Every day, the kids have been at summer camp, for the second week in a row. I've noticed a pattern of behavior that I feel compelled to warn you about. Today's lesson is about their feeding patterns.
If you parent children, or you're thinking about it someday, here's some terminology that I think might be useful for you to add to your repertoire:
Hungry: That moment, five minutes after their morning bowl of cereal, which I might add you've already asked them THREE TIMES "are you sure you have enough to eat?", when they completely forget that they ever ate anything EVER in their whole entire lives and will waste away if you don't allow them to have a smoothie, which you have to make. With no ingredients available whatsoever in your kitchen or the neighbor's fridge either, 'cause they're out of town and you can get in their house and you already checked the day before.
Angry: That moment, one minute after the five minutes referenced above when the children hear the dreaded word of ALL DREADED WORDS: no. Two teeny tiny letters with MASSIVE implications. You can expect a rant, tantrum, a Marcia Clark-worthy argument for you to go to the store immediately, tears, and maybe even the silent treatment. While rarely given, the silent treatment is the most preferred and treasured response to hearing the word NO, ever exhibited by a species known as childus ungratefulnus.
Hangry: The second most dreaded combination of all TIME: hungry and angry, this mood usually appears around 4pm daily when both mother and child are ready to sell each other on e-Bay. Children are acutely aware that at this particular juncture in their day, you're more likely to allow them to eat things you normally wouldn't, if they're HANGRY enough. There are varying levels of hangry, the lesser of which can be satisfied with a handful of dry cereal, but the hangrier the child the harder it is to satisfy the beast, and the less sugary, unhealthy, I'd-never-allow-my-child-to-eat-that-before-dinner snacks you have on hand, the more aggregious the offense. BEWARE: Hangry can stretch into hours of good family fun, and a pretty wicked-cool YouTube video, if not handled properly.
Hangired: Last but not least, there's HANGIRED, which is THE SINGLE MOST HORRIFYING COMBINATION of Hungry/Angry/Tired. If the child is not satisfied with the snack it received when it was hangry, and the longer it waits before dinner, they thus become HANGIRED and that's just a road you don't want to do down. They child will throw every last weapon in their arsenal at you, with the exception of manipulative false politeness and calm. Nope, they'll whine, complain, cry, bargain. It's the four stages of acceptance that immediately following whatever food you can cram in their food hole they'll be going straight to bed. And you'll be pouring yourself that drink. Your mouth literally waters at the mere thought of that first sip of the most refreshing beverage ever created by man.
Next lesson: Sleep patterns, including their innate ability to wake up at the ass crack of dawn on Saturday morning, and their complete inability to get up at 7am on a Wednesday for school or camp.
Future lessons will also include chapters on their stall tactics (we'll focus on shoe-tying and teeth brushing) and many, many other exciting things that will help you better understand your offspring. Cheers, it's five o'clock somewhere. I think. No, I'm sure of it.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Still got it...but he probably forgot his contacts!
This is a true story, and I'm only sharing it because I think it's pretty funny. I've been to the gym a few times since Saturday, and before you get all huffy puffy and indignant that I'm going against doctor's orders, know that I HAVE the green light to ride the spin bike and since my arms and chest are TOTALLY USELESS I haven't exercised ANYTHING above the waist, except my mouth, but even under anesthesia my mouth never stopped:
Apparently as I was being wheeled off to the operating room I tried to grab my phone out of Mark's pocket to play a "song" to get me keyed up for surgery. I think mentally I was trying to make something familiar about an unfamiliar and scary situation so I pretended (I think) like this was a big race.
I was begging him to play my all-time-favorite-get-amped-up song "Welcome to the Jungle" and he wasn't able to comply so I started singing "I'm Sexy and I Know It" instead. Which is hilarious because I was wearing a hospital gown and green non-skid socks and not a damn thing more.
As I usually do, I have totally digressed from the actual story I was going to tell you. So at the gym the other day, mid-morning there's usually a smattering of folks of various levels of fitness.
There's the steroid-shooting, loudly grunting, let me drop my pants and check my muscles in my skivvies dude (yes, this really happened), there are folks who are, well, likely retired, and many other people, I call them KIDS, who are probably home for the summer from college, who look barely old enough to drive a car legally, let alone hang out in a gym.
On a rare occasion I'll even see guys in there in flip flops lifting weights. FLIP. FLOPS. REALLY?! Who does that? I'm left to assume that this particular "gentleman" forgot his shoes, and likely in this case he must have also forgotten to put in his contacts.
I was in the corner stretching out after an epic spin workout (30 minutes of barely moving and dripping with sweat was VERY annoying, but hey, I'm recovering from surgery so what do I expect?) and I could see Mr. Flip Flops looking over periodically.
