Author: Beth Caldwell

Grown Up Movies for Kids: Singing in the Rain

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I suppose this could also be a Beth’s Classic Film Club selection, but since we’ve already had a Gene Kelly movie, and since The Boy freaking LOVED it, I’m adding Singing in the Rain to my selection of Grown Up Movies for Kids. What’s that? You’ve never seen it? Do you live under a rock? Are you named Jennifer and do you write Real Life Parenting? Please just go find yourself a copy, you’ll be glad you did.

First, let’s talk about swearing, nudity and violence. None, none, and hardly any. This was the 50’s, they didn’t do nudity or swearing, and violence wasn’t in as many movies, and when it’s there, it wasn’t gory. The violence in Singing in the Rain consists of Gene Kelly’s character being a stunt man for a while, so he gets punched and crashes a plane. Oh, and at one point, a character gets hit in the face by a pie. Is that level of violence a problem for you? Then you’re probably not reading my blog anyway.

Singing in the Rain has inspired The Boy to pursue a career as a stunt man. And not just because Gene Kelly’s character is a stunt man, but because of the iconic dance number by Donald O’Connor, Make ‘Em Laugh. After watching this movie, The Boy spent the rest of the evening doing that spin-around-run-on-the-floor thing that Donald O’Connor does during that song, and also falling backwards onto the sofa. It was all I could do to convince him not to try more of the movies from that number because we were going to need some mats to keep him from injuring himself. We had to have a talk about Donald O’Conner being an expert and that his moves were something The Boy shouldn’t try at home. (Thank you, Mythbusters, for making this a phrase that The Boy is familiar with.)

Both kids liked the singing and dancing in this one, and there is plenty of it. It feels like you can’t go more than a couple of minutes through most of the movie without there being a song. And the technicolor is particularly eye-catching for kids and helps keep their attention, kind of like a cartoon does. I will say, though, that the “her voice sounds awful, she can’t be in a talking picture” plot didn’t make a ton of sense to them. Like, I think they didn’t understand about what a silent film was like. I think we need to expose them to some silent films for them to fully understand. Maybe The Golden Eaglet.

Singing in the Rain is part of the cannon of American cinema–it’s a film that everyone should see, and luckily, it’s one that kids can love as much as adults. So, if you haven’t watched it, or if you haven’t watched it with your kids, I hope you will–and post what they think of the film in the comments!

How are the kids?

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I have no idea what is the “right” way to talk to your kids about cancer. I’m sure there are a lot of people who think I’m doing it wrong. I really don’t give a shit, though. One thing about The Cancer is I really can’t bother giving a shit what anyone thinks about the way I’m parenting. I mean, I didn’t care much before, but now? I really don’t have the energy to spend on that crap anymore.

So, the kids. Lots of folks have asked me how they’re doing with this whole cancer thing, and how we talk to them about it. And what I say is that we’re oversharers, so we just talk about it. That’s how our family rolls with everything, so it would be weird NOT to talk about The Cancer. And that’s why we told The Boy the day I got the first biopsy results. We picked him up from school, and as we drove home, I said, “I have something important to talk to you about. Have you heard of cancer? Do you know what it is?” He had heard of it but didn’t really understand what it is, so I explained to him that it’s a sickness, that it’s not catching but that it’s kind of a big-deal sickness, and that I just found out I have it, and that it’s in my breast. He asked if I was going to die, and I told him no, that I’m going to beat up that cancer, and he said, “I’m going to punch it in its private parts. Does it have private parts?” And then he said, “I’m hungry, can we get something to eat?”

The next morning before school started, we had our evaluation meeting (he qualified for special ed for his ADHD–they’re doing all his services in the regular classroom and he’s making AMAZING progress already) so we told his teacher and the school psych about The Cancer. So, when he went to class that morning, he told his teacher about The Cancer, and she asked if he wanted to tell the class about it. And we’re oversharers, so of course he did. The Boy got up in front of the class and said “My mom has cancer” and his teacher explained to them what cancer is, and then he took questions. When he came home, he told us about it and said “I wish they had asked more questions.” And now everywhere he goes, The Boy introduces me by saying “That’s my mom, she has cancer.”

