In case you hadn't heard...

Preston got a dog. We "rescued" him (long story), and he's an absolute sweetie...when he's not being a pain in the rear; but that is pretty much the deal for everyone in our little family, so he fits in great. ;) We got him the Monday night before we left for Disney World (another long story), so we didn't have much bonding time before we left him for 8 days. Preston pretty much ignored that he had a dog while we were gone, but I don't blame him. Then, out of the blue, on the way home:

P: Mom, where is Malaki*?

Me: Um, at Duckie's. Remember, we took him there?

P: Well, when will he be home?

Me: We'll go get him once we get home.

P: I miss my doggie. (pause) I love him so much. (pause) He's my beeesssst friend.

Awww, sweet - I know, right? Except...he didn't ask about him one time for an entire week. Hey, the mouse is big competition.

Here is a pic of Malaki:P and Malaki: (it's kind of blurry, but they never sit still enough for a picture!)

And P and Malaki playing their favorite game:

As my friend Breanna put it, he's an adorable floor mop. Malaki will bring P the sock and he will just drag him all over the house! This picture was at Duckie's house - at least we have wood floors. ;)

* I don't know what your reference of Malaki is, but I am (now) aware (thanks to my husband) that Malaki is the evil kid in Children of the Corn, my sister used to teach a little terror named Malaki, and generally it's not a great name. BUT, Preston didn't want to change it. (I'm sorry Grandpa and Steph, I TRIED to push Peanut, but he said no way. His only other suggestion was Gunnar Peanut, and that was a big, fat NO.) So, Malaki is his name - and I prefer to think of the Malachi in the BIBLE ("Messenger of Angels" is what it means), instead of some demonized child. Albert thinks its funny to "demon call" him, and growl "Malaki," sounding like something out of the Exorcist. I'll admit that he does stiffen up and coming running a lot quicker...

Haircuts...

Duckie gave Preston a mohawk when he got his hair cut yesterday.

Of course, all this means I had to recreate it this morning...

I'll give myself an A for effort. Dude, I don't do mohawks; braids, ponytails, curls? - Yes. Mohawks? Unfortunately, I was too busy being a pain in the rear to enter my punk-rock phase in high school.

Stitches are contagious...

[Preston's Aunt] Stephanie's dog, Gunnar, was at Easter this weekend since they went and snipped his manhood that Friday, and he needed supervision. To say the least, Preston was excited, and the whole "I want a dog" conversation has been happening ever since. (I am proud though; when Steph told him to ask for a little sister, he adamantly disagreed that he'd rather have a dog. High five, kiddo!) Anyway, we had to - carefully - explain to him that Gunnar had to go to the doctor, and he had stitches to make him better and to be careful if you pick him up or something, because it might hurt him.

Anyway, he was running around outside while all of us, including Preston (not going there right now) were in the backyard, not unlike a bunch of rednecks, with a BB gun trying to shoot a plastic pipe in half. Of course we were concerned about shooting the dog - I learned after trying to shoot [Preston's Uncle] Brandon in the butt with the gun, that you don't point the gun at living things. Apparently, you may (or may not) accidentally pull the trigger. Unlikely, I know...but a strict gun safety rule anyway. The dog, however, wouldn't move when you yelled at him, because the cat poop he was trying to eat was more important. So, every time he ran in the way, one of us got up to chase him. (By "one of us," I mean someone other than myself.)

It was Preston's turn to get him. He was slowly following him around, waiting for his opportunity, when he looked back, disgusted, and said,

"Mom, I don't want to get stitches on me..." subconsciously rubbing his arms.

While hysterically laughing, I tried to explain that stitches weren't contagious. "It's like when you had a hole in your shirt, and mommy sewed it up so the whole was closed. Gunnar had a hole, and the doctor sewed the hole so it would be closed...it's just called stitches!"

He didn't look convinced, so I continued, "I promise baby, you can't get stitches."

"But, they're on his stummy, right?" He wasn't buying it at ALL. "Yes," I replied "but they CAN'T get on you."

P spent the next 5 minutes trying to pick up Gunnar without getting stitches on him.

*Note: I still don't think he believes us... (YOU try explaining it to a 3-year old!) he keeps making comments about stitches and being able to "get" them. I think he's testing to see if my answer stays the same. He also checks his arms every time they come up...

Monster Trucks and Cheaters

I lied. I posted nothing funny over the weekend, but that's only because P has been a little slow on the funny factor. Until Sunday...

