Meow

March 12, 2013 By Queen of Spain 5 Comments

My daughter’s teacher approached my husband and I at a school function the other night and told us how much she just loves our little girl.

We beamed, as parents of awesome kids tend to do…

…and then the teacher told us, exactly, why she “just loves” her:

She’s still acts her age, you know? She doesn’t try to act seven going on 17 like the rest of my girls.

If you ask her something fun or silly, she will meow like a cat and scamper away or hop like a bunny.

She plays like little girls at this age should play. She’s still a little girl and I just love that…I wish they all were like that. They SHOULD be.

It was then I think we were even MORE proud.

It is not easy to keep our daughters from worrying about boys, clothing, or how they look in this day and age. I’m glad to know that my husband and I have survived keeping her some-what innocent for a tiny bit longer. I say that with her eighth birthday just around the corner.

What I would give for her kitty meowing days to last forever.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

I Second That Thank You

February 28, 2013 By Queen of Spain 3 Comments

It’s been several days since the kids and I jumped up and down on the bed when we heard the First Lady read the word ‘Argo’ from that gold and red envelope at the Academy Awards.

My husband came bounding up the stairs grinning from ear to ear and we all kissed and high fived- he was one of the many that had worked on Argo, so this Oscar belonged to him as well.

Not long after the rambunctious celebrations I listened to Ben Affleck thank his wife, fellow West Virginian like my husband, and talk about marriage being hard work. Momofali echoed my thoughts immediately after the awards show, writing “In my opinion it was the perfect venue for him to say such a thing. Hollywood is one big fairy-tale, complete with beautiful people and princess dresses, and millions of people were watching. I commend Ben for taking the opportunity to say that even with loads of money, good looks and an Oscar in his hand, that marriage is work. If it’s a struggle for them, what about those of us with financial problems, average appearance and no awards of which to speak?”

It took me this long to write this post because of that work. It’s been hard to blog at all lately due to that work. Hell, I was upstairs and he was downstairs when Argo WON and my husband won because I was putting the kids to bed and he wasn’t…part of that work that we all do every single day that is the balance of marriage.

Argo seemed to me to be a labor of love. A story told about a mission that too, was seemingly against the odds. Marriage is against the odds these days. Hard work and some finesse is needed to get through. Which is why I gave Ben Affleck a ton of credit for looking over to his wife and telling the world I love and her and our children and our family and yes, it takes WORK.

Because he said what all of us married folk are thinking about marriage, about our spouses. Make no mistake, I love my husband dearly and I am in this for the long haul, but marriage is hard work. Not easy work, HARD work. Which means most of the time I am muttering under my breath to him …. Argofuckyourself.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Kaiser, Men and their duckcamps, Stepford Crazies

Love Taps

February 15, 2013 By Queen of Spain 4 Comments

I remember that feeling sitting in class, going through each Valentine and wondering if there was a deeper meaning to ‘Bee My Valentine’ with the picture of a bumblebee flitting around on that breakaway card that came in a pack of 24.

Because that is what some of us girls do. We look for the deeper meaning and hold the Valentine against our chest convinced the bumblebee was a symbol for something that was a symbol for something that was a symbol for something that clearly meant the boy who scribbled his name on the bottom loved us more than anything and we’d get married and have babies and live happily ever after.

No really.

I did this.

I still do this.

And I’m married and I have kids and I will continue to live happily ever after. Even if every day I want the ‘I love you’ and I want to hold the Valentine against my chest and dream.

I watched my daughter go through each and every Valentine from her bag last night. My son tossed his on the ottoman and only dug inside to find a piece of candy. And I realized some things just don’t change.

At one point my daughter came over to me and said “Mom, no one got you a Valentine…we didn’t get one for you.” And upon hearing those words my son immediately stopped his game (so you KNOW it’s a big deal) and rubbed his hand up and down my arm, consoling me. Truly worried and upset I had no Valentine.

