Who needs 2 sideburns anyway.

Peanut really needed a haircut.

I'd been dragging my feet on getting it done because it's usually a 2 person activity.

I needed back up but it just wasn't in the cards so I took him by myself.

It all started well enough, we didn't even have to use a straight jacket to sit him in the chair.

I bribed him with a juice box which was quite a treat because he usually only has them at birthday parties.  He has no idea what suckers are so those don't really work in getting him to cooperate.
My back-up was a pack of seaweed I had hidden in my bag.

I told the hairdresser that I wanted it trimmed

  but I didn't want her to cut too much off.

30 seconds later she ran the clippers right up the back of his head while my stomach flipped and I tried not to look like something just went terribly wrong.

I imagine my face looked something like this.

Unfortunately the damage was already done and there was nothing to do but even it out.

He did really well with his juice box and a bunch of toys
until she started using the small clippers to trim the edges.  

All of a sudden it was similar to trying to wrestle a cat into a large pool of water.

He was climbing up me and yelling, "Stoppit!  Stoppit!  Pease!  Stoppit!" and generally frightening all the other children.  I tried to look calm and amused while he clawed his way up my face.

Somehow in the struggle a poor defenseless sideburn was wiped from the face of an angry Peanut.

It was actually worse before I pinned him down and she finished it off.

It was like a Vanilla Ice eyebrow line gone wrong.

She apologized and said it would grow in quickly which is such a total lie since this his only his 3rd haircut EVER.

Peanut, how does it feel to know you are going into the military at such an early age?





He's high tailing it out of here.

I don't blame you kid, I don't blame you.

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

I first entered The Night Circus in April, 2012.
I was wandering through the library when I noticed it on the New Books shelf.
The cover was pretty and interesting and the title held a bit of mystery and magic.

I peeked in and looked a bit further and found myself falling deeper and deeper.

When it was chosen by The Bibliophile Support Group I decided to revisit Le Cirque des Reves by way of Jim Dale's audio recording.  I must admit that the first 30 minutes I had to keep reminding myself that Dumbledore had not joined the circus but after 106 hours of HP audio you cannot fault me.

But what about the book?

I cannot remember the last time I read a book so rich in imagery. 

The Night Circus travels the world with no schedule or announcements preceding it's various destinations.
It is open only at night and contains magic, wonders, love and comradery that you can hardly imagine.
Luckily you don't need to imagine, you simply read this book and step across the pages into
 The Circus of Dreams.

Behind the wonders of the circus, behind the Ice Garden, the Illusionist, the Cloud Maze and the scent of caramel in the air, a battle is being fought.  A lifetime feud persists leaving everyone who is a part of Les Cirques des Reves tied to the outcome.  As Celia and Marco duel they each pour themselves into the game and fall into a dangerous and remarkable love.  

Who will win the game and at what cost?

The Night Circus reads much like the circus it describes. 

You start off slowly, working your way in circles, 
picking up bits and pieces of the circus and it's characters along the way. 

You stop here and there just to observe but never knowing what you'll see on the next page, in the next tent, with the next character.  

You are always moving in circles, heading this way, circling back, entering here and leaving just there. 

Pretty soon you find yourself completely inside the circus, 
where you stay until the book ends 
or morning comes.

Although the book does tend to skip around, it didn't seem to bother me at all.  I tend not to read the dates at the chapter start regardless but found that the settings revealed themselves soon enough.

If you like a book that is rich in imagery, romantic, mysterious, magical and compelling, I believe that you'll soon find yourself happy to have read this book.
I daresay that some of you will be donning a touch of red and naming yourselves among a great many Reveurs.

I hope you read this book and come back to tell me how you enjoyed your visit to The Night Circus.

Check out Erin Morgenstern's website and the first bit of the book HERE 
and check out this awesome fan fic artwork!

Just be braver than the baby

I'm afraid of the dark.

I believe in ghosts.

I have a hyperactive imagination.

Let that information soak in for a second.  

Yes, I'm sure nighttimes as a child were fun for my parents.

Fortunately Peanut is still at the age that monsters are funny and not lurking under the bed.

However, the other day he ran to tell us that there was a monster outside the front door of my parents house.  It was really a wreath that was moving in the wind, casting shadows through the glass.

