The Freckle

Lay out. Get color. Bake. Fry.

I don’t think there is anyone who hasn’t gone through the phase of trying to be a tanned goddess. Usually it happens when you have no grasp on consequences and what could happen down the road. We lay there with friends on a blanket, maybe with a small amount of sunblock, but not reapplying, or maybe with none at all. At least a sunburned nose was a badge that you were someplace cool romping in the waves or sitting in the sand.

I like to think of myself as being somewhat intelligent, but even though my mom has had numerous basal cell and squamous cell lesions removed, in my teens I couldn’t see beyond the short-term. A day at the beach with friends... got to get some color! A semester on the Mediterranean... I need to come home looking like a bronze statue! I soon realized I would never tan easily, and by my early 20’s embraced my fair complexion. Perhaps by then it was too late. The damage could have been done.

Two weeks ago a freckle that I always sort of liked on my stomach was deemed “suspicious”. The biopsy came back as a moderately atypical dysplastic nevus. I didn’t know what it meant either. I was referred to another dermatologist that specializes in surgery and what I found out was eye-opening. My mole had nothing to do with my mother’s history of skin cancer, rather my freckle that had been removed was on the spectrum of melanoma. This is a whole other ball game. Luckily it wasn’t melanoma yet, but the cells potentially could develop that way.

I went home surprised and confused. Although basal cell and squamous cell cancers are a result of accumulated sun exposure over a number of years, I was shocked to discover that it is believed melanoma can result from one or two severe burns. One or two. I can remember at least three or four major sun burns over the years which means there were many more. One or two.

Yesterday I returned to the doctor and an oval shaped section of skin about an inch long was removed around the freckle. The entire skin tissue, down to the fat, was removed and I was stitched back up. I will now have to be diligent with regular skin checks as well as personal checks at home. I need to get Jason to the doctor too. All of a sudden every mole scares me.

My sister calls me frail and pale, and I guess I will carry my pale banner proudly. Better than golden and buried.

Bye Bye Bruce

This week I got a new car, which is always an exciting thing, but his week I said goodbye to Bruce... the old car. The memories and emotions I experienced this week as we traded in the old Honda Odyssey were completely unexpected, and yet an interesting reflection on where we have been as a family over the last decade. Ironically, the show Modern Family had a storyline this week about getting rid of an old station wagon and what it means to let that bit of your life go. The episode made me realize maybe we weren’t all that crazy to be a little sad to say goodbye.

When we got the van we had one child, but I was expecting our second. I remember Jason and I were both amazed that we were going to be one of those families with a van, car seats and sippy cups rolling around. It was a new stage in our lives in many ways, primarily with me becoming a full-time stay at home mom. Jason finally was happy with his work, we were settled, and it was our first new car. We had made it. Shiny new minivan in the driveway, gas grill on the deck and two handsome boys. The world was our oyster.

A year later we moved, added another baby and I was thanking my lucky stars for that van with the power doors that you could open with a baby in your arms and a toddler holding your hand. We didn’t yet call it Bruce, that came a few years later when Alanya christened him after the bumbling gray shark in the movie Finding Nemo. It fit, and it stuck.

I can’t begin to imagine the number of hours I have spent in that car, or the memories we have logged in it. Four round-trip drives to Florida. More trips to New Jersey than can be counted. The number of times we have cleaned vomit out of it. The cold baseball games I have watched from inside of it. All the carpool lines I waited in. The screaming I’ve done. The laughs that were laughed. The jokes told. All the happy places it brought us to.

There were many years we had all three kids in car seats and over the last year or two, not only are we down to one, but our oldest can now sit in the front. How did that happen? Where did the time go? A decade gone by. Just like that.

It has been good times, and these are different times. As we sat in the car dealership doing paperwork I looked out and my boring, gray, reliable van sat next to my flashy, shiny, red car, and I got a little sad. A happy sad though. New car, new chapter, new memories.

Another First Day

Back to school.... again. I'm not quite sure where the summer went, but I do know everyone here was ready for the kids to go back. I love this time of year, and always feel a sense of excitement and renewal. Maybe that's the student in me still trying to come out. Usually about a week before the first day I start making lists of lunch box ideas, dinners to make, outfits for the kids to wear. This year I didn't.

