Pink Door House

October 1st. The starting line of that marathon called Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Though if you were to walk through the Pink Door House right now, you could look around and quickly surmise that October started pushing it's weight around here sometime in mid-September. I felt it, truly felt it, last night. I was frantically digging through our mountain of clean laundry...sure that there must be one more pair of clean little girl underwear...when the puppy peed. On the flo

The t-shirt. It was propelled into popularity when Marlon Brando bared his (and his biceps) in A Streetcar Named Desire. (That's right... I'm using my Apparel History classes!!) They are an iconic part of American fashion. We dress them up and down. Buy them in every color imaginable. Wear them to say where we have travelled, who we are voting for, our favorite team. Wearing t-shirts as a means of self-expression became popular in the 1960's. For me, it began in my teens. I l

It was girls' night out...I had finished chemotherapy and was taking a break at home in Moses Lake. I went out for sushi and wine with the wonderful women--other young moms--who had buoyed my little family through prayers and meals. I never felt more anchored to this community than I did that night. One friend fessed up that she made "soup" for dinner for her husband and Littles, combining a few different leftovers and a healthy dose of broth. Yum? We'll give her a pass...she

It all started with a dress. My friend Cyndi is one of those people who anticipates your needs before you even realize them yourself. I mean..how many of your friends sent Dulcolax after your mastectomy? She also knows my tendency to come across as lukewarm when I am overwhelmed.... and calls my bluffs. So when she said LuLaRoe was positevelythebestthingever, and I said meh, she still sent the dress. Let me say right now, this is not a sponsored post. I'm not getting paid for

Today, I just need to vent. I am so sick and tired of looking in the mirror and seeing a completely different person than the one who started this journey. I used to have long hair - now it's short. I'm overweight and uncomfortable. I hate wearing my "foobs," but if I don't wear them, I look like an old man with a beer belly. Those words aren't mine, but they could have been. They were a post in my online support group. A post that received dozens of comments (a few of them a