As I walked my sweaty, still post-surgery bloated ass out the door Mr. Flip Flops TOTALLY CHECKED ME OUT.
That said, I am sure as soon as he saw my gray hair and wrinkles up close and personal he probably thought better of it, but I had to share because when all you've got is a pair of slightly and artificially inflated boobies to show off it does kind of feel good to know you've still got it. From a VERY LENGTHY DISTANCE.
Next time I see Mr. Flip Flops I suspect he'll have proper footwear and glasses. Just in case.
Yeah, I'm sexy and I know it.
Apparently as I was being wheeled off to the operating room I tried to grab my phone out of Mark's pocket to play a "song" to get me keyed up for surgery. I think mentally I was trying to make something familiar about an unfamiliar and scary situation so I pretended (I think) like this was a big race.
I was begging him to play my all-time-favorite-get-amped-up song "Welcome to the Jungle" and he wasn't able to comply so I started singing "I'm Sexy and I Know It" instead. Which is hilarious because I was wearing a hospital gown and green non-skid socks and not a damn thing more.
As I usually do, I have totally digressed from the actual story I was going to tell you. So at the gym the other day, mid-morning there's usually a smattering of folks of various levels of fitness.
There's the steroid-shooting, loudly grunting, let me drop my pants and check my muscles in my skivvies dude (yes, this really happened), there are folks who are, well, likely retired, and many other people, I call them KIDS, who are probably home for the summer from college, who look barely old enough to drive a car legally, let alone hang out in a gym.
On a rare occasion I'll even see guys in there in flip flops lifting weights. FLIP. FLOPS. REALLY?! Who does that? I'm left to assume that this particular "gentleman" forgot his shoes, and likely in this case he must have also forgotten to put in his contacts.
I was in the corner stretching out after an epic spin workout (30 minutes of barely moving and dripping with sweat was VERY annoying, but hey, I'm recovering from surgery so what do I expect?) and I could see Mr. Flip Flops looking over periodically.
As I walked my sweaty, still post-surgery bloated ass out the door Mr. Flip Flops TOTALLY CHECKED ME OUT.
That said, I am sure as soon as he saw my gray hair and wrinkles up close and personal he probably thought better of it, but I had to share because when all you've got is a pair of slightly and artificially inflated boobies to show off it does kind of feel good to know you've still got it. From a VERY LENGTHY DISTANCE.
Next time I see Mr. Flip Flops I suspect he'll have proper footwear and glasses. Just in case.
Yeah, I'm sexy and I know it.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
How I Feel...
Have you ever avoided a head-on car collision? You know that heart-pounding, life re-evaluating, ever-so-thankful-you-didn't-die feeling? Times that by about 1000. That's how I feel.
Ever since I got the all-clear on July 19, my mind is reeling. I am thankful, I am relieved, I am evaluating what I can do better as a person (and the list is long).
And I ask myself a lot of what-ifs, like what if I hadn't scratched under my boob late that Sunday night?
What if I hadn't shed nearly 50 lbs?
What if my OB/GYN wouldn't have ordered a mammogram when I went in for my annual lube, oil & filter this summer because I wasn't 40 yet?
What if I hadn't eaten a lot of soy products and had an IUD? What if I created the perfect storm for breast cancer?
Then I think about my good fortune and the thankfulness takes over. I am thankful that I caught my breast cancer early, thankful that I got the BEST CARE POSSIBLE. Thankful that I had the A-Team of Doctors and health care professionals. Winnie the scheduler is officially my hero. She's the MacGyver of all schedulers, who can make a hole in a surgical schedule appear out of nowhere, using nothing but determination and moxie.
Dr. Nathalie Johnson, my surgeon, who never treated me like a patient, but someone who needed to be treated like a person and didn't need clinical jargon. God Bless her. I'll miss her warm loving hugs.
And Margie Glissmeyer, the formidable oncologist who presented me with options for care, and only after I made my choice told me in such a way that I had made the right decision, without seeming judgemental about any of the choices or routes I could have taken.
And then the guilt sets in. I know it seems so stupid to feel guilty that I have the best possible outcome you could want, save for not ever having had breast cancer. But I have talked to a few other Survivors who had it way worse than I, and I feel like I'm cheating on my algebra quiz because I got off easy.
So many women out there I know personally had it a lot tougher, they got the full-meal deal: chemo, mastectomy, reconstruction, radiation, tamoxifen and all I had to do was order up a couple of items from the dollar menu and I'm fine. It's good to be Catholic so you can really wallow in the guilt thing, eh?
