Running around with her hair on fire. Or at the very least, a pot holder

This post is kind of depressing and for that, I do apologize. So if you don't want to be bummed while you're laughing I suggest you go some place else and wait for my next post.

As you know, my mom has Stage 4 Invasive Lobular Carcinoma. This is a cancer that starts in the milk ducts and metastizes into other parts of the body. Right now, its in her spinal column, her liver and her pelvis. She had a mastectomy last spring and started her second course of chemo in August after my niece got married. It sucks. Pretty much. We've been trying to have fun with it, but lately, I'm not really finding it humorous any more.

She's always been a little strange, my mom. I chalked it up to the fact that she's 39 years older than me so there's a huge generational gap. Over the last year, she's been forgetting things more and more, which I initially chalked up to age (she's 72), the fact she drinks martinis like prohibitions coming again, and what they call "Chemo Brain" where things get a little foggy. You'll have a conversation with her that she will forget you had the next day, and during that conversation, she'll tell you the same thing at a minimum of three times. My sister and I get so frustrated because this is a woman who knew what we were doing before we even thought about doing it. Now she keeps track on a calendar when she took a bath last. The other thing that really bugs is  you send her to the store with a list, and she doesn't come back with a fucking thing that was on it. One day I sent her for heavy cream and whole milk for mac & cheese. I got 1/2 and 1/2 and 2% milk. She said she read the list. Dad said she read the list. I figured she wasn't paying attention like usual. And of course she doesn't remember this incident.

So Wednesday night I get home from Nick's taekwondo class and had run out to check on FFB's boys. He was on a late flight home from Phoenix and I wanted to make sure they ate before he got home at 8:30. Mom had thrown some chicken nuggets in the toaster oven for Nick when I walked in the door. I was fixing noodles for Tyler and I started smelling something not right. My first instinct was to look around Nick who likes to make himself fart. No Nick, or Tyler who has the worst smelling gas of any little girl I know. I looked over at the toaster oven and it had smoke billowing out of it. "WHAT THE FUCK?" say I as I walk around and see FLAMES shooting out of the door to the toaster oven. I open the door and there is a crochet pot holder resting on the heating element. ON FIRE. ON FUCKING FIRE! 

So, add fireman to my long list of job duties while I live at home. Mom, for her part, got up from paying bills, looked at what was going on, shrugs her shoulders and initiates the following conversation:
"What happened Missy?"
"Mom, there was a pot holder on fire in the toaster oven! What are you doing?"
"I didn't put that in there. Did I?"
"Mom, holy shit, you are the one that put the nuggets in there!"
"Hmmm. I don't remember doing that."

She then turns around and proceeds to sit back at her desk to pay bills. My dad, who heard nothing because he's fucking deaf, yells up to her that Survivor is on. "OK. I'll be right down," she says. And sure as shit, she just gets up and plops her ass in her Lazy Boy leaving me standing in the kitchen with a smoldering pot holder, smoke wafting around me, and Cajun style nuggets.

So here it is three days later and I've discovered a few additional tidbits. My sister talked to her Thursday and was told to have a Happy New Year, mom said some weird random shit that my sister swears she was serious about, and that I'm a blabber mouth (DUH!). My dad mentioned that he frequently finds burners left on. And, mom still doesn't think what happened was a big deal. I've called her doctor and she goes in Monday for a CAT scan on her brain.

I told her I wanted to make sure it was still there,which made her laugh, and that was the point. Because really, I think that something else more sinister is going on up in that not-so-hairless-anymore head of hers.

The Boat Trip, The Boat Trip, The Boat Trip

My parent's belong to the American Legion in town. Great organization for retired veterans. They have a ton of friends and spend every weekend down there playing darts and doing what they can to rid the bar of its pesky beer and gin problem. My mom also has nothing better to do with her life but gossip about some of the people that are members (like us!). There is one woman who I know through my ex-in-law's that really is like a pimple on your underwear line-we'll call her Muffy. Really irritating and a relif when its gone. My mom, in a rare moment of clairity, tends to agree with me.

