flashback: how does it feel?

This journal entry was from April 23rd, ten years ago. Can't believe it. I remember a lot of feelings from “being sick.” That's what we call it at my house. Fear, guilt, anger, hope, frustration, resolution. And then I read on in the journal and discovered some feelings I don't remember…

I feel lonely. Not because there aren’t a hundred people around, thinking good thoughts and praying for me but because all of a sudden I’m different. Even in a crowded bar or the mall where no one knows. I’m different. I have cancer. And I have to fight it. I have a great support team but I have to do it. Alone. And you know that when you’re in a room alone. It’s big and white and sterile and there’s a CAT scan Star Trek looking thing – and you. Even the nurse leaves and it’s cold and quiet except for the computer voice telling you to breathe. That’s alone. And lonely.

Of all the things I remember about the cancer year, I didn’t remember being lonely. Granted, I did have some pretty sweet drugs which helped make a lot of the worst bits not so bad, but this made me sad and it makes me feel sad for all the people who are dealing with it today. I guess I still feel different but now I share my story and it’s almost sad how many people have a story too. Nothing you can say will make people feel less alone, because cancer is a battle that you ultimately fight alone, even though you may have legions of soldiers on your side. But there are so many people who are affected by cancer, you shouldn’t ever have to feel lonely.

The good news is that I am not alone and I’m only lonely when I let myself be. I have so many people wishing for and believing in my recovery. I can almost feel their energy carrying me when mine isn’t enough.

I’m not a religious, churchy person but I totally dig the power of prayer or energy or shakras or whatever you want to call it that creates that energy. My grandparents were Christian Scientists and believed that they had the power to heal themselves. Who knows…maybe we do. I mean, I’m all down with the chemo and radiation and some kick-ass painkillers but I took any prayer, good thought, get well card, subliminal messaging heal-thyself tape, blessing, whatever and added it to my warchest. It seems like when you channel positive energy, you really can accomplish anything.

hello, princess

Morgan knows she's up to
no good...but she's got her back.

My baby girl is about to turn one. She's got a personality all her own...she's crafty and independent, good natured and giggly, and incredibly proud of her shenanigans. Like pushing her princess wagon over to the couch so she can climb up the sofa and hang from the banister railings or peer out the window.

But as I look at Sloane, perched on her princess wagon and think about all of the pink frilly clothes in her closet and drawers, I wonder...how do I keep her from being a princess? How do you raise a little girl to be strong, independent, empowered, free in this day and age? I feel like women have more opportunity than ever to be and do whatever they want but I'm also concerned about the power of marketing and how you teach your kids to filter out the crap. And I'm in marketing!

So, you're probably thinking I'm completely paranoid but here a few examples:

the princess principle

How many Disney princess things does your daughter have? Mine doesn't have a lot...one Snow White figurine (a movie she's never seen because it's just too scary. For me.) and this crazy princess car thing that bursts into princess songs at random times when there's no-one in the room. Creepy.

Of course, she's 11 months old. I have friends whose daughters have closets full of every princess dress imaginable, sparkle high heels, light-up high heels, tiaras, wings, the works. I always thought that was cute. Heck, when we babysat Nikelle we'd take her to the store dressed up in full Princess regalia. Who doesn't want to dress like a princess?! If they made that stuff in my size, I would wear it out. I mean, we adults only get to dress up one day a year so I'm thinking the princess outfits are cool.

And then I saw this book review...Cinderella Ate My Daughter.

"Okay, your prince has come. Not content with being a prince, however, he wants to go back to school and become a dentist. The royal family disowns him because, really, a dentist?

That's OK. You love him. You work two jobs to put him through dentistry school. The week after he graduates, he dumps you for the Little Mermaid.

Welcome to the real world of the Disney princesses."

So, apparently Sloane is going to be a doctor or a scientist or a teacher for every single Halloween till she's 18.

age appropriate?

This article from today freaked me out - Parents, Don't Dress Your Girls Like Tramps!  Here's a little excerpt from LZ Granderson:

I saw someone at the airport the other day who really caught my eye.

