The Bloggy Horror Picture Show

I can’t believe I wasted about five hours this morning and about three hours last night updating and “formatting” my blog.

Sigh. No make that a double sigh.

I am not an experienced blogger, but I cannot believe how many times I went to my Dashboard and clicked on the obvious help links only to be thrown into bowl of cyber-sludge. (I’m sure you know what word I really wanted to use….deep breath Quirky, deep breath.)

I cannot believe how baffling and befuddling the whole process is.

All I wanted to do was insert an image into my header and then right align the blog title. Such a simple task right? Think again.

My eyes and head were spinning after awhile. I wasn’t exactly sure how to edit the HTML and add "style" tags which I did try numerous ways without results. By the way, if you ever dare venture to the Settings Tab and click on Edit HTML, let’s just say that is some scary looking programming crap. I treaded in there very slowly… and… carefully. One wrong move and I was sure my blog was gonna blow up!

So I tried the “reliable” Google. After all isn’t Google like the “king” of all search engines? “King Google, praytell, my lord, wilt thou help a poor blogging-lady in waiting?” Instead “my lord” threw me into the blogger dungeon and I could not get out! I actually believed after reading post after post after post, that I was going to hit the blog "how-to" mother lode. Questions would be answered, instructions would be clearly outlined. I was going to get the results I wanted.

What a concept.

Reading the various posts only inspired me to do more googling, as if I had not had enough of its’ terrorist ways. I would read a snippet here or there and think, “Oh maybe that’s the direction I should be looking at.” So I would Google again using totally different keywords. I thought maybe I was unaware of certain blogging terminology that my wee blogging brain lacked.

Talk about a blogging nightmare, with no beginning AND no end.

I’m beginning to see why people pay to have web designers design for them.

Blogger has been good to me for the most part. But now my needs are not so simple anymore. I want to move on to quirkier and funnier photos and fonts and graphics, etc.

For now, I’m satisfied. I actually did, after eight hours or so, get done what I wanted done. (Aren't my "quirky" cows, cute?) Heaven forbid, I think of another fun or cool thing to possibly add onto my blog.

Just thinking about it, makes me shudder. Oh the horror and the pain. It’s not like childbirth where supposedly you forget the pain during labor. Oh no, it’s not like that at all. I remember, oh how I remember. The pain is still fresh in my mind.

But I know me, and I’m persistent (and possibly a masochist?), if nothing else. I’ll continue to find new virtual ways to torture myself as I continue to “improve” the look and feel of the blog. I will survive and conquer this blogging experience.

If not, then it’s gonna be bread and water for me.

The blogging dungeon awaits.

That One Time....

Picture this scene. A bedroom with a television set on. A woman is reposed comfortably on her bed. Noises from the t.v. set can be heard in the background. She is quietly relaxing, sipping a diet Dr. Pepper, vegging in front of the t.v. She hears a scratching noise. Suddenly she sits up in her bed. She is puzzled. She hears the scratching noise again.

(scratch, scratch, scratch)

“What was that?” the woman asks to nobody in particular.

(scratch, scratch, scratch)

“No. It CAN’T be,” the woman sits up straighter.

“Don’t even tell me,” she whispers in horror.

(scratch, scratch, scratch)

“Please no, please no, please nooooooooo!” She holds her head in her hands and starts rocking back and forth.

“What is making that noise?” her voice getting louder as she looks around the floor of the room in terror.

(and then)

“I knew it! There it is! I saw it! I just saw a furry little gray creature streak by!” she shrieks.

“There it is! There. It. Is!”

(sounds of a blood curdling scream echo throughout the house)

That was me back in April of 2008.

Ok, this is what happened.

First, a flashback.

It’s Christmas 2007. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!” My Christmas spirit was thriving and I was ready to give (and hopefully receive). Surprisingly, being the non-creative person that I am, I was feeling artsy-fartsy. I decided to do and I actually completed some Christmas crafts. I painted wooden bears. I sewed little goodie bags made out of Christmasy material. A hole was drilled into the bear so I could tie the bag to the bear with a ribbon and fill the bag with Christmas candy. Then I was going to give out said Christmas Bear to friends and neighbors.

It really was a good idea.

Unfortunately, it bit me in my big fat butt.

The bears were painted and the goodie bags were ready. All I needed was some candy. Oh, there were so many choices of candies to choose from….all bedecked in holiday style.

Candy canes, Hershey’s Kisses, Snickers, Lollipops, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

S.T.O.P.

Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. No need to look further. This would be the candy that would warm the cockles of my friends’ hearts and pleasure their sweet-teeth to no end. How could I go wrong?

Plus, I figured I would probably have, oh just a few, leftover peanut butter cups and well….far be it for me to waste such a good and delicious candy. Ok, so my arm was twisted, my mouth opened, and my tongue was doing some major salivating. I was ready to give unto others as well as give a little something to myself.

