My mom’s family is Irish Catholic. Grandma Mabel’s maiden name was Conley. I know that at one point way back, Miss East met and married Mr. West. And that West was Mabel’s married name. Mabel’s no longer with us, but I emailed my mom today to see if she would share more of the story. Mabel and I were never very close. I loved her and she loved me, but she wasn’t really a kid person, despite having had five children of her own. Even though Mabel’s offspring only had two kids each, that’s still 10 grandchildren!

I’m sick. I had bad food last night at The Old Spaghetti Factory: I ate chicken and broccoli and spent the miserable night in the bathroom. I’m feeling unsteady on my feet and although I’m hungry, I don’t trust food right now. I’m hoping I can keep my tea down. Fortunately, Ian and Lucas are fine.

Because of my weakened condition, I let Lucas dress himself. I didn’t know how much of it he could manage on his own, but he did everything all by himself!—underwear, tee-shirt, long-sleeved shirt, jeans with elastic waist, socks, and slip-on shoes. I couldn’t believe it. Seems I’ve been coddling the boy and he has mad self-dressing skills. He was so proud of himself, he just beamed and repeated “I did it all by himself! a few times. Alas, when I realized it was St. Patrick’s Day and he had not a stitch of green on himself anywhere, I decided we could just skip the holiday this year. I just couldn’t make him change clothes for any reason. Maybe VoVo will feed him a green cookie or something today while she has him. (I’m soooo glad VoVo has him today until late afternoon. I’m just not up to chasing him around.)

A couple of days ago, I witnessed, for the first time, Lucas painting a human figure! We were using watercolors and paint brushes and I was sitting beside him, watching him paint. He made a rudimentary human figure in bold, thick black strokes. It was very exciting!

To my dismay and chagrin, he then painted both an enormous gun in the arms of the person and an even bigger “canyon,” which is how he says “cannon,” shooting red fire.

Sometimes I really hate other people’s kids. (This is because it’s easier to blame other people’s kids for being a bad influence on my kid, than to come to terms with this violent streak in my own son.) He’s learned all this stuff at a friggin Waldorf school from other children!

I just keep telling myself that he really doesn’t understand any of this stuff—he has no knowledge of the finality of death, and that violence is something that is actually suffered; to him, it is just play. I guess I can be very, very thankful of that.

According to Lucas, “the stuff inside bodies” is “mesh.” This scientific knowledge has informed his understanding of death.

“You know, when horses die, it’s just the mesh, Mom.”

I think this is very interesting. Some people say that kids are closer to the spirit world than adults are—that children haven’t yet forgotten heaven.

This is a Core Friends post, meaning not everybody gets to read it.

Recently I had a bit of a health scare. Fortunately, it was just a scare and it all turned out to be nothing. At the time, though, it was really stressful and allowed all sort of morbid thoughts to bloom in my head.

I have a lump in my right armpit. It has been there for a while—I don’t know how long. It existed only at the edges of my conciousness. It wasn’t something I looked at directly until last fall, when I confronted the fact that I had better have someone check it out. I think I denied it existed for so long because it seemed to be changeable. Sometimes it felt more pronounced than other times, but I wasn’t scientific enough to track it in any objective way. The last time I had my annual exam, I told my midwife about it. She said she couldn’t really feel/evaluate it unless it was at it’s biggest stage.

In February the stars aligned, and right before I was to get my period, I noticed the lump was larger and pretty easy to feel. I called Ruth and she had me come in that day. She felt it and decided it was worth checking out further. She made a couple of calls, and before I really knew what was happening, I was in my car driving to an ultrasound appointment in Folsom. Suddenly, I was very very scared. And nervous. I was able to catch FCL on the phone, and she talked me through it. The ultrasound tech could feel the lump with her fingers, but couldn’t see it with her fancy wand-and-computer ultrasound gizmo. Nevertheless, she took a bunch of pictures of both my right and left armpits.

Then I waited for at least a week to hear finally that the radiologist couldn’t see any lump in any of the pictures. Ruth decided to take a different tack. She called to get me in for another diagnostic test called a Fine Needle Aspiration. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?

I had to wait a couple more weeks for the FNA. On February 28 I met Ian at the doc’s office and had the procedure. Dr. Musicant, a pathologist with a specialty in FNAs, was nice and patient, and extremely detailed in his explanation of what the procedure would feel like, what the risks were, and exactly what he was going to do with those needles. I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but wished he would get on with it.

