I’ve been waiting on myself to begin. I knew it was time to get back to this and I knew it was time for a shift. I shut down the old blog, bought a new name, and created a new site. A new chapter. But how to begin, Becca, how to start. The pressure. Y’all are like,...
My mom died on April 1, just a little over two weeks ago. I don’t know which cliché to use – does it feel like yesterday or years? Both, I guess. My mom was a young 74 and did all the healthy things – the exercising, the kale, the vitamins, the check-ups. I look like...
Well, it had to come. Some of you readers have been with me for a while now. You’ve read these random blogs and followed along on Facebook as Jax came home from China, was diagnosed with all the things, and proceeded to grow up into a teenage boy. He’s gone from...
So we’re homeschooling over here. It’s going really well, I’d say. We have great people, Jax’s anxiety is at an all-time low, he’s happy, he’s inquisitive, and importantly, he’s learning things that are relevant to his 14 year-old-life and skills he’ll use for his...
I have sucked as a parent lately. Truth. 'Tis the season for holiday lights and wrapping paper and for mom to be a stressed out asshole. That should be a Christmas carol. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaayyyyy. My mom’s annoyed at everyone, please bring...
Dear Jax,It's Gotcha Day, little dude. We adopted you eleven years ago today. I love this day, but this year's celebration is bittersweet. Your grandmother died on Friday night. Your dad's mom, Grandma Mary. This year's Gotcha Day will be a little less inflatable...
Johnny made it to his Army base on Monday. Other moms are messaging me tips to survive boot camp, linking me to Facebook groups, introducing me to people who can show me the ropes. It's lovely, but I’m in a different sort of situation. “Hi Martha with your...
A day or two ago, Jax had an appointment with a psychiatrist. Jax has never met this man before, but I have, and I like him a lot. He regurgitates mountains of stuff from memory, has a Harvard degree, and is smart, smart, smart. All good stuff when you’re a mom...
Johnny, I've been down at the Capitol this past week fighting for a bill that would expedite the adoption of older kids. I'm pretty invested in it because you and I went through this. We had nine months to make your adoption happen, and had I not already had a giant...
And I quote: "And after fourteen years of foster care, Johnny was getting all As and Bs in school, happily helping around the house, had checking and savings accounts, and looking for his first job - all within just a few months of being adopted into a family. "...
I've spent the last few days outlining an open letter to the person who hurt Jax. A real doozy of a piece, cleverly called "Dear Person Who Hurt My Child." I was going to write and publish it this morning, throw it all out there and let the internet lovelies react to...
The adult who hurt my son will not be charged. I'm a lawyer. I get it. There are no witnesses, no physical evidence, and Jax ...well, Jax isn't the best witness. At 13, Jax still believes that Noelle the Naughty Elf stole my car keys and tried to take my...
I am a Helicopter Mom. No shame here, no self-deprecating humor, there is really no other option for this child tornado of mine. Maybe helicopter isn't the right word, I think I'm more like the car with the flashing lights that travels behind the Wide Load truck on...
I was coming out of an Ace Hardware the other day - feeling super handy, I might add - and on the way to my car, I saw a woman standing by a table raising money. It was a legit 100-gazillion degrees in Phoenix and I was entirely prepared to do the polite smile...
I was sick this week. Throwing up throughout the night, curled up in fetal position at the base of the toilet, not sure how clean the bath mat is, I do not even care, I will never eat blue cheese in a salad again, SICK. Being sick as an adult is lousy. Being sick as a...
Dear Johnny, I know this isn't where you thought you would be at age 17. Still in the foster system, a day pass on your birthday, preparing to be shuffled around again, and then again and again. I know. As a child, you must have thought ahead to 17 and pictured your...
Last week, a family asked about adopting my foster son, Johnny. A family. Adoption. This was a big deal for a sixteen year old foster kid who moved in with me last month because he had nowhere else to go and had every intention of aging out of the system as an orphan....