My stepdaughter came over Sunday to visit, and Preston absolutely adores her. They were outside playing with Albert, when someone got the idea to race monster trucks down the driveway. I'm not sure whose idea it was, it could just as easily have been Albert's as Prestons, but it was a good idea and P has PLENTY of monster trucks to go around.

So they are outside, lining up their trucks at the top of the hill, and letting them roll down in a race. (It was actually quite entertaining, and reminded me of racing hermit crabs from a vacation to Jamaica when I was younger.) I get the bright idea to grab the checkered flag, and play referee/announcer. We're having a good ole time, when Albert disappears inside and comes out with this giant monster truck. Obviously, it's going to win every time...the kids are playing with Hot Wheels sized trucks.

They run a few races, and at first it's funny that the big one keeps winning. Then, the kids start getting frustrated that no one can beat Albert's truck, and begin complaining that the cheater truck keeps winning. As the referee/announcer, I disqualify the big one from racing and push it to the side.

They run a couple more races with the little ones, when Preston heads down the hill to retrieve his trucks, and I see it. That lustful side glance at the big one; a sure fire win, while his truck has been turning every direction but DOWN the hill the last couple races.

He grabs the big truck and looks dead at his sister and dad and says, "I'm going to be the cheater."

He spent the next morning ride telling me about how he was the cheater, and he had the "cheatist" truck. I suppose we should have a conversation about cheating BEFORE he starts team sports...

Not a funny story about P.Mike...

Below is an article I'm linking for some friends of mine that wouldn't otherwise have access to the information. It's a brief article run in the Fort Worth Start Telegram back in 2007, when the cancer treatment that could have potentially saved my aunt's life was beginning to gain notoriety. The project has since been placed back in "research" phase pending government grants (hopefully!), because private funding was harder to get than everyone thought.

It's not funny, and for that I apologize; but it's definitely a worthy cause, and worth taking a break for. And I promise, I'll try to post some funny stories this weekend to make up for it! :) The program is interesting and has showed great promise. Donations are still being accepted, and when the website is brought back up (when the $$'s get us closer to trials), I'll make sure I post again. Anyone interested in donating can send it to:

Sanjay Awasthi Cancer Research Fund
UNT Health Science Center Foundation
3500 Camp Bowie Boulevard, EAD 802
Fort Worth, Texas 76107-2699


UTA research is a potential lifesaver for cancer patients
Fort Worth Star-Telegram (TX) - Thursday, August 2, 2007
Author/Byline: O.K. CARTER, Star-Telegram Staff WriterEdition: TarrantSection: MetroPage: B2

Speak with University of Texas at Arlington cancer researcher and biochemistry professor Sharad Singhal and it's easy to come away with a conviction that you've just met one of the smartest guys on the planet.

Then turn around in the same lab and darned if there isn't another one, Sanjay Awasthi, full-time M.D./oncologist and somehow part-time biochemistry professor. Call it an intellectual tie.

Fortunately, all that brain power collaborates on research , a beneficial partnership for mankind. Their laboratory experiments with mice have stopped several types of cancer cold and in a hurry. Without harming the mice. They'll soon be ready to move on to higher-level exercises, including trials with people.

Their results have not gone without notice. The Arlington-based Cancer Research Foundation of North Texas has been providing annual five-figure grants for some time, so it would be interesting if the work of Singhal and Awasthi — they also collaborate with five other UT-Arlington and UT Medical Branch-Galveston scientists — turns out to be a significant breakthrough. If so, credit will have to be given to the ongoing support of the relatively small Cancer Research Foundation.

It's a simplification, but the Awasthi/Singhal research boils down to this: A protein called RLIP76 is a multidrug transporter that shows up in cancerous cells — a sort of molecular cell train. Its presence, Singhal says, kicks off " a toxic network of biochemical signals that promotes inflammation and cancer cell growth." Inhibit or deplete RLIP76, and the network of biochemical signals that result in cancer stops. The cancer dies. The patient lives.

"The cancer cells can't survive without RLIP76," Awasthi says. "Normal cells don't need RLIP76. I think it's potentially a breakthrough of major significance."

It hasn't come easy. Physician/professor Awasthi first became interested in a do-no-harm body chemistry approach to treating cancer as an undergraduate more than two decades ago.

