So I’m thinking I must have been living in some fantasy bubble that’s finally popped. I don’t have a dream child. I have the child from hell. My dad announced today from the front passenger seat as Sage was engaged in a full-blown, mind-bending tantrum, “I’m not going anywhere with that thing!” And, so, no trip to Orlando this summer. I’ve always known that Sage has an eye-popping set of lungs but the outbursts ended as quickly as they erupted when she was a babe. Now, at 3.5, those throw downs sound out as often as the word NO and last for an hour. In fact, it’s usually ‘no’ that instigates it. I’ve followed all the rulebooks- ignore the screams and tears, take away cherished items, never give in, time outs; nothing curbs the horror. Today, this morning, it was wanting to watch Dora. Because Dora wouldn’t come on for another three minutes and she couldn’t wait, she got worked up. I shut off the TV and told her she wouldn’t watch anything then. Hoo boy. Screaming louder than a tea kettle and crying so hard she had trouble breathing, I dropped her in the bedroom, told her she could come out when she calmed down, and took a shower. I dried off to her thumping on her door and my mother trying to tell her to stop. I took over and she stopped pounding but she kept crying. “You can come out when you’re done crying,” I told her. Eventually, she came out. That works when you are at home with no immediate plans but what about the car?
Heading home from Fruita last weekend, she lost it. Because we told her to let her food digest after she said she was hungry and she had already eaten a cheeseburger and a quesadilla (road food). She thrashed about in her carseat. We took things away from her. Her sippy cup, her stuffed bunny, her shoes, her jacket! She could get items back when she calmed down. Nope. We threatened to not take her on another roadtrip, we pulled over for a brief moment (but really needed to get home), we ignored her and talked amongst ourselves. No end. Then it was her pants, her shirt and voile she was sitting in panties and crying her head off about being cold with no sign of letting up to get her clothes back. We didn’t know what else to take from her! After an hour of torture (on us), she literally passed out. All I had to do was insist on her shutting her eyes. In five minutes, she was sound asleep. Poor thing was exhausted. Three and tired, with a pending cold. Of course! But then my dad has to go and say, “No excuses. Stop making excuses for her.” Stella saw Sage in action when we visited in January and Sage refused to take off her daughter Alyssa’s princess costume so we could leave for the airport. I saw concern, shock, sympathy, disgust in Stella’s eyes as I shut Sage into a side room for yet another timeout while she tried to blow out her vocal cords. Again, she was exhausted from five days of convention walking at the SIA show. I’m thinking of my dad’s words. No excuses. Just because she’s wasted does not make it ok to sound like a five-alarm fire and you’re being attacked by pitbulls all at once.
After today, I can no longer live in denial. I’m calling an intervention on myself. We need help. Even Ryan agrees now. It’s happening at least once a day. At home, we can shut her in her room until she chills. We aren’t embarrassed because the displays aren’t public. Here, in San Diego, very public. We had a perfect 2+ hours in the movie theater watching Ironman 2; she comes trotting out all gleefully talking about how she wants an Ironman costume for Halloween. In the bathroom, she softly says she doesn’t have to go potty. In the parking lot she shouts about how she has to have chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t a scream. An adamant demand. I told her not to shout or she won’t get any ice cream at all. “But, Momma! I had chocolate ice cream with Noah and Isaac!!!” She shouts. There was absolutely NO cause to raise her voice. But she was in the moment I guess. I told her well, that’s it, no ice cream. And so it began. The entire drive home was a nightmare. I felt the way I did when I wanted everyone to see how awesome Tenaya was but instead she barked at them and they called her Cujo. My heart sank. But to tame the beast and turn her into one of the most loved dogs in the neighborhood, I used a shock collar. Don’t think there’s a legal one for children. DAMMIT!!! Sage was once again wiped out from a weekend without naps and 8-hour (rather than 12-hour) nights. No excuses. She kicked, screamed, cried, SPIT all the way back to my parent’s house. We all pretended she wasn’t there. No luck. My dad put down his window and told her he would roll it up when she stopped. Nope. Just made her scream about being cold and her hair getting in her mouth. She tried to undo her seatbelt. I grabbed her wrists. She spit on my arm and screamed. I swear the drivers next to us must have thought we were kidnappers. She peed on herself, then cried about it. We got home, got out of the car and my parents hugged me and said they were sorry I had to go through this. Then they ran. I carried Sage to the bathroom, changed her clothes, put her in the bedroom to calm down- which she didn’t do for another 30 minutes. No ice cream, no swim, no bath; there went all the things she wanted to do today. I wish I had recorded the fit. You can’t begin to imagine.
