Catch Up

Margo at the Splash Pad- B&W, originally uploaded by Pat Beyer.

The kids are getting older. Older and smarter.

There was a time when I could flat out lie to them and they would buy anything I said. If I needed Audrey to finish her meal, or let me give her a bath without her scratching my eyes out, I'd coax her by saying that it was my job as a dad. If I failed to perform my duties as a 'daddy', then I would be sent to daddy-jail. I never get into the specifics of where daddy jail is, or the more horrifying details like how she would only get to see me on weekend visitations- I just say that I'd have to go to daddy-jail and let it lie there, soaking in her imagination. Normally it worked, and she would finish her carrots, take her bath or shut off "Barbie's Stories: The Princess and the Pauper" (thanks a lot Kim). But tonight, as I told her that after "Monster Party" (again, thanks a lot Kim) she would have to eat dinner, she mocked me. Actually, I think the word balked would be a better way to describe it. I think "mock" implies that she would repeat what I say back to me in a high, whiny voice. Lets go with balk. So, after the balking and desperate attempts to distract me by drawing me into a twenty minute conversation on how, when she wakes up tomorrow, she's going to color with her water color set I pulled out the 'Blue Steel' of disciplinary lines. She stared at me for a minute and said, "I don't think you're going to daddy-jail."

I panicked. "Yes I will!" I said, desperate to maintain the one tool I have.
"No you won't" She replied cooly. Staring me directly in the eye with a flat, expressionless face.

My mind reeled as I ran through every avenue of logic I could use. She wasn't exactly saying that daddy-jail didn't exist. There was a chance that, though she believes it exists, she didn't think I was in a position to really suffer it's consequences. Like when I tried to get her excited about my new kindle. I asked her if she liked it, and she said no. "Everyone likes it!" I exclaimed. When she asked who I replied with my favorite line, "Oh I dunno... The President of the United States for example." Also, when she asks me to make up a bedtime story, I normally end it with, "...And once arriving home from their amazing adventure, they were greeted by none other than the President of the United States of America..." Since I use it so often she doesn't believe that I really have this daily connection with the President, though she believes he exists. But that will all change, as I'm sure everything else will, once Barack Obama is president.

Back to my point. I felt I had to take the concept of daddy-jail up a notch to maintain it's potency. I considered giving her statistics of prison-rape, or making her watch episodes of "OZ". In the end I just changed the subject by telling her she can have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Margo is growing a new tooth, so that means she has to get her standard fever and virus. The poor kid is still her cheerful self, but she's just crying all the time. The other morning, as I was escorting Erin and the two kids out the door to daycare- Margo, who was crying all morning, still stopped at the doorway to turn and wave bye-bye, mouth open and tears streaming. She's also talking more. She has been for a while. She can say "shoe", "No", "Please" and "No". She's also my wrestle buddy. We'll sit around in the porch, and all I have to do is drop my kindle/iPhone/People Magazine and stare at her. She'll eventually lock eyes with me, then smile and start running away while chirping like a dolphin. I'll chase her until she eventually drops on the floor and rolls over on her back to accept the inevitable tickle-fest. Since I don't shave much these days, my whiskers work pretty well on her neck under her chin. Most of the time, Audrey will walk up and basically say, "me too!" then slap me on the back of my head. Hopefully Margo will feel better soon since tickle fest is not as fun to do while she's crying.

Mom has spent the last few weeks going through some serious chemo treatments. A while ago we all made a trip to Rochester to talk with a specialist about possible experimental treatments that might be available to her. Turns out there is none. The doctor said that all they could do was give her a harsh regimen of chemotherapy to try to shrink the nodes in her lungs. She kept repeating the words, "harsh regimen". I swear she said it about five times. But it makes sense since it turns out that mom also has tumors on her kidneys. Something we didn't know about until that visit. Something that her current doctor never told her. Something we were all wondering why the fuck her current doctor forgot to tell us about. Her doctor is an ass though. A few years back she told my Mom that the mass on her spine was serious and she should get her affairs in order. After a biopsy we learned that it was just a calcium deposit- something that can happen when you throw your back out too much. Moron, I have no idea why mom hasn't dropped her yet.

Anyway, we learned that at this point there is no cure for her. And the chemo would only (hopefully) shrink her tumors and nodes down so she can extend her life. But, as we were told repeatedly, it would be "harsh". And it has been. In the first week or so she lost all her hair and she spends all her time either sleeping or throwing up. When she's not throwing up, she feels like she is going to any second. I guess there's no break in her day from that sensation either. They give her medication to try to suppress the vomiting, but it's not working. She ran into her idiot doctor during one of her chemo treatments, and she said, "Well, we'll have to start making marijuana brownies soon won't we?" My Mom, desperate for anything, asked if she seriously could get some medicinal marijuana. "Oh, no. I was kidding. We'll just try to come up with a combo of drugs for you." Fucking amazing. I've never met this woman, but I already want to key her car. After hearing that story, I started thinking of who the hell I know that still smokes weed. But, luckily she took a turn for the better in the last couple days.

Her laptop is broken again. It's really slow to start up, and crawls like dial-up when she's on the net. So I was over there setting up my old PC for her to use while I try to fix hers. I transferred over her pictures and music. My brother in law was nice enough to donate his video iPod to her so she could look at photos, video and listen to music while she spends the three hours in treatment every day. We loaded it up with tons of stuff of my kids and my niece, and I made my iTunes account active for her if she wants to download new music and audio books.

She sat with me and talked while I went though all the set up, making sure her printer worked, and her iPod would sync. At one point she ran off to dry-heave leaving me alone to stare at all the stuff she hung up in her office. She has paintings I made in highschool, drawings my niece made for her, and a make-up table with a mirror that is wallpapered in photos. I hadn't noticed since I was sitting directly underneath it, she had a bulletin board up on the wall. Among all the post-its with instructions on how to use her gmail account and run her printer, she had an illustration of a pair of pink, shiny lungs. Under that, written on a sheet of notepaper was a list of affirmations on her lungs being clean and healthy.