Snips and Snails

A year clear

2012-01-24T11:05:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Just a quick update to let you know that Andrew had an MRI Friday and it was all clear. We have had one year of clear scans! There is still a long road ahead, and each MRI is terrifying (so continue to keep us in your prayers). But we are thankful. Andrew has been loving preschool and is a very social boy.

Thank you all for your kind words, prayers and comments over the past (almost two years!). They mean a tremendous amount.

I don't come here often because, honestly, it is painful for me. I am considering starting a new blog, with a distinctly lighter tone.

Hoping you all are doing well.

Julie :)

Happy 4th Birthday, Andrew!

2011-09-28T11:09:00.002-07:00

Today is Andrew's 4th birthday! 

It is hard to believe it has been a year since the last one.   Last year Andrew and I spent the day in the clinic.  He received chemo.  I cried my eyes out.

This past Sunday we celebrated with a party. We rented a jump house and he invited his friends.  He was in charge of a portion of the guest list, and his energy could not be contained.  He raced through the house, from activity to activity, from friend to friend, and loved every minute of it.

As I consider the four years of his life, I realize that while I have cried, and been anxious, and ranted, and screamed, he has lived in joy and peace. Ignorance, as they say, has been his bliss. It has also been a huge blessing.

I often remind myself that I have six little eyes watching my every move.  They watch how I behave in difficult situations, express joy, cope with stress, handle disappointment, show love, and live my day-to-day life.  It is a huge responsibility, and I often wish I did a better job, for their sake.

However, over the last year and half, my eyes have watched Andrew live his life.  I have watched him struggle, and cope, and live each day to the fullest, despite difficult circumstances.  I have learned a lot from him.

Things like:

Never pass up a puddle.
Jump! Often. Jump! Everywhere!
Tackle hard.
Squeeze tightly.
Ask to be held when you need it.
Get down when you're ready.
Defend your brothers, even when you are the smallest one in the room.
When it hurts to dance, sway. When it hurts to sing, mouth the words. But never stop moving to the music.
Remember your friends' favorite things, and their favorite colors.
Show concern for others, even when you are in pain yourself.
Climb trees, even when it scares your mother.
Push all the buttons, at least once.
Smile. At everyone.
Keep on running, even when you are in last place.
A loud roar will always get a reaction.
Look past the smell and the sight of the homeless, and see the face of Jesus.
As often as you can, and whenever you get the chance, grab two supportive hands (or one that's extra strong), lift up your feet, and fly.

Happy Birthday Andrew.  I love you.

Hello out there

2011-07-19T22:29:00.001-07:00

I haven't even visited my blog since my last entry!! I haven't written in my journal with a pen. I needed (and probably still need) time to just sit with everything. I've also been reading books like a maniac and spending time with my boys.

But, I wanted to let you know that Andrew's most recent scans were clean. I spent the whole day a complete nervous wreck, but everything was okay. So hooray!!

Here is a recent picture:

We had some family pictures taken, and these were my favorites:

I have missed visiting you all, and I hope you are doing well. Thank you so much for your prayers.

love,

Julie

One Year Later

2011-04-17T22:11:00.007-07:00

April 17. Last year, on this day, around this time, my Dad, my friend, and I were sitting in the ER with Andrew, waiting for a CT scan.  The nurses and techs tried to convince us that he could manage without medication, but, being a typical two-year-old, Andrew convinced us that he could not. So they gave him a sedative of some kind, but instead of sedating him, it made him completely uncomfortable in his own skin. He was screaming, and crying and didn't know whether to hug me or kick me. We spent that night, and almost every night of the next two weeks in the hospital.

One year. I can hardly write this now without tears. I have been considering this day for almost a week; wondering how to put my thoughts and feelings into words. There is too much...

Today we let Andrew eat all the ice cream he wanted, and counted our blessings.

Today I sat in my room, by myself, with some sad music and a journal.

It has been a long, very long, year. An year of horror, and pain, and suffering, and heartbreak, and anger, and disgust, and grief.

It has been a humbling year; a year of being "patient's mother" and sitting completely vulnerable and fragile in doctors' offices, resenting their very existence in my life, and wanting to throw things, and scream, and cry, and rant, and rage, but feigning smiles instead.

It has been a year of soul-searching and God-questioning.

But it has also been a year of overcoming. Of noticing blessings and learning to count them. Of trying to accept kindness and help from steadfast friends, sweet nurses, and thoughtful doctors. Of watching my son continue to love life, and play, and run, and jump off couches singing the Star Wars theme song, inspite of everything. It has been a year where we pulled together as a family and survived.

I have learned to appreciate the gift of a normal day.  The gift of freedom. The gift of health. The gift of my children. The gift of life outside the hospital.

****************
One year ago today, I woke up early and dressed in my workout clothes for the Pat Tillman 4.2 mile run at Arizona State University. As I ran that morning, I daydreamed about many things...Pat Tillman's sacrifice, Sammy's frequent bloody noses, and a funeral my friend was attending, but Andrew never crossed my mind.

His eye had been looking strange for a few days, but I hadn't been overly worried about it. I'm not sure how my mind suppressed that. I'm not sure why I didn't consider possible reasons for its odd appearance. Denial? too many distractions? I don't know.

Later the same day, we went to our friends' house for a belated birthday celebration for the men. We had a family decathalon competition, where we competed in goofy events like "husbands bench pressing their wives," and the "javelin throw (with pool noodles)." We had fun. "Team Taylor" won (a very narrow victory) and then we decided to go out to eat.

We chose the Olive Garden, and I sat next to Andrew on the booth side of the table. I kept looking at his eye, feeling more and more worried. While everyone was deciding what to eat, I asked my friend, a neurologist, to look at his eye. "Does it look bulging to you?" And, after a few seconds of looking, she agreed that it did, and she looked concerned. John didn't notice anything. But her husband also thought Andrew's eye looked strange.

Due to previous experiences with doctors, in which I was passed from one specialist to another while waiting weeks between tests, I decided to avoid all of that and go straight to the emergency room.  I forced down a few bites of breadsticks and salad, and left the restaurant. As we drove, I knew that my life was about to change forever.

I won't go into all of the horrific details of the night, but at the end of an evening of screaming, unsuccessful IV's, adverse reactions to medications, and finally a CT scan, I found myself standing next to my tearful friend, and my Dad (also a doctor), staring at a black and white picture of the dark circle that threatened my son's life. John was at home with our two older boys. I had to make a phone call.

And the nightmare of cranial surgery, and waiting for diagnosis, and shared rooms, and screaming roommates, and cancer, and chemo, and a nurse with a power trip, and a two month trip to Houston, and hell-on-earth began.

We were thankful to find that Andrew's cancer had a standard treatment regimen, and there was a great chance it would work. But the regimen would be long, excruciating, and dangerous.

For a while, every where I looked, I saw and felt horror. There were kind words and embraces from family and friends, and lots of meals, and flowers, and offers of babysitting, but the horror of that hospital and the cold you-are-a-number-not-a-name feeling was overwhelming. It felt like there was no escape.

That feeling continued for several dreadful months. We were in the hospital almost every weekend. Andrew was in pain almost every weekday. I'm not sure how I ever slept, and I never made it through a day without tears.

But over time, many beams of light made it through the heavy curtain. Thanks to a friend's kind intervention, we made the decision to change hospitals, and nurses, and scenery. We were blessed by fervent prayers, amazing grandparents, a multitude of hats and get-well cards, sufficient finances, fun distractions, and kindness in many forms. Andrew grew accustomed to the chemo treatments, and began to have only a few bad days each month.

Overall, Andrew endured 14 rounds of chemo (eight months). Six weeks of radiation. A life-threatening infection. Three weeks of intravenous antibiotics. And so far, two sets of post-treatment scans.

Today he is running around smiling and seems oblivious to all of it.

We made it through.

************

Today: I walk into Andrew's room, and I look around. A painting he created in the children's hospital playroom is on the wall to my left. Pictures drawn by his friends, young and old, are above his dresser. Hats cover his walls.

I sit down in his red rocking chair and consider the future. I am so terrified that we might be playing a game of tetherball, where we have pushed the ball away, only to be whacked in the head with it later. I am constantly trying to figure out how to live my life. I don't want to mope and worry, bracing for a possible blow, unable to enjoy today. "Gotta let go and enjoy each moment," I chant to myself. It is difficult.

Once again, my thoughts turn to God. After spending a year praying and considering Him, I don't know if I understand Him any better.   In fact, there is probably more of a wall between us.

I am anxiously and grievously aware that He does not always intervene in the ways we hope (found this interesting). While I am very familiar with Romans 6:23, emotionally, I still have a hard time grasping this concept, especially when it relates to children. I still ruminate and ruminate about it.   How can a merciful God watch this happen to anyone? How does God watch this world spin around, with all of the horror and pain in it? Why does a loving God allow us all to be tortured? Despite a lifetime of theology classes, I just can't get my mind around it.

At the same time, I recognize that my life has been blessed by the love and presence of God.   Jesus has been in my life for as long as I can remember, and for that reason, I often take his presence for granted.  Despite my questions and rants, deep inside me is a solid belief that He loves me for who I am, flaws, insecurities, failings and all.   In Jesus, I have had a safe place to go with my rage, and my hate, and my despair, and my incredible anxiety. I am still terrified and angry. But I will keep coming to Him with all of it.

I will keep praying that he will cure my son, and never let this nightmare return.

*******

Tonight,  one year later, we spent our evening in the park, and then went out for ice cream. I will go to sleep in my own bed, and Andrew will go to sleep in his. Tonight, I will thank God for bringing us through this year, and for allowing me to spend this day with my precious family. I will thank God for my sweet boy, and his continued presence in my life.

(I'm going to take a blogging break now. I'm not sure for how long, but I need one. Thank you to all who have been reading and supporting.)

the devil's in the diapers

2011-04-13T10:39:00.006-07:00

Sooo....the potty training continues.

I have suddenly become very interested and motivated in taking Andrew to the potty

every. half. hour.

(The biggest reason happens around 3:30 each day,

right as we are leaving to pick up Aaron.)

Because, if it were left up to Andrew,

he would never step foot in the bathroom,

except maybe to "wash" his cars in the sink,

or color the toilet with markers

or talk to me.

I keep waiting for that interest to spark in him,

something to convince him that it would be much more pleasant

for him,

if he used the potty.

But so far...

nope.

I have tried bribes:

chocolate

yogurt

chocolate covered pretzels with pink sprinkles

stickers

yogurt with cherries on top....

(seriously)

None of that seems to be working.

So then I resort to competition (and shame, sigh).

"Don't you want to wear underwear before your baby cousin?

He is potty training too!"

This method is similarly ineffective.

So I try to make it kinda exciting

and encourage him to "pee on the trees"

and "water the flowers"

when we are outside.

And he does,

but only when I remind him...

I suppose I just need to wait for that, "click"

in his own mind?

When he decides that he is done

and ready?

But for now,

it is excuses:

"The diaper made me do it.

The diaper made me poop.

Really! It did!"

Those naughty diapers.

(sigh)

(eating chocolate yogurt with cherries on top...)

I'm waiting for that magical

"I'm potty-trained now, Mommy!"

moment.

And spending lots of time in the bathroom.

It will happen someday...

right?

(And, while Andrew is outside "watering" them,

I have been practicing taking pictures of the newly bloomed flowers in my yard.)

Quick! a post before dinner

2011-04-11T18:35:00.000-07:00

okay, so this will be quick.

Want to get last week's 3 a.m. insanity off the blogroll, but I have to make something for dinner. Soon.

This weekend, John took the boys camping in Sedona, only an hour away from Phoenix. It snowed! In April! It hailed! It was cold! John said they sat in the tent, during the day for six hours straight. And they loved it. They pretended they were going to climb Mt. Everest and were camping out at basecamp. They played cards, watched movies, read books, told stories.

This is the picture he texted me Saturday morning, to which I replied, "Come home!"
His phone battery conveniently died, just then.

This was supposed to be the spring boyscout camping event. 30 families had intended to come. The first night (probably after reading the weather report), there were five. The next morning, four drove away. Yup, John stayed. Later that day, two more tents arrived. John and the boys were the only ones to make it through the entire weekend. John was very proud.

(The laundry pile they brought home was ridiculous. I will be washing these smelly things for the rest of the week!)

Andrew and I stayed home. For two very good reasons (well, more, but here are two): 1. I hate to be wet and cold (that is why I live in Arizona). 2. Six hours straight in a tent (I might prefer wet and cold).

Andrew and I were very happy at home watching movies, eating popcorn, taking bubblebaths and staying warm. I even put on my swimsuit and took the bubblebaths with him.

On Sunday, the boys came home and we had tacos and played Tug-o-War with some friends from our church. Fun! My team lost, and my back may be ruined for the next month, but I don't know, the laughs may have been worth it. When was the last time you played Tug-o-War? Probably too long ago. :)

Okay, dinner time!

Insom Nia

2011-04-07T10:54:00.010-07:00

I've been cheated by you since I don’t know when

So I made up my mind, it must come to an end
Three a.m now, will I ever learn?
I don't know how, but I suddenly lose control
and a latte calls to my soul

Just one sip and I can hear my tongue sing
One more sip and I inhale the whole thing.

Ooooh Ooooh,

Insom Nia, here I go again
My my, counting lots of sheep, baaaaa
Insom Nia, does it show again
My my, how much sleep I've missed, yeah

Yes, I'm awake and writin'
No, the bed bu-ugs ain't bitin'
Why, why into Starbucks did I go?
Insom Nia, I'm a fool I know
My my, into Starbucks I did go.