I had a moment recently. My son, Jax, and I had been in the car running errands for a few hours. I was singing along to the Beatles channel when Jax said, "Mom, I'm hungry." Well, yeah, breakfast was a hurried cup of yogurt three hours ago so that's reasonable....
A teenage boy is coming to live with me. Today. In eight hours, I will be an official foster parent. It's been only a few months, but I have notes upon notes about my short experience so far with this child welfare system of ours. I can't wrap my head around how we...
Last week, I was in my favorite place in the world with my 15-person family. Every few years, we head to a ranch in the mountains of Colorado. We've been going here since I was a little girl, and there is truly no place I would rather be. I told my clients I was out,...
I volunteered to go to an education meeting last week with a foster kid. This kid was in high school and not too interested in me at first. I didn't blame him, I'd never met him before and this was a child who lives in a constantly-changing world with...
It was late-September of 2008 when we brought my son home from China, just two months before December and our sparkly, over-the-top, American-style Christmas season. My little boy had no idea what Christmas was. He had no idea who Santa was. Hell,...
This time of year, man. It’s stressful and chaotic and my annual intention of providing a Pinterest-perfect Christmas lasts about a day and a half until I decide that F-bombs will definitely help me assemble the gingerbread house. Ahhh, December. This year, the...
Jax’s eighth Gotcha Day is coming up. “Gotcha Day” is the anniversary of Jax’s adoption from China. It’s the day Jax became our son, and like good adoptive parents, we celebrate. Jax gets a few presents, we decorate, we eat pizza and cake, we participate in general...
I was at a Ross the other day. I love Ross. There is one by my son's school, and on the days I don't feel like laptopping at Starbucks, I walk around in their exceptional summer air conditioning while having riveting conversations with myself about my need for their...
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I’m going to ask you all to do something for me right now. I want you to pretend you were diagnosed with breast cancer. Chew on that for a bit. Think about it. Maybe you looked at your doctor and cried. Maybe you said What?? Because clearly you heard that wrong. Maybe you said nothing, but just stared at the person who delivered that news, feeling the burn of tears behind your eyes.
You drove home. Everything looked different. What was once familiar, comfortable, was now a fun house, mocking what used to be normal. Has the Starbucks always been so green? Is the drive into my neighborhood always this long? I guarantee you thought about how to tell your family and friends. Some of you called someone on the way home, some of you waited until you had a plan, a grasp, a foothold.
Think about how you told your kids. Did you sit them down on the couch for a family meeting? Did you go to your favorite restaurant? Or did you say, Hey kiddo, I want to talk to you about something in the middle of play-doh or a video game. Your child, your sweet, sweet child, unable to meet your eyes, asked, “Mom, are you going to die?” And you said, No, baby, and wrapped your child in a hug … while silently asking yourself Oh God, Am I?
You treated. Radiation, chemotherapy, hours and hours in a clinic, waiting for tests and results and Please let me live on repeat in your brain. You cleaned up your diet, you bought a wig, you bargained with God.
Some of you died. Some of you said goodbye to everything you know and love and hold dear. You left big, gaping holes in the hearts of those around you. You are now a crinkled photo in a wallet, a bedtime song, a memory.
Most of you, thank God, lived. You’re not the same, but you’re alive, and for this, you are unbelievably grateful. Sometimes you stand topless in front of the mirror and think about what you went through. You pray for the word recovery because you really don’t think you could do it again. But you know, without a doubt, that you will if you have to. Those implants are saline, but they might as well be made of steel.
Reader, are you still with me here? This is not pink and pretty. This is a real person. This is about 300,000 real people this year.
When I see SAVE THE TATAS, my stomach hurts. When breast cancer is reduced to “boobies” and “hooters” and sexualized Facebook games, I want to shout STOP IT. Just please stop it.
