Quaking and Shaking With Good Results

On Tuesday we flew to Los Angeles to visit with Jules's doctor. Jules has an intracranicular schwannoma, otherwise known as an acoustic neuroma, also known as a benign, operable brain tumor that normally presents as a vestibular schwannoma, but in his case doesn't, because Jules is a different kind of kid. Period. The words "benign" and "operable" are what make it possible for me to keep breathing.

Now why would we travel all the way from San Antonio to Los Angeles to see a doctor? Don't we have doctors here, you ask? Yes, we do. And we saw several of them. They said:

1. your son has a brain tumor
2. if you had caught it sooner we could have saved the hearing in his right ear
3. he has a genetic disorder called neurofibromatosis type II
3. he will likely develop more tumors and could end up completely deaf with facial paralysis
4. he will possibly need spinal surgery
5. we need to do surgery to remove the existing tumor....let's get the ball rolling. we don't want to take the "wait and watch" attitude with a patient this age....(jules was 7 at the time)

Now then, all of this information? Had me crazy. Truly, I was running around with my hair on fire screaming, "My kid has a brain tumor! Somebody do something!" And the somebodies, when they bothered to return my calls at all, agreed that yes. we. should. do. something. In 3 weeks we can see your son for tests....in 3 more weeks we will bless you by having you sit in the waiting room for 2 hours (because we are busy and important people) and then spend 2 minutes to go over the results of the test....which we will not remember having ordered because it was so dang long ago...and who are you, again? And please, do not hesitate to call us if you have any concerns or questions. By the way, we do not mean that. Please do not call us. We have failed to tell our nurses and receptionists to expect your hysterical calls and they will not cooperate, and in fact, they will most likely be quite snippy with you. We train them to be this way. Otherwise we would just be calling people back all day instead of visiting with pharmaceutical reps in short skirts and spending 2 minutes with patients in between. We might have to get to the office on time or cancel a golf game. We'd prefer not to do that. In the meantime, read over this little pamphlet - it explains the risks of the brain surgery we want to do on your son. Oh, and also, here is an out-of-service number for a geneticist. Because this is the only geneticist we know. When you discover that the geneticist no longer works at the UT Health Science Center....feel free to call us for another referral. We will not call you back. Because we are busy and important and hey, it isn't like it is OUR kid with a brain tumor....You should just find a geneticist on the Internet, or something. She won't bother seeing you but she will tell you, on the phone, that the odds are overwhelming that your son has neurofibromatosis Type II and she will recommend that all of your kids undergo testing. She will also let you know that the testing isn't covered by insurance but it is extremely important that you do this testing because you don't want your other kids to go deaf, do you? Because if you had caught it sooner they could have saved some of his hearing....why didn't you catch it sooner?

Do I sound bitter? I hate it when I sound bitter. So let me soften it. The wonderful, sweet, adorable, and okay I admit it, handsome doctor who found the tumor is definitely on my A List. The problem is that Dr. Charming is "just" an ENT and had to refer me to the Hot Shot to handle what he discovered in my kid's head. And when the Hot Shot (known around here as Dr. Jack-ass-on) wouldn't call me back? Dr. Charming called him for me. He is a doll. Also - I would be remiss, while talking about nice doctor-types, not to mention our good friend who is a GP. When I decided I couldn't wait 3 weeks for the results of the spinal MRI because I couldn't go that long without sleep, our friend called the radiologist and got the results, just by identifying himself as a doctor. Then he called me immediately. I was sitting in the parking lot of the Wittee Museum. My cell rang. I said, "Hello" and he said, "There are no tumors on his spine." He didn't say "Hey, this is Steve, how are you doing, well, I got the results back....." He just said, "There are no tumors on his spine." Because he is a parent. And a friend.

Also, I find it hard to maintain a constant state of bitterness while also acknowledging the fact that The Universe used that quirky little fate trick to make sure we ended up exactly where we needed to be, and just in the nick of time. In the middle of all of the hysterical phone calling, my cousin, an anesthesiologist, came down from LA to help move my aunt into an assisted living facility. He had his hands full but managed a phone call to me where he casually said, "You know, there is a place in LA where they treat more of these kinds of tumors than anywhere else in the world (really? and Dr. Jack-ass-on failed to tell me this?)- if it were me that is where I would take Jules. It is called The House Ear Clinic."

So we called the House Ear Clinic and they said, "Can you be here on Friday?" and I was like, "This Friday? What about the 3 weeks of waiting we should do to make you people feel important?" and they were like, "We can even see you Wednesday if you can make it here that soon." Wow. So we hopped on a plane with our frequent flyer miles and headed to The House Ear Clinic. Based on the fact that Hot Shot Jack-ass-on had told us Jules needed surgery and he needed it NOW (now being a very relative term to Important People) we were prepared to have to make a second trip to LA for surgery. Because the surgical procedure used worldwide to remove this type of tumor? Was developed at The House Ear Clinic. The end result is a mortality rate the same as an appendectomy procedure - down from a previous 60%. The local neurosurgeon couldn't tell us how many of these tumors he'd removed (not many) whereas The House Ear Clinic could tell us how many they'd removed in the last month.

