In Which I Go to 11

I think y’all have a pretty good handle on all of that for now, so let’s start anew.

Since we last spoke, the family and I thoroughly enjoyed the holidays and our trip to Florida. Again, I am amazed at how many “Pooh size” folks there are in Mouse World. I don’t even know how they make it from the parking lot to the gate, not to mention through acres and acres of parks for days at a time. It’s quite painful to watch, actually. I did notice, though, that Mouse World and its progeny seem to have revamped their menus so there were many “healthy” options available, and I had at least one good salad a day. Lots of fruit, too. Of course, they also added something that, in all my years, I have never seen at Mouse World – turkey legs. Eight dollar turkey legs. The sight of someone eating one always unnerves me, but it’s that much more upsetting to see a 3-year-old in a princess costume gnawing away on one right in front of It’s a Small World. Yech.

On the home front, Peach and Olive are happily ensconced in their beloved GGMS, while all hell breaks loose around them in the AISD. Thanks to Governor Hairdo and a host of other factors, public education in the Great State of Texas is in a world of hurt, and the Capital City is facing a major, major school budget crisis – one that the brain trust in residence thinks could be solved by closing some of the most successful, most active elementary schools in town. One of which Peach and Olive would be happily ensconced in were they not at GGMS. My limited faith in the AISD is rapidly disappearing, even as we help Peach apply for The Most Awesome Secondary School for Girls in the History of the World – which is public. Gulp. And where class spots are determined by lottery. Double gulp. If she doesn’t get the golden ticket this year, we have the wonderful option of having her stay one more year at GGMS, the symmetry of which I rather like, and we can try again next year. But the lottery pool is weighted 75% for girls coming from Title I schools and 25% for everyone else, including us, so either way, it’s a long shot. That said, I seem to recall Peach’s ticket being pulled from the smallest percentage for a lottery we never even signed up for, so I think karmic justice requires that she gets something she actually wants and deserves this time. Thank you, Universe.

On the job front, I’m still at The Job, for better or worse. Everyone was incredibly supportive the past year, allowing me to work from home when I needed to and adding a ton of paid sick time to my tally. But, but, but, I’m still pushing paper, which, especially now, seems so mind-suckingly(?) insignificant, I really really need a change. Since the day I started The Job, I’ve been looking for another one. I’m not even sure I want to practice law (was I ever?), and after seeing what I’ve seen this year, I’m just embarrassed to get paid for what I do. I’m not knocking The Law, just The Job. Rah rah rah, Atticus Finch and all that, I love him. Really. But I doubt Atticus ever got Employment Manual updates clarifying that t-shirts, caps, and shorts are not appropriate work attire and that colored ink, bouncing emoticons, and pictures of pets are not to be included in the signature block of work emails. REALLY. We have to put this shit in writing, y’all. Now with all the budget mess, even historically secure state jobs may have to be cut, and maybe mine will be one of them. And maybe I wouldn’t be too broken up about it. For now, I’ve got about seven different versions of my resume being sent to the four winds, and we’ll see what turns up.

Finally, it’s official – I Kick Ass. Earlier this month, the lovely Karla May (and her evil minions) set me up for a big surprise in the form of a 2011 Spike Gillespie Kick Ass Award, commemorating the helluva journey we Turistas have recently been on (did I mention?). I was shocked, very moved, and very appreciative. I love the award and what it stands for, but I love the gal that gave it to me – and the rest of y’all – immeasurably more.

Now let's get out there and have a Kick Ass New Year, y'all! Hi - YAH!

The Girl of The Year

Happy Everything, my Peachy Pie

Me and My Big Cliche

We’re closing in on the one-year mark, and I have no idea where the time went. I’ve told Peach that I feel like this was the fastest year of my life, and she agreed that most days moved so quickly, but some lasted forever. True. So, as a reward for her hard work, we’re celebrating her birthday, her diagnosis day, and a brand new year at Disneyworld, courtesy of the Make-a-Wish Foundation.

When we were checking out of the hospital way back when, the Child Life Specialist had all sorts of information about special programs Peach was eligible for, including Make-a-Wish. It was all I could do to hold it together and take that GD pamphlet, which I quickly stuck in the bottom of the pile, destined for the first recycling bin – or fireplace – I could find. Six days into this thing, I refused to “go there,” so I had no intention of discussing it with Peach any further.

About a month later, we were at the clinic for a long day, and the Child Life Specialist there asked Peach if she had made her wish yet. Shit. Peach said no, so, bless her heart, the CLS went into great detail about what Peach could wish for, and "here, let’s look at their website, and that kid over there did this, and that kid over there did that" … I was cringing. That is, until I caught a glimpse of their FAQs page, and the post for “Are wishes only offered to kids who are terminally ill?” And the answer is NO. Exhale.

