April 17, 2008

Feathers Friday (on Thursday) - Olympic Version

The Olympic torch relay has been marred by crowds, protests over human rights, and general pandemonium. That describes the Glamore house on a daily basis, but we don’t have the huge flames, publicity and the massive police presence. I’m able to handle all of the above solo, through sometimes I resort to calling Bill at work so he can make threatening noises at the boys over the phone, but that’s only in rare instances.

The boys have read about the relay in the paper and seen the riots on TV. I’ve fielded many questions about Tibet with my usual skill (”That’s a marvelous question. You should ask Mrs. Rogers about that.”)

The topic has died down somewhat in the last couple of days. Finn is still limping about the house with a splint stabilizing his right ankle until we find out whether he is suffering from a bout of hypochondria or a small fracture. As far as his symptoms go, in general he is able to play drums and wall ball, but feels weak when asked to fold laundry or unload the dishwasher.

Drew continues to use his thirty minutes of television a day watching SpongeBob, wearing one of his two SpongeBob t-shirts (one red, one yellow). Then he’ll join the game of wall ball, muttering “fishpaste!” or “Krabby patties!” when he misses the ball. Later it’s time to read the Hardy Boys, and he shows no signs of deviating from his intense focus. I do believe he’ll read all one hundred and something books, and I’ll continue to explain what “dungarees” and “jalopys” and other words straight from the 1950’s mean, and the tragic aspect is that this knowledge will not help him on the SATs at all.

Porter, of course, has his own idea of fun, and usually that involves Feathers. He and Feathers reenacted the torch relay here in the house, although I was able to convince him to slow from a sprint into a stately walk for Feathers’s sake.

Porter was kind enough to let Feathers get her footing as she prepared to act as the flame.

And then the torch relay began.

Our torch made me thankful for our country, for the patience of parakeets and happy (for once) that Porter hordes paper towel innards along with all the other crap in his closet.

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Days Before Doorknob 

(Days Before Doorknob is also available as a podcast in the player on the left sidebar)

April 15, 2008

All For One

The other day Porter came home from school crying.

“Drew and Jay are always making fun of me and I can’t take it anymore,” he said.

Although they’re in the same grade, Drew and Porter have always been in separate classes, and pretty much maintain distinct groups of friends. Drew has been spending lots of time with Jay lately. He’s a nice enough kid, but it’s clear he wants Drew all to himself.

So in the clumsy way that nine-year-old males behave, Jay has been making mean comments to Porter, and Porter behaves just as desired– he gets upset and runs away, leaving Jay and Drew alone to play.

Drew is miserable, too. Although he’s enjoying the novelty of his new friend, deep inside he knows it’s uncool to diss your brother. And Drew and Porter aren’t regular brothers. Although their personalities could not be more different, as twins, they’ve spent more time together than with anyone else, and they know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

When the problem first came up, Drew and I had a talk in which I told him that friends come and go, but brothers are forever. Glamores have to stick together. If you can’t count on your family, who can you rely on?

Drew nodded his understanding, but I could tell he was intimidated by Jay and worried about his ability to withstand the peer pressure to make fun of Porter and his friends.

Over the next week, Jay continued his taunting, and Drew didn’t join in, which I counted as a victory. Porter remained pissed off, however, as he felt that Drew had an affirmative duty to tell Jay to go jump in a lake and leave his brother alone.

This led to a second pow-wow I held with both twins. I stressed to Porter that he has to stand up for himself; Drew is not his personal bodyguard. Then Drew and I discussed Jay’s failure to get the message that he wasn’t to mess with Porter. I suggested to Drew that perhaps it was time for him to say something like, “Dude, lay off my brother. He’s not bothering you. Let’s go play on the field.”

The whole incident has left me unsure of myself. My first instinct when something comes up is to teach the boys how to resolve it themselves. I can’t protect them from hurt feelings, and time has already shown that they will never agree on their choice of friends. Maybe I should have handled it differently.

Here’s hoping future therapy bills don’t prove me wrong.

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: The Penis Project And More

April 14, 2008

Eggs ‘n Ovaries

My mom died suddenly two and a half years ago . She’d just been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Her cancer was quite advanced by the time it was detected, which is too often the case.

I guess people who haven’t lost a parent think I should “be over it,” but the truth is that I think about her every single day. I don’t guess I’ll ever get over it.

About the only thing I can do is to try and make some good come out of this horrific event. And so, here’s some information about ovarian cancer so that you can help prevent it and throw some money at it if you’re so inclined. It would be fantastic if a cure, or at least a decent method of detection for this deadly cancer could be found.

They call ovarian cancer the disease that whispers. Ovarian cancer is difficult to detect because its symptoms are easily confused with other diseases, such as irritable bowel syndrome. There is no reliable, easy to administer screening tool that can be administered to all women. The blood test that detects a protein in some women with ovarian cancer, the CA-125, often is not positive until the disease is in its later stages. The CA-125 is elevated in only 25-50% of Stage 1 cancers, making it ineffective as a screening tool. Ultrasound can identify masses in the ovaries, but cannot tell if the masses are cancerous or not.

