Planting the Bug

In a little over a week, I will be boarding a plane from Juneau to Paris with three small backpacks and two small children in tow.  As we get closer to the trip, my nerves start to get the better of me.  On the best of days, even with a normal schedule, I struggle as a single-parent.  I use the term “single-parent” loosely as I am fortunate to have an ex who is a very devoted father who I share custody with.  He has the girls half the week and I have them the other half.  On the half that I have them, I consider myself a single-mom, just like on the half he has them, I consider him a single-dad.  It is a challenge, and I thank my lucky stars that I am not a single-mom seven days a week because I can honestly say, I don’t think I have the ability to do it.  I would manage, but I would most likely spend a lot of time rocking back and forth, clutching my knees to my chest on the floor of my bedroom crying. 

So why am I embarking on a two-week vacation to Europe with a five and seven year old?  Good question.  I admit when I bought my tickets this summer it was a moment of insanity.  It’s been a long time since I have bought tickets that require a passport, and I've never bought them for my kids.  The moment on Orbitz.com when I actually clicked purchase, I nearly threw up.  I was shaking with excitement, fear, and this overwhelming thought of “What the heck have I just done?!”  At that very moment I realized I was probably crazy.  For starters, I’m not rolling in money; so truthfully, putting three plane tickets on my credit card was weighing on me when I thought about all the other ways I could spend the money.  Practical things like house repairs, car repairs, or the rainy day fund (which I keep telling myself I need to establish).  I have always felt guilty spending money on “fun” things.  It’s the way I was raised.  Even at 37 (I can still say I’m 37 for one more week), I still worry what my father will say. My parents were never frivolous with their money and my dad didn't really start spending money on fun things for himself until he entered his 60s.   Family vacations were always spent ferrying to and driving through Canada to visit family in Washington and attend Fish Expo so dad could buy fishing gear.  There were no trips to Hawaii, and definitely not Europe.  I haven’t told my dad I’m going to Europe.  I know my mom has told him, but I haven’t mustered up the courage to tell him myself I’m spending my money on a fun-trip instead of replacing the rotten wood on the side of my house.

The other fear I had was that aside from me thinking I was crazy, others would think I was crazy too.  Don’t let crazy out of the bag- and with purchasing these tickets, I did just that.  I imagined people saying, “Why waste your money taking kids on a trip they won’t remember?”  The thing is, out of the several dozen people I've told, only one person made that comment.  Instead, I've been blown away by the encouragement I've received and the comments of, “Wow, that’s awesome!”  Even when telling my mom, I prefaced it by telling her my cancer taught me life is too short and you never know when you won’t have opportunities and I don’t want to have my life filled with regret.  I expected some hesitancy on her part, but even she said, “You’re so right.  Life is short and you need to enjoy it while you can.”

So, why am I taking my kids to Europe?   I am not taking them so they will remember going to the Louvre and seeing the Mona Lisa or to take pictures of them standing in front of the Eiffel Tower so I can show it to them later and say, “See, you were there.”  I’m taking them there so they can experience something different than what they know.  There is an awkwardness that accompanies traveling, especially for the first time.  And it’s not that I want my kids to be uncomfortable, but I want them to realize that things are not just what they know them to be.  They are going to hear a language other than English.  They are going to experience smells that you can only smell in a city that is over 10,000 years old. They are going to see their mother confused while trying to communicate.  They will eat foods they've never heard of and can’t pronounce. 

My favorite professor and friend, Dr. William Husband, told his Russian history students on the first day of class, “I don’t expect you to leave this course remembering every date and name, but I do expect you to walk away with a general understanding of the history and culture.”  That sums up my reasons for taking my girls.  They may not remember all the specifics, but they will have a memory of the feeling they get while traveling to a new place. 

Traveling and experiencing different cultures has left an impression on me far greater than any diploma I can frame and hang on my wall. It has helped define me and leave me craving more with the understanding I have so much more to experience and learn.  If I can share this experience with my girls, and plant the travel bug in them; all the  better.

Bath Time Blues

When you have two young children, bath night is the worst night in existence for the single-parent.  There is usually a lot of tears on bath night, and most of them are mine.  My kids are past the point they are able to bathe together.  Not because they don’t fit, but because they fight and they can’t agree on the same water temperature.  My dainty seven year old with sensitive skin prefers the water lukewarm to the point ice cubes would not melt for at least an hour, while my Brillo Pad-skinned four year old prefers it piping hot, creating so much humidity in the bathroom, one may think they just entered a steam room.  So, separate baths it is.

Bath nights at our house are Sunday and Tuesday.  My youngest requires almost 12 hours of sleep, which means from the time we arrive home at 5:00 after picking them up from their separate child-care facilities, I have exactly 2 ½ hours to make dinner, help with homework, bathe two children, read them stories, and get them into bed before the four year old succumbs to nuclear meltdown.

What follows is a typical bath night scene in our house:

Mom: Okay, it’s time for bath.  Who is taking a bath first?

Seven year old: Not me.

Four year old: Not me.

Seven year old: I said it first.

Four year old: I don’t care, I took it first last time.

Seven year old: No you didn't

Four year old: YES. I. DID!

Seven year old: Mom, who took it first?

Mom: I don’t remember.  Figure it out— now.  

Four year old: Well, if I take it first again, she (pointing at her sister) can’t do anything fun while I’m in the bath.

Seven year old: That’s no fair.

Mom: She will be doing homework.

Seven year old: MOM, no fair!  Well, what will she (pointing at her sister) do while I am in the bath?

Mom: I don’t know.

Seven year old: Well, she better not be allowed to do anything fun.

Four year old: Fine, I’ll take the first bath.  Jeez.

