By the Power of Grayskull, There WILL BE A PARTY

MONDAY
6:38 AM
I awake Monday like I do most Mondays—slowly and wishing it was Saturday.

It wasn’t until I hopped into the shower that I remembered that my youngest daughter was not only turning five on April 28, but that we were planning her party for Saturday, April 26. Which is fine, completely fine. Except it was now Monday, April 21 and I had done nothing—literally NOTHING—in terms of planning for this event. I hadn’t even passed out the invitations yet.

OOOOoohhh, rrriiiiight—I hadn’t made them either. GAHHH!!

Okay, look—if I could make a person in nine months, I could plan a kid’s birthday party in five days. Not a biggie. I can do this. Just because I was distracted for several weeks by, I donno, LIFE, doesn’t mean we still can’t throw the party.

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

First things first: No invitations? Ffft—no problem. I had PhotoShop and I wasn’t afraid to use it. Plus, these were invitations for a little girl’s 5^th birthday party—all I needed was squirrelly font and rainbow colors. PERFECT.

Narrowing down the guest list was tricky. Originally Syd wanted to invite about 5 girls only, but soon it became all the girls in class, which then expanded to all the girls plus this boy and that boy and then, the next thing I knew, she wanted everyone to come. The guest list went up by about 25 kids inside of 10 minutes.

Not a problem. We have a big enough yard which can work out great in sunny weather. How to entertain a squadron of 5 year-olds? BOUNCE HOUSE. Reasonable price, easy entertainment. The kids will love it! They’re going to be jumping around anyway, all hopped up on sugar, right?

I type, “ Birthday party, 11 AM to 1 PM. Bounce house! Games! Pizza!” With invitations printed up on my handy inkjet, we got them into the class cubbies by 8:15 that morning. We’re on our way!

TUESDAY
7:20 PM
I am way too into the thought of baking a pretty cake. My ridiculous obsessive nature has pulled in the excitement of my little girl and now it’s beyond my desire to make the cake—it is part of the expectation. As we peruse the beautiful cakes on flickr.com, I somehow convince myself that I CAN make a comeback and get past the Great Cake Flop of 2008 (pictured here). My confidence high, I decide I will promptly get to planning the party. At some point. First though, I needed to look at a few more cakes. And read some e-mail. And watch Night at the Museum with Syd. She likes Larry.

Procrastination is yummy.

This is when Syd informs me she’s decided she doesn’t want pizza. She wants hot dogs. The long ones. (Dodger dogs.) The invitations have been in parents’ hands for about 24 hours and already have obsolete information. I feel my eye begin to twitch.

WEDNESDAY
8:07 AM
It’s drizzling outside. Great. Rain. I’ll need that Saturday like I need yet another hole in my head.

Oh holy crap I forgot about the bounce house. GAH! I called, diligently left a message, and promptly neglected to actually procure one. Worst. Mother. EVER.

Via my emergency call to the local rental agency I am informed that there possibly could be a total of ONE bounce house available in Fresno County this weekend. Maybe. She’ll make a few calls and see what she can do. I’m told to hang tight.

2:35 PM
I’m hanging tight. My office is a meat locker, so cold one’s fingers should snap off. But me? No. I’m sweating. Dizzy. Still no call from the bounce house lady. My nerves are killing me. That or the fattoush salad I had for lunch.

4:00 PM
GOT IT! The World of Disney modular bounce house is available—more than what we were looking for, but it’s all they have. Twice the fun, sure…at twice the price. WHAT??? I even don’t hesitate: We’ll take it. Ch-ching.

5:40 PM
Nerves nothing; it’s food poisoning. Party planning put aside, I lay in bed cursing my English stomach. And the fattoush.

THURSDAY
7:30 PM
Why did I plan the party for 11 AM? WHAT WAS I THINKING? I have to clean the house, mow the yard, feed children, bake a cake with the skill of a master pastry chef, do 17 loads of wash, buy gifties and fill goodie bags and decorate a house and take Syd BACK TO THE DOCTOR for a tetanus shot re-check all by Saturday at 10:30 AM, when the bounce house is set to arrive. All this in TWO DAYS.

I have no decorations. I have no goodie bags nor goodies to fill them with. The only thing I can knock-down early is the cake. So I begin baking. For those interested in one of the greatest recipes ever for chocolate cake, check out allrecipes.com. I love this cake. First, it’s chocolate. Second, it’s moist and a little dense and third, it’s chocolate.

My last cake experience was a failure on par with... something that really failed one time. Overly dry, cracked and dusty fondant (the cake’s candy-style icing) was thickly rolled over heavy cake to produce a large lump. It looks like pasty old man in dominatrix leathers. Short story: Not the look I was going for.

I vow this time, this cake will be different. I find a better recipe for fondant,—one that is tasty, easy to roll out, and quick to make. Better, stronger, faster than before. A bionic fondant, if you will.