It’s ok Mom, you can have one of mine.

And I explained, again, their father and I have our own tradition. And that just as he had to sign each of his Valentine’s for his classmates, someone signed that Valentine for him, and it wouldn’t be right to give it away. Even if it was very sweet.

Sweet matters. Traditions matter. That time taken to scribble that name on the bottom of the card matters. But I have learned it matters more daily, not just on the ONE day. It matters in the morning when walking out the door. It matters at night when going to bed. It matters when scared and instinctively fingers intertwine.

Today, the day after Valentine’s Day, I sat in the waiting room of my doctor’s office feeling miserable emotionally. I wanted to be clutching that Valentine to my chest and making juvenile wishes. I wanted a hand on mine to calm down my beating heart.

Instead I was sent an elderly man who didn’t think twice about walking right up to me and asking about my scarf.

Did you make that?

And he actually poked it with his cane.

Just reached on over and poked the scarf hanging around my neck with his cane! Then he used the cane to lift the bottom of the scarf up and examine the stitching.

In my head the first thing I thought was…oh please, not now. I don’t have the energy.

I explained I did not, in fact, knit the scarf but I wish I had the talent. And I smiled politely hoping that would end the conversation.

But he kept going. And going. And going.

His wife wandered out a few minutes later, I’m not sure how many, glanced at him talking to me and seemed to survey the situation…was he bothering me too much? Was he talking too much? Should she intervene? I gave her a polite smile letting her know it was alright, we were fine. She seemed to decide I had it under control and went back to writing a check at the front desk.

Over the course of the next 10-15 minutes I learned my new friend was 87-years old and his wife of 62 years (!!!!!!) was a young 85. I learned about his time in a ‘trio’ where he played guitar for a ‘blonde bombshell’ and traveled. But he always came back to his wife.

He gushed over her like they were newlyweds. Gushed.

Then his wife came over and motioned for me to move my purse. She too used her cane. Of course I couldn’t help but think of my own cane, sitting unused in my car. Thankful it’s unused right now….I obliged and picked up my bag and moved it to the ground so she could take the seat next to me.

As she took the seat her husband immediately told her I did not, in fact, make the scarf I was wearing and that I was, originally from Detroit and that my husband and I had Italian food for Valentine’s Day.

But why was I there? In the doctor’s office?

I didn’t want to tell them.

For some reason it just didn’t feel right to tell them I was there because I’m always there. Because this is my life.

I told them I was having stitches removed. And it was as if the wife knew I was lying to her.

She patted my thigh and said ‘we all have our crosses to bear, don’t we dear?’

And I cried.

Right there in the doctor’s waiting room I cried with two strangers.

Luckily I held it together and it wasn’t an ugly cry. And wise beyond their years this couple just kept talking, as if my tears were as normal as the conversation they had decided to just carry on with a woman they didn’t know in the middle of a doctor’s waiting room.

They made me laugh.

Every time the husband would compliment or gush over his wife, she would roll her eyes and say something like ‘oh, he’s just making up for all the trouble he causes’ and playfully smacked him with her cane. It was a good smack too. You could tell she had done it a million times before.

Then, as if reality emerged loudly with the opening of a door and the BOOMING nurse’s voice ERIN VEST… ERIN VEST…the door opened, they called my name, and the couple stood up with me. The 85-year old woman handed me my purse, when I should have been helping her with her cane. As they headed to the door the husband said ‘Now you know that she is all that matters…’

…and the wife looked back and me and rolled her eyes one more time and shook her head.

I was thankful to have met them today. 62-years of marriage and they were playful and loving and clearly taking care of one another. They gave me such hope.

They reminded me of why we hold that Valentine to our chest and let our heart beat fast and why we dare to dream.