Mom: Great, I’ll run the water.  (to seven year old) Please, get your homework out.

Four year old: Mom, I need toys.

Mom: You know where they are— don’t take the cheese grater.

Four year old runs to kitchen drawer and grabs a handful of measuring cups, funnels, sifters, spoons, and something she is smuggling under her shirt.

Mom: Put the electric hand mixer back!  It does NOT go in the bath.

Four year old: Fine, jeez. (drops hand mixer on the floor where she is standing.)

Seven year old: Mom, do you want to see the dance I just created?  I’ll do a show for you.

Mom: After you do your homework.  Have you got it out?

Four year old: (calling from her bedroom) MOM!!!!!! MY legs are stuck in my PANTS!

Mom wanders into bedroom to find four-year old lying topless on the floor with her pants stuck around her ankles, kicking ferociously to free herself.

Mom: (freeing daughter from the wrath of the tight leggings) Here you go; now pick them up and put them in the dirty-clothes and get in the tub.

Four year old: MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!! You touched my heel!  You touched my HEEL!  I hate when people touch my heel.  Now it itches.

Mom: I am sorry; I did not mean to touch your heel.  Get in the bath and maybe it will stop itching.

Four year old: Fine. Jeez. (stomps off towards bathroom.)

Mom lifts herself off the bedroom floor and makes her way back to kitchen to do the dinner dishes.  Mom notices seven year old has not got her homework out and is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor with one hand on each knee, eyes closed, meditating.  Mom is impressed, but impatient.

Mom: Get your homework out.

Seven year old: Mom, I don’t even have much.  I just have to underline something in a sentence.  Five seconds, max.  Oh, here this is for you.

Seven year old thrusts paper in mom’s hands.  Mom starts to read letter from teacher.

Four year old: MOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!! (screaming like she’s just had her arm cut off.)

Mom runs into the bathroom, narrowly missing hand mixer still on the floor where four year old dropped it, fearing the worst only to find daughter unharmed on the toilet, still not in the bath.

Mom: What is it?!

Four year old: Mom, (pointing to fingernail polish on counter) can you please paint my nails when I’m done with bath?

Mom grumbles something inaudible and makes her way back to the kitchen where she finds seven year old using the kitchen stool as a ballet barre.  Mom begins to read letter from teacher and gets two sentences in when blood curdling scream calling her name comes from bathroom.  Mother runs into bathroom to find four year old in the tub unharmed.

Mom: What?

Four year old: Mom, I need cups.  Can you go get them for me?

Mom: I am fully capable of getting cups, but I will not be bringing you them.

Four year old: (realizing this is her mother’s standard response to any request when not prefaced with a “please”) Mom, would you please go get me more cups.  I will love you forever and you will be my best friend.  I need more cups.

Mom: Yes, I can get you more cups but you need to know that the need for more cups does not call for you screaming my name like something was hurting you.

Mom returns to kitchen, deflation beginning, looks in cupboard for plastic cup— empty.  Looks in clean dishwasher which hasn't been emptied yet— no plastic cups.  Looks on counter and finds two dirty plastic cups, quickly rinses them, and returns to bathroom to deliver the cups.  Drops cups in tub and realizes her socks are now wet.  She is standing in a puddle of water.

Four year old: MOM!  I didn't want them in the water, I wanted them on the edge of the tub!!
Mom: What have I told you about water on the floor?

Four year old: Oops.

Mom grabs towel and cleans up water.  Mom decides to leave towel on the floor to collect the inevitable collection of more water.  Mom wanders back into kitchen to find seven year old hanging upside-down off the couch.

Mom: Homework!

Seven year old: OK!

Mom reads letter from teacher trying very hard to focus while seven year old hits her with a barrage of questions about what she is reading.  Mom grabs homework packet to find 15 pages of homework to be spread out through the week.  Well, look at this, the mother thinks to herself; it’s more than underlining a sentence.  SHOCKER!  Mom explains homework to seven year old only for seven year old to argue and tell her that it’s not mandatory she does any of it.  Mom explains to pick one sheet and start on it.  Daughter chooses sheet where she has to write her spelling words three times.  Mom, enjoying the two minutes her name was not screamed, begins to do her dishes only to get her hands wet when another terrifying scream comes from the bathroom.  Mom dries hands, and moseys back to bathroom where the boy who cried wolf awaits.  Mom trips on hand mixer noting to pick it up on her way back through and arrives in bathroom to find four year old standing up in tub pointing at their cat who is sitting on the lid of the toilet.

Four year old: Mom, Chillcat is staring at me and freaking me out.

Mom: He is just a cat.

Four year old: Yeah, but I’m naked in the tub.  Hasn't he heard of privacy?

Mom: Now you know how I feel when I’m using the toilet and you’re standing here asking for something.  Deal.

Mom turns to walk away and hears four year old scream her first legitimate scream of the evening.

Four year old: Chillcat scratched me.

Mom looks at Chillcat who is shaking his wet head, obviously the victim of the water-logged washcloth sitting at his paws.

Mom: Serves you right.

Mom goes back into kitchen to discover seven year old balancing the pencil on her nose.  Looks at seven year old’s homework.  She has written one word.  ONE WORD.  “milk.”

Seven year old: Mom, look.  I can balance this pencil on my nose.

Mom: Homework.

Seven year old: Mom, can I have a glass of milk?

Mom: Homework.

Seven year old: But I’m really, really thirsty.

Mom: Homework.

Seven year old: Milk would taste so good right now.

Mom: Homework.

Mom grabs the dish she’s been trying to wash for the past ten minutes when, yet again, her name is screamed from the bathroom.  Mom trudges towards bathroom, tripping, again, on the hand mixer and finding herself so angry, she kicks it across the room narrowly missing the dog.

