I wasn't going to write about this. Not yet, at least. Then my friend Kelly from Excitement on the Side wrote a great post on Angelina Jolie's decision to have a double mastectomy and I was certain  that I didn't need to write about it. I had nothing to add. She did a great job.  Then I began reading the comments. And tweets and general ass hat-ery on Facebook.  Like this....

 I would like to say a GIANT "FUCK YOU!" to all those posted above. AND THIS IS WHY...

I've had a doctor look me in the eye and say, "It's cancer" 

It's just as fucked up as you think it would be. There is a moment, scratch that, hours where there is nothing but white noise. Fog. No ability to hear or even see. There is an echo in your brain that keeps saying, "You are going to die". There is a nothingness that consumes you. A quiet. I can't even describe it right. It is its own void. A vacuum. Your face is frozen. Your voice isn't actually your voice. Your movements are purely functional. There is no real sound. You are going to die. 

My doctor held me by the shoulders. "Let me call someone for you", she said. Silence. Blank. Just blank.

"I'll just go to my mom", I finally said. "I'll go to my mom. It's ok. She's home. I know she's home", I said. And my doctor took her phone number down to be sure that I reached her. She lived just ten minutes away. She asked me to call her before I left. 

"Mom? <silence> Something bad, mom. I want to come over. OK? I'm coming over right now. Ok? Mama?"

I left out of the back door of the office. My doctor hugged me, so tight,  and promised that she was going to guide me through kicking this Cancer out of my body. She kept saying that I could "do this" that it was "early" and that I would "beat it". 

I thought to myself, 'I am going to die". Over and over again.

She opened the back door of the office. My keys in my hands felt like bricks. My feet, numb. My eyes, so blurry.  I remember thinking that this must be the way all women leave this office when they are told they have cancer or that they have miscarried or some other horrifying news. "This is the easy way out. So that no one sees the pain", I thought to myself. No one knows this kind of fear. It goes out the back door. 

I reached my car. I turned the keys. It hit me. My mom! I have to get to her!

I drove straight to her. I had no idea that there was anything else that I could do. I needed her. I needed her to tell me that I wasn't going to die. I will never forget the feeling of her words whispered in my ear as I sobbed into her breast. 

"You are NOT going to die. You. Are. Not. I swear to you, my love. You will NOT"  

Her words  saved me. I said to her in a voice almost inaudible, "Mommy, I am so scared. I don't want to die. Mommy, I'm so scared." 

"You will not. You won't."

She held me in her arms for so long. I never wanted her to let me go. I felt safe. I felt like she could take away the word. Cancer. Fucking CANCER. She could destroy it. She is my mama. She can take this away. Please, mama, take this away. 

I was 30 but I felt like I was 9. Her arms created a bubble of protection that is only possible from a mother to her child. And in that moment I trusted her. It was easy. She made me believe. She made me believe that I wasn't going to die.

Before my final surgery, I knew that this was "it". If they couldn't get the cancer, my dreams of being a mother naturally were over. Because the next surgery would mean a radical hysterectomy. My anxiety had me in a vice grip. I was suffocating the morning I walked into the hospital. I could not breath. I lay in the bed with my brave face on and my mom came to me. She held my hand and said to me, "They will get it. They will." 

I wasn't so sure. My brothers were there. My dad. My grandparents and my godmother. All there to tell me that it was going to be ok. All I could think was "What if I die. What if it's too late? Oh my God, am I dying and I just don't know it yet?"   

They hugged me and held me and joked with me and smiled at me and kissed me and promised me that no matter what, we would kick this Cancer's ass. I wanted to believe. Then I was under. When I came to, the anxiety came flying back with amazing speed. There was no forgetting. Not even in an anesthesia haze. 

I was to wait for 2-5 days for the results. 

I was lucky. SO FUCKING LUCKY. I came through. They got it. I wept so many tears. Releasing the throat gripping fear. Rejoicing the margins but unable still to wrap my head around the fact that they found fucking CANCER in my body. Unsure that they were right when they said it was gone. What if they were wrong? What if they missed something? Happy that I could still carry children. Unsure that I would. Praying that I really could. Knowing that if any ONE of the tests (every 90 days) came back even slightly off, the next surgery meant the end of my dreams for motherhood the way I wanted. Not because my doctor would force me to have a hysterectomy, but because I wanted to live and to have peace of mind. That was the next step. Take my legs, arms, a kidney and my breasts. Take my uterus and my hair, Dye my skin purple. Whatever it takes. Just do it. JUST TAKE THE CANCER RISK AWAY. Away from me. From my LIFE. 