I've been making some lists, all the things I should do
I've been staring at stars and the ceiling cracks too
When will you go? when can I please snore?
I think you know, that you won't be away too long
You know that I’m not that strong

Just one sip and I can hear my tongue sing
One more sip and I inhale the whole thing

Ooooh Ooooh,

Insom Nia, here I go again
My my, counting all the sheep, baaaaaa
Insom Nia, does it show again
My my, all the sleep I've missed, yeah

Yes, I'm awake and writin'
No, the bed bu-ugs aint bitin'
Why, why into Starbucks did I go?
Insom Nia, hear me when I say
Bye bye, leave me now, forever
Insom Nia, it's a game we play
Bye bye, please, let's mean forever

Insom Nia, here I go again
My my, counting all the sheep, baa
Insom Nia, does it show again
My my, all the sleep I've missed, yeah

Yes, I'm awake and writin'
No, the bed bu-ugs aint bitin'
Why, why into Starbucks did I go?
Insom Nia, now I really know
Lat-tes I can never let you go.

(What can I say...? My brain is a scary place at 3 a.m.) :)

It's a bird...

2011-04-05T21:41:00.004-07:00

Faster than a speeding bullet,

More powerful than a locomotive,

Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound,

It's a bird!

It's a plane!

(okay so I missed the plane)

It's Superman!

Superman, Man of Steel, Superman.

We haven't left the house all week without a costume.

And, Andrew learned to ride his tricycle.

Fun!

(except the part where I have to take off this one-piece costume every time he needs to use the bathroom...that part, not so fun.)

:)

Jesse and Me

2011-04-04T12:23:00.004-07:00

That's me, in the yellow. First grade, I think. I ran my heart out here. And not because I loved running.

I was running for a cause. I had a message to get out. I may be a girl, but I am worthwhile!

Aren't I?

I thought that by proving that I was strong and fast, I could prove that I had value, like the boys.

Somewhere along the way, partly at Christian school and its overemphasis on gender differences, and partly due to my observant eyes, sensitive heart, and other, more complicated factors, I knew by first grade that being female was less than the best. I saw the boys tease the other boys for being "like a girl." The school I attended constantly pressed the idea that girls could do this, but not that. Stereotypes galore. It all hurt my heart.

So in first grade, on the day of the annual "Shar-a-thon" fundraiser for the school, I ran as fast and as long as I could. Donations were based on how many laps you ran, and I was determined to run more than any boy in the class. I ran circle after circle. Collected rubberband after rubberband (one for each lap). I was fueled by anger and determination. A need to prove "them" wrong.

A year or two later, counting the rubberbands.

Around the same time, I found a book in the school library; a book that reached into my heart and grabbed my soul. A biography of Jesse Owens. Jesse Owens was a black man who won four gold medals in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, in front of Hitler and the Nazi crowd.

I. Loved. That.

I wanted to jump into the book and live that moment with him. I wanted to be there, and cheer him on. I wanted to run next to him, or on his shoulders, or wherever. I wanted to be a part of THAT. I read it over, and over, and over again. I recorded myself reading the story on my 1970's tape player, and listened to the tape, repeatedly. I wanted to live out my revenge and glory through him. I fantasized about having all of my teachers sitting in the stands. I wanted the cocky male principal there. I wanted the gun to go off. I wanted to win, and show them that I could beat the boys.

I ran 33 circles. I remember my parents were very proud and praised me. I don't know if I ran more than the boys. There wasn't much of an audience for a first-grade girl running in circles on a playground. But my 33 laps didn't soothe what I thought it would. No one came up and said, "Wow! you are so fast! I was so wrong to think that little girls were slower than little boys."

Time after time I would try to impress, would feel a little glory, and then go home and plot my next impressive feat (in front of the teachers). Even beating all the boys in the P.E. 50 yard dash felt hollow.

I never knew this before, but in Germany, during the Nazi reign, Owens was permitted to stay in the same hotels as whites, and he was cheered by the German audience when he won. He even credits a German competitor for giving him a tip that helped him win the Long Jump. In contrast, when he participated in the New York ticker-tape parade in his honor, he had to ride the freight elevator at the Waldorf-Astoria to reach his reception. Owens later stated, "Hitler didn't snub me--it was FDR who snubbed me. The president didn't even send me a telegram." Amazing. Ridiculous.

For a while I could still beat the boys. I could beat them at arm strength, and running, and spelling tests. But as puberty hit, the hopelessness of continuing to compete hit me, and I started to feel greatly inferior. My school still propagated rigid gender roles, and I felt a simmering fire in my belly at all times.

I still had moments of "glory," and continued to be strong and could shockingly beat many of the boys at arm wrestling way into high school (and even college). It felt great, but still hollow.

Thankfully, I married a man who could handle my strength, and was not threatened by it.

As I have matured, I have realized that strength, and power, and might are not as important as I believed. I have learned to embrace the beautiful benefits of being female. I have learned that character, and grace, and kindness, and honesty, are all so much more important. I love the privilege of being a mom, the joys of being female, and the ability to stay home with my children.

But I have to admit that I still enjoy "beating the boys" whenever I can. I still resent restrictive stereotypes. I still love Jesse Owens.

Waiting...

2011-03-29T22:35:00.010-07:00

Today was the day. The day I have been dreading for three months. The day that needed to happen before I could commit to flying to New York with John (him for work, me for fun). The day that needed to happen before I signed Andrew up for preschool. The day which has been giving me nightmares for more than a week.

Today was the day Andrew got his three month scans. Scans which will be repeated every three months, hopefully for four years. And then every six months for one year. And then once a year for the rest of his life. If all goes well.

At six a.m, I woke up before my alarm went off. It was one of those restless nights that made me wonder if I slept at all. I ate my breakfast, dragged Andrew out of bed, put him in his carseat (still dressed in his jammies) and broke the news: "We have to go to the doctors' this morning. They don't want you to eat anything until you are done, but I have a purse full of granola bars and juice boxes. I have your clothes and shoes in my bag." He protested and cried a bit, but then fell silent for the rest of the drive.

Carrying Andrew in my arms, I made my way to the MRI waiting room. The nurse walked in, almost immediately, and warned me, "The last MRI was found to be positive, so the radiologist is still talking with the parents. We are running late." I felt my whole body jerk back in shock. Horrible memories flooded in. My thoughts flew to the parents sitting on the other side of the door.

I wanted out of there. Now. My lungs started to tighten and take in smaller, stunted breaths.

I tried not to let my mind wander into the dangerous jungles of "what if," but I was not very successful. "If" this went bad, I pictured myself hiding in my bedroom under the covers in my room, loaded up on prescription drugs and oblivious to the world. Yes, that is what I would do.

But WAIT. I couldn't. I have three boys and a husband. I have to be there for Andrew. It could not be that easy. It would have to be a vivisection. I would be ripped apart, while still breathing, and still awake.  My heart, soul and body would be dissected, and I would have to be awake and alive for all of it.

My chest was pounding.

As my mind wandered, I noticed a little girl (about 8) across from me in a chair similar to mine, with light blue cushions.   Her mom was on the phone, several seats away, with her back turned, chatting to someone about how her husband "has been flirting on Facebook and she just won't take it anymore" and on and on.  The little girl's brother, about 2, was sitting in a stroller across from his sister.  The little girl smirked as she poked, teased, and made him cry. I started to move forward in my seat, feeling like I might need to intervene (because her mother was oblivious to her son's cries and her daughter's bullying), and then I noticed the other side of the little girl's face. A huge skin graft extended from the middle of her face all the way down her neck. Her jaw was disfigured, and the scar across her cheek extended from her mouth to her ear. Where are you God! My heart screamed. I had to remind myself to breathe.

At this point, the nurse sent us upstairs for a chest x-ray.   After taking the elevator, and "following the lizard tiles," I entered another waiting room, and found another blue-cushioned seat.  My eyes quickly scanned my surroundings and discovered a little girl, no more than two, standing in the opposite corner of the room. Pink and frilly and bald. In my own corner, I heard the cry of a newborn baby and watched the concern on his mother's face as she held him close.

I thought of Japan and the holocaust and places worse than this and I felt food in my belly and clothes on my back and I saw people smile and I tried to convince myself that I was not in hell.

A nurse arrived to take us to the chest x-ray and Andrew cooperated, beautifully. We headed back downstairs to the MRI room.

During the last set of scans, the anesthesiologist wouldn't let me come with Andrew and as I handed him off to a strange woman in a white coat, Andrew screeched, all the way down the hall, "Where are you Mommy?! Where are you Mommy?!"   He spent the rest of the day asking me, "Why did you leave me? Where did you go?" So this time, I let them know that I was coming in. There was no option. They let me (and were actually very sweet).

While I held him, the doctor gave him medicine through his port-a-cath. He fell asleep, and I retreated to the waiting room, where I managed to read bits of my book, keep my eyes focused downward, and wait, again.

"How do these nurses do it?" I wondered to myself. "Come to this hell everyday. How do they do it?" And I found myself understanding and resenting the callousness that HAS to build up in order to do this work.

Andrew woke up, eventually. He ate three granola bars and two juice boxes and held me tight as we made our way out into the wonderful, beautiful fresh air, where the ducks were sitting in the grass and the sky was a brilliant blue.

We drove home together, talking every so often, thankful to be able to escape from that place of pain and horror.

And then we got home, to the worst waiting of all. I expected to agonize all night and partly into tomorrow.

But around five p.m this evening, my nurse called to say that everything was clear. All clear.

Vibrance!

2011-03-29T20:19:00.001-07:00

vibrance

vi·brant (vbrnt)

a. Pulsing with energy or activity

b. Vigorous, lively, and vital

c. Relatively high on the scale of brightness: a vibrant hue

For man, as for flower and beast and bird,

the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive.

D. H. Lawrence

THOSE!!

2011-03-24T12:40:00.003-07:00

Andrew: "I hate those. I want to rip them down."

Me: "What? What do you hate?"

Andrew: "THOSE!" pointing to the kitchen wall, where all of the proud homework, drawings, and school accolades are pasted.

I scan the offensive material. Sammy's name is on half of them. Aaron's name is on the other half. There is even one up there for me.

Andrew: "I want to rip them down!"

Me: "Do you want to have some pictures up there too? Do you want to go to preschool too? And make some pictures?"

Andrew: (silence)

Me: "Do you want to draw some pictures right now, and put them up there?"

Andrew: "How do they color so good? I can't color."

Me: "They are older than you buddy! They've had more practice. You color great!"

Andrew: "No. I don't."

Me: "You do! But is there something else you want me to put up there?"

Andrew: "no."

I am the first born of three. I never even considered that Andrew would feel inferior, or less than, or judge himself by his brothers abilities, at least, not yet. (He has also been jumping off playground structures, because his brothers are doing it and he is trying to prove himself "big"! He actually hurt his foot last weekend and is still slightly limping.)

I think this is where I am supposed to post my solution to this issue, but I'm not sure what the solution is. I will add some pictures of him to the collage, and continue to encourage him to color (despite his perceived deficiencies(!) ) and tape whatever he does to the kitchen wall. But I'm wondering if I should do something more?

I was considering putting up a big potty training chart with his name on it, and giving him a sticker to put up every time he uses it, you know, kill two birds with one stone... because, yes, we are still working on that. I suggested it, but he didn't act very excited (surprise!).

Any suggestions from you younger siblings out there?

Did you hate "Those!" too?

Youth

2011-03-22T21:48:00.002-07:00

This weekend we went to a street fair.

The boys watched in awe

and skipped rocks

(well, they tried).

They tasted funnel cakes

(and liked them)

and held on tight

to the biggest boy of all.

"You're never too old to become younger."

Mae West

Lemonade

2011-03-21T17:41:00.011-07:00

"I wanna help!" he says,

and without waiting for a response,

he comes running.

Wrestling a chair from the table,

he pushes it

(like I hate)

across the soft wood floor.

I hold my critical breath

and watch.

Smiling at his earnest determination,

I grit my teeth at the screeching (and scraping)

coming toward me.

Banging into the cabinets,

he parks the heavy piece of metal

against the counter.

He scrambles up, looks down,

and surveys the lemons already sliced

in two.

Despite his prop

I still stand taller
and cannot resist
kissing
his blond little head.

"Which one can I do?" he asks.

I give him half a lemon

and he presses down

with all his strength,

and peers over the side,

to watch it happen.

Voila!

Proud,

he sticks his finger in the juice he made,
licks it,
and shudders.

"Silly!" I say. "It needs sugar!"
His smile twinkles,
as if he knew that.

I lean over
and smooch
his swirl of blond
again.

(see all that sweet hair!)

And again.

And again.

It is often in the unexpected,
simple moments of life
when I notice
the sweetest blessings.

Thumpthump

2011-03-16T23:51:00.002-07:00

Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump

9:37

at night.

On the treadmill.

My workout clothes have been on all day,

waiting for this moment.

This moment of release and relief.

Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump

I'm not taking it for granted.

This life.

These legs.

This heart.

These lungs.

I can run.

I can breathe.

Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump

Grateful for this day

Where the balls seemed to stay in the air.

Where my loved ones were kept safe.

Where my heart remained in hope.

Where we ate ice cream

and jumped off jungle gyms.

Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump

A day

where a simple quote changed my thinking

about complex things.

Where my one-person philosophy of religion class

spun me

once again in torturous circles

but

I tried to quiet it.

To grab

onto to what I can't see

And can't understand.

To have faith.

Try

to

have

Faith.

Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump

The soothing pounding

The hard-earned sweat slipping

down my cheeks.

Like tears.

I pray.

Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump Thumpthump.

3.07

miles.

I stop.

For today.

Thump Thump Thump Thump Thump

Emotions: Black and White

2011-03-16T09:17:00.001-07:00

"Let's not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it. "

Vincent Van Gogh

Road Trip! and comfy friends

2011-03-14T18:49:00.003-07:00

Do you have friends who make you feel like you are wearing your most comfortable clothes? When you are with them, the world is suddenly more soothing, more free, and more relaxing? There is no need to impress them. There is no worrying about wearing the "wrong thing," or saying the "wrong thing," or doing the "wrong thing." It feels comfortable to just be.

