Hope4Peyton

My worries about Peyton’s upcoming clinic visit and my excitement about the upcoming trip to Chicago for BlogHer collided in my dreams.

I dreamed that she relapsed and I couldn’t go on my trip. I was suddenly plunged back into the world of chemotherapy and treatment and being a fulltime nurse and you know what I did?

I spazzed out about not being able to go on to my blogger convention.

Oh yes.

My dream self threw a monumental hissy fit in the face my child’s disease and got ugly about not going to CHICAGO.

For real.

Well, not REAL, but in-my-dream-real.

And I woke up wanting to punch myself in the face.

Is it possible that I could truly be THAT selfish?

Is there a special place in hell for parents like me that resent their sick kid for being sick?

PUNCH.IN.THE.FACE.

But after thinking about it, searching deep, I had to admit that I would be monumentally unhappy if she relapsed and I missed the conference.

Why WOULDN’T I be?

It’s not just the conference, it’s the life we’re starting to have again.

It’s the world that doesn’t revolved around daily medications….making plans only to know that chances are good that we won’t be able to see them happen….having Nathaniel and Rachael’s lives turned upside down as their needs are always put on the backburner while we take care of the life and death issues Peyton faces.

It’s nothing exciting, but it’s just….simple….plain….normal.

Things normal families take for granted. Things it wouldn’t occur to them to even think of as extraordinary.

“WOW, we really ARE all sitting around the table having dinner again.”

“It’s been six months since we’ve been to the hospital.”

“Her hair might need a trim.”

Replaced with cancer…steroids…shots…surgeries…hospitals…watching my girl lose her oh-so-very-proud-of-it hair…with tears this time around…the pain and fear in her eyes…the pain and fear in mine…the unknown…the unthinkable.

Yup. Angry. I would be angry. I would be boiling with rage so fiery it would threaten to consume my very being.

And I think it’s possible that if I were able to channel all my anger into one measly missed trip?  I’d be entitled to it.

But it was just a dream.

And I still sort of want to punch myself in the face.

Peyton looked like crap last night.

Walking through the store where she started complaining that her tummy hurt, I looked at her.

REALLY looked at her.

Her skin? Sheet white.

Her eyes? Deep grey circles under.

Just overall feeling like a bucket of poo.

Of course, my heart sinks to the tips of my toes.

And I know that she was tired because we were out and about way too late….and her tummy hurt because we ate at Ci-Ci’s pizza…and she’s still adjusting to the move and the summer schedule.

But WHEN do I get to start NOT automatically going there?  I’m ready to stop looking at every little thing as a sign, a symptom.  Crazy train? I’m ready to get off!

She gets to just feel like crap.

She gets to just be tired.

She gets to run around like any other kid and be all banged up.

One day it’ll stop being cancer everywhere I freaking look.

I’m really trying.

She goes to the new clinic on Tuesday for her monthly checkup and bloodwork and it’ll soothe all my craziness for another thirty days.

Right?

I have this thing about trying to find something good out of a situation, even when it’s mostly crap and the good sometimes has to be really lame, like “well, it could have laid eggs in my ear!”

Sometimes it’s not so hard to find the good thing.

When my dear friend Heather lost her daughter this year, I would have been hard-pressed to say anything good could come out of it…but I will tell you this, I got to meet Meghan for the first time, I got to see what an amazing person she is {and so dang tiny and cute and pocket-sized and I wanted to put her in my carry-on luggage and keep her forever} and know that there is nothing she won’t do for a friend and THAT was a very good thing.

It’s not often you get to see someone in action and think, “THAT’s the kind of friend I want to be.”

I got to see that in Meghan.

And? She’s teh funny! So, enjoy.

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When Anissa asked me about guest posting, my first thought wasn’t YAY! It was “SH*T. What in the hell am I going to write about?!”

So that’s pretty much what I said to Anissa. With a lot of “WAAAHHH” and “The PRESSURE!” added in.

To which she replied:

“Write about anything you want…ANYTHING…your first kiss, the last time you had a waxing, chicken nuggets, 105 things you can do with peanut butter, the time in high school when you….”

