Still no word from the hospital - which I am interpreting as very good news!

But I will have my positive thoughts confirmed when I meet with Dr. McCready on December 10.

More importantly, here are the pictures of Jakob receiving his student of the month award!

Yesterday started out brilliantly.

Paul and I went to the school to watch Jakob accept his award for Student of the Month (pictures will be posted later today) and he was adorable, waving to us from the front of the auditorium.

Afterwards Paul left for work with the promise to meet me at the hospital and I went home to putter, make coffee and build up anxiety before the mammogram.

The imaging department was running behind so I waited nearly an hour in my blue gown and then was finally ushered into the room where the technician scanned both breasts! She felt it was important to get a scan of my chest wall, which makes tremendous sense when I think that is where the cancer came within a hair width of spreading. But this squishing caused me even greater stress - I had visions of my 15-hour reconstructed chest mound being popped, or squeezed permanently into some weird shape complete with an orange peel texture - even visions of it deflating and shifting south, competing with my new naval, danced through my head.

But I won't know the results until today - a specialist was to look at the scan yesterday afternoon and then they would call me back if necessary. Knock on wood, I haven't heard from them yet so I'm really hoping everything is clean.

To end my day, Satchel pulled out his last baby tooth (a molar deep in the back) and this was probably a bit premature considering all the blood over the bathroom and the tissues in the waste basket - not to mention the pain it caused him.

I felt a bit sad about it too which was crazy - another vestige of youth left behind.

I have my first mammogram tomorrow since my diagnosis of breast cancer last year.

Anxious doesn't begin to describe how I feel.

Wish me luck!

Jakob is student of the month and his report card had a lot of A's!

I am so proud.

So proud that I took both Satchel (who also had a pretty decent report card) and Jakob to Sufferin Mall and bought them each a present. Cursed Pokemon cards for Jakob and mind sucking Gamecube game for Satchel.

That's how much I love them.

Satchel and I braved the Eaton's Centre with 1 TRILLION OTHER PEOPLE on Saturday to find him new boots and a few other things.

This is the second pair of boots that I bought Satchel this season - the first pair was bought while shopping in the States 2 months ago with my niece but his feet have grown 2 sizes in a period of less than two months.

And interestingly the first pair of boots (size 6) cause him to sob when he wears them (twice), yet wheeling around in his size 5 Heelys seems to be okay...

Anyway, forgive the digression.

While walking around the Eaton Centre, Satchel was chipper and enthusiastic. Even saying "You know why I'm such a good runner Mommy? It's the stamina built up from going on long walks with you!" And we would hug and smile and walk on to the next store.

2 hours later, Satchel is now grabbing his chest and his arms, crying that we need to leave the mall NOW!!!!! because he is having a heart attack.

Fine fine fine. We'll leave. Can we stop by this store first? No? The pain is too much to shop? Fine.

Then we're standing on the subway platform with Satchel leaning into me, openly weeping, me trying really hard to not roll my eyes while the 1 MILLION people waiting for the subway cast bewildered looks at me.

"But don't worry Mommy, I may be having a heart attack but I can still play PAINTBALL tomorrow!"

SOLD! $350.



I am so glad this week is over.

Last Sunday I took the boys to the Santa Clause parade.

It started out fine - we were fairly close to the street, elves were throwing candy, we caught candy and then...

...the most devastating thing that could possibly happen, happened.

Satchel was given a cookie, Jakob was not.

Jakob spent the rest of the parade screaming "this parade sucks. all the floats? they SUCK! the people watching the parade...THEY SUCK!"

Then he dared to say what should never be spoken by children..."SANTA SUCKS!"

It was pretty bad. It was all I could do not to pick him up and toss him into one of the passing floats and say good riddance.

But then, probably at the 3/4 mark, an elf threw a lone miniature candy cane and Jakob caught it. Suddenly, everything was okay. Satchel wasn't the favoured one, Jakob too was lucky. He had a candy cane, didn't even matter that he doesn't really like them, and Satchel didn't.

Suddenly he LOVED the parade and he really LOVED Santa. As he explained to me, he had just been in a bit of a bad mood.



Jakob trying to look cute after getting the candy cane.

Today is the one year anniversary of my mastectomy.

Crazy how time flies.

The painting is finished!

I can finally breath easy - well as easy as one can breath in a toxic fume-filled kitchen. Now to create the 6x6 card and send it to the printer.

I have roughly three days to finish my painting for work. Am I stressed? Of course! But have I dipped into the wine? Nope. Totally sober. But only because I'm OUT of wine.

