The Matthews 2016 Download

11 Dec

Brought to you by that family who brings you their sad sack stories. Every. Single. Year. Until. Now.

2016 has been…dare I utter the word?…normal. Blissfully, unbelievably, normal. But that’s only if you factor in the smack-you-in-the-face-because-damn-you’re-old moment of taking your oldest to get her driving permit and then having to actually ride shotgun with said newly-minted driver and be nearly killed. Each. And. Every. Time. (Okay. Kidding. She’s SUPER responsible and careful, just like her mom.)

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Miss-miss hits the DMV

So near death driving events aside, we found ourselves in our very own version of the upside-down in the slow, but sure lane. Dear friends with clean scans (talkin’ ’bout YOU La-La and Mar!), hubby with a still clean colon…we became those people who just go see friends play in their bands and launch their art exhibits. You know the ones. Dr. Everything-be-all-rights? (Oh right, THAT one hit one of us particularly hard this year…RIP Prince.)

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Bliss c/o Belize

Our favorite 2016 moment was when we happened upon our one true love, Belize. Checking a big something off of our bucket list, we arrived in March for spring break with no expectations and came away changed people. We fell in love with the turquoise, tranquil waters, the daily fresh coconut provided by our new, dear friend, Eric, and left a bit of our souls there when we left. Many tears were shed and we have vowed to go back as quickly as possible.

For the first half of 2016, we did all of the boring, mundane things we had been meaning to do, in fact. Finally got the 4-years-in-the-making landscaping done. Replaced the Vitamix. You know. The good stuff.

And we hummed right along with a tag-along trip with the hubby to Cali and San Fran as soon as school closed its doors for summer.

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Some famous bridge (and bikers)

Took in as many foodie stops in the city as we could fit in for a few days. Drank copious amounts of wine with Cheryl by her pool. Got in some QT with the Cali fam. All adding to that good stuff list.

It wasn’t until ALL THE WAY INTO THE END OF JUNE that the first hit of the year came. (I feel like I’m jinxing us with a walk-under-the-ladder-holding-a-black-cat-while-breaking-a-mirror-and-NOT-knocking-on-wood just by saying that.) But it’s true. And surreal.

And even though everything is fine now, having your baby diagnosed with epilepsy is a big sideways hit no matter how you slice it. So there was that.

We survived and made it to the appointments and figured out how to still get to

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Sharpthews hit Yellowstone
(Photo cred: Rhys Sharpton)

Yellowstone the next week with new meds and just-in-case emergency procedures to follow. And had a fantastic time in that breath-taking place with our dear friends. (Who were generous enough to pick a spot to meet us…er…halfway from Kalispell…with the joke squarely on US with our 11-hour drive to their 6.)

We’ve had school plays, concerts, field trips, volleyball tournaments, dance classes, softball games, camping trips, lots and lots of house guests, hikes,

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Bean at bat

cocktails, picnics, dinner parties, laughs, cries, and all of that good stuff too. And even with all of the uncertainty the IT world has wrought lately with all of the mergers and acquisitions that directly impact BOTH of our jobs…It’s truly been one of the first solidly great years we’ve had in a while. So we will TAKE IT. In fact, when we take into account all that the last few years have sent our way? I’d say we are counting our blessings in a BIG way as we close out 2016.

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Seize the Day

28 Jul

On June 25th, the children were nestled all snug on their pallets in the basement. Our temporary daughter for two weeks (love you, Rhys!), and the two permanent ones, had just started to dozIMG_9441e. It had been a long day (bean played a double header). It was a late bed time. The hubby and I had just dozed off too, when a scream from Teen Queen jerked us both awake. “Mom!!! Something’s wrong with Sella!”

When I say we may not have touched a stair when we flew down there, I’m not exaggerating. I didn’t know it was possible to move that fast at my age.

Teen Queen flew UP almost as fast, with temporary daughter right on her heels. She was crying hysterically, but I barely noticed. Focused entirely on bean, who was, at that moment, holding her arm in the air and saying over and over, “Is it my HAND?” I thought, “WTF is she talking about?” Hubby says, “She said she had the hiccups.” Then, she yells that her belly hurts and runs to the bathroom.

So picture all of this happening when you’ve just been woken by a scream. Yea. Chaos.

The next few minutes were us trying to calm down the big girls, trying to calm down bean who was freaked and shaking, trying to figure out exactly what in the ever-loving hell had just happened.

I said, “Just come sleep with us” to bean because TQ and TD were all — no way are we going to be able to sleep if she’s down here. They even moved to the bedroom, trying to erase the memory.

But we, in our infinite wisdom and utter exhaustion, just wanted to go back to bed.

The next morning, the big girls were still freaked. “Mom. Why didn’t you call the ambulance?” asks TQ almost the moment she’s up. And that’s when I started digging in. Questioning them both, in detail, separately. Then together. And the picture starts to come into focus finally at around 11am the next morning. And it was this:

She was making a weird sound that woke up the big girls. They thought it was the dog tapping on the floor. Then they realize it’s bean. TQ grabs her head and turns her over. Sees she is shaking violently and flips on the light to see her eyes rolled back in her head. Screams for us. Said she was choking and she thought she couldn’t breathe.

So I freak. I tell the hubby, “She had a seizure.” He’s all, “Nah. I don’t think that’s it.” So I ignore him and go call the pediatrician’s answering service. I go from the triage nurse’s voice changing completely once she hears what’s happened, to the on-call doctor saying she’s calling Children’s Hospital and will call me back immediately, to another call with her, to being told this is an emergency, to you may not be able to go on your planned trip to Yellowstone — we’ll let you know. My heart skipped 100 beats. We should’ve called 9-1-1. I felt like the worst mother ever known.

The next couple of days were multiple calls with bean’s regular pediatrician (love Dr. B) — who called THREE times to make sure we were okay. Who said, “The part that really sucks is she may never have another one, but you just never know.” And, “I’d keep a hand on her at all times when you’re near the thermals in Yellowstone.” And he may be the most mellow doctor I’ve ever met.

