Catching up & some friends you should know about today.

So, hi.

I’ve been too lazy to write lately but thought maybe I’d show up a bit today before my charming children get home early. It’s teacher conference week leading into spring break so I’ll be even more scarce.

And drunk.

There are things on my mind that need to come out my fingertips. Isn’t that a pretty image?

1st – I went to the roller derby Friday night and I no longer feel any desire to be a rollergirl. That shit looks like it hurts!

2nd – The little girl across the street (otherwise known as a great friend to D’s 2 &3) has head lice. She’s had it for 3 weeks and I’m trying to figure out how to politely decline invitations to play. We’ve been there, done that. Twice. I don’t want to go there again. I’m like a monkey double and triple checking them. I’m pretty sure they’re starting to get annoyed.

3rd – There’s some asshat redneck south of us giving away free guns when you sign up for direct tv. He’s gone national telling people all over that all households in our state have at least 24 guns. I need to go on record saying that’s not true. We only have 4. Three of them shoot marshmallows and the other shoots nerf darts. This guy needs to go away. Who am I? Fucking Sarah Palin? The answer to that is a resounding NO!

4th – I’m lucky. You know why? I get to hang out at the Boiling River near Mammoth (the north entrance to Yellowstone) with SG all to myself. No kiddos, no dog wanting SG’s spot next to me on the couch, and no stinky hamsters. The cool fact that we can just pop down to the Park when we want doesn’t go unappreciated. Also, hot springs hurt my feet because of the whole hand foot syndrome thing so this way I can stick my body in the hot part and leave my feet in the river. It’s sort of rocks. (Don’t try this with just any thermal feature in Yellowstone though – that would be called soup.)

5th – Did you know it’s Marinka’s birthweek? Pop on over there and tell her how marvelous she looks – and how young! It’s true, she really does. Turns out humor, and she’s one of the funniest women I know, is good for the skin.

6th – While you’re surfing, go over and congratulate Princess Mikkimoto on her recent wedding. I wish I’d have looked this beautiful on my wedding day!

7th – Have you been to movie in the middle of the day lately? If not, Wendi has an awesome post about what you’re missing!

8th –  Kelcey combines blogging for a great cause with cobra tweets. What could be more fun?? That’s right, nothing. What are you waiting for? Click the link already.

9th – I’m really hungry this morning but can’t find anything good in the house so Mmmm…..crepes!

10th – Turns out if you skip a few days posting, it’s gets easier and easier to put off. Kind of like sex. So, I’ll try to be better about it before summer gets here and I go MIA again.

Have a lovely day my dears!


I am a badass!

these teams were all phenominal to watch the o...

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I’m going out with friends Friday and we’ve decided to be all hip and cool and go watch roller derby! I can’t wait. We saw an ad last night and I told SG I want to be a rollergirl.

He looked up from the grant he was reading and said:

“Um, no.”

Because he likes to crush my dreams like that.

“Well why not? They’re cool and I could totally do that. Do you think I’m too fragile or something?”

He just looked at me.

D1, on the other hand, gave me an eyeroll.

“You’ve had 3 major surgeries in 5 years mom. You’re not allowed to play roller derby! Deal with it.”

Whatever. I totally could if I wanted to.

In my next life, I’m going to be Cruella de Kill and I’m going to have a skull tattooed on my neck! Deal with that!

And you? What’s your rollergirl name?

I am

I am Annie. I am mom. I am babe. I am Ang. I am hey you, and her mom and his wife. For awhile I was Fiona but then they started asking me to pay for the site and I lost interest. I am cheap. Last week I was Alice to a mom with a lot on her mind. I am still laughing at the look on my daughter’s face when I answered to that.

I understand.

I am a daughter and a daughter-in-law. I am a sister and an aunt and your friend. I am that woman staring at your babies and toddlers and thinking they are beautiful.

I am also thinking I am glad my children are older. That I am thankful they can tie their own shoes and make their own snacks and wipe their own butts. Mostly that they can wipe their own butts. I am a fan of that.

I am a good friend and I am loyal. But I am fierce and protective of the people I love. I am forgiving but I don’t forget if you hurt me or my family. If you make them cry, I will make you cry! I am a redhead.

I used to be smart but now I’m kind of medicated and confused.

I used to have a good job and validation of a job well done. Now I’m easily pleased with a thank you for making you cookies and fudge. I like fudge and cookies, and shiny things, and sunshine and flowers and spring. And my dog. I like my dog. She was doing the funniest thing the other day where she’d nudge me with her nose and then…..

I am easily distracted.

