eatthefrostingfirst

As I store up on the 100 grand mini  bars and ring in Halloween a part of me gets sad. In 2003, my twin boys were supposed to be born on Halloween. Things did not go as planned, as many of you know, and they made their early arrival in August instead. Zachary never got to wear a pumpkin hat but but oldest wore his in the nicu, accompanied but a pumpkin onesie. It has been 16 years since our NICU days but they may have well have been yesterday. For 6 months we celebrated holidays in the hospital including Halloween, Thanksgiving,  Hanukkah and ringing in 2004. For 6 months we spent each day driving into Boston to spend hours with our baby and drove home to spend our nights worrying about him. It was a cold day at the end of January when we were allowed to bring him home. We had lined up nursing care (they only way we could get discharged with a child on a ventilator) but they could not start for a few days. We refused to wait and were confident we would be fine. We bun

One of youngest's favorite makes him laugh story is when he was in the IKEA playspace and I got "paged". He was toilet training and after months of refusing to go- he finally went- at IKEA. It's longer and funnier than all that but that's not my point. My point is I used to be able to write funny stories about my boys. Or I would write about how hard parenting toddlers is. But now they are teens. And have voices. And they are entitled to their privacy. So I wouldn't dream of writing anything about them that would make them feel uncomfortable. (Not that when they were 3 and potty training I wanted to embarrass them -but they were such cute stories back then. It didn't even dawn on me that at some point they may not want the world to know the IKEA story. Thankfully youngest doesn't really care) There are many stories I would like to share. But they aren't so cute anymore. Some are heart-wrenching to me as a Mom. (Note: I'm uber

I was awoken at 3:27 AM with a migraine. Or maybe it was from the damned wrist splint I have to wear for my tendinitis. Or my back pain that’s creeped into my butt. Whatever it is, I blame the cancer meds. Because I can. This is us. Did you watch? William and the seltzer water? My mind doesn’t shut off easily. I’m afraid of a lot. Lightening. Flying (since I became a Mom) Skunks Home invasions (thanks ADT for comforting me) Egg salad (a trauma when I was 6) My kids HS homework I’ve also had panic attacks. What do I worry about? Funny question. Answer : everything. I had my first attack at 17. They’re very real. Heart racing, unable to catch your breath, and many times I’ve had to breathe into a paper bag. We didn’t talk about anxiety much back then. I’m so happy it’s now part of a conversation. William talks about anxiety being like seltzer water. “She'd fill a glass with seltzer water and tell me that my mind was like the bubbles bouncing around inside, trying to

Friends Friends Friends We will always be Weather in fair or in dark stormy weather... I don't remember the rest Or maybe that was the end of the song. We sang it at camp a few times. Was having lunch with a close friend today and we got to talking about our teens. We all have the same hopes as they navigate these waters. We hope that they walk with good people. We hope as they try to figure out who they are, that they keep close to their hearts what is most important. And what would that be? At my wise old age of 51 I like to think I have infinite wisdom on the subject. I had besties in elementary school, another set in junior high and yup- a different set in HS. Did I change? Did they? I would think a little of both? And that's par for the course. We are constantly evolving at that age. As parents, we hope that the evolving thing keeps them grounded. We hope they realize that the cool kids may not actually be so cool to hang around. We hope they

Hi Mom of screaming toddler I saw you at Target today in your yoga pants and baseball hat. I know you are just counting the hours until nap time. A quick trip to Target for essentials turned into a full out tantrum in the toy aisle. We've all been there so don't worry if you felt like you were failing as your little man single handedly destroyed the puzzle section. Those stares were just to make sure you were okay and to empathize. Nap time is only an hour away. You got this. I don't want to burst your bubble or anything but it really doesn't get easier. Oh sure. They wipe their own butts but you're still telling them to wipe their faces. Broccoli struggles? Yup. Eating the colors of the rainbow was easier when they were in pull ups. Terrible two's had nothing on the tantrum-y threes. Doing the woot woot in between the "where did my baby go tears" as they hop onto the school bus for Kindergarten? Soon you will have independent readi

Once upon a time there was a girl in her 20's She was generally happy with friends and a decent job but she wanted to be loved (like many girls in their 20's are longing for) Her friends all had boyfriends and she felt like the lonely ugly step sister. Her self confidence a bit low so she grasped on to what she could. He was the typical bad boy who gave her attention and made her feel special So what could it hurt? She had a scheduled Saturday night date and late night phone calls and long stemmed roses being sent to her workplace; just because. The step sister became Cinderella but with a heavy price to pay Because she knew the bad boy was just that But what could it hurt? She wasn't going to marry this boy. He knew that. It was an understanding. This was all just for fun. Until it wasn't fun. Because the bad boy had a drug problem. And a child. And Cinderella was soon playing therapist and step mom and rehab counselor She was a d

Dear Me It's almost the holidays. A time which may bring you a bit of angst. It was a week before Christmas when you found your lump. It was Christmas eve when awesome surgeon called to tell you that, it was indeed, invasive cancer. It was then where you continued on with your pizza date night with youngest and then cried in the fetal position later that night. You couldn't do it, you told DH. You couldn't lose your hair. No more surgeries. Chemo meant this shit was real. But you knew that. The minute you heard cancer. Again. Dear Me I am almost two years of No Evidence of Cancer. I am less anxious (but don't let me fool you. Still anxious. Always anxious) In two years I have spoken to countless of others who have been newly diagnosed. Walking the walk. Scared as hell. Knowing their shit just got real. Today is Yom Kippur. It is the day, as jews, we atone for our sins. We ask for forgiveness. It is also a day to look ahead. To start anew.

I think, as parents, we all want the same thing for our kids. To be happy and healthy. To feel loved and to be able to give love. To feel confident and secure with themselves. To be kind. I think, as parents, our hope is that they find happiness in what they set out to do. To feel a part of something, whatever that something may be. To stick up for themselves. To stick up for others. I am a mom of two teenaged boys and this parenting teen thing is not for the faint of heart. I am swept back in time to my highschool years and feel instantly ill. How do I fit in? Where do I belong? Do I listen to my heart or my head? And why are they saying two different things? Will I ever need to know geometry outside of this HS building? I am a worrier. (I blame genetics.) And I am trying so hard to let my children choose their own friends and navigate their own waters. I try to gently give advice (which as we know is only received by eye rolls and mumbles under the breath) I

Hello October Hello Pinktober Hello waking up to the TODAY show donned in pink. It's wonderful. Really it is. Mammograms save lives. We need to be aware. We need to know it's okay to discuss things like dense breasts and self breast exams. We need to let people know that if the cancer is caught early- there are great odds of survival. But the words I despise are being thrown around: Blessed Journey Survivor Cancer is no blessing (in spite of it giving me a good kick of a reminder to not give a shit sometimes and eat the frosting first!) My year of treatment (and my 8 years prior with cancer) was by in no means a freakin journey And I refuse to call myself a survivor even though I know damn well that I am one. I, of course, am very well aware that  my outcome could be worse. But I know people who have metastatic breast cancer I know people who have died from breast cancer. I am guessing you may too. Pinktober is about awareness but it also needs to be