The positive is I finally found my oil paint so am essentially redoing it. The downside is I have three days to finish the painting. And I have a headache. Also, a partially blue cat.

Today was a fabulous day because Lucy was here and I came home to a clean house. I opened the door and breathed in the wonderfully chemical-fresh scent of cleaning products. Also found the laundry started - though frankly I would NOT have put my work pants in the dryer and am a little afraid to now try them on.

I almost didn't know what to do with myself with my house so clean. So after taking Hamish to the vets (he may have a cyst, we're keeping an eye on it - fabulous), paying all my bills, putting the (left) wash into the dryer...I started calling mirror companies to quote for our powder room after getting what I thought was an insane quote from Adanac ($360 for a wall mounted plain mirror - crazy).

First company told me to call back tomorrow, second company quoted $100 higher for the mirror telling me in quite the condescending tone that it's awfully complicated to cut a piece of glass. Idiots.

But I have heard through the grape vine that my ex-contractor knows someone who's very reasonable and that my neighbour has hired them to do a backsplash (not that the contractor would tell me of course, but my neighbour will!) which I think is a delicious irony if I can take advantage of the information.

I am about to contact my contractor and ask him if he can order me one of his $35 doors to replace my bedroom one with so that it will match all the others he installed. I laugh because he charged me $400 each for them initially but when had to credit back two said they only cost $35.

I wonder what he will say - as I poke new dimples into my cheeks.

I have visited the dark friend who's name is BOTOX...and I have to admit, kind of like it!

Though now that my "angry" line is disappearing, I will have to either hold up signs saying "I'M ROYALLY PISSED" to my little family or continue yelling at them until they catch on.

Having lost the ability to scowl and feeling as though I have a small plastic shield in my forehead, I will tell you the story of how this came to pass.

I was in medical terms, a "guinea pig" or as they say in Latin, an "ineaguay igpay".

A friend of mine is leaving the life of an ER doctor and starting a family practice downtown. Like a number of family doctors in Toronto, he would like to "compliment" his general practice with cosmetic procedures - which really means he wants to make a lot more money by injecting happy people with needles and less of the annoying and poorly-paying pap tests and ball squishing (whatever they do to guys behind closed doors).

So he took the course and then needed victims to practice on...which is where Pat and I came in. So in a small room in Burlington last Saturday, surrounded by 7 doctors and 1 expert I was poked by many needles - mainly addressing the "anger" line which I truly haven't been enjoying of late.

And I have to tell you - it's nearly gone! And if I can actually get a picture of my face where I'm not blinking or looking like I'm about to fall over drunk because I can't keep my eyes open when the flash pops, I'll show you.

Paul asked why I would bother do it so I explained that it's part of my giving nature, helping out a friend...and most importantly, it was FREE!

Why do I do this to myself?

Why do I say at work "I have a great idea, how about I do an original painting to be turned into the office Christmas card, to be sent out to ALOT of incredibly important clients!" And do I stop there? OF COURSE NOT! For then I add "I will donate the painting to our United Way Auction to help raise money!"

Sure...this sounds like an absolutely fabulous and altruistic idea, but I always seem to block one critical component from my mind.

That I actually have to DO the painting.

And now I am stressed, with little time, looking at what I've painting so far with terrible acrylic paint and my kids' brushes, because I can't find my oils and good brushes, and can only think:

CRAP! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!!!

Arthur gettin' some love with his favourite little cat-nipped filled mouse. He loves this mouse, carries it around the house in his mouth, meowing the entire time. Becomes very unpopular at 4:30 in the morning.

Likes to hide it in his bed where he stares at it with the same intensity as a stalker.

Gets very upset when he finds Hamish in the bed with the mouse - his bitterness is palpable.

Halloween was fabulous and truly my favourite night of the year.

I love everything about it: the costumes, the children, the decorations - it is with remorse that I begin to deconstruct my house, ridding it of all things pagan and gothic.

My boys were both Death, a.k.a Grim Reaper.

Though cheaply-had ones, all souls were spared for a piece of candy.

I was a witch. Also could be described as a portrait of a slow disintegration into wine excess and candy - complete with incredibly long eye lashes.






This morning we found that the evil teenagers (or, as Jakob screamed out on to the empty street, scythe in hand, freakin' buttheads) had smashed all of our pumpkins on to the street.

I didn't mind, one thing less to deal with - the emotional attachment to the rotting orange carcases, and then the devastation felt by Jakob while I try to stuff them into the green bin.