So much to say...

Wow, it's been awhile. And in standard form, I've been away from blogging for a nice long stretch. It's not that I haven't thought about it, I think about writing all of the time. It's just that, well.... just see the name of my blog. If it's not one thing, it's another.

Instead of writing one loooong blog about my whole life story the last six months, I'll just start with one event and write other blog posts about the others. I'll spare your eyes and my fingers the torture of doing it all at once.

Let's start by saying that I've had, er, let's say... female troubles my whole teenage through adult life. These troubles are characterized by more pain than I could possibly describe without electrifying the chair you sit in. And maybe install spikey things. Maybe then.

I have a family history of Endometriosis, and have been told I have cysts on my ovaries. Lovely things, these cysts. I've had them burst, sending me to the emergency room begging to be run over by a truck. Repeatedly. Until the pain stops.

A few months back I started having pain on my left ovary-ish side. Nothing bad. Just enough to make me go "huh.". Over the course of several weeks, the pain got worse. I finally broke down and went to the doctor, who immediately ordered all sorts of tests. Let's just say I knew it was bad when the brusque and Brumhilda-like ultrasound technician suddenly turned kind and sympathetic after taking the images she needed. All 40,000 of them.

Come to find out, it wasn't what *was* wrong with me, it was what *wasn't*. The ultrasound showed that I had two very large chocolate cysts on my left ovary. Blood and other tests showed markers for cancer, and extensive precancer of the cervix. (There's a name for this, couldn't tell you what it was at the moment) The doctor also strongly suspected rampant Endometriosis.

I was scheduled for my pre-op appointment about two weeks after my last test. To make a long story short, I ended up in surgery much earlier. The pain was too much, and even hard core pain-killers stopped having any effect. ( And this coming from the person who goes unconscious when she takes benedryl.)

After the surgery, the doctor came in to see me. The conversation went something like this:

Doctor: "How are you feeling?"
Me: "Mmrfflflap" (patient note- Those little morphine push button thingies are THE BOMB)
Doctor: "O.K. good. (I'm guessing he understood Morphinish.) Well, the surgery went good. The cysts were very very large and I can see now why you were in so much pain. (Thank you Captain Obvious!) You also had extensive Endometriosis. It wasn't the worst case I've ever seen in my career, buuuuut..... it what pretty far up there. I'm very confident we were able to remove everything. (Note: by everything, he also meant ovaries, tubes, uterus and cervix. Yep, I was gutted like a fish!)

I know women often feel like they are missing something when they have full hysterectomies. I've read more information about it than is probably healthy, and most of what I read said to expect to go through the mourning process for this. I can't say this has been the case for me at all. After having so much pain for most of my life due to what I now know was Endometriosis, and the other problems I have had, I can truly say I am SO relieved!

Yes, I have to take hormones for about the next 20 years. But the knowledge that the problem was identified and addressed gives me so much relief and peace of mind. The recovery has been long, and my stomach muscles may never be the same. (Not that I was running around in bikinis before this!) But it has all been worth it.

I will have to continue to be checked once yearly because of the type and extent of the precancer areas that were removed. The moral of this story is: Get your yearly checkups! These cells would not have been found had we not been testing for an unrelated condition. I have not been good about getting mine done every year, and this may have had a catastrophic ending had the cysts not forced me to the doctor.

EVERY. YEAR. Schedule yours now! Do it for your kids, do it for your loved ones, do it for YOURSELF!

Tempted

It's been awhile my peeps and bloggy friends. I missed you, and I missed the little rush I get every time I have a comment hit my email. I've been busy, of course, that part about me being a Mom and all, added to the fact I have a ba-zillion other things that are always going on or blowing up about the time I say "Well, things should start slowing down for meeeeee......".

To be honest though, that's not the reason I haven't blogged in awhile. In my mind, at least (Where a lot of crazy stuff happens, believe you me), I've come to a crossroads where I'm considering a change in my blogging.

