This Is My Winter Song

What would you think if I were to tell you that I really hate the week between Christmas and New Year's? 

After all the anticipation, the parties and events, the endless sweets, the shopping, the stress of getting the gifts just right, there is such an emotional let down after the last package is opened.

Christmas decorations start to look pathetic to me. Driving around town, I see wreaths looking bedraggled, strands of Christmas lights drooping, outdoor holiday displays in disarray. The sky and the landscape are all in shades of gray and brown, making it difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

It's downright depressing.

And then my personal soundtrack during this time of limbo plays this song by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson. The melody is haunting and causes me to feel cold down to my very core. And that's without even paying attention to the lyrics, which I don't because they are so very sad.

Come on, New Year. I'm waiting.

Well, I Certainly Learned Something

Things I have learned while cleaning out a preschool craft closet located in the very bowels of the church:

Mice are not nice, contrary to what cartoons may suggest.

NOT. CUTE.

"Good enough" really isn't good enough.

100+ year old buildings have many, many nooks and crannies in them.

Mice do not like rice.

But birdseed? That, they like. A lot.

If everyone treated everything like it was something precious to them, there would be less closets to clean out.

Please don't look in the closets at my house.

For some tasks, there just isn't enough chocolate.

The storage container companies should get together and make their lids interchangeable. 

If nearly everything from INSIDE a closet is piled OUTSIDE a closet, completely blocking the only exit, and if I should HAPPEN to see a mouse where I wasn't EXPECTING to see a mouse, I can find myself on the other side of that pile of closet contents without knowing how I got there.

Leaving LOTS AND LOTS OF BIRDSEED in a closet without putting it inside tightly sealed containers means you're just ASKING for it.

Powdered heavy-duty latex gloves suck all the moisture out of my hands.

Which is a conundrum, because they also make my hands sweat.

Glitter doesn't vacuum up very well. Neither does ultra-fine play sand. Using a crappy vacuum cleaner doesn't make it any better.

Know how to make yourself really aggravated? Take a container that has the contents of a large bottle of glitter spilled inside it and then accidentally dump it on the carpet.

There IS such a thing as saving too many empty baby food jars.

Whatever horrible, disfiguring disease I might get from breathing in mouse poo is still better than the claustrophobic feeling I get when wearing a mask over my nose and mouth.

If I had a dollar, no, even just a PENNY, for every grain of rice in that closet (most of which has been dyed every color of the rainbow), I would be writing this from a warm, beachy kind of place.

And, in case you are interested, the current tally is Mouse 3, Dyanne 1. Just remember, she who laughs last did NOT get caught in a glueboard or trap.

(Okay, yes, I DID get my gloved hand caught in a glueboard while I was working on the closet. I'd have just glossed over that if it weren't for the fact that I had several witnesses see me do it.)

12 Days, Preschool Style

The Twelve Days of Christmas, Preschool Style

On the 12th day of Christmas, my preschoolers gave to me:

12 smashed goldfish crackers

11 broken crayons

10 runny noses

9 block towers

8 gluey messes

7 squabbles ended

6 playdough sculptures

5 untied shoes

4 boo boos kissed

3 juice spills

2 pee pee dances

Aaaaand one sitting in the sad chair 

And Then I Don't Feel So Baaaaaaad

Snapping out of my funk. Going to think of a few of my favorite things (cue Julie Andrews):

Preschoolers.

Unexpected messages from friends.

Okay, ANY messages from friends.

Finding money in a pocket.


Baby toes.

Good hair days.

Warm, snuggy pajamas on a cold night.




Paying for something in a store, only to find out it costs even less than marked.

Reading a really good book (that obviously excludes the "50 Shades" trilogy).

Hearing a song on the radio from high school and enjoying the memory attached.

Pretty underwear.

Spending time with my person.

Grilled cheese sandwiches.

Having my hair washed at the hair dresser's.

The smell of a hardware store.



Bubble baths. 

Working with bread dough (very Zen of me, I know).

