quack-or-treat

Daniel is dressing up as one of his favorite animals for Halloween. Here he is before a party we attended today, complete with the pumpkins that we have not yet carved.

wonderful day

Today is Stephen's birthday, in which he enters a three-month period in which we are the same age ... in this case, the cusp of 40, the waning of our 30s. One of his gifts was a copy of Stephen Colbert's new book, which he promptly opened up and started to read, laughing his head off every 30 seconds or so. I can't wait to read it myself (I've just read a few bits in the bookstore) ... I may have to sneak it off his nightstand while Daniel naps. Speaking of Daniel, he seemed to enjoy his slice of birthday cake immensely (as evidenced by the photo below). Stephen is currently downstairs with him in the basement-cum-playroom, hopefully helping him run off his sugar high before bed.
It's been a rather wonderful day, though also sad: People gathered this morning to say goodbye to a friend's mother, who died of cancer this week. (Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Jennifer and Jaime.) Stephen went to the funeral with his friend Don (whose wife just had their third baby — congratulations, Don and Cyndy!), but I didn't think it would be a good idea to take Daniel. His idea of a good Mass experience right now is running around the back of the church, ogling every light fixture and rattling every liturgical decoration that isn't nailed down. I can't imagine what he would be like at a funeral at this stage.
Instead, Daniel and I went to see the James Sewell Ballet at the College of St. Catherine. It was a special, one-hour performance geared toward kids — which means it was perfectly OK to run around in the aisles and make noise. Daniel slept through the first half, then sat in my lap staring at the dancers for the second half. It was cool to see him so engaged, especially compared to how he acts in art class (more interested in exploring the room's unplugged electrical outlets and wall telephone than actually participating in the craft activity!). When he got home, he stomped his feet and waved his arms around for a while. I wasn't sure if taking a 1-year-old to an event that was probably more geared toward preschoolers would be a good idea, but I'm really glad we went. I love watching ballet, and maybe Daniel will grow to appreciate it, too.
In the lobby before the show, while I was waiting for my friend Vanessa and her daughter Evelyn to arrive, I started chatting with a woman who had the same stroller as me. (It's kind of funny to me how such things as strollers can be conversation starters now!) She was with her two children, and it turned out they are 19 months apart — the same space between them Daniel and his little sibling will have. Without me even asking, she told me, "It's really not as bad as I'd feared." (Witness: She can still go to the ballet!) She said it's just a matter of shifting priorities a little. For example — and she lifted up her 7-month-old daughter's coat — "Lots of the moms here got their little girls all dressed up but she's still wearing her pajama top, and that's OK." That little conversation brightened my day.
This afternoon, Steve and I went for a walking date while Daniel slept in the stroller. We did a usual route, but one I haven't done since my surgery: stopped for coffee, then hoofed it all the way to Barnes and Noble, which is about two miles from our house. On the way home, we passed two wedding parties. One was at St. Catherine's (what a gorgeous place to be married), and by that time, Daniel had awakened and was toddling around among the ducks and geese near the pond. Standing with my husband of four-plus years and our exuberant son, watching the young couple being photographed, I remembered how new and exciting marriage was on our wedding day. Now here we are, further along on our journey together, having weathered infertility, cancer, and the occasional bickering about money and communication styles and whatnot ... and another baby on the way. Our relationship has evolved in the past four years, and now that we're parents, we certainly don't have as much time for just each other, but standing there with my family on the college lawn today, I felt so happy about where we've come, to this comfortable, supportive place that feels even richer and more seasoned than it did on the day we were married.
We have such a simple life now. We've been looking forward all day to snuggling up in bed with DVDs after Daniel goes to sleep. On tap for tonight: Knocked Up and The Sopranos, Season Six-Part 2.

friday five :: colors

Kristine had this one a couple of weeks ago, so I thought I'd do it now.

**What is your favorite color?
I love certain greens — sage, celadon, forest — but I can't claim green as my favorite color without also saying red. And purple. The colors of the sunset.

**What colors do you like to decorate with?
We've repainted a couple of walls in various shades of green (or blue-green, in the case of the kitchen). Our living room seems to have a lot of red, gold and green in it, and the bedroom is in warm shades of almond, peach and green.