This morning, after seven days of constant activity, our friends (who fit that description) said goodbye and flew home to Michigan. It had been three years since our last visit with them, and now they are gone again. They live too far away.

But, while they were here, we crammed in as much as we could.

Starting with a road trip to California.

Six hours, five boys, four adults, three DSis, two Leapsters, and one 12-passenger van. About half-way there, one of the DSis ran out of juice. From that point on, a persistent, bored little voice kept repeating the question. Yes. That one. Are we there yet? Are we there....yet? Kids are so predictable ;).

Halfway "there," we pulled off the freeway to get gas and eat lunch. On our way to Subway, we passed the General Patton Museum and Mineral Road Show (a dirty, dusty affair with tents and temporary fences). The boys were so tired of driving, they were ready to call it "Disneyland" and unload the suitcases. We took a few pictures and convinced the boys that it would be worth the drive if they got back in the car.

We continued on, and braved the Los Angeles traffic (that we do not miss),

and finally made it to the hotel!

(A view of the lobby from our hotel room on the 12th floor)

Wednesday morning, we woke up early and spent the entire day at Disneyland.

Beautiful weather, short lines, lots of sugar, and all the rides we could handle. Andrew got a Mickey hat for his collection :). He braved every ride the park allowed him to board. (However, we can no longer use the words "Haunted Mansion" or "Pirates of the Caribbean" without being labeled "mean." Apparently the words conjure up scary memories.)

The longest line of the day was for Storybook land...

The next day we piled back into the van and headed south to Carlsbad, California for Legoland. In the parking lot I realized that I left my charger and my camera battery in the hotel room, an hour away. So bummed! At least I had my cell phone camera... In case you have never been, the cities and cars below (not the rides), were all made of Legos! Our Lego-crazy boys were in heaven.

Friday morning, we drove home. Halfway between El Centro, California and Yuma, Arizona, my husband realized that we were on empty. He claims that the gas gauge was "hidden from his view" until a warning light came on. Then, in silence, he watched the available miles count down as he scoped the deserted landscape for gas. None. Nowhere. Finally, the gas gauge said 8 miles left.

John parked the car on a deserted freeway off-ramp, and we got out. We saw trailer homes, border patrol, and a few random buildings here and there, but no gas stations. In the way of fluids, we had the melted remnants of a three-day-old thirst buster. I checked my cell phone GPS. It said 20 miles to the closest station, regardless of direction. If the gas gauge was correct, that was 12 miles too far.

While the boys excitedly pretended they were exploring the landscape of Tatooine (planet in Star Wars), the parents pictured themselves huffing and puffing down the freeway pushing a 12-passenger van.

John waved down a trucker who convinced him that about 10 miles down the road we would find a gas station. We decided it was our only hope.

We made it. I have never been more happy to see a gas station in my life. All of us, children included, let out a loud cheer. Do you see the panicked look in Andrew's eyes, gulping down that gatorade? Our friend's traumatized nine-year-old spent the rest of the trip asking, "Do you have enough gas? Have you checked the gas gauge?" Our poor children.

Several hours later, we were back home.

The remaining days were spent swimming in our 60 degree pool (the boys, not me), hiking local mountains, and loading toppings onto frozen yogurts.

John told stories while the boys took baths:

The evenings were spent playing games, mostly Spades. The women beat the ultra-competitive men almost every time. It was awesome.

But all good things must come to an end, right? Sadly so.

Our comfortable, family-like friends left us this morning at 10 am. The boys spent the drive to the airport imagining ways to move Michigan closer to Arizona. Even the adults participated in the brain-storming.

We don't want to let three years slip by again!

Conferences....

2011-03-04T16:24:00.002-07:00

Conference #1: "Hello, Mrs. Julie. Thanks for coming. So good to see you again (cough). You know, he initially tested into this class, but I am afraid that may have been a mistake. A big mistake. Have you seen his math homework? His current skill level is not where we expected it would be. I think for next year we may need to discuss a more appropriate placement for him. Oh, and you know how I said he was doing so well socially? Well, I'm sorry to tell you that he has been having some difficulty in circle time....and some at recess." Me: "Oh. Okay." Sad face.

And:

Conference #2: "Well, Mrs. Julie, so glad you could make it today. We have a lot to talk about, and are so glad we have this time to sit down and discuss. Have you noticed how often he uses the word, "poop?" I mean, it is every other word, the "other" word being "butt." Have you made any attempts to curb this behavior? Do you realize that every boy in the class has adopted the word "buttchick" because of him? Truly. The other parents are complaining. We haven't been successful in decreasing his potty talk at school, so we are hoping that you will do your part at home. We need him to cease this disruptive vocabulary." I sit there, red-faced, saying, "I'm sorry. I know. I will try."

These were the conversations I imagined, sitting in the hallways, waiting for the teachers to open their doors. It is amazing how anxiety-producing conferences can be. Even when there has been no previous indication of any problem, I worry. Do you?

Conference #1 (reality): When the door opened, here she was:

(I wish I could show you her face, because her hair and make-up were great. But I don't want to put her picture out there without her knowledge.)

"Welcome," she said, in her best Johnny Depp/Mad Hatter impression. (It was "dress as your favorite book character" day.) When you are sitting across from a teacher with red streaky make-up and an odd top hat, it takes the edge off. And then, of course, it helped when she said that he is doing just fine. "His math is great. His reading is great. His writing has greatly improved. He is doing well socially. He is well-behaved. Just make sure he keeps writing over the summer." Me: Smiling, and looking over at my sweet and worried son, whom she also invited into the room. "Good job, buddy, love you," I whisper. My heart is relieved, the anxiety is lifted.

Conference #2 (reality). "He is so smart. He knows all of his numbers, letters, and sounds. He can count to 100, he can count by 5's, he can.... He likes to be silly in class, but most of the boys are the same way. This is preschool, we expect that. He will do wonderfully in Kindergarten." (No mention of poop or butts.) I breath a sigh of relief, ask a few questions, and walk, smiling to the car.

Every time. The same old worries. Each time, for naught.

I forget to step back, and view my whole child, and his whole environment. I forget to put things in perspective.

Sometimes teachers, friends, and family help me see the bigger picture, even when I cannot see it for myself.

Virtual Coffee- March

2011-03-01T11:36:00.005-07:00

Hello! It has been a while since I have joined you for coffee, so I am excited.

If we were truly meeting for coffee I would invite you to this little bakery/coffee shop down the road.

The weather is beautiful today, and the shop is nearby, so I might even suggest that we walk.

They just finished decorating, their pastries are delicious,

and I love it.

I got myself a decaf coffee and a cherry turnover.

My favorite.

Here, pick something for yourself and sit down.

I saved you a seat.

If we were actually sitting down together I might tell you that

every day

I inhale breaths of freedom and relief.

It is so nice to be able to spend time at home

or at the grocery store, or at my mom's house

instead of the clinic or hospital.

So nice.

As I look at my son and his sweet pink cheeks and soft hair,

I can fill my lungs and exhale,

all the way.

I will admit that I find fear there,

at the bottom of each breath,

but I am trying to set it aside.

I am trying to ignore the nagging worry

so that I can enjoy the days that are before me.

I find that I am usually successful.

Oops, I forgot about my little tag-a-long.

Andrew likes donuts

and ladybug cookies.

and chocolate milk.

If you brought your children to play,

he would love them too.

I am starting to think that I need to brush up on my Star Wars timeline and trivia.

My lack of knowledge is starting to hamper conversations with my children.

"Yoda does this and that, but Anakin should have done blah blah blah."

I just nod or shrug my shoulders.

I am beginning to feel like we speak a different language.

We were officially late to school this morning.

For the first time.

Stark reality of life:

It is hard to drive your car without keys.

And I could not find mine.

Anywhere.

And it is the only key we have for my car

and John was already gone for the day.

I finally found them in my coat pocket.

A coat that I never wear, except for yesterday,

of course.

How are you?

I feel like I am slowly emerging from a tunnel,

opening my eyes, and learning to look at the world again.

I am almost shocked to hear all the bad news,

as if I had blocked it out for awhile in order to cope.

I just finished reading, She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb this week.

I love his descriptions and his ability to tell a sad story with humor.

If you haven't read it, I would recommend it.

Have you read any good books lately?

I look forward to hearing from you and joining you for coffee!

And in case you didn't know the definition for chocolate, here it is:

I hope you enjoy your Tuesday.

Join Amy and friends at:

<

Mundane Monday

2011-02-28T13:17:00.002-07:00

"Do you guys have your shoes on?" I yell up the stairs.

"Why do I keep hearing screaming? Aaron, are you bugging Sammy? PLEASE STOP IT."

I smear some cream cheese on two bagels, bag them up and wash two apples. I find a stack of Thin Mints and pry away two groups of two and wrap them in left-over Christmas saran wrap. As I search the pantry for two juice boxes, I hear it again: Thump. Thump. Scream. A blood curdling, almost predictable, I-am-being-tortured scream. I barely flinch.

"Are you guys dressed yet? C'mon! We're gonna be late!" I race up the stairs, two steps at at time and find both of them putting on their shirts, still without shoes and socks.

"Aaon's being mean to me!"

"C'MON! Let's get going! Get your shoes on! C'MON!

"I can't find my shoes! I don't have any socks! I don't have any underwear! I don't have any..."

Finally, everything is found. They may be wearing yesterday's jeans fished out of the laundry, or their brother's underwear, but they are dressed. Climbing into the car, they both trip over Sammy's favorite shoes (the ones he spent the morning searching for) and settle down into their car seats.

"Everyone have their seatbelts on? Yes? Good."

I back out of the driveway, check the car clock, and sigh. It will be a miracle if we make make it on time.  Turning my focus to the road, I start the softly mumbled but urgent tirade of frustrated comments at the oblivious drivers in front of me. "Move it, will ya? Could ya go any slower? Geez!"

BAM from the backseat.

Blood curdling scream.

"He hit me with his lightsaber!"

"But he hit me with his sword!."

I lean back, careful not to take my eyes off the road, and hold my breath, hoping they will comply without too much persuading. I extend one arm into the back seat, palm up.

"Give me the weapons. NOW."

With slight hesitation, and perhaps a little protest, they hand 'em over.

More shrieks.

More screams.

"What now!?" I yell over my ~~purposely~~ loud radio.

"He is singing THAT song. Over and over and over again! Ahhhh!!! make him stop!

And, he is.

"Sammy is a poopoo Sammy is a poopoo Sammy is a poopoo"...and so the song continues.

I try a calm, pleading approach: "Please stop singing that song. You are driving us bonkers."

"Sammy is a poopoo..."

(Do you find it hard to effectively discipline from the front seat? I DO!)

"Just ignore him, Sammy."

"I don't know how to do that!!' he screeches.

I breathe a small sigh of relief as we pull into the school parking lot. Right. on. time... That is, IF the cars in front of me will just hurry! I make an almost U-turn and maneuver my way onto the curb.   A loud bell is blaring.

"Get out! Get out!" I urge, desperately. Aaron climbs over the back seat and pushes his way through his brothers' legs. As the door opens and he prepares to exit, I touch his arm and smile.  "Have a great day! I love you. Bye, Sweetie." He hops out and runs to class. whew.

I pull forward (thump, thump) over the curb and keep driving.  Next stop, preschool.

As we arrive in the parking lot, I am grateful for the ten minutes we have before school starts. Ahhhh...time for a little mascara (without it, my eyelashes are blonde, and invisible) and a deep, cleansing breath.

"Get me out of my seatbelt Mommy! Get me out!" Andrew cries as he wiggles in vain to escape his straps.

I reach back with one arm and release him. Soon, both boys are doing somersaults over the seats waiting for me to finish up. "C'mon Mom!! My friends are out there!!!"

I finish up with the mascara, open the door, and release the captives. They sprint for the scooters and I sit down at a child-size picnic bench by the classroom door. When the teachers are ready, I sign Sammy in, drop off his lunch, and kiss him goodbye.

Another morning drop-off complete!

Andrew and I head for home.

I was deprived of this routine for a while. And I missed it.

I am so thankful that I get to participate in this daily chaos.

I am thankful for:

#7    The mundane
#8   Routine
#9    Chaos
#10 Screaming children
#11 Lost shoes
#12 Teasing brothers
#13   Mascara
#14   Lightsabers and plastic swords
#15   Scooters
#16   Flexible teachers who give grace for well-deserved tardies.

Four Hugs a Day

2011-02-26T13:25:00.008-07:00

"Four hugs a day, that's the minimum. Four hugs a day, not the maximum. Four hugs a day..."

Amused, my mouth smiled on one side as I watched Sammy move his mouth up and down, pretending to sing, staring at the ceiling, then at his friends, and then at his fingers. The rest of the boys seemed to have practiced the same distracted routine, only in a different order. The little girl next to him was animated, engaged, and singing each word in tune. Her curly pony tail swung behind her as she swayed to the music. The rest of the preschool girls seemed to follow her lead. The boys wiggled and squirmed, the girls watched the teachers and copied their hand movements.

For most of the song, I hardly noticed the words. The melody reminded me of a song that Lucy and Ethel might have performed in one of their Vaudeville skits; slightly grating if not for the sweet voices singing along. Andrew was on my lap playing his Leapster. It was a little too loud, and Sponge Bob kept whistling in my ear, so I was fumbling for the volume control. Noticing the stylish preschool moms surrounding me, I was also worrying about my boots, and wondering if I had coordinated them well with my outfit. I'm still not sure.

But at some point during the song, the distractions faded. I began to listen the sing-songy lyrics, and I focused in on my middle son. Suddenly I found myself considering the words.  "Do I hug him enough?" I asked myself.

