The Adventures of Cancer Girl

Ol' Whitey

2012-02-09T12:34:00.003-06:00

I never get sick. Never getting sick is my Thing. Even when I was a little kid, my sister would be coming down with the bubonic plague or mumps or scarlet fever or whatever, and I'd be totally fine, because I never get sick. (By the way, my sister's Thing is to always get sick with very weird diseases.)

My white-cell count has been low for years, and I still never get sick. I was actually getting cocky about it. I'd see people posting on Facebook about how they had strep throat or the flu or had been throwing up all night long or whatever, and I'd think, "Ha HA! I'm perfectly fine, and I have, like, one white blood cell in my entire body! Ha HA! I rock!"

Like all evil, cocky people who mock others, I was bound to get my comeuppance. Last week, I got sick. Like, really, really, really sick. At first I was in denial (because I never get sick) and I went to my Body Pump class on Thursday morning anyway. It was rough, and not just because the bicep song has switched from Bon Jovi to "Eye of the Tiger", complete with instructor commentary:

SONG: Risin' up to the challenge of our rival!

INSTRUCTOR: Oh, yes. We will rise up to the challenge.

I staggered home and crawled under a blanket, still blaming my fatigue and achy-ness on the Eye of the Tiger, or possibly the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" chest press. By Friday night, though, I started running a fever for the first time since my myeloma diagnosis, and I started worrying if my lone white cell (let's call him Ol' Whitey) was going to be able to handle things on his own. I called the doctor on call, who got me some antibiotics right away.

Soon WCK was sick, too, and the two of us huddled under the electric blanket, eating popsicles and watching "The Wonder Pets" for 12 hours straight. If you've never seen "The Wonder Pets", it's a show about a guinea pig, a duck, and a turtle who sing and go around rescuing baby animals who are stuck in the mud. I think we both suffered permanent brain damage from "The Wonder Pets."

So it was a rough few days, but we're feeling much better now. I find myself getting cocky again. I only have, like, one white blood cell in my whole body, and Ol' Whitey totally kicked the butt of that virus! If you're a virus, you don't want to mess with Ol' Whitey. The last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, and he's watching you all with the eye .... of the tiger.

Good!

2012-01-31T13:48:00.001-06:00

It's just like when I'd get a smiley face on a paper in kindergarten.

Whoa!

2012-01-25T14:18:00.001-06:00

Great news today! My M-spike is down to 1.5. I don't think it's been that low since ... well ... EVER. Let's pretend Bon Jovi is under there:

World's Cutest Elderly Person

2012-01-24T13:04:00.004-06:00

Yesterday was the 100th day of school, so the first-graders celebrated with all kinds of 100-themed activities. They had to bring in 100 of some kind of snack (WCK took Goldfish crackers), and stick 100 items to a piece of posterboard. (WCK did stickers). It's hard to believe that I've taken WCK to first grade 100 times now, especially since she still seems genuinely shocked every morning when I say she needs to put on shoes.

Anyway, as part of the 100th-day celebration, the kids had to draw pictures of what they imagine they'll look like when they're 100 years old. WCK has wanted to be a paleontologist ever since we took her to Dinosaur Park in South Dakota when she was two, so here she is at age 100, still digging bones:

Wow, she looks good!

I guess from this we can assume one of three things:

1) there will be some amazing medical advances in the next 94 years

2) WCK plans to become a vampire

3) WCK is going to forget to save money for retirement.

I guess it could be both #2 and #3. Even vampires need to be practical.

The new gym

2012-01-09T12:49:00.003-06:00

For the last several years, I've been going to a gym for a strength-training class three times a week. I picked the gym because the class time worked great for my schedule, and it was really close to WCK's school. I was by far the youngest person in the class; most of the other people -- including the teacher -- were at least 30 years older than I am. I grew to love the class, and I didn't really realize how easy and gentle the class was, or how calming it was to work out to the greatest hits of the '60s, such as "Yummy Yummy Yummy I Got Love in My Tummy." Plus I liked hearing the other ladies complain about how their kids have been raising the grandkids all wrong.

About a week ago, without any warning, the gym closed down. We all got an e-mail that the gym was closed, and that was that. They must have had financial trouble, although I'm not sure why, since they obviously hadn't invested in any new music since 1968. I had to go sign up at the local Y, and I realized I'd been suddenly thrust out into the Real World of gyms. This is a world where classes are filled with people who are at least 10 to 15 years younger than I am, the instructors are tiny little people who yell at you, and the music goes "Thumpa thumpa thumpa." It turns out that when I'm in a class of 20-year-olds I'm not nearly as kick-butt strong as I appeared to be when I was in a class of 60- to 80-year-olds. My tummy isn't feeling the love anymore.

Today I went to something called "Body Pump", which hurts just as much as it sounds like it would hurt. We all get big barbells and the instructor plays different songs, and we spend one song working on one muscle group. Of course, all of the songs were new-fangled "Thumpa thumpa thumpa" songs that appeal to the kids these days. Just when I thought the Lady Gaga chest press would never end, it was time for bicep curls and a new song. The new song was -- YES!! -- Bon Jovi's Livin' On a Prayer! Finally, music for the elderly!

Just as I was getting into the music, the instructor, who looked like a very muscular version of Kelly Ripa, began adding completely deadpan, Saturday-Night-Live-skit commentary to the lyrics in an attempt to help us through the workout.

BON JOVI: It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not!!!

INSTRUCTOR: Oh, we will make it. And it does make a difference.

BON JOVI: Baby, it's oooookaaaaaaaaay!!

INSTRUCTOR: Yes. It is okay. You are going to be okay.

I can only hope that next week's class includes Dead or Alive.

BON JOVI: I'm a cowboy!

INSTRUCTOR: Yes. You are a cowboy. You are all cowboys!

I'd still be laughing about this if my entire body didn't hurt so much.

Bon Jovi review

2012-01-07T14:17:00.003-06:00

A friend of mine mentioned my blog address in her Christmas newsletter. This friend has a world-famous Christmas newsletter, no doubt read by thousands. (I am not being sarcastic, here. I really do imagine her mailing it to thousands of people.) It just came in the mail the other day, and I spent a few days walking around, feeling important, wondering if all of these thousands of readers of the Famous Christmas Newsletter were actually going to visit my blog.

Then panic set in when I realized that the first thing they'd see is an unexplained photo of Jon Bon Jovi and the President singing an acoustic duet of "Born to Be My Baby." At least, that's what I like to imagine they're doing in this photo:

BARACK: Light a candle, blow the world away!!!

JON: Table for two on a TV tray!!

BARACK: It ain't fancy, baby, that's OK!!

BARACK AND JON TOGETHER: Our time!!! Our way!!!

Anyway. I decided I should go back and explain the Bon Jovi thing in case anybody new ever visits my blog.

I have cancer. I love Jon Bon Jovi. My type of cancer is an odd type of cancer (just as my love for Jon Bon Jovi is an odd type of love). My doctors and I have decided to manage it like a chronic disease (the cancer, not the Bon Jovi love), so I take a pill every day and I go to the doctor every four weeks to make sure the pills are still working. You'd think that after years of getting test results every four weeks it would be no big deal, but I still get really nervous when I get The Monthly Phone Call from the nurse. We track something called the M-spike. Low M-spike = good. High M-spike = bad. I spend the next four weeks feeling happy if the M-spike has gone down, or feeling freaked out if the M-spike has gone up.

One month, the M-spike went up, and I was feeling really depressed. I decided to post a photo of a shirtless Jon Bon Jovi on my blog just to cheer myself up. I mean, who wouldn't be cheered up by this?

After that, I made the Bon Jovi photo a monthly tradition. If my M-spike went down, he'd get to put on more clothes. If it went up, and I was depressed, he'd have to take them back off. The Bon Jovi photos are a visual aid to how my disease is progressing. More clothes = less myeloma. Fewer clothes = more myeloma, but at least we all get to look at shirtless Bon Jovi.

And even when he puts the clothes on, it could still be fun. I mean, leather pants:

So now, as you can see, I am doing so well, myeloma-wise, that Jon Bon Jovi gets to put on a turtleneck and a jacket and sing* with the President:

*Again, that's what I like to imagine they're doing in this photo.

BARACK: If we stand side by side!!

JON AND BARACK TOGETHER: All night!!

JON: There's a chance we'll get by!!!

JON AND BARACK TOGETHER: And it's aaaaaaalll riiiiiight!!!

They totally need to record that. I'd download it.

Hail to the turtleneck!

2012-01-01T21:36:00.002-06:00

I'm behind on posting, but I got the call last week that my M-spike is down to 2.0. Yay! That's the lowest it's been since I started my Rev break in 2009. I searched for a photo of Bon Jovi in a turtleneck, and I found this one where he's bundled up in a turtleneck AND a jacket, AND he's hanging out with President Obama. I think this is a sign that it's going to be a good year.

Beware wiglee adic!

2011-12-15T10:59:00.003-06:00

These days, kindergartners and first graders are encouraged to use something called "best-guess spelling", where they write things completely on their own, spelling everything phonetically. I've discovered that, as a parent, translating best-guess spelling is an art form. It's like playing a complex word game while trying to read your child's mind at the same time. Because word games and child mind-reading are at the top of my short list of skills, I've gotten pretty good at reading WCK's best-guess spelling. For example, yesterday she came home with this story she'd written all by herself:

"I like Cirmus. Cirmus is the best tim fo the yer. It adout babbe Jesus's brthday and the sar shn doa war he lad."

Translation= "I like Christmas. Christmas is the best time of the year. It's about baby Jesus' birthday, and the star shined down where he laid."*

* I know it should be "lay", but check out how she knew to use an apostrophe with "Jesus." Not too shabby.

Anyway. A few days ago, some packages addressed to Jay arrived from Amazon. Jay and WCK immediately smuggled the packages upstairs to his office and shut the door. A short while later, WCK came out and told me I was not to go into the closet. Shortly after that, an illustrated best-guess-spelling sign went up on the closet door:

I thought I had gotten pretty good at best-guess spelling, but this one had me stumped for the longest time. Jay and I puzzled and puzzled over this sign. I got the "NO MOM!", but what is "wigleeadic?" Is that person me? If so, what is falling on my head and making me go, "AAAAAAA!"?

I was ready to give up, when all of a sudden it all made sense.

The opening to our attic is in the ceiling of this closet. WCK was warning me that we have a "wiglee adic" (wiggly attic), and if I go into the closet, it will fall on my head.

Well, thank goodness she warned me. I sure hope that attic door doesn't fall on the Christmas presents that are hidden in there, though.

She's a little runaway

2011-12-11T16:14:00.003-06:00

WCK, for reasons unknown, says she doesn't like going to movies. So when her cruel, heartless, evil, wicked parents announced that they wanted to take her to see The Muppets, she ran to her room and started packing a bag so she could run away from home.

Jay had a talk with her, and he finally convinced her to come out of her room and endure the horror of watching The Muppets while eating a bag of movie theater fruit snacks. She survived. She might have even enjoyed it a little bit.

When I inspected her "runaway bag", I found it contained pajamas, a pair of pink sparkly pants, a Princess Leia wig, and several pairs of sunglasses. I asked why she needed so many sunglasses.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I was thinking of heading somewhere warm."

Looking back, I probably should have questioned the Princess Leia wig instead of the sunglasses.

She doesn't know it yet, but this is the story that will haunt her for the rest of her life. We'll all be sitting around at her college graduation: "Remember when you tried to run away from home because you didn't want to see The Muppets? Ha ha ha ha!"

Woo hoo, part two

2011-12-01T21:24:00.001-06:00

I had great test results this month! White cells are holding steady, hemoglobin is in the normal range for the first time in I don't know how long, and M-spike is down a teeny bit to 2.1. It's a great way to start getting into the holiday mood.

Woo hoo!

2011-11-30T13:09:00.003-06:00

I did it!! I survived NaBloPoMo!! I will let you all know when all of the valuable prizes start rolling in. This is my year; I can just feel it.

We interrupt this blog for a sappy mom moment

2011-11-29T13:11:00.001-06:00

It's always a good day when you look in your child's backpack and find something like this ...

Evil gypsy curse

2011-11-28T11:52:00.003-06:00

Six years ago today, I was diagnosed with myeloma. Doctors -- including some of the country's best myeloma doctors -- have been unable to tell me why I ended up with this rare, almost-never-strikes-anyone-under-50 disease. Dr. H said it was "bad luck." Dr. GPO told me it was a "biological accident." Still, every day for the past six years, I've wondered to myself what I possibly ate/drank/breathed in/exposed myself to/did to anger God or the Universe or the evil gypsy woman who put a curse on my blood.

Then, just a couple of weeks ago, my aunt was diagnosed with myeloma.

