Squeezed

I had my mammogram yesterday. I really didn't intend to get one this year; since I had a baseline screening mammogram last year, I figured I was good to go for a few years. But my doctor encouraged me to do it, especially because I did have to have a repeat scan last time around.

It was also not my intention to make my mammogram coincide with national breast cancer awareness month. It just kind of worked out that way. My doctor's appointment was in early September. It took me three weeks to get around to scheduling the mammogram, which by then they were scheduling two weeks out, which landed me smack dab in the middle of breast cancer awareness month.

My appointment was at 7:40am -- crazily, my 3rd stop of the day. So I got up bright and early to shower. After I did the shampoo and conditioner thing to my head, I started shaving my legs. It wasn't until I was finishing up the second leg that I remembered I was having a mammogram today, not a pap smear. I was concentrating on the wrong lady parts. I totally could have gotten away with hairy legs for this occasion.

The entrance to the hospital was decked out in so much rosy pink that I laughed as I thought of the scene in "Steel Magnolias" where Shelby, describing her wedding, said "My colors are 'blush' and 'bashful.'" And her mom interjects, "Her colors are pink and pink. It looks like the sanctuary's been sprayed with Pepto Bismol."

The lobby of the Women's Diagnostic Center was empty, except for the receptionist, who was wearing pink, of course. She was quite friendly and we chatted about the fact that it's almost the middle of October and I don't have enough of my Christmas shopping done yet, but that she is finished with the shopping for her 3-1/2 year old daughter, though has no idea what to get her husband. She took my information and printed out a wristband for me to wear. As she put it on my arm, I glanced down and lost my breath for just a moment.

There, just under my name, it said "Age: 40." That's the first time I think I've seen that number, in reference to my time on earth, printed right in front of me. It wasn't "Happy 40th Birthday!" It was just a cold, hard fact. Age: 40. I think that might have been the hardest part of the whole experience.

Shortly after I'd re-gained my breath, Andrea came to lead me back to the exam area. I think she might have been the one to do my mammogram the last time, but if she remembered me or my breasts, she didn't say so. She opened a little dressing room for me, set out a gown, instructed me to remove everything from the waist up and put the gown on so it opened in the front.

I did as I was told, neatly folding my clothes and leaving them on the bench, as if I would be awarded points for tidiness. I slipped into the gown and was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn't one of those flimsy cotton jobbies that leave you freezing, which is not exactly the way you want it to be when some stranger is going to be deliberately handling your ta tas. No, this gown was soft -- like Karen Neuberger jammies soft -- and warm. It made me want to curl up and take a nap.

Napping, of course, was not on the agenda. Rather, the agenda was full of small talk and instructions to lean forward, chin up, hold here, don't breathe and let me know if that's too much pressure. The chin up instruction was possibly the most annoying because I really wanted to see if, like last year, my breast flattened in the machine looked like chicken in shrink wrap. In the quick glance that I got, I did notice that breasts look bigger all squished like a pancake then they do when they are free and reaching for the floor.

When I was finished, Andrea told me I should hear about the results by Thursday and gave me a complimentary nylon backpack in honor of breast cancer awareness month. I wished she'd given me that snuggly, warm gown instead.

Can I quote you on that?

Isn't it funny how little snippets of speech climb into our subconscious and stay there, popping up from time to time? Sometimes they are quotes that we deliberately commit to memory and maybe even spend time reflecting on. Some are laced with memories about the situations where we first heard them or the people who spoke them. Others are just phrases bandied about as part of the public vernacular that we end up incorporating into our own speech.

One that I recall when my kids complain about having to go to church (I know! Heathens!) is one of the classics my own mom used to lay on us:

"Do you think Jesus wanted to climb up on that cross and die for you?!"

Another, that I might have shared here before, is one that I've spent a fair amount of time mulling over in the trials of the past several months:

"The safest place to be is within the will of God."

Finally, I came across this classic from Erma Bombeck. It makes me laugh, which, as they say, is sometimes the best medicine:

"I was too old for a paper route, too young for Social Security and too tired for an affair."

Amen, Sister Erma.

What little pearls do you carry with you? Do you print them out and post them on the fridge or on your computer? Set them as a screen saver or use them on your kids?

Creative surfing

We've been without access to the internet from home since Thursday, which has required me to do some creative finagling to get online. (If you're about to suggest that I could have gone on a multi-day internet fast, you obviously don't know me well.)

Thursday evening, I was offline. That was ok because we were busy with the high school open house and all. Friday morning, I met my friend Beth for breakfast and some wifi at Panera. Then I went into the office where the internet was flowing just fine. On Friday night while Charlie was at football practice, I snagged a drink and wifi at Dunkin' Donuts -- where I did NOT eat a donut, aren't you so proud of me?!