Now this is the part where it gets kind of fuzzy. The bears were ready, the bags were ready, the peanut butter cups purchased. Then…..I just don’t know. For whatever reason, I put the bears and bags away. I put the candy in my closet in a really good hiding spot. (I did not want the boys to find the candy…it would be gone in no time, if they found it.)

Then I guess I just went into lala mode and moved forward thru the holiday, enjoying the sights and sounds and tastes of Christmas. The thought of the Christmas Bears did NOT ever enter my mind again that Christmas season. They were not given out, as I had so lovingly planned.

In fact, if it hadn’t been for that night of the “scratchie furry gray creature streaking by,” I probably would not have remembered them until Christmas 2008.

Now, the flashback continues.

…..bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house. My husband came running in and asked, “What happened?” I was speechless; the fear had paralyzed my vocal chords. I pointed and whispered, “Th-th-there was a m-m-m-MOUSE!”

My husband sighed, but he knew better than to patronize me. He immediately began the investigation. He started looking around for “signs” of mouse residency. It did not take very long before he found the evidence.

There deep in the bowels of my closet in the middle of the floor sat a pile of Reeses Peanut Butter Cup wrappers! The little beast had found my stash and eaten its’ way through the wrappers to partake of the delicious peanut butter chocolaty concoctions. It had been happily and joyfully feasting for months on my candy.

The nerve.

Needless to say I was mortified not just because I had unknowingly kept a mouse alive and well-fed in my closet, but the candy….it was gone now. (sad sigh)

The more important issue here should be why I never went to that part of the closet for a long, long time. *nervous giggle* Obviously, having a clean closet is not high on my cleaning priorities list. I’m thinking it might be time for a change.

I never want to hear a mouse living so happily in my closet again. In fact, I was so tortured by this whole experience that I gave those Christmas Bears away to a local thrift store.

A word to the mice (and maybe to the wise): Mi casa is not su casa!

Can you say, “eek?”

Let ‘er Rip! (A TMI post brought to you by yours truly.)

I was a little bit under the weather yesterday. I think I caught a little bug. I spent most of the day lying around in bed feeling nauseated and tired. I was not able to eat much and sipped on ginger-ale with the hopes that my complaining stomach would quiet down.

They showed The Lord of the Rings Trilogy on cable. Forget the fact that I have seen this movie so many times that I've lost count, I just never tire of it. So since I did not have anything better to do, I sat back and watched the movies, all twelve hours of it.

“I wish the ring had never come to me,” cried Frodo.

I wish this bug had never come to me. Today, I woke up feeling better. I had two doctor’s appointments to go to. I felt ok, not 100 percent, but, ok.

Off I went to keep my appointments. After being felt up by my oncologist and stabbed with a needle by a nurse, I went home to hang out for awhile. I was feeling hungry, not starving, just a good grumble of the tummy. So I made myself an egg sandwich. Egg cooked over-well on lightly toasted bread. It was tasty. I felt all right after eating the sandwich for about a half-an-hour. Then it hit.

(Warning, warning. TMI to follow, do not read, if you do not want to get grossed out.)

(Still reading? Ok, but you were warned.)

OH. MY. GAWSH.

That sandwich never had a chance, I think it just pushed its’ way right into the intestines and just came gushing out.

I continued this dirty dancing with the toilet for about ten minutes (yes, you read that right). When I finally felt that this sludge episode was over, I stood up quite relieved (pun intended). I was glad it had happened now and not later. I was going to go to Costco later and I sure did NOT want an episode like this happening there.

A while later, my little guy and I went to Costco, about halfway through that mega-ginormous store, the tummy started to ramba, I mean rumble. A few more aisles and a few more tangos, I mean tremors, I realized I might be in trouble. I quickly calculated in my head just how long it would take me to get home so I could privately do some more dirty dancing with the commode.

I ran to the checkout and quickly paid for my purchases. I really thought I could just tough it out and just hurry home. While I was dancing, I mean standing there waiting for my change, I realized that this was not going to be a viable option.

It was either use the Costco restroom or have an accident in my pants driving home.

I opted for the former. I asked the cashier, “Ummm, can I leave the cart here for just a minute or two? I just need to go to the bathroom real fast.”

Cashier: “Sure, no problem.”

I grabbed my little guy and ran. I’m sure the cashier was staring after me. My little guy asked, “What are we doing Mommy?”

“Mommy has to go to the bathroom and you’re coming with me.”

I made a beeline for the handicap stall (I needed enough room for both us in there) and barely got my undies down before dirty dancing episode two began.

I let ‘er rip! And rip and roar she did.

I was so embarrassed! There was another lady in another stall and I know she could hear the “pleasantries” going on in my stall.