Oh. OK. Thanks, Universe! Thanks. So it's nothing we ate/drank/breathed in/exposed ourselves to/did to anger God or the Universe or the evil gypsy woman who put a curse on our blood. Apparently, my family simply has poisonous genes. It's either that or an evil gypsy woman put a curse on our ancestors back in the 1800s, which is entirely possible.

We are thankful for ...

2011-11-27T18:07:00.003-06:00

A few years ago, I started a Thanksgiving tradition. On November 1, I draw an outline of a tree on a piece of poster board. I write, "We are thankful for ..." on the trunk of the tree. Then I cut out a whole bunch of leaf shapes from construction paper. Every night before WCK's bedtime, Jay, WCK, and I sit down and each write one thing we're thankful for on a leaf, and we stick it to the tree. We do this every night until Thanksgiving. Here's our list from this year, in no particular order.

We are thankful for ...

Water

Our church

Superman

Air conditioning

Jay

Grandkids (my mom wrote that one when she was here)

Clocks

Vitamins

Beer

Bob (the guy who fixed some wood rot on our house)

Living in Kansas City

Clothes

Garland

Silverware

Food

Sisters and brothers

Running

Pets

WCK

Star Wars

Clementines

Cousins

Nachos

Love

The Kansas City Chiefs

Grandmas and grandpas

Little House on the Prairie

Friends

Monkeys

Our cars

Chili

Grocery stores

Aunts and uncles

Electricity

Cake

WCK's teacher

Computers

Beautiful weather

The world

Medicine

Mommy

Grilling

Good food together

Neighbors

Beds

CDs

Baseball

Extended family

Books

Exercise class

Music

Being healthy

Jalepeno peppers

Animals

Snow

Football

Weekends

Parties

DVDs

Comedian

2011-11-26T21:19:00.002-06:00

Jay's sister and her husband have a dog named Bailey. When they were visiting us this weekend, someone asked who was taking care of Bailey. Without missing a beat, WCK exclaimed, "A Bailey-sitter!"

My kid's hilarious!

He's baaa-ack

2011-11-25T19:46:00.002-06:00

Ralph, our family's Elf on the Shelf, returned to our house sometime last night. I'm not sure how he got into the house. He's up on the mantel, keeping a solemn vigil over us, reporting any misbehavior to Santa. I guess I'd better stop stealing WCK's Halloween candy if I want to get something good this year. Jay is still convinced Ralph is going to murder us in our sleep.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T16:38:00.002-06:00

It's a beautiful day here in Kansas City! Jay and I ran the Turkey Trot 5k this morning in short sleeves. Last year, it was so cold that the cups of water for the runners turned into cups of ice. Afterwards, we had a chili feast (prepared by Jay), because we're having another Thanksgiving gathering on Saturday and we didn't want to cook two turkeys in a row. WCK, however, made these place cards for everyone:

The music breaks

2011-11-23T11:16:00.003-06:00

When I post a "music break" video instead of writing something, it might seem like a big cop-out. Wrong! I fully intended it to be a cop-out, but really, I probably spend more time looking for videos than I would spend writing. Of course, I have to view each video several times in a thoughtful, intelligent, scientific way to determine if it's the right video for my blog. For example, yesterday I was going to post a video of the Backstreet Boys singing "Get Down" at the Kansas City concert. After several thoughtful, intelligent, scientific viewings of "Get Down", however, I thoughtfully added up the number of times various Backstreet Boys grab themselves and scientifically determined that I probably shouldn't put that one a family-friendly blog.

If you don't care about family-friendliness, here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LKZhEcs9t0

I'd better go watch it again, just to make sure my scientific theory was correct.

Mid-mid month music break

2011-11-22T12:25:00.000-06:00

It's good to have goals

2011-11-21T17:03:00.004-06:00

After WCK goes to bed on Halloween night, the Great Pumpkin comes to our house, takes about half of her candy, and leaves a toy in its place. Where does the candy go? I'm not sure. According to ancient legend, it might get magically whisked away to Jay's office for his co-workers to eat. No one really knows for sure.

Anyway, even with half of the candy Great-Pumpkined away, there is still a ton of candy left in that Halloween bucket that we keep on top of the fridge. Today, WCK made an announcement:

"My goal is to finish all of that candy by the end of the year!" she said.

Little does she know I am secretly helping her reach her goal, day by day. I'm just trying to be supportive.

Charlie Brown Thanksgiving

2011-11-20T20:05:00.003-06:00

This afternoon we had about a dozen kids over for a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving party. If it's been a while since you've seen A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, it goes like this: Peppermint Patty calls Charlie Brown and rudely invites herself -- plus two other kids -- over to Charlie Brown's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Charlie Brown can't say no to Peppermint Patty, but he panics, because he doesn't know how to cook anything except popcorn and toast. Linus, Snoopy, and Charlie Brown go to work cooking up popcorn and toast for Thanksgiving dinner, only to have Peppermint Patty freak out and yell at them for not making a "real" Thanksgiving dinner. Charlie Brown is crushed; Peppermint Patty realizes she's been horrible and apologizes. Then they all go to Charlie Brown's grandma's house for a real dinner.

It kind of makes you wonder about the parents of everyone in the Peanuts gang, particularly Peppermint Patty. Maybe they're all drunk. I mean, you've heard them talk. Whaaaa whaaaaa whaaaaaaaaaa!

Anyway, at our party, all of the kids made turkey hats, and then we all sat down to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Afterward, we had Charlie Brown's feast of pretzels, jellybeans, popcorn, and toast. I figured the toast tower would be more for decoration than anything, but they all devoured the toast!

It was a lot of fun, and I love throwing these parties for the kids, but I think WCK has come to expect a lot from my party-planning abilities. "At the end of our next party," she said, "we'll make confetti fall from the ceiling!"

Hmm. I'll get right on that.

Dear diary, part II

2011-11-19T15:36:00.004-06:00

Yesterday before I picked WCK up from drama club, I got an e-mail from her homeroom teacher, asking all of the parents to give the kids extra practice on their spelling words. Apparently, everyone's test results this week were, well, less than ideal. WCK missed four words, which was very upsetting to her, since she's used to getting 100 percent and a sticker. She did not get a sticker this week.

As soon as we got home, WCK exclaimed, "I have to go straight to my diary and write all about this HORRIBLE DAY!!!!" She quickly disappeared upstairs.

Apparently, she is still learning all about drama in drama club. It was a very Jan Brady moment.

Again, I'm just dying to see what she wrote in there. Dying.

Dear diary

2011-11-18T14:07:00.004-06:00

The half cake was a big hit last night! I also bought WCK a little gift: A little diary with a lock on it. She had been asking for one, and she thinks it's the coolest thing ever. I told her that whatever she wrote/drew in the diary would be top secret just for her, unless she specifically brought it to Jay or me to look at. Last night and this morning, she spent time "writing in her diary", and, OK, I admit it, I am dying to know what she is writing/drawing about in there. It's not that I think she has any deep dark secrets, it's that I'm sure it's extremely cute.

Oh, I want to go look at it so much.

But I won't, because I know diaries with locks on them are sacred. At least, mine was until my sister figured out how to pry open the lock in third grade, but that's an entirely different story. Besides, WCK announced that she "hid" both of the teeny-tiny keys where I would never find them, and I'm wondering if she will ever find them again. The child often has trouble finding things that are in plain sight. We once had the following exchange:

WCK: Where is my granola bar??!?!?!?!

ME: It's in your hand.

WCK: Oh.

And this morning we had a huge drama because she could not find her purple barrette and was forced to wear a blue barrette, like an animal. But that's an entirely different story.

So there's a very good chance that neither one of us will see the inside of that diary, at least until my sister comes to town and can pry open the lock for us.

Hap bi!

2011-11-17T12:31:00.002-06:00

WCK learned about the concept of "half-birthdays" in preschool and kindergarten. To make sure that kids with summer birthdays aren't left out of the bring-a-treat-to-school-on-your-birthday tradition, the teachers let them bring in treats on their half-birthdays over the winter. WCK kept asking me why we never celebrate her half-birthday, because we never have. Really, it's not because I'm a mean mom. It's because I always forget until a few weeks afterward, when somebody at the park or McDonald's Playland or wherever asks me how old she is.

ME: She's five and a ha...

MY BRAIN: Oh, crap.

This year, though, I actually remembered about a week in advance, and I told WCK about it, so she could remind me multiple times a day, every day, for about a week. Today when she comes home from school, I plan to surprise her with a half cake and a half card. I hope she finds this funny:

Caution

2011-11-16T13:01:00.003-06:00

Whenever I bring WCK home from her monthly Girl Scout meeting, I also bring home one of her good friends who lives near us, and who has been WCK's friend since they were both babies. The first time I picked them up and asked them, "What did you do at the meeting today?" they both thought it was hilarious to come up with outlandish Girl Scout activities to tell me about. They rode on purple elephants and giraffes. They jumped in a bouncy castle. The Girl Scout leader brought in a giant merry-go-round!

Now, every time I drive them home, they see what they can come up with. I always pretend to believe them, which they find even more hilarious.

Yesterday, WCK's friend told me that the whole troop went on a field trip to Worlds of Fun and Oceans of Fun. "And we rode on the really, really big roller coaster!"

Then I heard WCK whispering in the back seat. "Hey, I don't want to go on the big roller coaster! I get carsick!"

Even in her wildest fantasies, WCK is still cautious.

Mid-month music break

2011-11-15T08:56:00.000-06:00

Super Pooper

2011-11-14T13:08:00.005-06:00

We've had a big spider living in the corner of our garage door for a good month or so. When the weather was warm, he/she would weave really cool webs, somehow allowing just enough room for our car to drive in and out of the garage without messing the web up. When we'd arrive home and raise the garage door, the spider would get really excited (and/or terrified) and wave his/her little arms at us. On days when the weather was colder, he/she would curl up in a little ball and wait it out. Sometimes, we'd get worried that the unmoving ball-of-spider had gone to that Giant Web in the Sky, but then the weather would warm up again, and he/she would come to life again and weave another web.

We got really attached to the spider. WCK named him/her Super Pooper.*

This morning as we left for school, we did our usual check on Super Pooper and found that he** was gone! I like to think that he wandered off to find a warmer place to sleep for the winter; WCK thinks he got squashed. I never found the body, though, so I like to think that Super Pooper is OK and that he'll be back again someday. Godspeed, Super Pooper. Godspeed.

*Why you should never ask a six-year-old, "What should we name the spider?"

**I'll just go ahead and call the spider "he", because isn't Super Pooper more of a boy's name?

Now you know what she looks like!

2011-11-13T07:32:00.002-06:00

Yesterday we got family photos taken for our church directory, and the photographer said WCK reminded her of Ramona Quimby. I have to agree:

Law of the Universe

2011-11-12T14:40:00.004-06:00

I've discovered a new Law of the Universe: Whenever WCK has a much coveted, highly delicious, one-of-a-kind food item that cannot be replaced, she will drop that item on the floor before she eats it.

And I will pick it up off the ground and just let her keep eating it, because it is one-of-a-kind.

Example One: The first- and second-grade drama club had a little "cast party" after their last play. The teacher made a point in telling us that there were only 10 cupcakes -- highly delicious chocolate cupcakes with blindingly colorful frosting -- which meant that there was exactly one cupcake per child. After you got your one cupcake, there are no more cupcakes.

And WCK promptly dropped hers on the carpet, frosting-side down.

And I promptly leapt to the rescue, invoked the two-second rule, and let her keep eating it, right in front of some School Parents I'd just met. Mother of the Year!

Example Two: We were at a kids' cooking class at a local grocery store this morning. WCK spent an hour toiling over a homemade Pop-Tart with chocolate filling. The Pop-Tarts came out of the oven. WCK carefully frosted it, and then the big moment arrived: It was time to eat the Pop-Tart.

And WCK promptly dropped it on the floor.

I scooped it up, this time in front of people who I've known for a long time, people who don't judge me for feeding my kid Floor Food. The class instructor did reassure me that the floor had just been mopped right before the class started. If the floor had been filthy, though, would that have stopped me? I don't know. I don't know. I'm not sure if I can challenge a Law of the Universe.

Happy dreams

2011-11-11T11:36:00.002-06:00

I've never heard of anyone laughing in their sleep, but WCK did it last night. She wasn't just giggling, either. I could hear her laughing hysterically all the way down the hall. I assumed that she'd gotten out of bed and was playing in her room, even though she'd supposedly gone to sleep hours earlier. I walked into her room, expecting to find her out of bed in a pile of toys. Instead, she was tucked in bed, eyes half shut .... laughing out loud.

"WCK?" I said. "What's going on? Why are you laughing?"

"Everything is so funny!" she said. And then she promptly went back to sleep.

This morning she had no memory of laughing in her sleep, but she thought it was pretty funny that she did it, and she started laughing again.

