Wagyu Snafu

In between diagnosis and treatment, JP was desperate to try Wagyu beef as a last hurrah of gastronomic celebration before 20 weeks of GI trauma. After a consultation with a far-swankier-than-we-are friend, we ended up at Moo.... in the Seaport district.  We started the meal with Osso Buco. The waiter asked how everything was, and Tim responded, "It's amazing! JP, you should get cancer more often!!!" When the six slivers of Wagyu arrived, I recalled that Toby's Philly friend, Juliet, ordered and unceremoniously polished off an entire serving of Wagyu. It didn't seem like a feat until JP gifted me a wee bite. That tiny bite has fulfilled my Wagyu needs for life. Even sharing with me and Tim JP barely made it through 4 of the fingers on his plate and opted to have the other two wrapped up for his sisters. Steel prides herself on being a low-brow, not picky eater. Toby, like her brother, is a gourmand. Sadly, Steel came home, saw the take out container in the fridge and gulped down her own portion and Toby's completely unaware that she was eating $30 worth of steak from a highly pampered cow. She took no notice of the beef being the density and texture of butter with the flavor of the best steak ever made. Toby was FURIOUS to be robbed of her portion. When I said to her, "I'm sure you'll have more Wagyu opportunities!" She responded, "Mom, dancers are POOR!" I responded, "yes, but you seem to wrangle invites to posh places and nice restaurants regardless of your dancer handicap." She mused, "I guess that's true."

How are the girls coping? On Sunday May 4th Tim poured me and our friend, Craig, a generous whiskey. It was a prophylactic measure before walking to a neighbor's 70th birthday party where we might bump into a member of our town planning board who we had just named in a lawsuit. (I also think Tim, now a non-drinking person,  likes to live vicariously through his still-drinking friends) In addition to the possibility of a socially awkward encounter, I had been wrestling with JP's worrying bloodwork results, and alcohol is always such a big help when one is worried. 

The sisters regularly mock JP's hearing impairment, his fashion sense, and everything about him.  They are relentless with their dad and me as well; they are the family mean girls. During my whiskey with Craig, Steel sashayed into the kitchen and said something unnecessarily mean to her brother like, "JP, your hair is disgusting; why is it so greasy?" I'd had it and yelled, "Your brother is sick. He's probably still recovering from mono or some infection, but I might as well tell you that Dr. Murphy said that the worst case scenario is cancer, so will you back the fuck off?" 

Considering Craig's presence, I regret being so blunt. Steel ran up to her room above the kitchen. We heard it clearly when she dramatically flopped onto her bed and wailed. I rolled my eyes at Craig and apologized for being harsh but did confirm that cancer was a possibility. When I stood in Steel's doorway to check on her, JP had already run up and was cuddling her saying, "Don't worry! I don't have CANCER!"  as if such a notion was patently absurd. We let JP finish handling her drama and left for the party. We stiffly greeted the planning board member who, of course, arrived at the exact same time. My response to that awkwardness was to down four gin and tonics. Little did I know that they would be my last four drinks for quite some time, maybe forever.  We received that fateful, "if you're driving, pull over" phone call from JP's doctor less than 24 hours later.

In 4th grade, Steel and her friends met with the guidance counselor at the beginning of the school year. The counselor told them that one of their posse, Marley, was ill, "but everything was going to be fine." Throughout the fall, they watched Marley's features disappear into a puffy, steroid-induced moon face. On a blustery fall day, the girls optimistically marched along in a fundraiser for Marley that started at the fabulous "Please Touch Museum." Marley rode alongside the walkathon route in a golf cart, as she could no longer keep up. It was a fun day, but a few months later during a snow day in January, Steel and Margaret, her closest friend in the group, wept together on our couch. Marley had succumbed to her glioblastoma. Since then Steel has been skeptical when people assure her that "everything will be fine." In general Steel has a high bar for a happy ending.  in 2010, as we watched the credits roll at the end of "How to Train Your Dragon," I said something like, "Wasn't that a fun movie?!" Four-year-old Steel looked at me incredulously and said, "No! It was NOT fun! He LOST HIS LEG!"  She had a point.