I didn't know why this year was different. I was very laid back right up to the night before. Transition the kids back into an early bedtime? They'll adjust. Go out and get new clothes? It's hot now, and won't be in a few weeks, why bother. I was cool as a cucumber.

It wasn't until the kids had gone to bed the night before the first day that it hit me. This was the first First Day of School ever that I didn't have a child making a major transition. I actually got out a piece of paper to write it all down to make sure. Last year Noah started middle school. Before that Alanya started first grade. Before that Ben started first and Alanya kindergarten. Before that Ben started kindergarten. And so on, back through first days of preschool all the way to Noah starting school. I was sort of amazed.

So this year I have a third grader, a fourth grader and a seventh grader. All big kids. How did that happen? They all love school and are happy to be there. I must have done something right with all those lists I used to make.

Happy Day to My First Baby!

Today was a big day. He turned twelve, and he finally got the green light to end "restricted activity" since breaking his clavicle in May. He wanted to go right out and get a new helmet to replace the damaged one from the accident so that he could get back on that blasted rip stick of his. And he did. His legs will be hurting tomorrow, but I'm proud of him for getting right back on it after such a painful injury.

As the birthday boy, he also got to pick dinner and we dined on Jamie Oliver's Chili Beef Nachos. His new favorite.

I never could have guessed back when he was born what a great kid he would be today. I think I'll keep him. Happy Birthday!

A little veg, a little bean, a little Mmmmm.....

This spring Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution was the big thing in our house. The funky British chef with the funny accent set out to change the way an American town looks at food, mostly through the public school lunch program. My kids could relate to the cafeteria meals, cranky lunch ladies and the difficult choices such as white over chocolate milk. I found myself saying things like, "What would Jamie say about that?" or "Jamie would love this with all the veg!"

Those who have eaten a meal or two with my family know that I have one child that will eat anything, one that won't, and one somewhere in the middle. So when they were pestering me to make Jamie Oliver's Chili Beef Nachos (said in a child's bad English accent) I finally felt like I had to give in and try it. On the show, Chili Beef Nachos was one of the favorite hot lunch meals at the elementary school and my kids were more than intrigued. Google to the rescue, and the recipe was mine.

Today I set out to make it, and thank goodness I started early as it wasn't simple. No wonder Alice the Cafeteria Lady was cranky!

Step one was to make the Hidden Veg Sauce, and you need some heavy duty equipment to pull it off. With my Kitchen Aid grater attachment (a food processor would work) I grated two big carrots, two zucchini and half a butternut squash resulting in a huge bowl of veg. To that add two diced onions and two diced red peppers, cook it all with 5 cups of canned tomatoes and some spices and get all that "lovely veg goodness" going. Next take out the Kitchen Aid hand blender and "blitz it up". I actually had to read the recipe a few times to figure out what "blitz" meant, thank goodness I had a "blitzer" to make the job easy. Ok, so there you have a huge pot of pureed veg sauce. Step one done. Phew.

Time to make the chili. Chopped onion, a pound of hamburger, add to that a quart, yes a quart, of Hidden Veg Sauce. Then add two cups of pureed kidney beans. See how this is getting too good to be true? The thought that my kids would eat all these veg and beans... I was starting to question this project. Cook it all up, throw in some seasoning, and top it off with a bunch of corn. I put it aside and waited for dinner time with high hopes.

I sat down with my fellas (Alanya is with my sister for a few days) and told them how Jamie said to put together the nachos. A handful of chips, a hearty serving of chili on top, sprinkle of cheese, shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes, and I added some salsa and nonfat plain yogurt. They jumped right in and to my shock and delight, the boys were Mmmming and Yummming and wolfing it down. I have never been a mother who hides ingredients from her kids, and they both knew exactly what was in it. Somewhere in his second serving and in between bites, the picky 11 year old said, "It's all in the presentation."

So, in the end, it was worth it. Jamie does know what he's doing after all if he can get my kids to eat something with seven veg and beans with even more veg sprinkled on top. My pediatrician told me when Noah was about 6 that Noah would not eat chicken fingers at his wedding. I wasn't so sure then, but there may be hope!

