Holiday-Schmoliday...I need a Break!

Why am I feeling restless this holiday season? Why do I feel so unorganized? Something is going on, and I don't like it. We made it through the tough months of fenagling the start-up of school, religious ed class, piano and volleyball practice and games. Almost every night was something after school and on weekends. I think the fast-paced daily routine is now a bit of an addiction for me. I am craving the busy-ness and don't feel right unless I'm running ninety-to-nothing. But even as I still am running errands and scheduling back-to-back activities, I don't feel right either.

Thanksgiving week flew by as I worked most of it. Even though the girls were gone that week with their dad, I didn't get much done. I'm buying gifts willy-nilly and not sure what all I've bought. Not smart. Money is tighter than ever this year since I have vacations planned for the Spring. I told the girls if they didn't see much from mom this year, they should appreciate the things they get from others in our family and realize the Spring Break ski trip will be a delayed Christmas gift. They seemed to understand that. Don't get me wrong, these two little girls are getting a nice bunch of Mama/Santa gifts. But I thank God for their wisened ages and their own Christmas Spirit! It really is nice to have kids with who you can finally reason.



I am starting to get the idea that it is imperatively necessary for me to slow down and breathe. Take in the Christmas Spirit and count my blessings. Stop with the material-driven commercials and constant holiday-related commitments. So many others are struggling more than me. My kids have birthdays this time of year and are lucky to get gifts from their friends to tide them over until Christmas Day. They have their extended family around them to enjoy all sorts of celebrations with over these next few weeks. They are ok with how things are. Their biggest concern right now is when I'm getting the Christmas decorations down from the attic.

I am so grateful for my family and my friends and my boyfriend and my job and the cozy roof of my home. I want to show them all appreciation with gifts for the season. But it is more important to let them know how much I love them. And it's equally important to keep myself calm and thoughtful during this time of year.

Ahhh, that's better...I can smell the sweetness of Christmas already.

Preserving my 8 year old's Innocence

The Tooth Fairy made an appearance at our house last night.

We went through losing the first eight front baby teeth when Chillgirl was 5 and 6 years old. My youngest daughter is about to turn 8, so it's been a while since the last visit.

Both my girls got their teeth very early (starting @ 4-5 months old) and began losing them by age 4 and 5. They have kindergarten snaggle-tooth photos to prove it. At those early ages, the Tooth Fairy is a given. A pretty princess-like fairy flits down in the middle of the night and carries the stinky tooth away, leaving change behind? Hot Dang! That's a deal! They couldn't wait to get to sleep on those nights.

Now my oldest, Lil Lady, has lost all hers (heck, she's still got 12 year molars coming in- which must account for much of her current bitchiness, right?), and Chillgirl has finally got some more wigglies happening to the larger back teeth. The right side lower tooth rocked its way out on Tuesday at school. She came home with a little plastic tooth necklace with her stinky tooth inside and told me it fell out in Art. Yay!

She was up late that night, way past her bedtime, and I mentioned if she didn't get to sleep the Tooth Fairy wouldn't come. Yes, stellar parenting skills aren't they? Finally the house quieted. And Mom/Tooth Fairy fell asleep.

I get up Wednesday morning and began my usual morning routine, rousing the girls with first gentle nudges and normal-voiced suggestions of getting up and dressed, and then being ignored so onto the ever-escalating raised voice, to the all-out yelling and threats. At about the same time I realized what I'd done (or not done) Chillgirl pops up from my bed (where she ends up every night) and runs off to her room, because she remembered the same thing I did.

The Tooth Fairy! What'd she leave me? Huh? A pouty-faced sweet little girl comes back in my room..."My tooth is still there." More pouting.

And I, in all my motherly-wisdom, say "Well, you must've gone to bed too late for her. Maybe tonight." Pout. But all in all she took it pretty well for an almost 8 year old.

So last night she made sure she was in bed early, and fell asleep on time. I was on-point and did my Tooth Fairy Thang and all was good.

This AM she was brushing her teeth and getting dressed when she remembered and ran into her room to check. She came back in all pouty-faced again and said "Nothing"...with a crack of a smile in the corner of that precious face as she pretended to look sad.

Chillgirl: "Just kidding! I got a dollar!" (big toothless smile)

Then she proceeds to rub the dollar on her face.

Me: "Don't rub that on your face! It could be dirty with germs!"

Chillgirl: "Mom, it's not dirty...it's from Heaven."

DUH MOM!

Zoinks! Almost blew my cover.

Smart little Chillgirl!