Low Leaf Worm

2011-11-10T11:38:00.003-06:00

I love Richard Scarry books. When I was in second grade, we had write a letter to our favorite author, and I wrote to Richard Scarry. After about a year, he actually wrote back to me and included a little drawing of Lowly Worm on the letter. I have no idea where that letter is now, but I wish I had it to show to WCK, because she loves Richard Scarry, too.

When I found a Richard Scarry Thanksgiving book used on Amazon.com for about five bucks, I had to get it for WCK:

Now, I read some customer reviews of this book on Amazon, so I knew what to expect, and WCK likes it. Still, I have to say it is the strangest Richard Scarry book I have ever seen.

When you hear "Richard Scarry Thanksgiving book", you think it's going to be filled with the crazy misadventures of animals wearing funny hats. You think Mr. Frumble is going to get a Thanksgiving turkey stuck on his head, take off in his Pickle Car, and crash into Bananas Gorilla! Sergeant Murphy to the rescue! Pure hilarity!

This book is not like that at all. Yes, it has the adorable kitties and piggies wearing hats, but the adorable kitties and piggies wish to convey a deadly serious view of life in the 1600s. Here are a bunch of Native Americans dying of plague:

And here they are being enslaved:

And finally, Pilgrims dying:

Would you ever expect to see a fresh grave in a Richard Scarry book? I don't think "grave digger" was one of the occupations explored in "What Do People Do All Day", but maybe I need to re-read that one.

Baby, baby, baby, OH! Baby, baby, baby, OH!

2011-11-09T10:23:00.003-06:00

One of WCK's spelling words this week is "just".

"Oh, I just haaaaaaate this word!" she exclaimed. When I asked her why, she said, "Because it reminds me of Justin Bieber, and I haaaaaaaate him!"

Oh, that makes me laugh. It turns out that most of the girls in WCK's class are in love with Justin Bieber, but WCK is standing her ground. I guess I can see his appeal, although, as far as I can tell, he has just one song, and that one song has just one word in it. (Unless you count "oh" as a word. Then it has two.) At the same time, I'm awfully proud of WCK for refusing to get swept up into the frenzy, especially when you consider her high-risk family history with things like this:

Eat my dust!

2011-11-08T16:29:00.002-06:00

The results from my race are in. My time was 1:07:37, and I placed fifth in my age group. That sounds really impressive, until you consider that there were only nine women in my age group. Still, that means that there are four women aged 35 to 39 who had to eat my dust! Ha ha ha, you four anonymous 35-to-39-year-old women! Perhaps next year I will make five people eat my dust.

Give us this day our daily paprika

2011-11-07T12:55:00.003-06:00

WCK goes to a Catholic school, and for the last few weeks the first-graders have been learning the Our Father prayer. They made a little book where they illustrated each phrase of the prayer. I'm sure you'll agree, no matter what your religious beliefs, that my child has turned the Our Father into the most darling prayer of all time. You will never hear the Our Father again without thinking of the drawings and going, "Awwww!" in your head. Here are just a few examples of the darling-ness.

See how darling?

Even more darling!

Oh, super-darling!

WCK explained to me that in the above "Thy will be done" picture, everyone had to draw themselves doing a good deed. Here, she is helping Jay shovel snow, which is certainly a good deed for Mommy, who is most likely inside the warm house, quietly checking Facebook. When I asked her why she always draws Jay with gray hair (because she's done it before), she said, "Because the white crayon won't show up!"

HAHAHA! OK, I shouldn't laugh. Jay is a year younger than I am.

Anyway, the page in the book that really made me laugh was "Give us this day our daily bread." They were supposed to find magazine photos of "daily bread", which I'm guessing meant daily necessities, such as food or clothing:

So, according to my child, daily necessities include paprika, a sparkly shirt covered in sequins, and canned ravioli. But it's not just any canned ravioli, it is "BIG" ravioli. Our God is a generous god.

That girl's a runnin' fool

2011-11-06T11:22:00.004-06:00

This morning I ran my first 10k. It went very well, in that I still felt fairly OK at the end and didn't feel like falling down and dying. "Not falling down and dying" was my main 10k goal. I didn't even feel like throwing up. "Not throwing up" was my second goal. Although I didn't have the fastest time in the world, I did not have to stop to walk, and I did not come in last. I swear there were still a few people behind me! Yes!

I think one of the best parts about running a race is the free t-shirt. It's a nice, obnoxious-yet-subtle way to tell everyone, "Yes, I ran a race." You get to wear it casually to the grocery store or wherever and hope you run into someone you know. "Oh, this old t-shirt? Yes, I ran a race." I don't understand the people who wear their free race t-shirt to the actual race. You're here! We already know you're running a race! You don't need to impress us! You're getting your obnoxious-yet-subtle piece of advertising all sweaty and gross! Because, really, the very best part of running a race is coming home, taking a shower, and then putting on your nice, clean, comfortable race t-shirt and wearing it for the rest of the day and feeling all cozy and satisfied that you ran the race. I'm wearing mine right now. Ahh. I think I need to go to the grocery store.

Meet the Princess

2011-11-05T20:08:00.004-05:00

Back when I was in college, I thought Disney Princesses were The Cause of All of Society's Ills, and I vowed that if I ever had a daughter, I would never let her within 100 yards of a Disney Princess. I was 10 years away from having a child, and I therefore knew everything there was to know about having a child.

Fast forward about 10 years to when I actually gave birth to a daughter, and I realized that there are more important things to worry about when raising a child, such as keeping said child alive on a day-to-day basis, blah blah blah blah. I decided that Disney Princesses have never turned anyone into a deranged psychopath, as far as I know, so I relaxed a bit. Now the princesses can pretty much do whatever they want with my child. I don't care. Mother of the Year!

Now, compared to some other little girls, WCK isn't usually a huge princess fan. She has a bunch of princess dresses and some dolls, she thinks princesses are OK, but she'd rather play with her toy dinosaurs. Sometimes she does put tiny princess dresses on the dinosaurs, though.

A few months ago, though, she got invited to a princess-themed birthday party. Rapunzel showed up and gave all of the little girls makeovers. I dropped her off at this party, so I didn't get to see everything that happened. According to the birthday girl's mom, WCK had the time of her life and would not stop talking to Rapunzel and -- according to several other eye-witness reports -- dancing for her. Fortunately, Rapunzel was a good sport and put up with my child pestering her. I wonder if Rapunzel is available for baby-sitting.

Anyway, when I heard about a "Meet the Princess" event at our church, I signed WCK up right away. The girls dressed up in their little princess dresses and got makeovers from Belle and Cinderella. Apparently, a makeover -- featuring large quantities of glitter-- is a requirement for any princess meeting. Do these princesses go around making over everyone they meet? "Really, officer, I wasn't speeding. Here, have some glitter hairspray."

After the makeover, the girls got tiaras, and they got to have a little tea party with pink cupcakes. It was very well-done. It was so well-done, in fact, that I didn't really realize that WCK thought she had met the real Belle and Cinderella until we got home. She showed a photo to Jay, and he said, "Oh, she looks really familiar. Does she go to our church?"

"Oh, maybe she does," I said, studying the photo.

WCK looked at us like we were both morons. "What are you talking about?" she said, "That's Belle. Maybe she looks familiar because you saw her when you went to Disney World!"

Oh, of course. I must have had glitter hairspray in my eye.

What are you, a comedian?

2011-11-04T19:38:00.003-05:00

Each week, WCK's teacher picks one kid to be the class comedian. Every day for a week, the comedian tells/reads a joke to the class at the end of the day. Last week was WCK's turn, so the teacher e-mailed me to let me know WCK would need to bring in five jokes. We spent some time searching the Internet, and these are the ones we chose:

What did the boy ghost say to the girl ghost?

You sure are BOO-tiful!

What is a scarecrow's favorite fruit?

STRAW-berries!

What does a bird say at Halloween?

Trick or TWEET!

Then, WCK made up two of her own original jokes:

How does a frog carry his library books?

In a TOAD bag!

When do reptiles fall from the sky?

During a bil-LIZARD!

When I asked WCK if the kids laughed at her jokes, she said, "No, but that's OK. Nobody EVER laughs at the jokes during comedian time."

Wow. Who knew first-graders were such a tough crowd? I mean, "Toad Bag" alone is comic gold. Maybe they just haven't had enough beer.

Stable!

2011-11-03T10:59:00.002-05:00

This month's results are in, and my M-spike is holding steady at 2.2. Woo hoo!

I posted a photo of a Bon Jovi tie last month, so I wondered what other Bon Jovi products were out there. After a little Googling, I came upon this t-shirt, which I think is just perfect for me:

Skull Guy

2011-11-02T13:35:00.003-05:00

So, we had a Halloween party at our house for about 20 kids and their parents. The story of the party would probably take up an entirely different post. I remember the party being pretty fun, but I'm wondering if my brain is treating this party like childbirth -- remembering only the good parts and blocking out the messy, painful parts -- so that I will continue to host kids' parties and not let my party-planning gene die out.

It's like my brain is going, "Well, yeah, kids were throwing brownies at each other and grinding the crumbs into our carpet, but it really wasn't that bad. You just breathe through the pain." I've already volunteered to host a Thanksgiving party.

Anyway. WCK was beyond excited about this party, and we spent a whole day decorating. Then Jay got in on the decorating and decided that he and WCK would make a Pumpkin Guy to sit out on the porch and greet our guests:

I love how he's just hanging out and having a nice cup of coffee before he goes to his job as a ... what? He's wearing a tie, so he obviously has some kind of supervisory role, but he also gets to wear jeans, hiking boots, and gloves. I'm guessing he's some kind of pumpkin-patch inspector.

So the party was a wild success. (Sugar cookies in the carpet? Oh, it's the kind of mess you forget!) WCK and Jay brought the Pumpkin Guy inside, and then they decided to change his head and give him a fake skull instead, which made him look quite a bit creepier. I'm not sure where Jay first purchased the fake skull, but it was in his dorm room when I met him. A few years ago, it became one of WCK's most cherished toys. Yeah. The child who thinks "The Tinkerbell Movie" is "scary" keeps a grinning skull in her room. I know that's confusing, but so is the fact that I married a guy who purchased a fake skull. Human beings don't always make sense.

Anyway. They put Skull Guy casually on the couch. Later that afternoon, I went into the living room to get a library book and nearly peed myself. After I complained to Jay about Skull Guy hanging out in the living room, he promptly removed him from the couch. Later, I innocently walked into our bedroom, and ...

Oh, my husband is hilarious!!

Right then, I started quietly hatching a plan. As soon as Jay fell asleep, I would put Skull Guy in his car, ready to greet him when he left for work on Monday morning. MWA HA HA HA!

Unfortunately, shortly after the bed trick, Jay dismantled Skull Guy and put him away.

"Dang it!" I said. "I was going to put him in your car!"

I could tell Jay instantly regretted dismantling Skull Guy.

"Aw, man," he said, genuinely disappointed. "That would have been so funny."

Yes, yes it would have. There's always next year.

NaBloPoMo!

2011-11-01T13:44:00.002-05:00

It's Nov. 1, and once again I've signed up for National Blog Posting Month (or "NaBloPoMo", for those among us who are too cool to say/write entire words). If I post something on my blog every day in November, I have a chance to win a prize. This is the third year that I've entered, and I've never won a prize. For the last two years, the prizes have been a little lame. One year one of the "good" prizes was a zombie doll made out of socks. Still, I really wanted that sock zombie, because it was a prize. I guess am not much different from my first-grader.

This year, however, NaBloPoMo has partnered with BlogHer (whatever that means), so the prizes are actually good prizes. Like, $50-Visa-gift-card good. Now I really have motivation to blog my buns off.

I have many things to say about our Halloween, but I will try to space them out in case I run out of topics by Nov. 3. For now, here is a photo of the pumpkin I carved, which is an evil, giant pumpkin eating a poor, terrified baby pumpkin. It made WCK a little nervous. I shall submit this photo to the Mother of the Year Committee, of course.

It's a tie!

2011-10-09T20:07:00.003-05:00

My M-spike is stable this month at 2.3. Last month it was 2.2, but it's been hovering anywhere between 2.2 and 2.5 for several months now. Anyway, last month I posted a photo of Bon Jovi in a tie, so I thought I'd post a photo of him in a completely different tie this month. When I Googled "Bon Jovi tie", however, I discovered that you can actually buy a tie with a picture of Jon Bon Jovi on it! What an age we live in! I think Jay really needs one of these to wear to church.

All for me grog

2011-10-05T13:06:00.003-05:00

Very long story short: When my sister and I were teenagers in Iowa, our family had a booth at the local Renaissance Festival. My sister would walk around and talk to people in a fake British accent while I mostly hid out in the back eating cinnamon-coated almonds and hoping nobody from high school walked by. Our booth was right next to the stage, so we watched the different performers all day, including a group of singing pirates called the Jolly Rogers. Now, at first we sort of rolled our eyes and tried to ignore the sea shanties coming from the stage nearly every hour. Singing pirates. How lame.

