This morning, I jolted awake in a flat-out panic, eyes searching for the clock. My eyes took a minute to turn the reddish blur to digital numbers. Six to the thirty to the ay to the emm.

Okay. I lay back down, and then panicked again, jerking to a sitting position, unable to remember what day it was. If it was Friday, I was late. If it was Saturday, I was okay. Rummaging through my mental junk drawer, I pieced together the events of the last week and realized that it was indeed Saturday. Crisis averted.

I couldn't go back to sleep by that point. Too much adrenaline surging ruins a good sleep-in, and let's face it, my three kids were already up and making quacking and banging noises.

I wandered to the kitchen, determined not to start off my day with harsh words for the kids, who had kicked it up another notch and were now producing noises just short of a train whistle in pitch and annoyance. It was bracing, like an icy wind or a slap in the face. I practiced some deep cleansing breaths and gently pulled doors closed as I made my way down the hall. I fired up the coffee maker and glanced out the window.

What a morning! The skies were crystal clear, and already a perfect blue. The light was gorgeous. Yesterday's rain must have cleared out all the gray corners, and I felt a bit giddy. While I savored my cup of coffee and watched the cat sit at the window and chirrup at birds outside, I considered my options for the day.

I always need to do housework, and I want to get some container gardening started. But I also wanted to head out to the Santa Rosa Farmer's Market to pick up some produce and some local honey. I don't know if it is true that local honey can help lessen seasonal allergies, but I figure it can't hurt to give it a try, now that we're entering hay-fever season.

We grabbed a couple of bags and jumped into the car. I'm going to take a look at our local bike paths for the next trip, because I think it would be a great ride on mostly protected, creek-side paths to get there.

Anyway, within a few minutes of arriving at the market, we had a gorgeous sourdough baguette from Full Circle Bakery, along with a chocolate cherry muffin and some sort of sticky croissant. Moments later, we were wandering through the market, wondering what to get next.

We picked up:

• a bouquet of lovely flowers


• a pound of local blackberry honey


• a basket of the most glorious, fragrant strawberries


• miner's lettuce


• gorgeous rainbow chard (which I have no idea what to do with but will figure it out over on Kid Vs. Produce later today)


• a bunch of white turnips


• broccoli rabe


• Valencia oranges


• blood oranges


• tangelos


• navel oranges


• a dozen free-range eggs from Americauna chickens - they lay pastel blue and green eggs!

Posted by Jenny at 3:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

O Neglected Blog! O Neglectful Blogger!

Go ahead and picture me rending garments and wailing dramatically. Okay - that's out of the way.
Seriously, whew! What a couple of weeks. It's been an invigorating, pulse-pounding, unexpected learning kind of time around here.

In the last couple of weeks I have:

Done mountains of laundry! Dealt with bullies and assorted kid freakouts! Had a really crazy cold that knocked me flat on my back. Watched a whole bunch of television! Read a whole bunch of novels! Knitted a hat! Talked to my friend who lives in New Zealand. Learned that my 20 year class reuniaon is this summer, the same weekend as BlogHer. So, I'll be in NYC, and the rest of my old classmates will SO NOT CARE. Ha!

Gosh, when I put it that way, it is SO OBVIOUS why I haven't been updating. Additionally, I have:

Helped my son with a biography report on Waterhouse Hawkins. How awesome is that name? Also, some of his dinosaur sculptures were destroyed by a corrupt mob-owned mayor of NYC, and he once threw a dinner party inside a sculpture of an iguanadon. You're welcome. Feel free to name your next-born Waterhouse, or take on a corrupt mob boss. I have dibs on the party in the iguanadon.

Helped my oldest with a class project that involved making 32 individual chicken pot pies. From scratch. And I totally didn't micromanage. Much.

I also watched the Academy Awards and had opinions on who should win, based on nothing, since I hadn't seen anything except Up. Surprisingly, most of my picks did not win. I'm SHOCKED.

Watched as my sister picked up her own narrative and ran with it over on her blog. Seriously, it is such a hoot to see her sharing her story in her own hilarious voice.

Speaking of my sister - she finally lost her hair and I got to take her wig shopping. I have no idea why wig shopping was on my WOOOOOOO! list but there it is. We headed into the wig store and she tried on a whole bunch of kicky styles before settling on a super cute reddish bob that suits her to a T. Then, we did a photoshoot at her house with all the wigs she's accumulated so far.

The thing is, and I'm not just saying this, she's really adorable with no hair. More on that in a minute.

My brother and his wife stopped in for a few days on their way to Hawaii last week, and we got the chance to hang out and catch up. We took a photo of the three of us, and somehow, my head is five times the size of my sister and brother's heads. Part of it is I'm packing around plenty of Jenny right now, but I also just have a giant head. I'm like the sibling that ate San Francisco.

I know that sometimes, loved ones of someone who loses their hair due to chemotherapy will shave their hair in solidarity. Now, my sister specifically forbid any of us to do that, and seriously, while I would have done it if she had wanted it, we can all be very very glad that she said haaaaaaaeelllllll no. With my gigantic head, I would look like Oz. Or maybe like Dr. Evil.