I heard her get up and leave her stall. Then silence. Oh my gawsh, she didn’t even wash her hands! Gross!

Yeah well, talk about the pot calling the kettle black, I had my own “oh my gawsh” issues to worry about.

I was still doing my dirty dance when another lady came in. “Will this dirty dancing nightmare never end?” Unfortunately, my ripping wasn’t done yet and so she, too, had the privilege and honor of hearing me rip it up.

But then something funny happened. (Only I could find humor in a situation like this.)

I couldn’t believe my ears…..she was ripping too! I think maybe I helped her to feel comfortable enough to do this human bodily function that most of us (me, me, me, me, ME) try to hide.

I guess she figured, “Hey if someone else is ripping, then I guess it’s no big deal if I do too.”

I think maybe on some strange level, I did a good deed here. We women need to be more supportive of each other, help each other, and let each other know that it is ok to be human and female. And if being human and female means a good rip once in awhile, then so be it.

So ladies, don’t be shy to “dirty dance” in public.

I say, “Let ‘er rip!”

My Husband, the UNhandyman

My husband walked past me out the front door with a little oil can, pliers, and a bottle of Elmer’s glue.

He was going to "fix" the air-conditioner. Fixing the AC with Elmer’s glue? Now that just scared me.

Needless to say, his choice of “tools” did not exactly inspire any confidence that this task was going to go well.

My husband is the best husband, but a handyman? Let’s just say…he is….NOT. It’s ok that he doesn’t know how to build a room addition, or do a number of house repairs that pop up every now and then.

In fact, I give him credit for going up on the roof and looking at the AC at all. He is at least trying, right?

I knew going in to the marriage that Tool Time Tim he was not and that was ok by me. You take the good with the bad. His good far outweighs his “bad.”

Last summer was the summer from hell for us. I was in the midst of chemo and radiation and recuperating from a major surgery. I had all sorts of complications related to my treatments and my husband was a trooper. It became a very busy and chaotic time for us, but he handled it. He did it all and he did it well. He took good care of me and our sons and did it without complaining or even getting stressed.

To me this was a very big deal. Unfortunately, I have heard one too many horror stories from cancer survivors where the spouses leave. Dealing with cancer and the treatments can become so overwhelming on so many levels and so downright nasty that some spouses get too scared and they do the unthinkable thing, they leave. Then the abandoned spouses have to go through a horrific and frightening cancer journey….alone.

I cannot even imagine.

So, it doesn’t matter to me what my husband can’t do, it only matters to me what he did do, and still does.

The Elmer’s glue did not end up being the fix-it prescription for the AC after all. But my husband did do an excellent job of picking up the phone, dialing, and asking a professional to come and look and fix the AC. Even right now, I am chilling out with a nice, strong, cold breeze blowing on me as I write.

What was that? Oh no, my husband is looking for a piece of cardboard. What for? Uh oh. The window needs "fixing." And he is on the hunt for his second favorite adhesive….duct tape. Sigh.

What a guy, he keeps on trying.

If at first you don’t succeed, try try again glue it or duct tape it again.

Still, I think I am going to stick with him...duct tape and glue and all.

Procrastination

It's making me wait!

Forget the anticipation, that is long gone, it's only procrastination these days.

Which leads me to ask: shouldn't we all delay our procrastination? Hardy har har. I used to be so on top of things before...before...before what?

Let me think about this. What was the big event that took place that made me stop caring about doing things in a jiffy.

You know what? I don't think there was one major defining moment where everything changed my outlook on getting things done in a timely manner. I think it's been in a slow decline for a number of years now. Only NOW I am noticing how different things are for me and my bare feet.

Oh, I could blame the birth of my eleven-year-old (eleven years ago? eek). Or I could blame the exhausting adoption process of my four-year-old, or I could blame the clinical depression that has been a major part of my life, I could even blame the whole lovely cancer experience. But, truth be told, it was probably ALL of the above, not just one event.

Today I mopped. I was so proud of myself. Then I became a little bit anxious. Why? Because I couldn't remember the last time I mopped. Egads! What is worse is that the only reason I swept and mopped was because it was gritty on me bare feet when I walked into the kitchen area. If it hadn't been for that, who knows how much longer I would have put this wonderful chore off.

Shockingly, this spurred me on to do another chore. I vacuumed! My bare feet? Much happier now.

When I first became a stay-at-home-Mom, I was one busy beaver. I vacuumed, swept, mopped, dusted, cleaned the bathrooms (including the tub) EVERY day. There was nary a dirty dish to be found in my kitchen sink! (What was I thinking?) Now? I put it off until I absolutely have to. It was strange because those first few months...no, I'm going to say first few years...I would get so upset at myself if I did not do at least that much.

