The Disney Meme

1. Which non-Disney Princess Disney film is your favorite?
The Incredibles

2. Which Disney film makes you cry the most?

3. Which Disney film makes you the happiest?
Alice in Wonderland

4. Which Disney film has the best music?
Mulan

5. Which Disney film has the best love story?
Robin Hood

6. Who is your favorite Disney Princess?
Snow White

7. Who is your favorite Disney Prince?
Prince Phillip

8. Who is your favorite Disney animal sidekick?
Archimedes the Owl – Sword in the Stone

9. Who is your favorite Disney main character animal?
Tramp

10. Who is your favorite villain?
The Queen in Snow White

11. What is your favorite Disney song?
Pretty Irish Girl – Darby O’Gill and the Little People

12. What is your favorite Disney villain song?
Cruella DeVille – 101 Dalmatians

13. What is your favorite Disney animal song?
“Everybody Wants to Be A Cat” from the Aristocats

14. What is your favorite Disney Princess song?
“Once Upon a Dream” from Sleeping Beauty

15. What is your favorite Disney Prince song?
“One Song” from Snow White

16. What is your favorite Disney Prince/Princess duet song?
Don’t really have one.

17. What is your favorite Disney love song?
Katrina’s Theme from the Legend of Sleepy Hollow

A Sundae Morning

Aw, a blissful morning
Full of love cartoons and sundaes
Sleeping in, crawling into a warm bed
Curling up with a loving mom
With a homemade sundae
PB&J Otter, and Winnie the Pooh
Then came first grade,
No more sundaes in bed
Growing up is never easy.

After Christmas everything became crystal clear. For once I clearly saw the gap between pulling the turkey out of the oven and putting the ham in; it was completely clear, (did I mention it was CLEAR?) I could have saved Christmas by shaving off 8 maybe 15 minutes.

THIS… I realized while staring at pictures of a snow covered Washington D.C. on the news is the true miracle of Christmas. This was that beautiful moment when I truly saw the world as a better place. Where I saw what the magic of Christmas really is.

It is in the 8 to 15 minutes when you take the turkey out and put the ham in.

Okay, that is over simplifying it. I know, I know.

But see, for once, I did not drift through January in an annual holiday season hangover. “Holiday Season Hangover” – That’s the portion of the population that isn’t exactly happy to see Christmas go but they aren’t so excited that they are hitting all the after Christmas sales and already have next Christmas taken care of by January 5th. No, instead my mind floated over the holiday season in much the same way your fat uncle surveys the wreckage that was Thanksgiving dinner, and I had an epiphany.

I saw every mistake, every wasted moment, every opportunity to have made things just that much easier. I saw it in a pristine and perfect snapshot.

Or as Phil and Bob would say, “It’s ideal.”(That’s a White Christmas reference for those wondering who the hell Bob and Phil are)

And, I realized that not only did I need to write down, in detail, every brilliant idea I was having, but I knew that I should also detail this process for your amusement.

Christmas is like child birth, within a few months you nearly forget all the pain and labor. You lament that your wreath is disappearing for another year and that the Christmas tree is still so fresh it’s almost a shame to take it down. But, after all the pine needles are vacuumed up and that last scrap of curling ribbon has been vomited up by the couch, you forget all the work that went into it.

Which is why in that perfect moment of clarity, I knew that I had to write down all the details before they became just rose-colored moments of Christmas past. I’ll be honest, part of what inspired that moment of clarity was sheer paranoia. You know how there are those dreams you have maybe 2 or 3 months after giving birth… you dream you are pregnant again and you think, “Oh my God, no!!!!” Right?

I had a post-Christmas nightmare. In my dream it was Christmas Eve and I had not bought a single present or any groceries at all. There was no Christmas tree and my decorations were still packed away in the garage!

I still shudder just thinking about that dream.

In fact, that dream impacted me so much that within a week I had several stocking stuffers for next Christmas arrive at my house.

I’m closing the gap between the turkey and the ham.

I made a few references to 80’s music yesterday on Facebook. I had horrified Kate by playing “Rock Me Amadeus” and then Maggie kept demanding that I play, “Break My Stride” by Matthew Wilder over and over again. After all, it was my birthday and I was clearly reflecting a bit. I started having flashbacks of those horrible 80’s sunglasses that we girls had to have in every color, or at least the basics of red, white, and black.

Yeah, so that wholesale sunglasses site totally reminded me of that.

A lovely box was delivered:

My birthday present from Chickie!

Chickie and I have one of those co-dependent relationships. I support and enable her love of tequila and folk art and she has me completely addicted to all things of a bathtub nature!