The clavicle

By now I'm sure most of my friends and family have heard the story of Noah breaking his clavicle two weeks ago. He was on a ripstick and tried to jump off when he got going to fast at the top of a hill. The xray says it all. It was my first broken bone ever as a parent and I won't go into all the details. Instead, a few things I'm thankful for.

• The Helmet. Noah insisted he didn't hit his head, but a few days after the accident I went and looked at it. Sure enough there was evidence that he hit his head. I only hope my kids continue to wear their helmets because they know it's the right thing to do, not because we said so. Just this evening my mother in law called to tell me that a 26 year old family friend of hers died in a skateboard accident yesterday. No helmet.
• It was the Left. Noah writes with his right hand so his transition back to school wasn't so difficult. The worst part was having to use a new rolling backpack, according to him. But the left hand is getting use even with his sling. I have caught him using his PSP, playing wii and balancing a laptop on his lap.
• Health Insurance. Since the fall less than two weeks ago he has had three doctor's appointments and two sets of xrays and we are just getting started. Cha ching. Health insurance is a beautiful thing when you need it.
• The Timing. No time is a good time, but I realize this is a good time of year for this to happen. School is winding down, he doesn't need to wear a heavy coat, he can't slip and fall on the ice... Ok, maybe I'm reaching now.

He'll be ok, and eventually be well enough to get back on that wretched ripstick of his, which he was getting very good at actually. Ironically, I sort of enjoy seeing him slow down for a little bit. We talk in the car when I drive him to and from school. We hang out together before the little ones get home. He lets me cuddle and smooch him a little more than normal. I better take it while I can get it before the sling comes off and he's too cool for his mom again.

Ben and his buddy, J.K.

About two months ago my third grader finished reading the first Harry Potter. For a kid who has struggled to sit down and commit to a "real" book, this was a big accomplishment for him. He was encompassed with all things Harry simply by the joy of reading such a wonderful book and being moved by each and every word.

His fascination wasn't just with the book though, he was intrigued by J.K. Rowling as a person. Lucky for him he had to do an oral report on a biography of someone famous and decided to dress up like Harry and present the creative author behind the character. Around the same time my 6th grader was doing an assignment where he had to write a letter to a famous person or business. A light switched on in Ben's face and he announced he was going to write a letter to J.K. Rowling. About 15 minutes later he handed me a perfectly handwritten letter that told the author how happy he was to read her book and how much he liked it. We googled where to send it and off it went.

Jump ahead to today when I opened the mailbox and pulled out an envelope from Scholastic Publishing addressed to Ben. It took me a few seconds to figure it out, but when I did, Ben came running. How thrilling for a 9 year old to realize his letter had been read by someone and responded to. I had already talked to him about the volume of mail she must get and he certainly wasn't expecting a hand-written note from her, but any response was enough for him. Inside the envelope was a photograph of the author and a wonderful letter that apologized for not being able to respond personally to each and every letter sent. He was thrilled. What a wonderful experience for a child to know his words and thoughts matter and grownups will listen and respond.

He tucked it all away in his backpack to show his class on Monday. After that he said it will hang in a place of honor on his bulletin board.

The longest 11 days

18 days ago Jason left for India. On day two, I woke up and my laptop wouldn’t let me log in. What ensued was craziness. Jason is my tech support in all things, and he wasn’t here. My brother did his best remotely and my computer limped along for a few days, but with each day it got worse. Luckily my blackberry, a tiny little thing I can put in the pocket of my jeans, connected me to the world.

I still had email, I could text, and Jason could call me if the time was right. It still boggles my mind that on day three I sat at Noah’s baseball practice on a sunny Sunday and talked to my husband on the other side of the world like he was down the street. Pretty cool. But he wasn’t down the street. He was on the other side of the world, and somewhere in between, on day six, a volcano in Iceland decided to erupt. Excuse me?

After a long week of being the single parent, on day eight, our phone rang at seven in the morning and it was Jason telling me what we had feared. He was stuck. The plane he had hoped to get on later in the day was grounded in Germany. He was in the corporate travel office where three Indian employees were all working frantically to find flights home for Jason and two colleagues. One would be sent the other direction around the globe, through the Far East to the west coast, whereas the Jason and his boss would try to avoid the volcanic ash by going further south through Dubai, then over to Washington, DC. If all went as planned, he would get home two days late, on my 39th birthday. Day eleven.