Then I saw the needle. It was very fine in guage, but long and it had a giant handle so it looked really wicked. I declined the proffered local anesthetic for the first puncture. He had to dig the needle around in there, to get enough sample cells. I cracked stupid jokes out of nervousness. It hurt a lot more than I expected, so I asked for that local. The next four or five poke-and-digs didn’t hurt so bad. I’m really glad that Ian was there because I just looked at his beautiful face and into his eyes the whole time. He was scared. That made me more scared.

After a while the procedure was done and I thanked Dr. Musicant for the pain. Ian and I kissed and parted ways, he back to work and I to pick up Lucas from school. I was late.

The next afternoon, I got a voice mail from Ruth. Dr. Musicant had called her to let her know that he didn’t think there was anything to worry about. Although he didn’t get a lot of cells (despite the five separate pokes), he got enough to determine that the lump is merely “ectopic breast tissue,” which means it’s breast tissue out of its normal place. It’s changeable because breast tissue changes with my hormone cycles. That’s why I was aware of it sometimes, but not aware of it at other times. Honestly, this is what I had theorized and hoped for all along. That theory allowed me to be complacent and sort of deny the issue for … well, I don’t know how long.

I called Ian right away and he was so relieved he cried! It was stunning. I had no idea that he was so worried!

So I don’t have breast cancer! And that’s fantastic news and I am extremely grateful that I don’t have the disease. But for a while there, for the month or so while I experienced and participated in these couple of tests and had various people poking and prodding and palpating me, I wondered. I entertained thoughts of what it would be like to find that I really was sick, and had to undergo all kinds of awful treatments to get better. I though about how relatively young I am, and how young women with breast cancer seem to face a tougher battle than older women with breast cancer: I think it can be rather more invasive and aggressive in young women. I thought about Lucas and Ian, and what would happen if they were to lose me. What if I died? I was really glad to have bought that fat life insurance policy last year. I started worrying about getting disability insurance as soon as possible, so that if I really was sick, I wouldn’t lose all of my income while I was being treated. I called my insurance agent, but didn’t tell her why I was feeling urgent about getting disability insurance. I thought about how I want to have another baby, but maybe I shouldn’t if I am sick.

(All this was happening while Frank was having his surgery and we were all worried about Frank having cancer. I didn’t tell everybody for many reasons, but one of them was that I didn’t want to distract people from Frank’s plight.)

Morbid thoughts are not pleasant. Encountering my fears about death seriously for the first time was challenging. I’m not just me anymore. I’m part of this family unit and we are all dependent upon each other.

Now I feel a little silly about all the fuss I caused. I feel chagrined that I worried my husband and a few of my friends for no reason. But I’m glad I know now. And even if the answer had been “you have breast cancer,” I would still be glad to know it.

“Mom, can I go to Max’s house? Max’s mom allows squirt guns.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah! She doesn’t have rules about squirt guns. She allows them. Do you?”
I thought Lucas was asking, “Do you allow squirt guns?” so I said “No.”
“Oh,” he replied. “If you don’t have rules about squirt guns, then they’re allowed.”
I explained, “No, I meant I do have rules about squirt guns and they aren’t allowed.”
“Oh. I allow squirt guns for Tidoo.”
“You do? Well, I don’t and I’m the mom.”
“Yeah. … Tidoo has a light saber, too.”

Fiction
Oyster Blues by Michael McClelland—a comic crime novel. I love these.

Winter: Poems, Songs, and Stories by Wynstones Press—this is part of a series and is a fav among Waldorf people. Janise lent this to me. I wish I was better at sight-reading music because it’s full of wonderful songs and I’m trying to learn a few of them!

Cupid and Psyche as told by M. Charlotte Craft and illustrated by K. Y. Craft (children’s picture book)—sumptuous illustrations in this one. I collect picture books about Greek myths.

The Tales of Tiptoes Lightly by Reg Down—stories about a fairy and her friends.

Nonfiction
Under the Chinaberry Tree: Books and Inspirations for Mindful Parenting by Ann Ruethling and Patti Pitcher—a book that reviews and recommends children’s books. I adore children’s books. This is another excuse to shop for them.