See that shot glass there? I’m thinking of bringing it to Vegas in March when we meet Kari, Chickie, and Chickie’s Sweety. I’m so beyond stoked!

So let’s see… birthday check list:

Bells and whistles for the perfect birthday bath – check
Wine – check

What’s missing?

Oh, that’s right. Have you signed the reverse HVCC petition yet?

If you love me at all and want me to have a happy birthday – PLEASE sign this petition. When you realize that HVCC was started by an AG with a vested interest in an AMC (Appraisal Management Company – these are the companies who are holding down real estate value by providing less than ethical and accurate real estate appraisals) AND that it has taken LESS time to ENACT HVCC than it has to actually bring any of the jackasses who committed mortgage fraud to trial – then you will see that HVCC benefits few, screws over homeowners and potential homebuyers AND is putting MANY small, ethical businesses OUT of business.

Please do your part… sign the petition today.

American Residential Law Group is certainly timely and topical. Their top several posts cover topics like loan modification, foreclosures, and bankruptcy. All of which seem to go hand-in-hand these days and certainly have been experienced by far more people than I care to think about.

I firmly believe knowledge is power and so anyone who is dealing with any of the afore mentioned topics certainly couldn’t hurt themselves any by perusing the information that American Residential Law Group has to offer.

Personally, I hope they get around to covering something that hits a little closer to home for me, HVCC or Home Valuation Code of Conduct. This little miracle of a disaster has done one hell of a doozy on the mortgage industry. What was supposed to be a service to homeowners and potential home buyers has essentially screwed everyone involved in the process including the consumers. Not to mention it has jeopardized the very spirit of free enterprise where honest, ethical appraisers are concerned. I would think it might be a topic of interest for a real estate blog so I hope American Residential Law Group does get around to discussing it there. I’ll certainly be on the lookout for it.

I highly advise everyone check out this site on the HVCC and please, sign the petition here.

Life is constantly moving forward whether you like it or not. The kids have returned to school after winter break. Another round of CT scans and blood work for Ethan were completed and he remains clear and cancer free. Somehow it still seems very strange to mention my child and cancer in the same sentence.

The older kids have a late start this morning which means that school starts nearly two hours later. That means I get to enjoy listening to them watching the Today show and commenting on the different segments. In a vicodin induced fog at some post-surgery point Ethan listed Matt Lauer as one of his heroes on his MySpace page. He doesn’t remember doing and laughs at it, but I noticed the other day that he hadn’t changed it either. I like that about him, it’s one of the million things I like about him.

Kate is reading “The Lovely Bones” it wasn’t on her Christmas list but I bought it anyway because I thought she’d like it. I was right. I find that as a mom I’m right a lot more often than I realize and I kind of like it.

Like my new affinity for pureed soups. Who knew that my kids would stuff down bowl after bowl of split pea soup? Monday night I made a batch of carrot ginger soup with an orange chicken stir-fry. While not the huge hit that split-pea is, it still went over well and there wasn’t much leftover, that’s always a good sign!

Carrot Ginger Soup – Amy’s Version

2 tblspns butter
2 tblspns olive oil
1 jalapeno (anti-spice freaks, it’s okay, it won’t make it too spicy or all that spicy!)
1 lg. yellow onion, chopped
1/4 c. finely chopped ginger root
3 cloves garlic, minced
7 c. chicken stock
1 c. dry white wine
1 1/2 lb. carrots, peeled, cut into 1/2″ pieces
2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
Pinch curry powder
Salt & ground pepper
Chopped green onion to taste

1. Melt butter in large stock pot over medium heat. Add onion, jalapeno, ginger and garlic; saute for 15-20 minutes.

2. Add the stock, wine and carrots. Heat to boiling. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered over medium heat until the carrots are very tender, about 45 minutes.

3. Puree the soup in a blender or processor (fitted with steel blade). Season with lemon juice, curry powder, salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with green onion. Serve hot or cold.

It went great with the chicken stir fry, this weekend we plan to make it with grilled teriyaki salmon.

“Get it over with.”

That’s a fitting way to end the pregnancy that rendered the family and ultimately the world absolutely helpless to the tornado that is Margaret Doran. The pregnancy was, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable out of the three I had experienced. Maggie was her own fetal person and didn’t even begin to understand the concept of “fetal position” as once her legs were more than stubs in the 24/7 kegger she was throwing in my abdomen she kept them stretched out and moving nonstop. When most newborns curl themselves up into a ball after birth, our Maggs remained sprawled out, taking up as much of whatever space you had placed her in that she could.