**Is there a color that you absolutely hate?
Not hate, but I'm not fond of grey; I don't really get why it's so in right now. Fuschia is a little too much at times, and I'm not crazy about lime green, either.

**Which colors look best on you?
Muted shades of green, wine, indigo, purple, brown; earthy types of colors, but not yellows or golds or pumpkins. The right shade of red looks nice, too, but it can't be too bright or splashy.

**Which colors do you wear most often?
Wine, green, denim-blue (jeans), brown, black (too much black, but not as much as I used to wear).

butterflies

I can feel the little one kicking! Little tiny flutters, off and on all day, as if she were a tiny mermaid, flicking her tail against the inside of my belly when she turns. This is so damned exciting ... it kind of makes up for the nervousness I've been feeling about how we're going to manage with two babies under age 2, what it's going to be like to give up any semblance of my childfree days. No question, having even one baby has changed my life as I know it, as the cliche says. But with just one, I can still manage a trip to the mall or the grocery store pretty easily with Daniel, or have a long bath in the evenings, or take off alone for an evening with friends from time to time. With two, it's not going to be so easy. And that makes me nervous. My mantras of late: "Plenty of other people in the world do it." And: "Hey, at least you're alive!"

fourteen months old

Here's Daniel late this afternoon, roaming around the yard and crunching the leaves with his feet. We've had a good week so far, thanks in part to these glorious mild and sunny days that let us spend plenty of time outside. He could spend hours at the playground, swinging on the swing and digging in the sand with his little red shovel, if I'd let him.

in today's news: my cancer surgeon

Today's New York Times (and many other media outlets in the country) ran this article (or some version of it):

"More women with breast cancer are choosing to have their healthy breast surgically removed along with their affected breast, a new study has found. Almost 5 percent of patients decided to have the radical procedure in 2003, up from just under 2 percent in 1998."

The study's lead author? Dr. Todd Tuttle, the chief of surgical oncology at the University of Minnesota Medical School, also known on this blog as Dr. T, who spent six hours removing my sarcoma six and a half weeks ago ... one of the few people who's ever seen the inside of my body!

Also in today's NYT, this article about co-sleeping — and it's not all negative, either! Here's part of it:

In most of the world, sleeping next to your child is a necessity: families of limited means live in cramped quarters. But in the affluent West, the practice is widely frowned on, not just by grandparents and friends, but by the medical community at large.

Still, it is far more common than many people think. Nearly 13 percent of parents in the United States slept with their infants in 2000, up from 5.5 percent in 1993, according to a report last month in the journal Infant and Child Development. Countless children start the night in their own beds, only to wake up a few hours later and pad into their parents’ bedrooms, crawling into the bed or curling up nearby on the floor.

Ask parents if they sleep with their kids, and most will say no. But there is evidence that the prevalence of bed sharing is far greater than reported. Many parents are “closet co-sleepers,” fearful of disapproval if anyone finds out, notes James J. McKenna, professor of anthropology and director of the Mother-Baby Behavioral Sleep Laboratory at the University of Notre Dame.

“They’re tired of being censured or criticized,” Dr. McKenna said. “It’s not just that their babies are being judged negatively for not being a good baby compared to the baby who sleeps by himself, but they’re being judged badly for having these babies and being needy.”

I've never really felt judged negatively for sleeping with Daniel (though perhaps I choose to be deliberately oblivious to judgmental attitudes), nor do I see him (or us) as being needy. I see him as a normal, sensitive baby who prefers the security of snuggling with his parents to being alone at night, and whose parents don't believe in crying it out. I was glad to see an article that didn't simply present fear-mongering opinions about co-sleeping dangers or make co-sleeping parents out to be wierdo hippies!

my radio debut

I was on a national radio program tonight! OK, that sounds more impressive than it probably is, but hey, my cheerleading squad (Steve) thinks it's cool. I wrote an article recently for National Catholic Reporter on small Christian communities. It was one of the stories I was hurrying to finish before I had my surgery, actually, but despite the rush on my end, it ended up being the cover story for the week they ran it. A few weeks after that, someone from Sirius Satellite Radio's The Catholic Channel ("your exclusive satellite radio home for Notre Dame football"!) contacted me and asked if I'd be willing to be interviewed about the story for one of their shows, called Busted Halo. With encouragement from my cheerleader, I said OK, and tonight I had my 15 minutes of air time. I was kind of nervous, but (much like lectoring) once it got started, it went fine — which means I didn't say "um" too much or choke up! It was a pretty light, upbeat show, and the guy who interviewed me didn't ask anything too tough. Phew!

seven true things

I've been tagged by Kristine to list seven truths about myself and tag seven people to do the same. I think I'll just list mine — and if you want to play along, just share your list in the comments section!

