It Sucks

Posting lots and lots over at my mom's caring bridge blog. Little details about her recovery from surgery. Everyone always wants more. They think they do anyway. They don't. I know I don't want to be as sure as I am that I'm going to lose her. Suspense sucks, but certainty is its own brand of hell.

I ran into a post somewhere from a guy who regarded his stage 4 cancer as a chronic disease and had vastly beat the odds. I've grasped onto that story. And I chant it to myself as I'm going to sleep and the surgeon's voice is replaying in my head, telling what he had found and where. A chronic disease. A chronic disease. Sometimes I even forget for a bit. Then I wonder why I feel so sad. Then I remember. And it sucks.

Regret

It's been a year. Almost to the day. My mother and I share a tumultuous history, but this was the tumultuous-est, an argument that was all the more vicious because everything that was said was true.

During the nastiness my mother posted a vague something on facebook that hurt and angered me. I clicked the "remove from friends" button then gloried in my newfound freedom. I could say whatever I thought without having to worry that my mom was going to be offended or nag me endlessly about something I had posted.

Healing has been slow. We've moved on. Kinda. I wouldn't re-friend her though. Even though she had asked nicely several times. Because I was right. I was right in what said. It needed to be said. And I would say it again. And she was wrong. Wrong in her original behavior and wrong in her response. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Besides I liked my freedom of speech. No mom on facebook.

Last Monday, she had a CT that showed a large mass in her colon. Thursday, a colonoscopy showed it to be cancer. Tuesday, I sat with her as the surgeon told her that there was very likely a second tumor in a different place. They wouldn't know until they got in there, but he was fairly sure. Stage IV. The fatal stage.

And you know what? I friended my mother on facebook last Friday. Because I was wrong. Wrong in my original behavior and wrong in my response. And I'm lucky. Because I got a little notice.

First Day of School

I'm homeschooling the whole clan this year. (Not the original plan, but we're working with it.) I've got a senior, a sophomore, an eighth-grader, a sixth-grader, a third-grader, and a preschooler. If I ponder it too deeply, I begin to get jittery.

Really though, the only difference between the day before school starts and the first day of school is that starting today I will begin to sing the Song of Math. Everything else works itself out with a lot of reading and co-op classes, but Math is painful and relentless. The first day of Math involves a lot of whining. The second goes better. If we get cocky and skip the third, the fourth will be as miserable as the first. In fact, every single time we skip a day of Math there is weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth when we start the next lesson. The principle holds true even on weekends. If they get Saturday and Sunday off, they seem to truly believe that they are done. For life.

Math Boy is the exception to this. He collects Calculus books. He likes the stuff. This more than almost anything testifies to me that we lived before this life. Jacob, he studied Math before he got here. And spelling. Because brilliant though I am, Math and spelling are not my strong points. And even if they were, I still couldn't have imparted that brilliance through any normal teaching methods. He's just wired for it. He picks it up by breathing. Not so for the rest of the monkeys. We labor for our Math accomplishments.

Anyhow, gotta run. No time to edit. It's time to start the joy of Math. Happy day to you all.

Weight, Weight, Don't Tell Me!

OK, so I'm forty pounds down. That's a lot, but 260 looks a lot like 300, so I don't have any new pictures.

For a short while I went the medically supervised weight loss route. (That'd be Ph*nt*rm!n* aka legal speed.) I felt like crap. After I took my pill in the morning, it was like I had been struck with narcolepsy. I wasn't hungry, but neither was I awake. The weight loss was swift, but not worth it.

At this point, I am just forgoing sugared foods. Since I am a compulsive overeater, with sugar and flour items topping the binge list, that action alone has been resulting in slow weight loss.

The "plan" is to add good things to my diet and eliminate things that trigger my binging or are just bad for me:

1. 'Bye sugar.
2. Buy fruits and veggies.
3. 'Bye white bread.
4. Buy whole grains.
5. 'Bye Diet Coke.
6. Buy water.

Number five may just keep moving down the list. To quote Miss Scarlett, "I won't think of it now. I can't stand it now. I'll think of it later." Today's job is no sugar and plenty of fruits and veggies. Later is a good time to ponder the rest of the list.

Long Time No Blog

Yeah, I know. I've gone inactive in the blogging community. Become a sporadic stalker. I've stayed on top of a few blogs, mostly those of people who I've connected with in real life one way or another, but overall I've poofed into a poignant memory.

In the meantime, my lousy block-buster post draws the afflicted by the thousands: 83,521 overall as of 10:15 AM. Sometimes I feel like I should just change my header to some sort of lice and nit theme. Strangely, Cutest Blog on the Block doesn't have that template. Weird.

Anyhow, I'm alive. Big things have been happening. Little things have been happening. I have every intention of writing more. (see resolutions) Look for upcoming posts about my contemplation of running a marathon. And losing another 120 pounds. And being nicer. And cleaning up my language. It's going to be amazing (and vaguely nauseous).

Time Management Induced Panic Attacks

You all have seen this one, right?

Start with an empty glass.

Now fill it with rocks.

Is it full?

(Uh yes. Just said to fill it with rocks.)

Can you fit any more in?

Oh yeah.

Next comes the gravel,

pour a bunch in and shake it down.

How about now?

Completely full yet?

No way.

Fill that baby with sand.

Shake her down.

Now we've got something like this:

Is it full now?

(Can we stop yet?)

Nope.

Time for:

WATER!

Fill 'er up!

Now the potential of the glass has been reached.

This demonstration is supposed to show that

you should put first things first.

(A la Stephen Covey)

Because if you try putting the sand in first

you cannot fit in the rocks

which represent the important things in life.

If you try something silly

like putting the sand in first,

you'd get something more like this:

And that's a little

OVERWHELMING!

