It smells like yesterday

What do you remember from your childhood? Or your college years? Or a home you once lived in? I have memories that are visual; I can see in my head what my bedroom looked like when I was in the 3rd grade. I can remember experiences -- scenarios as they unfolded so many years ago and how I felt about them. For me, the most powerful memories come as what I call "sense memories" built on notable smells.

Today I was walking down the athletics hall at Charlie's school. All of the sudden I smelled the locker room area of my own high school. The smell was a combination of musty and bleach. It wasn't unpleasant; in fact it was kind of comforting, connecting me to a happy time in my life. 

Earlier this summer, Charlie got in the front seat of the car. Immediately, I was greeted by a scent that took me a moment to recognize. Soon, the memory formed in my head. I was smelling Drakkar Noir, the cologne that Mike wore while we were in college. If I closed my eyes, I could see myself snuggling in close and burying my nose in the sparse hairs lightly sprinkled across Mike's chest. I breathed in deeply and smiled at the at memory. I could see my fingers tickling across his chest, my...WAIT A DAGGONE MINUTE! 

I snapped to, realizing that this woodsy citrus smell wasn't coming from the chest of my husband of 20 years. No, this scent was coming from my 15-year old son who was sitting in the car next to me. Aw heck no! I couldn't have my son wearing cologne that drew me back to his father's room in college.

Thanks to a well-timed pitch from a PR company who offered a free bottle, Charlie now wears British Sterling H.I.M. Private Stock cologne.

Another scent that transports me in time is pipe tobacco, which conjures up memories of my Grandpa before he gave up the habit. Pipe smokers aren't very common these days, but if there is one within 20 feet of me, I'm six years old on my Grandpa's lap again. 

You would think that given my round shape, I would have olfactory memories tied to food -- cakes baking or Thanksgiving turkeys, maybe. But I don't. I wonder why that is? My poor kids will probably have memories triggered by the smell of burning food. 

Do you have any memories that are triggered by certain smells? What are they? 

Life after cable TV

A few months ago we made the decision to cut the cable cord. Mike wasn't working, we had some medical bills to pay (we always have medical bills to pay), and we needed to trim the budget somewhere. What we were paying for cable TV didn't seem worth what we were getting in return --  8-10 channels we watched regularly and 192 channels that we could care less about.

ESPN and all its affiliated sports networks were really what kept us from making this decision sooner. When Charlie was 5 years old, he introduced himself to a neighbor, saying "Hi! I'm Charlie and sports are my life." Not much has changed, so we were a little worried that the withdrawal of the 24/7 sports channels might be like taking water away from a fish. But Charlie was already busy with summer conditioning for high school sports, so we reasoned that he wouldn't have much time to be watching TV anyway. 

The first day that Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network were not available, you could have told Robbie that the world was ending and he would have agreed immediately. But we were already Netflix subscribers and decided to add an $8/month subscription to Hulu Plus to our entertainment options. Hulu has eased the loss of the DVR. Most of the shows that we would have DVR'd in the past -- Parenthood, The Middle, Castle -- are available on Hulu, ready to be fired up when we are ready to watch them, as long as its at least one day since the original episode appeared. And while we don't have ESPN, Hulu has an ESPN channel that offers highlights, feature stories and classic "best of " games, so we don't feel too sports deprived. 

We get all the local television channels and their bonus companions -- Channel 6, 6.2, 6.3, etc. I was pretty surprised to see all the shows we can find on the local TV. There are even a couple of throw-back channels where you can catch classic shows like "Emergency!" and "M*A*S*H," shows of my childhood. 

I will admit, it's not all sunshine and lollipops. We are able to watch the Colts on local TV, although it does seem like the TV reception wants to act up mid-game fairly often. We can still watch the game; we just have put up with a few blips and pauses here and there. 

I miss the Food Network, although "Chopped" and "Cutthroat Kitchen" are available on Netflix. And while TLC has a channel on Hulu, they only offer short clips of episodes, not full episodes, so I'm left wondering about how the plans for Jessa Duggar's wedding are coming along and how Kody and his four wives are getting along on "Sister Wives."

When Robbie is crabby, he defaults to "And we don't even have cable TV!"