So this was serious. Serious enough that they prescribed a nasal emergency seizure-stopping med and told us we had to rent a satellite phone to go on the trip. Serious enough that we are to call 9-1-1 if she has another one. Serious enough that we were given an emergency appointment four short weeks later with the in-extremely-high-demand neurologist at Children’s.

I had to drive to the Anschutz campus of Children’s in south Denver just to get the Rx filled since no one else in maybe the entire Front Range will fill the prescription. And we had to rent a phone from a guy in California, who overnighted it to us — no problem. And off we went.

The horseback ride was my scariest moment of the whole trip. But once I heard the music of her incessant chatter with the head wrangler, my racing heart calmed and we settled into the pace of the trail

We made it home without incident. She may have even spent one night back in her own bed (after sleeping with me and sending the hubby to the couch for days and days).

The in-laws arrived just a few days later, so we were on an air mattress right outside of her bedroom for that whole week. Then the hubby and in-laws left on the same day, and we settled into a girls only week and it was almost like it had never happened.

The hubby came home for two short days. Weary and half-broken with a hurt back that landed us in Urgent Care on Sunday. And then he left. And then it was THE BIG DAY.

Teen Queen reluctantly came to support me. And bravely recounted the story over and over for the nurse, the neurologist. And the neuro exam with the gazillion questions, reflex tests, eye tracking. It was one of the longest days I’ve had in a long, long time.

We left at the end of the day with an EEG on the books and training for intranasal midazolam mastered.

There were theories floated and an indication of what this could be. How her history of migraines played into it all. How her restless sleeping ways that have us all playing roshambo to see who has to share a bed with her was something. How her late night sleep walk-and-talks were possibly a puzzle piece. The EEG was going to be the big reveal.

Said EEG was a 90-minute test that she had to be severely sleep-deprived for to get optimal results. And you can imagine how well that went over with newly arrived home from 2nd work trip broken boy/hubby. We quickly strategized. He had to work late (end of quarter) and TQ volunteered to stay up with him. So they took the up until midnight shift and I went to bed at 9:30 with an alarm set to wake up sleepy bean at 4am.

That was when she finally agreed to a post on social media. Up until that point she had said, “I really don’t want you talking about it. Please.” So I agreed. And only mentioned it to a very small few who happened to call when she wasn’t around. (Which is basically never since it’s summer and we are all up each others’ asses 24/7. Yay. Working from home.)
Bean was so nervous before the EEG that she was shaking. It went well though. They strobe-lighted her then hyperventilated her and then let her sleep at long last. It was like a mini-torture session starring my baby girl. And I somehow didn’t cry.

So then we waited. Until today. When the fabulous Dr. Yang called just as the hubby and I were ALONE in the car by some miracle. Her suspicions were confirmed by “some abnormalities” in my baby’s brain. Diagnosis (which I know you’ve all been waiting for): Benign Rolandic Epilepsy.

In spite of the fact that any time a pediatric neurologist calls you to tell you that your child has an official diagnosis based on abnormalities in the brain is cause for feeling like you may vomit, this isn’t all bad news.

She WILL grow out of it. Or at least is likely to. She may not ever have another one. And she doesn’t have to start meds yet.

The other part is they DO want to start her on migraine meds. So that is happening. And I asked for a MRI — which they willingly agreed to and, in fact, supported. So another test for bean. (And she ain’t happy.)

Otherwise, we are going to have to train the school on how to administer the seizure stopping drug (and any other camp or place she will spend any length of time). And she will not be able to swim or take a bath without eyes-on-her-at-all-times supervision.

It’s one of those mildly life-altering things that comes along and smacks you right in the face. Just when you thought it was summer and you could kick back a little.

Footnote: Hubby still isn’t better. But at least he’s home for a little while and we can pretend to be normal.

PS: HUGE thank you to Sean and Tina for jumping to my aid and answering my million+ questions when I felt like I was teetering on the edge of the abyss. Your insights calmed me more than you could know.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: I hear the drums echoing tonight. But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation. Africa. Toto.

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Three Cheers for the New Year

26 Dec

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Photo Cred: Ani Vattano Photography

The 2015 Matthews New Year E-Letter

Brought to you by that family who brings you their sad sack stories. Every. Single. Year.

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Facebook image inspired by Charleston shootings.

The fact that these greetings are coming your way after Christmas is over should speak for itself. The tumult that was 2015 was a stealthy little bastard. Poking it’s nasty head up just as we thought we’d crossed into some well-earned peace. The overview through September is here for a refresher. I notice that I omitted the horrific tragedies that befell our home state this year. Those brought on many, many bouts of tears and hand-wringing from afar as we watched and waited and hoped all would be okay. (And I couldn’t help but think, “How many times can one change their Facebook profile pic in one year in homage to yet another tragedy?”)

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Percy home, safe and sound with Boone.

The other big event was in July — when some crack-headed idiot decides it’s time to up and steal a car. With my parents’ dog inside. Huge favors called in and multiple news stories later, Percy was found safe (albeit a little bit more whack-a-doodle ever since).

So you’d think that would be quite enough for the year. And it would. But then the hubby decided to take a nap on the conveyer belt at the Whole Foods check out and couldn’t get up. So we had that fun time visit to the ER, complete with MRI, to learn he had a compacted disk.

Then Teen Queen decided to break up with her cutie patootie boyfriend after homecoming and bean came home with THE LICE.

Then. I decided to post a photo of all of the kick ass peeps I know who’ve kicked cancer’s ass and, what do you know, that

We’ll miss you always, G-Man.

asshole fate decided to take another one of them just to mock me. So just as the lice prevention olive oil hair styles were at their peak, we flew to DC to bid an incredibly sad farewell to our dear, dear friend, Amy, who just didn’t get long enough to do what she was doing – which was inspire us and make us laugh and lift us up when another BFF gets cancer. It still makes me cry to think about it. The hubby was honored to be a pall bearer though he counts it as one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.

RIP dear, sweet Gigi.

RIP dear, sweet Gigi.

November brought another terrorist act and another profile pic change and more sadness for lives lost. And then Gigi decided 99.75 years was quite enough and took her leave as well on December 2nd. So off we went to SC to say good bye to yet another person we held so dear.

