Tag Archives: Valerie Zane

Writer, wife, mom… and now blogger!

This is not goodbye…

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Today is my last day with my computer before the movers come and take it away. It will be in storage for 30 days, give or take until we close on our new house. This will be the longest I’ve gone without it.

I’m feeling sentimental so I wrote this brief verse…

Farewell Friend:

I might not get to see you as often as I’d like.

I may not get to touch you each and every night.

But deep down in my heart I know that it’s true.

No matter what happens on the moving truck or in storage…

I will always love you

We’re moving this week! Can you believe it?

Even though I’ll be without my computer and will probably go through the type of withdraw that crystal meth addicts can only dream about, I’m still excited about the move. My fingers will get a break from typing they haven’t had in over a decade. Meanwhile, I’ll write pen to paper in an actual notebook (as in born from an actual tree, but not necessarily Apple). Considering I didn’t even have my own computer until my 20s, it could potentially make me feel like a kid again. Deep into my 30s, that sensation is always welcome.

Sure! It’s bound to be challenging at times, but it will also be nostalgic and nostalgia always breeds inspiration.

I’m also (secretly) excited about writing a future blog I’ve already started drafting in my mind. It will be about living in a Super 8 motel. Yep, that’s where my husband, daughter and I will be staying for a month or so until we settle in Iowa. Can you imagine?? Well, you won’t have to because I plan to tell you ALL about it as soon as I have the opportunity. I know you’re probably thinking what I’m thinking! It will be like being sent on a freelance reporting assignment to another country! I’ve always wanted to know what that would feel like and now I’ll finally have my chance! If nothing else, it’s bound to be an adventure.

Wish me luck! Farewell for now…

What’s That Smell?

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For an entire afternoon, I searched for a very bad smell that seemed to be following me everywhere. It wasn’t until later when I realized…

Yep, it was me.

Isn’t that the worst? Deny if you must, but I’m sure we’ve all been there. Or been “it” for that matter.

Nobody wants to admit being the source of the bad smell. But it happens. So I feel obligated to admit it when it happens to me. I’m occasionally the bad smell. I might as well fess up. There have been times when I’ve skipped a shower, forgotten to apply deodorant or when I’ve passed the point of being able to deny a passing of gas or blame the person next to me – with a straight face anyway. So what? Bad smells happens to everyone!

And since becoming a mom, the smells are far worse than they used to be. I’ve smelled of sour milk, formula, strained peas, vomit, urine, day-old apple juice. Show me a mom who hasn’t?

But this time was worse. It was poop. Gross, I know! Let me explain…

My daughter is going through a pre-potty training phase where she often feels the urgency to rip her diaper off and run around. Ordinarily, this is adorable and funny. If watching a toddler run bear-butted and free, giggling in joy, doesn’t bring a smile to your face then you’re simply not human, or you’re probably not the child’s mommy anyway! Toddler tushies are priceless and, yes, I’ve taken photos and even video of my own toddler’s tush. I hold myself back from posting the pictures in any public forum, on FaceBook or showing them off to friends and strangers. But I have them and I plan to keep them. Someday I vow to embarrass her with them.

But this particular time wasn’t quite so adorable. This time, the diaper was full of poop when she tore it off and before I had a chance to stop it from happening it was already all over her, me, our clothes and everything else!

Of course we removed the soiled clothing, soaked, showered and scrubbed the poop off. Then while she napped (pooped from all the pooping, I guess), I scrubbed the floors and walls. Then I showered again.

It wasn’t until later – much, much later, when I realized I must have missed a spot. And, for the record, there’s no such thing as missing just a spot when the topic is poop because that “spot” followed us around all day. It was everywhere. To be honest, I did not think for a second that it was me. But it was.

While Lyla slept, I continued to clean and disinfect and even lit a candle and opened the windows to air out the place. When she woke up, we went for a long walk on the beach and every now and then I swore I still smelled it – when the wind was just right. I didn’t think much of it, thought it was my imagination rather than a real lingering smell. Later, we ran a few errands together and made a trip for groceries. I’d put the moment and the smell behind us. Or at least that’s what I thought. But in the supermarket, I smelled it again. And others smelled it too. I saw them scrunching their noses in the classic ‘what’s that smell?’ fashion. I scrunched mine back as if to say I smelled it too. Still not wanting to go back home post-poop-episode, we decided to grab a smoothie and a Happy Meal (Lyla loves fries, but who doesn’t?). I swore I smelled it in line, but ignorantly assumed it was someone else. Finally, after enough time had passed for the coast to clear, we went back home.

