On Bras and Bakeries: My Recommendations

I’ve found myself repeatedly recommending the following things this year:

(Asterisk: I’m not a trendsetter, but if you are an average person of an average age with average expectations who usually comes around to things slightly late, you might like these.)

1. Burt’s Bees Very Volumizing Pomegranate Shampoo. This is the only thickening shampoo that has ever actually worked on my fine hair.

ocean-rolls-912x3742. The ocean roll at Sparrow Bakery in Bend, Oregon. If you live anywhere in the Pacific Northwest, please go there and eat one. I went a year ago and still think about this pastry more than I think about the family I visited there.

3. Bloodline. I’ve told everyone I know to watch this show. Give it three episodes and you’ll be hooked.

4. The fact that Target now has sustainable seafood.

5. Pokey LaFarge. Seriously good music and musicianship that just makes me happy. My four-year old daughter loves Pokey, too, and usually she’ll only listen to Bruno Mars or Pitbull.

6. Shovels & Rope. See number 5, except I still can’t get my daughter hooked. By the way, thanks to my friend, Michelle, for introducing me to both bands.

7. Sweet T’s bakery in downtown Arlington Heights, Illinois. Cakes and cookies as tasty and beautiful as Mariano’s, and it’s a small business.

8. Common Sense Media. Every time I’m not sure whether my children should go to a certain movie or play a specific game, I check this site for the lowdown.

9. This baking spray.

10. These bras.

It’s always good to end on a bra note, so I’ll stop. There’s a book I can’t stop talking about, too, but I’ll save that for my recommendation next month over at Great New Books.

See you then!

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10 Things I’m Learning About Selling a House

It’s spring and that means three things: spring is in the air, days are longer, and houses are popping up for sale all over the place. My house is one of them and I’ve discovered a few things that might help you if you’re about to be in the same boat:

  1. You don’t need a huge “For Sale” sign in your front yard.
  2. Your son might, for the first time in his seven years of living, start peeling the dining room wallpaper on the morning your house goes on the market. This won’t be the worst thing that happens.
  3. Keeping mirrors spotless will become an obsession. Stop rinsing and spitting like an imbecile!
  4. You won’t remember what you boxed up and stored away and you should just donate it all. Except for family photos, maybe.
  5. Having friends or family nearby where you can store your children for a while will save your sanity.
  6. When that same family will not, under any circumstances, take care of your cat, chill out. No buyer cares if you have a cat. Unless, of course, he’s a giant hairball. (The cat.) In which case, accidentally let him outside before showings.
  7. Yes, you really do think your house is worth more than it is worth.
  8. On the one weekend morning in six weeks that you decide to just let your kids play and make a mess, someone will call and request a showing in one hour.
  9. You’ll fall in love with your house again; it’s never looked better. You might even get annoyed when someone wants to buy it.

And finally:

  1. Negotiating with a buyer (or seller) is like a mini-war that reaffirms the truth that women should rule the world. The following is part of a conversation that recently took place in my house:

Me: “Well, I do see both sides.”

My husband: “Stop doing that.”

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Ignoring the News to Stay Sane

In the months after I had my first child, I was plagued by a variety of gruesome visions. I’d be walking down the stairs, holding my son in a blanket, and picture myself falling and smashing our heads into the wall at the bottom. I’d be driving to Target with him in the backseat and picture a head-on collision at 50mph. I’d see him wide-eyed underwater in the bathtub, struggling to breathe.

mother-watching-daughterI thought I was going crazy. I thought I had become some morbid, fearful person due to lack of sleep. Then I talked to another new mom.

“I do that all the time, too!” she said. We were both relieved. And we came up with a perfectly logical reason for envisioning the horrific deaths of our children on a daily basis:

We were practicing being good moms.

It makes sense. Our brains were warning us of all the dangers that could happen, so we would protect our children. So we would walk down stairs carefully, so we would drive more defensively, so we wouldn’t run to answer the phone with our children in the bathtub. We were good moms.

Fast forward seven years and my visions have become less frequent, but they still occur. Only now I also see a depressed young man walking into my son’s school and shooting the children as they eat lunch. I see sections of sports stadiums blowing up and cars driving through storefront windows into groups of people. Things like that. Things out of my control.

A while ago, my dad said to me, while arguing that too many of my generation are helicopter parents, “You’re all walking around scared. It’s like you’re shell-shocked.” And it hit me—we are. We are shell-shocked. And maybe we aren’t on the front lines, and maybe it’s disrespectful to suggest we suffer the same as the men and women who are. But we parents have suffered from the slow, insidious, creeping terror of the last two decades.