It reminded me that fears are something we are getting much closer to and I better figure out how handle these types of situations.

Last night Peanut woke up screaming for me to come help him.

This happens nightly but I have a hard time letting him cry for me when he is specifically saying Mommy, help me!  (more on this fascinating choice of words later)

When I went in he was still half asleep and crying.

Me:  What's wrong baby, how can I help you?

Him:  Help, mommy, help me!  Help me please! ~pulls at his hands in frustration~

Me:  Help you with what, what is it?  ~yawn~

Him:  There!  Right there!  See!  ~points into the darkness over my left shoulder~

Help mommy, help! 

Me:  ~momentarily paralyzed with fear~

Me:  ~looks around while mentally chanting, just keep your cool mommy, don't freak the kid out, there is nothing there, no need to plant the fear of the dark in his head.  Man, it's really dark in here...~

Me:  Uh-huh, do you want me to tuck you in?

Him: No, no, no, no, this!  ~he points and then rolls to his side~  Sit, mommy.

Me:  OK baby, I love you.  

I sit in silence, my eyes searching, groping through the darkness.

What was that?  Did something move?

Will I wake him if I turn up the night light?

Be cool mommy, just be cool, there is nothing there.

~glances over shoulder~  

WTF did he mean by "Right there!  See!"?!
~shifts uncomfortably and looks around!

I sat there for a while, then ran down the hallway and jumped into bed, where I woke B.

He looked at me and went right back to sleep.

He's used to this kind of activity when I (rarely) have to be the one to turn off the lights.

The point is that I'm crazy, yes, but also that I don't get to be crazy in front of Peanut.

I'm going to have to master my poker face and figure out how to reassure him while my inner dialogue is screaming, take the child and run!  Save your family! because really, that's just not cool.

But seriously, next time your are with someone late at night, I want you to look over their shoulder and gasp! with a terrified look on your face, or better yet, just gasp and run, perhaps dragging them with you.  Make a mental note of that look on their face and you'll understand what I'm trying to avoid.

~Pictures were taken with my phone during nap time.  I was washing the sheets, don't judge me.  And seriously, don't kids look so angelic when they sleep?  Even when they are sweaty and after a long meltdown, they look so darn sweet.  Of course, then they wake up.

Keeping up with what's going on... and how I can't.

Peanut does some internet research.

It seems that there is a certain trait in very successful and productive people.

It is the ability to know what is going on in their field of expertise or interest.

This elusive ability is well, elusive to me.
I seem to know just enough about what is going on to keep my head above water.
Perhaps it is that my interests, my goals and my jobs are spread just a bit to far apart.

It could be that while I'm in the middle of my quest for information that I spot something shiny.
I cannot control everything, you know.

I love listening to people in the restaurant industry, and those who write about it, that know which restaurants are opening up this week, which ones are closing and which ones are running that awesome special.  They know the chefs and owners, product sources and partnerships.  They go to restaurants, they chat, they gather information and they eat with abandon.

I'm amazed by bloggers who post constantly and write about other blogs, articles and internet finds in their discussions.  It's so obvious that they spend time reading, researching and keeping up to date on their niche in the internet.  They are kings and queens of their content creations.

I'm impressed by these powerful people managing online content, the printed word, restaurant divisions and businesses and then top it off by being partners, spouses and parents.

I love the authors and readers and bibliophiles who know which books are being released, authors names, illustrators best works, signings and events.

I'm in awe of people who get a homemade meal on the table most nights of the week.  I bow down to you, your accomplishment is impressive and an applause is well deserved.

Peanut and I create our to do lists- I believe his makes more sense than mine

Perhaps it's that most of my time on the internet is spent involved in the small bubble of my own world or on Pinterest which, let's be honest, only adds to my to do list instead of checking things off.

It could be that I need to narrow down to a main focus or multi-task a little better or spend more time checking things off my list instead of adding them.

It might be that I've given up a lot of things to bury myself in a book most nights but hey, there are some things I'm not willing to change.  You can take away a great many things but you cannot take away my book!

I woke up the other day with a sinking feeling that there was no way in the world I could catch up on my to do list for the day.  I had to spend a few minutes re-working my mind to get into what I call "check off mode".  I spent a minute writing things down that would done immediately so I could start off with a bang.