Then the doorbell rang. It was UPS ironically dropping off a shipment from diapers dot com.

I answered and I could tell immediately the UPS guy smelled it too. He didn’t even try to hide his expression as he literally turned his nose up at me. The smell must have smacked him right in the face when I opened the door. Or maybe he saw the actual spot. He didn’t say one way or the other so I still can’t be sure. Although unlikely, it’s entirely possible because as it turns out he came face to face with it. In fact, his face was almost as close to “it” as mine.

After signing for the package and shutting the door, I noticed the smell was still there. I must have missed a spot, I thought to myself. But where? It seemed to have been following me around all day. That could only mean one thing. It had to be on me.

That’s when I realized a teensy tiny speck of my child’s feces was on my glasses. It had been there the whole time. I’m not entirely sure how it got there or how I failed to notice it. It must have either splattered up onto the wire frame of my glasses (better there than in my eye!) or perhaps my daughter touched my glasses (better them than my face!) with her poopy hands while I focused on cleaning her up. I’d obviously removed them from my face prior to showering but didn’t even think about checking before putting them back on my face. Why would I? To my knowledge, I’ve never before had poop on my own glasses. But there’s a first time for everything, I guess.

So the spot I’d missed was literally right before (or beside) my eyes the entire time.

Next time I smell a bad smell, I’ll know to check there first!

Moving Again!

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OK, so that last blog was just a tease. It’s official. We’re moving to Iowa!

I’m a city girl, born and raised. But 11 years ago, I fell madly in love with a country boy. Well, he’s half country anyway. If he was entirely country, he may have never moved to the city to be with me! Although, I admit, I can be rather persuasive. And, in time, I imagine that some of my city has rubbed off onto him. But, deep down, he’ll always be a laid back, outdoorsy country boy. And since I love him more than anyone or anything anywhere, I guess, that makes me a little bit country too. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.

I was born in Philadelphia, in the inner-city, in a neighborhood called Kensington which was/is always in the news (not usually in a good way). It’s the kind of neighborhood, where nervous out-of-towners anxiously lock their doors for fear of being carjacked. Of course, they’d have no way of knowing but their cars are more likely to be stripped, tagged with graffiti and then set on fire. But it wasn’t always like that. Or, at least I hadn’t realized it. I didn’t even know I was in a “bad” neighborhood until years after I moved away. From my perspective, it was a great neighborhood, a wonderful place to grow up, and I never understood why anyone would complain about living there. It was my home. And home is home.

To be fair, I also believed my family was rich but that’s another story. I’m beginning to realize that I may have been a tad delusional as a child. In fact, I probably still am. That’s OK. It helps with my writing.

Right after college, I moved to New York City. It had been my plan since I was old enough to have one. When I was little, my dad was a courier and every once in a while he’d take me with him on long car rides. I loved going anywhere and everywhere, especially distant cities, with him. Along the way, he’d tell me stories. My dad tells the best stories. Countless times, he took me on adventures to New York City. He’d tell me stories about New York and I’d picture myself living there. We’d cross the Brooklyn Bridge and my eyes would light up brighter than the skyline. It was magnificent. Each trip, I’d beg him to take me over the bridge and every time he would give in and do so, even when it meant driving way out of the way.

One day, as a gift, he brought me home a Brooklyn Bridge poster and hung it up in my bedroom. He knew I loved nothing more than driving with him over that bridge. Growing up, that poster was my inspiration.

I fell in love with New York City, and I knew I’d eventually live and work there. And, I did. I interned at NBC at Rockefeller Center during my senior year in college and then worked there full time after graduation. It was my dream come true. Then, one day, I got an offer to work at the National Basketball Association, and for seven years I split my time between New York and New Jersey. While there, I met Jason (at Madison Square Garden of all places). Over a year later we started dating, fell in love, moved in together and soon after we moved to Texas (giddy-up!), stayed there for three years, got married (in Tahoe) and moved back to New York (we currently live on the beach in Rockaway Park, Queens). These days, I can look out my front and back windows at the ocean and get inspired to write. We’ve been back in New York almost four years now but, lately, we’ve been getting the itch to make another move.