After hearing the same songs, like, eight times a day for several days, however, something happened to our brains. We grew to love the singing pirates. We knew all of the words. We became obsessed with the Jolly Rogers. We bought their tape (because hardly anyone owned CDs yet -- that's how long ago this was).

When I went on a spring break road trip in college, I made my friends listen to "Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum" in the car. They are still my friends. I don't know why.

Well, twenty-ish years later, the Jolly Rogers are still around and performing at the Kansas City Renaissance Festival:

I was pretty excited to take WCK to the festival and introduce her to the Jolly Rogers. I checked the schedule and made sure we got to their stage in plenty of time. We bought a little bag of cinnamon-coated almonds. It was the early '90s all over again.

Then, right before the show started, I noticed the Jolly Rogers had set up a large, hand-painted sign that said "PG-13" in big black letters. What? Why? Oh, yeah. It was all coming back to me, a little too late.

They launched into their hit song, "All For Me Grog." If Renaissance Festival pirates can have a hit song, a song that makes the crowd want to go, "Woooo!" and hold up their lighters, "All For Me Grog" would be theirs. Here are some of the lyrics, which I'd sort of forgotten:

Where is me bed?

Me noggin', noggin' bed?

All gone for beer and tobacco!

Well, I lent it to a whore, now the sheets they is all tore

And the springs are lookin' out for better weather! Hey!

Wait, wait, wait, Mother of the Year Committee! Don't start filling out my award just yet! Wait until you hear the next verse!

And where is me wench?

Me noggin', noggin' wench?

All gone for beer and tobacco!

Well her (clap) is worn out, and her (clap) is knocked about, and her (clap) is lookin' out for better weather! Hey!

Yes. NOW you may send me the Mother of the Year Award.

For another song, they turned the sign around so it said, "PG-31", because that song was even worse.

Fortunately, WCK did not understand any of the jokes. A few times, she whispered to me, "Mommy, I don't get that joke," and I'd pretend that I didn't get the joke either. (I did get it, though, and it was hilarious.) My conclusion is that the PG-13-rated Jolly Rogers are fairly safe until your kid actually reaches the age of 13 and finally understands what they're talking about.

At the end, WCK put a dollar donation in one of the pirate's hats, to insure that we'll be able to see the Jolly Rogers perform for many more years to come. Or at least until she's 13.

Girl Scouts vs. The Zoo

2011-10-03T20:12:00.005-05:00

Saturday was Girl Scout Day at the Kansas City Zoo. Now, when you hear the words "Girl Scout Day at the Zoo", you no doubt envision a fun, whimsical time, with adorable little girls laughing and frolicking among sweet, cuddly animals.

It was hell, I tell you. Absolute fricking hell.

The hellishness was not, in any way, the fault of the Girl Scouts. What we didn't know before we set out for what we believed would be a cuddly day of frolicking was that it was also

1) a day when all residents of Kansas City got into the zoo for free and

2) Meet Curious George Day.

Apparently, every single resident of Kansas City heard about Free Zoo Day and decided, collectively as a city, to descend upon the zoo. And we all know that fans of Curious George are drunken party animals. The zoo was an absolute madhouse. For those of you familiar with the Kansas City Zoo, I will tell you this: We were there for over three hours and didn't make it much farther than the carousel, which is right up front.

After about 15 minutes, right around the time we were fighting our way through the drunken mob to meet Curious George, I could tell that Jay was on the verge of throwing himself into the polar bear enclosure. I told him that it was too late for me, but he should save himself.

Jay fled the zoo and went directly to the nearest Buffalo Wild Wings. No doubt the staff realized he was a zoo refugee and granted him sanctuary, nursing him back to health via televised football games and beer.

I'm sure at some point, maybe in between bites of tasty wings or during commercial breaks, Jay felt kind of bad. At least, that's what I told myself while I was spending 45 minutes in an unmoving lunch line located right in the middle of the World's Largest and Scariest Bee Population. Did I mention that my child becomes completely Rain-Man-Won't-Get-on-the-Plane hysterical when she sees a single bee? Good times.

But in the end, WCK earned a patch for her time at the zoo, and Jay returned from chicken-wing paradise to pick us up. I got into the car and said, "Let us never speak of this again."

I'm wondering if the Girl Scouts are planning another day at the zoo next year. May God have mercy on their souls.

Hey, Baby!

2011-09-29T11:47:00.005-05:00

My favorite running trail ended up underneath the Missouri river for most of the summer, so I've had to search around the area for new trails. I just found a new one, and the two times I've been there, I've found myself passing these two little old men who are walking together. They're always talking to each other very loudly in Italian, complete with big, dramatic hand gestures.

It's only a one-mile trail, so I pass them a lot. Finally, one of them called out to me very loudly -- either because that's just the way he talks or because he could sense I had Bon Jovi blaring into my ears -- "Hey! How many mile you gonna do?" He held up his fingers. "Four? Five?"

I held up five fingers, even though I'd only gone four miles and was ready to give up. Italian Guy seemed impressed. Then I realized I was going to have to finish the five miles, because I didn't want to let the Italian Guys down.

I finished, and I think all three of us were pretty happy. I saw them again as I walked to my car, and the same guy said -- again, very loudly -- "You-a have a good day, Baby!"

Baby. I'm still laughing about that.

One tomato

2011-09-27T11:11:00.005-05:00

I'm really bad with plants. In college, I once killed a cactus because I didn't water it enough. I've always really wanted to be good with plants, but it's never worked out. I think most plants want to scream and run away when they see me coming. Of course, they can't go anywhere. They're plants. All they can do is silently pray for their souls and hope their loved ones are well looked after. And then I kill them.

But for some reason, last spring I became wildly optimistic about my ability to grow some tomato plants in containers on the back deck.

Photo illustration of my wild optimism about tomato-growing:

Well, it didn't take long for my wild optimism to turn to crap:

Here's why. Squirrels were eating my tomatoes. I try to frighten them away, but they don't even care. I was even able to get some photos of one of them caught in the act.

At this very moment, there is a squirrel out there on the deck again. Seriously. As I reflect on this, I think maybe the universe sent the squirrels to help put the plants out of their misery and to let me know that I should never, ever try to grow plants again. Fine, universe. Fine. Fine!

So far I've gathered exactly one teeny, teeny tiny red tomato. It had fallen from the plant; perhaps a squirrel knocked it down and then felt guilty after a summer of wild tomato-ravaging so he left it for me. The tomato was probably the size of a jelly bean. I brought it inside, cut it in half, and WCK and I both feasted upon the bountiful harvest. Mmmmm.

I hope my child treasures this memory of eating home-grown food, because it's probably the only one she's going to have.

Scratchy scratchy

2011-09-15T12:47:00.003-05:00

I was home alone yesterday when I heard a distinct "scratchy scratchy" sound. I thought maybe Garland had shut herself in a closet or bathroom, so I went to investigate. I realized the "scratchy scratchy" sound was not coming from a closet; it was coming from underneath Garland's scratching post. This means that whatever was going "scratchy scratchy" was a) small enough to fit under a scratching post, but b) large enough to make a loud "scratchy scratchy" sound that could be heard from across the room. I'd never stopped to think about this before, but small + mysterious + scratchy = bad.

Now, if my life were a movie, this is the part where the audience starts screaming at me not to move the scratching post, for the love of God! Of course, I ignored the audience and lifted the scratching post, only to find ....

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!

It was a scene out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom! We! Are! Going! To! Die!

OK, OK, fine, it was one beetle. He was about an inch long. Although I've never been too squeamish about bugs, it was still a little disturbing to find in my house. He looked kinda like this:

I tried to think of a way to gently usher him outside, but then I realized that WCK would probably want to see him before he was released into the wilderness. I went to her room and got her bug-collecting kit, which consists of an enormous pair of plastic tweezers and a see-through plastic "bug house". I gently lifted the beetle inside the bug house, and then The Bug and I had to sit there together for the rest of the afternoon.

After a while, I wondered if The Bug was uncomfortable or hungry, so I Googled him. Based on the photos I found, he was a "ground beetle", and ground beetles are predators. Of course. What else would you eat in the Temple of Doom? Fresh plants? No. You're going to eat monkey brains. So The Bug just had to starve until WCK got home from school.

WCK was pretty impressed. She named him Fred. As we prepared to release Fred into the wild, we noticed that he appeared to have, well, passed away. WCK announced that we were going to have an elaborate burial for Fred, and just as I was thinking, "We still need to do homework and cook dinner, and I do not want to hold a frigging funeral for an insect," Fred weakly waved one of his many arms.

Thank God. Because I was concerned for him.

I suggested that Fred was merely weak from hunger, and that he'd feel better when he could be out in the grass. We released him into the yard, where I hope he was able to meet some other nice beetles who gave him directions back to the Temple of Doom.

Cotton candy

2011-09-14T13:16:00.003-05:00

Last Saturday, I took WCK downtown to see the circus. This was the first time she'd been. When I announced last month that I'd bought tickets to the circus, WCK's eyes lit up -- not at the thought of seeing elephants or clowns or trapeze artists -- but because the circus is where you get cotton candy. WCK had never had cotton candy before, but she'd heard The Legend of the Cotton Candy from other children.

She talked about the cotton candy all month long. As we approached the Sprint Center, she could see a cotton candy display through the window from about a block away and nearly passed out. She willingly bypassed a circus-themed bouncy castle in front of the Sprint Center so that we could get inside to the cotton candy as quickly as possible. I knew now that if I did not purchase the cotton candy, my child would either collapse and die from disappointment or -- on the ever-so-slight chance she survived -- have to enter therapy.

And the therapist would blame me for everything.

We finally made it to the cotton candy display, only to discover that a bag of cotton candy cost $12. I typed that right. Twelve. But I forked over the money without batting an eye, because of the month of longing and the dying and the therapist and everything. On the plus side, each bag of cotton candy came with a funny-looking hat, sort of a Cat-in-the-Hat-type hat that says "GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH" on the top of it. So I justified the $12 cotton candy by telling myself that our family would treasure this hat -- surely hand-crafted by skilled circus artisans -- for generations. WCK's going to wear it in her wedding.

And with the hat damaging my brain, I allowed us to step over to the souvenir stand, and I told WCK she could pick out one of those whirly, light-up things. I always wanted one of these whirly-light-up things when I went to the circus as a child, but my parents always said no, because they were sensible people who were saving money for food, shelter, and my college education. But doesn't this look way more fun than college? And way more practical than an English degree?

But I'm not going to publish the price of the whirly, light-up thing, because this time my husband would collapse and die and/or have to go to therapy. And the therapist would blame me for everything.

All right, all right, ALL RIGHT!

2011-09-09T14:02:00.003-05:00

All of my many readers (OK, like, two people) started giving me a bad time about slacking off on the blog. As always, I don't have a good excuse, other than the fact that I'm a big slacker. We've been having a good August/early September around here. WCK was a flower girl in a wedding and she started first grade. I'm not sure how that happened; about two seconds ago she weighed seven pounds and was confused by her own hands.

Anyway, I'm such a big slacker that I didn't even post my test results last month. I'm glad to say that my white cells returned to normal (well, "normal" for me, low for a "normal" person), so I was allowed to go back on the regular Revlimid schedule without any more extra weeks off. My M-spike remained stable. This month, the white cells are still good and Spike is down to 2.2! Woo! It's time for a respectable jacket and tie:

My kid jumped!

2011-08-03T09:13:00.004-05:00

Last Friday was a big day for WCK. It was her last day of swimming lessons. She passed the Penguin level (which means she's a Walrus now), and she went off the diving board.

The diving board is a huge deal. I never expected her to go off the diving board, simply because my own childhood diving-board wussiness is legendary. When I was WCK's age, I refused to approach the diving board, make direct eye contact with the diving board, or even admit that diving boards existed anywhere in the universe. When I finally did end up on the top of it (not by choice), I refused to jump. I had to be pried loose by two swimming teachers, who lowered me down into the water.

WCK, however, is turning out to be much braver than I was. When swimming lessons started, she ended up in the Penguin/Walrus group with three enormous boys. Granted, these boys were probably, like, seven or eight years old, but they seemed enormous to me. Despite the fact that WCK was about half the size of the Enormous Boys, she quickly befriended them. When the swimming teacher was working with someone else, I'd see tiny WCK chatting away with one or two Enormous Boys, having the time of her life.

When it came time to go off the diving board, WCK slowly walked to the edge. She bent her knees. She straightened up. She bent her knees. Straightened. Bent. She thought about it a little more. Took off her goggles. Bent. Straightened. I figured this would be the moment where she'd turn and run out of the pool area, just like the Cowardly Lion running away from the Great and Powerful Oz.

Then the group of Enormous Boys started cheering for her. And WCK jumped.

My kid! My kid jumped!