What I’m saying is, The Boy is not bottling anything. He talks about The Cancer whenever he feels like. In fact, we’ve had to explain that other people might feel uncomfortable talking about The Cancer, even though we talk about everything in our family. He’s confused by that, like, he just doesn’t understand why people wouldn’t want to talk about whatever is on their mind, even if it’s scary or whatever.

As for The Girl, she’s small enough still to not really understand what cancer is. We’ve explained that I’ve got a sickness and that the medicine makes me tired and makes my hair fall out, which is why Daddy shaved my head. (We made sure both the kids were there for the shaving, because I knew they’d be less weirded out than if I just came home one day without hair.) But, she doesn’t seem upset by any of this. Both The Girl and The Boy seem to give more hugs lately, and enjoy a cuddle more, but otherwise? They seem about the same as they always are.

I guess what I’m saying is, kids bounce. It’s not easy for them anymore than it’s easy for me, but they’re tougher than we think they are.

Cocktails with the Cult: Easy Mojito

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I have a couple of girlfriends who semi-regularly come over to our house to hang out and eat Chinese food and drink mojitos. I know, those two things have nothing to do with each other, but who cares? Mojitos are awesome and the Chinese place makes really good honey walnut prawns. (And now I’m hungry for honey walnut prawns.) Mojitos are also awesome for spring, amiright?

Now, I’ve shared some hard-to-make cocktails from time to time, but it should also be clear by now that I’m completely lazy and I’m going to take shortcuts if they don’t ruin a drink. And muddling mint and lime is tiring. So, I’m giving a shout out to Stirrings, a company that makes some really fantastic mixers, including a mojito mixer that’s incredible. It’s also not made with a zillion unpronounceable ingredients. (No, they aren’t paying me to write this–nobody pays me to write anything. I just like their product.)

So, here’s the recipe for a mojito:

3 oz. Stirrings Simple Mojito Cocktail Mixer
1.5 oz. rum
3 oz. club soda

To mix, shake the mixer and the rum together with ice in a shaker, add the club soda, and pour the whole thing into a glass. YUM. Also, you can make a virgin mojito with one part mixer and one part club soda, and serve it over ice. Cheers!

Why?

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

Since The Cancer, a lot of friends have said things to me like “This seems so unfair. You’ve been through so much trauma already, and now this? Why does this have to happen to you?” But strangely, I haven’t asked that question myself. I haven’t wondered why I had to be the one who got cancer. Which made me wonder, why haven’t I wondered why?

At first, I thought it might be because I am not religious. I don’t believe in a divine plan, and even if there WAS one, I don’t think God would be such a dick that he would give someone cancer.As I’ve said before, if it brings you comfort to think that God did this and it’s for some important reason, well, OK, but that doesn’t bring me any comfort, and if you say it to me, I will probably tell you that I think your god is an asshole. (Freedom of religion: it cuts both ways, doesn’t it?) Because, I think illnesses happen because they just happen, and it’s not fair or unfair, it just is. This is also why I think health care should be a right and not a commodity, but we’ll save that for another post.

So, yeah, I thought, maybe it’s just my world view that makes me not ask why. But, then I thought back to how I reacted to The Boy’s early birth, and remembered: I did a LOT of asking why, but from a medical perspective. Not at first, but as time went on, I desperately needed a reason for why my water broke, how this all got started, what went wrong. And none of the doctors could tell me. They had hypotheses, sure, but no way to prove them.

For a while, I blamed myself. I must be the reason, if only I had done something differently, if only I had been more in tune with my body. Looking for a reason for the shitty things that happen can be a dangerous thing. It can lead you to blame people who aren’t really at fault. Including yourself.

It took a long time and plenty of therapy to come to accept that I would never know for sure why The Boy came early, but eventually I did. Doctors just don’t know all there is to know about the human body yet. They are researching as fast as they can, and they know a hell of a lot more now than they did even 10 years ago, let alone 100 or 1000 years ago. But they don’t know everything. And sometimes, they just don’t have the answers. Doctors know a lot more about cancer now than they used to–they know enough to tell people not to smoke, and to wear sunscreen–but they don’t have all the answers about why cancer happens. Especially when it’s a rare form, like mine.

