....

With that in mind, I'm pretty sure we're back. Thanks for checking in. See you soon.