Coincidentally we just had a family movie night to watch the live action 3D version
of "How to train your dragon"
It was, strangely, Steel's idea

Toby had been out during the "Back off; your brother might have cancer" blunder, so she had no preparation for the fact that JP might be seriously ill. She met his diagnosis with tears. In 2021, after the death of my mom, our decision to leave Philly and move to Manchester-by-the-Sea was the worst for Toby. She had a great class at Penn Charter. Her best friend, Juliet, was an only child who lives in the much-more-exciting downtown area, so Juliet's family would take Toby to fun places in the city. Toby was their first choice as a travel companion for Juliet, so Toby had gotten to go to Rome and Aruba with the Evans family. Toby loved her dance studio that was one mile from our home, and she, somehow, had the best bedroom in the house. Having finally gotten settled in MA, she had no interest in being uprooted again. She later admitted that she had thought moving to Canada was going to be the big announcement and was, thus, slightly relieved to hear her brother had a highly-treatable form of cancer.

People flock to you when you tell them you are going through a crisis. It's hard to know how to respond to offers of help. My brother and sister in law spent most of their "vacation" in New England from Florida working tirelessly in 90-degree weather to transform our home/construction site into a viable firework-watching venue from an OSHA disaster. I happily accepted their help, but they are family. When people offer meals, I don't know what to say. I've settled on fruit. We, as a family are unlikely to eat a lasagna but will always plow through raspberries, pineapple, strawberries, watermelon, and blueberries. I've taken people up on offers to walk Leo if we are going to be at Dana Farber all day. I also let one of JP's dear friends take leave from the army and fly home to transport JP to/from 3 chemo sessions, mostly because I thought JP would rather go with Finn than his boring mom and because I knew Finn was hating his job.

I have wanted to keep some semblance of normalcy for the girls. I have been loathe to accept offers to drive Toby places. She has a sharp sense of propriety and would feel awkward and horribly beholden to anyone interrupting his/her day to chauffeur her. However, Tim and I were with JP at Dana Farber on the day of her prom, so we were no help in getting her to a pre party or to the prom itself. Luckily one of my childhood BFFs, Mia, was in town and happens to be a cancer survivor. I reluctantly assigned Mia prom transport duty. Mia was thrilled to get some "Toby time," and Toby actually opened up to ask Mia some cancer questions that had been bugging her, so it wasn't all bad.

Still I was wracked with guilt. Toby made it to the prom, but the loose ends that I would have tied completely unravelled. Toby was supposed to do the nails of a friend of hers in the morning. The mom and friend arrived at our impenetrable construction site of a home at 10 am from 25 minutes away. Toby slept through the knocks and calls, and the poor friend returned home with her not-prom-worthy nails.  That would not have happened if I had been home.The flowers we'd bought for Toby and her friends to build bouquets never made it out of the house. It was 42 degrees and pouring out, but the fabulous faux fur coat hung sadly on its hook in the basement. I had planned to force her to wear it. I lamented all of this to Mia who said wisely, "natural consequences are a good learning experience-even if they suck."

post-prom pick up montage says it all

Steel went to her junior/senior prom with a friend date. I'm definitely not the mom who hosts a prom pre-party and does all the hair and make up, but I usually participate somewhat. This year I made boutonnieres, but Steel left both options in the car. She had done her bouquet with friends. She'd wrapped hers with packing tape. I made a mental note to find ribbon for it, but that never happened. I cycled to the Manchester-by-the-Sea prom picture spot, but depended on other moms to send me their photos. Steel as the middle child has been successfully raising herself all along, so she hardly noticed.

I always refer to her date as having a "cat who ate the canary" expression

Steel has informed me that she, "has a good side" and will never be photographed again from the other. I wish I had a good side.