I am hoping I am not the person I see in the mirror but I’m kind of afraid I am. I am pretty sure I’m much younger and hipper than she is. And that my boobs are much perkier. I’m wondering what happened to them. I was the breastfeeder of 3, but not all at the same time. That could be it.

I was the holder of babies. The woman who ignored you when you told me to put them down so they could nap. I am the mom who stared at them in wonder. I still am. I am proud of them.

I am a lover and a wife. I am the woman with the husband you want. The one who took 3 kids to the grocery store when they were little so I could rest. The one who does the dishes. The one who makes me laugh and look forward to March Madness. How the hell did that happen? Who is that woman? Where did she come from? I am not sure.

I am not often the one who asks “why me”? I am more of a “who’d I piss off in a past life to deserve this?” kind of gal. I am also the one who looks at the people I love and who love me and says again, “Wow, what did I do right  to deserve this?” I am lucky and I am appreciative.

I am scarred and pale and weak but I am strong. I am lifted by love and laughter and family and friends. And I am resilient. I am also muscle free and grossed out by wet bread in the sink. What the heck is up with that? Why do people think the sink is the place for uneaten food when the garbage can is so near by. Don’t get me started on wet meat. Eww!

I am still easily distracted.

I am the finder of lost things. I am the only one with the ability to lift things and look under them. I know where things are kept even if I did not put them away. But even I, am not the finder of lost socks.

I am the writer of brilliant posts in my mind at 3am that never quite come together in the morning. I am shopping for an Ipad and a good nightlight.

I am the one you called super mom but not in a nice way. You called me that because I bake every treat I bring to school for parties and birthdays from scratch. I am the mom of a child with a nut allergy. I am “super mom” because I want her to have a safe snack that will not send her to the hospital. I want her to be included. You are not nice.

I am a lover of the sun but easily burned. I am rejuvenated by nature and mountains. I have had sex on mountain tops. I have had pine needles in places I shouldn’t. I am strengthened by nature but invigorated by the power in the air in NYC. Or maybe that was drunk from pollution. I don’t know. I am fascinated by those with lives so different from my own. I like pizza. I miss the east coast.

When I was on the east coast I missed home. I am hard to please. Ok not really but it seemed to fit there. Wherever SG is, I am home. I am mushy and annoying like that.

I am a walker because I am too lazy to run. I think it makes my boobs even less perky. I am the maker of lame excuses.

I was that girl who could ski anything. I spent every spare day on the slopes. I was good. Then I met a southerner and got married and had babies and left the mountains. I am that woman you judged and whispered about to your friend because I skied a run on the bunny hill with my baby in a Bjorn. You didn’t know me or what I could do. I am careful, always careful, with my babies. She loved it, and loved me, and slept for hours afterwards. I shared my world with her and you frowned. I can feel you frowning now. What if I’d fallen? What if she’d gotten hurt?  I didn’t, she didn’t. We are fine.

I can hold one hell of a grudge.

I am the mother of the girl who failed her human sexuality test. In part because she was embarrased to label the boy parts but also because she “was just sure the rectum was in the front”. I am confused by that but also very amused. I am a failure at “the talk”. I am in search of a good diagram for her sisters.

I am a lover of margaritas and red wine and strong micro-brews. I get sick when I have them now. I am pretty sure that really pisses me off!

I am “that mom with cancer”. I am the one who makes you uncomfortable. The one who you used to seek out but now makes you take a sharp right around the clothing rack to avoid. I saw you.

I am the one who makes you thankful and fearful at the same time. The one who makes you hug your children tighter and question your pains. I am the one who makes you get them checked. I am good with that. I am proud of you.

I am more than you know but likely less than you think. I am nothing more or less than me.

I am done. I’m sure you are thankful for that.

Who are you?

Nothing is more Funk-Free than a science fair!

Hey, you know how I was all poor me and my life sucks on Friday? Sorry about that and thanks for all the nice we love you and you can do this comments. I love you guys!  No really, I do. Thanks!!! You all rock!

SG knew the BS was getting deep around here so Saturday he said:

“You know what we should do babe?”

And I said:

“Tell me, oh wise one, what should we do? Does it involve a thong?”

But nooooo, he said:

“We should take the girls to the Science Circus at the high school today. I’ll buy you tater tots on the way home! The thong is optional.” Do you wonder why I love this guy?

So we went.

And we saw these:


Covered in this:


And I got one of these:

I'm so cool

Could my un-manicured hand look more deformed and swollen? Yes, that’s a leg sticking out of the chocolate. I ate it anyway because that’s just how cool I am. I passed on the garlic baked mealworms. Even I have limits.