So, of course, my logical response was: “I’m going to write about ALL THOSE THINGS!”

My first kiss:

I don’t actually remember my first kiss. That’s kind of sad, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve seen pictures of my first *technical* kiss, with PJ Carosella, when I was a toddler. But as for my first REAL kiss where I was all fluttery and nervous and AWESOME? I don’t remember.

The first boy I remember kissing is Billy Lilly (Yes, that’s his real name, and YES, his parents knew what they were naming him, he was a Junior). He was my boyfriend in 8th through 10th-ish grade. We had a long, occasionally stormy relationship. His mother hated me, his sister once described how she was going to kill me (something about bashing my head into her knee, if I remember correctly). But OH, how I loved that boy. He was Captain of the Football team (a running back, #23), and a track and field super star. An all around, nice, good, goofy boy. He could always make me laugh. This is us one Homecoming:

I’m petite, he’s anything but. What of it?

We were both on the Homecoming Court. Adorable, no?

He’s married now and expecting his first baby, a girl. I commented on his Facebook status that I shouldn’t probably laugh as much as I did about that. Heh.

Waxing:

The only thing I get waxed is my brows. And I LOATHE doing even that. Not because of the pain, but because the damn waxer spends 95% of the time breathing on me. And I HATE when people breathe on me. I’m getting the chills just thinking about it, so I’m going to move on.

Chicken Nuggets:

My boys are obsessed with chicken nuggets. They’re a dinner staple at our house, and most often come in the form of dinosaurs or mickey mouse. YUM-O. Yesterday at the grocery store, I noticed something called “Chicken Rings.” Chicken in the form of an onion ring. Now, I’m ALL ABOUT the chicken nugget and the onion ring. But chicken as a ring? Kinda creeps me out. I shuddered a little and walked away.

When I got home, I talked to my mom about what food the boys would eat at her house when we’re there this weekend. And she told me that Grandpa Dick had JUST purchased some Chicken Rings for the boys to enjoy. Suh-weet. I guess we’ll let them decide!

105 Things to do with Peanut Butter:

Don’t worry, I’m not going to list 105 things. In my opinion, there are only TWO things you should do with peanut butter:

1. Eat it (a big old spoonful is one of my favorite ways, or on some bread drizzled with honey.)
2. Use it to get gum out of your hair.

That time in high school when I:

Called my friend’s parents because she was drunk and throwing up and I didn’t want to have her in my mom’s leather upholstered car for the 30 minute drive home. They were cool about it, but I’m pretty sure she never forgave me for it. Oh well, I’d do it again.

Sigh. Now I’m nostalgic about high school.

Sadly, I’ve eaten one too many processed chicken nuggets since those days to look this good in the dress anymore:

I rocked the bangs, yo.

But if my mom still has it, and I can fit into it, I’m totally wearing it to the MamaPop Sparklecorn Extravaganza at BlogHer. Keep your fingers crossed the my considerably larger ass doesn’t bust the seams.

Katie = Motherbumper = Wicked Cool!  I have never known so many Canadians in all my life and I wasn’t sure what I expected when I started meeting these other bloggers from across the border.  Would they all like hockey? Would they be wearing clothing made of something they killed and skinned themselves? How many times could I get them to say the word “Mounties” *snort* {because I AM a 9 year old boy, you know} Would the faint scent of maple syrup follow them wherever they go? (The answers are “pretty much yes”, “only a select few”, “directly related  to the number of drinks you’re willing to buy them” and “YES! NOM NOM NOM”)

But the international love fest that is my affection for Katie only grows stronger with each day I know her.  Plus? She’s the only person that tweets to me in French, everything looks cooler in French, AND I love when she uses all those crazy extra u’s in her words.

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Across the Pond

Hey, my name is Katie, though I more commonly go by the CB handle of motherbumper and while I don’t actually own a CB radio, I’d totally use one if I ever laid my hands on it. It would be like twitter without limitations and lots more hairy men.

