Monday, September 24, 2007
This Just In
After rhapsodizing about how cool my Ray-Bans were, I lost them. We had a little Lucy-falling-down-the-front-stairs incident (she's fine, but it took her forever to fall all the way down!) I must have ripped them off and dropped them attempting to catch her, and then someone picked them up while we were inside calming her (and me) down.
And then while I was sitting at baseball practice this weekend working on the New York Times crossword puzzle, another parent asked me if I was planning my television schedule--he thought I was looking at TV guide.
After rhapsodizing about how cool my Ray-Bans were, I lost them. We had a little Lucy-falling-down-the-front-stairs incident (she's fine, but it took her forever to fall all the way down!) I must have ripped them off and dropped them attempting to catch her, and then someone picked them up while we were inside calming her (and me) down.
And then while I was sitting at baseball practice this weekend working on the New York Times crossword puzzle, another parent asked me if I was planning my television schedule--he thought I was looking at TV guide.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Happy Halloween
It's time to start thinking of Halloween costumes. Conor's always tricky--he doesn't want to wear a costume, probably a direct result of his first costume, 1970's Elvis.
I was inspired by the white terry footed pajamas and added the gold trim, satin cape, and flared pantlegs. He doesn't look traumatized, but he really hates costumes so now I have to find something for him to wear based on real clothes. I'm sure he'd dress up as a soldier, but I refuse to allow it--this is San Francisco, after all. Pirate has worked well, mainly due to the sword.
We go costume shopping early, because that's when the best stuff is still there. In the thrift shops. Yes, my children think costumes come pre-stained with chocolate and possibly smelling of vomit. But the upside is that they can choose more than one, and change their minds, too. So far Lucy has chosen a bunny costume, and last year's lion costume is still a favorite. And as the lame fallback, Conor found a T-shirt that said, "Put the candy in the bag and no one gets hurt."
It's time to start thinking of Halloween costumes. Conor's always tricky--he doesn't want to wear a costume, probably a direct result of his first costume, 1970's Elvis.
I was inspired by the white terry footed pajamas and added the gold trim, satin cape, and flared pantlegs. He doesn't look traumatized, but he really hates costumes so now I have to find something for him to wear based on real clothes. I'm sure he'd dress up as a soldier, but I refuse to allow it--this is San Francisco, after all. Pirate has worked well, mainly due to the sword.
We go costume shopping early, because that's when the best stuff is still there. In the thrift shops. Yes, my children think costumes come pre-stained with chocolate and possibly smelling of vomit. But the upside is that they can choose more than one, and change their minds, too. So far Lucy has chosen a bunny costume, and last year's lion costume is still a favorite. And as the lame fallback, Conor found a T-shirt that said, "Put the candy in the bag and no one gets hurt."
Labels: So San Francisco
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Survivors Focus Group
Stanford ran a Hodgkin's suvivor's focus group this weekend, and I went. My doctor called me herself to ask if I'd go, and I have to say, that's not a voice I want to hear on my answering machine. I'd have gone anyway--I'm weird like that. Is it the marketing background (professional courtesy)? Or the hubris that *everyone* needs to hear my opinion.
So I like to think I'm good at these--what do you need all these other people for, I'll tell you everything you need to know--but I'm probably a real pain in the ass. I have to say, I'm the only one in my group who got a laugh!
Some good things were said--we all concurred that we were very vague on our treatments--how many rads of radiation, drugs for chemo, etc. And this led to issues with what we should be looking out for now. One guy said he'd heard that survivors were more likely to get squamos cell lung cancer, to he was being tested. Another guy said his baseline EKG showed signs of heart trouble. This is when you could see horrified looks around the room. One woman had just heard she should have been wearing sunscreen after all the radiation she'd gotten (as another man pointed to the patches of scars on his neck where he'd had suspicious patches removed recently), and at least I could feel superior to her. I may not have known about the lung cancer or heart troubles, but I'm wearing the sunscreen.
At one point a couple of the oncologists came in (they were monitoring the whole thing) and explained that we had all been given details on the short and long term effects of our treatments before we were given the treatment. I *think* I laughed, bitterly, out loud. The moderator asked me to explain and I said that when the choice is death or something bad at some point in the future, there's not much choice. I'm happy to have these problems, given the alternative, but how can you expect me to remember exactly what they are?
At the end, they gathered us together for a group photo. I was wearing a new shirt and new shoes, so I dallied to ensure I'd be at the bottom of the stairs, right in the front.
Stanford ran a Hodgkin's suvivor's focus group this weekend, and I went. My doctor called me herself to ask if I'd go, and I have to say, that's not a voice I want to hear on my answering machine. I'd have gone anyway--I'm weird like that. Is it the marketing background (professional courtesy)? Or the hubris that *everyone* needs to hear my opinion.
So I like to think I'm good at these--what do you need all these other people for, I'll tell you everything you need to know--but I'm probably a real pain in the ass. I have to say, I'm the only one in my group who got a laugh!
Some good things were said--we all concurred that we were very vague on our treatments--how many rads of radiation, drugs for chemo, etc. And this led to issues with what we should be looking out for now. One guy said he'd heard that survivors were more likely to get squamos cell lung cancer, to he was being tested. Another guy said his baseline EKG showed signs of heart trouble. This is when you could see horrified looks around the room. One woman had just heard she should have been wearing sunscreen after all the radiation she'd gotten (as another man pointed to the patches of scars on his neck where he'd had suspicious patches removed recently), and at least I could feel superior to her. I may not have known about the lung cancer or heart troubles, but I'm wearing the sunscreen.
At one point a couple of the oncologists came in (they were monitoring the whole thing) and explained that we had all been given details on the short and long term effects of our treatments before we were given the treatment. I *think* I laughed, bitterly, out loud. The moderator asked me to explain and I said that when the choice is death or something bad at some point in the future, there's not much choice. I'm happy to have these problems, given the alternative, but how can you expect me to remember exactly what they are?
At the end, they gathered us together for a group photo. I was wearing a new shirt and new shoes, so I dallied to ensure I'd be at the bottom of the stairs, right in the front.
Labels: oncology
Friday, September 07, 2007
These Kids and Their Damn Music
The music these kids listen to these days makes me feel old and crotchety. Take, for example, the new Timbaland song “The Way I Are”. Now, I can stop my eye-rolling due to the poor grammar, but I cannot stop myself from saying ARE YOU KIDDING ME to the lyrics that rhapsodize about having a man who doesn’t have a job or any money—and turning to stripping to support him. I’m not sure there is enough alcohol to make me appreciate this song.
The music these kids listen to these days makes me feel old and crotchety. Take, for example, the new Timbaland song “The Way I Are”. Now, I can stop my eye-rolling due to the poor grammar, but I cannot stop myself from saying ARE YOU KIDDING ME to the lyrics that rhapsodize about having a man who doesn’t have a job or any money—and turning to stripping to support him. I’m not sure there is enough alcohol to make me appreciate this song.
Labels: What's Another Word for Old?