I carry Andrew constantly. I hug him before I put him in his carseat. I give him a squeeze when I lift him out. I cuddle with him at night to help him fall asleep. He plops down on my lap, whether I am ready or not.

My oldest son Aaron has always been naturally affectionate and comes to me for hugs, even when I don't come to him.

But Sammy? He used to wait for a hug before school in the morning, but now he runs off, happy to see his friends. When I pick him up from school, he runs past me to the playground. He can put on his own seatbelt.  As I reflected on my daily routine, a realization sunk in: I need to be more affectionate with my middle boy. Days slip away too quickly.

So I have been looking for opportunities to reach out; for moments to tousle his hair, or squeeze his shoulders, or give him a kiss on the cheek. I don't want to miss him in the busy routine of life. I want him to know, and to feel that he is loved.

The next morning when I woke up, the rest of the house was still quiet and dark.  I could hear the heavy breathing of sleep and curtains were still covering the windows.   I found Sammy sprawled out on top of his red and blue plaid comforter. I lay down and curled up next to him. I squeezed him tightly to me, kissed his soft cheek, and whispered, "Wake up Sammy bug!" And before he could pry his eyes away from dreams, he smiled. He smiled huge.

As the days continue, with school drop-offs and pick-ups,with treks to the grocery store and times at the park, I keep looking for those moments.

And I keep finding them.

"Four hugs a day, that's the minimum. Four hugs a day, not the maximum. Four hugs a day..." (And yes. that song was in my head ALL week!)

SUCCESS!! and a Million Thank Yous

2011-02-23T19:20:00.014-07:00

When my world was falling apart, and we were just beginning treatment, and I could hardly make it through a day without sobbing, Stacia sent me an email. "What can I do to help?" and then later, "What if I created a website for Andrew and had people send him hats from all 50 states?" Stacia hardly knew me, so I was overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness, and her willingness to do that for Andrew and for me. I accepted her offer. To be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect. I didn't know her very well, and thought maybe Andrew would get two or three hats, and we would be thankful. But for almost a year, Stacia has been persistent in tracking down friends, family, and blog readers to send Andrew hats. It has been a lot of work!

Yesterday, he received the last of the 50 states!! In addition we also received hats from outside the U.S. including many of the Canadian provinces, Mexico, England, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Germany (I hope I didn't forget any). I am in awe of her dedication. Her blog is amazing too. If you haven't checked her out, you can read more at My Fluffy Bunnies. Thank you so much Stacia. You have blessed my family more than you know.

Here are the final two hats:

Utah

and Delaware!!

ALSO! I want to thank ALL of you who sent us hats, cards, cars, games, well-wishes, toys, coloring books, silly bands, tattoos, pictures of your children, kind words, gift cards to McDonald's and more! What an amazing blessingYOU have been. Even on the worst days, it was always a pick-me-up to go to the post office, and find a package or two (or three, or four, or ten!). I am still shocked by the support and care you have shown me.

While I am at it, I want to say a few more "Thank You's."

Thank you to CJ for suggesting and making the "Prayers for Andrew" button!

Thank you to my sweet nurse Tiffany (who rescued me from hell): A Tall Drink of Life.

I also want to thank Sharon. She has been a reader and a supporter for quite some time, and when I investigated her website, I found that she makes beautiful quilts. Her comments always make me cry. I told her that I wanted to buy a quilt, and she offered to make me one, "as a blessing." A couple of weeks ago, it arrived in the mail. I took it out, and held it to my face, and you know what? it even smells beautiful. I am once again in awe of the time she took to make this for me. She even spent time trying to figure out what colors might match my home. I encourage all of you to check out her website: Sharon's Cottage Quilts. Here is a picture:

Thank you sweet Sharon!

I also want to thank two bloggers who gave me awards, which I have yet to recognize. I am not following the rules, but I wanted to thank them and mention them! Anne from "500 Places with Kids" gave me the award below. Her husband is a cancer survivor and she writes about the places she visits with her children, and gives travel tips along the way. Thank you Anne!

My friend Missy also gave me an award, and I want to thank her. She is a beautiful person inside and out and has been an amazing support throughout all of this. Check out her blog at My Life and Everything in Between. Thank you Missy!

I also want to mention a few bloggers who have been there for me, through all of it, regularly commenting through my anger and through my tears, through sweet moments and ugly moments. Thank you. I appreciate your support and kind words more than you know.

Winn's Window
Finding Joy in the Little Things
Sowing Dandelion Seeds
As is Proper
Chasing Hugo
Ostriches Look Funny
Momma's Pixie Dreams
Motherese

Thank you to all of you who have placed Andrew's button on your blog. Thank you to the many other bloggers who have followed my story and shown your support. Thank you to my anonymous readers. Thank you to those who pop in once in a while to say hello. Thank you to my friends and family who read and cry and smile with me. Thank you to ALL of you who have read our story thus far. I am so appreciative. You have all made this last year much more bearable.

(I hope no one feels slighted! You have all been beautiful).

Happy Birthday Aaron! (The post he deserves: without scorpions, laments, or caffeine.)

2011-02-22T16:39:00.006-07:00

Aaron:

"When I grow up, I will buy the house next door, so that you can see your grandchildren every day. I have houses picked out for my brothers too. Right next door to mine."

"Sammy likes cars. I like weapons." (mom sigh)

"I don't want anything for Christmas. Just Andrew to get better."

When Aaron was eighteen months old, I used to tell everyone that after 4 pm I could not let his feet touch the ground. That seemed to be the bewitching hour. His eyes would sparkle at me in challenge, and he would take off. Completely oblivious to any danger, he would jump on our bed in crazy randomness, close to death with each hop (well, at least in my first-time-mommy way of thinking). He had no interest in doing anything in a seated position. He would make sure I was watching, and then run towards electric outlets with fingers extended. He would chase the dogs, and grab their tails. Everyday. The poor, poor dogs. They were exhausted. And so was I.

So I established a routine. If the directions were written down, it would have read: 4 pm: "Go for walk (in stroller). 5 pm: Eat dinner (in high chair). 5:30 pm: Take a very long bath (in tub.) 6:30 p.m.: Go to bed (in crib). Feet must literally never touch ground." That helped. Until he learned to crawl out of the crib.

Around the age of two, in a park full of playground equipment, he would stand near babies in strollers and try to make them laugh, ignoring the slides and jungle gyms. When his brothers were born, he was elated and wanted to hold and feed them. He was a natural big brother.

From a very early age, Aaron made golf clubs, recorders, pvc pipe, whatever, into swords and rifles. When he learned about a new animal, he would ask, "How does it defend itself?" He went on imaginary journeys through bathroom jungles and paddled through swamps in his Huggies cardboard boat. (I didn't realize how long this video was. Watch a little and you get the idea...)

Yesterday, he turned seven. He is still the same little man. He doesn't chase the dogs anymore (and they are grateful), but he is always looking for an adventure, and partners to join him. He loves Boyscouts, camping and running races. He is fascinated by spies, Hardy Boys books, and any kind of mystery. When disputes arise between friends, he is their natural mediator. He still loves to make babies smile.

He is compassionate and kind. Creative and thoughtful. Sweet and beautiful. Protective and strong.

He makes me proud.

Happy Birthday my sweet, sweet Aaron.

Caffeinated

2011-02-21T16:56:00.005-07:00

That stupid Coke (soda).

What was I thinking?! It looked so good, and my stomach felt queasy.

But now....

I am wide AWAKE.

Maybe I should take a Tylenol PM?

I will give myself fifteen more minutes...

Relax. Stop thinking. Focus on your breathing.

I think Aaron's birthday party went well.

So cute to see all of those mini-Star Wars characters running around.

I should blog about Aaron for his birthday tomorrow...

maybe something about the day he was born....

and how thankful I am for him...

But I think I did that last year. Maybe something else...?

I can't believe there was a scorpion upstairs in the bedroom hallway.

A small, tan bark scorpion.

The dangerous kind.

There could be a scorpion in my bed.

RIGHT NOW.

There could be a scorpion in the boys' beds.

RIGHT NOW.

One of these days, one of us is going to step on one.

It is just a matter of time.

I wish I could call pest control, but it is 12:30...a.m.

Those people! The previous owners.

Telling us they never saw any scorpions in the house and

then we hear their dog died from a scorpion bite?!

I need to call pest control tomorrow.

I wonder if they are open on Presidents' Day?

Dang that Coke!! Should I take the Tylenol?

But listen.

It is so quiet. I can hear my own breathing. And the dogs snoring.

I am alone here. Alone here in my thoughts, in the quiet. How rare is that?

Fifteen more minutes.

Relax. Close your eyes. Calm down.

He was shaking and I was in denial. I ignored it. I went to church and ignored it. Of all the days to spend the afternoon in a loud stadium watching a terrible football game... He could have died. I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life, because I saw him. Shaking. Just for a few seconds, but I should have done something. Right then. I didn't know it was that serious, but I should have checked.

Thank you God. If you had anything to do with saving Andrew's life. Thank you.

Maybe I could write something about how Aaron's arms have grown too long for his new shirts,

and how his ankles peek out beneath his new pants (that I bought a month ago).

How did my sweet baby get so long and lanky?

How did he get so sweet?

How did he get so seven?

His kind heart and compassion give me hope that I am doing okay at this parenting thing.

I wonder what Aaron's teacher wants to talk about in his conference?

Last time she said he was a very sweet kid...has something changed?

Maybe this stuff with Andrew is having an effect.

Maybe it's his math. Dang math. Just like me, not a math brain.

I need to get out the flashcards.

Tomorrow we will start with the flashcards.

Why did we even buy Coke for the party!?

Who needs Coke?

Sugar, fizz, calories.
and CAFFEINE.

Stupid!

Why does prayer feel like I'm banging my head against a wall?

Why God?

Why the same prayers, year after year, after year?

Hearts are breaking

and nothing changes.

God. Please help.

I hope Andrew and John don't get that stomach bug.

I don't think I can handle any more vomit.

Stupid Coke!!!!!!

Time for the Tylenol.

Conversations and Valentines

2011-02-13T22:33:00.041-07:00

Unfortunately (as this story is repeated whenever someone asks, "So, how did you meet?"), John and I "met" on opposite sides of a glass window, separated by a buffet line of trays, and a pan full of shredded cheese. As much as I would like to deny that I ever worked for the University Student Union serving beans, it has forever become a part of "Our Story." I think John's first words to me were, "Huevos Rancheros." I'm not even sure he included a "please." And our first conversation ended there.

The next time we spoke was in another Mexican restaurant, following a church event. Thankfully this time, I was a fellow consumer. We were sitting next to each other at a long wooden table full of college students. "You gonna eat that?" he said, when he noticed an uneaten taco on my plate. I replied, "No, help yourself." I thought a few more things (like, "really?"), but the outloud version of our second conversation ended there.

The conversation that changed our lives, occurred several months later. After a heated church group discussion in which I dissented from the rest of the crowd, he escorted me home and we continued to consider the same topic. Soon, the conversation turned more personal and we hardly noticed our feet walking as we wound our way through campus to get to my dorm. We arrived too quickly at the entrance, so we lingered on the concrete entryway for several hours. Earlier that day we were mere acquaintances, but our relationship status quickly changed, and as the evening progressed we were sharing our closely guarded secrets and hurts. This conversation continues today.

Two years later, we were married. Since that night out on the steps, we have celebrated many Valentine's Days together: some in happiness; some in tension; some in fancy restaurants; some at home; some in joy; some in sadness. One was spent at Shakey's Pizza in Pasadena, California surrounded by skee ball, video games, and children who were not our own...but that is a long story.

We always do something for Valentine's Day, to thank each other for that third conversation under a Tucson moon. Tomorrow night we will continue it, in the first restaurant willing to take us without a reservation (if we can find one). Maybe Mexican. Grandma will be watching the boys.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Pillow Talk

2011-02-07T12:46:00.021-07:00

I squeeze next to him,
into his bright red firetruck bed.
My knees scrunched up to fit
his toddler mattress,
we lie with our faces nose to nose.

Brand new, dark lashes
frame his beautiful blues
and I stare into them.

His cheeks are pink and healthy
and I can almost convince myself
that it was just a dream.

Just a bad dream.

But the surrounding hats,
and blankets,
and paper "get-well-soons"
tell a different story.

Pointing above his eyes, he says,
"I have eyebrows....Like you."
I smile and say,
"Yes, you do."
He peeks at his arm,
"Do I have hair all over my body now?"
I smile again,
"Yes, a little."

"Mommy,"
and I can tell he is nervous;
his eyes drop downward
and his words are suddenly mumbled,
"Do you have cancer?"
And I can almost see him brace for my reply
and my eyes suddenly swell.
I feel a strange desire to say "yes,"
so that he will not feel alone.

All I can manage is a sad,
"No, baby."
And I pull him to my chest
and hold him close.

After a while,
as he curls back into his own side of the bed,
I ask,
"Do you want me to sing you a song?"

"Yes."

"What should I sing?"

"Amazing Grace."

So I begin to sing
softly,
and watch his eyelids
gently droop.
With his thumb and finger,
he pulls at his new lashes,
one by one,
soothing himself to sleep
beside me.

My first six:
#1. Firetruck beds
#2. Comfy pillows
#3. The end of chemo
#4. Hair
#5. My little boy
#6. Amazing grace

A Weird Week

2011-02-03T23:25:00.024-07:00

It has been a stange, odd week.

Parts of it were funny.

Parts of it were sweet.

But most of it felt like a weird dream.

Almost every day I thought,

"I wish I could reboot and start over!"

and

"I wish I could just take a nap!"

I don't even know why.

Just little annoyances that built up and made me feel out of control.

My brand new computer has a virus,

and I can't blog from it.

There is a spinning wheel in the middle of the page and it won't let me type.