The upside of ditching the cable? Besides saving $150 a month, that is -- there are some nights that our TV doesn't get turned on at all. We read, tool around on the internet, do laundry and dishes (gasp!), and even go to bed at a reasonable time. 

Mike recently began working again and Charlie and Robbie began a campaign to bring back the cable. But we are standing firm. I'm hopeful that at some point, the cable companies will come around with an a la carte pricing structure where you can choose a dozen channels you want and will pay for. Until then, it's free channels, Netflix and Hulu for us. 

Things they should tell you before you get an iron infusion

About three weeks ago I had an iron infusion. I'd been feeling crappy for several months -- low energy, crazy tired, easily out of breath, and eating ice like it was something made by Hershey's. I knew my iron was low. I switched to a different kind of iron supplement, but I just could not get on top of it.

I asked my family doc to test my iron levels. She said no. Why? Because she'd told me to check in with the hematologist last spring and I didn't do it. So, off to the hematologist I went. He decided I needed a rapid fill of iron and the way to get that was an infusion.

I didn't know much before going in for the infusion, just that it would take about six hours and that there would be WIFI available (I asked about that specifically).

If you find yourself in the position to be getting an iron infusion, here are some things you might want to know ahead of time:

1. Where you are going. My appointment was at 8:15am. I went to the infusion center attached to the only office I've ever seen the hematologist in. I knew there was trouble when the gal at the registration desk started tapping away at her keyboard and clicking on her mouse, scrolling through several screens before she said "Oh, we have you scheduled at our downtown location." Fortunately, she was able to call and let them know I was on my way and they were able to hold a spot for me.

2. You can bring a lunch/food with you. It didn't occur to me that in six hours I might get hungry. The nurse who checked me in did show me the snack stash. And lucky for me, my friend Beth works at the downtown location and offered to bring me lunch.

3. You should hydrate well so it will be easy to find a vein. Three sticks and two nurses later, we found a good one. Credit goes to the first nurse who called for reinforcements when she was having difficulty.

4. They are going to have you mainlining Benadryl, which will knock your "I'm going to work on my laptop through this" plans right out the window. I called to ask about WIFI because I intended to make the infusion center my office for the day. Have laptop, will travel. It was a good strategy until they hung a bag of Benadryl and sent it free falling through my veins to ward off any allergic reaction to the iron solution. I was mid-email with someone and had to tell her that I would either be signing off or sending incoherent emails. Benadryl via IV might as well be vicodin. Add a blanket and a comfy chair you have the ingredients for one awesome snooze.

5. You're going to feel incredibly humbled to be sitting there for your one-time treatment, surrounded by people whose bald heads and germ-free masks give away the not-so-secret that they've been here many times before. Infusions are infusions, whether they are iron or chemo. Most of the people in the infusion suite that day were patients getting treatment for cancer. Many had family members with them and bags packed that said they knew it was going to be a long visit. I did a lot of praying, thankful I was there for a one-time fill-up and asking for healing and peace for those around me.

6. You will wonder why you didn't do this sooner. It takes 3-4 weeks for the iron to fully take effect, but one day about a week after the infusion I realized it was almost 3pm and I hadn't eaten any ice yet that day. Ice had become a staple of my diet (craving ice is a symptom of anemia), so much that I regarded Diet Coke as merely a vehicle for crunchy frozen bits. Not craving ice meant I was drinking less Diet Coke. My need for daily naps (either under my desk during lunch or as soon as I came home from work) began to ease up as well. I'm not still 100% nap-free, but I only nap 2-3 days a week now. And I'm feeling much more human overall.

The hematologist is hopeful that this iron infusion was just a tune up. Now that my tank is full (or should be, anyway) the iron supplements should be able to keep the anemia away.

Because I have too much else going on...

Sometimes I'll sign up for an event or activity when my calendar is oh-so-full and I think sarcastically to myself "Oh, yes, let me do this because I don't have anything else going on." Tonight, I signed up to participate in National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), committing to publishing one blog post per day during the month of November, because I have too much else going on.

Too much laundry. Too much Facebooking. Too much helping with homework and making dinner. Too much catching up on the latest episode of Parenthood or Castle. Even too much sleeping going on. My life is full and busy and I'm happy...but...I miss writing the stories that allowed me to connect with so many of you to begin with. 

