Farrah, My Hair Icon, R.I.P.

Can you believe it's been 2 years since she died?! This is something I wrote on my old blog "You Sure Do Have Your Hands Full". 


With all the events going on in the world right now writing about the passing of Farrah Fawcett may seem shallow. But I loved her! I was born in 1970 and any girl born of that era wanted Farrah Fawcett hair. So feathery and full. See photo of me below for why this was an unattainable dream.

It was so unfair. My mom has a perm in this picture, her hair is straight, couldn't I have straight hair? Just so that I could curl it with a curling iron like all my girlfriends. Kellie, Linda, my cousin Crissy's hair was to die for. Look at my brothers! Blonde and blue-eyed! A complete injustice!!

I loved you so much Farrah! You were on Charlie's Angels for only one season and that is the only season I ever watched.

I tried to straighten my hair with perms, a blow dryer, and once horrible chemicals that made my hair fall out in chunks. But I still held on desperately to the straight pieces of hair that didn't fall out, and combed them over the bald spots. I did this against everyone's advice until a mean 8th grade boy asked me if I had been in a fire. I finally got a haircut.

At least in my high school years the spiral perm started to take off and I was such an angry teen that I started to care less about looking like everyone else.

But I was never angry at Farrah.

I finally waved the white flag of surrender, and my hair called a truce.

And now that I am older there are actually hair products for my hair. So we are good.

Farrah 62 years is too young to die. And to suffer from such an "unglamorous" cancer. I am so sorry, you deserved to die painlessly. But you were still so beautiful. Now I can only wish to be as gorgeous as you when I am 62. Rest In Peace, now you really are an angel.

Grandma Hazel

This is the eulogy I delivered for my Grandmother yesterday. I wasn't the only one to speak kind words and my Aunt Kitty and Uncle Mike really put together a service as beautiful as my Grandmother. I wish I could say my gorgeous children sat quietly during the service but no, my dear husband ended up taking them to McDonald's.  The were the best dressed family there. And I am eternally gratefully to Erik for going beyond the call of husband and father yesterday, and just being a completely awesome and patient person. I also delivered this eulogy wearing my husband's right contact lens instead of my own, just to add some extra challenge to the whole public speaking tension.





There are several things that will always remind me of my Grandmother: the status of poodles, and Cadillacs. The luxury of perfume, and Cashmere sweaters. Grandma was always perfectly put together, her dogs were groomed, her house spotless, and she smelled wonderful and felt so soft. She was by far the most glamorous person I have ever met. Grandma Hazel could wear white slacks and gold sandals to a BBQ and stay stain free. My girl cousins and I would love to open her bathroom drawers and stare mesmerized at all the lipsticks and lotions.

But she didn't always have access to these conditions. There is no status in migrating to California during the Depression. No luxury in sleeping under a bridge ( pictured above is the 7th Street bridge my Grandmother slept underneath, which is still located in Modesto, Ca.)  with your siblings. There is nothing clean about having 6 kids of your own.  And there will never be any glamour in outliving one of your own sons.






The beauty and order Grandma surrounded herself was much deserved. Both her and Grandpa Bill worked hard to build their life. They were excellent role models for hard work and learning new skills. Grandma Hazel didn't learn to play the piano and do ceramics until later in life. And Grandpa was always reading and educating himself.






And even though Grandma loved her family unconditionally, that doesn't mean occasionally she wouldn't try to change you. Us grand kids learned early on not to mention if we were feeling under the weather. Grandma would take this opportunity to pump us full of vitamins or make you drink some strange herbal concoction. She wouldn't mind performing minor surgery on our dirty feet to get out a splinter or rubbing Vitamin E oil on some mystery rash. She was an excellent nurse but wasn't afraid to experiment on us either.






I know my Grandma Hazel loved me. She gave me tons of hugs and kisses and spoiled me rotten. But I am pretty sure she thought my hair was out robbing liquor stores at night. I worshipped her so much I really didn't mind the experiments she attempted on my unruly hair. My mom would leave me at Grandma's house and she would be instantly washing and conditioning my hair in the kitchen sink. It was like a spa day. I didn't mind the crazy hair cuts, I didn't mind the olive oil and the beer rinse didn't bother me at all. It was the homemade mayonnaise I objected to. I smelled like a bologna sandwich for 2 days!