So, while my sister could totally rock the Annie Lennox/Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta if she wanted, I would not rock it. And due to my gigantor head, I would have to have a wig custom made.

Hi, I'm vain. Inexplicably vain. You may address me as Oz. To the balloon!

Posted by Jenny at 7:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My oldest daughter has had a monthly assignment to memorize two poems to be presented to her class. There is always some sort of theme. This month's packet of poems to select from were all about spring. She learned one, and then lost the packet. I looked up a bunch of other poems for her to select from, and turned her loose.

Imagine my surprise when she told me that she wrote a poem and attributed it to me, and then performed it for her class:

Pink blossoms are here
Lavender flowers are too
Springtime is coming

It's a haiku, no less. A vaguely ominous one.

I asked her what the teacher said, and she said "she thanked me for thinking to share that with the class." When I asked why she didn't take credit for it, she said "it wasn't very good."

So there you have it, folks. I'm a (bad) poet, and I didn't even know it.

Posted by Jenny at 1:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

You've still got time to enter my $500 visa card giveaway. Please come enter!

It appears that I am starting the cold that my kids have been shuffling around with for the last two weeks. I refuse to get sick.

So far, I've been drinking a ton of water, resting and in desperation, I chewed up some extra vitamin c. My nose is slowly filling with snot and my throat feels scratchy. I'm also due to start my period any second. It's a perfect recipe for Exorcist-style head spinning.

The Perfect Sh*t Storm, if you will. Except I won't. I refuse. No.

I had signed all three kids up for a winter soccer development academy. Although only my youngest has ever had any experience with actual coached soccer (and that was a one week, half day camp last summer) I figured they would have fun. And they did have fun - when we were able to make it. We've only attended a few of the sessions, due to a combination of bad weather (they play rain or shine, but COME ON. I don't want to stand out in pouring rain. It is all about my comfort, not the kids' willingness to play in the rain) and illness. I finally made the call that we're done, and although I'm aware we didn't get as much out of the program as families who did attended every session, I really don't think I'm meant to be a soccer mom.

This will obviously be the post that my children will point back to where I crushed their dreams of being professional soccer players.

My son has been signing up for every single inter-mural sport that his school is running, and I'm encouraging it. Get your paltry exposure at recess! Mama doesn't want to stand in the rain!

My oldest's teacher is probably one of the most enthusiastic teachers I've ever met. The kids are going on a field trip that involves sleeping on a submarine in a couple of weeks, and she's been teaching them sea shanties and other mariner's songs. My daughter is sharing the love with her siblings, and this morning I woke to a rousing pair of verses regarding drunken sailors. I think I'll rewrite a few of the lines for my own purposes:

What do you do with bratty children?
What do you do with bratty children?
What do you do with bratty children?
Throw them in the brig.

I'm considering renaming the hall closet "The Brig" but it really isn't big enough to hold more than one kid at a time. Plus, when I stick them in there, stuff like this happens:

Clearly, I'm loopy. I am going to make some tea, and then I'm going to have a stern talk with immune system.

Posted by Jenny at 7:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Oh, leave it to me to write a vaguely freaked out post and then follow it up with a week's worth of silence. A week's worth of time where I managed to not only stop freaking out, but regain my usual buoyant personality, and get both myself and my sister through her first chemo appointment.

One down, seven to go.

As I said before, the unknowing is way worse than the knowing. And so far, what we know is that the cancer center is right around the corner from a chi-chi gourmet grocery store. And the infusion center where my sister will receive all her treatments is at the same hospital where she was born - and it is way, way nicer than the cancer center's infusion rooms, to which I say - IN YOUR FACE SNOBBY RECEPTIONISTS.

(My sister's insurance apparently isn't good enough for her to receive treatment at the actual cancer center - so we have to go one driveway over to the hospital instead. The receptionists and billing manager at the cancer center have made a big, stinking deal about how we would HAVE to go to the hospital because OUR insurance was inadequate and therefore WE can't use their facility. They enjoy repeating this over and over, especially in the waiting room, in front of other patients. I can't wait to go back and inform them (loudly) how superior the facilities are over at the hospital.)

On Thursday afternoon, we went down to meet with her oncologist (who is delightful) and then we headed up to the hospital to get her pre-chemo bloodwork done. We had a brief wait for the phlebotomist, and were giddy to see that the woman doing the work was about six feet tall, with Frida Kahlo's eyebrows, hair pulled back into two buns (one on each side of her head) slightly askew eyes and red and white striped stockings disappearing into black Doc Martens. When she called my sister back with a slight Eastern European accent, we were both beaming like a couple of Cheshire Cats.

I had forgotten to eat lunch in my rush to get out of the house, and was feeling pretty dingy by that point, so we stopped by the aforementioned chi-chi store for some sushi (for my sister) and a turkey wrap (for me) on the way home.