The other day at work I had an opportunity to sit down, uninterrupted for several hours, and write a story about an amazing woman and her fight to recovery from spinal cord injury. My fingers were dancing over the keys. My mind was racing ahead to the next sentence. My breathing was quick and I swear I could feel my blood coursing through my veins. I felt alive and I remembered what a natural high writing can be.

So I'm taking the NaBloPoMo challenge and committing myself to the discipline of writing every day. I'm not making any promises that every post will be  fabulous, but I do promise to not waste your time. I promise that what I write will be worth reading, even if it's only to let you peek in a bit at who I am so we can get to know each other better. I'm sure to ask for your feedback or opinions so I can get to know you better, too. And I welcome your suggestions about what to write. I've got ideas, but I'll admit that a commitment of 30 blog posts in 30 days (yes, I know that I'm already behind by one) seems a little overwhelming to someone who has mostly been out of the habit of blogging.

So, happy NaBloPoMo friends! And happy reading.

SURVIVOR! 42 years! #SisterhoodoftheTravelingPinkSweater

This is my friend Mary.

Mary is a 42-year survivor of breast cancer. That, of course, is not how I got to know Mary.

Mary was Charlie's preschool teacher when he was 4 years old. Then she babysat for my kids one summer. When she was changing jobs, I helped her with her resume. And from there, we became friends.

She is funny and sarcastic and like a member of the family to us. And, most importantly for this post, she is tiny enough to fit into the pink sweater.

I am blogging tonight as part of the #SisterhoodoftheTravelingPinkSweater, a project that brings awareness to the cause of breast cancer.

Through this project different bloggers will wear (or style) the vintage pink sweater that Mary is wearing. It once belonged to the first resident of Riley Towers in Indianapolis!

Back to Mary. She was just 21, a newlywed, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She said her cancer was caught at the earliest stage the doctor had ever seen. She underwent a radical mastectomy and was cancer free. I asked Mary if she ever thinks about her own breast cancer.

"It was such a long time ago," she said. "I almost forgot I had it."

Maybe you know someone who fought breast cancer. Maybe it's something you can forget. Maybe  you think Mary is just too fashionable to be ignored. Read on...

You can be a part of the #SisterhoodoftheTravelingPinkSweater project in several ways:

1. Visit the #SisterhoodoftheTravelingPinkSweater website and read more of the stories that have been contributed.
2. While you are at the website, make a donation to the Pink Ribbon Connection, a local organization that provides underserved women emotional support, bras, wigs, prostheses, and education needed during breast cancer diagnosis, care and recovery.
3.  Say a prayer of thanksgiving that Mary -- and thousands of other women -- are still here today despite their breast cancer fight. Then say a prayer of remembrance for those who found their cure on the other side of life.

I'm pleased to introduce the next woman to enter the #SisterhoodoftheTravelingPinkSweater, my friend Nikki Capshaw. She is a single mother of three, a certified medical assistant and one of the hardest-working people I know. You can learn more about Nikki at Domestically Single.

It's a big year around here.

'Tis the season for back to school and at our house that means two major milestones. This is Annie's senior year and Charlie's freshman year of high school. Honestly. I'm not sure I've settled into the reality of that quite yet.

I'm not at all melancholy about it, although I will own up to thinking "how did that happen already?"

But I'm so excited for them. Annie is knee-deep into college visits and SATs and senior privileges like eating lunch on the lawn and red polo shirts. Charlie has spent the summer working out with the soccer and basketball teams, has earned a spot on the JV soccer team and may or may not have already asked a girl to homecoming. 

I'm so enjoying watching them becoming the people they were born to be. They are both such good kids (not without fault, surely). I look at this picture of them -- taken on the first day of school on Friday -- and I can't help but feel a swelling in my chest. This is really a fun stage of parenting for me to be in. I'm clueless about enough that they can tease me, but I'm up front and honest about enough that they can trust me.

Letting go of my control freak tendencies has been something I've been working on for the past year or so. That's coming in handy while parenting teenagers. I have confidence in the way we've raised them and in their ability to make good choices -- something I remind them to do, thanks to my friend Ann. That's not to say that I don't make use of the "Find my iPhone" app to keep an eye on them from time to time.