I also now know what to do with that cane of mine…currently and thankfully collecting dust in the back of my car. I will just save it for years from now, because apparently it will come in very, very handy later on when I can’t lean over as quickly or reach as far to give my husband a swift tap when needed.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Auto-Immune Menu, Feeling YaYa, Kaiser, Men and their duckcamps, Stepford Crazies

Progress & Pokes

February 7, 2013 By Queen of Spain 6 Comments

Yesterday I was sent to UCLA to be poked and prodded and peered at.

I’m a modern marvel to be studied.

I came home feeling emotionally spent, tired of my life revolving around treatment plans and drugs. But also thankful I had come far enough to be able to take myself to the appointment and to be so far removed from the threat of ‘scary’ illness no one ‘had’ to come with me to just hold my hand.

But maybe they should have, just to keep my hands off of other things. Because despite my antibacterial lotion and my constant hand washing, I picked up a stomach bug and spent the night enjoying the company of the nearby toilet.

After a few hours sleep I woke up feeling much better, but not well enough to head to my treatment. I needed some rest, some tea, and maybe a little toast. I also got some much-needed perspective.

I got a stomach bug and it didn’t land me in the hospital.

I got a stomach bug and it didn’t land me nearly comatose and in need of my husband’s help.

I got a stomach bug and it only lasted through the night, not extra hours or days which usually happens to me when I get an ordinary virus.

I got a stomach bug and like a nearly normal person I could function during and after.

With my immune system there wasn’t much I could have done to avoid getting sick. But when there is something I can do, or you can do, it’s a no brainer. In fact, in some cases I count on you to help me remain healthy. Because this time I was lucky. It was a stomach bug that my body handled. But it won’t always be so easy.

The last time the family was hit with the flu everyone had it for about 24 hours. I had it for a good 72 hours and was watched over by my brother. He held vigil by my bedside as I moaned and sweated the evil illness out of me. Even when I do my best to protect my fragile immune system, bugs get through. I then ended up admitted to the hospital as doctors managed my pain and dehydration, my labwork showing influenza A in my system.

That’s where you come in. That’s where herd immunity comes in. That’s where vaccinations matter. Every type- from a simple flu shot to chicken pox to whopping cough and measles, mumps and rubella.

Liz over at Mom101 has a great reminder as to why we need immunizations and why, here in the states, we take them for granted. You can also contact your Congressperson to ask them to make global vaccinations a priority. No, they wouldn’t have stopped me from getting that stomach bug yesterday, but they do save the lives of millions worldwide who contract many different diseases that can be easily contained if only everyone participated or could be immunized.

As someone with a suppressed immune system I am begging you to take vaccines seriously and to join the effort. Do not take modern science for granted. Remember why we need them and why people like me need you to get them.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Auto-Immune Menu

Miss Teen PWN

January 30, 2013 By Queen of Spain 6 Comments

I am, by nature, a worrier.

So imagine what I did when this came in the mail:

Do I show her?

I know when I got the really horrible, everyone got one, scams in the mail about modeling or pay-to-see-your-name in some book of smart kids, it was the sort of thing that boosted my tween or teen self-confidence.

Of course there was no way in hell we’d ever let her do it. So there was no harm in showing her, right?

But then again, we always said we’d support her in whatever she wanted to do so…

…no. No. NO. NO.

Also…

NO.

Pageants are for girls who are either desperate for money and can only get it because they are pretty or … or… I have no idea. I mean these things are judged on looks, right?

At least that’s what Sandra Bullock taught me. Well, her and Donald Trump. Walk walk … show them how pretty you are…walk more… show them how pretty you are in different clothes. Walk more. Then answer some crazy question about current events and smile pretty for the boys.

So of course, I showed her and told her what it was all about doing my best to leave my snark behind to genuinely be able to gauge what SHE thought of all this and what SHE thought of a ‘pageant’ … did any of the girls at school do this sort of thing? I mean, we live in a ‘burb of LA, there are many child actors around and at the school and many have headshots and can turn on the cute in order to get a gig. Surely with the popularity of Honey Boo-Boo and Toddlers and Tiaras, there could be a few in her grade, right?