We did ask my oncologist, who is extremely kind as well as extremely smart, how this could be stage IV already, when I just found the lump, and I do self exams regularly. (My paternal grandmother had breast cancer in her 70’s, lived 10 more years and died of non-cancer old people diseases, but her cancer was enough to get me doing regular exams.) He said that my type of cancer is really aggressive, and that there was nothing I could have done differently to prevent this from becoming stage IV.

See? Shit just happens. That was a totally adequate answer for me.

Beth’s Classic Film Club: Postcards from the Edge

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

OK, so this one isn’t strictly a classic–I mean, it’s not from the golden age of cinema, it’s from 1990. But it references the golden age of cinema, and also it’s an awesome movie, and one that’s been speaking to me a lot lately. I think it’s because Shirley Maclaine wears a head scarf in a scene at the end and has to paint her eyebrows back on. (In her case, it’s because of a car accident, not cancer.) But also, it’s about getting through a rough time and coming out on the other side of it, which also speaks to me.

Speaking of Shirley Maclaine, I love her. I don’t care if she thinks aliens are real or whatever, that woman can act. And nobody plays the overbearing mother like her. Her character is SO AWFUL and yet so lovable, it’s amazing. And she’s so awful for the reason that all of us moms are so awful–because it’s really really really hard for us to make the transition from parenting a helpless infant, to parenting an adult. Even though we have years and years to get used to the idea, we all have trouble taking a step back and watching our baby birds take flight. She also completely fucked up as a parent, and although she blew it bigger than I hope most of us ever will, she tried her best and she wanted the best for her daughter. We all try our best, and sometimes it isn’t good enough. How do we make it right when, not if, we make a mistake? Also, I love every time Shirley Maclaine talks about Mr. Mayer and the studio system, and when she performs “I’m Still Here.” It makes me want to stand up and cheer.

One of the things that makes this movie so relatable for me these days is how everyone tiptoes around Meryl Streep’s character after she comes out of rehab. I feel like that a lot since The Cancer. When you’re sick, or you’ve been sick, it makes people uncomfortable and it’s hard to talk about the sickness. I mean, everyone wants you to be well, wants to help you, but they don’t know how. And there’s a lot of talking about you to each other, that once in a while you get to overhear, but otherwise everyone is putting on a brave face about the illness, even  you. I love how this movie captures that so perfectly, and how good it makes Meryl Streep’s character feel when someone talks to her straight, like Gene Hackman’s character at the end.

I’ve talked about this movie so seriously, but man is it funny too. Annette Bening’s character is hilarious, and the grandparents are fantastic. And who knew Meryl Streep could be so funny?

Given the themes, maybe this one isn’t so much about box wine…but definitely grab some popcorn and check out this film, and let me know what you think in the comments!

More About My Cancer

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

When I last explained my cancer, I left you hanging about treatment and the extent of the cancer. Let me update you, because a lot has happened since that appointment with the surgeon.

So, I have had lots of tests run, and they almost all came with bad news. The cancer is a rare type called neuroendocrine, and isn’t just in my breast. It’s also on the top of my femur, on my sternum, and in a lymph gland near my heart, in addition to the main tumor, which is pretty huge, and the stuff in the lymph glands by my breast. That means it’s Stage IV cancer, which is the worst stage. The only way it could be worse is if I had tumors on major organs, like my lungs or liver.

Basically, what that means is, I am almost certainly going to die of cancer  someday. We hope that someday will be a looooong way down the road. But, it may not be. My incredibly kind oncologist, a delightful man in his 30’s who doesn’t mind my inappropriate sense of humor, is hopeful that because I am young for having cancer, and otherwise healthy, I have a good shot at the “down the road” prognosis.

Treatment plan is this: I am having chemo, and I also am having radiation on the femur and sternum tumors, because those two are causing pain. If I wasn’t having pain, they wouldn’t bother with radiation, they would just let the chemo do its thing. Surgery on the primary tumor would be a “maybe, later” thing, if the chemo works, which, it has so far–first check after the chemo showed the primary tumor had shrunk, so we appear to be on the right track. The chemo is 3 days in a row of treatment every 21 days. The first round, I was suuuuper tired during those 3 days and the 2 following, then progressively less tired each day after that. I’m working when I can (my office has been super about flexible schedule and telework) and resting when I need to. After chemo is done, I’ll move onto hormone therapy. My cancer is a type that should be receptive to hormone treatment, which is another good thing–some cancers aren’t.