New Love, New Neuroses

An article I read recently likened new love to a "mental health crisis", like a drug addiction or obsessive compulsive disorder. In addition, there are cooky little pheromones and hormones causing us to run around obliviously attracting mates who are biologically compatible with ourselves.

"Pheromones are chemicals capable of acting outside the body of the secreting individual to impact the behavior of the receiving individual" (medterms.com)

Creepy, huh?



Crazy in love?

I can buy that.

I can attest to the notion that LOVE FEELS GOOD.

And who doesn't like the brandy-new kind? You want more (read: all) of the person you love. I mean all the time. To be newly smitten gives off that constant internal high, the flutters in the stomach, the feeling of amazement and wonder as to why a person is so right for us, and where have they been until now?

New love can also be distracting and flustering when it occupies so much brainpower that you walk around in a lovely fluffy mental cloud all day long. Personally, I go through my day wondering what this person is doing. Or thinking. Or who he is talking to? Or is he thinking of me? It's a wonder I get anything accomplished.

The newly dating period is euphoric. Long talks on the phone, asking tons of dumb questions like what cereals do you like and would you rather wash dishes or fold clothes? It is never boring, even when investigating the mundane. You marvel over how compatible you are with each other. You make others around you nauseous with your constant idiotic grinning and love pats and kisses when they are subjected to the two of you together. It just feels all happy and tingly to sit near each other and touch as many body parts as is publicly allowed.

What? Why is that so wrong?



As if a halo of starry sparkles and aromic potpourri is following us around, and everyone must know it.

After a while, the comfortableness sets in and the brandy-newness wears off. This is still a good stage. You are still feeling pretty special and blessed to have a partner to share every thought with and be inseparable with. You get used to being loved by someone daily and being a focal point in their life and them being one in your life.

Real life situations arise, like staying over with each other and running out of toilet paper, or dealing with each others' exes/kids/parents/jobs/etc. Reality is good. Reality is what lets you know this one is possibly THE ONE. Without a healthy dose of reality, a new couple cannot be prepared for the future. Somebody's bubble is gonna burst.

All the important and unimportant questions have been asked. Talk-time is over. Now its time for action.



In a Jack-from-Will&Grace-style...aaand BACK TO ME. I will fess up and admit this next part is truly all about me...

The action phase is where I get a bit looney-tunes. My own issues with this area begins with the fact that I'm a chronic planner as well as my tendency to ask questions about a future that hasn't happened yet and expect coherent answers like, yesterday.

I get it stuck in my head what I want it to look like, like something I saw on a cheesy rom-com, and I want to know NOW if that is gonna happen. Just tell me now, honey, how will the next 5 years go? Because if it's something I don't like, let's not waste your and my time. This gets me in trouble. This gets me labeled a control-freak, a nag, a neurotic.

Ok, ok, I've never heard a mate of mine call me those things but I am imagining this is what their internal alarms are blaring when I start asking "when?" BEEP-BEEP! FREAK! FREAK! FREAK! RUN AWAY! Poor guys.


In my current sorta brandy-new relationship, a lot of things will have to take place before we are able to reside in the same town, let alone the same house. My past history with men has always been that of allowing long courting periods as long as there is a goal in sight. I went 4 years dating before I married my ex-husband. I stayed in my relationship with Romeo for almost 3 years, always assuming our lives would merge Eventually. Well, that one was a shocker (to me) and it ended abruptly with the realization that Eventually wasn't in his plans. Sooo, in my current situation, I'm hesitant to go on blind-faith that Eventually will arrive as planned in my regimented little mind. At the age of 40, I feel I don't have years to "wait-and-see" how things will flush out.

Yes, I know. Breathe. I am trying. I have talks with myself all the time. Come on, give the guy a chance. He's saying all the right things. He's doing all the right things. He loves me. He tells me he loves me. He loves my kids. He loves where I live and isn't asking me to give up my life and move. He fixes stuff around the house (bonus!). He makes me laugh. He loves my kids. Oh, did I say that already?

Yeah, I think it is wise to take a breather on my usual mental hyperactivity and hang on for the ride with this one. He's worth it.

All Clear in the Boob Department

The pain of my breast biopsy was almost gone three days later, when I called into my doctor for the results. I was supposed to hear from her after 48 hours, but seeing how it was Friday, and the biopsy was done on Tuesday, I figured my results were laying in a pile on her desk and her office staff had jammed up her schedule so she was not able to look at them.

In my humble opinion, taking a few hours a day to look at test results and then make the promised phone calls to nervously-waiting patients who are contemplating how they could possibly make it through chemo while they still coach their 7 year old's volleyball team is not too much to ask, right? I don't know. Maybe it's just me, but as a Lady Doctor, I'd be pretty damn adamant with my office staff to allow this important time in my schedule.