So I showed her and explained and waited for a reaction…

My 7-year old was disturbed by the letter. Grinning and flattered, but disturbed.

Why would they want me for a teen thing? I’m not a teen? And why would I want to do that on a Sunday- that’s when I go horseback riding at the ranch.

Case closed. Whew.

Or so I thought…

What I hadn’t counted on was her brother chiming in. I don’t know why I hadn’t counted on it…he’s always right there with us and NO ONE and I mean NO ONE cares more about his sister than big brother.

Hala, listen to me…I really don’t want you to be famous like that…ok? I’m serious.

Ok Jack, I won’t.

No, really. I mean it. That’s not how you should be famous. You are too smart.

I know I am Jack!

I know you are too.

Suddenly I was the fly on the wall witnessing one of the most touching and amazing exchanging in sibling history.

I wouldn’t do that anyway, ok?

I didn’t say you would. I’m just making sure.

Can you move over now? Because you’re in the way of the game and I can’t see my guy and he’s about to PWN you.

MOM! She just totally blew up my whole new rover I built!

Pauses a beat.

That was kind of cool.

…and all was right with the world.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, kill me now, Princess Peanut, TweetQueen

All That Matters Is That I Will Have Gone to More Colleges Than Sarah Palin

January 25, 2013 By Queen of Spain 10 Comments

My treatments continue. They continue frequently enough that I joke I’m going to move into my rheumatologist’s office during treatment week just to make the commute easier.

All I need is a shower. I mean I’ve got my comfy pillows and blankets. There’s a tv. A fridge. I’m all set!

But as my life continues…as this ‘new normal’ continues…I need more.

Right now, I’ve become healthy enough to wake up, get the kids to school, take myself to treatment, come home, maybe cook dinner if treatment didn’t kick my ass too much, and rinse, lather, repeat.

Non-treatment weeks are better. I can handle some very light housework. Like maybe picking up some toys around the house, a load of laundry here and there. Dinner, dishes. You get the idea. But it all depends on the day. We’re trying some physical therapy, but that too depends on what my body is up to that week. Right now it hates the cold and all the pools are too cold for water therapy. I need a HOT TUB in order to exercise. So I walk the dog, but my doctor doesn’t really want me walking on concrete a ton so Nicky and I don’t go too far. We’re also eating rather well around here. I’m even working with a dietician to try to get these steroid side effects under control.

occasionally I go to a store. I say ‘a’ store because that too is about all I can handle. Well, that’s not entirely true. I could probably push myself and go crazy and run around all damn day but who are we kidding- I tried that and it only landed me admitted to the hospital up the road every few weeks. So while I might be capable of more, I’m limiting myself. Make no mistake, I loathe limiting myself. But I’ve learned I must if I want to live.

But part of learning my limits is also knowing when to expand them ever so slightly.

So as I start my next round of treatment, I will also be starting to close a chapter in my life I’ve been trying to close for twenty years.

TWENTY YEARS.

What many people may not know is that I never finished my degree.

I was one of those interns that interned herself right into a full-time gig. I was on-the-air reporting at 20 and anchoring by the time I was 22.

As a matter of just wanting to finish I tried to go back several times, but work always took over. There ended up being a string of universities and community colleges from Michigan to Ireland to Florida to California where I tried to wrap up what I had started.

Now I find myself disabled, IV in my arm every 2.5 weeks, and needing something more in my life than the endless string of lab results. No really, that’s what I get excited about these days. Lab results. Want to know what my last C-reactive protein was? I can tell you…

I can’t handle much. I can’t type for long, as my fingers cramp up. I can’t physically sit in class, so I have to attend only online courses that allow for me to make my own schedule around the days I’m doing well and the days I’m not doing so great…but I can handle a bit. And by ‘a bit’ I really mean a tiny bit. If I can sit here and read while being pumped full of IVIG, there is no reason I shouldn’t be reading a textbook. That’s my theory anyway.