Lots of folks have asked me about nausea, but the drugs for that kick ass. I haven’t puked at all. When I start to feel nausea, I pop a pill. I‘m eating normally and haven’t lost any weight. The other side effect, of course, is hair loss. It started falling out in clumps about 2 weeks after I started chemo, just like you see in the movies, like handfuls of it in the shower one morning. I bought a wig. Some folks have asked why I don’t just rock the bald look or wear scarves, but having hair, even fake hair, helps me feel more normal. I think it’ll be easier on the kids too. The Girl likes to brush my hair, and this way she still can.

So that’s it, that’s the story. I promise to keep you all updated as treatment progresses, and stay tuned for my take on what radiation is like.

Cocktails with the Cult: The Final Word

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

When The Hubs and I first started dating, we’d been together for maybe a month or so when I first got to meet The Hubs’ best friend. We’ll call him Mr. E. The three of us went to a pool hall because Mr. E and The Hubs like to play pool, and I like to play pool badly and watch other people play it well. I liked Mr. E immediately, he seemed like a good guy who had The Hubs’ back. This was confirmed to me when The Hubs stepped away to use the restroom and Mr. E turned to me and said, “If you hurt him, I will kill you.” And I was like, “OK.” And he was like, “No, seriously. If you hurt him, I will hunt you down and I will kill you.” And he clearly meant it. And I was like, “OK, fair enough.” It didn’t terrify me like you might think it would have, because I was pretty sure already that I was going to marry The Hubs. Actually, it made me feel glad to know that The Hubs had someone like Mr. E who was going to be there for him no matter what, come girlfriends or high water.

Now, it turns out that Mr. E is not only an awesome friend, he’s also a pretty damn good chef and bartender too. Mr. E does not make food or drinks with shitty half-assed ingredients. Mr. E makes mimosas with orange juice he has freshly squeezed. Mr. E makes elk steaks from the elk he shot himself. So when I made a request for a cocktail for this month’s Cocktails with the Cult post, oh man, did Mr. E come through. This one looks like a hum-dinger. You’re gonna need a special trip to the liquor store, but it’s gonna be worth it.

Without further ado, I bring you The Final Word, a la Mr. E.

3/4 oz. Bulleit Rye
3/4 oz. Green Chartreuse
3/4 oz. Luxardo maraschino
3/4 oz. fresh lemon juice

Shake with ice, serve straight up.

I can’t wait to hear how you guys like this one! Cheers!

What We Need: A solution to child care costs

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

It’s been a while since I wrote one of these posts about what women need and what we can do together to try to make our lives better. Today I’m going to write about a topic that’s been a big one for both my family and the families of many of my friends: the cost of child care.

I live in a big city, Seattle. Around here, the going rate for full-time care for an infant at a child care center is somewhere between $1500 and $2200 a month. Yes, you read that right. When we started looking for child care for The Girl, first of all, EVERYWHERE had a wait list. We literally got on a wait list for a daycare the day we found out I was pregnant. But what really amazed me was the cost: $2090 a month. For one kid. And we provided the food and diapers. Let’s break that down for a minute. I work at a good job with a (barely) 6-figure salary. After retirement contributions, health insurance, taxes, and all that, I bring home about $2400 every two weeks. So basically, almost half my take-home pay would go to paying for child care costs at that daycare center.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that a lot of families look at those costs and say “Fuck it, I’m staying home with my kid.” I mean, I make enough money to make it work, but I’m a lawyer and I have a husband who also has a good job with a good salary, so we can make it work. What if I made half what I do? What would be the point of me going back to work? It would make no financial sense at all.

Now, I don’t begrudge child care workers their salary. Because, honestly, do you know any child care workers who are rich? Like, seriously, the (mostly) women who provide child care in this country work long hours of dealing with tantrums and poop and gazillions of children all at once, for often very low pay. The whole thing is completely fucked up. We can barely afford to pay for child care, but they can barely afford to live on what we can afford to pay them. How the hell did this mess happen?

