clickmom

negativity

I have been actively trying to pursue a denial reaction while avoiding thinking about THE SPOT. Clearly this has been my (pre-determined and genetically programmed/familial) M.O. from before the beginning when I did no pre-dermatologist appointment SPOT area grooming. I had practically convinced myself that the derm would take one glance at THE SPOT and brush it off, just like she does for every other spot I go running in to show her. Surprise on me!

So, the healing process has been less than ideal/comfortable due to THE SPOT's precarious location in the place where everything comes (rubs) together- including undergarments and sanitary napkins. Needless to say, it's been a trying week (even with out the dental hell aspect) and my mental health/psychological reserve hit 0 about a day and a half ago. Today I tool care of some early morning business, crawled into bed until some afternoon business, picked the kids up from school and am now counting the minutes until I can crawl back into bed. Cheers!

In the mean time I got it into my head that THE SPOT wasn't healing fast enough and that maybe it was infected and when I went back to the chiro for more post dentist jaw realigning today I asked him to see if I tested positive for any bacteria floating around in that area. I hadn't told him about THE SPOT previously and filled him in on it's existence and it's removal. Chiro did his kinesiology voo doo magic testing on me and THE SPOT. I sat there (emotionless) as he tested his vials and then his remedies. It was pretty clear that there was one vial that was showing up as "positive" and once one remedy was indicating it would strengthen me I asked if the vial was bacteria and he told me it was cancer. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, but I tried to keep it together since Evan (aka" the big over reacting to every pain and twinge faker) was in the room getting all of his quirky fakingness tested after mine, and I didn't want him to see me freaking out.

The chiro however did see me almost losing my cool and then, he who (has testicles and therefore can not handle the sight of my big emotional girlie "feelings ahoy!" tears) lives by the power of the vial said "The biopsy could come back negative you have to wait and see." which I thought was just great and now I like totally want all my money back for years of living by the vial if I'm going to think that way! So, I don't really know what to think. Except I do deep down inside think the biopsy will come back positive for cancer. But I am a well known worrier. And I am a part time hypochondriac, that is, when I take a break from my own personal style of denial. Obviously I do have to wait for the more definitive actual biopsy to come back to say cancer or no cancer and also what stage before I can (exhale/really freak out) decide what my next move is going to be.

It's going to be a loooooong mother fucking week. Even longer now thanks to the vile vial.

Also, because cancer alone isn't enough to hold me under, the scumcle called and, fool that I am, I answered the phone without consulting the caller ID. He wanted to know if I was planning anything for grandma on Sunday, her birthday, and really, I couldn't lie, so I told him. And now he thinks he should show up during her "party." Now me and my emotionally fragile self have to deal with him and his cold bitch wife during my waiting period before I get the biopsy results. Not what I need, not what I need at all. I've got your forecast: It's raining shit here.

new teeth

Evan went back to school today despite his academy award winning performance of a child who had not managed to sleep a single minute last night due to imagined waves of nausea and stomach pains which inspired mad clawing at said stomach. He even squeezed out a few crocodile tears, but when push came to shove, I shoved him right out the door. I had things to do.

On Monday I couldn't smile big or laugh with my mouth open for fear of exposing my less than attractive titanium rods with out having a convenient corn cob pipe, whiskey jug and banjo handy to explain them away. Today I could have smiled big or laughed mouth wide open if only the nerves on the right side of my cheek would stop shrieking in revolt and the feeling would return to the rest of my right face. But when I cry in pain, at least I appear to have a full set of chompers. Yup, the permanently fake teeth are in! It hurts like a son of a bitch but damn, do they look real.

I found out from the ever chatty desk person at the OFH that scumcle showed up the other day and mentioned he'd be back on Sunday. Sunday is grandma's real birthday. I already had plans for a little in house celebration. She is going to be 96. Wah! I just want to cry. I don't want scumcle to be there. Since he didn't show for her 95th I figured he wouldn't bother for 96 either. Dammit! I polled wise people today (mostly bubbles) and the consensus is that I should take the high road and be cordial and polite to him. Since I am still in the throws of my Dexter mania and know intuitively that this is what Harry would recommend, I am going to have to see it through. I can do cordial. Except, I have been told that under no uncertain terms am I to accidentally or otherwise trip the scumcle if he walks past me. And that is a major disappointment too. High road, high road, this is my mantra for now.