Mom: (arriving in bathroom) What?

Four year old: I need shampoo

Mom: Well get your hair wet and I’ll give you some.

Four year old: But I don’t want to get my hair wet.

Mom: Your hair needs to be wet for shampoo.

Four year old: No, it doesn't! (Mom turns to leave) Fine!  I’ll get it wet.  Jeez.

Mom squirts shampoo on daughter’s hand.

Four year old: I want swirlies.  That is not swirlies.

Mom: I am sorry; I can’t always make the shampoo come out in swirlies.  Sometimes it just comes out in a glob.

Four year old: Well, now it’s ruined and I don’t want to put it in my hair.

Mom: It is NOT ruined.  It is fine.  Put the shampoo in your hair, now.

Four year old: Fine. Jeez. (slaps palm with shampoo onto her scalp dramatically.)

Mom: (turning away to go back to kitchen) Tell me when it’s rinsed and you’re ready for conditioner.

Mom returns to kitchen and trips over dog who has buried her head under the bed, leaving her body out in the path resembling an ostrich with its head stuck in a hole.  Dog groans at contact with foot and so does mom.  Mom falls to the floor in a heap, nose to nose with the dog. They exchange sympathetic looks as they both lay on the floor.  Dog sticks her head back under the bed, mom considers this maneuver as well when seven year old screams “MOM” from the kitchen.  Mom doesn’t bother standing.  She crawls back to the kitchen stopping halfway back to rest.

Mom: (from the floor) What?

Seven year old: I was the only one who knew how to spell “milk” in class.

Mom: That’s great dear!  How many times have you written it? (no sarcasm in her voice whatsoever)

Mom stands to look at seven year old’s homework to see that she has written “milk” twice.  TWICE.  Nineteen more words to go, each written three times.  Awesome.

Four year old: (screaming from bathroom) CONDITIONER!!  NOW!!!

Mom stomps back to the bathroom.

Mom: Excuse me!  That is not how you call me.

Four year old: Well, you told me to call you when I needed conditioner.  (she is right and she knows it.)

Mom reaches for conditioner and warns four year old in advance swirlies may not come out and it’s going to be fine.  Miraculously, the conditioner squirts out in swirls onto palm of four year old.  Four year old is so excited; she waves her hand around only to fling the conditioner on her mother’s shirt, also hitting the cat who is still on the toilet lid.  Neither mom nor cat is amused.  Mom aggressively squirts conditioner onto palm of four-year old’s hand and it comes out in a glob.  Four year old opens her mouth to protest but she can see her mother is on that scary edge, so she quietly backtracks and slowly puts the conditioner in her hair.

Mom: Please let me know nicely when you are ready to get out. 

Mom walks back to kitchen and looks at her bed as she passes it.  She longs for the soft down comforter and the fluffy pillows, imagining herself stretching out on the bed, peaceful, asleep.  Just then, Chillcat, sensing her longing; jumps off the toilet lid and jumps onto the bed sprawling out, exposing his belly and yawning.  Screw you Chillcat.  Mom walks back to kitchen pissed at the cat.  She realizes the four year old will be getting out of bath soon and the seven year old has only completed writing one word three times.  Nineteen multiplied by three to go.  Life is good.  Mom sits down with seven year old and helps her stay concentrated long enough to knock out six more.  Mom realizes four year old has been eerily quiet, so mom says a special prayer that four-year old hasn’t drowned or isn’t painting the bathroom with fingernail polish.

Four year old: (from bathroom and very snidely with an English accent) Mother, please bring me my robe and towel. (At least she was polite.)

Mom goes back into bathroom, forgets towel and robe, leaves bathroom, goes into children’s bedroom, stumbles over four-year old's clothes that were obviously not put in the dirty-clothes hamper and grabs robe and towel for four year old.

Mom: (while wrapping up child in robe and towel) Dear, what is the rule about leaving clothes and toys on the floor for people to trip on?

Four year old: They get thrown away. 

(For the record- mom has never thrown anything away because she has found the mere threat hastens the pick-up of said item.)

Mom: That’s right and guess what I just tripped over?  Your dirty clothes.

Four year old: That’s okay, I don’t like that outfit anymore.

(Well, that backfired.)

Mom: Pick it up, now, and then go pick out your pajamas.

Four year old: Fine. Jeez. (stomps off)

Mom returns to kitchen to find seven year old only has one more to word to write left on the assignment.  You mean she could work this fast all along?  Mom praises seven year old on job well done and tells her she will get her a glass of milk.  Seven year old, obviously confused, plainly asks mom why she was getting milk.  Mom takes the glass intended for milk and pours herself a glass of wine instead.  Mom sees the pot of macaroni and cheese leftover from dinner and grabs the wooden spoon and takes a bite.  She did not eat dinner because dinner was spent getting up and down retrieving clean forks, pepper, salt, ketchup, milk, water, etc.

Seven year old: Ahem (raises eyebrow and crosses arms across chest) please use proper manners mom.

Mom lifts her head out of pot displaying cheese sauce smeared on her upper lip.  She growls at her daughter through clenched teeth.

Seven year old: (unfazed by her mother turning into a crazed beast) Mom, this is so cool.  I just used one of my vocabulary words…. “proper!”

Mom: Bath.  Now. 

Mom goes to refill her wine glass only to realize that the box of wine is empty.  She lifts the box, tilts back her head and places the spigot over her open mouth squeezing and shaking the box for all it’s worth.  Mom puts box down only to see both daughters, now both of them naked, one bathed, one not, standing in the kitchen watching her shake the last bit of life out of a box of wine.  They will talk about this very moment one day in therapy.