Once she calmed down, I sat her down and explained that we don’t act like this; that others do not want to hear her scream and cry and that she’s not going to get what she wants with ths bhaviour. Yeah yeah, you’re thinking well she’s getting my attention. But she gets that plenty without the screams and how do you explain the car ride?
She’s sound asleep now. Been that way since 7 p.m. Poor thing’s exhausted. No excuses! I’m picking up the book Love and Logic tomorrow. If that doesn’t help, I’m sending a tape to Super Nanny. This has got to stop. Her preschool teachers have no idea what I’m talking about. Apparently, Sage is a little angel for them. Ryan says it’s because no one tells her ‘no’ at preschool. I can’t believe that. Plus, I don’t really say the word ‘no’. Most of the time, what she wants is reasonable or I offer a substitute I know should make her happy. The “no” comes after the tantrum starts. Like with the Dora thing today. I told her she could watch Dora… when it was on in 3 minutes. I never told her she couldn’t. She threw her fit; I turned off the TV. I said she could have ice cream. I didn’t have a problem with that. She yelled, I said no ice cream if not quiet, more yelling then crying.
I want to go to Orlando. And I want my parents to see how great Sage really is. I want to be able to say no to Sage and not worry that I’m starting WWIII. Any advice? Bring it.

It’s drawing to a close. Birthday week. Like my mother, I shy away from birthdays. LOOOVE the presents and the cards but hate that the day really signifies a marking of another year down the tubes, another year older. I did a good job this week of ignoring the whole thing. Aside from bowling with Sage and Ryan on Wednesday, it was fairly low key. I skied a sick powder day last Friday, rode my mtn bike for the first time all season, procrastinated on a story deadline, said goodbye to Bonnie as she packed up for a Tahoe summer and, oh yeah, ran into Kristen. First time all season. Truth be told I rarely thought of her or missed her so it gave me a little pause and jump when Louie noticed her in the tram line. I turned my back immediately.
The beeatch ( 😉 ) showed what kind of friend she was last July so there was really no need to pretend she was worth a look. It basically came down to a phone relationship where- for the most part-we chatted, or better, I listened to her hyperbolize about everything in her life and occasionally she would listen to my stories- especially if they involved gossip on someone we knew.
When we hung up I often felt vulnerable and rejected because the conversations were 9/10 about her, then she “had to go.” That gets super old, super fast. In her head, her life is so much grander than everyone else’s. Who wouldn’t want to sit and listen to her? A mutual friend once coined the phrase “Enough about you, let’s talk about me” to describe Kristen. Those who don’t know her well tend to hang on her every word thinking, “WOw, she is so cool, wish I could be like that.” But I privately rolled my eyes and thought, “here we go again.” Everything is ‘the best’, ‘the worst’, ‘the scariest’, ‘the most tragic.’ Normal things happen to her but she makes such a big deal out of them and is such a fantasticly descriptive storyteller that people raise her like an idol. Phooey. She’s married to a parttime engineer from a small Montana town who spends his free time in ‘man class’ to learn to be in touch with his feelings, she has a chronically sick cat, she owns a couple of rentals and teaches a ski clinic. Not really glamourous when you lay it out like that, is it? After a while the magic wears off and you’re left with a self-absorbed princess with a fairly ordinary life who tries soooo hard to do extreme things so she’s not ‘ordinary’. Don’t get me wrong. This is some of the pot calling the kettle black but I own my shit. She truly believes she’s a compassionate human being.
So, back to running into her. I didn’t actually. Not once did I look her way. Instead I chatted with KJ who kept trying to get me to talk about her and what went down. I just didn’t want to get into it. I think KJ liked hearing me bitch about Kristen. She must have dissed him at some point. He also hears Lou boast about her – like he’s cool by association- and gets that vibe that Kristen isn’t all that.