Go to the bathroom- check
Brush teeth- check
Get Peanut dressed- check
See, I can do this, I'm on a roll!
Get to work- check
Oh shit, did I go to the bank earlier?  Write that down- cross it off- check.

This is how you get things done!  Or maybe it isn't at all but I feel better already.

Helping Papa

Not surprising to everyone who knows us, my dad has been doing a lot of work around the house.

In fact, whenever something is broken, from a toy to a plant, Peanut simply picks it up and declares, "Papa fix it" and walks away.

Nothing to worry about mom, Papa will take care of this.

Peanut has his own tool kit but always seems to manage finding the smallest sharpest screwdriver Papa brings over.  It's a gift really, the gift of sorting through 100 tools that he's allowed to touch and finding the one he's not supposed to.

He is always helping....

as you can see.

He helps Papa mark the wall where the screws should go, 

he helps hammer,

he helps you up the ladder...

I'm sure it's all very helpful.

I mean, you get things done twice as fast with a helper, right?

Papa is used to this kind of thing.

He once painted horizontal stripes across my entire bedroom

 using just one hand all while holding me with the other.

And that was just a few years ago.

Rediscovering Harry Potter

I spend roughly 2 hours a day in my car.  Days that I'm off of work it's less, some days it's much more.

Sometimes we listen to music as I take Peanut to my parents.

Sometimes we chat about what we spot out the window as we drive by.

It's when I'm driving by myself that I get bored or tired or unfocused.

After hearing so much about the Harry Potter audio books by Jim Dale, I decided to pick one up.

I've read all the books but I haven't read them in years and years.

We watch the movies a lot.

I mean, at least once a week there is a Harry Potter movie on.  At least.

*Let's take a quick detour and talk about the Chocolate Frog that my friend Courtney brought all the way back from the Wizarding World of Harry Potter for B & I!  I should have taken a picture of me holding it, so that you could see the box was the size of my hand.  You have no idea how excited I was to get this.  When she brought it to me, I sent a picture to B.  He responded by saying not to open it until we're together because they only really have one good jump anyway.
Thank you Courtney and Allen for bringing us this!!

I'm not sure what I expected from the audio books. 

 It's hard to think of one person narrating books that you know so well.  

Especially when you have such firmly established ideas of a characters sound and style.  

30 minutes into the first book and I was enjoying the morning traffic.

I stopped thinking of Jim Dale as the narrator and started listening to all characters as they spoke.

I got so hooked that I started going to the library to get the next set of CDs before I finished the previous ones to guarantee I wouldn't have any lag time in between.

I listened to all 7 books almost non-stop.

Occasionally poor Peanut would remind me that we could listen to music and then we would.

These books sometimes had 23 different CDs to listen to and it just didn't seem enough.

106 hours.
106 hours and I wanted it to be more.

I discovered quite a few things in this listening experiment:

*Jim Dale is genius.  His talent knows no bounds.

*I had forgotten so much of the books.  After years of just watching the movies I was suddenly peeking back into this amazing magical world. So much of the story doesn't make it into the movies.  I had forgotten so much of the original story that much of the audio books felt new to me.

*An hour in the car is nothing with Jim Dale to keep you company.

*I'm obsessed all over again.  I try to wrap my mind around how a person can create such stories and it's nothing short of amazing.  I want to completely immerse myself in this world.

*I'm also terribly sad that it's all over.  Again.  

I want more of the magic, more of the story, more of all of it.

I'm thinking that perhaps next year I'll re-read the books.

Are you a Harry Potter fan?
Have you read the books, listened to them or seen the movies?

Damn. Dammit. Shit.

10 weeks, 1 day.

That's how long I carried this last little one.

We had the positive pregnancy test in the beginning of December and I felt really good about it.

I got those immediate, dark confirmation lines a few days before I was even due to miss my period.

I have the inability to ignore those pregnancy tests sitting under our sink and that was the last one.

I didn't even feel compelled to buy more, I already knew because of the total and complete exhaustion I felt that I was absolutely pregnant.

I put a Big Brother shirt on Peanut the next day and waited for daddy to notice what it said.  We celebrated with more reserve then we would have before the first miscarriage.  We'd feel better when we saw that little beating heart on the monitor during the first ultrasound.  Still we were excited, despite my aversion to meat and my waves of nausea.