I was going to show you the picture of the dissected fetal pigs but again, even I have limits so I’ll show you these guys instead. Pigs that were allowed to go beyond the fetal stage. They were much cuter!!

3 wks old

And lest you think we’re uncultured swine. Get it? Swine? Fetal pigs and baby pigs? Oh never mind. Here you go:

Jealous yet?

That’s right my NYC friends, we have musicals here in the boonies too!

Act I – Family, genus, species, that’s the way it goes.

That's right - organisms!

Act II – Albert Swinestein the genius pig.

Do you sense a theme?

But wait! That’s not all the excitement. We also had this:

A laser show. Set to music!

I’m not sure if you noticed but the screen in Lab Rats the Musical was filthy. I think it might be because of this:

Diet Coke & Mentos

SG tells me regular Coke works better. I actually knew this already because of the ants in our driveway last year after he did the same thing. Minus the kiddie pool.

But wait, there’s more. This is a series of pics so watch closely:


Balloon, duct tape, skewer. Hmm.

10 minutes later

 Ok, in their defense it was more shrinkable than poppable and yes, I do realize that the 2nd balloon is a different color. D3 wandered off so I tackled D2 and took a picture of her balloon as follow up instead.

 Now in case you’re starting to think your pain via pictures will end soon, you’re wrong. If I get to spend 3 fun-filled hours, yes THREE, so do you.  Hang in there, it might get better. Or it might not.
Have you ever wondered just how big those little absorbent pellets in disposable diapers will get? How much they’ll actually absorb? Neither have I, but here you go anyway:
300x original size!

 If I had known this, I would have just bought 1 diaper each!

And in case you DO leave the diaper this long. Here’s a way to make your house smell better:

Ivory soap in a microwave


It will make your home, and everything you cook, smell like soap for up to 3 days. You’re going to go buy some and try this aren’t you?

Oh, you know how winter can get really really long and all the snow can get you down? Here, try this. I dare ya!

It was cooler in the dark

I asked SG how they did that and I think he said something about methanol or methane. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. He might have farted then mentioned methane. Hey, I’m not the one with the Ph.d.
Now, if I may, one more picture before I go: (like you have a choice)
The Science Circus was a gift that will keep on giving. Who can stay in a bad mood when our little potato head will soon sprout a little grassy hairdo? Maybe they’ll let me give him a mohawk.
PS – I did get my tater tots.
PPS – I have no freaking idea how I screwed up all the spacing in this post but it’s far too long to battle with anymore. I’m as bored as you are.

Trying to find my way out of a funk

I’ve been really busy lately. With what, you ask?

I’ve been throwing myself one hell of a pity party. RSPVP’s were not required because, though we all like parties, this was not one you would have wanted to attend. Engraved invitations didn’t go out, hell, I couldn’t have even managed an e-vite.

I was on a high after my 5 yr anniversary post. The love and support lifted me and held me up for 3 or 4 days. Then my scan came and my fear of bad results took over. I posted a little, trying to make light of it and appear grateful for the good results. I held my head high and typed with fake enthusiasm.

I pretended to be strong and joked about my doctor’s office meltdown.

But I lied. It wasn’t joke worthy. It hurts to lose it even before getting the results. It’s hard not to be strong in the face of it all. To admit I’m weak and tired and  really really sad.

I’ve been walking in a dark cloud. I’ve struggled daily to hold back tears every time I glance in the mirror and see my lack of hair and overly thin face. I look like a cancer patient.

I’ve had friends make suggestions about what can be done with my hair. It’s made it worse. I had another friend comment to my kids that she just “had to tease their mom about her hair”.  But why? Why did she have to tease me? How does this help?

I knew my identity was tied to my copious amounts of red hair. Honestly, I’ve had very few bad hair days in my life and I do appreciate that. Up until now.

I’ve never been the pretty one but I had great hair. Through my freakishly tall, bad skin, questionable choice of band instruments days, I had the kind of hair people told me they envied. It made me walk a little taller. But honestly, how ridiculous is it to not know who I am now that it’s gone?

Someone recently asked where D2 got her gorgeous long red hair. It killed me. Absolutely broke my heart into tiny pieces.

How do I justify feeling sorry for myself over such a petty minor thing?

Should I admit how superficial I am?

Should I be embarrassed to admit how much I struggle when I’m supposed to be grateful for 5 extra years?

I guess I bare it here and hope nobody reads it. This is my therapy.

This is where I confess that I fear I won’t live long enough to see it long again. In the greater scheme of things that shouldn’t matter. But it does.