It was bound to happen, since it seems we have trouble staying very long in one place. People sometimes ask us if we’re military, and maybe we should have considered it. For one, moving would have been much cheaper! But we both love to travel, live in new places and experience new things. If you think I’m bad, he’s far worse than me. In addition to numerous cities within the United States, he’s also lived abroad. He’s been everywhere. He’s lived all over. He’s even lived in Hong Kong.

We’ve both traveled all over the world, separately and together, mostly through our jobs but also for fun. This world is amazing, thrilling, big. There’s always more to see and do. Now our world is leading us to the Midwest. We’re both a little bit nervous but we’re also extremely excited.

Like I’ve mentioned before, Jason is originally from Iowa. His dad is a corn and soybean farmer, among many other things. His mom and dad raised him lovingly, protectively, surrounded by a great big family in a very small town. For perspective purposes, there were less people in his home town than I had in my high school graduation class. There’s a song that goes, “On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha…” Well, that road leads to his hometown. Really, it does.

Sure, by big city standards, it’s in the middle of nowhere. But, as I get older, being in the middle of nowhere actually sounds kind of nice. Maybe I’ve finally lost it. Or maybe I’m growing up. We even bought a house – and, believe me, nothing makes you feel more grown up than that! It’s in another quaint, cool, small town 20 minutes from everything. The house needs some work but it was the right price (our mortgage payment will be less than a third of our current monthly rent). Instead of the ocean, there’s an actual corn field across the street.

Plus, it has a huge, gorgeous, grassy green back yard, and that’s something I’ve never had. I’m looking forward to lying down in the grass on warm summer nights, looking up at the star-filled sky. It’s something so beautiful and awe-inspiring that you’d have to see to believe. Although, to be perfectly honest, the first time I saw it, I still couldn’t believe it. Stars like these don’t exist in the city sky… except during a blackout.

In addition to the stars in the sky and all the wishes I’ll get to make when I see them fall, I’m stoked because my daughter will get to grow up surrounded by green grass and clean air and lots of family and friends. She’ll learn to ride horses. She’ll run barefoot in the grass and chase fire flies. We’ll take her to visit local farms where she’ll get to pet animals and where we’ll buy farm fresh eggs and produce. We’ll be able to grow a garden and plant fruit trees together in our yard. Lyla will have space to grow and do whatever she wants to do. It’s hard for me to imagine since, currently, I have to hold her hand to walk to our mailbox.

Since I’ve only ever gone to Iowa on vacation and long holiday weekends, it might feel like we’re on vacation all the time. Who knows? I may even learn to relax… well, we’ll see. But I’m sure, in time, it will feel like home.

Like every other place we’ve been and lived, we can’t promise that we’ll stay forever. We’ve always been the wandering kind. But, if all goes as planned, we’ll be sticking around for a while. There’s so much to do and so many new things to experience there. Sure, we’ll miss the ocean and, even more so, our east coast family and friends (who we’ll be back to visit and who all know they are welcome at our place any time!). But it’s time to start a new chapter. And we’re truly looking forward to it.

I plan to continue writing, of course, and blogging about my life and all about my adventures in Iowa once we get settled. In the meantime, I’ll blog when I can but we have a lot of packing to do!

Iowa, here we come!

Cousins

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My husband is originally from a small town in Iowa. He comes from a huge family, including 2 brothers and a ton of cousins. This past weekend, we went home for a very brief visit. It’s always nice to visit for a variety of reasons, but this time it was especially great for Lyla.

She got to see and spend quality time with family who she hadn’t seen in over six months. Time flies, and six months may not seem that long at all to the rest of us but to put it in perspective from her point of view… six months is one third of her whole life!

For me, the coolest part of the visit was seeing Lyla interact with her cousins, in particular her cousin Korbin. Korbin is a cute, sweet, affectionate, rambunctious little boy, who at the ripe old age of two is older and (arguably) wiser than Lyla. Of course, he’d better watch out because she’s a quick study!