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST AT SCARY MOMMY, WHICH FEATURES MY POST TODAY. THANKS!

The Best Books of 2014

I’m part of a wonderful group of nine women who make weekly reading recommendations–every Wednesday, all year long at Great New Books. It’s the place to go if you’re looking for a good read.

This week, we have our list of the Best Books of 2014. Have you read any? Do you have any to add to our list? Need gift ideas?

Click on the image below to get started!

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Mastectomy Ins and Outs

It’s been a month since my last post—a month that has both flown by and dragged on like a train with wooden blocks stuck under its wheels.

I’m in Week 6 and I feel much, much better. My final surgery, which exchanges the expanders for the permanent implants, will probably be in January. But for now, my aches mostly feel like regular old soreness, instead of the irritating rip-my-hair-out soreness.

My headaches are gone, which were due, we discovered, to the sudden lack of estrogen in my body from surgically-induced menopause. Once I started taking low-dose estrogen, the headaches disappeared. The vision in my left eye is still worse than it was pre-surgery, but the recommended MRI will have to wait until my exchange surgery because right now I have magnets in my body (on the expanders). And without the headaches, the vision doesn’t bother me all that much.

My sister’s mastectomy is tomorrow and it will be interesting to see the differences in how our bodies respond. I’ve given her all the advice and tips I can think of, which I’d like to list here for anyone thinking of having or about to have the surgery—namely, a prophylactic double mastectomy.

Obviously, everyone is different, which makes a post like this possibly more useless than useful. But since some of this might apply to you, it’s worth reading just so when and if some of this proves useful, you can feel less alone. (Been there, sister!)

Pre-surgery

  • If you’re lucky and have a PPO, see a couple of different doctors so you can get more than one opinion on each of the various topics related to this surgery and pick the doctor you are most comfortable with.
  • Read enough to know what to expect and make a decision, but not so much that you know every awful story that has ever happened to patients.
  • Talk with your docs about the pain management plan for the day of your surgery—this includes the 24 hours after your surgery. Read Here for what happened to me.
  • Plan to have someone stay with you the first 24 hours at the hospital, someone who can advocate for you, make sure your pain is managed, and make sure the nurses and doctors are communicating and following procedures (washing hands, for example, which one nurse told me is required both before and after putting on gloves).
  • Ask your surgeons to take photos of the surgery, if you’re interested. It’s probably the only time in your life you’ll be able to see the inside of your body. I fully realize this might not appeal to some.

Useful Stuff

  • Aquaphor—I started using this way too late. If you have any burning, this is the stuff you need.
  • Fleece with inside pockets for the drain bulbs. In fact, against my better judgment, here’s what I looked like every day:
Photo taken by my daughter just before I grabbed my phone back.

My daily outfit of cozy socks, loose pants, button-down, and fleece. Photo taken by my daughter just before I grabbed my phone back.

  • Lanyard for showers—the drain bulbs have plastic loops on them and at first I clipped one lanyard to each of them and hung the lanyards around my neck but I found it’s much easier to tie one lanyard to both tubes like this:
These are computer wires. Your drain tubes will be grosser.

These are computer wires. Your drain tubes will be grosser.

And then hang the lanyard around your neck.

  • Robe with pockets, for drying off/applying lotion after shower, so you can get the wet lanyard off your neck and dry off the bulbs in the pockets
  • Neutrogena or some other perfume-free soap—gentle on your incisions.
  • Natural shampoo/conditioner for the same reasons as above—I use Burt’s Bees. Also, using a good conditioner means you can comb your hair without using too much muscle.
  • Here’s what I had at my bedside:

IMG_3659My mom bought the masks because my daughter was sick when I got home, but they weren’t really necessary, I was on so many drugs. She also gave me the Altoids to help with mild indigestion I had one day, probably from some medication or another. The water bottle with a straw was particularly useful. That round blue thing is lip balm. Besides magazines, I read easy lit–Mindy Kaling’s book, as well as Shit My Dad Says, both given to me by my sister-in-law, Shannon. They were perfect. Advil was essential after I went off the Norco. And the hand sanitizer made it easy to wash before I applied Aquaphor (somehow not pictured here) or cleaned my drains. That’s a Doc McStuffins sticker next to the water bottle, brought to me by my daughter.

  • If you don’t have a recliner to sleep in, you’ll need plenty of pillows to prop yourself up. Body pillows on each side are good for keeping your arms up, and then when you can start to turn on your side, they’re super comfortable.

