Production just wrapped on our biennial community revue: an original musical written and performed every other March in the neighboring town of Hinsdale. I’ve been in the show twice now, and I just love it. But, like many things, it is a real letdown when it is over. We spend January through March learning songs, scenes, and dancing, and then after two weekends filled with performances and parties, it’s all over until the next time. So it was probably with that sadness in place that I started reviewing the 4,000 pictures posted by my friends on the cast and from the audience. Did I see the culmination of 3 months of hard work? Did I reflect on the accolades and compliments I received from my friends and acquaintances?

Nope, I saw the “fat” girl.

So, here is the thing. I know better. I also know that, objectively, I am the largest woman on stage in this production. Also objectively, a lot of being convincing on stage has to do with looking right, and I don’t always look “right.” A lot of this was sort of swirling through my head, and then I had a conversation with Steve about one of his students, and his inability to get this person to take stock of their successes as well as their shortcomings. (Using “their” on purpose. I have no idea who really reads this, but no need to call any individual out.)

Last year was tough. I went into the fall of 2015 about 10-15 pounds lighter than I am right now. I went up about 20 from there, and lost about 5 or so again. It’s been an uphill climb. While C was sick, I managed to get some exercise in until the hospitalizations became a regular thing. During the whole time, my eating habits were suspect. It’s taken me until this winter to really pull things back together and try to put both exercise and nutrition as a priority. Even with the additional dance and movement, I didn’t lose weight this winter. I also didn’t gain weight, and I’ve definitely put on some muscle. And I suppose the question, which I already answered for myself, is do you let vanity and 15 pounds keep you from doing something you love to do? I don’t think so.

Well, I decided to do a little inventory of the things I HAVE achieved and how the decisions I’ve made have played out over the last 5-10 years, and it was honestly a bit eye-opening.

I don’t remember 2007; probably blocking it out. Ha! In June of 2008, after 5 years of very part-time study that I started when the kids were a baby and pre-schooler, I received my master’s degree.

In June of 2010, after a couple of years kind of languishing in a couple of dead-end and unsatisfying jobs, I took the leap to be the part-time managing director of Chicago Chorale and work at home. That gave me the flexibility to get involved with my kids’ schools, and I became a PTO officer and joined the board of their school district’s foundation. At 42, I found myself making dozens of new friends and acquaintances, and expanding my social circle in ways that I hadn’t previously considered.

In March of 2011, I sang at a friend’s wedding. That led to me being hired to sing regularly at our neighborhood Catholic church–something I hadn’t quite bothered to get involved with because of my ongoing ties with my church in Lincoln Park–but that has nonetheless had the result of giving my kids and me a neighborhood spiritual home.

In 2013, I decided to really try to lose the weight that had been creeping up on me, and did so, joining my CrossFit gym at the same time. Over the course of that next year, I lost between 60 and 70 pounds, and although I have fluctuated up in the last year, at any given time I’m down over 50 pounds from my highest weight. Also in 2013, I decided to give singing in Chicago Chorale a go, after 3 years of managing the group.

Right there, in 5 years: I started singing meaningfully again, made my circle of friends enormously wider, and took charge of my health.

In December of 2014, I was asked to join the cast of the 2015 Revue and enjoyed every second of it. I’m not sure that the fact that I was 10-15 pounds lighter then really mattered. In 2015, that Revue happened, while we planned a tour for Chicago Chorale and it felt like I sang just about every day. Later in that year, Celia was diagnosed and while many things were put on hold, a lot of other things crystallized for me. We took things apart, and put things back together in 2016.

And now it’s 2017. One more Revue. Big improvements in my weightlifting abilities. I have met even more wonderful people. You guys, I learned (a little) how to TAP DANCE. At 48.

I still don’t like the way I look in those pictures, and I suppose I have a little bit of time before the next Revue to decide how important it is to me to get to a weight that would make me happy on the outside of things. But look how far I have come! I’m not sure my body, my knees, or my psyche would have allowed me to perform the way I did the last two weeks, just four years ago in 2013.

We have been joking around at the gym class I go to, 6:00 am this year, that we are the “masters” class. That’s because the youngest is maybe 46. The purported goal is of course to become stronger, which happens in smaller and smaller percentages at this age, but in fact the real goal is: Don’t lose ground.