When I called I got the doctor's nurse line, and had to leave a message. More waiting. Finally I got a call back. From the nurse. "Everything was fine.", she said.

Wow, she went to school to learn to say that.

So I had to ask, "It was benign?" "Yes, yes, the results were benign, follow-up mammo in six months.", she said quickly. Did she have somewhere else to be? I hope it was calling other 85 ladies waiting at 4pm on a Friday to get good news. I assumed the actual doctor was making the NON-good news calls. She better be.

Thanks, Lady-who-is-not-My-Doctor.

Thanks.

Breast Biopsy...Not My Idea of a Good Time

Did the breast biopsy, and I can honestly say, I'd rather get a root canal. You saw the picture I posted in my last post. Torture chamber, yessiree. Laying on my stomach with my boob through a hole so they can xray it while they are probing it...lots of pulling and prodding. Under that table there was a world of busy going on, and I was powerless to stop it.

Initially, I only had pain from the prick of the needle which numbed the incision spot, about like the needleprick from your dentist for a root canal or cavity filling. But the position I was made to lay in on that damn table had my neck and back in spasms by halfway through it. This is no massage table, people. No hole for your head to hang in its natural position while your back and shoulders are massaged into bliss. Imagine laying on a chaise lounge on your stomach, sunbathing, but with your left arm above your head, and your head staying sharply to the right. For an hour. When I sunbathe, I move around alot. Not comfortable to keep one position on a flat surface. Apparently no one's told the mammogram/biopsy people this. I finally had to turn my head awkwardly to the left just to keep from screaming out with the cramp in my neck. This didn't help at all. Here comes a cramp beginning on the other side.

I had my iPod music going and tried to doze off but they were pulling me this way and that and machines were making noise and they were flashing xrays the whole time. When they got the tissue they needed, they went to look at the xrays again, and did a few more to be sure they had the right spot. They put in a titanium marker to denote the place for my next mammogram. That stays with me. Finally I was released from the vise and my incision was patched up. I was bleeding through the gauze but I was made to do another standing mammogram in the next room to be compare to my originals. More bleeding, on the machine, on the floor, on my robe. Surprisedly, I did not get sick at any of this. I should get a medal. Oh, guess I did...a titanium one.


This Stereotactic Biopsy/through-the-hole-in-the-table procedure was done because there was no obvious lump to sample, so they had to go in guided by the multiple xrays. When it was done, I was sent home with an icepack and more gauze to try to stop the bleeding. Only Tylenol for the pain. I wandered out of there in a daze. Such a weird experience.

The worst after-effect is my neck and back still aching from the odd position and a tender spot on my breast. My chiropractor did what he could for the neck and back. Ice has helped too. My only other post-procedure woe is waiting to hear from the doctor on the results. I'm sure that I'm not the most important thing on her docket, but hoping for today or tomorrow.

First Mammogram...Another Encounter with My Mortality

Next Tuesday I'm going back to my local hospital for a procedure. Two rounds of mammography in the last two weeks have shown tiny dots the radiologist is calling "calcifications" in my left breast.

This began with my first mammogram screening, which was advised after my annual woman's check-up in June. Now that I'm 40, this is what we do. Got a call back for more films, to check some things. I've been told by many people this is normal since they had no previous exams to compare to. No biggie. Last Monday I went back. The tech showed me on the previous film what they were looking to re-check. She did several more pictures, squeezing even tighter and more concentrated on the offending areas. The radiologist then came in and explained the left side showed some dots that aren't "textbook-looking" (as in obviously something to be worried about), but aren't what they'd write off as nothing, so they must, to be safe, do a biopsy to pull out the tissue and test it. So this is what I will be doing next Tuesday morning:

(from Bing Health)

Stereotactic biopsy This type of biopsy uses breast X-rays (mammograms) to pinpoint the location of suspicious areas within the breast. For this procedure, you generally lie facedown on a padded biopsy table with one of your breasts positioned in a hole in the table. You may need to remain in this position for 30 minutes to 1 hour. The table is raised several feet, and the radiologist performing the procedure sits below the table. Your breast is firmly compressed between two plates while mammograms are taken to show the radiologist the exact location of the area for biopsy. A small incision — about one-quarter-inch long (about 6 millimeters) — is made into your breast. A radiologist inserts either a needle or a vacuum-powered probe and removes several samples of tissue to ensure an adequate sample. The tissue sample is sent to a pathologist for analysis.