When we arrived at The House Clinic they sent Jules for an MRI at St. Vincent's Hospital across the street. Why? We had already done MRI's at home - 2 on the brain - 1 on the spine - all under sedation. They were day-long events that began with waiting in waiting rooms, waiting in admitting offices, waiting in the pre-procedure room, waiting for the anesthesiologist to respond to the page, waiting for the machine to be repaired, waiting for Jules to go in, come out, recover...waiting waiting waiting for the results, which nobody would share with us because we were just the parents and we had to wait until Dr. Jack-ass-on was good and ready to share it with us, which even though the radiologist read the film within an hour, would be in about 3 weeks.

The House Clinic simply said, "Well, we like to read the film from our own machines...it won't take long."

Right, we thought. We had been conditioned to just accept that stupidity was part of the procedure. But guess what? We went in. We registered. Jules had an MRI (without sedation - they had insisted on sedation at home). They printed the film and we carried it back across the street to a waiting Dr. Brackman. All in about an hour.

"Well, look at this!" he said immediately, after a mere glance at the film. "This is interesting. Jules's tumor is on the cochlear branch, not the vestibular branch. That is unusual. And it explains his sudden loss of hearing. Nothing could have been done to save his hearing in that ear." Ahhhhh, folks. I started crying. I had listened to 3 people tell me that if only I had caught it earlier they could have saved his hearing. They had all looked at the same tumor in the same head. And none of them, the radiologist included, had noticed that the tumor was not on the vestibular branch. They saw what they expected they'd see (from reading literature, no doubt). Even though they had all expressed surprise that Jules could walk a straight line and was not experiencing dizziness...none of them had bothered to ask the question, "why?" Because normally this tumor is on the vestibular branch. And normally, it has to get pretty darn big to rub up against the cochlear branch and cause total deafness. And Jules's tumor was pretty darn small. So, uhhhh, shouldn't someone have said, "why?" The fact that it was supposed to be on the vestibular branch didn't change the fact that it wasn't. The fact that he could, in fact, walk a straight line...and he could not, in fact, hear a damn thing out of his right ear SHOULD have made them ask why...why...maybe the tumor is on the cochlear (hearing) branch, instead. But no. All they said was, "We need to get this thing out right away! Of course, we don't know where it is but that doesn't matter! And if only you'd caught it sooner we could also have done this and that procedure to save his hearing!" As if having a uterus didn't already cause me enough guilt.

So, yeah. Dr. Brackman glanced at the film and immediately saw the obvious answer where nobody else had even seen a question. And he relieved me of massive amounts of guilt with the simple statement, "Nothing could have been done to save his hearing." Then he said the unbelievable. "We're just going to take a wait and watch approach. Who knows? This thing might not grow and it isn't currently causing him any problems. We'd take it out if we thought it was going to damage his hearing but its already done that."

What? Dr Jack-ass-on said that was the last thing we wanted to do. But Dr. Jack-ass-on didn't know what he was talking about and didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to say, "Hey guys, I really don't have a lot of experience with this. Why don't you take him to this famous place known to ENT's and Neurottologists everywhere? Look, the phone number is right here in my rolodex." I have no doubt that if it were Dr. Jack-ass-on's kid? He'd have had him sitting in Brackman's office.

"And what about his neurofibromatosis type II?" we asked. "Can you test him here? We know all of the kids need to be tested...."

"Why would you want to do that?" Brackman asked. "The test is inconclusive unless it is positive - and it wouldn't change his treatment." Then he added that he didn't think it was a concern for Jules. We were like, WHAT??? And he said, "I don't think the kid has it."

"But," we said, "the odds are overwhelming that he has it!"

To which Brackman replied that they weren't exactly overwhelming. Statistically speaking, he had a good chance of having it. But he explained that the statistics come from his clinic. They are his patients. And Jules is an atypical presentation for this type of tumor and he doesn't think he has it. Either way, he doesn't need to be tested. Because a negative would be inconclusive and a positive would result in the exact same treatment he is already getting, which is regular MRI's to monitor tumor growth and look for new tumors. And as far as the rest of the kids undergoing expensive testing not covered by our insurance? Well, it turns out that they can't have it. If Jules has it, it is a spontaneous genetic development. So his kids could have it, but not his siblings. Again, Dr. Jack-ass-on didn't know this WHY? And the geneticist didn't know this WHY? And more importantly, why didn't they say they didn't know and send us to somebody who did?