I prepared for another weekend alone with the kids, and my sister came up to spend time with us. She took us out for a birthday lunch a day early, day ten. She even made sure the kids had a card for me, and that the waiters and waitresses sang to me. It still wasn’t right though.

On day eleven, I woke up alone and a year older. Alanya did her best reminding me over and over “You aren’t old, you’re young!” Somehow she didn’t convince me. Since Friday I had been dealing with the realization that no matter what we did, Jason was stuck on the other side of the world. It wasn’t a very good feeling. And until he came home, or at least was talking to me from American soil, I wouldn’t be happy.

First an email from Washington, DC, but they missed their connection. Then, an email from Boston. Finally, a phone call from the car. 2pm on my birthday I walked into the house to find a freshly showered, utterly exhausted husband, and it was the best birthday present ever.

All in all he was gone eleven days, but I can’t remember the last time we were apart that long. Too long. Reminds me of the summer he lived in Chicago and I was in Tunisia for nearly three months. Back then, Skype was only on the Jetsons, email was non-existent, and calling was still “long distance.” After that summer, we said never again, and we were engaged weeks later. Although I’m happy Jason had this experience to go to India, and I was happy to have the time with the kids, it served as a reminder of why we entered this marriage in the first place. We don’t want to spend another day apart from one another.

Meet my "motorcycle"

Back in November, a friend of mine asked me if I skied. I had difficulty answering. Did I ski? Technically, no. Not in eleven years. Once when Noah was about six months old my mom watched him while Jason and I went skiing. It seemed like a whole lot of planning, worry and aching boobs in need of being nursed for us to enjoy it. We never went back. Two more babies, and forget it. A decade goes by.

Can I ski? Yes. I liked to think I was pretty good in my day. When I was in seventh grade I joined the ski club in middle school where once a week I climbed on a bus to a a mountain about an hour away, took a lesson and skied with my friends. It wasn't easy learning, but thanks to a very patient friend who skied with me every week and taught me to have confidence, I became a "skier". I did ski club at school for six years and continued skiing through college when I could.

Why was my friend asking? She had just gotten new skis and was determined to use them. Regularly. There are a few mountains within an hour from here and she convinced me we could get in a good day of skiing before beating the school bus home. I was game. Jason and I talked about it and decided that rental fees for the handful of outings would still be less than buying, so I would rent. I did, however, cave and buy a helmet as the thought of lice ruining a perfectly good skiing day turned my stomach.

One Sunday in January, Jason and I decided to take the kids skiing for the first time to see how they liked it. Despite the temperature being below 10 degrees, all three of them did awesome and have been asking to go back. Jason and I had a little over an hour to ski by ourselves while the kids were in lessons and once we got the cobwebs out of our knees it all came back to us. The rest of the day was on the bunny hill with the kids though.

A few days later Ski Buddy (SB) and I packed up early, both dads agreeing to get the kids on the bus, and headed to the slopes. After our first run, I was nearly giddy at how much fun it was, and how wrong it felt. The kids in school, Jason at work, and I was having an absolute ball flying down the mountain. Too luxurious. I felt like I was cheating on my husband.

By the following week, SB and I were more comfortable with each other's skill levels, took more chances and had a ball. This was not going to be a one time thing. I was itching to get equipment. This was my "motorcycle", a selfish luxury that was all about me and made me happy.

SB and I skied at least 5 or 6 times this year. Each time a great day. We'd sit on the chair, analyze our runs, how well we did, laugh over almost wiping out. We'd sometimes sit in the lodge and eat our lunch and sip on hot chocolate, just having a good time not being home, or volunteering at school, or running around crazy. Our last day it was about 65 degrees and the most spectacular sunny day ever. A great day to finish our season. Thanks SB!

Today, Jason and I went to a ski shop and I got the best early birthday gift ever. My own motorcycle. I can't wait for next year.

This week's chuckle

A few weeks ago a local grocery store had their warehouse distribution people go on strike. Every day there are guys standing there with their signs, trying to convince people to not shop there. I truly feel for these guys, and even stopped to talk with them one day. They just want a good wage and enough to feed their families. After the conversation I actually turned around and left without going in. I was so torn.