Yeesh, not fun. This picture looks like a torture device imposed on women in the 1700's when they were suspected of witchcraft. At this point in time, I will worry about getting through the procedure, and just resting in the aftermath. My gynocologist explained she will call me "in about a week" with the results. I fully expect to be in the 80% mentioned below:

"Being told that you should have a breast biopsy might make you anxious. But consider this reassuring fact: In the U.S., 80 percent of women who undergo a breast biopsy learn that they don't have cancer."

(from a good webpage on this: http://www.bing.com/health/article/mayo-127182/Breast-biopsy?q=breast+biopsy&FORM=FFF)

Hang in there with me friends, more to come...

Back to School for the Kids, Back to Crazytown for Mom

The dreaded end of summer. I love the new commericial for that Easy Button store, what is that Staples?, where the kids show the moms the back-to-school supply list, and the moms who are all busy (in the kitchen like, icing a cake- wtf?) all faint at the sight of it. That stupid school-supply list is such a pain in the ass, I do feel clammy when the stores start printing them and putting them out. Our tax dollars apparently go toward the school's teacher's lounge's widescreen TV and the fish tank in the school lobby, because it's not going toward pencils for the kids to write with.


Aside from gathering all this ridiculous stuff needed for the kids' first day of school (4 large glue sticks-- for each kid? What the hell are they gluing over the course of the next 9 months? 100,000 popsicle sticks to build their own lockers?), its time for new backpacks, tennis shoes, and blue jeans. Texas has a "tax-free" weekend, where sales tax is waived if you go out to the stores with the throngs of other idiots trying to save 8.25% on clothes that are marked up 20% higher than any other weekend of the year.

Blue jeans can wait. Seriously. It's 102 degrees in August and September and kids here do not need to wear blue jeans. As sweaty and dirty as they end up by the end of the school day, they should probably continue to wear their summer clothes until the holes in them are so large and the stains are so dark that they go straight into the rag pile.

Backpacks? Debatable. I have at least 3 perfectly capable backpacks that my girls have laying around with play stuff in them, and a few scuffs on the outside or bottom of them. But to send them to school with the same backpack as last year? Oh, the horror! Jansport has a great business going, advertising the fashion side of backpacks. You don't want to be caught dead with last year's styles. Chillgirl claimed she NEEDED one with two zippers. Not one zipper, Mom, two. I never got a clear answer on why this was necessary. I chalk it up to 2nd grader fashion-sense. Lil Lady was so thrilled with her new backpack choice, she walked around with it on, acting out how she'll say hi to her friends when she gets to her new middle school.

Speaking of middle school...My kid will be going to middle school this year. Lil Lady can't possibly be old enough for this. How did I let this happen? She's only 11! Oh wait, that's middle school-aged. Dammit. Her entering middle school causes anxiety for her mother. I try my best not to let it show, but I had many ups and downs during my "junior high" (as we used to call it) years. High school was bad too, but I'm avoiding those worries for 3 more years.

Middle school is when boys notice girls and stop being their friends and start "going with" them. When the boys are not going with the girls, they are being mean to the girls, popping bra-straps, starting rumors, calling them names. It's when girl start watching what they wear and what others are wearing. Brand names matter. Trends are the be-all and end-all of a girls' existence.

And then there are the Mean Girls. Oh yeah, boys are bad, but girls are worse in middle school. This is when cliques are solidified, lines are drawn, and lunch tables are discriminatory. I remember. One night you are at a slumber party having a grand ole time, and the next Monday at school you are a pariah who is being scorned for your pajama choices. I fought with girls in junior high. I mean fought, as in slapping-around scuffles. I don't even know who the heck I thought I was back then. I'm a mild-mannered middle-aged woman with a slight case of road-rage, and at worst passively-aggressively huffing or rolling my eyes in a slow-moving line at the grocery store. Back then, I was on the defense, hardened by too many stupid girl-on-girl rumors gone wild and losses of a BFF over a poorly-chosen outfit from an off-brand store. Lil Lady knows none of this. She is envisioning a continuation of 5th grade and I am praying that is exactly what we'll get. But with Facebook, text messaging and cell phone calls, I feel the rumor-mill will be rampant and the girl fights will continue on as they have for centuries.

So I'm off to yet another big-box store for the oh-so necessary Pocket-Folder-with-NO-Brads- two in red, two in blue and four Non-perforated Spirals, as my summer-restored sanity is slowly on the decline.

On the first day of school, my babies will be up with the sun and headed to their new little social circles and classrooms. Learning about life from their teachers, classmates, and cafeteria-worker ladies. Homework struggles, after-school activities, the TAKS test (don't get me started on that piece of trash) and parent-teacher conferences are in my near, and no-doubt insane future.