Anyway, so that was all when Jules was 7. We were told to come back in 6 months for another MRI. Then we were told to come back in 9 months. Now we are going yearly. And there has been absolutely no measurable tumor growth, and no new tumors. No signs of neurofibromatosis type II. No brain surgery. Is it possible that Jules will never need brain surgery? Yes, Dr. Brackman says anything is possible. Jules (now age 11) is his youngest patient. He says he doesn't know what to expect. Atypical means you don't know what to expect. That is why we're waiting and watching. Going in and doing serious surgery that requires a long and stressful recuperation period, would have been an irresponsible knee-jerk reaction. And it was what the local doctors wanted to do. And remember, they didn't even know exactly where the tumor was. And the possible side effects of surgery resulting in nerve damage, facial paralysis, etc that we were warned about? Are way less likely to happen if the surgery takes place in LA - where the House Clinic doctors are used to removing this type of tumor and are not having to read the instructions like they were putting together IKEA furniture. Shouldn't somebody have said, "Hey, by the way, the people who write the instructions for this surgery....you know, you could just get them to take it out. They might be better at it...."

Anyway - that was a long-winded rant, wasn't it? The moral of the story is:

Somewhere in the world there is always somebody who knows what he's talking about. Before you have your head cut open - you should find him. It can make all the difference. And of course, this applies to things other than brains. I am now a firm believer in second, third, fourth, and fifth opinions.

We had a good time in LA. Oh! And we had a small earthquake! We had been in our hotel room for about 20 minutes when it started wobbling like jell-o. It lasted about 3 seconds. Jules immediately called Joel to make him jealous. "Hey! Dude! We just had an earthquake!!" To which Dude replied to his brother with the brain tumor, "NO WAY! You get to have all the fun!"

So now we go for another year with the brain tumor thing on the back burner. I never thought I would be able to do this. I didn't think I could live my life in 1-year increments. Turns out I can.

I came home from LA sick. I have a cough, fever, and a sore throat. Swine flu? God I hope not. I do not want to be the person known in the news as the "one who got on a plane and spread swine flu all over the smucking place." (smucking, you say? yes, i say. i just finished a stephen king novel and now his word is stuck in my head.) Anyway, so I'm not feeling so well and you should all leave me comments to make me feel better and give me something to look forward to :).

I'm signing off as a Grateful and Relieved Sardine Mama to Jules - the middle fishie in my little school. The one with the tumor who can't hear out of his right ear, the one who has braces and glasses and Asperger's Syndrome...the one who keeps teaching me that I can do all kinds of things I thought I couldn't. The one who gives spontaneous little hugs throughout the day and holds up his index finger when he speaks...the one who likes to twirl outside under the pecan tree with a light saber in his hand...the one with the massive turtle collection....the massive key collection....the one who never questions the things that just keep coming his way....because a boy just simply has to do what a boy has to do...and he does it all beautifully. And speaking of making me feel good with comments? Leave me some at Social Skills, too. Funny post, there.

It's Official

Yep. It's official. Summer is here.

I know this because my kids smell like sunscreen and chlorine, I have a hankerin' for watermelon, and it is hovering around 100 degrees here every afternoon ALREADY thanks to the "natural warming trend" (as folks around here like to refer to the global warming caused by zillions of cars and flatulent cows and other scientific stuff.)

For Jasper, last summer was eons ago. It probably seems like a dream. Anyway, we ran into some technical difficulties with the swimsuit situation yesterday. He was confused as to what to do with his underwear. This picture was actually snapped just after he removed them. He had been wearing them OVER his swim trunks. I had not noticed because he had pulled his jeans on over the whole arrangement (because he is a spy - that is the reason he gave) and so when he began to strip at the pool, revealing the undies over the trunks, he was met with some snickering and belly-laughing of which he was not appreciative. He immediately pulled them off. Dang. I was not quick enough with the camera. I was just glad the local "Don't those people homeschool?" fan club was not at the pool (they were in school...suckers).

Anyway, summer is not really officially here according to the calendar. It is like a month away, or something. But I'm not going to get bogged down by minor details like that considering the fact that I could literally fry an egg on my sidewalk around 4:00 every afternoon. I guess for those of you who live in areas where the "natural warming trend" is showing itself through massive flooding and freak snowstorms, this is hard to relate to. And for those of you who live in areas where massive chunks of ice are falling into the ocean? Sorry. I admit to driving a really humongous gas-guzzler (I would change this if I could afford to, believe me) and to owning a herd of flatulent cows (because I live in Texas). Really. Truly. Sorry. But hey! I recycle! And I don't use any plastic bags. Well, actually I occasionally do but it is by mistake and I really really hate it when people catch me with my shameful plastic bags because I wrote a guest editorial for the local paper about just how awful the things are and so it is embarrassing when I am dragging 30 or 40 of them across the parking lot of the local supermarket while people think to themselves (and surely they do because the world revolves around me and what I'm doing) that I am a massive hypocrite.