Mom: (with crazed look in her eyes) Bath! (pointing at seven year old)  Pajamas! (pointing at four year old) NOW!!!

Mom composes herself and tells seven year old that no, the water is not too hot, and yes, she is aware there is a very wet towel on the floor.  She then tells her seven year old that she is going to try to put her little sister to bed early and that she is going to trust the seven year old to put the shampoo and conditioner in her own hair and she can stay in the bath as long as she wants.  Seven year old is excited by this prospect.  Mom goes into children’s room and trips over four year old’s dirty clothes which are now accompanied by a wet robe and towel and seven year old’s dirty clothes.  Mom loses the ability to care and wrestles limp four year old into pajamas.  Mom tells her four year old to get a book.  Four year old gets book.  It's the book mom hates to read the most and the four year old knows it.  Mom reads it.  Mom tells four year old to get into bed, which is actually the tent that was set up over the weekend and has yet to be taken down.  Mom lays with four year old who complains her nose and heels itch.  Mom pretends to rub magic oil on daughter’s heels and nose.  Mom lays with four year old for 30 minutes, sometimes losing consciousness.  Four year old brings mom back to life by poking her in the face.  Mom finally realizes her seven year old must be sitting in a block of frozen ice, so she grabs an ice pick, err, seven year old’s bathrobe and towel, and goes to rescue her child from the bath while telling four year old to stay put.  (ha!)

Seven year old: Mom, this is sister’s bathrobe.

Mom: Oh.  Yeah.

Now in full on zombie mode, mom helps seven year old with pajamas and reads book to seven year old and four year old who by now has snuck out of bed.  Seven year old complains it isn't fair that four year old got two books and her only one.  Mom explains if she reads another book, that would make four year old have three books compared to her two. Seven year old complains loudly and goes limp forcing mother to drag her to the bedroom, err tent, and tells both her kids to get in bed.  Both kids get in and pull the covers up, err, zip the sleeping bags up, and are quiet.  Mom kisses them goodnight. 

Mom realizes she forgot to have them brush teeth.  Mom does not care.  Mom goes to leave tent to muster the last energy she has to clean up the dishes from dinner (and let’s face it, breakfast dishes are in there too).  Just as she is about to leave, four year old screams out for her not to leave.  Mom takes that as a sign she is to lay on the floor and rest.  Mom reads article on PBS.org about wild animal mothers who eat their young.  Mother is interrupted by a glass-breaking scream from seven year old which makes four year old and mother scream as well.  Seven year old points out giant spider on the inside wall of the tent.  All three of them shudder and squirm.  Mom jumps to grab Kleenex and gets back into tent only to find utter chaos has broken loose as the spider has fallen off the wall and into the girls bedding and sleeping bags.  He is on the run.  The mom wants to be on the run.  The girls are screaming and thrashing about, the cat is clamoring to get out, and the dog is whimpering from under the bed in the next room over.  Realizing that sleeping in the tent with a runaway spider is not an option for these girls, and not wanting to transfer potentially spider infested covers to their bed, mom tells the girls to get out of the tent and sadly admits defeat by telling them to go get in her bed. The girls happily get into their mother’s bed, afterall, this has been their goal all evening long and they just won.  Just when quiet overcomes them, the seven year old starts to cry.

Seven year old: Mom, the spider is going to get out of the tent and come into your room and bite us while we sleep.

Mom: The spider does not care about us.  Besides, Chillcat probably ate him already.

Seven year old: Please mom, I won’t go to sleep until you zip up the tent.

Mom goes and zips up tent and goes back in room to report back to seven year old.  Mom sits on bed and rubs seven year old’s back until seven year old is asleep.  It is now 8:30 p.m., which is still early in the adult world, but the mother feels like its 3:00 a.m.  She heads back to the kitchen (stopping on the way to free the cat who she zipped up in the tent) and takes inventory on kitchen catastrophe.  She strikes a deal with herself that she can let the dishes go if she packs the lunches for tomorrow because waiting until morning to pack the lunches is never a good idea.  Mom gets lunch boxes out, clears a spot on the counter, and sets them down.

Mom: (out loud and to herself) Screw this.

Mom goes back into her room and looks for a spot on her bed to lie down.  There is no spot as the four year old and seven year old have taken up the whole bed.  Attempts to push the four year old over are unsuccessful.  Mom considers crying for a brief moment.  Mom remembers there is a couch in the living room.  Mom rips pillow out from four year old’s head, trips over the dog while leaving the room, and heads for the couch.  Mom lies on couch and convinces herself that it’s okay to go to sleep at 8:45 p.m. because then she will wake up at the crack of dawn and pack the lunches and clean the kitchen.  Mom secretly knows this will not happen, and she accepts it. Mom falls asleep.  Mom awakes at 2:00 a.m. and can’t go back to sleep for three hours because the cat thinks this is a great time to have a party.  Mom hurls pillows and books at the cat.  Mom falls asleep at 5:00 a.m.   At 6:45, mom is awoken to Woody Woodpecker’s annoying laugh on the TV and seven year old daughter sitting on top of her.  Mom smiles, knowing she has successfully completed bath night and thanks the powers that be that she only has to do it twice a week.

In Defense of Penny’s Rainbow

In Defense of Penny’s Rainbow

I am purple in Penny’s rainbow.  In my opinion, this is a marvelous color to be. 

When Penny asked me to be her Maid of Honor, I somehow didn’t hear what she was asking me, and instead focused on the fact that she was getting married and had met the man she was destined to be with, the one that would make her happy and complete.  It wasn’t until about a month later when her sister reminded me that I was her Maid of Honor. I acted surprised and said, “What?  I’m not her Maid of Honor, am I?”  I had to call Penny to confirm, and sure enough, Penny confirmed it. I then questioned my sanity, and probably her choice in picking me.