Anyhow, do you know what happens each time someone asks me to do a guest post? Oh you know it, I get a case of the writer’s block. Big ol’ blockage of the inner writer. Blockage so big, it has gypsies living in it, and they have squatted for what appears to be the long haul. It baffles me why I always choke lately when I get an awesome opportunity like this here blog sit for a lovely lady Anissa who I happen to actually know in the flesh, like real live FLESH, and what flesh it is.

Where was I? Oh right…. writer’s block.

So today I was reminded of a story that happened a few years back and thought I’d share it here since I find it so hard to be pleasant in my own corner of the blogosphere. Anissa will probably be mad that I didn’t swear like a sailor, talk about running over celebrities with toilet paper or tell some screwed up story involving threesomes, but I’m sorry, my neighbours are all being normal this week and I got nothing like that to scare, I mean share with her beautiful readers.

Instead, I offer this:

My first trip to England was like a demented and glorious homecoming. I’d never been there before but from the moment I arrived the sense of belonging was undeniably there. It was weird considering I’m a fiercely proud Canadian. In fact, when planning the trip I had no idea what to expect on arrival. All I can say is it was a place I often dreamed of visiting and couldn’t believe it took me that long to get there.

Anyhow, after getting past customs I stood in Heathrow without a real plan. I had the numbers of friends but it was barely 8am on a Saturday and I couldn’t be that cruel. So armed with just a station name near my friend’s flat, I tried to find the Tube.

Okay, can I just say the word “tube” is just one of those words that makes me giggle. Say tubular and I’m on the floor. But I will go down no tangents today!

Yes, so I had to find the Tube (giggle) which I did and after figuring out those forsaken machines, I descended to the platform to see a train just leaving. The only other person around was a man in a uniform. He looked official so I asked if this was the Piccadilly line. He said yes and this train would be leaving in two minutes. I said cool and got onboard. No one else was around so he stuck his head in and asked in that totally clipped awesometastic British accent “Where are you going, Miss?” I told him Brixton and he immediately asked “Why? Oh no, you don’t want to go there” which made me laugh.

Usually I would totally have lied if a stranger asked where I was going because I’d want to make Oprah proud but there was something about him that totally disarmed me. I told him I was meeting friends and he shook his head  in what I’ll assume was disbelief all while reminding me what station I needed to find to do my transfer and wishing me a fine day.

A minute later the near empty train left and I got my first fix on London. The train filled up fast and I tried not to look too touristy counting stops like a country mouse. Of course it didn’t help that I had an oversized backpack, slept-on-an-airplane clothes, and Pippi Longstocking braids. Paint me wide-eyed and I was ripe pluckings for Fagin. I knew we were hitting Green Park soon and was completely intimidated by how fast people got on and off this cramped cigar tube of a system. So I hovered near the door, bag in front of me, so I could jump off the train movie-style if it called for it.

As we entered the station, I listened closely to make sure my calculations weren’t wrong and I was jumping off a stop too early. Concentrating hard, I listened to the tin voice say “Green Park. Next stop Green Park. Transfers to Jubilee and Victoria Lines. And for the little lady with braids in her hair, this is your stop – be safe and have a safe trip. Mind the gap.”

Now why can’t people be like that all the time?

This is just a random update of what’s going on with us in the land of Georgia.

The kids are still cute.  Need proof?

So, as of today we’ll have been in the new house for two weeks.

Two weeks.

I have all those boxes unpacked.

Everything looks amazing and shiny and clean.

We are a well-oiled machine of productivity and accomplishment.

AND?

Monkeys are expected to fly out of my butt ANY moment.

What *have* we gotten done?

We’ve unpacked enough stuff to make life bearable and to the point that, unfortunately, if we have to, we could live like this for years.

We won’t.

Probably.

But we could.

Just saying.

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We got a new kitty!

Kitteh has no tail and currently has no name.  Feel to make suggestions.  We are throwing around quite a selection of names, but none has taken yet: Darth Nub (he’s tail-less, cute or cruel?), Crop Circle (as he has a series of unusual and very faint white patterns on his back), and Peter’s favorite (because we live in Georgia now) is William Robert Joseph Buckley = Billy Bob Joe Buck.