Speaking of plastic bags, it has always irked me to have to put my veggie and fruit items inside the little thin, clear plastic bags even though all my other groceries were going into canvas. I try to not use them at all, but when putting a dozen or so apples into the cart, it is hard to avoid them. So I was extremely thrilled to discover that a solution has been right under my nose this entire time! My friend, Diane, over at Go Baby Go, sells these awesome little veggie bags! Yesterday I traded her some eggs for a couple of the large bags and one small size. They are very lightweight and thin. The checkers can actually see the labels through the bags. Yay! This almost makes up for the fact that another foot or two of the polar icecaps melt every time I start up the old 12-seater full-sized commercial vehicle known affectionately as my wretched van.

Check out Go Baby Go if you're in the market for other reusable products, especially in the baby department. I am proud to say that I turned Diane on to cloth diapering and baby-wearing and now she sells lots of different brands of cloth diapers and accessories and baby slings and wraps. My favorite baby carrier of all time would be the Moby Wrap.

OK, well, gotta run. I told the kids I'd take them to the pool today and I have at least a zillion things to do between now and then. Number 14 on the list goes something like this:

14. OH MY GOD LOSE SOME WEIGHT ALREADY!

Swimsuits. Bleh.

Love,

A Summery Sardine Mama

No Bite - Just Attitude

There's been much excitement around here, lately. Spring has sprung, we had some rain, and there's all types of insanity with nature and stuff and this gets the little people all stirred up. As if I didn't already have enough excitement around here.


Yesterday morning I sent Jules out to feed the chickens. Now Jules is my low-key kid. I never thought I'd say that because he was born in a somewhat hysterical state and remained that way for about 8 years, but now that he's 11 he has calmed down. He has calmed down so much that sometimes I'm not sure he's breathing. His voice is already slightly lower and he has started the "mumble". Anyway, so I sent him out to feed the chickens and he came back in way too soon.


"Did you feed the chickens?"


"No."


"Why?"


"Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble, RATTLESNAKE, mumble, mumble, mumble."



"There's a rattlesnake in the coop?"


"No. Mumble, mumble, mumble, LIGHT SWITCH, mumble."


I didn't quite know what to make of that. I pondered and puzzled and tried to make a sentence out of the two discernible words but I wasn't able to do it. I hated to try again, as speaking seemed to be excruciatingly painful and exhausting for Jules, who was sighing and trying to go back to bed; but I tried again, anyway.


"There's a rattlesnake on the light switch?" This seemed implausible.


"YES. Mumble, mumble, ATTACKED ME mumble, mumble, mumble."


Our store room, where we keep all the animal feed and things, has unfinished walls. So the light switch plates are these blue box-things...that are nestled against 2X4's....and I tried to picture a rattlesnake perched on top of one and as soon as the image settled in my mind I did what any good mother would do. I began searching for another kid to go out and substantiate the unlikely (but still possible) story. First choice (teenage boy) was taking a 3-hour shower. Second choice, teenage girl, was surly but willing.


She went out. She came back in and said, "Yep. It looks like a rattlesnake on the light switch."


Dang. Husband. Gone. OF COURSE.

"Did it rattle?"


"Huh?" said the teenager who had already lost interest in the whole thing.


"Did it RATTLE?"

"Uh...no....actually it didn't. It just sat there."


"Was it curled up and all angry and stuff?"


"No. Not really."

This was not sounding like a rattle snake. When I had a rattlesnake on my patio last year, it literally threw itself into the glass french door trying to kill me. To use Jules's words..."It attacked me." And I could hear it rattling from inside the house. If it had, indeed, been a rattlesnake on the blue box, it probably really would have tried to bite Jules when he tried to turn on the light. The snake would have known he was there the minute he opened the door and would have started rattling.


So, once I decided there was probably no danger I went out to take a look, myself. I'm not proud of this, mind you. Anyway, this is what I saw. No rattles.





Rattlesnakes are scary and serious business in these parts. Don't you like how I said, "in these parts"? I like it. Anyway, just a few miles over, we have friends who live in what we call The Sand Hills. And none of them have seen rattlers on their properties. They have copperheads. Copperheads are also pit vipers. And they bite. But they're not aggressive. You pretty much have to step on one or pick one up to get it to bite you. Some of our friends have also seen corral snakes, which are extremely deadly but very shy and not aggressive. We've never seen a copperhead or a corral snake on our farm. Just lots and lots of rattlesnakes. When my husband was a boy growing up on this farm, one of his jobs was to move irrigation pipes with his siblings every morning before school (and my kids whine about unloading the dishwasher). The pipes were extremely long and he said as they moved them they could hear the rattles echoing through the pipes from the snakes inside. We usually see one or two per summer and we never stop saying, "Watch out for snakes!" whenever a kid goes outside, which is once every two minutes. After awhile, I'm sure it ceases to be effective.


