I’ve been neglecting this blog.
I have reasons. Long story short?
I’m overwhelmed.
I’ve been struggling to find balance in my life.
How does one juggle it all? The work. The kids. The housework. The bills. The Horny Husband. THE MOFO LAUNDRY.
I started to feel like I was losing control, unable to keep up with the most simple things– like taking a shower every day.
Something had to give.
I gave up the things that didn’t pay the bills.
Writing. Photography. Working out. (But that’s another post for another time.)
Turns out, while those things may not pay the bills, they are vital to my health and happiness.
I miss creating things– words. images. muscle definition.
So I’ve made a promise to myself. I will make time to express myself creatively. I will pick up my camera, dust it off and capture the world around me. I will write every day. I will read everyday.
I will no longer allow the stress of daily life to suck the life out of my creative soul.
Not a Single Thing
Last night I was driving The Teenager to church for worship practice. On the way there, we passed a condo we used to live in when he was only a year old.
I slowed down a bit, pointed it out to my son and said “There’s our old house!”
We both looked as we drove by. All of the precious memories came rushing back to me. I remember my son playing with the water hose in the backyard. I remember cheetos scattered on the kitchen floor. I remembered father and son playing guitar on the living room floor. I remember my chunky little son squeezing through the bars on the gate. I remember walks to the swimming pool. I remember sleepless nights, taking turn holding our sick baby. I remember letting our baby “cry it out” as we transitioned him from our bed into his own crib. I remembered playing hide and seek and my son almost always hiding in the bathroom. I remembered my son getting into my mascara and getting it all over the bathroom cabinets, the carpet and his face. I remember crying when our landlord decided to sell it. I remember our last night there, the three of us laying on a mattress on the floor.
It was just the three of us living there in that condo, having the best times of our lives.
I looked over at my son.
“Do you remember living there?”
“Nope.”
Punch to my gut.
“Nothing? You don’t remember anything?”
“Not a single thing, Mom.”
I don’t know why it came as such a shock to me– I don’t remember anything about my childhood before the age of 4, but hearing him say that he doesn’t remember “a single thing” about living there knocked the wind out of me.
Some of my most treasured moments with my son are moments he has no recollection of.
The Lump Has Left The Building. And When I Say “The Building” I mean “My Thigh.”
Well, I feel kind of stupid.
The procedure I was so nervous about turned out to be one of the easiest medical procedures I’ve ever had done.
I was most nervous about “the unknown” and “the needle that was going to be shoved into my thigh” and “the cutting into my leg” and “the stitches.” I mean, I understand that minor surgery to remove a lump isn’t that big of a deal, but I had no idea how deep they were going to have to cut or how badly the needle was going to hurt or how much pain I’d be in after it was all over.
I arrived to my appointment on time so they took me right in. The nurse asked me how I was feeling. I told her I was just a “little nervous.” She smiled and assured me it wasn’t a big deal. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding just how nervous I truly was. But my blood pressure gave me away.
On Tuesday, my blood pressure was 117/72. Yesterday, while starting at the table they were going to cut my leg open on, my blood pressure was 152/91. And when the nurse took it a second time (after I had taken a few deep breaths) it was even higher.
Needles are stressful!
She walked me into the cold, sterile room. First thing I noticed was the music. I asked her if I could put on my headphones and listen to my own music.
“We can put your ipod in the dock!”
“Oh, but my music has some not so nice language.” I replied.
“Oh, please! We’re young, we can handle it!”
She told me to take my pants off (but leave my panties on.) and lay down on the table.
“The doctor will be in shortly, Just try to relax, it’s going to be fine!”
The doctor walked in as In the Ayer was playing. She introduced herself and then proceeded to throw her hands in the air (and wave them from side to side.) That instantly made me feel so much better about everything. We laughed and then she asked me to show her the lump I was concerned about.
She felt it and kind of roller her eyes. “It’s so small.” She said. She felt it a bit more and then she said some other things that made me feel kind of dumb for having it removed, like, it wasn’t a big deal and “who is your doctor so I can yell at him for sending you here?”
“It’s up to you if you want me to take it out. I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about, but the fact is we can’t be 100% sure without taking it out, so it’s up to you.”
I thought for a minute.
And another minute.
“Maybe I shouldn’t do it.” I said.
And I almost got up and walked out. Because DID NOT WANT NEEDLE IN LEG.
But then, I thought about how long that stupid lump has bothered me and how many times I’ve wondered “what if?” And how many times a day I touch it and wonder if it’s gotten bigger or harder (TWSS) and how much better my life would be if I got rid of it and knew with 100% certainty that it was just a hard lump of fat and not cancer.
“Go ahead and take it out. If only for peace of mind. Let’s just do it!”
