LOST A SOCK

The Life List

It is no real secret that I am quite goal oriented.  I've spent the last three years overhauling the very essence of my self, searching for truth and learning to embrace with gratitude each of my experiences, good or bad, for how it can mold me.  In 2007 I started a list of goals for my life- one hundred of them because I like nice, even numbers.  As things go, I became busy and my list was shelved and briefly forgotten. 

Then in mid-summer this year I really felt a pull back to my list.  I resumed working on it, asking myself again and again what I really, really wanted to do in my lifetime.  Fairly in touch with my personal callings-- that is, knowing at least what intuitively feels right and not right for myself, I included things that were ridiculously easy but meaningful, and things that possibly would take a bit of effort on my part.  Each item means something to me.  I do not concern myself with when any of it will take place, or how, and I am very open to creating edited drafts should the need arise in years to come.  I'll never back down from a goal because it seems difficult or unreachable. 

I never intended to post my list here, until recently when my girlfriend Bree posted hers on her own blog.  Suddenly it made sense that I, too, could share my own life goals.  The 07's are mixed together with the 09's here, which is why some have been completed and crossed off the list.

My Life List of 100

1. Stand in Times Square, NYC
2. Own both of our vehicles outright
3. Homeschool for as long as possible with each of my children
4. Photograph the Northern Lights of Alaska
5. Go camping as a family
6. Write a book and publish it
7. Pay off my (undergrad) student loans
8. Adopt a child from Africa
9. Then adopt more
10. Get a tattoo
11. Eat raw for seven days

 
12. Make a quilt for Nathan
13. Finish losing weight, and stay there
14. Meet Oprah
15. Take Jack on a real train ride
16. Grow my hair long
17. See Paris, France with Kevin
18. Visit Scotland's Eilean Donan Castle with Kevin
19. Own a laptop
20. Throw myself a girlfriend party with all my best girls
21. Spend a sunny summer afternoon on a boat

 
22. Take the boys to Lego Land
23. Sell our first house for (*) profit
24. Bike ride as a family
25. Donate $10,000
26. Inspire someone
27. Pet an elephant
28. Have a home office
29. Own a nice camera with lenses
30. Lay on a blanket beneath the stars, away from the city lights where they can really be seen

 
31. Cry tears of joy
32. Own a jean jacket
33. Photograph glaciers
34. Be fearless in public
35. Earn my Masters Degree
36. Thank (college professor) for the wonderful, human lessons she taught me about being a teacher
37. Hear the Dalai Lama speak in person, here in the United States or far away where the Tibetan Prayer Flags fly

 
38. Take in the Rocky Moutntains in Colorado
39. Publish a book of photographs I've taken, just for myself
40. Take a writing class
41. Attend Maria Shriver's Women's Conference
42. Make a twirling skirt for Marin
43. Photograph Marin in her twirling skirt
44. Tour the Eastern Seaboard in Peak Fall
45. See a Broadway show
46. Attend a Notre Dame game as a family
47. Learn to meditate
48. Drink a beer in a Boston bar
49. Live in my perfect house, detailed with beautiful baseboards, oversized windows and a library, surrounded by tall trees
50. Feel truest peace in my heart
51. Learn to play the accoustic guitar
52. Spend a weekend in Las Vegas

 
53. Complete a Breast Cancer walk for my Aunt Kathy 
54. Be a keynote speaker
55. Start my own charity
56. Befriend my daughter(s)
57. Buy a Thomas the Tank Engine table for the boys
58. Attend a spiritual seminar at The Omega Institute
59. Run a 5K
60. Own two-inch heels and wear 'em proud
61. Attend the religious services/places of worship for twenty faiths (As of late 2009, Catholic, Lutheran, Episcopal, Baha'i)

 
62. Enjoy fine dining
63. Catch fireflies with my kids
64. Be humble
65. Host an incredible Christmas party
66. Attend a tent revival
67. Own stainless steel appliances
68. Open my own retirement account
69. Rock my sister's baby
70. Attend a week-long silent retreat
71. Indulge my African connection
72. Earn my PhD
73. Teach my children to swim
74. Go RVing! with Kevin
75. Make my own summer dress
 
76. Cross and photograph the Brooklyn Bridge in NY, Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, Perrine Bridge in Idaho, Royal Gorge Bridge in Colorado, George Washington Bridge in NY/NJ, Mackinac Bridge in Michigan, Tower Bridge in London and Pont de Normandie in France
77. See a panda bear in person
78. Take my children on an airplane flight
79. Give excellent advice
80. Go horseback riding (as an adult)
81. Meet my dearest Internet friends
82. Habitually give meaningful gifts