Moments after birth the nurses had nicknamed her “MaggPipes” for her extraordinary vocal abilities and the only thing that would quiet her down was the sound of her father’s voice. Only minutes old she already knew and recognized the person who would be the easiest to wrap around her finger and manipulate to her every whim and desire.

Maggie has always done things the way Maggie wanted to do them. From birth to walking to weaning to school even. Maggie, at the very least, believes she calls her own shots and only lets mom and dad THINK they are getting their way from time to time.

It is fitting that she was born on New Year’s Day. We’ve always referred to her as our party baby

Maggie is the ultimate girly tomboy. She loves most bugs, odd creatures, and all animals. She isn’t afraid of dirt or getting dirty but loves a good candlelit bubble bath. Her favorite color is pink followed closely by green and most days she can be heard singing everything from Taylor Swift to The Ramones and Queen.

Christmas was different this year. Maggie was more than aware of what was going on and what the stakes were. After watching “The Happy Elf” and really getting that Santa’s last nice/naughty list check is on Christmas Eve it took every ounce of her willpower to maintain her good behavior. The child twitched in her sleep and giggled maniacally undoubtedly planning the havoc she would create the day after Christmas. Hell, Christmas DAY because she figured Santa was a lot like dad and probably wouldn’t make the trip allll the way back from the north pole to ungift her gifts.

Not that there weren’t some serious close calls. Like the overwhelming need to shake a bottle of beer before handing it to her mother… or the uncontrollable urge to knock her father off the pilates ball and send him rolling ass over tea kettle. Yep, by Christmas Eve Maggie was holding her “good behavior” together by a few fraying threads.

In fact, it was so bad that her “Fairy DogMother” (I have the picture of the Chihuhua on my fridge to prove it!) aka Chickie made a plea on her behalf for us to just tell Maggie that it was Christmas and she was in the clear.

Now, her Christmas stocking candy is nearly gone and being the choco-holic that she is, Maggie requested chocolate cupcakes with bananas for her birthday. I’m making a giant chocolate cupcake cake and filling it with banana pudding (she likes chocolate and bananas!) covering it with fudge frosting and liberally dousing it with candy sprinkles. I’m just going to hope she doesn’t request a margarita to wash it down with.

And, Happy New Year to you and yours. I hope 2010 brings you loads of happiness!

Christmas music is playing, it’s the huge family playlist with everything from Bing Crosby and Amy Grant to Harry Connick Jr. and Brian Setzer Orchestra and lots of things in between including Elvis and The Carpenters, of course. December has come and nearly gone once again and it amazes me how this month seems to fly by much faster than most.

I think we’ve watched National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation about six times this month. White Christmas has made a few trips through the DVD player, too. I think I’ll put in Scrooged soon because I only recall seeing it once this month.

Lots of things to finish today, lots of loose ends to tie up, presents to wrap, cookies to bake, and all that food to prep for tomorrow. I’m savoring my last moments of “quiet.”

I hope you are safe and warm, I hope your home is filled with love and laughter, and I hope you have the merriest of Christmases yet.

Much love to you and yours.

Merry Christmas!

Mike stayed as long as he could before taking our girls home and leaving me down at UCLA with Ethan. In the room I kept a brave face, made inappropriate jokes, slept uneasily in an uncomfortable chair next to him, and spent hours coaching him through the pain caused by the NG tube running through is nose and down to his stomach.

There is no pain in this world that is even remotely comparable to seeing your child suffer and knowing there is nothing you can do about it.

My stepmother was kind and wonderful enough to loan us her car because our suburban’s fuel pump went out on the freeway on our way down to UCLA. I would get into this car and drive through the area around UCLA to our hotel, I was unfamiliar with the area and so I had two simple routes planned out that I never deviated from.

There are lots of stoplights down there and I had lots of time to see the Christmas displays in the windows and the people bustling around with bags from store to store. Nothing was normal in my world. Christmas is the high point of my year, every year. That year my house was dark, I barely managed to get a tree. Half of me was determined that nothing would be different, the other half of me wanted to crawl into a hole and cry until my heart exploded. There is no manual telling you how to conduct the holiday celebrations while your child fights a disease that wants to kill him.

Even now it is difficult to recall this time without tears dropping on to my keyboard.

There I was in a strange area, in someone else’s car, my iPod at home, my husband and girls at home, and I would play “I Need A Silent Night” by Amy Grant over and over again through the MP3 player on my cell phone.

