Week ...

I've decided to create a blog.  I'm not really the "blog type."  As much as I adore the interweb, I loathe reading blogs about people's daily routines, A-Z.  I don't think that is what a blog should be.  So, I'll write here and there.  I'll write about fairly pertinent things.  I'll ramble.  I will be the first to admit that I will go off on a tangent.  I was known as "Rose" in college - a kind referral to my favorite Golden Girl.  But, I won't tell you what color eye shadow I wore today.  By the way, I didn't wear any.  So, I'll start off with a brief synopsis of my life now:

  I'm Anna.  Nee Dorcas Anna Warren.  My married name is Anna Warren Schumacher.  That's what my social security card says, at least.  Now, if you're planning on stealing my identity, I would welcome that.  You'd be doing me more than a million favors.  I've got quite the history of bad luck.   I guess I SHOULD believe in karma, but ...

  I'm an extremely happy person.   I'm cynical, but happy.  I'll crack a joke at the most inopportune time and chances are only myself and the most pathetic other person in the room will laugh.  I'm a mama, a wife, a relative of and friend to many beautiful people, an actress, a hair stylist, an amateur marine biologist, and a breast cancer survivor.  The breast cancer thing will definitely be a large part of this blog, but it will NOT be the whole blog. 

  This week was a doozy.  I went through reconstructive surgery 3 weeks ago:  the most major in a series of surgeries that will render me a virtual Playmate of the Year.  Cancer DOES have its perks!  All went well.  I was planning on getting back to the salon on Wednesday, but unfortunately my precious little boy Silas ended up in the ER the same day as a result of a horrible virus.  After receiving bags of fluids that quickly made their way south all over the ER table, they had to admit him.  By the way, I'm not the type that edits clinical stuffs.  In any event, we ended up on the pediatric floor in isolation.  Funny thing was, it was just like any other room.  The only difference was the nurses and doctors entered the room wearing yellow smocks and gloves and sanitized everything.  We thought it was a hoot.  Kevin, my dear husband, and I were laughing at it until poor Silas got wise to the damned smocks.   As soon as they walked in he turned into Cujo.  The boy is half southern by the way.  

   Needless to say, after his temperature dropped, he was well hydrated, and I "accidentally" dropped everything that contained latex, cotton, or metal into our suitcase, we were sent home.  He's doing just fine now.  Fine enough that when I tell him to make sure he drinks his water, he tells me to "No!  Drink your beer, mama."  Bless Jesus, he's healed!