So that’s my conclusion. I’m fluffy. But my world is so much bigger than it was 10 years ago, and I am doing things regularly that I just couldn’t even conceive of at that time. I don’t think I would have thought, at 38, that my world would be better, that my health would be improving, and that I would be doing MORE as I aged. That was my mistake. Screw New Year’s resolutions…might be time to make a list for the next 10 years, right now.

 

 

 

I was working on a lovely, meaningful blog post. This is what came out today instead. So as for the other…wait for it. (See what I did there?)

With apologies to the Mouse/Cookie canon, and possibly also Lin-Manuel Miranda:

 

 

I stopped by the gastroenterologist yesterday for my follow-up appointment. About a month ago, he found about six polyps, one of which was pre-cancerous/cancerous/it wasn’t quite clear to me. It was the best kind of dangerous polyp to find; it was easily enough removed and had not yet spread in any way. He tells me I was just a millimeter or two away from having a “real” problem, and that I am a very lucky lady.

I am.

A few of my friends were quite kind about this while I was getting the news, telling me there was absolutely NO way *I* could be diagnosed with cancer right after the year Celia just had. I’m convinced that unfortunately, the world doesn’t work that way. It’s pretty random, and some people get a whole lot more than they can realistically handle. In effect, what I did was dodge a bullet. Had I been a bit more cavalier about scheduling my 10-year-checkup, I might not have been so fortunate. This is why we do screening exams. (And yes, for those of you playing along at home, why thank you. I AM awfully young to have screening colonoscopies. My digestive system is not, shall we say, a team player.) Because my colonoscopy at 37 was completely normal, I seriously considered waiting until 50 to go back. And that might have been too late. I’ve won myself a trip back to the rubber hose in 4 years rather than 10.

Needless to say (?) I decided that it was time to go ahead with that mammogram too. No point in tempting fate.

Also yesterday we had the perfectly normal experience of taking Celia to her regular pediatrician for a regular old sick visit. She’s had a cold for a couple of weeks and it finally seemed like it had hung around long enough for her to be checked out. She’s fine; she’s not that sick. If it had been 2 years ago I would have hesitated to take her. This is the funny part of remission. Part of you thinks, “Oh wow, do I call the oncology clinic and get their input?” while another part of you realizes they would be on the phone with you doing one of two things. Either they would say, “We’d better bring her in and do a series of tests” or they would say, “Woman, are you kidding me? She has a COLD.” Hard to adjust from the thinking that if she were to spike even a low fever, she would have to go to the ER.

Colds aside, she’s doing well on re-entry to teenage life.

In August I wrote a story for one of our town magazines about Celia’s cancer; she is the cover story in honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. (I have about 10 extra copies thanks to my neighbors, so let me know if you would like one!) The point of the story that I hope I got across is that our neighbors and our town rallied around us in an amazing way. Our families and friends across the country did too, but unfortunately there is not yet a magazine dedicated to Balderston Family and Friends. In the waiting room yesterday I came across and article that was unfortunately named something like “Things to Make Mid-Life Years Better” and the one part that struck me was about setbacks. In the middle of this long paragraph about how we handle setbacks/crisis/bad events was the advice: OPM. Other people matter. “People who let other people help them tend to recover better than those who are fiercely independent.”

Nailed it. (We nailed it, I mean. We let you. We really let you.)

We got so much help, and I hope that you all still know how much that continues to means to us. We’re continuing to put together our team for Comer’s Race for the Kids on October 16th and hope you will join us: (http://race.uchicagokidshospital.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=1157270&team=6737979)

I told you I’d nag.

Ultimately that OPM experience is helping me cheerfully hit up all of these health screenings I ignored for the last year and a half. They’re not fun, and they have their scary moments. But I’m secure in knowing that I am not alone in this, as much as midlife kind of feels that way sometimes.

More soon. Go get your screenings!