I have so much I'd like to say. Blog posts constantly tumble around in my head, some of them like a dryer load of bricks. I know that what I have to say, so many women will relate to. I can't be the only one who thinks these things or has these issues. (Please tell me that this is so!) If there's something I've learned in the blogging community, it's that as much as we are all different, we are also the same. These words are itching to come out of me and be written down.

But here's the problem. In case you weren't aware, I live in a very small community, with said population very wrapped up in the military community we are also a part of. As much as I'd like to think I am entitled to my own opinions, griefs, concerns and what have you, experience the last few years has shown that I am definitely NOT. Well... let me take that back. I can put things out there, but they are sure to come back and bite someone I care about (see, I can't even put *who* without having to go back and write that more cryptically) in the ass in a career-busting way. What have I also learned the last few years? People suck. They will take anything you say and twist it to their advantage and use it against people I care about.

(Mr. Jerk-Face, if you're reading this, YES... I'm talking about YOU.)


So here's what I'm considering. I'd really like to write about my experiences as a military wife. I'd also like to write more about those touchy subjects having to do with depression, the ups and downs of relationships, the trials of Motherhood. And maybe about the people that piss me off. (I already have a running list). In a nutshell, I'd like to be more HONEST.

With one exception. I'd have to do it anonymously. (I know... hypocritical much?) I can't hide behind the obscurity of a larger population. Things that I say have and will come back to haunt my hubby and kids, which is in and of itself a cautionary tale. I'd like to put things out there that aren't necessarily ponies and rainbows, but without the risk to my family's livelihood.

So what do you think Peeps? Do I blog anonymously and write about what's REALLY going on in this crazy head of mine, or do I call it a wrap on my blogging days? I'm pretty sure it has to be one or the other, since having to censor this blog so heavily makes me feel like it misses the point entirely.

I'd love to hear your input!

Another TSA Rant: My Gift to You

There's been a lot in the news lately about the TSA, and none of it is good. I'm sure Tiger Woods appreciates the break.

I really wouldn't have had a strong opinion about the whole mess one way or another if we hadn't recently traveled.... a lot. If anything, I would have wondered what the kerfuffle was all about. I mean, who doesn't want to fly safe? It's a crazy world and I'll take all the reassurance I can get!

Well, recent experience has shown me it's not that easy.

Last year, we planned a trip to New Jersey to visit family. My brother-in-law married a really wonderful gal, and we wanted to be able to visit as a family before too much time went by. Back in December, we bought tickets flying into Philadelphia.

Coming into Philly was great, of course, other than the person that I made the mistake of making eye contact with, thought we were his family, and continued to follow us all across the airport. I'm country, ya'll, I don't have my "weirdo" radar set very high. Out here, we're ALL weirdos.

Anyways, coming back was an entirely different story. It didn't help that the airlines had their system all jacked up and you had to wait in line for 20 minutes only to go wait in two more lines for another 30. So we were running a little later than we liked to have.

Now, at this point, let me say that we have FIVE (5) (cinco) (cinq) people in our family. This entails a lot of crap. And we're not talking a jaunt from LA to Denver. This is a SIX hour trip, with however long layovers, and with small children, well, it takes more than a village. It takes being PREPARED.

So we have a lot of bags. Yes, we can fit everything into the two requisite "carry on and personal item", but we know from experience that there's just a lot of stuff going on with our carry ons, and in going through security, it's going to have to be broken down to go on the belt. Needless to say, we weren't too concerned with counting our carry ons at that point. We had successfully gone through security three times in the past two weeks, so we knew what was coming. (or so we thought- this is the point that irony slaps you upside the head and tells you to screw yourself)

Soooo, as we are approaching the bottleneck of security, a TSA woman is yelling at people to consolidate their bags into "A carry on and personal item". She pulled us out of line to count our bags and make us consolidate. As we are doing this, growing later for our plane, she continues to yell at people over our heads, over and over and over and over again.

