The Name Game: Done, Done, Bo, Bun

What do we do when not only the reality, but also the metaphor representing that reality, becomes a heavy yoke?

Well, with the reality, we persevere, and adopt a healthy sense of denial (e.g. Who me? Cancer? Nope). With the metaphor. . .we resort to abandonment.

So the current standing of the Name Hypothesis is this: There are not "far more" women's names than men's used in pop music, as I had predicted there were.

However, it's interesting that it took us about 33 minutes to come up with 200 women's names, and those were all off the tops of our heads, whereas it took us 9 weeks and some serious milking to eek out the list of 200 men's names.

Furthermore, I really think that if I sat down with a Baby Name book and Google, I could find 600 more women's names.

But I don't want to do that. And if you want to do that, then I think you should also Google Web MD and learn about whatever disorder is afflicting you.

We leave it at this: Friday's are no longer Name Game days. But if you want to keep adding to the list, please post in the comments section of the Girls Names List. Who knows? By the time I'm finished with my very last surgery, we will have reached 800!

What is to replace the Name Game?

A new feature at The Big "C":

B, G and J Day

The inaugural B, G and J Day post. . . ahem:


B:

The Air Force played Navy two weekends ago. Bryan is supposed to care about these games a lot more than he does, which is less than the average person feels for his average Alma mater. But since he started working at joint billets 7 years ago and has been surrounded by Army and/or Air Force personnel, he has cared only about this:

That these guys won't be able to razz him about Navy losing.

And lo! For 7 years straight, Navy has beaten both Army and Air Force! 2 weeks ago, Navy won again.

1 week ago was the Navy's birthday. "The Navy celebrates its birthday?" Yes. Add it to the long list of things the military does that can be greeted with the remark, "Really?"

(BTW: The Navy's birthday is nothing compared to the Marine Corps'. Really??)

Bryan's office has a msc. fund for sending flowers at appropriate times and buying sheet cakes for the different service birthdays.

(BTW: The command sent me flowers when I broke my leg a year ago. But nothing at the occasion of my surgery. I'm guessing this is because there's a regulation that each officer's family gets one arrangement of flowers per tour, if there's an occasion to warrant it. Not that I needed more flowers. But, come on. Breast cancer? I don't get no FTD for breast cancer?)

So Bryan and Fog--this is his call sign, no idea what the guy's real name is--were in charge of ordering the Navy's birthday sheet cake. Bryan wrote out the lettering for it:

Happy Birthday Navy

Go Navy

Beat Air Force (checkmark)

Beat Army

G:

We were at the library today. The kids head into the stacks and pull out the books they want, then stack them up on a table until I say, "That's enough!"

Gemma showed me one and said, "See? It's a Dr. Snooze book we don't have."



J:

Potty training commenced. Some kids make first contact with the toilet and are trained for life.

Joshua is the type who will take some time.

Number 1--fairly successful.

Number 2--well. . . There's something about little boys and poop. . .

What's odd is that without his diaper, he looks so much older to me now. It seems like he's talking and thinking twice as much as just two days ago. But I know the biggest difference must be with me.

By next B, G and J day, I hope to have a very bright progress report to post.

Wellness Update

It's Friday night.

I have a really great post in my head that I was going to write down for today, during quiet time.

And do you know what happened? One of the chemotherapy molecules said, "Hey, team, let's re-double our efforts today!"

Because I started out feeling great this morning. Was able to PT. Was having a great time with the kids. And then, at 11:30, it felt like my bones were melting and my stomach started cramping. I became so cold, but had no fever. (This is a common side effect: losing the ability to regulate one's temp.)

I sat on the kitchen floor, my back against the glass door that was blazing hot from the sun, while the kids ate lunch. Then I crawled up to bed and told them Daddy would be coming home from work early to be with them. (Yay, Colonel Putko!)

Ugh.

I think it was a little worse because it was so unexpected. Yesterday, I had a terrifically terrible day emotionally--several things set me off to crying and crying and crying. And in the midst of it, I said, "At least I feel pretty good physically."

Well. At least today I felt pretty good emotionally.

And at least it didn't get this bad until Round 4.

And at least there's only 2 rounds to go, though now I'm wondering just how badly they are going to suck, given that I am 11 days out from my last round.

So that's my big lazy excuse for not posting today.

As Friday's are supposed to be Name Game days, and as I haven't done one for. . .2 weeks now?. . .I will post on this Saturday. Because I plan on feeling great both physically and emotionally.

Theme Song Thursday: Feed Me!

Guess what I bought today!

I so want to make this a 20 Questions game. Hey. I'd give you 50 questions and you still wouldn't guess. But I don't plan to check in often to keep up my part of the game, so I'm going to have to tell you.