1. I am turning 40 (a.k.a. "the new 30") in January.

2. I once received a $100 bill from Bill Murray as a tip when I was a bartender in college.

3. I live within a one-mile radius of more coffee shops than I can count on one hand.

4. I am the only member of my family who lives in the Midwest. My parents and siblings are in the Pacific Northwest, and my aunts, uncles and cousins are in Oregon, California and New Jersey.

5. As of today, I am 17 weeks pregnant with baby number two, whom I constantly think of as a girl. We'll find out if I'm right on Nov. 14!

6. I am an introvert by nature; I like people, but I need solitude to recharge my inner batteries.

7. I am married to a smart, kind, patient, funny, handsome man!

back in the land of the living

It's been six weeks since my surgery, and Steve goes back to work tomorrow. I feel so much better, even compared to two weeks ago. I have more energy; and most of the time, I feel like I can do the normal things I used to do. Except, of course, that I'm nearly 17 weeks pregnant, so that slows me down a little. Sometimes I forget that little detail, and it hits me when I feel a little ache or twinge in a spot well below my incision. Oh, that's right — I'm pregnant! As for my incision, it usually feels fine, except for a very itchy, bumpy rash that has developed around it and is spreading up and down my belly. Apparently, it's a yeast infection. It's really not pleasant, and none of the remedies the doctor has suggested (anti-fungal medications) has made a bit of difference. At least it's not that killer staph infection I read about in the news this week ... or so the doctor assured me!

So I'm nervous about Steve being back at work full-time. For one thing, I will miss him so much. It's been nice having him home, having it be the three of us for all these weeks. Steve says he would love to be able to do this all the time, if it weren't for that little matter of us needing an income on which to live! Daniel will miss him, too. At this point, he is more attached to Steve than he is to me. When Steve leaves the house, or even goes down to the basement to do laundry, Daniel cries. When I leave the house, Daniel just watches me go. He's with his dad, so it's all good. I know we'll be fine together, just him and me, but I think it's going to take some time to get used to the new-old routine. My sister Susanne was here this week, and Steve went into work for most of those days, so we had a little dry run — and I have to say, it was nice to have her helping out with Daniel. Taking care of him for long stretches can still be exhausting for me. I know we'll fill our days with activities and outings, like we used to do, but it's going to be an adjustment.

Daniel had his first real cold this week — days on end of runny, snotty nose and congested head. Poor little guy. The night before his nose began to run, he woke up in the middle of the night crying and crying inconsolably. We didn't know what to make of it — thought maybe he was teething or had a tummyache or something. Maybe he had a sore throat or stuffed head. He's been a trooper through it all, though. He hates having his nose wiped, and I admit the feeling is mutual. I feel like my clothes are covered with snot, and it gets on my arms and in my hair and whereever he decides to snuggle his face. It's not one of the crowning joys of motherhood, that's for sure. But it's good to see him getting through the worst of it and sleeping through the night again.

Daniel is also really into sweeping right now. He loves watching Steve or me sweep the wood floors, and sometimes he likes to help. We bought him a little red child-sized broom, and he pushes it around the floor, but he likes our grown-up sweepers better. Sometimes he goes into the corner where we keep them, drags one out, and hands it to Steve and makes his little grunting sound that says he won't be satisfied until Steve is sweeping the floor. As you can imagine, our floors are quite spotless these days!

our fall getaway

It was cold and windy on the North Shore, but that didn't stop Steve from skipping a few stones into Lake Superior while we were in Grand Marais Wednesday. When Daniel saw what he was doing, the way he made the stones hit the water and then bounce, he started to giggle hysterically! And then he picked up a few stones and tried to throw them himself. Before Daniel was born, Steve always said he looked forward to teaching his son to skip stones, and now I guess the education has begun. Fifteen minutes after this picture was taken, I stepped wrong on the stone steps leading out to Artist's Point and twisted my ankle (provoking another giggle fit from the boy). Yes, yes, readers, I'm all right! I spent the rest of the day with my ankle on ice, and that probably saved me from days of swelling and pain.