Even my six year old got that she was obnoxious.

"Mommy, why does she keep yelling?"

"I don't know Honey, no one told her about Indoor Voices"

Once this task is completed, and we've managed to stuff everything to her satisfaction, she allows us to proceed into line, and directs us to a line with a pleasant little placard that reads:

"For Families, and those who need special assistance." Cool.

It takes us awhile to get through the line, but we finally made it to the scanners.

I hate this part. Unless you have a family with small children, you have no idea of the horror of this process. There's all these bags and crap and taking the shoes off, and your children running off because the TSA agent has told them to walk through the scanner ahead of you. And after they've passed, you're left on the other side with a forgotten dime in your pocket that delays you until you've managed to rifle through your pockets and finally on the fourth try, make it through. Ask me how I know.

Well, anyways, back to the belt. Aaron and I are madly trying to get everything sorted on the belt, and in the meantime, a HUGE line is forming behind us. With irritated people. I can't say I blame them, they have places to be too. I'm on one side of the end of the belt, scrambling, and Aaron has moved to the other, on the right (correct) side of a little divider fence-y sort of thing. As we're dashing to get stuff sorted out, we hear:

"Sir!" "SIR!" "SIIIIR!" "*****SSSSIIIIIRRRR*****!" Keep in mind that there are a minimum of 100 "Sirs" in the immediate vicinity and the voice appears to be coming from the other side of the machines. The next thing we know a visibly angry TSA agent approaches Aaron (which they could have done in the first place, but it seems screaming across crowds is the preferred method of communication here) and tells him that he MAY NOT STAND THERE. At the end of the belt. On the correct side of the fence. Whatever.

I go through security and rush to gather my children from the four corners of the earth and get our shoes and belongings together. Next thing we know, Aaron is being taken from the Xray area (which he passed through without setting off) and pat-down searched. They did not inform him what they were doing before they put their hands on him. He successfully passed through the Xray, a TSA agent took him a few steps aside, and directed him to turn around and put his hands up, and then proceeded with the examination with no warning or explanation.

According to a recent press release from the TSA, a pat down should not have been triggered.

From TSA's own blog they write:
Fact: Only passengers who alarm a walk through metal detector or AIT machine or opt out of the AIT receive a pat-down.

This, my friends, is blatantly not true. At best, the TSA big-wigs would like to think their agents follow this decree. They do not.


Fact: ...all passengers have the right to a private screening with a travel companion at any time

Wouldn't you have to inform the individual that you are going to be performing a pat-down on him first, before he can ask for a private one? Proceeding to put your hands on someone in front of their children without any indication of your intention precludes the communication necessary to accomplish this.


According to THIS CNN article, TSA also contends it "Closely monitors complaints". I guess that's what they mean by responding with a form letter and never following up. We would really just like to talk to a human being about what happened, and why.

The whole experience going through security was infinitely more stressful and traumatizing than it needed to be. We didn't need to be screamed at, and talked to like infantile criminals. We also would appreciate a little communication before you put your hands in our crotch. (Dinner and a movie wouldn't go amiss, but hey! Who am I to be picky?)

I don't know, it's a catch-22 for everyone. I want safe airports just like the next person, and I really don't want to have to worry about scary things when I fly with my children. We need an agency like TSA to help make travel safer.

But we also need to be able to keep our dignity and privacy intact. I'm sure there's a way to do this, but someones going to have to admit there might be a problem with current procedures first.

Psst: TSA.... that's YOU.

Motherhood: the Oldest Competitive Sport

For a group of people that are suppose to be all about the nurturing and love, Mothers can be a harshly competitive group of people.

Maybe it's just me, but I have a hard enough time with the mother's guilt and self-loathing. I second guess my every decision and agonize over whether I'm disciplining enough, or too much, or in not the right way. It doesn't help that media and tv give these idealistic views of the family unit in which every problem can be solved in 60 minutes or less. And don't get me started on the gushing celebrity Mom interviews where they talk about how blissfully wonderful Motherhood is, and how they easily juggle career and kids.