So I come to this post, with some anger and sadness over the bullshit I have read on these here internets about Angelina Jolie's  decision to have a double mastectomy because she carried the BRCA 2 gene. And I am more than incensed at those of you waxing like you know what you would do in that situation.  Making some kind of joke about it or pretending you know what it's like. Let me tell you from someone who knows what it is like to hear "You have cancer" from a doctor that they trust. The only thing you are thinking is "get it out" and "do what you have to do" That's it. If it means you take my boobs, my uterus and my legs, then do it. They are things. They are not all of me. 

To those so willing to joke at her expense or to judge her for some imagined slight against the common woman, please listen up. You most definitely DO NOT know shit unless you have been in her shoes. Or mine. I live every day knowing (waiting?), for the day I will have to say goodbye to my uterus and ovaries. I will say goodbye to them without a thought or regret because I want to be here. I want to live. I want my children to not have to bury their mama before her time. I want to live this life with my beloved husband for as long as I can. I want to be here. And I suspect that is all that Angelina wants, too. Not because she is a celebrity and wants publicity but because she is a woman and a mother and a wife and she wants to live her life and be here for her children. I get that. And if you do not get that and are busy judging her (or me) for "mutilating" her body, well then I say to you that I sincerely hope you are never in the position to have to make that decision. I really do. Because it would mean that your life is on the line. I wish that on no one. Not even assholes on the internet. 

Please let go of your positions. Let go of your opinions and ideas and assumptions. Stop  arguing the decision that Angelina Jolie made for her body. I promise you that you  just. do . not. know. 

And I hope you never do. I really do. 

Hey there mama, 

I'm writing to you because I remember how amazing it was to be expecting my babies. With your first baby there are the amazing months before finally becoming a mama when all the possibilities are in front of you as you feel your baby growing. It feels like it takes forever to get to nine months and you are just so excited to meet the tiny person who has made you a mother. Your next pregnancy,if you go for another, will perhaps, fly right by as you are chasing  around your first born.  

The thing about being pregnant that I also remember is how perfect strangers and not so perfect strangers seemed to take the opportunity to offer me advice at every turn. Some people were very sweet. Some... not so much. Others were well-meaning but a bit over-bearing. While still others were just off the wall. I remember people in the store wanting to touch my belly. It shocked me at first but then I realized that there is something that stirs in people when they see you creating new life. I think it makes us feel connected to beauty. Connected to life. Because there is nothing more inspiring and hopeful than a new baby, is there? I think the instinct is to reach out and be a part of that amazing love growing right in front of them. I think it is basically human to want to be near it and somehow connect with that perfectness. And unfortunately for you trying to get your apples and milk at the store,  that can translate to stranger old ladies wanting to feel your belly,  but don't worry, all of that said, you don't have to let them. Especially if they don't ask first.  

So as I was putting my hippy-dippy spin on personal space invasion during pregnancy, I started to remember the other things people said to me when they found out I was knocked up. Ya know, after the pleasantries are done. The conversation will go like this...

Stranger: When are you due?
You: In 5 weeks!
Stranger: Awww babies are a blessing! Do you know what you are having?
You: Yes, a little girl.
Stranger: <insert whammy phrase from below list here>


"You will never sleep again" - I say, yes you will. There will be a day when you sleep well again. But in the beginning it's gonna be broken up a little. Sure, there will be long nights ahead but they won't always be, mama. All babies eventually sleep through the night, some sooner than others but they get there. And you will sleep well again. Yes you will. 


"Treasure the moments when they aren't mobile. Once they start walking you're in trouble" - I say once they start walking, the adventures begin. Once they start walking the whole world begins to open up to them and it's incredible to watch them discover the world. I also say, sure, wear your comfortable shoes. No one ever discovered the world staying home, right? 


"It's been nice knowing you" - Babies, toddlers, children and teens take a lot of work, it's true. There is no getting around that. But they grow fast. They grow so so fast. You will have a social life when you decide you are ready to have one again. Right away or a few months down the road or even a few years. It's up to you and there is no set way to do it. 


