Ritual-free

Being heathens/atheists, it's difficult to participate in customs that don't carry any personal significance. And for some reason it feels worse to only indulge in the fluffy side of the rituals, like the easter bunny. Alas, that is all we did this year: colored eggs, anticipated the coming of the Bunny, and then ate his/her/its chocolately offerings.

The Easter bunny (me) accidentally left all the chocolate in the car the day before easter and the beautifully formed chocolate bunnies I had purchased, melted. Luckily, the kids didn't seem to notice the mashed nature of the little creatures and enjoyed them all the same. (PS: no baskets here...we used bowls.) Such a lazy Easter Bunny.

The coloring...

Progress...

Complete!

In no particular order...

Nev. With a black eye (he mysteriously fell on his face-he takes after his mother) and chocolate embellishments.

Dex, shaggy and chocolated.

Lew, wishing he was a big kid.

Parenting Milestone #6: childhood disease

Well, in six years of having children, this is the first time one of them has had a significant illness, significant enough to make a parent want to vomit, to not think, to look the other way. I've considered myself very lucky. I've also figured it's only a matter of time before someone gets something.

This morning, looking grave, The Plastic Surgeon walked onto the boat. Wow, I thought, it's not often that she looks this stressed. Seconds later, she turned to us and said: "Well, the consensus [herself and the dermatologist] is that we're going to treat it like a melanoma. So, I'm going to take him back into the OR and remove a wack more skin, which will need to then be grafted. But no lymph node biopsy." We then went on to discuss where she would take the graft from: the groin? No, as he risks growing pubic hair on his hand. From his wrist? No, as he'll look like he attempted suicide as a teen.

This will be a longer operation, with bigger wounds. I'm not sure what to think. I'm pleased that they are taking it seriously, being cautious, and treating it like cancer. In the same breath, it fucking freaks me out that they are treating it like cancer. When future doctor-people ask, "any significant childhood diseases in his past?" do I say "yeah, melanoma?" Fuck. It makes my mind spin. However, I also thank my lucky stars that this is all that it is. And that Dex probably won't die anytime soon, from cancer at least.

The C-word

One and a half weeks ago Dex had the minor surgery to remove the growth on his thumb. For a 10 minute actual operation, we were at the hospital for five hours. This included check-in, waiting to be called to the OR, putting him under (which I got to witness), the operation, and then waiting for him to wake up. Dex was very brave and didn't cry once. Duncan and I were very brave too, not realizing how emotional the whole event was until after the fact, when we found ourselves exhausted. Since then, we've been tending to his wound with daily applications of polysporin and not two, but three bandaides.

Yesterday we (me and the three boys) went back to The Plastic Surgeon for Dex's one week post-op check-up. She spent the first little bit cleaning up the wound and removing the last of the dissolving stitches. As she was finishing up, I asked "So, did they do a biopsy?" fully expecting her to report a confirmation of the "hari-horrible-itis." Instead, she grabbed the pathology report and came in close: a doctor's way of saying "you're going to need to sit down for this."

"It's not what I expected," she said. Okay. "It's a junctional spitz nevus." Okay. "And there is some controversy about it's diagnosis. It could be a low-grade melanoma. I've referred him to a dermatologist to see how she thinks we should proceed. The question is whether or not we should biopsy his lymph nodes."

Melanoma. The C-word. Holy FUCK.

"Don't freak out Yet" she said.

So, I took the boys for sundaes and tried not to freak out.

Winter

Stats:
1. This weekend it snowed for 2 days. Complete with ice pellets. And wind straight from the North Pole. Total snow: 25-50 cm.
2. This morning when I woke up: -20
3. Date: March 10th.
4. Number of cars I got stuck in the snow this morning: 2
5. Number of extra minutes it took the boat to cross: 10
6. Forecast for Tomorrow: -12
7. Number of suicidal thoughts in the past 48 hours: 24

FOR THE LOVE OF HUMANITY, WINTER FUCK OFF, FOR FUCK SAKE.
Like the end of a pregnancy, when you've resigned yourself to being pregnant FOREVER, that this is your new state of always being, I have resigned myself to winter. Spring will never come. It does not exist.

Parenting Milestone #5

On Monday morning Dexter will go in for surgery to remove that "thing" on his thumb. In our parental panic last month we had him referred to a plastic surgeon (the same one who made me more beautiful) for consultation. Her conclusion: hari-horrible-itis, associated with a significant chance of developing cancer (and sprouting hair-ick) later in life. Come off it must!! And because he's so little and it's rather large, she decided that putting him under (general anesthetic) is the easiest, least scary for him, way to go.

This is the first time one of my offspring has needed surgery. It is minor. However, no matter how minor, being generally anesthetized is not something to be taken lightly. The Plan: He'll be first in the OR Monday morning, so we (Dex and I) have to be on the first boat. I wish Duncan could be there but we are shit out of luck when it comes to finding childcare that early. If ever there was a good time to have an extended family member near by, now would be it. But alas, we do not. So, he'll stay with the other babes while I brave the OR with Dex. Times have changed since I had surgery as a kid and I will get to be in there with him while he's put under. Essentially, they will breath him down with gas, keep him sedated for about three minutes (or as long as it takes to remove and stitch up the thing), and then bring him out.

It will be an adventure! I'm really not that nervous and am presenting it as an "experience" to Dex. And best of all: that hari-horrible-itis will be gone.

The marginally funny part: Saturday night Duncan and I are going out with The Plastic Surgeon and her husband to watch the Ultimate Fighting Championship at a bar. I can't wait for the bloody fight fest.

Birthday Botox

All of a sudden I've turned into a shitty (read: lazy) blogger. I'm sorry. I promise I will make it up to you.

Updates:
So I turned 31 this week. This completely blows my mind. I never imagined myself in my 30s, only as an adult: age undefined. But alas, I am growing old, which I guess is better than the alternative (death). My 31st b-day was remarkably unremarkable. I ran experiments, hung out with my rats, experienced a small depression because I was spending the day alone with my rats (who by the way, did not wish me happy birthday), but then rallied with a lovely sushi dinner and divine chocolate cake. I don't expect people to do anything for my birthday: after all, I'm a grown up, such expectations are childish. I counteract this expectation by trying to plan things for myself to do and doing things for others (e.g., buying rounds of drinks). Last year I did 30 things I've never done (in one day). It was too much fun. This year, frankly, I was uninspired: thirty-one is such a dull number, almost not worthy of celebration.

But just then there was some excitement: on one of my boat rides home I was having a talk with my plastic surgeon friend who will be opening her practice in a few months. For advertising, she's offering discounted procedures in hopes that people will be so happy, they'll brag her up to all the rich, saggy people. For the third time, she mentioned that she had some "unclaimed" botox in her fridge. I've been thinking about getting some botox for a long time: I've got "thinking" lines between my eyes that make people say, "Are you tired? Angry? Stressed?" even when I'm not. Her offer, one day before my unplanned birthday, was what I needed. On Friday morning, I got the botox. And I love it. And I think this is the beginning of a trend: my lovely surgeon friend showed me all the cool equipment she's buying and will be anxious to try out. On me. I'll look like Cher in no time! Oh, and have more friends, make more money and be famous.

I'll post a photo of me trying my best to look thoughtful soon.