Yesterday was our 17th wedding anniversary. So Mike and I took a long walk with the dog, then stole away to Panera. Two nerds with their laptops, enjoying that "we don't have to talk all the time" silence while soaking up the world wide waves over breakfast power sandwiches. For dinner last night, we took the family to McAlister's where they have a great selection of food, sweet tea (though I just ordered water) and, you guessed it, free wifi.

At about 3am last night, I was searching for some wifi to hop on to in my neighborhood, but those smart neighbors of mine all have their networks secure -- as do we). Which meant I was sorting laundry until 4am.

After church, I treated Robbie to hotcakes at McD's and myself to a Diet Coke and (say it with me...) free wifi. And now, mostly because Charlie was starving after his football game, I'm sitting at Panera -- a different one, getting my last hit until I can get to the office in the morning. I'm sure my boss will wonder what I'm doing there at 5am.

All in all, this dang snafu has cost me probably $65 and hundreds (thousands?) of calories. At least I've learned one thing about myself for sure -- I cannot live off the grid.

The great high school hunt

Where I grew up, when it came to high schools, you had two choices. The Catholic school or the public school. And if you lived in my house, you had one choice -- the Catholic school. Now that Annie is about to enter the 2nd quarter of her 8th grade year, we're knee deep in the great high school hunt.

Actually, we started checking out our (her) options last year, going to the open houses of three different schools. Before the open houses, we had schools A, B & C on our radar. Going in, I liked school A, based just on what I knew from other families. Annie liked school B, and we were both mixed on school C.

After the open houses, I liked school B best, she liked school A best and school C had pretty much been thrown out. So I was pretty sure that we'd be choosing between schools A & B this year. However, last May, enter school D.

D was really out a bit out of my comfort zone. It's a public school; I've always thought that our kids will spend 12 years at Catholic school. But, it's a charter public school, so it does have some of that private school feel. And it's got an arts bent to it, which sold Annie on the idea of school D even before she set foot in the building.

Mike and I decided we wanted to check out school D for ourselves before we allowed her to get all carried away with excitement (too late!). We scheduled a tour and spent an hour or so in the school during a regular school day. We were very surprised to find that we really liked school D. Some of our concerns -- there would be lots of weird kids there, it would be too small -- were just not true. The curriculum structure makes sense to us. But we still wanted her to look at schools A & B.

On Wednesday, Annie shadowed at school A. When I picked her up, she was all smiles -- so much that I wondered if someone had injected her with Botox in the science lab. She had a great time. Everyone was so awesome. People were very friendly. She knew a lot of the answers in Spanish class. The art teacher was really cool. And it was fun to see kids she knew from grade school. She said that on a scale of 1 to 10, one being "get me the heck out of here" and 10 being "sign me up now!," she would give school A a 9.

I began to wonder how schools B & D would hold up in comparison. The next evening, school D hosted an open house. I wasn't sure we needed to go. Mike and I had already seen the school and Annie will be shadowing there in a couple of weeks. But Annie really wanted to go and since we didn't have anything else planned and since it is kind of her FUTURE, I piled everyone in the car and we headed down there.

First, we went in the wrong door. Here I am, not even a school parent yet and already breaking the rules. We made our way to the cookie table first, to keep Robbie quiet get the boys a snack, then were paired up with two students to show us around the school. There were musical performances going on, amazing art displays on the walls and a whole heckuvalotuv people there. I was surprised to see six other families that we knew.

As we went from room to room, Annie started warming up, asking a question here and there to either the students showing us around or to the teacher at the front of the room. By the time we got upstairs, she had actual conversations with a math teacher, an art teacher and was deciphering Latin with the help of one of the school's Latin teachers.

By the end of the night, she'd made friends with a sophomore that one of her current school friends introduced her to and said she wanted to shadow with that student on her assigned visit day. I looked across the large room where we were standing and saw her standing there with these kids, absolutely at ease, not at all nervous.

Because the open house was drawing to a close, I gave Robbie and Charlie another cookie (so I didn't have to hear "what's for bedtime snack" when we got home) and tore Annie away from her conversation. On the way to the car, I asked her what she thought of school D on that same scale of 1 to 10. She said, "well, if school A was a 9, school D was a 13!"

She did not stop talking all the way home. She must have said "I love that school!" at least a dozen times. If I had said, "If you go to school D, you must scrub the kitchen floor with a toothbrush every night," I'm pretty sure she would have said OK.

We are still making her do the shadow day for school B (and for school D). But I'm afraid school B is going to have to spin upside down on its head while twirling firecrackers to get Annie's stamp of approval. And if it can, more power to them.