Now? As long as there is not a puddle of pee on the bathroom floor and all sharp items are put away, then it's a very good day in my book.

I no longer beat myself up over this decline of cleanliness. Let me add my house is not a pig-sty, just not super clean. I am not providing sustenance to critters and rodents like roaches or mice. I shudder at the thought, even I have my limits. (Although, there was that one time. *nervous giggle*) Just don't bring your white gloves any time soon, okay?

One benefit from this procrastination of all things NOT spic-and-span clean? My stress level is also on the decline. I feel much more relaxed. Go figure. So I'll get to the cleaning, eventually.

No need to stress because, [sings] Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I'll clean ya Tomorrow... You're only a day away!

Thanks Annie for reminding me.

Enough is Enough

Good grief. The little mimic strikes again.

He attends half-day pre-kindergarten. He has a "late" birthday in October and did not qualify for regular kindergarten, since he is still only four-years-old.

I car pool with another Mom whose son also attends the same class. So I pick them up today from school, they get into the car and got buckled up. (It's the law, ma'am.) *grin* Then they start bickering back and forth. I listened to my son as he complained to me about his little "friend."

"Mom, he's staring at me."
"Will you tell him to be quiet."
"Will you tell him not to talk about me?"
"Will you tell him not to look at me?"

I am doing my best to ignore the whole episode. In the past, I have been accused of trying to micromanage the boys' behavior, so needless to say I'm keeping my yapper shut this time. I am trying to let them work it out by themselves. I don't even know what the other little boy was saying, but I heard my son's reply:

"That's enough!"

Oh good grief. That's MY line. He totally stole that from me.

I can't quite get used to hearing my lines come out of my little one's mouth. My older boy did not used to do this when he was the same age. He did everything else annoying, but not this. And my older son has moved on to bigger and more annoying things.

My older son loves to point out every one's faults. As I mentioned, I am carpooling with another Mom for the little guys. Well my older son has decided that the other Mommy is a reckless driver. He saw her turn the corner onto our street and he decided she was going too fast.

Oh brother.

"What will you do if she causes an accident?"
"I'll be concerned and worried for every one's safety."
"But what if my little brother gets hurt because she was driving too fast."
"Then I'll take him to the doctor to make sure he is all right."
"What if she gets a ticket from a cop?"
"Then she'll pay the fine."

Just for the record, she is NOT a reckless driver. He just thinks she is. I trust my friend and her driving record. Too bad my eleven-year-old can't see his way to feel the same trust and respect that I have for her.

So the next time my friend pulled up into the driveway to get our little guy, my older son said, "You might get a ticket or get in an accident driving so fast." I was mor-ti-fied.

My friend looked at me puzzled, she hadn't quite heard him.

So what did I do, what did I say?

I told him very clearly (with a glare), "That's enough!"

He scurried into the house not understanding what he had done wrong. Sigh. The life lessons and repeat lectures tend to wear me down after awhile. But hey, it's my job right now. Still I think it's time, time for a Mommy time-out.

Yes, enough is enough.

I hear a nappie-poo calling my name.

Do a Good Turn Daily

My son, the Boy Scout.

It was like pulling teeth to get him through his Cub Scout years. But we did it (or more like I did it).

Now we are onto bigger and better things, the Boy Scouts of America. The Boy Scout slogan is: Do a good turn daily. Of course when he was advancing at his last pack meeting, he acted like he had never heard of such a thing.

"Do a whaaaa?"
"Do a good turn daily."
"I turn each day?"
"Nooooo, you find a good deed to do each and every day."
"Everyday?" (eyes widened in fear and dread)
"Yes, everyday."

Gulp.

I didn't think he had been giving this concept any real thought until today.

We were leaving the Target store and walking back to the car with our purchases. (It's my husband's birthday tomorrow, hence the necessity of a THIRD shopping trip for the day.) My son was in such a good mood, being so helpful with me and his little brother. It was totally awesome, making this shopping excursion a smooth and pleasant one.

Then he did it.

He actually did a good turn! I had to shake my head and pull on my ears to make sure I heard him correctly. First of all, he offered to take our shopping cart to the return cart stall. Now he has done this many times before, so that was not too unusual. It was the next thing that boggled my mind.

He said, "Mom, I see about five or six carts that haven't been returned. I'm gonna go get them and put them away." I tried to react normally. "Um, yeah, that would be good." I know I had a questioning look in my eyes and I was trying so hard to quickly cover it up.

So off he went in the heat of a hot muggy Arizona day. There was my eleven-year-old running around the parking lot herding carts back to the stall. I stood there watching him in amazement, mouth hanging open in disbelief and confusion, wiping the sweat pouring down my face.

I was and am so proud of him. He didn't wait to be asked, he actually looked for an opportunity to do a good deed, not expecting anything in return. It was not convenient nor was it easy for him (especially in this awful heat), but he did it with a smile on his face.

