Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day. It means different things for different people. For some, it means four generations of mothers/daughters dressing up in the same outfit and flaunting their threads at the local Chinese buffet.

For others, it means hosting a party and inviting every mother within a ten mile radius.

And others still, a nice quiet day with the family or breakfast with mom is all they wish for.

I have done all of the above at least once in my nearly seventeen years of being a mother (except the twinsie thing; as cute as that may be, it’s just not for me).

Mother’s Day is a day to celebrate and appreciate your mother. Or if you are a mother, for your children — those little creatures you’ve helped bring into the world and raise — to appreciate you. Or both, of course.

Since I am lucky enough to still have my mother, I will stop and show my appreciation with a phone call, an e-card and a gift she practically ordered herself. She knows I appreciate her. But it’s my day too. Call me selfish, but I’m still raising my kid and that shit is hard work. I need a f*cking break.

Every year there is really only one thing I want to do. Be alone. I know, I know. I should want to spend the day with my kid. I’m being completely selfish (again). What kind of mother am I? But can I ask one question? If I do decide to spend Mother’s Day with my child, what makes this day any different from the rest?

I have a friend who used to get completely incensed at me for wanting to just be left alone on Mother’s Day. “Mother’s Day is so you can spend the day with your children.” No. Not for me, it isn’t. Oh and hey. Do me a solid. Don’t judge my decision and I won’t judge yours.

I love my crotch fruit more than I do myself or any other being, dead or alive. I will lay myself down in front of a speeding freight train and move mountain and earth for this kid. I will drop what I’m doing at any given moment if she needs me to. I am there for her through thick and thin. I don’t need to spend my Mother’s Day with her to prove that.

Quite honestly, I would like to let my family off the hook. Go. Go do something else. Go to the mall. Go to a museum or for a walk. Go read a book. Go pick your nose if you want to. Just don’t do it within ear or eye shot of me.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAYAnd when The Kid is a grown up with children of her own? A phone call or card will be fine with me. I know we are always mothers until the day we depart this fine world, but my job will be done. It will be time to pass the torch.

So, what am I doing today? What I always would prefer to do, whether I get there or not…sit on the back deck with a good book and a pitcher of margaritas. Alone.

I think I make it pretty easy. So, happy Mother’s Day to all mothers near and far. I hope you get what you want. Now, I’m going back to my margarita so leave me alone.


Saving Lives One Boob at a Time

A couple months ago, I told you about my friend Wendy and her cancer diagnosis. If you missed it, you can read about it here.

But to give you a recap, she was dying her hair in her gorgeous red signature color when she dropped a blob of dye on her left boob. When she went to wipe it up, she felt a lump. Talk about  a sign from God? Geez, it doesn’t get any louder than that.

Anyway, it turns out she has a very rare form of breast cancer called Triple Negative Metaplastic Carcinoma. It is so rare, it only occurs in 1% of women. And because of her love for red hair, she caught it while she was in Stage 1.

My friend Wendy

She has started her chemo treatment which has made her hair fall out. She is in the process of getting a wig, but I have to say she pretty much rocks the do-rag. In fact, if you ask me, she looks downright gorgeous! But I’m not here to tell you about how she looks without her hair…

I’m writing to you for a few reasons. The first and most important reason is to remind you to give yourself a breast exam. I never did before and now I do regularly. If Wendy saves even one life, I know it will be worth it to her.

Second, with her treatment and inability to work full-time, her expenses are creeping up. If you so desire, please help her and her wonderful family. Even a $5 donation will mean a great deal to them. Click this link if you would like to make a contribution.

Third, she is building a team of walkers for Relay for Life in her town. Please consider buying a t-shirt (they are so cute), making a donation to the cause, or if you are local, joining her team. Here is the link for that.

She started a #myleftboob campaign after her diagnosis to raise awareness of this disease. She’s amazing and probably one of the strongest women I know. The things she is accomplishing while she is undergoing treatment makes Oprah look bad.

If you are interested in joining her in her campaign, just Instagram or Tweet a photo of you and your left boob. Not the naked boob because well, you’ll get in trouble. Here is a sampling of what I did. Just make sure you hashtag it like this: #myleftboob and tag Wendy by doing this: @wendipoprock so she can see you and say hello.

picstitchWendy is an awesome writer and has a blog so if you’d like to follow along on her journey with her, click here. She’s also in the process of doing a documentary but you can find all that information on her blog.

See, I told you she has a lot going on. I feel like a damn slouch. But I’m not here to talk about me.

I know that was a lot of information and links. So, choose one or all. Wendy’s story is interesting. And who knows? Maybe she’ll save your life.

Hairy Legs and Brain Farts

This morning I was futzing along. Getting some laundry done. Straightening up the kitchen from the breakfast mess. Making some beds. You know, like I said, futzing along. Not a care in the world.

At 8:23am I was thinking about the other things I needed or wanted to get done. There is a difference you know. The need vs. want thing. But let’s talk about that another time.

I decided to take a quick look on my trusty iPhone calendar because even though I didn’t think I had anything on the agenda (besides some things I needed and wanted to do), I probably should make sure.

My eyes went wide and I shot up to a standing position. I did one of those back and forth circular motion panic things that you do when you aren’t quite sure what to do. I probably resembled Yosamite Sam on speed. Or Popeye. Or well, just me.

I had seven…count ’em…SEVEN minutes to get to my annual gyno and mammogram appointment. An appointment I’ve had since January. Holy shit. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am punctual to a fault. And if I am late, I can blame my family for that. Seriously. It’s usually their fault.

Anyway, a quick call to the office and a fast explanation about how I suffer from the periodic Brain Fart and how it’s a problem I should probably have checked out (too bad I couldn’t get a 3-in-1 deal but this is a doctor for down below although it seems my brains were where the sun don’t shine this morning so maybe?), the nice receptionist lady said “hurry up.”

This is the look I was definitely trying to avoid. It was a close call.
This is the look I was definitely trying to avoid. I have to tell you it was a close call.

But I wasn’t showered. There is no way in hell I am going to lay back on a gurney with my legs hiked up spread eagle without a shower. There are things you know? Like possible dingle berries and well, things. Amiright?

I grabbed a wash cloth and a towel from the linen closet and busted my ass, really only paying any attention to all that is between my belly button and upper thighs. Anything else that may have been left behind was just going to have to be a surprise.

Seven (because seven is my lucky number today) minutes later I was backing out of my driveway. My hair was unbrushed, my legs were hairy and I was without a stitch of makeup. I had the same clothes on from yesterday because who had time to decide that? But I changed my underwear because my mother raised me right.

Twenty minutes later and a half hour late, I walked into my appointment. They took me right away and I had all of the above mentioned done (except the Brain Fart check-up). My heart slowed down, I was safe. Phew. That was hairy. Well, so were my legs so who cares?

I rushed to this appointment only to find out that I have lost an entire inch, I have gained 23 pounds and was told I should probably go have a colonoscopy. Because what? I wasn’t accosted enough? Just what I need. I have truly hit mid-life. I’m going back to bed. And no. That is not on my calendar.