An open letter for her

Bernadette, I don’t hardly know where to being this. How to sum up a life long friendship that has had its ups, downs and trials. One that has always, no matter what, brought us back to the same team, fighting for the same side.

We met young, in 5th grade at a slumber party, instant friends.What luck, I have no idea how you knew her, you didn’t go to our school but what luck for me. The rest as they say is history. But ours is a history that shouldnt be left as such a simple statement. We spent years walking back and forth to each others house where we’d just talk for hours about things that I couldn’t talk about with anyone else. Things happening at home, which come to find out, were happening in yours, too. About how hard it was to be the oldest, again, you were too.  About school and boys and life.

 I practically lived in your dorm room. I’m so grateful to Vanessa for being so cool with my being there so often. You were my escape, you’ve always been. You introduced me to Kim, the one whom I hope will join us in Arizona for our golden girls era.  We met Rhys and Brooke.  A little later we would share a house with Rhys. This was our hardest year as friends. We had to find out the hard way that “they” were right, you cannot live with your best friend, though I think we could now, as we are both much more mature than we were at 20. I wasnt sure we’d get past that but you invited me out to dinner and told me that you were moving out, I remember being sad. You handled it so well, telling me we’d be okay. We were, of course. Better than okay. Duh.

The night of my first date with Mike you were working at the radio station and I sunk away to come tell you how it was going. “I like him! I really like him!” Which you later quoted in a toast at our rehearsal dinner. You were my bridesmaid (honorary maid of honor, really) You’ve always been my cheering section. Buy that house! Move to NC! Marry Him! Laughing when I was expecting a boy, what I wanted yes, but how in the hell was a I going to raise a boy? You supported me when I need support, giving me the hard truth when no one else would. “Sex is not love.” I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without you. Without your love.

Now your sick and I hope I’ve been half of the friend you’ve been to me. I don’t really remember being so supportive but maybe that’s because it’s just what we do, we only really recal what we’ve done for each other rather than how we’ve helped each other, still, I hope.

When Kim called to tell me I broke but only for a second. I composed myself to listen to it all, to really hear her. But what I heard the loudest is you asked her to call me. You couldn’t tell me yourself. It took me a long time to get it, in fact, I don’t think I really did until I saw the pictures of your hair. And let me tell you, I’ve never been so pissed off at hair. Or so proud of you. Facing it head on. But it was when I saw that I finally moved from shock to pain. I’ve been there since.

I feel so guilty. I know this isn’t about me, not in the least. But here I am. Feeling awful, I have kids. Why. Why? Why do I get a family and you do not. Survivors guilt. A dish best served cold or you know, not at all.

I can’t get you out of my mind. Every pink ribbon I see, gift shop I enter, website I visit, I’m thinking of you, scouring for something that might be special that I can send you. Something meaningful but then I think maybe you don’t want a house full of “cancer mementos,” you know?  The truth is I am paralyzed, I don’t have a clue what to do.

You got your port last week, the day after your birthday, the day before Thanksgiving; shit sandwich. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes filled with tears.I stared at the picture for too long. Your caption describing how it worked, about the part that stays in for life, incase the cancer comes back. About how the drugs go INTO YOUR HEART. About how you are fascinated by the medicine and the science behind your treatment. Sounding so strong and so ready. But I mostly stopped at your cocked crooked smile. I know that “smile” the one that’s says I can laugh or I can cry but dammit, Bernadette is not a crier! We both know I’m a crier and do enough for both of us. I want you to know it’s okay to cry, B. It’s okay to be mad. It’s okay.

You start chemo next week and again I don’t know what to say or do. I want to be with you. I want to read to you and bring you tea and paint your toes and make you soup. I just want to take care of you. I want to help. I want to fight for you. I want to cry. I want to cry a lot.

Mostly, I just want you to know how much I admire you. You are the strongest woman I know. You will fight, you will win. And I know you, this will change you for the better. You will have a new cape, one with a message. One that, when you’re ready, will help other women, because that’s just who you are.

