Crazy.
I have a very small cut on the tip of my thumb. I've had it for more than two weeks. It won't heal because, I've discovered, you use the tip of your thumb a whole lot. Who knew? And I wash my hands like crazy during flu season, so that doesn't help. And I change diapers because it's not an optional activity.
Did I mention I love Clementines this time of year? I eat several in a sitting. They are edible sunshine! But Clementines are not friendly to my sore thumb. The pain is quite intense, for such a small sliver of a wound. I have considered dull kitchen knife amputation. It would hurt less.
I hydrate myself constantly. Head to toe when I exit the shower. I leave greasy stains on things I touch. I've tried band aids but they slip off and land places band aids don't belong. I wear gloves while doing the dishes or cleaning, but only after slathering my hands with the thickest lotions I can find. I know a lot about emollients.
Yet this thumb wound persists.
Yes, that's my crazy item of the week. Oh, and one more trivial incident so you don't feel cheated.
When Jon travels, the days seem very long. No relief at night. Constant catering to children.
Lu had a choral concert on Wednesday evening and Jon was away. I debated getting a babysitter for Bea, but then decided that she might actually enjoy the music. Plus it was only the fifth grade, so it wouldn't be packed and I could walk around with her in the back.
Once we arrived (miraculously on time), I leafed through the program and came upon a long list of Concert Etiquette Dos and Don'ts. More than one bullet referenced getting up during performances and small children misbehaving. Really? This is an elementary school. I'm sitting in a cafeteria. It smells like tater tots.
Bea lasted about ten minutes in her seat and then was all over the place. I didn't remove her, however, because I was there to hear my daughter sing. Such a rebel.
Needless to say, I was feeling frazzled after the event. I was ready to relax, but had three kids to get in bed and a house to put back together. We pulled in the driveway and Lu asked, "Mom?" "What." "Can you go forward when the car is in reverse?" "No, when the car is in reverse, it goes in reverse." "Can it go in reverse when it's not in reverse?" "No, because it's not in reverse." "So you need to put it in reverse every time you want to go in reverse?"
Oh. My. Lord. Head on the steering wheel. It's a conspiracy to make me crazy.
I wanted to write this down because I knew it would be funny... later. But in the moment, I nearly lost it.
But I didn't.
Sometimes during these mentally and physically exhausting weeks, I consider setting my alarm for 3am, driving (forward) to the airport, and taking the first international flight with open seats.
But I don't.
Cool.
My sister Gail was very cool.
She had parties at our house when my parents went away. The kind where the cops come and kids scramble up the trees and shove themselves into our closets.
She was fun. She was genuine. She was kind.
She was the person you called with good news because she would be truly, very happy for you. She was the person you called when you were in trouble because she wouldn't judge.
I am uptight. I am high strung. I know that about myself. Gail wasn't. She was cool. You could sense it.
Ovarian cancer took another life this week. A woman who I met many times and who reminded me so much of Gail. We shared several candid conversations about Gail's kids and her kids and the reality of the future. We talked about having lunch sometime, but it never happened. Neither one of us followed up. In all honesty, I was scared to get too close.
When you love someone with cancer, it's constantly on your mind. Whether you're worrying about their physical pain and mental anguish or simply waiting. There's a lot of waiting. And hoping. And bargaining with God while waiting - for test results, to see if a treatment will work, for the damn side effects to subside.
I knew I couldn't "go there" again and it was entirely my loss. Because Dara had the same awesome vibe as Gail. Dara was cool.
My children were cheated out of an incredible aunt when Gail died, but they have a great guardian angel. That calms the sting. When Bea was born, Dara gave me a little wooden "B" for her room. I touched it the other night and imagined Bea with two cool guardian angels. Which is perfect because she's a total terror who likes to surf counter tops.
Now please, in honor of Gail and Dara, consider voting for the Sandy Rollman Ovarian Cancer video that - as it so happens - features Gail's story. If the Organization wins, they will be awarded $250,000. It takes 5 seconds and you can VOTE EVERY DAY. No excuses. It's the cool thing to do.