And I promise I did not buy him ONE SINGLE THING at the store. Much to his credit, he did not even ask for anything, gasp, not even a video game!

Ah yes, he can be challenging, but when these glimpses of goodness surface, I feel....could that be hope? Yes. I feel hope. I feel good.

"Whoa! I feel good, I knew that I would, now
I feel good, I knew that I would
So good, so good, 'cause I got you"
(James Brown)

Yep, he's mine, all mine.

All About I

I nabbed this from a a very petty Mommy blogger, who is also very wise. She nabbed it from another fun and cute (and cheap, lol) Mommy blogger.

Anyhoo, my turn!

I am...a quirky person.
I think...a lot about the purpose of life.
I know...anyhoo is not a real word...yet.
I want...to make other people happy and laugh.
I have...a great sense of humor.
I wish...I was a great seamstress.
I hate...prejudice and bigotry.
I miss...my Mom.
I fear...anchovies.
I feel...like playing cards.
I hear...the voices inside my head.
I smell...like my citrus scented deodorant.
I search...my soul.
I wonder...when my cancer will return.
I regret...not working harder at school.
I love...my family and friends.
I care...about running out of Diet Dr. Pepper.
I always...can be counted on to keep my word.
I am not...a very patient person.
I believe...in Christ.
I dance...with my sons in the kitchen.
I sing...opera style at church and home.
I don't always...remember to be grateful.
I write...because I love to find humor in my life.
I win...because I beat the cancer! *at least for now, smile*
I lose...when my depression sneaks up on me.
I never...like to confront others.
I listen...to Aerosmith and Nickelback.
I can usually be found...in the bathroom. *giggle*
I am scared...of needles.
I read...fiction.
I forget...many times to start my days with a prayer.
I just...felt my stomach grumble.
I am happy about...being a wife and mother.

This was fun. I'm glad I stumbled upon it. Hey! "I am glad" is not included. Go figure.

If "I am glad..." was one of the sentence starters...this would be my submission.

I am glad.....that my name is not Jose Maria Martinez!

Looking for Laughs in all the Wrong Places

I am a bad bad mother.

I totally forgot the time and my eleven-year-old son just had to ring the doorbell to get into the house. He just walked home from school (which he hates) and usually I always go and unlock all the doors, so he can walk right in.

Hey, I was reading mommy blogs, one of my favorite pastimes. There is some pretty important humor out there that I am always on the lookout for.

I love to laugh. Sometimes too much. And sometimes not for a good enough reason.

This afternoon I had to go buy some thread and while me and my four-year-old were driving in the car, I was listening to the Glenn Beck Show.

Ok, I like Glenn Beck, but most of the time I can only take him in small doses. He is just so passionate about....everything; and after a few minutes of listening to him, I begin to feel so overwhelmed and anxious that I'm not getting it like he does about....everything.

But today, I was in an even quirkier mood than usual and he totally cracked me up. I think I was receiving signals from the mother ship or something, because in all honesty, it wasn't THAT funny.

Even knowing this, I just could NOT stop the giggles. It was just nonstop the whole way home and my little guy kept on asking, "What's so funny, Mom?" I couldn't even answer him.

Unreal.

I didn't even catch the story from the beginning so I don't know it in its entirety, but that won't stop me from sharing with you.

There was some incident at some border, I think in Texas, where a group of individuals were launching rocks across the border into Mexico. Some guy who was involved in the rock throwing had some things to say about it. Mr. Beck wanted to address some of what was being said by this individual.

Glenn Beck: "So Jose Maria Martinez said..... (very long pause) Now wait a minute, I'm confused, is this person a man or a woman? Jose Maria Martinez? Is this a Jose or a Maria?"

(stopping for giggle fit)

I really do not understand why I found this absolutely hilarious. It really does not take much to tickle my funny bone, huh?

I am reluctant to admit that I did not listen to the rest of the story. Oh no, I was too busy giggling and laughing.

I would be remiss if I didn't thank Mr. Beck for all his energy and passion for talking nonstop about all things important and somethings not so important. He mentally exhausts me and yes sometimes amuses me. For this reason, I still like to listen (just in small doses). But most of all I would like to personally thank Mr. or Ms. (?) Jose Maria Martinez for giving me such a laugh that I got a belly ache and could not stop bursting out in laughter and snorting like a pig!

My quest never ends to find humor and laughter in all things and in all places. The humor is out there and I do believe it is worth my time, energy, and sometimes even my money to go out there and find it. There are never enough laughs, big or small, for this quirky Mama.

Too much funny? Indeed!

Bald Beauty

I was gypped in my cancer experience.