I’ve been in four weddings, but I’ve never been a Maid of Honor.  Aside from us being best friends, I’m not sure why she chose me as her Maid of Honor.  I’m not good at hair or makeup, and if her dress falls apart prior to walking down the aisle, I could probably fix it with Duct Tape, but don’t count on me to whip out needles and thread.  I’m not good at bachelorette parties because I’m too modest and awkward to let my hair down and let it rip.  And lastly, I’m not sure I have what it takes to be a gracious peace-making Maid of Honor because I admit I don’t always play well with others.

Penny jokes that I am her “Made of Armor” because she thinks I’m tough.  I’m not sure I consider myself “tough” but I will admit when it comes to confronting annoyances, I’m all over it.

In the last wedding I was in, the bride designated me her “Wedding Bitch.”  It’s not a title I am proud of, but it was also one I owned.  I wasn’t afraid to kick the pushy mother-in-law out of the bride’s dressing room because she was making the bride cry.  It didn’t trouble me to tell the parents of the kids sticking their fingers through the wedding cake to get their kids in line or I would.  And, I had no fear in telling the DJ I don’t care if the music sounds better loud, the bride wants it turned down and if he doesn’t turn it down, I will cut his power and there will be no music.  And, I can do all this in heels and a dress.  (Of course, it helps that I’m over six feet tall in heels).

At weddings, I’m all about making the bride happy, and that’s what I want to do for Penny.

Early on, Penny announced that she would not be confined to one color for her wedding.  She would not even be confined to two.  No, Penny was going Full Monty and she was going have her colors of the wedding be, drumroll please… the rainbow.  That’s right, ROY G. BIV, biatches.  Penny has loved rainbows since she was a kid.  Her son James has rainbow stripes on his bedroom walls.  Penny likes rainbows.  That’s all.  What more is there to say?

Quickly the bridesmaids began choosing their colors.  Penny’s sister and I were two of the last to choose, and it was down to green (my favorite color) or purple (Penny’s favorite color).  I ended up choosing purple and I couldn’t be more excited about it! 

I never once gave any thought to what it would look like to have seven women all wearing different colored dresses.  I wouldn’t have cared if Penny asked me to wear a panda suit.  I would have done whatever she wanted, because it’s her day.  I was more concerned that most of the bridesmaids had purchased their dresses and Penny still hadn’t gone shopping with three months to go before the wedding—she has her dress now folks; we can all breathe a sigh of relief. The bridesmaids’ lack of concern towards the rainbow colors appears to be the minority.  Many people are taken aback that Penny chose the colors of the rainbow for her wedding colors and have been downright insulting to her.  Really?  Of all the things one has an opinion about?  My initial reaction to Penny when she told me this was, “who cares what people think.”  But it’s easy for me to be flippant as it’s not something I’m dreaming about and planning in my head.  I am discovering, however, that criticizing someone’s wedding colors is like criticizing the name chosen for an unborn child: you just don’t do it. 

We’ve all been there; standing and listening to an expectant mother proclaim that she is going to name her child… “Mildred.”  The internal eyebrow inside us raises and we hope to God it’s not actually doing it on the outside of our face. We examine the mother’s face waiting for the look of horror because at this point, her face will mirror our own reaction.  We find ourselves composing ourselves and saying, “Mildred is a beautiful name!”  We don’t say “How interesting,” “Wow, how did you choose that?,” or simply, “What the hell are you thinking? Do you know she will get beat up on the playground?”  No, we are adults, and we tell the mother Mildred is a beautiful name.  And when Mildred is born, and we see the beautiful little girl swaddled tightly in her blanket, we wonder how on earth she could be named anything but Mildred, because it’s so perfectly her.

What people choose to do for their wedding should be treated the same way.  Tell the bride it’s going to be beautiful and a perfect representation of her.  Tell her you can’t wait to see it and be a part of it and if you can’t make it, tell her you want to see pictures! 

Penny’s wedding is going to be beautiful, because it will embody her perfectly.  Penny can’t be defined by one color, and she deserves a rainbow. If the naysayers can’t just go on politeness alone, here are some interesting facts about rainbows.  Rainbows symbolize hope, diversity, promise, creation, potential, harmony, spirituality, connection and beauty. To me, that pretty much sums up a wedding ceremony and marriage.

I think the next time someone looks at Penny and says, “Rainbow colors?  Are you kidding me?”  Penny should ask them what they did the last time they saw a rainbow.  Did they just say, “Oh look, another rainbow, whatever,” and keep on moving?  No, most likely they stopped what they were doing and took time to admire a rare display of natural beauty. 

Simply put, when rain and sunshine meet, a rainbow is created.  Sort of like the perfect and natural union between two people.  Celebrate it and admire the beauty of it, because, just like a rainbow, it doesn’t appear every day.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Songwriters: E.y. Harburg;Harold Arlen

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby

Oh somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Oh somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
If bluebirds fly in the sky
Oh why, oh why can't I?

Well, I see
Trees of green and red roses too,
I'll watch them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world.

Well I see,
Skies of blues and, clouds of white,
And the brightness of day, I like the dark
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people passing by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They're really saying I... I love you.

I hear babies cry, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than we know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

Oh someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Oh somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
If bluebirds fly in the sky
Why, oh why can't I, I?

The Ridiculous Runner

It’s been a few weeks since I returned back to Juneau after completing my run. Friends keep asking me how it was and more importantly, will I keep running?

The night I got back to Juneau, I crept into the girl’s room and draped my finisher’s medal over Lena’s bedpost. It was the first thing she set her eyes on upon waking up. She shot up out of bed, grabbed the medal, widened her eyes and happily said, “So you did win the race! See mom, I told you that you could do it!”