"Are you sure you're not having twins?" - Ok, we've been really nice up until now. But this one? It's ok to go on ahead and flick a stranger between the eyes for this one. Better yet, if it's a family member that has the nuts to say this to you? You just feel free to punch them in the neck. Right at the Adam's Apple because then they will be paralyzed with fear as they struggle to breathe. Then say this -> I know you didn't just call me fat, you punk. 

"Let me tell you about this one time when my kid had a blister rash and everyone in the house got it and there was a quarantine and we had to call the CDC" - I'm not sure why people do this. People love to share horror stories.  Another common  horror story is this one....

"Oh man, my labor was horrifying. They had to stop me from chewing through my own arm. Let me tell you all about it!" -   I say this, I wish you an awesome birth. Your body is doing amazing things.**

"Make sure you... breastfeed-baby wear-use pacifiers-don't use pacifiers-buy this car seat-vaccinate-don't vaccinate-use a crib-co-sleep-back sleep-tummy sleep-do this-don't do that- blah blah blah blah-wokka wokka wokka" - 

To this I say, parenting is an amazing and wild and awesome ride. There a million and one possibilities and many people will try and tell you how to do it "right". I say, feed your baby, love your baby, hold your baby and go from there. Listen to your gut. Do your own research and come to your own conclusions. Ask for help if you need it (All moms need help. All.) But seriously, listen to you. Your body and brain are hard-wired for this. Your instinct will guide you, you just have to listen to it. You are going to be great at this. Congratulations, mama.

Love, Mama Pants



** Note: People with horror stories for new moms can eat a bag of worms.

It's no secret that I am a Pinterest failure. It's pretty ridiculous, really. Even the easy stuff. But this activity? I couldn't mess this one up even if I tried! Go Me! I'm over-doing the exclamation points! Anyway, looky-loo at what we did the other day with Mr. Pants' Head Start home visitor...she's a genius. PS: I love Head Start!

What you need: 
Corn starch, water, food coloring, painting sponges/ really thick brushes (at the dollar store!), a muffin pan (pick up one at a thrift shop for 50 cents!)

Make the paint: 
Mix equal parts corn starch and water. You want the paint to be pretty runny so that it spreads onto the sidewalk or driveway easily. Pour the mixture into the muffin pan and color however you want. That's it. There is nothing you can do to mess this up. Nothing. Because if there was, I would have found a way. But there just isn't a way. Easy peasy. 
Prep time is like 90 seconds. So you can do this on the fly no problem.

Do it:  
Take it outside and have fun! Note: grungy clothes a must! This is a bit sloppy and drippy. It will most definitely get onto their clothes. I mean, I don't want to live in a world of only clean painting, do you? 

This was a BIG hit with these two silly people. Here are some highlights. 

So, get out there and paint the sidewalks! Kids are not even required. Although they thought it was crazy cool. You could go out and paint the sidewalks this summer just for you. I just might.

Oh and total cost for supplies that will last all summer?  

6 bucks, dude.

I have a memory from my childhood that is awful. I inhaled chlorine into my lungs became very sick, struggled to breathe and was rushed to Children's Hospital. Here is my memory of it. 

I was 3 or 4 years old and playing with my cousins at my great-aunt's house. She had a very cool in-ground pool. My memories of that day were of my second cousins and how cool they were. I remember the sun shining on them as they sun bathed. They were gorgeous teenage girls and I wanted them to be my sisters. After eating fruit salad, potato salad and a grilled hot dog off a thick paper plate, I ran off with my brothers into an immense yard. While we were goofing around, we discovered a shed. Naturally we went inside to check it out. There was a bucket that was covered with a piece of burlap sack. I lifted the fabric and my brothers asked me what I had found. I reached in and pulled out a white hockey puck and placed it to my nose to smell it. The rest of my memory goes like this: I can't breathe. Hospital lights. This puppet. I smell the pool. Something is on my face. My mom. Yellowish walls and crisp hospital bed sheets. I see my legs. The end. 

But guess what? 

It didn't happen that way. It happened. Just not that way. The entire lead up to the trauma is completely fabricated. But dudes, it's is how I "remember" it going down. It was just recently that I asked my mom about it and she told me what really happened.

