not that you asked...

I HAD NO IDEA *Now with clarification!*

HOLY CRAP, you guys. I honestly can’t figure out who among us is smoking more crack: me, the person who has a Thing that she decided to write about on the Internet in a moment of Writer’s Block, or ALL OF YOU, who actually think that all your begging and pleading will convince me to REVEAL IT. Also something that does not help your case: ALL THAT DEMANDING TO KNOW in what I perceived to be an angry tone of voice. Oh, and calling me mean and horrible! That really gets you nowhere, EVEN IF YOU WERE KIDDING.

Honestly, I had no idea this post would incite such a Comment Riot. I didn’t think you would care! And I figured if you DID care, that you’d care in a much less frightening and imposing way.

There are some things we have to address here.

First of all, if you are worried because you don’t have a Thing, and maybe you suspect you should? FEAR NOT. I promise you, if you had the same Thing I deal with, you would absolutely, most DEFINITELY know. You would so totally know, I SWEAR. What I do to myself is not something everyone needs to do. And frankly, if you must know, it doesn’t even take a full 30 minutes to correct! But I figure while I’ve secured a good chunk of time to linger in the bathroom, I might as well take a few extra minutes to paint my toenails or give myself a mini-facial or read a magazine after I attend to The Thing. Do you feel better now, Thing-less people? It’s OKAY not to have a Thing! God made you that way, which is to say, God made you a little less… uh, high-maintenance than he did some of us.

Second of all, those of you who HAVE a Thing, and who feel much like I do about MY Thing (which, in case you missed it, is: Moderately Embarrassed and Also Not Willing To Talk About It), thank you for saying so. For the most part, you all seemed to feel similarly. You deal with it discreetly, you’re sometimes ok with your spouse knowing the situation exists, but the day you have to TALK about it with that person is also the day you are DEAD INSIDE. I get that! I respect that. I don’t care if we’re talking about your mustache or your toenail fungus or those crazy nipple hairs that appear after you’ve had a baby and your hormones are going all wacko. I feel your pain. Especially about the nipple hairs, even though nipple hairs are so totally not My Thing.

THIRDLY. I am not administering enemas. I am glad that so many of you were so concerned about my Bowel Condition that you felt a pressing need to email, but no. No no no. Regularity is practically my middle name.

Fourthish. So, in all honesty, The Thing probably isn’t that big of a deal. I mean, I loved that there were a lot of you who also have a Thing that you consider moderately embarrassing and yet, you laughed about its existence with your husbands. But for me, even though I realize most of you would actually be disappointed if I revealed how non-exciting/non-horrible my Thing is, I just… I just can’t, and I think that’s because that comment, all those years ago, made me self-conscious about it for good. I mean, still, something like 15 years later, I can barely think about that moment without wanting to lie down in a busy intersection. It was MORTIFYING, you guys. So mortifying, in fact, that it pales in comparison to the time in seventh grade when someone told me that my maxi pad was so huge that it looked like I stuffed a pillow down my pants.

YES. REALLY.

So you know what’s mainly preventing me from telling you The Thing, right? I mean, besides that whole thing about how it makes me want to throw myself in front of a truck. Also because I am stubborn.

So, eh. I don’t know. Give me some more time to think on it. Let me mull it over. Allow me to become COMFORTABLE with the idea. And while I’m mulling, you can apologize for calling me mean and horrible. And then you can send money, because I am starting to wonder if perhaps I need Thing Therapy.

* * * CLARIFICATION * * *
OK, so I feel like I have to clarify that I am not the least bit angry or frustrated with anyone. This little rebuttal was written BEFORE I figured out that you guys really and honestly thought I was purposely dangling a carrot in front of you. I swear, when I wrote the original post, I thought nothing of it. I wasn't purposely trying to elude anyone, or make it into a tease. I really wasn't. And it wasn't until this post was posted (which didn't come across as lighthearted as I meant it to; I could have used a few creative writing courses in college, I guess) that I realized that. So, apologies to everyone who thinks I am angry or that their comment MADE me angry or that WE ALL CAN'T JUST GET ALONG. 

Sigh. And I hear you on the wetsuit. YOU GUYS DON'T FORGET ANYTHING, DO YOU. Well, crap. Now I owe you a wetsuit video AND my Most Embarrassing Body Quandary. SUCK.