AD—After Drains: (My drains were removed at 2 weeks & 2 days post-surgery)

  • Aquaphor—a mastectomy patient’s best friend, I’m telling you
  • Tanks you don’t mind getting Aquaphor on, once you can pull a shirt over your head (I wasn’t wearing a bra at this point—I’m still not but that’s a matter of preference. My nurse said it would be fine to wear one without underwire.)
  • Cardigans—you’ve already pulled a tank top over your head; that’s enough work for one day.
  • Bandaids, for your drain holes (along with a dab of Aquaphor)
  • Melatonin—natural sleep aid. I became so sick of sleeping on my back at this point and I still couldn’t sleep on my sides.

Getting the drains out was much easier than I thought it would be, considering you have about a foot of tubing wrapping around the inside of each breast. The nurse snips the stitches and pulls and the tubes come right out. I felt a weird pressure but no pain. I did feel some bearable pain in the 2-3 hours afterward; I’m assuming this was just due to shifting among my expander and muscles.

For those who like a visual, here’s a picture of the drain tube where it entered my side, under my armpit. For those who don’t like visuals, just scroll down quickly and pretend it’s a picture of a butterfly:

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Expander Fills: (For me, these started at 3 weeks & 2 days)

  • For the first fill, my nurse took it easy on me and it wasn’t too bad. Mentally, this was a big uplifter. I’d had my first meltdown the night before, as it hit me these incredibly irritating things inside my chest weren’t going away for another two months, after all the fills and the 4-6 week period after fills to let the skin rest before the second surgery. I got this claustrophobic feeling, starting tearing up, and my husband casually said, “Take a Xanax.” I had some leftover from an overseas plane ride two years ago, so I did. I fell asleep and woke up feeling lighter and more rested.

Here’s what the “fill” tools look like:

IMG_3890

The nurse holds a magnet-finder over your chest until s/he finds the magnet inside you; she marks it so she knows where to insert the needle; she cleans the area, which is pretty irritating just because she’s rubbing; then she inserts the needle, which you might or might not even feel, depending how you’re healing. She’ll fill slowly and stop when you tell her the pressure is too much.

  • Aquaphor, obvi
  • Any leftover muscle relaxer meds you have from surgery. I’ve taken one on each “fill day” and it helps, as do a couple Advil.
  • Rest—naps are still helpful
  • I was told fills get harder each time—I’ve had three now and found that during the fill it is harder each time, but afterward the discomfort goes away much more quickly, though my body can’t take a lot of mL’s each time—maybe 40-50. My nurse has given as much as 120 in one fill. Obviously, the bigger you are to begin with, the more you can handle.

Week 4 — I started driving, parking on the street so I didn’t have to turn around as I reversed. I was sore but it was bearable. Still napped a lot.

Week 5 – I started to really feel better, though I went grocery shopping and couldn’t push the cart well. It was miserable, mentally and physically. It’s worth noting this was one day after a fill, so I’m sure that contributed.

Week 6 – As I said above, finally the soreness is starting to feel like regular soreness and not rip-my-hair-out soreness. I’m still on my back but can sleep on my side more comfortably. I still nap, but I don’t need to every day.

Moments that might freak you out, like they did me:

  • Any complications from surgery—those headaches and eye issues threw me for a loop those first two weeks.
  • Drains—at first I thought, No problem! I got this. But after a week they become utterly annoying. And weeks feel like months at first. (By week 6, though, it now feels like it flew by.)
  • Missing your regular level of activity—4 weeks felt like an eternity so, around that time, I decided, “Sure, I can help pick out a Christmas tree, bring up decorations from the basement, decorate the tree, play with the kids, and clean up all in one day.” The stupidity is astounding, though understandable. Please don’t do that to yourself. I could barely move. Don’t let the return of some energy give you the false idea that you can go back to regular activity.
  • You realize you have these foreign objects in your chest causing you discomfort and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. See Xanax story above.
  • You realize you will be sleeping mostly on your back for 2-3 months. I’ve always been a stomach-sleeper, so this has been hard.
  • At one point around Week 4, I lay on the floor and tried to put my hand behind my head as a pillow but couldn’t do it. Not being able to do this simple thing made me sad. Stretching each day has increased my movement capabilities.

Alright, I’m sure there’s more, much more, but my kids are begging me to play with them, and now that I finally can, I’m going to take each chance I get.

Good luck to all, especially my sister, Katie.