I wish I could explain how awesome it felt to see how alive she came just at the prospect of being part of the school D community. Awesome doesn't begin to describe it. But I looked at her, I watched her eyes, I listened to her talking to the teachers and I felt joy...JOY....to see that she knew where she belonged.

(Of course, she's a 13-year-old girl. So probably next week, she'll be all about schools X,Y, and Z and I'll be left shaking my head...)

Speechless

I am really finding myself at a loss for blog words these days. I'm not sure what the cause is -- I think of things to write about, but don't seem to find the energy to put the fingers to the keys to make it entertaining, or even mildly coherent.

Maybe what I need is another outlet to spark the creativity -- like painting or ceramics or something. Not necessarily a new hobby, just a night out to do something a little different. Maybe a little Wine and Canvas. Check that out. Does that sound cool or what?! Or there's an "Evening with Clay" at a local retreat center next month. The idea of sinking my hands in the clay sounds good.

Or planting bulbs! Every spring I wish that I'd planted tulip and daffodil bulbs the previous fall. Maybe that's what I'll do on Saturday. Digging my hands into the dirt sounds quite appealing.

What do you do when you feel like you need a little creative boost?

Holy pets, Batman!

Today was the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals. In honor of the day, the kids' school held a pet blessing just before dismissal. Robbie was beside himself with excitement that Gabby could come to school -- well, at least to the parking lot of the school.

So despite day three of my monumental and hormonal headache, I put the dog in the car and headed down for what might have been her first religious experience (aren't I a good mom?!). This is the two of us in the car:

There were several dogs already there when we arrived. Most everyone was behaving nicely on their leashes. However, one friend of mine was crazy enough to bring their three BIG black labs (if I'm a good mom, she's a stellar mom) who thought nothing of using their combined weight to bring her to her knees and eventually belly down in the grass. I noticed by the time the blessing actually got underway, she was down to one dog.

When the classes came outside, Robbie found Gabby and me rather quickly and sat with us for the blessing, though I don't know if Gabs considered Robbie's presence a blessing:

Soon, Charlie joined us, too. Annie said hello but opted to stand with her friends, who for the record, thought that Gabby was adorable. Once everyone was gathered, Fr. Jeremy, the associate pastor, began the blessing ceremony. I wondered if this job traditionally goes to the second priest on the totem pole? 

A few prayers, a reading from Genesis, some outstretched hands, a light sprinkle of holy water and we had ourselves a blessed bagle hound. 

If only those few words and that little bit of holy water could work some magic on the whole chewing and housebreaking thing...unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. 

The majority of pets at the blessing were dogs, though I did see one dad holding a box of guinea pigs and Fr. Jeremy said there were a couple of cats in carriers. And Robbie's teacher put their class pet -- a catfish named Whiskers -- in a bucket so he (she?) could be blessed, too.

Fragging when I should be sleeping

It's Friday. Really, even though I woke up on Thursday morning and haven't gone back to sleep yet. (Guess it was all that stockpiled sleep from when I went to bed at 7:53pm Wednesday night.) And because it's Friday, here I am, fragging with Mrs. 4444s.

Tomorrow -- I mean today -- is going to be a big day. First, I will be dropping off Annie's first high school admission application. Did I just type that? Who gave her permission to be ready to find a high school already? 

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Then, after a long-overdue breakfast with a friend, it's home to do some last minute cleaning so the IN Shape Indiana video guy won't capture some embarrassingly messy scenes when he's here to shoot my interview. 

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At the end of the afternoon, I have a counseling session. I told Annie last week that I was leaving for an appointment. "For what," she asked. "Well, it's a counseling appointment," I told her. I didn't want her to think that counseling is a bad thing. Most people would benefit from it once in a while and those who think they don't need probably need it the most. Annie didn't quite see it that way. "WHAT?! You're seeing a THER-A-PIST?" Someday she'll have kids of her own...

(This little revelation inspired by this post: The disease called "perfection." )

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Tomorrow night, Mike and I have a FREE date night -- we got tickets from Scotty's Brewhouse to see "The Social Network." Thanks, Scotty and crew!

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What I hope tomorrow does not bring is a trip to the doctor for Charlie. He got tackled at recess today and spent much of the day complaining about his ribs and his belly hurting. The belly hurting thing alerted the "I got my medical degree from Google University" in me and I invoked the "doctor lives across the street" privilege to have my neighbor come over and check him out. She said she thought he was ok -- probably sore, but likely embellishing the pain a bit. Tonight, after he went to bed, I went in and pushed around on his stomach to see how he would respond. (Sounds familiar, huh?) He didn't flinch, so I'm thinking we're good.

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Watching TV after midnight is just not the same without cable, so I think it's finally time to sign off and go to bed.(Although I think I might sleep right here on the couch. It's my favorite place to sleep. It runs in the family.)