The Thing

There’s this… thing I do every six weeks or so. It’s kind of like routine maintenance for my body. The way it works, each and every time, is that once I remember I should do it, I announce to my husband that I will be locked in the bathroom and COMPLETELY UNAVAILABLE for the next half hour or so, and then, as I’m trudging up the stairs to do my work, he peppers me with six thousand questions, all of them variations on the basic theme, “But what are you going to DO in there?”

I never tell him. I never WILL tell him. And if he really wanted to find out, all he’d have to do is rummage around in the cabinets under the sink in my bathroom and the answer would be OBVIOUS. I suppose he might never have thought of doing that (because he is respectful and kind 96 percent of the time and I make it pretty obvious that I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT), but what I like to think is that he doesn’t actually WANT to know.

Because, remember? I am the kind of wife who pees with the door open and who had a five-year battle with warts and who was suspected of CRAPPING THE BED ON HER HONEYMOON. In other words, if it embarrasses me to verbalize to him what it is I’m doing in there, it must be pretty awful.

In actuality, it probably isn’t that bad, like, at ALL, really. Except that one time in high school, someone made an offhand, joking remark about The Thing, and that comment has stuck with me ever since. I even remember what I was wearing when the comment was made (it wasn’t particularly cute). And as a result, I have remained hypervigilant about keeping The Thing under control.

Let’s be clear here: I’m not huddled inside the bathroom filing down my extra finger or shaving my unibrow into two separate entities or doing any kind of aggressive internal cleansing to prevent odor or anything. But I am still SO EMBARRASSED about it. I don’t know anyone else who does The Thing, nor do I even know of anyone who looks like they SHOULD do something about Their Thing. I feel… so alone and isolated in my… Thingness.

In fact, remember when Survivor first came out? And everyone was all, SURVIVOR! AWESOME! and the first three or four seasons were so fun to watch and everyone was thinking about how great it would be to actually be on Survivor?

And there I was, thinking, “There is no way on God’s green Earth that I could be on Survivor because what in the world would I do about My Thing?” It is bad enough that I wouldn’t be able to keep my bikini line in check (I know what you’re thinking: pre-trip WAXING, DUH, but you apparently aren’t aware of my Aggressive Hair Regrowth Problem). Anyway, HEARTBREAKER—Survivor was totally out, becuase I couldn’t let My Thing be revealed to the world via national television.

Now you’re dying to know what it is, aren’t you? I BEG OF YOU NOT TO WAGER A GUESS IN THE COMMENTS. That would just be like creating a multiple choice answer key where Dave could begin his Thing research.

Is there anything you refuse to share with your husband or spouse? I can’t be the only one, right?

Another Emily Update

Asher is screaming at me from the other room, so forgive me for cutting and pasting from Emily's CarePage. I wanted to make sure everyone who wanted to be involved was exposed to this latest fundraising effort. Also, I have gotten lots of wonderful emails from people whose children are also praying for Emily, and this is a wonderful project for them to do with you. I've also gotten lots of emails from people who want to send written messages, and this is a great way to do that!

On a related note, Emily's chemo will begin this coming Thursday. It is the first day of what will likely be at least a year (most likely, more) of treatment in Boston. Please keep the entire family in your thoughts and prayers. The good news is that they're doing great, and Emily is feeling healthy and strong.

From Emily's CarePage:

Hi everyone! This is Christie, Emily’s aunt and Katie’s sister. First, I want to say thank you so much to everyone out there for all of your love and support. I can’t tell you how much it means to Emily, Katie, Brian and to our entire family. We couldn’t get through this tough time without your countless prayers, love, and positive vibes so keep them coming! We love you all so much.

Now, I know everyone has been anxiously awaiting news on how to get their own Emily bracelet and I am very happy to say we been able to get this all figured out!

The bracelets are solid green (Emily’s favorite color!) and say Emily Faith Hope Love with tiny hearts between each word. They are adult size (not youth size). The bracelets are $5.00 each, but any donations above this amount certainly are welcome! ALL proceeds - 100% - will go into the Emily Anne Mandell Fund at Bank of America. Checks should be made to Alan Levin.

To order your own, please send a SELF-ADDRESSED, STAMPED envelope to:

Alan Levin
6319 Mayfield Lane
Warrenton, VA 20187

The bracelets weigh 2 ounces each, so please figure the weight when calculating how much postage to put on the envelope. The order for the bracelets should arrive in about 2 weeks, so if you order today your bracelet will arrive in about 2 1/2 to 3 weeks.

We are so excited to have a way for everyone to show their love and support for Emily every day from Virginia, to Boston, to Australia, and everywhere in between!