It almost feels like virtual laughing, or taunting:

"Ha ha! I am never going to stop spinning!

I look like I am processing,

but I am not!

Ha Ha! Fooling you!"

Sometimes when I put in my blog address and push "send"

my blog starts talking to me.

It says,

"You may have won a Million Dollars!"

So I am sitting here at the kitchen counter on my old,

slow as molasses laptop

(that does not have a virus).

Tomorrow, hopefully, my new computer will be cured,

so that I can cross one annoyance off my list!

I think I had too much caffeine this week too,

which always makes me a little jumpy and off.

My mind races faster than my eyes can process,

if that makes any sense.

One day this week,

I spent 12 hours in my workout clothes

waiting for the right moment to exercise.

(It never came.)

I kept catching glimpses of myself in mirrors

and windows

and wondered,
"Why do I look familiar!?"

"WHO do I look like?"

And then I figured it out:

I don't know if I can wear those workout clothes anymore...

Another day,

I was driving around,

dropping children off at school

when Sammy pointed to the passenger seat window,

and said,

"What's that Mommy?"

That?

hmm...

well, that would be

a nylon mesh strap

ripped off

of something...

Probably something from here:

(You are looking at my garage ceiling.

Yes, that is my car parked under there.

Did I tell you about my husband's strange storage strategies?)

I really hope the ceiling continues to stay up.

The sweet part...

Andrew noticed that his eyebrows have grown in,

and woke me up to show me.

That alone

made my week

much better.

However,

I am still relieved that in four minutes it will be Friday,

and this very odd,

virus-infested,

overly-caffeinated,

Star Trekky,

nylon-strappy,

week

is almost over.

Was your week as weird as mine?

"Irritating? Ah yes - one of your Earth emotions."

Dr. Spock

Struggle

2011-02-02T12:08:00.009-07:00

Several days ago, I was searching through the car radio for a station that would allow my ipod to play through the speakers. I stopped pushing the scan button when I heard these words, "Israel means, "He struggles with God." Strangely, I was immediately comforted.

The naming of Israel is a story I have heard many times before, but never considered in depth. The book of Genesis describes how Jacob gets into a physical struggle with God, and after the wrestling, God blesses him and changes his name to "Israel." His descendents would be the nation of Israel. Jacob/Israel walks away transformed, but with a limp.

I was comforted because so often I feel like I am doing "this" wrong. I sometimes feel like there should be no struggle. I should just surrender. I should just be faithful. I should just submit to His will. I found these words comforting, because it gave me hope that God expects us, perhaps wants us to struggle with him. He is the one who named His nation Israel. God understands that struggle and questioning come before surrender, and before peace.

Throughout this last year, I have been extremely sensitive to any perceived criticism. I constantly expect others to believe I am handling "this" wrong. My feelings of rage and anger have been so intense they make me feel guilty. Any insinuation that I should do something differently in terms of grieving, or processing, or feeling, is like a needle stabbed through my eye. When anyone even touches on my guilt, I am a pile of egg shells. Angry egg shells.

I have a lot of "shoulds" going through my brain.

"I shouldn't be so angry at God. It's not His fault."

"I should trust Him."

"I should be able to surrender."

"I should be more faithful."

"I should accept that God is good, and not out to persecute me, and move on."

"I should have moved into peace and surrender by now."

If only it were that simple.

But to me, it is not.

It is trusting and surrendering to a God who allows atrocities every second of every day (for some reason) despite his goodness and love. So it is hard. I am afraid the "limp" might be too much to bear. I'm afraid any "blessing" might be too little, too late.

I fade in and out of surrender-mode, returning regularly to a place where I snatch the controls right back (at least in my own mind) and tell God to "leave me alone!"
So, I felt a wave of freedom and peace come over me when I was reminded:

God expects the struggle.
Perhaps wants it.
He understands.
He is bigger than my anger.
He is bigger than my despair.
He can work through all of it.

Which is good.

Because I struggle with Him.

Struggle and pray.

As I am sure many of you do.

Everyday.

Sushi and the Silliness of Bicycle Riding

2011-01-30T18:27:00.007-07:00

"Once conform, once do what other people do because they do it, and a lethargy steals over all the finer nerves and faculties of the soul. She becomes all outer show and inward emptiness; dull, callous, and indifferent." -Virgina Woolf

I think the last time I rode my bike for more than a mile was in high school...or maybe junior high. And even then, most of my "riding" was done in the cul-de-sac in which I lived. I run, I ride the stationary bike, but actually getting out on my bike and riding for long distances?...well, I just don't do that. I even got a new mountain bike for Christmas last year, but I only ride it on short, slow rides to the park (about 1/2 mile away).

Until last night.

John had this idea that it would be fun to take a bicycle tour of central phoenix, stopping at various restaurants and having drinks and appetizers at each one. "We wouldn't have to worry about a designated driver and we could exercise in between!" Amazingly enough, he was able to convince another couple to participate in his "creativity."

Our babysitter was available for five hours, and just as the sun was going down, we put on our coats, our gloves, and rode over to our friends' house to meet up with them. At first I was completely anxious. At every bump and curb I would hold my breath, and pray I didn't fall over. After the first few minutes my quads were already burning, and I started to wonder what in the heck we were doing. Seriously? four adults riding around town on bikes in the dark, with bike lights, restaurant-hopping?

At our friends' house, I raised my seat, buttoned up my coat, and off we went. We cycled through the neighborhood until we got to a paved road which borders a canal; our main thoroughfare throughout the night.

I spent most of the evening riding near the back of the caravan, positioned either third or fourth. I couldn't help but smile from ear to ear as I rode, watching my husband and friends pedal in front of me. I imagined John in junior high exploring the streets of Phoenix, finding himself and his independence. I watched my friend on her ten-year-old bike, a babyseat wobbling behind her, her long blonde hair streaming, and her feet pedaling twice as hard as the rest of us. Her bike switched its own gears, on its own free will. Her husband had a road bike, and had to purposely slow down to keep pace with the rest of us slowpokes. It all felt so silly, childish and free.

Our first stop was a Japanese restaurant. As we pulled up to the first parking space of the night (a lamp post) we giggled as we strung the lock through all four bikes and watched the "normal" adults drive up in their nice cars. We chose the tall bar stools at the counter and sat in a line, passing the edamame, rainbow roll, and unagi roll (eel) back and forth. The girls ordered wine, the boys, beer. In between bites we talked about family, wakeboarding, and early school experiences. We talked about moms, dads, brothers and sisters. Family structure, and the lack of it. Parental supervision, and the lack of it.

A few pedals more and we arrived at restaurant number two: a cozy den-like basement with stone walls and comfort food. We scored the cushioned seats near the fireplace and descended into conversations about books, TV shows, and movies. My friend just finished reading Bram Stoker's Dracula, and after listening to her summary, I decided to never read it. We talked about The Shack and how different people had such varying and emotional responses to the book. We talked about "Storage Wars," and "Pawn Stars," and decided that we need to have our own version of the show "Chopped" (a food competition).

After settling the bill, we headed back to our bikes for a longer ride, back in the direction of home. By now, I had met my own limit of two glasses of wine, and while no longer as anxious, I probably should have been! Thankfully my agile friend avoided my inadvertant attempt to crash into her.

As we cycled back through the canals we raced through the underpasses and along the water's edge. I could smell family dinners in ovens, and homeless men searching for places to sleep. I found myself standing up on my pedals as I cruised down the hills and back up the cement ramps. The wind was in my face, and my nose was cold. It felt amazing and free.

The third restaurant of the night was a too-brightly-lit sports bar. Huge posters for the "UFC" hung from the ceiling. Up until now, we had only eaten appetizers. Our growling stomachs' hope for dinner was dashed by the waitress's announcement that the kitchen had closed 45 minutes prior, "due to inactivity." The boys predicted doom for the establishment and ordered a beer. The girls ordered decaf with cream. Music, and concert attendence was the topic of discussion as Def Leppard and Aerosmith filled our ears and the speakers above us. We drank our coffee and beer, and quickly escaped out into the chilly night in search of food.

For less than a block, we pedaled our bicycles to the last stop of the night. We found a seat in an empty booth (they were all empty) and breathed a sigh of relief that dinner was still being served. As we finally filled our stomachs, our discussion tended toward religion, the Bible, and how God interacts with us in the world. We spoke of heartaches, unanswered prayers, family pain, and powerlessness. I was reminded of how much I have to be thankful for, and how important it is to let my loved ones know how much I appreciate them. Today.

We unlocked our bikes one last time and pedaled for home. It was almost midnight. It was hard to believe that six hours had passed so quickly. We arrived home an hour later than expected, paid the babysitter, and fell right to sleep.

Strangely enough, our bikes seemed to get us in touch with our silliness and childlike joy. It opened avenues of thought, scent, and memory which might otherwise have remained closed. Our midnight ride provided us a different lens with which to experience the city, the night, each other, and ourselves.

And, I didn't fall! Not even once.

Hatsy Go Lucky

2011-01-28T21:42:00.003-07:00

My camera is still in Texas.

So I was using my cell phone camera to take all my pictures.

Then my cell phone fell in a toilet.

(I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have told you,

but that is life.

At least, my life.)

But I rescued it!

(is that worse?)

and it works...

at least for now.

For a few days it took pictures like this:

But it has de-fogged itself.

I sanitized it,

(if that is possible)

and now it is working just fine.

So I was finally able to take some pictures

of Hats.

Lots of hats!

Thank you all so much!

And thank you for all the extra goodies that came with them. :)

Kentucky!

and another one from Kentucky. Isn't this cute!!? In honor of the Kentucky Derby.

Oklahoma!

Minnesota,

and another one from Minnesota!

Hawaii!

South Dakota!

Montana!

(I'm starting to feel like the announcer for the Miss America Pageant)

Vermont!

Illinois!

and Outer Space.

(If you are wondering what Andrew was doing, he was "borrowing" Aaron's DSi

while I took the pictures.

Hopefully he didn't do any damage.)

Thank you all again!!

Eyelash update: I think they are at least 1/2 inch long now. His eyebrows are almost all grown in, and he has a very thin layer of blonde peach fuzz on his head.

Hooray for hats and hair!

You Capture: Happy

2011-01-27T00:36:00.010-07:00

note: My husband has foot issues which keep him from exercising in ~~normal ways~~ the way he would prefer (running). Instead, he has discovered other, unique ways to give his heart a workout (you will soon see).

Happy.

Sometimes, in order to fully describe or portray an emotion, it is helpful to show its opposite.

Take for instance, the way Andrew was feeling when we so cruelly dragged him

out of his warm carseat (where he was sleeping),

and stuffed him into this backpack

on a very cold (for Arizona's standards) day:

Definitely UnHappy.

or the way John was feeling,

walking like this

up the mountain

while I took incessant pictures

and the boys fought and fidgeted :

UnHappy.

(I put my camera away for awhile after that one.)

In contrast,

this is how Aaron felt helping his Dad exercise:

Happy! (that he didn't have to walk.)

And,

soon enough

(John might disagree)

we made it to the top.

John was elated to sit down.

Everyone else was Happy about the treats.

Sammy was Happy to be wearing a warm spiderweb hat.

I was just plain Happy.

Finally it was time to go back home.

Everyone got into position:

and descended,

Happy to be together on a beautiful day.

Precisely the least, the softest, lightest, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a flash, a moment -

a little makes the way of the best happiness.

~Frederich Nietzsche

A Beautiful Adventure

2011-01-24T14:36:00.007-07:00

It was about 4 o'clock, and John was still sitting on the floor playing legos with Sammy. "Are we still going hiking? because if so, we need to go now," I said. John replied, "Okay, okay."

So we got ready. We threw a few water bottles into a backpack, grabbed a sweatshirt for each boy, and set off for one of our favorite local mountains. By the time we started hiking, it was already 5 pm. Andrew was in John's backpack; the other boys were walking on their own. It was still bright and sunny, but getting late.

(BTW, my camera is being fixed, in a land far, far way (Texas), and I am stuck with my cell phone camera. Better than nothing.)

We started the slow shuffle up the mountain, and after about 50 yards, Sammy was saying "Are we almost there?" A lady on her way down passed us and giggled at his comment. I said, "Um, no. This is going to be a long walk. Put one foot in front of the other and keep moving!" And, after asking the same question three more times (with the same response), he listened!

About a quarter of the way up, the boys took a little break:

I am such a poor planner. Or rather, non-planner. About half-way up I thought, "Geez, we should have brought a flashlight." Because it was starting to look like this:

And this:

Aaron and John (with Andrew on his back) were up ahead, and it was just Sammy and me, trudging along. And he was not complaining. He was just walking, and talking, and getting compliments from the hikers going down:

"Keep it up Buddy!"

and they said to me:

"Startin' em young! That's great."

So, we were both feeling pretty good about ourselves.

After MANY rocky stairways, switchbacks, and conversations about Bobo Fett and Jengo Fett, we made it to the top, and it was GORGEOUS:

BUT

it was also

DARK

and getting

DARKER.

"We are idiots!" I thought to myself "Up here, in the dark, on this mountain, with three children!"

John wasn't at all concerned.

Thankfully, he was also more prepared that I was. He DID think to bring a flashlight

and

snacks:

So, after a few crackers, dates, chocolates, and pretzels we headed back down,

through the rocky and steep terrain

in the dark.

With one flashlight between the five of us.

There were a few brave, avid hikers still on their way up.

They were not giving out compliments.

Instead they had questioning looks on their face which probably betrayed their thoughts:

"Nutty people, up here in the dark with three children!"

No one was patting us on the back now.

But it continued to be gorgeous.

And no one was complaining.

As the night grew darker,

and the footing less visible,

and Sammy continued to trip

(while holding my hand),

I continued to worry,

thinking:

There is no one out here!

Someone could trip!

Someone could fall and hurt himself!

