This is the conversation that took place on the day of the procedure, from the time I left the room where the wire was inserted into the lump, through the surgery prep and into the evening. I hope it is worth a chuckle or two for others.        





Somehow I left out the screen shot where I say something about not thinking that was a compliment. 






At this point I was wheeled away for surgery. The conversation picked up again after.   








I edited out a screenshot where I referenced someone possibly kicking someone else.   

And much later that evening after some more sleep…  





That’s how I spent the day of surgery. I have the best friends. And the silliest.  Thanks, guys and gals. I couldn’t have done it without you. And special thanks to my husband who had to listen as I read these aloud all day. XO














Well, it’s happened.

My last little chick has sprouted wings (to match his cute little horns) and passed his driver’s license test. Don’t ask me why it took 2 years past the expected date to accomplish the task, but it did. I am not complaining about that at all, by the way. Frankly, (and you people better not tell him I am saying this), I would not have wanted him driving at 16. At 16, Austin was still accusing inanimate objects of bad behavior and was incapable of closing a cabinet door.

Now that he’s 18, he closes cabinet doors, but is incapable of locking the door to the house. You know, the door that, when unlocked, allows bad people to come in and either kill you or take all your stuff.

Hopefully he will be better about locking the car. As for me, I once had a cute little Mitsubishi convertible that was broken into 3 times as it sat parked behind my condo. The fourth time, it was in the parking lot at the office. I got so tired of replacing windows and/or slashed convertible tops that I seriously considered just leaving the car unlocked from that point on.

(Not actual car. Well, it is an actual car, but not MY actual car.)

Jerks. Took all the fun out of owning that.

Anyway, Austin succeeded in getting his license on something like his 5th trip to the DMV. The DMV is apparently a lot like Home Depot, in that one trip is never enough. You always forget something. I have never known a single person who can visit Home Depot just once in a weekend. If you go once, believe me, you’re going 2-3 more times.

The first trip to the friendly and helpful DMV, (snicker), the vehicle’s inspection sticker was out of date. The second trip turned out to be a national holiday, so they sat staring angrily at a locked door. The third time, Austin actually made it into the vehicle to begin the test, which unfortunately involved parallel parking as the first step – a strict Pass or Fail element. Austin had NEVER parallel parked before. You can imagine how well that went.

(Okay, this didn’t happen.)

The fourth visit to the DMV took place on Tuesday of this week, with a scheduled appointment. Only, the appointment was actually scheduled for Thursday, so Robert’s head exploded. In public. Is anyone else beginning to picture this whole mission as doomed?

Well, not so fast. Dearest mother-in-law, Didi, stepped into the yawning breach of Austin’s driver’s license pursuit on Thursday and I was very pleased to get a message in the afternoon from the 6,100 texts a month texter: I PASSED THE DRIVER’S TEST!!!!!

That’s the first good news I’ve had all week. I treasure the thought of his independence – and the thought that neither his father nor I have to get up early on weekends to drive him to work anymore.

At least, I will treasure his independence until the first accident, at which time, my head will explode.

May it be a long time coming.

For now, “DRIVE, Austin, DRIVE!!”

And keep your eyes on the road.

And both hands on the wheel.



I was smiling blankly at my mother-in-law the other evening as she was complaining about how difficult it is to get either of her grandsons (my stepson, Austin) on the phone. Once I got past the question of why anyone would want to speak to a mostly snarky teenage boy, I had to sympathize.

In desperation, my mother-in-law purchased an iphone so she could text. Now, the boy’s grandmother has to broach the subject of speaking to him via text, then follow up with a phone call, which he still sometimes doesn’t answer. When asked why the scheduling, the 17-year old informed us that calling someone out of the blue is rude. “When you call someone you have no idea what they’re doing. They could be busy.” My knee jerk reaction was, “Buddy, you better make time to talk to me if I call your butt. I’m paying for your phone in the first place, you inconsiderate lout…”

The conversation stuck with me. I’ve been thinking about phone calls and if Austin was right. Could it be possible? Is phone calling rude? Let’s see, what’s my reaction when my phone rings at work? I glance at the caller ID and either grab for the phone or stealthily sneak the volume on the ringer down so no one can tell I’m letting it roll over to voice mail. At home, it’s similar. Unless I recognize the phone number as one of the few people who still use my land line, typically immediate family, I roll my eyes and walk away from the incessantly jangling device.

I’m becoming what my friends became after they got Iphones or blackberries. Anti-auditory communicators. Text me, email me. Status update me, DM tweet me. ANYTHING but call me.

Yesterday I saw this article in the NY Times. It talks about the trend in communication away from actual conversation. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/fashion/20Cultural.html?_r=1&src=tptw 

It appears that even Miss Manners always thought the phone was a rude interruption to one’s day. I never realized it was insane to stop what I was doing and speak to someone just because they called me. Imagine if I could have all that time back I spent listening to my mother on the phone, or my friends, or that cousin who turned up out of nowhere and just wanted to “catch up.”

Maybe I’m out of it. I’m definitely getting older. But somehow, I really don’t want to give up the phone completely. Sometimes I like to hear someone speak, even though it’s disembodied. A witty or clever status update doesn’t let you hear the tone of voice, or tell you if your friend sounds tired, or sad, or giddy.

My father passed away last year, but I still find myself reaching for the phone to share a story I think he’d enjoy. Then I recall, and have to content myself with the memory of his laughter from a previous conversation. That phone time, though sometimes lengthy, often frustrating or disruptive, is a lot sweeter to me now than a hastily written LOL would have been.

So, hold the line, folks. I may text you, I may email you, but one thing’s for sure –

If I call you, I must REALLY like you.