 
83. Own a Mercedes Benz
84. Make bracelets for each of my girlfriends
85. Wear braided hair
86. Author an important essay
87. Own a piano
88. Paint on canvas and display it at home
89. Send my children to college, and others too
90. Ride a camel
91. Write an important letter
92. Hatch chicks with KJ
93. See the Vatican in Rome, Italy
94. Set foot in all Fifty States together with Kevin (as of late 2009, 24 of 50)
95. See the Argentine Patagonia
96. Grow a large back yard vegetable garden
97. Eat a fancy cupcake in a charming little cupcake shop
98. Visit Holland, MI in peak tulip season
99. Become a grandmother
100. Serve Thanksgiving dinner to a long, festive table of my favorite guests

Stuff of Life

Yesterday was my ninth wedding anniversary. 

It didn't make my blog, but I didn't forget.  In fact, I spent most of the afternoon making Kevin one of those fabulously sappy videos I am notorious for, only to have it disappear into thin air juuust before I saved the finished product. 

Thankfully, he was able to console himself with the twelve string guitar I bought for him. 

(Wife of the year?  Check.)

*

My friend Breain has inspired me to start running.  So far, I love it. 

*

Earlier this month, lost in the thick of homeschool, laundry and long fall walks, I met with a new doctor concerning the state of my reproductive organs; to tumor or not to tumor.

Not to tumor, my kind new doctor tells me, and probably not even the ovarian cancer before long, as had been predicted last year by my previous physician.  Not really the need for tests every couple months now that we are past one year, and not really the need to worry about what monsters, in the form of really bad news, could be lurking around the corner anymore.  Many people have something like this, and then never again, she says.

Having buried my aunt just a few months ago, after her tough battle with breast cancer, knowing what she went through and how it ended, my second opinion sort of sounds like a new lease on life-- Raise your family, write your book, adopt your African babies.  You're okay now.

Beautiful relief.

*

I recently finished another quilt.  It is perfect, just like sweet little boy I made it for.

*

My husband works in a tall building in downtown Chicago, and on his walk to and from there every day, he encounters many homeless people. 

He often gives them dollars from his wallet, and sometimes we buy a handful of gift cards to cover a couple meals each, and he hands them out.  He stops all the time to ask people how they are and if they need anything that he can help with.  He has a friend that we pack the occasional bag for, with clothing and toiletries, and he sometimes brings him dinner late at night, on his way back to the train.  Recently he bought another man dinner, and stayed to sit across the table from him as he ate, listening to the man tell his story of how he ended up on the streets.

I won the husband lottery.

*

My oldest child, who I brought home for first grade because he is a brilliant little boy, who I committed myself to educating in the most hands-on ways by running with his best curiosities, who has finished his first grade math book in the first eight weeks of school and nearly all of spelling, who I love with my whole heart and soul, is showing strong signs of Attention Deficit Disorder.  My instincts tell me so, as does everything I know from being a licensed special education teacher, but I will wait on the official word from a child psychologist down the road.

Add to the list of ten thousand reasons why we homeschool, because I am the teacher who will stop at nothing to ensure his success.

*

My children somehow each ended up with two or three Halloween costumes apiece this year.  I can hardly figure how there grew so many, but we've had great fun with it so far.  Turns out everyone loves Batman in Target, and a baby pumpkin at the library.

*

On my way home late this evening, with my three children asleep in their car seats, I witnessed a high speed police chase.  The vehicle being pursued was driving at least seventy miles per hour on a four-lane street through town, headed East.  I was headed West, and while nearing a red light I realized in great horror that the car approaching the red light on the other side, with the flashing red and blue on its tail, was going to blow through the intersection. 

He did.  He smashed into a truck, sending it skidding to the other side the road, and then he veered across the median into oncoming traffic for a moment, where mine was the first vehicle approaching the red light.  Had I been a second or two earlier, actually stopped there, he would have hit my car head on. 

He skidded back into his own lane again and hit the gas.  A minute later the hood of his car flew up to cover his windshield, and the chase came to an end.  The light turned green and I continued towards home with my intestines quivering and every hair on the back of my neck standing up, thankful for only a close call.

*

All is well.

Full House, The Lost Episode

Last Monday morning as we were freshly home from our mountain trip, I carried ten thousand things on my mind for what I would need to accomplish.  Kevin was back to work, there was no fresh food in the house, laundry piles hip-high and half filled suitcases and souvenir bags lay everywhere, and also Vacation Journals called for me, as we hadn't gotten around to them while on the road. 

I felt overwhelmed in the first days of being home, not as if we'd been gone for months, but more overwhelmed than I saw fitting, just the same.  