And then I start thinking of what I can do better, now that I've cheated an early death by complete accident. Yeah, top of the list is better wife, and better mother. More time with my kids and husband. Less time on the iPhone. More time coloring pictures, playing games, kissing and hugging and so many other things.
And then I go right back to feeling like I just avoided that life-crushing head on collision. One day, I want to just feel happy.
Ever since I got the all-clear on July 19, my mind is reeling. I am thankful, I am relieved, I am evaluating what I can do better as a person (and the list is long).
And I ask myself a lot of what-ifs, like what if I hadn't scratched under my boob late that Sunday night?
What if I hadn't shed nearly 50 lbs?
What if my OB/GYN wouldn't have ordered a mammogram when I went in for my annual lube, oil & filter this summer because I wasn't 40 yet?
What if I hadn't eaten a lot of soy products and had an IUD? What if I created the perfect storm for breast cancer?
Then I think about my good fortune and the thankfulness takes over. I am thankful that I caught my breast cancer early, thankful that I got the BEST CARE POSSIBLE. Thankful that I had the A-Team of Doctors and health care professionals. Winnie the scheduler is officially my hero. She's the MacGyver of all schedulers, who can make a hole in a surgical schedule appear out of nowhere, using nothing but determination and moxie.
Dr. Nathalie Johnson, my surgeon, who never treated me like a patient, but someone who needed to be treated like a person and didn't need clinical jargon. God Bless her. I'll miss her warm loving hugs.
And Margie Glissmeyer, the formidable oncologist who presented me with options for care, and only after I made my choice told me in such a way that I had made the right decision, without seeming judgemental about any of the choices or routes I could have taken.
And then the guilt sets in. I know it seems so stupid to feel guilty that I have the best possible outcome you could want, save for not ever having had breast cancer. But I have talked to a few other Survivors who had it way worse than I, and I feel like I'm cheating on my algebra quiz because I got off easy.
So many women out there I know personally had it a lot tougher, they got the full-meal deal: chemo, mastectomy, reconstruction, radiation, tamoxifen and all I had to do was order up a couple of items from the dollar menu and I'm fine. It's good to be Catholic so you can really wallow in the guilt thing, eh?
And then I start thinking of what I can do better, now that I've cheated an early death by complete accident. Yeah, top of the list is better wife, and better mother. More time with my kids and husband. Less time on the iPhone. More time coloring pictures, playing games, kissing and hugging and so many other things.
And then I go right back to feeling like I just avoided that life-crushing head on collision. One day, I want to just feel happy.
Monday, July 23, 2012
The Taming of the Tamoxifen Shrew
So many things have been going on over the past few weeks. I'm not entirely sure how much most folks know about my prognosis as I was in a medicated coma for for a few days and I don't know what all I've divulged. I still have a bit of anesthesia brain, I forget simple words and tasks while I work to reclaim what little sanity I had before this whole crazy train got rolling.
Basically, all I have is good news to share. My cancer NEVER spread to my lymph nodes, the surgeon got it all and then some, and I don't have to endure chemotherapy. I will say it until I'm blue in the face, EARLY DETECTION SAVED MY LIFE.
And I need to be brutally freaking honest in saying that I found my lump BY ACCIDENT. And ONLY by the grace of God. More on that in a later post.
The only lingering issues are completing my reconstruction. My first "inflation" is this Wednesday and I can hardly wait! I hope to have it done in time to have the new girls keeping me afloat in Hawaii at the end of August, but I'll be glad to be wherever I am. Pinky swear.
And, in case you're wondering, we're going through all suggested names for the twins and will post the best of the best for voting purposes soon.
The only other lingering treatment is that I will take Tamoxifen for the next five years. This little pill gives you menopausal symptoms while your body gets used to it. Super fun. But the real bonus is that five years from now I'll go back to "normal" and get to do menopause all over again. So I'm considering the next five years a good training run.
But let's get back to discussing the Tamoxifen shrew. Mark and I have named her Tami, and she's not welcome at most social gatherings, but tends to make an appearance at almost no notice whatsoever. For example, the other day on the way to my check up to get my drains removed Mark took an innocent drink of my water.
I looked at him (I think my head spun around and pea soup may have dribbled out of my mouth) and said with a very satanic creepy voice "stop drinking my f-ing water." This to a man who has BENT OVER BACKWARDS to support me and help me. But Tami doesn't care. Nope, she's just a cranky bitch.
We also took the kids to see the new Ice Age movie, and I'll be damned if Tami isn't also an emotional freaking train wreck. She started crying and sniffling at the end of a cartoon movie, that wasn't even all that good to begin with. Embarrassed much? I need a t-shirt that says "please excuse my inappropriate emotional outbursts, I'm on Tamoxifen" that I can wear in public. ALWAYS.
