On to the next one.

18 Oct

Now that I’ve sufficiently freaked everyone out with my freak out, I am happy to report that the hubby is feeling much better. (The psyllium husks are working.) And is in San Jose, CA giving a HUGE presentation to the board of his company as we speak. If that doesn’t give someone the shits, I don’t know what will.

I inadvertently let you all into my head. To my credit, I asked him if he was as freaked out as me and he said, “Yea. I kinda was.”

I think it is only fair to report both sides when things are looking better. We’ll still have the scope on 11.11.11 and just keep hoping for better, albeit less shit-filled, days. I swear the house was starting to smell like a porta-potty.

The moral of this story is that cancer is never truly OVER. Treatment? Yes. Surgery? Yes. But cancer? NO. It’s with you forever. Indelibly.

And we’ll be looking over our shoulder for the rest of our lives most likely. Though probably not as intensely as these first all-important three years. So bear with us, mmkay?

Between all the shitting and off-gassing, the hubby and I have been trading business trips this month. I was in Seattle and then Toronto for a couple of events I was managing the first week. The hubby got to play mister mom for an entire five days as I flew back and forth across the country and drank a gallon of very expensive Pinot. (Yes, both events went exceedingly well too, thankyouverymuch.) Now, the hubby is in San Jose until the wee hours of Thursday morning nearly. It makes me laugh, this life on the go. Coming and going then trying to sit still.

My favorite part is when it’s my turn to mind the littles solo. I have a system. We focus. We take walks. We do homework (trying not to yell). We cook dinner. (With a side trip for wine with Purse Girl usually thrown in for one night.) And I am always smug when it’s 8pm and they are sound asleep and I can park in front of TiVo to fold laundry.

Last night I did just that. Trying to hide my superiority from the hubby who called to say good night (just a bit too late). I was curled up with Parenthood (two banked episodes, baby!) when out of the corner of my eye I saw a leaf skid across the floor. Wha—?!? THATWASN’TAFUCKINGLEAFTHATWASAFUCKINGMOUSE!

For a moment all went silent. I talked myself out of it. It just wasn’t. But I’ll be damned. The little fucker poked his head out from behind the brand-spanking-new beverage center again. I yelled. He hid. He poked out. I yelled. He hid. And we did this dance about five times before —eyes peeled at the spot— I called the hubby in California.

I don’t know why, okay? I didn’t think. Of course he wasn’t going to fly right back home or quit his job or cancel the all-important presentation. No. But logic just wasn’t functioning for me at the minute, okay? He said, “It never fails, does it?” And if by that he meant that loved ones and pets and trees and HIM (almost) always seem to wait until he’s out of town to die, then yes. But this time IT was most certainly ALIVE and I was so skeeved out that I couldn’t breathe. So then he says, “You’re going to have to set a trap.” And I said, “IAMMOSTCERTAINLYNOTSETTINGANYFUCKINGTRAP. YOUFEELME?” Then he said, “I’ll call Ted.”

So T-Rocks it was. My personal savior (thank you, L-Rocks, for the loaner). Down the street he came, all PJ-clad. Ready to slay the beast. I couldn’t move. Was frozen in my spot afraid of missing it when it tried to run into my bedroom and hide under my pillow.

All I could think was, “Why do I have to be such a damned GIRL?!”

And if you’ve met me more than once, you know that my fears are usually firmly based in complete irrationality and germ-o-phobia land. So the thought of a mouse shitting and pissing a trail across my pots and pans or new cabinets, floors, etc. Well. You can see me circling the drain already, no? (You should’ve seen me when all of my nearest and dearest had heads full of lice three weeks ago. Aw SHIT I was NUTS! But my nuts-o head kept our family’s heads clean someway, somehow. Coulda been the 500 loads of laundry each day, the scalps scrubbed raw and the picking and preening lasting into the wee hours of the night each night…)

T-Rocks set a trap, checked the perimeter and gave my trembly ass-self a hug. (I couldn’t be more thankful.)

I spent the rest of the night alternating between being afraid that the trap would WORK and that it WOULDN’T.

I’d just fallen asleep when I woke with a start to find bean staring at me. “My legs HURT, Mommy!” she wailed. Growing limbs can be such a pain in the ass. So I told her to hop in bed. It took a while to calm her down, massaging her achy legs and whispering to her. Then the rest of the night was spent with her glued to my back or side or stomach. Gooey baby cuddles.

This morning she told her daddy when he called, “No, I didn’t sleep in your spot. I slept in the middle.” And “No, I slept on Mommy’s  pillow. Not yours.” He said to me, “Sounds like you got a great night’s rest.” Ah. Yea.

So this morning I snap up out of bed the second I hear miss-miss coming up with the dog. I yell, “Hold onto her! There’s a mouse trap out!” And then I felt a warm stream of lady blood run down my leg.


And here we are. Right back at it. Like we’re the completely insane folks we always were. With just a little extra fiber for luck.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Meet Me at the Corner. RHCP. Takin it all for a ride until the day when it’s gone. Mystified by where it all went wrong when it’s gone.


4 Responses to “On to the next one.”

  1. Bob Simmonds October 18, 2011 at 6:30 pm #

    When it rains, it pours (no pun intended) for you guys, doesn’t it?


  2. metamegan October 18, 2011 at 8:54 pm #

    i didn’t know you guys had lice! Where have I been?


    • soboclassifieds October 18, 2011 at 10:41 pm #

      No, no, no. We never GOT it. So my crazy train paid off. 😉


  3. metamegan October 19, 2011 at 4:13 pm #

    OK – here I am cancer, schmancer. LICEOMG.


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