Please. Don't. Forget. Your. Pants.

I think it was only two days after I last wrote that my days went from sad, sad, sad to one really big happy. That’s how this works. One day the hubby is DOWN so low I just can’t even remember the last time he was up, to being so up and almost back to normal that I catch a glimmer of hope and stick it right in my pocket for safe keeping.

But today I spent mostly working on getting an obit submitted for JJ. Helping Heather help Sherry with plans for the Colorado memorial next Monday. My suggestion of the Chautauqua locale worked, the deal was sealed and now I have T-Man on the program layout (she’s a genius), the printer on stand by and just need to get these newspapers to charge less than $1800 so that we can get the word out to his many friends here. YES. I DID SAY $1800. Un-frickin-believable. For an OBITUARY. Whatever happened to someone so young, so beloved dying being NEWS?

Then the hubby and I went to Tuesday Cancer Club. It’s been an okay ride so far, but today felt contrived. Like I was supposed to feel and share when all I really wanted to do was feel a glass of wine in my hand and maybe share the rest of the bottle with you if you come over.

Other than that, we’ve lived. Adopted a needy family for Thanksgiving. Got haircuts. Took our amazing friend, Michael, up on his offer to photograph our crazy family. Then spent the next 2 or 3 hours walking around the lake and acting like the goofy people we are. The hubby even took a flying leap off of a boulder and said, “Mikey! Watch me!” Can’t wait to see that shot.

All of a sudden, school was out and it was time to fetch the brother and sis-in-law from the airport. You see, a few weeks back I sent out a text. It was to each of the hubby’s brothers. And the gist was, “he could use a pick-me-up. please come.” They all responded in the affirmative, but schedules wouldn’t synch. So Gary was the first to book and and come. (He’s always been a brown-noser. :)

It was great having them here. The girls LOVED every minute. And I was thankful for the company and extra hand in getting the sleeping babies from the car. It’s weird how even those small things that you used to have help with before cancer take on this bigger meaning when you’re down two extra hands. Sometimes I just want to walk straight into the house and have someone else carry in the sleepy lumps. But when you have a hubby who has to make a beeline for the b-room or risk I-Zheet M’Drursz...well. It’s me, myself and I.

We loved having them here. The hubby got a much-needed diversion and we all just enjoyed the time together. We cooked and spent T-giving at True Blue’s. It was a great day. Then cousin Charlotte came up for a night out before they left. The Rock-es donated their empty house to the cause and a good time was had by all. I hated to see them leave.

On one particularly windy night while they were here —Thanksgiving eve I believe— I woke to hearing the world blowing apart. So I race out of bed —sans pants— and run to the front door to see what we’re losing out there. I notice that my newly re-created dried arrangement in the antique french flower bucket has blown down AGAIN. I already lost a set of $12.99 dried chinese lanterns from Whole Foods and was damned-and-determined to not lose the replacements. A quick glance at the clock shows 2:19 am, so I think, “no one’s up anyway” and dart out the front door in my too-short-t-shirt and bare ass. I grab the bucket and shoosh back inside. Whew. Bucket and dried shit saved. Close the door. And see my next door neighbor pull up into his drive. Damn. That was a little too close. Because, really, no one needed to see that.

But since I was up, I took a look out back and saw the umbrellas that we really needed to already have stored in the garage had blown down. I was envisioning our whole pergola being beat to shit by the stupid metal umbrella. So I run grab PANTS and head to the back door. I open it a crack and WHOOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHH. I close it back right quick. I think my head may have just blown off and I can hear all sorts of shit blowing around back there. Shit-damn. I could be killed. But. No. Stubborn streak kicks in and I’m out there. Wrestling umbrellas and oil lamps to save them from themselves. Proud of myself and my bravery, I reach for the door to head back to bed. LOCKED. Seriously.

I think about spending the night in the garage with the mice. And shudder. It’s COLD. I try a couple of other doors —hoping against hope that we were neglectful. No dice. WTF. I hear a tree splinter and something go WHAM against the fence. Oh crap. I’m about to be be-headed. So I go back to the door and PULL. It snaps open. Wasn’t locked all the way. OMFG. THAT WAS CLOSE.

About this time, the hubby emerges. Sleepy eyes. Boxers. Scratching his hiney blisters. “What are you DOING?” I just shake my head and lead him back to nite-nite time. And a quick check of Weather Bug on the iPhone shows 96MPH winds. I really could’ve been killed.

And with the departure of the bro and SIL, the hubby bottomed out again. Like magic. Or a magic tablecloth trick. He held it together and then Saturday, Sunday and Monday he disappeared again. He was so sick that his legs gave out. He couldn’t go more than 15 minutes without racing to the porcelain throne. Pooping like nobody’s business. I’ve never seen such. My heart started to ache with empathy. And I felt my ass start to clench and quiver each time he ran for the tile. I mean, the poor guy’s blistered, radiated ass was just ON FIRE. And pooping every five seconds through the screen door that his swollen rectum had become. Uh. Yea.

So the girls and I did what any good, loving family would do. We left. We hit the hot brunch spot in Denver, Snooze, and then headed to see King Tut at DAM. Then we came home to watch the GAMECOCKS kick some kitty ASS. Next day, we went to the Merriwinkles for dinner. Life almost as usual, but without my sidekick. I mean, the Great Pumpkin Bellini was SO DELISH, but drinking alone at 1pm in Denver with your two kids in preparation for the crowds at the museum. Pathetic.

Back at home, we talked and decided that my booked trip to Ohio with Purse Girl and Joyful for the annual purse-a-palooza was a no-go. There’s no taking kids to south Denver to get casts off, to singing performance concerts, to piano recitals, to Christmas parades, to volleyball and to birthday parties when you can’t stand upright without a poop-shoot going ready-aim-fire down your leg. Eww. And ouch.

By Monday, I was DONE. I wanted to cry and yell, “MERCY” to whatever older neighbor kid was doing the indian rug burn on my arm. I watched him disappear into a ball in the guest bed as I raced out of the door to a meeting. I knew he couldn’t drive himself to radiation, so I raced back home and got him there myself only 10 minutes (or so) late. And as I dropped him at the door to park, I said, “Can’t you ask about ibuprofen? I mean, a swollen colon? Anti-inflammatory? Right?” Turns out, I was.

Fast forward to Monday night and there you see him. Back upright. Me cautiously optimistic. And he only shitting about 4 times vs. 14. I’m a frickin’ genius.

So today we worked and went out to lunch together. Mulled over a return to the Ohio plan (for me). He drove himself to radiation and we went to Tuesday Cancer Club. I think I wasn’t as dialed in because I just couldn’t be. I was ready to shout from the rooftops, “World! Hey WORLD! Looky here! See who has re-emerged?” Up, making coffee, packing lunches, laughing at my jokes, smiling at me like he loves me again. The Tuesday miracle.

Then the minute I start to do my happy dance? He says, “Not so great. Bed.” And it’s only 8:15. What’s a girl to do?

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Comin’ Around. Steve Earle. My heart's a little ragged but it's all that I got.