*snort*

I was totally suckered into agreeing to a cat (that the family has been requesting since ten minutes before the beginning of forever) because I saw a mouse in the house.

A MOUSE in my house!

And as I sat on my table, shuddering and gasping in total shock, I thought to myself, “We’re totally getting that cat that will freak out all the mice in a five mile radius…a cat with tattoos, that smokes cigars and wears t-shirts that say things like ‘I ate your mama for breakfast’.  CAT…answer to all our mousey issues.”

Went to PetSmart, got a itsy-bitsy-cuddly baby kitteh.

YES. I know a teeny kitty is not going to make a mouse feel even remotely threatened, but it made solid sense in my head at the time.  I could NOT rid my brain of the visual of the mouse scoping out the house, rubbing it’s little rodent butt on my toothbrush and it just happened.

New kitteh.

With no tail.

Don’t you just know that I saw that cat with no tail and thought “Yeah, that cat couldn’t live with any other family than ours.”

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We’ve also discovered that our new home is the breeding ground for a Jurassic Park-eque new world of insects and creepy crawlies.  Stuff I’m sure are perfectly normal and just part of nature.

But, I think we’ve already established that I am not nature’s biggest fan. In fact, Nature can feel free to just keep herself outside and we’ll get along F.I.N.E….if I see her keep trying to work her way inside I am totally going to invest in those napalm traps you can {apparently} buy at any neighborhood Wal-Mart around here.

Take THAT, Nature!

On that note…..

I’d like to take this moment to just say that I have some wonderful friends who just give and give and G.I.V.E. of themselves to make sure we know how much we are missed and that no matter the miles, our friendships will remain strong.

I’ll also take this moment to tell my friends that are taunting me about turning into some suburban version of “The Fly” can bite me!

Jennifer? I’m talking to you, pig-lady  <—which is totally something someone once called her, not just me slamming out slurs…and in no way related to, or responsible for, the swine flu pandemic.

SHE sent me THIS glorious bit of awesome:

“And just to set you mind at ease here are some of the things you’ll encounter there:

Soil Insects
Cutworms (black, granulate, and variegated)
Green June beetle
Hunting billbug
Lesser cornstalk borer
Mole crickets
Southern corn rootworm, Western corn rootworm, and other Chysomelids
White grubs
Whitefringed beetle
Wireworms

Foliage Feeding Insects
Bean leaf beetle
Beet armyworm
Blister beetles
Cabbage webworm
Cereal leaf beetle
Colorado potato beetle
Corn earworm
Diamondback moth
European corn borer
Fall armyworm
Green cloverworm
Hornworms
Imported cabbage worm
Loopers
Mexican bean beetle
Southern armyworm
Tobacco budworm
Tobacco flea beetle
True armyworm
Velvetbean caterpillar
Yellowstriped armyworm

Sucking Insects <—don’t they ALL suck?
Black pecan aphid
Yellow pecan aphid
Chinch bug
Fleahoppers
Grain aphids
Green peach aphid
Leaffooted bug
Leafhoppers
Melon aphid
Silverleaf whitefly
Squash bug
Stink bugs (Brown and Green)
Tarnished plant bug
Threecornered alfalfa hopper
Thrips

Weevils and Borers
Asian ambrosia beetle
Boll weevil
Chestnut weevil
Cowpea curculio
Flightless weevils
Granary, rice and maize weevils
Grape curculio
Grape root borer
Ips engraver beetles
Pales weevil
Peachtree borer
Pecan weevil
Pepper weevil
Plum curculio
Southern pine beetle
Strawberry clipper
Sweetpotato weevil
Vegetable weevil

Exotic Insects
Asian longhorned beetle
The (multicolored) Asian lady beetle
Gypsy moth
Japanese beetle
Japanese cedar longhorn beetle
Pink hibiscus mealybug

Remember I’m thinking about ya!”

Friends…the salt that life rubs into your open wounds.