I went through the vicious chemo-therapy and the uber vicious radiation therapy which included brachytherapy (internal radiation treatments). Trust me you NEVER want to have brachytherapy. It is a nasty nasty business, my friend.

So how was I gypped? I'll tell you. I did NOT lose my hair. I lost my cookies almost daily. I lost my energy. I lost my (most of the time) happy disposition. I lost my ability to have normal bowel movements (they were either too loose or too tight). I know....TMI. I lost my sense of humor. I lost my patience. I even lost my quirkiness. My quirkiness is the essence of my being. But the hair? It stayed and annoyed me.

You see in a really strange and morbid way I was looking forward to the hair loss. Sounds weird I know, but think about it. No. More. Bad. Hair. Days. I was so looking forward to buying a good quality wig. I had looked it all up online and I was ready to click "add to cart". Much to my surprise there was no need. I still have my same curly locks. Actually they are a little less curly, so I guess that was my chemo hair effect.

My particular type of chemo did not and does not cause hair loss. Who knew? I sure didn't. There are different types of chemo that treat different types of cancer. I thought chemo was chemo was chemo. One for all and all for one. Not so, not so, there are numerous types of killer chemos out there. Oh joy.

Anyhow, my would have been choice of wig? A nice layered straight haircut. I had plans for this and was so looking forward to it. Alas, I'm stuck with the same old layered curly hair cut that turns out differently every day. It is like my hair has a mind of its own. I do the same routine every day, yet it never fails to turn out differently everyday.

I'm sure most people think that I am trying a new do. I'm not. I'm trying to do the same "do." The "do" refuses to do repeat performances. Strange hair days indeed.

Another good part I missed out on from not losing my hair was no more shaving. Supposedly, with the "right" type of chemo, you lose ALL body hair, not just the hair on the top of your head.

Think about it, no shaving the legs or the underarms. Oh yeah, that would have totally worked for me.

The only part that would have potentially freaked me out regarding hair loss would have been losing my eyebrows and eyelashes. That is a bit much. I did not want to have to pencil in my brows. I see older women who do that and in my opinion, it does not look attractive at all.

Of course, looking attractive during chemo and radiation is usually not a high priority, but it's like one more hard kick when you're already down.

Luckily, there are places where you can buy fake eyebrows and eyelashes for cancer patients undergoing chemo. I was ready to click on the "add to cart" there too. Again, no need. This was the one good thing about not losing my hair.

It was strange how my best laid plans for a hairless existence were shot. I had looked up all the information about using scarves, turbans (not in this lifetime), and hats. I just know if I had had to use a scarf that puppy would have been sliding off my shiny head all the time. Turbans? Never, never, NEVER. Hats? I definitely could have gone there, but again, I was not given the chance.

Well what is done is done, thank goodness the chemo is over and done. Maybe the next chemo experience will include hair loss. A happy thought for me. But, I'm pretty much counting on that not happening any time soon. *smile*

In the meantime, instead of losing my hair, my current medication blocks estrogen from being produced in my body and one of its side effects? Increased hair growth! I just can't win, can I?

I bet you don't have to worry about checking your chin for whiskers. Yes, that is part of my happy hairy existence now.

Tweezers, please. I've got some plucking to do!

Cathy vs. Bella

If you haven't heard of Stephenie Meyer and her Twilight Series, than you must be new to the planet earth.

She is all the rave right now and I'm right there beside all the other ravers adding my two cents worth of raves.

I just finished reading Breaking Dawn and I really enjoyed it. In fact, I liked this book much better than the first three novels.

Bella is one of the major characters in the series and she shares much in common with the character of Cathy in Wuthering Heights. Both are young pretty girls. Both are involved in a love triangle that involves a difficult choice for each of them. Both are very capable of making bad choices. Both do get married. Both end up having one daughter. That's pretty much where the likenesses end.

Can I still be a fan and admit how much Bella annoyed me? She was so stubborn in a stupid way. She was always making decisions that she full well knew could put herself, her father Charlie, Jacob, or Edward in some sort of harm's way, whether it was physical or emotional, and...and...and...she would just go ahead and do it, because why? She always had to act on impulse. (Good grief!) Unfortunately, there were one too many, "What?" moments for me as she blundered and carelessly wove her way through her love life.

I still enjoyed reading the series because in my mind, it was a classic Wuthering Heights dilemma. Cathy in Wuthering Heights made the safe choice in picking her Edgar, instead of Heathcliff. Cathy how could you....Heathcliff is your soul mate, not that safe, comfortable, stable and boring Edgar! Bella, on the other hand, has the same difficult choice, between Edward and Jacob, but picks the less safe choice. I like that!

I had always wanted Cathy to pick Heathcliff, so when Bella finally chooses Edward and they marry, (yay!) this made me very appreciative that the author "gave" me that satisfaction.