We were all worn out from traveling and I gave us time to slowly fall back into a routine.  I continued to feel off, and awful, and by mid-week with the ever-repeating cloudy weather and chill in the air I realized that it was possible I was coming into seasonal depression.  It happens some years, and others not.  And it's the most peculiar thing, since fall is one of my very favorite things in life, that the chemicals in my brain should pronounce themselves Terribly Out of Whack while I attempt to devour the best of the colors, smells and crisp autumn temperatures from behind my camera lens and within my favorite jeans and hooded sweatshirts.

Just the same I trudged forward with my List of Musts and previously signed-up-for engagements and Kevin and I had an important pow-wow, now sure that my person was taking an unplanned trip through utter Sadness and Despair.  It was, in fact, bringing luggage filled with all motivation and ability to process day-to-day normalcies with it, and I, not a crier, was crying about everything.   

This past Monday was KJ's seventh birthday.  And if there is one thing that is high on my list of Important Things, it is making sure that there are fantastic birthday memories for my children.  We have family gatherings for cake and presents, and fun activities.  This year we'd met friends at Lego Land the day before, and planned cake again the next night, which I think would be the eighth time this birthday season.  Birthdays are those days I get to think about my child all day, and over all the years how wonderful he is and how my life is infinitely richer for having him in it.  You never know how special childhood birthdays really are until you are on the parent end of them, and you get to fall in love with your child all over again.

And then I opened my eyes on Monday morning feeling like a goner, as if I'd been hit in the gut with an old wooden baseball bat, and couldn't muster the strength to get myself up and pull myself together.  I lay in my bed beside my birthday boy, there after a bad dream the night before, quietly singing happy birthday to him as he opened his eyes, and I told him that I loved him, and I was so proud of him and that I wanted him to have a wonderful day.

Then by mid-morning he was screaming from the tops of his lungs, and the Earth spun far from its natural orbit as my son got the idea somewhere that there existed a possibility that he should not have to homeschool on his birthday, but possibly he could watch television all day instead, he thought.  And this is the part where parenting is so difficult, and so tricky, because with your first child it is always the first time for everything and there is no manual for how to get through a very important battle with your child on his birthday. 

As things escalated, as they sometimes do, I stood there sobbing in the middle of my kitchen, lost in the chemical warfare going on inside my brain, trying to explain to a now-seven that spending your birthday painting pictures of mountain sunsets and creating other masterpieces on All Day Art Day, and calling it homeschool, is infinitely better than five hours of SpongeBob.  We live a good life on our birthdays, or at least we should.  We do what we do, not lay around wasting time.  How do you tell that to a kid?  A kid who is now so worked up, yelling and stomping his feet, crying such angry tears because he suddenly believes it possible that his mother is trying to cheat him on his day?  It probably would never have even surfaced in a parallel universe, had I whisked him off to public school earlier that morning, because all kids go to school on their birthdays, right?

He insisted that I was mean, so mean, and that I was ruining his birthday by not giving him the day off.  We yelled at each other and we both cried.  I had a fit of my own, in the middle of all of the anger and sadness that might be remembered as the seventh birthday morning.  These are the things we mothers don't talk about very often, how we majorly screw it up with our kids because we, too, are human, and we have all-too-short tempers and simply don't know what to do, most especially with an oldest child, because we've never been there before.  We don't have the right words, we didn't expect the problem, we don't have all the answers.  I mostly try to handle things from a calm place.  I have worked very hard over many years to keep my shit in check.  But I blew it, here.

By lunchtime I told the boys we needed to start over.  No day ever has to be a wash-out unless we decide it so, and we apologized and settled down and painted.  We rented a movie, ordered his favorite dinner and had one of his friends over to play with his new Lego set.  Kevin came home from work on time, we had cake, and a mostly good day.

A volcano, even, in his mountain sunset. 

So I went to the doctor yesterday, with symptoms ranging from chills and fever and wheezing all the way down to sure death, and I feel almost silly admitting that I managed to catch the Swine Flu, of all things.  But I certainly believe it, having been sick as a dog since Monday afternoon.  My to-do list seems to be growing by the second, but at least this evening I can sit up straight again and speak English.  We did indeed skip homeschool yesterday instead of the day before, and my children did watch television a good portion of it while I lay shivering and dying on the couch.  This early part of fall has been quite the learning experience, if nothing else.  I hope that I can again gain momentum and drag myself out of the seeming pit of misery as my tamiflu kicks in, or hope at least that maybe all of the despair was only my body gradually losing the battle against a bunch of pig germs.

Thankfully, we have almost all of the autumn season left to go.

Start your day with a steaming hot cup of Mommy Guilt

So it turns out that posting about homeschool is the easy part.  Here I was worried that the kids wouldn't want to participate, and I had frightening visions of arguments over Lego or Wii time and much hatred for getting down to business every day.  But when I call Time For School, everyone hops right over.  This is the good stuff.