Since then, I'm ashamed to admit it, I have shopped there. I'm trying to feed my family too. The concept of striking is obviously hard for kids to grasp, or so I thought. When checking Alanya's spelling sentence homework this week it read

"My mom hurries through the picket line at the grocery store."

The great corned beef crisis of 2010

It's a busy time of year for the Cashew Family. Passover begins tonight at sundown, and Holy Week continues until Sunday with Easter. The house to clean, Easter baskets to fill, Matzoh Ball soup to make... no one said the life of a shiksa is an easy one.

Tonight at sundown our family will sit down to our Seder and celebrate Passover. For me, this is the Super Bowl of all Jewish holidays. Yes, Hanukkah is stretched out over eight nights, and we try hard to have holiday treats every day, but the holiday is rather laid back and it is what you make it. Roshashanna is another favorite, particularly for the kids, since our New Year celebration consists of a dinner predominantly made up of of fresh challah, apples and honey. Yom Kippur is low maintenance since Jason can't eat anyway, I just need to make sure we have a good meal to break his fast. But Passover is an entirely different story.

The word "seder" actually means order, as in the order of the meal, the order of the story, the order of the celebration. For approximately 4000 years Jewish families have sat down together and gone through the same exact "order" to celebrate the holiday. Talk about pressure for a shiksa trying her best.

Our family has developed our own traditions for Passover foods, one being a glazed corned beef for dinner. I like it because it's preparation is simple and works well with the fact that we sit at the table for what could be an hour before it's time to eat. No, it's not a traditional recipe, but a brisket is, and this is about as close as I can get to it.

Saturday morning I hit the grocery store in search of my corned beef and I was dismayed to find not one corned beef. The butcher's response "it isn't the season anymore." What?! Same story at two other stores. Apparently they stock up for St. Patrick's day and then it really isn't on their radar to get more until after the Easter rush for turkeys and hams. Not a corned beef to be found. I realized that in years past I always would buy the Passover corned beef when they were on sale for St. Patrick's Day, but I guess this year I wasn't really thinking of it. So on the eve of our seder I found myself corned beef-less. Jason says it doesn't matter. We'll do chicken. Which he also says is the Jewish answer to any menu-planning crisis.

Off to prep the chicken, wash the parsley, and set the table, and if I'm lucky I can get a quick run in to the store to get some things for the Easter baskets.

I can do this

No one could ever accuse me or my sweet husband of being talented Do-It-Yourself people. We are far from it. Over the years, we have become very talented at saving money to pay others to do things for us.

When we first became homeowners, we quickly learned our limits, not that we didn't try new things, but we knew when to call in the professionals. Snake a drain? No problem. Replace hardware in the shower? Easy. That is until the ancient, corroded pipe snapped off in Jason's hand. Time to call the plumber. Take down the ceiling tiles? Maybe. Until we discovered lead paint behind them. Professional time.

We did attempt to paint a room... once. Isn't painting the number one easy DIY project? Everyone says that on TV. We tried it. I wouldn't call it a disaster, but the end result wasn't very pretty to look at. Not really the effect we were going for. We haven't painted a room since.

I find our DIY aversion rather peculiar since we both come from hardy DIY stock. Jason's mother can wield a power tool like no other. If she can't do it herself, it probably isn't worth doing. On my side of the family, my father is meticulous with a project once he gets going and sets his mind to something. His strong suit is landscaping and gardening, another area we struggle with. Jason's philosophy is "if it's green and grows, I'm mowing it" and that's just about the extent of what he wants to do in the form of yard work. I'm not much better. I try, every year I try, to stay on top of the weeding and the edging and the deadheading and trimming. It just all seems so never ending that I lose my motivation, get overwhelmed and give in to the weeds.

I'm determined to change.

In November, we finally put a hardwood floor in our living room. I say "we" as in we paid a very nice local business to install it. My part of the project consisted of picking the floor and then staying home while the floor was installed. Tough, huh? What I didn't expect was that the new floor would lead to another project (don't they all?). I didn't realize that to install the floor the existing wood baseboard molding needed to be removed. I suppose someone must have mentioned that to me along the way, but I must have blocked it out. Much to my dismay, the molding suffered some damage being pried off and later reattached to the wall. We now had a beautiful floor and marked up, ugly baseboards.

