When Natalie turned two, we bought her the Shabby Chic furniture collection from Target. Heavy on the shabby. I'm sure it would have held up better if she had not been using the vanity as a diving board or trying to nap in the top drawer of her dresser. Matt was able to repair the broken dresser drawer, although it now randomly opens by itself a la Paranormal Activity. The vanity would need some extra TLC. We inherited the vanity stool from a friend after Daniel got into some nail polish and painted all over it.
Give me some clamps, wood glue, and a staple gun and I will happily chic up the shab.
See? I can do something besides cancer. Maybe I can fix our washing machine, too.
We got a second chance at snow-play on Saturday since Eve and I missed it the first time when she was in the hospital. It was the best kind, too. Light, fluffy, and gone by dinnertime. Eve lasted the longest out of everyone.
And here is Mommy's favorite winter activity- eating snow. (Well, really, you could leave off the "snow" and it would still hold true.)
After bribing Eve back inside with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, we all managed to get warm pretty quick. And as Matt tried to dial a phone number with a 919 area code, we were reminded how badly we need to go shopping for some new phones. See, these phones have gotten so worn out that when I go to answer a call, I will usually hang up on the caller because the talk button gets stuck and essentially acts as if it was pushed twice. The same is true of the number 1 button. And if you lived in our house, you would know this preschool song by heart:
[To the tune of Three Blind Mice]
Help's on the way, help's on the way
If I need help, I know what to do
I call the police and the firehouse, too
So...when you try to dial that 919 with a phone that wants to dial double ones, and then hang up because you realize what you've dialed, guess who shows up at your front door? Don't worry, Matt. Help's on the way. At least the kids got to see a real police officer and learn a valuable lesson- if you accidentally call 911, a very nice police officer will come to your door and chat about the weather for a minute, but she will not take your parents away in her patrol car since they already found the red knife.
Valentine's Day was upon us and Matt took the opportunity to teach the kids that you give chocolate to show your love. I can only hope that the children don't get upset when I refuse to give them anymore chocolate. It's BECAUSE I love you that I won't give you anymore, kids. (Not that I'm saving it for myself or anything.)
After trying to convince the kids it was bedtime much earlier than usual, Matt and I enjoyed a quiet dinner. It was mostly quiet because we are married and don't have very much to talk about, which makes it easier to concentrate on eating. And eat, we did!
The first course included a wedge of blue-brie, some fig preserves, and homemade chicken liver pate'. I love pate' because it's French and it's rich and it's got enough fat to make Paula Deen quiver.
For the headliner, I cooked some country-style ribs in merlot until the meat was just about falling off the bone, removed the meat, and added some balsamic vinegar, honey, and thyme before reducing the liquid to a thick syrup. Slap up the meat with some of that sticky goodness, broil, and ta-da! You'll forget your child has radiation mapping in the morning. That was topped with an apple-shallot compote (with some added bacon just to finish sticking it to all the pigs around the world), and we ate it with blue cheese grits and garlicky spinach. And it's ok to eat garlic on Valentine's Day, as long as you eat it together.
I didn't give Matt any chocolate to show my love, but I did make a slap-your-mammy cheesecake with lemon-blueberry sauce. I gave myself a little extra insulin to cover that goodness.
So after we ate ourselves silly, it was time for bed. Just as soon as we fell asleep, it was time to wake up again for Eve's 7:45 appointment at radiation-oncology. Eve was both hungry and thirsty, but luckily we were able to hold her down long enough for the gas mask to take effect. She didn't fall asleep as peacefully as she did before surgery, but I imagine she might have seen the mask and remembered the last night she danced with him, she woke up with tubes coming out of places there shouldn't be tubes coming out of. (And I know I just ended that in a preposition. Put away your red pens.)
Eve woke up in a crabby mood, which was expected. Between Eve crying and the doctor and nurse both talking to me at the exact same time, I felt like I was at home with the kids. Her blood pressure was pretty high, which I know was the result of those high-decible screams and the fact that we took her off of her blood pressure medicine. I'm never quite sure why people try to take her BP when she is p-i-s-s-e-d. It ain't going to be low, that's for sure.
Part of the mapping session included making a special mold that fits Eve's body so she will be immobilized in the same way for each radiation session. The doctor told us Eve would be warm for a little while after the session because the material is heated up to get soft so it is pliable. Eve did not have any interest in wearing shoes, socks, a sweater, or coat. So, as we left, I had this upset child in her short-sleeved pajamas wrapped up in my coat as we booked it through the cold parking deck, her bare feet hanging out. I'm quite surprised no one thought we kidnapped her from a hospital room.
Eve is now the proud owner of these fantastic Sharpie marks that we must take care not to scrub off. It's kind of creepy, like crosshairs of the radiation gun. But it goes well with the port and the scar. It screams, Don't mess with me.
Part of being NPO is overcompensating when you are allowed to eat. My two-year-old daughter ate two bowls of Cheerios, a half-bowl of oatmeal, and the better part of two bananas before turning her nose up at a PB&J. What did she want instead?
That's pate', folks. She wanted pate'.
(With a side of chocolate ice cream-cake.)