When it’s Tuesday, I like to congratulate myself on the fact that I have survived one whole day of this week. Then I like to silently weep into my coffee because there are four days left until Saturday.

Barf.

So I have come up with a new plan for getting through the week, and I thought I’d share it with all two of you who read this blog (yeah, I know): Cake.

See? It’s the perfect plan!

But seriously, I figure if my mom could potty train me in one go using M&Ms as a reward, I can get myself through the week using cake as a reward. Like so: If I stick to my diet all week, I can have a piece of cake at some point during the weekend.

I know it seems backward to reward healthy eating with a pile of sugar and fat, but that’s pretty much all I really want these days.

And I can earn bonus food, too. For instance, if I go for a walk after work at least three times this week, I’m going to have a beer while watching tv on a Friday night. See how easy that is?

Life skillz.

I am feeling so smart right now.

I’ve gotten some comments on the fact that I participate in Lent every year, but I don’t really consider myself to be super religious. I know I don’t owe anybody an explanation, but I thought I’d like to go ahead and just explain anyway.

Because.

So, I believe in God. And I believe that believing in God should make me different. It should change the way I treat my fellow creatures and it should change me and make me want to be a better person. Not in order to do anything for God, but because it makes me see that there is order and reason, and the more crap I can remove from myself, the closer I can get to enjoying all of the wonderful things and letting go of all of the little stuff that doesn’t really mean anything to me. God doesn’t need me to do anything. God is God.

So why do something during Lent?

It gives me a task. It gives me a short period of time to focus on improving something about myself that I feel is getting in the way of me being the best person I can be. I’m not bargaining with God for a higher place in the order of things; I really don’t think God is that bothered with my experiment between Ash Wednesday and Easter. There are so many much more important things in the world beside me and my Lenten plans.

So, last year, it was meditating. I’m still meditating daily, and it has actually helped me immensely over the past year. This year, I’m staying off Facebook. Not all social media; just Facebook. I feel like it’s the internet version of middle school, except peopled entirely by adults. All facade, no substance. It’s just getting exhausting. I think I’ll be continuing this Lenten adventure past Easter. It hasn’t really been that hard, though I’ll admit, I’ve gone on twice. The first time was an accident, and the second time was all about stalking somebody’s page. It needed to be done. Not sorry.

At any rate, that’s all. It’s an opportunity for self-improvement. No biggie, but it’s important to me.

Well, I thought it was finally tough enough that it couldn’t get any worse.

I was wrong. I am getting to a place where that isn’t a difficult thing to say any more.

My husband just lost his Dad, and it’s a sad time for the family. No matter how old we get, or how far away we live, or how many little disagreements we get into, it’s always sad when a part of life changes permanently.

And, yes, he is much happier and healthier and in a better place now, which is great. His last weeks on this planet were just awful. He can have a good meal now and go build all the things and not have to feel run-down and weak any more.

But his wife and daughter feel like their house is a lot emptier.

And that’s sad. And we can’t fix it.

Sigh.

Come on, 2018. Something positive? Pretty please? Because this is shaping up to look a lot like 2016, and I don’t think I can handle another year like that.

As sweet and thoughtful as the people who have periodically cooked my parents dinner over the last two years plus are, here’s the thing....

...how the hell do you people survive, cooking that way?

I know everyone’s got some different taste buds, but some of these combos have me sincerely worried for your children, guys. Mystery cream sauces? Onions and blueberries and pasta? Meat that might be chicken, might be beef, might be pork, but we can’t get a consensus and no one’s rude enough to ask, plus it’s encased in gelatin, so there’s that?

Yeah. I wanted to start a photo series called, “Chemo Mystery Edibles” but I thought some people might take it wrong. See, I was brought up by a mom who can make anything. Just, anything. She even knows how to make the heart healthy cookbook stuff taste amazing. So I’m not used to this bland, weirdly spiced, midwestern type of cuisine.

