Eve vs. Wilms

CT stands for cat

2012-01-26T13:28:00.000-05:00

Some people move up scans because they think they feel a lump in their child's abdomen. Some people move up scans because their kid just isn't acting right. Some people move up scans because they can't bear the three-month wait.

Some people move up scans so they can hit their deductible so Daniel can go to speech therapy.

(Me.)

I willingly moved our appointment up to FRIDAY, January THIRTEENTH. I did this knowing that my kids were tracked out, and I would be responsible for three Griffith children at the hospital on a date that is the namesake of some serious whackadoo horror films that put me off of summer camp indefinitely.

The night before the appointment, the recovery nurse called to let me know when Eve needed to be NPO. Since we had a 1:30 CT scan, and I would have two other hungry children with me at lunch time, I was already prepared to do this without sedation. Especially since Eve has had enough ketamine the past couple of times to euthanize a large Clydesdale and she still refuses to fall asleep. Refuses!

Granted, Eve has woken up in the middle of the scan in terror while screaming that she doesn't want to be in that machine. Yes, I get that. But I really think she can do it without sedation. She's four. She can probably sit still for 5-10 minutes, especially if I promise her Taco Bell afterward.

Yes, I know that if she can't do it without sedation and she isn't NPO, we'll have to reschedule because she can't be sedated. But I also know it's pointless because she can't be sedated even if she is NPO.

So thank you, but no thank you. I'll be letting her stuff her face full of whatever will make her thirsty enough to want to drink the contrast. We will do this. It's Friday the 13th, and nothing. will. go. wrong.

We got checked into the hem-onc clinic and AMAZINGLY Eve peed in a specimen cup. This stuff is like liquid gold, or at least that's how I'm gonna list it on eBay. It is no easy task for me to collect urine from this child, and I've even had luck bathing a cat.

(Well, my kitten fell into the toilet when I was little.)

The four of us got taken back to a room and all the while, none of my children tried to play hide and seek in any of the other exam rooms where kids were getting chemo. If you can visualize my tally sheet, it would look like this: CHRISTY: 2, FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH: 0. If you can't visualize that, then imagine a bird pooping on a really mean person's head who had it coming to them, and then put my head on the bird.

That's me pooping!

Eve was perfectly happy with agreeing to do her scans without sedation, because I may have led her to believe that she wouldn't need a poke, only a prick. A poke is Eve-speak for an IV, in contrast to a finger prick. She can get pricked all day, but a poke is a deal-breaker. She'd rather get her port put back in and poked through that than get an IV in her arm. But she can't have it back because it's been turned into a Christmas ornament that hangs from the side of the fridge for the other eleven months of the year as a reminder of ~~how weird we are~~ everything she's been through.

Turns out that she did need that IV. Apparently not only does she have to drink contrast, but they put it in her veins as well. I guess I never paid enough attention before and thought the line was only used for sedation. If I had taken the time to think things out, I would have realized her lungs can't light up from oral contrast like her kidney will. But I'll blame this oversight on low blood sugar as a result of NPO solidarity.

Eve was not pleased. Nat and Dan were pleased, though; Nat and Dan had child life's iPad. Eve had a rubber band strapped around her arm.

Eve kept telling me I lied to her and turned on the screamage. She was offered numbing cream and she tearfully accepted, only to cry more when it was put on both of her arms. Had she turned down the drama for a moment, Eve would have heard the nurse say she was just numbing both sides and would decide which side to poke later. Seriously, kid. Calm down. It's just a needle in your arm that I promised you wouldn't need to have. Jeez, what are you, four?

After the cream was applied and we needed to wait for it to do it's thang, the zoo and I headed downstairs and got some contrast for Eve to drink. For those of you who can't remember, contrast tastes like diesel and cat urine. Which it probably is, because that sure as hell would make your insides light up like a Griswold Christmas.

Amazingly, this entire time my children are awesome. On Friday the thirteenth. And behold, miracle of miracles, I can dry out Eve's mouth with crackers and she'll willingly take sips from the contrast cup. She says it still tastes like "yucky poop Sprite" but she gets it down. First. time. ever. She finishes the contrast. Granted this was over ninety minutes for about eight ounces of liquid, but since they were out of yummy poop Sprite, this I'll take.

Screw you, Mr. the Thirteenth!

Back upstairs and Eve screams as the needle comes to the crook of her arm. As soon as it's in, she turns off the waterworks and declares, "That didn't hurt!" before looking at me and saying with her eyebrows, What are you looking at? Nothing to see here. Go fetch me my poke bead. It didn't phase Nat or Dan, though. They were making cupcakes on the iPad before asking why we don't have an iPad.

Be thankful that Eve had cancer, kids, or else you wouldn't even be touching one right now. You're welcome.

Now here's the cool part about going back downstairs: we don't have to wait for a doctor to sedate Eve. We can go back and just chill in the waiting room next to scanner. And while we wait, Natalie sees a poster on the wall with the words CT Scan and asks what a CT scan is.

Me: I can't remember what it stands for. It's something long, but it's a machine that takes pictures of Eve's insides.
Stranger in the waiting room: Cat scan.
Me: Yeah, I can't remember what that stands for.
Stranger: It stands for CAT scan.
Me: But those letters stand for something.
Stranger: CT scan is short for CAT scan.
Me: Yes, but those letters stand for something.
Stranger: CT is short for CAT scan.

Then the stranger looked at me like I was an idiot and turned his head away, obviously exhausted from trying to explain to me that they shortened a one-syllable word by adding another syllable. (CT or CAT stands for Computerized Axial Tomography. Meow.)

Eve laid on the scanner, put her arms above her head like a ballerina, and stayed still for over ten minutes. The last time I remember seeing her lay still for that long was so long ago I can't remember. It may never have happened. It may have been Inception.

This is how much the nurses hate sedating Eve: when she was done with the scan without sedation, they gave her two prizes. There was clapping and whooping. And it wasn't for Eve's sake, because it was after we left the room. I could hear it through the lead door.

Scans all clean. Labs look good. Urine still gold.

Friday the thirteenth can suck it, 'cause I'm about to poop on its head.

Eve -hearts- Duke

2012-01-24T20:56:00.000-05:00

We love sick kids.

Wait a second. That sounds weird.

Take two: we love sick kids, but hate that they are sick. We want to help them not be sick. Sick sucks.

There. That sounded awesome!

Any reason your child has to be in the hospital- whether it be cancer, genetic disorders, premature delivery, epilepsy, organ transplant, heart problems, or anything else equally terrifying- is a reason you need to be in a great hospital. We've felt our hours logged at Duke were successful hours for our family. We hope your kid never, ever needs to go there. We hope you'll only have to visit the emergency room for fun stuff, like shoving rocks too far up your nose.

But some of you out there are like us. And we hope you'll consider donating to the place that gave Eve a happy ending, so other kids can get their happy endings, too.

Please watch this video, then watch it again with the speakers turned even louder so all your coworkers can hear, then click on this link, then enter in every credit card number you and your coworkers have and help Eve reach her goal by Valentine's Day.

Because she's got amazing pigtails now! And every dollar you give helps every kid who has to come to Duke, no matter why they are there. Eve would have told you those dollars were tax-deductible but that's a mouthful, even for her.

Pleeeeease?

Go Pack!

2012-01-22T21:40:00.000-05:00

Because I'm friends with the most awesomest photographer I know, we get the most awesomest family pictures. I'm talking about Wolfpack pride! Because winter pics with hats and scarves are so 2010. Or until we decide to wear hats and scarves for winter pics again.

So...you know the drill. Become a fan of Jo's PhotoMojo on Facebook and check out what other awesome stuff she's up to! She's cool, she's talented, and she hates childhood cancer so much that she's raised thousands of dollars for the cause since Eve was diagnosed. Can your photographer say the same? Plus, she doesn't eat nacho cheese so if you go out with her, you don't have to worry about her stealing any.

Priorities.

Make it rain

2012-01-20T02:01:00.000-05:00

So, with three weeks left of track-out after the New Year, I did what any of you would do with three hyperactive children; I loaded them up in the van and drove them to my parents' house to share the moxie. Older people are always wishing they had something called "their energy."

Of course, the world's only Chuck E. Cheese's is located in Waldorf, Maryland. It is a fine place to expel energy. We are lucky that my parents live in Waldorf.

Teletubbies are weird, even to me. And I don't have any big toenails. And I like eating pancake syrup on my potatoes.

The best time of day to go into a Chuck E. Cheese's is in the morning. There will be no more than six children total if you go in January. There is limited time to catch swine flu or SARS.

The best part of our experience was when Chuck E. Cheese appeared with a sign that said Follow me for free tickets! Of course, none of the six kids in Chuck E. Cheese's would follow the giant mouse because the only one who was old enough to read was Natalie, and she was too busy smacking the crap out of some neon-colored moles. So, the mouse had no other choice but to grab the kids by their shirts and drag them into the free ticket-conga line.

The mouse's trip started in front of the bathrooms. Then he took the kids through the little kid games to the pizza counter to the prize counter to the big kid games and ended...in front of the bathrooms. Still no free tickets, but approximately six very confused children.

Next, someone plugs in a giant boom box and on comes the Cupid Shuffle, but performed by Chuck E. Cheese himself. Suddenly, the woman who was cleaning the restrooms hears the music, puts down her toilet brush, takes off her gloves, and joins in the dance party.

It was surreal. Surreally weird.

The lady and the mouse followed the directions in the song unlike any of the six children he lured to the dance party with the promise of free tickets. Natalie and Eve slow danced together while Daniel lurched around like a hillbilly who couldn't decide which lucky lady he was going to do-si-do next. And I use the word hillbilly in the most loving way possible, like Kenneth Parcel, whom no one could hate nor out-dance.

Then, at some pre-determined time, a young guy came out from behind the salad bar, told all the kids to sit down, and handed the mouse a fistful of tickets. Then, at a distance of fifteen inches from the bewildered children, the mouse made it rain. As in, threw tickets on their heads and then watched as the little ones picked them up and threw the tickets while my three children knew to stuff as many in their shirt as their hands could grab. They've stood in line for a lot of pinatas. They know what's up.

The kids had enough tickets to win lots of cheap crap. More cheap crap than they've ever won before. Enough to fill up half of a small trashcan! Ask me how I know.

In other news, we took the kids to the Spy Museum. No photography was allowed. If I told you anymore, I'd have to kill you.

But let's just say that there were lots of things on display that had once been up spy rectums. The word "rectum" appeared so often it'd make a proctologist uncomfortable.

The kids got spy glasses. They can see behind them while wearing them. They think they are now better prepared to level the playing field with Mom and the eyes in the back of her head.

What they are forgetting is that Mom also has ears and the uncanny ability to guess what stupid stunt they are whispering about pulling. No, you will NOT paint the walls like Olivia the Pig did in that book. And I have half a mind to write to that author and tell him that painting the walls like Jackson Pollock would not just result in a time-out and a nice supper afterward for the artist. In real life, I would first take away the spy glasses and then I would send the kids to their rooms to cry themselves to sleep and then when they wake up and come downstairs all puffy-eyed, I'd feed them nothing but lukewarm kidney beans for supper. Because those are the most disappointing of all the beans and everyone knows it.

Fortunately for them, the eyes in the back of my head and my super-satellite ears work in tandem and I'm usually able to foil such idiot plans before they are ever put in motion. So no kidney beans for supper that night. But my dad did make us all pancakes, one of his two specialties; his other is peanut butter and jelly, and I will even admit to liking that peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich he used to make when I was younger. When I asked my mom if we would be having any fruit or vegetables with the meal, she was apparently too tired after a day with us at the museum to answer, but silently walked to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of V8 and some Absolut Mandarin.

After we all fell into a carb-induced sleep, we awoke the next morning to go to the Museum of Natural History, or the Skin and Bones Museum as Eve calls it.

Daniel was very excited about seeing the dinosaur bones. He had packed a bunch of plain white paper sheets stapled together and a pen and was ready to roll. He wrote down the name of every dinosaur he saw.

Then he held up his book with the name of the dinosaur and smiled.

Then he thought it would be funny that the picture we would print out and tape into his book would be a picture of him with his book but no picture and the next time we come we should bring the book with the pictures so when we take a picture of him with his book, there will already be a picture in it. Or something like that.

Then he did it again.

And seriously. Can we not stop and appreciate how cute it is for a little boy in yellow glasses to be taking notes at a museum?

I think he's trying to determine the cause of death here.

My guess? Decapitation.

Eve is looking for Carmen Sandiego.

Natalie was stumped by the horseshoe puzzle. This made me feel smart because I knew how to do it. She knows how to turn on the Blu-ray player and I can solve the horseshoe puzzle. My skill is timeless.

I can also do a Jacob's Ladder like nobody's business, but apparently four-year-olds can, too, so there was no satisfying feeling of superiority to be had there.

I like to think she's determining the histology of her own tumors here, but it's probably just a dead bug.

Yes, pathologist #2 confirms it is a dead bug.

Ok. I really need one of these in my living room. I would be known as the queen of badassiest parties. You going to Christy's? Heck yes, I am! She's got EARTH levitating in the same room as her fireplace! Could she be any badassier?

And then, of course, I would turn our plain old boring hallway into the HALLWAY OF 3D BALLS.

And if I couldn't get a loan at the bank for all the renovations, I guess I could just try to camp out with the Stegosaurus bones.

This trip was proving to be too educational. We spent the next afternoon watching The Muppets...again. I'm not embarrassed to admit it was that good. Interesting to note, the price we paid for three children's matinee tickets in northern Virginia would have netted me twenty-eight and a half crunchy potato soft tacos at my favorite restaurant. But sitting on my rear for two hours was probably a lot healthier. I only eat that many crunchy potato soft tacos when I'm carbing up for a hike.

And what could have been more magical than the snow falling when we left the theater? Well, maybe an actual wizard, but snow would have to do. We got back home and let the kids snack.

I don't know how clean that table was, but my kids have enough white blood cells to take on the world, or at least Chuck E. Cheese's before the lunch rush.

We got Chinese food that night now that Daniel accepts lo mein as he and every other person in the world should, because it truly is one of those foods that reheats better for breakfast than it did for dinner the night before. And I got my most favoritist fortune ever: Yesterday is gone. Today is here. Let's go with it.

I want to write fortunes for Chinese take-out cookies when I grow up. My first would read: Always finish your vegetables. And don't put anything up your rectum.

The resolve to try.

2012-01-11T10:26:00.022-05:00

So, apparently Santa likes to shop the day after Halloween sales.

And apparently my dad thinks Flarp is hilarious. He flarped so much on the phone that his brother hung up on him. On Christmas day. That's how much flarping was going on.

Eve went through plenty of costume changes. This was actually no different than any other day of the week.

Christmas 2011 marked Eve's first online shopping experience (not including the apps she downloaded on my old dumbphone which couldn't even support said apps but I was charged for anyway). She decided Daniel needed yellow glasses.

Daniel loves yellow. Daniel loves being able to see. It was a very thoughtful gift.

Runaway bride! Thank goodness I had already lost my toenails because it was like Talladega Superspeedway around here.

Joy! Rapture!

That evening, we had filets and crab cakes for dinner. I asked my mom to cut up the kids' food so they wouldn't see the need to wield a steak knife. Somehow, little pieces of perfectly cooked surf and turf found their way to floor in the first of many accidents.

And the kids weren't even involved.

After dinner, I decided to try out my new SodaStream because I am in love with seltzer water. In my excitement, I moved the machine to the table where everyone was sitting, put a bottle of water underneath the carbonator, and pushed the button. I say in my excitement because that can be the only reason I neglected to actually screw the bottle into the machine before water exploded across my family members. Natalie had to go change clothes.

By the time we cleaned that up, my mom went ahead and spilled her drink across the table. Natalie changed her pants again. Perhaps a sign that we should stop drinking?

Said sign goes unnoticed until I spill my drink across the table. Natalie's lap is drenched at this point and she decides to go with it, probably because she ran out of pants.

I managed to go a whole hour without spilling anything until it was time for bed and I decided I needed to put a bowl of whipped cream in the fridge. There was probably less than a cup of it in a mixing bowl that could hold large infant Siamese twins. Naturally, I decided to just throw plastic wrap on it and shove it into an already packed fridge instead of moving it to a much more reasonably sized container.

Like I said, I didn't see the sign that said stop drinking.

Then the container with the green beans, in all their beautiful, salty-brothed glory, came tumbling out and what do you know? Plastic storage containers can break!

But since there was now space in the fridge, I was able to shove the mixing bowl right in.

I went to bed without managing to spill any mouthwash, mostly because I didn't use any. But I do remember getting toothpaste on my pajamas.

Our Christmas gift to Daniel was a day at Marbles. He opted for Mellow Mushroom for lunch because they have good kids menus to color. He's kind of a kids menu snob.

He tried to keep his cool when we first arrived.

But he lost it when he got to the giant Legos.

He got to try out hockey. Dan is tenacious.

Marbles has a dirt pit outside called Diggin Dirt Island. It's like they thought about putting in a sandbox, but decided sand buckets and shovels work just as well in the dirt. Dan loves digging. Dan loves dirt. Dan loves Diggin' Dirt Island.

Dan wants to dig to the center of the earth. Dan is upset that he can't dig to the center of the earth.

We tell Dan there is a movie called Journey to the Center of the Earth. We watch it when we get home. He is visibly confused. He knows deep down that he can really dig to the center of the earth, if his parents weren't too lazy to help him.

Eve's present was a trip to the movies. And guess where we ate lunch beforehand?

Surprised?

What, did you think we were going to the salad bar?

I'm just here to make her dreams come true, not monitor her fiber intake.

We saw The Muppets. We sang Mahna Mahna. We ate tasty radioactive popcorn that glowed neon, even after the lights were down.

(I hope that stuff doesn't cause cancer.)

We went with Matt's mom to the Rembrandt exhibit at the art museum. I found it incredibly interesting that the entire exhibit may or may not have been painted by Rembrandt. It made me question how much we should really be paying to see it. I wanted to negotiate based on how many I felt were actually painted by the artist, since our headphones instructed us to decide if each painting was really a Rembrandt...or not.

But I didn't major in art history. That's not fair! It's like going to a concert with the Backstreet Boys and New Kids on the Block and being asked which group is N'Sync but being charged to see Boyz II Men.

Yeah, it was just like that. I think. But with less music, more paint and greater questions of authenticity.

New Year's Eve was celebrated London-style. Meaning, we ate cupcakes and sparkling grape juice at 7 pm. Though we didn't talk in funny accents or see Big Ben strike midnight, I'm sure it was exactly like they throw down in Europe.

As for Matt and I, we went out to celebrate New Year's Eve, eastern-time zone edition, after the kids had worn off their sugar high. White people love fire pits almost as much as they love Cinco de Mayo, so we eschewed the modern convenience of indoor heating with our friends and rung in the new year with something better than cupcakes.

A full-sized cake. For six people. Because we so crazy. And dietary new years resolutions be damned!

I tried to make a resolution, but I've never been good at it. When I decide I want to do something, I just do it, no matter what day of the year. I'm good at that. When I try and do something because it's January 1st, I know it's just for show.

On New Year's Day, because my blood sugar was low, I made myself some peanut butter toast and a tall glass of milk. I never drink milk. Not because I don't like it, but because our kids go through a gallon every other day and I'm cheap. I choose to get my calcium from nacho cheese.

But in this instance, the milk was de-li-cious. And in my hypoglycemic state, I made a resolution.

"I'm going to try to drink a glass of milk everyday!"

Matt thought this resolution was sissy. It was really a resolution to try. I can't be faulted if I don't.

I didn't drink another glass of milk on the 2nd. It wasn't until the 3rd that I remembered I was supposed to be trying, and I did. Then I amended my resolution to try to drink a glass of milk every other day.

That was eight days ago. I'm going to resolve to try. Not necessarily to drink milk, but to try. Try something. Like leeks. Or cycling.

A season of miracles

2012-01-05T23:19:00.019-05:00

Being that it was Christmastime, and Christmas being the time of miracles, I shouldn't have been so shocked that Daniel and Eve stopped sucking their thumbs overnight. I'm sure if it were done any other time of the year it wouldn't have been as miraculous, unless it were Easter, which is when I heard something big happened once.

All I had to say was, "Sucking your thumb will make your big people teeth grow in funny. Not funny like haha but funny like weird-looking." And then I had to tell Daniel that you don't want to purposely look weird, no matter how funny it sounded. And that was it. They stopped. Had I known it would be that easy, I would have tried to make them stop a long time ago. Maybe God thought we had been through enough trials between the cancer and the mice and decided to give us a Get Out of Thumb Sucking Free Pass. Thanks, big G!

I took Eve and her unwrinkly thumb to Natalie's winter program at school. We stood in the back, where all moms with kids from Where the Wild Things Are choose to stand with their wild things. This way there is a buffer between wild thing and the stage and your chance of catching them is significantly increased, should they escape.

The wild thing didn't storm the stage. As I said, it is the time of miracles. But as Christmastime/Wintertime/Holidaytime/Traditiontime would have it, we would be required to be at the school two more times that week to bear witness to things that would be sent home or things that were sent from home.

There was a Winter time party that Natalie requested I attend so I could stand there with wild thing and watch them eat cookies.

I really wanted a cookie, but no one would share. Plus, I saw a kid touch most of them as he manhandled the tray, and we all know kids have cooties. Especially boy kids.

I brought wild thing with me to watch Natalie's inauguration into student council. Eve was excited...about the Mentos she found in my purse. Luckily, these distracted her before she could storm the stage.

It is stressful to bring kids who don't belong in school to school. It makes me want to start sucking my thumb.

It's almost as stressful as bringing your son to watch his sister do the Nutcracker in her ballet class because he wants to get up and do the Nutcracker in his sister's ballet class. And while it is perfectly acceptable to scream the words to Margaritaville during a Jimmy Buffett concert, I have yet to attend a ballet where excited audience members pirouette in the aisles.

Eve was pretty serious about doing exactly what she should be doing during her Nutcracker performance. She's out to kill the Mouse King, and I'm wondering if she'd also be open to killing the ones who eat the peanut butter off the traps in our garage.

Another miracle of miracles, I did my dishes and had a clean sink and stove for our Christmas Cookie Swap party. Normally there are pots and pans covered in cream cheese and pinches of love, but not this year. This year we stop sucking the thumb. This year we do our dishes.

This year we can eat twenty different appetizers covered in full-fat cream cheese because we just hiked 28.3 miles, and that's 113.2 miles between the four of us, which is like diving into a swimming pool of any full-fat dairy goodness that pleases you.

I swear, I'll stop trying to eat up for that hike after the New Year.

Miracle of miracles: Jo Garvin, self-proclaimed mistress of undomesticity, won the prize for best cookie. Her brownies won the cookie contest.

But now all I want to do is figure out how to use Photoshop so I can add an apron, a spatula, and a dirty martini to that picture.

I would probably lose a lot of time in the day if I actually knew how to use Photoshop. I mean, I've already dedicated 20% of waking hours to Facebook and Pinterest and nachos. Not sure if I could squeeze anything else in before my kids stop getting bathed regularly.