John could fall and hurt himself and Andrew!

And THEN how will we get down?

I started to think of hikers lost on trails

and trapped on Mt. Everest (it was kinda cold out there...)

and helicopter rescues

and...

And then I would try to relax, and look around and enjoy the beauty.

Because that seemed to be what John, and Aaron, and Andrew were already doing.

Sammy was still talking about Jengo Fett.

I spent much of the walk down wondering if this was

a beautiful adventure

or a foolhardy endeavor.

We could have been safely at home,

playing legos.

But we would have missed this:

and the thrill,

and the sweet conversations.

We made it to the bottom

unscathed,

exhilarated,

happy,

and proud

of ourselves.

I suppose that is often how life is.

In order to experience the beauty

and enjoy the adventure,

and feel accomplished,

you have to take risks,

despite the worry

and potential trips and falls.

Right?

Sometimes that is hard for me to remember.

Have you been on any ~~foolhardy endeavors~~ beautiful adventures lately?

"Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."

Helen Keller

And now, back to our regularly scheduled potty training...

2011-01-19T14:46:00.005-07:00

I vowed to myself that I would spend the day organizing my desk. My threshhold for clutter has finally been reached and I can't stand it anymore!! But this darn computer! sitting right in the middle of it all...calling me....taunting me... I'm afraid I have succumbed to its power.

But, now that I'm here...

I am trying to move on with regular life. Now that the atypical difficult things have been completed, ie. chemo, radiation, blood transfusions, etc., it is time to move on to the typical difficult things, i.e. potty training, bed time routines, and discipline. ahh!

The potty training, which I started last March, and then put on a very high shelf, still needs to be done. I am hoping it will be easier now that he is almost a year older. But I'm not sure. He hasn't shown much personal interest. However, he is hearing quite a bit of brotherly peer pressure, things like,"you stink" "you're smelly" and the kicker, "you're a baby." I was encouraged this morning by his statement, "Black ninjas don't poop their pants." To which I replied, "No. No, I'm sure they don't." So I am bribing him with chocolate, and trying to remember to bring him to the toilet, so that one day, he can grow up to be a proper black ninja.

Bed time. (Sigh.) I'm not sure what to do, because I am conflicted. We used to have the sleep routine down. I would put him in his bed, he would play a little, sing a little, and then fall asleep on his own, in his own bed. Needless to say, that pattern was disrupted. By everything. By hospitals. By pain. By late night cartoons in the hospital, while in pain. By my need to have him near me. By his fear of being alone. So this will probably be more of a process. But last night the process included him jumping on the bed, teasing the dogs, squeezing the dogs, pulling my arm (while I was trying to read a book), getting up and down off of the bed, and frustrating me. So I need to come up with a better solution. When he was younger, I was able to let him cry, without feeling horrible. That is harder now.

Discipline. I am so thankful to report that Andrew's cheeks are pink again. His hair follicles are starting to burst forth little buds, and he is regaining all of his former energy. He has a grand interest in a game which I call, "cause and effect," which includes dumping sugar to see how far it spreads, throwing ceramic bowls to see what happens, and dumping electronic toys in water to see if they still work later (nope). I am realizing how much his energy truly was compromised by the chemo, even though I may not have noticed it before. Once again, I think eventually, I will be able to let him cry and not "give in" to make him happy, but that coddling habit did start to grow, and now I need to re-work things. My kitchen floor is a MESS!

I still have lots and lots of thoughts floating through my head. I am trying to get used to this new phase of life in which I have to balance living for the day (carpe diem!), grieving the past 8 mos, and hoping for/fearing the future. I still find myself crying at night, but I am so relieved to wake up and see his smiling, pink-cheeked, potential black ninja face.

And now, back to my disaster of a desk. UGH!

Are you as creative as a first grader?

2011-01-15T18:14:00.000-07:00

Well, now that my life has not involved daily trips to the doctor, I don't know what to do with myself.

Soooo, I have been throwing myself into my son's first grade homework. Is it sad that whenever he gets a less than conventional assignment I can hardly contain myself? When his homework says, "make a germ model" or "read a book and make a mobile" my eyes light up, my heart beats faster, and there is almost certainly a skip in my step and perhaps even drool in my mouth, but that is probably TMI.

I've told you before. I am a nerd.

His latest assignment was "make something new out of something old." At first I did not feel very inspired, and neither did he. So we just started by stringing old, previously punctured bottle caps together. We were just going to make a bottlecap snake and call it done. But as we were making it (um, I was stringing them, and he was sitting on the floor teasing his brother) I looked at it and thought, "if I bend this in half, these could be legs!" and then we used a water bottle for a body, a clear Christmas ornament for his head, wrapping paper for his clothes, old buttons for eyes, nose, and mouth, green Easter grass for hair, and then Aaron came up with the brilliant idea that he needed a cape. And that is how "Super Recyclying Man" came to be. He had a "Please Recycle" emblem on his green tissue paper cape, and was clutching an old Starbucks coffee mitt in his green pipe cleaner arms. I was so proud. It's embarrassing.

Is it ridiculous that my smile extended from ear to ear and that I couldn't wait for him to come home from school so that he could tell me how the teacher liked it? I'm telling you, I think something is missing from my life!! :) I was like a starved animal.

I would show you a picture, but the teacher liked it so much SHE KEPT IT! She gave me him a 5+ and wrote "SO COOL" on the assignment page. And, as sad as that is, it TOTALLY made my day. If she ever decides that she can part with him, I will post a picture.

Please tell me I am not the only creatively-starved parent out there, reveling in the praise of their child's first grade teacher. Or am I?

Ta Da!

2011-01-11T22:20:00.005-07:00

Andrew's latest phrase whenever he shows me something is

"Ta Da!"

So I will do likewise:

I am finally posting hats,

Ta Da!!

Geez you people have overwhelmed us!

Package after package!

So sweet.

But every time I sat down to write a post,

There were three more boxes to open.

So I kept collecting and collecting

and taking pictures.

Sooooo finally...

(with five more hats here on my shelf)

I am posting.

Alabama

(I got a little fancy with this one, and was photo editing...)

A hat knit by my sister:

A Phillies hat from my Aunt.

A hat that sings "Jingle Bell Rock" from my neighbor.

Everyone needs one.

A dog hat from my husband's friend's sister

Oregon

University of Michigan, from my Aunt

Iowa

New Hampshire

South Carolina

(on Andrew, not the Alligator blanket on Sammy)

Nebraska

Indiana

Idaho

Nevada

(see the lovely placement of shoes by the refrigerator?)

New Mexico

Kansas

Louisiana

Germany, from John's co-worker

Oregon (in a different style)

Pennsylvania

Washington D.C.

Providence, Rhode Island

An awesome dragon hat for the colder weather.

I already have five more!!

He is still completely bald,

so still sporting the headwear.

But, today I did notice a little eyelash stubble...

Thank you all so much.

A New Year, A New Day, A New Cup

2011-01-04T14:44:00.005-07:00

I really could use a cup of coffee (with lots of Bailey's). So I am joining in today.

If we were truly having coffee today, I would tell you that in my rollercoaster life, the last few weeks have been wonderful. Christmas shopping (love it) spending time with family and playing games (fun!), singing (well kinda) the Hallelujah Chorus at the mall (everybody's doing it), sleeping in (delightful), three little boys and a husband at home with me (sweet).

In addition to celebrating a New Year, I am also celebrating many other NEW things. Hooray!

A NEW back. Well, at least, it feels like one. I have started running again. My back stopped hurting, and I am finally getting back into a routine after eight months of craziness. Which is good, because I have eaten lots of chocolate and stollen over the last few weeks.

A NEW blog header. Thanks very much to Heather at

<
because I have no idea how to do this stuff myself.

A NEW computer, on which my fingers are now typing-- my Christmas present from John this year. It was so needed! My old laptop's "screensaver" was a bright red triangle with an exclamation mark in the middle of it. I was sure it was going to explode at any moment. It was clogged with so many pictures that it took several seconds to recognize each key stroke. It was SO slow. The best part of the gift was that John took all of my pics off the old computer and put them on the new one and organized them!! He spent his sleeping hours of Christmas Eve sitting at the computer transferring data!! Amazing!

I also finally made my way to http://www.picnik.com/. What was I waiting for? That place is so fun!! I don't really know what I am doing, but I edited a few pics, and I love them. So I have a NEW photo editing hang out.

Perfect for this coffee drinking occasion, I got "John" a new Keurig coffee maker. While easy to work, it has a few downsides. Like, it doesn't get very hot. It doesn't make a full cup of coffee, and the coffee that it does make, is diluted (compared to how we usually make it). So, while new, probably not better. But it is nice for a quick cup in the morning. If we were really having coffee, I might show you the bright shiny new one, and then make us a pot in the old one we bought at Target for $29.99.

We got lots and lots of NEW hats. So many in fact that I am still working on getting all of the pictures together for a humongous hat posting. Wow! You guys were so sweet to us.

But, best of all, as of 20 minutes ago, I am now cautiously able to say that I have a NEW schedule! One that does not include almost daily trips to the clinic and poisonous chemicals in my son's body. The scans were negative!!!! I am also experiencing a NEW breathing rhythm. One that includes exhaling.

Thank you for your prayers, your kind comments, and your sweet thoughts. I am relieved, but still oh so cautious!! I need to go hide in a room with wall-to-wall wood paneling and knock around in there for a while. :)

Go have a few more cups of coffee with Amy and friends at:

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Once again

2011-01-03T15:20:00.002-07:00

I have a positive, upbeat post coming. Really, I do!! All New Yearsy and hatsy. Actually, it is already written and waiting for me to push "publish." But I need to purge before binging.

I wrote this this morning, from the waiting room:

I just left Andrew with an anesthesiologist and walked down the hall while I heard him screaming, "Mommy! Mommy!! where are you Mommy!" As if the rest of today wasn't hard enough.

Now I am waiting.   A whole line of tests scheduled within three hours. MRI. Bone scan. CT scan. I always feel like I can handle things until I actually have to handle them.

I just left the prep room. The irony of the innocent toys seemed in stark contrast to the serious task at hand. I listened to a toy Ernie sing "Rubber Ducky, you're the one" while contemplating the possibility that cancer could still exist in my baby. I used to sit and watch "Sesame Street" on the comfort of my parents' orange shag carpet; not a care in my 3-year-old world. And yet, here is Andrew, clinging to me while I once again lift his shirt, hold his hands, and brace him while the nurses access his port. And then I had to hand him over to a stranger in a white coat. Torture.

Once again, I feel like someone is playing a sick perverted joke on me. I was planning to sit here and relax. I was going to read my book and listen to music, but uh uh. I can't concentrate. Have to write. Have to get this OUT.

My good friend's third husband died of cancer three days before Christmas. Which is awful enough on it's own, but this is the second time for her.  Her second husband died of cancer as well. She is only 41. It just strikes me, once again, how powerless we all are. It doesn't seem to matter how many prayers go out. It doesn't matter how horrific the consequences or the means. It doesn't matter how devastating it will be to those left behind. Death happens.

It feels very much like God has abandoned us in the physical realm. And I suppose, in many ways, he has. And that terrifies me. Because I want to believe that God would use his power to heal Andrew. I want to believe that my prayers will help. I want to believe that the prayers of others will be heard. But then I watch my friend suffer, once again. Everyone prayed and prayed. We all gasped, "Can this be happening to her again?" We prayed to God for mercy. And yet, death.

We are so powerless, and I hate the feeling. I know it has always been true, but I have never felt it so intensely. We all live at the mercy of God.

It is hard to surrender to that. It is hard to trust, when you know that you may not get the answer to prayer that you want. Especially when you are surrounded by death, pain, tragedy, and unanswered prayers.

I am still putting on an outer coat of trusting God. I am still trying to let it sink into my soul, so that I can feel it. But right now, I can tell it is only on the surface. It is only cognitive. It is only a belief, and a faith, not a deep down, depth-of-my-soul feeling. Inside I am still raging at the torture we humans are expected to endure. I am still raging about what has happened to Andrew.

God can move mountains. He can calm storms. He lets little children suffer from cancer. And women lose their third husbands, despite fervent prayers. It is hard to reconcile.

The part in the movie, "Superman" where he and Lois Lane are flying together comes to mind when I think about my relationship with God. She starts out clinging to him, terrified that she will fall. She realizes she is completely dependent. Later she grows comfortable, and holds on to just his hand, then to his fingertips, and then finally, she gets cocky and lets go, thinking she can fly on her own. She falls headlong to the earth, and he dives down to retrieve her.

I guess I have been in all of those positions. I wish right now, that I could cling to Him, close my eyes, and let him do the flying. But I am SO ANGRY, I cannot. But I cannot let go either. So I am hanging precariously to his fingertips, hoping that will be enough to keep me from falling.

Tomorrow we find out the results of the tests.

I come back, once again, to the only verse I find comforting:

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."  Proverbs 3:5-6

"I want Jingle Bells!!!"

2010-12-21T23:51:00.000-07:00

Every December 24th,

we attend a Christmas Eve service at our church.

I love it.

I love the Christmas carols,

and the lights,

and getting dressed up,

and seeing everyone in their black and red Christmas attire.

I love the "cold" weather and the atmosphere of love and kindness.

The "fruit of the spirit" are almost tangible.

In previous years, we used a babysitter,

or my parents watched the boys for the evening service.

But last year we decided to brave it,

and take the whole family.

John and I found seats near the back (for three reasons).

I found a few programs for the boys to color,

dug through my purse and found a few pens,

and held my breath.

It started out okay.

The music was loud (hooray!).

The singing was loud (yay!).

We breathed a little sigh of relief

and sang along to a boisterous "Joy To The World!"

But then came "Oh Come All Ye Faithful"....

a slower moving, more emotionally-focused song.