VOTE HERE
I have a very small cut on the tip of my thumb. I've had it for more than two weeks. It won't heal because, I've discovered, you use the tip of your thumb a whole lot. Who knew? And I wash my hands like crazy during flu season, so that doesn't help. And I change diapers because it's not an optional activity.
Did I mention I love Clementines this time of year? I eat several in a sitting. They are edible sunshine! But Clementines are not friendly to my sore thumb. The pain is quite intense, for such a small sliver of a wound. I have considered dull kitchen knife amputation. It would hurt less.
I hydrate myself constantly. Head to toe when I exit the shower. I leave greasy stains on things I touch. I've tried band aids but they slip off and land places band aids don't belong. I wear gloves while doing the dishes or cleaning, but only after slathering my hands with the thickest lotions I can find. I know a lot about emollients.
Yet this thumb wound persists.
Yes, that's my crazy item of the week. Oh, and one more trivial incident so you don't feel cheated.
When Jon travels, the days seem very long. No relief at night. Constant catering to children.
Lu had a choral concert on Wednesday evening and Jon was away. I debated getting a babysitter for Bea, but then decided that she might actually enjoy the music. Plus it was only the fifth grade, so it wouldn't be packed and I could walk around with her in the back.
Once we arrived (miraculously on time), I leafed through the program and came upon a long list of Concert Etiquette Dos and Don'ts. More than one bullet referenced getting up during performances and small children misbehaving. Really? This is an elementary school. I'm sitting in a cafeteria. It smells like tater tots.
Bea lasted about ten minutes in her seat and then was all over the place. I didn't remove her, however, because I was there to hear my daughter sing. Such a rebel.
Needless to say, I was feeling frazzled after the event. I was ready to relax, but had three kids to get in bed and a house to put back together. We pulled in the driveway and Lu asked, "Mom?" "What." "Can you go forward when the car is in reverse?" "No, when the car is in reverse, it goes in reverse." "Can it go in reverse when it's not in reverse?" "No, because it's not in reverse." "So you need to put it in reverse every time you want to go in reverse?"
Oh. My. Lord. Head on the steering wheel. It's a conspiracy to make me crazy.
I wanted to write this down because I knew it would be funny... later. But in the moment, I nearly lost it.
But I didn't.
Sometimes during these mentally and physically exhausting weeks, I consider setting my alarm for 3am, driving (forward) to the airport, and taking the first international flight with open seats.
But I don't.
Cool.
My sister Gail was very cool.
She had parties at our house when my parents went away. The kind where the cops come and kids scramble up the trees and shove themselves into our closets.
She was fun. She was genuine. She was kind.
She was the person you called with good news because she would be truly, very happy for you. She was the person you called when you were in trouble because she wouldn't judge.
I am uptight. I am high strung. I know that about myself. Gail wasn't. She was cool. You could sense it.
Ovarian cancer took another life this week. A woman who I met many times and who reminded me so much of Gail. We shared several candid conversations about Gail's kids and her kids and the reality of the future. We talked about having lunch sometime, but it never happened. Neither one of us followed up. In all honesty, I was scared to get too close.
When you love someone with cancer, it's constantly on your mind. Whether you're worrying about their physical pain and mental anguish or simply waiting. There's a lot of waiting. And hoping. And bargaining with God while waiting - for test results, to see if a treatment will work, for the damn side effects to subside.
I knew I couldn't "go there" again and it was entirely my loss. Because Dara had the same awesome vibe as Gail. Dara was cool.
My children were cheated out of an incredible aunt when Gail died, but they have a great guardian angel. That calms the sting. When Bea was born, Dara gave me a little wooden "B" for her room. I touched it the other night and imagined Bea with two cool guardian angels. Which is perfect because she's a total terror who likes to surf counter tops.
Now please, in honor of Gail and Dara, consider voting for the Sandy Rollman Ovarian Cancer video that - as it so happens - features Gail's story. If the Organization wins, they will be awarded $250,000. It takes 5 seconds and you can VOTE EVERY DAY. No excuses. It's the cool thing to do.
VOTE HERE
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