Each year for Christmas, we let Santa bring just about all of the presents. What Mommy and Daddy give to the kids is a day with Mommy and Daddy without their siblings. We know, we're awesome. I mean, if we weren't awesome, that would be a pretty lame gift. The gift of us!

Natalie's gift came a couple of days before Christmas, because the Nutcracker didn't have any day-after-Christmas shows this year. Like those ballerinas are too cool for dancing at a Monday matinee or something.

You know who is too cool? Yo momma and daddy. Otherwise we wouldn't have gifted ourselves.

But what was really on the kids' lists this year?

Dear Santa Claws,

I wish for some underwear and some make-up and some wigs and a joke book and a puppy and jewelry and some maps. ~~Love, Natalie~~

Just kidding, Santa. I saw some commercials and would like to add Zoobles and Bendaroos and a bag of lots of lipstick to my list. And don't forget that puppy I tried to squeeze in there.

[Dear Santa,]
[I would like] white paper, Legos, haunted teeth, stickers, Star Wars movies, markers, crayons, [and a] toy gun. [Sincerely, Daniel.]

So on Christmas Eve night, stockings were hung with haphazard care in hopes that St. Nicholas would leave nutcracker-shaped Snickers in there.

And Eve carefully selected which cookies they would leave out for Santa by making sure she touched every square inch of every selected cookie after having her hand in her mouth.

Because she was checking to see if she had any loose teeth. In case the tooth fairy would come to the house that particular night, as if she wasn't exhausted from the day she had, starting out at her local Cash 4 Gold trying to unload some gold teeth so she could have the funds to create the perfect Christmas for her little fairy family. No, Eve, she's not coming and Santa does not want your germs all over his cookies.

Daniel was insistent that we make reindeer food. Reindeer food in our house always consists of whatever cereal we have that is about to go stale. This year, Rudolph gets an insane amount of fiber. Like, the amount of fiber that anyone over the age of fifty gets excited about.

Natalie was excited.

Eve was excited.

And I'm sure Daniel was excited, too, but he was too busy leaving out a bucket of water for the reindeer to be photographed being excited.

There was plenty to open even before Santa got here. I mean, imagine their faces when the kids open up their gift of US! And all these presents my parents brought down.

But when Santa comes, he still always leaves his presents by the [gas] fireplace. And he politely eats the germy cookies because that's what Jesus would do. Or, he'd feed 5000 people with them. Either way, he'd be very polite about it.

That's WJWD.

These nuts are chock full o'normal.

2011-12-27T13:36:00.009-05:00

As I sit and lovingly bang this one out, I am happy to remember today as another day that we are all [as] normal [as can be expected of us]. Two years ago the day after Christmas, I sat in the hospital with Eve on my lap as she got a blood transfusion, too tired to play with any of her presents from the day before. Yesterday, I sat with Eve in my lap to calm her down, because she wanted to lob the presents at her brother's head. And, deep down, isn't that what every parent really wants?

We're normal, normal, normal. We do things as a family that would make good Christmas cards. We are good at hiding our oddities in public. Not that we have any, but if we did, I could make a normal face so fast that you would question if you really did just see what you thought you saw. But you didn't, because we're normal, and we would never do such a thing. Never in public!

The kids loved having breakfast with Santa. They got to tell him everything they wanted, which included underwear, food coloring, and a puppy.

There were crafts. Crafts! Dan was was over the moon. And the fact that one of the crafts was cookie art made him nearly spontaneously combust. I love this picture of him, because this is his how I will forever remember his childhood: always making a craft for someone but trying to keep it secret while covered in marker.

Eve found her buddy, Franklin, and chased him up and down the hallway trying to score a kiss. Franklin also had bilateral Wilms so between the both of them, they can say a lot of really big words.

Then there were the pancakes.

Then I inexplicably had whipped cream and pancake syrup in my hair.

The girls were in a Christmas parade. Surely they would be easy to spot because they would be wearing bright red sweatshirts.

There's Waldo!

And luckily I have a very good friend who pulled Eve around in the parade so I could stay on the sidelines with Dan and Matt and eat cake and drink hot chocolate.

(I mean, we were doing lots of hard work. It's actually very hard to get warm while you are standing still.)

When Eve was done, she found the cake stash.

It's almost like she's going to need her teeth cleaned.

We've been doing nothing but normal stuff around here lately. Like taking your four-year-old to her first dentist appointment, even though the American Academy of Pediatric Dentistry would have you believe you ought to be doing this "when the first tooth appears, or no later than his/her first birthday." Eve wasn't diagnosed with cancer until her second birthday, so I can't use that card. I am so busy being Mom of the Year that I can't fit silly things like dental visits into my family's schedule. But I'm really good with their dental care and if I know my kids are going to fall asleep in the van on the way home, I make sure we stop for Junior Mints first, so we can all feel good about skipping the teeth brushing when we get home and throw their comatose little bodies into bed.

Eve was excited about going to the dentist. She made herself comfortable and opened up wide. She's always liked going to visit people with blue gloves and face masks.

After her teeth were cleaned, I wondered aloud when they were going to take x-rays. The hygienist thought it might be a bit much for Eve for the first visit because most kids her age don't like getting it done. But x-rays Eve can do. Eve can do them like I can do nacho cheese. She impresses the pants off of everyone by being still for each image, something I've never been able to do by cleaning a plate of nachos. Besides, the people you'd impress by eating a ton of nachos are not really people you'd be excited about impressing.

I've never gotten extra prizes for being good at the dentist. I've only gotten concerned looks because I have a very sensitive gag reflex.

Daniel went to the dentist later on that week and told the hygienist he had a loose tooth. She started counting 1...2...3...4...5...6...six loose teeth! "Is that true, Mom? Do I have six loose teeth?" Well, no Daniel, I think she's messing with you. Surely I'd know if you had six loose teeth. Yes, you really do have six loose teeth, Daniel! Surely you do, Daniel. I was just joking. I totally knew that.

And what do you know? Two days later, he lost his first tooth. At least it was the tooth that I realized was loose. Apparently there are five more in there that the tooth fairy has her eye on.

And while Daniel's losing teeth, I'm losing toenails. Alas, there is no toenail fairy who would be excited to exchange a toenail under your pillow for a fifty-cent piece. Not unless she had some weird kind of foot fetish, but even still- I don't want a fairy of that variety in my house.

It was expected I would lose my two big toenails after the damage I had inflicted upon them on the Ultimate Hike. My first clues were the constant heartbeat pulsing in my toes, the sensitivity whenever the bed sheet touched them, and the nails turning black. I was surprised, however, when both toenails fell off on the same day, within hours of each other. I know that the injury occurred on the same day, but for them to both fall off seventy-seven days later was incredible. Disgustingly incredible, though incredibly painless.

And now I'll have to paint my toes and pretend like that's normal. We're chock full of normal around here.

The Christmas Mouse

2011-12-14T23:21:00.010-05:00

It's kinda crazy over here. We've done some stuff. We don't have cancer. We now understand why adults used to pay us as children to wrap presents.

We went to Pullen Park the weekend it reopened after being closed for a couple years for renovations. The carousel just turned 100; although I searched, I saw no signs of Willard Scott or a jar of jelly anywhere.

There's lots of fun things to do. Ride the train, eat some food. Eat some more food. The food got fancy after the makeover with words like "fresh" and "local" and "organic." None of which previously applied to the old hot dog and popsicle stand.

They have nice, new bathrooms which Natalie seemed in awe of. Mom, this is so nice. Can I have a quarter? That's not a candy machine, Nat. I *knowww*...I just want to buy a napkin because I have [fresh, local, organic] peanut butter on my hands.

The kids climbed and climbed until they couldn't climb no mo.

It's like Spider-Man off-Broadway.

They even have drum-like things to bang on that aren't your sisters' heads. They are like drums.

Skipping to Eve's preschool Thanksgiving celebration, we find out what Eve is truly thankful for. Some kids in her class were thankful for Jesus. Some for their mommies. Others for their daddies, siblings, and pets.

"Thank you God for...make-up."

In her defense, a lot of times I'm not even showered when I drop her off at preschool. I can see maybe why she appreciates the pick-up version of Mommy and is thankful for such things.

I invited ourselves to Matt's aunt and uncle's house for Thanksgiving so we could visit with them and his grandma.

I ate dessert nine times over the course of three days there. I went through a lot of insulin. The kids love going to visit their aunt and uncle because there are giant gift bags filled with candy and Flarp. Daniel's actual prayer that night: God bless Aunt Karen for giving us Flarp.

For those of you unfamiliar with Flarp, it is a noise putty that farts when you put your finger in it. You may think it's an excellent idea to take the Flarp into the bathroom and go to town with it long enough to make the people in the next room uncomfortable. This would definitely be an excellent idea and you should try it.

For the record, if you mix Flarp with mashed bananas and leave it in the cup holder in your van, the bananas will not turn brown. You will also need approximately two-thirds of a container of Clorox wipes to clean it up. If it weren't for cancer, I wouldn't have had a stockpile of wipes, so thank you, cancer, for that opportunity to reflect on the positive.

The kids also played with Moon Dough, which Matt's aunt and uncle gave to them to play with while Matt and I were out of the house. Moon Dough- the magical molding dough. The amazing moldable, holdable, squishable, squashable dough that never dries out! I think they mistakenly thought it was like play dough, which will actually hold a shape. Moon Dough is fun to squeeze but it never stays together, instead turning into little piles of moon crap that look like nuclear fallout. But the expressions on their faces after realizing what they had given the kids to play with in their house was priceless.

That night, from Daniel's lips: God bless Aunt Karen for letting us play with Moon Dough because my mommy and daddy won't let me have any at home.

Aunt Karen and Uncle Steve took the kids on their first Build-a-Bear adventure.

That was really neat, but to keep it extra-special, I may have led the children to believe that the only Build-a-Bear is located in Greenville, SC. I saw the look in their eyes when they saw all the outfits they could buy for their bears. Keep in mind, the bears have been naked at home for the past two weeks, but the pleasemomcanwegotoBuildaBearandbuythatastronautsuitsomybearcangoupinspace question is on everyone's lips all day long. So yes, the only Build-A-Bear is in Greenville and if you tell my kids any different then you are in big trouble, mister/miss/undecided individual.

The same goes for Chuck E. Cheese.

At home, we got the Christmas tree up and decorated.

I've learned to just keep the hot glue gun plugged in to glue ornaments back together so I won't have a backlog of broken knick-knacks from the previous Christmas that I may have collected in two large Walmart bags and hid in the back of the closet.

Speaking of closets, turns out there was a mouse living in ours. I know this, because apparently all mice do is make a scratching sound in between their constant eating and pooping. I heard lots of scratching and saw lots of mouse poop and threw lots of mouse-sampled food away.

And he really pissed me off when he got into my coconut. I was going to make something really special with that coconut, like pretend I was in Hawaii where coconut covered in chocolate is a low-calorie food, but he ate it and I held no affectionate feelings for a rodent in my pantry/coat closet/garage. Eve was sad when I threw food away. But what will the little mouse eat if we throw it all away? Listen, kid, this ain't Gus from Cinderella. I hope he eats the poison I'm leaving for him.

Although I have no problem with bloody abdominal scars or old ports lying around the house, I really get squeamish with the mice. Thankfully, Matt cleaned out every area the mouse got into while I just stood there with my mouth hanging open and shaking violently. MY COCONUT!

Daniel was cool with the mouse until he got into his pretzels. Then it was game on.

Had the mouse simply entered one of the FOUR cheese-baited no-view, no-touch mousetraps, he could have been really, really close to eating some good cheese before being killed instantaneously without me having to see the dead mouse. It's humane, really. But after a week of the mouse simply going around the trap and electing to partake in everything BUT the cheese, it was time for a Facebook call-out for help. The answer, according to everyone in my unofficial poll? Get the sticky pads and watch them try to wiggle out of their skin. And seriously, why is our neighborhood infested with mice who don't like the smell of cheese? I know, I know, they also like peanut butter. But I don't waste homemade peanut butter on rodents who don't appreciate it's artisinal qualities.

Oh, and FYI, after cheese sits in your coat closet for a week, it will make your coats smell like old cheese. And once you hit day 8, the old cheese smells morphs into shrimp smell and no amount of Febreze will help you.

So the sticky pads went out, and I checked the back corner of the pantry five times that day, disappointed to see the mouse wasn't stuck to it. The next morning, I popped my head in there, fully expecting to see nothing, when I saw what everyone warned me about: the mouse stuck to the pad trying to wiggle out of its skin. Ten minutes later, when the screaming subsided, but before the scream-induced headache set in or before we missed the school bus because I started screaming again, I fetched my husband to dispose of it. And then explained to the kids that had the mouse just went into the trap in the first place, he could have had a much more humane death. It was his own fault, really.

And after that, we put another sticky pad under a hole that Matt had drilled to run some cables into the closet. The next morning, sister mouse was stuck. I was still grossed out.

So Matt bagged it and put another one next to the hole.

The next morning, brother mouse was stuck. I casually mentioned to Matt to get some bags.

The next morning, mommy mouse was stuck. I almost forgot to tell Matt about it because I was beginning to think it was normal to have a family of super-glued mice in your closet until my friend told me about a time when her family found the sticky pad with four mice feet but no mouse. And they never did find that footless bastard.

I'm sorry. That made me sick, too, just typing that.

So we'll just leave a sticky pad next to that hole and hope that cousin mouse and co. don't show up. If they do, maybe I will have to staple antlers to them.

Deciphering the hieroglyphics

2011-12-05T21:32:00.007-05:00

I was in California not just to Occupy Los Angeles (or secretly camp out for an end-all, be-all sexed-up high school vampire flick), but to attend Pablove's second childhood cancer symposium. This year's theme was survivorship. I liked being able to go because it meant my kid was a survivor.

The people behind Pablove, Jo Ann and Jeff, lost their son to bilateral anaplastic Wilms tumor. It shows you what kind of people they are to host a symposium on survivorship. Very selfless indeed.

I've only just now looked through the notes I took, because it was quite overwhelming to hear what may or may be coming in the future. Apparently, nothing I scribbled may not be coming if I'm to read into all these sound bites I wrote down UNDERLINED AND CAPITALIZED WITH LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!

But seriously, this is like decoding hieroglyphic chicken scratch. Like, a right-handed Egyptian was dared to write an essay with his left-hand after drinking too much beer. But here are the highlights (lowlights?) to satisfy the Debbie Downer in all of us...

1 in 315 kids will have cancer before the age of 20. It is the leading cause of death by disease in children. There are 350-400,000 childhood cancer survivors in the United States.

It would appear that survivors may expect a 10.4 year loss in life expectancy.

73% of survivors will have a chronic health condition; 42% of those will be very serious. Survivors are 8 times more likely than their siblings to have a serious chronic illness.

The earliest late effects are second neoplasms.

Causes of death among 5-year survivors include new cancers (15.2%), cardiac issues (7%), and pulmonary issues (8.8%).

Radiation drives risk. Risk of what? I'm not sure. Maybe all of the above. I have never been a good note-taker. But whatever the risk is, it doesn't fall, even twenty years out.

Survivors are four times as likely to develop a carcinoma which comes even earlier than expected in the rest of us. This may happen around 15 years post-treatment.

Might be a good idea to start getting colonoscopies a little early because of the risk of abdominal radiation. Hey Blogger, might be a good idea to add "colonoscopies" to your dictionary! I'm sick of your squiggly red line here in the text editor. I swear I'm not making words up this post.

Cardiovascular disease is the leading cause of death in childhood cancer survivors, particularly those who received anthracyclines (like doxorubicin in Eve's case). These include cardiomyopathy, coronary artery disease, vascular insufficiency, and conduction abnormalities. Compared to their siblings, these kids are 9.3 times more likely to suffer from stroke, 10.4 times more likely to develop coronary artery disease, and 15.1 times as likely to have congestive heart failure. Less than 50% survive CHF.

Late effects continue to climb and not plateau after treatment.

Like I said, I was happy to attend because my child is a survivor. I left the day feeling like, oh my goodness, everything I had to sign on those treatment consent forms is going to happen to my kid!

But maybe they won't. But maybe they might. But we don't know, really. It's not like we had choices on the treatment. Either you treat and try to save your kid, or you don't. It's not a choice at all.

But damn! I feel sorry for Eve when it's her turn to start filling out her medical history.

The flight back home was uneventful except for the events. The plane was overbooked and there was a waiting list to get on the flight. Obviously, this would be a good time to raise my hand when they start asking for volunteers to check their carry-on bags. My "carry-on" bag had swollen to twice it's weight over the weekend and it needed to be checked immediately because I was losing feeling in my arm. However, no one was asking for volunteers.

I hobbled up to the desk with my bag that may have had a slightly smaller person inside and asked if they were going to call for volunteers to check bags for free. That's so sweet of you! That would be great! My bag was taken, but no call was made for anyone else to volunteer. And maybe because I offered, or maybe because they were in a good mood, I got two drink vouchers. I mean, I could also use them for headphones, but come on.

I tried my best to be the last person on the plane but other people did the "No, you first, I insist!" bee-ess, and I was forced to board. Upon asking the flight attendant where I should leave my checked bag: You don't need to check your bag. Just put it under your seat or in the overhead compartment. No, I really want to check my bag. But you don't need to check your bag, ma'am. There is plenty of room for it. I want to check my bag! Where do I leave it?? Ok, but you really don't need to check it.

But seriously, lady. I want to check this bag. It is obviously far too big to fit under the seat and there's no way I can lift it over my head. If Mr. T is on board and he can get my bag into a bin, and then the compartment comes open during some turbulence and my bag falls out, it will give someone a brain injury. I'm leaving this bag here, in front of you. I am not allowed to do this in the terminal because someone will call security on me, but I trust that you will find a way to get this bag into the belly of this plane, no matter how crazy you think I am that I am taking the chance to be separated from my clean underwear and socks.

The bag got checked, albeit with flight attendant eyeballs firmly lodged into the northern-most position. Roll your eyes if I try to sneak into first class, roll your eyes if I ask for another eleven peanuts, but please don't roll your eyes when I ask you to rid me of my carry-on bag.

I was almost to my seat when I heard the announcement. We're sorry to the people who boarded in Zone 4, but this plane is completely full and all our overhead compartments are full. We are going to have to check your carry-on bags.

But those people don't get the free drink coupons. And all but one really looked like they didn't want to part with their bags. Probably the people who didn't think to pack clean underwear and socks in their purses or European carry-alls.

Once I got to my seat, I swear the man next to me watched me buckle and put away my purse and get as comfy as could be gotten in coach on a cross-country flight before he asked if I would stand up so he could try and switch seats. Because he saw an empty seat. Because he must have boarded this aircraft from a different gate that did not have three television monitors dedicated to the wait list for this flight or two very annoyed flight attendants who were offering flight vouchers to those who volunteered to get bumped. I want to be where he was, whether it was two gates down or just on that lonely island in his head.

I obviously took too long to consider his request and stand up because after he got past me, it wasn't until I buckling myself up again that he huffed back, upset that he missed the open seat. Someone else took it. Or someone else, I dunno, was busy checking their bag because the plane was full and there was no room for carry-ons. Either way. I'm sorry you can't sit next to your girlfriend, but I'm not giving up my aisle seat. Maybe if she had chosen not to sit between two people who had obviously either run a marathon just seconds before jumping into the fried chicken at Golden Corral or skipped the marathon and jumped into the chicken at Golden Corral. Umm, because my kid had cancer. And if I use these drink vouchers, I want to be close to the bathroom. I've got lots of reasons. But she can switch seats with you if you are that concerned and she will probably love you for it. Because me and this other dude you are sitting between aren't sweating profusely nor do we smell profusely of fried chicken.

He didn't move. I don't think that couple is going to last very long.

The flight was very bumpy. I would have welcomed some Dramamine but went to work with the drink vouchers instead. Six of one, three-quarters of a dozen of the other.

I was hungry. Well, not so much hungry, but maybe more queasy from the turbulence. I felt like I was on a plane that was being filmed by National Geographic because it snuck up on another plane and tried to make baby planes. When the flight attendants were finally allowed to walk around with the food and beverage cart, I tried to order a sandwich but was told he was only taking drink orders first. So I ordered my drink, then looked at the menu again and decided I would definitely be ordering the turkey and chicken Cuban sandwich. And if you don't know why that is funny, you should go down to Florida and try to order a turkey and chicken Cuban.

I was eyeing said sandwich when another flight attendant came over and asked my dude if he had any sandwiches left. He had two and handed them over, and my belly got real sad. I said, "Was that the last sandwich?" as the turkey and chicken Cuban made it's way up to the front of the plane. I didn't really want the other food I could purchase, because it was three pieces of cheese with four grapes and a cracker. I wanted the turkey and chicken Cuban.

I didn't expect my flight attendant to call for the sandwich back as it was being handed over to the passenger in the front. I certainly didn't expect the other flight attendant to literally take it out of the woman's hands and walk it back to my flight attendant. "Sorry," he told her, "she was going to order this but I was only taking drink orders. We still have fruit and cheese plates left."

And as my sandwich got passed from person to person back to my seat, being manhandled like a football at a tailgate, each person on the plane was required to say, "She got the last sandwich." According to my calculations, 48% of people awake on the plane said, "She got the last sandwich." I was too hungry to be embarrassed. I knew they were just jealous. Give me my sandwich.

Then the guy sitting next to me, the one who wants me to move so he can get to the empty seat, says to the flight attendant, "I'll have the turkey and chicken Cuban."

"She," the flight attendant says, emphatically pointing at me, "got the last sandwich!"

But at this point, I was the crazy lady on the plane LOL'ing all over myself because I had a turkey and chicken Cuban, a copy of Bossypants, and two Miller Lites. Life is good! Except if you were treated with anthracyclines as a child.

Shoot 'em, stuff 'em, ship 'em

2011-11-29T00:37:00.007-05:00

Two weeks ago, I broke the news to the children that I would be going out of town the next morning. It went down a little something like this:

Me: I'll be flying out of town tomorrow morning and I'll be back late Sunday night.

Eve: Okay.

Nat: Okay.

Dan: Nooooooooooo!

Me: It's okay, Daniel. I'll be back in a few days.

Dan: Nooooooooooooo!

Me: Daddy will be here with you.

Dan: But who will make me homemade bread?

Me: I made you a bunch of homemade bread.

Dan: But what if I eat it all?

Me: I made 32 buns. Please don't eat it all.

Dan: But who will make me homemade crackers?

Nat: Mom already made a bunch of crackers, Dan. Besides, you have to eat some vegetables.

Dan: But what if we run out of homemade butter?

Me: Then Daddy can go buy some Shedd's Spread.

Dan: I don't want you to go. I want Mommy!

Me: Daddy knows how to fix butter on bread.

Dan: Okay.

If you couldn't tell, three of Daniel's four food groups are butter, bread, and crackers. (The fourth is tubular meat.) I'm not Amish; I just started making this stuff at home because we blow through it almost as fast as my kids blow through toilet paper. And if you only knew how often they stop up the toilets with excessive amounts of toilet paper, this would really let you know how much butter on bread Daniel eats a day.