And so we don’t end there with you face down in a gutter with a brown bag and bottle just from reading our year end retrospective, I’ll end on a high note (in chronological order):

    1. Excellent trip to Santa Fe in February for Teen Queen’s birthday. We ate our way across the town and kept the
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      Chile ristra, La Posada de Santa Fe

      ghost at La Posada company for the weekend. What an incredible time we had

    2. Another family adventure to California for spring break in March found us in a VRBO in the heart of Venice.
      Bikes rented, we headed out in search of the best eats and got to see one of our favorite peeps while we were there — plus the Warner Brothers lot where Lucia decided I was destined to write for any one of her favorite TV shows and set out to locate every possible link toevery job posting she could find.
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Welcome to…California!

  1. On my birthday in April, the hubby got the five-year-all-clear scan results we’ve been holding our breath for since his diagnosis in June 2010. Best birthday present ever!
  2. June found us in SC one row from the beach at Folly. It was a Simmonds reunion kind of weekend with my girl cousins (and memories of the third ever present), mom, aunt, brother, sis-in-law and all of their offspring. We even got a day visit from the wife of one boy cousin with all cousin kiddos. What a blast.
  3. The hubby landed himself a job in July and has been a working stiff ever since. He’s been traveling like crazy and it’s been quite the adjustment. You can read more about that here.
  4. We bought ourselves a sweet camper in May and got in more than one adventure before the
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    Little surfer girl, Folly Beach, SC

    hubby was back tied to a desk and airplane. We even tipped the damn thing over on our maiden voyage…because that’s how we roll.

  5. We had visits from a boy cousin, a brother/brother-in-law and the parents/in-laws and got to celebrate the big 8-0 for Pop with all of his brothers and most of the ‘west coast contingent’ of the Matthews clan.
  6. I made a solo voyage to Ohio and got to party like it was 1999. Kentucky-border style.
  7. We got new windows.
  8. We watched the bean swim, run and kick a ball and the teen queen volley and do the bump-n-grind — I mean dance.

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    You never know what will pop up.

  9. We survived one whole semester with a high schooler.

Now we have driver’s ed to weather and a shiny, new year that we are counting on being full of adventures far and wide and smack full of good health, mother nature 100%  in a good mood, and peace on earth without hearts full of darkness. Can I get an AMEN?

THIS YEAR’S THEME SONG: Because a pause is the only time it takes for them to get a jump on us so if you’re staying in, you best be braced, but if you’re coming out then let’s just go. ~Ages and Ages

 

 

 

 

 

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The Nit Wits

13 Oct

Friday night I worked until 9 pm, but opened a really nice bottle of Pinot Noir to ease my pain. Texted the teenage queen’s now ex-boyfriend’s mom (who I will never ever break up with) to check in. And the bean went off to the neighbors’ for a mystery dinner birthday party. Work finally managed and in a holding pattern, I fully embraced my inner TGIF thoughts while watching some rando-show the TQ insisted upon.

In the garden. Before the lice hit the fan.

In the garden. Just moments before the lice hit the fan.

Saturday morning the birds were chirping/the butterflies were flitting by while I admired my dahlias and picked butterbeans and cucumbers and tomatoes from the garden. I was settling in to this weekend shaping into near perfection when—WHAM. Bean started itching her head. “Why are you scratching?’ I asked, ever-so-innocently as I shelled beans and thought about the cocktail I was going to have later with Chad in her kitchen.

“I have some mosquito bites.”  “Well, no. Not this time of year. Let me see.”

Bean pulled up her hair and I thought, well damn. Spider bite. Then she says, “I have a lot.” So then I pull up her hair some more and see what looks like a rash. All. Over. Her. Neck. And Upper. Back.

WTF.

I call the hubby in. He says, “We’ll have to keep an eye on that.”

Then, I’m all. Wait a damn minute. She looks like she has dandruff. Then I’m all, doesn’t lice look like dandruff? The hubby is all, no. And I’m like, I’m calling people. So I start dialing. And then the hubby panics and runs next door.

I’m still dialing for dollars when he comes back with Jane. Who walks in pinning up her hair. Smart woman. And proceeds to look. And dig. And damn. They see a live one. Right out of the gate.

And there it is. After years and years of dreading this day with pure, white-knuckled terror. Our number was up. We. Had. The Lice.

Her first suggestion was to call in the big guns. And all I could think of was Purse Girl, teetering on the brink of sanity, maniacal laughter ricocheting across her backyard, as she combed nits for like two solid years. And had to go into neck brace traction for the rest of her life after it was all over. So I say, “Gimme the number.” And I run straight to the Rockwells to pilfer trash bags.

Hubby has a plan

Hubby has a plan. (It didn’t work.)

The hubby goes ahead and calls the LiceDoctors while I spin in circles in the living room with the newly acquired pile of trash bags in my hand.

Then. It hits me. Birthday party. Night before. Lots of little girls with long hairs in dress up clothes. Humbling call #1: Oh god. I am SO SORRY, but…

Then #2: So. Yea. I know Teen Queen and your sweet boy (who I will love forever) just broke up. Yea. Still so sorry about that. But there’s this other thing too…

Then #3: Hi. I know you have already so much on your plate. What with teacher conferences and all. But. Remember that lice email from Labor Day weekend that the school sent? Yea. A whole month ago. So turns out…

Then #4: It’s me. I know your girl has chemo this week and is bald and can’t get it (hee-hee-hee). Well. We were over there a few times this week and…What’s that? Her twin is itchy? NO. No. No000. Okay. I’ll let you go….

And this is all before the beans were even shelled and the hubby had hung up the phone.

We were ifyouseekamy-ed.

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Little bitches

The lice patrol wasn’t due to arrive until 5 or 6 and I had to think of something. So I took bean outside, poured our nicest bottle of EVOO on her head, covered her with a shower cap and forbade her to set foot in the house. Ever. Again.

“Mom? Can I come in? I need to go to the bathroom?”  “Okay. But don’t touch anything! And then go: Right. Back. OUT!”

Then. We bagged up all of our shit. Separated throw pillows, bedding, stuffies, towels and washables from dryer-only-a-bles. Colors from whites. Upturned all of the hampers and pulled out every loose piece of fabric that could have skimmed a head hair, and put it all into the huge plastic bags that the Rockwells and Matthews had obviously been hoarding since the flood of 2013.