After that, the process began in earnest, and we knew within another month or so that Peach’s wish to go to Disneyworld was granted. I say *we* meaning T-Bone and me. I didn’t want to tell Peach in case I needed “something” for incentive on a really rough day. Which, thankfully, we didn’t have that many of, and I was able to keep the surprise until our grand Back to School Feast. We’ll be going to Universal Studios, too, so the big reveal was done via owl and an official letter from Hogwarts, inviting Peach to enroll the day after her 11th birthday. She is beyond excited, but she told me last night that she doesn’t know what she’d be thinking right now if “all that hadn’t happened last year.” Me neither, my love.

If I did a word search of my posts for this year, I realize there would be a handful of buzzwords and catchphrases that are repeated ad nauseum. You know the ones. The words that everyone uses to describe cancer and treatment and people going through it. The phrases that every non-profit uses to promote their cause and tug at your heartstrings and encourage you to open your wallet. I don’t know how it happened, but I just slipped into that language (Cancerspeak?), and the clichés flowed like water. Or wine. You choose.

But here’s the thing: Cancer IS a monster. Treatment IS a battle, fight, journey. People going through it ARE brave, amazing, inspiring. And we MUST raise awareness, funds, and hope to find a CURE.

So, no apologies. Just immense gratitude for Peach’s success and for the love and light surrounding us. And for this disease? A lasting hatred that I’ve been told is – yes – inspiring.

Deja Vu

Has it been a month already? Hell, a whole year? Although my brain is working daily overtime, processing too much information that is way beyond my limited intelligence, I've tried to cobble together one focused post a month (with all apologies to July). Without loading you down with details, I just wanted to share a moment or an aspect of this experience and maybe get it out of my head, to make room for the next day's news. I hope you've been entertained (is that the right word?) or learned something or done something. Or something. I've been grateful for the friendly ear at least, so thank you.

Now as we barrel ever-faster toward the first anniversary of Peach's diagnosis (we celebrate these things in Cancer World, did you know? Oh yes.), I am nearly overcome by the enormous sense of deja vu. Me, who is ALL ABOUT the calendar, and special days, and traditions, and memories, and generally making a big GD deal out of everything, I can't help but recall every second of the last time we did this or that. Especially since this fall, when Peach was gearing up for her triumphant return to school and "normalcy," I have been struck by how quickly the time passed, how far we have come, and how much everything feels exactly the same and completely different.

When Peach was in the hospital, I came home on the third night to stay with Olive. I walked into the kitchen, and staring me in the face was the perpetual calendar we've had since we got married. It was still stuck on December 30th. Peach's birthday, the day everything changed. Again. I walked straight to our bathroom and quietly fell to my knees. But only for a moment, because Sweet Olive was close behind, wondering if I was hungry. The Amazing Mama Turista knew the problem in an instant, and that calendar was changed by the time I came out of the bathroom. If it were up to me, it might still be on December 30th, but what good would that do, really.

I am not dwelling in "the past," not any more than in your run-of-the-mill "they grow up so fast" sense, and I am beyond hopeful for the future. But I can't ignore the seismic shift in our lives since the last time we put up Christmas decorations. Will it get easier as the years go by? I think so. And I also think it's okay, at least this first year, to struggle with the New Normal's impact on the Old World Order.

Give thanks.

And Now, a Word About Olive

Outstanding.

Lest you think the talk around here is All Cancer, All the Time, I can tell you it is most assuredly not. In our never-ending quest for normalcy, we have had many moments of laughter, levity, and downright joy, but one of the brightest moments has been The Blossoming of Miss Olive.

Absolutely remarkable, this one. Olive hates everything to do with the doctor, and at first, I was so worried that she would be forever traumatized regarding all things medical after watching Peach go through treatment. In fact, I caught myself thinking, God forbid, if this were Olive, it would be a whole different story - compliance-wise. But now? I'm not so sure.

We have all been pleasantly surprised by, and immensely proud of, the way Olive has handled herself and made her way through all of this. She cried the very first night because she didn't want Peach, T-Bone, and me to spend the night at the hospital without her, but after that, and a few heartfelt, age-appropriate conversations, she has been solid as a rock. Pink granite.

She is so empathetic, just patting on Peach and cheering her on at every turn. She is a huge helper, bringing Peach a cold rag when she's not feeling well and making sure we're all quiet when Peach is resting. She was genuinely more excited for Peach to get back to school than for herself, and the first time we saw one of the American Cancer Society's "Happy Birthday" commercials, she reached over to pat Peach and just smiled at her. It was just the sweetest thing. She so GETS it, but she's not afraid of it.

So in the waning hours of this, her birthmonth, I want to celebrate my brave, beautiful 7 year old girl and say Happy Happy Birthday dear Olive. I love you!