Yesterday Jasper walked into the house carrying a shovel full of dirt (I had just vacuumed - which proves how stupid I am) while screaming,"Look! Dirt worms! Dirt worms!" Indeed, his shovel full of dirt held several earthworms, which we played with for awhile and then stuck in our compost.

And this morning I awoke to the sounds of Camille screaming, "Look! Baby birds!" We have several families of swallows who summer with us every year. A lot of people consider these birds to be quite pesky, but we welcome them with open arms. They do poop on the porch, and that is annoying. But we adore watching the parents build the nests, lay eggs, feed the babies peeping out of the nests, and of course, FLYING LESSONS! We love flying lessons. The nests are all over the eaves of our porches and the little guys end up on our chairs, our pots, and US in their wobbly landing attempts. We ward off the cat. I almost said cats, as in plural, but one of our cats, Socks, has never even walked fast, much less caught a bird. Now Gatoman? The dude can catch a bird. Here's a picture of Socks doing his imitation of a bear skin rug.

We have a nail on our porch that holds a wind chime. And every year in late March a single swallow scout arrives and perches on that nail for about a week. Then he leaves, and later he returns with the whole brood.


And guess what's been eating my parsley? Caterpillars! Bleh. I called organic pest control (Camille, Jasper, and Jules) who gathered them and promptly stuck them in jars. And they fed them parsley that they picked from the garden. Sigh. Anyway, luckily they didn't have to feed them too long because they looked around here at the mess from within their glass jars and did what any sane caterpillar would do. They said, "Holy cow - what a mess!" And went into cocoons. So we're waiting.....

I could go on. Because I've only covered a small percentage of the goings-on of Mother Nature around here. But I won't. Because I am a Mother, too. And I'm a busy one. So let's just say we are grateful for the rain and all it has birthed. We literally went from a parched, dead place to a green place bursting with life - overnight. We are still about 13 inches behind in rain. It is unlikely we'll catch up. Our ponds are still mostly dry. And probably, in a month we'll be back to brown and crunchy. But for now? We'll enjoy the green, springlike atmosphere.

We've had none of the wildflowers we're famous for. Not one bluebonnet or Indian pink on our place. In years' past our fields have been so full of these that the sweet aroma wafting through my windows would give me a slight headache by the end of the day. But all of our prickly pear are blooming. We've been remiss in grubbing up prickly pear over the past couple (decade) of years. But currently they're providing us with our only splash of color. And we're grateful for their beauty. They are usually overshadowed and outdone by the wildflowers...hardly noticeable. But this year we're appreciating and enjoying them immensely. Hmmmm....no photo of the blooming cacti. Maybe next time.


Well, Obama just celebrated his 100th day in office. And this is my 100th post to Sardines in a Can. That's cool.


I'm going to go eat breakfast, now. Because yesterday? I ate nothing the entire day. I was on a 24-hour water-only fast. Curious as to why I would do such a crazy-a** thing? Click here.

Love,
A Famished Sardine Mama

Time in a Bloggle

It has been a year since I started this blog. I know it has been a year (although it certainly doesn't feel like it) because I started blogging as a way to keep in touch with our family and friends while we went on a 3-week road trip that included a visit with Jules's doctor in Los Angeles. What a great trip that was! Of course, the news at the doctor's office was great (no tumor growth) and then we enjoyed LA, Disneyland, Northern California, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, and several other stops. It seems like a dream, now...now that we're home and in a routine (of sorts) and not planning any sort of big vacation.

So where has the time gone?

Looking back at the early pages of the blog, at the memories of that trip, I am amazed at how much everyone has changed in a short year. Joel looked like a boy a year ago. Now he definitely looks like a teenager. And Camille and Jasper look so young on those pages! Jules is losing boyishness, and Ellie looks different, too. And oh...crappers. Here it comes. It is creeping up, right through the heart where I feel the sense of heaviness, working up to the throat where it will settle like a lump for a few seconds before filling my mind with.....a little sadness.....and loss. But wait. I stopped it. I got a little heaviness in the heart, yeah, I feel it there. But it went no further. I have not let it fill my mind. Nothing is missing. There are no ghosts, here. Nobody has been lost. They have just changed. Change is what we do. Change is good. And it sure beats the alternative, as they say.

I am getting better at grasping the reality of impermanence. Initially, my grapple with impermanence led to a sort of fixation on "now". Everything was about the now. Everything was about presence; about being present. The understanding that the present is all we have took root with a sort of irrational need to cling to each and every moment. There was this sense of, "Oh God...there went another moment I wasn't paying attention to...now its gone. Oh geez - and there went another! I will catch the next one. I will! Here it comes! God, there it went." Yes, that was my mind chatter. Annoying, right? And when I was able to grasp a present moment, it took on such monumental importance that its passing felt like something to mourn. I tried to memorize the faces of my babies...their smells...their sounds. With such intensity I tried! As if the baby was all there would ever be. As if the baby (not the person within the baby) was what was important to hold onto. And of course, the babies grew up. The babies are gone. But there is no real loss. There is only change. I am not the child I once was. But I am not gone. And the dead are not gone, either. Not really. Just changed. And death is the ultimate change...loss...that we all fear, is it not? Is that why we try so hard to hold on? To slow down the approaching end of the party that we all know is coming but prefer not to think about? I don't know. I just know that time will keep marching, we will all keep changing, no matter how hard I try to be present or try to remember or try to hold on.