I said, we are going to need some alcohol. So while I packed laundry essentials, laptops so we could work while we waited, chargers and such, the hubby grabbed his growler. And we loaded up and headed to the neighborhood brewery to fill up before we sudsed up. (And, yes. In Boulder, everyone has beer being brewed on the nearest corner. And probably in their garage too.)

I started trying to do the math on quarters needed as we loaded all of our lice shit into the two, massive 6-load capacity washers and four of the huge dryers at the laundromat. Then pretended to ignore the stink-eye we were getting from the college dudes when they saw our pile.

Wide load

Wide load

Turns out laundromats in Boulder take Apple Pay. (Thanks, Obama!)

We settled in with our beers and free Wifi connections and some laundry-regular whose Saturday routine we’d rudely interrupted walks up. “Uh, excuse me? Are you the ones using BOTH of the 6-load washers?” “Uh, yea?” “Well, you will be handing them over in 15 minutes then.” (Not a question.)

The hubby then ferried me home in time to meet the lice lady. It was getting dark, so she set up shop in the kitchen.

About then, J-Mac shows up with her anti-lice kit which included two bottles of wine and two cartons of Ben & Jerry’s. This is someone who clearly has her lice therapy plan dialed in.

She sat there with us as the nit-picking began. I went first. And did a decent job of trying-not-to-panic as nice lice lady confirmed my worst possible fear (besides snakes. I really, really, really HATE those) — I had live ones. Two in fact. I tried not to vomit as she combed those and their hopes and dreams from my hair shafts.

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The TQ Mane

I kept hearing a distinct ‘ca-ching’ sound as the hours ticked by. Hubby had a live one. Teen Queen no – but the hope/promise of a future for a former tenant remained in the form of a nit or two who were being kept company by some glitter (!). Overall very minimal for her. Thank god with that mane.

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Bean braves the comb

When it was Bean’s turn, we all held our breath. Poor baby had been outside in her plastic cap all day. And then on the floor crying as one-by-one, we joined her ilk. She was in a ball saying, “I’m so sorry,” over and over — by the time it was her turn.

Turns out she has really, really clean hair (lice tip: keep your kids FILTHY). Or some kinda tasty cake scalp. Those bitches had built apartment complexes and a full-on recreation center in her baby head and appeared to be hosting a wicked rave. It was godawful.

All I could think was, how in the HELL had she not been itching up a blue streak? She had given NO SIGN. Nothing. And it didn’t even occur to us to check. Her grade wasn’t even affected in the Labor Day Call Out. (Or so we thought.) And we’d never had it. Any of us. Even as kids. So we had no effing clue.

As the hours and dollar signs ticked by, we had THE LICE excavated and said buh-bye. We had our nifty new $20  lice comb and a bulk can of olive oil and we were good to go. We dug out crappy old sheets and towels and pillows and let the coated oil hair drip away. Suffocating any new fresh faces looking to procreate on our pillow.

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Hubby oiling me up.

And bean got to live inside again. For now.

We even went out to dinner and pretended we were normal by Sunday. Then we got home, the power went out in a wind storm, and we were reduced to nitpicking with headlamps. Fershittinsakes.

Yesterday, the comb outs were all coming out clean. We were thinking we’re getting into the hang of it. Girls and I have a nice day together for the school holiday. Then. Purse Girl calls. She’s just landed and has an itchy head.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Can you hear him scratchin’ at the screen door. Little bag a bones been out all night. Kitty. The Presidents of the United States of America.

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Words Make My Mouth Exercise

16 Sep

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a touch of whiplash from the last few weeks/months. In the continuing theme of ‘never a dull moment,’ I could never claim boredom or being stuck in a rut. Here’s why.

As you may recall, all hell broke loose on us yet again about two years ago. No, it wasn’t the year of hell that was 2010, but it was still a three-punch in the gut. (These sets all seem to come in threes, no?)

This year was humming right along. Hubby back in school to prep for the CPA exam while he continued his job hunt, me going strong with Mugs & Wit. We even started a cleanse to kick off the year with a (ahem)…clean slate.

Then round about January 20th, one of the Va-Jay-Jay BFFs, Lady Lou, had to go and join the Big C Club. Cleanse aborted and many bottles of wine later, we had almost all cried ourselves out. So we dusted off those big girl panties and armored up to take this shitty cancer thing DOWN. AGAIN.

She finished up chemo the first week of June, ran away to do the hula in Hawaii for a few days and came back to get radiated (as if she isn’t radiant enough already). She is now in the after care phase with Herceptin injections every three weeks until February 2016. Tamoxifen is her daily friend for the next five years. Take that you big bully, cancer. She is doing GREAT. And I’ve been privileged enough to be there with her through most of it all — even when I’ve had to cry to make her let me come. (I’m a good friend like that.)

And while we’re on the subject of crying….that seems to be my new modus operandi. I cry over sinks full of dishes, friends who won’t let me go to their oncology appointments, dear uncles who get diagnosed with ALS, and other friends who up and have a kid with bone cancer.

I try to blame it all on the other letter that should always have the word BIG in front of it: M. And maybe it is that. Hot flashes suck ass. I had my head in the freezer the other night and the hubby says, “Gross. You’re going to get hair in the ICE.” I thought, “Maybe I should go buy an ice pick to stick in his head.”

But I digress. Crying over dear friends/family members fighting for their lives while you helplessly sit by and wring your hands is pretty normal. It’s the sink full of dishes things that isn’t really like the others…

To progress this story forward, I’d like to say that when I highjacked Lady Lou’s appointment (on my birthday in April) with the doc that we share announcing that the hubby was FIVE YEARS ALL CLEAR, and we hugged and cried, that was a full circle moment. She could see for herself that the little yellow-ish flicker at the end of that long, dark, drafty tunnel will soon be HERS TOO.

And forward from there, we had a summer of fun. Camping, 10 days at the beach in SC, hiking, day trips to Denver by bus. It was really great — even though work was busy as holy hell. We got through and the hubby had landed himself a newfangled job just as it was all coming to a close. Awesome.