The night before I left for my race, Lena asked me if I was going to win. I told her it was highly doubtful and that I was just running to run- not to win. She wasn’t convinced and went about taking me on training laps around the living room, proving to me that I could indeed run fast.

As she clutched my medal up to her chest, I explained to her that everyone who completed the run got a medal and no, I did not win and I was okay with that. She assured me that coming in 2nd was just as good. (How about somewhere in the 13,000th range?) Then Lena noticed the small icon of the castle on the ribbon. “Did you go to Disneyland?” It was not the Donald Duck Medal, it was not the words, “DISNEYWORLD”, it was the ½” castle logo that got her attention. I dodged this question once and I didn’t want to dodge it again so I admitted that yes, I did go to Disneyland. The next question out of her mouth was whether or not I saw any princesses. I truthfully answered no because I didn’t. Upon hearing that I did not see princesses, she dropped the Disneyland topic and moved on to other questions about the run. Did I wear pink shorts? Did I run fast? How far did I run? And then she asked the mother of all questions:
“Mommy? At any point during the run did you just stop and think: this is absolutely ridiculous?”

Amazed this question came out of a four year old mouth, I sat on the edge of her bed stunned. I thought about it for a second and answered, “Yes. When I was outside freezing for two hours wearing nothing but a garbage bag, I wondered why I was doing it.” Lena seemed satisfied with my answer and asked if she could have cereal for breakfast.

Lena took my medal to school where she told the story of my race, which was upstaged by her story of how I caught fire to our kitchen and melted my shoe on the floor while putting out the fire. Apparently it’s more exciting to talk about your mother setting fire to the kitchen stove and floor than telling about her running 13 miles, yawn. But the kids seemed pleased with the medal nonetheless. After the kids passed it around, it was left at the “polishing station” and the kids took turns polishing it. Got to love that Montessori slave labor!

Later in the week I received the link to the official race photos. In my previous post I mentioned that I smiled throughout the entire run. Yeah, let me take that back. These pictures are proof that I did not. Yes, some are showing toothy grins, but others, well, others look like someone is sticking a hot iron to me, especially the one with Epcot in the background at mile 12. Seriously horrific. I did break down and buy a couple of the good ones. It’s not every day that you get to run through Snow White’s castle with 27,000 other people.

So, the answer remains, am I going to continue running now that I don’t have to train? Yes.

I ran this summer and fall because I had to train for my race. But I will keep running just because I want to. I don’t know if I’ll participate in more races of this magnitude. After all, I did find it absolutely ridiculous I had to stand 2 hours in the cold just so I could run 13.1 miles with a bunch of other people. Nevertheless, I am glad I experienced it.

My first week back in Juneau I went to the gym and discovered every treadmill was being used. I stood there perturbed with my brow knit, wondering how long I’d have to wait for one to free up, when I came to the sudden realization that I can now consider myself a real runner. If I am annoyed that I can’t go running on a treadmill, that really speaks volumes.

Here are a few shots where I’m not looking as though someone is torturing me. I also feel obliged to point out that even though I run very slowly, I ran faster than the 3 hours 4 minutes projected on the clock! That time measures the time the race began, and the first corral of runners crossed the start line. I was in the 4th corral, so shave about 30 minutes off that time.



Running through the castle

   

This is my "Game-Face"

 

There are still smiles to be had around mile 10

 

I am so talented, I can run 13.1 miles with
my eyes closed

 

Done!

 

Don't stop moving when you cross
the finish line...I crashed into her.



What dumb ass leaves their medal on the table?

I knew something was wrong as soon as my plane touched down in Orlando at 6:45 AM.  I felt really dizzy and sort of out of it, making it difficult for me to maneuver my way through the unfamiliar airport.

After collecting my bag, I wandered around the airport lost and confused wondering if all I needed was a shot of caffeine to help me focus.  After 45 minutes of riding escalators up and down, up and down pointlessly, I finally found the Magic Express bus to Disney World.  When I boarded the bus, I noticed several families with very excited kids bouncing up and down eager for the fun to begin.  I took a seat in the front row and the bus driver announced it would take 35-minutes to complete the journey to Disney World and the four hotels we needed to stop at.  My hotel was the last stop, and I was in for the long haul.

I started to notice that everyone was complaining about how cold it was, meanwhile, I had beads of sweat rolling down my face as I stripped off layers frantically trying to cool off.  Could I have a fever?  Na…


About five minutes into the drive, my mouth started to water and that oh-so-not-good feeling one gets before they heave their guts out started to take over me.  I quickly scanned the bus wondering what I could throw up in.  Seeing no barf bags, my only option would be my backpack, which housed my laptop and clothes.  I told myself I could not puke in my backpack and I definitely did not want to ruin the other passenger’s trip to Disney World by vomiting in the aisle. 

It was a grueling drive to the hotel with “Yo, Ho, Ho, Ho a Pirate’s Life for Me” blasting over the speakers.  Once in the park, we weaved in and out of palm trees and Ponderosa pines, jolting to abrupt stops at every stop sign.  After what seemed like eternity, the Magical Express from hell arrived at my hotel.  It was about 8 am and I was keeping my fingers crossed they’d let me check in before the 3 pm check in time.  I must have looked fantastic because as soon as I entered the lobby, the hotel concierge took one look at me and very seriously asked, “Do you need me to call 911?”  I told him no, quickly asking where the nearest bathroom was and hastily making my way to it where I proceeded to hug the porcelain god.  Good times are to be had at Disney!