I love you, B!

C

Knock it off

This past week was much better so I got to work on the kids playroom. A room that has been in my head for years, finally coming to fruition. It’s been a load of work getting what was in the space out and the new in. The storage room looks like a bomb went off and at such a bad time since we are having a new furnace, air conditioner and humidifier installed next week. I’ve got to have it all cleaned out in time, but this isn’t about that, it’s about the play room.

I painted one wall in chalkboard paint, covered another in maps and have a slew of other diy stuff going on for both decor and function. I made a Pottery Barn Kids clip ruler knock off and for a fraction of the cost. My 2 were $4 total, PBK, $49 each.

Not identical but the same idea. I will hang the kids art work from the clips. I picked up the ruler shelvs at a junk shop for $1.50 each and got a bag of clothes pins for $0.98. I’m pretty happy with how they turned out. The room isn’t done just yet but I am hoping to get it done by Tuesday night, in time for our thanksgiving guests arrive for the rest of the week. Nate would love to show his cousins this room, it’s all he’s been talking about. Well, that and that Santa can use our bathroom if he wants because he has a penis. Boys, wow.

No sleep till Brooklyn

I don’t remember being this tired when Nate was a baby though I’m pretty sure I was. He didn’t sleep through the night until he was five months old. I remember his schedule well, nursing on demand during the day, bedtime at 7, up at 1 and 5 back to sleep until 8. I was lucky, he was a good sleeper but he went down hard. I had to rock him or pace the room for hours, he was so hard to put down, always crying, wanting more time in my arms. It was hard. I know I was worn down but with him it was just him, I could sleep when he slept and I did.  Ben is a shit napper. Shit. Like, 20 minutes here, maybe an hour there. The payoff, I guess, is that he goes down easy. He nurses fast and goes down like he’s been waiting his whole life for his bed. I’m in and out in 25 minutes.Thank god, too. He’s up and then he’s up again and most nights I see him 4 times before Nate is up and then it’s over,it doesn’t matter how much longer he sleeps.

Nate’s naps are getting sporadic. I wonder how much longer he will even sleep. Some days it’s an amazing three hours and other days he just plays until I let him out. One of my best ideas was “quiet time” he was freaking out over naps and I decided to nix calling it nap time and told him he could read or play quietly but we both needed some time to ourselves. This was when I was hugely pregnant and needing the rest. It worked. At least I get an hour with him in his room a day.

You can’t get much done in an hour. Today I was asleep just long enough to start to drool when Ben woke up so I let Nate out, too. I didn’t know how I would survive one more minute. I still don’t. I am so tired I feel it in my bones. My limbs are heavy and my muscles are a little achy, I feel a little nauseous, I get dizzy a lot and my mind is on some sort of delay. I was at the post office today and the man at the counter asked me a question and I just stared at him and apologized, pointed at the baby and told him “sorry, I’ve been awake for 5 months.”

I went cold turkey on caffeine last week. I started drinking it a while ago, slowly at first.Half a can of diet coke for a few days to see if Ben had any reaction and then amped it back up to one or two a day and sometimes a latte on top of it. But then I got so damn tired I decided it needed to kick it and see if it helped Ben sleep. If it did I wouldn’t need it so badly, I had to give it a shot.  He’s much more content, hanging out on a blanket with toys or watching his mobile. He’s not crying as much or needing to be held all day. But he’s still up at least three times between 11 and 6. So who knows. He still only poops once a week no matter how much fiber 1 I force feed myself and god knows I’d be pissed if I only went once a week, too.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. It’s really just a bunch of paragraphs that boil down to me being dead tired and hoping with all of my remaining uncaffeinated energy that this ends soon. I know I will survive whether it does or doesn’t but sooner would be so much better than later. But for all I know this will go on forever,birthed one of those people who go their whole lives without needing more than 4 hours per night. Sweet Jesus, that would be just my luck.