I think the real structural problem is the way that labor and family rearing have evolved in this country since the 70’s. Women can work now, and workplace discrimination is slowly receding, but with women coming into the workplace, there has been no change to the way we structure salaries and work hours to reflect that somebody’s gotta be watching the children. Who is that going to be when both parents are working outside the home? It’s got to be someone, but somehow, society hasn’t evolved a solution to make child care affordable for working families.

What is the solution, then? Honestly, I have no idea. Child care workers deserve decent pay; families need safe and affordable places for their children to be while their parents work. I’ve seen people float the idea of tax credits as a way to offset child care costs, or perhaps subsidies for low income families. Coops seem to help for people who can make those work? Maybe there is no silver bullet, but I feel like there HAS to be a way to make it less shitty. So, if you know of a great idea to fix this, please share it in the comments.

Beth’s Classic Film Club: Cleopatra

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

It’s been all down and depressing around here lately, hasn’t it? Let’s cheer things up a bit with a little movie night, shall we? I bet you could use some box wine and popcorn, amiright?

OK, so Cleopatra. I fucking LOVE this movie. I know people thing it’s overdone schlock, but I don’t give a shit. Elizabeth Taylor was a fucking goddess AND a damn fine actor. And the incredible and yet totally fucked up sexual energy between her and Richard Burton in this movie practically lights your television on fire.

Besides that, there’s the sets and costumes, which cost a fortune. That’s not costume jewelry, my dears, that’s actual gold. And that is why if you watch this movie on a tiny TV in pan and scan instead of letterbox, I will come to your house and I will smash your TV in. I mean it. If you have a shitty little. TV, get yourself to a friend’s house so you can actually see the props and the sets and the costumes as they were meant to be seen.

And as if Richard Burton wasn’t enough, this film has Rex Harrison in it too. I mean, there’s like two whole movies in this movie, you don’t even get to the Richard Burton part until the second half. Is this movie long? Yes. Is it overproduced? Yes. THAT IS THE FUCKING POINT. When we say they don’t make movies like they used to, we mean a studio can’t afford to make movies like Cleopatra anymore. It’s incredible, you will literally never see anything like it ever again.

Look, I’m not saying you should watch Cleopatra as if it’s some perfect, serious movie. This is not Schindler’s List. It’s Cleopatra. Imagine how much fun Liz and Dick had on the set–how much booze and how much fighting and how much sex. And just watch it ooze out onto the screen.

I love this movie so much. Just, watch it, and maybe even upgrade from box wine to the hard stuff, and I bet you’ll love it too.

I am a fraud

Posted on by Beth Caldwell

I can’t begin to tell you how many people lately have called me their hero, or said how strong I am. All because of the cancer, and how I am keeping my chin up most days. I am keeping my chin up most days, but dude, what choice do I have? I can lay down and die, or I can get up and keep fighting. I mean, maybe if I was alone and didn’t have a family that needed me, maybe I could just lay down and die. Probably not, though. I’m too mad at the cancer to let it win.

Also, yeah, there are days where I just sit and cry a lot. Where I can’t be useful to my family who needs me, not just because I am physically a wreck from the chemo, but also because I can’t stop crying. On those days, The Hubs tells the kids I am sleeping and I lay in bed and mourn the life I had just a few weeks ago. A life that didn’t involve doctor appointments and medications I can’t pronounce. A life where I didn’t have to figure out what happens to my life insurance through work if I have to stop working.

I don’t show that face to the world much. I did the same when The Boy was in the NICU–although, I think I also didn’t show that face to myself when he was in the NICU. I was in total denial that anything was wrong then. Now? I know. I know my best case scenario is chemo that works, radiation, a radical mastectomy, hormone therapy, and pills for the rest of my life, however long that is. Or, maybe the chemo won’t work. Maybe I feel exhausted and queasy for no good reason and I won’t make it to Christmas. Either way, my future is not what I thought it would be a month ago.

But I get up every morning and I hope, as scary as it is to do. I hope to see my kids graduate and go to college. I hope the medicine works. I guess that’s what makes me brave–it’s being scared, and sad, and going forward anyway. But I still feel like a fraud when someone calls me their hero.