From the moment they saw each other, Korbin and Lyla became instant playmates. It was as though zero time had passed since the last time they were together. At first, she followed him around like a puppy, and they laughed and played together. Before long, he let her take the lead as he followed her. It was so sweet to watch them run and play together. They even developed their own language, one nobody else could possibly understand. Each quite obviously and quite easily understood the other, as they interacted and laughed back and forth while the rest of the family simply listened and watched on.

They blew bubbles, ran, laughed, sang and even made up silly little games together. Lyla would drop her juice bottle, and Korbin would race to pick it up. Each time, he’d laugh hysterically. She’d say, “thank you.” He’d smile and look so proud. Then, she’d run away and make him chase after her. He’d happily oblige. When they finally tired each other out, they both hopped up onto the couch together. Then, Lyla would gently poke Korbin in the tummy, giggle and start the process all over.

I am so happy that Lyla has so many wonderful people in her life who adore her. We are blessed with a beautiful family. And, our extended family of friends is just as wonderful.

I grew up happy in a relatively small family. Growing up, my brother was my best friend (still is) and my parents were my heroes (still are). I love each of them dearly, and I wouldn’t change a thing. But, there’s something to be said for big families.

I’m thrilled that my daughter has a big family. To have cousins is like having best friends from the start. A family of friends who will love her, laugh with her and protect her as she grows up and conquers the world. In addition to her cousin Korbin, she has three more boys who adore her. Her older cousins CJ, Isaiah and Julian are each equally amazing. Plus, she has the best uncles and aunts, second and third cousins, grandmas and grandpas and a whole family tree of truly wonderful people.

Family – it’s a beautiful thing.

We spend so much time and money trying to acquire more money and things that we hope will make our children happy, when it’s always been the simple things in life which bring about the most smiles.

My child is surrounded by love. That beats anything money can buy.

The Squirrel

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We have surround sound. Well my husband does actually but, since we’re married, it’s technically 50% mine. I don’t know much about it or what all the doodads and thingamawhats are called, but recently I performed surgery on one of the speakers. He wasn’t home at the time or I’d never have gotten away with it. But it had to be done, and you’ll understand why in a moment…

The particular speaker in question is the self-standing kind, the one that sits all alone on the floor beside the TV. It’s black, rectangular and not very tall, but just tall-or-small enough to have recently become a piece of furniture to my daughter Lyla. It’s quite stylish actually and fits in rather nicely with her other living room furniture, including her bean bag chair, rocking horse and Sit n’ Spin. To her, the speaker is a multipurpose table. She sits beside it, rests her snacks upon it, plays with her toys on it and occasionally climbs on top of it. But I hadn’t realized until recently that her new “table” also converted for storage.

While relaxing on the couch one day, my husband spotted something inside the speaker. He said (and this is a direct quote), “Hey, do you see that nipple?” I didn’t see it at first but on closer inspection, I did indeed see the nipple. The nipple in question was attached to a baby bottle. It was inside the speaker. How did it get in there? Well, we had an idea… the culprit had to have very dainty hands and fingers small enough to fit through the tiny, tight round opening. I imagine, to Lyla, it was like a toddler’s version of the board game Operation.

It took us a while to retrieve the bottle, since neither of us could fit our adult-sized hands inside. Once we finally got it out (a combination of gravity and kitchen tongs), we learned it was half-filled with moldy apple juice. Ewwwww! There was no way of knowing exactly how long it had been there. Let’s just say, the juice and the bottle had both seen better days and, sadly, neither was worth saving.

Every once in a while we run low on bottles. Nipple rings go missing too. It’s as if they disappear into thin air, and now I know why. Lately, other things have been disappearing too. I have a sneaky suspicion who’s to blame, but I have a feeling she has other hiding spots not yet discovered. Of course, the speaker continues to be among her favorites.

It’s only a matter of time before I find my cell phone in there.

Just yesterday, I was about to run the dishwasher and decided to do a last minute bottle roundup. I found two in her crib, one under her crib and, as suspected, one in the speaker.

But this time, it wasn’t just one lonely juice bottle. The speaker was completely full. Its contents included: 1 juice bottle, this time no mold; 1 Weeble Wobble; 1 red crayon; 1 sock; 1 piece of partially chewed celery; 3 animal crackers; 2 broken pretzel rods; 1 lollipop; 2 cubes of cheese (yuck!); 4 Teddy Grahams; countless Cheerios.

