So, I have finished my book and am in a mild depression without it. But, figured I’d take the time to catch up. Every time I return, I vow to get more consistent, then life, apathy and angst intervene… It’s naptime though now so I’m stealing a minute. This will be a scatter-brained re-cap because so much has gone on. UPS: Max is “reading”. Slowly and with effort but it’s kind of amazing. I hope he takes to it like I did. If I can pass anything GOOD through my DNA I am hoping this is one… Another, everlasting immaturity. Another up: bootcamp is going well. While a couple camps are “slim” w/ summer vacationers and whatnot- others are VERY BIG. These are my “Mommy-based” camps with so many families staying home instead of traveling- why not work out? Love these campers. They help me everyday. UP: Doug. He just makes me laugh and love life even in the leanest times. Money- or lack thereof, is our greatest pressure and- while so many couples crumble under the stress of it- we seem to be rallying. Just sitting down and making a “game plan” seemed to relieve so much of that unknown, free floating anxiety. UP: Insurance finally approved and I got my MRI. Yes, they refused it initially because they are governed by satanic forces and Republicans. Mammograms are hard for me now because I don’t have a lot of “tissue:” to be squashed into that machine, so I need MRI’s to properly screen. Well, seems insurance only covers ONE. Period. Ever. Deeming others, “unnecessary”. Well, F-U very much, Anthem. My oncologist started his campaign- he was fully prepared for this- he deals with this type of BS every day- and got approval on the 3rd try. I went in last Wednesday and am awaiting, anxiously, my results. Sitting in that LOUD, insane tube for 45 minutes, completely still, just lets your brain go. One of the things that crossed my mind is how this type of test/activity is “normal” for me now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nerve-wracking and anxiety provoking and sparks resentment to no end but.. it is my deal now. Odd. So, I wait. I still have 1-2 surgeries left to go but we simply can’t afford the down time/loss of work and the deductible…. One Nipple McGee lives on.
DOWNS: We’re broke as ever. Have nasty credit card debit piling up and are in the process of trying to sort our own way out (with x-ferring balances, payment schedules, and cutting out every possible “extra” that we can…again.) since our re-fi did not happen and has a snowball’s chance in hell since we’re both unemployed and banks are…”cautious” to say the least. So, we buckle down, again. The only option I have to try and contribute MORE than the bootcamp is to return to writing and I can’t seem to pull the trigger on that. I suppose there’s something psychological at the root but, to tell the truth, I’m just too damn tired to try and dredge that crap up and “examine” it right now. Denial seems like a more restful option. Still, every day I see this bulletin board with the 5 index cards of a LONG abandoned project and it mocks me. I leave it there to do exactly that and every day- I avoid this blog in the same way. It’s on me- I know this, yet can’t seem to find the impetus to dig my way out. Other DOWN: My mom is drifting. It’s inevitable with Alzheimer’s but, every time I go visit, she’s a little slower to recognize me. Confuses the kids with friends’ kids, confuses me with her sister, etc- and every time she loses more of her Goddamned teeth. Seriously. She has a buncha partials in cause she’s lived on junk food and candy for 30+ years (You can bet your ass I’m flossing like a crack-head every night in light of this) and she just takes them out and… Well, we don’t know what. See I, the nurses, the techs and my Aunt have all SCOURED her rooms, her old apt, her dressers, pockets and more and… Nada. I have this vision of her taking one out, sneaking out of the home at 4am, taking a bus to Riverside, burying it, then returning. Well, I’m done replacing them- NO $ and they’re done so we’ll wait until she looks like one of those shrunken Apple-head things and see what to do then. Through it all- she’s still as funny, sassy and sarcastic as ever AND will NEVER forget that she’s a smoker. The ONE thing that might be beneficial to “leave behind” and it’s ironclad… DOWN: We are facing tuition for Max AND Scout this month (for September) and aren’t sure how we’ll do that. GOD I HATE THIS COUNTRY’S EDUCATION SYSTEM!!! THIS STATE ESPECIALLY! The fact that we’ll eventually have to pay $750.00 a MONTH for PRE-SCHOOL; coloring, painting and recess?!!! Makes me wanna get in a guntower with a rifle. The fact that our public schools- even the ones here in Burbank- “Blue Ribbon Schools” are so sub-standard that we are provided little option but to go private or Catholic to insure our kids’ entry into good colleges…? REALLY?! We’re a f-ing SUPERPOWER? We spend MORE on PRISON INMATES than we do one our CHILDREN- I FEEL LIKE I’M TAKING CRAZY PILLS HERE!!?
…Annnyyyway- we don’t even know where Scout will be going in Sept. she’s enrolled at Laurel (Where Max went) but it’s too expensive and in the opposite direction of Max’s school BUT the times are great 8:30-2:45 fits perfectly with our current groups/schedule & Max’s. Our other choice is a smaller school, a teeny bit cheaper and “on the way” to Max’s school BUT they only have openings 1:30-3:30 which screws us in every way, as well as her & nap. We have about 2 weeks to figure it out. WHEE. That’s my purge for now- hopefully will get more “regular”… Peace.