I wasn't the only grandchild, my brothers and my cousins were always at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Often for days at a time. And they played with us. Grandma would play on the piano with us, take us to parks, bowling, shopping and dye Easter eggs with us. Grandpa played cards with us,played pool with us, and let us follow him around the garden, and read all of his books. We were never bored and felt safe and loved. All of us running around the backyard, sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags and crowded around the kitchen or patio table.






Over the years family, just like friends, drift apart. I am so grateful for the memories my grandparents gave me and my cousins. And now that I have kids of my own I realize it's not that easy to organize family gatherings or reunions. I do want to offer my kids the same positive experience that we all had. I know that Grandma would want today to be more of a happy reflection and celebration of life. A chance for everyone to re-connect, to forget any differences, and to be loving role models for our new family members.






One day I was out to lunch with Grandma and she told me there wasn't a lot of love and affection in her childhood home. And as an adult she went to visit her brother Clarence at his home one day. Clarence walked up to her and hugged her. She was very surprised, but she said it felt so good to her that she hugged him back. She told me to remember to hug people and tell them that you love them otherwise they may never know how you feel.






I found an Irish Blessing perfect for the wife of a roofer.






May the roof above us never fall in.


And may the friends gathered below it never fall out.





End of eulogy.

I asked a dear friend who currently lives in Stanislaus County if she knew of any non-religious type organizations that help homeless children.  Modesto, where my Grandmother migrated to as a homeless child is in Stanislaus County, and my Grandma Hazel was never strongly religious. |My friend Daphne found a couple of places. Thank you so much Daphne that really means a lot to me.

Hutton House

Pathways

Me, my mom Louise, Grandma Hazel and my daughter Rebekah Hazel. R.I.P. Grandma nobody will ever be as beautiful as you.

The Ugly Voice

Disclaimer: I do not want pity or praise. I just want you to read this and comment.  I want a yes or no answer, and/or feedback. 

I am writing this because after almost 40 years on the planet I have finally realized I am not that unique. I do not have experiences or thoughts that are singularly mine. So I just want to know if this happens to you?

Every time I go to the gym I encounter major resistance.....from myself.  And when I am on a roll I go to the gym 4 days a week.  But the whole time I am getting ready, the whole way there and the whole damn time I am working out, there is an ugly voice in my head.  I have to ignore and fight this voice, and she is a bitch!!  This is what she says:

"Why are you going to the gym when you should be cleaning your house?"
"Too bad you don't have cuter work-out clothes."
"You  should pack healthier snacks for your kids."
"Why bother going to the gym you barely have enough time to work-out?"
"You should shower before you go because you smell/your hair is frizzy/your face is oily."
Once I am at the gym she gets really mean:
"Stop running you are sweating/jiggling/your stomach is showing/you have camel toe."
"You can only run 6 miles per hour? That's pathetic."
"Oh great there is that super skinny chick who has more kids than you do."
"Why are you doing sit-ups when your favorite beverage is beer?"
"Do you think that doing sit-ups is really going to get rid of the flabby tummy and stretch-marks?"
"Lifting weights is not going to hide the fact that you have breastfed 3 kids."
"Your husband is working his ass off and you are in the hot tub reading a book....just because it's a parenting book doesn't make it better."
"Quit the gym and save the cash for a makeover."
"Well at least you don't weigh 300 pounds like that woman over there."

And she doesn't shut her trap until I am actually in the shower.  Once the endorphins kick in from the exercise she finally shuts the fuck up. The gym is not the only place she shows up to talk shit to me,  but that's the only place where she has a megaphone.

Does this happen to anybody else?

My Take on American Idol

I feel the need to comment on American Idol but my husband is doing work. And when I spout off about American Idol on Facebook people unfriend me.

The first singer was that teen-aged girl that sang Kelly Clarkson. Torture!! Boringggg. This is when I miss Paula, because then she would say, "But you look pretty.".

I love that Siobhan chick!! She is the one who sang House of the Rising Sun because that's her Dad's favorite song. I thought she did an awesome job! And then Simon ripped on her. Who pissed in his Cheerios?

That one chick is trying too hard to look like Pat Benatar. Her hair bugs me and I thought she was a snooze fest. But the judges liked her so what the fuck do I know?