You are not going to believe this one, but the sports editor sent me to another cancelled swim meet today. I'd make a big stink if the guy didn't look like death was dragging him halfway out the door already. I don't want that on my conscience should he actually spontaneously go any minute now. I did email the publisher and remind him that in my contract I get paid for going to sporting events even if they are cancelled. Thank goodness too, because the $1.37 they are going to pay me should cover the amount of gas it took me to drive around this private school's grand circular driveway in search of the school busses full of young athletes that weren't actually even there.

That's all I got, so now and my numb face are off to find the fast working yet not completely effective advil gel caps I will need in order to relieve enough pain to be able to drift off to sleep, albeit temporarily, because for some reason those lame OTC pain killers are only lasting an average of 3 hours. Yay, pain! I'm not dead yet if it still hurts!

couched

When Matt gets sick I know precisely what to do. When Josh gets sick I can tell exactly how he is feeling. When Evan gets sick the only I can tell for sure is that Evan is actually not feeling well. What I have no idea about is how bad he feels or even what he is feeling because Evan, while not being a liar, because if he says he isn't feeling well then he isn't feeling well, is an exaggerator extraordinaire. I do have (many many) recollections of my parents holding their forearms up their forheads and feining swoons and calling me Sandra Bernhardt, so I can only assume that he picked up the flair for the dramatic from me. However, this being said, I have absolutely no patience what so ever for Evan's embellished illness routine.

Pretty much the last two days went down like this:

1. Evan says he doesn't feel well.
2. I cringe inside and look at his glazed over eyes. His eyes are the first thing to show and if they aren't big-n-sparkly I know I am in trouble. Monday- no sparkle.
3. I begin to weep softly inside, cancel all my appointments and check Evan's forehead. Nada. He's cool as a cucumber, but the eyes are truly dull so I call him in sick to the school.
4. With the other two out the way at their schools for the day Evan and I commence the all day rental dvd marathon. It's not that bad because I am making my way through Dexter and Evan is cool with that choice.
5. Evan periodically whimpers and moans. It's fake and I try to ignore it. He moans louder and I fein checking his forehead for temperature that is not there again and again.
6. Evan refuses to eat, thinking lack of appetite will buy him more sympathy. It wouldn't kill him to loose a couple of pounds. I just remind to drink plenty of fluids. When I look away, however, he scarfs down (in record time) half of a loaf of dry challah.
7. More Dexter.
8. The days have blended into each other and day two finds us still stationed in front of the tv watching Dexter. I'm hoping Evan picks up some social tips from Harry.
9. Evan still performs the lack of appetite schtick but when I lure him into the Starbucks on false pretenses he admits to wanting one of their new breakfast sandwiches and devours the entire thing.
10. The school nurse phones me because she hasn't received my message from the office lady. She tells me how many kids from Evan's class have been out with strep, colds, and stomach bugs.
11. Evan gets a 4 o'clock appointment with the chiro to check for virus and bacterial infections. He doesn't want to go because we have to say goodbye to Dexter for a little bit. Evan checks clean for bugs. But the chiro does find that Evan has a spasming diaphragm which can cause the stomach pain and nausea Evan has been complaining about for two days. The chiro asks if the gym teacher has been making Evan do a lot of sit ups and I immediately wonder if Evan has been trying too hard to impress the very adorable pilates teacher on Saturdays.
11. Matt asks how Evan is when we get home and I say something about "ready to go back to school". Evan hears this and runs to the bathroom. The next thing I know Evan is exiting the bathroom and tells me he just vomited. I say I will go up to see and Evan tells me he flushed it all away because "I didn't want to leave a mess for you mommy"

12. HA HA HA HA HA

13. And I know that Evan (the big faker) is completely fine, has watched about 17 hours of too much tv and that tomorrow Evan will be going back to school.

making a contribution

Since I don't hang too much with the younger crowd any more, I don't personally know too many people who are expecting. I really loved taking all those new baby shots last summer and feel like I could really use some new baby shots right now to just kind of fill me up with that new baby wonderment. I tried accosting a couple of pregnant women at pick up at the school, (okay, I have to admit that one was covered with tatoos-such a rare sight around here- and I was all like OMG! What an awesome photo shoot that would make!) but I have to face it that I am one of those "older" mothers and those younger mothers (like I most likely did when Matt was in 1st grade) look at me like I am, well, an older mother. I am not imagining this. They all look about 20 to me!