A day before the 8 week mark we sat in the doctors office.  I shifted with a crunch, crunch as I sat on the paper-covered examining chair.   I tried to cover my freezing legs with a sheet and ignore the nervousness I was suddenly feeling.

The midwife and trainee came in and chatted through the preliminary questions.  They knew that after the last miscarriage I would be eager to get through this and tried their best to hurry.  She commented on how fast my heart was beating and I gave a nervous laugh.

When the ultrasound started we all looked at it in silence.  I couldn't see anything inside the yolk sack.  

My mind flitted back to the first appointment with Peanut where at 6 1/2 weeks we saw the little flicker of his beating heart.  I held my breath.  Then we saw the little blip of the baby as they tried to maneuver the ultrasound wand to get a better view.  The sack was measuring 7 only weeks and there wasn't a heartbeat yet.  We were told that at this stage in development the heartbeat could show up any day.  There was still a chance.

We walked out of the office in a silent daze.  This was not how I had envisioned the visit going.  B left for work and I headed to the lab to get my blood drawn.  Over the next week we kept track of my steadily climbing HCG levels with great hope.  The levels looked so good they bumped up the next appointment for an ultrasound.

A little over a week later we sat in the waiting room for far too long.  It was the first time they had run late like this and B had to leave for work as I sat waiting in the examination room.   As soon as the ultrasound started I knew it wasn't good.  Although the baby looked a little bigger she still couldn't find a heartbeat. They sent me down for more blood work and an ultrasound in radiology where the machines are more sensitive.  I spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for results from various tests and reading the same few pages of my book.  The midwife cried with me when she told me that the baby didn't make it.  There was no heartbeat, the yolk sack was an abnormal shape and despite the rising HCG levels the pregnancy had failed.  She told me I had gone through too much in my young life and gave me my options.

I sobbed in the parking lot as I called B at work.  Again.  Here I am again, sitting in the parking lot, calling B at work to tell him that we lost the baby.  Again.  I sent a message to my mom to tell her and let her know that I would pick up Peanut later.  I needed to go home and sleep, I was so tired all of a sudden.  A little Taco Bell therapy and a nap.  B came home early from work and we talked about moving forward.  I felt better by the evening.  I'd known for a week this was a possibility.

A week later at 10 weeks my body wasn't showing any signs of a natural miscarriage and I had decided not to wait on it.  I looked at the prescription I had picked up and read the direction on how to take the medication.  Insert both pills into your vagina 3 hours before surgery.  I read the directions again.  You see, the pills were the same ones I took during the last miscarriage only I had taken them ORALLY.  These weren't suppositories, these were just plain ole pills and there was no applicator.  I sent the doctor a message and called the nurse.  "Are you sure?  I stick these, up there, with my finger?", I asked.  She assured me that the pills can be taken orally or vaginally.  This is still odd to me.  I mean, they couldn't make the same pill a little more vagina friendly?   Who's with me?  I assumed I could then ignore the part of the instructions that said the medicine should be taken with food.  I hope.

The next day, after "taking my medicine" my mom took me to the surgery center after she came to pick up Peanut.  B was heading in from work to pick me up.  I sat in pre-op by myself and thought about how I could handle anything.  I felt calm as I read my book and listened to the woman behind the curtain next to me.  She was a nervous wreck and I felt bad for her.  I sat calmly as the doctor asked 100 questions regarding my breast cancer diagnosis and then what vein I prefer he use for the IV.  Doctors are always interested in my breast cancer history, it's seems like a fun learning case.  I was impressed with the lidocaine numbing shot before the IV (wrist and hand IV's always hurt a bit) and the awesome heating contraption they hooked to my gown.  I sat comfortably waiting for my turn in the OR.  I reclined in my bed and slipped into the world described in my book.

2 hours later I realized the lidocaine had worn off when I could feel how uncomfortable the IV was.  I had picked my favorite chemo spot, a nice vein in my wrist that usually didn't give me any trouble.  Apparently the vein was tired and he had to go in a little higher.  I sat with my hand hanging over the railing in hopes of relieving some of the pressure.  I tried to pull the IV back slightly but the tape did it's job and made it impossible.  I could feel the bruise forming.  It makes me laugh that I feel I can do things like adjust my own IV because that just can't be a good idea.