That chick with the really cool blond, curly hair sang Carole King and she sang it too fast. I like her too, I don't want her to fail.


I hope I don't have to repeat this every week, but if you are going to sing Stevie Nicks, Pat Benatar, Heart etc. don't fuck it up. Just don't. The judges loved that weepy girl who sang Rhiannon (one of my favorite songs in the universe) and I thought it was too shrieky.

I liked the girl named Kaitlyn mostly because I have a niece named Kaitlyn. But the song she chose was just too old for her. She needs to sing something bubbly. The judges agreed with me but they really didn't need to tear her a new asshole on live television............that was kind of harsh.

Siobhan and dread locked single mom are my favorite contestants this year. She sang Tracy Chapman tonight, which is a no-brainer perfect song for her. I thought for sure Simon was going to say that was a "too safe" song choice but he didn't!!

I am into mandolins and banjos and all that but I thought that frosted hair wanna be Blondie sucked! But the judges loved her too! I guess I just couldn't get the original "I Fall to Pieces" out of my head.

Tomorrow night are the men and they are no Adam Lamberts. The only guy I like was the Hispanic guy with the tattoo on his neck. He didn't go home did he? I can't even remember what happened last week. Shit if my short-term memory is this bad at 39, what am I going to be like when I am 89?

Oh nevermind, Erik looked it up for me and that guy is still on the show and so is the guy who should never wear a shirt. We are so nerdy sitting here with our dueling laptops.

3 Days in the Hospital

Well if you are a regular reader you would know that last weekend I wrote about having a tough time with my illustrious colon. I was bemoaning the misfortune of having feeling like hell and having a disease that nobody wants to talk about, especially me!

The final chapter on last weekend was that I decided to continue on the steroids my gastroenterologist had prescribed me, and things will be looking up soon. That was last Sunday, by Tuesday I could barely get out of bed. I was in pain and had lost more blood than I was comfortable with. I personally called my gastroenterologist, and when I have time I will be shopping for a new one. All this time I had been in remission or had mild flare-ups but now that I was really sick, he was not helpful. He agreed that a trip to the E.R. might not be out of the question, but warned me I might lose my colon. I am not sure how he could tell that over the phone but it certainly didn't quell my anxiety.

I called my sitter Saint Sarah to come in early to get the kids dressed and to school and I insisted on showering. Erik drove me to the hospital and I won't lie I went straight to a bed instead of the waiting room and I was grateful for that perk. Erik gave the staff a quick update, kissed me and went to check on his patients. It's so embarassing talking about my symptoms that all 3 people were leaning towards me to hear what I had to say. I am not a quiet person, most people in my family don't own indoor voices. I just didn't want everyone to hear. And then I started to cry and then they took my blood pressure. 203/122! That spoke louder than words. I was in a lot of pain. The E.R. doctor was so nice and ordered some Ativan, "To step this crying down. ". He didn't say it in a rude way, it was helpful. I can't talk if I am crying and I couldn't stop crying because I was anxious, and the anxiety and pain was making my blood pressure go through the roof.

I was there less than an hour, and they decided who was taking over and that I was spending the night, and was scheduled a sigmoidoscopy for the next morning. Moms aren't supposed to go into the hospital.

San Ramon is a small town and Auntie M had seen Erik driving me to the hospital that morning so she called me on my cell and asked what's up. It was perfect because I could immediately begin to arrange child-care, and school transportation, and meals. When I got off the phone the nurse joked that I had been spotted by the paparazzi.

I was quickly whisked upstairs into a room and Auntie M came shortly after bearing trashy mags, a smile and a promise to keep the kids in line. After she left 2 nurses came back and started tossing stuff onto my bed and said we are moving you. "Why?", "Aren't you Dr. Gracer's wife?", "Yes". "Well we have a bigger room with a view for you.". "Oh that's really nice but that's not necessary I just need a toilet and a bed and a tv.". But they wheeled my groggy self to a bigger room, it was sweet but the view was wasted, because I immediately passed out.