So the Auxiliary put on this Boat Trip for the Post, or they tried to. And at some point, the trip got cancelled for whatever reason. But because my mom doesn't remember things like yelling at my dad at 1 AM yesterday morning about him needing to march his ass into the Legion meeting and tell them _____, she doesn't recall the reason The Boat Trip was cancelled. However, her sources tell her Muffy was at the root of the problem. Her sources also tell her that Muffy and her friend Brunhilda were kicked out of the bar by the Auxiliary  - who doesn't have the kind of bar banishing power it thinks it does - for The Boat Trip Cancellation Snafu. Essentially the trip got cancelled by a Mystery Guest for not enough attendees, even though there were 30 or 40 people waiting down at the dock's for the boat.

Me: "how did Muffy get involved, again."
Mom: "She had the list."
Me: "The list of what?"
Mom: "the list of people going."
Me: "So she's at fault automatically? I don't like the woman, but it seems kind of concentration camp-ish to blame her for the whole thing just 'cause she has a list."
Mom: "Well, the Auxiliary sent her a letter telling her she and her friends can't come into the bar any more."
Me: "And that has what to do with cancelling the Boat Trip?"
Mom: "She had the list."
Me: "OK.... So who told you the trip was cancelled?"
Mom: "The club secretary. And I told her we weren't going anyway."
Me: "OK, so who told her the trip was cancelled?"
Mom: "I don't know. But Muffy got told in three letters that she couldn't come into the bar any more. The Auxiliary doesn't run the bar. The Legion does, so if anyone gets 86'ed, the Legion has to do it."
Me: "So, what did the other two letters say?"
Mom: "That she's not allowed to go into the bar. But the the Auxiliary can't do that. They don't run the bar."
Me: "Right...."

At this point I tell my mom that if she's going to gossip, she needs to remember the story and the players. As it is, she's just making shit up on the fly. What I did manage to take from this 20 minute conversation was that my mom said "Boat Trip" about 50 times. Like that Olympic Boat Center commercial with the woman saying "all they ever talk about is The Boat. The Boat, The Boat, The Boat," as she strokes her kitty....

Bee Stings and Head Bonks

When you have more than one, it gets a little bit crazy. As you’ve probably witnessed on any given occasion when my kids and I are around. Today was no exception. After fitting in a little “me” time at lunch, I come back to my office and start checking my voicemail. One is from the school secretary, but I notice that on my other line, it’s the school calling. Thinking its some catastrophic event caused by one or both of them since the school NEVER calls me twice in a row, I cancel my unheard voicemail to talk to the live person. It was the OTHER secretary calling me to tell me my son fell on the playground and hit his head and was in the nurses station. Is it bad? I ask. They tell me not really but it’s a head injury just the same so they’re keeping an eye on him. He told the nurse he wanted to go back to class, so I’m thinking OK, no problem. But I wanted to talk to him just the same. That cute little voice gets on the phone “hey mom.” And proceeds to tell me what happened and he wants to go home. OK. Get to the school and take care of checking him out of class. While I’m there, the secretary tells me that Tyler got stung by a bee on her lunch. Super. She’s been stung before so we weren’t too worried about it. When I get to his classroom, he’s eating his snack, but is out of his chair and getting his back pack the minute he sees me. Off to mom’s we go with him chatting up a storm the whole way. His head doesn’t hurt any more, he feels great. Figures. Kid, I have a meeting in 30 minutes. You’ve already made me late once. Now I have to take an extra hour off of work besides lunch. But, you’re mine and I love you, so whatever. We get home and I start going through his bag for the day and that’s when he tells me that Tyler took his glasses off of his face this morning and hid them. WHAT!!!!???? The $260 glasses I just bought are gone? Are you shitting me? I call the school and put out an APB on them. The secretary says she’ll check with Tyler’s teacher. I call their dad FUMING and asking him to have a conversation with her about that shit. I want to rip her arms off of her and beat her with them. So I sit and stew for a little while at the office and think of things I can do to try to teach her to be nice for once in her life. About 5 minutes after they get off the bus, I get a phone call. Glasses were put into a pocket on the back pack. Now I really want to rip her arms off but this time, I’m beating BOTH of them! Oh, and the voicemail that I never got to listen to? It was the one letting me know Tyler got stung by a bee.