So as of today, I’m officially, and once again, a student. I’m not much of a student, but I’m a student. 6 whole credit hours. Enrolled as ‘disabled’ which, I won’t lie, hurts a bit emotionally to check that box. But I am a student. Which is a step up from being incapable of getting out of bed, incapable of getting the kids to school, incapable of getting myself to the doctor. Slowly…slowly we’re adding things.

The kids are excited…they want me to do homework with them, at the kitchen table just like they do. I think they envision us all using crayons for projects together which makes me grin.

My husband is laughing, knowing that eventually I will have to leave the local community college online learning for a UC online learning system and he’s DYING at the thought I *might* graduate from someplace like USC (which pains me to type) … having been raised an Irish fan through and through.

My Mom is proud of me. This is a big step for her daughter who was losing organs left and right not too long ago and is now, finally, doing something for herself instead of trying to make sure everyone around her is still OK after the ‘crisis.’

She’s right, of course. Moms are like that. I’ve spent so long trying to get healthy but as the doctors worked to figure out HOW to get me healthy, I worked to make sure everyone around me was ok. That was my only concern. Because no one was ok. We’re still not OK. We’re adjusting. And I finally had to take a step back and realize we’re never going to be ok until I learn to make myself whole…to make myself happy…to make myself ME first.

I’m headed down that road now. And I couldn’t start down that path until the doctors figured out how to stabilize me. To make sure my organs were safe. To convince me I wasn’t going anywhere, that this was under control, relatively speaking, and life could move forward.

Life can move forward now.

For me. It’s going to move slowly, but it’s going to move. It’s going to move differently than it did before. I have to feed my mind. I have to do more than fret and hand-wring. There are going to be ups and downs with this and I am learning to build those ups and downs into my life plan. From my long-term life plan to my daily life plan. I’ve done all I can to try to take care of the kids, of my husband, of my family. I have done very little to take care of me.

That seems strange to write when all of this ‘crisis’ has been about me. Me. Me. Always about me. But trust me, in my head it’s been nothing but what it’s done to everyone else. What I have done to everyone else. What I continue to do.

So the next chapter starts as the others come to a close. With doctors having found a plan…finally. Finally after years we have a plan that appears to be working. Slowly. Very slowly. But working. With those I love doing what they need to do as life goes on. And with my stubborn self having learned limits, a bit of patience, a ton of self-control, and a new way of operating as a woman, wife, and mother with a chronic illness.

Scratch that…as a woman, wife, mother, and student with a chronic illness. Hopefully we’ll add graduate to that list this time around.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Auto-Immune Menu, Stepford Crazies

A President, Dr. King, and My High School: Forward

January 21, 2013 By Queen of Spain 2 Comments

Long ago, back when microwaves were new and we still used VHS tapes, I spent many long afternoons in the Journalism room at my old high school in St. Clair Shores, Michigan. During one of those late nights when we were rushing to get the school newspaper together (times I still think about and cherish more than any grown woman really should) I wrote an article arguing Martin Luther King Day should be celebrated by my high school.

At the time South Lake High did not recognize the holiday and if you were lucky one of your teachers might make you do a worksheet about Dr. King’s life…but I honestly don’t remember ever even doing that much.

We were a predominantly white school. Detroit was literally across the railroad tracks. You would never have known it was a holiday, or even an important day in history if you walked our halls in late January. Yet all around us Dr. King’s legacy was being honored…but no, not here. It was just another day in privileged suburbia.

My article was printed in the January edition of the Lancer and there were some who just thought I was asking for the day off. Of course had they read the damn thing they would note I advocated there to be LEARNING behind our acknowledgement of the holiday…yes, the angst filled teen in me lives on.

2013.

It has been 20 years since I graduated and I’m told there is no school on Monday.

I had to confirm the news with people back home. I’m still not entirely sure I believe it…but there is more. And it is making the inauguration of President Obama and the MLK celebrations that much sweeter.