Ok, and we have another little project that we’d like to get everyone’s help on. We want to let Emily know how many people out there are thinking of her and wanting to wrap their arms around her in a big hug! If you’d like to participate, trace your hand on a piece of paper (preferably something a little bit thicker than your printer paper), and cut it out. Then decorate it however you would like and write your best wishes, thoughts and prayers to little Emily and her family. Then, send them to:

Kelin Dotts
5010 Hill Street
La Canada, California 91011

She will punch holes in them and string them all together so that Katie and Brian can hang them around her room. This will be a visual reminder of how many of us are praying for & embracing little Emily. We would like to be able to work on this and get them mailed to the Mandell family within the next couple of weeks so please spread the word and get your hand mailed out as soon as possible! Also, if you have more than one hand, it would be great if you could string them together before sending them to Kelin. Save her a little time!

Thanks so much to everyone. We are so happy to be able to show Emily how many people love and care for her and know that she is going to beat this!

Anniversary

One year ago this month, I joined Weight Watchers Online. It only took me about two months after the day I signed up to lose between 20 and 25 pounds. Two or three months after that, I hit my goal weight; a weight which I originally only entered into the computer system because it was the highest weight that Weight Watchers would allow for my height. I have lived the last eight months in a state of alternate disbelief and euphoria: the body I have always wanted is mine, and it was surprisingly easy to achieve. My only regret is that I lived so many years of my life heavier (and therefore more uncomfortable) than I ever wanted to be.

I have to be clear that “the body I’ve always wanted” isn’t actually the same body I thought it was. In my teens and early twenties, the body I REALLY wanted wasn’t one I could realistically achieve. My body, like so many others, wasn’t genetically engineered to host toothpick legs and a tiny torso. After I had Asher and decided that I didn’t feel good about my body in its postpartum, cheese-eating, couch-potato state, I had to reevaluate what it was I actually wanted. Because no matter how hard I tried, no matter how little I ate or how many miles I jogged, I was never going to look like Heidi Klum.

What I decided I wanted out of my body was this: I wanted to feel confident. I wanted to be comfortable. I wanted to run farther and faster; I wanted to be a good role model; I wanted to be able to wear a swimsuit (not even a bikini, just a SWIMSUIT) without feeling like wrapping a beach blanket around myself to walk thirty feet to a public bathroom.

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time wondering what it would have been like to have been born as one of those skinny girls who never had to worry about eating right or exercising. I was never angry with God about the way he made me; and despite my desire for a different figure, I was always confident that I had a great personality and a good head on my shoulders and I never got truly caught up in mourning the could-have-been body. I loved being myself. But still, I thought about it. I wondered what life was like for people who could get up in the morning and choose from more than two pairs of pants that they felt comfortable in. Who could wear skirts without a second thought, while I was worrying about my thighs rubbing together and chafing. Who could take a lunch to school that contained cookies without worrying that someone was thinking, “She certainly doesn’t need to be eating that.”

That body I thought about back then isn’t at all the body I want now. The body I want now—the body I HAVE now—makes me happier than that Dream Body could have ever made me. What I have now is a body I am not self-conscious about, even though I sometimes still need a double-digit pants size. What I have now is a body I am not ashamed of, even though it doesn’t look like anything featured in a glossy magazine. What I have now is a body I am proud of, because I am healthy and strong enough to do whatever it is I need to do, and be what I need to be, for my husband and my children.

Now, when I put on clothes in the morning and stand in front of the mirror, instead of thinking, “If I could just lose five or ten more pounds…” I am instead thinking, “I look good. And I am content.” And granted, this is the smallest size I’ve ever been and the lowest weight I’ve ever been in my entire adult life. But the thing is, I know I could be smaller—if I worked at it, if I dedicated myself to it, if I let it take over my life. If I let it become my focus. I could whittle myself down to an entire size 6 wardrobe if I really had to. If it was important to me.

But I am healthy exactly where I’m at. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I really, really like myself. I am really and truly happy with myself. I am really proud of this body and proud that I did this myself and I am determined to stick with it. And because my attitude about myself in turn affects everyone around me, I am not going to let this 140 pounds of flesh be something that alienates me in any way from the people who I love—and who love me—most. Because I am healthy, I am a better mom, a better wife, a better person.

And it feels damn good.

An assortment of crap. LITERALLY.