I am somewhat able to stand back from it all, now. Instead of trying to catch each and every moment...of trying to be present in each and every moment...I am learning to watch it all, instead. With a smile. Instead of trying to attain presence, I would rather see time (my life and the people in it) as a shower that washes over me. I don't try to grab any of it. I don't have to actively participate in perpetuating, stopping, grasping, clinging, or letting go of any of it. I just stand and feel it caressing down my skin. I breath it in and I breath it out. I don't go after it. I just watch. I don't try to collect the memories pooling at my feet; dripping down my body on all sides. I feel it there, I feel it passing. It doesn't bother me. Instead, I turn my face upward and focus on the shower coming down....there is no present, no now. That was just buzz from popular mystics making the talk show circuit...there is no pause button that freezes the present moment...there is just the shower coming down. And all I have to do is be still. It needs nothing from me. It will continue to originate from some unknown source and disappear into another. It just is.

I will watch it run through my fingers with the curiosity and awe of a child watching a balloon disappear into a bright blue sky. I will not cup it in my hands to slow its flow...because I can't. Because I don't need to. Because even if I do, it is still going to slip through, eventually. And I'll miss something else if I try to hold onto a little puddle...I might not feel the rest of it pouring down around me. And I want to feel all of it.

So happy birthday to Sardines in a Can. There has been a lot of change in the past year...the past month...the past hour....and it is all good.

Love,
Sardine Mama

The Republic of Texas. Again.

Hoooo Boy. Rick Perry at the Austin Tea Party. And I've been called unpatriotic? This guy is talking secession from the union. The Union. As in, The United States of America. That little union. We have produced some whoppers here, that is for sure.


Of course, part of me (I am a born and bred Texas girl) is proud of our insanity. We are the biggest state (not counting Alaska which has the population of Austin) - so we might as well be the most insane. We always have been. Remember the Alamo? God, who doesn't love the Alamo? I LOVE THE ALAMO. However, it was nutters. The whole thing. The battle of just a few guys against an entire army - drawing the line in the sand - the whole crazy "come and get us" thing....only here. In Texas. And we are still defending the Alamo. When Ozzy Osbourne peed on it we put him in jail. You bet we did - and he deserved it.


So if Texas decides to secede (again) and have Chuck Norris as president? Insane. Stupid. I'd be embarrassed. (And probably a lot of other things because we kinda sorta depend on a lot of federal stuff to ya know....exist....). But I'd be just a little teensy weensy bit proud in a creepy sort of way. Because this is Texas. And yeah, we do things our own way. We are clinically and officially crazier than hell but it works for us. It makes us scary. It draws tourists.


Of course, I'm pretty sure that the first thing the new Texans would do is deport vegetarians, homosexuals, tree-huggers, aetheists, Buddhists, Pagans (gasp) and other social elitists. Also, they would deport non-English speakers (half the state) and anyone needing any kind of government assistance. The new slogan would be: Get a Job or Get Out...Love, The Friendship State

In San Antonio, Ted Nugent provided entertainment at the Tea Party Protest at the Alamo. You know, instead of Rick Perry. Perry, in his little gimme cap, was probably more entertaining than Ted Nugent. Sweet Poon Tang Nugent. Family Values kinda guy. Strangely appropriate that he should be hangin' at the Alamo. It wasn't all that long ago that he got booed in San Antonio for saying something like, "If you don't speak English, get the *uck out!" Yeah, baby. You go. At least you didn't pee on the Alamo. Because that? Would have been offensive. Was it after or before the San Antonio incident that he used the n-word during a Colorado radio interview? Hmmm... I can't keep track of all of his sweet talk. Because he is a sweet guy. Just who I would invite to help deliver a message about taxation. Because, you know, we've never had taxation, before. And while we're on racism and secession and taxation and other shuns - isn't it funny that the last time we seceded it was over slavery? And now we have a Black president and we're tossing around the s-word again? And inviting Ted Nugent to entertain us? Hmmmm......

Well, if we secede - we're good militarily. God knows we've stockpiled enough weapons (since the Democrats moved into the White House Texans have stormed gun shops in a state of hysteria) to invade Mexico. Right? You betcha. Oops. Sorry. That is not Texan. That is Alaskan.

See our fearless leader make his umpteenth embarrassing blunder of the century here. God bless his little heart.


