catheroominations

Wow. Thank you so much for the awesome support for my dad yesterday. Combined with the kick-assedness of his surgeon, the operation was a complete success. The surgeon was able to remove ALL of the tumor. Prior to his surgery, we all thought that the surgeon would find the cancer had spread all over, and there would be nothing he could do. Even the surgeon gave us little hope. We were all thrilled to learn how well the surgery went. I could have cried.

I got to see my dad real quick in recovery last night around 7:30, and he was in a lot of pain and feeling nauseated. But he still had time to tell me to “Be good,” and throw in a joke or two.

This morning I called my mom to see if she’d called the hospital for an update and she told me that my dad called her. And he was doing great. Today he was sitting up in a chair and tomorrow they plan to get him up and about walking ALREADY. I’m going to visit him tomorrow and will tell him of all the support he got from people he’s never met. The internet is a beautiful thing. Thank you, thank you.

Next, after he’s completely recovered, he’ll begin more chemo and possibly radiation. This will suck. But for now, I am focusing on how incredibly he did in surgery. He has a great spirit and wants to kick cancer’s ass as much as I want him to. Also, I think cancer should be scared shitless of my dad, because it keeps trying to beat him down and he just kills it. I think it’s running away with its tail between its legs, right about now.

Today my dad is having his second surgery in a year to remove a cancerous tumor from his colon. (Cancer, we will have words. Do you hear me, you little @#$%?) The operation is scheduled for just around 2:30 pm Pacific. So, if I could have everyone at that time take a moment to say a prayer, send a positive vibe, think a good thought, sing Kumbaya, bow to Buddha, or chant something Gregorian, he can use all the help he can get.

Thank you for your kind words of support this week too. XOXO.

I’d like you to meet the latest member of our family. Are you sitting down? Good. Prepare yourself to surrender to the cuteness that is…

keep reading Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please

This morning:

Just two hours later:

Uhm, nothing.

But that reminds me of when I was little, and my sister and I were supposed to be sleeping. Almost every night we’d play this game:

I’d say, “Guess what!”
She’d say, “What?”
And I’d say, “That’s what.”

And we’d laugh hysterically.

Sometimes instead of “that’s what,” I’d answer “Mrs. Freeman.” She was my kindergarten teacher. The first time I answered with that, it was hilarious. And the 50th time I did it, it was still hilarious.

Yeah, we were sort of easily entertained.

Need more evidence?

One of our favorite things to do was to push feet. We’d sit facing each other, with our legs in a V and push each other’s feet. Fun times.

Sometimes when we were bored, one of us would suggest, “Wanna push backs?” And we would sit back-to-back and try to move one another with our strength. It was much easier when you had the wall to use for leverage, because then you could lift yourself up and lean back as far as possible, folding your opponent under your weight.

That’s my sister, the sweet little child who used to torture me with her fingernails.

We were such docile children, my sister and I. Except when we fought. Since I am the older one, I usually was the one who got in trouble by our parents. And even though she was smaller than I was, my sister could kick my ass. She had short but thick fingernails and she would dig them into my skin SO DEEP. The tiny crevasses she created didn’t really bleed so much as ooze a pink substance. And man, they hurt!

But I do have one scar from our childhood, that my sister actually didn’t give me. We were pillow fighting one night in my bedroom. I don’t remember if I was trying to avoid a thwack of polyester fiberfill, or winding up to smack her, but my eyebrow made contact with the corner of my white dresser. Like my sister’s fingernail digs, the ouchie didn’t gush blood, just icky oozy goo. And I had a dent right at the collision site.

And ever since, I can’t grow eyebrows in that one spot.

My sister is a pastry chef. She makes cupcakes from scratch and decorates them with homemade icing to look like this:

Those are meringue sticks on top. Oh, and jimmies. Also, she added a light dusting of cocoa.

I am not a pastry chef. I make one cupcake (a huge one) from a box of mix and decorate it with Pillsbury frosting in a can to make it look like this:

Those are m&ms on top. Not the mini-sized ones. Those are full-sized m&ms. That is a dinner plate holding the cupcake.

My sister has a degree from the California Culinary Academy.
I have a book called Cooking for Dummies that my mom bought me.

My sister has taught cooking classes, and once assisted Martin Yan when he taught a class.
I like to watch the Food Network.

In her job, my sister got to meet Bono and Bill Clinton.
In my job, I got to meet the guy who delivers our office supplies.

My sister will soon start a new job, working under a former Top Chef contestant.
I like to watch Top Chef.

My sister is a professional. She bakes sober. And as such, her cupcakes rock.
Despite the warning “Don’t drink and bake”*, I plan to do just that tomorrow with Stacy and McGee and some other fabulous ladies who do not heed our governor’s advice. Perhaps some alcohol will reveal my hidden talents?

*In what movie was that line spoken?

10. I am lazy. Much too lazy to get out of bed at 2 am to feed someone.
9. I am selfish. Much too selfish to allow my sleep to be interrupted at 2 am to feed someone.
8. I believe eating a bowl of cereal for dinner is perfectly fine. Every night. Especially if the box has a toucan, rabbit, naval captain, or tiger on the box.
7. I think TV is awesome. And necessary. And there’s no such thing as too much of it. And my child would learn that.
6. Any child I brought into the world would not be pushed to participate in sports, and would therefore be chubby, ridiculed, and eventually fat and lazy when they grew up. And they would cry a lot about that. Even when they’re in their 30s.
5. That tantrum, screaming, and talking back stuff? Not for me.
4. Daphne would hate a baby. Also, she might try to eat it.
3. A product of my and Matte’s love would be much too stunning to look at and would make the other children feel inferior and ordinary.
2. We want to be the cool aunt and uncle who spoil the nephews because we have piles of cash and no one to spend it on.
1. Global warming.

Now, I need to put this on a t-shirt, because some people think that JUST BECAUSE YOU GOT MARRIED you want to have babies. And some of those people are annoyed when you sheepishly say “Oh, I don’t think we’ll have any,” as if it is written down somewhere that we were put on this earth to procreate or something! (Oh, it does say that somewhere? Ooops.)

When people say “just wait until you have kids,” it makes me want to say “OK!”, stop whatever it is I’m doing at the time, and stand perfectly still like a statue. Waiting forever. Because that is how long I would be waiting until I have kids. Sure, most of my friends who are married do have children and I am happy for them. Because that is what they want and my friends have adorable kids, of course, because <sarcasm> I am not friends with ugly people</sarcasm>. It’s about freedom and choice and what is best for the individual. People who want to have kids, do. People who don’t? Don’t. But sometimes they do, and their hearts melt once they see that sweet little face for the first time. I know this. I know I am missing out on the parenthood experience, but I don’t know what I am missing (because it is missing, see?). And I am OK with that.

*Double income, no kids.