This is the reason why my husband has started calling our daughter The Squirrel.

April Fool

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Today, we celebrate two groups of people: Those who prank and those who get pranked!

Admittedly, I have fallen into both categories. Here’s my advice…

  • If you don’t want to get pranked, this may be a good time to cash in a vacation or sick day. There’s no shame in hiding. I’ve done it.
  • Even if you love a good prank, keep your guard up. You may have planned the best prank ever, but it might not matter if they get you first.
  • Try not to hurt anyone. Before you go yanking a chair out from under someone or wiping out the back of a knee, please be sure they aren’t suffering from a previous injury or disability. You don’t want to cause permanent physical damage, and you will look like the biggest A-hole on the planet when you find yourself being sued or serving prison time for a poorly planned April Fool’s joke. Remember: it’s not nice to use your friends’ allergies against them! Sure, it’d make a great story but is it really worth it??
  • Consider the consequences. Certain people may not want to play along, and others may not take a prank in the good nature it was (hopefully) intended. You don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings… especially someone who has serial killer potential. I’m just sayin’. I highly doubt the Dahmers and Bundys of the world are very good sports.
  • Above all else, always remember that whoever you prank will definitely prank you back! And, we all know, payback is a five letter word that rhymes with witch (need another clue? it starts with “B”).

If you still want to play, keep in mind that truly great pranks tend to take time and patience to plan and pull off. And, you get extra credit for originality. You don’t want to be the guy (or girl) who pulls the same old pranks year after year. Whoopy cushions are fine, when used sparingly (say, every 5 yrs).

These days, money is tight for most of us so why not take a peek around your home and get creative. Typical household items make great pranks and they can save you cash. Think of all the fun you could have with any or all of the following: aluminum foil, plastic wrap, flour, duct tape, baby oil, Crisco, diaper rash cream, Jell-o, super glue, food coloring, pickle juice, the possibilities are endless…

Much like theme costumes at Halloween, theme pranks can be fun too. Why not develop a theme or pull the same prank on everyone at your office? Cover all your coworkers’ keyboards in powdered sugar or Saran Wrap their phones. It’s slightly less risky than going to war with one person since people tend to take things better when they’re not alone. On the other hand, you might manage to piss off a whole company, and that has its downsides, too. If you can get involved in a group prank, they’re great because you can share the credit and the blame (the latter being more important obviously).

It’s probably not a great idea to prank your boss or the head of your company (unless he or she is a prankster too, or really deserves it!), especially in this economy. If you decide to do so anyway, take a few extra steps (1. Clean out your desk  2. Draft your companywide goodbye email  3. Consider scheduling a consultation with an employment rights attorney). I wonder how many folks will wind up in the Unemployment Line post April 1?

If you’re still not sure who to prank, I highly suggest pranking friends and relatives, not because they are easy targets necessarily or because they deserve it more than coworkers or complete strangers, but because they are more likely to forgive you. Pranking your mom may not make you look cool to your friends, but part of her job is to love you unconditionally (even if you’re the jerk who super-glued her tush to the toilet!). And, there’s something to be said for that!

If you fall prey to a prank, I hope it’s all in good fun and that you are able to appreciate it. If you are the prankster, I wish you luck! Hopefully, whoever you prank will be a good sport, laugh gracefully and wait until next year to unleash their wrath of revenge. You can always move away or switch jobs between now and then.

Happy April Fool’s Day!

Writing Class

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I’m taking an online writing class, and so far so good. It isn’t my first writing workshop, but it is the first one I’ve taken online. So far, it’s been great, informative and worthwhile. While I’ve been learning a lot, I’m not sure my favorite things about the class have much to do with the class itself. The fact that it’s online might be the coolest part actually.