But what people aren't hopping for, is preschool.  Unfortunately.

Jack cried at his first day of preschool.  This came as no surprise to me, as Jackson is the child who spends his every day within thirty-six inches of my person most of the time.  And I was once a preschool teacher, and a handful of my students cried on their first day, and they got through it.  I sort of saw it coming with Jack, and told myself he too would get through it. 

Some of my students cried on their second day.  Jack did too.

This morning we are finishing out our second week of preschool, and still the crying.  Worse every day. 

Sadly, it isn't just a little crying at drop-off that can be calmed by promises of pick-up soon, or anything he can be distracted from.  Jack wakes up at seven a.m. sobbing giant crocodile tears that he doesn't want me to leave him at preschool.  That, after he spends the entire night before worrying that he has to go to preschool again the next day.  He cries through breakfast, and he begs, while getting dressed, that I please don't take him to school.  I try to soothe him in every way I can think of, by reminding him how we always picked up KJ, and mapping out his day for him so that he knows snack time is half way done and story time means mom is in the hallway. 

Nothing calms his little worried mind, though, and by eight thirty I am inevitably dragging him down the long hallway so his teacher can pry him from my body while he screams at the tops of his lungs, reaching for me.  She shuts the door to keep him inside and offers to draw Batman with him, or set up bowling (two of his favorite things.)  And I can hear him screaming for me until I am outside of the building.  He calms down after fifteen or twenty minutes, usually, and then two hours later I pick him up.  And by the time we reach the car he is again asking worriedly when he must return.

I signed this poor child up for preschool this year, thinking it would give him some time to do his own thing.  I wanted him to enjoy it, and make his own friends and have new stories to tell.  I thought it was the right amount of time away per week for a three-year-old, and would be fun for him.  I didn't envision this.

I suppose I am writing this to document some little blip on our family timeline, either the time Jack almost had a nervous breakdown over preschool and we called Game Over, or the time I almost had a nervous breakdown over my son's nervous breakdown and then he magically got over it super-quick in week three and wouldn't even kiss me goodbye in October. 

I can't say for sure what the outcome will be here.  If not for the advice of family and friends to wait it out, I might kindly thank his teacher for the most expensive two weeks of playdates evah, and not return after today.  I have never been the extreme tough it out mom, always preferring for the kids to do things when they are ready, rather than when society dictates that they should be ready.  And I, too, was that nervous kid in school with the stomach ache about being away from home, so I know how it feels. 

And in the same, we're trying to strike a balance between worried stomach ache and sending the wrong message by prematurely calling quits. 

Has anyone seen my parenting manual?  I can't seem to find it anywhere.

Precious Four

In a post written a couple weeks ago, I casually presented the idea that Kevin and I have decided that our family should continue to grow.  It was the post about the homeschool conference, and I planned that the post to follow would include our semi-announcement.  And then this came up and that, and I didn't have a solid chunk of time to sit down and think about what I was going to write about baby number four (you know, with all of these other kids running around, whatever) and by now I've completely psyched myself out about it because I've waited too long.  I should never keep secrets from you, Internet.  Lesson learned.

Back when I was a teenager I always said I wanted seven children.  My oldest girlfriends can attest to it.

When Kevin and I began dating in 1997, I mentioned to him that I would like to raise a large family, maybe seven children.  He thought that was nice, and asked how I felt about two. 

(Which, really, is a best outcome when you mention seven children to your college boyfriend.  Kudos to him for not barreling down the dormitory hall in search of the nearest tapped keg, after receiving that information.)

We sort of left it up in the air after that, until we struggled with infertility while trying for KJ and Jack, combined with the terribly unhealthy pregnancies and premature births.  After that we decided that we should be finished having children, so grateful for the ones we were able to have. 

But every once and a while one of us would say to the other that maybe someday, far down the road, we could adopt.  We were decidedly done, but sort of not, you know?

In January of 2008 we were both shocked and panic-stricken as we learned of our surprise pregnancy that was Marin Ann.  By then our minds were settled into just can't, and we even bought a zippy little Mercedes Benz to prove it.  We were totally caught off guard that winter morning with the chicken craving and the two pink lines, to the point where I vacillated something crazy, for weeks, between sheer terror over how I would manage three young children by myself all day, but also feeling intense hormone-backed guilt, fearful to offend our little surprise sweetheart nestled quietly in my womb.  As cliche as it sounds, it was one of those things that would change all of us forever. 

(Goodbye, little black Mercedes Benz. Goodbye.)