Next thing I know, the doctor has a needle in her hand, ready to shove it in my thigh.
“This is going to be the worst part, I promise.” She says.
The nurse holds my hand, I take a deep breath. I feel the needle touch my skin and brace myself for THE HORRIBLE, AWFUL PAIN.
I wait.
Nothing.
I mean, I could feel the needle, but barely. And it didn’t hurt at all. Not even a little bit.
I exhale and say “that’s it? You’re done?”
All that worrying for nothing, I thought to myself.
November Rain by Guns N Roses comes on just as she’s about to make the incision.
I feel pressure, a little tugging and pulling. The doctor sings along with Axl as I lay there, calmly and peacefully.
Before the song is over she informs me that the lump is out and she’s ready to stitch me up.
She stitches me up to Fix You by Cold Play. I close my eyes, feeling thankful that the stupid lump that has caused me so much worry for so many years was no longer inside of my body.It was now floating around in a plastic cup, ready for to be sent out for testing.
The nurse helps me up from the table. I get up, walk over grab my purse and put on my sandals. I thank the doctor and the nurses for being so wonderful and I head to the door.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t forget your pants.” She says.
“Oh Yeah! MY PANTS!” I FORGOT ABOUT MY PANTS!” I say. I put on my pants while everyone in the room, including myself, laughs hysterically.
I say “thank you” and “good bye” one more time and walk out of the room, with my pants on.
In about 7 days I’ll finally know.
I’m hopeful it will be good news.
My Lovely Leggy Lumps
I have an appointment at 3:30 this afternoon to have the lump on my leg removed and biopsied.
Here’s the thing– I’m scared.
Not scared of what the results will be because I am purposely allowing myself to only be afraid of one thing at a time and right now that one thing is fear of the actual procedure.
Now, I know that in the grand scheme of medical procedures having a lump taken out of my leg is probably not that big of a deal. But, the thing is, I’m scared of any medical procedure that involves “needles” and “cutting” and “sewing back together.”
I’m also scared of the unknown. Like, are they going to numb me locally? Or will I have an IV? How deep are they going to cut? And how much are they going to take? And how big is the scar going to be? How much are the stitches going to hurt? Also? What if I have to pee halfway through the procedure? ARE THEY GOING TO LET ME GET UP TO PEE?
I’m also worried about my husband taking me because he doesn’t really know how to deal with these kind of things in a helpful manner. For example, his response when I tell him I’m scared is “don’t be scared!” or “quit making it a bigger deal than it is!” (Not very helpful.) And then, there’s that thing he said yesterday after my visit with the doctor. I was worried about what I was told during the visit (I have “protein in the fluid in the my eye” and that there shouldn’t be protein in the fluid in my eye. Also? She told me that I have A WANDERING EYE. WTF? WANDERING EYE?!) His response? “So, what’s the deal? Are you going blind?” Keep in mind- “blindness” had not even crossed my mind (yet, because it would have eventually.) When I pointed out that it was kind of mean to say that to me, knowing how easily freaked out I am about such things, he responded with “I was just trying to be funny and lighten the mood.”
(Trying to be funny by suggesting you may be going blind! Because, get it? HAHAHA BLINDNESS!)
You can understand why I’m nervous about having him there as my “support system.” Yes? I know he means well, he loves me and my body more than he loves an ice cold beer and Band of Brothers (and that’s, like, A LOT.) But, you know, his idea of “lightening the mood” and my idea of “lightening the mood”… COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!
There is one other thing that I’m concerned about, but not the kind of thing you can just come out and ask people about.
Down There.
I’ve not had a lot of time to keep it Up To Code down there and well, is that something they’re going to be looking at? Like, are they going to let me keep the panties on? If not, I’m going to need an extra 20 minutes of shower time, so I really should stop writing now and get on that.
Thank you all for your comments and emails and messages. They mean the world to me and will help get me through all of my silly fears as I’m laying on a cold table (quite possibly panty-less (but please God, NO?). I don’t know what I’d do without you all.
The Only Funny Part About This is That I Have an Appointment With “Bumps and Lumps.”
This morning, I made a doctor appointment to have my eye checked out again.
It’s been blurry– I’ve been unable to focus. Especially in the morning, but also throughout the day. I figured the infection had come back and I’d need another prescription for more eye drops.
Then my doctor said things like “numb your eye” and “stain your eye” and “ulcer in your eye.”
So, he gave me some ointment, said I had to come back tomorrow to see if things were any better. If not, I’d have to go see an eye doctor and have things checked out further.
“Now, tell me about this lump on your leg.” He said.
You see, I’ve had a lump on my leg for a few years now. I had asked another doctor about it years ago and she assured me it was nothing– a “fat deposit” or something not important at all. So, I’ve let it go.