She told Lou she was going to say hi to me (I learned later). At the top of the tram, I was about to take off toward Little Cloud when she skated in front of me- “Is that Jill?” she coyly exclaimed and looked me goggle to goggle with a curious head tilt. I gave her a quick “WhatEver” head jerk then skied away. I didn’t even hesitate. I’ll be damned if I give her anything -even a hello. She couldn’t see a way past herself to be a better friend when her friend is diagnosed with cancer, why should she think I’d want anything to do with her now? WE never saw her again.
I can only fantasize that she skied home crying. Tee hee. But I’m not bitter. She’s just not the person I hoped she’d become and I’m not the person who has time anymore to be someone’s fan just so I can say we’re best buds.
Lou told me for Karma’s sake that I should at least say hi. Karma is what she’s getting. Nice test. Like the chick who runs into her ex-boyfriend and feels nothing, it’s good to know I’m fine.
At the time of my diagnosis, she was getting ready for her wedding so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Yes, marriage can be all-consuming and hard to consider anything or anyone else. You would think cancer is like that too. But I rallied. I wasn’t going to miss her wedding even with surgery the week before and a head filled with dread and drama. I was going to be there for her and stand up at her wedding. And they didn’t even have food (seriously, I packed my own Tater Tots) or a sweet wedding cake!
But after the wedding, she still didn’t have it in her to step up and be there for me. Yes, you can still hear the bitterness in my voice. But it’s not because of some simple ego punch. The whole thing will probably always bother me because she put it back on me. Like I made up her obnoxious behavior so I could have someone or something to be angry at. I hate when people do that. You question your sanity when they deny. I dated a guy once who invited me to a party, said he would call me with a time to meet, never called and then acted surprised when I was angry with him for blowing me off. He said I told him that I would call and not the other way around. I actually wondered if I had but then he twisted other things up constantly that I knew he was full of shit and I wasn’t crazy.
I know what I know.
I know that it’s been nearly a year since the diagnosis and treatment and NOT ONCE did she reach out- after 14 years of friendship. I know that NOT ONCE did she admit that her behaviour was out of line or at least in poor judgement. Even if she did, it wouldn’t change things. They would be words. Her actions have always shown a lack of authentic compassion.
Ok, I’ve documented the moment. It’s out there and I had that experience I wondered about and played out in my head. How would I react if I ran into Kristen? My response was brief and awkward but it got the job done. It said you’re no one to me, now get out of my way! 🙂

I think I may have just experienced the lamest non-accidental thing of the year. Imagine you won a super cool item in a raffle; a prize you had no idea you could win but also something you really wanted. You got to keep it for 30 minutes, then they take it back. That’s exactly what happened to Sage and me today. Some Denver organization set up a booth at SIA to welcome newcomers to the city and offer a hub where we could find out about the SIA parties and about the various manufacturers gifting swag on the show floor. They had also set up a white elephant swag exchange- you bring something you collected at the show and pick a box from their pile. Some of the boxes contained the regifted swag- a keychain, a hat, a T-shirt; others, have real prizes like an messenger bag. We traded in a ballpoint pen from PolarMax and I opened a box with a wood percussion instrument in it. I was fine with that and was ready to leave but Sage was about to throw a tantrum- she didn’t want it for some reason and was refusing to leave or calm down unless you got to try again- so they let her turn it in for a shot at a box of her own. There were no age rules and plenty of people came by together with each getting a shot at something.
She picked a box with a block in it. At first I thought this was a booby prize. But I turned it over and it said “iPod Touch”. OMG I couldn’t believe how cool this was. They made we wait so they could grab it from a cabinet then took a picture of me holding it. I thought it was because they wanted to post me as some kind of winner. Only then was I informed that they were going to post my photo on the web and tell people to find me and ‘steal’ the iPod. Talk about your crappy ideas of fun. Seriously? I would have to spend the rest of my day looking for stalkers over a prize that might not be mine? You could go back to your hotel and hide, the dude offered. I had meetings to attend, work to do and a three-year-old in tow! I should have handed the iPod right back to him and said no thanks. But then when he told me the other winners were never ‘found’; I thought who was going to spend an hour chasing me down – killing my afternoon and theirs? Some skinny ass kid with no life; that’s who. I was an easy target. I had a rambunctious preschooler and a giant stroller with me. No way to ditch those.