Tami also gets emotional about everything. Talk to her about my cancer, your dog or that fungus on your toe they ain't identified yet and she'll get all weepy. Take a sip of her water/coffee/wine and prepare to die. Just sayin'.
The hot flashes, well they're precious. I am always cold so I didn't think I'd be too bothered, but man oh man you'd think I saw The Rock the way I swoon and fan when those things come on. Geesh. And last night, well I got the night sweats. Totally. Freaking. Awesome. Covers on. Covers off. Covers on. Covers off. Fan on. Fan off. Fan on. Fan off. Covers. Fan. Covers. Fan. STOP THE INSANITY!
But let me tell you as much fun as all these symptoms are, I'll be thanking my lucky stars with every hot flash, mood swing and irrational thought over the next five years. I got off easy. I truly did. Please, check your boobs or those of your wife/girlfriend regularly. More women can have this amazingly positive outcome if we are diligent in noticing anything that doesn't belong. And remember, if you see Tami the Tamoxifen Shrew, RUN THE OTHER WAY.
Basically, all I have is good news to share. My cancer NEVER spread to my lymph nodes, the surgeon got it all and then some, and I don't have to endure chemotherapy. I will say it until I'm blue in the face, EARLY DETECTION SAVED MY LIFE.
And I need to be brutally freaking honest in saying that I found my lump BY ACCIDENT. And ONLY by the grace of God. More on that in a later post.
The only lingering issues are completing my reconstruction. My first "inflation" is this Wednesday and I can hardly wait! I hope to have it done in time to have the new girls keeping me afloat in Hawaii at the end of August, but I'll be glad to be wherever I am. Pinky swear.
And, in case you're wondering, we're going through all suggested names for the twins and will post the best of the best for voting purposes soon.
The only other lingering treatment is that I will take Tamoxifen for the next five years. This little pill gives you menopausal symptoms while your body gets used to it. Super fun. But the real bonus is that five years from now I'll go back to "normal" and get to do menopause all over again. So I'm considering the next five years a good training run.
But let's get back to discussing the Tamoxifen shrew. Mark and I have named her Tami, and she's not welcome at most social gatherings, but tends to make an appearance at almost no notice whatsoever. For example, the other day on the way to my check up to get my drains removed Mark took an innocent drink of my water.
I looked at him (I think my head spun around and pea soup may have dribbled out of my mouth) and said with a very satanic creepy voice "stop drinking my f-ing water." This to a man who has BENT OVER BACKWARDS to support me and help me. But Tami doesn't care. Nope, she's just a cranky bitch.
We also took the kids to see the new Ice Age movie, and I'll be damned if Tami isn't also an emotional freaking train wreck. She started crying and sniffling at the end of a cartoon movie, that wasn't even all that good to begin with. Embarrassed much? I need a t-shirt that says "please excuse my inappropriate emotional outbursts, I'm on Tamoxifen" that I can wear in public. ALWAYS.
Tami also gets emotional about everything. Talk to her about my cancer, your dog or that fungus on your toe they ain't identified yet and she'll get all weepy. Take a sip of her water/coffee/wine and prepare to die. Just sayin'.
The hot flashes, well they're precious. I am always cold so I didn't think I'd be too bothered, but man oh man you'd think I saw The Rock the way I swoon and fan when those things come on. Geesh. And last night, well I got the night sweats. Totally. Freaking. Awesome. Covers on. Covers off. Covers on. Covers off. Fan on. Fan off. Fan on. Fan off. Covers. Fan. Covers. Fan. STOP THE INSANITY!
But let me tell you as much fun as all these symptoms are, I'll be thanking my lucky stars with every hot flash, mood swing and irrational thought over the next five years. I got off easy. I truly did. Please, check your boobs or those of your wife/girlfriend regularly. More women can have this amazingly positive outcome if we are diligent in noticing anything that doesn't belong. And remember, if you see Tami the Tamoxifen Shrew, RUN THE OTHER WAY.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Catalina Matalina
I'm adding a new verse to one of my favorite camp songs, it is a fitting tribute to my new boobs as they settle in to my body and the swelling decreases:
Catalina Matalina Rubensteiner Wallendeiner Hogan Bogan Logan was her name.
She had two nipples on her chest,
One pointed East and the other pointed West.
Catalina Matalina Rubensteiner Wallendeiner Hogan Bogan Logan was her name.
Yeah, I'm sexy and I know it.
Catalina Matalina Rubensteiner Wallendeiner Hogan Bogan Logan was her name.
She had two nipples on her chest,
One pointed East and the other pointed West.
Catalina Matalina Rubensteiner Wallendeiner Hogan Bogan Logan was her name.
Yeah, I'm sexy and I know it.
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