They are not going to the same high schools. That's really no surprise to me. Annie's school fits her perfectly. Charlie's fits him. They are only in high school one year together, so we will manage. (Would someone please remind me of that in about 3 or 4 weeks when having 3 kids in 3 different schools seems like an overwhelmingly crazy idea?) While I think it would have been fun for them to be at the same school, I know we've chosen the right school for each of them.

As I was walking the dog yesterday, I stopped to talk to a neighbor who'd just moved his son into a rental home for his sophomore year of college. We talked about how quickly the kids have grown. I could close my eyes and see Annie, at 17 months old, running through our then-empty home on move-in day. Charlie wasn't even a glimmer then.

And now, here they are. High schoolers. A senior! and a freshman. I didn't even see it coming. Gosh. I love these kids.

I survived 6-hour Ebola

I survived Ebola, the 6-hour kind.

Ok, it wasn't Ebola, but about this time yesterday, you couldn't have convinced me otherwise. It started unassumingly enough in the morning at work. I felt like junk. Fatigued. Achey. Then after a light lunch of yogurt and blueberries, the egg burps arrived. I hate those, all their foul-smelling, nasty tasting, sulfuric disgustingness. So, then I felt like junk and smelled like rotting eggs. 

After work, Annie picked me up to take me to parent orientation night at her school. On the way, she said "Mom, did you fart?" 

"No." I wasn't about to tell her that smell came from my mouth, not my butt.

She dropped me off and I chose a seat in the middle-ish of the room. Despite the air conditioning, I was sweating buckets and kept dragging the back of my hand across my forehead to wipe the sweat away. As I sat listening to the principal and other administrators address the parents of returning students, I wished to heck that I had chosen a seat way out of the way of other people. The egg burps kept coming and I kept my lips tightly pursed together, not wanting anyone to wonder if I was sitting there blatantly flaunting flatulence. The more I swallowed the burps, the worse I felt.

After the presentation, I was more than ready to go home. But, I was catching a ride home with another parent and there was an information fair to visit. I stood in a few lines, feeling my stomach bloat by the minute, desperate for some water or, better yet, my bed. I took a sip from the drinking fountain and prayed that my ride was ready to go. 

"Oh, I need to do one more thing," she said. I hadn't let on that I was feeling rotten, so she had no way of knowing. "Sure," I said, as I spied some peppermints in a bowl. I grabbed one, thinking the mint would settle my stomach. That is when everything went, well, Ebola-riffic.

I put the peppermint in my mouth and immediately that pool of saliva that comes right before you throw up made its appearance. I ran to the bathroom, hit the first stall and didn't know which end to put down. I opted to sit, having had plenty of experience breathing through nausea when I was pregnant. As I practice my best "please, please don't let me throw up" breathing, my liquified insides drained. And then, it happened.

There was no breathing through this nausea. I tried to get up and swing my head to the toilet, but the result was a very art deco-ish swirl of vomit that coated the side of the stall and the wall behind the toilet. I could only think to pray that a.) there was no one else in the bathroom and 2.) that I did not have diarrhea or vomit dripping from my clothes. 

Thanking my lucky stars that my clothes had been spared attack, I got some wet paper towels and cleaned up what I could, though the result was no where near "clean." I left washed up as best I could, went out to alert the school staff that cleanup was needed in stall #1 and prayed that my ride was ready to leave. Thankfully, she was. 

I worried about getting sick again on the way home. I didn't mention anything to my friend, feeling bad that I was going to be placing my germy self in her car for the next 20 minutes. Instead I tried to make conversation and was silently thankful that my friend is a nurse, in case something unspeakable did happen.

I got home, dropped everything and took myself straight to bed. Which is where I stayed for about 3-1/2 minutes before I was assaulting our own toilet. And that's how it went for the next several hours. Time was a blur. I couldn't fall asleep, but I couldn't read or use my phone. I don't believe I have ever been that deliriously sick in my life. Eventually, I gave up trudging back to bed after getting sick and instead laid on the bathroom floor. 

By 1:00am, the torrent of bodily fluids appeared to be over. I awoke this morning feeling like I'd been run over by a garbage truck with a head that felt like it was in a vise. I called in sick to work and spent the rest of the day sleeping with intermittent periods of answering emails from work. 

And now, 24 hours later, I'm bravely attempting a baked potato, watching Cinderella on DVD, and sharing this story that you probably wish you hadn't read.