The other night, when it is entirely possible that I was teasing Matt about his hair style and the dilemma he will likely face one day once he realizes he is getting bald, Matt declared "Ben Franklin had awesome hair!". After I got over the shock and disbelief one might feel when hearing that statement declared in such a heartfelt manner and also with such a straight face, I thought perhaps I would google image old Ben's styling hair. You know, for a post that Danelle would sure to comment on!

And, as I am sure you know you very well, one link led to another to another and so on and so on and so on until I somehow I ended up on a sight that sends volunteer photographers to hospitals to take free portraits for families who have for any reason lost a newborn baby. There were beautifully crafted photos of both the babies alone as well as the parents holding their newborn deceased babies.

When Matt was in Kindergarten a new family moved to town. The kid of the family could not behave himself and Matt made it his personal 5 year old mission to try to explain the ins and outs of good behavior to this kid. I got friendly with the mom who had lost a baby (stillborn) just before moving to our town. She had some of those cheesy hospital portraits on the multi-color pastel background of the baby and very time we visited their house, those pictures were prominently displayed on a different surface. I just knew in my heart that that mourning mom was carrying those photos around with her all evening every night. They disappeared after 4 or 5 months (witness protection program- I kid you not) and I never heard from her again.

I started this blog after photographing a young boys funeral (for the paper) and feeling unsure about it. What do you think I did? I volunteered to do these photo portraits at our local hospital. I'm not sure how it will affect me, (if they even contact me) but if there is a need for this and it will help someone in their healing process, then I'm all over it. If it is too hard I can always quit, but at least I can ease some pain for someone along the way.

still frozen in NJ

And now another installment of sarcasticmom's....

Evan and I took a nature walk today and here is some of the dead of winter we observed.

2 questions

Evan, inorder to complete his homework, had to call a (friend-type) classmate for the spelling words the other night. While they were on the phone, Evan asked the boy if he would like to come over Friday for a play date. The mom, with whom I have had some very nice pleasant chats and am interested in getting to know better, called me back an hour or so later to tell me that the son could not come to our house he had a scouts related activity that day. And then she said, with some kind of uncomfortable that I just couldn't place in her voice, "Can I ask you a couple of questions?" And my heart kind of twisted into a knot (because Oh No What Did Evan Say/Do? What kind of Freak Family does this woman think I am part of now?Oh! Evan!) and then I, despite the fright stomping on my chest, (deep breath) casually said "Sure!"

She hesitates.

Then finally.

"Were you .... bit by a shark?"

"Yes I was!" (relief!) Whew, I'm sure that seems unbelievable to the average suburban garden state house wife. Okay, that was easy, chit chat a little, share a little, is there something (gulp) else?

pause

more pause

I begin to sweat.

tick tick tick

"Were... Were.....Were you a Hooters waitress .... and did you wear a studded dog collar?"

??????????????????

WTF??

Thinking.....

Still thinking .......

Wheels turning....hmmm that does sound familiar.....

"Oh No! That wasn't me! That was Evan's Aunt, my little sister! Yes! But not at the same time! Hahahaha!"

haiku about grandma

tumbling thoughts can
not understand help
touch frightens frustrates

Okay, I know the haiku is supposed to be the whole post but I can't just leave it at that. I went to see grandma today hoping to see her in the dining room for lunch. As I rounded the corner towards the dining room one of the aides told me that grandma had just been brought up to her room by another aide. I asked if she had eaten lunch and the aide said that the aide who brought grandma upstairs was going to bring her back down. I went upstairs to see just what was going on and I found a very confused grandma. Grandma had come down on her own for lunch except she was not appropriately dressed (nothing naked, so don't go there) and hadn't been washed down by the aide for the day. The aide had taken her back upstairs to change her into clean clothes and wash her. Grandma did not want to be washed and gave the aide a very hard time. The aide said she always does that. every. day. I could not be an aide.

Evan wrote a poem

Evan's assignnment last night was to write a poem using 10 of his 25 spelling words. He wrote this completely on his own and came to me with the finished product. The idea was his own and the words are all his too. I always thought he was secretly a grown up in a kids body. I love the way he writes.

Postcards oh postcards. Those little delights. They take you away from your boring old lives. Working on essays maintaining companies and massaging the everlasting headache. A glimpse of paradise is all you need to let your mind loose to set it free! As the excitement bubbles inside yourselves you examine the features of the postcard. You see a forest, lush with plant life, alive, moving, but most of all you see paradise. As the backgrounds sink into your head you are jerked from behind. You look up from your newly found paradise to see businessmen with Rolex watches. You see people bumping in to each other and yelling out hallow apologies. All this time you were still in the city experiencing the hustle and bustle of daily commute. But in your mind you were white water rafting in the Amazon, and panning for gold in California. You might even have been riding a scooter around Greek ruins. You’ll remember where you want to be more than where you are.