They woke me for my clear liquid diet lunch and dinner and I ate it out of self-defense. Jello and popsicles should never be an entree. I was still in pain and the steroids make me weepy. It's embarrassing because my husband has to work there and they are going to think his wife is a crybaby. Thankfully my night shift nurse was a ray of sunshine. Super attentive without nagging or being clingy. I am partial to people who work the graveyard shift ,because I did that in an emergency psychiatric hospital, it takes a different kind of person.

The next morning was the sigmoidoscopy and they wheeled me down to that unit. I overheard my friend's voice so I called him over. One of our closest friends is a gastroenterologist and he is usually the one who would be doing this to a patient. I don't mind getting drunk and having a guy friend see me naked in a hot tub but a sigmoidoscopy is where I draw the line. He laughed and said he understood.

Now it was time for the procedure and they had me turn on my side. I warned them that I metabolize medications very quickly and have a habit of waking up during times I was supposed to be sedated. The nurse said, "OK ," Gave me the shot in my I.V. and then turned around to do paperwork. I bored holes in her back with my eyes. She turned around, and I smiled, she said, "Just give it a few more seconds.". I was feeling rainbows and unicorns but I was still awake, and there was no way in hell they were going to stick a garden hose up my ass while I was conscious. She turned around again to meet my buggy eyes and then turned to the physician, "Can I give her more?", "What!?". He was a little surprised to see my unblinking stare, but he must have said yes because that's the last I remember.

After the procedure there was a huge chunk of time that is not very coherent. I know that I was told some stuff, but then I had to ask over and over again because my short-term memory was a mess. After many people repeating to me many times I finally understood that I was grateful to not have an infection or polyps, and though they did take a biopsy they didn't think it was cancerous. But it did look like my colitis had spread significantly. I was weepy and tired and wanted my kids. My husband was tired too and very stressed out and everyone was just trying to hold it together.

My monkeys did come to visit and ate my popsicle, which was my entree, and some licorice the nurses gave them. They made a sticky mess and crawled all over me and asked lots of questions. And I was sad to see their smily faces go. The rest of that night I was still uncomfortable but I got another night shift nurse who was a rock star. All night long she kept trying to get me to lower my blood pressure. At one point I was on a pain med, benadryl and ativan and it was still 188/103. I was just laying there doing nothing! Finally she looked at me and said, "Is it me? Do I stress you out?". I cracked up and said, "You are the least of me worries!". She then said, "Well maybe I am just too hot.". I suggested she wipe off her sexy lip gloss and we can try again later. I believe bantering and a sense of humor is something that should be taught in nursing and medical school. This woman was so nice she stopped by in the afternoon to check on me on her OWN time.

When the doctor came by to visit me the next morning I told him the truth about how I was feeling and all it got me was another night in the hospital!!! What?! I was feeling better than on Tuesday so I thought for sure they would let me go. But he made a good point, "You are going to go home and start chasing your kids and end up back here on I.V. again. I need to get in as many steroids in I.V. form inside of you before you go back home.". He's right but this is just not practical. More crying. And Erik was supposed to be on-call that night at the hospital I am a patient at. I had to pull out the big guns and asked my mom to come please spend the night at my house.

By now my kids were showing by their behavior the stress of not having mommy at home. They weren't being very nice to their Nana and Grandma Wheeze and Mike was crying at school. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry. The only upside was that my MIL brought me some cute little scarecrow figurines to decorate for the holidays and my mom brought me some decent toiletries and panties (instead of the thong panties Erik brought me). And I was switched to a full liquid diet instead of clear liquid. Pureed soup tasted like a gourmet meal at this point.

Erik came by later with my laptop so I could order groceries online to be delivered, that made me feel a little more in control of my life. I told him to come back after tucking his patients into bed so he could give me a kiss. I tried to wait getting my pain meds until after he left but I couldn't wait. I have a fuzzy memory of somebody kissing me goodnight, I hope it was Erik and not the janitor.

Another Florence Nightingale got me through the night and in the morning I had one foot out the door. I told the doctor I was fabulous and was told to take it easy this weekend and eat a low-residue diet. Saint Sarah had to pick up the kids from school first and then I told her to just wait out for me out front so she wouldn't have to drag all 3 through the hospital. Well you know how hospitals insist on wheeling you out in a wheel chair? So here I am sitting waiting for a wheel chair and I can hear my kids over my cell screaming for mommy. Finally I flag down a nurse and tell her my ride is here. She asks if I can walk and I say hell yeah I can walk. We pass my volunteer in the hallway on the way to the elevator. A little old lady volunteer who practically needs the wheelchair as a walker. We told her it was ok, I can walk to my car, and the nurse and I laughed that maybe her volunteer duties should be stapling or giving out kleenexes instead of wheeling large adults around.