Rabid Bitches

The Goonies, Kids Incorporated, Mickey Mouse Club, Ferris Buhler, whatever you want to call them, it was a bunch of kids getting together to hang out. Sometimes brilliant careers were launched: Britany, Justin, dude whose step mom is Barbara Streisand. Sometimes people faded into obscurity. Since they’re obscure and faded, I have no examples for you. Bottom line was when you watched them on screen they clicked and had a good time. Much like my best girlfriends J and E. E and I have been BFF’s since kindergarten and since we’re in our 30’s now we’ve noted occasionally that we’ve been friends longer than many marriages these days. J and I met at E’s wedding as we were bridesmaids together. We call ourselves the Butt Crack Bitches.

While the name really is not above board and sounds like some chick biker gang, we dubbed ourselves, along with two other girls, this wonderful moniker one cool fall morning while waiting for our ride to wine country. It was the butt crack of dawn and we were tired and without caffeine since our ride had the Starbucks hookup. Because of this we were very bitchy. Hence the name. Once we started having kids, we shortened it to BCB. And speaking of kids, we are all still butt crack bitches, but for an entirely different reason. Once content to get up at 5 AM to ride for 6 hours to Eastern Washington and drink wine all day pretending to know what tannins are and the difference between oak and steel aged chardonnay, we now rise at 5 AM for feedings, diaper changes, and elementary school.

Tonight was BCB dinner. Once a month we get together for dinner to catch up, drink wine, eat a shit load of food guaranteed to make you fat, celebrate our successes since no one else cares we got a cashmere sweater for $60,  and bitch about our significant others. Tonight was different. J told us that she is preggo with rug rat #2. E is already three months into her incubation of drape ape #2 as well. I am ecstatic for both of them. They are fabulous mom’s already. Plus now I’ll have two babies to snuggle and then give back.

I am melancholy however. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner, or the semi food coma I’ve put myself into from too much spaghetti and dessert. Or maybe I have a small case of the green eyed monster. I’m done having babies. I enjoyed being pregnant and didn’t have any issues, but my kids are finally independent enough that I don’t have to do everything for them. While that sounds selfish, it’s not meant to be. I love that they can make toast for themselves while I’m taking a dump. It saves time. Any way. I called FFB who is travelling – again – and we chatted for a bit after they left. He was winding dinner down so I gave him the Sports Center version that my friends are breeding and its cramping my style.

But it makes me a little jealous, and here is why. I always thought I’d have at least one friend to experience pregnancy with, and I didn't. It something that women bond over – child rearing, labor, money, and sex. It’s the four corners of conversation. Walk into a room full of women and I can guarantee that at least one topic is related to ONE of those things. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Anyway, it made me a little sad that I’m not going to have my own little baby #3 at the same time as my friends so we can all be miserable together. I imagined us three sitting together while our three kids who were born around the same time experienced the same things together: puberty, driver’s licenses, prom, graduation, weddings, and babies. And, I have to admit, for a split second, I honestly thought about doing it again, just so I could be part of that. The way they smell, all of the “firsts”, the snuggling, and (my favorite) when they fall asleep on you. But I can’t for one and immediately came to my senses for two.

I love my kids. I love FFB’s kids. I love my BFF’s kids. But there is something to be said for a Sunday afternoon where you can sit on the couch in your sweats and watch football while your kids fend for themselves because they are old enough to. Granted the kitchen usually looks like a pack of rabid dogs went through it.



The Butt Crack Bitches
E, J and Me



Shit my mom never said

About a week ago FFB was on the road for what I swear was three months but those around me say it was only four days. Lets just say when he came home, I was balled up in the corner of the walk in closet repeating "It puts the lotion in the basket." I knew I was in for it when I discovered his youngest had been eating pop tarts in bed whenever we're not home. One particular meal I had with the kids followed a particularly vicious fight on the trampoline between my daughter and my son in which I looked up from the kitchen window to see my daughter holding my son down and punching him in the garbage. Repeatedly. So I took it upon myself to tell the boys, that the penis punching has to stop. I thought that FFB's oldest was going to spew milk out of his nose. My mom never had to have that discussion with me or my sisters. E.V.E.R.