Even though he cried himself to sleep at the thought of Mommy leaving because maybe, just maybe, he might eat 32 buns, 2 cups of butter, and 12 dozen crackers in three days, Daniel woke up cheery the next morning to bid me adieu. Nobody seemed to care all that much that I was going, actually. They just requested that I didn't forget to bring back souvenirs.

I got to the airport bright and early. When I fly, I always fly Southwest. This time I switched things up and chose Delta. Pro: no rushing the plane trying to get a seat because I chose my seat when I booked the ticket. Con: you have to pay to check your bag.

The reason I got to the airport so bright and early is that I know whatever gate I depart from will be the absolute furthest gate away. I know this because it always happens when I fly Southwest and I'm huffing and puffing as I try to hightail it to the last gate in the terminal. I also know that I will be pulled aside for extra security screenings because that's what happens to me. I have never been through security without extra screening since 2001. I have never been at a gate closer than the end of the airport. It's important to arrive early.

The first difference with this trip was that I got to go to the other terminal, which does not accommodate puddle jumpers. It does, however, accommodate hundreds of people trying to squeeze through security. At this point in life, I should know the best way to fly is in sweatpants and flip flops. But, I dressed like someone not flying to Walmart and wore boots and a belt. Off come the boots. Off comes the belt. Here comes security asking me to step to the side. Here I go, through the x-ray machine. Here I go, getting the back of my hands, back of my hands pat down. Here I go, getting my hands swabbed to make sure they don't have any bomb residue but in fact have that lovely sheen via cocoa butter.

They didn't even give me the opportunity to set off the metal detector this time! There must be a poster of me in the TSA breakroom so they know who to look for. Yes, I have set off many metal detectors in my time. Yes, I once set it off because I was wearing my girdle. Yes, I tried to lift up my shirt to show the screener before I got yelled at to keep my shirt down as she came at me with the back of her hands. Yes, I don't think it makes a difference whether you are patting me down with the front or back of your hands. Yes, you are still putting your hand too close to my crotch.

But I didn't wear my girdle this time. I just look suspicious in general.

I'm a pro. I get through these minor indignities easily. I think people just want to touch my awesomeness and hope some of it rubs off on them. This is why I get the extra screening.

What I think is a major indignity is not having to walk in your socks through the scanners- the true horror of it all is having to put your belt back on in front of everyone at the airport. It feels so...dirty. I can't really describe how uncomfortable I feel putting on a belt at the airport. I have even removed undershirts in front of people and not felt this weird. Maybe it wouldn't be as traumatic if my favorite belt wasn't completely sad and falling apart. But you have to make them completely sad in order to break them in, and I've been breaking this one in for 16 years. And now it needs as much duct tape as my van.

And the reason I wear a belt is because these pants fall down if I don't. You know, the whole reason belts were invented, besides to make that whipping sound that has scared children for generations. So when my belt is off and I have to stand through the x-ray scanner with my arms above my head, I say a silent prayer than I don't lose my pants, and if I do, please Lord let me be wearing pretty underwear.

Still, I'm there early enough that it would take a lot to delay me in getting from the front of the airport to the back. Which is where I'm assuming my plane will be boarding. The back. As back as can be. But wait!

Is that my gate? Seriously, the closest gate after the belt-shaming area? Are you kidding me? You mean, I have time to sit in that restaurant and eat breakfast and read my Kindle like I'm some kind of fancy-pants traveler who eats omelets by themselves while using an eReader?

Sweet! Well, cheesy actually. It was a western omelet.

And the best part was that the restaurant was right across from the gate, so I could just sit there and watch people line up and not have to worry about when I got on the plane because...I already had a seat. Can you believe people have been traveling like this for decades? Well I feel silly. Now I just have to find some money to fly first-class and I'll really have something to blog about.

And wouldn't you know, the flight attendants made an announcement asking for volunteers to check their carry-on bags for free since the plane was full and overhead space was limited. Umm, yes please. Worse comes to worse and they lose my bag, I have clean underwear and socks in my purse. Best comes to best, I get my very heavy "carry-on" bag (you know, the bag that in no way should be considered a carry-on bag because we all know damned well that I'm going to dislocate my shoulder hauling it around the airport) checked for free.

Now I have even less reason to try and not be the last person on the airplane. Nothing to stow. No reason to wait on the stuffy airplane before the air conditioning comes on. Less time to try and be politely chatty with the sleep-deprived business man sitting next to me.

I'm all set. I'm golden. My belt is back on, my belly is full, and now I'm the last person on the airplane with nothing heavier than my purse filled with clean underwear and socks. Life is good. The only thing that could make it better would be a nice cup of decaf coffee. Which is why I said the words "decaf coffee" when the flight attendant asked what I would like to drink.

"No. I'd have to go brew some. You want something else?"

Seriously? I believe in being honest, but he should have lied and said they were out, not that he was too lazy to make coffee. I've been lazy in my own house and told my kids that we were out of something when in truth I just didn't feel like fixing it. And that's what any good person would have done.

Ten minutes later, as I was sipping on my water, he walked by with a tray of coffee and paused briefly to say, "I didn't make any for you; no decaf!" And it wasn't like I stopped him and asked. He just walked by, made a gesture to get my attention, and rubbed it in my face that he wasn't serving me any decaf coffee. It's not like I needed it to wake up- I just wanted to have bad breath like everyone sitting next to me.

While sipping on my water and not my decaf coffee, I noticed that 11 airplane peanuts are equivalent to 9% of my daily fat values. Make no mistake: I value fat a lot.

We landed in Atlanta and I was free to hop on a tram that would take us ten miles away to the concourse I needed to be on. Which, hopefully, would have a plane waiting for me that had decaf coffee. Dammit, I wanted coffee. Because you always want what you can't have, like toned abs and fat-free nacho cheese.

What was waiting for me when I got off of the tram was something like no other:

"Welcome to Atlanta."

I'll let that picture speak for itself. Although, it's not too hard not to speak when you are scared the evil puppets are going to steal your soul.

And so I tiptoed past the "art" and headed for my gate. Which had more "art."

I didn't think the kids would understand the word 'taxidermy.' On the phone, I may have described it to Natalie as dead stuffed animals. "Yes, the airport is full of dead stuffed animals, honey. It's lovely!"

I took more pictures of this than I did anything else on my trip. I was fascinated. It was like a safari, but much safer and without the sweat. Boy, do I hate to sweat. And look through binoculars. And smell wild animals. Better to just shoot them, stuff them, and ship them to the Atlanta airport.

And do you know what? I made sure I was the last person to board that plane, mostly because I so busy photographing the wildlife. And do you know what else? The flight attendant made me some decaf coffee! And wanna know one other thing?

There's no need to chill the Dairy Fresh non-dairy creamer. Mmm...corn syrup solids.

I was very excited to be sitting next to the lavatory because not only do I love the word lavatory but I also love being so close to a throne. And after all that coffee, I would be queen!

But then I realized that being RIGHT NEXT TO THE TOILET wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Like, you can never really get in line because people rush the bathroom and block you in your seat. You know, the seat that gets uncomfortable because your bladder is so full you're going to pee on the sleep-deprived business man sitting next to you? Oh, and then there's the constant opening and closing of said-toilet, oozing out that "eau de blue port-a-john goo" smell.

At least I got my coffee.

There was a toddler traveling with his grandmother sitting in front of me. The first thing she did was apologize for his existence. I'm not the type of person who gets upset when a kid is near me on an aircraft. I'm the type of person who is thinking, better you than me! when they start screaming. I can tune out screaming up to 180 decibels. I practice at home. I make perfect at home.

The child wanted nothing else than to crawl up and down the aisle the entire flight, which was fine by me. I had my Kindle. I had my coffee. I had the bathroom an arm's length away. What I didn't have was access to the bathroom because baby's grandma's bottom was trapping me in my seat. Because, in case it wasn't clear, HER BUTT WAS STATIONED THREE INCHES INTO MY PERSONAL SPACE. But she was really nice and her daughter should be really thankful she has a mom who would take her screaming grandchild across the country by herself. Daughter, wherever you are, give your mom a hug. She is an angel who stood up for nearly 5 hours as your child was on a mission to smash animal crackers up and down the aisle before trying to feed me smashed animal cracker crumbs and then I had to act like it was awesome and I was going to pretend to eat them before the child ran away and your mom had to go after him before she got stuck before two beverage carts. Really, give her a big hug from both you and me!

I landed in Los Angeles. I guess everyone else on the plane landed, too. Except for that kid. I think he climbed into an overhead compartment.

At baggage claim, I was excited to find my checked carry-on bag was waiting for me. No need to bust out the emergency underwear and purse socks just yet!

The longest part of the shuttle from LAX to the hotel was actually leaving the airport. We spent twenty-five minutes picking up more passengers before leaving the airport and incredibly returning to the airport before leaving once more. I don't know how or why they do this, but I thanked the good man up above for my cell phone. Because I didn't feel like talking to anyone on the shuttle and wanted the comfort of my family in my ear as I headed for a hotel room with a king-sized bed, a mini-fridge, and no one to wake me up in the middle of the night because they had a dream that I said Santa wasn't going to leave them presents but he was really going to until the Tooth Fairy said NO, THOSE ARE MY PRESENTS! and left the children nothing but bloody teeth and old Kleenex.

But the dude sitting next to me didn't pick up on any of that. I need to be more obvious next time. Like I am in the airport going through security.

"How does it come through your phone?"

Huh?

"How do you get a fax to come out? Does it just print out at the top?"

What say you?

"The fax! The fax you are going to get!"

The text. I said "text me."

Old people and technology. They're so cute! Except when I'm tired from being in the air all day and all I want is my king-sized bed and my mini-fridge.

21 stickers, 3 beads, and a couple of faded scars.

2011-11-18T05:27:00.003-05:00

Eighteen months off-treatment. It feels like she was just diagnosed yesterday and ten years ago all at the same time. Or maybe I feel this way because I generally have no sense of time and this is why I'm late to everything. BUT! I was not late for her appointment. No Duke Truant Officers on my back.

First off, ultrasound. (Ultra-sound? Ultra sound? Sonogram.) The tech does not rush out and come back in to take more pictures. Always a good sign. Eve receives three stickers.

Off to x-ray. Uneventful (another great adjective). Eve receives four stickers.

Upstairs to clinic. After vitals (eight stickers), Eve finds the exam table makes an ample slide. Horseplay is perfectly acceptable in a hospital. Pools, no. Hospitals, yes. There are tons of bandages inside the exam table and a copy of our insurance card is on file.

While waiting for the doctors, Eve kills time like she usually does, by checking my brains. She says they are still there, although I'm pretty sure a small percentage of them gets sucked away every time I log into Facebook.

The doctors come in. Preliminary reports look great. I try to listen as Eve does nothing but look for boogers and blood up my nose. The docs don't let on that any of this is happening. We agree to meet again in three months and I make a mental note to plant something interesting up my nose like a pearl or a piece of dried pasta next time.

Eve asks for her beads. "I get three: a green one for pictures, a blue one for the doctors, and a black one for pokes." Light radiation, deep breathing for the stethoscope, and a quick prick of the needle. These visits are vastly different from the ones just two years ago. Two years ago, she didn't know what the beads meant; this year, she tells the phlebotomist (six stickers) they can poke her again so she can score an extra one for her necklace.

Look hard. There's a couple of scars there.

Time may not heal everything, but it certainly helps somethings fade.

Thanks to Jo's PhotoMojo for these great shots of delightful uneventfulness. Become a fan of Jo's PhotoMojo on Facebook or no stickers for you.

American Gothic

2011-11-15T08:16:00.016-05:00

I'm admittedly very behind on documenting the highlights of our lives in blog-form, so I dedicate this post to everything I can remember before/during/after/sometime around Halloween. Chronicling our comings and goings and chemos has come in handy, not only in letting total strangers in on my Taco Bell fetish, but when we have little lovers' spats with the insurance company. Yes we DID have genetic testing on Thursday, October 29, 2009. Duh, it's documented on my blog.

Maybe a month ago...maybe six weeks ago...I'm not sure where or why time has gone and left me, but Dan and I went to a Mother-Son Date Knight at Chick-Fil-A. It was pretty awesome to be seated at a table with table cloths and fancy napkins while you are eating fried chicken sandwiches.

All the boys got their own shields and swords. This made Dan extremely happy, as he loves things to beat his sisters with as much as he loves protection from their retaliation.

But most importantly, he loves crafts. And a shield that you can decorate is the ultimate. And he really looks like my mom here, because they both kind of stick their tongue out when concentrating on crafting. I tried sticking my tongue out once when I was younger and concentrating, but I bit it, got a canker sore, and vowed never to concentrate again. It's worked out well for me.

And the rest of the night was filled with boys chasing each other around the play-area while screaming in pure joy at an 11.

One of the coolest new tricks around here is Eve doing the dishes. She has seen Natalie do them and was apparently inspired to make her own puddles of water around the kitchen. I'm not sure if Daniel has expressed no interest in doing dishes because he's a boy or because he's really smart.

We carved our first pumpkin together. Usually, I am the only one who is allowed to handle the pumpkin carving and I let the kids paint and decorate their own sexy gourds.

I don't know why I waited so long. Kids and knives and pumpkin guts just sounded like a perfectly reasonable thing to do this year.

Daniel loves saying eww, pumpkin guts! almost as much as he loves baby eyeball diapers.

Notice it's my hands that are on the pumpkin in case of emergency. Like, if there's a Ijustgotstabbedbythecarvingknife emergency. Matt's hands are much too perfect to risk this important job. My hands are full of dry skin, scars from hot ovens, and I believe my first liver spots. If I get stabbed while holding the pumpkin, it will be like spitting in the ocean at this point.

I didn't get stabbed; the kids were actually very nimble with the knife. A little too nimble. I don't want them thinking they can just waltz into the kitchen and whip out my red knife anytime they please. So let's distract them from their new-found knife skills by introducting them to fire!

Roasted marshmallows are pretty much all I want to shove in my mouth right now. Including nachos supreme. That's how much I love a charred, gooey marshmallow. Dan loves them too, although he really just likes eating things on sticks. He "roasts" his marshmallows by briefly waving them in the direction of the chiminea for approximately one and one-half seconds before stuffing it into his mouth. In his world, a marshmallow is perfect as it is, thankyouverymuch. And the only thing that can make it better is by sticking a skewer into it, like everything else in this world- corn dogs, candy apples, and fried cheesecake.

Dan has his own cookbook, which he has cooked the same three items in for the past three years. Since it was close to Halloween, we decided it was time for him to decorate what he refers to as his "birthday cake." The birthday cake is a spider web cake with a cupcake spider on top, and this is what he has wanted for his next birthday party, three years running. This year, I'm sure he'll want it next year for his birthday, until he realizes once again that you can only really invite one friend with the amount of cake it makes.

Eve wasn't a fan, though. I wasn't going to make a big batch of buttercream for a six-inch cake, so we used store-bought icing. "This icing is YUCKY! I HATE Betty Crackers!"

Poor, poor Betty Crackers. Eve doesn't know what she's talking about. Did I ever tell you how much I love your Rainbow Chip icing with Pillsbury Funfetti Cupcakes baked in foil wrappers? No, it's true! But my daughter thinks you're gross.

Matt and I went to a Halloween party. Being the planners that we are, we waited until the day-of to find costumes. I wouldn't let him cut up one of our white sheets so he went as kind of a pastel Pac-Man ghost instead.

I found face paint leftover from the year before and my wedding dress. I was amused at how many people asked if that was my actual wedding dress, as if I went to David's Bridal and picked up something off the rack for my Halloween costume. I was starting to get my feelings hurt by people who seemed shocked that I could fit into the dress. Look, I wear this dress every afternoon, folks! I put it on before I vacuum and fix dinner and dust the house. But seriously, didn't you read that I burned nine hundred thousand calories last month at the hike?

I bought my wedding dress really big so I could wear it years later and amaze people with how well I kept myself up. (Never mind the whole same size/different shape phenomenon of motherhood.) This is my one piece of advice to the newly-engaged: think about the future and how you can blow people's minds. Oh, and my second piece of advice is to not wear white face paint because it will totally make your teeth look yellow.

Aaand...a third piece of advice would be to not spray your hair black and go to bed on the white sheets that you refused to let your husband cut up.

Shampoo, rinse, repeat. Shampoo, rinse, repeat. Shampoo, rinse, repeat. Shampoo, rinse, resist the urge to shave your head bald.

But rest assured, I was deblacked and dewhited by the time Eve and I came to have lunch with Nat and Dan at school.

As you can tell by Daniel, I'm kind of a big deal.

Once Eve was done with lunch #1 and Dan's class went back to their room, Nat's class appeared and we sat down for another round of eating. "If I sit still, do you think they'll think I'm a first grader?"

Maybe.

And the best part is the lost and found closet in the cafeteria. Natalie lost a jacket at school one day and swore up and down for a week that she checked the lost and found closet. I walked by it, unable to resist the urge to open it up. It was big enough that I half-expected it to be a portal to Narnia, but it turned out to be this inside:

I think each child in each class was required to lose one article of clothing and have it shoved into this clustercuss. I started going through it and realized how ridiculous it was to have believed Natalie went through everything in here, because it was ridiculous for me to expect myself to be able to get through everything in here. Interesting to note that I found two pair of jeans. I don't know how one accidentally loses the pants that they are wearing, but it's important to remember that nothing is impossible. Like flying pigs and the Bee Gees.

Imagine my excitement when I was rifling through the clothes and found a jacket of Daniel's I didn't even realize was lost. A few more minutes into it, I found Nat's missing jacket. And then I smugly showed her that if she only took ten minutes to dig through smelly soccer shoes and mildewed parkas, she too could recover the jacket that was definitely not in the lost and found. And then I shoved everything back in and closed the closet doors as fast as I could and felt a little bad for the next kid who would open it and have a lost clothing avalanche descend on their wee little body. But then again, if they would just be responsible and keep track of their clothing, they wouldn't be in that position in the first place.

Six-year-olds, sheesh.

It was a cold, rainy Halloween, but that wasn't going to stop us. Matt and I had umbrellas. The kids wouldn't melt when they got wet.

Eve was a princess. Scary stuff.

Nat was a witch. Scarier.

Daniel is the king of super-hero dress up clothes. For weeks before Halloween, he said he was going to be Spider-Man. The night before Halloween, he decided he would be Batman. The morning of, he decided to be Robin. When he got home from school, he decided he would be Superman. Okay, Dan. Just go upstairs and put your costume on.

I heard a lot of drawers opening and closing in his room and some maniacal laughter. Out comes Dan wearing what he wore to school with the addition of a gold medal, a superhero cape, a Mickey Mouse glove, and one leg warmer.

"I'm a clown! Can you paint my face? Can I have crazy hair and spray glitter, too?"

Yes, you can. As long as I don't have to spend money, you can have anything you want. Unless we're talking about the Snickers bars you're about to go get me.

Dan, the "haunted clown." Scariest. Almost scarier are his candy pimps forcing him to continue going house to house when all he wants to do is go home and dive into his loot.

You see Eve's face? That's pretty much how I look most of the day. All she's missing is the old man with the pitchfork.

After Halloween, Nat did what all kids who find a precious stack of Post-It Notes do and used them all up in about six minutes. But it was awesome, because she made a scavenger hunt of sorts for me and Matt. There were tons of them scattered throughout the house, designed to make us go up and down the stairs thousands of times. Or four.

My favorite one was the one directing us to the bathroom:

It wasn't an order to provide a specimen; there was a note on the toilet to look under Natalie's covers...and out popped Natalie, wearing no clothes and out of breath from doing the quiet laugh for the ten minutes we were on the hunt.

It's sweet memories like this that made my trip to the DMV that much more bearable.

Let me back up.

Matt and I tried to go to a concert thirty minutes away that sold out right before we got there. So, insistent that we make a night of it anyway, we did what any red-blooded American couple would do and went across the street to the German bar and looked at the Oktoberfest menu. It's a known fact that white people love Oktoberfest almost as much as they love Cinco de Mayo. Only when I was denied access to the beer did I examine my drivers license and realize, in fact, that the bartender with the skinny jeans and the German glasses was correct. It did expire on June 5. Dammit.

Now, I know what you're thinking, how did she not know that her license expired five months ago? I swear I don't remember getting any notice in the mail from the DMV telling me it's time to renew. And the people at the liquor store and Walmart never seemed to care. Just the Germans.

But even though I was annoyed, it was serendipitous that the issue was discovered. I had a cross-country flight in two weeks and I'm pretty sure they care if you show up without valid ID. Like, care enough not to let you past security but subject you to a pat-down before they throw you out.

Which in turn makes me go to the DMV. Where I sit and wait for an hour before I'm called up. Where I take the vision test and the road signs test and am ready to fork over my money and am told that I am not allowed to get a license. At which point I stare blankly at the nice lady sitting across from me, who I want to emphasize was seriously the nicest person I've ever met at the DMV. But her being nice didn't mean I could get my license.

What's the deal? Oh, you never received my vision paperwork from my eye doctor. Because I am diabetic and I made the mistake of admitting that when I first came to this state, I need to have my endocrinologist and optometrist fill out form after form every other year declaring I'm not endangering the other diabetics on the road who were smart enough to keep their mouths shut when asked, "Do you have diabetes?"

So, apparently my licensed was canceled. Since January.

2010. (Think about it- this is a testament to what a great driver I am!)

So that's why I didn't get a reminder card for license renewal! I didn't have one. At least I'm not crazy.

I'm sure they sent us a letter telling me my license was being canceled if I didn't comply with their silly forms, but in my defense, January 2010 was when Eve was having vital organs removed. I mentally checked out and immediately threw anything that came in the mailbox into the fireplace.

I left that day after the DMV lady faxed a bunch of forms around town for me and hoped for the best. She called me a couple of mornings later to let me know she was following up and found I could now come back and pay my money and get my license. I'm not making this up. Someone at the DMV in Cary, NC cares about me!

So rest assured, I am once again a licensed driver in the state of North Carolina. I am pretty sure I've spent more time here unlicensed than I have with a valid license (don't be shocked to read that this is probably the fourth time this has happened), but I promise I've been insured the whole time.

I think.

For whom the phone rings.

2011-11-09T09:45:00.009-05:00

You know, every time the phone rings at 9:00 a.m., I have come to expect it will be Wake County Schools calling to let me know that Daniel has thrown up on the bus. And then I will come get him from school, where he will be completely fine and his clothes completely free of vomit (where does all that vomit go?). And then we will come home and the first thing he does is open his lunch box and dive right in.

Yes. That is a picture of him eating chicken wings less than an hour after he lost his breakfast. I'm going to have to get the bus driver a really nice Christmas present.

So, of course, Dan had to be home from school on the day that I was to take Eve for her four-year check-up. Which means he had to come with me, because who on earth do I call and say, "Daniel threw up and was sent home from school. Will you watch him for me while I go out with Eve?" I have nice friends but I don't have crazy friends.

Off we went to the pediatrician. I loathe taking more than one child to the doctor. Everyone wants to get weighed. Everyone wants to get measured. Everyone wants to get their blood pressure taken. Nobody wants to be quiet. Nobody wants to stop turning off the lights in the exam room. Nobody wants to stop crying because they didn't get a sticker AND a pencil.