There was no shed. No yard. No burlap sack.  It happened inside my grandma's house, not my great-aunt's house. The only true parts of the "memory" are at the very end starting from when I couldn't breathe. The hockey puck was chlorine for  my grandma's above ground pool. I didn't just smell it. I inhaled it. My lips turned blue and I was struggling to breathe with chlorine in my lungs. I was rushed to the hospital and the rest of my recollection is true. Even the creepy puppet.

Uh...my memory wasn't real. That is insane pants.

So naturally, I've been obsessively thinking about memory and childhood. Then I started  thinking about the day that Mr. Pants was swarmed by hornets and how that horrifying memory might just show up to him someday. I know he will retain the physical memory of it because a tiny body doesn't forget 22 hornet stings. But I wondered if he will actually remember what happened versus building a memory based on our re-telling of that day or by merging several memories together. Or maybe my memory about that day will morph into something else since this is apparently a problem for me. I mean, when I'm 70 will I be telling the story about how he was attacked by bears in a swimming pool? Who knows? 

To comfort myself or to find out if I was crazy, I did a little research and I found that children under three are physically incapable of forming long term memories. Which is awesome to know. Also, more importantly,  creating false memories is normal. Phew! You cancheck out some fun facts here. And if this is up your alley like it is mine, follow the linked sources too. It will blow your mind.  Blow. Your. Mind. As in, freak your freak. Fascinating stuff.

 

Have you ever discovered that you have a false memory? 

It was kismet when I was recently  contacted by a representative from GROOVEBOOK.  She wondered if I would be interested in checking them out. What follows is a made up conversation that is more to the point than our actual one... 

Her: "Hey there, girl! Wanna groove with this iPhone app?" 
Me:  "Hmmm, let me see. I'll check it out but I'm no phony, man. I'm gonna let you know if I don't like it."  
Her: "Hey girl, I feel you. I really think you will fall in love with this app, man."
Me: "Sweet, I'll try it. I mean, I love mail and I love free things.We'll see what happens."

So I did it. I downloaded the App to my iPhone (you can do this with your Droid too!) and uploaded 100 pictures and my shipping/payment information. A week later I received my GROOVEBOOK. And here's the what what...

1. The book itself is cool and well made. 

2. The picture quality really impressed me (see above pic of a pic).  I am the guy that has a million pictures in my computer and about  four to hold in my hands. I missed holding pictures in my hands!  The pictures are perforated for easy removal to give away, scrapbook,  frame or  just keep them in the book.

3. You can cancel anytime with just an email.

4. If you like to play with picture apps like I do, they turn out great too! Just know that if they are cropped smaller than a 4x6 in size they will have some white spaces to fill out the page.

5. It's EASY. It is so so so easy.

6.To use GrooveBook, all you need is an iPhone or an Android. The app is FREE! The pictures are FREE. All you pay is 2.99 shipping and handling. 2.99 a month for 100 quality pictures? That's a freeging great deal, dudes. There is no catch. It really is just 2.99 a month for shipping. 

But you get to try it risk free by using the coupon code -> GROOVEPANTS. 


Oh yeah, dude. We get our own code. The code GROOVEPANTS will take your shipping charges off your first book. Yep, no risk. You'll get a totally free book of 100 phone pics with no strings attached and if you don't love it, just cancel. Not a penny spent. 


But you know what? I think you will love it. I really do.                                  

What the what is an #iPPP post? Have you wondered this to yourself? It occurred to me that you may not understand what the frick-n- frack #iPPP is.  Let me explain. 

Long ago in the blogosphere I happened upon a lady. Her name is Greta Funk. I immediately  crushed on her. She was cool and it seemed like she would make a most excellent neighbor (that's pretty much how I know that I like you. Ya know, could we be neighbors? If yes. I love you.)  Anyway, I loved her right away. I loved her blog. I loved her. Wait...this is going nowhere except for to Love Town. Etc etc etc. This and that. Blah blah blah....Greta does a weekly link up of posts with iPhone pictures in it. No rules, really,  beyond that the post needs to have pictures taken from a smartphone. Well, you guys know that I love the idea of no rules, right? 

I was game. And thus my love affair with the #iPPP link up began. The rest is Herstory (what what Vagina Monologues!). I link-up with Greta ( and now Sarah too!)




Scrolling through my pics from the weekend. This is what I found. And yes, I am a photo app junkie (I am particularly in love with Avery Photo app).