We stayed at Fitger's (**using our Minnesota Public Radio two-nights-for-the-price-of-one membership discount) in Duluth this time. Our room's walls were so thin that we could hear every word — indeed, every sound — of the amorous couple in the room next door. With entertainment like that, who needs cable? (We did! On their third go-around, we turned The Daily Show up nice and loud to let them have some semblance of privacy.) I wonder if they could hear our room just as well. If so, I'm sure they were thrilled to be next door to a babbling, sometimes-crabby baby (and the voice of Jon Stewart)!

**(Edited to add)

thin places, healing people

I let the email message sit unopened in my mail box for a few days before I found the time to open it. When I finally did open it, I realized this was one of those moments, or events, or unfoldings of circumstances where I could feel God's hand moving things along in an amazing way. The email was from the poverty activist I interviewed for an article earlier this summer. I'd told her I was dealing with cancer, while pregnant, etc. — the whole deal — and she'd promised to keep me in her prayers and to share my name with an order of prayerful nuns she knows. It turns out she shared my name with a lot of people, including a woman who recognized me from having met me one time, years ago, through a talk I was covering for work. This woman, Mary Treacy O'Keefe, now runs an organization in West St. Paul called Well Within, which offers integrative healing therapies for people dealing with health challenges. That includes things like healing touch, guided imagery, spiritual direction and a host of classes — all at no charge, though they accept donations. Mary asked the woman I'd interviewed — the poverty activist — to let me know I was welcome to contact her and provided her email address and Web site, which the poverty activist forwarded on to me ... in that seemingly uneventful email that I let sit for a few days.

I had noticed Mary Treacy O'Keefe's book here and there. It's called Thin Places: Where Faith Is Affirmed and Hope Dwells. I've been fascinated with the notion of thin places for some time, so I'd been wanting to read the book. I first heard the term used to describe Grand Marais, up on the North Shore of Minnesota. And then I started hearing it in connection with Celtic spirituality. Mary Treacy O'Keefe, who is well in touch with her Celtic roots, uses it to describe "sudden realizations of that ethereal veil between what we know of Earth and what we believe of heaven," particularly in the face of her parents' death, three months apart, several years ago. Her Web site says, "In sharing her family's story (and those of many others), she shows how thin places are present in ordinary times — and how such moments of grace reveal Divine loving messages of faith and hope in our daily lives."

Well, I consider the way Mary and I connected an example of a "thin place" in my ordinary life. I checked the Well Within Web site and was just stunned at how the programs seemed to be calling me. They felt like exactly what I really, really need right now in my life. I emailed Mary and told her I was glad she had reached out to me. She emailed back almost right away with a note that made me feel the universe was aligning for me: She too was a cancer survivor and is trained as a "cancer guide." She has tried a number of different healing therapies and believes them to be valuable. She knows how healing it can be just to talk about what you're going through. Would I like to meet sometime and talk about how Well Within might be able to help me?

I wanted to call her that very moment, but it took me a while to get back to her. I felt overwhelmed and kept putting it off. Finally, we set up a time to meet, and today I went over to Well Within and met her and a few others on the volunteer staff. It was so refreshing to talk to her. I love it when I meet people who are spiritual in the sense that they have a sense of how God works in our lives, under the current, in ways that often feel like our inner voice. People like Mary remind me to pay attention to that "still, small voice within," as she called it. And I do believe that God sends people to us when we need to meet them. I really needed to meet Mary and to know that the loving, healing programs at Well Within are ... ahem ... well within my reach. I feel blessed to have had the chance to do it today. (Thank you, Mary, if you're reading this.)

And now I'm reading "Thin Places," and of course it's making me cry. And hope that when it comes my time to die, I can have as graceful and happy a death as her father did. (I just finished the chapter about his death.) But I don't have time to go into all that right now ... maybe later.