OK, Conservatives. Don't be gettin' all pissy with me. I'm done. And I'll defend the dang Alamo with you. Because, like it or not, I'm that kind of girl. A Texas girl. A Liberal Texas girl. Rare - but precious.

The Lone Star Sardine Mama

Dear Jeff

I am single-parenting this week while the hubby is in Denver. He's working there, but he's also getting to visit with his big sister. And she is a sardine fan. I'm assuming they might check in on us. So.........pardon me while I have a private conversation. You don't mind, do you? Just pretend you're in a department store and I'm the girl behind the counter. The one on the phone. I'll just be a sec.

First of all, honey, I have a blog. It is no big deal. I just post really personal stuff and pictures about our family and all....you know, um...on the Internet. Now onto the important things. Make sure and give all the sardines-in-law hugs and kisses from the folks on our end. If you want to give them the full treatment, you'll have to crawl all over them while shouting.

Your kids. Miss you. I think I miss you. I'm too tired to tell right now. Here's what's been going on:

Ellie had a very cool and impressive Master Class in front of an audience with Dr. Angela Cheng. Dr. Cheng was in town performing a concert (she is a spectacular Canadian pianist) and graciously gave 3 master classes to young local pianists the very next morning. Ellie played a Haydn piece that Dr. Cheng had performed the night before...so that was a bit nerve-wracking...but she did great.

Right now she is at a piano lesson. Dad took her. Joel went with him to get new shoes. Because I noticed he has been barefoot for the past 6 days. Apparently, he has no shoes. He says he used to have shoes....so off he went. Come to think of it, surely he didn't go barefoot? Oh my god - I didn't look.

Yes, I remembered to turn the soaker hoses on for the corn.

Yes, I remembered to fill the cow trough by the house.

Yes, I forgot to turn it off and it overflowed.

Yes, I went into town for chicken feed and yes, I picked it up by myself and now I can't turn my head all the way to the left. Don't feel bad.

Ooohh! Look! Another eggplant came up!

No, I didn't remember to water the Mexican heathers we are going to plant this weekend. They shrivelled up something awful. But yes, I have watered them now. They have perked back up.



I found my favorite cast iron skillet out in the yard - it is now rusty. Nobody is owning up and at least one person has thrown you under the bus and said you left it out there. Hmmm. I'll probably be over it by the time you get home.

It is a warm, sunny, windy day. The little ones are in the splashy pool. So is Jules. Yes, he is 11. Yes, there is 3 inches of water in the plastic tub. No, he doesn't know there are better and funner things to do. He is homeschooled. So we can shield him from the outside world and keep him ignorant about things like waterparks.

Here is Jasper, taking a nap outside.

Here is Camille. She was dancing when you left and she'll be dancing when you get home. Which is soon, we hope. Because the trash needs taking out. And because you are missing out on a great Batman chapter book that Jasper got at the library. Truly. It is awesome. So come home or you'll miss the whole thing.

Tonight we're going to the movies. I will spend most of my time in the bathroom or in the concessions line. Friday? You're taking me to dinner. Because tonight? I'm having chalupas. As in "a small wooden boats, you idiot" (private joke). And you are having? Something way better. And then? Back to a hotel. To sleep in a big bed. Alone. Maybe watch some tv. So... maybe we'll do both dinner AND a movie when you get home. One where I get to watch the whole thing like the other grown-ups. So.....hurry. Because there are 5 of them and 1 of me.

Love,

Your Sardine Mamacita and School of Fishies

'Tis Done. It's Sprung.

Well, you've waited longer than a day, haven't you? Sorry. Entering into a relationship with me (even as a blog follower) is stepping down the occasional path to disappointment. I'm a big dreamer and a small doer. A big picture girl who gets lost in the details. A planner, not an executor. A....well, now I'm bored again. A girl with a short attention span - that's what I am. Oh, and the big mind-blowing post? We'll see where this leads. I have no plan.

Anyway - Happy Easter, Happy Pesach, Happy Renewal!

We have had such a dry winter - everything was so brown and crunchy. But we received a wee tad of rain and things have greened up a bit. Not a ton. But enough to lift my spirits. And although I am definitely an autumn person - spring is way cool and I am enjoying it. Our garden is underway - not fully sown but we are working on it. The corn has come up.

And here, on my patio, are my sprouting tomatoes and eggplant.

I was up early this morning, and I wasn't the only one puttering around

Being productive...

Or just nosy....

