Where is the War?

President Obama has my full respect. He's my President and that's my punctuation, thank you. The man is intelligent, courageous, a visionary. He is one of the only leaders in my lifetime I'd be willing to follow into a war. Then why isn't he banging the drum about the two wars we are in?

I grew up with the Vietnam war as a nightly dinner guest, courtesy of parental news junkies who kept a tiny television on the kitchen table. We don't have TVs in our bedrooms and never will, but the first order of business when we bought this house was to outfit the kitchen with a television. We gather around it, all 13 inches of it, much like early viewers must have done in the 50s when the first devices graced living rooms. And so I'd know if the wars were making the airwaves the way they should. I'd know if we were hearing everything we need to hear about the soldiers far from home, or the families waiting for their return. I'd know if they were being suitably cared for upon their return. I'd know. And I don't.

Where is the war?

I'm an Embarrassment

That's right. The 10-year-old has made several indications of late that my appearance is an embarrassment to her. Yesterday it was a hat I was wearing, today the way I tucked my t-shirt into my sweats. Just imagine hearing your daughter pleading with you not to wear your clothes that way, or snatching the hat off your head in desperation when her pleas to remove it failed. Ugh. When did I cease being perfect, or at least acceptable, in her eyes? Now I'm the dreaded Mother uttered in contempt, complete with italics and pre-teen eyerolleze. Double Ugh. Like I needed this blow to the self-image.

The past four weeks have been awful. Somehow I have fallen into the post-menopause, chubby breast cancer survivors group. Ever since my diagnosis I've taken foolish but delighted pride in being thin. Really thin, like Size 4 and feeling fine thin. A month ago I weighed 13 lbs less than I do today. A couple of months ago I weighed even less than that. What's happening to me? Those sweats are starting to be a necessary part of my attire. No wonder the daughter is starting to cringe at the sight of me.

The metabolism is skewed in some evil direction. There's no excuse not to hit the Y except all the usual busyness. Perhaps now that the rain has ceased I can keep those walk dates with the goofy canine, expand into the gym a few days a week and gobble those fruits and veggies I'm supposed to be eating. Funny, I'm not really eating high-calorie food, or anything different from the rest of the family.  Although why I'm the only one swelling up like a big ox is beyond me. Here I am on record as saying this is as non-thin as I get. No more sweats, tucked or untucked, unless I'm at the gym. Tomorrow, it's the healthy road for this patootie.

End of Break

Spring break is finally at an end. We didn't have anything planned this time and I suffered mightily for it. Kids need plans or they want to watch tv. When they watch tv their brains turn to jelly. Jelly brains are nasty creatures to live with 24/7, let me tell you. Next year we'll do something, anything, for spring break. And it won't rain, either.

The saga of the retaining wall/fence may finally be moving along. The engineer has completed the design and the contractor is picking it up tonight. What's next? A written estimate, I hope, and a check from New Neighbor for half the cost of the patio support wall. I've been dreaming of a completed wall, fence and enough dough left over to install a simple patio and place a few new trees and plants along said fence. After removing the privacy screen trees we're sitting bare naked in full view of the New Neighbors, and their behemoth of a house is not a lovely piece of architecture. Probably serve me right for having a bad attitude if I can't replace the screen for years and have to stare at the behemoth all that time.

Several weeks of low back pain have had me googling "back mets" and "back bone pain" late at night. It's the four year anniversary of my diagnosis and suddenly all around me women are having recurrences. Not me, not me. My medical go-to person is an acupuncturist, and twice now she's reassured me by relieving the pain quickly. She also is encouraging me to check in with the Agent of Doom (it is that time) but I'm reluctant. He just makes me cry. I need to find a new doc, someone who really has a heart and mind for this cancer work. Now the game is recurrence prevention and I'm in need of a team leader.  This taking care of me stuff is really hard work.

A New Bike and It's Not a Trike

The Old Bike

Ooh, some rhymes should not see the light of day. Blame it on my mixed feelings about the day's significance: today is the last day I can claim to have a seven-year-old son. Tomorrow Danny turns eight. It's a big day for him and yet he's been having mixed feelings, too. Angst, at this age? Perhaps. Last weekend he had the "kid party" with a few buddies, a trip to the movies, pizza and ice-cream cake. Crazy fun. Now it's the reality of same-old, same-old with the family. At least the birthday treats I brought to school (homemade cupcakes) were a roaring success. The class gobbled them up and he came home and ate an additional five before I realized what he was up to! I do seem to have mastered the art of cake and frosting.

Joe and Dan did the research on this bike several weeks ago. Danny fell in love with a 24 and 26 incher and has been anticipating bringing one or the other home. Now, all they have to do is take a final test ride. We'll all have BIG bikes now, a bike rack on the back of the van that makes my life miserable every time I need to open the hatch, and plans for family rides together. I may ditch the bike in favor of taking Roscoe on foot; he's family, too. Mostly Danny takes rides with his Dad and sister, though, and that's okay.