First things first: Do you design websites? Do you want to redo this old ugly one? Well hey! GREAT! Because I WANT YOU TO. If you have the time and want the work, would you email me at the address over there under my picture? At this point in time, I’m not sure whether I want a complete redesign or just a new banner and colors and fonts or something, but that’s why you can contact me and play The Expert and I will play The Person With The Checkbook Who Says: To Whom Do I Make This Out? Also, if you’re someone who has USED someone to redesign their website, I would love to hear about that too. Thanks.

[Pause while I try to discern whether the sound I hear coming from the monitor is Asher breathing or Asher having another explosive diarrhea moment. I will wait five minutes—if the smell doesn’t reach me by then, I will assume the former.]

Something I have been thinking about lately is that someone who is all scientific and such should do a study on birds and their selective memories. Because I don’t know if you were with me last year when we had some minor bird trauma around this house, but

[OH LORD, IT IS DIARRHEA, I CAN HEAR IT BUBBLING INTO HIS DIAPER RIGHT NOW]

Ahem. It has been a few hours. I have been… uh, elbow-deep in some things. I’m sure you can imagine what.

Anyway, last year there was some bird trauma during the deck building process and yet the bird involved seems to be back in the area scouting out places to build her nest again. She seems to clearly recall that last year’s nest was built in our outdoor storage closet when we accidentally left the door cracked open. Or I assume this is the case as I have seen what I think is the very same bird revisiting the storage closet several times a day for the last week or so. (The door to that closet is VERY TIGHTLY CLOSED at present, and I have absolutely no intention of opening it up to more death and destruction.) 

So this is what I don’t understand: she remembers that last year she found a GREAT PLACE to build a nest. It was warm, comfortable, dry, spacious. It was quiet. It was in a great neighborhood with good schools. And she would obviously like to use it again. So why is it that she can remember all those details yet she can’t remember that last year not one of the offspring hatched in that nest MADE IT OUT ALIVE?

One of her two hatchlings fell out of the nest and onto the concrete while he was still all creepy and featherless. I picked him up and put him back in, but I believe she refused to feed him and then when he died, she pushed him back out of the nest. (Hateful! No respect for the dead!) And the other baby got out of the nest before his time as well (semi-feathery, but not enough so) and somehow managed to get a box of nails dropped on his head. (Husband still denies involvement! LIES! ALL LIES!)

Why would anyone want to return to the scene of such a horrific crime? Is it because it was so EASY to build the nest there? Is she lazy? Is it because this bird is an unflagging optimist who doesn’t let the past get her down? Is it because I fill up the birdfeeder ALL THE FRICKING TIME because I like to entice squirrels onto the deck so the dog can chase them off, in other words, FREE FOOD? I DON’T KNOW. I am perplexed and kind of suspicious and honestly, I’m still pretty disgusted with her for breaking into our bedroom last year and pooping all over the entire upstairs.

Things I Do Not Want A Bird Pooping Upon This Year:

Our new bedroom office space! With too many chairs and nowhere to put them!

Things I Would Not Mind A Bird Pooping Upon This Year:



Future Playroom, Current Big Hot Mess

Things That HAVE Pooped On Me Today But The Presence of His Stellar Attitude Has Meant That I Really Haven't Minded All That Much:

A few moments after this photo was taken, Asher actually managed to call and leave a four-minute long message for my sister-in-law that mostly just consisted of me yelling, "I HAVE to go to the bathroom RIGHT NOW. Please, just wait ONE MINUTE and I'll help you, but first I HAVE to use the bathroom, OK?" Thank you, God, for the small things, like the fact that it was a family member receiving this message and not, say, my biggest freelance client or my endocrinologist or one of my husband's poker buddies. Otherwise I would need someone to drop a box of nails on MY head. FROM A GREAT HEIGHT.

I cannot control THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE

Nor can I control whether or not it's shaky or stuttery or anxious-sounding, and if my voice had hands they would be SO VERY CLAMMY.

This morning I was interviewed by Kristi King of WTOP News Radio here in Washington for a piece called "Pass It On." Apparently she got wind of this website and the money it raised for baby Emily and wanted to do a story on it. So tomorrow (Tuesday) the story will air every hour from 5am until noon, and a written story will appear on WTOP.com.

Part of me wants to tell the world that Hey! Somebody INTERVIEWED ME and is PUTTING IT ON THE RADIO! During RUSH HOUR! Chances are people will actually HEAR IT! That's the same part of me that's excited about what this little step forward could mean for Emily and Brian and Katie and their mounting bills and expenses.