As far as I could hear over the two-ring circus I had with me, Eve has grown four inches in the past year and is now almost in the 75th percentile for height and 50th for weight. The doctor says she must be making up for lost time. Not that time was necessarily lost as it was just plain old sucky.

Since I had Dan in there anyway, we went ahead and got his flu vaccine when they brought Eve's. This year is the first year in a long time that all three kids can have the flu-mist vaccine rather than the flu-shot. Since the flu-mist has live virus and the shot does not, everyone had to get the shot just in case Eve's poor little immune system couldn't handle live influenza. This year, we snort that crap up our noses!

Dan begged to go first. Eve begged not to go at all. The syringe that the nurse sticks up your nose kind of does look like a syringe of Heparin or something else that Eve is used to being poked with. We had to hold down her arms and legs to get it up her nose. She reluctantly admitted after turning red, screaming, and drowning her shirt in tears that it didn't hurt. But don't do that again.

The next morning, I brought Nat and Dan back to the pediatrician so Natalie could get her vaccine. Then it was right back to school. As long as your socks aren't showing through your shoes.

When I had to check them back into school, I just wrote down "Doctor Visit" for both kids instead of "Went shoe shopping."

Daniel had a field trip to Green Acres the next day. It was 40 degrees out, so I'm glad we made a point to get him shoes that actually covered his feet. It was the first time I've ever heard him say he was cold, and that with him wearing a long sleeved shirt, a fleece hoodie, and his winter coat. If Dan is cold, you know you have no chance of warming up. Dan is the child who once ran outside barefoot and shirtless in a snowstorm.

Even though it was cold, it wasn't too cold to pose for cut-out pictures. Those are the best. I think I'm doing to print them out as 8x10's and frame them for Christmas presents. Happy Holidays 2011 from Daniel and his friend from school!

There was a corn maze. There's always a corn maze. Daniel doesn't want to be in the corn maze. He keeps finding exits and wants to go have lunch. As soon as we're done with the corn maze, Dan, we can go eat. I'm done! I see an exit! I want to go eat!

Poor kid. We passed by no less than six exits before we decided to actually leave the maze. He was motivated by hunger. I was motivated by seeing Children of the Corn at an impressionable age.

I see another Christmas card. Keep on truckin' this holiday season! Love, the Griffith family.

Check out all this food the cafeteria packed for a 5-year-old's lunch:

That's like an 8" hoagie, an apple, a bag of carrots, a carton of milk, and a giant cookie. That's more than I eat for lunch, and you've seen some of my posts on food. But I'm not complaining- it's the healthiest school lunch I've ever seen.

Much better than what the goats get to eat. Mmm...pellets.

And pictured here are Daniel and his girlfriend, Reese. Reese is our next-door neighbor and is apparently betrothed to my son. Well, depending on the day. Daniel came home from her house very upset because she told him she was going to marry him but changed her mind and was going to marry Dan's best friend instead. So he took a fistful of candy back over to her house in an effort to win her hand again. Last I heard, the wedding was back on.

That evening, my toes still thoroughly chilled, the kids got dressed up to attend a Pirates and Princesses Carnival at the preschool. We came with two princesses and a Superman.

The face painting is always the most popular. Nat was hesitant because she didn't want the clown to disturb the eye makeup she had applied herself even though she was getting the most excellent plumage ever. Because Natalie knew the make-up she put on wouldn't be nearly as cool as HAVING FEATHERS COMING OUT OF YOUR TEMPLES!

Daniel found it hard to sit still because the paintbrush was tickling him. He gets that from me. In fact, I can barely put on blush in the morning without giving myself the giggles. And then I get that uneven rouge look like the old ladies with the cataracts who can't see well enough to know that one cheek is bright magenta and the other is just about firehouse red. But they can certainly still see well enough to find the perfume and douse themselves with it from head to toe. I'm probably going to grow up to be one of those women. I want people to see and smell me from a mile away, so they have time to get my nachos ready.

When the clown asked Eve what she wanted to be, the response was a simple tiger princess. Duh. That's easy.

If I could paint faces half as good as that clown, I would paint my kids' faces everyday. Every single day. Right now, the only face painting I'm good at is one color all over. Maybe my kids could be the Blue Man Group for Halloween.

The "make your own" cookie station was a big hit. Cookies! Icing! Millions of sprinkles! It's like mom's kitchen floor.

This would probably be the healthiest thing we ate all night.

Unless Tootsie Rolls are healthier.

Love-A-Fair

2011-11-07T20:42:00.010-05:00

Upon arriving at the State Fair, we realized there was no stroller in the van. The stroller is important because in the sea of people, we can put Eve on lock-down when she starts to melt. But more importantly, we need some place to rest our food and drinks.

So we rented a wagon. You can fit a lot of food into a wagon. Equally as important, you can fit three kids.

We did cool stuff like look at animals and eat food and ride rides.

You could see a few people from the Ferris Wheel.

Who was down there? Human oddities! Freaks of nature! Little people of Borneo!

There were many ride tickets. There were many trips to fun houses to use up said ride tickets. I'm sure the fun houses were free of germs and weirdos, or at least people uncomfortable with looking at themselves in a wonky mirror.

Still more tickets to use. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to stand on ground that doesn't move in a circle, especially after the eating I was doing.

Note the sticker and the cotton candy entering the mouth.

At no point did my daughter actually eat salad at the fair. This was a big fat lie perpetrated by people who had to give away the rest of the stickers on the last day of the fair. Because, unlike corn chips at the fair, stickers will expire and need to be used or losed. Corn chips can be loosely packed away until next year's rendevous with nacho cheese.

Eve ate all of her cotton candy because she hadn't reached the top of the food pyramid in a few days.

I ate pretty healthy this year. Just a country ham biscuit.

And some shawarma. Because nothing says North Carolina State Fair like shawarma, shawarma, shawarma.

And a little bit of fried cheese to cut the taste of all that healthy food.

And an apple cider smoothie to cut the taste of all that grease.

Daniel's favorite part of the fair was using a mini-sledge hammer to fling rubber chickens into the air. I wanted to do it, too, but didn't want to freak out any little kids because it's a widely known fact that I don't realize my own strength. I could have beamed a rubber chicken into some poor kid's head and given them a concussion. At least that's how it went down in my head. And maybe the kids were misbehaving and deserved a good rubber chicken to the temple in case their parents forgot to bring the Benadryl.

Eve was jazzed to find all her favorite friends at the fair. They were larger than life, or at least larger than Eve. You didn't even have to pay to see the freak with the four foot-wide face.

Nat is much better at hula-hooping than Matt and I will ever be in all our days. That's one thing I've been lackluster at: hula-hooping and cartwheeling. Wait, that's two things. But I've really gotten better at the hula hoop now that I have the child-bearing hips. I still can't do a cartwheel, though. I'm okay with that. If I die tomorrow and can't do a cartwheel, I'll still be okay with that. I'm cool with only using my feet to support my body as I move around the world.

There were inappropriately large gourds. This one weighed more than our family of five combined. I know this is mostly due to the fact that three of our family members are ages 4, 5, and 6, but still...that's a really big pumpkin. If I had a pumpkin that big, I'd name it Dude.

And then there was this steer that sold for $25,000.

That's worth a lot more than our duct-taped van. AND this bad boy probably has some serious filets just waiting to be smothered in hollandaise.

All in all, I think I might have finally made up all those calories I burned on the Ultimate Hike.

I don't have the heart to tell these girls that after puberty they will have to train all summer for a 28.3 mile hike if they want to eat at the fair AND fit into their jeans.

The Big 0-4

2011-11-06T08:18:00.015-05:00

So maybe Eve's birthday party was two weeks ago. So what? I've been busy! Like eating and carpooling and stuff.

Eve decided she wanted a costume party for her birthday which just happened to be the best theme for this time of year. Wal-Mart has huge sections of the store dedicated to Halloween and everything is $0.97 or less. I dig it.

She was totally excited to be hosting a party where there's candy and everyone gets a plastic gourd full of sugar. I had to stop her from diving into the sea of pumpkins, reminding her that you cannot crowd surf on plastic.

Natalie decided to start a registry. Every guest who entered had to spell their name out so she could enter them on her list. She might grow up to be an awesome wedding planner.

Princess Eve made her appearance. However, only "Eve" was written on the official list.

I was super-excited that my kids didn't want to dress up as anything that we didn't already own. Eve wanted to be a princess. Easy. We've got a white fluffy dress, I can make a sash and stick a crown on that. Natalie wanted to be a ballerina princess fairy. We've got ballet costumes, we've got tiaras, we've got wings. Dan wanted to wear his Spiderman costume, which Santa gave him last year for Christmas. Because Santa always shops the Halloween aisle on November 1st.

Matt set up the backyard with various things we store in garage. (My children all think our neighbors are weird because they put CARS in their garages. Where do they put all their extra stuff?? Where do they put the clutter that they need to hide before they throw a party??) Our bounce house has lasted several years and several birthday parties, and like our van, is covered in duct tape.

But it lived to see another day. We should buy stock in duct tape and Taco Bell. The day we stop consuming these products is the day these companies fold.

There were bags filled with gross stuff. Worms (spaghetti), guts (rotini), eyeballs (olives), ears (dried apples), fingers (baby pickles), and a dead hand (a glove filled with flour). Close your eyes, put your hand in, make yourself a tapas platter.

And we did stuff like play with the parachute so we could look like good parents who might have once been in a PBS spot, encouraging everyone to get outside and play with brightly colored objects while remembering to donate to public television even though you really shouldn't be watching so much TV.

At this point in the party, Eve was ready to open presents. No, Eve! We are going to tie donuts on strings, just like you wanted! Everyone gets to eat them without using their hands! It was your idea! You've been planning this since AUGUST!

She didn't play. She wanted nothing but presents. How dare you have a table full of presents inside and not let the birthday princess open them. Tears.

Oh wait, is it time to cry? Dan's all on it!

Poor guy. He really wanted that donut. But I love the raw emotion.

Nothing that a little love from the ladies can't fix, though. Here he is with his preschool sweetheart:

And when his kindergarten girlfriend saw this, the one who only seconds earlier didn't want to be photographed, she said, "What is SHE doing in my picture?"

Dan loves him some ladies.

While all this was going on, Eve was still pouting about the presents. So she decided to sabotage the party by sitting on the air supply to the bounce house with her arms crossed. With kids inside.

Don't you want birthday cake, Eve? NO! Don't you want to blow out the candles? I said NO! Who is going to blow them out? I DON'T CARE ABOUT BIRTHDAY CAKE! I WANT TO OPEN PRESENTS!!

Jeez. Ok. Well, we've never really had a birthday party in any logical order before. Last year, we started the party by eating cake first. Whatever you say, Princess.

And suddenly her mood changed dramatically. Downstairs Eve has left the building!

And Natalie was there to write down everything she got. This was the highlight of the day for me. I couldn't even see the birthday girl as she was surrounded by children and tissue paper, but Nat took control of the situation and made sure we had an accurate record of gifts received.

There was lots of spooky food, all of which was picked out by Eve. She literally has been planning her birthday party for two months. Twice a week, she'd ask to go to the Family Fun website to look through Halloween food. She and Nat might be able to go into business together.

There were eyeballs, witch fingers, bones, candy corn pizza, monster toes, pretzel mummies, and banana ghosts. I had to stop letting Eve look at the computer because she would keep adding things to the menu and I'm just one mom with one refrigerator.

But somehow I let her talk me into making two cakes. Maybe it's because she's the youngest. Maybe it's because she had cancer. Maybe it's because when she said I want two pumpkins, one boy and one girl, it just made sense at the time.

She was happy to blow out the candles now that the presents had been opened. She's happiest when things are on her terms. She just wants what she wants when she wants it.

And lucky for me there was plenty of candy to go around as a dessert appetizer while I tried to figure out how to serve everyone without making too big of a mess. I am famous for making messes, and not in a cute way. Like, dear God, here comes Christy in the kitchen about to dump out a bag of flour and break some china before she pours an entire bottle of salad dressing into the utensil drawer.

(Not that any of that has really happened or anything.)

My favorite part of the cake eating was when Dan tried to move one of the cakes out of his way which only served to have it topple over onto the table. When we got the cake back up, it was missing an eye and had a used lollipop stick jutting out of it's forehead. How cool is that?? I should have made that in the first place! Pumpkin goes to rehab-cake.

And you wouldn't have even known that 20% of the kids at the party were cancer survivors. They were just as nonplussed to pose for a picture as anyone else there. Pictured below are 5 kidneys, 3.5 livers, and 10+ scars.

And once we got the extra Dum-Dum in the little ladybug's mouth, she was all smiles. Dum-Dums cure cancer!

(And probably chemo, too.)

Baby Eyeball Diaper

2011-10-31T22:18:00.003-04:00

The day after we did not participate in the buy one, get one white cat free program at the Camden County SPCA, we got up early and threw the kids in the van. We did not tell them where we were heading. We hardly ever tell them where we are going, no matter if it's a fun trip (the zoo!) or a not-so-fun trip (flu shots!). It makes things more interesting that way.

A couple of hours later, we arrived in Williamsburg, Virginia. That's right, we still had time for one last trip using our Give Kids the World Passport before all the parks closed. And against Matt's better judgment, he agreed to let me talk him into squeezing in a quick trip to Busch Gardens.

There is a Sesame Street-themed area that was totally fun, even though I had to wedge myself into the rides. Because Eve wanted me to and I can't tell her no. She had cancer. I can't help it!

There was this woman working there who had the world's worst hair-do. Wait, is that a mullet...

Or a rat?

Yes. Exotic rodent shows at Busch Gardens.

Daniel loved the dragon-themed section of the park. He said he wants to have an egg-bed when he grows up. Natalie said eggs are just for eating. She also said it's not butter that makes everything better, it's mayonnaise. Because deviled eggs the best food on earth. Please mom, can she please have some for lunch? Please mom, doesn't Busch Gardens sell deviled eggs?

No. We're having chocolate pudding for lunch. And that's final. It's got your protein, it's got your crushed up Oreos, it's got your gummy worms, and it's got your partially hydrogenated cottonseed oil. Because that sounds like a well-balanced meal to me.

Besides, we were eating in England, and apparently the English haven't discovered chicken tenders yet. So it was pudding...or fish. If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat? I know they didn't eat any meat. I don't need no education. We're on vacation. It's chocolate and Cheetos, three meals a day.

Nat and Dan kept Matt and his mom busy climbing up and down a massive tree house while I got to squeeze into more pygmy rides with Eve.

I could tell she was having an awesome time because she kept trying to give me fist-bumps while she was on the rides.

And here we are, traveling through the skies from Germany back to England. No one tried to jump or spit or throw out their shoes, so I consider it a successful voyage.

Eve lubbed it.
And all three kids stopped, on their own accord, posed, and LOOKED AT THE CAMERA AND SMILED WITH THEIR EYES OPEN AT THE SAME TIME.

There was no one picking boogers or rednecks drinking beer in the background. Score!

Eve didn't care for the tea cup ride.

I would be making the same face if I were riding that. Oh well. Better her than me. It also didn't help that Busch Gardens was in full Howl-o-Scream mode with demonic clowns and creepy circus music playing in the background.

But the eyeballs in the roses were actually pretty cool.

And Daniel loves the word "eyeball." It has made him scream in delight since he could talk, along with baby and diaper. And if you say the words together-- "baby eyeball diaper" -- he will laugh so hard that he almost pees his pants. So please don't say those words to him unless we are at the pool or caught in a rainstorm. Thanks for your cooperation.

The only way to tell the kids it's time to leave is to have somewhere better to go to. And that place would be Great Wolf Lodge, where you can say baby eyeball diaper as many times as you'd like.

We last went to Great Wolf Lodge when we were still saying Eve's age in months. The kids are bigger and it's time to let them loose on the world. World, you've been warned.

Dan calls Great Wolf Lodge "the Lincoln Log place." If you haven't been there, just imagine you are staying in a building constructed of nothing but Lincoln Logs. Then say baby eyeball diaper and you'll notice it's all wet inside because it's a water park.

Daniel couldn't wait to get into his swimming trunks. He kept waving them around like a flag. Strangers wove around him to avoid getting whipped in the ~~baby~~ eyeball ~~diaper.~~

It's always 84 degrees at Great Wolf Lodge, no matter what the temperature is outside. Dan was excited he didn't have to wear a swim shirt or sunscreen and probably would have had no bones about jumping in naked if he had been left unsupervised.

Eve was excited to be big enough to forgo those awful smelling life vests that are probably harvesting the next virus named after a farm animal.

Natalie came on like gangbusters as soon as her swimsuit was on and ran to the giant bucket as it dumped 1,000 gallons of water on her head. You can see her in the rainbow swimsuit being pummeled.

She and Daniel would return to the giant bucket as it emptied every five minutes. Yet if I pour a cup of water on their heads in the bathtub while I shampoo their hair, all whines break loose.

I digress.

We went on a haunted hayride that evening around the lodge with a very uninspired witch who I'm assuming to be mute or the victim of a spell gone wrong. But there were Halloween decorations and lights and a graveyard and candy, and out of all that, all that mattered in the end was that there was candy. Candy makes everything better. Like butter. Or mayonnaise.

Every night, there is pajama story time in the lobby. First, a creepy animatronic cast of trees, forest creatures, a Native American princess and an awkward Davey Crockett look-alike who lives in a tree stump come to life and wow the kids. While this goes on, I stare at the Angry Birds pumpkin display. Those are some sexy gourds.

After the lost boy goes back into the trunk and the trees sing There's nothing to be scared of!, it's time for the dude dressed up as Dumbledore to read everyone a bedtime story. I want to know how he does this so energetically; every time I read a bedtime story to the kids, I end up passing out right before I find out what happens in the end. WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THAT VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR EATS ALL THAT FOOD? I guess I'll never know.

Dan was first in line to get a prize and give the wolf a hug. Unfortunately for everyone behind him, he also took about ninety seconds to pick out the prize from the bucket, even with constant prodding from Dumbledore. It must be nice to be Daniel sometimes- he can block the world out when he wants. I try to do that at home and then someone starts bleeding and it's urgent care all over again.

After all that, it was time for bed. Want to know a great way to get your kids to pass out without any Benadryl? Take them to two amusement parks in one day. Want to know a great way to keep them asleep throughout the night as they share one bed? You should probably give them Benadryl.

Seriously. I. could. not. sleep. Nat seemed to be fine snoozing through the sleep fight that Dan and Eve were engaged in. I could not sleep through the crinkling sound of whatever plastic covering was on top of the mattress as brother and sister duked it out.

I know what everyone needed after a night like that. More chocolate.

Screw Wheaties. Chocolate donuts and chocolate milk is the breakfast of champions. Do not try to sub with Chocolate Slim Fast.

Happy 4th birthday, Eve! You don't look a day over three.

I am so glad I trained for the Ultimate Hike, because there is no way I could have scaled the stairs to the water slides that many times in a row without keeling over. Eve was content to stay with her grandma in the kiddie area while Matt and I took Evel Knievel and Evel Knievel Jr. down the slides over and over and over again. Until we started to feel like chocolate donuts and chocolate milk would make an encore.

We had a birthday lunch. Well, it wasn't a super-special lunch that Eve requested or anything, it just happened to be lunch on her birthday. In which case she also had a birthday pee and a birthday toweling off. But having a well-traveled chocolate sheet cake that came from the greater-Raleigh area to Camden, NC to Williamsburg, VA with four little candles in it certainly constitutes a birthday dessert.

The kids were stoked to play lots more in the water park. Eve and I floated along the lazy river long enough to make me dizzy, which isn't saying much because I get dizzy when they pan across the categories on Jeopardy. But an hour and a half of going around the same circle, never quite catching the birthday girl and forced to do another loop, would be enough to shake up the rocks in your head, too.

There was a robot that served you ice cream. Seriously. $28 later, four members of our family had ice cream served by a robot.

(I went for the Dippin Dots. There are few things that make my mouth as happy as when it's filled with Dippin Dots. Except maybe nacho cheese. And mayonnaise.)

It's sad to leave such a happy place, except if you're dizzy and pruny and tired of climbing ridiculous sets of stairs. Daniel continued to howl his disapproval as we made for the exit.

We had to get back to Matt's mom's and eat more cake and open presents. And maybe have something for dinner that isn't chocolate.

Nat and Dan both spent a lot of time picking out the perfect presents for their sister. Because of this, they both really wanted Eve to open their respective presents first. Eve, a true diplomat, did the only fair thing she could think of: Eeny Meeny Miney Mo.

Matt's family came over and celebrated with us and we eventually got the kids to bed.

For a few hours.

The only silver lining to this story is that Eve's birthday was technically over when she starting spewing chocolate-colored vomit everywhere.

4 a.m. is a fine time to wake up and get the day started...if you're training for a hike. It's a lousy time when it's because your daughter comes in crying and then vomits something that looks like birthday cake and smells like broccoli salad next to your head. It's a blessing that my mother-in-law has cable and the Disney channel was having a Phineas & Ferb marathon in the middle of the night. Oh, and that she had lots of towels.

We were up for hours but eventually were able to get Eve back to sleep so we could nap a couple of hours before heading back home. She puked again. We bathed again. I cursed myself for not packing Zofran with my toiletries. Emla? LMX? I'm prepared for any kind of emergency that would require me to numb my children. Nausea? Not so much. Which doesn't mean that I still don't have hundreds of dollars worth of Zofran, it just means that I neglected to pack it.

Luckily we have a nice oncologist who returns pages really fast.

While we were on our way to the pharmacy so we could pick up the prescription and add it to the eight million different forms of anti-nausea medication just chilling at home (pills! melt-aways! suspensions!), Eve threw up again. So I picked up 12 dish towels at CVS, some wipes, and more sanitizer to hopefully get us the three hours home. Meanwhile, Natalie was at Matt's mom's house writing a list of 31 things they would do while she stayed with her grandma for the next two days. Because there were 31 lines on the steno pad.

So Daniel cried for a while because he missed his big sister. And Eve cried for a while because she was starving and nauseous. And I almost cried for a while because I really wanted to eat my Bojangles fried chicken dinner but was interrupted with more GI distress from our birthday princess.

(Just kidding. I didn't almost cry. I was just really hungry and sad that I had to use so much hand sanitizer when eating something so finger-lickin' good.)

We arrived back home with no more upchucks and one less kid. More upchucks and another kid would arrive two days later.

It's BOGO time

2011-10-25T08:11:00.014-04:00

Firstly and secondly, I forgot to mention that Natalie doesn't have shark teeth anymore. A few weeks ago, she lost her first tooth.

And in the spirit of a tenacious over-achiever, she lost the second one an hour later.

Now, it's been explained to the children that each house has their own tooth fairy. So just because your friend got twenty dollars for a tooth doesn't mean you will. If that were true, I'd be plucking out kid teeth left and right instead of heading for the ATM. (Mommy doesn't carry more than $0.79 in pennies on her at a time.) I might even start paying Duke in teeth.

In order to prolong the excitement, Nat decided to leave one tooth the first night and the other on the next. She scored a fifty-cent piece for her first tooth and four quarters for the second. Our tooth fairy is old school. It's a tooth, not a gold nugget.