It matters to me very much.

I had a friend suggest I cut it shorter. She might be right but I can’t do it. My hair stylist knows that – she wouldn’t do it if I asked. She shaved my neck at my last appointment. It WON’T be shorter than that. She’s been through cancer treatments herself, so she knows and appreciates how much the loss of the smallest things add to the mourning of life before cancer. How my femininity is tied to my hair.

So how do I find my way out of the dark cloud of a lost identity and the exhaustion of a year of daily treatment that wears me out in every way? When does the mourning end? What’s next? Do I have the strength for another 5 years?

I don’t know.

I’m trying and SG is trying to help. He tells me I’m beautiful to him but I don’t believe him. He’s not above lying to me to try to make me feel better. I appreciate that and I’m sure I don’t want him to tell me the truth anyway.

I don’t want to be told to get a wig now that it’s just starting to come back. That’s what my mom does. She does it with love – her way of trying to help me feel better about myself.  But somehow my warped brain sees it as a reminder that the way I look now isn’t good enough. Not to her but to me.

And yes, I am feeling horribly sorry for myself when I know how much worse others have it. But why do I have to compare my feelings to that? Why can’t I just allow myself some time to wallow as long as I snap out of it by the time the girls get home from school?

I’ll get through it. I’ll contain it to after hours, after bedtime. I will get through it but not yet.

Not right now. Right now I’m sad and exhausted and out of words.

Luck O’ the Irish Setter

Happy St. Patrick’s Day my friends!

This is the day my children (especially my oldest) turn their backs on their French/German/English/Nordic heritage and suddenly want nothing more than to be Irish. Even the dog rejects her mutt status and embraces her inner irish setter.

Her Irish eyes didn’t like the flash.
Me? I’m having chinese for lunch with a friend whose last name is not Finnegan. I have red hair (what’s left of it), I’m accepted anywhere on St. Paddy’s day.
Oh hey, as long as I’m sharing pictures today, check this one out:

These are some OLD pancakes!

I can’t believe I forgot to post this picture! I dug these out on my 5 yr cancerversary and had to take a picture. I’m not sure why the little plastic jumping bean made it into the shot. I blame D2. 

SG and the girls made these for me not long after I came home from the hospital the 1st time. It took so long to do each letter they were a little inedible by the time they finished but I didn’t care. I couldn’t bring myself to eat them anyway.

Oddly, they never got moldy or anything. They did break a bit but when your babies make you pancakes in any form you love them! Btw – I’m not a hoarder. They’re in their own little box.

In other news, my last surgery to remove a big ass tumor from behind my stomach was a year ago today. The surgeon was a real prick who suggested maybe the cancer had progressed more than we thought and didn’t hide his feelings that maybe I’d be “wrapping things up” soon. This was before surgery so I assured him once he got in there he’d see it was all just scar tissue and I was right. Bastard! A year later and I’m healthy as a (cancerous) horse! Take that you big jerk!!
On that note, enjoy your day everybody and try not to drink too much green beer because that can only end badly!
That isn’t a reference to a college flashback. Or is it? It’s blurry.

I remember when I used to be in charge

I’ve lost control of my children. Or at least D2. She’s a sassy strong redhead so what did I expect?

This morning she was a little mouthy and in a very loving, if sarcastic, way I called her “sweet child o’ mine”. Which immediately made me flash back to Guns N’ Roses so I took it upon myself to load it up on YouTube and play it for her while she was putting her shoes on.

She hated it and let me know.

“Mom, that’s awful! Turn it off”

“No, I like it. Just listen, at least until he says sweet child o’ mine”

“Where’s your phone?”

“What the heck? Don’t walk over here with your dirty shoes on. What are you thinking?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. That song drove me to it. It made me crazy and I forgot I had my shoes on. It’s dry dirt.” Because that makes all the difference.

“Why do you need my phone anyway?”

“I need to text grandma and tell her you’re irritating me. She’ll make you turn it off!”

“Yeah, good luck with that. Here, take it. I dare you.”

Dear G-ram (because we’re super formal) mom is playing an irritating song and annoying me. Make her turn it off.” Then she signed her little sister’s name.

“You know that’s not going to help you out right?”

“But she’s your mom. You have to do it if she tells you to.”

“Not really.”

“What would you say if I said that to you?”

“I’m old. When you’re almost 43 you can ignore what I tell you. Now go get your butt on the bus.”

“Fine, but when I’m old I’m not getting on that bus!”

“Deal. Love you honey! Have a good day.”


Now I just need to find the perfect song to be playing when she gets off the bus this afternoon. Suggestions?