Anyway, we had a busy and joyful weekend. It was also exhausting. And it started on Thursday with my dad's 80th birthday. We had friends and family over for a fiesta dinner. Jeff made his world-famous (ok - maybe not WORLD famous) Cuban Enchiladas Mole. This is not a Cuban recipe. And my husband is not a Cuban man. But he is a meticulous man. The kind of man who takes 20 minutes to change a diaper but dang it - that diaper is snug and perfect when he is done - truly engineered to get the job done. His enchiladas are hand-rolled, one at a time, and each one has the exact same amount of cheese and mole sauce inside. Each one is rolled to the exact same specifications with the exact same outcome of perfectly symmetrical dimensions. It is painstaking. He made 3 pans, and at approximately 30 minutes a pan, we're talking an hour and a half of rolling. I could roll 3 pans in 25 minutes - but they would not be perfect in any sense of the word. I don't have the luxury of perfection - as someone is always wanting me to hurry up and move on to the next demand/request. So I have turned into a slap-happy task performer. I am fine with that. See how I manage to turn every discussion back towards myself? Hmmm....I am currently exploring that. My egocentric tendencies....

Back to Cuba. So I couldn't duplicate his mole sauce if my life depended on it. It is a combination of what he remembers of his own mom's enchilada sauce and his own unique twist on things. Mole sauce has chocolate in it. It isn't sweet - but you can taste it. Yum. A rich, dark sauce. My contribution was my dad's favorite salad - black bean/corn/pigeon peas/cilantro/onion and balsamic vinegar. I also made guacamole which I served on (forgive me) shredded iceberg lettuce. I put the guacamole in the center of a bed of lettuce, put a ring of chopped tomatoes around it, then a ring of shredded cheddar, and then sprinkle the whole thing with crumbled goat cheese. Nice presentation, if I do say so, myself. And I do.

Jeff also made Mexican rice and I made homemade carrot cake for desert. My sister gave my dad Pink Martini concert tickets and he is thrilled. His ring tone is Hey Eugene. My dad's name is Eugene. How fortuitous.

Saturday morning began bright and early (at 5:30 to be specific) as Ellie's and Joel's STAND chapter was holding a rummage sale with the proceeds benefiting the Genocide Intervention Network. Somehow, when that was over, all of the STAND kids ended up back at my house playing video games. Nice group of kids. Then we headed over to my dad's for a Seder meal. I know. Wrong night. But we do it when we can. And we could on Saturday. It was a perfect end to the day. The Haggadah we use has many beautiful and relevant passages to feeling the misery and pain of others....to sharing suffering....to acting to end atrocities....so it was moving and as I read my part I couldn't help but feel my heart swell at what my teens had spent the morning doing. Trying to end a genocide. And for me, this sort of action supersedes any religious act.

So - how about some more food descriptions? If the relatives don't give you a heart attack during the holidays - the food will! God. But. We. Had. Great. Food.

Here is the kugel I make. It was really really good. It is resting on my little Blue Nordic dessert plate. My fave.

We also had prime rib roast (which one of my vegetarians succumbed to), veggies, matzo ball soup, and chopped chicken livers, WHICH, by the way, you should not knock until you've tried. We like them mixed with onions and hard boiled eggs and spread (still warm) on matzo. Delicious. Aforementioned vegetarian caved to this, too. Lots of wine (in fact, I awoke with a minor headache the next morning) and bickering. It was awesome. Elijah, as usual, snuck in while nobody was looking, drank some wine, and snuck back out. What, I ask you, is up with that? What is it with the religious figures and their cloak and dagger tactics?

And speaking of religious figures, the next day was Easter. For someone who doesn't practice a religion, I am ridiculously religiously bi-polar (in a secular sort of way - although it is often spiritual). So LATE LATE LATE Friday night - while buzzing with Passover wine - I did what any good Jewish girl would do. I began stuffing Easter Eggs. And gettin' the ham ready. We are not doing ham next year, by the way. Just not enough carnivores left in the house. Jules has also joined the veggie ranks.

Last week, Camille wrote a letter under duress. It went something like this: Dear Easter Bunny. Don't leave so much candy. Love (sniff sniff) Camille. Yes! I did it! We had VERY LITTLE CANDY this Easter. The Bun-Man left cascarones (confetti-filled eggs) and eggs stuff with lame items and just a few pieces of candy. Of course, they got chocolate bunnies - but they got the little ones. I am making progress in this area. Another big huge family meal followed. Then we headed across the road to Aunt Maxine's farm for more food and family. It was a truly wonderful, and yes, very holy, week. But aren't they all? Or at least, shouldn't they be?

OK - so, nothing mind blowing in this post, either. I told you. With me, you will suffer the occasional bout of disappointment. I was going to post about String Theory. Really! I am not kidding! If you don't know what String Theory is - tune in next time. I'm going to discuss the mysteries of the universe. Heck - maybe I will even SOLVE they mysteries of the universe! Yes! That is it! On the next post - I, Sardine Mama, will solve the mysteries of the universe and explain String Theory. So, yeah. You will not want to miss that. Oh, and you might not want to miss my post at my other blog, Social Skills...Who Needs 'Em?

This is Sardine Mama signing off more formally as The Blessed (but not virginal) Mother of Five Fishies