 

 

Those of you who have followed me on Facebook for longer than a year may remember my popular Seminars. It turns out, despite my mad parenting skillz, my children have absolutely no practical abilities in basic concepts such as Changing The Toilet Paper Roll, Filling a Hamper, and Removing Empty Milk Cartons From The Refrigerator. Without any further ado, here are a sampling of the Seminars I will be offering after the latest weekend in paradise with my brood:

Dirty Clothes Vs. Clean Clothes: A Primer

In Fact, There Are Lots Of Reasons Not To Eat In Your Room. Slob.

Plunger 201: You Have Mastered The Basics, But Still Have A Lot To Learn

“That Wasn’t Me!” and Other Really Lame Ways To Divert Attention To Your Sibling

It’s Rush Hour. You May Not Drive. I Know You Need The Hours.

Homework: More Of A Good Idea Than You Even Know. I’m Looking At You, Mr/Ms 80%.

Are You Five Years Old? Just Because There Is A Check Endorsement Stamp Sitting On The Table, You Do Not Have To Press It. The Table Will, In Fact, Be Endorsed If You Do. It Would Also Help If You Would Throw Away The Napkin You Practiced On, And Wiped The Ink Off The Table. So Your Mother Doesn’t Lose Her Mind.

The Closet/Hamper/Trashcan Is Only 5 Feet Away.

Household Items Are Muggles: Lights And Fans Do Not Turn Themselves Off Magically

(Alt.) Shoved Under The Bed: Not A High Percentage Storage Move

 

Yes, friends, I am so happy that these are the problems I am worrying about this year. Perspective is a lovely thing. Happy Monday!

 

Steve and I went to a wedding on Sunday. I heard ahead of time that there would be a few tables from my gym, including a kids’ table and an adults’ table. I assumed I’d be at the kids’ table. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?

The simple answer is, I wouldn’t be, because I am OLD. In fact, at our “dignified” adults’ table, Steve and I were the oldest by several years. And as I pondered the whole wedding phenomenon I realized that at 47, I am in fact solidly in that generation that is giving the wedding, rather than having the wedding. Never mind that I’ve been on the participation “team” for years, as a singer. Never mind that my own children, as teenagers, had better be many years from their own weddings…I’m solidly, undeniably, in the older generation now. You know, the ones that did the Electric Slide and Macarena unironically, slightly after the Earth cooled. Like, when they came out the first time…

This is also apparent when we are at home now. Both kids would rather be out with their friends than with us, and because they’re teens, that is free-form hanging out, rather than play dates and plans. We don’t always know exactly where they are and exactly when they’re coming home. In fact, approximately 98% of the time I want to be in bed before they even get home. It’s a far cry from last year, when James was still in middle school and Celia was so sick.

We are also running full tilt into college visits, planning, and making up for lost time. This has mostly meant that Celia is trying to do as much as she possibly can, while also visiting every college she can, and getting the best grades she can. It’s a beautiful thing to watch, but also frustrating. We want her to slow down; we want her to take off. (She REALLY wants us to take off…) It is such a blessing to see her be able to do all that she wasn’t able to do last year. In fact, one of my friends who is herself a breast cancer survivor, mentioned one day, “Isn’t it weird how there’s a part of life that just starts up again like nothing ever happened?” The best thing would be if she goes forward without having cancer define her. But in a very real way it defines all of us, every day. I mean, I get her impatience completely. She saw firsthand how fleeting life can be. She has made friends who have had numerous relapses. She’s acquired the occasional gallows humor, too: “Geez, mom, of course the doctors and nurses think I look great. The last time they saw me I looked like I was dying.” So maybe it’s not such a bad thing to spend your wasted youth knowing that there’s no time to waste your youth.

And I am attempting to continue to write without a driving purpose. It’s telling (to me anyway) that I first set up this blog 3 years ago in response to people saying, “Your Facebook posts are funny! You ought to write a blog.” And then, without having a direct purpose, I had trouble writing. Caring Bridge was great because it was a good convergence of my needing to process and your needing to know stuff. I needed a way to get over that little voice in my brain that said, “Oh come on…who CARES about your life?” Well, cancer certainly did that for me.

I’ll post up on CB that this is going, and then? I’ll do my best to just write, and I’ll assume that I am a writer when I don’t feel the need to be asked to write. Or maybe that will mean I’m actually grown UP.