Bitch, you aren't fooling me... you and that team of nannies.


Motherhood is hard. The hardest job I know, and I worked as a cashier at Walmart once, so I think I have some adequate frame of reference. (You don't know stress until you're one of only two lanes open on Christmas Eve and everyone's looking at you like it's YOUR fault.)

One would think that Mothers would be fiercely protective of each other, understanding the struggles and trials that each other goes through on a daily basis with no thought or expectation of praise or reward. In some cases this can be very true.

But I've found that in practice? Notsomuch. I've found that Mother's are by and far their own worst enemies. The most hurtful and biting remarks I've had said to me about my parenting or about my kids have been from other Mothers.

Now, I understand that some of this comes from a very prevalent and (in my mind) hugely misguided sense of competition amongst Moms. No one talks about it, but we all know it's there. We all know that many Moms sit in the bleachers of life pointing out the mistakes of other people children and gloat to ourselves how much better "OUR" kids are than "theirs".

My kids are smarter, prettier, better behaved. *I'D* never put up with that kind of behavior. What is she thinking? *THAT* kids going to be in jail before their 16th birthday. OH MY GOD THAT PERSONS KIDS DRIVE ME CRAZY!


Yeah, don't tell me you haven't thought the same things. I know I've been guilty.


But why do we do it? Why do we assume we can measure other peoples unique family structures by our own dysfunctional family history and experiences? I know I haven't become President of the United States yet, or won a Pulitzer Prize. What makes me an expert on what the perfect child should look like, and why would I assume it looks like mine?

Maybe that's the heart of the issue. As humans we aspire for greatness, and when our lives settle into happy mediocrity there is still a part of us that hungers to be set apart for our unique accomplishments and talents. When our turn for greatness appears to be waning, we turn these expectations onto our children, and then hunker over them like lionesses guarding their cubs, batting away the competition like they are threats to their very existence.

I don't know what it is, but I do know the result.

As someone who's been on the receiving end of some judgemental behavior and words, it hurts. As if I for one couldn't agonize over my parenting enough, I also have to feel the weight of condemnation for having the family that's too loud, not always dressed like fashion plates, messy hair, homework not done, poor grades.... My kids fight, yell, stomp and slam doors. They say outlandish things they don't mean and then spend the rest of the day sulking like they're the victims before sneaking out with the rest of the family to pretend like the drama never happened. I catch them in several lies a day and repeat myself until I am a walking tape recorder of "Stop doing that", "Don't hit your sister" and "Get out of bed!".

But you know what? We love each other, hairy nasty warts and all. We have the best times as a family and learn so much from having each other in our lives. I see my kids make mistakes every day, but they learn from them and take one step closer to being happy, productive adults. The kid that's sitting in from recess because they didn't finish their homework? Yeah, that's mine. The kid that is arguing publically with their sister? Yeah, mine too. But they are the same kids that occupy the space in my heart every single day.

In between the fighting, hollering and drama, is a family. Our family. It might not look like yours, or even sound like yours. But it's mine, and you can think what you want, but I wouldn't trade it for your too beautiful, most popular, overachieving, best behaved specimen of perfect parenting for anything in the world.

"The Klutz"

I come from a long illustrious line...

of Klutzes.

My Mom's klutziness was, and still is, legendary. To this day she can more often than not be found with a brace, crutches, splint, cast or other miscellaneous sign of injury. When I get a phone call from her on my cell phone, it's become sort of a game for myself to quickly guess what she's injured now. I get bonus points when I get both the body part, and injury type. Kind of like a macabre game of Clue. "Mom, on the leg, with an open fracture". I'm actually pretty good at it.