It’s the last few weeks that have made me dizzy. Weird I know. After 2.5 years of getting my company ramped up, bringing home the bacon and feeling like my head was sizzling itself from it all, business just dropped off. The timing was fantastic since I am playing single, SAHM most days with the hubby traveling, doing the job of two people since his coworker was fired 8 days in AND trying to finish up his accounting classes before he goes on halfway-through-I’m-going-to-lose-my-mind hiatus. Oh. And having his back freak the shit out and double him over. Right on the conveyor belt in the Whole Foods check out line. (ER visit plus MRI showed a pinched nerve and compacted disk. The meds worked. He’s getting better. Much. Thanks for asking.)

Seriously great timing. But. I am struggling mightily with it. Living in this strange gray area that isn’t quite SAHM OR bringing home the bacon/money-making fool. I’m so used to being one OR the other that I can’t quite wrap my head around being a seriously half-assed BOTH. Or with how quickly it all changed.

I would say that in light of the other shit that has gone down this year, this is NOTHING. But it sure feels like SOMETHING to me.

The only glimmer of hope in this freshly-minted identity crisis is that I haven’t cried about it yet.

And look at me, would you? I’m all writing again and shit. At least until the next big deadline rears its head. Amiright?

TODAY’S THEME SONG: When a problem comes along (you must whip it). Devo

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The Techno-Color Yawn Express

11 Jan

I woke up today feeling a bit reflective. It’s DAY 9 of this stinkin’ cleanse and I am prouder of myself than I can remember being. This is the longest I’ve stuck with anything remotely like this. Ever. I always have great intentions. But I usually toss those suckers out with the compost by day 4 or 5. And. I’m. Done. With. That.

But this shit has been HARD. Minutes after I posted last, I ran to the bathroom and began a two-hour vomit fest. And since that would be maybe the 6th time I’ve puked EVER, it was not a small deal. The hubby was calling out from the other room, “What are you DOING?” I could hear the bafflement in his voice through my yaks. And I had no answer. Just yelled, “Stay away!” Because really, Even after 21+7 years. Who needs to see that.

It was over pretty fast. Luckily. And I am still stymied. It definitely could have been a fast moving bug. But I’m still thinking that I am the Chernobyl of body toxins. (With a Vesuvius outcome.)

I was fine by the evening. Ate dinner. No mishaps. And even met a client for lunch the next day. Done.

Eating out was my first big challenge. But. Modmarket + Low Key Client = Easy. My favorite part of the lunch was when she said, “Do you watch Mad Men? I just started watching it and thought, ‘That’s what Cassy does.’” I laughed out loud and gestured to our salads and herbal teas. “Yep. That’s exactly it!”

The next big challenge was girls’ night. This is a group that I’ve been super tight with since our twenties. Pre-kids. And we still manage to gather a few times a year and whoop it up. These girls all have well-seasoned livers and we put them through their paces on these fine evenings. Wine bottles usually outnumber the group by a few. I was nervous. But I missed the last one because I was in Italy. So.

I planned for it well. Offered to be the DD. Decided that this would be my beef night (I’m allowed beef once a week, but only the grass-fed, organic super clean stuff). Planned out an herbal/hibiscus tea “cocktail.” Then packed my salad dressing, homemade chimichurri for my beef, some veggies and hummus for avoiding the inevitable cheese plate — and off I went.

There were a lot of questions. A lot of ribbing. And the night went fine. I probably ate more than I have been. But being the only sober one in the group was hilarious. My biggest realization was that the conversations rarely track. Luckily they had me to get them back on point. 🙂

I didn’t get home until 1am. The best part? Waking up the next day and feeling totally GREAT. Score.

Then came the b-day party. This one was going to be interesting too. But mostly for the girls. I prepped then and said, “Remember, this is all up to you guys. Do whatever feels right to you. But if you want to try to stick to this, I’ll support you too.” They decided to stick to it, so we opted to grab Chipotle as a consolation prize. Plenty of safe detox options there.

It was Mels Bells girl’s bday. At a trampoline place. So the exercise was ready and waiting. But when lunchtime came, the whoopie pies were a particularly hard thing to skip for bean. She came to me in tears, so torn about wanting one, but wanting to stick to the cleanse. I felt terrible for her. I told her that this was all up to her and that if she wanted it, she should have it. (But only a small bit. I was flashing back to my day o’ vomit.) She cried a bit more, dried her eyes on my sweater, and then opted for a small piece. Tragedy narrowly averted. That kid is so hard on herself…

Last night, I hugged her and told her how very proud I was of her for sticking to this like she has — what with being only eight and all. She teared up and got the biggest grin on her face. That. Made. My. Week.

So. Weekend 1. Challenging, But did it. The first eight days? Let’s just say I’m super happy to be upright, out of the powder room, with no headache and off to spend a few hours of girl time with the Teen Queen.

Sayonara week one. You can suck it.IMG_6044

TODAY’S THEME SONG (this one’s for Lady Lou, TRPL TRBL, HK, E, and Chad): Red Hot Chilis. Suck My Kiss. Do me like a banshee. Low brow is how. Swimming in the sound of bow wow wow.

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The Five Finger Salute

7 Jan

The thing about a detox is your body has to detox. But leave it to us to be bitchslapped by those infernal toxins. Never even had the exit strategy in mind. But exit it has. The usual way (of course) and I actually won’t go into detail on that for once. And then there have been the headaches (which we don’t think are even from caffeine absence because we don’t drink that much coffee — just a latte a day or less) and the body aches. Even today, on day five, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck and knocked in the head with a sledgehammer. Yea. Fun stuff.

Remember: This is happening to people who have eaten slow, farm fresh, organic, grass-fed, free range, and pesticide/chemical/additive/preservative/processed free (more or less) for almost 15 years. (Feel free to add in any other foodie buzz words I forgot.)

Miss-miss (from henceforth to be called The Teen Queen) said, “I thought this was supposed to make us feel better.” Patience, grasshopper.

And then bean, who has been playing the butt flute with gusto since this started (oh, hello fiber) says, “Ahhhh. So much better.” That kid never would have made it as a debutante.

So distracted we’ve been by the side effects and general malaise, that we haven’t missed the eliminated foods much. It wasn’t until yesterday that I had the thought of blue cheese. And it coated my every thought for four solid hours. I could’ve eaten my own hand if it had blue cheese on it.