The hotel graciously gave me a room and told me it was very close, just around the lake. They might as well told me to walk back to Juneau because “just around the lake and over the bridge” ended up being a wild goose chase for an incoherent woman who had to stop at every trash bin to dry heave.  I kept on keeping on, knowing I would be rewarded with my very own toilet when I reached the end of my Shackleton-like expedition.  I did see a hammock along the way and was very tempted to crawl inside it and die, but thankfully common sense resounded and told me that wasn’t a very good idea.

I finally made it to my room and proceeded to spend the next several hours lying on the bathroom floor getting up only to puke.   At about 9 PM, I was able to keep some water down and forced myself to eat some “Gu” gel, which was absolutely disgusting, but full of electrolytes my body desperately needed.

I did not raise $4,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and travel over 5,000 miles to sleep on a bathroom floor.  I gave myself a pep talk and promised myself that I would persevere- no matter what. 

I forced myself out of bed at 6 AM the next morning and headed out for the team run and breakfast.  I managed to run the 1.6 miles around the lake and keep up with the group, but I didn’t feel so hot afterwards.  I wanted to puke, and my asthma kicked in pretty seriously which took me by surprise.  I haven’t carried my inhaler on any of my previous runs and here I was, a good 5-minute walk back to my room and inhaler, and I felt like I was going to hyperventilate and pass out.  I clung desperately to a light post and hung on tight as the world spun around me, repeating in my head, “Don’t pass out.  Don’t pass out.” All my teammates avoided me like the plague and ran inside to get their breakfast.  Word had quickly spread about my illness and no one wanted me near them.  Neither did Brock who texted me a lot the previous day to make sure I was still alive, but warned that unless I needed something, he would not be coming by to pay a visit.  I was not offended. 

When I finally felt like I could walk without passing out, I joined my team for breakfast.  To my surprise, the Canadian Flex team joined our US Flex team for breakfast, which meant Brock was already sitting in the room when I stumbled in.  We “air-hugged” each other, keeping a wide distance between us.  He later told me that when I walked in the room, his first thought was, “Oh, that poor woman.  She looks horrible.  Oh wait!  That’s Franny!”  He also told me I looked more like I had cancer now than I did when I actually had it.  Brock really is a nice guy, really, he is.  I just looked (and felt) like crap and there was no way to disguise it.

After eating breakfast I had a bit more energy, so I picked up my bib and joined Brock and his dad at Epcot.  We went on a few of the more gentle rides, which was a good choice since my stomach was still churning from the previous day.

Later in the evening, I attended the Inspiration Dinner for Team in Training.  There were about 1,000 people in attendance, with teams from different states/provinces sitting at tables together.  I attended one a few years back with Brock in Seattle, and let me tell you, they are tearjerkers. 

Don

Runners are encouraged to contribute photos of the individuals they are running for and those photos are included in a slideshow and displayed on two giant screens during the dinner. I had a very hard time looking at the slideshow.  Not all runners are racing in honor of a survivor; many of us run in memory of someone we have lost.  Many of the photos were young and beautiful children and it is really hard to see the words, “In Memory” written above their names.  I concentrated on eating my salad, while desperately trying to avoid seeing my submissions of Don and Wendy because I knew if I saw them, the tears would start to flow.  Of course, I looked up just in time to see Don’s unmistakable smile followed by Wendy’s cowboy hat photo, “IN MEMORY” printed above both their names. 

Wendy

I surprised myself and didn’t cry; instead I smiled and felt nothing but love and encouragement.  Later in the slideshow I saw a picture that Brock submitted unbeknownst to me.  The photo was of us at the Seattle race that he ran in my honor while I was undergoing my radiation.  Bald and fifty pounds heavier than I am now, I was unrecognizable, but my tablemates saw my name and cheered. I admit to getting a bit choked up.

The evening proceeded with keynote speakers, including Ethan Zohn who randomly appeared in one of my November blog post.  What a coincidence!

We learned that collectively, Team in Training raised over $3 million dollars in funds for Leukemia and Lymphoma research for this race alone.  Wow! 

Sadly, only some of the names. Not all are were added at this point 

The evening ended with us decorating our jerseys.  I already had Don and Wendy’s names written on the jersey, but I decided to add the names of a few more of my friends and family who are either survivors or currently going through treatment, as well as my Aunt Pat who died two years ago of Ovarian Cancer.  I felt strength and hope as I wrote the names of Eve, Janice, Marr, Brynn, Geri, Kris, Julia, Penny C., my dad, and Emily.  Right as I finished writing the last name on the shirt, I recieved a message on my phone from a friend telling me she was just diagnosed with cancer that very day. My heart sank knowing she too has a young family and she’s going to be headed into one hell of a battle.  I added a twelfth name and went to bed.

After only 4 hours of sleep, I woke up at 2 am, ate a light breakfast and met my team at 3 am to board the bus to the start line.  The first corral of runners needed to start at 5:30 am, and organizing 27,000 people takes a bit of time, which is why we needed to arrive so early.

Thousands of runners bounced in place as we waited, and waited, and waited.  I stood shivering in my tank top and shorts, envious of all the runners who were smart enough to wear layers.  I hadn’t got the memo (or more likely didn’t read it) that if we wore extra layers, we could discard them along the course and they would get scooped up and donated to charity.  Great planning on my part, novice.

After about 45 minutes of depleting my energy supply by jumping up and down to stay warm, someone offered me a garbage bag to wear as a poncho.  It helped immensely over the course of the next 1-½ hour wait until it was my corral’s turn to prepare to hit the road.  The energy was amazing!  It appeared that all the runners surrounding me had a partner or a group they were running with.  I couldn’t find any of my teammates, so I stood there “alone” with 27,000 other people in my garbage bag dress, enjoying the moment, amazed that I was actually here.

Fireworks lit up the sky as each corral was sent off into the black night. Who needs a “ready, set, go” and a gun when you have fireworks to cue you?