These are my favorite parts, in no particular order:

  • Wearing PJs during class chats. Priceless! Not having to wear a bra? Even better!
  • Watching American Idol in the background. The live chats take place on Thursday nights, during the AI decision shows. I half pay attention to those shows anyway. Since 24 ended, I don’t have much to live for – in regards to TV anyway. American Idol and Food Network are practically all I have left! Last week, the instructor switched days to Wednesday, and that’s AI performance night. I almost dropped the class. Thank God, the move was only temporary!
  • While I’m learning stuff, my husband, Jason, plays with our daughter, Lyla, for a whole hour without me. By the time the chat time is over, they’re both exhausted. Plus, he brings me drinks during class! So, it’s a win-win and sort of like being on vacation.
  • Not having to smile and nod in a room full of people, pretending I remember everything about everything they wrote. I have mommy brain. Some days, I hardly remember what I wrote!
  • I can sneak in extra minutes to write during class chats. Every minute counts! I’m writing this blog during class just to prove to myself that I can do both simultaneously! Mommies (and former event planners) are phenomenal at multitasking.
  • Getting to read some truly excellent work from other writers struggling to get published, while getting their feedback on my writing. It’s like a support group! Lord knows, I need one of those!
  • The teacher is a real editor at a major publishing house (read: the mother ship of all publishing houses). I know! I was excited too. She’s big time. Plus, she’s really nice! Her insight and professional feedback are just as important to me (probably more, but it’s a close race) as the not having to wear a bra part.

It’s only been a few weeks, but the class has been fun, interesting and definitely worth the time and the price of admission. Plus, this is so much better than how I remember college actually being. Well, the learning portion anyway. Lecture halls, prerequisite courses, labs and studying through the night? Those parts were dreadful. The other parts were awesome, if my memory serves me right.

This class has inspired me in so many ways, and I will definitely take more classes in the future. I might even consider going back to school at some point to get my MFA in Creative Writing… online, of course!

Happy PKD Day!

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Today is PKD Day. March is Kidney Month. March 12th was World Kidney Day. This reminds me of how I like to celebrate my birthday. November 11th is my actual birthday, but every day when the clock says 11:11, I have mini celebrations. Then, come November, I like to celebrate all month long!

So why not celebrate my kidneys for a whole month too?

I have plenty to celebrate. After waiting a year to take the MRI I blogged about a few blogs ago, my results came back and my wonderful doctor said my kidneys look pretty much the same as they did a year ago! Mind you, they didn’t look great a year ago. They were already each three times the size of a “normal” kidney due to swelling and cyst growth. BUT, they haven’t gotten any worse, and I’m so happy!

I feel like I won the lottery! I’ve cried several times since hearing this news. The news means so much…

It means I have more time. More time to enjoy my current kidneys, even the left one – the one I complain about regularly (it has a tendency toward being a jerk). More time to do the things I want to do and enjoy my life in its current status with my current kidneys before having to think about the possible next step. Chances are strong that I will someday receive a donated kidney, quite possibly from a loved one. Kidney transplants do not frighten me. They are highly successful and highly necessary. But, I’d still like to put it off (for me and for my future donor) as long as possible. But if and when the time comes, I will not hesitate. I love life, and I will do whatever it takes to live.

It means that if my husband and I decide to have another baby, we can do so without worrying too much about whether or not my kidneys can handle it. Now, I have a little more faith in them. Of course, that road won’t be easy. It comes with complications worth discussing. Estrogen increases cyst growth, and getting knocked up releases a flood of estrogen. Kidney infections are typically treated with Cipro (Ciprofloxacin), a very strong antibiotic that’s a definite no-no for fetuses, preggos, infants and nursing mommies. If I was to get an infection along the way, and chances are that I’d get at least three, I’d have to be hospitalized and hooked up to an IV to treat the infection. It’s a lot to think about. We haven’t decided yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

It means that we’ve been doing something right. Research shows that water is important and on recommendation from my doctor, I’ve been drinking a gallon of water a day to flush and saturate my kidneys. Also, animal protein has been linked to harming the kidneys and speeding up cyst growth. So, originally, I switched to a 100% vegetarian lifestyle. After six months or so, my husband and I started incorporating fish and important meats, like bacon, back into our diet. Let me tell you, a little bacon really makes a veggie burger sing! Now, we’ve found our balance. We eat mostly veggies and fish, occasionally incorporating meats and poultries. It works for us. And (knock on wood) it seems to be working for my kidneys.