Double stuffed Oreos.

A brand new box of Crayons.





The Peter Pan ride at Disneyland.

Cousins

Do I even have to say "Diet Coke" or is that a given?

Okay, Diet Coke.

Yep, feeling better....

No Words

Children shouldn't die.

That's all.

Still Stuck And It Still Sucks

Continuing my pessimistic and whiny streak with more things that suck....

Itches that can't be scratched because the nerves don't connect.

Having to pee when the cat is all comfy and cozy on your lap.

Spilling sugar on the floor.

Cute sweaters that turn out to be 100% acrylic.

Crying in front of people.

Cheap tissues.

Clif bars.

Bridges that go over any kind of water, from ditch to bay.

Static electricity.

Coconut flavoring.

That a knife has been missing from the knife block in the kitchen for MONTHS and NO ONE in the house has any explanation for it.

Hiccups.

Infomercials.

Easily accomplished in JoMo....

Sitting at a railroad crossing, waiting endlessly for a coal train to go by.

Not being able to drive across town without crossing at least one railroad track, increasing your odds of having a coal train cross your path and having to wait endlessly....





Cancer.

Little rubber bands from braces lying ALL OVER THE HOUSE.

Matching socks.


The price per pound of bacon.

Friends who live too far away to see regularly.

Maybe I've gotten it all out of my system now. Then again, maybe not....

Not Feeling It

Frame of mind still decidedly pessimistic; therefore, a list of things that suck:

Hot flashes.

Stupid people who are given driver's licenses and who then proceed to GET IN MY WAY when I'm trying to drive somewhere.

Sweet salads that turn out to have cottage cheese in them.

Wet newspapers.

YUUUUUUUUCKY

Eggs.

Hot flashes.

Scooping the litter box.

Sinus infections.

Anything involving car repairs.

Doing laundry.

Hot flashes.

Feeling left out or forgotten.

Cheeseburgers.

Charlie horses.

Realizing you really need reading glasses.

Tornadoes.

Hot flashes.

Hitting your head hard on something and having no one to blame but yourself.

Celery.

Insomnia.

Constantly misplacing stuff. Constantly. 

Achy bones. 

Achy anything.

I'm done for now. There WILL be a sequel....

Stuck In Reverse....

When you try your best but you don't succeedWhen you get what you want but not what you needWhen you feel so tired but you can't sleepStuck in reverse....


Sometimes, hormones take over, and even the BEST HAIR DAY EVER can't fix it. 

BRA Day (And It's Not What You Think)

There's a Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day and I MISSED IT?! HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS?

A recent article in the Kansas City Star about breast reconstruction stated the American Society of Plastic Surgeons launched the first BRA Day (cute, I know) on October 17 of this year. The purpose of the campaign was to promote awareness and patient access to breast reconstruction. May I say, American Society of Plastic Surgeons, LOUSY JOB WITH THE PUBLICITY! If the Joplin Globe hadn't picked up a truncated version of this article (probably as filler) I wouldn't have known about it still.

The article went on to talk about a woman who visits cancer patients at KU Med Center who are facing mastectomy and breast reconstruction and talks to them about her reconstruction procedure, allowing them to take a look at her own reconstructed breasts. And the article also talked about a "show and tell" in New Orleans, with reconstruction patients revealing their new breasts to other cancer patients.

Apparently, it is NOT usual for women who have had breast reconstruction to show their new breasts to others.

WHAAAAA???

My breast reconstruction is a miracle of modern medicine (thank you, Dr. Geter!), and I will gladly, GLADLY, show anyone who wants to see them. Hell, I'll even let you feel them if you want. (Hey, they're mostly numb. I can close my eyes and usually never even know that you've touched them.) 

While it's an individual choice for each breast cancer patient, all it takes is one look at a photo depicting mastectomy without benefit of reconstruction to make you understand just how important of a step this can be for a woman's recovery. Thanks to my awesome reconstruction, I can almost forget that I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Almost.

I won't let it get past me NEXT year...