My kids were out of their little minds when they saw me. Mike and Bekah both unbuckled their seatbelts and lunged at me and Jake strained against his carseat and whined. I gave them lots of hugs and kisses and tried to get my bag from the nurse. She just stood there and said, "They are so happy to see you, oh it's so sad, they missed you. ". I thought she was going to cry. Oh jeez. So I just got in the van and buckled them back in and gave them hugs and kisses and then got my bag from the nurse and told her it was ok.

Wow coming home was not peaceful. The kids were hungry, whining and spinning out of control. The grocery guy showed up at the same time, to deliver the groceries and so did Erik with our new bookkeeper. It was total fucking chaos. I did not want to meet our new bookkeeper while dressed in pajamas and bruises from I.V.s on my arms and my kids in tears. She must think her new boss has the most dysfunctional family ever. The timing couldn't be worse.

We got the very nice grocery guy out the door even though I did want to talk to him about his daughter's wedding, she's a marine. I helped Erik seperate some personal and business files for our new bookeeper which she means she had to go in our home office in our messy bedroom. Then Saint Sarah and I tackled feeding the kids, cleaning the kitchen and putting the groceries away. I put Jake down for a nap and then sent Sarah to Target to pick up my meds while I did some more de-cluttering. But the hospital called the meds into Walgreen's instead of Target, sigh. So Sarah came back with the kids and made brownies with them and I went back to Target to straighten it out.

By this time my knees and ankles were starting to swell and I was really tired and irritable. But when I got home my dear friend Barb was here with her awesome monkey and everything was calm and quiet. Auntie M had come to pick up Bekah for some special girly time and Jake was napping. I was so grateful I teared up. This is more crying I have done in years, people who know me know I am not a crier. Another dear friend Danica brought dinner and we put the kids down for an early bed without a squawk.

This morning Erik came to the room and said, "Honey can you get up?", at first I was annoyed, thinking he should cut me some slack, but then he said, "It's 10:30a.m.". I was shocked I thought it was like 7 in the morning. I was so tired. I sent Erik back to bed and I got up to hang with the monkeys. I was feeling so much better and it's nice to be in my home. But I can really see the affect me being gone had on my young kids. When their Nana showed up today, my mother-in-law, the kids clung to me and were rude to her. Bekah ran into another room, Mike's rudeness was too much to ignore and he ended up on a time-out. I reassured them that Nana was just there to go to a birthday party with their Daddy and that I will be home the whole time. I am not going anywhere. Poor babies.

I just want to give a shout-out to all my friends and family that picked up the slack this week. Thank you for the orchid and the card, the magazines, tons of food, taking care of my kids and my husband, my laundry and just being here to listen. I really,really appreciate it and could not have done it without you.
Love,
Charlotte

I am Alone

All 3 kids are in camp this morning! 9a-1pm M,W, and F. of this week they are in a day camp at our temple. I seriously can't decide what to do with myself.

Do I go get a mani/pedi, go shopping, drive home and masturbate with my bedroom door wide open? Nope. The first thing I did was finish filling out their paperwork, because of course I can't leave them there without it, and I hadn't done it yet. I am a master procrastinator. That took me a fucking hour and 15 minutes! Is this day camp or the secret service. Damn!

Jake cried when I left but he's in good hands, and Mike and Bekah were consoling him. I felt a twinge of sadness but it was fleeting. As soon as I saw the Starbucks sign I was over it. Now I am sitting here with my laptop, a quad shot non-fat mocha, a 1/2 eaten banana and I still don't know what the hell to do with myself.

I guess I will start with some blogging and schedule them to be posted periodically throughout the summer. You probably figured out that I gave up on my Weekly Weight Watchers recipes. Commitment is a challenge for me, probably why I didn't get married until I was 32 years old. I will post a recipe here and there, especially since I would really like to lose at least 5 more pounds before my 20 year high school reunion August 29th. But the weekly thing was an idea suited for somebody way more organized than I am.

