Tattletale

Joe and I had a nice talk the other night. I told him that if no one else was going to talk to him about sex than I would. He interupted me to say "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't do it." And I said that I was a teenager once and am not going to just say don't do it because that's how dumb things happen. I said that he could talk to me and if he needed anything but was too embarassed to go buy it, then I would go for him. I know that teenagers are going to have sex when they're going to have sex regardless of anything any adult says, so he might as well be protected. The last thing we need is 16-year-old Joe becoming a father. I shudder at the thought.

Anyway, at this point, he admits that Harley is on bc and she already has condoms for if they need them. They haven't done anything yet though. I'm glad to hear this, as they haven't really been together for very long, but I can see it coming a mile away. He loves her already, and I think maybe she loves him too. She's quite a catch and I just hope that neither of them end up with an STD or a broken heart.

So I've been feeling pretty close with Joe recently, and things have been looking up. But then, I found a bunch of ASH in the car I'm sharing with Joe. (Actually, Ben found it, as it was all over his carseat and he decided it looked yum yum yummers. Eww.) So I called my mom to ask if she knew of any reason there might be ash in the car. OK, mostly, I called to whine and complain about it because I was bitchy and it made me feel better to know that Joe was going to get in trouble for whatever the hell he did that got ASH in the car. I mean, he's not really my brother, and I could care less what he does as long as he stays out of my way and behaves himself (as in, not doing stupid illegal things like driving with Harley in the car or anything else dumb like that.)

But in order for this to occur, he would have to stop stealing all the gas I put in the car, which has been happening more and more recently and be straight with me when I ask him questions like "Why the hell was there ash all over the inside of the car?"

So I ratted on him. Big deal. Seriously, teenagers NEED someone to keep them from killing themselves or else they'll just keep on getting into more and more trouble. I should know, I was one.

Anyway, as we aren't really siblings, it's kind of weird having this relationship where it feels exactly like having a whiny kid brother who I love and care about, but still have the urge to shout "MOM!!!!!! Joe got ash in the car and owes me at least $15 in gas money."

Sometimes living here really feels like getting the childhood/teenagehood that I never got to have due to whatshisbucket ...

Clean again

I was just talking today about how nice it feels to be warm and not have to worry about how much every degree is costing, but there's even more than that. I was in our "apartment" with Ben, letting him have some free play (it's almost toddler proof!) while I put laundry away. I was folding some of his older T-shirts, which are now only used as pajamas because they're so gross. I don't know if you've ever smelled a shirt that has been constantly drooled on, but it really is gross. Most of Ben's shirts smell like dishrags.

So we get him new clothes every so often (thankfully, this has so far corresponded approximately with when he would outgrow things anyway) and make his old clothes for sleeping only so that no one thinks he's gross for smelling like a dishrag. It totally ruins the sweet smell of his soft skin and freshly washed hair.

Anyway, I was folding the shirts, and noticed that I didn't notice the smell. So I bravely pressed my nose into the collar of the T-shirt. Mmmm. Detergent.

!!!

Who knew that all this time, our discount detergent was the cause of Ben's clothes not coming clean? Our clothes came clean just fine, so I always thought that it was just some sort of toxic toddler goo that didn't come out. Nope. Mom's super pricy stuff did the trick. Man, it sure is nice to have luxery stuff around without having to pay for it ourselves!

Relay for my mama

I'm working on our special Relay for Life section that we put out every year. Apparently, our own relay began just one year after the first relay ever, which was in Tacoma. Each year, our relay makes more money per capital than any other city our size. My editor told me its about twice as much per capita. I guess that can be somewhat expected, because our cancer rates are also much higher than other counties in Washington.

Part of me feels like I should get more involved in things like this, like I owe it to G-d and to the world to give something back, since my own life turned out to be so blessed. I can close my eyes and see my mom and I walking arm in arm down the track for the survivors lap. People would cheer for her. I would too. She is so strong.

But whatever part of her it is that makes her strong, also makes her private. She doesn't like people to know she is a survivor. She doesn't participate in fundraisers or in any type of cancer-themed event. She won't go out of the house without her prosthesis on, even just to get the mail. She is very proud, and doesn't care for anyone to know where she is weak. So because of this desire for privacy, I do not participate in awareness-raising events. She would not like it if everyone in our county knew she'd had breast cancer. The most I do is save the little pink lids that come on the Yoplait containers. And even that I haven't done this year, since we've started feeding yogurt to Benjamin, we just get the Safeway brand in the giant tubs.

Sometimes I find myself forgetting the details of all that she went through, and how scared I was. My mom is my rock, and I don't know what I would ever do without her.

I'm supposed to be designing a photo page with last year's photos from the relay. Right now, I'm at the point where I'm opening each photo and editing the cutline to say "at last year's Relay for Life" instead of "Friday night at the Relay for Life." It also gives me a chance to take a mental overview of all the photos that are available and start designing the page in my mind. I have to select a little less than half of them to use on this page. The rest will be put elsewhere in the section. This would be going much better right now if i wasn't tearing up a little more with each and every photo I looked at. They are very well done. Candles, memorial walls, little kids having fun, speakers, 24-hour walkers (I couldn't believe how many people do this!) and of course, the survivors' lap.

My beautiful mother deserves a little applause. Maybe she'll never stand up at the stadium, but at least her story can be told.