The story comes to now, where every day I care for our three children in ways I once only dreamed possible.  Yes, those early, sleepless, transitioning months were rough, but now the calm has re-settled into my life - one I'd not even known until recent years, and I love what my family is growing into, and how I choose to spend my days.  This group of five we've become is my every happiness, and now we know for sure that we are called to more.

For a few months now, we've been going over the pros and cons of my carrying a fourth baby.  The questionable infertility, though, and the risky pregnancy.  Not to mention the way a fourth c-section is generally frowned upon by the obstetric community.  But another sibling to join our group, with little fingers and toes and a bulky toddling diaper butt, and all the love in the world.  A fuller dinner table, and another homeschooling partner.  He will love our backyard pool with the water slide, for sure.

Our minds began searching elsewhere for precious baby number four, a bit nervous even to bring it up in a serious way for the first time, not knowing exactly how the other would respond to the suggestion.  It's a big deal.  It's terribly expensive.  It's more complicated than nine months to cotton footed sleepers.

But now that first suggestion has long passed, and a sure thing has come into our great picture, we are full steam ahead.  And since we've begun working on the logistics and discussed it with our respective families, I am so excited to share our next step in this awesome journey with you.

Early next fall, just about a year from now, we will begin the adoption process.  We will need a year to save our money and educate ourselves with what we'll need to know, and then provided we are all healthy and mostly prepared, we will apply to adopt a baby from Africa. 

I have always been drawn to Africa, so it was really a no-brainer for us where our child would come from.  There are 4.6 million orphaned children in Ethiopia alone, with another five more added to that number every minute due to the AIDS crisis that is going on there.  Of those, approximately one in six of those orphaned children will die of starvation or disease by their fifth birthday.  We know we belong there, and we pray that someday we will bring our next miracle child home from there.

Maybe it was something we didn't think possible, at one time, because it was simply the wrong time.  Maybe we weren't the right people back then.  But when I think about it now, in the light of all the yes conversations we've had over the last several months, it doesn't make anything but perfect sense.  I am finally so thankful for the infertility and the worrisome pregnancies past, for my c-sections and their limitations, and for everything that has brought us to right here. 

And, whew, I'm so glad to finally have the freedom to talk about it here, and everywhere.

Everyone needs a hand to hold on to

Once in my younger days, when we tried to become pregnant for months on end with each of our boys, I thought that the two week wait between ovulation (sorry guys -- today we shall address oooovaries) and the green flag for the ol' pregnancy test was the longest, most horrible wait in the world. 

Turns out, of course, that there are more difficult things to wait for.  Like the two little days to find out if you have a return tumor.  That is worse.

The wait for results had never been this bad with my previous three scans.  I watched the ultrasound as I lay on the table and made out what I could of my inner anatomy.  I knew I had a small sliver of ovary left on my right side after the initial tumor was removed, so I normally look for that crescent shape when the ultrasound tech scans my right side.  Three months ago a dark circle sat atop the crescent, and my doctor told me it was nothing to worry about, probably a cyst that would go away on its own.  I accepted that answer.  But then this time again, something was there, larger and visibly different than the first time. 

I knew I would have to wait at least the two days for any kind of real answers, so I decided to best utilize the forty-eight hour gap by diagnosing myself with everything from a cyst with an impressive life-span to full-on ovarian cancer at age thirty, and I did my best to figure out how my husband would fare in raising our three children should I become sick, or dead, or how I would feel putting my kids back into our town's public schools and canceling our long-awaited fall vacation in the mountains.  It was a fabulous couple days.

I finally spoke with my doctor this morning, struggling to glean the necessary information through his very thick Chinese accent, but got that he was saying, again, that he thought probably a cyst.  Another cyst or the same, or actually a tumor he did not make clear.  He told me to see him back in a month and we could talk further.  Quite dissatisfied with the certainty of diagnosis, of course, I continued to ask questions, reminding him that there was something in the last scan as well, and that just eleven months ago there was a very large mutating tumor living in my body.  And then he cut me off, responding with a, "hold on."  And he handed the phone to his receptionist and told her to make me an appointment.

I was so upset.  Upset that we're still jumping from test to test with only guesses as diagnoses, upset that my doctor was so rude when I clearly had cause for concern, and mostly upset with myself for still not changing doctors to this point.

Back when I finally became pregnant with KJ in early 2002, we were in a very different situation than we are today.  We had crappy HMO insurance with a measly two obstetrician choices for our area, and that is how I ended up with this particular doctor.  My pregnancy with KJ was permeated with high blood pressure, premature labor, bed rest and a premature delivery that came in the form of an emergency c-section.  So when I became pregnant with Jackson in 2005 I figured I should stay with this doctor, because even though he wasn't the best in the field, he at least understood my history.  Wash, rinse and repeat nasty pregnancy with Jack, and by the time Marin came along, I decided again to stay again.