Maybe Nat can put it toward that college fund we haven't started yet.

In other news, I am happy to report that my aches and pains related to the Ultimate Hike are few and far between. I have taken enough Epsom Salt soaks to make a horse with a foot fetish very happy.

We traveled to Matt's mom's house a few days before Eve's birthday and got ready to head out to a fall festival because we love both fall and festivals. Of course, once there were seven people strapped in the van and ready to go, the van had the nerve to just sit there. Just sit there! There are dead batteries and there are dead batteries.

Matt says we go through batteries like we go through gallons of milk. Matt's mom said I should write a new blog about our van. Eve vs. Duct Tape? I hate to give up on this vehicle. We have kids with scars and some chronic health issues and we still love them.

Anyway, a hundred bucks later, we got to the festival. The first thing we saw was the SPCA trying to push fur. To quote the volunteer: Oh, if you like that white cat, we have another white cat at the shelter. We are having a special- adopt one cat, get one free. You can have two white cats for the price of one!

Yes. Because that's what's been missing from our lives. Not one, but two white cats. I'm having withdrawals from all the hair in my food that Eve lost from chemo.

There were tons of things to do, including lots of inflatables for the kids to bounce around in.

Two years ago, I would have sprayed each individual ball with Lysol. This year, I encourage Eve to be a kid and take in all those old-fashioned germs. Mmm, bacteria, viruses, fungi, protozoa...just like Grandma used to make.

Horse rides are always a hit. If horses could be potty trained, I'd totally get one.

Eve remembered her horse ride from our stay at Give Kids the World back in January and rode the entire time with one arm up in the air, shouting Yee-haw! Much the way she rides in the van when I go over large hills and we catch a little air.

Happy trails to you, until we don't adopt two white cats again.

Sexy Gourd

2011-10-15T17:37:00.001-04:00

I have no exciting hiking news to report because I have been incapacitated since returning home from the Ultimate Hike. If we count my toes separately, I have four injuries, which fortunately take turns hurting so it's easier to decide which way to limp.

My knee will lock up once a day, perhaps telling me it's time to make an appointment with the orthopedist. My ankle gets a little tender on occasion but is the least of my worries, although it still swells at night to turn into a Fred Flintstone foot. I'll spare you pictures of my two big toes, but imagine the skin around them a gentle burgundy while the actual nails continue to turn black. I don't have gout, but I do imagine I know how those sufferers feel when the bed sheet grazes the toes. But, I can't complain too much because as of yesterday, the constant hearbeat I felt throbbing beneath my toenails has ceased and the only time they hurt too bad is when one of the children decides to do a little clogging on my feet. They have been much better about practicing clogging since these injuries, interestingly enough.

I missed three weeks of tap class, so I decided to give it a go last Monday. I walked in with my knee and ankle wrapped in Ace bandages and my big toes wrapped in gauze, because I felt like if I was going to lose my nails, I would them wrapped up to spare others from probably puking on themselves. Because that would probably make me sick to watch other people puking.

I can't begin to tell you what a horrible idea it was to try to tap dance with my feet in that state. I've done some dumb things in my life, but this was right up there. It was the first time I had closed-toe shoes on my feet since October 1st. Thankfully I didn't do this to myself when it's too cold to wear flip flops. Eventually I tore off my shoes and tapped barefoot, you know, the way you are really meant to tap dance. I probably should hammer some horse shoes on the bottom of my feet next time I go back. I'm sure it will be less painful.

We've been keeping busy the past two weeks since Natalie and Daniel are tracked out. There has been lots of cooking, because Mommy's cooking camp is always free and there is no waiting list. I let the kids pick out what recipes they want to tackle and am amazed at how they think they can survive on nothing but cake and cookies for the three weeks during track-out.

Me: Daniel, everything on this list you made is dessert!
Dan: Nuh-uh. I put pizza and breadsticks on there, too.

I don't know where they learned to make these food choices. With the exception of my weakness for Taco Bell and Cup Noodles, I pride myself in my healthy food selections. Man cannot live on ramen alone...or can I??

Eve has been fabulous in ballet, and even allowed me, Nat, and Dan to watch her this past week. I liked not being kicked out. Not being kicked out made me feel special. Almost loved.

I suppose all that spit and vinegar she had been saving for dance had to spill out somewhere, and preschool was just the place. Eve can be a moody child and it's completely up to her if she's going to cooperate with you. After the third day of not participating or following directions, the teacher called home to ask if something happened at home or if she was sick. Nope, but thanks so much, you can keep her.

Her teacher admitted what lots of people think but don't say: It's hard for me to discipline her because of all she's been through. So it appears the cancer card is still laminated and glossy. And she's getting away with crap outside of the home because she used to be bald. I'm sure she'll remember my unwillingness to let her get away with murder as she fills out my Mom of the Year nomination form. "She was tough but she loved me; she didn't let me get away with stuff that my siblings couldn't get away with. Mom wouldn't cater to me when I was too lazy to get up and do something myself. Mom always thoughtfully asked, Did you lose your legs to cancer, too, or just a kidney? Get up and do it yourself."

And I'm definitely an equal-opportunity disciplinarian. That's my job as the stayer, as Natalie calls me. Daddy's the worker. Apparently the stayer doesn't have to work, just stay and watch her kids destroy the house before the mortgage is paid off.

Sometimes my kids get a little heavy-handed with the toilet paper. Sometimes we have to get the plunger. Sometimes I'm hobbling around the house because my knee, ankle, and toes slow me down.

This is what I hear as I shuffle downstairs to retrieve the plunger:

"Eve, don't! DON'T!!! Don't do that!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Flush. Snickering.
"Eve, look what you did! You made the toilet water go all over the floor. Daniel, don't do it! DON'T!! STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!! DANIEL, STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Flush. More snickering.
"Look what you did!"

At this point, I was almost back up the stairs and Natalie was still screaming at her siblings in caps lock. When I finally made it to their bathroom, there was more water than I could even imagine based on the sheer volume and amount of exclamation points that were used. It was everywhere. I got that special kind of quiet fury, when I get down to their level and do my best scary pissed-off voice that's just too soft to be appropriate for the amount of damage that was done. The kids know this and run to their rooms, close the door, and sob. But I think they got off too easy because I'm the one who has to clean up this toilet water, and I'm sure I'm going to have to bleach the bathroom because there's only one reason why the toilet would have been that full of paper, and that's if someone was doing something that required repeated wiping.

So, after a good plunging and FOUR beach towels later, the bathroom is dry and the toilet is useable again. Now it's time to sanitize the place, and it will never feel clean enough until every inch is covered in Clorox and smells like a hospital room. I scrub it until I am confident that I could eat sashimi off the floor and not get sick.

I return downstairs to put the mop away and notice the kitchen has a giant puddle in the middle of the floor. It's too far away to be a bunch of rogue ice cubes from the freezer, but the tea pitcher is empty and I figure Eve probably spilled it out of spite. I mean, that's what I thought until Natalie came in and said, "Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you. The kitchen is leaking."

Nice. So I literally walked into a $h!tstorm. Toilet water was leaking through the can light onto the kitchen floor. The only thing that would have been worse would have been if it had hit any of the counters, but luckily (luckily?!?) it was just a giant puddle in the middle of the floor. Fortunately I still had the Clorox in hand. Unfortunately, I didn't have any handcuffs, or else I would have thrown the kids in the back of the van and hauled them downtown. Although they probably would have thought it was fun to get fingerprinted.

They aren't bad all the time. Sometimes they're cute and you can forget about overflowing toilets. Sometimes Eve will shout, "Setty, Ret, Go!" and start the dance party. They've almost got the zombie dance from Thriller down pat.

And we even made a trip to the Farmer's Market to pick out some pumpkins. Sure, you guys can get those cute little baby pumpkins. Okay, yes, you can also get a bigger pumpkin. Because I love you, but mostly because they are cheap and I don't need to take out more cash from the ATM. Sure Eve, you don't have to get a big pumpkin. Yes, Eve, you can get one of those bumpy green gourds. What's that? You named your gourd? Sure, tell me it's name!

Oh. "Sexy Gourd." Okay. I'll admit it's the last adjective I'd pick to describe something so bumpy, so green, so gourdish. But I am guilty of asking her the name of her gourd when I'm bored. You know, in between the occasional bleaching of hard surfaces.

Nothing says, Welcome, Fall! like the arrival of sexy gourds.

The Most Extreme Ultimate Ultimateness

2011-10-05T14:02:00.027-04:00

This is me and fellow momcologist/hiker, Candi, on our way down to Georgia to carb up for the Ultimate Hike:

Note how blissfully unaware we are of what we are getting ourselves into.

This is our hike group, after carbing up at a pasta party:

We also signed a peace treaty and met with the Secretary-General of the United Nations.

Now here's my dilemma- how do you make yourself go to bed early enough to ensure you have enough sleep to wake up by 2:30 a.m. and hike across state lines? Don't ask me; I don't have an answer. I didn't sleep well. Maybe it was the fact that I've never slept in a hotel room by myself. Maybe I need extra bodies piling on top of mine to slowly smother the life out of me and render me unconscious.

I tried to sleep until 2:30, but whoever stayed in the room before me set the clock fast, so I actually got up at 2:25. I was in-between being annoyed and awed. Annoyed because how dare someone freakin' cheat me out of those five minutes of lucid sleep! Awed because who is watching me and how do they know how I am chronically late and always have to set my clocks fast?

These are the internal struggles I deal with when I'm up so early instead of being up so late.

So, I wrap my sprained ankle back up, tell myself no wire hangers, and head downstairs like an idiot who thought this was a good idea until this very moment. For the record, I'm not unaccustomed to eating breakfast at 3 a.m., though it normally means I'm at Waffle House and it's the end of the night. Not the beginning of a very long day.

We got into a van at 3:30 and I vaguely remember hearing a coach talk about something called hashing that involved a man covered in flour running through the woods drinking or in search of beer. I can't be sure of what I heard because, after all, it was THREE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING.

We got here after an hour or so:

And just to be sure you understand the severity of the situation, this is what it looked like outside:

(This photo has not been altered in any way. It was bleeping black outside.)

But here we are, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from our summit the night before, [not really] ready to set off onto the trail three hours before sunrise:

I'm only smiling because I don't know what else to do.

First of all, stepping into the dark woods can be described as nothing but disorienting. The second thought that passes through one's mind (after, "It's forty-effing degrees out and I have no hope of being warmed by the sunlight for another three hours!") is: Just how they hell did they convince me to generate a minimum of $2500 for the opportunity to be dropped off in the middle of the pitch-black woods before they tell me, See you in 28.3 miles!?

I had no less than six near-death experiences before sunrise. Most of them occurred as I tried placing my trekking pole into the ground before realizing that there was no ground, only empty space and many, many feet to tumble down. But I'm sure had I tumbled, a tree/black bear/already dead hiker would have broken my fall.

I was excited to become a tree hugger, or maybe just someone who had found part of the trail where it didn't feel as though you were shimmying across the ledge of a skyscraper.

I'm sure the whole thing sounds melodramatic, but it was the sprained ankle making me less than confident in my footing. Definitely not the sandwich bag of orange and red pills I was taking every other hour, whenever the drug alarm would sound on my phone.

The first stretch was 4.7 miles and done completely in the dark. We crossed from North Carolina into South Carolina. I know we did, because the hikers bottle-necked as we all stopped to take a terrible picture of this sign:

I had some mild pain from the ankle but nothing that stacking Tylenol and Motrin couldn't dampen. We reached the first aid station, used the nicest outhouse I've ever graced my ass upon, shoved some fruit into our mouths and kept on truckin'. But not before one of the coaches yelled to us that we had better put on our bright yellow Ultimate Hike bandannas RIGHT NOW because it's hunting season.

My ankle began hurting a bit more on the next 7.2 mile stretch, so I kept on popping pills. It was very manageable. Until two miles into it when my left knee began throbbing. At which point I struggled to decide which way to limp, with a messed-up left knee and a sprained right ankle. I decided to use my poles like crutches and shuffle down the trail like real [old] hikers do.

We even stopped for some impromptu fencing.

My friend, Jo, was spot-on when she said it was like hiking through the backyard of Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. I kept waiting for a giant Lego to take a rest in, or at least a giant Rick Moranis, and am still undecided which one would be more shocking.

8 miles in, we were still smiling like idiots because, after all, we were only 20.3 miles away from the finish.

Although it would appear that Jo and Candi are just now realizing we still have 20.3 more miles to go:

At the next aid station, I visited the last outhouse that we would have the pleasure of visiting and immediately sought the medic. It was starting to swell, so he taped it up and wrapped it with an Ace bandage. I found the Cheetos and shoved as many in my mouth as possible. Licking the orange powder wasn't as yummy as when I'm watching Netflix on the couch because of all the dried hand sanitizer on my fingers.

What really made my day, besides the all-you-can-eat-Cheetos, were these boots:

Eve made a video to inspire the hikers, and in it she told them to keep hiking and hiking and hiking and hiking and hiking until you can't hike anymore. Then hike a little bit more. Fellow hiker Deborah took a Sharpie to her boots and wrote down this reminder on all sides. That's totally boss.

Almost halfway into the next stretch, which happened to span 10.4 miles, my knee got worse. It slowed me down to the point that I was all too aware I would be the sacrificial lamb in the herd should a wolf attack. Normally I would be grateful for going downhill, but it was downhill that made my knee think of that sweet hobbling scene from Misery.

But there were pretty things to look at, like the Chattooga River. And if I had been crafty, I may have built a raft from some sticks and floated my way to the end of the hike.

Instead, we took a break and sat in some uber-comfy stone chairs we found by the river:

I'm sure if a bed of nails had been nearby, I would have napped comfortably.

But there did come a point where it was decided that we should stop and break for five minutes. It seemed like a brilliant idea. I mean, really, why wouldn't it?

Except my knee pretty much seized up when I stopped moving. And when I tried to start again, interesting pains shot up both sides of my leg and the first tears started to fall since the day Eve was diagnosed with cancer. I was at the point that I knew I couldn't finish this hike. My knee would not allow it. (Thankfully, my ankle decided to shut the hell up for the meantime.)

I can't talk through pain, so it proved to be a very quiet hike.

A half-mile later, when I was convinced I was going to have to gnaw off my own leg in order to continue, one of our coaches left the trail to try and find an old access road to see if I could be rescued. It was obvious at this point that we would be hiking until midnight at the rate I was gimping about.

He was gone for a while and I got scared my knee was going to get even worse standing still again, so we decided to hike on, however slow I may be. Luckily, in another half-mile, another coach appeared and showed me how to use my poles as knee replacements. And it helped; I moved forward without tears.

We hiked for a bit with another chick who had knee problems, and she educated me on the best way to relieve yourself in the woods without further injuring oneself. I am truly forever grateful for her guidance.

I made it through to the next aid station and the people there looked at me like I was a ghost coming out of the mountain. Remember that game Telephone? I was still alive, contrary to what you may have heard. My knee was swelling some more and the medic threw some more Ace bandages on it. I was wrapped up like a Vietnam vet. When he asked if I had any Motrin with me, I shook the bag of red and orange pills in my pocket. When he told me I should take some, I let him know that probably wasn't a good idea since I had been eating them by the fistful. How many did I take? I don't know. 12 Motrin? 8 extra-strength Tylenol? Yeah, that sounds about right. What's that you say, kidney failure? Look dude, I'm going to expletively finish this hike one way or another.

(Which wasn't the plan a few miles back, but it seemed reasonable at this juncture.)

Only 6 more miles to go. We could do this. We really could. And I had to, because I told people I was going to. And the only thing worse than not doing something you said you were going to do is having people ask how it went when you didn't do it. So I was doing it.

For the majority of this quiet hike, I could only hear the ending theme to Twin Peaks. Yeah, I know who killed Laura Palmer. It was the Ultimate Hike.

A mile into this last stretch, Candi hit her wall. And thank goodness she broke through that wall, because she's the biggest reason I got through that whole "I can't hike because I'm too busy crying over my cussed up knee" saga. I heard lots of people hit their walls during these last six miles. I couldn't afford another wall because I had already slowed us down by at least ninety minutes. The only thing I wanted was to get to the other side where there was beer waiting.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was too many pills. Maybe it was too much artificially colored orange cheese powder. But I started seeing things that I know weren't there. Like those green dwarfs that kept turning into bushes. I'm not scared of little people, but when they shape-shift into plants, it makes me jittery.

Although the one thing that did make me stop in my tracks was the black bear I saw crawling under a fallen tree fifty yards ahead of us. Luckily, I had already evacuated the necessary storage compartments in the woods several miles back or else I would have wet myself.

But bears don't wear bright yellow bandannas. Coaches dressed in black on their hands and knees do, though. And when I told him I thought he was a bear, he responded, "I'm not big enough to be a bear...maybe a baby bear."

Like I wouldn't have reason to pee my pants if I saw an effing baby black bear in front of me. But, baby bear probably would have gone for the green dwarf first.

The last few miles proved to be...I don't know...as long as they should have been. It didn't feel as it was never going to end, it simply felt as though I was that horse that broke its leg and was seconds away from being euthanized. I suppose I could have lost the yellow bandanna and taken my chances, but I popped one more little pill and got to the finish line.

That was the ultimate masking tape.

I don't want you to think I was getting all Kerri Strug on the trail or anything, but it was totally epic.

Was a beer waiting for me as we got off the trail? Yes. Did I drink it? Yes. I had hiked across mountains and rivers to get to this particular camping chair with the drink holder in it.

And here we are, freezing and growling and wondering if it's appropriate to use trekking poles as crutches inside a hotel.

And you can see one of the many bags of Cheetos I had stuffed in my pockets, given to me by no less than four people at various aid stations.

Because all I need is Motrin and Cheetos to survive.

The A-List

2011-09-23T18:45:00.005-04:00

These are the people so far who proudly hate cancer and love children with me:

Adam & Brigid Eshbaugh
Amber Robles
Amy Rosa
AnnMarie Marchese
April Schweitzer
Barbara Albro
Biff & Twana Saunders
Brooke Howells
Chris & Dianne Khin
Dan Cohen
Dan Wechsler
Dee Hoover
Diane Simon
Donna Wolcott
Gary Braswell
Gayle Yates
Hannah Rains
Heather Robertson
Jackie Knapp
James Strong
Jamie Holmes
Jen Ferrell
Jennifer Jones
Jennifer Powell
Jennifer Morgan
Jo Garvin
Joan Murray
Joyce Saunders
Judy Old
Julie Waitt
Karen Connelly
Kate Merrick
Kate Woertman
Katie Pence
Katina Faulkner
Kay Niner
Kerrie Garman
Kim Gessner
Kristin Sullivan
Kristin DeAngelo
Laura Martin
Laurie Hooten
Melissa Amonette
Melissa Osborn
Morgan Adkins
Nick & Suzanne Warenzak
Nikki Holden
Nikki Zablocki
Priscilla Grow
Rebecca Floyd
Rebecca Smith
Robin Pittman
Salpi Kazezian
Samantha Saxenmayer
Scott & Emily Stamey
Stephanie White
Susan Elin
Susan Griffith
Susan Kochik
Suzanne Hopkins
Suzanne Temple
Taryn Jessup
Tina Brady

If you see any of these people around town, please make sure to give them a hug/a free taco/a good goose. Tell them you love what they are doing and have done for the bald kids. What are they doing, exactly?

They are donating! The Ultimate Hike is this weekend and I'm ~~completely freaking out because it's 28.3 miles in one day~~ and I'm so excited. Really. Not nervous at all.

I haven't even burned any avocados this past week. Turns out, I sprained my ankle during that last big hike and the doc says to ice, elevate, medicate, wrap, rest. I'm all over the medicate part, but the rest is a lot easier said than done. My kids like to unwrap the Ace bandage whenever I'm not limping after them. But I've gotten a stronger brace and some more meds and I'm totally going to go pee in the woods, just like I promised.

It could be completely healed before I go. Miracles do happen. Like the fact that Eve didn't even get kicked out of dance class last week, but perhaps that's because she made me go sit in the van for an hour. Because my presence is not requested. Do not RSVP. Do not collect $200.

And no good deed goes unpunished. Luck would have it that as I turned on the car briefly to roll down the window, I somehow got distracted (Me, you say? Surely I jest!) and didn't realize the car was still on.

Really, I didn't realize it was on. I keep the radio off because I like to pretend I'm thinking and the air off because, well, I just rolled down the window. Without turning the car off.

I'm glad Eve was a "totally different kid" when I left. I'm glad she enjoyed herself and wants to go back. I'm also glad a friend came and jump started the van at the end of the hour.

I hope there will be people at the Ultimate Hike Saturday with jumper cables in case my battery dies on the trail.

Sweet Mother of Cuss.

2011-09-19T11:45:00.010-04:00

It's no secret. This hiking thing is kind of a big deal for me because:

1. The last time I have exercised on a regular basis was in high school;

2. My butt is starting to morph from flat, white mom butt to a nondescript less flat shape;

3. I like seeing how many avocados I can go home and shove in my face when I'm done;

4. I really enjoy eating red electrolyte gummies.

Although, I might postpone a hike if there is cornhole and beer involved.

My friend, Mark, and I teamed up once again as...Team Eve. Because we are far less creative than the other teams who had names that I can't even write here because this is (at times) a family blog.

And we already had the matching shirts.

That's Team Eve, in the Jiffy box blue. It's the color of cornbread and cancer.

Our friends at the N.O.R. Foundation once again outdid themselves with Cornhole for a Cure, with this year's proceeds going to CureSearch. So we had to go and play cornhole. And we were so awful that I'm sure the teams that beat us were wondering if we were really cornhole hustlers, since no one could be that bad. But I do this for the bald kids, not for the glory.

And I also do this for the amazing breakfast pizza we were served. Breakfast pizza!

It was bigger than my head. And I ate it all. And I don't care how many avocados that is.

But the pizza and the fries and the beer were just a well thought-out way to carb up before the big Ben & Jerry's Hike the next day.

Yes, you read that right. We were going to get sweaty and then get us some Schweddy Balls. We had to make up for the group hike we missed the day before, after all.

The second best part of this hike was that we stopped and sat down and ate a sandwich. Took an actual break. I cannot tell you how much happier my body was on this 17-mile hike being fueled with real food instead of just electrolyte tablets.

The first best part of this hike was that it ended at Ben & Jerry's. Duh.

I joined Candi and her husband, Chris, fellow cancer parents/hikers/electrolyte gummy lovers. Candi and I are pretty much convinced we haven't lost any weight because all we do is talk about food while we hike, meaning our bodies must release some kind of hormone that prohibits the loss of weight because it thinks we're on our way to the buffet at Golden Corral.

So a typical hike to Ben & Jerry's goes like this. We hike through the woods.

We climb over some fences.

(We even negotiated one with barbed wire. The lengths we'll go to for ice cream.)

More talk of food. More hiking through the woods.

Over the highway. Still talking about food.

Ice cream!

I still haven't figured out if I was Ben or Jerry, but I felt dead sexy either way. Especially with Schweddy Balls and Coconut Seven-Layer Bar in my gut, leaving no room for bananas or avocados.