Who cares about a packing-tape-wrapped bouquet?

Steel's date seems to have weathered his boutonniere-less existence.

Last summer Toby did a ballet summer intensive at Pacific Northwest Ballet. She loved the program and Seattle, and upon her return, her conservatory teachers raved about how much she'd improved. However, over the winter, when it came time to audition for various summer programs, I was conflicted. We invest so much time, travel, and money into Toby’s passion for dance. As much as Tim and I, also "creatives," want to invest in Toby, it was feeling unfair to her siblings. When Toby's away in the summer she isn’t making her own money nor is she helping with the chores at home, so it all falls on us/them. Despite knowing her dancing might suffer, I told her she needed to work over the summer and help out. She also needed to show some rigor in staying in “dance shape” on her own. I ended up allowing Toby a short 2-week intensive in Manhattan, and I had also let her accept an invitation to Greece with one of her dance friends. The rest of the summer she was slated to work.

After JP's diagnosis I was kicking myself that Toby didn’t have a long intensive to go to. Watching her sibling battle cancer is not the makings of a fun summer, and all of the schlepping to/from Dana Farber was going to make me balk at taking Toby anywhere. (None of her dance friends live close by.) As I deposited a pile of laundry in Toby's room, she lamented to me, "After the choreography show, Denise offered me a scholarship to Chautauqua this summer. I was so bummed to have to turn it down!" I stopped in my tracks. Chautauqua is one of the most idyllic places I've ever seen. It's a gated artist community in upstate New York situated on a massive lake. Cultured, arts/humanities-interested people summer there, so they can walk to world-class lectures and performing arts events. It is also super-prestigious and great for her dance resume. I gawked at her and said incredulously, "YOU WHAT????" Toby responded with some trepidation, "I told her I couldn't go because of the trip to Greece." I pointed to her phone and said, "Call her NOW and say that you'd be HONORED to accept. WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING????? This is a $7000 windfall!!! You will be with GREAT dancers taking classes with WORLD RENOWN DANCE TEACHERS!!!!!!!" Luckily the slot had not been filled, and Toby was able to gratefully accept. The one thing that gave me pause was when Toby mumbled, “I only got the scholarship because I wasn’t already booked; I don’t deserve it.” I told her I wasn’t going to let her go if she was going in with that hangdog attitude. She had to promise me she’d hold her head high and go into every class willing to learn and knowing that she deserved to be there because she’s worked hard. 

Toby has sent some video of the first performances of the summer. Obviously I miss her, so I kept watching the videos over and over.  I can’t help feeling like she’s having some sort of exponential dance “glow up.” She looks so sure, confident, graceful, and most-importantly, full of joy. I don’t like encouraging comparisons, but I asked her how she’s feeling in relation to the other dancers, and she responded, “I’m not the worst; I’m not the best; I’m in the middle.” I LOVED hearing that. I still cannot believe the timing of the scholarship. Our family definitely needed a break

Steel's summer has consisted of graduation parties, tanning, thrifting, and work. Usually a responsible person, she's been teetering on the line this summer. Laundry baskets overflow, her window unit is consistently left at 62 degrees while she's out gallivanting. The dog walking has been begrudging or non-existent. Her weekly towel/sheet consumption is off the charts. She and her friends consistently traipse throughout the house leaving piles of sand in their wakes. They concoct (out of fruit I'd prefer went to another use) sticky simple sugar mixers which somehow render the kitchen floor and auditory and tactile experience. The pulp ends up looking like barf in the sink. Pans covered with solidified mac and cheese from late-night munchies get stashed into the dishwasher with no attempts at a preliminary rinse or scrub.  At any given moment there are 3-6 glasses of unfinished liquid on every flat surface in her room. Clumps of hair line the walls of the shower. Feminine hygiene wrappers flutter around like butterflies. Candy wrappers and recyclables cling to the walls of her trash can. She and all her friends believe optimistically that air fryers and microwaves are self-cleaning. My least favorite thing about parenting is pointing out these infractions. I feel like such a petty cow, but letting this stuff go will 1. cause me to explode 2. render her friendless and alone. She's the embodiment of the worst roommate ever. Knowing in a year, she'll be in college in Canada, I am anticipating shameful comments like, "What do you expect? She's an American!" I know that Marley's death is probably on her mind more than she lets on and that her brother's diagnosis has really unhinged her, but I also have to try and be a parent.