Not exactly Andrew's cup of tea.

That is where the trouble began.

Andrew did not like "Oh Come All Ye Faithful"

and he quickly made his displeasure known.

He started yelling out requests:

"Jingle Bells!!! Jingle Bells!!!

Jingle Bells!!! Jingle Bells!!!"

during the softly sung,

"Venite Adoremus, Venite Adoremus, Dominum."

We tried denial for a few more verses;

we tried shushing;

we even tried muffling,

but to no avail.

He just kept getting louder,

"JINGLE BELLS!!!"

and louder,

"I want JINGLE BELLS!!!"

So I took him outside.

There, in my brand new Christmas outfit,

I followed him all over the church grounds

as he climbed and jumped off every cement structure in his view.

I found a parent of another ejected two-year-old.

We talked

while we waited for our "lucky" spouses to emerge from the service.

It was one of those times in life

when you don't realize how sweet it is until the moment is gone.

It was just Andrew and me

(which was, at the time, a rare one-on-one opportunity).

But I don't remember appreciating it.

I remember longing to go back into the church and sing, and sit.

I remember resenting that I had been the parent nominated to leave the service,

and griping in my mind about having to follow an active two-year-old

around the church parking lot.

"Don't I do enough of this every day?"

I grumbled to myself.

I wish it were possible to always enjoy every moment.

To treat each day with awe and wonder.

To appreciate the gifts I have.

And always find the joy.

I didn't see it as a sweet time for Mama and Andrew.

I missed it.

I keep envisioning this December 24th.

If all goes well this week,

it will be Andrew's first time back to church since the tumor was discovered.

I can't wait to sit in the pew with him

and see things through his eyes.

I can't wait

to see what he does.

If he yells out "Jingle Bells!!"

I might raise him above my head

and join him

and laugh

and cry.

Or we might leave again.

And this time,

I will enjoy the moment

in the chilled air,

adoring him

as he grabs my hand

and climbs cement blocks

and races through the prayer garden,

happy and playful.

Lucky me.

Day #2 "Celebration:" Sepsis and the ICU

2010-12-14T16:06:00.004-07:00

Sunday, the day after my "amazing day" post, was a terrifying day.

I woke myself up early (about 4 a.m.)

with a dream that shocked my eyes open.

My family and I were riding in my Dad's motor boat on a lake.

Suddenly, we came to a HUGE wave.

The boat tipped up, to an angle greater than 90 degrees,

and flipped upside down on top of us.

My panicked thought before I woke up, was,

"ANDREW!" He can't swim!

I must rescue Andrew."

Later that night I was in the ICU, fearing he might die.

Sunday started out nice enough.

We went to church, ate some lunch,

and John and I went to Cardinals/Broncos game with some friends.

We had free seats

(why else would anyone go to THAT game?).

I was looking forward to some relaxing adult time.

We made it through the first half.

Then, thankfully, I checked my phone.

It was SO LOUD in the stadium that I did not hear my phone ring.

Four times.

It was the babysitter, getting more and more panicked.

Andrew was at home shaking, with a fever of 102.5.

We immediately left the game, raced home, put Andrew in the car,

and raced to the hospital.

When we first got there (around 6 p.m.), he actually seemed okay.

His fever was lower, his blood pressure was normal.

However, around 8: 45, things quickly turned.

His blood pressure started going down.

His heart was racing.

His breathing was labored.

His fever climbed to 103.7.

We later discovered he had sepsis.

Bacteria from his gut had leaked into his blood stream.

I have feared this from the beginning of treatment.

The possibility of sepsis is the reason we have rushed to the ER every time his temperature gets over 101.

(The chemo destroys his white blood cells

and makes him both susceptible to infections,

and unable to fight them off.)

Around 9:30 p.m., we were moved to the ICU.

His blood pressure continued to drop for several hours.

I lay next to him in his hospital bed,

holding an oxygen mask over his nose,

moving it frequently to keep up with his roving head.

Whenever I relaxed, or dozed off, even for a short period,

his oxygen absorption reading went down

and an alarm would sound.

Every 15 minutes a machine would automatically take his blood pressure.

A sound would signal the cuff's activation,

and with each processing beep, I would hold my breath and pray.

For a very long time, until 4 am, his blood pressure seemed on a downward trend.
Lower and lower.

"Scary" does not begin to define it.

Around 4 am, after ten hours of fluids and antibiotics,

his blood pressure stabilized,

his fever was gone,

and all of the other "vitals" were back to normal.

Thankfully, the antibiotics were doing the trick.

Thankfully, right now he is sitting here next to me at the hospital,

decorating a gingerbread house and frosting a cookie.

He will continue to get antibiotics for 14 days.

Through Christmas.

But thankfully, the doctors have worked it out

so that after one more day (or two) in the hospital,

I will be able to give him the medicine at home.

Just when I tried to relax.

It almost seems like punishment for relaxing and celebrating.

I let my guard down.

Saturday night

for the first time since April 17

(the day we discovered the tumor)

I dared to pray

"Dear God,

I am cautiously giving Andrew to you again.

Your arms are bigger.

You love him more.

Your arms reach places that I cannot.

I put him in your protection."

And then this happened.

I don't know what to think about prayer anymore.

But then again,

Andrew is smiling.

Chemo is done.

Antibiotics can be given at home.

Christmas is coming.

I am thankful.

An amazing day.

2010-12-11T22:53:00.007-07:00

I woke up about three times,

every night,

all week long,

checking Andrew's tubes

and changing his soaking diaper

(from the constant fluids being pumped into him).

So I'm tired.

But I have to tell you about my day :)!!

This morning,

the first thing I heard was Andrew yelling at our six-pound dog

(with an over-active tongue):

"Ruby!

don't lick my beautiful Mommy!"

Andrew (and his pump) and Ruby had been dumped into bed by my husband.

He was done dealing with all three boys downstairs,

and didn't find it fair that I was still sleeping.

After hearing those sweet words,

I didn't mind the "wake-up" call.

About half an hour later, the alarm on Andrew's pump went off:

Reservoir Volume: 0.0. Empty!

The last round of chemo: DONE!!!

We (my husband) took some pictures of the tube removal process.

But I wasn't wearing make-up,

they were blurry,

and really,

does anyone want to see the removal of a needle...

ummm...

probably not.

Andrew's first act of freedom

was to put an ornament on the Advent calendar

my Grandma made for me when I was a child.

You have to be fluent in counting to use it,

because some of the felt numbers have fallen off.

I think Andrew may have picked out day #21,

but no one stopped him.

(try not to notice the mismatched jammies, 'kay?)

We got dressed, and headed to our favorite bakery.

Can you believe Andrew had another cupcake?

When all of these celebrations are over, I think he may go through withdrawals.

Then we headed off to the park with our non-cupcake baked goods.

Our church was having a little breakfast get together,

so we brought along some sparkling grape juice

(I thought it was apple cider, but nope),

some Christmas cookies and muffins.

We drank the juice out of plastic cups and toasted Andrew,

and hoped for a better 2011.

Not exactly champagne, but it was nice.

The boys played on the playground with their friends

and had to be dragged away from the fun.

My husband never does anything half-heartedly.

Next on our agenda,

was a full-day of field trip activities

so that Aaron could earn more "belt-loops" for his boyscout uniform.

I have yet to see any of these "loops", but we spent the day earning them:

picking up cigarette butts,

getting a tour of the nearest bank,

going to the post office...

Which reminded me

that it had been a while since I had been to the good ol' P.O...

So...

the plan was for me to check my P.O. box

and then give Aaron "a tour" of the rest of the building

(we are nerds, what can I say).

John would stay in the car with the other two boys.

But when I got to my P.O box,

it was full of keys!

10 of them!

to 10 bigger lockers!!

10!!

I should have gone outside, summoned John for reinforcements,

and then opened all the lockers.

But it was too exciting.

And I am too impulsive.

Aaron and I opened locker after locker

and had a huge pile of boxes sitting in the middle of the P.O aisle.

Then I realized that our car was kinda far away

and we couldn't just leave the packages in the post office

and come back for more...

so I tried to pile seven of them in my arms and two in Aaron's.

I was about ready to balance the last one on my head,

but then a kind man

(or perhaps just an incredulous one),

seeing our blissful "distress,"

offered to help.

He carried several of them to the car with us.

I think he probably muttered

"nutty lady"

under his breath,

or at least in his mind,

the whole way to our car.

But I didn't care.

I was too busy giggling. :)

Aaron never got a tour of the post office.

But I think we may have created a "forever" memory.

Here are picture of the boxes. Thank you all so much, what a fun surprise! :)

(try not to notice the cheerios, 'kay?)

After our field trips,

we headed to the Rainforest Cafe for dinner with my parents, brother and aunt.

Andrew growled at the Cheetahs,

and warned other children:

"Get back to your seats before you are eaten!!"

He was serious.

(I have no idea what Sammy is doing.

Perhaps praying that his food would arrive soon?

It took about an hour.)

Then we drove home.

And opened all of the packages.

Thank you all!! So sweet.

Stay tuned for the next "Hats" edition.

I have lots of pictures to take!!

Champagne is still waiting.

Maybe tomorrow.

I think we gotta drag this celebration out for awhile.

It was an amazing day.

Chemo is DONE!!!

Three more days.

2010-12-07T22:25:00.001-07:00

Well, chemo was a go!

Tomorrow is day number three of five.

Still holding my breath.

I am trying to remember the lesson I learned my freshman year in college:

"Don't wait to celebrate."

Instead of choosing a fun elective for my one month "interim" class,
I chose the required course, to get it out of the way.

The next year, I switched schools.

No "fun elective" for me.

I missed out on Europe.
I got a classroom discussion on moral development instead.

So Saturday, after I take the tubes out,
we are celebrating.
We are cheering.
We are crying (well, at least I am).

And then we will brace ourselves for the first of many scans.

Right now, it just all feels surreal.

I don't really feel anything.

I think I'm waiting for Saturday to see what comes bursting out.

All week I've been looking through photos,

putting together a digital photo album to document these last seven months.

(A huge, massive deal which will probably include several volumes when I'm done)
It has been taking up a lot of my time and emotions.

While I was searching, I found some pictures of Christmas past.

2007

Andrew, 3 mos.

2008

2009

2010

Thank you all for the support over the last seven months.

Three more days.

The champagne is waiting.

Hats: a somewhat wintery edition

2010-12-03T17:07:00.000-07:00

Time for more hats!!

I save each card, each picture, and all of your kind notes.

They mean so much.

I will keep them forever.

Now to begin.

Andrew has received a few winter hats along the way.

They were too warm to wear when they initially arrived.

However, the time has come.

We have also received many new ballcaps from various places.

Thank you!

"Mr. Froggy" has become popular headwear in the neighborhood.

(John's friend made him.)

Alberta, Canada sent this along with a ballcap back in October.

It has been cold lately, so he can finally wear it. :)

When we were in Houston, back in July,

Mississippi sent us a winter cap in addition to a ballcap.

Have you been to Houston in July?

The thought of putting it on his head made me sweat.

We had to save this one.

It's perfect now :)

Alaska!! Cold enough to be in the "winter edition,"

even as a ballcap.

San Miguel Allende, Mexico

not so wintery...

Tennessee

Another one from Australia.

and London, England

(a bonus from Alaska. Her friend just returned from England and brought this back for Andrew.)

Thank you all for the sweet hats and extra goodies that accompany them!!

We are grateful.

the last two miles

2010-11-30T23:59:00.000-07:00

Almost at the finish line.

I feel like I did near the end of my marathon in 1996.

Focusing on the ground;

staring at my feet;

putting one foot in front of the other;

searching for a soothing song to sing to the beat of my footsteps;

fearing that my knees might implode, or my heart might stop beating, or my lungs might collapse...

right before the finish line.

People are walking in front of me,

chit-chatting about la-di-da,

and I am in excruciating pain.

I want to scream "get out of my way!"

but I am so depleted I can hardly gasp for air.

Yeah.

Just like that.

I'm so afraid something will disrupt the completion of this chemo,

I can hardly move, or talk, or blog.

If all goes well, the last chemo begins next Monday.

I am so desperate for it to be done by Christmas....

What an amazing gift that would be, for our whole family.

However, I will admit that the Christmas season is definitely serving as a beautiful distraction. Our Arizona weather is actually COLD!!! I have been wearing my winter coat in the mornings and scraping frost off my windshield!! I love the Christmas lights everywhere and blaring carols in the car. Every night before sleep, my jammied boys cuddle in my bed for a live broadcast Christmas show on ABC, or CBS, with commercials and everything, just like when I was little.

I let my boys decorate the Christmas tree this year, all by themselves. I think I am going to leave it that way. A few ribbons strewn around the middle and a bunch of ornaments clumped at the bottom. They keep taking them off, looking and talking about them, and putting them back on. It's sweet. Sammy was so excited about unpacking the Christmas village houses, I told him he "could be in charge of them." He set them up the way he wanted to, and is so proud.

I hope you all are enjoying the Christmas/holiday season.

I can see the finish line ahead. It would be nice to stop running, and breathe again. And sing songs on Christmas without having to worry about chemo the next morning. That would be

really

very

awesomely

amazingly

overwhelmingly

nice.

Please pray that it will be so.

Wow. It's midnight. Happy December to you all.

Gratitude...attempt #2

2010-11-22T23:34:00.002-07:00

Last Tuesday, after posting my angry blog, I went to bed, still frustrated. In the middle of the night, Andrew woke up screaming, kicking his legs in pain, and crying that his eye hurt. Yup. That eye. I think my whole body stopped moving. Lungs, heart, everything. Terror. I took him downstairs, where John was still working and gave Andrew a bowl of cereal. He seemed happy enough, so I decided on denial.