My husband, Jason, is a Godsend. He walks with me and holds my hand through all of the crazy things this crazy life brings. He has since the day we met. Since my first Walk for PKD last year, he has been wearing a yellow “Donate Life” bracelet. He never takes it off. He loves meat (He’s a man! Plus, he’s from Omaha!), but he didn’t hesitate to give it up with me, for me. Of course, I picture him binging on burgers and Slim Jims in his car on his way to work and whenever I’m not around, but that’s OK. In similar fashion, he’d previously supported every silly diet I did back before being diagnosed, from every detox diet to Atkins (very bad for kidney function by the way!), so why stop now? I’ve said it before and I’ll never stop saying it, my husband is the most amazing man on the planet! If it wasn’t for him… well, I don’t even want to think about it.

For people with Polycystic Kidney Disease, everyday is PKD Day. If you or your loved ones have a disease, any disease, you have it and are affected by it every day. Whether or not you have PKD, please celebrate with me this month. And, celebrate YOU and your life every day. Celebrate each and every opportunity you’ve been given. Celebrate your birthday, the month of your birth, the time you were born. Celebrate sunrise and sunset each and every day. Love your life and everyone in it.

We must appreciate the wonderful people in our lives and the time we have been given to spend with them. This life is a gift, a blessing, a miracle. However you choose to define it, it’s pretty stinkin’ awesome, and we have every reason and every right to celebrate.

So, happy PKD Day! Happy Every Day!

My Brother’s Penis

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My brother accidentally uploaded a photo of his penis onto FaceBook. Need I say more?

OK, I needn’t but I will.

Yes, I’m actually blogging about my brother’s penis.

This is actually a relatively old story, since it happened late December (the 25th to be exact). But, I promised (or threatened) him that I’d eventually blog about it.

Well, Frank, your time has come (so to speak)!

Think of it as a Christmas story, if you will… It was (or ’twas) Christmas Day, and we had family over for dinner. My husband cooked a huge, yummy feast, as usual. We had just said the prayer (like good Catholics, we pray on Christmas, Easter… and Thanksgiving). We were stuffing our faces and chit-chatting. It was nice, but then again, I love all events that involve family and food. Then, out of nowhere and with no warning whatsoever, my brother brought up (not out, up… well, up isn’t much better, I guess) his penis. Not exactly your typical holiday dinner conversation, he told the tale of how his penis ended up on FaceBook.

He had very recently bought a new cell phone, and he was at home alone testing its features… by, uh, sexting (unfamiliar? look it up) with his girlfriend. At her request, he took a naughty picture of himself, and texted it to her… or at least he tried. It was meant to be a private communication between two consenting adults. Harmless fun, right?

Anyhoo, the photo somehow took a wrong turn somewhere in cyberspace and ended up on his FaceBook feed. Yep, right there on his wall, for all eyes to see, was a picture of my brother’s penis!!!

At first, he didn’t even know it was there. But then, how would he? He was obviously busy at the time. He didn’t even find out until later (how much later? Minutes? Hours? I’m not sure) when my best friend (Hi, Diana!) saw it and contacted him.

Not believing her own eyes, she assumed it was some sort of virus, a hacker’s penis perhaps, certainly not my brother’s. For a bit of back story, Diana and I have been friends since the 9th grade. She was my college roommate, my maid of honor. She’s family, like a sister. Therefore, my brother is like a brother to her. When you look at it that way, it’s almost like seeing her own brother’s penis! See how I managed to make an already icky story about my own brother’s penis that much ickier? You’re welcome. Being a ‘do the right thing’ kind of girl, rather than pretending it never happened or poking out her own eyes, she notified him discreetly via email to avoid any potentially awkward conversation.

Horrified, he rushed to remove the picture.

This story would’ve (and probably should’ve) ended there. But, then he had to go and tell me!

Of course, the awkward conversation started the moment I found out, and the end is nowhere in sight. Don’t look at me like that! He brought it up. The blog on the topic practically writes itself! In all fairness, Diana would have probably never told me. She wouldn’t have wanted to cause him any embarrassment. Had he not mentioned it to me, I would’ve never mentioned it to her and she would’ve kept it a secret (at least from me) forever.

I have to give her credit for that too because I would have told me immediately!! Heck, I’m telling YOU! Because funny stories should be shared, that’s why! It took all my willpower to keep it this long. In fairness, I called her the very next day after hearing my brother’s version of the story. I needed to get the rest of the story and I’d have called her sooner, but it was Christmas Day! I couldn’t have possibly waited any longer. I needed to tell someone, anyone, everyone. I had questions. I had comments. I had jokes!!

