You need to take good news and be thankful. I have been in a funk, uninspired to write and if that scale eeks up another .2 pounds, I am going to drive to New Jersey and throw it off the GWB: UPPER DECK!
I went for my 6-month checkup with the oncologist in Rochester. After a few tense moments, the radiologist gave the thumbs up and I am off the hook for another 6 months. I face that mortality twice a year and sitting in the locker room in those horrid robes with women with scarves and wigs, I feel tremendous guilt for even stating that “my spirit needs a boost”. I try to make light, share my magazines and keep the chatter going but it is hard for them, I see it in their eyes. I pray they went home like I did….a bit lighter in the heart.
I am in the middle of the second month in my year long countdown to 50.
Month One: the pushup challenge. Still going, still not a man’s push-up but none-the-less, still doing them 3 times per week.
Month Two: the laundry challenge. This one is not going so well. I absolutely hate doing laundry and folding it kills me. I get apoplectic when I do perform this household duty and my kids live out of the laundry basket that a slaved to fold. I have been known to flip that basket and have them re-wash. (hmmm, I feel one of those coming soon Jack)
Month Three: the baking and cooking month. I will perfect my baking, which takes time and patience, (I lack) and to try some new cooking recipes. That should be fun.
Update: Jack has not passed his quarter, to the best of our knowledge. I am not a good mother when it comes to checking poop. I puked and wretched last weekend…but do you think I lost a stinking .2 off that scale? Nooooo. Jack is due for an x-ray next week to confirm or deny he is still carrying loose change. In the interim, Izzy chewed an entire pack of Orbit bubblemint gum. Her breath is great and she appears to have pooped that out, without closer examination from me, Thank God.
So we are in throes of basketball season. I have one with a sling on her arm and one with a brace on his ankle. Not unusual given my own youthful basketball broken bone count. They’ll heal, they usually do, if we can get through without drama. Sure, you go with that.
I think that’s it for now. One last thing: be happy; eat the donut; think before you get angry and yell; and poop is poop no matter what those crazy wholesome, Birkenstock-type mothers say: “you can handle the poop when it’s your own child’s”. Sure.