The saving grace of this experience is it isn’t detox via starvation. I’m not one to go ‘round hungry.  So when dinner time came and the hubby cooked up this deliciousness (see photo) with a fresh salad and oven sweet potato fries, I was a happy camper once again.

Turkey burgers with scallions, mushrooms, fresh ginger, parsley, and lime sauteed in coconut oil.

Turkey burgers with scallions, mushrooms, fresh ginger, parsley, and lime sauteed in coconut oil.

We also realized that once we started up the exercise piece, we definitely felt better. Sweatin’ out the oldies works. Hell, I might even put on a sweatband if it will stop my head from pounding. (Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I must be one TOXIC SOB.)

Yesterday was by far my hardest day so far. There was this internal dialogue I had with myself that went something like this:

Just eat a damn steak with blue cheese. What’s the big deal? It’s protein too! And who cares if you have some red wine? It has ANTIOXIDANTS in it! And what are you planning to do after this whole debacle, huh? Are you really going to feast on the bulk bins forever, sister? Let’s be realistic. The minute this shit is over, you are going for a loaded baked potato with a side of L’Explorateur and an Asher Green Bullet (or whatever the hubby has on tap).

And so my thoughts derailed to:

I’m never giving up dairy. That’s bullshit. So why not just eat some yogurt or a little blue cheese on your salad to make this a real party?

The good news is, my thoughts ended with this:

You’ll NEVER EVER change your wicked ways if you don’t do this for the whole THIRTY DAYS, you wretched wench. So stop sobbing and pull it together!

Sweating out the oldies. (Piggly Wiggly Hat. Check.)

Sweating out the oldies.

And so the night ended with a cup of detox tea and a new board on Pinterest. Chock full of bulk bin and produce aisle recipes that I can actually get my taste buds whipped up about. The hubby does make a mean ass turkey burger too.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Strut on a line, it’s discord and rhyme. I’m on the hunt, I’m after you. Mouth is alive with juices like wine. Hungry Like the Wolf. Duran Duran.

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Video

Kicking off 2015 by Eating Nothing. Nothing at ALL.

3 Jan

Today begins my first day of being more Boulder than I’ve ever been in my 20 years of living in this fine city. Today, I start a detox/cleanse/fit program/eat seaweed and love it for THIRTY DAYS. It is also the official start of my becoming a walking, talking cliche like millions of others across the globe who pick this month to get fit.

Let me tell you. Coming from a family who loves food and finds mocking the growing GF contingent endlessly entertaining (I’ll have the quatro DAIRY on my GLUTEN please, thank you) — this was not an easy decision.

I told my mom about it and she said, “You always have to do those programs. I just don’t eat.” Which is true. That woman can live on box wine and box wine alone. Yea. No.

Our plan is a bit more complicated and has transpired from multiple years of prodding (me), poking (me), and researching (also me). The prodee/pokee/research recipient being the hubby.

The idea started in those idyllic post-cancer treatment days when I was blazing a Google research trail. I uncovered endless info sets on how various foods cause inflammation and consulted a number of nutritionist friends who corroborated my findings. Inflammation is the hospitable host to cancer cells it seems. I also uncovered the whole acid vs. alkaline piece which was underscored by a friend of a friend who was up against the ultimate foe: brain cancer. And he later succumbed.

So I kept at the hubby for a while there. Trying in vain to convince him to just try going dairy free/coffee free/alcohol free/gluten free/red meat free. Just to see.

He wasn’t having it. And I subsequently gave up (though revisited the concept quite a few times over the last few years to deaf ears.) He was celebrating LIFE and I decided that was the path I’d take as well. Much to the dismay of his doctor (and I’m sure others), we just went for it. He was most definitely NOT going to jump off the cancer train straight into some strict dietary and exercise regimen and I had to agree. He’d been through hell.

And we were more than pissed. We’d been 100% organic and ran, hiked, biked – you name it. Had been proselytizing against Micky-D’s and their ilk for years. And it landed him straight in the cancer canoe on the river chemo. So fuck that.

We didn’t chose fast food. Still can’t go down that hard. But we have been celebrating for over three years with fantastic meals, plenty of cocktails and pairing that up with very little exercise. Add in some death in the family/job loss/house flooded stress and here we are.

I spent a lot of 2012 and 2013 traveling for work and lived pretty high on the hog. Fantastic steak dinners at some of the top steakhouses in the country. Flowing red wine. Lobster mac and cheese on the coast. Italian in Little Italy in NYC. Authentic BBQ in Kansas City.

My partner in crime during this debauchery and I had been talking. A lot. So when he and his wife decided to do a fit challenge last summer, I was intrigued. No way in hell was I going to DO IT. But my interest was piqued.

I couldn’t fathom going without my morning latte or evening vino. Much less the weekly cheeseburger. Or brie. Cheese is my most favorite food group. Even surpassing dessert. Give me a cheese plate with some house cured salumi and I am one happy girl.

I also knew that we are fairly healthy too. We are scratch cooks, eat very little processed food, zero fast food, and nothing with hormones, antibiotics or pesticides. But still.

I watched as my friend and his wife transformed themselves to the point that I barely recognized him in a recent picture he posted. Not sure if that was when the light bulb was relit or not. But it was a wake up call.

I decided that after the season of eating, drinking and being merry, it was going to be my turn. With or without the hubby.

I called my friend’s wife and told her I was in. She set me up with some supplies from the company she is a rep for (Arbonne) and the box arrived on Christmas Eve. I hid it in my office post-haste and didn’t even want to think about the implications of what was in that box.

At this point, the hubby was starting to be intrigued too. Then the girls had some questions. So it was decided. We were all four going dairy, sugar, gluten, soy, alcohol and coffee free for THIRTY DAYS.

My plan is to re-educate myself on slow and healthy food. Following the Michael Pollan religion of “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” Get myself up and moving and away from my desk in spite of the stress of being self-employed and the sole bread winner (for the moment).

So yesterday was our planning day. I sat down with the program guides and menu plans and started working through the week.