I'll be selling the old bike, a now tiny-seeming Specialized. When did it shrink? When did he grow? Why do milestones make us celebrate with such wild feelings of joy and loss?  Four years ago I was diagnosed with cancer and every child's birthday I've celebrated since is one more. One more. One more.

Birdhouse Unveiled (Be Kind)

Oh, you've all been waiting for it, haven't you? I can just imagine the anticipation. What masterpiece of birdhouse art has Hedgie created for our viewing pleasure? Well, hey, here are two photos of the front. My iPhone usually does a good job but was forced to work in direct sun and then lamplight so forgive the technique.

Just amazing, you say? Give me a fuzzy break!

That shiny object in the top nesting hole is a pearl button. A treasure, you know, as all children are. (These birds are happily waiting for just one egg to hatch, courtesy of some smart nest planning.)

You should see the other sides, though. The paper is different on 3 sides and the roof and rather elegant if I do say so myself. The house would look nice high on someone's living room shelf, away from bright, flaw-revealing sunlight and direct inspection. Or perhaps regifted during a White Elephant exchange. Hmmm, the possibilities for a late-night crafted birdhouse are endless.

Lotsa fun in the making. Now what am I going to do with it?

Born to Sew

Who, me? Nope. That would be my son, Danny, who has been asking me to teach him how to sew. Nothing major, just how to thread a needle, pull it through fabric, tie it off. Tonight, after homework was completed, there was absolutely nothing standing in our way. The Princess with more desire than know-how was teaching her son the basics of needlecraft. (Oh, Mom, are you laughing at your daughter?) And he was loving it. He started singing a little song, "born to sew, born to sew" that almost knocked me off my chair.

When his older sister came along and realized we were into something interesting without her, she had to thread up, too. Dan may have some natural ability here whereas Gracie takes after her father; she asked me which end of the needle went in first, the dull or sharp end? She has other talents.

Feeling very crafty, I gathered my decoupaged birdhouse and trim materials while the kids were enthralled with their projects. Whoever invented the glue gun should be given the Nobel Peace Prize for saving art-starved moms from committing suicide by boredom. I mean, I have had so much fun designing that little decoration. Originally I hoped to sell it on Etsy (I have a store -- an empty store) but it is probably too much a cliche even for Etsy. Still, I will post a few photos here and let my tiny but loyal audience decide its merits. Check back on Tuesday for some hot shots!

Take 3 Spoons of Dirt and Come Back in Two Weeks

The other day I twisted my back. Maybe one too many room rearrangements or attempts at spring cleaning were responsible, or just the daily tower of babble. All I know is that in one pain-filled moment I went literally stiff with dread. Oh, no, not my back was the refrain running through my head. Not again. 


Such a wise woman I've become, or just a lucky one. Yesterday the calendar read, "acupuncture, 9:30." Wahoo, saved by the needles. And I was. A few gentle probes with her hands on the back but mostly, the needles did the trick. I left pain-free, relaxed and carrying a 2-week supply of an herbal supplement designed to unblock my stagnation. Yes, somehow in addition to straining my back I'm stagnating. Such is my life at the moment.

Replay of the conversation with receptionist:
"So, this is the supplement. How do I take it?"
"Mix it with very hot water and drink quickly."
"Quickly, huh? It tastes like dirt, doesn't it?"
"It is very organic."
"Good old dirt. Just as I thought."

The stuff does taste like dirt and is best followed with a juice chaser. I'm not really sure what the acupuncturist meant when she told me I was "stagnated" but she was right on with relieving my back pain. I'm good for a few weeks of stagnation therapy.

Naked Yard, Confused Birds

Or, let the sun shine in. We have no privacy hedge anymore. No privacy at all from the behemoth house on the east. Without the ugly trees between us there's just us, and them. Ugh. Already I've been combing the 'net looking for fastgrowing trees and such. There are giant bamboo that might work. I need to visit the bamboo farm to see these things up close first before agreeing to anything. I have no intention of going through this heartstopping tree-cutting process again.

The tree guys were very careful about nests. One oak due for a crowning had two nests; the haircut was postponed. None of the other trees had active nests. After the crew left I sat outside taking in the sight of our suddenly huge and sun-lit yard when I noticed a scrub jay high in a palm. He looked confused, starting to fly towards the location once held by the Chinese Elm only to turn back and land on the palm. Poor dear. We have a lovely Japanese maple that I can see again, and the doves were enjoying it, too. It's like getting a blank canvas and a fresh set of paints. Oooh, the possibilities.

Another day or two of work next week and we'll be done with this portion of the yard work. Next we'll see the retaining walls and fence go in. I need a beautiful (but not over-designed) fence. Simple, elegant and aesthetically gorgeous. I'm going to be looking at 108 feet of this fence and it had better be more than dog-eared fenceboards! Ideas?

On the kid front, sweet Danny continues to hate school. Really hate school. I'm as involved as I know how to be on all fronts, trying to get to the bottom of it and solve the obvious problems. There are no easy answers, though, only tough questions and the love in my heart to guide me. A little boy should not hate school, should not cry at night because he is so miserable he cannot see a reason to get up the next morning. I could really use a how-to manual. If only I could fix this as easily as the backyard.