And then there's this other little part of me, the part that has no idea what snippets of my interview will make it into the story or whether those snippets sound witty and intelligent or possibly DOWNRIGHT CLAMMY.

I will post a link to the story when it goes live tomorrow. And you can listen for it here at the WTOP website starting tomorrow morning (I have no idea of the times it will air). Please don't tell me if it sounds terrible. However, if you hear my voice and think, wow, that voice absolutely MUST belong to some sort of supermodel with long skinny legs and swishy hair and callous-free feet, well, then you're more than welcome to email me and let me know. And then I will print that email out and frame it and hang it above my bed like I used to do with my Joey poster in sixth grade. I'd very much like that email to be the last thing I see before I go to sleep every night.

Emily Update

This evening, Emily will be transported to Children's Hospital Boston where she will remain until she completes treatment. Emily's doctors in Savannah feel very strongly that Boston is the right place for her to be, and that she should be directly under the care of one of the leading pediatric brain tumor specialists, Dr. Mark Kieran. Tonight, Katie will accompany Emily on a MedFlight and Brian will fly up separately to meet them. Your generosity is what is helping them get there! This is where the real battle will begin, so please continue to keep them in your prayers.

Mountaintop to valley

You know how when something really awesome happens, it seems like everything else around you falls into the toilet? WELCOME TO MY LIFE. It is pelting me with lemons and I have nothing with which to squeeze them for your stupid proverbial lemonade.

I don’t have to tell you how awesome it was to watch total strangers rally around your friends and provide much-needed moral and monetary support. Aren’t you tired of my incessant glee? Do you want me to stop thanking you already, FOR PETE'S SAKE? Maybe instead, you want to hear about the sucktastic side of things for a change!

Well, for starters, I got into a huge fight with my husband. Then we were contacted by a debt collection agency for an unpaid $50 power bill from SIX YEARS AGO. Oh! And then I ate sixteen thousand brownies and my pants got kind of tight. And then I started my period, and my pants were STILL TIGHT, so it was totally the brownies’ fault. And then! Then in the midst of last week’s Fundraising Madness I totally forgot a work deadline (uh… or three) and got a very stern warning-slash-“we’re VERY disappointed in your performance” email from my usually very kind and understanding boss and nothing feels quite so awful as letting people down does. Except maybe walking the dog while sobbing about the fight with your husband. Can you believe I still tried to smile and say hello to people the entire time? WITH TEARS ROLLING DOWN MY CHEEKS? They all looked kind of frightened, if I am being honest.

The good news is that a) Dave and I made up, b) the brownies are gone (unfortunately, not because I threw them away, because I ATE THEM ALL), c) the pants feel looser (this is just because I haven’t washed them so they’re all stretched out but I DON’T CARE ANYMORE) and d) I wrote a long apologetic email to my boss and even though I probably shouldn’t have mentioned anything about why I missed those deadlines, I went ahead and did it anyway. But I was very contrite and sincere about it so here’s hoping that turns out ok. Sadly, nothing can be done about the debt collection situation. (Enter Brownies As Solution.)

Also in the Helping Me Feel Better category was that we spent a lot time with friends over the weekend, and Dave and I officially started the Office Remodel project that I’ve been dying to start ever since I thought of it two weeks ago. I think I posted about the Office Remodel on my Parents blog and not here, so for those of you who are Officially Uninformed, what we’re doing is converting our home office into a playroom for Asher so that a) there won’t be as much plastic crap in the living room, b) he’ll be more adjusted to the idea of making it his bedroom whenever baby number two disrupts our entire household with all the screaming/crying/never sleeping, and c) hopefully I will be able to do some sporadic work in the bedroom while Asher plays in the playroom on the same level of the house. (Option C is a long shot, I get that, but a long shot I am willing to try for.)

Dave has been great about throwing things away. I am really proud of him for that, seeing as how he’s been holding on to about sixteen computer keyboards and three monitors for the last five years. That’s the problem with these IT-type people, they hold onto extra computer parts like your grandma holds onto bread bags. THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHING YOU CAN DO WITH THEM. But then Dave found this entire box of his old daily logs and calendars from his old job and I quickly advised him to throw them out because really? Your old calendars from work? Your To Do Lists and such? There is no room in my house for THOSE.