The ABCs of Writing for Children: 114 Children’s Book Authors and Illustrators Talk about the Art, the Business, the Craft, and the Life of Writing Children’s Literature—pretty self-explanatory.

The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women by Susan J. Douglas and Meredith W. Michaels—an analysis of media and the antifeminist movement’s manipulation of women’s fears, hopes, and values during the last 3 decades and the development of what the authors call the “new momism.”

“An absolutely fascinating expose … this eye-opening report contains a wealth of valuable insight into the never-ending, and ultimately self-defeating, quest for the maternal perfection glorified by contemporary American society.” —Booklist

“This is a book for mothers who can admit that they yell sometimes, feed their children processed foods, and occasionally get bored playing Barbie camp-out under the dining room table. … It’s a book for mothers who would be okay with being imperfect, if only the rest of the world would stop pointing out their shortcomings.” —The Washington Post

Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us by Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker—a mixture of memoir and theology. The authors show how the theology of sacrifice and atonement of Christ’s death on the cross on behalf of humanity legitimates and sanctions violence, exacerbates its effects, and encourages silence about the sufferings of human beings, especially violence against women and children. This is a very deep, often painful read that is beautifully written with an interweaving of the two author’s voices. That they blended their voices so harmoniously is really amazing. Ian bought this book after we heard Rebecca Parker give a sermon on saving paradise at our church.

Also a handful of medical terminology textbooks and we have about a dozen books in current rotation for reading with/to Lucas. Several of these are about trains.

Recently Finished
Runny Babbit: A Billy Sook by Shel Silverstein—Ian bought this book of poems for me and Lucas last Christmas. I enjoyed the first half of it, but then the wordplay got too predicable and boring. I think it’s just out of Lucas’s reach, but soon I think he’ll love it because he has always adored funny-sounding words.

I’ve already written about how Lucas’s dolly, Tidoo, has become a very active part of our family. I learn more and more about her every day. She leads a rather enviable life.

Tidoo has an uncle who has a farm. Every morning, Tidoo gets to go to the barn and touch the cows. Then she rides on them! The uncle also has bunnies. His bunnies are pretty talented. When Tidoo tickles them, they do backflips.

Tidoo goes camping a lot. She also has birthdays about every two days. One day last week, Tidoo had a birthday while Lucas was at school. She and all her friends got to go to Funderland and ride on the rides but Lucas didn’t get to go.

Tidoo’s mom and dad live far away. I think she simply prefers living with Lucas and us. Tidoo’s father has black eyes!

Tidoo eats bowls full of ketchup. She can roller skate. Tidoo’s grandma and grandpa died.

She likes to nurse, and she drinks “sister milk” from Lucas’s tiny nipples. She likes to ride around inside Lucas’s shirt, with her head peeking up over his collar. Lucas takes very good care of her and teaches her about owies and band-aids, riding ponies, and feeding fish.

I never realized how accurate the old Calvin & Hobbes cartoons were until recently. As a kid, my parents shared those cartoons with me and my brother, and they resonated with us as children. We all laughed at them and enjoyed them because Calvin reminded us of Jonathan. Now I have an all-new perspective on Calvin. Remember Calvin Ball?

There’s a new sport in town and it’s called Punch Ball. Lucas is the inventor and he and his imaginary friends (who are real friends not really present) play Punch Ball in my kitchen and living room. The rules of the game are extremely complex, and despite my careful observation I have not figured them out. I will try to convey what I know.

Punch Ball is played with an ordinary yellow koosh ball, recently given to Lucas by Aunt Kellie on her birthday. (Go figure.)

Punch Ball delicately skirts the borders of allowable indoors behavior. Generally speaking, ball play is forbidden in our house; it has been verboten ever since we realized that Lucas has a terrific throwing arm and a penchant for sports. A koosh ball is not really a ball, you see. It only sort of rolls and only sort of bounces.

Throwing toys is also forbidden indoors. In Punch Ball, the player holds the ball at arm’s reach out in front of his body, then he punches it with his other fist. Usually, it does not go very far. When it lands on the floor, the player can follow up a kick (complete with soccer-style dribbles and stops) or he can collapse to the floor to punch it again with his fist. Generally speaking, with experience and control, the player can keep the koosh ball in constant motion without literally breaking the house rules. Like I said, it doesn’t actually travel that far or gain great momentum.