That cool contraption that was heating my gown was starting to feel like a personal torture device.  I tried to look around and follow the hose pumping in the hot air to it's source.  There was no luck.  I kept up a never-ending round of texts to my parents and B as I started to sweat.  I sent pictures of my stocking feet as I waited in bed.  I suspect that this is not normal behavior for a person but I blame blogging on my impulse to document everything.  I kept eyeing the red button that calls the nurse.

Does sweating in your dressing down give you cause to push the red button hanging next to the bed?  If I push the button are people going to come rushing in to save me?  How long can I stand the heat?  Is this for emergencies only?  It was at this point specifically that I wished desperately that B was with me.  Not because of the actual surgery or because of the emotional difficulty but because of the heat induced panic I was nearly in.

I envisioned them putting me on the operating table and talking about how they would need to wipe the sweat off my body before starting.  Nobody wants to deal with a sweaty hoo hoo and so I quickly pushed the button and looked around anxiously.  I'm sure I looked a lot like Peanut just after he's done something he knows he shouldn't.  The nurse came in and pointed out a dial that would have apparently controlled the heat.  This would have been good to know during the hour I sat in my own little piece of hell.  

It was close to 2 pm and I hadn't had anything to eat since the night before.  I tried to fan the sweat off my body.  A few minutes later a nurse came in to take me to the OR.  What is my name, when is my birthday, etc, etc.  She asked me to confirm name of the procedure I was waiting on.  Suddenly I couldn't remember what it was called.  In my mind I recalled my mom calling it a "dusting and cleaning" and I laughed at the thought of repeating that to her.  I'm here for a D&C and my voice sounded calm and easy.  Everyone looked at me as if I might break down into tears but there is something very familiar to me about being at the doctor.  I felt completely comfortable, even more so after the calming cocktail.  A few minutes later, under the bright lights I took a few deep breaths and that was it.

When I woke up I saw the nurse pull out the mesh panties.  I laughed at seeing them again before remembered the baby I was holding the last time I had to wear them.  It was something about the damn mesh panties.  We chit chatted and I found out that she had 4 boys, the youngest is 3 and I couldn't believe her energy.  I'm always compelled to talk to my nurses and doctors and find out more about them.  It might be habit from managing restaurants, that same social tendency to get to know people and make them feel comfortable.  It might be a way for me to focus on things other than my nerves.  Maybe I'm just nosey.  My doctor is 36 and grew up in HB, he seemed slightly socially uncomfortable and I tried to give him encouraging smiles when he made eye contact.  The anesthesiologist is also a comedian, the nurse prefers tea over coffee, these are things I remember.

B came in as they got me ready to head home.  I hobbled inside our house and sat staring at the TV, clicking, clicking, clicking without seeing the pictures.  I wondered why my doctor needed to give me 100 pills with a refill.  I wondered how bad the pain would be.  600 mg ibuprofen and I still have Vicodin from the last miscarriage and I started thinking about the prescription drug problem in America.  I'm pretty sure I came up with a few ways to save the world but I can't remember any of them anymore.  I cried into B's chest before bed as I had a few days prior and went to sleep feeling closer to him then ever before.

The next day I felt a million times better.  I had taken 2 pills.  I cleaned house, organizing things that made life feel more in control.  I thought about what the doctor had told us.  

She reminded me that after rounds and rounds of chemo it affected my body in more permanent ways.  At 33 years old my eggs were really in their 40's.  I had thought the difficulty would be in getting pregnant but I suppose that for me the difficulty is in staying pregnant.  2 miscarriages in 6 months, almost to the day.

That was when I realized how lucky we are.  We always new Peanut was a gift but I never appreciated him so much.  We got pregnant with him so quickly that it seemed the threat of having chemo-fied eggs was over. Now we were reminded the truth and I felt a new rush of gratitude for having Peanut.  If all else fails, if we never make it through another pregnancy, we have each other and we have Peanut and we have friends and family who love us and we will always be grateful for this world that we have.

Sometimes I'm sad.  Sometimes I think about that pink-cheeked baby I thought I would be holding in August or the one I so briefly thought about holding in March and my arms twitch momentarily and I swallow the lump in my throat.  But at this point, 5 days later, I mostly feel positive.  I look forward to getting healthy, getting my body back in shape, getting my mind back in shape and spending some time with my family.