Moral of the story: It doesn’t matter where you are. All you need to do to go away is set your mind free.

say what?

Here is a question for you to ponder if you happen to find yourself lying in bed awake and unable to sleep at some point tonight: How many times can clickmom possibly rub her eyes in the 40 minutes after she chops up a nice strong jalapeno pepper?*

Speaking of lying in bed. For a few nights now I have been having more than my typical unusually vivid dreams and also (much to my utter frustration) waking up about 5-7 times a night recalling the dreams only to forget all but the last dream come morning. (I am living in some other than my real life house with my kid, except it isn't one of my real life kids because the dream kid is teeny tiny and my dream kid insists that we put leopard wallpaper up in it's bedroom. I am resisting because WTF? Leopard wallpaper? But end up giving in and the room turns out to look wonderful and I tell myself I have to 1. trust my kids and 2. learn to take more chances)

So, I ask Matt if I can borrow his little digital recorder and he shows me how to use it and I put it next to my bed. I wake up only three times that night and try twice to record my dreams. In the morning I grab the recorder, virtually drooling with the anticipation of it all, only to discover that in my very unsexy half asleep voice I have left two absolutely incoherent messages to myself. Matt thinks they are hilarious. The next night, I put the recorder back next to my bed and sleep through the night (or rather I sleep until Josh appears at the foot of my bed at 6am and declares himself "lonely") Tonight I am going to try again because what I really want to do is wake up and discover something so freaky, so bizarre and so hilarious that I feel I must join utterz and let the world listen in too.

* the answer is three. Yes people, three times tonight I rubbed jalapeno juice from my own contaminated finger tips into my own eyes. (the third time wasn't actually that bad, I must have been still numb from rub #2)

Walking with knees pressed together

Today I pulled into the dermatologist parking lot to find not one but two hard to find parking spots available. Yay, right? One spot was partially blocked by a rude mal-parked honda odyssey driver who parked over the line dividing his space from the next space. I slid into the clearly defined other spot thinking I would more than likely find an empty partial spot next to my truck when I returned if the odyssey was still there. But I was wrong. I sat in the car for a moment because I had arrived un-fashionably early when some chick pulls in right next to me and makes a mad dash for the building. I open my door and realize that not even a slender three year old could make it out of that door crack, let alone me, and I call to the lady and say "Hey, I assume you don't want me to slam my door into your car! Am I right? Cause you parked in my spot and now I can not get out!" So she dashed back, got into her car and drove away. The I went in for my appointment and crossed my fingers for either an empty space or a mini cooper .

I sat in the dermatologist's office waiting room getting more and more nervous as I watched the people all walking through the out door with their heavily bandaged noses, chins, and foreheads. Finally, a torturous (mostly because Rachael Ray was on the waiting room television and no matter where I sat in the waiting room, I could still hear her) 20 minutes later, they called me, brought me into a room, and gave me a paper mini vest to put on (opening to the rear) and a bigger flat sheet of paper to lay across my lap. Yeah, nice. Right out of the "How to completely annoy a fat chick" handbook. I took one look at the paper mini vest, which didn't even come down to my waist, stripped my nice warm real clothes off, papered myself up and put my down coat back on. It was undeniably freezing in there. And when the dermatologist came in she laughed when she saw me half papered half down coat covered and turned off the AC. (Yes, it's in the 30's today and she had the AC blowing) She said something about her last patient being in menopause. Hahaha. I don't care.

Anyways, to make a long (gruesome) story short, I should have suffered through the brazilian and will not be taking spin class this week. Dermatologist said she couldn't tell for sure, it had all the markers of a melanoma, and it was either nothing or something I caught very early. Biopsy results will be back in about 2 weeks. Ouch.

When I got to my truck I discovered an astro van, and not the hoped for mini cooper, beside my truck. The astro van, while still in my parking spot, left me slightly more room than the odyssey. I figured I could crawl over the passenger seat, but then I remembered what had happened in the dermatologist office and instead opted for chancing the astro's door (would they really notice another dent?) while I (not carefully for the van at all) but carefully not to move my nether regions any more than absolutely necessary stepped into my truck and slowly lowered myself into my seat.

Home again, home again jiggety jig.