Except that it’s never gone away. And it’s started to feel a little different. I think about it from time to time. “I should get it checked out again.” Is something I’ve said to myself quite a few times. But I hold onto what the doctor told me years ago.
“It’s nothing.”
I hold onto that because I need to believe that’s true. Because I’m scared of the possibility that it’s actually *something.*
Today, I finally summoned the courage to bring it up to my doctor.
When he asked about it, I was all “it’s probably nothing ,but I figure I should ask because it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Then I made some not so funny joke about how I really can’t take another thing going wrong with my body because, you know, diseases and disorders and HA HA HA ENOUGH ALREADY, MY BODY.
He smiled and assured me it was probably nothing.
Then, he started to feel the lump.
And he felt some more. And some more.
I watched his face. His smile turned into a look of concern.
“Hm. This feels a little deep.”
My stomach started to feel a little sick.
“Yeah, I’m concerned with how deep this is and with how long you’ve had it. Do you have any other lumps?”
I did. Just beneath the one he was feeling.
He felt that one.
“I’m going to refer you to general surgery to have this removed. I want to get a biopsy on this.”
Wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. I was expecting him to laugh and say “You’re such a hypochondriac! You’re fine! Quit worrying!” I needed for him to say that.
But he didn’t.
He said “biopsy.”
As I was leaving, he handed me a prescription for my eye and a referral for surgery. “Make sure you make an appointment on your way for tomorrow so I can check on your eye.” He said.
But I didn’t do that. I just walked straight out of there, down the stairs, out the front door to call my husband.
I told him what had just happened.
“Don’t work yourself up!” Is what he said.
I hung up with him, went into the bathroom and started to cry. I couldn’t stop crying.
I’m trying really hard not to be dramatic about this, I’m keep telling myself things like “It’s probably nothing! You’ll laugh about this soon!”
But in the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder… what if?
The Blog Remembers When…
Yesterday, I was in the kitchen working on a writing assignment.
My husband was making G a sandwich.
G was in her room getting ready to go miniature golfing with her cousin.
As I typed away on the keyboard, my daughter walked into the kitchen with two empty wrapping paper rolls, one in each hand. She was limping as she walked.
“Look, Mom.” She said as she limped towards me. “I made my very own crunches.”
“Crunches?” I asked.
“You know, the things you use to walk when you break your legs! CRUNCHES!”
“Oh, of course, crunches!”
I looked over at my husband, who had the biggest smile.
I walked over to him as we watched her limp out of the room with her “crunches”. I wrapped my arms around his waist and said “these are the moments I never want to forget. I don’t ever want to forget that this happened.”
And so, I write it in my blog.
My Best Year Yet. Bring it, 39.
Yesterday, I woke up looking like this:
Double Eye Infection.
It sucked. I cried.
Because yesterday was the day before I turned 39 and 2 days before I celebrate my last year in my 30’s with friends at a piano bar somewhere in Orange County. And who wants to look like that when they’re Drunk Dancing next to a piano while some dude plays a bad cover of Don’t Stop Believing?
No one. That’s who.
Today, my eyes are slightly less swollen, my throat isn’t as sore and I have not cried once. Today isn’t for crying. Today is for reflecting. Reflecting upon the 38th year of my life.
Turns out, Year 38 was the best year of my adult life.
Nothing extraordinary happened. But it was extraordinary.
It was a year full of small victories, both physical and emotional, that helped shape a Better Me. A happier, healthier, stronger, more content Me. It was the year I stopped hating my body because I was too busy loving my life.
38 was so good to me in so many ways, for so many reasons.
I got to spend time in the city I love the most, New York City.
Twice. And the second time, I got to ride to Central Park in a pedicab driven by Mario.
I reunited with friends from high school, 3 of them whose friendship saved me from feeling totally alone during the hardest years of my life. I went to my 20th high school reunion where I was stalked by an old class mate. I ran my first (treadmill) 5K. I bought and wore my first dress in many,many years.
I had lunch with Tony Hawk.
I reconnected with dear, old friends and made new ones that have brought so much laughter (and Stella Rosa) into my life.
I Owned My Sexy. Oh, yes I did.
I got a promotion. I cut bangs. I had Hot Soapy Naked fun in Vegas.
I got my medical problems under control. I lost more weight. I gained more confidence.
I watched my daughter blossom in kindergarten, make new friends, learn to read. I watched my son win a drum contest, crush his opponents on the basketball court and receive numerous academic and social awards. I watched my oldest take his senior portraits and began his last year in high school.
I fell in love with dancing and I danced so hard, more than I’ve ever danced in my entire life.
Tomorrow night I plan on spending the evening dancing, surrounded by people whom I love. I started to panic a bit yesterday, because people started sending me the all too familiar “sorry, I won’t be able to make it after all” messages. But then I talked to a friend who told me “it doesn’t matter if it’s just me and you and your sister, we’re going to have so much fun.”