On Tuesday, I did a eight miles. Not enough miles to justify another run for ice cream.

Oh wait, I did. But that was for a fundraiser and I always support fundraisers that support bald kids. And the fact that Daniel ordered vanilla ice cream with white chocolate chips and gummy bears mixed in made me feel a little less self-conscious about my secret obsession with buttery potatoes mixed with breakfast sausage bound together with pancake syrup.

dfkjfoj ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,ofddd fmk

Sorry, had to wipe some syrup off my keyboard.

On Wednesday, we did ten miles, which left me feeling ravenous. As soon as I got home, I put epic amounts of mayo and pickles and American cheese on a still-frozen roll and was convinced it was the best sandwich I had ever devoured. Everything tastes better after you hike.

Those ten miles felt like more than enough to justify a trip to a place called Fat Daddy's, which by the name, you can tell is no salad bar. I like to think of our Fat Daddy's trips as a place where cancer moms can get together and emotionally eat without judgment.

Plus, they have a topping bar. And on that topping bar one could find such yummy toppings for their french fries as jalapenos, ranch dressing, bacon, and nacho cheese.

My love of nacho cheese is only matched by the amount of duct tape holding my van together. That's how much I -heart- it. It even made me forgive the tomato on my burger for not being red.

Again, another well thought-out plan to carb load before our big weekend hike. And maybe just enough to stay sufficiently full where I didn't really care either way that Eve got kicked out of ballet class for refusing to participate the next morning. Apparently she only wants to go with her friend's mom from now on, because at nearly four, she is already too embarrassed to be seen with this sweaty woman driving the duct-taped van who smells of nacho cheese.

Whatev.

So, this is how much I hate cancer: I was up at 5 a.m., out the door at 5:30, to go hike twenty-plus miles in the cold rain. I really don't see how people would ever do this length in those conditions for fun. They just really gotta hate cancer.

Like I hate laugh tracks in sitcoms since 2005.

So we start this hike, estimated to be 20.1 miles from sections 7-13, and there's a cold, annoying, nonstop drizzle. But I hate cancer so I can deal with it. Even when it goes from drizzle to more-than-drizzle-but-not-a-thunderstorm. That's what rain jackets are for, even though I wouldn't melt if I got wet, no matter what Natalie may tell you.

As we were hiking, I noticed my finger nails were shrinking. Or maybe my hands were swelling. And maybe my arms were, too. I already had Fred Flintstone feet. Ankles are overrated, and so is being able to remove your wedding band. Yes, I would like this on my ring finger forever, even if my finger turns black from lack of blood.

If I could figure out how to get my chest to swell instead, I'd hike everyday!

The thing I liked about this hike is that no one besides us crazy cancer haters were out there, meaning no show-offy trail runners shouting "on your left!" They were probably busy showing off at the gym where I'd never risk seeing them.

Our hike got a little bit longer as we made an expedition to find shelter so we could stop for some food and change our socks. And I ate a meatloaf sandwich, which was the best sandwich I have ever eaten in my entire life. And I'll swear to that in court, until October 1st, when I'm sure to really eat the best sandwich ever.

It turns out that it got really cold while we were stopped and I used up all my brainpower thinking of coffee to get me warm. You tend to think of everything you are going to enjoy when you are off the trail and it's enough to get you started again. My initial thoughts were of hot coffee, hot chocolate, hot tea, and cold beer, until the thought of cold beer made me shiver and I switched to pouring potent potables into my coffee instead.

My legs went on autopilot for miles 11-13. I zoned out completely. I desperately wanted to think of something, anything, since I had the opportunity to think without interruption by someone who wants me to wipe their bottom. I was incapable of thinking about anything except the fact that I couldn't think, and that drove me more than a little batso. I wouldn't have been capable of talking to a volleyball named Wilson with a bloody hand print on it if I tried. Not that I could have thought to try.

I did eventually return from the edge to be a more social member of our hike group and start talking about food again.

The last leg of the hike I thought would never end. Everything ends surely, but I was convinced this would be the first thing in the universe that wouldn't, and I would be stuck on this trail for the end of time, or until I found some hallucinogenic mushrooms growing in the woods.

The last sections looked as though they had been hiked by maybe three or four people in the past ten years. There was overgrown brush up to our shoulders, and looking back, a machete would have been a good thing to pack.

Someone in our group had his GPS on and just when I was convinced that we MUST be near the end, I heard him say, "We have another mile and a half."

This may sound dramatic, but when I heard that we still had another 1.5 miles in these dreary, cannibal-infested woods (the delirium had already begun to set in), I seriously felt like I did when Eve's oncologists decided to do another six weeks of chemo before taking out her tumors. Of course it was necessary, but disappointing. The end seemed so close and then it was not.

But holy expletive. We finished. We hiked 22 miles. And then we all got the giggles and tried not to pee ourselves, especially since no one thought to pack urine-wicking underwear.

Say Cheese, Eve!

2011-09-12T23:21:00.005-04:00

It's the first day of school, Eve. Time for Mommy's last minute in front of the door picture!

Now, Eve, turn around.

No, seriously honey, your shoes are fabulous.

I swear, you're lookin' good!

Don't smile too big, now. Don't want anyone to think you're excited about going.

Again, I apologize that these are not sequined, high-heeled princess slippers. But there's no need to thrash about on the floor and mess up your hair.

No, you're right. Your life is totally over.

But I heard from the teacher that she really did have an excellent day, in spite of the 20-minute cry fest as Matt and I pinned her down and forced sneakers on her feet, and the additional 10 minutes of sobbing as we drove to school. You would have thought us bad parents to hear the way she wailed.

And you know I'm too busy Windexing my Mom of the Year trophy case to have time to make my kids cry on purpose.

Now the next day, as I prepared for another drama-filled morning at Eve's dance class, I was granted a reprieve from being the one to put tap shoes on her feet and forcing her into the studio. We got our first you gotta come pick up your kid, stat call from school.

I'm sure I would have gotten there quicker if my phone hadn't been on silent. But that's what sick rooms are for, for Daniel to wait in while I'm busy negotiating with Eve about how much chocolate she gets if she decides to participate AND leave her tap shoes on. Lucky for Dan (or the school nurse, depending on your perspective), Matt called me to let me know that they were threatening to revoke my 2011 Mom of the Year nomination if I didn't high-tail it up to school and pick up our son who got sick on the bus.

I think we all know what "got sick on the bus" means. It rhymes with womit.

So, being the quick thinker that I am, I finished negotiating with Eve, got myself some water, and then dropped her off at a friends house who agreed to take her to dance. It really takes years to get this good.

Then another twenty-five minutes in the opposite direction to school, all the while hoping that the nurse has at least changed Daniel's clothes so I don't have that sour smell in my van, because I'm pretty much maxed out on the sour smell after I finally discovered the missing beach towel that was left to dry underneath the bench in the back of the van, with two pieces of bread in various stages of decomposition, growing pretty strong strains of penicillin.

Had I not been allergic to penicillin, I may never have cleaned out the van.

When I get to the school, Daniel is sitting in the sick room grinning from ear to ear. He is still wearing the same clothes. Upon inspection, I cannot detect any womit.

Me: Daniel, did you get sick?
Dan: Yes. I had one vomit.

Me: Did you get it on your shoes or clothes?

Dan: Nope.

Me: Were you sitting next to anyone?

Dan: Yes.
Me: Did it get on the person next to you?

Dan: Yes, because I threw up on him. The bus driver put a towel over it and everyone was happy because we finally got to put down our windows and they went "Yay!"

Ok, so I would be lying if I told you I wish Dan were the pukee instead of the puker. I think you all agree with me even if you won't admit it. Kind of like that saying, It's better to be pissed off than pissed on.

Except for the fact that I needed to take him home and let him brush his teeth, I really could see no reason why I needed to bring him home. He did his thang, he was smiling, he had no fever and not a drop of mess on his shirt or shoes. Let's pretend this never happened.

But I brought him home, anyway.

He was absolutely fine. I think it was just a blip in the radar. As soon as we were home, Daniel opened up his lunch box and ate everything inside. Are you sure that's a good idea, buddy? You just puked on someone. "Yeah, that's why I'm so hungry, Mom."

As soon as Miss "I'm not putting on tap shoes and going back in there" Eve got back from dance, she and Dan bounced around the house all day long and I wondered if they'd let me sign him back in after lunch. Eve announced that she did, in fact, wear her tap shoes the whole time and stayed in class. Lesson here? If I want her to dance, I need to pick a sacrificial lamb for Dan to puke on every Thursday so I can drop Eve off at my friend's house who is apparently the Baby Whisperer.

Having Daniel at home, who eats little more than bread and butter, made me at least more productive at producing bread and butter.

Maybe it was all the germs in the air that helped create a nice spongy starter for my loaves.

I couldn't be expected to clean, not with two of them in the house. That's like shoveling your driveway during a blizzard. My only hope was to let them burn off steam in the backyard until ~~the crushed up benadryl in their milk kicked in~~ they were ready to have a little bit of calm.

I think they stopped running around by 8 pm. My plan worked, only eight hours later than expected.

Christy and the Not-so-5-Avocado Hike

2011-09-06T08:11:00.010-04:00

Eve started dance class. The girl who never lets her heels hit the floor was ready.

(Except for the tights. Gotta cut those feet out of those tights. And the tap shoes. No, no, no. None of these six pair of shoes we have at home will do.)

For the first class, she made it through ballet. She even looked happy to be there for a while.

But time to change into tap shoes? No way, Ho-zay. They hurt. And make her knee hurt. And it's interesting to note the intermittent knee pain that appears whenever Eve is asked to do something that doesn't require ballet shoes or running around naked.

So I put the six pair of tap shoes back into their boxes and took Eve to the dance store and let her pick out her own tap shoes that were not hand-me-downs. I'm fairly sure we purchased a pair of shoes in the same brand and size that are sitting in a box in her closet.

Eve does tap, take two. Go!

The shoes stayed on her feet for maybe four minutes before she came out of the studio crying. I sent her back in for the new, more artistic form of dance called barefoot tapping. No chocolate for you if you don't get back in there.

Yes, a half bag of chocolate chips was on the line. (They cure cancer?)

Eve stayed in tap for a little bit longer than she did the week before, so I'm recording this as a semi-success. If we can get her to stay a minute longer each week than the week before, she may attend a whole class by October.

Still, with September being Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, it's a good time to remember that our problems could be much worse. I'll take forcing my daughter to tap and have fun, dammit, over chemo and tumors any day.

She's been a good sport with my hike training. As long as I pack half the pantry in our stroller, Eve will sit still for up to two hours a day while I push her to and fro. We've been around hilly lakes, even hillier when you are pushing a stroller. We've been around the art museum, hills a-plenty. We even braved the hills to the nearest Taco Bell (an eight-mile round trip).

And, as shocking as this will be to you, I didn't even like or finish my food. Eve and I split one of those $5 boxes. I had high hopes of the Bacon Ranch Chicken Flatbread Sandwich, because it had bacon and ranch. But it was a gooey, pasty mess. And the Burrito Supreme that came with it? Grossy McGrossgross. Maybe this particular Taco Bell caters to the senior-living neighborhood it's in front of, because you could have totally gummed this meal.

It feels so treasonous to talk this way about Taco Bell. We just had a really good meal there two days before, after Eve's appointment at Duke.

It was a very boring appointment or else I would have told you about it earlier. Eve has to go for her radiation-oncology follow up once a year to make sure her bowels aren't obstructed and her spine isn't growing all out of whack.

And that she's not glowing. That's the most important.

The most interesting part of the visit was how the nurse seemed none-too-concerned that the suction bucket on the wall obviously had someone else's green gastrointestinal fluid in it. I had visions of Eve and her NG tube and the pesto-like substance that was coming out of her nose and felt something try to come up my throat just a bit.

Even the waiting room was boring. "Who, may I ask, is the patient? What are you having done today?" inquired the volunteer, whose only job I've been able to figure out is to ask people personal questions while they wait for the doctor. She's like a walking HIPAA violation. "Which breast are you getting radiated?"

I'm glad we only have to go to the bowels that is Duke Rad-Onc once a year. Sub-basements are the depressingist.

Well, maybe the depressingist is the thought of Eve waking up, tangled in tubes, after losing one kidney and then some. That's what I kept thinking about as I hiked 16 miles at the Eno River this weekend. Was I tired? Absolutely. But those pale, bald kids kept popping into my head and I felt like an a-hole to even voice my complaints. As my friend stated while we lamented the state of our feet, "We must really hate cancer."

Yes, we do.

I kept thinking of the little boy who is recovering from surgery for osteosarcoma and how he'd probably love to be sweating with us. Except he's got physical therapy to strengthen the leg he almost lost. I think that boy in particular got me through the last mile, especially when we were climbing over trees and scaling rocks while trying not to fall in the river. It was kind of exciting, like being a stunt double in Indiana Jones. Except without all the snakes. Or guns. Or Nazis.

Actually, it was nothing like Indiana Jones. But what I wouldn't give to have Short Round following me while I hike, because I'm sure he'd be cool with hauling my Gatorade.

I'm very sure I remember someone asking, "Will we be having a proper break today, to sit down and eat a sandwich and change our socks?" And I remember the coach saying, "Absolutely."

And the last thing I remember after that is our proper break being me hiding behind a tree, trying not to pee on my shoes. I'm halfway to becoming a millionaire, if I can just figure out how to create the app "MapMyPortaPotty."

Me: What's the longest you've hiked in one day?

Coach: Umm, about 24 miles.

Me: Do you think it's crazy that a bunch of us beginners are going to try and hike 28.3 miles in one day?

Coach: Absolutely!

It's the way he said Absolutely that made me feel uncomfortable. But I'll always have those images of Eve and her bloody steri-strips. Her pesto-green NG tube. Her pale, bald head. I think they'll get me through. So far, I've trained at least 142 miles. What's another 28.3 when kids are dying, and dying to switch places with me in the woods?

[Insert shameless plug for donations to Ultimate Hike page here.]

My friend's phone died at 11 miles, but at that point, it said we had burned 5 avocados. I couldn't wait to see how many avocados we would burn in another five miles.

At mile 16.08, I selected end workout and awaited lotsa guacamole.

You have burned 2878 calories = 5 avocados!

Wha wha? Are you telling me that your little CardioTrainer app only goes up to FIVE AVOCADOS?!? Isn't this basic math? Can't you just add more avocados?

No thanks to CardioTrainer, I figured out that I burned 30.29 Michelob Amber Ultras or 7.38 Chicken Baja Chalupas or 27.4 bananas.

You just know I went home and binged on bananas.

Beads of Courage

2011-08-30T21:35:00.007-04:00

When Eve was on treatment, she was given a beautiful glass bead for every cancer-related procedure she had through Beads of Courage. We tried making necklaces with them, only to have them break apart and fly across the room after many games of tug-of-war gone awry. Of the ones I have been able to recover, and the ones that have not broken, we were still left with a long strand.

The best thing I can say about this is that Eve's strand is relatively short compared to other kids. While the length of her necklace is longer than she stands, many of Eve's cohorts have relapsed and their strands could probably go from front yard to back. And imagine how long the necklaces of the leukemics are, who are in treatment for years.

I want to thank Jo's PhotoMojo for not only capturing Eve and her Beads of Courage, but for getting some great pics of Eve and her pigtails. Jo took Eve's first cancer picture two years ago, right before the hair fell out, so I would forever have documentation of her first pigtails.

She also photoshopped out the steri-strips from Eve's port placement and all the bruises of the initial pokes. No need to retouch the latest batch though, because Eve is both bruise- and port-free. And we're happy that she's slowing down on the beads.

Guide to Eve's beads:

Chemotherapy white

Clinic visit blue

Hair Loss face

Inpatient admission yellow

Neutropenia lime

Port placement/revision/removal orange

Pokes (IV starts/blood draws/injections/port access) black

Radiation glow in the dark

Surgery star

Tests/scans (CT/X-Ray/ECHO/EKG/MRI) light green

Transfusions red

Tube placement (NG/Foley) aqua

Transfer to PICU square heart

Act of Courage glass selection

Completion of Treatment purple heart

If you are on Facebook, become a fan of Jo's PhotoMojo! Do it or else I send Downstairs Eve to your house, all NPO.

Carma

2011-08-29T14:04:00.009-04:00

I believe in signs. I do. Like when my mom and I went out to dinner and a thunderstorm knocked the power out, my mother calmly said, "Well, I guess this is God's way of saying I've maxed out my Weight Watchers Points today."

I just took it as a sign that we needed to go out for ice cream instead.

Matt took the van to the shop on Friday to have it serviced as he does religiously every three months or road trip time, whichever comes first. Friday happened to be road trip time. With Irene coming, it was a great day to leave the area for drier land, and it left out home open to Matt's mom, who fled the coast so she could come catch up on our laundry while we were gone.

2.5 hours into our seven-hour journey to Georgia, we pulled over for a potty break. [At what age do I stop calling it a potty break? When do I stop asking my friends if anyone needs to go pee-pee when we're out on the town?] We pulled over at a Chick-Fil-A because those people are very excited to be working there and generally take pride in their restrooms. We did not, however, order any food. And to add insult to injury, I cleaned all of the McDonald's trash out of the van and put it in their trashcan.

I am grasping at straws here, but maybe this earned us some bad juju in the vehicular karma department. I promise we did not defile the restrooms.

Back into the steamy, sunny day, we realized the air conditioner was not conditioning the air. On a 95-degree day, we were treated with nothing but hot air and several more hours of sweat. The windows went down, although the window on my side cannot go down more than six inches because of my little Safety Town fiasco. Which is still not repaired, but I did put some black duct tape on it. Kind of like desperately using cover-up on the world's biggest zit.

Daniel got upset because he threw his Happy Meal toy out the window at 70 mph. Actually, I don't think he was upset that he threw it out, but upset that we wouldn't turn the van around and retrieve it. Somehow this got blamed on me, like many things that go wrong in my children's lives.

I've never had the urge to stay with the kids inside a truck stop as long as I did that day. Sure, there's lots of unsavory characters and inappropriate souvenirs. But there's air conditioning, and that's worth all the mullets, Slim Jims, and over-the-counter male enhancement pills that money can buy.

It was a hot, sweaty nightmare. Not necessary a road trip from hell, because I'm pretty sure we were driving right through it. The sheer fact that we arrived at our destination without divorce or child abandonment was a miracle in itself. Surely, it would have been on the news if everyone wasn't covering Irene.

We stayed at my aunt and uncle's house with my parents. According to my mom, my dad rented a boat, but to be honest, it looked like a Grand Marquis to me. Matt was able to drop the van off at Firestone and we borrowed the rented vessel for the weekend.

We must have had an interesting aroma from all the glistening because my aunt kept asking if we wanted a cold shower before supper. I'm sure we smelled like a pack of wet dogs, which is what I'm told white people smell like when they sweat. And I believe it. And I'm sorry this is so.

The next morning, Matt and I loaded the kids into the car and we headed to Six Flags. This initial trip made me miss my van, and not just because I left my Kidz Bop cd in there. I like the spaciousness of a minivan. More specifically, I like how we can spread the kids out so they aren't touching each other and then yelling, Natalie touched me/Daniel breathed on me/Eve spit on me! But far more important than the kids being too close together is that the kids were too close to us. And the sound is really magnified when it's only coming from 12 inches away.

Try listening to Eve shout, "There's no DVD player in here!" less than an arm's length away as she chucks Cheerios at your head while you look at the clock and realize that it's way too early for a drink.

But we got there, just in time to get a pic with Speedy Gonzales before his handler whisked him away to do something else more important than take pictures. Something much more important, like double-checking his W-9 or playing Powerball.

Daniel was with us but chose not to be photographed at that moment. He would later melt down at the sight of his noneness in the picture and demand to go back in time so I could rectify the situation. Just another example of me getting blamed for something that is so obviously my fault.

We were given something called a Flash Pass that let us skip the lines. Apparently, we could also skip the height measurements, because I know Dan was too short to ride a roller coaster that Natalie would go on to describe as "the one that was so awesome it made me want to vomit." I'm pretty sure I saw them buckling in children who were Eve's size on there. Dan seemed to be the only one who didn't feel nauseated after the ride, and he was even in the right state of mind to reach over while we were coming down a hill and catch my sunglasses as they were about to fly away. It may have been the most impressive display of coordination I have ever seen him complete, had I not seen him spin in circles with his eyes closed down the stairs, one hand on his head, one hand knocking pictures off the wall.

In summation, we had lots of dry fun while Irene and her bossy self flooded the eastern seaboard.

We left that afternoon and checked into our hotel so we could get cleaned off and go to my cousin's anniversary party. Compared to my dad and his brother, I felt under-dressed. You'd never believe my uncle, the man on the left, was the first person to teach me how to load and shoot a potato gun, would you?

I've always been told I have my dad's tentacles, but I've never seen it.

There was much fun to be had dressing up for the photo booth and rapping Baby Got Back on the karaoke mic. It was very romantic. And even when Matt and I missed the vow renewal, we were able to convince the happy couple to renew their renewals one more time. I felt bad missing the initial performance but we were taking the kids to the babysitter, lest they see their grandfather dressed as a blind squid. Anyway, practice makes perfect!

On Sunday, we got up and started to get ready for a brunch my aunt was hosting. I used the waste-reducing soap provided by the Georgia Tech Hotel and Conference Center.

I'm not sure why this is less wasteful than just making a small bar of soap. Did another room get my soap hole? Like a donut hole, but made of soap?

To truly go green would have meant to skip a shower altogether, but I didn't want to smell of bad karaoke.

After eating an excellent brunch, it was time to hit the road in the boat and go get our van. Many dollars later, we were on the road in our cool, air conditioned, duct taped-van.

Until hour 4 of our trip.

Why are you pulling over, Matt? Is it already time for another potty break? The transmission feels funny. Is that our van making that smell?

Ooh that smell. It was a-comin' from under the hood. And I'm no mechanic, but that red transmission fluid probably belonged in our van.

Dear AAA STOP please to help STOP stuck at rest stop two hours from home STOP

Wha? Enterprise really won't pick you up? So, as our van is towed away, what do we do with the family and luggage?

We just have to figure out a way to get to the airport. There are always cars to be had at the airport. As we wait, with the car off and doors open, the kids get uneasy. Waiting in an airless, foodless, movieless vehicle is proving to be too much. "We must watch TV. It's the law!" Dan informs us. Great. We can't afford a ticket due to no television on top of all these car repairs.

We feel sorry for whoever pulls into that space next. There is so much red fluid pouring out that it now looks like we're two seconds away from a chalk-outline.

An hour later, we are rescued by a kind-hearted cab driver who lets us turn his sedan into a clown car and we drive to the nearest airport where we find a boat big enough to fit our car seats and boosters, and even the children, too.

You can just smell the money burning a hole in someone else's pocket at this point. I find myself chanting it's not cancer, it's not cancer, it's not cancer over and over again. Matt sees my mantra and raises me a It's not cancer but it's almost as expensive!

And then we go into that delirious laughter that only happens when you're exhausted and receive really bad news.

And the kids are too close to us and each other once again, but this car smells much fresher than the cab. And being fresh is kind of a big deal after the weekend we had.