She swam back over to the side, and one of the Enormous Boys walked over and gave her a high five. It was so sweet. His mother raised him right.

The next girl in line approached the diving board. And then she turned and did the Cowardly Lion Run out of the pool area.

But not my kid. My kid jumped!

Stacy needs your stem cells

2011-07-30T21:48:00.003-05:00

I copied and pasted this information about Stacy from the Minnesota Myeloma blog. Please feel free to copy this to your own blog, Facebook page, etc. Stacy is in her 30s with two little girls, close to WCK's age.

Stacy Needs Your Stem Cells

Stacy is a young Minnesota mother with myeloma. She has tried just about every treatment, including an autologous transplant, but her aggressive myeloma will not relent. She has a Caring Bridge site.

Stacy's doctors want to do an allogeneic transplant, hoping that stem cells from another person, a donor, will give her a brand new immune system which will view her myeloma cells as invaders and will destroy them. This is called the "graft versus myeloma effect" and can sometimes provide a long-term remission.

So far, though, the doctors have found no matching donor.

The web site www.marrow.org gives guidance for registering, and information about the actual process of donating stem cells.

From the web site, some of the donor requirements:

Age 18 to 60.
Good health, including NO CANCER.

We who have myeloma are not eligible, but many of our caregivers, relatives, and friends may be.

According to the web site, the registration procedure involves a swab of cheek cells, to be done at home. Once registered, a person could be "matched" to anyone with a need. If an opportunity to donate is presented, a person can accept or decline it.

Cole!

2011-07-25T21:10:00.003-05:00

Jay bought himself a Wii for his birthday in May. I had previously been very anti-video games, but I'm finding myself enjoying the Wii. With the days being so hot, Jay and WCK and I have been spending most of our after-dinner-but-before-bedtime time down in the basement playing Wii Sports Resort. We love table tennis. Actually, we love to hate table tennis, because we always have to play a little pretend Wii person named "Cole", and we can never manage to beat him.

Oooooh, Cole. We hate Cole. He is so cocky and smug and wears annoying sunglasses. When we see Cole come on the screen, we say, "Cole!" in the exact tone that Jerry Seinfeld would say, "Newman!" Then Cole kicks one of our butts. Our extreme hatred of Cole binds us together as a family.

WCK is especially good at trash-talking to Cole. "I DO NOT LIKE YOUR WICKED GRIN!" she will say.

Tonight she had a really good one: "LISTEN, COLE! I AM GOING TO TAKE YOU TO A RESTAURANT ... AND THEN I AM GOING TO ORDER YOU A FOOD YOU DO NOT LIKE!"

That's right. You don't mess with WCK.

Sneaking around

2011-07-22T21:53:00.003-05:00

Jay's mom is staying with us this week, which means lots of fun activities for WCK, homemade baked goods, and -- woo hoo! -- free babysitting! Jay and I were going to go out to dinner and a movie, but we couldn't decide on a movie. I wanted to see Harry Potter, but Jay pointed out that we hadn't seen Deathly Hallows Part One, and he didn't want to watch them out of order.

Why haven't we seen Deathly Hallows Part One? Because we never get to see anything. We never even get to watch movies at home, because by the time we're done putting WCK to bed, and by the time she's done getting out of the bed and interrupting our movie 100 times, I promptly lie down on the couch and fall asleep. Seriously. I haven't been able to stay awake through an entire non-kids' movie in years.

Until tonight. The Night of the Brilliant Plan.

We went out to dinner early. Then we went to Blockbuster. Then, around 7 p.m., while Grandma had WCK distracted, we quietly returned home, sneaked around the back of the house to the basement door, and watched all of The Social Network in our own basement without WCK knowing that we were even home.

So that's what it's like to watch an entire movie at once. It's all coming back to me.

Duck skipper

2011-07-19T19:21:00.003-05:00

Swimming lessons have started again. As I reported last summer, kids at WCK's swimming lessons are put into groups based on their swimming ability, and each group is named after an aquatic animal. The first level is Turtle, then Duck, then Penguin, then Walrus, and so on, all the way up to Whale. WCK passed the Turtle level last year, so I expected she'd be a Duck this year. WCK was tested on the first day, and she was thrilled when she was allowed to skip past Duck right to Penguin and join a Penguin/Walrus class.

I'm impressed, because I have no swimming ability. I don't think I could hack it in a Penguin/Walrus class. Just think; this time next year, I could be the proud mother of a Walrus.

And with WCK swimming lessons come the infamous Swimming Lesson Coloring Sheets:

I wonder what is going on with the frog in the upper left-hand corner. Apparently, this lake had no mandatory drug testing during the lifeguard hiring process:

Post-concert letdown

2011-07-17T11:28:00.003-05:00

So the concert was last night. The wonderful, sparkly, amazing, firework-booming, flames-shooting, confetti-dropping, screaming-every-two-seconds concert. Where bottles of water cost $5, Backstreet Boys would magically pop out of nowhere, Donnie walked into the audience to drink someone's beer, the guys changed outfits for every song, and nothing was ever as it seemed. When the lights came up, my throat was raw and I couldn't hear a thing. Thanks to my summer research project, I could sing along with nearly all of the Backstreet Boys songs. And now it's all over, and nothing exciting will ever, ever, ever happen to me ever again in my entire life. I mean, what do I possibly have to look forward to now? Friends? Family? The love of my husband? The laughter of my child? I mean, how does that compare to NKOTB rising up out of a fog-machined stage singing Hangin' Tough while wearing bedazzled Boston Celtics jerseys? It can't, my friends. It can't.

I mean, they were sparkly jerseys with their last names on the back of them.

Now all I can do is lie around listlessly in my NKOTBSB concert t-shirt and absentmindedly doodle "Mrs. Donnie Walhberg" on scraps of paper while I wait for them to release an overpriced concert DVD. Which I will pre-order and watch on the very day it is released.

Here's a very blurry, far-away photo of Donnie singing the best rendition of Cover Girl I've ever seen. You're welcome.

Bonus Backstreet Boy

2011-07-11T08:45:00.001-05:00

This is Kevin, but he dropped out of the group in 2006 and is therefore dead to us:

Backstreet Boy of the Week

2011-07-11T08:01:00.004-05:00

Finally, here is the youngest Backstreet Boy, Nick:

Here are the many interesting things I have learned:

1. His middle name is Gene.

2. He's been arrested a couple of times.

3. He's locked in a bitter rivalry with Justin Timberlake, which started when Nick beat out JT for the title of Cosmogirl Magazine's "Sexiest Man in the World" in 2002.

Oh, Cosmogirl Magazine! How many lives do you need to destroy during your unending reign of terror?

In the potty

2011-07-08T22:39:00.003-05:00

M-spike is stable at 2.4. Last month it was 2.3, the month before it was 2.4, and now it's 2.4 again. That's very stable. My white cells, however, decided to take a nosedive. When Jay asked how my appointment went, I said, "Well, my white cells are in the toilet."

WCK didn't know what to make of this statement. "YOUR WHITE CELLS ARE IN THE POTTY????" she said.

Yes. My white cells are in the potty. I'm taking two weeks off the Revlimid this month to help them recover and drag themselves out of the potty. It makes me a little nervous, because the last time I had to take two weeks off, it was the start of the Great M-Spike Uprising of 2010. We all remember how fun that was.

I'm sure it'll be fine, though. Just nobody sneeze on me or anything.

I decided to post a picture of Bon Jovi in a bright white t-shirt to encourage those white cells.

My sorrows are undone

2011-06-29T19:04:00.003-05:00

I've gotten a little behind in posting the Backstreet Boy of the Week. I know everyone must be getting pretty impatient for the next installment. In my defense, we were on vacation in South Dakota for about 10 days and didn't have WiFi much of the time. Don't worry; I'm still hard at work on my research project. Just last night I downloaded about $7 worth of Backstreet Boys songs from iTunes and listened to them all afternoon, even while WCK voiced her irritation: "WHEN ARE WE GOING TO STOP LISTENING TO THE BACKSTREET BOYS, MOMMY? THEY ARE BOTHERING ME!"

I did not give in. Nothing will keep me from my valuable research. Nothing!

It turns out that I actually like most of their songs. The tunes are so catchy that it's easy to overlook awkward lyrics such as, "I'll be the one, I'll be the one, who will make all your sorrows undone!"

Anyway, here is the BSBOTW: Brian!

He is another elderly one, six weeks older than I am. He's a born-again Christian and was born with a heart defect which required surgery in 1998. After that, he started a foundation for kids with heart problems. Aw. That's nice.

Top Ten!

2011-06-17T22:08:00.002-05:00

I just found out that my blog is on this list of top-10 myeloma blogs! Woo hoo! The description does say that my blog is "not hugely informative." What? Photos of Bon Jovi with no shirt on are not considered hugely informative? What's wrong with society?

Checking in

2011-06-17T21:58:00.003-05:00

I saw Dr. H at Mayo on Thursday. I hadn't been to Mayo for a year, so it was nice to check in with her. I could have done without the vile, vile, vile, vile Pee Pod, although it turns out that my pee is just fine. Thank goodness, because I don't want to do that test any more than I have to.

Anyway, Dr. H is really happy with how things are going. She said that if nothing changes, I don't need to come back any earlier than another year if I don't want to. She said I could even skip the yearly checkup, but Jay and I agree that we want to check in at least once a year. My M-spike was 2.7 at Mayo (it was 2.3 last week in Kansas City), but Dr. H said that you can't compare it with the one from Kansas City, since the tests were done in two different labs. She's not concerned. Once again, she emphasized that the size of the M-spike doesn't matter, as long as it's not causing any problems.

"If you want to go ahead and live 50 years with a 2.7 M-spike, that's fine with me," she said.

Yeah, that's fine with me, too!

Locked out

2011-06-14T14:55:00.003-05:00

Early this morning, I took some cans out to the recycling bin in the garage, turned around, and discovered that the door that leads from the garage to the kitchen had locked behind me. I ended up standing on our front porch in my pajamas (NKOTB concert t-shirt and baggy pink plaid pants) ringing the doorbell repeatedly in hopes that my loving family would come rescue me.

For a long, long, long time, the only member of my loving family who responded to my doorbell ringing was, of course, Garland. She ran to the door and then stared at me through the window. For a few seconds, I had foolish hopes that maybe she'd rush off to get help, Lassie-style. Of course, she did not. It didn't even occur to her to go get help. Garland is a cat. Cats don't know how to be helpful.

Finally, after the doorbell had been ringing continually for about 10 minutes, WCK sensed that maybe something was amiss, and she went to get Jay. I'm back inside the house, no thanks to the cat. I hope the neighbors understand.

Peaceful

2011-06-13T10:26:00.004-05:00

I've come to realize that the moment the FedEx guy puts the puffy envelope of Revlimid pills into my hands is the most peaceful moment of my month. That very moment marks the longest possible time between the next time I'll have to go through the annoying monthly process of getting more Revlimid. For three long weeks I have no doctor visits, no needle sticks, no phone calls, no phone calls, no phone calls, no worrying the Rev is not going to get delivered in time, and no waiting for the delivery guy.

Peaceful.

Partly sonny

2011-06-12T19:25:00.006-05:00

WCK and I spent last week at Vacation Bible School. WCK, of course, was in one of the first-grader groups, and I volunteered to watch the other volunteers' babies in the nursery. Both of us had a fun time. WCK is already asking when Vacation Bible School starts next year, and all of the babies went home happy, without any emotional scars. As far as I know.

My only quibble with Vacation Bible School is with the National Vacation Bible School Corporation (That's not its real name, but it should be) that comes up with the themes for Vacation Bible School. The first year we participated, it had a camping theme and was called Son Rock Kid Camp. Then it was Son Quest Rain Forest. This year, it was called Son Surf Beach Bash. I found the web site for the National Vacation Bible School Corporation, and other themes include SonHarvest County Fair, and Kingdom of the Son.

Jay kept forgetting the name of this year's theme and called it all kinds of weird things, but my favorite was "Kid Rock's Son Camp", which I think would be a very different thing entirely.

Anyway, every year NVBS Corp. comes up with a theme, finds an awkward place to stick the word "sun" and then changes it to "son". Get it? Because the sun is out in the summertime and the camp is about the son of God? It works on two levels!

I have nothing against puns. I really enjoy puns. I think the world should have more puns in it, actually. I just wonder how long NVBS Corp. can keep milking this "son" thing. Eventually, it's going to stop making any sense whatsoever (I mean, even less sense than "SonHarvest"). I'm picturing an endless Creative Team meeting at NVBS Corp. International Headquarters that lasts into the wee hours of the night. No one is allowed to leave the room until somebody comes up with a son pun. Finally, someone suggests a dermatological-themed Vacation Bible School called "Son Exposure Gives You Wrinkles", and everyone agrees, because they've been there all night and they just want to get home. Before sonrise.