And so I begin building my masterpiece.

FRIDAY
1:00 AM
I am covered in powdered sugar.

I have melted marshmallow stuck in my hair.

My fingers are stained with food coloring.

The cake looks faaaaabulous.

*zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*

6:40 AM
Friiiiiday! I love a Friiiiiday! I awake like I do every Friday—slowly and glad it isn’t Saturday YET. I can savor the flavor of a Friday.

Especially when my Saturday will be filled with many, many 5 year-olds and sugar.

No. No everything is not complete. No I am not Atlas, carrying the world. No I have not yet finished planning the party, cleaning the house, buying the items, decorating, doing laundry. But, I STILL HAVE ROUGHLY 24-OR-SOMETHING HOURS.

I will not quit. I know I can. I know I can. I know I can. I am the little mom that could.

Don't be a boob. Be a bra.

You wouldn't notice it unless you were watching her very, very intently. She smiles congenially as her four year-old granddaughter runs halfway across the room to greet her. But if you pay close attention, as the preschooler wraps her arms around her Grammi’s neck, the big hug, the big kiss—THERE it is. As the two pull apart, the woman reaches up and tugs on the back of her hair, adjusting her whole hairstyle ever so slightly.

The woman, my mother, laughs with delight as my little girl announces how she has told her teachers about Grammi’s “hair hat.” Sydney is intrigued by the fact that Grammi had to take some very “hard medicine” that made her hair fall out. She asks her grandmother at every visit and in every phone conversation if Grammi’s hair has grown back yet. “Not yet,” the patient answers patiently. “But it will.”

My mother is a cancer survivor. Breast cancer, to be precise. Her story is not so different from the millions of women that came before her, and horribly, the millions that will follow.

The short story: During her monthly self-exam, she found a lump. The tumor was aggressive; my mother underwent a mastectomy within a month or so of the lump’s discovery.

(SIDE NOTE: Hey mom, you don’t mind if I publicly talk about your boobs, do you? Just checking.)

For those that are unaware, a “mastectomy” is the medical term for the partial or total removal of the breast. As one can imagine, having a body part removed is a physically and emotionally painful experience.

During surgery, two drains (surgical tubes connected to a container for capturing fluid) are installed. There is a method of tracking the amount of fluid that fills the drains, as well as specific procedures for cleaning them.

My mom was punted to the curb—ahem… DISCHARGED from the hospital within less than 24 hours after her surgery. She had 4 adult children devoted to her 24-hour care for several ensuing days. A retired RN, mom was an easy (if unwilling) patient. When one is used to caring for the world, it’s a bit more difficult to let go and let others be in charge of the care. That said, I’m sure it’s even tougher to get those others to let go when you, yourself, raised them to be caretakers. And tenacious caretakers, to boot (though I’ll blame the tenacity on my dad).

There was no way on this green earth that my mother—a registered nurse—would have been able to care for herself during the first few days after surgery. Though her recovery was amazing, she still needed help. You know, just the minor things. Like MOVING. And EATING. And assistance with the more complicated details, like the tracking of fluid , the doling out of medication, the cleaning of the drains, the whole post-surgery-foggy-headed thing.

(SIDE NOTE: Can I tell you how incredibly awesome it was to be able to FINALLY mom my mom?)

My point: The Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S.459/H.R 758) is languishing in committee. Among other things, this bill will require insurance companies to cover in-hospital stays for mastectomy patients for a full 48 hours after surgery. If you have time, please read the bill. If this is a cause you support, please sign MyLifetime.com’s petition. Or, even better, please contact your congressperson with your support of the bill.

As they say on the MyLifetime.com site: “Be my support. Be my strength. Be my Bra.”

I am HARDCORE. In plaid.

I don’t know what got into me. Or maybe it’s what never got out. Confession: The other night I bought two pairs of awesome pants at Hot Topic.

Yes, I just wrote “awesome pants.”

Yes, I just wrote “Hot Topic.”

Yes, I am 38 years-old.

LOOK, I am an 80s girl at heart and they had these amazing plaid clam diggers in different colors YES PLAID with zipper pockets and these, like, metal studs and they go super cute with my flowy black top and YES I AM TOO OLD for Hot Topic but… but…

…I liked them. And no, they are not entirely me—not me anymore, not the me of NOW—I’m noticing something strange happening to me lately (lately being anytime in the last 9 months). It’s been hard to figure out, but… I think I’m now attracted to all things hardcore. Seriously hardcore.

Like my recent affinity for Hot Pockets. Who doesn’t love a delicious scoop of cheesy goop molded into a rectangle? And those clever little cardboard wraps for the microwave to “crisp” them up? Believe me when I tell you that the inventor of the Hot Pocket was hardcore. Only a true microwave culinaire would think about that cardboard.

Or my desire to go bowling lately. What is that? That is HARDCORE. There is no other sport nearly as badarse as bowling. Don’t believe me? Watch Kingpin.

