One time. At Cancer Camp.

Today we went to cancer camp. We got to hear all about hair loss, diarrhea, your feet and hands being on fire, and feeling like you swallowed a sword if you try to eat ice cream. It was so much fun that we stayed for an hour and a half. We even got to wave to the cancer patients who were being juiced up. This was while miss-miss was being juiced up by the receptionist on rice crispy treats, lollipops and cranberry juice. At least she spent most of the time going up and down the stairs and riding the elevator. Exercise at last.

So after we got the shpiel about how chemo makes you feel like shit and how you constantly have to shit your pants, we were ready to roll. Straight out to Frog Belly Farm to drop off miss-miss for her last day of camp for the summer. And she was NOT havin’ it.

We hit a massive traffic stand-still for re-paving. Saw an impatient ass decide to u-turn and narrowly miss being hit by another car as we sat there for over 30 minutes. And all she could say was (to herself), “it’s time to just give it up.” Which made me and the hubby more stubborn in our pursuit of an alternate route to the damned farm. YOU WILL GO AND PLAY WITH GOATS AND CHICKENS ALL DAY AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

“See?! NOW I’m three minutes over an hour late...” Ad nauseam. But.

So we got her dropped off (bean had gone to Purse Girl’s before the 8am cancer camp and PG was biking her over to preschool), and I started a con call in the car since we were running so late.

I really wanted a Salvaggio’s breakfast sandwich, but hunkered down and took my call like a man.

We got home, I finished the call and tried to ignore the 100 call waiting beeps. Returned a call to my mom to discuss the most recent, tragic suicide in Flo-town, scheduled the port implant surgery (Aug. 18th), set up a time to meet with the radiologist (Aug. 19th), picked a time with the acupuncturist (Aug. 16th), figured out what the haps was with the Volvo (in the shop for not starting) then called back our fellow ass cancer slayer, Keely. After learning how the hubby’s blistered ass is going to get saved by some chemo, radiation and shit, I decided it was time to turn off all ringers in the house and pretend to sleep. So I crawled into bean’s bed and went all la-la in five seconds.

The girls and the hubby had been UP ALL NIGHT doing various things. Bean: “Can I sweep wif you, Mommy?” Miss-miss: “Let me stomp around as loudly as possible while I get up 100 times.” The hubby: “Sorry. I know I just put in the root killer, but I think now is a good time to shit my brains out all night.” And did I mention that we had to get up by about 6:30am to get to cancer camp on time?

It appears that during the uproar some would call night time, I inadvertently pissed the hubby right off. So when I went in to wake him (he was in the guest room by then), I reached down to hug him and he opened one eye and said, “It’s NOT psychological.” Apparently I had suggested (during my very-sleepy/middle-of-the-night-and-you-can’t-wake-me-ever phase) that the mandatory non-toilet use period in which the root killer would do its business had induced the extra need to shit. I have to plead innocence due to extreme sleep deprivation.

He was clearly miserable and I was stone-cold out of it. So I’m sure I said something that I thought was witty and sounded more like, “Whaaazat sicko-loco-whoozit.” Which he heard as, “AGAIN? It must be psychological.” But. Seriously. Who says ‘psychological’ in the middle of the freakin’ night and remembers it. Huh.

We made it through the day for the most part. I even got some stuff dropped off at CHARM and went on ahead and bought the frequent flyer card from the woman since she clearly knows us by now. (Yes. We are the people who appear to have A LOT OF SHIT to rid ourselves of.) My favorite part was when bean hopped out of the car, grabbed the big block of styrofoam out of the back of the Pilot and skipped straight over to the drop zone. The hubby said, “Wow. Guess she’s been here a few times.” (Did I mention that I LOVE Boulder?)

So even though we now have about 100 new appointments to hit over the next week and school starts back in the midst, we had a relatively normal night with the hubby cheffin’ it up in the kitchen. Seared yellow tail with salsa verde and sautéed snap/wax beans (from our CSA), tomato and cucumber salad (from our garden and CSA) and grilled Italian bread. It was heaven on a plate with my favorite Pink Floyd Rosé from Chateau Miraval.

Then the Drunkels came by for a check in before they head up to Folks Fest tomorrow. They’ve got the hubby all set up so he can poop and rest in peace in their VW van while we listen to some seriously great music on Saturday. But only if we wake up that day and he feels the love. Otherwise, we’ll keep Sir Poops-a-lot at home where he’s comfy.

We take it day by day, minute by minute. And live in the moment. And ignore the $11,000 ticking time bomb that is our plumbing system, and go ahead and wait to schedule the appointment for our re-called Pilot and surgery for the dog that has a severe eye cyst. So.

The hubby will soon be joining the ranks of Camp Komoniwannajuiceya. Right after he gets a nice, nifty little port for injections right under the chest skin and passes the tumor board review with those flying colors that we love so. Oh, and passes the 1.5 hour PET scan that I get to drag miss-miss to on Friday. Just like summer camp. Only better.

I’m sure she’ll love every minute if only they have Sprite and cheetos. And an elevator.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: If and When a Yes or No. Paper Bird. When the sun hits my face, I rise out of bed, and the sparrow sings to me the songs of a friend. It's so tricky when I step outside into this world of men, and my head's back on the pillow by the end.