Our First Oliversary

We started the day with our weekly pilgrimage to baby storytime. Instead of participating (she has stomped her feet and flapped her arms on occasion in the past when she was happy and knew it) she poked a gigantic 5 foot stuffed black bear that lives at the library in the left eyeball for much of the 30 minute program. There was also squealing, and pointing pointer fingers that proclaimed over and over "DOG!" "No baby, that's a b-b-bearrr." "DOG!" Pappy, aka my dad, came along too.

Olive was hungry (because the girl still eats no less than bi-hourly)(and poops thrice daily) we decided to bagel, because if you're turning one and your mean parents won't let you have pizza, what else would you want? (Play along and don't say cake.)

While we waited for our food, Pappy presented her with her first flower from a boy.























(Did you know that Olive, at a mere 8 months old, inspired us to invent a new term? Bagel booger. It's just what you're envisioning, only stickier. And boogeryer.)

Our bellies full of carbs, the girls (my mom, Olive and I) headed off for more carbs at high tea. My mom always comes up with great excuses for us to go. Olive's first birthday was one of her better ones.
















(PS My mom wants me to share with tea-goers of the world that the high tea at Neiman Marcus (where we took Olive for high tea in January) at Union Square in San Francisco now sucks. It used to be way cooler when I was a kid, but now it "sucks." It was even acceptable a few years ago when we took the Cracker. But now it "sucks." PSA over.)

From the tray I shared with my daughter a slice of radish. She looooved it. Score me! While my mom and I ate the good stuff, Olive had her very favorite, banana sucked through a mesh bag. Now, I am not crazy, I do not think she is going to choke on a squishy banana. But Olive? She has this thing about bananas. In a bag? HER FRICKIN FAVORITE OMG NOM NOM! Outside of a bag? Not to be trusted. Poke, poke, launch!
























I am not totally mean. I did give her a few tastes of clotted cream. "Do you think she likes it?" "Mom, SHE'S CLAPPING. Yeah, I think she likes it just fine."

Outside she had a blast petting a fake dog. Olive is obsessed with DOGS. The girl has this crazy squeal that is reserved only for DOG spotting.























(Too bad we are not dog owning* (insert your own more PC term here) people. We love dogs, but we are not up to sharing our home with one. We love your dog, but we do not want our own dog. Our house is plenty full with cat gak and piss and I have more crazy than I can handle right now. But! if your dog would like to go for a walk, Olive and I would love to take him. Or her.)























The hat is hiding banana bag hair, her shirt is untucked, and her skirt is too long even though it's 12-18 mos. But her shoes are peep-toed and silver = awesome. (Not to be confused with her silver ballet slippers. Totally different. The toe-peeping is totally better in the dog picture.)

We did some boring stuff and then picked up the Cracker from school and went to eat a-gain! This time it was my choice, since I did birth her and all. (Okay, so really she kinda birthed herself since her head was already out and no one KNEW IT and I didn't push, just didn't sneeze or cough because OMG she's on her way and people needed to gown-up and put on gloves actually don't even breath because we don't want her to land on the floor. But I should still get to pick the food.)


















Olive signs "all done!" Yes, we know this isn't the official sign that deaf people use, but it is the sign her big brother used back when, and we have chosen to pass it on to her as well. So we've broken two children. Deal.


















Happy birthday my little Olive. Believe it or not, having you to keep me company all day long keeps Mommy sane. Not only do you love me in that special way that babies love their mommies, you crack me up. Lately I especially love watching you try to cram yourself into the Little People house. I think it looks fun in there too! But for your second year of life I will try to teach you about scale.

I love you. xoxo

Q & A with Heidi II

What about your mom's health?

There are signs. I see them, my dad sees them too. I still ask myself if it's just the stress of it all. Maybe it's stress. People under extreme stress are not themselves. Is it stress? Or is it tumors? It could be stress, right? But even my stupid heart know that stress doesn't make you go from wide awake to SNAP! bent in half at the waist, nose at your knees, in a mini coma. I have made myself sick and crazy, and the only conclusion I have been able to draw is that it's inevitable. Impressive, eh? I'm not a doctor, I don't know when, but things are not getting better and they are not even staying the same. They are worse.

I'd like to say that thankfully she has no idea, but I think she does.

Today, Thursday, she will take her last dose of chemo round three. The scan taken after radiation and the first chemo round showed two new spots. Officially they aren't cancer until you have them biopsied, but you know, patient with aggressive brain cancer is sporting two shiny somethings. Yeah, that. Turns out my mom is allergic to the chemo drug of choice (Tem.odar) and breaks out in a horrible, itchy as hell rash that persists for weeks, the likes of which even her doctors (*top* experts in the field of this very specific type of tumor at UCSF) have never seen. The only other option she's been presented with to date is the gamma knife, which is a big hell no nuh uh not even gonna consider it. The drug they've been giving her (Hydro.xyzine? or is that something I've taken?) to combat the rash is not cutting it. Standard chemo protocol would be 12 months/rounds and then reevaluate IF you make it that long. Before she even took the first dose there was a lot of I'll give it three months and then I think I'll be done talk.

My mom's goal was to make it to Olive's first birthday, April 16th, 2009. One week from today.

Q & A with Heidi

How's your mom?

In a word? Angry. No, wait, I take that back. She is fucking angry. Two worder.

In March her favorite topic was how unfair it is that people with DUIs can drive and she can't. April's topic is how unfair it is that people can take Claritin and Benadryl and drive and she can't.

Not. Kidding. Not even exaggerating. Hour after hour after agonizing hour.

No matter how much she pleads, do not tell her the truth. You know, that a few months ago she had a craniotomy, that they removed 15% of her brain, or that just like before she can technically see but not process things on her left side, or gently suggest the possibility that most patients will eventually have seizures again despite antiseizure medication even though you know she won't, because OMG do not go THERE.

Have you talked to a tumor lately?


Yesterday, as I pushed Olive around in a cart at Target, (ignoring her cuteness, shopping, and agreeing over and over again on the phone with my mom that people who take allergy medication and drive should be beheaded,) I kept crossing paths with another mom who had a baby close to Olive's age. She was carrying her baby in an Ergo, and it seemed like every time I ran into her she was kissing the baby's head. I had this ridiculous urge to tell her that I have an Ergo too! In my car! That I also love absentmindedly kissing Olive's head as I shop! But that I can't do that and talk to my mom on the phone at the same time because Olive is all about phones and buttons and will not leave them alone and that I am not the shittiest mom ever just trying to be a good listener to my mom who has cancer. Do they make signs for that?


(Olive has declared nap time over. More to come, because there is so much more...)

Old MacDonald Revisited

For the longest time the Cracker's word for farm was E-I-E-O. Me = pile of goo.

Oh Olive. You go girl.