When I was deciding whether to undergo a preventative double mastectomy, I did not spend time soul-searching about my tatas. My sister, my dad, my umpteen friends did not carefully consider and select treatment options for their boobies. Women do not sit their children down for a discussion of chemotherapy for their hooters. Whether we mean it or not, trivializing these struggles is offensive.
The intentions are good, I know, but there is a point where awareness efforts become so common that they lose all meaning. We are so “aware” of breast cancer and its pink ribbon that we are not really aware at all.
You might be saying, “Aw, Becca, chill out. Humor makes everything better.” You know I agree with that. But guys, there is a line between humor and minimizing breast cancer patients into a junior high school joke. And I think we’ve crossed that line.
Sincerely,
Becca
Dammit. I’m crying the UGLY cry in the drive through to whataburger. Another wonderful piece. No wonder I love you. I don’t know how you do it! 😉 xoxoxo
Great post. When arguably, one of the most beautiful women in the world, Angelina Jolie, made her decision for surgery to save her life, it showed so many what matters most. Thanks for sharing your story as well. BTG
I see bumper stickers, pink shirts, bracelets, etc being sold in the name of raising money for breast cancer research. Yes, most of them say boobies, tatas, hooters and the like. Would you like that to stop? Would you like people to slow down on giving money towards research? If you would then just focus on the severity and tragedy of it all.
Look, I understand that your post is about taking this more seriously as it affects real people, Your heart is in the right place. However, I assume that result you would like to see in the end is a healthy cured woman, right? I think its safe to say we all want that. But you have to be honest with yourself and how the human condition works for the average person. How likely are you to see someone wearing a shirt that says “Real women are being affected by breast cancer and you better take it more seriously.” Probably not many beyond the ones who have had cancer or a loved one affected by it. People don’t like to focus on their mortality and try to find coping methods. Humor is on the top as its the quickest and easiest way to deflect it all.
Millions of dollars are being raised by these light hearted trinkets. I honestly don’t think that we would be better with out them while this very real disease is killing our loved ones! The “I love boobies” bracelets alone raised over a half of million dollars last year for breast cancer study. Thats just one area. For the sake of being less “Jr high” about it do you really want the funds to be stifled? Will a sobering approach be what gets us closer to a cure? I for one will allow the line to be crossed if the end result is my mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, friend, daughter is treated more effectively from the funds raised by selling a silly bracelet that probably didn’t mean anymore to that kid than the word “boobies” printed on it. I’ll also continue to be grateful for every person who has taken on this disease with the upmost integrity to either fight through it, or cure it. Bottom line, we need everyone’s support not matter with the level of interest.
Love and respect 🙂
G.
THIS is a fantastic comment. Thank you!
You and I are actually of the same opinion for the most part. Happy & hopeful raises more money. Absolutely. And amen to whatever raises the most money to fight any form of cancer.
Where our opinions diverge is that I think “breast cancer awareness” has gone too far. I think the current awareness efforts are actually *hurting* fundraising for research. Humor is great…until you reach the point where the issue itself lacks seriousness. Depending on which site you look at, it looks like people are donating LESS money to breast cancer research because they are under the mistaken impression that breast cancer is not a threat any longer. That it’s under control.
Did the word “tatas” alone do that? Of course not. But tatas and pink-washing and Komen’s missteps, combined, have. (Although I have to wonder why breast cancer is the only cancer that gets reduced to a body part. I never see “save the weenies” or “save those baby-making ovaries” – do you? But that’s another post…) My post was really meant just to be a bit of a reminder that there is a person, a real live person, attached to breasts. And that person, not the breasts, the person deserves every dollar of research.
And of course, I chose not to “save my tatas.” I chose to remove them from my body to save my life. So yes, I cringe a little bit when I see the tacky words. It feels demeaning to me. Am I speaking for everyone? Absolutely not. But that’s the luxury of having a blog 🙂
You are awesome. I love the respectful discourse. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Becca
Reblogged this on thevancitylife.
I absolutely love this!
Brilliantly written and I completely agree with you.
Love your blog!