Friday morning, we were both pretty apprehensive, but we arrived at the hospital in good spirits. We checked in, and took a bunch of cheesy photos while we waited for the nurses to get the show on the road. I was so proud of my sister. She managed to keep her spirits high, and although she was very afraid of the IV, she toughed it out. It took a few tries to find a decent vein - but that was honestly the worst part.

We giggled and laughed so much we got a few sideways looks from the nurses. We both ate snacks and took some more photos. Both medicines were delivered with no drama or side effects, and after a few hours, we were back on the road to home.

Although she's tired, our worst fears of rampant nausea or other nasty side-effects haven't materialized. We're cautiously hopeful. She can get through this. WE can get through this.

And in the future, I'm going to remember that slimy boulders may redirect the flow of the river, but even if I bump into one, I'm going to slide right off it and keep on keepin' on.

Posted by Jenny at 8:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Anxiety is no friend of mine. In fact, I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've felt truly, out-of-control anxious. Okay, maybe both hands. I'm not talking about those blockbuster stress events, like when a kid dashes out in front of an SUV or needs a trip to the ER. I'm talking instead about feeling like you've got a brick sitting in your chest, or an angry kitten in your stomach.

I simply don't DO anxiety. I don't know how to. No matter how stressed or frustrated or truly powerless I may be, I usually find peace with my lot by spreading my arms and letting the current carry me toward shore. I may drift a bit, but eventually I can hear the sound of the water change as it grows shallower. My submerged ears begin to hear the shifting sounds of the sandy, gravelly bottom and I find that I can stand up. From that moment, it's just a matter of wading out, and then shaking the water out of my ears.

Lest I sound more zen than I really am, I believe this is a truly helpless choice. I'm not a fighter. I'm not often angry. I go with the flow because it is the path of least resistance.

And yet. I am angry. I am angry and frustrated because life has thrown a giant, lumpy, slimy boulder in the middle of an already turbulent stream, and although I keep reminding myself to lay back, to trust that I will not wreck upon the rocks, I find myself fighting. My head aches from the unconscious clenching of my teeth each night. My shoulders and neck are stiff from the strain of trying to be broader, stronger, more worthy.

I cannot cry. The tears won't come.

In my chest, there is the sensation of tiny wings.

Last night, I curled on my bed, earphones pressed into my skull, trying to follow a guided meditation on relieving anxiety. Normally, a few minutes of soothing suggestions and new-age gong and flutes music drops me right into a deep sleep. But last night every suggestion was wrong. Every phrase, every metallic "boooonnnnng" - everything. I sucked in giant breaths and exhaled dramatically. The tiny wings in my chest grew more frantic.

I'll never know, I suppose, what phrase or breath did the trick, but suddenly those wings were attached to a tiny bird, and that bird was sitting on my shoulder - no longer fighting to get out, or maybe fighting to get my attention. There was the curious sensation of a little feathered life alongside my cheek.

"Fly away," I thought. The little scratchy feet on my shoulder tickled. "Fly away," I said, to the tiny wings.

A tiny wing brushed my face as I inhaled as slowly and deeply as I could. It flew away as I let go of my breath.

Posted by Jenny at 8:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Seriously, go leave me a comment to win a $500 Visa gift card.

Whoo boy. Every year at this time, there's a certain amount of mania. (Likewise in September.) You can set your clock by it, take it to the bank, whatever cliche pleases you.

Last year, my husband went on three back-to-back business trips, and I ended up with chest pains. Coincidence? Probably. Ask me in a couple of weeks, because it is business trip season once again. Plus we have soccer, plus we have baseball, plus we have the lego robot league and a Scrabble club. And other stuff.

I'm just whining, of course. You know what baffles me? The British English spelling of whining. Whinging? I get that it has older roots, and the American English version is just different, but I'm sorry. Whinging is for the birds.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, mania. Right. Laller laller laller laller laller laller laller.

This last week, I've been to a couple of doctor's appointments with my sister as she gets ready to start the chemo portion of her treatments. Although we've all tried to resign ourselves to the fact that she would most likely need the most aggressive treatments available due to her young age and the type of breast cancer she has, it was still a blow to the gut to have it confirmed by two different doctors.

Still, all things considered, we're ready to go. We're just waiting for the official go date. And in the meantime, I'm amusing myself by envisioning possible head covering options. Granted, she may not need or want to use a hat or a wig, but do you think that is squashing my fun?

My theory is that if you're going to wear a hat, yeah, you can wear a baseball cap, but why not go balls-out and wear a HAT. Like this hat. Or this one?

Don't even get me started on the wigs, because wooooo do I love wigs. I suppose that if she does opt to get a wig, she'll probably get something normal. But you know, she's an opera singer, so I'm thinking this:

is totally appropriate. And if she gets one, I get one.

So, you know, if you see two startlingly over-coiffed women wandering around, say hello. Or better yet, yell "Brava! Brava!" We'll blow kisses with our opera-length gloved fingers.

Posted by Jenny at 8:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)