Steel can also be wonderful, accommodating, funny, and she's our household dj. She's far more risk-averse than I was at her age. She'd planned to host a party and had, on her own, come to the realization that our construction site home presented way too many opportunities for her drunk friends to come to major bodily harm. I was so relieved when she opted to cancel. As mean as she can be to JP, she's also joking and loving. "JP! Everything you say is so much funnier, now that you're bald!" She caresses his head whenever she gets the chance. She did, at one point, chase him upstairs screaming, "Please! Please can I use a Sharpie and turn your head into a big boob?!" I was shocked when he wouldn't let her. He's the one who wears the "boobies make me smile" t-shirt. 

Steel's one excursion this summer is a trip to Turkey and Greece to visit her friend, Talya. She went last summer and loved it. Last weekend we had a wedding to attend. I responded to the "save the date" that we'd all be there as the groom is a first cousin. We spent hours sorting out JP's chemo schedule to accommodate the wedding weekend. Tim had to bow out because the project in Montreal to get an apartment ready for JP and his college roommates needed a huge "Timtervention." Toby was dancing. Steel, two weeks before we were to leave announced that she couldn't go because she needed to work before her big trip. I was conflicted about this. I thought she would love to be at the wedding, and I thought it's important that she attend. I also thought she was exhibiting responsible fiscal behavior, and I was happy we wouldn't have to bring the dog.

The Tuesday before we were to leave, Steel received a "no confidence" vote on her ability to responsibly stay at home alone and manage the dog. The incident involved a midnight decision to allow a sober friend to drive our Tesla to taco bell with 4 non sober friends in the car. My horror at this situation was compounded by the fact that a Philly friend was with her. That friend's parents a MUCH stricter than we are, so my sense of disaster is heightened by envisioning having to explain whatever went awry to Penelope's parents. Steel insisted that the driver did not have a junior license until I asked for a picture of the driver's license, then the story got a little hazier. Insolence and lack of contrition added to Steel's problems as did improper disposal of the Taco Bell bag and my waking up to a sticky kitchen despite warnings that both would utterly incense me. My final succinct words in the barrage of texts were, "cover your shifts" and "consequences" One would think that she'd have walked the straight and narrow between Tuesday and our departure on Friday to illustrate the point that I was being ridiculous, but no. Steel got so drunk Thursday night that she neglected to clean the shower for our house sitter and do her dog-walking shift despite getting a reminder text about both at around 9:30. She culminated her week of anarchy by vomiting out the window of the car on our way to Philly. The puke congealed onto the side of the car like an egg on a scalding, greaseless fry pan. It was hard not to respond to her hungover woes with, "your nausea is self-inflicted; your brother's is from cancer."

We never get sick of deaf kid jokes

10 out of 10, worth the trip, can't wait for the sequel! 

The wedding was actually lovely, life-affirming and love-affirming. Tim was astounded that all three of us raved to him about it on a call driving back to MA on Sunday. Steel could easily have refused to have fun because she was forced to go. JP is a 19-year-old man with very little interest in matrimony, ever. I am a devout eloper, and yet, all of us were moved by and thankful to be a part of the weekend. Speaking of sequels, my favorite part of the wedding was watching the silent exchange of expressions between the former wives of the father of the groom when he gave marital advice in his toast. He seemed to momentarily forget that both of his marriages had failed as he was so focused on the one at hand. Similarly, I hope I don't momentarily forget to parent my girls because I'm so focused on parenting the crisis.