I knew, though, that by the time my third child was safely delivered and this tumor thing happened (eloquent description, I know) I needed a doctor who specialized in something like this.  I am so grateful that recent years have blessed us with out-of-this-world medical coverage that affords us just about any doctor that can be found, and in the same I am so angered by the way our country's health care fails the poor.  If not for our current health insurance, I would still be stuck here, nodding my head to months upon months of untested cyst diagnoses until possibly they were found to actually be a tumor, and cancer.  And then what?  Because I was unable to afford a second opinion? 

Early this year when we were told that Marin's kidney problem was simply a mystery, and instructed to keep her on antibiotics for another solid year until her next appointment, I went specialist shopping without batting my eye.  In no time she was diagnosed, and now just six months later she has recovered from a very necessary surgery and will lead a very happy, normal life.  And so it needs to be with my situation (and should be for the situation of every person who is faced with a scary medical problem, job title be damned).  I will see my own University of Chicago specialist in six weeks (my God the time we've spent at that place this year) (we need a revolving door!) and hopefully gain some peace of mind.  Of course I am hoping for the best outcome, even a simple cyst diagnosis as my original doctor offered.  Just as long as we're a little more sure than basic guesses.

Untitled

I don't know what to say, how to say it, what is appropriate or what is too much.  It's all too much right now.

My Aunt Kath died during the night last night.

I've not shared her story on my website, her three year battle with breast cancer, because I felt that it was her story to tell and always the news, good or bad, was hers.  She always read my blog and whenever we got together she was in the know on what was going on in my life.  It is always so humbling when someone takes interest in you like that.  She left comments from time to time, and in a while I will hunt for them.  The pink breast cancer ribbon in my sidebar is hers.

 

Wicked, August 2008

We had become a fine fun group, my Aunt Kath and my mom, my sister Sant and her girlfriend Leslie.  It was good, and it made me happy.  It made her happy too.

 

She fought her metastasizing disease bravely through the stages, through every God-forsaken organ it spread to, right to the end.  She fought for her life and for her family.  More than anything she didn't want to leave her boys.  She won't.

We kept up with knowing her treatments and what tumor marker number she was at.  Ironically, and hitting so close to home, the test I just went through last week.  My mom, Sant, Leslie and I spent the day with her on Sunday after she was admitted to the hospital.  We discussed Jon and Kate and painted her fingernails and her toes.   The girls and I snuck out to the car while she rested and demolished a bag of chocolate chip cookies.  (Not that that has anything to do with anything, but it gets honorable mention just the same.) 

 

She lost all of her hair through radiation and chemotherapy, and also her taste buds and appetite, and she lost weight.  Her voice quieted and her mobility tapered.  Cancer is the most unimaginably violent disease.  It doesn't have to say a word. 

Thankfully, my Aunt Kath hung on to her sass and her zest and would still happily inform you when you were being a pain in the ass, even if she could only say it quietly.  The rear window of her SUV displays the little boy peeing, like you sometimes see him pee on Ford or Chevy.  Her little guy pisses on the word Cancer.  In pink, even. 

I thought, when we left her on Sunday night, that we would see her again the following weekend.  Then the next afternoon when her CAT scan results came back they let us know that she had only about a month left.  It wasn't that we were unaware of how bad she was; it was just still so hard to believe.  And then when everyone had gone home to rest, late last night, she slipped away quietly.

My Aunt Kath was fun loving and happy.  She worked in Special Education at a Middle School up until last fall, and she loved her job like most people hope to love theirs.  She didn't stop working until she practically couldn't walk into the school building anymore.  At only fifty-two years old she leaves her husband of thirty-two years, and her sons Danny and Jonathan, twenty-two and twelve.  She leaves all of us, for a while at least.

 

And she will be missed.

Heads I win, Tales you lose

I painted with the kids again today.

This may sound like No Great Accomplishment to some, but whenever I manage to pull off this monumental task with three active little kids I always get the feeling that I Win At Motherhood.  At least until someone begins flipping paint onto my decent shirt and wipes Deep Sea Blue on my hanging white bath towels.  Or when I turn around to find Little Miss Exersaucer four inches behind me sucking on the plastic garbage bag from the paper recycle can.  Then, Hey! I Suck At Motherhood.  (But look!  Art, accomplished!)

*

Times have been rough here, lately.  We took a chance in a really big way a while back (which, in our defense, was not presented as "A Chance" back then, but rather "Incredible Opportunity Which Would Be Completely Crazy To Pass Up") and it is in mid-stages of imploding.  I've got approximately four people whom I can vent my heartaches to, and of course the internet is off limits for now.  My mind has been racing through our days over the last week or so, and by dinnertime I am dying to get the kids in bed so I can have a good cry already.  I want them to feel secure, and shelter them from grown-up worries as best I can.  You've felt this, right Internet? 