The dinners were a breeze. I do a weekly menu plan for dinners already. But when I started trying to figure out lunches and breakfast, I stumbled. It was complicated to figure out what to feed all four of us for three meals a day and snacks and in a way that will translate to work and school schedules and lack of prep ability at those locations.

Trying to navigate the nuances of what is allowed and what isn’t and aligning that with smoothies, lunches and snacks almost made me quit.

It seriously took me until almost noon to wrap my head around it all. Then, factor in that the hubby currently does the bulk of the meal prep — and he needed to be up to speed on it all — well. My head exploded.

The fact that I was sitting there, researching brands of almond milk (Califia FTW!) and trying to determine the glycemic index of an orange on January 2, 2015. Well. Looks like this is going to be a brand new shiny year.

So yesterday we took ourselves to Whole Foods as per usual. And we left with two extra bags and even got a compliment from the cashier, “Lucky girls. Eating so healthy.” (I heart Anna. She’s watched the girls grow up on our weekly treks to that foodie mecca over the years.)

You can buy most of the grains, veggies, fruits, non-dairy milks, etc. at Trader Joe’s or Costco too BTW. But we bought three meals for seven days for four people and it came to $10 per person per day. At Whole Foods. And that included organic, free-range chicken and turkey plus wild caught salmon. (I love when I get to step up on my go organic pedestal and bask in the limelight.) I know I live in the very expensive kingdom of Boulder, but I would love to see what some of your weekly food bills are (including eating out). I think $10 a person per day is pretty damned good. Especially when it’s 100% organic.

And here is said menu for week one (my masterpiece) in case you think we are eating only nuts and berries:

Breakfast:

Smoothies

Lunch:

Farro salad with winter fruit & pistachios

Falafel Salad

2 Days: Butternut squash soup with green apple

Chicken & Rice Soup

Quinoa Fried Rice

Dinners:

Whole Roasted Chicken with Steamed Broccoli & Baked Sweet Potato

Turkey Chili & Salad

Burrito Bowl, Homemade Salsa & Brown Rice Chips

Veggie Loaded Spaghetti & Roasted Green Beans

Grilled Chicken, Veggies & Onions with Brown Rice

Turkey Burgers & Sweet Potato Fries

Grilled Salmon with Avocado Salsa & Brown Rice

Snacks:

Celery with Almond Butter and Raisins

Hummus with Veggies

Nuts

And now, today is the day. We did our weigh-ins and measurements and I threw up in my mouth. Then vowed to ignore the numbers and focus on the feelings of better health. Got support texts from True Blue and Mels Bells and another from the friend who created this monster. (Thanks Hemp.)

I have no freaking idea if this cozy first morning curled up with my detox tea and almond butter protein smoothie will turn into my worst nightmare. I may be coiled around a grilled cheese in a venomous, fangs-bared stance in two days flat. Or. I could just drink the damned tea.

And, that, dear readers is my Serial-esque cliffhanger ending. For now…

TODAY’S THEME SONG: When I grow up, I wanna work at Alfalfa’s where the cheese is dairy free. A birkenstocks, spandex, necktie, patchouli grocery store. I’d have a job, picking through the produce — no pesticides for me! I’d be a working moderate income socially conscience Boulder hippie. Alfalfa’s. Leftover Salmon.

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Deck Your Halls

2 Dec

Matthews Card 2014-v2This cyber holiday letter is brought to you
by The Matthews.

That family who brings you their sad sack stories.
Every. Single. Year.

A whole lotta blood, sweat, tears, laughs, hot tub soaks, cocktails, and heart went into the making of this year’s compilation, Deck Your Halls. Read on and keep those hits coming. We got this. Plus, 2014 was bonafide boring based on comparison to recent years. (Yay for boring!)

2014 GREATEST HITS

Songs, lyrics (and life) by The Matthews. Holiday card and header photo cred: Ani Vattano Photography.

1. 2 TRIPS 2 CACKALACKY $

IMG_4544 Yes, you read that right. Even though we haven’t been back to our southern home as a family since the summer of 2013, one of the adults in this family went back solo in January and then again with the male adult in May. We had reunions and weddings to attend. Fun and debauchery was had by all. (I’m not naming names.)

2. GARDEN BEAT BOX ↘

IMG_5291 - Version 2In lieu of aforementioned summer family trip, the hubby opted to build himself a new, and improved, raised bed garden complete with drip irrigation. He got to drive big equipment, dig in the dirt, and drink homebrewed beer with his buddy, Timmy, who drove down from FoCo two weekends in a row to help. It was back-breaking. But you got yourself a pretty new garden in a sunnier spot, now don’t you?

3. ROAD TRIP TO CRUSTY BUTT ≈

IMG_0491Thanks to our good friends at Groupon, we scored a nasty hotel complete with no A/C and no running water slope side in Crested Butte. We survived the sub-par (read: NOT RITZ CARLTON) accommodations and got to go on some pretty fantastic hikes, wade through some rivers, and eat some crazy good food. And Mabel got to come along and scare the hotel staff. #winning

4. GROWIN’ DAT BIZ ®

Most of 2014 was dedicated to giving the old college try to making Mugs & Wit pave our way to riches. Round about May, the hubby decided that the glitz and glamour of self-employment wasn’t for him. He’s still helping while he seeks ‘right and proper’ employment and takes a few classes all while juggling the stay-at-home dad deal. The efforts ended up with two new clients, a brand-spanking new website, and a 10 years in business milestone. Not too shabby.

5. ITALIAN FOOD TRIPPIN’ #

Being on the board of Slow Food Boulder County has its bennies. Besides getting together with some of my favorite people once a month to plan while we nosh and sip, I got to head to Italy in October for this year’s Terra Madre and Salone del Gusto as part of the US delegation. It was drudgery, of course. All of that wine, cheese, gnocchi, and salumi. But I survived and am now officially on a tear to rid the world of dirty meat and yoga mat pie dough.

6. TIPPIN’ THA CANOE ?

IMG_5010In August, we braved the torrential (tepid?) waters of the South Platte via canoe. As usual, the hubby and I exhibited our extreme athletic prowess by making that canoe our biscuit (this is a G-rated post, people). We steered and paddled like a boss until we hit a log and that was all she wrote. Bean stood by and cried while I untangled myself from the branch and realized…I can actually stand up here. Huh. You just never know.