My first reaction was to cry. My second was to hire someone to fix it. The more we talked about it the more we convinced ourselves we could do this. The affected areas weren't all that big once you looked around the room.Wood filler. Sand. Paint. We could do this.

Today I pulled out my brand new putty knife, donned some rubber gloves and started scraping filler into the dents and nail holes. I can do this. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I'll start to believe it. Stay tuned for sanding. One step at a time.

Mystery Containers

I've been home sick with a cold for a few days, and I just opened the fridge to see what was hiding in the back. I pulled out a container of green beans, and knowing that I didn't serve them to Jason's mom who arrived a week ago, I opened them up and took a sniff. Problem is, I can't smell a thing. I'm stuffed up like a Build a Bear Workshop animal.

It appears I have two options. Throw everything in question away. Or, when Jason comes home, say "I think this stuff may be bad, will you smell it?"

For our entire marriage, Jason constantly points out to me how ridiculous it is for me to eat something, make a face and say, "I think this is bad. Try it."

Guess I'm throwing the stuff away. It only took me 14 years of marriage to figure out the answer to that question!

Picking up pine cones

This afternoon the five of us took advantage of the beautiful weather and went down the street to my parent's house to tidy up a bit. We picked up sticks, pine cones and trash that appeared from under the melted snow. A landscaping crew we were not, but our quick clean up did make a difference. My parents are putting their house on the market in a week or so and in this market, anything that will get buyers through the doors is a good thing. When I think back to our home shopping days, Jason and I drove by more houses than the ones we actually went inside. Outward appearances say a lot.

As I dragged a barrel behind me tossing in pine cones I couldn't help but think about the many times I stood in that space. My family moved to this house when I was nine, and thirty years later I now live a few houses away. Understandably, this whole process of my parents moving is bittersweet and emotional for me too. That house is my other home.

Intellectually I understand and am happy that my parents will be blessed with a beautiful new home that will make life easy for them. Emotionally it's a chapter closing with my childhood home changing hands. Another reminder that life is short and keeps on rolling so you better stop and take a look around. Moving through the backyard I had this mini movie go through my head of moments I hope to always remember.

There was the fabulous retirement party and 60th birthday party my mom threw for my dad in 2000 with a dance floor under a tent, music and caterers scurrying around. I was seven months pregnant at the time and remember crying like a baby half the night overwhelmed by my emotions.

There was the 25th anniversary party my siblings and I organized for my parents in 1988 where we surprised them by flying my sister home early from her semester abroad in England. She hid in a box in the back of a truck and we drove her right into the backyard as my parent's present.

Even earlier, I remember summer nights camping out in the backyard with my sisters and friends, being silly, eating junk, and staying up late, daring each other to run around the house in the middle of the night in our undies.

My grandparents sitting on chairs in the shade on Sunday afternoons simply watching my dad work in the garden.

My own kids playing wiffle ball and running laps around the house.

The spectacular lilac bush that bursts open every Mother's day as a gift to us all, reminding us of my uncle who nurtured it in his own yard before his passing.

Good times. All of them. So much joy in one place. And this is just me picking up pine cones. I haven't even started on the inside. This is going to be more difficult than I thought, but the memories so wonderful to experience again. What good is a memory if you don't get a chance to dig it out again?

Here we go again!

Last week a friend I haven't seen in a while said, "You've been busy." How did she know? She reads my blog. Oops. Winter, wrestling, life... something has to give and I guess this was it.

Today is a snow day for us. About six inches of snow is expected, and although it hasn't started snowing yet, they called off school in anticipation of a messy afternoon. This is only our second snow day of the year so I appreciate the extra day at home. I need to focus and get some packing done around here for our annual trek to Florida. This will be our fourth Florida road trip and we leave Thursday. Problem is I don't prepare well in advance like I used to because we've done it so many times.

Last year I posted this survival kit to roadtrips article, and I sat down this morning to review it. How 21st century of me. I'm thrilled I took the time to consolidate our needs in one place, and now I just need to start piling things up in the corner. Wish me luck. It's going to be a long two days before we leave, and an even longer two days once we do!