Well- my long absence again… it’s just life, people. Doug and I are, literally, working our tails off to stay afloat. We have a dude currently shopping to every Acme Mortgage Lender out there to see if ANYONE will handle/take on our re-fi so we can get lower rate and pull some $ out to get out of the credit card mess we got ourselves into during the Cancer year… It doesn’t look good. Yes, our credit is stellar. Yes, we have SICK equity in the house but- alas- banks no longer look favorably upon the “self-employed”. Our Debit to income ratio makes us the fat girls at the mortgage dance… So- all we can do is keep working. The camps are doing well- great in fact but we’re both stretched VERY thin- no pun intended. I would complain but we’re beating the odds- opening a new business in the midst of a recession, and we happen to REALLy love our clients.
In the meantime- life keeps coming. Max is currently in the last week of pre-school… He just turned 6 and we took him and Scout to Disneyland hotel for 2 nights & 3 days with some great friends to celebrate. It was… remarkable. When Doug & I walked into the room with them, we both got teary. It was as if we had walked onto the red carpet at Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. WE HAD ARRIVED. I don’t know if it was nostalgia from our childhoods or how hard we had struggled to get there or the sheer joy on the kids’ faces or all of it but it was pure magic. The whole trip. Great friends, horrible fashion, junk food, no sleep and a LOT of laughs… Magical. We’re still riding high from it. I am having some feelings about this birthday of Max’s. For some reason 6 seems so… Big. I can’t believe it. And it just keeps coming; Scout is totally potty trained- I have left diapers behind forever and she’s going to start pre-school tomorrow. She got into this sweet, smaller school (not where Max is leaving because it was too expensive and in the opposite direction of Max’s K-8th so we applied) About that: they won’t give me a definite re; her entry in the fall and I’m kind of freaking out. We’re about to tell Laurel that she won’t be attending, because they want her 1st month’s tuition- and we’re “jumping without a net”. This new place- Westminster Presbyterian (Wow- for a heathen- I sure got a LOT of God going on…) has informed me that her chances are very good if she’s enrolled in the summer program, hence her starting tomorrow. She WAS supposed to start today but- MOTHER OF THE DECADE- totally spaced and didn’t look at her papers until too late. I called and the director assured me that plenty of other parents fuck up way worse… (She may have used different verbiage.) Anyway- I will be taking her in with Doug tomorrow with her new Princess lunchbox and a LOT of Kleenex for me… It’s only 9-12 but it will be so strange not having my little “road dog” around in the mornings. Max starts summer camp next week and I am already trying to figure out what I’ll be doing… I’ve been in charge of kids for so long. I’d like to think I’ll use the time to write. I really, really NEED to – it’s my only option to try and get us out of debt- but I’m SO rusty… And tired. 3-4 bootcamps a day will really tax a gal.
A few weeks ago I received $300.00 in hundred dollar bills in the mail. There was a typed note: “I just thought you could really use this”. No name, no address… couldn’t even make out the postmark. I posted on FB about it- a thank you. I cried upon opening the letter. One, that someone was so kind and thoughtful and generous and two- that we were the ones who needed it. I bought groceries for it and sent up a thank you to the Universe. I think I was way less of an asshole to people that week- just in case it was someone I encountered in my daily rounds… If you are a blog reader- dear, generous friend… send more. Just kidding- your actions were so appreciated and welcomed and it touched us very deeply. I am hoping that- someday soon- we will be in a better $ position to “pay it forward”.
As of now, we’re looking forward to July 4th, the summer, more milestones, more marks on the doorway as the kids keep growing and amazing us and more of whatever may come our way. Yes- we’re still broke but, God-damn, we have a good time…

