all of those years of art school and I finally have something in common with Van Gogh.

This morning while talking to Spouse....

"It's been almost a week and I don't feel at this point that it's the stitches primarily holding my ear on..."

Really...I said that. In my kitchen. No one should ever have occasion to say that.

I think I have turned a corner this morning. Not because I can mock my predicament. Ok a little because I can mock my predicament. But because I woke up this morning and felt like me again.

Not the drugged up, sliced open version of me that was totally incapable of caring for either herself, her husband or her baby.

I completely underestimated the surgery and the recovery. For some reason I never really thought about it; I was too busy focusing on my smile.

I just figured a little slice here and there, Lumpy would pop out and that would be that.

Not so much.

They took my ear off.

Yeah you read that right.

They cut it and flipped it back and lord only knows what else.

I was F'ed up! Ask BF, she was here (out of the never ending goodness of her heart) and she took wonderful care of me. But she can support me here without me having to post really gross pictures (which I am happy to do if you guys want to see them). I was F'ed up.

I still cant feel my ear, but after cleaning out all the crusted yuck from it this morning I can hear again. So there's that.

The stitches come out Thursday and then I can actually shower.

I haven't washed my hair in a week.

So lets recap....Crust, stitches, sliced ear and neck, goo, yuck, no shower.

Go one...line up and who gets to be friends with me!

lump no more.

I can't really see straight to type right now.

Pain killers.

I have no hope that what I would write would be remotely coherent.

So I will just say this.

Seeing all of your loving comments this morning made me smile really BIG.

Because I can. Everything is ok.

Now...I am going to go make with the passing out in my bed.

there's no way out now.

My bag is packed (mostly), all the phone calls have been made. My Auntie is here to take care of Riley.


On the surface it looks like I'm ready.


Beneath the surface?


I am not OK.


I talk to Spouse about it and he tries to calm me. The baby will be OK, she will not starve, she may be mad...but she will be OK. People are here to care for her; he will be here with her at night. She will be OK.


But what he doesn't get is that it's not the baby I'm worried about. It's me.


I am not OK.


Yes, I am frightened about the results of the surgery; the side effects to both my face and the chance of aggravating my MS. But what bothers me most?


Being away from my baby. My sweet little girl. For the first time in our life together we will be separate.


Sure, I have had the occasional night out and pedicure appointment. But 48 hours apart? I can't imagine how much I will miss her. My breath catches in my throat when I think about it.


My surgery is at 11 AM today.


So here is to everything going swimmingly.


I am talking Micheal Phelps insanely successful- swimmingly.

the real olympics.

Anyone can watch swimming, basketball and gymnastics.

It takes a true sports fan to watch the lame real Olympics.

• Badminton
• Trampoline Gymnastics
• Water Polo
• Synchronized Mens Diving
• Ping Pong Table Tennis
• Indoor Cycling

A real sports fan...

Or maybe just a really bored one.

At least I have a DVR. Watching the Olympics at x2 speed...

...hysterical.

Lumpy's day out.

I was in Boston today for my second consolation with the surgeon who is taking Lumpy out a week from Monday.

I have touched on Lumpy before on this blog but never really explained him.

He (because everything in my life has to have a name and personality; the car, the camera, the tumors...) is a benign Parotid Gland Tumor located at the end of my left jaw line below my ear lobe. He is about the size of a shooter marble or a slightly undersized golf ball (if there even is such a thing).

While the news of him being benign caused me great relief I am still focused on the surgery itself.

I am freaking!

First, I will be away from my daughter for at least 48 hours if not more, I am praying it will be less.

Second, I am going under. All the way out. While this has the bonus of not having to "hold really still" it also comes with violent vomiting upon waking up.

What fun.

Oh and third, the surgery carries a small and the surgeon says he doesn't anticipate a problem but he won't really know until he gets in there risk of paralysis on the left side of my face.

You see the facial nerve runs right through/on/beneath Lumpy.

So when the surgeon starts talking about minimal scarring and pain I could really give two craps.

I will take a scar. I will take pain.

I will even take the promised numbness of my left ear.

I just want to be able to smile normally when it is all over. I want to be able to close my eye just like I closed it the day before. I want to puff out my cheek and suck it back in again.


Normal.


With in reason of course.

I am after all. Me.

you can't always go home again; and maybe that's a good thing.

I have finally returned from my last trip to New Jersey for this summer.

Can I get a Hip-Hip-Hoooo-Ray?

Riley and I have spent the last 10 days packed into my childhood home with my brother and his family who were in from California.

I can't tell you how good it is to be home.

And since I can't tell you that, I am going to tell you a little bit about being away.

Namely, about my parents house. Nay, father's house. My mother has been gone over 12 years and while the rooms are still as she left them; her smell and her presence are long gone.

Something creepy happens when a person lives in a house 35 plus years as my father has. You begin not to see things anymore. Items outside of your everyday needs and activities just sit there, unnoticed.

Unnoticed that is until your daughter comes back for a visit with camera and boredom in hand. Each night I tried to see the things that havn't moved (for the most part) in many years so I could share them with you. Because I know you care about this right? Well at least my girlfriends care; this is their drunken teen aged years childhood too.

Exhibit A: The Shelf in the Kitchen.



Lets get passed the wallpaper first ok. Circa 1970's at it's best baby. You would never know that years later my mother would actually become a kick ass interior designer.