She’s right. Tomorrow is going to be so great.
But first, I have to get through today. The first day of my 39th year. I welcome it with open arms. And quite possibly, a drink in my hand.
I’m Pretty Sure I’m Going To Need An Assembly Line of Shoulders To Cry on in Exactly Six Months From Today
Today is September 3rd.
Which means today my first born child is exactly 6 months away from his 18th birthday.
Which means in exactly 6 months I will be the mother of an adult human being.
An adult human being who can use the phrase “YOU CAN’T STOP ME! I’M 18!” if he wants to.
To which I could respond “well then, you can start paying for your own place and your own groceries, Mr. Adult Man!” if I wanted to.
I hope he never does and I hope I never do, because I’m dreading those kind of conversations with my LEGAL ADULT HUMAN BEING.
Other things I dread are more serious, like, my son apparently having made up his mind that he wants to attend a law enforcement academy this fall because he wants to be a cop. He’s been saying that for a while, but I’ve been hoping he’ll change his mind.
All indications are that he’s not going to change his mind. He’s talking about it more and more and telling me the classes he wants to take and criminal justice this and police academy that and oh my delicate heart can not take it because it is too overwhelmed with both pride and fear. At the same time. Because good for you for wanting to protect and serve, son. But also? You could get shot and killed so choose something else please, son.
I swear to Regis Philbin that just yesterday we were having conversations about Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles and how many tickets he had saved for that one prize he was trying to earn at Chuck E Cheeses. And today, we’re talking about graduation and THE POLICE ACADEMY. What? How is this possible?
I try to look at the bright side.
He’ll be earning his own money! He’ll be experiencing the world and all that it has to offer! He’ll be doing important things that will make a difference in this world!
I remember being that age. I remember how excited I was to be so close to graduating and living my life (and for me? “living my life” pretty much meant “marrying PigHunter so I could have all of the sex I wanted every single day!)
I am happy for my son and looking forward to watching him be the man that I’ve raised him to be. But at the same time… tears. So many tears. Because even though I know that in my heart he will always remain my sweet baby boy, the reality is that he is just six months away from being a legal adult.
Good for him. Bad for my heart.
Lady HaHa.
The kids already have their first day of school off. “Staff development day.” Normally, this would annoy me because seriously, teachers? School just started. But I was looking forward to their day off.. I didn’t get home from a work trip until 1am and I am wiped the hell out. I was looking forward to sleeping in.
But at 6am, I felt a little finger tapping on my arm.
“Mom?” She whispered.
“No. no! Go back to bed! It’s too early!”
She didn’t go back to bed. She went to the couch to try to watch TV, but the batteries on the remote were dead and I only know this because 30 seconds after I had fallen back to sleep, she was tapping on my arm again telling me that the batteries were dead.
I switched out the batteries and tried to fall back asleep. I tossed and turned but eventually fell back asleep.
Except 8 minutes later, my son was standing next to my bed.
“Mom. Gabby just said the funniest thing.”
“Tell me later! I’m so tired!”
“But mom, it’s hilarious.” He insisted that I needed to hear the story right this very minute.
“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” I said, all angrily while forcing my eyes open.
“She wanted to play with my itouch, but I told her no because I was in the middle of the game. So then she got so mad and said ‘you know what, Ethan? I’m going to do what Lady Gaga said. I’m going to Pa-pa-poke your face pa-pa-poke your face’.”
I know, I KNOW. So mean. So violent. So very worth being woken up for.
Picture Day!
Today was picture day at G’s school.
She wanted me to curl her hair. And even though I knew it would be flat before we made it to school, I got up extra early to curl her hair. Because I love her.
I wanted to cut her bangs, because they were annoying me. I didn’t want her bangs covering her beautiful eyes in her pictures. But she wants to let her bangs grow out because bangs “make her look like a little baby!”
I put the head band of her choice on her pretty little head when I was all done fixing her bangs. She looked at herself, smiled a huge smile and said “it looks beautiful, Mommy.”
I grabbed the camera and asked if I could take a few pictures outside before we left. She agreed.
I told her where to stand and she started to pose. I snapped away.
But then, I stopped. I stopped and I stared at the little beauty standing before me. Where did my baby go? Time stood still as I took her in. All traces of baby are gone. She’s a little lady now. A beautiful little lady who makes me laugh, who knows how to put an outfit together, who knows how to melt my heart. She’s everything I could have asked for in a daughter.
My baby girl, the last baby that I’ll ever have is growing and becoming her own little person, with her own wants and desires (no bangs!), hopes and dreams (she wants a pony!)
It’s both beautiful and heart wrenching to watch.