Backstreet Boy of the Week

2011-06-11T07:54:00.002-05:00

This guy is named A.J. For bonus points, I know that stands for Alexander James. Thank you, Wikipedia! Also from Wikipedia: A.J. just got out of rehab for the third time. The first time he entered rehab, all of The Backstreet Boys had to stage an intervention for him. He also proposed to his girlfriend at the Hard Rock Cafe with a ring he had purchased ... at the Hard Rock Cafe. (Really??! They have rings there?) Anyway, he's out of rehab and I think he's feeling much better now.

Hmm. Well, so far Howie is still my favorite one. Other things I have learned about Howie: He is the most elderly of The Backstreet Boys (The man is 37!!! How do they let him up on the stage at such an advanced age??), he's Puerto Rican, his sister died of lupus and he now raises money for a lupus foundation. Now that's the Howie that I've always loved, ever since I first heard about him one week ago.

Flood

2011-06-09T21:59:00.002-05:00

Our favorite park is soon to be under the Missouri River because of the impending flooding.

"Wow," said WCK. "I bet all the fish are so excited that they get to play on the playground!"

Hmm. I guess that's one way of looking at it.

Time for a long-sleeved shirt

2011-06-08T20:37:00.002-05:00

The M-spike's down another teeny notch to 2.3, which is the lowest it's ever gotten since I started back on the Revlimid almost a year ago. It's the lowest it's been since probably the fall or winter of '09. I say it's time to break out the guitar and have a singalong.

Summer research project

2011-06-04T06:40:00.003-05:00

So I'm going to see the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys NEXT MONTH, people! Actually, they're now officially called NKOTBSB, which I realize would technically translate to "New Kids on the Backstreet Boys", but I think those of us who love them are choosing to ignore that.

Anyway, I'm realizing that the concert is NEXT MONTH, and I still know nothing about the Backstreet Boys. I found the set list for the concert online, and I didn't recognize half of the Backstreet Boys' songs. It was only a few months ago that I discovered that two of their songs -- the one that goes "Back ... street's ... back ... all right!" and then the one that goes, "All you people, can't you see, can't you see ..." -- were not, in fact, the exact same song.

I don't even know the names of the individual Backstreet Boys. My friend Abigail said, "Isn't one of them named Howie?"

HA HA HA! Right! "Howie"! That's funny!!

It turns out that one of them is, indeed, named "Howie." This guy:

In his defense, he doesn't look like a Howie. And I guess he's now my favorite Backstreet Boy since he's the only one whose name I know. At least I'll be able to scream, "HOOOOWIE!" and blend in with the crowd.

My goal for the next six weeks is to learn the names of all of the Backstreet Boys. It's going to be rough, but I think I can do it.

A Tornado Story

2011-05-25T20:03:00.004-05:00

If you grow up in the Midwest, sooner or later you earn your own "tornado story." Here's my tornado story: When I was exactly one month old, a tornado hit Omaha. My parents lived in a trailer park at the time, so my mom threw me into the car (probably literally, because nobody knew about car seats in the Olden Times) and we raced to my great-grandmother's house and hid in her basement.

Here's Jay's tornado story: He and his dad went to see "Return of the Jedi" at the movie theater. The tornado sirens went off, so the theater owners stopped the movie, and everyone had to walk across the street to a bar and go down to the basement. I don't know if any of the adults took advantage of being in a bar. I would've.

And now, here's WCK's very own tornado story, recorded here for endless re-tellings: Today was the kindergarten field trip to the Kansas City Zoo. It started raining a little bit, so our group went into the lion building to eat our sack lunches. By the time we were done, it was raining a little more. And thundering. And then the tornado sirens went off. A zoo official came by and told us we couldn't stay in the lion building, because it wasn't safe. I guess that makes sense, because one wall was made entirely of glass, and there were, well, two lions on the other side. He told us we needed to get to the "boathouse", and he made it sound like it was just around the corner. It was not. Like everything in the Kansas City Zoo, it was far, far away. (Official Kansas City Zoo Motto: "You'll walk five miles between each animal, or your money back!") So we went out into the rain, and we ran. I'm glad I'm in halfway decent shape, because we ran and ran and ran, through the rain and the thunder and the lightning, with kindergartners screaming the entire way. Finally we made it to the shelter, which was crammed with people, and we waited out the storm for about 45 minutes. When we got the all-clear, we emerged into the sunshine, and everything was fine.

There is is. WCK's own tornado story. I'm glad she has one now, but I hope she never gets another one.

Grownup games

2011-05-19T14:12:00.002-05:00

Jay and I have a stack of old board games that I keep on the top shelf in WCK's closet because I don't know where else to put them. WCK has been fascinated with these games, but she doesn't want to play them or even look at them close up, because she can see that they're only for "grownups." Most of them have labels on the side that clearly say "Ages 9 and up" or "Ages 7 and up." Grownups.

A few of them, however, are labeled "Ages 6 and up", and in the days leading up to her sixth birthday, WCK could not stop talking about how she was finally going to be old enough to play some of the "grownup games." She proclaimed that this would happen on her sixth birthday, and not one day before.

WCK turned six on Tuesday. Sure enough, the second she opened her eyes in the morning, she asked me to get the grownup games down from the shelf. I got down "Aggravation" and another game called "Ghost" that Jay had as a kid. A good time was had by all.

Only two more years until she'll allow herself to play Monopoly. I can't wait!

Sam is risen!

2011-05-16T12:38:00.003-05:00

Our poor betta fish, Sam, passed away unexpectedly on Friday evening. He was fine all day, but when we got home from WCK's drama club play he was swimming funny. Not "Ha Ha" funny -- more like, "Oh, crap" funny. It was pretty obvious that a host of fish angels were beckoning him toward The Light. When the end came, we wrapped him in a paper-towel shroud and buried him in the back yard next to our first ill-fated betta fish, Jimmy John. WCK found a rock to mark the grave.

I do appreciate Sam choosing such a convenient time to die, as I won't have to find fish sitters all summer, but I will miss the little guy. He was the crankiest fish I've ever seen. Whenever you looked at him, he'd puff up his gills and try to attack you. He was like a grumpy old man fish. He was awesome.

Sunday morning, I stepped outside onto our deck for a second to check on our bird feeder, and I saw a horrible/miraculous sight in the yard. Sam's grave was empty. The paper towel shroud lay on the grass. The rock had been pushed away.

Was this the work of a neighborhood cat or some kind of a fish miracle? I would like to point out that he did die on a Friday night.

Whatever the cause of the open grave, I knew I had to run out there and fix it before WCK found out, not necessarily because I didn't think she could handle the truth, but more because I didn't want to spend the next day/weeks/months re-explaining and re-explaining and re-explaining what had probably happened to Sam. (Those of you with five-year-olds know exactly what I mean.)

I ran across the yard in my church clothes, snatched up the paper-towel shroud, and fixed the grave as well as I could. I threw the shroud in the garbage, and I'm not 100 percent sure that his little carcass was gone from the inside of the shroud. I didn't check, because I was a little creeped out. WCK was none the wiser. Now we can officially add "Covering up defiled graves" to my long list of Mom Duties.

Nice pants.

2011-05-12T12:47:00.000-05:00

Woo hoo! My M-spike is down just another teeny smidge to 2.4. All of my other numbers are good. This really isn't that much of a change from last month's 2.5, but I felt like posting a different photo of Bon Jovi in a short-sleeved t-shirt this time. I decided to go with something fun from the '80s:

And while I can't stop laughing at his pants, I know that, had I seen this photo in a magazine in the 1980s, I would have cut it out and hung it on my wall. And I would have called friends and told them to come over and look at it. And they would have been jealous.

African Cats

2011-04-28T08:44:00.003-05:00

I love going to movie theaters, but WCK insists that all movies are "scary." The only movies she'll agree to see in movie theaters are nature documentaries. When I saw that Disney had released a documentary called "African Cats", I knew this might be my only chance this year to actually see the inside of a theater and eat some popcorn. On the Monday of Easter break, I threw WCK in the car, and we went.

Now, because it was a Disney movie and rated G, I expected that it would be cute, lighthearted movie about baby lions frolicking happily on the African savanna. No. "African Cats" was the SCARIEST MOVIE EVER.

Two of the adorable baby cheetahs were eaten by hyenas. The mother lion was kicked by a zebra and died. An evil rival lion pride kept terrorizing the "good" lion pride, and the narrator implied that the evil rival lions intended to kill off all of the adorable baby lions.

Of course, WCK, who is too scared to watch "The Tinkerbell Movie", didn't find "African Cats" scary at all. Because this is the way my child is.

Ever since we got home from the movie, we have had to spend a lot of time acting out "African Cats". Usually, I am stuck being the zebra or wildebeest while WCK gets to be the lion or cheetah. I crawl cluelessly around my bedroom, pretending to eat grass, while WCK stalks me from the end of the hallway. Then she crawls down the hallway at lightning speed, pounces, eats me, and crawls away.

Other times, we are both lions from rival prides. We both crawl to the center of the hallway and yell at each other. "You stay away from my pride!!!" "No, YOU stay away from MY pride!!" "Well, my pride has 10 cute baby lions!" "Well, MY pride has ONE MILLION CUTE BABY LIONS!!!" If we're lucky, Garland will wander by and play the part of the actual pride.

After we yelled at each other yesterday, we decided to team up and go hunting for some prey together. We were able to scrape up a sock monkey and a stuffed triceratops for our dinner. We also found some baby dolls, but WCK decided we should not eat the human babies. We should dress them up in cute clothes, put them in strollers, and walk them around Africa. Then we should get distracted and start playing with Barbies.

Our dramatic interpretation of "African Cats" often does not follow the movie very closely.

Call me a terrible mother, but I'm extremely grateful that the weather is nice today and we can go to the park after school instead of playing another round of "African Cats." The zebra is worn out.

Runnin Fool, Part II

2011-04-18T09:08:00.002-05:00

Jay found this race online and signed me up for it. I don't know why:

I ran the "Dorothy Dash 5k", which was way, way, way easier than running over the bridge last week. The weather was cold and the course was flat, and I remained friends with Bon Jovi the whole way. Oddly, I only improved my time from last week by about 30 seconds, but I had a much better time this time. I even remembered to smile when I saw a race photographer.

WCK looked at the above picture and pointed out that the Scarecrow probably wouldn't do very well in a marathon, because he'd fall down. I have to agree, although I think he'd do much better than the Tin Man, who has no business running a race. A) He has no muscle flexibility, and B) the second he got sweaty, he'd just rust. Maybe the Munchkins set up oil stands around the course, though. I picture the Tin Man running by, grabbing a tiny cup of oil and pouring it on himself. Still, I think Dorothy could kick all their butts in a race, provided she had the right shoes.

Runnin' fool

2011-04-14T11:10:00.003-05:00

I haven't blogged about it lately, but I've continued to run ever since I trained for that really cold 5k back in November. I ran on the treadmill all winter, and now that the weather is nice I run at a local park. I've been able to run longer and longer distances; I've had a couple of runs now where I've run about six miles without stopping, which amazes even me. I'm not really sure how I do it, even while I'm doing it. It's like my brain separates from my body, and my body keeps on running while my brain is going, "What the HECK, body? What the HECK?"

The whole six-mile thing made me get a little bit cocky, so when I signed up for another 5k, I thought it was going to be a breeze. I thought I'd sail through to the end and then say, "Oh, is that it? Isn't there any MORE to this cute little race? HA HA HA!"

Well, obviously, the 5k heard me trash-talking it behind its back and decided to kick my butt.

The first half of the race, I did really well. Then we had to turn around and run the other direction, and I discovered the reason I'd done so well during the first half was because I had a 100-mile-an-hour wind at my back, and now I was running directly into said 100-mile-an-hour wind. (OK, so it wasn't 100 miles an hour, but it was at least ninety-nine miles an hour.) Then we had to run back over this bridge in downtown Kansas City:

Now, running over the bridge during the first half of the race was fine. The bridge seemed like this:

Running over it the second time was a little different. The second time, it seemed like this:

Plus, did I mention it was, like, 80 degrees at nine o'clock in the morning?

So, there I was at the top of The Biggest Bridge in the World, trying not to cry/fall down/throw up, when an official race photographer took my picture. In the photo, I look really mean, like I'm about to grab his camera and throw it over the edge of the bridge. I might have done it, too, if I hadn't been focusing all of my energy on trying not to cry/fall down/throw up.

I had one last resort: My iPod lets me select an emergency "Power Song". If you get into trouble while running, you simply hit the "Power Song" button, and your favorite song will -- in theory -- help you get through the race. Mine is "Bad Medicine" by Bon Jovi, but it turned out that not even that could help me. Now my brain was going, "OK, don't cry, don't fall down, don't throw up, and SHUT UP, BON JOVI!! SHUUUUUUUUUUUUUT UP!!"

See? The bridge did me in. I was not myself.