“I need a silent night, a holy night,
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night”

I wasn’t fighting the crowds shopping or worrying if I remembered to pick up more scotch tape but my world was overwhelmingly chaotic, crazy, and noisy and all I could do was pray for a silent night. I must have listened to that track at least a hundred times that week. Sometimes I sang along loudly, sometimes it was a choked cry, pleading to what I felt was an unseen and unheard God.

I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here.It became my personal anthem.

To this day my eyes well up from the very first chord. It takes me right back to an intersection in L.A where I realized I had given up caring what strangers thought about the woman with disheveled hair and no make up crying over a steering wheel while waiting for the light to turn green. I sat in the car waiting to park in front of the hospital and tried to dry my eyes, blow my nose, and pull myself together before going up to see Ethan.

That week, those drives alone to and from the hospital were the only emotional outlet I had. The only down time when I didn’t have to have my game face on and it was just me… screaming, crying, praying, begging for a little peace.

Southern California is pretty much nonstop sunshine and even with smog and air pollution the skies are blue. I remember pulling out of the parking garage for the last time with Ethan in the passenger seat. December 5th, it had been a week and we were finally going home, the sun glared through the windshield and we both squinted looking into it.

About three hours later we dropped out of the mountains and into the fog bank that sits on the San Joaquin Valley all winter long. A sunny, blue sky winter day is rare around here. Still, entering the fog bank and feeling it close around me was oddly comforting, it meant we were nearly home.

I’d love to wrap this up with some sort of happy ending. The fact that my son is cancer free and was blessed enough to not have to endure chemo or radiation is something in itself to be thankful for, of that I am completely aware. But there is no denying that the last year has been rough. Multiple surgeries leave scars, sore spots, and unusual aches and pains. Every six months you get a reminder of it all with the surveillance tests.

What they rarely talk about is the emotional ramifications. Those scars run deep and in many ways they haven’t even healed to a “scar” point. There are still scabs that occasionally get ripped off and the pain is felt all over again. When the world tells you that you should be filled with elation and celebration over a battle fought hard and won, it is difficult to feel the other emotions that are right there too.

I know all the soundbites that I am supposed to say. Things like, “every day is precious and every moment we are together means something.” “Tell the people you love how much you love them because things can change in an instant” or “I appreciate life so much more now because I understand it’s fragility.” But I don’t say them, I agree with them, but I have no interest in spouting them for the sake of political correctness or what they world wants to hear me say.

The world doesn’t want to hear that you now know the “boogey man” is very real and he might come back, that there are more than just incisions to recover from, that while you might have made it to the other side, you are angry at having to fight at all. That the battle broke you down, bruised you from the inside out, and nearly destroyed your faith in humanity. That the tiny moments of grace are fleeting and they are only pinpoints in an otherwise dark and vast sea where there is no map, no compass, and no guidebook.

I’ve lived through deaths, car accidents, boating accidents, broken bones… and nothing prepared me for watching my son struggle through a battle with cancer and try to figure out a place in this world for a teenager who no longer has the same worries and concerns or that feeling of immortality that youth is supposed to guarantee.

I was asked once if I thought all of this had made me a better person.

I don’t think so. This has taught me that horrible things happen to completely undeserving people, that the list of people you can really trust and count on is shockingly short, and that even people close to you will betray you in ways you would never even believe possible.

I’m careful of who I trust now, I’m careful of who I let in, I’m a lot quicker to escort you out of my life if you threaten the peace and harmony in my home and family. I’m a lot more aware that stomach pain can be more than an upset stomach. The boogey man exists and there are ghosts in the shadows.

No amount of caroling or hot chocolate can take that away. And sometimes, I still pray for a silent night and a midnight clear.

I’ve made the same mistake before
Too many malls, too many stores
December traffic, Christmas rush
It breaks me till I push and shove

Children are crying while mothers are trying
To photograph Santa and sleigh
The shopping and buying and standing forever in line
What can I say?

I need a silent night, a holy night
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night

December comes then disappears
Faster and faster every year
Did my own mother keep this pace
Or was the world a different place?

Where people stayed home wishing for snow
Watching three channels on their TV
Look at us now rushing around
Trying to buy Christmas peace

I need a silent night, a holy night
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night

What was it like back there in Bethlehem
With peace on earth, good will toward men?

Every shepherd’s out in the field
Keeping watch over their clock by night
And the glory of the Lord shone around them
And they were so afraid

And the angels said fear not for behold
I bring you good news of a great joy that shall be for all people
For unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord
And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace

I need a silent night, a holy night
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night
To end this crazy day with a silent night

- Amy Grant / Chris Eaton