This stick figure comes up to me asking if I’m the “iPod lady” at about 5:40 p.m. I put on my best acting face, look confused and say, “uh, what?” My interview at Klymet tells him we’re in a meeting and he leaves. He honestly bought it. I think I’m clear. Turns out that at 6 he goes back to the “Underground Concierge” and whines about thinking he found me. So they all go back to where I was (and still am) and take my iPod….at 6:10. Ten minutes after the ‘game’ is supposed to end. See at 6 I thought I was home free. Jokes on me. As they leave, Sage starts crying because someone has taken her prize. I almost cried too. I couldn’t believe that they wouldn’t just say “never mind, keep it” or have a second iPod to give to the guy who found me so that they didn’t have to mess with my day and experience and we could both be winners.
That’s not a white elephant exchange btw. A white elephant is an exchange of a odd gift for another odd gift of equal value. What the company did was modify the rules on a regular gift exchange. You pick something, someone else can take it and you have the option of picking an unwrapped gift from the pile or taking someone else’s. But here, I couldn’t touch any of the already open boxes and take an iPod away from one of the earlier winners. 🙁
The guy running the event told me I could come to the booth and pick out another box. Why? So I could get a keychain and feel even worse? Talk about your insult to injury. Ok, so I’m a bad sport. But, I’m sorry. You don’t act all excited for someone winning a cool gift only to take it away from them (without telling them the plan ahead of time) or make them spend the afternoon stressed about some stupid ‘game’ when they have work to do. I was an idiot to think I was actually going to be able to keep the iPod. That’s the worst part of it. Getting my hopes up. Guess I’ll have to go back to begging Santa for a iTouch.

It’s been long enough and enough people have asked how I’m doing that it’s time to let you all know, I’m pregnant. KIDDING. The big, bigger, news is that my very last chemo is this Friday. That’s it. Six down, no more to go! I’m more than halfway through radiation as well. In fact, if it weren’t for my empty bank account and the rash over my left breast, you’d never know what I’ve been through. I have my hair and aside from having to drive to SLC daily for radiation, life is same ol’ same ol’. Just this month, I’ve finished pieces for MSN.com, SkiResorts.com, Draft Magazine and my usual OnTheSnow resports, I’ve skied opening days at Snowbird, Alta (x2), Park City and Solitude, potty trained Sage (or maybe she just lets us think it was all me), painted my hallways and finally found a renter for one of my spots.
The end date for everything is Dec. 19. Talk about celebrating the New Year. You bet this is going to be one of the best holidays of my life. Hannukah’s coming early to my house. 🙂
Some would point out that I was lucky but, to me, ‘lucky’ is not having canser at all (mispelled on purpose, that little fucker doesn’t deserve to be spelled correctly). Having the ‘the best’ kind of canser? That’s a consolation prize. Lucky that it wasn’t worse, sure; but I seriously doubt that anyone would want to be me unless they also have canser.
Can I say that I “had canser” in 2010 instead of “have canser”? I wonder. I’m afraid to try it; like I’ll jinx things and it’ll come back. The docs assure me that I was ‘canser free’ after the lumpectomy in July and all of this poisoning is just a precaution. But I can’t believe them. Once you get a canser diagnosis, your world changes forever. I didn’t just get a tonsilectomy. I had someone dig through my chest then poisoned my cells every three weeks for nearly five months. Plus, I’ve always walked around with the philosophy of expecting the worst so you can never be disappointed. I thought that way all through college. When I got A’s I was pleasantly surprised, psyched even; never disappointed. This does not mean that I am pessimistic. Not even close. I just choose not to get my hopes up until I have Tweetie in my hand.
So on my five-year canserversary, then I will breathe easy- and buy myself a brand new pair of boobs.
Now, if only it would start to snow, I could focus on something MUCH more important.
So how is everyone else doing?

BTW: I’m not pregnant and have no intention of sharing my love with any others outside of a pup, a boy and my Sage.