Part of the reason I won't be online is that Thursday is Joshua's Big Day. Yes. Time to use the toilet. We are done with diapers and we are not going back.

This is bold because, to date, nothing from his body has ever gone directly into a toilet. But I believe that potty training happens when either the kid or the mother is done with diapers. Or both. At the very least, this mother is done.

And because Thursday is his big day, I spent Wednesday evening buying some prizes to motivate him. I know. Surprising, isn't it, that I need something more than a bag of m'n'm's? This is Joshua we're talking about, right?

But we tried the candy thing last time and he couldn't have cared.

So the ante goes up. If he learns a bargaining lesson in this, so be it.

There I was, at the cash register of the PX on Peterson Air Force Base, buying the pile of prizes, when the cashier directed my attention to something at her station.

It cost $6.98.

Given an entire year of thinking, I never would have thought I'd ever see this item for sale in a military department store in Colorado Springs.

I've heard of this thing all my life.

If pressed, I'd have guessed that one would have to be in South America to see a real one.

And it reminded me of a movie from 1986 that I liked and that I now think I'm going to have to watch again because I couldn't possibly have appreciated it back then. Do you have movies like that?

So I told the cashier, "I have to buy that!" and she said, "No way. This one's mine. But just scoot yourself around the corner and see if there's any more left."

I told her, "Good thing you're not running a for-profit store here. . ." and I scooted around the corner and got one of the remaining 4.

What is it?

A venus flytrap.


How awesome is that? My very own venus flytrap!!!!

When I stick my finger into one of its. . .flowers? Leaves? I have so much to learn about my new plant!. . .it closes up on me!

Am I going to have to feed it flies? Does it actually digest protein or just trap it till the protein is dead?

How big is it going to get? Right now, I have a double planter (so I have two venus flytraps!) and each one is about 3/4 cup.

What must I do to take care of it?

And why is the PX selling these things??? I have so much to learn!

I'm keeping it a secret from the kids until next week, whence I'll show it to them right before going to the library. We already have our project for this week lined up. But I have a feeling this venus flytrap is going to be a big hit with them. Let's hope I can keep it alive for at least that long.

In the meantime:

"I don't know anybody who deserves to be cut up and fed to a hungry plant."

"Sure you do!"

Homeschool At Last

We are homeschoolers. Did you all know that?

In some ways--the most important ways--all literate homes are homeschooling homes, regardless of whether the kids go "off to school" at some point. And literate homes don't start at a certain cut-off date. Generally, it's a from-the-cradle kind of atmosphere, or else it's not really a literate home.

All of which is to say that I've thought of my family as a homeschooling family since Gemma was born.

And I've been a homeschooler at heart for 13 years now. Seriously. I met my first home school family when I was in grad school in Ohio and had a pretty good idea then that this is what I'd want to do.

On our second date, as Bryan and I sat in the ice cream shop in Lebanon, Ohio, talking seriously about what we were looking for in a marriage (Yes, we actually had that conversation on Date #2, and yes, I know that this puts us into a certain class of Dorks), I told him that if I ever had children, I'd want to homeschool them.

He thought it was a great idea. Specifically, he recounted how his chief memory from childhood was a general sense that his mother spent copious amounts of time with him and his siblings, and that he figured homeschooling was a version of this.

So, last Spring, as I looked forward to this Fall, whence Gemma would officially be a "kindergartner," I was trembling with anticipation. I hadn't let myself start "early" with her in any formal way because it didn't seem fair to impede upon her pre-school time just because I couldn't wait to get started.

In June, with the diagnosis, came less than a nanosecond of reconsideration.

My Mom expressed surprise: "You're still going to homeschool?!?"

I'm pretty sure she said it in concern, picturing some great effort that would be exhausting during a time when I would be easily exhausted.

But, come on. We're talking about kindergarten here. And we're also talking about Gemma, who seems to be a very traditional learner. This was a very low-pressure situation.

On the other hand, enrolling her in a school would have invited some seriously mid-grade pressure into our home.

• Getting a kid to school at 8 AM 5 days a week?
• Helping her complete homework each day? (Yes! Kindergartners get homework around here!!! It's madness.)
• Remembering which day to bring a snack for the whole class?
• Bathing her every night?

Forget about it.

I sleep late when I need to. I nap when I need to. I cuddle up with the kids and read books with them all day long and we spend all of 10 minutes each day on her math lesson. Heck. I recommend homeschooling your kindergartner to every chemo patient out there!

We sallied forth as planned. Part of the plan was to meet with a co-op of other homeschoolers. Last Spring, I got a group of families together and over the summer we firmed up our schedule. We meet twice a month--7 mothers, 14 kids--rotating houses. Whoever hosts also presents the lesson/activity. All the others bring the food for the potluck.