The player frequently runs after the koosh ball, especially if it flies or rolls farther than usual as a result of the previous punch or kick. He also runs to a number of colorful bases, which are various flat puzzle pieces of shapes (hexagon, circle, square, rectangle, star, etc., also a present to Lucas from Aunt Kellie on her birthday). Anyway, sometimes the player pauses on a base for a while. Sometimes he just touches the bases, tells himself that he’s safe, and then goes to retrieve the koosh again. I’ve noticed the game is played more vertically (i.e., with more running and jumping) in bare feet, and more horizontally (i.e., with more collapsing, crawling, and rolling) in stocking feet. I guess the socks make it tougher to stay upright on the slippery, wooden Punch Ball court.

Several positions are played by the imaginary friends. For example, Xander plays “home runner.” Tasha plays “flag waver.” Teryn plays “base checker.”

I’m really fuzzy on this next part, but it seems when the points get up to 689, the whole tenor of the game changes in a fundamental way. Perhaps it works like overtime or sudden death, or something.

So far, I’ve only vaguely outlined the shape of this game. Here are some quotes from the rule master himself.

“If you make the weirdest punch, you get 11 points.”
“If you fall in Punch Ball, then you have to kick the ball and get on a base.”
“There’s no umpires in Punch Ball.”
“I won. I got 9 points.”
“This whole day, I’m gonna be in Kindergarten playing Punch Ball.”
“Oooh! There’s double sixes!”
“I won on 68!”
“You can do it, Sierra! Punch the ball!”

I wonder how the season’s going…

I’m considering going to this war protest tomorrow. If I manage to go, I plan to take a camera and take pictures of my son protesting war. I want to make a consciencious objector file for him and add to it all his life. Hopefully, when Lucas is 18, there will be no war anywhere to fight, but in case there is, I want proof that he’s not suited to fight in it.

Anybody want to join us?
The Sacramento chapter of Code Pink is starting up now, FYI.

********************
This Saturday, March 11th, from 4:00 pm to 6:30 pm, we’ll build upon the
spectacular, colorful, energetic gathering of political voices that we had
at 16th & Broadway last weekend. (see
http://sf.indymedia.org/news/2006/03/1725300.php )

Once again, we’ll join forces and hold a major
anti-war/anti-Bush/pro-democracy rally, rain or shine.

Saturday’s event is the second of three consecutive Saturday rallies at 16th
& Broadway. As we approach the third anniversary of the US-led/UN-opposed
invasion of Iraq, let’s increase the momentum of our demand to end the war!

Please bring compelling signs and displays. Although our focus is to end
the war, impeach Bush, and promote democracy, please feel free to draw
attention to any injustice perpetuated by this administration: there are too
many to enumerate here!

We’ll repeat our theme of international and cross-cultural solidarity for
our opposition to the war; so we encourage people to bring flags of
different nations; and we encourage people from all cultural, religious and
occupational groups–whether Muslims, doctors, soldiers, nurses, nuns,
rabbis, priests–to come wearing relevant attire.

To ensure another charged atmosphere with full participation, please forward
this to others, and bring your friends, banners, flags, signs, art,
instruments, and cultural, religious or occupational attire to 16th &
Broadway this Saturday.

Thank you. We look forward to seeing you!

Sponsors:

Stephen and Virginia Pearcy
Sacramento for Democracy
Veterans for Peace/Chapter 87
Not in Our Name Coalition/Sacramento
Sacramento Coalition to End the War
Code Pink/Davis Chapter
Code Pink/Sacramento Chapter
Physicians for Social Responsibility/Sacramento Chapter

Contacts:

Stephen Pearcy, Virginia Pearcy
Email: stephen.pearcy@sbcglobal.net
Telephone: (510) 559-3118, (916) 444-8314

Karen Bernal
Email: nekochan99@hotmail.com

http://www.sacramentofordemocracy.org/

Note: Please use on-street parking (which is free) instead of Tower
Records/Cafe/Theater customer lots.

“You know, sugar is sugar bugs’ eggs. When you eat food that has sugar, that’s really yummy, the sugar bugs go down into your tummy and turn around and around. Then they go into your heart and turn into blood. That’s how it works! And some sugar bugs go in your teeth and try to make holes in your teeth!”