But I finished the race eventually, and Jay and WCK were at the finish line with a big sign that said, "Run, Momma, Run!" I got twelfth place in my age group, and I didn't die. Bon Jovi and I made up a few days later, which is a good thing, because I'm running another 5k this Saturday. I'm sure THIS time it will be really, really, really easy, though. Right?

Don't tell the race I've been trash-talking it behind its back.

Grand old flag

2011-04-14T10:53:00.001-05:00

Good news today! My M-spike went down again a little bit to 2.5. All of my other numbers are great. Let me haul out the nice, patriotic photo of Bon Jovi in a t-shirt:

Noooooooo!

2011-04-02T12:46:00.004-05:00

I made an appointment for a checkup at the Mayo Clinic in June. Today I got my confirmation letter and schedule in the mail. All of it looked fine, until I saw a rather ominous line in the letter:

"One or more specimen containers with instructions will be mailed to you under separate cover."

Oh, dear God. The pod is coming! The pod is coming! Run! Save yourselves!!!

Justin Bieber, and other scary things

2011-04-01T21:44:00.003-05:00

This is the first year that WCK really got into the spirit of April Fools Day. Here is just a tiny excerpt of what the drive home from school sounded like:

WCK: Mommy, there's a monster behind you?
ME (faking fear): Whaaaaaaat?
WCK: April Fools! HAHAHAHAHA!

WCK: Mommy, there's a snake behind you!
ME (faking fear): Whaaaaaaat?
WCK: April Fools! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

WCK: Mommy, there's a dinosaur behind you!
ME (faking fear): Whaaaaaat?
WCK: April Fools! HAHAHAHAHA!

WCK: Mommy, Justin Bieber is behind you!!!!
ME: Whaaaaaat?
WCK: April Fools! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

You'll notice that I didn't have to fake my fear on that last one.

Chocolate cake

2011-03-30T20:23:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I did a couple of nice things for WCK. First, I told her that I'd signed her up for an actual paleontological dig at a woolly mammoth fossil site that we'll visit during our summer vacation in South Dakota. (OK, so it's a one-hour program for kids where they get to sit in the dirt and pretend to dig for bones, but it sounds really impressive.)

She thought that was the most exciting thing to happen all day, until she found out about the other nice thing I'd done: I bought her some new crayons. New crayons are really exciting. They have nice pointy tips and everything. After the shock of the new crayons wore off, she composed a song for me:

"This is the Mom Song!
Because Mom is great!
Mom is better than chocolate cake!"

I'd better save this to show her when she's 15 and thinks everything I do is lame.

Power!

2011-03-25T17:25:00.002-05:00

One of the reasons I wasn't blogging regularly lately is that my book club was reading The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Those of you who've read it know that you can't just stop with the first book; you must immediately go on to read the other two books, at the expense of everything else in your life. At one point, I pretty much forgot I had a child.

But I just finished up the final book last night, so I can have my life back. It turns out that I actually do have a child, a husband, a cat, and a fish. They're all still alive, but I'm not sure how.

Now I'm feeling a sense of power over anyone else who hasn't finished the third book yet. I could probably get them to do anything I say simply by threatening to reveal the ending. "Come over and clean out my closets, or I'll tell you how Mockingjay ends! HAHAHAHA!" I'm so evil. I could be president of Panem.

Sam

2011-03-21T13:16:00.002-05:00

As you might recall, we had a pet betta fish about a year ago. His name was Jimmy John. He lived for two glorious months until I found him face-down in his gravel one morning just before Easter. We wrapped him in a paper-towel shroud and buried him in the yard. So great was WCK's grieving that she waited, oh, a good five or ten minutes before asking, "Can we get another fish now?" all day, every day for nearly a year.

I finally gave in a couple of weeks ago. We got a new betta fish named Sam (Sam isn't as good of a name as Jimmy John, but then, what is?). I had a very specific strategy in adopting Sam in early March: I figured that, with our track record, he'd pass away before we go away on our summer vacation, thus eliminating the need for us to find a fish-sitter. I'm lazy that way.

Of course, I would hate if Sam died right away. I'm lazy, but I'm not evil. I realized that Sam hit an important milestone over the weekend. The teenage kid in the fish section at PetSmart told me that all fish come with a 14-day guarantee. We've now had Sam so long that if he dies now, we won't get our money back. Keep up the great work, Sam!

Monsters

2011-03-18T09:21:00.004-05:00

We've been dealing with WCK's fear of "monsters" at bedtime for a long time. Every night, I get out a spray bottle filled with a tiny amount of "scary spray". The spray contains a secret ingredient that only monsters can smell, and they find the smell revolting so they stay away. (Secret ingredient = tap water) We spray the spray over all of the common monster hiding places: the closet, under the bed, etc., but WCK still believes the monsters will get past the spray somehow. Perhaps they have gas masks. I'm not sure.

So then I remind her that if any monster tries to get into the house, I will kick it in the butt. This worked well for a while, but then WCK started finding loopholes. "What if it's Jabba the Hutt? He doesn't have a butt!" and so on.

Then I started giving a speech about how, no matter what, no matter the state of the monster's buttlessness, I would never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER let a monster into our house. Ever. It doesn't seem to matter how many "evers" I put in there. WCK remains cynical about my monster-beating-up abilities.

Finally, last week, in exasperation, I told her that if she could bring me proof of an actual, live monster in her room, I would pay her five thousand dollars.

For a while, she was coming out of her room with random dinosaur toys, trying to convince me that they were monsters so she could cash in. I told her I would only pay the reward for a real monster, and he needed to be captured alive.

Now she's torn. She really doesn't want a monster in her room, but she really, really wants that money. It's a Catch-22.

Almost forgot ...

2011-03-17T21:24:00.000-05:00

... to say Happy St. Patrick's Day from the goose:

Still spanked

2011-03-17T13:05:00.003-05:00

I've been away from the blog for a while. There's no good reason, really. As more and more time went by, I'd think, "Well, I can't post something now unless it's a super interesting post!" Then I could never think of anything good and my brain would curl up in the fetal position from all of the horrible pressure. I know. My life is really tough.

But this morning FedEx brought by a fresh supply of 18-thousand-dollar pills, and my nurse called to tell me that my M-spike is still 2.7. It's not any better, but it's not any worse. So that's good, although I guess I expected better for 18 grand.

I thought I'd find a fresh photo of Bon Jovi at the same level of shirtlessness as last month. I found a nice artistic one. You know it's artistic because he looks like he's thinking of something really important:

Just this morning, I read an article in the newspaper about how Jon Bon Jovi was complaining about how he didn't understand iPods. It's tough to be elderly.

Sticker shock

2011-02-21T19:50:00.003-06:00

I got my fresh supply of Revlimid delivered to me today. I'm now on 20 mg. The drug company doesn't make a 20 mg pill, so I have to take two 10 mg pills, which means I got 42 pills shipped to me instead of the usual 21. It didn't seem like that big of a deal, until I glanced down at the little slip that came with it and realized that the price for 42 pills is now twice as high.

Fortunately -- very fortunately -- we still only pay a $20 co-pay for the Revlimid, but does anyone want to guess how much the actual price of my bottle of pills is? Anyone?

Over EIGHTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

Eighteen thousand dollars. For a three-week supply of medication.

This means that the little pill bottle sitting on my dresser is officially the most expensive thing that I own. It is worth more than my car. I'm kind of scared to touch the pills, and I certainly don't want to mess them up by, you know, swallowing them or something.

Spankin' accomplished.

2011-02-17T12:26:00.002-06:00

Let's review: Last month, my M-spike decided to get a little crazy, and Dr. GPO called me and said the myeloma just needed to be spanked a little bit harder. He gave me the option of upping my Revlimid dose or starting dex. I chose to up my dose of Revlimid to 20 mg to see what would happen.

The results are in, and the M-spike has been spanked. I repeat, the M-spike has been spanked. It went from 3.3 to 2.7.

HAHAHA, M-spike!! You like that?? Do not mess with me, M-spike! I will spank you hard! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!

The bad news is that Bon Jovi gets to put a shirt back on:

Surprise! (Sort of.)

2011-02-13T13:47:00.003-06:00

WCK had Friday off from school because of teacher meetings. About a month or so ago, Jay and I decided to take her to the Great Wolf Lodge on Thursday night and Friday, but we kept it a complete secret so it would be a big surprise. We last went there a year ago, and WCK had been asking us, pretty much on a daily basis, when we were going to go back again. So we planned the whole trip but did not breathe a word. On Wednesday night, I did tell her that we'd have a big surprise for her after school the next day, but that's all I would say.

"Is it a bunch of pennies?" she asked. "Is it ... a new pair of underwear?"

Wow. We could have saved a ton of money.

I refused to reveal the secret. I imagined her complete shock and surprise when we told her. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever have thought that we'd be going to the Great Wolf Lodge! When WCK walked out of school on Thursday and saw that Jay had come with me to pick her up, we were busted.

"We're going to the Great Wolf Lodge, aren't we?" she said.

What? How did she do that? She needs to buy a van so she can drive around solving mysteries.

The B-Word

2011-02-08T13:24:00.003-06:00

The other day, I had cafeteria duty at WCK's school. When you're the parent assigned to cafeteria duty, you help the kids open their pudding cups and ketchup packets, and then you mostly just stand around to make sure nobody throws Tator Tots or burns down the building. So there I was, watching for Tator Tots, keeping myself on high alert for a pudding-cup emergency, when some kindergartners waved me over to their table.

"So-and-so said the B-Word!" one of them informed me.

I had absolutely no idea how to respond to this, but before I could, another kindergartner chimed in.

"What's the B-Word?" he asked.

"Um," I said, "I, um, don't know."

I was trying to convey complete innocence. Is there a bad word that starts with B? I've never heard of one. Nope. Not a one.

"I know what it is!" exclaimed kindergartner #3, and my heart nearly stopped. "It's B-U-T-T!!"

Oh. That B-Word. That's one I can handle. That word comes up about 5,000 times a day at our house, because WCK thinks the word "butt" is hilarious. And, believe it or not, "butt" has worked to my advantage. She used to delay going to bed because she said she was "scared of monsters." Finally, I told her that if a monster ever tried to get into our house, I would kick it in the butt. Yes, I said "butt" out loud. Apparently, this was the most hilarious thing ever to come out of my mouth. No more fear of monsters.

One day, though, WCK was going a little crazy with the B-Word, and I told her to please stop saying the word "butt".

She smiled and said, "BUT ... I love you!"

Here's how bad the last blizzard was ...

2011-02-08T08:35:00.000-06:00

When spiders attack

2011-01-31T13:13:00.003-06:00

A couple of weeks ago, when WCK had the day off of school for Martin Luther King Day, I thought it would be fun to take her to Chuck E. Cheese with some friends from our stay-at-home moms' group. Apparently, every parent in the Kansas City metro area had this same idea, because CEC was about five times more insane than the most insane I've ever seen it. Shortly before noon, they ran out of ice and Diet Coke, which is the magic elixir my brain requires to stay alive. This non-alive brain is probably why I remained at Chuck E. Cheese throughout the afternoon instead of running into the parking lot screaming, like a person with a working brain would do. Somehow, though, we managed to survive, and WCK earned 90 tickets, which was enough to cash in for the greatest prize ever -- a giant plastic spider:

After we got home, WCK thought it would be hilarious -- and I agreed -- if we tried to scare Daddy with the giant plastic spider. We decided to set the spider on top of the peanut butter jar, and then we lay in wait until Jay came home from work.

WCK met him at the door with an evil grin.

"Daddy, don't you want some ... peanut butter?"

Jay was confused and said that he did not want some peanut butter, but I finally convinced him to at least go look at the peanut butter, because it was important.

Jay saw the spider and let out a really good fake blood-curdling scream, which was everything WCK had dreamed of when she'd set the spider upon the peanut butter. Later that night, when WCK wasn't looking, Jay put the spider on her pillow.

"AAAAAAAAAAA!" fake-shrieked WCK, and she ran to put the spider on his pillow.

And so began the Spider Game, which is still going on to this day. The only rules are that you have to fake scream when you see the spider, and then you have to go revenge-hide it for the family member you believe hid it for you. It's been on my hair dryer and Jay's contact case. It's been inside one of my running shoes and in WCK's pajama drawer. One day, WCK came home from school, and her favorite stuffed frog was sitting calmly at the kitchen table, holding the spider.

Where will the spider end up next? I have no ide .... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Stylin'!

2011-01-26T09:47:00.001-06:00

WCK told me that all of the kids in her kindergarten class really like my purse. Finally, for the first time in my life, I've made a fashion choice that is the envy of all!

Or at least the envy of all five-year-olds:

Somebody wants a spankin'

2011-01-24T19:48:00.003-06:00

I found out last week that my M-spike, quite unexpectedly, decided to freak out. It pretty much went crazy, stripped off all of its clothes, and went running naked through the neighborhood, hooting at passers by while chugging beer. In other words, it went up to 3.3.

