Inquiring Minds Wanna know...

This is still fun, in case you were wondering!

http://www.formspring.me/CrankyPrincess

National Dance Day

I was a fan of the National Dance Day concept. It's silly and stoopid and all kinds and sorts of cheesy... but the ability to dance as if no one is watching and do so with a huge smile on your face is, in fact, priceless. Inspiring a huge number of people to do it across the country on a given day? Even more so.

In my line of work, we "dance" as if no one is watching on a daily basis. We make a living by putting ourselves out there, standing in front of 6 or 60 people who walk through the doors with a variety of agendas, who maybe are there just to check off the box for the day, or perhaps to blow off steam, deal with stress, train hard or to simply get lost in the moment and be entertained. They look to us for all of these things and more and the best we can do is hope that we deliver and connect with each and every one of them on some level. The only way to do this, really, is to be genuine, regardless of how much of ourselves we must leave exposed.

For me, this is the way I handle myself professionally as well as personally. There is some emotional risk involved, of course, as we're all only human with sometimes fragile egos, but I believe the benefits far outweigh this risk.

So here goes, my very favorite National Dance Day celebration, from my kingdom to yours. Watch it and smile and maybe, just maybe, dance right along with the princesses... as if no one is watching.

Little Thumbs

Exhibit C has been a thumb sucker since the day he was born. At four years old, it was still one of my greatest pleasures when he curled up in my lap to snuggle and I heard that sweet little sucking noise as he drifted off to sleep.

I'm not one of those moms who gets overly concerned about things like thumb sucking, picky eating, potty training, or other such things, for, as my father would have reassured me: "I never saw a bride walk down the aisle with a pacifier in her mouth" or "My friends all know how to use a toilet" or "You know, I never met a grown up who only eats mac'n'cheese".

I don't quite understand parents who feel the need to put horrible tasting things on little tiny thumbs or who tie down the thumbs of sleeping children. Most kids who suck their thumbs do so only when they are tired, feel nervous or uncertain or maybe when they get bored. It seems to me that the ability to self-comfort in the first two situations is something we should all be so lucky to have and that creating drama around it doesn't do much to empower or reassure a child. In the case of boredom, well, a little creative parenting can go a very long way.

That said, I recently broached the sacred thumb sucking subject with Exhibit C just to see what he'd say.

Me: Do you think you might stop sucking your thumb any time soon?
Him: *big doe eyed, long lashed blink* NO. (immediately followed by insertion of thumb in mouth)
Me: Alrighty then

Three days ago, though, he announced that he would no longer be sucking his thumb and that at the end of one week with no thumb sucking, he would require a new DS game. Ummmm... OK.

And with that, he promptly stopped sucking his thumb.

This afternoon he curled up in my lap and we talked about important things like Spiderman, birthday parties and why kitties have bristled tongues. I kept expecting him to start to fade and accidentally put that tiny thumb in his mouth, I kept thinking that at any moment I'd hear the familiar, rhythmic, self-soothing sound... but I never did and, truth be told, as glad as I am he did it on his terms and in his own time, I already miss it just a little.

I Am, Indeed, A Quitter

Someone recently called me a quitter. At first, it made me angry because it was so obvious to me that he had no earthly idea the kind of fight I put up every single day. It's an interesting concept really... for most of us really don't intuitively know what each other goes through, so I am not sure how we arrive at such conclusions, but it happens quite often, I believe.

My immediate thoughts were as follows, in no particular order: Do you know how much effort is required to slap on a happy face every freakin' day regardless of what havoc is being wreaked in my body at any given moment? Do you think it's easy to try to go about my business, maintaining a sense of normalcy not only for myself but so that the small human beings who once dwelled in my belly can feel secure and know they have the world at their fingertips? Does wanting to be in control of my own destiny, be surrounded by the people I love and be in the places I want to be in make me a quitter? Does signing a DNR order mean I've thrown in the towel or is it perhaps a sign that I understand that in both living and dying, prior proper planning prevents piss poor performance? Is it so wrong to want to handle things on my own terms? And, perhaps, most telling, are you presuming that your way is the only way and therefore the right way?

However, upon further consideration, I must say, I concur. I am, indeed, a quitter... for today I do, in fact, declare that I quit. I quit putting effort into people who can't be bothered and who don't appreciate how fleeting time is. I quit taking medications that make me feel worse than the disease for which I am taking them, and I quit hanging my hopes on unkept promises and arbitrary statistics. You tell me there's a 94% chance that something bad will happen and I will look you in the eye and say there's a 6% chance it won't. You say quitter, I say fighter, but I do, indeed, quit fighting with you. So there. You were right. I am, indeed, a quitter.

For whom?

I do not believe that it is selfish to value quality of life over quantity. I believe that someone asking another person to endure pain and medications and procedures that are sometimes worse than the condition itself and adding the words "for me" or "for them" to the end of the sentence is far more selfish.

That is all.

Reflections on a Year

Exactly one year.

One year ago I was 8 days away from tackling 40 with all kinds and sorts of celebrations planned.

One year ago I was 2 days away from starting an exciting new job that landed in my lap unexpectedly.

One year ago I was heading into remission from a horrible 8 week flare that sent me to hospitals, kept me from driving, left me in bed for long periods of time and rendered me far less attentive to my support crew, though most showed up anyway to help me, feed my family, and bring good cheer... and not just of the adult beverage variety, though they did that, too, of course.

One year ago I found out that the person among them that I thought cared the most just wasn't strong enough to handle that which needs to be handled when the going gets tough in my world.

One year ago I was an awesome kickboxer despite joints that were screaming from daily pain.

One year ago my kingdom was shattered into a million little pieces.

One year ago I became a prisoner in a house I could no longer stand.

One year ago I weiged 45 lbs more than I do today.

One year ago I stopped going to the neighborhood pool.

One year ago I realized that I should have listened better to my screaming gut because it never fails me.

One year ago I remembered just how perceptive children are.

One year ago I realized, with great sadness, that I could no longer allow myself to love too many people unconditionally or trust even my most trusted friends.

One year ago I received the best note ever from someone I've never met that said, quite simply, "one piece at a time".

One year ago I made a commitment.

Eleven months ago there was a repeat performance and so I remembered that people don't change but that they can evolve if they put their minds to it.

Ten months ago I continued my attempts at diagnostic and prescriptive measures to aid in the evolution.

Nine months ago I found out the treatment option still wasn't working, which I should have known, because the necessary evolution was not my own and you can't force that upon another soul.

Eight months ago I realized it's exhausting to have the life sucked out of you and, being the cranky and stubborn princess that I am, I fought back, because I was determined to never again fall victim to a... ummmm... life sucker.

Seven months ago I found my voice... though most would argue I never lost it. I blame my susceptibility to strep for my bouts of silence.

Six months ago there was no number six. Obviously.

Five months ago I knew what I wanted.

Four months ago I wished I would be miraculously cured and never again have to worry about health insurance.

Three months ago I just knew something wasn't right in every single arena.

Two months ago I learned about monoclonal proteins and was forced to consider, briefly, the possibility that I might not have too many more years upon which to reflect.

Last month took me to paradise and back.

And here I sit, exactly one year later, wondering how it is possible to have been through so much, learned so many things, traveled so far and yet still be in the same place as I was back then on so many levels.

Life is funny like that.

The Truth (a precursor to a HF...)

"No man is worth your tears, and the one who is won't make you cry."

Well ain't that the truth. Not sure who said it, but as soon as i read it, I liked it.