I’ve also been craving the snacks of my youth. Remember Lemon Heads? Or the big, long Charleston Chews? I used to like them frozen. Not that I my hyperactive twelve year-old self had the patience to wait for them to freeze, mind you. One could buy them that way at the community pool. (Remember community pools?) And while I make do now with modern candies like Hot Tamales, (hardcore), I do miss the sugary goodness of the old Now & Laters, back when they could break your teeth. Plus I’m pretty convinced all candies were way bigger back when I was two feet shorter.

… and while it’s all decidedly less hardcore, lately I’m also missing rainbow flip-flops, cherry-flavored lip gloss and my mom’s gigantic station wagon with the AM radio blasting Chicago’s “Saturday in the Park.” I miss long, lazy summer days, Drumsticks, scary movies about sharks, Depeche Mode, Sixteen Candles, watching Days of Our Lives at 3:00, listening to Live 105 on the radio, riding my bike past dark, and wondering what it would be like to have a boyfriend or go to a party or not live with my parents anymore.

Enter the deep, resonant sound of the chi gong. Aaah, realization.

I took my stepdaughter to get her driver’s license. Her nervousness was endearing and her desire palpable. Months of preparation and years of yearning culminated with this one moment at the curb. And for that brief moment, when I repeated my father’s advice (“You’re a great driver and you’ll pass the test but you know what? If for some reason you don’t, it’ll be okay. It really will. You really can take it again.”) I remembered the delicious taste of innocence.

…and big candy.

…and bowling with my friends.

…and clam diggers. Awesome pants.

Plus, I looked really good in them. I mentioned they go with my flowy top, right?

cross-posted to centralvalleymoms.com

What the??? What is going on in India?

Not that atypical things don't happen elsewhere (coughMy House coughcough), but I ran across these two stories in the last 12 hours-- both about two kids in India-- and I felt compelled to share.

First off, old news arrived in my inbox from a friend. She introduced me to 15 year-old Jyoti Amge, who is the World's Smallest Girl. She's 11 inches tall. Worst quote ever comes unintentionally from mom: "Jyoti is small, yet cute, and we love her very much." Subtext: "Thank GAWD she wasn't hit by the ugly stick, because otherwise she's be on the first train outta town."

Second, this baby is a two-face. Literally. The baby has two faces. And while my first concern was that the child might suffer at the hands of the unkind, it appears she will have a whole different set of pressures to live up to. "Rural India is deeply superstitious and the little girl is being hailed as a return of the Hindu goddess of valor, Durga, a fiery deity traditionally depicted with three eyes and many arms."

Go read.

cross-posted to centralvalleymoms.com

Me and my mommy

IMG_0071
Originally uploaded by stephen_dana

Mom and I at Madeline's 16th birthday bash

I'm learning.

“I’m late,” she said, looking at me with wide eyes and shame. My bleary-eyed self was not ready for this. I was two sips into my coffee before she came to me with the news she could tell no one else. Cloistered away in the car, the two of us sat staring out the windshield. If I wasn’t ready for this, there was no way her dad would ever be.

We have that relationship, my stepdaughter and I; I am that non-parent port in a storm that can equally guide her forward as be her sounding board. We’re new at this, but we both feel blessed in our ability to communicate. But this… this I was not expecting.

I was stunned. Speechless. My mouth flubbered around for something intelligent and compassionate to say and the only thing to crash forth was, “But…Have you even had sex??!”

She began to slowly nod, which turned into a slow head-shake, which turned into a very slow, “Nope…. But it’s April Fools today.”

*snap* oooohhhh, she got me, the rat.

Allow me to introduce myself: My name is Gullible Suckerpants.

In case some of you have forgotten, escaped, or have been hiding under a rock, today is April Fools’ Day. And if you love a good fool story, be sure to check out some of the whoppers flying around the net.

First up: Last year’s masters are back, and at if with a mega dose. Google has at least two good pranks out there. Check out the all new Google TiSP Beta, their free in-home wireless broadband service.

Need a little escape? Apply to be a Virgle pioneer, “the first permanent human colony on Mars.”

Gmail users will appreciate the new Google Custom Time feature—a service that will allow users to send e-mail from the past. “You tell us what time you would have wanted your email sent, and we'll take care of the rest. Need an email to arrive 6 hours ago? No problem,” the site says. But hop on the feature, because it disappears all Cinderella-like at midnight.

One of the Web’s better reads is ESPN’s “Election Deathmatch Coverage,” where Clinton and Obama will apparently “face off in a winner-take-all tournament.”

Finally, are you tired of always being the office fool and never the fooler? Get going on a few good pranks of your own. Check out Popular Mechanics “Top 5 April Fool’s Day Pranks.”

As for my stepdaughter... the old shaving-cream-in-the-hand-tickle-your-face trick is sounding awfully good.....