That sounded insulting.

I really don’t mean to be mean. It’s so sweet for people to bring her food and, quite honestly, now that mom’s not up to cooking, they eat a heck of a lot of frozen dinners and eggs and vegetarian things (that one’s my bad), so anything home cooked is welcome.

But maybe throw a label on there. The last one was all kinds of mysterious.

I can’t even.

This hair thing is making me crazy. I can’t believe it’s this annoying, but there you go.

I feel like the more hair I have, the weirder I look, but it’s almost like I just keep going to see what it’s going to do the next day, because it couldn’t possibly get any weirder. But then, it always does, so there you go.

My hair doesn’t lie flat, like normal hair. I don’t have to do things to it to make it have volume. It wants to stand up straight. At this point, I’ve got nine months of growth, so it’s about five inches long at the longest point (I know, my hair grows ridiculously slowly), and I can make it stand up straight and stay there without help from any product. Seriously. All I have to do is run my fingers through it in an upward motion, and there it is. My long spiky hair, in all its glory.

But I don’t want that.

I want commercial hair that is flowy and looks like shiny sparkly normal hair.

I want hair that doesn’t break off when it gets more than a couple of inches long, and hair that isn’t flaky all of the time because of the lovely psoriasis patch I have on my head. (Yeah, overshare, I know, but it’s in the interest of science. Or not. Shut up.)

I’m sick of people asking me when I’m going to grow my hair out. It’s been nine months. Some people can grow a whole baby in this amount of time. I have survived hundreds of bad hair days and grown about four inches of hair (I’m guessing it was maybe an inch or so when I started, but I didn’t measure, so this isn’t exactly a scientific study. But it should be.).

A whole baby versus four inches of hair.

Wow.

Well, at least my hair doesn’t have diaper changes, midnight feedings, and it doesn’t barf on my best shirts. That’s a plus.

I’m seriously considering chopping it off. My brain knows that it’s not going to get any better. Damn it. Maybe a hat. Headbands don’t fit my ginormous head very well.

Crap.

Hovering on the brink of puppy time. We actually sent in an application to a breeder, because we found and fell in love with a pup.

And then we talked about logistics and realized that the only way we could do it is if we had some pretty significant help during the beginning crazy puppy/potty training/chewing up all of the things time, because I do have to go into the office sometimes, which is far enough away from home that I’d have to crate the puppy at someone else’s house, in the town where I work. And the obvious person has his hands full already.

Which is pretty much the same as buying somebody a puppy without asking if they want one.

Which means it’s not a good plan.

Sigh.

So instead, we bought a chocolate cake and had a big piece and then put the rest in the freezer for the next time life forces us to make an adult decision when all we really want is a puppy to play with and smooch.

Sigh, again.

Well, February has been interesting.

Mom is still going strong, despite being reminded frequently that she’s not supposed to be.

We’re still pushing hard to keep her motivated and believing in herself.

The phone calls from people who want to see her “one last time” are still pouring in. (P.S. People. Come on. It’s not helpful. How is she supposed to be hopeful when you aren’t? Doctors are wrong ALL THE TIME. Every day. Knock it off.)

This month’s motto, thus far? WE ARE NOT IN MOURNING. Stop it. For reals. She can be healthy. She can be well. She can have hope. This does not make us idiots, it means we are making educated opinions about our own situations, because we have a complete picture of all of the circumstances.

Also, though, that doesn’t mean it’s not the hardest thing any of us could’ve imagined. Seriously. This is like a marathon that never ends. We don’t need the weight of other people’s pessimism weighing us down right now. If all you’re going to do is make somebody cry, stay away. We don’t have time for that. Bring her flowers and encourage her on her journey. Don’t bring her your guilt about staying away when she needed you. That’s lame.

She’s been everyone’s supporter and cheerleader her whole life. Now it’s time to return the favor.

Ugh. Some people, though.