This apple didn't fall too far from the tree. As much as my Mom always just seems to be hurt somehow, I usually manage to hurt myself in new and creative ways. Just a week before my wedding, I partially fell through a deck backwards. The resulting injury was so bad the, *ahem*, "fluff" in the upper part of my thigh is still somewhat misshapen, kind of like a pillow that's had all of its stuffing pushed to one end. It made our first dance at the wedding more resemble a drunken zombie waltz. You get the drift.

A friend of mine who also suffers from "The Klutz", says that one day she expects they'll find her broken body in an empty room and it'll be a big mystery how she died with nothing to trip over or hurt herself on.

Only I know she's only partially joking.

I made the mistake about a month ago, when my husband was musing over my penchant for creative injury, of declaring that I hadn't hurt myself in AGES, THANKYOUVERYMUCH. I was a little indignant.

The Gods of Black Humor surely heard me that day.

A couple weeks later, my husband was snoozing on the couch and it was getting late, so I decided to do the proactive Mom thing (it happens) and get my childrens lunches ready for school the next day.

Now, let me back up a bit.

It was PFD time up here a few weeks ago. For those that don't speak Alaskan, that means Permanent Fund Dividend. That legendary money that the state gives us just because we're brave enough to live here. It's more complicated than that... having to do with oil revenues and yadda yadda, but all I've ever needed to know is that every year, in October, the state gives us money. Yay us!

The reality is... your car and every major appliance in your house also knows this money is coming, and will break down the week before, causing your dreams of spending the cash on a snow machine or tropical vacation down the toilet.

This year, our freezer decided to quit, leaving us using an old freezer that was left behind by the previous owner. The week before PFDs the door literally fell off this freezer. My husband warned me not to get into it unless absolutely necessary.

Feeding the kids is necessary, right?

So I go out to grab some frozen burritos out of said broken freezer, and as I'm trying to get the door back onto the front, it slips out of my hands and directly onto my toe. Hard.

I don't remember much else from this point, except the strange sound of an airhorn that filled the room. It was only later I realized that was me.

Needless to say, there was blood and carnage. And pain.... oh the pain! I limped to the clinic the next morning bright and early, and was chastised for not coming in that night. "If you had come in LAST NIGHT, I could have done more for you, but as it is...". Well, he did plenty, including burning a hole in my toenail to "relieve the pressure". I'm still not sure if that was necessary or punative.

Burning toenail is an interesting smell... lemmetellya.

I thought about taking a picture of my toe right after it happened, but between the thought that the world really didn't need to see that, and just forgetting to do it, I never did. It's been two weeks and I'm getting around just fine, but it still looks a little bit like a steak you've forgotten for several years in the back of the fridge.

That's a nice image to go with your Wheaties this morning, no?

So my poor poor girls. They have inherited "The Klutz". At any given time, you can guarantee that one or the other of them is going to be injured. Usually doing something inane... like, walking up the stairs. Who falls walking UP the stairs?!? Well, look no more. We do.

Last night, we are at my daughters TaeKwonDo class, and she is just getting into the warm up routine. I turn my head to talk to my other daughter and next thing I know someone is trying to get my attention. Well, it seems that my daughter didn't see the 6 foot something boy that was barrelling down her path like a semi-truck and collided with him, jamming her knee into his. The result was another trip to the clinic, xrays later today, and her hobbling around on crutches. I expect it's just very bruised, but we should find out more later today.

My husband is threatening to throw us all in a rubber room so that we can quit hurting ourselves.

I tell him he underestimates our heritage and creativity.

Bestest Birthday Present EVAH!

Sooo, it was my mumble mumble-th birthday yesterday. *cough*

The day started out great, with my husband giving me the dear sweet treasured gift of SLEEPING IN on a school day. Getting up at 5:30am is not my bag, baby, so this was a grand gift indeed. Granted, one of the children went out the door wearing about 5 different and mismatch prints, but all the essential parts were covered so I can't complain too much. His attention to fashion detail is notsomuch. But I digress.