I also recently was bestowed with a new cell phone. I  use the word bestowed appropriately because it took me three months, a failed upgrade, and five phone calls to tech support for the frickin' geniuses at my cell company, whose name rhymes with T-Horrible, to realize that my POS was really a POS. Any how, it has this cool  app that will take dictation. After a few glasses of champaign at my friends Mary Kay party and $95 later, I realized I bought a product I'm not going to use only after I also dropped $100 on dance shit for Tyler. To minimize the damage I texted my friend Rox who moonlights as a Mary Kay non-Nazi. She asked me if I wanted to add some product my mom bought onto my order and I said the words "no, I just dropped $100 getting Tyler kitted out for dance." however, this "cool" new toy that I have translated it to "no, I just dropped $100 getting tyler k** it out for sale." The damn thing  comes in handy when I'm driving, but it doesn't use cuss words and apparently wants to sell my daughter. Which sometimes is a thought that crosses my mind.

Some things come out of your mouth as a parent that you never thought you would ever say.
"Don't call her "dude", call her grandma."
"Don't jump like that because you're going to slip and fall and hit your garbage on the tub."
"Get your hands out of the back of your pants when you're in public."
"Stop playing with yourself in grandma's chair. She doesn't want to see that."
"Stop licking the windows on my car. No, Chad is wrong. Its not funny."

Fail For Today

You know how you order the “spicy” salsa from one of those places in the mall knowing full well that tobasco is way hotter, so you take it back to work and toss a bunch of Tapatio on it so you at least have a little heat? Well, that really wasn’t the case today and I think I have burned off my taste buds.

Dam Dutch Brothers Anyway!

So I just got back on Monday night from a mad dash trip to my sister’s house. She’s about a 13 hour drive from my little home here in the PNW all the way in California’s version of the PNW. Lets just say my Sissy Poo Poo is closer to Oregon than San Francisco. BTW,  no self respecting Californian calls is San Fran. Anywhoo.

I spent 14 hours alone on Thursday driving down. I stopped for dinner at this Mexican restaurant on the way that I swear to GOD puts cocaine in their food. Every time I drive through this little California coastal town, I stop to eat. Its better than anything I’ve ever eaten. Coming back was a shorter trip because I didn’t stop to eat. I snarfed down fast food and coffee only to leave myself with the worst stomach ache that ensured my inability to sit up straight for at least a day.

My niece got married – which is the reason for the mad dash down and back. I love the kid like a sister – which is the only other reason that I made the mad dash.

My mom and niece.
Thanks to Chris Tuite Photography for the beautiful pic.

I forced my parents to leave the day before I did because my dad drives like a crazy idiot. He’s deaf, so he can’t hear my mom’s screams from the passenger seat. And to put it into perspective: they left around 5:30 Wednesday and got to my sisters around 7 on Thursday night. I left at 8 AM Thursday and got there by 10 PM. They stopped less and I know for a fact that I was only averaging 10 MPH over the speed limit through the three states I had to travel and only caught air in my car once. And that was CalTrans fault for making a slight change to the hill by Chazem Rd. on 299.

So, in 100 degree weather I cooked food for two days for 75 people for a wedding with about 35 people in attendance. My mother, even tonight, complained that my sister and I wouldn’t let her help. It’s not that we wouldn’t LET her help. It’s that there was nothing she could do easily from the arm chair her cancer ridden backside was resting in. It makes both my sister and I sad to see how she's changed just in the last 6 months. She's gained weight, loses her train of thought much easier, forgets everything and needs a cane to get around.  Her and I agreed to just enjoy the weekend with everyone feeling good since mom is supposed to start a new Chemo on Thursday. The last one wasn't very much fun, so this one we know won't be a picnic.

During the drive I noticed a lot of things like people who pick their nose. Who the fuck does that? Just because you’re in a car, doesn’t mean I CAN’T SEE YOU. You are not John Cena, so don’t pretend. In Washington, drivers suck. I never hit my breaks and lost the ability to use my cruise control more times than I did in my home state. They ruined my driving chi more times than I care to mention. In Oregon, the rest stops are gross. Rest areas are dens for germs and bad sanitation anyway, but they’re worse in Oregon. I’d rather pee on the side of the road and drip dry than enter one of their rest stops. In fact, going down, I purposely dehydrated myself so I would only have to stop once or twice. Coming back, not so lucky thanks to a stop at Dutch Bros. Dam them anyway.