Except then I found a pile of MY old calendars and date books and even though I wanted to keep them REALLY REALLY BADLY, I am proud to tell you that I went ahead and made myself throw them out on principle. In other words, I threw them out because it is really wrong of me to think my own stuff is more important than Dave’s just because it is mine. I knew Dave would never miss those calendars. I knew I would never miss my old stupid calendars. But the epiphany was realizing that a lot of times, I consider myself and my stuff to be more important than him and his stuff. WRONG WRONG WRONG. Selfish and awful and WRONG.

And now that I’ve told you this, you’re not so surprised about that big hideous fight we had, are you?

But if you do remain sorry for me in some minor way, can I just ask you not to send any brownies? My hindquarters thank you.

Quick Monday Emily Update

Friday night, I got a call from PayPal. The woman on the other end of the line wanted to know if I was aware of the amount of activity the account had been receiving, and wanted to verify the situation with me. I said I was aware, and I probably could have left it at that, but because I am the kind of person who explains herself whether or not anyone ACTUALLY CARES, I gave her a brief rundown of the situation. "I wanted to set up a donation account for our friends and their daughter, who they just found out has brain cancer, " I said. AND THEN I KEPT TALKING. "And I thought that maybe I could generate a thousand bucks for them or something. I had no idea it would balloon to this magnatude." And then I giggled, because SERIOUSLY, MY (in hindsight) STUPIDITY AT EXPECTING LESS THAN ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.

PayPal Lady didn't really seem to care, she was just doing her job and following up on an account that was flagged by the computer system because it had generated almost $25,000 in under a week.

Twenty-five thousand dollars. You guys are amazing. And the amount keeps growing, except I will no longer have access to the numbers because HELLO, I finally figured out that I should maybe switch out the buttons and send any future donations directly to the Mandells' account instead. Which is what we probably should have done in the first place, you know, the hindsight thing and all, except that I really honestly did not think I'd have to do anything more than write them a decent-sized check when it was all over. Now we're trying to figure out how to handle this tax-wise, since the vast majority of the money is under my name and PayPal won't let us dump the whole kit and kaboodle into Emily's trust fund, only into a bank account with my name on it. No worries though, we think we've got it figured out and regardless of what happens, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. There is just no time to worry about tax issues when the words "brain cancer" are uttered. No time.

I say all of this because some of you have donated more than once, and now when you click through to the Donate page, you'll see Katie's email address and account instead of mine. I didn't want this to throw anyone off.

Likewise, we have had differing levels of success with the Bank of America account. We have had many reports that people have just walked in and donated; we've had other reports (mostly from California) that they have needed the account number in order to donate. What I would ask of you is this: I know it's a pain, but if you want to donate at BofA, would you mind trying it before asking for the account number? I don't know anything about banking practices and security, but I just don't feel comfortable posting an account number or emailing it out unless it is absolutely necessary. There is already a lot of information about this family on the Internet, and I don't want to risk any kind of identity theft or other problems for them if I can possibly manage it. So please, try donating at BofA and if it doesn't work, then email me and we'll figure something out. I hate to make you make two trips, but I have to work to keep this family's information as secure as possible as well.

I don't have any concrete information right now about Emily's future treatment plans, only that doctors are working to get her somewhere as soon as possible. Katie and Brian were further blessed this weekend by two wonderful families who also have children with AT/RT and who contacted them through this blog. They've been so encouraged by what they've heard from them, and are very hopeful for Emily's future. They also got to take Emily outside for a walk yesterday, the first time she's been outside the hospital in two weeks. So they had a great weekend (pictures are on the CarePages website, and the information to visit it is posted one entry below this one). Add to that the generous outpouring of prayers and support from everyone who has passed through this website this past week, and they are just feeling like they can do anything, and that includes beating this cancer.

I can't say it enough: Thank you to everyone who has donated, prayed and thought about this family. There just isn't an eloquent enough way to say it. Just thank you.

I am working on redesigning this website a little so that when the content goes back to me talking about myself in self-deprecating tones (and I assure you that it will, sadly), that there will be a sidebar dedicated to Emily and her progress that I will keep updated. I will also be keeping up the Donate button for as long as she's in treatment. Thank you again, everyone. I have never been a part of something so awe-inspiring and jaw-droppingly COOL. The Internet is awesome, and you all made it that way. Thank you again.

From Brian, Katie and Emily

Edited to add: Katie and Brian have created a CarePage for Emily. To find it, go to carepages.com, click on the blue button that says "Visit," and search for Emily12806. You will have to create a log in and password but the process is simple (you may actually have to sign in before you can search). From there you will be able to access updates on her condition and care, as well as see photos and leave messages for the family.