Likewise it has been a long haul for Singhal, who began research with this particular murderous protein 19 years ago. His laboratory computer is filled with photographs of mice with implants of lung and colon cancers .

There are unlucky mice who receive no treatment, mice with conventional chemotherapy treatments, mice that receive the RLIP76 inhibitor and mice that receive the inhibitor plus conventional chemotherapy treatments.

Singhal radiates the enthusiasm of discovery as he clicks through computer photo files of mice receiving the most successful treatment strategy — a combination RLIP76 inhibitor and chemotherapy.

"Look!" he commands. Sure enough, the tumors disappear in days to a few weeks — in medical parlance a complete regression. For colon, lung or melanoma cancers it's a near miraculous outcome, though there are other types — breast cancer for example — that don't respond. But research is still being refined.

Mice, obviously, are not people. What's needed is for more animal research to be conducted, followed by human trials. And quickly.

Singhal and Awasthi are not unknowns. Their findings have been noted extensively in medical publications of LeadDiscovery, the National Institute of Environmental Health Services, the National Institutes of Health, the New England Journal of Medicine, the American Association for Cancer Research and Cancer Research Jo urnal. Other researchers now emulate their strategies. Their work and results are not secrets, but there's still a significant snag.

It's the usual one. Money. Their research has to be funded at a level that is far beyond the financial capability of the Cancer Research Foundation of North Texas.

Somebody needs to find them the needed buckets of research cash. And soon. It's a life-and-death deal. And maybe a future Nobel Prize deal.

O.K. Carter appears Tuesdays and Thursdays. 817-548-5428 okc@star-telegram.com
Caption: SHARAD SINGHAL
Index Terms: arl ; okcarter ; MAIN STREETRecord Number: 180093Copyright (c) 2007 Fort Worth Star-Telegram


*Always in memory of a wonderful aunt, mother, wife, and friend, Pamela Deese-11/14/2008

A Fish?!

Preston has been spending a lot of nights in our bed. Albert and I are both kind of torn...we definitely enjoy the snuggles, but the knees to the ribs and kicks in the throat are uncomfortable, to say the least. Not to mention, there really isn't much room for 3 in a queen size bed. So, without upgrading (which we've definitely considered), it's probably time for us to start getting him into his own bed at least MOST nights. On many occasions, I get up my resolve before drifting off to sleep, only to be weakened by "but mommy, who will give me snuggles in my room?" and tears of "I just want to snuggle you and daddy" comments. Last night was no different. I've been hinting to Albert, reasoning that he's definitely the one that usually stands his ground against these kinds of things, to no avail; and when Daddy is saying it's okay - we're pretty much screwed.

This morning, I decided P and I would have a little chat about staying in his room. It's worked (for a few days) before...should work again...right?

Me: Preston, you REALLY need to start staying in your bed at night.

P: No, mommy.

Me: But you REALLY should sleep in there, at least most of the time.

P: No. I don't want to.

Me: Well, I'm probably going to take you back to your room some, because you REALLY need to sleep in your bed.

P: Well. If you don't let me come in, I'm going to put a fish in your bed.

Me: A what?!

P: If you don't let me in your bed, I'm going to put a fish in it.

Me: A fish.

P: mmmmm hmmmmm (very ghetto-like; as in "mm hmm, chew on that applesauce why don't ya...")

Me: So, if I don't let you sleep in my bed, you're going to put a FISH in it.

P: (again with the smart remark) mmmmm hmmmmmm.

Me: I see. And just where are you planning to get a fish from?

P: Walmart.

Me: Oh. Well, I'm probably going to put you in your bed tonight, so you might work on getting that fish.

P: Okay, but you're not going to like it.

Spikey like a Porcupine - Part 2

So Duckie cut Preston's hair yesterday, and he tells her, "I want my hair spikey!" Being the good grandma that she is, she spikes his hair.

If I said he was excited, that would be an understatement. He spent every spare minute looking at himself in the mirror. We went to the store to get him some jeans, and he stood looking in the mirror. When there wasn't a mirror, he was touching them to make sure they were still there. He mentioned, like, eleventy billion times that he had spikes (all of which, I already know, since I was THERE and all).



He was disappointed there weren't spikes ALL over his head, but I think since I added more on top this morning, he'll be okay. I just feel sorry for his teacher, there is no way my son's not-really-spike-friendly hair is going to make it through naptime.



Here he is yesterday, cheesing for a picture of his spikes...