7. KILLIN’ THAT CANCER ¥

The hubby continued to biscuit-slap that ham sandwich, cancer, with more clean scans and butt scopes. He recently celebrated 4 ½ years cancer-free and only has one more scan in March to pass and he’s on the home stretch to the big FIVE YEAR MARK. More on that in next year’s cyber letter. (It’s going to be a best-seller. No doubt.)

8. FAMILY VISITATIONS X3 €

IMG_5352So our plan was either highly successful or failed miserably — depending on how you look at it. (And how medicated you are when you’re talking about it.)  That whole not going back with the family this year thing. Yea. That. As a result, September – October was a blur of sheet-washing and beer brewing. We had Mom and Boone, followed days later by cousin Elizabeth and her hubby, Rob. Then one week after my return from Italy, the hubby’s parents came. Three of the six were first time Colorado-visitors, so we got to do some fun touring, visit some exotic, newly legal places and try to kill flat-landers on a beer tour by bike. (Mwahahahaha…) I do hope we didn’t scare them off for good. It was nice staying put for once and getting to host and show off our gorgeous state. (Love you all so much for making the trip — all jokes aside.)

And I almost forgot that two of the hubby’s siblings, Keith and Gary, made it out our way for skiing between December and April too. Unheard of! See what 20 years away will do?

9. THE TEENAGED BLUES ↙

IMG_5027We have a teenager now. Harrumph. (That second part was her. Okay. And me.) Love that girl to the moon and back. And sometimes want to give her a one-way ticket. Then she comes and cuddles up and all is right with the world again. For five whole minutes. 

She got her braces off this year and finally got her caramel apple. That should count for something, right? And just LOOK at her, would you?

10. 8 IS ENUFF ≠

IMG_5103Our baby is eight. I’m speechless. But she’s not. I’m still posting her best of quotes @soboclassifieds (much to her growing chagrin). PS: #3 is her favorite. Because it says “butt.”

11. ITSA LTYM THANG !

The craziest thing I’ve ever done happened this year. I auditioned for (what the WHAT?!?) and was cast in a SHOW. Yes. And on Mother’s Day I made web history by being possibly the worst performer to grace a stage and have it recorded and youtubed for all of posterity. Here you go. Get your guffaws out.

 

This is 2014. Signing off. Happy trails. (And if this was a real album, I’d add: Catch you on the FLIP side…)

 

Don’t Try (Suicide).

13 Aug

For the last day or so I’ve been processing. Reading. Absorbing. The news of the untimely and tragic death of Robin Williams has put me in a tailspin. Not only were some of his movies my most favorite and life-defining (Dead Poets’ Society, The Fisher King, Good Will Hunting, Patch Adams, The World According to Garp), but also the fact that his death was by his own hand while in the depths of crippling despair just crushes me.

I mean. He was the guy who had me wearing rainbow suspenders and thinking it was cool. (I also like to think the Boulder seed may have been planted in those early episodes as well.)

Amidst all the online rubbish, there are some excellent points being made. About how the terms we all readily use like committing suicide and calling it a selfish, asshole-ridden act are shudder-inducing and should be filed away with some other choice words that we now know better than to use. 

This is the part that got me. Because when my uncle (beloved, as curmudgeonly as he was) died of suicide in 2002, I was pissed. At him. His note citing financial stress and not being able to deal felt lame even as full of pain as it clearly was. And as we cleaned out his house in the following days, I kept thinking what a selfish thing it was to eat a waffle, clean your teeth with your Waterpik, open the door so your dog wouldn’t be trapped inside, and off yourself. Leaving everyone who loved you completely shattered.

And up until yesterday, I still thought I felt that way. Then I read this and something in my brain clicked. Loudly.

My dearest has been suffering from this insipid disease himself. Something they call the cancer shadow. And it catapulted him straight out of a high-paying job into medical leave that resulted in a lay off upon his return. A year and a half (plus) later, he’s finally seemingly solid and on the job hunt as we speak.

But it has SUCKED. I’ve gone from hand-wringing to threatening to ultimatums to mind-numbing fear. Never knowing how the pendulum will swing on a given day. Never knowing what to do to help him. And it’s only when we look back that we see it all so clearly (and scarily). He was a fucked up mess. 

So it occurred to me upon reading this that depression and suicide are so far from selfish that it could almost be the opposite. What this illness actually is is the depths of despair dropped into a bottomless crevasse. And even the best drugs and therapists may or may not be able to bring the light back in. 

Selfish has no part. Depression cripples and takes no prisoners. Like the Grim Reaper standing there in the dark cloak with a scythe. The person is overtaken — life upended — with very little choice in the matter.

And those drugs? Well, let me just say that I was kicked, punched and awoken by my own screams to a hand over my nose and mouth — all while he was having some crazy town drug-induced dreams. It was no happy pill. And the hubby wanted to stop taking those faster than he had wanted them to help. No one. And I mean no one wants to have their kids wake up to their mom screaming in the middle of the night, only to be told, “It’s okay. It was just Daddy trying to smother me in my sleep. We’re fine!” No. No one.

My point being: no easy fix. Take a pill and BINGO! Happy time! No. Doesn’t work that way.

And then I read this and my second brain-click was like a reload. No one commits cancer. But people do die of it. Are stricken with it. Fight it. And sometimes win. And sometimes lose. The drugs make you crazy and sick. And sometimes the drugs make you better.

And it is always, always worth trying. To choose life. Even if it’s incredibly taxing and complicated. That’s serious illness. Messy.

My uncle and Robin Williams were suffering from an unimaginably cruel trick of fate. An illness that served up a life sentence for them both. And it’s so unbearably sad. But it’s also not something anyone would choose or either of them thought they’d ever ultimately succumb to. 

Rest in peace all who have suffered. Get help if you’re among the living. Depression is the true selfish bastard in this and I’m tired of it preying on the brilliant people we love.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Give me something that I need. Satisfaction guaranteed. Because I’m thinking about a brand new hope. The one I’ve never known ‘cause now I know it’s all that I wanted. Macy’s Day Parade. Green Day.

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