We made it home, 10.5 hours after we started. And the best part was that Matt and I got to make a three-hour round trip today to retrieve our van and return the rental car.

And it didn't even break down on the way home. Not a once!

But there's always the Duke trip on Wednesday. So if you see a black, duct-taped minivan smoking or oozing or pulled over on the side of the Durham Freeway, run, do not walk, to the nearest Taco Bell and bring me back some nachos.

No. 250

2011-08-16T13:03:00.008-04:00

This is the 250th post on the blog. Taco Bell should be paying me for advertising at this point.

Is it narcissistic of me to think any of you want to see what value menu item I'm craving for the 250th time?

Last week, I finished baking 600 cupcakes that cure cancer. I am convinced that my skin absorbed massive amounts of icing and I now am sweating out buttery goodness each time I train. I must do my training early in the morning before the sun comes up lest I want to sizzle.

I am pleased to announce that I have surpassed my Ultimate Hike goal, thanks to all those donors who love babies and hate cancer. I want to run to Taco Bell to celebrate, but I only burned off one avocado this morning. I'd pretty much have to hike to the nearest Taco Bell to justify the celebratory nachos.

There is a Taco Bell on the way to carpool, though.

Daniel is loving kindergarten, although I'm pulling the proverbial teeth trying to wring out any info from him.

Me: Daniel, what did you do at school today?

Dan: I ate lunch.

Me: What else did you do?

Dan: I ate a snack.

Me: Did you do anything else?

Dan: I went potty.

I think I'm officially qualified to home school.

Among his new friends is a Bryson, and I say "a" Bryson because Daniel swears there are three of them in his class: Bryson K., Bryson L., and Bryson Lee.

He also swears Bryson L. and Bryson Lee are not the same person.

Daniel was unfortunately born without an inside voice. It may stem from the fact that ever since he was teeny-tiny, he has always had a deep voice. As in, ineligible for the boy choir-deep. So maybe he just had to speak louder for any of us to hear him.

Or maybe he's just a five-year-old boy with no volume control.

Daniel, does your teacher ever talk about using inside voices? Yes. She said I need to use mine. Daniel, do you know what that means? I don't know. I think it means I need to be quieter. Yes, that's right. But I have to talk loud because Natalie is always talking.

Justifiable outside voice indeed.

Natalie has always been the [loud] ringleader. "Everyone, get in the living room! We're going to watch The Ten Condiments. NOW!" Or, you may know it by its other theatrical name, The Moses Show. Daniel couldn't remember if we had found Eve in a basket floating in a river, but he was fairly sure that he had seen her part the swimming pool once when she cannon-balled into it.

(The Moses Show takes approximately four nights to watch with the six- and under crowd. I feel this must be some sort of record.)

On Saturday, in the middle of torrential downpours, I decided it would be a fun idea to pack up the kids and head to Wet 'n Wild ninety minutes away. We didn't even arrive until 3:00, but it worked out to be the perfect amount of time for the family as the park closed just four hours later. Meaning we only spent $9 (locker rental) the whole time we were there. Not enough time to beg for snacks and souvenirs, but just enough time to work up an appetite for Taco Bell on the way out of town.

When we got back, I found an awesome package at my door addressed to yours truly, Mom of the Year. What was in it, you ask? Was there a hydration belt? Why yes, there was. More importantly, was there ramen noodles covered in dark chocolate?

Of course there was. I just told you it was an awesome package, didn't I?

And yes, there was a button that proclaims legalize frostitution. I like to wear it as I glisten out buttercream.

Want to know what makes me glisten heavily? When I see Duke Univ OIT on the caller ID and I'm not expecting their call. Especially when we're a few days out from Eve's scans and I've already spoken to everyone that needs to be spoken to. As in, I've gotten the a-okay from the oncologist about the preliminary report and I've already informed the billing department they can put it on my tab.

It's pretty amazing how quickly worst-case scenarios can play out in your head with each ring of the telephone. And how slowly it takes for the dread to melt away when you realize it's only Duke calling to ask if Daniel can participate in a study on cognitive development.

You can hang up on them with a smile on your face without realizing how rude you've just been.

And when you do realize how rude you've just been, you get a message from a friend about a fantasy soon-to-be realized in the not-too-distant future on your next trip to your hometown and start smiling again:

What we should do is just go to my house and make Jumbo Cadillacs [unworldly margaritas], get chips and salsa from Mexico [Restaurant], tacos from Taco Bell and pizza from Ledo's and have a picnic!

Be still, my heart! How many miles do I need to go before Cardio Trainer gives me the green light to partake in said picnic?

Supposedly we're burning around 5500 calories the day of the big hike. I might have to pencil this picnic in the day after before my body knows what hit it.

I've always held close the belief that worrying burns the calories you meant to burn by exercising, but never got around to. Natalie burned enough for the both of us as she awaited the dentist yesterday.

Shark teeth. That's what she has and that's why she's pictured above in the chair trying not to gnaw on her fingernails. The discovery of two adult teeth popping through her "guts" behind two of her baby teeth, which are not at all interested in becoming loose, prompted her insistence that I schedule her an emergency appointment at the dentist. Even though Dr. Google left me little reason to be worried.

Do it. I dare you. Google "shark teeth."

We left with instructions to wiggle those baby teeth for the next three months and above all, not to worry. So I guess no extra calories earned from this point on by way of dread for Nat. She'll have to join me on the trail if she wants a reason to scarf down an extra taco.

Unless her reason is solely that she's six and still has a metabolism.

Banana Guac

2011-08-07T14:24:00.006-04:00

August 1st marked the first day of first grade for Natalie. She smiled for a pic before running away from me toward the school bus.

Not even a goodbye. What am I...chopped liver?

Actually, I like liver. What am I...sauteed leeks?

(Leeks + morning sickness = going on six years leek-free.)

Natalie seemed to enjoy first grade well enough. I asked about one child who was in her class last year. She's not in my class this year. She must be in Mrs. Taylor's class. Or she switched schools. Or she left for Mexico.

Daniel had an appointment with the eye doctor to see just how much longer he would need to wear his eye patch. We started out with 2 hours a day/7 days a week last August, cut it back to 2 hours a day/5 days a week in May, and now we can cut him back to 2.5 hours a day/once a week. Ahoy, only a pirate once a week. Aye, me parrot concurs.

But that was not the end of the appointment. Daniel had to get his eyes dilated.

Actually getting the drops in his eyes for dilation was interesting. And by interesting, I mean that people outside of his room might have thought he was undergoing an ice-pick lobotomy without sedation.

As soon as Daniel saw the eye drops, he freaked out. Like a cat in a bathtub.

I was asked to help, which I always sort of resent. I help these kids all day long. I thought the reason you made us sit in the waiting room forty minutes past our appointment time was because you weren't getting any help from parents and were running behind. I expect the same level of service.

By "helping," I had to sit in a chair and wrap my legs around Daniel while using my elbows to keep his shoulders down onto my lap while holding his arms by his side. It was an evil game of Twister. While he may be just shy of 5o pounds, Daniel has the ability to use every ounce of his being to propel himself, his mom, and the chair they were in across the room and back again, all with his eyes shut tight.

5 minutes and some mild-internal bleeding later, the drops were in and we were sent back into the waiting room to...wait.

Without glasses, you can see how easily the right eye crosses. But it's only this bad when he is all pupils.

With all pupils and no irises, Daniel was convinced his lollipop was shrinking. The accusations flew with the intensity of a hungry child scorned before it was explained to him that objects may be bigger than they appear when looking at them through giant pupils.

So he ate two, anyway.

I let Dan pick out a place to have lunch, wherever he wanted to go. Except the first two places he asked for. We ended up at McDonald's. While Daniel and Eve were in the play area, I figured out that this McDonald's could be the perfect date-night when we can't get a sitter. Our booth had a free MegaTouch machine, albeit covered in greasy fingerprints. We could let the kids play in the kiddie area while we play Photo Hunt and take advantage of the fountain drink machine. After all, the liquor store is around the corner, and a few airplane bottles fit inside my purse with no problem.

Not that I have gone drinking at fast food establishments before, but I like to keep my options open.

Thursday was Daniel's first day of school. He was totally jazzed to start. Kindergarten rocks! Kindergarten's AWESOME! The child who says, "I'm still really, really hungry" on repeat was too excited to sit down and eat. I had to force him to finish his breakfast before school started, because I know they won't allow him to walk around snacking on crackers all day long like he does at home.

(Hansel and Gretel would have a field day at our house.)

I showed Daniel his lunchbox and explained which part was for lunch and which part was his snack. And how he should not eat his snack for lunch. Daniel, always apprehensive about what I'm about to serve him, surveyed the food.

"I don't like...I don't like...wait, I like EVERYTHING!" Of course you do, Daniel. I gave you carbs and pig-products.

Daniel, like Natalie last year, has room to bring smaller kindergartners to school in his backpack.

While Nat and Dan were at school, Eve spent the better part of an hour trying on different clothes in search of the perfect hospital outfit for the next day.

She settled on something a little more practical.

Friday morning, 15-month off-treatment scans.

7:45 am: Arrive at Duke. Pay for parking. Watch man take money and forget about me.

7:48 am: Still waiting for parking man to open up gate. I hope it opens soon. I gotta pee really bad.

7:50 am: Gate opens. I have not peed on myself. Success.

7:55 am: Check in at radiology for 9:00 scan.

8:15 am: Hear someone calling my name. Look up and see another Wilms mom a few floors up at the nephrology clinic. Go upstairs and deliver cupcakes to said mom because cancer sucks and cupcakes don't.

8:20 am: Taken back to get weight and contrast ordered.

8:30 am: Contrast arrives in apple juice. I have never seen the cup filled to the top before.

8:31 am: Eve takes a sip and says it makes her mouth burn. I realize this will take a very long time.

8:38 am: We go upstairs to the hem-onc clinic to get an IV started and labs drawn. Eve continues to refuse the "apple juice."

8:40 am: I tell Eve I will help her drink the contrast by playing the I take a drink, you take a drink game.

8:41 am: I start the game and take a drink. I understand everything so clearly now. Clearly, contrast is made up of Aristocrat and gasoline, with hints of rotting apple.

8:42 am: I cannot play this game anymore. I would have to be NPO for a few more hours before the desperate thirst kicks in.

9:08 am: Eve laughs at the thought of filling up the pee cup, because that would mean she would have to drink something.

9:25 am: After 55 minutes, we quit the contrast after drinking only two tablespoons. Now we start the clock at T minus 60 minutes for sedation.

9:30 am: Pleasantly surprised that Peds Recovery has finally been able to replace all the VCRs with DVD players. Now I don't have to fast forward through "Coming Summer 1991" previews.

10:25 am: I announce to the nurse that it has been an hour and we are ready to get this show on the road.

10:26 am: The nurse replies that the sedation doctor has two other patients ahead of Eve, and both are having MRIs.

10:27 am: I remember MRIs take 45 minutes. Damn.

11:38 am: Eve is ready to be sedated for her 9:00 CT. The doctor wheels her back.

11:42 am: Eve is given ketamine in my arms and I lay her on the scanner.

11:43 am: I refuse the lead apron because I never stay in the room for the scan.

11:46 am: I hear Eve crying for mommy through the doors and assume the scan is over.

11:47 am: The nurse comes and gets me. They have not started the scan. Eve is kicking people in the face.

11:49 am: More ketamine is administered.

11:53 am: More ketamine is administered.

11:58 am: Versed is administered. While Eve's muscles are forced to relax, she is not willing to participate in the scan.

12:01 pm: I put on the lead apron and help hold her hands above her head while the scanner runs.

12:05 pm: Doctor remarks, "She was fighting that with every cell in her body." I remark, "You can't keep her sedated for a five-minute scan?" We make a new sedation plan for next time, although we both know Eve is the child who cannot be knocked out with conscious sedation.

12:14 pm: Back in recovery, I worry we will miss Dr. Wechsler in clinic. Eve has had enough ketamine to tranquilize a horse and we will be here a while as she comes out of it.

12:15 pm: Start Zofran to help with post-sedation nausea.

12:18 pm: Eve tells me I have five eyes, two noses, and two mouths.

12:20 pm: I text Dr. Wechsler and ask if he'll come downstairs to us. Last time I tried to rush Eve out of recovery, she lost her contrast all over me.

12:21 pm: Eve asks the nurse for a Sprite and a cheese stick. That will pass for lunch.

12:24 pm: Eve tells me I now only have three eyes. The ketamine must be starting to wear off.

12:30 pm: Dr. Wecshler and Dr. Heath come down and say they looked and didn't see anything on the scan, although the radiologist had not reviewed the pictures yet.

12:58 pm: I sign the necessary papers saying I know Eve will act like a drunk when we leave and know that we should call if she is still sauced 24-hours out.

1:11 pm: We visit our friend Marisa upstairs in clinic as she gets her own Zofran drip. We have a cupcake party.

1:58 pm: Get beads for Eve's Beads of Courage necklace. Promise myself to actually string them on the necklace, but have a feeling it will end up in the big glass jar at home with the others.

2:02 pm: Head over to the in-patient side to leave cupcakes for Violet, about to receive her last chemo.

2:10 pm: Nurse tells us they are getting a room together for baby Violet and we should wait inside.

2:15 pm: Doctor comes in trying to explain Violet's treatment plan to us. I have to explain I am not Violet's mom. She continues to ask me questions about Violet's health and I continue to explain I am just here to bring sugar, please to come back later.

2:30 pm: Violet arrives and Eve starts to babysit. Babysitting includes emptying out the diaper bag and bringing every article inside to the baby.

3:30 pm: We leave Duke and decide to postpone our trip to Taco Bell until dinner time.

3:31 pm: Eve is asleep.

4:28 pm: Dr. Heath calls and says the preliminary report shows no recurrence. I can smell the victory tacos.

It's okay that I ate a Mexican Pizza and a Chicken Baja Chalupa before helping Nat and Dan finish their fried chicken strips. I have been burning calories like crazy with training, and the only thing I had eaten all day was a cupcake.

It was good [calorie-laden] eats.

I downloaded an app that tells me how fast I'm walking, how far I've walked, and how many calories I've burned; next to the calories, it tells me the equivalent in food. When I walk 3 miles, I burn one avocado. When I go 4.5 miles, I burn three bananas.

I'd like to figure out if there's a way to change the calorie conversion into something I can relate to. Like, 3 miles is an Almond Joy. 4 miles is a Crispy Potato Soft Taco. 5 miles is five direct hits to the mouth with a can of Easy Cheese. I train 5 out of 7 days of the week. Dear CardioTrainer App, how many fistfuls of M&Ms is that?

I've only just figured out how to switch the app from kilometers to miles. I was waaay over-training before that.

With this heat wave that won't go away, I've found myself getting up earlier and earlier to start walking. 5:30 am seems to be a good time to avoid the heat, before the sun has a chance to make me glisten too hard. I am not a morning person. Never have been. But if you want to turn into one, sign up for the Ultimate Hike during a heat wave and watch yourself going to bed earlier.

We have five Saturday group hikes listed in our training calendar. One month ago, when I read that each hike started at 8:00 and it may take me an hour to get to some of the locations, I thought, These are too early!

This Saturday, after sleeping in until 6:20, I looked at the calendar and thought, Why the hell aren't we starting earlier?

And yes, I "slept in."

We hiked about seven miles through Harris Lake Park. We burned five bananas.

Afterward, I came home to wash the nature off of me and the Griffiths left to crash another family reunion. I did not eat any bananas there, but the cheese plate was awesome.

Moon over Kill Devil Hills

2011-07-31T21:04:00.008-04:00

Because July ain't over, we are still on vacation. We packed up the circus and headed to my mother-in-law's house for a week of commercial-filled programming and infinite requests to buy everything as seen on TV. You gotta admire their tenacity, though. No matter how many times they get shot down, there's still a glimmer of hope in their eyes when the next high-fructose corn syrup spot comes on. The only thing I relent to is the purchase of Kidz Bop 20, which I've been dying to get for a while.

When we arrived, Daniel was tired, but performed his favorite Vacation Bible School song for the family. It lasted approximately ten minutes because he couldn't remember how it ended. But he sure did remember the middle, for a long time.

On Saturday, we joined my sister-in-law's family reunion for dinner. I watched as Daniel tried to wipe the ketchup off his paper plate. You don't need to clean that off...you can just throw that away, bud. "But I want to keep it." We don't keep paper plates. We throw them away when we're done with them. "But I want to make a craft out of it!"

The hostess was Daniel's Wishmaker that night. She gave him TWO brand new paper plates for him to take home. "I can keep these?" Yes, they're all yours. "Really?" Yes, Daniel. You get to keep them. "Do you think Santa will bring me a bunch of paper plates if I write to him?"

Matt promised Daniel he didn't need to wait for Christmas to get some paper plates, although I think Santa should enjoy the opportunity to fulfill such wishes as long as he is asked. This year, Chinet. Next year, 3D TV.

Daniel would go on to sleep with the paper plates each night, in the likely event that one of us would try and steal them at midnight.

The next day, we joined the family reunion again for lunch, which was filled with the kinds of foods that earn double digits on the Weight Watcher Point system. In other words, my kind of grub. When I remarked on the tasty fried chicken, my mother-in-law said, "I don't know where it comes from."

To which Daniel chimed in: Fried chicken comes from pigs.

I understand his confusion. Lots of his favorite foods come from pigs. Bacon, pork chops, ham, sausage, hot dogs, and fried chicken.

Matt left for home Sunday evening so he could get back to the grind. That was one less person on Dan's short-list of paper plate thieves in the night.

Monday marked the first day of hike training. I almost didn't know what to do with myself without the relaxing white noise of three small kids arguing if they were going to watch Spongebob or more Spongebob.

I returned soaking wet, but not sweaty. Women in the south don't sweat, according to my mother-in-law. They glisten.

I was glistening heavily.

We went to the river later for the kids to pee. "In the river? I can pee IN the river?" Yes, Daniel. Go for it. "In the river, really? Then why can't I go in the pool?"

I didn't have a good answer except that everyone pees in the river.

We also went so they could swim. Let me make that clear. My mother-in-law has toilets in her house. We don't go to the river just to pee.

On Tuesday, we went to the library to cool off after some more glistening. I love looking at cake books but had a hard time finding anything in this particular library. I tried looking on a computer to search for some books, but not having a library card meant I wasn't allowed access. I had to resort to talking to an actual person instead, always my last resort.

Me: Do you have any cake decorating books?

Librarian: Oh, beaucoup!

Me: I am having a hard time finding them. The only thing I see upstairs is labeled "nonfiction."

Librarian: Well, cake decorating books are nonfiction.

Me: Could you tell me where they are?

Librarian: They are in 630-660.

Back upstairs to nonfiction, I found sections 630-660. I had no idea beaucoup was French for "two."

We stayed until there were no more puzzles for the kids to do and their noise level couldn't be lowered anymore.

I took Natalie to my sister-in-law's salon and got her hair trimmed. She got a bright pink feather extension put in her hair and as soon as we got back, Eve needed one. I wonder how long before my daughters start to molt. I'm pretty sure Eve will be the only preschooler punk enough to show up with a neon hair extension.

Back to the river before bed, and Eve was dressed in a swimsuit that I had been noticing was losing its elasticity. She wears all of Natalie's old clothes, so it's not too surprising when the stuff starts crapping out on us. Still I was surprised to see how much the bathing suit had lost the ability to cover up Eve's bottom.

An hour into our visit, the children found out they could help Eve put sand down her swimsuit. At first glance, I thought she had the world's biggest accident.

But upon closer inspection, it looks as though someone has made a bowling ball out of sand and shoved it down Eve's butt.

Either way, I've got a good blackmail picture.

The next day, I put Eve in a swimsuit that still had some sort of integrity and we headed for the beach. We got to Kill Devil Hills to the burning hot sand and the freezing cold water.

Well, when I say freezing, I mean 72 degrees.

Turns out, Eve's old swimsuit wasn't the only one losing its elasticity. I happened to moon Kill Devil Hills at least three times when some good waves came crashing down. I am eternally thankful that none of the sharks that have been cruising the Outer Banks saw my pale bottom and mistook it for some lunch.

If it weren't for sharks, hurricanes, sunburns, and ridiculously inappropriate swimsuits, I would pop a tent on the beach and stay there until my time was up. I love to watch my kids run free, like a dog with a dead battery on its electric fence collar.

I love to bury things in the sand. Jellyfish, seashells, kids.

And watching my nephews teach Nat and Dan how to body surf looked fun, but I didn't join in because I was tired of giving the beach bums a free show of my beach bum.

I guess it was all enough to wear a kid out.

I'm still feeling that way, Eve.

I did some more training with my mother-in-law's iPod during the week, with playlists that I have a hard time believing she put on there. I just don't see her downloading Soulja Boy and Kanye West, but the angry beats helped up the glisten. [Insert shameless plug to get people to donate to my Ultimate Hike page here.]

We got home this weekend to celebrate Matt's birthday.

There's a chocolate candle for each one of his years.

Daniel loves birthdays. "We should have done this years ago!" I don't know what "this" referred to in particular, but I'm all for a yearly cake-centered celebration. Daniel might be onto something.

Cancer-kicking cupcakes

2011-07-24T17:39:00.008-04:00

Ahoy there, sugar lovers, another bake sale is on the books to raise money for the Ultimate Hike.

Messy Chef cupcakes for a cure!

$15/half-dozen, $26/dozen

Strawberry-lemonade cupcakes with lemon buttercream

Piña colada cupcakes with pineapple rum buttercream

French vanilla cupcakes with blueberry buttercream

Chocolate cupcakes with raspberry buttercream

Please send your order to teameve@rocketmail.com. Pickup will be available on August 13th, 9 am - 12 pm in Apex, NC. Your order is confirmed when you get an email back with the pickup address!

For those in the Southern Maryland area, we will have someone running cupcakes up I-95. Not to be confused with the cars with the Florida license plates and the extra dark windows who are running other things up and down the coast.

(But these cupcakes are just as addictive.)

Pineapple and coconut and rum...and lots of butter.

Order extra, pop them in your freezer, enjoy summer at will.

Have circus, will travel

2011-07-24T12:19:00.009-04:00

After we were refueled with pizza and Slurpees, we took the kids to Gilbert Run Park on Friday. I used to go to this park as a kid and it was just as I had remembered, sans the elementary school pillow sack races.

Nat loves the feeling of blood rushing to her head. I say she's the first who's going to figure out how to walk on her hands.

Dan, not so much on the hanging upside down thing. He said when he wants to be a monkey, he'll start eating more bananas.

And of course, Eve shows up to everything in a dress. If she joined the army, I imagine she'd arrive at boot camp in an evening gown.

I explained to the kids that when we ate our lunch, we needed to make sure we did not feed the geese. Geese are mean, and I have plenty of memories of being bitten between the fingers trying to feed them as a child.

The people at the picnic table behind us didn't follow my directions. It was like a zombie movie where a hundred ducks and geese were coming out of the water right at them. There were so many, I couldn't even get a picture with a tenth of them.

The people were surrounded and trapped. Geese are mean; I'm not exaggerating. Those suckers will come right after you, especially the white ones who think they are better than everyone else.