The kids range in age from 11 down to 2. Gemma has 2 girls and one boy her age, and it's healthy for all of them to have a lot of big kids around. I was careful to invite terrific women, and we all love our co-op as much as the kids do. It's a wonderful social time for everyone, and I am so thankful that God put it together back in the Spring, to be in place for such a season as this.

I could go on for a long time about how much I love homeschooling and why it is so great for our family. And there will likely be more posts that mention our homeschooling as I am, after all, chronicling the times of our family.

But for now, here is the one unexpected blessing of homeschooling that I've seen now that we are 10 weeks or so into it:

I do not know what memories Gemma and Joshua will have of the time their mother had breast cancer. They've seen me naked, bald and tired. So there's reason to think it will be an odd collection. . .

But I do know that they will remember the following from this time as well: most days, sitting on the floor of our cozy room playing with math manipulatives; reading to each other on the couch; doing projects together and then telling Daddy all about them while we eat dinner.

We are having precious, peaceful, joyful moments together and Gemma and Josh both get that Mommy is not too tired to learn with them.

Missouri

A 5-year-old talked me into driving 9 hours to Missouri only minutes after writing that I had no intentions to go.

We told her she had the choice of staying home with me, or going with Daddy, and he'd bring her to the Red Barn Farm in Weston. Joshua announced, "I'm staying with you!" but Gemma was torn:

On the one hand, she really wanted to see the chickens.

On the other hand, she really wanted to be with Mommy.

"Why can't we all just go as a family?" she whined.

Is 5 years old too young to explain, "Look, it doesn't matter if you don't like either of your options. Look at me! I have to choose between chemotherapy and death! And yet I try not to whine. . ."

Bryan did all the driving. We arrived late on Friday and stayed at Helen and David's house. Saturday was supposed to be crisp and sunny. Instead, it was cold and damp. But we still went to the Red Barn Farm and saw the animals, enjoyed a hayride, shivered through the cold.

I spent the afternoon at the house with a hot cup of tea while the other 3 did some little projects with the barn on our land. Sunday morning, we drove the 9 hours back. Found that we missed an ice storm here in the Springs while gone. So there's that.

A few remarks:

1. We listened to Lincoln, on tape. It was hard for me to concentrate, though Bryan liked it. I used a lot of the time to think. And mostly what I thought was this: I am kind of done being a cancer patient.

Seriously.

There's more treatment, of course. But I'm tired of how it feels physically, how there's always a battle to be fought emotionally and mentally, how there is a biochemical oppression raging inside me, and how much sadness creeps around the corner.

Enough. In 2 1/2 months, I hope, the chemo and radiation will be finished, I hope. And that is not too long a time to spend in denial.

Me? Cancer? No. I'm fine.

2. Many of you know that we own a tract of land in Weston, MO. We had plans to spend Bryan's last tour there and then retire in the area. The story of why that didn't happen is for a Sunday. Suffice to say that we had still been planning to get back there, even while detoured through Colorado Springs.

No longer. It really looks like we'll try to settle here in the Springs. Many, many reasons why. But this trip--while it was supposed to be a quick, beautiful visit to lovely Platte County in Autumn--kind of felt like a Farewell Tour. We'll still visit David and Helen, of course. But it doesn't look like we'll try to move there.

3. We don't have television in our home. So when we find it someone else's home, it's a pretty big treat to watch it.

I am already used to seeing pink ribbons everywhere, and on everything. (Coming soon: A post on the most peculiar "pink"--items issued for sale in a special breast edition.)

I was not prepared to see a commercial featuring an artists who made casts of women's breasts before they were removed. The model of one of these--a double-breast removal patient at age 26 (!)--explained to the camera the story behind the making of the cast.

I thought, as I watched her:
1) How many takes did she have to do before she could talk about all that without crying? and
2) What kind of surgery did she have afterwards? Because she's wearing a tank top and she looks great.

4) Also about TV. Bryan and I watched an episode of Dirty Jobs, with that hilarious host. There he was, helping to close up a mine shaft in the California wilderness, shoving debris and other gunk down into the hole that he would later climb into.

"We're going to be standing in this in a few minutes, aren't we?" he asked.

The experienced guy replied, "Either that or you pull it all up and we stand around in it up here."

The host said, "I'm looking for a world with more options."

Amen to that, you hilarious host.

But you'll keep scooping the gunk into your own hole. And I'll drive 18 hours round trip and then rest a day and then get a Herceptin treatment on Tuesday. (But not because I have cancer. . .) Because there is no Option 3. There's only your next dirty job, or whatever it is your life looks like 2 1/2 months from now.