The thing any rational person should be asking themselves is:

WHY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH

ARE WE TRYING TO GET

THAT MUCH CRAP IN OUR GLASS?

I feel the same way about appointment calendars with 15-minute increments.

No offense to my organized friends. Love you.

Uh...Happy Birthday, Mom.

So let's say your kids actually put all 60 candles on your cake plus a six candle and a zero candle and candles that spell out Happy Birthday. Then let's say lighting all those babies is taking a bit too long, so you go check on something in the other room while they finish up. Then let's say even though your kids are yelling frantically to GET BACK IN HERE, you still take your time. Then let's just say the cake was an ice cream cake. You could end up with a pillar of fire for your cake. Just saying.

(Yes, it was still edible. And no, I didn't eat any. 20 lbs down--130 to go.)

(BTW, it was my mom's bd, not mine.)

Pollyanna on Migraines

c Disney

Let's play the glad game!

Migraines are a natural appetite suppressant, and if I'm lucky enough to get to the puking stage, I don't have to count the calories of the last four or five things I ate!

Having a migraine gives me Super Powers, Super Senses, if you prefer. Everything smells so much more intense. My vision gets all fun; I really get to see things in a whole new light. And my hearing. . .oh the sensitivity! I can hear things that normally would be completely ignored. Lucky me.

With a migraine, all those pesky little have-tos just go away. I get to clear my calender of everything. How often does that happen? If I was functional, I'd have to do the dishes or laundry. I'd need to drive the kids around. Stand up. Talk to people. Open my eyes. Instead I get to lounge around all day.

Talk about things to be thankful for!

Behold My Before

I despise the traditional "before" photos of dieters, those grim faced, badly-dressed fatties standing in despair.

I refuse. I will not slouch and sulk as I announce my determination to tackle this issue. On December the seventh, I stood on the scale and stared at the little screen as it posted the news:

300.0 lbs Even

(If that's not a sign, I don't know what is. )

This is what I look like.

I have one hundred and sixty pounds to lose,

health and vitality to regain.

And I'm going to do it

for me and for my family.

My Resolutions (in MormonAds)

Palindromes

Today's date is 01022010 the same forwards and backwards!

My twitter username is a palindrome too.

imajjami

Get it? I'm a Jami. Or an imaj of jami if you prefer. Feel free to follow me. Or not.

Doesn't it seem odd to you that the word palindrome isn't a palindrome? Palindromemordinlap seems a bit much though.

No Exaggeration Required

From my husband's company's weekly newsletter:

INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHING

[Our company] has a zero tolerance for sexual harassment. Touching another person while a[t] work is NOT acceptable except when providing emergency medical attention (first aid or CPR) or giving a formal handshake. No other forms of touching are permitted. Other forms of touching are considered sexual harassment and will not be tolerated. You are subjecting yourself to the possibility of immediate termination if you engage in inappropriate touching. If you have been hugging, kissing, massaging, shaking hands with a double grasp, patting on the back or any other forms of inappropriate touching STOP IMMEDIATELY!

Not kidding.

Trashing the Van

When my fifth child was born, we outgrew our car. We'd been driving two cars for a while to get our whole family anywhere, but at five kids we no longer had enough seatbelts for all of the kids. Someone had to sit on the floor. Most of the time we walked rather than risk death, dismemberment, or expensive traffic tickets. For about three months, we walked. And walked. And walked.

The need to buy a van grew within me. Not just any van. A new van. A Toyota Sienna, the car of my dreams. Crazy thinking. But crazed or not, the notion took root, and each time I drove with my oldest on the floor or walked the four miles to church, it grew a little. By the time May rolled around, we had an addition complication: our family needed to move into my mom's place so some repairs could be completed at our house. That made the walk to church seven miles. One way. My growing little obsession blossomed and bore fruit.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy. My husband protested. I insisted. He strongly protested, but finally my insane determination triumphed. Against my husband's wishes and all sound budgeting, I purchased my first new car.


The day we drove our sparkly new 2002 van off the dealers lot, we drove past something like unto this:


I looked at my sweet husband and said, "That is our future."

And indeed it has been. The first ding was a parking lot boo-boo on the passenger's side. The biggest was when my MIL backed into our front bumper. The most irritating was when one of my cute angel-monkeys got mad at me and took a rock on a drive down the driver's side a few times. The most painful was when the Montessori teachers (who opened the door for the kids each morning) pulled the handle right off the passenger's sliding door. My husband cracked the right rear-view mirror. Spills, forgotten apples, children's wrestling matches, car-seat dents, soda explosions, mud, straw all have contributed to our van's condition. My contribution? A big scratch from my mis-installation of a bike rack the other day.

Even though the glory of my glittery new toy faded fast, I cannot tell you what a joy it has been to get into my car and have it start, to need to go somewhere and to just be able to get there, to be able to give rides to people. Quite honestly, I think I appreciate my grubby old van today as much as I ever have. Maybe even more. It's still going seven years and 140,000 miles later. Even my husband's been glad we got it. And that's saying a lot.

Clothing Drive

My virtual buddy Sue is having a clothing drive to help refugees in Salt Lake City who have been displaced from warmer climates. Pass the word on and help if you can. It'll make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

You can send coats or any warm clothes you have on hand, or you can order something online and have it sent to this address, saving a trip to the post office while still giving that happy holiday glow.

The shipping address is:

Gayane Manukyan
Att: 100 Coats for Kids Project
Refugee Center at AAU
1588 South Major Street
Salt Lake City, Utah 84115

Summer's Good News

Meet Pandora

Her super power? Invisibility.

Can you see her yet?

How about now?

Now disguised as a mild-mannered house cat.

Are you fooled?