That worked until Thursday morning when he woke up and his eye was puffy and he again complained that his "eye hurt." I was panic-stricken. During our scheduled doctor's appointment that morning I could hardly admit my fear to the nurse. I saw Andrew's life, and my own, taking a dramatic nose-dive.

Thursday morning they scheduled a CT scan before he began his previously scheduled chemo. I held my breath for several hours and sat in numb, silent hysteria until the doctor stuck his hand through the door with an "OK" sign. It was just a sinus infection, on both sides. It affected the one eye more significantly, probably due to all that has been done to it (surgery, radiation). He's on massive anti-biotics, but he is okay.

Wow. The moment after his original scream Tuesday night, I realized how much I had been taking for granted. I realized how silly I was to have spent my day worrying about the future, when the day itself had been happy, and Andrew had been happy. I realized how dependent I am on God for everything, and that everything I have is a blessing from him. And I have SO much.

We spent three VERY long days in the hospital. We arrived at 8 am Thursday morning and left at 8 pm Saturday evening, exhausted.

They gave Andrew medicine to "sedate" him for the CT scan, but it turned out to have exactly the opposite effect. He turned into a raging, writhing, miserable lunatic for 12 hours. He was literally attempting to dive out of his bed, headfirst. He screamed at me. He hit me. He screamed that he "hated me." Over and over. Every so often, he would calm down, put his head in my lap and sob. I would hug him and comfort him. Then he would ask for food, I would make it, and he would throw it at me. I kept trying to appease him, and please him, and make him happy, but he just kept screaming. If he could have punched me in the face, he would have. (He reminded me of myself, in my conversations with God.) It was exhausting, for both of us.

On Friday morning, the hospital staff and patients celebrated Andrew's last inpatient chemo. We sang the "hokie pokie." He "rang the gong" and licked the frosting off of three glorious cupcakes, blue, chocolate, and pink. (The dye in the cupcakes was so bright, his face was dyed pink for 24 hours. I'm not sure what was more toxic, the chemo or his cupcakes :).) I took about 2000 pictures while also trying to videotape. Surprisingly enough, none of it turned out very well. I needed at least one more hand.

Sunday I woke up with my own sinus infection and my period. I still feel icky and have a bad headache. Blah.

Earlier today I wrote, and then retracted a post about gratitude. It was a very cognitive, in my head, "trying to figure things out" post. It exhausted me, and it didn't feel real as I posted it, so I took it back.

I am grateful for so much. I can't walk two feet in my house without tripping over my blessings. I realize that everything in my life is a gift. But the last week or so, I have honestly felt like crawling into a deep dark hole and staying there. I start to worry that depression might take over and I wonder if I can I keep handling this... I guess part of it is that I dread the next few days. I fear what that orange "medicine" is going to do to my son this time. I am also finding myself terrified of "life after chemo." I thought I would be more excited, but I am finding myself so scared.

But I AM grateful. I am grateful for a God who can handle my rage. I am grateful for a God who keeps on loving me, even when I call him a liar and a sadist. I am grateful for a beautiful husband who loves being a father and enjoys his children. I am grateful for my sweet and precious children. I am thankful for my dogs. I have a house, food, clothing, and a comfortable bed to sleep in every night. The list goes on and on.

It has been a long, emotional week. But I am grateful to have lived it.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

Coffee at the mall, with God

2010-11-16T22:53:00.000-07:00

Ahhh...I'm actually sitting at my computer.

I would have joined you earlier for coffee but... I was at the mall! On a "should have been blissful" all-day shopping excursion. My mom watched Andrew and gave me some time to myself.

Unfortunately, "time to myself" proves to be dangerous these days.

I just sit and obsess too much. I sit and jabber at God so much. All day. Every day. He's probably up there thinking (much like you, dear readers) "Enough already!! Haven't we hashed this through before?" Alas. Yes. Yes, we have.

So, I had my coffee and conversation with God today. I'm afraid I did all the talking.

It went something like this:

Me, searching through the sweaters at Nordstrom Rack: Thanks! (tons of sarcasm there). I knew it was too good to be true. I could hardly believe my blessings. I was so amazed at my three beautiful boys, how they were mine(!), and so sweet, and so cute. Of course!! You saved pediatric cancer for my child. For me. But "oh how you love me." mmm hmm. Go sell crazy somewhere else.

Later (ordering a decaf ginger cookie latte at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and noticing that "Jesus" was a barrista): I wish I had the faith that some people have. Where they can cling to You and believe that You are good even when their baby is diagnosed with cancer. Are there really people like that? Because, wow, that is impressive. I'm not there.  Right now, I am SO ANGRY at you I wish I could punch you in the face multiple times. But of course, you are invisible, untouchable, impermeable God and I am mere, weak, pathetic, human throwing punches that won't touch you in the least. Happy for you.

And then as I wander through the CD racks, I reflect, feeling slightly worried that God might retaliate for my brazenness and lack of "appropriate humility:" Really, things have gone quite well so far. Maybe You have been involved more than I know. Maybe I am not giving you credit where credit is due. Maybe you have been protecting Andrew through all of this. I hope so. Are you there God? It's me, Julie. Are you there?

And then I ask myself: What do I want from God? Andrew is at home with Grandma, happy, playing, and making platelets. He usually handles the chemo well, he likes going to the clinic... Am I giving God a chance at all? Is there anything he COULD do to show me that he loves me and that he cares? I'm afraid I need a "mene mene tekel upharsin" moment, maybe on a sticky note. "THE CANCER WONT COME BACK" would be nice. But, that's not going to happen, is it? I won't get any confirmation that I will be alive tomorrow either... Such happy thoughts for a day at the mall.

Me, considering a black sweater jacket at Buckle: Why do you torture us God? Why do you allow SO much pain? I think about my friends who have been through horrific family deaths, or multiple bouts with cancer, and a friend whose wife died giving birth to their brain damaged (due to birth complications) child. I want to believe that God will only allow us to be tortured to a certain degree and then provide mercy once we have met a pain threshhold. But no. Doesn't seem to work that way.   And I grow very afraid. Terrified. We are coming to the end of the chemo. The moment(s) of truth is arriving. Did the chemo kill the cancer?   I am so scared.

While considering various wall art today, I read a poster today that said, "Sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He lets the storm rage and calms His child."  Sounds so uplifting and soothing. But I thought...screw that!!! I don't want to be calmed. I want the storm to stop! I don't want consolation prizes! I don't want toys from the toy closet to make me feel better. I don't want hugs. I want my Andrew. Please dear God. I want my Andrew.

Me, picking out three small ski hats and warm gloves for our hopeful trip to the snow: I wish I could be more faithful, and stick with my "surrender" idea. I wish I could stay in those moments where I feel like I can handle it.  I wish I could let go, and trust, and feel at ease with whatever comes. But today I just feel sad and worried and terrified.   Whenever I think about my little boy, and his happiness and glee, and his plans for kindergarten, I get SO angry. I wish I were in a place where I could just be grateful for each day. Not today.

Sometimes I feel like this whole world is a Jurassic park experiment gone bad, and the creation gets all the blame.

But the idea of "no God" is worse to me than a seemingly absent God, so I keep praying, and hoping, and asking for forgiveness for wanting to punch Jesus in the face. (The God one, not the barrista.)

A verse that I did find helpful today: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your path." Proverbs 3:5-6

Praying for hope, and trust, and faith, and forgiveness, and peace, and life. Once again.

I hope your coffee conversations were a little less intense than mine.

Run, Andrew, Run!!

2010-11-09T20:28:00.002-07:00

There was quite a build-up.

Daddy had Aaron and Sammy running laps at dusk,

practicing for the "big run" on Saturday morning

(100 yard dash courtesy of Sammy's school).

They raced from the neighbor's house to our mailbox,

from the mailbox to the garbage can,

and back to the neighbor's house.

Several times.

Their faces were determined; their feet were quick.

Andrew and I were the spectators and cheerleaders.

Andrew couldn't run because he was
connected to his chemo tubes.

He cycled around the driveway on his bike,

while I pushed the handle and wore his fluid-filled backpack.

We cheered "the brothers" on.
And then I gave them the "winning isn't everything" speech.

I was trying to downplay John's excited hype over
how they were going to "WIN!"

and reminded them that racing could still be fun,

even if they lost.

Even if they did not get a ribbon.

(That's what moms say, right?)

Andrew was not interested in the race.

He was just going to "play on the playground."

Saturday, 8 am:

After a long week of chemo, tubes,

constantly wet diapers, and threats of the "moorgency room"

(if the tubes were to come dislodged),

I was able to remove Andrew's chemo tubes.

Hooray!!

An hour later we arrived at the park, ready for the big run.

I stayed in the car and put on my make-up

while John took the boys and gave them one more pep talk.

When I met up with them, all THREE were in blue.

Ready to go.

I immediately assumed that Andrew
would back out at the last second.

I had already resolved that
"at least the money was going to the school,"

and at least "Andrew likes the shirt."

The races began.

Aaron ran first. He got third!!

Sammy ran next (with considerably more competition).

He wasn't as happy with his results.

Poor buddy.

I was still sure that Andrew would back out.

There was a long wait between the races.

I was sure Andrew would grow bored and run away to the playground.

But when the loud speaker called for "three-year-old boys,"

there he was.

Fresh off chemo,

wearing his dragon hat,

feet on the starting line,

and ready to GO!

His brothers were on the sidelines:

Daddy coached him one last time.

The race started.

"Go Andrew, Go!!!" I screamed.

His eyes immediately searched for me on the side-lines.

(oops!)

I was sure he was going to run straight towards me,

duck under the boundary tape,

and quit.

But he didn't.

He saw me.

He smiled.

He ran towards me,

and kept right on running

towards the finish line.

He was several feet behind the slowest runner.

But he kept running.

He was the last one across.

But he didn't care.

I was wiping my eyes

as the race volunteer took him to the medal table.

He did it!

He was so proud.

And then he ran to the playground.

He kept that medal around his neck the whole time.

That'll teach me.

Once again.

Never underestimate Andrew.

Never.

And

Winning is definitely NOT everything.

Hatsapolooza!

2010-11-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

I have lots and lots of hats to report!!! Thank you all so much :)

Maryland

Singapore (notice the ponytail?)

He loves it!

Andrew wanted to wear this one of out the house.

I convinced him it might be better to wear at home...:)

He also got this hat from Singapore

and this one from New York

(all in the same package! wow!)

California

West Virginia

(The paint on his chin matches the yellow in the hat. A nice touch, I thought.)

North Dakota

and

Washington

Bart the dog

was not a big fan of the

"ponytail hat."

Thanks again!!

You all are wonderful.

Cereal, Chemo, and Conversations

2010-11-04T22:14:00.005-07:00

I feel like I've been away forever! It has only been a week.

I've been busy.

I've been busy having conversations.

Conversations like this:

Me: "What do you want for breakfast?"

Andrew: "Cinnamon Toast Crunch"

Me: "We don't have any. What else do you want?"

Andrew: "Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

Me: "We are all out. What else do you want?"

Andrew: "Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

Me: "I wish I had some for you. I will buy some today. But WE ARE ALL OUT. What else do you want? We have Lucky Charms ( I know, I am trying to foist Lucky Charms on my child...what kind of mom does that? A desperate one.). How about Lucky Charms?"

Andrew: "I want Cinnamon Toast Crunch!"

Me: "How about Rice Chex. With a little sugar?"

Andrew:   "NO. I want Cinnamon Toast Crunch!" (He breaks down in tears)

Me: "How about Lucky Charms?"

Aaron: "I want Rice Chex."

I get out the Rice Chex.   On top of the Rice Chex bag, I find an almost empty bag of CINNAMON TOAST CRUNCH! Enough for one bowl!!

Me: "Andrew! I found Cinnamon Toast Crunch! Hooray!"

I pour it into his GREEN bowl (there were previous tears about bowl colors).

Andrew: "NO!!" (more tears)

Me : "What. do. you. want. Andrew?"

Andrew: "Lucky Charms."

(Aaaahhh!!!)

Me: "Does ANYONE want this Cinnamon Toast Crunch!?"

Sammy: "I do."

I start to pour the CTC from Andrew's GREEN bowl to Sammy's RED bowl.

Andrew: "NO!"

Me: "Andrew. Do you want Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Lucky Charms?"

Andrew: "Lucky Charms."

Me: "Okay. Then Sammy is going to have the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Okay?"

Andrew: an almost imperceptible nod, tears still dripping

I pour the Cinnamon Toast Crunch into the RED bowl. Lucky Charms into the GREEN bowl. And Rice Chex into the ORANGE bowl.

I breathe in.

I breathe out.

I sit down with a brown bowl full of Wheat Chex (with a little sugar), bring the spoon up to my mouth, and...

All three boys: "Can I have something to drink?"

(Aaaaahhhhh!!!!)

Are you exausted? and tired of the words "Cinnamon Toast Crunch?"

Because I am!! This was just one of many conversations.

Many of them are very sweet.

But some of them are so emotional it is hard to know how to handle them.

And I wonder...is this because of the chemo (he has been hooked up to tubes all week...)? or because he just turned three!?

Maybe a little of both.

(Aaaahhhh!!!!)

When I wasn't having prolonged conversations about cereal,
there were other activities to attend to.

Some fun, some not so fun.

Halloween: Fun.

i am supposed to be Lucy Ricardo...but I couldn't stand the wig.

A pumpkin patch: Fun.

Hanging out at the beach (oncology clinic) every day: Fun decorations. But not so fun.

Making germs (first grade homework): Kinda fun.

And trying to clean a disaster of a house: Not so fun.

I feel like I keep cleaning up, but it just gets messier and messier. I put one dish away and two more are used.

(No pictures of THAT).

In fact, I really need to be cleaning my house instead of sitting here.

But here I sit. Relaxing. Because wow! It has been a week!!

How have you been? I wouldn't know because I haven't had time to check in!!

I will soon. :)