Before I knew it, it was my corral’s turn to go and I ditched my garbage bag and headed out under the fireworks.  It was so dark in some places, people were bumping and crashing into each other, not because it was crowded, but because we could barely see each other. 

I hit play on my iPod and then quickly looked at the GPS app and decided not to time my run.  I told myself I didn’t care what my time was, the fact that two days earlier I was lifeless on the bathroom floor gave me permission to just run at whatever pace I needed to finish. (Which is what I was going to do anyway…)

Physically I did great.  My body held up on me, even though my toes went completely numb at mile 10.  I didn’t have a single pain anywhere on my body throughout the entire run, not even my foot that Yasha bit or my shoulder that I reefed falling down the stairs.  I felt very strong and I was delighted that nothing was failing me, except my lungs. 

After the test run the previously morning, I decided I needed to bring my inhaler with me on race day.  I broke down and bought a geeked-out running belt complete with a spot for my phone/iPod, a water bottle, a few Gu gels, and a special little compartment for my inhaler.  I was so glad I did.  I think the humidity got to me because at mile 8, I felt things getting tight and I started to wheeze.  I grabbed my inhaler and took a few puffs, and it cleared it right up.  I needed to use it again at mile 11.  “Sucks to your assmar!”

Having water and PowerAde offered to me at every mile or so was a novelty for a girl who typically doesn’t carry water while running!  I took advantage of it often, even when I didn’t need it or want it.  The volunteers have a job to uphold and they look at runners dead in the eye as they wearily run past, nearly begging them to take it off their hands, like their lives depend on it.  As a former non-profit director, I love volunteers.  Also, I am a sympathetic sucker. Besides, it’s really fun to throw your cup on the ground when it’s empty.

Disney characters were stationed along the course and many runners stopped for photo ops.  Thinking this would later become incriminating evidence against me, leading Lena and Aurelia to discover that I went to Disney World without them, I just kept running, passing by all the characters.  That, and at some point, I lost the use of my hands and couldn’t remove my camera phone from its pouch.

We ran through the Magic Kingdom, which I haven’t seen since a family trip when I was in 4^th grade.  Visions of that trip came back to me as I ran by vaguely familiar scenes, including the Space Mountain ride, which my brother and I rode back to back several times.

Before I knew it, the sun had come up and I had made it to mile 12 in one piece, with Epcot being the last area to run through.  And then, it was over. 

I received my finisher’s medal and headed to the Team in Training tent to sign in and find Brock.  He smiled and yelled, “Yay Franny!” and gave me a huge hug and told me he was so proud of me.  I admit I had a somewhat flippant attitude because I was on the verge of busting into tears, and acting coy and flippant is my anti-cry device.  

When Brock excitedly asked me how it was, I shrugged and said “fine.” Seriously Frances.  Flipping “Fine?!”  You couldn’t think of anything else to say?  You, a former “non-runner” just ran 13 miles through Disney World a year and a half after receiving cancer treatment, and all you can say is, “fine?”  Coy and flippant= no tears.

"Winter and Summer of Team Awesome"

Brock moved on and asked me what the clock said when I finished and I told him I had no clue. “You didn’t look at it?” he questioned baffled.  “Nope,” I replied.  I’d later come to find out my time was pathetic (which I figured it would be) but, I was very pleased to see that when compared to all the runners, I came in just slightly under the middle of the pack.  Not bad for my first ever half marathon.

I set all my stuff down on a table and finally had the dexterity to remove my phone, while telling Brock we needed to take a photo of the two of us.  After the photo, I collected my belongings and noticed someone had left their medal on the table.  I thought to myself, “What dumb ass would leave their medal on the table?”

Brock and weaved through the hoards to stand in line for our bus to take us back to the hotel.  We chatted about the race and he remarked how huge the medals were.  “Yes!” I agreed, they were huge, and I grabbed mine to take a look and then realized: I was the dumb ass.

Brock and I quickly exchanged panicked looks and once again wove through the hoards, this time a little speedier and we were delighted to discover that after 15 minutes of being abandoned, my medal was still there.

So there you have it folks.  I did it.  I didn’t lose any bodily fluids on the course (except sweat) and I made it all the way, with a smile on my face.  Seriously, I smiled the whole way, with the exception of when someone tossed a full water cup to the curb, only to hit me instead.  Brock said it’s fairly common and just be happy someone didn’t douse me with a snot rocket.

I smiled because I thought of my friends and family who have overcome, are going through, or have lost their battle to cancer.  They have all taught me so much about strength and courage.  In fact, it was through their examples of bravery that gave me the strength and courage I needed to battle my own cancer.  Which by the way- I was diagnosed with exactly 2 years ago tomorrow.  How time flies when you’re busy kickin’ cancer’s ass and training to run a race so we can continue to kick cancer’s ass by funding research for new treatments.

Thank you to all my friends and family for opening your hearts and wallets to donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  Your support of this organization means the world to me.

Thank you to all my friends (especially Cristina) who sent me words of encouragement when I was sick right before the race.   You helped give me the gumption to shake it off.

And lastly, a huge thank you to Brock who has been my cheerleader from afar throughout this past year.  Checking in to see if I was putting in all my training miles (which I rarely did), eating right, taking care of myself and convincing me to do something I would have never thought possible.

I will be there to hug Brock tomorrow as he completes the full marathon in the Goofy Challenge where competitors run the half on Saturday, and the full on Sunday.  Brock has always been a little on the goofy side, which is probably one of the reasons an Alaskan and a Canadian have been able to maintain what is mostly a virtual friendship (with an occasional in-person visit) for 13 years. 

And just so you know Brock, I was pretty stoked about my run.