Oh hi there, you!

I've got something to tell you. 

I can be a nervous person. Not in the way that I am twitching and talking to myself, although I do do those things... sometimes...no more than every other day, though. I mean, we all have those days right? I can't be the only one. And look at that, I have gone wildly off course in the first three sentences. Nerves.

I'm no food blogger. Often, I am actually a food killer. I murder food. It's what I do. I should document that more. It would make all of you feel so much better about your cooking. But every so often one of my dinner experiments actually works and it gives me the cojones to keep trying new things.

With Plum's allergies always a factor, I work hard to come up with new and exciting dishes for dinner that are our kind of normal. We aren't fancy. We love pizza and burgers and fries in this house. We have a favorite pizza joint that has been thoroughly investigated and delivers us our weekly pizza. They even are cool when I ask them for no cheese on part of it. They are careful and always do a great job. But I mean....it was high time for me to get into some dairy-free pizza experiments that had more to offer. 

So set out to do just that. I pulled everything from the cupboards and let my brain get to work imagining some dairy-free pizza recipes. And dudes...I hit the Mama Pants pizza experimentation jackpot. I made a delicious pizza. So in the spirit of only sharing my recipes when I can toot my own horn, I offer you this bad mamma jamma...

I'm not gonna lie. It was magic. Mouth magic. Here's how to make it.

I bought the dough but surely you could make your own if you're looking to be a superstar.
To make the sauce mix up and mash the following:
1 large avocado
2 large diced tomatoes
some olive oil
garlic (minced)
red onion (minced)
Spices: black pepper, sea salt, oregano, basil
itty bitty bit of sugar
(all to taste because I don't do silly things like measure. I'm above it or something)

Toppings
Grilled chicken chopped up (I marinated it with a Greek vinaigrette)
Sliced red onion (we like onion in this house)
Fresh spinach

Then bake that puppy up. It's best to eat it all fresh. Does not re-heat so well.


Enjoy!
I'll be sure to share my next experiment success
when it happens in about 4 months!

I have an unhealthy fear of spiders. It's too much. I get that. I have a pretty good idea where it came from too....

My dad is a gentle and loving person. It's even possible that he is an accidental Buddhist. Because he cannot kill any of God's sacred creatures. Ask me how I know. How do I know? Oh, thanks for asking! I remember it like it was yesterday but it was 32-ish years ago. It might have been a dark and stormy night, but probably not. Whatever. 

I screamed and screamed. "DAAAD- DAY!! HALP!!!" and I saw his shadowy man frame enter my room. He was going to save me. He was going to kill the fuck out of this spider! My hero!

Whoa, wait...what are you doing, daddy?

"I'll just let him go back to his home. He's lost"

And with that, my dad picked up the spider like it was no big thing (Like.It.Was.No.Big.Thing.) and gently placed him out of my bedroom window like it was a newborn baby. You know, under the screen that had been loose for years? The one that pops off when you look at it sideways? That one. That night I lay in bed waiting for that spider to exact its revenge on me whilst I slept. And I'm pretty sure this is when my fear was stapled into my brain. Stapled.

Thankfully my dad doesn't read this blog because I would hate for him to feel bad. He can't help his gentle ways. Honestly his gentle ways are what made him a great dad (with this one exception, of course). I mean, you know how they say that you marry your dad? It's crazy true. But I digress...

So I am horror movie a-scared of spiders. It hurts to even write the word but I need to explain why my boob is throbbing and bleeding right now. Oh yeah, dudes, I said bleeding. And it's because I am a terrible mother. Do you remember when I left my children to the mercy of that baby skunk? Not my finest moment.

Also not my finest moment? Seeing a spider in the bed while nursing Plum to sleep tonight. Plum, who is cutting molars and really into nursing right now. Plum who was trying to sleep like an angel. Plum who missed her nap and was so tired and needed the comfort of her mama to soothe her into a delicious teething pain-free sleep. Plum who tried desperately to hang on while her mother lost her sham-a-lama-ding-dong mind. Poor Plum.

She didn't deserve the screaming mom that jumped and ran from the room. She tried to hang on. She tried really freeg-balls hard. So hard that, well, I already told you in the post title. So that is why I am icing my nipple down as I type. 

Boo to me, dudes.

Boo. To. Me. And my bullshit fear of spiders. Fa-gargle.