So, yes- obscure- I blame lack of sleep. The first is in reference to Scout- who is potty training. It’s a full ahead of Max and I’m chocking that up to a girl/2nd child thing. It’s not a second too soon though because we’ve been looking at pre-schools for her. (The cost of Max’s school is getting daunting now that we’re on our own and will have to pay for both of them and… I’m ready for a change of scenery. The year before last was so magic and ended so badly with all the drama that I am a different Preschool Parent this year. I am a ghost. I go in, pick up and leave. I know a couple people well enough to say hello and make BRIEF, non-intimate nice-nice- then leave. I’ve learned my lesson. Anyway- I’m looking for a change and a drop in $.) So, the svhool that I LOVED is much smaller, closer and cheaper. Only drawback; they need to be potty trained to start. Ooookkkkayyyy. So, we’re “fast-tracking” her. Skittles rewards, princess underwear, constant praise and so far… it seems to be working. Though, I will say that the sheer convenience of a boy being able to just drop trou and pee “in nature” in an emergency is grand and I already miss it. She’s already a Viking- I can just picture her copping a squat in the middle of the playground because mommy “taught her”. So far so good though and I am impressed and proud. It’s amazing what a tiny amount of liquid or- dare I dream- a turd can do to change your whole mood. I used to take drugs for this. Imagine.
The “envy” is in relation to my latest t.v. obsession/writing block enabler: The Real Housewives. Now, I have been flipping back and forth betwen the Jersey broads and the New York ones. I hate some, am amazed, in a car crash kind of way by others, some I enjoy but mostly… THE FRIGGIN’ CASH these bitches spend??!!! SERIOUSLY?! I don’t know where it comes from but- f-ing A- we’re in a recession and these hags are dumpin’ cabbage like it was an Irish wake… I live in a constant state of; “MONEY IS WASTED ON THE RICH.”
…and still, I watch.

So- have been so spazzy and sporadic- have neglected to mention and give full attention to the REVLON 5K RUN/WALK to help fight womens’ Cancers. Bettina, one of my campers brought it up and talked me into starting a team. Well, we’re now 32 strong and have raised almost $4,500.00 to date. VERY PROUD. It takes place next Sat, May 8th and we’re doing a “Rosie The Riveter” theme”… Because if we can’t be the biggest, richest or fastest- we’re DAMN sure gonna be the most stylie.
ANYWAY! Got an email from my DEAR, hilarious, amazing pal PAIGE yesterday and am re-posting it below because it was just too amazing to keep to myself. She rules in ways I can’t even write about… But, see for yourself: I bring you PAIGE (Today’s guest BLOGGER:)

The First Mile

eardrums hungry with appetite for “The Boss”.
he lays down “10th Avenue Freeze Out”, and my pace feels lively.
not sentimental melody, but mindless. a good beat. i give it an “8″.
i shift into more than anyone’s fair share of “earth wind and fire”;
reminded of the days i waited tables on Anthony Kiedis, Steven Speielberg, and Peter Fonda.
playing cymbals and drums as the treadmill belt takes me where i think i’m going.

heart rate 145

The Second Mile

further into the playlist, tunes equally mindless, beats are driving. cake, b-52’s, inxs.
scenes are projected on the empty brick wall across from me.
jack crying earlier in the day. my lack of empathy. cailyn sucking her thumb at school. doubting choices.
new ideas, solutions to problems, retorts to unfinished arguments. i am prolific.

nearing the end of Mile 2
Brian Setzer Orchestra..
swinging with each step. brass blaring. and he says, “BEAUTIFUL!”
it is.
if my body could do what my ears are hearing…i’d be…well, i’d be dancing.
like Brooke.
she swing dances.
she lives. she lives. she lives. she is living with cancer. sort of.
one new breast. one old one. new hormones. sweaty.
all kinds of crazy funny. all kinds of epic courage.
i start to cry.
blink.
blink.
blink.
INHALE!!!!!
more surging love. more aching at this world.
my friends who are grieving. my friends who are struggling. my friends who are trying to embrace the unknown, bravely trusting, holding fears at bay.
a flood of souls, mandalas of yearning, longing, fighting, winning and resting
in life and love.
i miss my father.