Bella's wishy-washiness got old for me after awhile. Not enough to make me want to give up on the story, but it was like a constant underlying annoyance. You know like a kid's nonstop whining. You hear it, you don't like it, but you resign yourself to it that it shall pass, eventually.

In Breaking Dawn, Bella literally becomes a new person. Not exactly true, she actually becomes a new species. I so enjoyed seeing how much she enjoyed becoming her new self. Now she is strong and gifted, no longer clumsy and silly. I love it!

Ok, so it was a little strange when she became a vampire. I was so worried about her losing her humanity (good grief, I really need to get a life!). But it turned out to be such a good thing. After her "emergency vampirification" she is amazed at her new baby vampire self, red eyes and all. She goes running, jumping and hunting with confidence and security. She has a great power to "block" out others from reading her mind. She finds out that she can share this blocking power and help protect others. She is now the protector, not the one who needs protection. She realizes this was who she was meant to be. Plus, she gets her happy ending. I love it!

On the other hand or novel, Cathy was not fated to be Heathcliff's wife. Although he came back with riches, he still lacked the social status that she had been conditioned to accept and want in her life. With Edgar she received that status and wealth, but let's face it, Edgar was somewhat of a weenie. Without Heathcliff's loving strength, and the strength of their love together, what happens? She fades away and dies. Well is that a total downer or what?

Bella is no longer a whimperer because of her choice. Cathy did become a whimperer because of her choice. (And thank goodness Bella is no longer wishy washy.)

I guess I am a romantic at heart, I like the happy endings. Enough with the angst and the tortured souls that go on in loneliness and unhappiness. They always wither away into nothingness. Forget that. Like Steve Winwood sings, "Bring me a higher love." Who knew it could be found in a vampire love story.

Bella, you totally rock as a vampire!

She is (vampire) woman, hear her roar, no not roar, hissss!

No Soy Allowed

Yay!

No tofu for me!

Dr. William Helferich, professor of food science and nutrition at the University of Illinois, has spent ten years studying the health effects of isoflavones, found in high concentrations in soy products. He and his colleagues have demonstrated that one particular isoflavone found in soy, genistein, “stimulates the growth of estrogen-receptive tumors.” Seventy percent of women with breast cancer have estrogen-receptive tumors. In addition, they found that genistein interferes with tamoxifen, the primary drug therapy for women with ER-receptive breast cancer.

I was thrilled to learn that soy is a no-no for me in my diet. My cancer tumor was estrogen receptive. Also, being on Tamoxifen I would not, could not, should not do anything to hinder this wonderful drug by thoughtlessly, carelessly, or recklessly consuming soy or tofu. Despite a couple of major side effects (can you say hot flashes?), the Tamoxifen has successfully quelled any estrogen production in my now tofu free and soy free body.

Yay! No more guilt for not eating that healthy product. After all, the way experts talk about soy and tofu, you would think that it is the miracle food that can prevent all diseases. Sounds good in theory, thank goodness not only do I not have to, but I cannot afford to subscribe to this point of view.*snort snort*

What a shame.

(happy dance begins)

It obviously does not take much to make me happy. A soy-free and tofu-free diet? Let's just say this puts me in my happy place. I have never cared for the spongy tasteless texture of tofu. In my not so humble opinion, tofu is the new Spam (another product that not only do I not enjoy eating, but am very suspicious of its origins).

Too many dishes can be irreparably altered with tofu. I was aghast to learn that such recipes exist.

Tofu manicotti.
Tofu burgers.
Tofu mac-n-cheese.
Tofu bacon.
Tofu tacos.
Tofu sloppy joes.
Tofu mock egg salad.
Tofu key lime pie.
Tofu chocolate pie.

I was and still am extremely disturbed by the thought of these tofu ladened foods. It just seems so wrong, on so many levels. Now I actually have some scientific proof backing me up on this one, folks. Well OK, it might still be considered a healthy food alternative for most people, but I thank the Tofu Gods that it is NOT good for me.

(sigh of relief and contentment)

I will be forever grateful to the woman who informed us of this new finding. One minute I was sitting in my cancer support group, empathizing with others, listening intently, the next minute I was shouting, "Hooray"! Not something you would expect to hear in a cancer support group meeting.

It was hard to hold back.

Truth be told having cancer completely, utterly, totally, and royally sucks. It changes your whole life. In obvious ways it can make your life worse, but in some not so obvious ways it can actually help make your life better. (Another post for another day.)

But now there is one less sucky thing about it (for me). No soy allowed.

What? Tofu Enchiladas?

Don't even go there, puhleeeease!

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

"Mooooom! He's in here! He's in my room!" shrieked my ten-year-old. Ah yes, the little terror aka four-year-old son was about to pounce and give pain, lots of it, to his older brother.