Yeah. What the fudge?*

*"Fudge" is not the actual word I used.

I spent the whole weekend psyching myself up for the dexamethasone prescription that I knew I'd get today. Honestly, I wanted some dex. I can't allow my M-spike to run around naked.

This afternoon, Dr. GPO called me himself. (Himself! I got in to see the wizard!) He said that all of my other numbers are perfect -- things like albumin, beta-2, kidney function, and so on -- so this is not an emergency, and we still have some room to mess around with the Revlimid dose. We've been messing with the dose and the medication schedule the past two cycles because of low white counts. Apparently 25 mg is too high, because it lowers my white count, and 15 mg is too low, because it raises my M-spike, and taking an extra week off per cycle doesn't help matters at all. Dr. GPO gave me two choices: Take dex, or move the Rev up to 20 mg for one cycle to see what happens. I selected the 20 mg of Rev option.

If that doesn't work, I'll take dex after this cycle. And that's fine. Dex is not my friend, but letting my myeloma careen out of control is less of my friend.

Dr. GPO was not at all worried, though. "Your myeloma is just talking to us," he said. "It's talking, and it's saying, 'You just need to spank me a little harder!'"

I'm going to be laughing about that for days, if not for the rest of my life. M-spike, get ready for a spankin'.

On the up side, at least we all get to look at this again for a while:

Snow Day Number Three

2011-01-21T14:24:00.001-06:00

Some progress has been made. Give me a couple more blizzards, and I'll finish it up:

Well, excuuuuuuuse me, Cupid!

2011-01-15T13:12:00.003-06:00

A few nights ago, Jay, WCK, and I were flipping channels on the TV and came across an old episode of Saturday Night Live. Steve Martin was performing a stand-up act with his banjo and an arrow through his head, and we all sat and watched for a few minutes. Yesterday, WCK came home from kindergarten and handed me this drawing:

Once I finished laughing and wiping the tears from my eyes and making plans to get this drawing professionally framed, I told her that was an awesome picture of Steve Martin. WCK got mad and insisted -- very firmly -- that it was NOT Steve Martin. It was a "Valentine angel." I guess by "Valentine angel" she means Cupid. I suppose Cupid could have an arrow through his head. That wild and crazy cupid!

Still, I have doubts about this "Valentine angel" claim. Cupid or Steve Martin? You be the judge.

And the countdown begins ...

2011-01-14T13:18:00.002-06:00

Today has been a good day so far. First, my friend Abigail and I now have our tickets to see NKOTBSB in July. It looks like we'll be a lot closer to the stage this time. All that is left to do is sit around and wait for six months and two days. Six months!! How am I going to pass the time? By posting videos, of course. Here is the video of all of them on New Year's Eve:

As soon as I ordered the tickets, I had to rush out the door for my monthly checkup with Dr. GPO. My hemoglobin is still a little too low, but it has improved a little bit, and my white count has improved a lot. Today it was 3.o, which is still too low, but last month it was 1.3. Yikes! I asked about last month's M-spike rise, and Dr. GPO said he was not the least bit concerned. Then we had a conversation that went like this:

ME: What if my M-spike goes up again?

DR. GPO: It won't.

ME: OK. But what if ...

DR. GPO: IT WON'T.

ME: But ...

DR. GPO: IT CAN'T. IT WON'T.

Finally, I got him to admit that there might exist some far-off, imaginary, fantasy universe where frogs wear tiny little hats, and maybe, my M-spike might, hypothetically, maybe, perhaps, go up again. In that case, he said I might need to adjust my dose again and/or go back on Dex (which I had been thinking about for the past month, so I was not shocked). However, he said that first we would do everything we possibly could before turning to the Dex as a last resort. In the far-off, imaginary, fantasy universe. So that's good to hear.

OK, stop reading this and watch the video. You know you want to.

Snow emergency

2011-01-12T13:42:00.003-06:00

WCK is back at school after two snow days in a row. These were the first snow days of the school year, and I have to admit that the first snow day was pretty fun. We played about 100 games of Go Fish, plus multiple rounds of every board game that WCK owns (and the child has a lot of board games). We played in the snow, drank hot cocoa and ate Girl Scout cookies, read books, and watched a lot of Max & Ruby. It was a good time.

By late morning on Day Two, however, I was starting to get a little wild-eyed. I wasn't sure how much more Go Fish I could take. I was running out of things to do, and the situation was looking grim. Suddenly, I knew. It was time. I had to break out something I had saved for decades -- decades, people -- for an emergency such as this one.

I present to you ... The Emergency Jigsaw Puzzle:

Now, I have no idea where this came from originally. About a year or so ago, my parents found it in their house and for some odd reason assumed it belonged to me. For some other odd reason, they also wanted it out of their home. I don't remember buying it or getting it as a gift, but, yeah, I guess it's probably mine. The box was still sealed. I wasn't sure what to do with it, so I stuck it in the storage area in the basement and walked away. This puzzle had been untouched for at least twenty years until I sliced open the box yesterday.

WCK was amazed that they even make puzzles with FIVE HUNDRED PIECES, and she was pretty enthusiastic about the new project. It sparked lots of interesting conversation, such as, "Mommy! I found Danny's ear!" We got in about an hour on it before she realized it was "boring" and wanted to go upstairs and build a tent. So we built a tent, crawled inside, and ... played Go Fish.

Here's how far we got. I will update if we make any more progress:

Just some observations:

1) It must have been a really long day of jigsaw-puzzle-photo shooting, because all of them, except for Joe, look pretty irritated. Donnie looks hungover. Maybe they were out all night the night before celebrating their big multi-million-dollar jigsaw-puzzle deal. Except Joe, who was underage.

2) Is it a little scary that I can look at a puzzle piece that has, say, half an eyeball on it, and immediately identify which member of New Kids on the Block it belongs to? Don't answer that.

Do-it-yourself project

2011-01-07T13:43:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I had a 45-minute wait at the dentist's office, and I ended up reading Parents Magazine. I generally try to avoid Parents Magazine, because the articles generally focus on 1) what a terrible parent you are and 2) all of the different ways your child will die.

Sounds awful, but it's true. I used to subscribe, and each issue had at least one child-death or near-death story in it. This month the killer was H1N1.

Anyway. I ended up reading an article about how you need to let kids do things for themselves, which, assumed the article, I'm probably not doing, because I'm a terrible parent. Otherwise I would not need the sage advice of Parents Magazine.

Later that day, WCK wanted to open the wood blinds on our living room windows. Now, I could have done this for her in about two seconds with a flick of my wrist, but I could still feel Parents Magazine judging me, so I decided to let her do it herself.

She could not reach the twisty thing (I'm not sure what you call it, so I'm calling it "twisty thing"), so she got a stool and climbed up on it. She still couldn't reach it, so she decided she needed some type of instrument that could twist the twisty thing for her. Her first choice was a pair of scissors. Don't tell Parents Magazine, but I felt I needed to step in at this point and tell her not to use a pair of scissors on the wood blinds. She thought about it some more, and decided the perfect instrument for twisty-thing grabbing would be her Abraham Lincoln on a stick, which we purchased from the Lincoln Museum in Illinois some time back. Here's a photo, in case you've forgotten:

She went upstairs, and there followed a good 15 to 20 minutes of screaming and crying and carrying on that she COULD NOT FIND MR. LINCOLN ANYWHERE!!!!! Don't tell Parents Magazine, but I finally went upstairs and located Mr. Lincoln under a pile of dress-up clothes. By then, WCK had to take a potty break, and then she came back downstairs and started playing with something else for another 15 to 20 minutes until she remembered she had been trying to open those blinds.

There followed a brief moment of panic when she realized that, once again, she COULD NOT FIND MR. LINCOLN!!!

I reminded her that he was still upstairs. Back upstairs to fetch Mr. Lincoln. Back downstairs to try to use him to grab the twisty thing. Several moments of trying to use Abraham Lincoln to open the blinds to no avail.

Don't tell Parents Magazine, but I stepped in and tried to shove the twisty thing into Mr. Lincoln's mouth while WCK held the stick. Didn't work.

Finally, I opened the blinds for her in about two seconds with a flick of my wrist.

How I've failed. I'm sure she'll grow up to have a confidence problem, or, at the very least, a lack of trust in Abraham Lincoln.

Deal

2011-01-05T13:18:00.003-06:00

All right. Listen up, M-spike. I don't like you, and you don't like me. But I need you to simmer down in there, sit your butt down, and agree to not sicken and/or kill me before July 16. Why? Yesterday, a friend e-mailed me some important news with the following headline:

NKOTBSB Invade Sprint Center on July 16
Tickets go on sale Jan. 15

That's right, M-spike. If you're nice to me, I'll take you to the concert. On July 17, you can do whatever you want. I'll probably be so full of Kahlua milkshakes that I'll want to die anyway, so it'll be fine.

Well, poop.

2010-12-20T11:45:00.002-06:00

My M-spike went up a teeny bit to 2.7. The nurse emphasized that THIS IS NOT A BIG DEAL. The rational part of my brain knows she is completely right. I've dealt with this spike for five-plus years, and I've watched it do all kinds of weird things from month to month, and I know a one-time increase of .3 IS NOT A BIG DEAL. The irrational part of my brain (which is most of my brain, I think) doesn't like it at all. Oh, well. What can I do? I guess I'll put back the slightly unbuttoned photo of Bon Jovi for starters:

By the way, I'm now on 15 mg of Revlimid to try to help my blood counts recover. So we'll see.

Ralph

2010-12-17T09:31:00.003-06:00

For a few years now, I've been hearing about The Elf on the Shelf from other mothers of small children. This December, I finally broke down and bought one. The Elf on the Shelf either strikes people as cute or creepy. I think he's kinda cute; Jay thinks the Elf is going to come to life in the night and kill us. You be the judge:

If you've never heard of The Elf on the Shelf, here's how he works: You purchase an Elf on the Shelf set, which comes with the cute/creepy elf and a storybook about him. The storybook explains that the elf watches you all day long. When you fall asleep at night, the elf flies off to the North Pole to tell Santa whether you've been naughty or nice all day. He can also relay messages to Santa about what you want for Christmas. The elf then flies back to your house, but he never ends up in the same spot as before. Every morning, he's somewhere else in your house, and you have to look for him. On Christmas Eve, he disappears, only to show up suddenly the following year on the day after Thanksgiving. (Or perhaps several days after Thanksgiving, depending on whether Mommy actually remembers that the elf is supposed to show up.)

WCK was a little bit skeptical when we first took him out of the box:

ME: He has magic powers.
WCK: This guy?
ME: Yes. He has magic powers.
WCK: This guy?
ME: Yes.
WCK: This STUFFED ANIMAL has MAGIC POWERS???!?!

But once I read her the book, WCK was totally into the elf's powers. She even dropped him with a little scream when I got to the part about the most important Elf Rule: Never touch the elf, or his magic will wear off. I wasn't aware of this rule, so this made getting the elf into his first WCK-watching position a little bit hard. I had to sort of shove him into a corner using the edge of the book.

WCK named the elf Ralph, and we have to hunt for him every morning. Ralph has never been in the same place twice. He's turned up on top of the fridge and on top of the nativity scene. He's been trapped in the entertainment center and has been found hanging from lamps and window blinds. This morning, Ralph was in the car. Ralph is a little crazy.

We have just another week left with Ralph, and I have to admit that I'll miss the little guy. At least Jay will stop hearing elf footsteps coming for him in the middle of the night.

Cat bed

2010-12-03T19:28:00.002-06:00

I adopted Garland 13 and a half years ago, when she was just a tiny, tiny kitten. Like any nervous new parent, I went out and bought a bunch of books on cat care before I brought her home. Every single one of these books advised me to buy a cat bed for my new kitten. The cat bed was really, really important. Every cat needed its own bed. If I did not buy a cat bed, my kitten would certainly die.

I could practically feel the ASPCA breathing down my neck as I ran to the nearest Walmart and purchased a cat bed. Then I brought Garland home. And Garland proceeded to completely ignore the cat bed for the next 13 and a half years. It was like the cat bed was shielded by a Harry Potter invisibility cloak. Garland would sleep on the human bed, the couch, the floor, a dining room chair, even the top of the refrigerator, but she would not set one paw on that cat bed.

For reasons I can't explain, however, I held on to that cat bed and kept it around the house. I never let it go, even though we moved all the time: four different apartments and a house. I think I did it mostly out of habit, and because it made an excellent storage area for all of the cat toys that she refused to play with. (The cat toys were also required by the books for kitten-death prevention.)

Then, last week, out of the blue:

Yes. She started sleeping in the cat bed. All the time.

So, I guess the moral of the story is that if something doesn't work out at first, just give it a little extra time. Like 13 and a half years.