The Third Mile

Under Pressure-Bowie and Queen.
welcome, gentlemen.
pace back up.
‘how are the kids in childcare? i hope jack isn’t hitting.”
Jackson 5-Dancin’ Machine…
How the hell did they expect Michael not to be screwed up? He’s 10 years old singing about sex!!!
almost finished…sweating good. heart rate160. is that good?
David Byrne.
AND SHE WAS, repeat. AND SHE WAS, repeat. AND SHE WAS.
and i was.

walking up the stairs, stretch in private.
Yoyo Ma…
laying on my back. staring at ceiling.
these are the same eyes that will be staring out of an old person’s body.
Slaughterhouse Five moment.
beautiful, surreal, presently blissful.

love,
paige

ps, i will be participating in the Revlon 5K. the above is my training regimen.

Me & Bobbie (I look like this cause it's only Mile 6...)

Fuck you, Cancer.

Have been held up from posting about it and anything else by a bermuda triangle of household anarchy including our DSL chugging down to dial up speed. (Wow, remember the days when that was okay? Now, if it takes longer than 3 seconds, I find myself punching the return key through the top of my desk…) Anyway- back to normal, now and here we are. I am still hobbled from the experience but it was well worth it. Leading up to this I was getting more and more anxious (Read: “A total bitch to my gracious hubby…”)because I knew that I had not trained properly and that I was not a natural or gifted “runner”. My knees (And the rest of my 42 years of hard-living self, for that matter) are not designed for distance. It’s my experience that they go out at about mile 11… Anyway- the day of the race: Get up at NO o’clock, haul the kids in their P.J.’s into the car w/ blankets and mini boxes of fruit loops. They thought it was Christmas, they were so excited. (Note: Give a kid a mini box of sugary cereal and you can buy yourself a good section of time/peace.) Anyway- Doug & kids drop me off at Dodger’s Stadium at 6am with a fanny pack full of Race Gels. (This is a goo in a tube designed to A) give you energy, fuel/carbs during a long run and B) to make you gag so violently in public that people around you stop and stare or scoot away quickly in fear of being pelted with a hair-ball.) I make my way down to where it looks like I have to be. I am early. The sun starts to rise. It is beautiful. The mood is euphoric. Lots of other 1st timers (This new course was amazing and sold out FAST!) and we’re all chatty, nervous and polite. The MC announces the elite runners- i.e. Kenyans and they take off. The gen. start is 15 min off.
Of course, I have to pee. The line is around the block. (MAN- I GET JEALOUS OF DUDES IN THESE CASES) Bla-bla-bla- I’m back at the start, milling about in a sea of people. The national anthem is sung, I cry. They start the race to “I Love L.A.”, I cry and then I have to shuffle and walk for 10 minutes before I even cross the start line because we’re so many and so far back. I dash for the porta-potties, speed pee and I’m on my way. The city really is amazing. I started off all ready to listen to audio books, podcasts and the like and turned it all off after 10 minutes. The sights were too nice and there were bands and crowds and people cheering you on at every corner. It really was L.A. on it’s best behavior, which is rare so I chose to drink it in. I run for about 5 miles and suddenly, one of my bootcampers, Bettina, jumps out at me, screaming and cheering. I cry and jog about 100 yards with her.
Awesome. At mile 6 I see (and was expecting) Bobbie- another friend/camper. She dashes out from the sidelines and runs with me for 5 (?) miles. Entertaining me, supporting me and just being the amazing woman that she is. At mile 8 we see Susan- another camper with her kids (Who look at me like; “You’re the reason she dragged us here?!”) and she snaps a pic. We continue. All along the way I am touched and awestruck buy the PEOPLE. There were “Legacy Racers”- people who ran the 1st and every consecutive L.A. Marathon for the last 25 years, there were kids- running with a program to train kids and help at risk youth and friends running together, I saw running Elvises, Pokemon’s, Kermit, a banana, and a Marilyn Monroe… Ahh- L.A. I see my Dad & Stepmom at mile 11- take pix and continue. Around the corner I see 3 hysterical women jumping up and down and screaming…

WAIT! THOSE ARE MY INSANE LADIES!