Wednesday I do have an appointment and during this free time maybe I will go see the dentist and get my hair colored. That's not frivolity, the gray is coming in with vengenance. I believe I shall go as blonde as my eyebrows will let me. Why not?

I want to have fun and enjoy myself but I feel the need to balance this alone time with some real errands or work since my poor husband is slaving away at the moment.

Speaking of my husband we had a fight last week. We never fight. We snap at each other now and then, because we get tired and irritable but that's about it. Last week I was gently informing him that since my brother is getting married in September there are a bridal shower and a bacherlorette party on the books and I need his call schedule so I can figure out which one to go to. Of course I am leaning towards the bacherlorette party since that will be more fun. Well you think that I had asked him to serve me his balls on a platter.

He got all quiet and pouty looking and I asked him, "Are you pouting?". And he said, "A little." And I asked, "Why?". And he said, "Because you just got back from a bacherlorette weekend and left me with the kids.". "Well honey you are welcome to have a weekend alone with your guy friends too. You can go on that ski weekend with the guys from the hospital this year. As long as you stay away from the bad, slutty husbands.".

That didn't seem to cheer him up. And a few minutes later he said, "You can only go to one event! I am putting my foot down! You are only allowed to go to one event!".

At first I wanted to laugh hysterically! Then I realized he was serious. Dark anger washed over me, I had to take deep breaths, I was standing next to a block of knives, my hands were slippery from washing dishes, this could get very ugly.

Of course I was only planning to go to one event, not both. I may be a lot of things but I am not unfair. I wouldn't like it if he left me alone multiple weekends to party with his friends and family. Having kids is about sacrifice and I don't expect to have the carefree social life I used to lead. But I wasn't going to tell him that now, he pissed me off! And this wasn't drinking with my girlfriends, these are wedding events, for family, my brother!!!

I have come a long way baby when it comes to my anger management. I resisted the urge to yell and throw stuff and swear and call names. Well almost. I said, "What are you a fucking Promise Keeper?!". You know those right-wing Christian men that promise to uphold their marriage vows but really just boss their wives around? Erik said, "What?!" I said through clenched teeth, "You can't put your foot down and tell me what to do. What if this was your family member getting married? Do you think I wouldn't let you go?!." Then it deteriorated into the age old he works and I stay home and eat Bons Bons fight. Nice.

I walked away from that and went back to my Bons Bons, and dishes and kitchen floor and yelling at the kids. Then we both calmed down.

I sat on his lap and he apologized and said he was just really tired and he didn't mean to say that. And I said, "Honey I was only going to go to one event anyways, I am not an asshole. And you can go out and party with your buddies anytime, seriously, I owe you." . So we made up and it's all good!

I just didn't want you to think my life was perfect.

Farrah, My Hair Icon, R.I.P.

With all the events going on in the world right now writing about the passing of Farrah Fawcett may seem shallow. But I loved her! I was born in 1970 and any girl born of that era wanted Farrah Fawcett hair. So feathery and full. See photo of me below for why this was an unattainable dream.

It was so unfair. My mom has a perm in this picture, her hair is straight, couldn't I have straight hair? Just so that I could curl it with a curling iron like all my girlfriends. Kellie, Linda, my cousin Crissy's hair was to die for. Look at my brothers! Blonde and blue-eyed! A complete injustice!!

I loved you so much Farrah! You were on Charlie's Angels for only one season and that is the only season I ever watched.

I tried to straighten my hair with perms, a blow dryer, and once horrible chemicals that made my hair fall out in chunks. But I still held on desperately to the straight pieces of hair that didn't fall out, and combed them over the bald spots. I did this against everyone's advice until a mean 8th grade boy asked me if I had been in a fire. I finally got a haircut.

At least in my high school years the spiral perm started to take off and I was such an angry teen that I started to care less about looking like everyone else.

But I was never angry at Farrah.

I finally waved the white flag of surrender, and my hair called a truce.

And now that I am older there are actually hair products for my hair. So we are good.

Farrah 62 years is too young to die. And to suffer from such an "unglamorous" cancer. I am so sorry, you deserved to die painlessly. But you were still so beautiful. Now I can only wish to be as gorgeous as you when I am 62. Rest In Peace, now you really are an angel.