"We have the best picnic table, Mommy. We get to see the geese and the ducks and we don't have to share any of our food because those people didn't know the rules and now they're stuck there forever." That's right, Daniel.

On Saturday, we met my friend Brooke at her dad's house to go swimming. We needed an excuse to deserve another Slurpee. My dad ('Papa') has a camera with a lens the size of that mutant zucchini. We call him the Papa-razzi.

Nat: Why are we at someone's house? I thought we were going to the pool.

Me: They have a pool in their backyard.

Nat: Why don't we have a pool in our backyard?

Me: They aren't allowed in our neighborhood.

Nat: You don't have to tell anyone about it.

Me: Natalie, a pool would take up our entire backyard!

Nat: But you said you don't like yard work.

Me: We have a pool in our neighborhood we use all the time.

Nat: Well, Brooke's dad got HER a pool.

After more Ledo pizza and more Slurpees, my dad got some good shots of the kids in front of the biggest field of sunflowers I've ever seen. I can't keep a flower alive more than two days, so I'm easily impressed. Heck, I've even killed mint before, and that's a weed.

Of course, my kids were most interested in the beach.

Oh wait, that's not the beach. That's dirt on the side of the road.

You know Eve must have plenty of neutrophils if I let her go to Chuck E. Cheese and play in dirt on the side of the road in the same week.

The last night of my trip, I finished up two dresses for the girls. My mom, bless her heart, did her best to teach me to sew. You see, I've never sewed before. I use hot glue and staples. And, yes, I have hot glued and stapled fabric before.

2 dresses and 10 loaves of zucchini bread later, I ended my stay at Amish summer camp.

Children of the Corn Syrup

2011-07-19T14:56:00.007-04:00

After all the excitement of Chocolate World (singing cows!), the Griffiths headed to Maryland to visit my parents. It's July. We ain't got nothing to do but be on vacation.

Well, except Matt. He had to go back to work.

(To pay for our vacation.)

On Saturday, my cousin and his new wife came to town and we had a family dinner. I enjoy shrimp dinners where I can eat with my hands. I believe it makes a fine first impression. My kids didn't even make the new wife reconsider her plans to have children, so points for me. Either they were well-behaved, or we had some good wine. Or maybe it was a little of both.

I accompanied my dad as he drove them back to their hotel in D.C. and we did a 1 a.m. tour of the monuments. Also seen were street fights, hookers, and unsavory characters trying to walk through the McDonald's drive thru. But really, the city at night is beautiful.

On Sunday, we said goodbye to Matt and he went on his merry way to the greater-Raleigh area. Did I mention he got the house to himself for a whole week? I have a don't ask, don't tell policy. I don't even want to know what happened when I was gone, as long as the shower is always this clean when I return.

Sunday night we dined on crabs. Thems my favorite. I would go into more detail but it's just too painful to talk about. I miss them so much.

On Monday, my parents took us to the Air and Space Museum. This was my absolute favorite museum growing up. I don't know if it was the old Willard Scott movie projected onto the wall with the giant carnations on his lapel or if was the moon rock you could touch at the entrance that I swear I saw Nate H. smear his booger on in the fourth grade, but I have lots of fond memories of the place.

It was neat to see things from my kids perspective.

"Mom, that is the BIGGEST trashcan I've ever seen!"

Just wait until it starts shooting fire out at your face and ascends into space.

There was so much I vividly remembered, and yet I had no idea there was an art gallery inside the museum. This one reminds me of MTV, back when it played music videos and wasn't filled with the creme de la douche of the Tri-State area.

I like this picture. It's like Grandpa Bueller with baby Ferris.

And I still can't believe someone painted that. I was fooled to the max.

Eve enjoyed flying a helicopter to nowhere.

Daniel said he wasn't going to smile if my dad was going to take his picture. I had to put on my stern face and tell him he better smile on his flight to nowhere.

I tried to poke him with my mean finger but the plexiglass was in my way.

"I'm having fun flying on this helicopter to nowhere, I promise, Mommy!"

Now there are two must-do's when you go to the Air and Space Museum. The first is to see:

Why is this a must-do? Well, we did it every year on school field trips so I think you should, too. It's older than I am, but it's probably my favorite IMAX movie, ever. Eve actually thought she was flying. Flying! FLYING!!!

Her excitement kind of crescendoed like that in the theater. I could tell because she said, "I'm flying. I'm flying! Momma, I'M FLYING!" And then she stood up and checked under the seats to figure out just how we were flying and tried to compute how large this dark hot air balloon must be in real life.

The second must-do at the museum is scoring some astronaut ice cream. It's not very pleasing to the mouth, but you just gotta do it. Now, if they could figure out freeze-dried beer, that would be something worth paying $5 a pack for.

While in the gift shop procuring said ice cream, I was on the search for a pen. A Wright Brothers pen that I would get every year on my field trips, to be exact. There is liquid in the top and as you move the pen up and down, the airplane would move forward and back. I found pens like it, but not with airplanes. They had spaceships.

Did you find everything you were looking for today?

"Do you have a pen like this, but with the Wright Brothers airplane?"

Umm...I don't believe I've ever seen that.

"But I used to get one here every year as a kid!"

We change out our inventory every once in a while.
"You should bring back that pen."

I settled for the spaceship pen. It's growing on me, I guess.

Wow, after re-reading all that, I kind of sound like a nerd. Pens! Fist pump!

That evening when we got back to my parents' house, I tried to make use of the twelve-pound zucchini a friend had brought over. I wanted to pull it out of the back of my shirt and say, "By the power of Grayskull!"

That gourd would go on to make 20 zucchini fritters and 10 loaves of zucchini bread, with some leftover.

Tuesday, it was just me and the kids, so after finding random tokens in the house, I decided to take them to Chuck E. Cheese. I feel obligated to do it when we are at my parents house, because I may or may not have led my children to believe the only Chuck E. Cheese is in Waldorf, Maryland.

Eve got wild with the Teletubbies. It's like a slow-moving rollercoaster that doesn't have any hills or do anything exciting.

Daniel likes to hit things with sticks, so this was a good match for him.

Natalie is better at every game than I am.

Except Skee-ball, which both she and Daniel failed at in epic proportions. I loathe young kids playing Skee-ball, but they put their token in before I could stop them. How do you play this game, Mommy? Well, you roll the ball up just like this. Like this? No, not at all like that.

It's amazing how good a pitch Dan has when he throws a weighted ball over hand so it ricochets off the fiberglass and narrowly avoids my head.

Ooh, mascot sighting, by the ticket counter!

Eve is still deciding how much crap she's going to get with all her tickets. Turns out, for 210 tickets, you can get one crappy foam rocket launcher, one crazy straw, one box of Nerds, and nine packs of Smarties.

Windfall!

Wednesday was declared "Watch cartoons on cable" day, but since I have to do something special with the kids everyday on vacation, I took them for their first Slurpees. Exciting, I know!

That wasn't sarcasm. I'm completely serious. I -heart- Slurpees.

Man, I miss 7-Eleven. When I type in our zip code in their store finder, the closest location is in Chesapeake, Virginia, 201.07 miles from my home. I could be convinced to make the trek under the right conditions.

And because we were already out at the 7-Eleven, we popped into the grocery store next door to pick up some milk. Even though I knew the sky was going to open up and unleash its dark, wet fury onto our heads. "It will be storming when we get back outside, kids, but it will be fun and we'll get soaked, like Hershey Park!"

The grocery store blew us all away. The shopping cart had a TELEVISION inside the kiddie compartment. Let me repeat that: the shopping cart had a TELEVISION inside the kiddie compartment. And I could push a button on my screen up top and pick different shows for my children to watch on the TELEVISION inside the kiddie compartment.

This ain't small potatoes.

The town of Waldorf that we moved to when I was four had only a K-Mart and a Peebles for shopping and a Bob's Big Boy for dining. Now they've got a Cracker Barrel and a grocery store with TELEVISIONS inside the shopping carts.

And yeah, after we geeked out over that, we bought the milk and got soaked in the middle of the thunderstorm.

It was okay, though. I've been having hot flashes since I had Natalie, so I kept the wet clothes on for a couple of hours to keep me cool. It helped turn them into warm flashes.

Thursday was awesome. Seriously, like the awesomest. Ever. We went on a pirate adventure.

I know, right?!?

We got up early and reached Annapolis by 9, which turned out to be the perfect time for cruising on the Chesapeake in the middle of July. Sunny, breezy, albeit too early for a cocktail, perfection.

You know, I never knew pirates were good at sharing, but they were really good about letting my children go through their clothes. They got tattoos and face paintings and official pirate names.

Pictured below are Enchanted Eve, Notorious Nat, and Daring Dan.

Enchanted Eve said she just wanted to go find some mermaids to talk to. I guess she needs a new confidant, preferably one with legs. Will get on that once we're back on land.

The nefarious Pirate Pete was just lounging in his boat until we approached with water cannons. That's right, water cannons. Just like they used on the Black Pearl.

Daniel swears that it was Natalie's cannon that knocked him into the Chesapeake.

Scallywag. Heh heh.
After consulting the map, the pirates found the floating X and pulled up the treasure chest. Lots of booty to share. Pirates are good at sharing and caring.

They even found some of Pirate Pete's grog in the bay. I let mine have some because I figured they might nap on the way back to Waldorf.

But it turns out the grog was of the virgin variety and full of enough sugar to make Daring Dan want to give someone a real reason to wear an eye patch.

Back in Waldorf, we went out to Ledo Pizza, my favorite pizza of all time. This picture is making me awfully hungry, but these are the things I do for you.

Stop rubbing it in my face, Eve.

I had more to write, but I'm going look up how many 7-Elevens I can hit on my way to the closest Ledo Pizza in Maryland.

Good Eats

2011-07-13T02:33:00.001-04:00

Because we can't get enough of amusement parks, we went to Hershey Park on Thursday. Or maybe because we have a touch of nutty in us. I'm pretty sure I was manufactured in a facility that also manufactures nut products.

After getting into the park, we purchased a dining plan that was touted as saving up to 27%. It included two meals, two snacks, and a large souvenir cup. The park was open until 10 p.m. so we would definitely have an opportunity to eat many times. That would certainly be redeemable for lots of hot dogs.

Eve agreed to go on rides, provided she got to witness them in action first. And also if they only went around in a circle. She's got some trust issues, but no vertigo.

Once getting on a ride, Eve had a great time. But she would totally be a grandparent's dream to take to a theme park, because she would be content to watch shows and ride the train around the place. She did a lot of sitting in the stroller drinking water and watching Natalie and Daniel go on rides. Don't you want to go on a ride, Eve? "No. I just like sitting here watching. Just me and my water."

We really gotta get that girl a good imaginary friend.

Although, I was content to sit and watch, just me and my water, when Nat and Dan got on the Dizzy Drums. We purposely avoided the tea cups at Disney, for the sole reason that I don't enjoy throwing up in my mouth a little bit.

There was a log flume ride that we decided to embark upon as a family. Getting up to the man operating the ride, we asked if we should ride in two separate boats or have all five of us ride together. Ride together was his answer, and in together we went.

Except that when we tried to go around the first curve, our boat got stuck. Maybe we had too many hot dogs this trip. We managed to push ourselves free before an attendant had to jump in the water. At the end, the operator said, "That happens every time I put five people in a boat together!"

We do lots of things for the kids we love. Like getting on rides that make us sick. Matt hates these flying bird rides almost as much as I hate leeks. (Bad experience with morning sickness circa 2004. Leek-associated memories etched into my mind ever since.)

I went onto an epic roller coaster with Natalie, who wants to ride every single roller coaster, ever. We both went on the front car of the Sidewinder, which made Natalie exclaim, "Awesome! This is so awesome! I want to do this again as soon as it stops!" the entire time we were riding it.

It was a bit much for me, but I rode it out of love. And the fact that I couldn't have a six-year-old out ride me at an amusement park.

It was after this ride that I needed to eat, stat. Anything to make the ground stop moving. We finally broke into our meal coupons at 2:00 for lunch. It was incredible the amount of food that the kids got with their meals. So much so, that Matt and I insisted on filling up on kid scraps to the point that we would not be hungry enough to use the rest of our meal coupons for the next six hours.

As we were eating lunch, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that the water park was closing due to inclement weather, and we had to temporarily scratch our plans to change into swimsuits. Instead, we headed over to the only rides in the park that had not closed- the spinny, kiddie rides.

Nat was upset that she was too tall to ride some of them. It didn't matter that she just went on the extreme puke coaster with Mommy earlier that no one else was tall enough to ride.

We decided to watch a live show called Rock the Jukebox in an indoor theater while the rain came down. It was packed in there, and I can only imagine how much those performers appreciate a hot, rainy day. I can't describe how loud this music was, but incredibly enough, Daniel fell asleep during a particularly loud rendition of Sweet Child O' Mine. Eve waited until the Michael Jackson impersonator came out at the end of the show before she passed out. I think the sequins did her in.

As soon as the show ended, we woke Daniel up and he snuck out to the doors while Natalie was talking with one of the dancers. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" What exactly are you thinking, Dan? "I think the rides are open again!"

Time to put on our swimsuits!

Ever tried waking up a child by putting them straight on the potty and telling them to pee?

That was my first time and it wasn't pleasant. You'll just have to trust me on this one. But I did eventually get her into a swimsuit so we could play in the cold 6:00 water.

Ahh, an ice cold bucket of water dumping over on your head as you go down a water slide into an ice cold pool of water. That will wake you up. It wasn't one of those splash parks that got warmer when you got used to it, but the kids had fun nonetheless. I could tell, because in between the chatter of their teeth, they would say, "I'm having fun!"

We finally got to use one of our snack coupons, even though we weren't the least bit hungry. But someone's gotta eat all that ice cream and popcorn in the park. I like to think of it as supporting the local economy.

We eventually got dried off and went on some more rides. It wasn't until 9:00, when we only had one more hour of rides, that we decided we had better use another meal coupon. But I was still all kinds of full from that ice cream. I think the meal plans only save 27% if you plan on doing nothing but eating the biggest meals in the park all day long, just so you have something to throw up after all those kiddie rides. And maybe since you can always get free cups of water, the souvenir cup wasn't worth it. I'm just guessing since every time I asked for water with my food, the person on the other side of the counter said, "You know your meal comes with a soft drink!" Yeah, but I just want water. And then they look dumbfounded.

Oh looky, the kids' meals come with salad. Look at all those salads Daniel plans on ignoring.

I'm seriously still kind of full from this day at the park.

We went to Eve's all-time favorite ride, the carousel. It doesn't matter if the carousel is located in a shopping mall or in Hershey Park. She's going to ride it.

Maybe in spite of us, because it makes us dizzy.

It was after the carousel that we saw the giant chocolate bar with arms.

Woaw. I'm gonna have crazy dreams tonight.

Matt and I really wanted to use our last snack coupons, but we were uncharacteristically full. It was like a test, and we failed. So, the kids got their first Dippin' Dots. At 9:45 p.m.

But I guess that's not as bad as the 10:45 p.m. giant chocolate bar.

And just when you thought we couldn't get enough of chocolate, we awoke the next morning to go to Chocolate World.
Free ride, free chocolate, singing cows. SINGING COWS!

Sayonara, Pennsylvania. It's been good eats.

Have a Dutch Wonderful Day

2011-07-11T22:04:00.008-04:00

On Wednesday, we packed up and headed into the lobby of the Steamboat Inn. Daniel was more than disappointed that there weren't any chocolate chip cookies in the lobby at 9:00 a.m., but after asking nicely, the clerk brought out a few fresh ones for him to share with his siblings. Because we're on vacation and if there are no Pop Tarts available, we'll settle for cookies for breakfast.

They must have been good cookies because by the time we had gotten down the road, I noticed Daniel's blankets were missing.

A quick note about Daniel's blankets: They used to be white. He has had one since he was a newborn. He acquired the second one, a replica of the first, because the first was falling apart. I fixed the older one (now gray) and he carries it around with his newer one (more than off-white, like the teeth of a coffee-drinking chain smoker). He knows my mom will not be making any more blankets for him if these get lost.

Dan loves his blankets. Dan is Linus.

Apparently he was so enamored with these cookies, he left his blankets in the lobby of the hotel. I'm about as ready to part with these blankets as Daniel is- that is to say, I NEED his blankets. These blankets, when placed in his arms at night, are like Benadryl and Dramamine combined.

I called the hotel and they found the blankets and would have them waiting for us after we finished breakfast. Which was a fabulous breakfast at the kids' first trip to Waffle House. I honestly don't know how Natalie has gotten to the age of six before we brought her to one.

(Maybe some of us forget they are open during the day and not just after a late night when you desperately need something scattered, smothered, and covered.)

We went back to the hotel and recovered the blankets, which were waiting in a bag behind the front desk with a note that referred to them as baby blankets. "Why did they call my blankets baby blankets? These blankets are for five-year-olds!"

After the successful completion of that mission, we arrived at Dutch Wonderland. The Dutch were famous for their castles.

Before our visit, Matt had picked up a Dutch Wonderland map at the hotel. Eve saw the picture of Huck Finn's Leapin' Frogs on the cover and had been excited to ride it. We decided it would be the first thing we did once we got to the park.

This is a low-thrill ride that goes around in a circle with little bumps as the frogs hop over puddles. Or something like that.

It's just a dizzy kiddie ride.

Eve was excited.
The ride is getting ready to start!

It's starting...
It started.

And this is the point where we jointly reclaim the title of Parents of the Year as we laugh and take pictures.

Don't worry. Eve found some rides afterward that didn't make her use that face again. We rode lots of rides well past lunchtime and had to force ourselves to make time to eat.

They had a food court! With Chinese food! And pizza! And hot dogs! And nachos!

Mmm...nachos.

Supreme nachos, please! Supreme nachos in Dutch Wonderland is a pile of chips covered in chili, accompanied by a container each of cheese, salsa, sour cream, and jalapenos, all together in a Ziploc sandwich bag. It was weirdly awesome, though, even if I did have to assemble my lunch of champions.

I see you lookin' at my nacho cheese.

After lunch, we decided to ride and ride and ride more rides. There were no lines to anything, so we watched as the kids indulged over and over and over again.

Eve was content not to ride anything. She was happy with just sitting in her stroller and watching all the action. After a while, Matt decided to take her to see a couple of princess shows while I took Nat and Dan around the park.

Daniel actually got his head stuck in this, but regretfully I did not get a picture.

First order of business was riding something called the Crazy Plane, which did little more than to make me turn green after all those nachos. No, kids, I don't care how much you liked it. We CANNOT ride that again. Let's find something else that doesn't make me want to be bulimic.

How about the roller coaster? I did fine with that before lunch!

Except before and after lunch are two different things, as I found out by riding in the front car. The people behind me don't know how close they came to a costume change.

The sky ride should be just right for someone who has eaten this many cheesy jalapenos.

Until it turns into the sky ride of death.

Me: This is nice!

Natalie: Yeah, but what if I jumped out?

Me: Then you would be leaping to your death.

Natalie: But what if the whole car fell down?

Me: Then we would all be dead.

Natalie: But what if I fell over top of that tree and tried to land on that pony?

Me: Then you would break every bone in your body before landing on top of the pony and killing it.

Daniel: Are we jumping out of this ride?

We made it across the park with no jumpers, Praise Jesus.

The three of us did spot a ride from the sky that we wanted to try. It looked like a hang glider and didn't appear to be going in circles too fast.

I saw other adults riding it and they seemed to have difficulty getting in and out of it. The attendant swore I wasn't too big to ride it. I think she has a marvelous sense of humor.

It's definitely made for the 5' and under club. There are few things as comfortable as metal foot rests hitting you in the shins. And it's definitely going a lot faster than you would think. You know the promise you made to yourself in college that you're NEVER going to drink that much again when the room spins as you lay down in bed? That's the promise I was making to myself as I stumbled out of the exit, trying not to fall into that big, purple dragon I'm either really seeing or imagining in my dizzy-brained haze.

Well, the good thing about actually stumbling into a big, purple dragon is that he'll be so surprised, he'll stop for a photo op.

We rode the sky ride back to the other side of the park and saw people base jumping. I heard a splash afterward, so I'm relieved to find out there was a pool underneath.

Like a bunch of crazy people, Nat, Dan, and I screamed as loud as we could below to get Matt's attention. But he must have been feeling like the crazy one when all he saw above his head was a tree that seemed to know his name.

We caught back up with the rest of the crew and went for a train ride. Trains, I can handle after nachos.

Eve was still terrified of any ride that did not go in a circle, so she stayed in random kiddie ride #8 for several rides while the rest of us took turns exploring the virtual reality rides Dutch Wonderland had to offer.

I took Nat and Dan into the Astroliner which had been there since 1978. The sign said it was one of the first virtual reality rides in the country. The Astroliner was a spaceship that fit twelve people with a television screen the size of a large microwave. On the television was a movie (the first part that made it "virtual reality") which utilized things such as toasted marshmallows and pipe cleaners to portray the surface of Mars. I couldn't hear the audio very well because Daniel kept yelling, This isn't a ride! Why is that TV so small? What's going on in here? Oh wait, we're moving! Which was the second part that made it virtual reality- it slowly rocked to the right and left, just like you're going through space.

I think they have a good sense of humor to keep that ride in there. I think Eve could have even handled it.

Speaking of Eve in space, look! I had my camera ready the next time someone's head got stuck.

We went souvenir shopping afterward to get Daniel to stop asking if we could leave, just so he could pick out his light-up sword. I spotted a keeper within seconds.

(This is actually funny in four different ways.)

We ran into the Princess and the Knight after shopping. Looks like the princess is the only one aware that I was the one with the camera.

We went to the aqua stadium, otherwise known as the place where people were not leaping to their deaths as I had momentarily thought. We sat in the splash zone, because, well, I'm not sure why. We were assured we would get soaked, which is why I had my camera away where it would stay safe and dry and have no pictures of frog princes scaling tall structures and diving off. We spent the first fifteen minutes completely dry. Just long enough for me to think that we weren't going to get wet like all these other poor saps on either side of us.

Actually, I didn't even have time to finish that thought before I was dripping and thankful that my t-shirt wasn't white.

We did what anyone else would do- get on some more rides to dry off. Matt took Nat and Dan to the bumper cars and I stayed with Eve as she found yet another spinny kiddie ride.

She literally rode it ten times in a row.

It looked like such a rush.

If ~~Momma~~ Eve ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Luckily for us, Eve was happy.

When 9:00 p.m. rolled around and the rides all shut down, we made our way to the exit where an impromptu dance party was underway with a Dutch Wonderful band. These kids can party.

This would be the closest I would come to dancing to anything in the Top 40.

The music ended about twenty minutes later, and we made our way outside to try and find the van. The parking lot was so crowded.

I guess that's what happens when you close down another theme park.

One very interesting item to consider is that Daniel did not complain of being hungry the entire day. Those who know Daniel know that this is one of his catchphrases that he uses every few minutes during waking hours. He didn't even seem to mind that we weren't going out for dinner until 10:00 p.m.

But who would be upset about hot dogs and ice cream at 10:00, anyway? Certainly not a Griffith on vacation.