It was Estrella, Jen & Cara- 3 of my die hard, O.G. campers and now dear friends. They were awesome as they ran another mile with me. Then Stuart at mile 16… when it was getting really bad. My ankle hurt- took off the brace that started to chafe and make me bleed and handed it to him, readjusted my knee and I.T. band braces and went on. At mile 18 was Chuck and his family. I had never met his daughter and I know I totally freaked her out as Robin, mommy, held her and they jogged beside me… In between, at this point it was all pain. My knee was on fire. The rest of me was great but the pain only allowed me to run in spurts. All along the way, more stories. People running in braces, old, young, some flying by, others on the corner or curb, spent and exhausted. At no point did I consider stopping but I didn’t know if my knees would just up and do it for me. I hobbled on. At mile 18/19 was my girl, Joelene. One of my BFF’s. I knew she would be there but when I laid eyes on her my heart swelled. There she is- all gung-ho with “TEAM BROOKE” written down both her arms. She’s excited and amazing and we start off. I tell her to distract me, to talk- she does. Every now and then- she checks in; “How ya doin’?” “Fine”, I grunt. We continue. She talks more. God Bless her, she had collected stories of the origins of the marathon just for me. (Of course, she neglected to include the part where the 1st runner, a Greek who ran 26.2 miles then dropped dead…) but the heart was there. All heart. She is not a runner and that woman went the entire distance with me. Walking when I needed, running when I could… getting me water, quietly cheering me; “You got this, this is nothing- you’re almost there…” then openly humiliating me; “HEY, LET’S HEAR IT FOR MY FRIEND BROOKE!!!” to the crowd. (See, the friendship includes an “Embarrassment Clause” where if ever the opportunity arises to mortify the other, we are obligated to seize it. She spared no opportunity- knowing that I was defenseless…) Around mile 21 I kind of went… away. I got quiet and it was all very surreal. At this point, another dear pal, Lindsay joined us- who, not thinking she could run, ended up running with us in her converse and designer jeans. The two of them went on either side of me and -literally- guided me in. They were remarkable, heroic and brilliant. My gratitude and love for them for this is beyond description. At mile 26- with .2 miles left, they escort all non-entrants off- I bid them goodbye and jogged toward the finish. Here it was at it’s most surreal. Having gone that far, it’s almost unbelievable to be staring at the actual finish line. The road was cordoned off and packed with people cheering, watching, staring. Just like in the movies- all sound went off and I just heard my feet on the pavement. Some older guy is finished and standing about 20 yards in front of the line- waving others in, cheering them on- I don’t hear anything out of his mouth…

I cross, holding up both my hands so Jo & Linds can see from 6 deep in the crowd. I take about 10 steps forward, dazed and broken. Someone puts a medal around my neck. I look up. There’s a photographer standing there. A young girl.

Like she knows me, reverent, she says: ” You just finished a marathon. Can I take your picture?”

I burst out crying, hold up a peace sign, “Sure.”

It’s captured on film. Wow- I look bad, but goddamn if it’s not one of the greatest pictures I’ve ever seen.

The race is kind of a solitary, internal, reflective thing. You review your life. You talk yourself up. You threaten yourself. You go to war with your body, you KEEP GOING. You think and feel and RUN some more… all on your own but still- I had someone with me almost every step of the way, God Bless them all. My love for each knows no bounds (And, as it turns out, the few who came out and totally missed me in the crowd- still as grateful and amazing.) After- I had no idea what to do. I just wanted to see my family but they keep the finishers blocked off. I call Doug, crying. They’re FAR away, on the beach- I can’t get there- legs are done. He says he’ll come to me. I grab a banana, a water, walk to some grass and collapse. 10 min… 15… I call him. He’s stuck in the crowd. I say I’ll come meet them. Again, I hobble up and limp through the throngs. Still high. I am walking down a blocked off section of Broadway towards 3rd street promenade and hear, “MOMMY!”
I look up and the 2 most beautiful, filthiest and amazing kids are running towards me. Doug stands behind them- proud. Very proud.
I scoop them up (Thank God they’re well schooled on “Mommy’s Happy Cry”) and am complete.

This is why. My friends are why. Max & Scout are why. Doug is why. Cancer is why… I did it.