Please take notice of the Charms container. When my sister in-law was pregnant she craved Charms sour balls like crazy. She was in New Jersey only once during her pregnancy. However here the balls sit. 5 years later. In the exact same spot they were left.

In addition. We have the NY Giants Santa Claus ornament that broke 3 years ago. Sitting right where it was originally put when it broke. It's severed football hand is in a small dish above the sink.

Oh and no mocking of the duck and chicken. I love those guys and they do actually serve a purpose.

Exhibit B: The Weird Hanging Paper Puppets in the 1/2 Bathroom.

Again...wallpaper, oui!

Not much to say about these guys except they have hung there almost 30 years now.

...and when I was there last week a kid, I made their hands do this:

Funny right?

Exhibit C: The Creepy Clown Bank.

I am terrified of clowns and this freaking thing has been taunting me for as long as I can remember. I hide it and as soon as I begin to feel comfortable again it reappears. I would drive it out to the pine barrens and leave it there but I really think it would try and kill me in the process.

Exhibit D: The Cathy Book.

This is the only reading material in our 1/2 bathroom and has been for over 20 years. It was a gift to me from one of my crazy aunts....do the math, I was 13...what were they trying to tell me??

Today it stands as a shining example how things never move in the house....well that and I honestly think everyone is frightened of the bacteria on the book to even dare disturbing it.

Please don't think less of me...especially since I have more pictures to show you at another time and you will have no where to go with your contempt.

That and my father has a cleaning lady (also around for over 20 years) who dusts everything but the book because we couldn't pay her enough for that these objects while she smokes cigarettes in the house.

Whole other story that.

Now...to finish unpacking. Later this week I will share the trip highlights!!

snippets.

While at the family party last weekend.

Crazy Uncle (admiring Riley): "She truly has your mother's eyes."

Me: "uhh thanks Crazy Uncle but she really does look exactly like my father in every way."

Crazy Uncle: "No, I meant, her gaze. She has your mother's gaze."

Me (examining baby and her unwavering intent gaze): "Yeah...yeah she does doesn't she?"


*****************************

While giving Riley a bath yesterday.

Nephew (all of 5): "Ummm when will she get her penis?"

Me (desperately trying to keep straight face): "She doesn't have a penis buddy, she has a vagina."

Nephew: "Well what's a vagina?"

Me: "Errrm, maybe you should go ask your mommy."

meet the family.

When my baby gets overwhelmed she shuts down. She doesn't cry, or squirm. She turns her head away and buries it in my shoulder. She scratches the back of my arm with one hand and digs into my chest with the other.

To anyone who doesn't know her it looks like a loving snuggle. It's not.

It is her saying, "Mommy, I am afraid. I can not even begin to process what is going on here."

So when I know better than you family members people tell me not to worry "She'll cry" if she is upset. "I'll take her, she looks so calm." I want to clock them one.

Because they are scaring her. They are in her face and she does not have the fight part of 'fight or flight'.

This is a baby that will sit in her poo, hungry, tired with her leg pinched in her car seat and not complain.

Much.

It takes a lot. When I say a lot I mean A LOT to really get to her.

So what these overbearing Aunts people are missing as they cackle in her face and pat her head and grab her hands and generally pester her to meet their own needs...

...is my baby. My sweet, funny, friendly, screechy little girl. Who has SO much personality.

If you just leave her the heck alone.

if these were the categories on Jeopardy I would be SO rich right now or my bottomless pit of useless non mainstream information.

First let me say.

Wow. Really, thank you guys (ahem, ladies) for not letting me feel like the total freak I was thinking I should feel like. Instead, I sort of feel normal. And not nearly as overwhelmed. And although I haven't exactly taken the trip to the pharmacy yet (really, I am getting there) I feel stronger just knowing I have the option; and support.

So thanks.

Now...the post in order.

My diabolical plan on how I would win Jeopardy.

Categories:

Joss Whedon; when it comes to Buffy trivia especially...my stake runneth over. Really, go on. Test me. I am begging for it see? Obsession is a tame word when it comes to me and all things Joss.

The Bridges and Tunnels of NYC and the surrounding boroughs; I am my father's daughter. While this comes with the down side of feet that are much too small for my body and a gigantic head it also gifts me the ability to zip around NY without need of a map or GPS. Want a back way into Yankee Stadium? I'm your girl. Stuck in traffic on the Van Wyck and need a detour, give me a ring.

NFL Referee signals; Yeah, I know them all. It was something I started memorizing to impress adults when I was little....and now I make my baby do them. She usually runs out of patience somewhere around "ineligible man down field".

Countries of the world; Not only do I know most of them (I say most because the former Soviet Union F's with me), but I can sing them to the Mexican Hat Dance.

Photography; This one is sort of a gimme since it's what I went to school for. To be fair however the wealth of my knowledge is pretty much limited to Photo II as those are the classes I TA'd for years.

Things Spouse said last week/last month/years ago that he has no shot at remembering but I can recall with deadly accuracy; A fight we have constantly is "he said/he did not say". I insist something happened a certain way, he insists it didn't happen at all and refuses to believe that I'm right because "he doesn't remember it". Well you know what? Not only do I remember it, I remember what we were both wearing and half the time the OPI color on my toes. I'll have "how I'm right for $1000 Alex".

Ok maybe that last one isn't the best example...but I'm bored and in New Jersey on a Friday night...

...watching Jeopardy.