Her beautiful, long blond hair was braided back a la Bo Derek in the movie "10" (or for the younger set, Christina Aguilera during her "Xtina" phase). Her lips were pink and shiny from the gloss, and her earrings dangled playfully from her lobes.

You can tell she had been vacationing somewhere warm, because you could see her deep tan around her midriff thanks to the halter top and the tight sweatpants that rested just a little low on her waist. The icing on the cake? The word "Juicy" was written on her backside.

Yeah, that 8-year-old girl was something to see all right. ... I hope her parents are proud. Their daughter was the sexiest girl in the terminal, and she's not even in middle school yet.

WHOA! I mean, are you shitting me?! Parents not only let their 8 year old wear this stuff but they bought it for her! I've been kind of freaked out about this kind of stuff for awhile...it started with JonBenet Ramsey and culminates with Toddlers & Tiaras (great spoof with Tom Hanks), the sheer volume of little girls I see with dyed hair, fake nails, pedicures. When should it start? Where should it end? I know I couldn't get my nails or hair "done" until I could pay for it. In high school. Does that mean my parents were abusive, or responsible?

what's with the pink and the prejudice?

Sloane has a lot of pink clothes. But I really try to make sure she's not just a little cotton candy girl so I buy her lots of other color clothes as well. The tutus that are so "in?" I've never managed to take her out of the house it one. Just seems like too much. But I have to ask myself...does my aversion to too much pink make me guilty of feeding into the gender stereotyping?

This story blew up this week - J. Crew's Toenail-Painting Ad Causes Pink Scare. I mean, maybe I'm crazy, but I LOVE those moments with my son. Sure we usually paint our nails black because that's what I have but apparently it's still turning him into a transgender kid? WTF?!

As John Stewart or someone said, if you've spent a whole day with a 2 year old, you'll do pretty much anything to keep them entertained! That is no joke! I have to believe that activities with your children that generate this kind of joy are good and pure. The diatribe that this photo has spawned leave me a little speechless. Do people really think that pink fingernail polish will turn a little boy gay any more than wearing pants would turn a little girl into a lesbian. And even if it did, who cares?! As long as your child is healthy, kind and loving, respectful and successful at whatever they want to be, and has a lot of joy, love and laughter in their life, does it really matter?

So anyway. I'm all interested in this right now. I don't know how I'll handle it...tomorrow or for the next 18+ years. All I can hope is that I'm always open and accepting enough that Sloane and Tagg know that no matter what they are loved, for just who they are. And, deep down, we're all princesses hoping for the happy ending.

flashback: you have cancer

I was digging through an old notebook a few weeks ago and found some musings I wrote almost 10 years ago…10 days after I found out I had cancer. It was one of those days when I was stressing about work (tellingly, I don’t remember what exactly was pushing my buttons that day) and didn’t have enough time to make it to the gym in the morning and was just generally in a bitchy mood. I was just about to chuck this notebook because I was down to the last couple of pages and as I was thumbing through it, there it was.

4/21/2001.
It’s been a week and a half since I found out that I have cancer.

Wow. What could I possibly have said, I wondered. Here it was, not even 10 years later and I literally can’t remember what I felt, or thought, or what possessed me to write something in a notebook I used for work. You would think (and you do) that you would remember everything. But you don’t. It must have been important. Let’s read on, shall we?

It’s been a week and a half since I found out that I have cancer. I’m 32 years old. I don’t feel sick. I’m getting married in two months. I have a wonderful life, amazing friends, an incredible family. And I have cancer.

I have been shocked, scared to death, angry, guilty for not checking on the symptoms sooner, fatalistic and – the last couple of days – incredibly strong and filled with hope and conviction that I will beat this. It’s an emotional yo-yo.

I guess I do remember that. The roller coaster. And it’s all in your head. Like who do you share all of that with? You can’t freak anyone out with your “I’m gonna die” stuff. That’s all scary stuff that you have to be strong enough to address inside your head. If you’re lucky, you have someone who kinda gets it. I did.