This may get worse before it gets better.  I choose to hold onto hope when it is honest, and panic as needed.  (Where needed equals often.)  I would love to believe that the best case scenario will play out here, but I have no way of knowing what will happen in time.  I know we will get through it somehow, though, because nothing lasts forever.  We do not fail until we give up (but we do constantly worry until we feel adequately sick.)

*

Attempting to witness the action, Jack managed to pee in his own hair today.  Newly potty trained boys can be dangerous.  I wiped his head on the painted blue bath towel.  Good enough until bath time tonight.

*

Our house-buying renters have sworn to us that they will carry out an entire one year contract if we are willing to offer it.  Selling the house at this moment is sure financial ruin; renting it for another year is only possible demise.  Dare we believe them?

*

Though I've not been documenting it here, I have lost thirty of the fifty pounds I gained during my pregnancy with Marin.  I finally feel like I am getting somewhere.

*

This morning I made appointments for my ovarian tumor re-check and a root canal.  I scheduled them for the same afternoon, back to back.  That should be fun, no? 

*

I am so grateful to be thirty.  I never could have handled all this shit at once, at twenty-five.

Do Over

I thought for sure on Monday morning, when I finally cut ties with this website, that I would finally feel a great sense of relief - finally, one less thing on my plate.  I had been considering it, honestly, for months already.  I hated the way my kids were put on hold and things around the house were neglected so I could crank out an entry several times a week, and I concluded that if I gave this one thing up it would allow me more time to scrape play-doh from every surface in my kitchen. 

My relief did not come, though. 

Instead, I've been so, so sad.

I have been thinking about it constantly - about how I can do this better, and how I might be able to publish something that I actually have time to proof read.  I've considered a new color scheme or layout, and I've given a lot of thought to how I might work time for this in differently (and the answer is, in between the 2am and 5am feedings, before the kids are up at 6:30 and the race for Not Late To Kindergarten begins, gah gah gah.)  

So instead of giving up blogging, I think now I will just get rid of the kids and the house instead.  For sure, that will solve my conundrum.

This is my Take Me Back, Baby entry.

Maybe what I need to say instead of goodbye, is that, DAMN, motherhood can be really freaking hard sometimes.  I want the absolute best for my kids, and I've figured out that, at least, means more of my time and undivided attention.  I want to live in a house with fairly clean floors and home-cooked nutritious dinners where there is infinitely less television watched than imagination exercised.  I want all of us to be readers and learners and to mostly get along.  I want outdoor time and weekly trips to the zoo and financial security.  And I have almost all of that, because I work really, really, holy crap, reeeeeally hard at it. 

But I also need time to myself and time to rejuvenate, and therein lies the lack.  I need time to write here and elsewhere, and for taking pictures and to pound my feet on the treadmill and to enjoy a book in between all of the laundry folding, bill paying, butt-wiping and grocery shopping. 

Maybe this is something I'll never figure out - how to get it all right.  Maybe what I need to accept is that I can get it mostly right and we'll still be okay.  (Will we?)

There was a good rythm to myself with two children every day.  The naps were figured out, the laundry was less, I had enough hands, eyes and ears, and I was finally returning to nice chunks of night-time sleep with children ages five and two.  We didn't see much of Kevin, but we were doing okay and making what we could of the time we had with him each week, because I could easily keep the nitty gritty under control while he was at work.

Then when Marin came along last September everything with our house sort of flopped on its head.  I tried from the first moment to get a grasp on how I was going to do this, because I had no choice.  And it has gotten easier over time, thankfully, but easier in a way that is not easy, you know?  It's not Marin, God help me don't think I blame my baby.  It's like mountain climbing with three backpacks strapped to you, just when you've built up the muscle required for two. 

Growing pains, right?

So long story short, I have no real plan, still.  (Ta-daa!)  I have concluded, however, that having this thing in my life makes me not sad, and a not sad mom is good for my kids, even if it means they've clocked an extra hour of damn Spongebob Squarepants against my better judgment.  I don't know how I will keep everything going once we begin homeschooling (because ohhh, we're going to!) but that can be a bridge we cross once our toes reach the first wood plank.  Or probably the third.

And next came 09, all fabulous and fine

Off the cuff I thought it would be a great idea to create a two-part blog entry regarding the years past and to come.  And once I decided to tally up 2008 in numbers, it was quite the easy write.  But the part I really didn't think through was the 2009 entry.  Because now that I have been kicking it around in my brain for a few days?  Cold feet. 