So, I called her, and said “Merry Christmas. So, I hear you saw my brother’s penis?!!”

Funnier still? She told me that someone else had actually seen it first and told her about it! Yes, that’s correct. She was not the first or the only person to see what she saw that day. Another mutual male (not mentioning any names but you know who you are) friend saw it too, and called her about it. So, two people definitely saw my brother’s penis posting. Well, two who we are aware of, but it seems that word gets around real fast when you post your parts online!

Personally, I never saw it. Thank you, God! If I had, I would probably be far too busy with therapy sessions to write this blog.

The best thing about having a relative (especially one with a great sense of humor, like my brother) accidentally post his penis online is the fun you can have with it. Hmm, that didn’t come out right, but I hope you get what I meant. Since then, I’ve started more sentences with “My brother’s penis” than any sister ever should. It’s been three months, and I still can’t stop talking about it. My brother’s penis is a hot topic!! It’s all the rage. It’s inspirational!

It’s impossible not to somehow work my brother’s penis into practically every conversation. Humor-wise, it may just be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me and my family. Think of the endless joke possibilities! I bet your mind is already filling up with never ending innuendos. I’ve had so much fun with the one-liners, which often come to me at the strangest times.

There are far too many to list, but here’s a sample:

  • My brother told a story about his penis, and my poor mother nearly choked on it
  • I realize the topic may be a bit hard to swallow
  • But, it sure is fun to slip it in as a conversation starter
  • I’ve tried hard not to think about it, but it penetrates my thoughts and the ideas come so quickly
  • At first, it seemed like such a limp topic, but now it’s the climax of conversation
  • Realizing we’re discussing my brother’s penis, keep in mind that this was meant simply for play
  • And, please take a long, hard look at yourself (and your own brother’s penis) before judging me!

This has been huge fun. It’s been a ball, if you will. Until now, it’s been an inside joke amongst close family and a few friends. But, now you know. And, I must admit, it feels darn good sharing it with you.

Japan

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The images are inconceivable.

The pain and fear they must be feeling is beyond comprehension.

I watched a story last night about a mother and child who were washed out to sea by tsunami. I can’t get it out of my head. The young mother was doing everything in her power to hold on to her infant daughter, but she was outmatched by the power and magnitude of the waves and debris. They were eventually separated, and the baby was lost. That feeling is far too awful to imagine. Even so, I flash what if that were me thoughts in my brain. What if that was my child being ripped from my arms? I shutter and jerk, like I suddenly stepped off a curb in a dream. Then I thank God, in this moment, that she’s fine. We’re fine.

But, what about them?

There are so many stories. Breaking news plays like background music. CNN has replaced Nick Jr. in my home, and I can’t seem to bring myself to change the channel. Even if I could, it wouldn’t shut off my head.

Earthquakes… tsunami… nuclear threat?? How much more can these poor people handle? When will enough be enough? How much is too much? Haven’t we passed that point yet?

“1000 corpses washed to shore” just ticked across the bottom of the screen… 2000 more bodies found under rubble? An estimated 10,000 dead. Possibly more? When will the numbers stop?

We live in a world where anything can happen.

While we hope and pray that anything will mean something good for us and our loved ones, the fact that anything could be something so horrific makes me cringe.

My daughter is in my arms as I type this blog. I fight to blink back tears. But, I can’t.

Hold your loved ones closer, tighter today. Remind them how much you love them. Be thankful for your beautiful life and all the blessings and stresses which come with it. Appreciate your friends and family. Be thankful that you have food and shelter, and a spare blanket to keep you warm. Some people don’t have a spare anything.

There are too many malnourished, mistreated, sick, abused, impoverished, pain-stricken souls in our world. They need our help. Right now, Japan needs our help, and we must do whatever we can.

We can’t help thanking God that it’s not us. But, that doesn’t mean we should think of this as something happening to them.

In a world where anything can happen, you never know when the tide will turn, when the shoe will be on the other foot, when we and they will shift. Please take a moment out of your life and do something to help someone in need. It is our duty to help. It is our privilege. People are fighting for their lives and for the lives of their children… our children.

We are one world.

This is not about them.

This is about us.