... and another food story

Last night, I had my first experience of craving something so badly that I sent Steve out at 9:30 at night to get it for me — I couldn't eat anything else. I couldn't even think of eating anything else! It was a cheeseburger with bacon, cheddar and Swiss, onions, tomatoes, ketchup and mustard. (Lots of protein there.) I had to call around to find a restaurant that was still open ... and God bless the Chatterbox Pub in Highland Park. The guy on the phone let me tell him exactly what I wanted on my burger, and Steve was a champ about going to get it, and oh my Lord, was it the best cheeseburger I have ever had in my life!

(This never happened when I was pregnant with Daniel. I am glad it happened this time, though: It was so satisfying to bite into that burger and feel so ... fulfilled!)

another week, recovering

It's been four weeks since my surgery. Four weeks ago this evening, I woke up feeling like I was gagging, then became aware of the breathing tube that still ran down my throat. I started waving my arms frantically, like a person suffocating, and when they saw I was awake, they pulled it out and put an oxygen tube over my nose, the kind that pumps air into each nostril. Then I was horribly thirsty. A nurse gave me a lollipop-like stick with a pink sponge on the end, which they'd stuck in a cup of ice water, and allowed me to suck on it. That was all I was allowed to put in my mouth, period, for three days until I could start eating solids again. I went through a lot of those sponge-sticks.

That seems like a long time ago now, though the memory of those pink sponges — the desperate relief at the sensation of icy water dripping down my throat — is still so vivid. Life has settled into something halfway between invalid and normal. It's by no means back to normal, but it is getting there. I can't lift Daniel, but I can hold him if someone else lifts him onto my lap. I sometimes sleep in until 9 a.m., but other times, I can get up at 7 and help feed him his breakfast. I can go for walks and drive my car and run errands, but then I come home and sleep for a few hours. This week, Steve went into the office for a few hours a day, and we managed. We had friends or relatives come over and help out, and it didn't utterly drain me to be with people for hours on end. It was actually kind of nice to visit and go for walks. That's progress. Two weeks ago, I was a recluse.

Monday, at ECFE (Early Childhood and Family Education) class, I was flipping through a folder of notices and information for parents and came across a pamphlet about fruits and vegetables that can help you avoid cancer. It made me feel wierd, and kind of angry, like all that advice doesn't really apply to people like me. I eat plenty of organic food, fruits and vegetables included, and yet I got cancer. All the fruits and vegetables in the world didn't keep me from getting cancer, and it seems that plenty of people who eat healthy foods get cancer. It seems so random, the whole question of who gets cancer and who doesn't, so what does this bulls*%$ advice really help anyone? Does it really matter? I hear on the news that drinking wine is now linked to a higher risk of breast cancer — even though it's also supposed to reduce the risk of heart disease. So what is a woman to do? Feel even more anxious about every food and drink choice? That's no fun. I'm all for good nutrition, but whatever happened to just savoring a good meal and not picking apart every ingredient? Whatever happened to pleasure? (I know; there was something about this on Oprah today, but I don't feel like recapping it.) Anyway, all this was sticking in my mind all day, and that night, sitting on our bed, I suddenly said to Steve, "I had cancer. I am a person who has had cancer," and I just started to cry. For the first time, I had a real "Why did it happen to me?" moment, and I felt so helpless.

Next week, we are going up north to spend a couple of nights in Duluth. We'll drive up to our favorite haunts on the North Shore and hopefully see some nice fall color. I hope it will be restful and relaxing; it always feels good to get up there, like Heidi in the Alps. And I'm not going to worry about what I eat.

coffee

It turns out that Target's cheapest coffee maker — the Mr. Coffee 4-cup Pause & Serve for $15 — does the trick for us. No leaking so far, a nice small footprint on our counter, and it makes a perfectly good cup of coffee. Now if we can just find some filters that fit it. All the usual places seem to be out, and I'm cutting the bigger ones down to size. Aaah, I love coffee. I am glad it's OK to have a little bit during pregnancy because I don't know what I'd do without my morning cup. Coffee or tea, actually. Sometimes it's Earl Grey that I crave.

That's all for this morning. And now back to the really important things in your day.