The nerves, I'm sure, have to do with the fact that my major focus this year will be on spirituality, which is my biggest priority, and in the same, something I'm just not ready to talk much about here.  And then too, though I've got my 2009 vision board displayed on my wall at home for all to see, I feel that my goals are something personal - something I'd rather not defend should I be called upon.

But in the name of authenticity, and sharing for the sake of What've I Really Got to Lose? let's throw some year-to-come goals out there, shall we?

I've created several vision boards in the last handful of years because I tend to be a visual person, and seeing my goals help me to focus on and acheive them.  Before tossing any read magazine at the recycle bin, I always take a pair of scissors to it and clip out pertinent and inspirational lines and pictures to be saved for later use on one of my boards, or to be taped to my fridge, bathroom mirrors or in the shower.  (Hi, I'm a magazine clippings junkie.)

My board for this year incorporates many different parts of my life including my marraige, family, house, hopes for upcoming travel, projects, spirituality, finances, material items I'd like to see make their way into my life, and things I need to remind myself of.  Keeping in mind that it takes just as much energy to dream a big dream as it does to dream small, I always attempt to stretch myself a bit when I make a vision board. 

(I do so love making these, and can't believe I've never shared one here before.  And also?  I can totally believe I've never shared one here before as I already find myself looking for the exit.)   

 

So, uh, my year to come on 28x22 foam board.  

I chose two words to focus on this year- Sincerity and Abundance.  With the first I hope to overcome some of my awkwardness by putting myself out there instead of the uncomfortable front I tend to put up with some my personal encounters.  I look to be more authentic this year, projecting who I really am and what I am moving towards instead of what appears to be most accepted at certain times.  And in focusing on my second word, Abundance, I plan to grab hold of everything life has to offer instead of putting limits on myself and my little family.  I learned in 2008 that if God is in me, and if God is in everything and everything in God, then I am not separated from anything I need- unless I allow myself to be.  I really want to put that understanding into practice this year.

The easy goals to share are that I want to paint a few rooms (surprise surprise) of my house this year (this weekend) and lose my baby weight, finally drive across the country on our Colorado-bound vacation, read, read and read, and teach my big kid to ride a two-wheeled bike.  I hope to finally have a major camera upgrade this year, and continue beading bracelets, pay off the lesser of our cars and keep ourselves on the right financial path. 

I look at my board when I get up in the morning as my alarm blares, as the baby fusses and my kids need to be dressed and fed for our race to kindergarten.  I try to find time to look at it intermittently throughout the day as I pass through my room and for a more prolonged time before I work in some afternoon quiet time, even if only little, for myself.  Having something physical like this helps to keep me centered and reminds me that if I am going to be a good provider for my family, I first need to care for myself.  I hope to never lose sight of that.

One of the major nasties for me in 2008 was my fifty pound (plus) weight gain.  Obviously it came from spending the entire year pregnant and then recovering from being pregnant, but just the same when you work so hard for so long at something that you always believed to be completely out of reach (by which I mean losing nearly one hundred pounds after Jackson was born) then finally acheive it only to have it torn down, it is incredibly difficult to handle, on levels even I did not expect it to be.  I dragged myself through the first month of post-baby dieting in November, and I really do mean dragged most days, until I gave up a bit before Christmas.  I then spent the next three weeks ingesting nothing but sugar day and night, most days until I felt physically sick.  I knew it could not go on forever, and recently I had to look myself in the mirror and ask what it was I really wanted.  I honestly love myself, and if it is spoonful after spoonful after cookie dough that is really going to make my life happy and complete, then fine, let's have it.  Call it a day and be fat if I can honestly reconcile that is where my joy is. 

But I knew that wasn't the answer.  I want my health and my energy back, and I want to be a good example for my children.  I had a good cry and promised myself that I would do this in baby steps, beginning three days ago, and I have. 

 

You may have seen in the forever-surplus media coverage that Oprah too, who is one of my personal idols, is again tackling her weight gain.  And it makes a difference to know I am not alone and that I am not the first or the only person to fail myself in something that was important.  I was very sad, and I still am, that I am back here again.  The baby steps, right?

Minimally, I feel like I have good momentum for this year already.  I expect that I will grin as I look at this board a year from now and know that I gave it my best shot, and mostly succeeded.  Pregnant years tend never to be my personal best, so I've got energy to spare on all fronts.

 

The proof being in the pudding for getting off to the right start as Kevin and I attended Dr. Wayne Dyer's movie premier in Chicago a few nights ago and actually tracked down and met the man.  (I almost died, I did, and then I realized that he is exactly as I thought he should be- the most humble and real person one could ask to meet, and probably one of the most influential guru's in Kevin's and my spiritual life.)

Oh 2009, the hopes I have for you.