The five year survival rate for women diagnosed when their cancer is in Stage 1 is 90%. The overall five year survival rate for ovarian cancer is 50%. At Stage 3 the five year survival rate is 35-40%.

By the time my mom’s cancer was diagnosed, she was suffering symptoms such as shortness of breath, bloating, and lack of energy. Her doctor drained over a liter of fluid from her abdomen the same day, and she was scheduled for surgery three days later.

I’m sure each of you know someone who’s been touched by ovarian cancer. If you can’t think of anyone offhand, perhaps some of these names are familiar to you: Gilda Radner, Madeline Kahn, Liz Tilberis, Jessica Tandy, and Shari Lewis. All died of ovarian cancer.

There are a number of actions you can take to help find a cure for this deadly disease.

There is a deadline for signing up to get your car tag to support ovarian cancer research in Alabama. Click here to download a form for the tag. You can do it BY MAIL instead of schlepping to the DMV! The deadline is RAPIDLY approaching so go ahead and click over and register now. I’ll wait. (The page also contains information about getting an ovarian cancer tag in Kentucky, and for starting the process to get a tag approved in your state.)

You can read about Brittany Waldrep, whose illness inspired the tag here in Alabama. She passed away in 2006 at the age of 25.

Additionally, we’ll be holding a MOTHERWALK to raise funds for ovarian cancer research on May 10 here in Birmingham. Last year my sisters and I formed a team to walk in memory of my mom and we plan to do the same this year. If you’re nearby, come join us!

Here is the first column I wrote about losing my mom, and here is one I wrote a couple of weeks later.

My mom was always up for an adventure. When she was visiting Israel and she had the chance to ride a camel, she didn’t hesitate. She climbed right up on that camel and showed him who was boss.

Thanks for your support. Please pass this along to anyone else who might be interested in helping with this important cause.

April 9, 2008

Fabulous Feathers In Her Boudoir

So many of you have been pestering me about the oddest topic. How does Feathers stay so fresh and shiny? you ask. Her coloring is breathtaking, but it’s clear that there is personal grooming at work, too.

Frankly, it’s been a mystery to me, too, as anything that enters Porter’s room inevitably leaves the worse for wear. Feathers has been the sole exception.

Last night Porter came in my room and told me he’d been reading his book about parakeets. It advised that birds should be bathed every so often. I protested that it was much too soon; we’ve only had Feathers for six months or so, and it couldn’t be time for a bath already.

But it was time for a bath, and it would be her second bath, Porter said. He was an expert at cleaning parakeets, and he would demonstrate. This was a hideous idea, and I was about to tell Porter as much, but I was diverted by my husband, who had ordered a boatload of turkey calls and was practicing with them in the den. If lady turkeys are turned on by the sound of scrapes on a chalkboard, we’re going to be swimming in turkey meat soon.

After I’d stopped the gobbling I found Porter busily preparing his bird bath.

First he let Feathers admire herself in the mirror while he told her she’d be even more beautiful in a few minutes. “It will all be worth it,” he told her. I wondered.

He explained that the towel was necessary so Feathers wouldn’t slide around in the sink.  That seemed kind.

Feathers was lowered into the sink and the bathing began. I had to use all my powers of persuasion to convince Porter that shampoo wasn’t necessary. Birds don’t have access to Pert in nature, do they? He thought maybe we should pour a pool of shampoo outside and see if birds used it, but I told him we’d take it one bird at a time and Feathers was the focus of the moment.

Feathers used her beak to tell Porter she did not like the bath.

Porter cupped her gingerly and stuck her back in the sink, telling Feathers that her bath wasn’t over until her beak was clean. I cringed.

Thankfully, the bath was soon over.  No blood was shed and no birds drowned.

Feathers looked defeated, a mere shadow of her former glorious self.

But when Porter took her into my room and tried to blow her dry, she got downright pissed. Porter and I agreed that while the blow dryer might give her feathers added body, she had the right to refuse the service and opt to dry naturally.

I was just thankful that Feather’s salon treatment had taken place in the sink. You may recall that Texas Ranger’s bath took place in a more sordid environment, and lacked the TLC and finishing touches that Feathers received. (Or any finish at all.)

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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: It’s Official: Eye’m Old 

BTW - the Lasik has been a great success!

April 6, 2008

In Which I’m All Doocey

For the longest time my front porch has been decorated only with three crinkly dead plants and a disintegrating doormat, and the front door has red mud handprints made by boys who paw the door while trying to grasp the door handle.

Yesterday I tossed the plantings of death and went to the local garden shop looking for something funky to spruce up the place, because how many Boston ferns do we really need in the Tiny Kingdom?

I was thrilled to find crocodile ferns that I paired with dieffenbachia. Now my pots say welcome, but don’t get too comfortable here.

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If you don’t get the reference in the title, welcome to the internet! You can click here and here to see what I’m riffing on.

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Three years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: The Lone Vagina