Later on, my friend calls me to tell me that I have a present, and it's at her house... but the glue is finishing drying. My first thought was "OH PRESENTS!", as it was unexpected. My second thought was "The GLUE has to finish drying?" I wasn't sure what to expect.

Collage of friend pictures and thoughtful poems and sayings?

Kleenex box holder decorated with beads and sequins?

Macaroni necklace?

Obviously, I'm not the guesser in the family because this is what she had done for me...


*Queue sniffling*!!!

My friend, who is a real-deal screenwriter and schniz, has been helping motivate me to write my "Great American Novel". Since I'm much better at the marinating of ideas part then actually giving them form and structure, she's been teaching me some of the techniques and tools she uses in her screenwriting. Extremely helpful tools and techniques, might I add.

To help pinpoint the plot points, and flesh them out properly, she taught me this post-it note and board method of clarifying the structure. And stuff. She can explain it better than I can. But I get it, and the visual aspect of it helps me immensely.

Added to the board, she got me a variety of writer-y supplies. Pens, index cards, lined paper, flags etc.

... And a few really kick ass books on the subject. Which I love and can't wait to pour over!

Not only was I touched by how extremely thoughtful and lovely this gift was, but what made me actually emotional about the whole thing was that this dear friend of mine believes in my dream. Probably more than I do myself. And that, my dear internets, is worth more than all the pens and post-it notes in the world.

Fair Report- Better Late than Never?

It really is a shame that I didn't take more time to blog over the summer. So much craziness happened, and we accomplished so much. (Can't remember what it was exactly we accomplished. But I know we were busy enough... we must have.)

One of the big highlights. No, THE Big Highlight of the summer was Fair. It's what we, as a 4H family, have been working towards all year long. It's what made those 50 mile drives to the meeting place all worth it.

Our local fair is the Tanana Valley State Fair in Fairbanks. About an 80 mile drive north of us. This necessitated our camping at the fairground, which made the week and a half even more of an adventure. Once we made it to the fairgrounds to check our animals in, we didn't leave for almost two weeks. Thank goodness for our friends who had done this all before and were there to show us the ropes our first time out of the chute!

And an adventure it was. We laughed. We cried. We cleaned up more poo than we ever thought existed. And we came home with armloads of ribbons. The girls amazed and impressed me with the amount of knowledge they had picked up over the last year. I was proud to know that in some things, they knew more than I did.

The girls showed chickens, goats, ducks, geese, rabbits and guinea pigs this year. (And helped a friend show her cows!) This doesn't mean that they put their animals in a cage or pen and then sit back and watch the ribbons stack up. They had to work really hard for each and every one. They had to show they knew what they were doing and that they knew how to care for that animal. They were quizzed on anatomy, breeding and care. They stood toe to toe with children that have been doing this for YEARS, and didn't flinch at the challenge.

They all won a lot of blue ribbons. It was impressive enough when the animals of themselves got blue ribbons, but they all also won quite a few in Showmanship, where the animal is mearly a prop to help you display the skills you have acquired in animal care and handling. Nerve-wracking stuff, that.

For example, Emily entered a Cavy and Rabbit Judging Contest, where you judge 3 rabbits and 3 Guinea Pigs, and judge them the same as an official one would do. Then you have to explain to the judge why you ranked them the way you did. Emily received Jr. Champion for both, the first place winner being a lovely young lady who had been doing this ALL HER LIFE. As I was watching Emily work, I was floored at the extent of knowledge she had. Way more than I ever did!

There's probably quite a few things we'd do differently next year. Like- RELAX, and not worry so much, but everyone is really looking forward to next year already. Everyone has lots of ideas for new projects and areas that they'd like to work on. Haley the Diva has already scoped out the fashion projects that you can do in 4H, and Emily is making plans for her drawing and art entries. Lauryn just can't wait to hang out with the goats in their pen all day again.

It made me realize how truly blessed we are as a family. I delight in seeing them work toward their own goals every single day, and challenging themselves to become better. They have already accomplished so much more than I ever did at that age, and I am proud.