Scott is inspiring. He is my rock. I continue to be amazed by what an incredible, genuine, strong, caring, loving person he is. And by how lucky I am to have stumbled across him when he was a diamond in the rough, how fortunate I am to have had the patience and fortitude to suffer through the rocky times to get here. My love for him overflows.

When I was certain the other night that we’d have to cancel the wedding in favor of a pre-chemo quickie (wedding, that is) in Lake Powell and the reality of not being able to have kids started to settle in he said, “ I don’t care if we have kids. I don’t care if we have a big fancy wedding or even if you want to live in sin for the next 70 years. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you and getting you better is all that matters to me. I just want you.”

Seriously, there are some conversations that you should just write down. Not the bad ones – those seem to live on in your memory just fine on their own, some of the everyday ones too, but damn! How glad am I that I wrote that down?!

I brought those pieces of paper home and read them to him that very night. We both cried but I’m glad I have these words so that even in the dark moments of our relationship – and I don’t care who you are, there will be some cloudy days - I’ll always have a reminder that I married the man who said that. And I love him today more than ever.

oh baby baby

Tagg and Sloane, "backstage" at the photo shoot
enjoying the props.

We visited our lovely and talented Jodi for Sloane's first birthday picture photo shoot last week. It was kind of funny planning for it. What outfits should I bring (answer? everything)? What props? Jodi and I emailed pix of clothes and links to cute stuff we found online and she even did a little shopping for me. We were both very bummed that the local Targets did not have these cute tights but we found plenty of other cute outfits...7 to be exact. And sweet little Sloane, who had not napped all day, was an absolute angel about the costume changes, the hats, the headbands...and she didn't even know there were going to be cupcakes at the end of it all!

Here's the preview so far...check out Jodi's blog for more pictures!

i have a WHAT?!

I went to the mall today to get the battery changed in my Garmin watch. Not running again without my watch! It's kind of ironic. I totally had not trained for this race, so in addition to not spending quality time at the gym or on the road,  I also did not think to replace my watch battery so I would know exactly how slow I was going. That was quite a shock yesterday morning as the gun went off and I was determined not to let it happen again.

The watch guy says it will be about 15-20 minutes so I start wandering the mall hoping not to spend any unnecessary money on clothes or shoes and wah-lah! There’s a little cart in the middle of the walkway offering “threading.” 

 

I’m sure most people know what this is but in case you don't, it’s where they actually take a spool of thread and do some twisty thing where they hold part of the thread in their mouth, twist the thread and rip out all of your eyebrow hairs with it. It supposedly gives you a cleaner brow line faster with less pain. I heard rave reviews when my sister was a MAC girl, and had it done once in Vegas before the Rock N Roll Marathon last year (loved it), so I figured it would be great. And let’s face it, my brows were a little out of control.

So the threading lady was, as expected, Indian. And she was in the middle of eating some really pungent Indian food so I got a full whiff of some curry-yogurt-onion breath while she was fixing up my eyebrows in front of God and everyone wandering the mall on a Sunday afternoon. I felt like I was getting a public pap smear or something the way people were staring.

This eyebrow threading was not as painless as my first one. I have a pretty high pain threshold but there were a few times where I was doing a 40-year-old-virgin “OOHHHH Kelly Clarkson!” moment. And I have the red welt to prove it. 

At any rate, she showed me the results in the mirror – great – and then said, “You want me to do mustache? Only 5 more dollar.” I think my jaw hit the mall floor. Mustache?!?! I don’t have a mustache, you bitch! Right?! I was obviously offended, refused this highly unnecessary service and stomped down the mall with my burning brows to retrieve my watch.

But all the way home, I checked the mirror, and encouraged my friends and my hubby and my 2-year-old to review my upper lip just to make sure that I don’t really have an old-lady mustache sprouting that I just haven’t noticed or am completely ignoring. I think I’m good. And sadly, my brows look fabulous and that’s the only threading game in town so I’m stuck, but I’m going back. Maybe next week.