South Lake will be hosting the annual Martin Luther King Day Celebration with the Youth Diversity Council and the Michigan Roundtable for Diversity and Inclusion. My child hood friend and fellow alum Edward Cardenas writes,

The event will honor the work Dr. Martin Luther King with a local flavor including the viewing of a student-produced video and presentation of a community quilt. The quilt, was the idea of South Lake Principal Carmen Kennedy, who is also the event’s keynote speaker.

Twenty years and I am finally seeing an amazing change. The celebration of Dr. King’s legacy at my high school…where what once was our all white and privileged hallways didn’t bat an eyelash as his birthday passed. A Youth Diversity Council! Just learning of this (which I understand has been going on for a while now) had me grinning ear to ear.

Yes, the demographics have changed as have the times but we have moved forward. And we continue to move forward as a nation. I’m not sure if the President knew just how appropriate that slogan was when he and his campaign asked the people for a second term.

That, just like my old high school, our nation must move forward and we must finish what we started.

FORWARD, hope, change…those were just a few of the reasons my children and I attended the Democratic National Convention to see the President speak and accept his party’s, OUR party’s, nomination for a second term.

So as the nation watches the President take the oath of office, I will be thinking of how much has changed since those days twenty years ago. And sadly, how much has not changed.

I will savor the good that has come of President Obama’s first term and prepare for the hard work that must continue in his second. I will think of the articles my children may write in high school, and how they will differ from my own in the hopes their battles are somehow not as profound, not as landmark. Yet I know each generation will have their challenges. Although that is almost the beauty of all of this really as we watch history unfold.

With the change we have already seen, and the hope of four more years…I have no doubt we will continue to move forward.

Together.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Obama '08, Obama2012

The Power of One

January 16, 2013 By Queen of Spain 14 Comments

I’ve been careful about leaving the news on while the kids are home. With the school shooting and other tragedies, it’s just been too much for them to see.

So imagine my surprise last night when a piece I thought was rather benign on the pollution issues in Beijing caused tears and hysterics in my living room.

My 9-year old son could not believe what he was seeing. He wanted to know how the earth could be so dirty and polluted and how we, as humans, could let this happen.

Is it the cars?
The factories?
All the things they make, like my Nerf guns?
Why don’t they care?
Why can’t they stop it?
What if that happens here in Los Angeles?
What about our country?
Why do businesses care more about money than fixing this?
Why isn’t ANYONE DOING ANYTHING?

And the tears were streaming. And I did my best to calm him down and tell him many people were trying to do things, but every country was different. And every country had different rules. And even in our country people are fighting those rules.

He thinks those of you fighting the rules are horrible people. He thinks anyone against EPA regulations aimed at helping the earth are good and true and just and he does not care if that means some people don’t have a job because they at least will be able to breathe and drink clean water. He tells me OTHER jobs can be created with new inventions that keep the planet CLEAN. He does not care if that means he does not get a certain toy, he no longer needs it or cares.

The images haunted him all day and night and he would periodically stop his video game to ask me how many people might get sick from that smog. How many people might die. How plants or trees might help.

Then at bedtime, as I tucked him in…he began to softly cry again. He didn’t think there was anything a 9-year old boy could do.

I told him he was wrong.

And now, dear friends, I want to show him he’s wrong.

Help me find things a 9-year old boy can do to help – from planting trees to raising money to joining Greenpeace to… whatever.

Show my son he can make a difference. Show him the power of one and how it then multiplies and creates a movement.

I KNOW there are others like him…others that are devastated to see pollution take over what he calls ‘those mountains that are so so beautiful I can’t even see them’ and ‘all those trees that they keep cutting down instead of letting grow big and tall…it makes me so mad Mom I just want to hit my pillow.’

Show him. Show him instead of hitting his pillow he can DO SOMETHING and it WILL MATTER.

Help me show him – leave a comment with your ideas. Please.

I know he can do something amazing with his passion and his talent.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

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