Rage and terror abounded. His little mouth was gaping wide open, teeth were bared ready to snap shut on the flesh. Little hands were clawing frantically pulling and pawing and scratching at anything it could grab hold of: the tee shirt, the shorts, the underwear. He was frantically searching beyond those hindrances to reach his goal: the flesh.

"Mooooom, he's hurting me!" The fear was palpable in my ten-year-old's voice. His eyes were wide open in terror as he did his best to run, dodge, and scramble to get out of reach from the four-year-old beast.

The little beast was on a mission and he could not be stopped. He had a gleam in his eye that could only be described as, "you are going down, brutha". He was relentless in his pursuit of his older brother. He would not give up. He would not quit. He was the Energizer Bunny in a Tasmanian Devil kind of mode.

What makes this situation even funnier is that my ten-year-old outweighs the four-year-old terror by at least sixty pounds. The terror that was clearly etched on his ten-year-old face was priceless.

"What is going on? Stop it now!" I screa...I mean I asked in a very calm voice.

Of course they both answer me....at the same time.

"He did it first...I didn't do anything...what do you mean....you said those were mine....no, they were mine first...he's not sharing...it's not fair.....he gets everything....you always get me in trouble...but, but, but....he grabbed it...he hurt me....Mom, he hit me....I had it first.....it's not fair you always take his side....Mom, he is being bad...he's jumping around....Mooooom....he is not being nice to me....he's not obeying at all...he's not listening...he's scratching me and biting me Mom....he won't share...Mom bought those for ME....Mooooom...he won't give them back...but, but, but, Mooooooooom!"

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

The verbal barrage went on and on. Once they got all that off their little hairless chests, then I found out what started the fight.

The coveted item?

A bag of Cheetos.

Hysteria over a bag of Cheetos. Unbelievable!

ding ding ding

Round one goes to the four-year-old!

(crowd cheers)

He lifts his arms up in victory.
Dances around screaming, "I'm number one! I'm number one!"
"Oh yeah, I am THE dude, I am THE man!"
"Bring. It. On. You can't touch this......bag of Cheetos!"

(crowd cheers fade)

And to the victor goes.....the bag of Cheetos?

Well, not exactly. Excuse me while I go lick the "Cheeto juice" off my fingers.

Mmmm, tasty.

RIP

Enchiladas. We hardly knew ye.

Nothing puts more fear into my husband's heart than when he asks, "What's for dinner?" and I reply with a smile, "I experimented."

"Oh nooooo, do you mean...are you saying...that you m-made....enchiladas?" My husband asks hesitantly and with a look of fear and trepidation."Oh yes." I reply with a twinkle in my eye.

I do not know what it is about enchiladas that I keep wanting to find the perfect recipe. Sometimes my enchilada experiments turn out pretty good or they turn out not even fit for the dogs.

I think I finally mastered the green chicken enchiladas, my last experiment turned out mighty tasty. Even my husband was shocked and pleasantly surprised.

Now the red beef enchiladas? They now rest in peace via the garbage disposal. Suffice it to say that they have swirled and swooshed their way through the bowels of the sewage system and morphed into some questionable toxic sludge.

I apologize to Mother Earth for this unconscionable burden that now she must bear.

But really now, how could I have gone wrong with sour cream? I put tons of it in thinking it was a sure thing. The sure ingredient that would allow my enchilada taste buds to soar to a new level of feasting enjoyment.

It went bad folks. Just plain bad.

Well there went another eight dollar chub of hamburger meat. I only buy it on sale and I only buy the extra extra extra lean type. There were so many other possibilities for that chub. The potential meatloaves, pasta bakes, and even tacos that might have been. Consider the chub a sacrifice.

The package of corn tortillas? Would of, could of, should of, used them for tacos. Even eating them plain and raw would have been tastier than how they ended up in the enchiladas.

The sour cream let me down. On one hand I weep for this loss, but on the other hand, there's still about cup left in that container. A cup? Could this be the beginning of another enchilada experiment? Is that an actual spark of hope that flutters within my breast? Or it could just be gas.

The cans of enchilada sauce. What a terrible terrible waste. They weren't the generic store brand, they were the mother of all enchilada sauces La Victoria. They were on sale, I bought, I baked, I threw out.

But the greatest loss of all was the cheese. Oh how I love cheese and to have it be wasted on an experiment gone wrong? I cannot tell you how deeply my pain is felt. I shudder with fear and despising and yes, even some self loathing. I wasted cheese! Cheese, glorious cheese, fabulous and delicious.

I do not understand my enchilada fetish and neither does my poor husband. I only know that I will go forth with a spirit of fortitude and diligence that would impress even the most accomplished cooks. Yes, the making of enchiladas must and will go on.

Oh Rachel Ray, save me please!