Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The Truth Behind the “OVEL”

It started out being part of a normal, every day, mundane task. I was washing up a few dishes, standing at the sink, when it caught my eye.

I’m not sure why it did, just then. It had been there forever, a fact verified by the layer of dust across it. I’d stood there at the sink, peeking out that same window countless times. It was always there. I just didn’t notice it anymore.

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I was perplexed by it at first. It was familiar, and yet, it was “off” – I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was… Four beads. Letters. O. V. E. L. The E was even backwards. Covered in dust, neglected. Hanging in the window, obviously meant to shine, it now looked meaningless and out of place.

And then I took it down. I rinsed the strand of beads in the water, dried it off gently to not break the string. I slid the L back to it’s rightful spot. And I smiled.

Because in that moment, I found love.

Our daughter had strung those beads a few years ago. The E was still backwards – it was an imperfect love, but it was love just the same. And once I put a little effort into it, it shone and glistened again in the sunlight.

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I put it back in that sunny spot on the kitchen window. It’s my intention to keep it shining, glowing with it’s colors. But it was reassuring to know that, even if it had been neglected a bit, just a little work had made it imperfectly beautiful again.

Here’s to always finding the love you may have forgotten was there. Here’s to taking a few minutes to make it shine brightly as part of your every day. And here’s to knowing that it’s not meant to be perfect, but that doesn’t mean it’s not perfect for you!

Friday, May 31, 2013

photographs

I share pictures all the time. I Instagram, I tweet, post to my personal Facebook feed. Big events, little events, everyday life, I’m snapping it on my phone, or grabbing my camera, and sharing it.

Last Friday night, my oldest was celebrating the completion of his years at elementary school. There is a ceremony, and certificates, and t-shirts for the middle school they’re headed to, and it’s a big deal. My mother was travelling, and wasn’t going to be able to be there, but she knew I’d have pictures up on Facebook pretty quick.

Only, I didn’t. I wasn’t really sure why, but I just couldn’t post them. It took me nearly a week to put them up. Somehow, it just didn’t feel… right.

Last night, as I looked through the photos, selecting which ones I wanted to post, I realized why I had waited.  That Friday night, May 24th, was supposed to have been a celebration for all of the kids. Jeep and his classmates, many of whom had been together in that same school for 7 years. It was a great evening.

But after? Later that night? One of those kids had his life changed forever.

His older brother was taken in a tragic accident while living HIS dream of racing cars.

Just a few hours after we had all said our goodbyes to friends, snapped our last photographs, and headed out the doors, full of smiles, hopes and dreams, a family’s worst nightmare unfolded.

And I struggled. I hurt. I hurt for the boy who is in nearly every single shot I took of Jeep because they were standing together. I hurt for the boy who I had grabbed Friday night to hand a print of a photograph I had taken the week before at our Field Day activities. A print that I wanted to make sure he had, one where he was gently helping a special needs preschooler have a blast, and showing such heart and tenderness that it had brought tears to my eyes when I saw it. I hurt for the little sister, who had army-crawled with my daughter along the gym floor so that they could take pictures with their little cameras of their big brothers. I just hurt.

That Friday night should have been full of celebration for that family. There should have been ceremonies and checkered flags and smiles and hugs. There should have been an older brother laughing and telling him stories of football games, and dates, and how to work the lockers at the middle school. Instead, that Friday night will forever be one of heartbreak for them.

I had assumed that I would have the photos posted Friday night, Saturday morning at the latest, but every time I tried to look at those photos, I just couldn’t do it. Yesterday, we attended the funeral – the kids had wanted to be there in support of their friends, so we went. Last night, finally, I posted the photos. Last night, I shared the joy we had together.

We’re reminded that life can change in an instant. Hold those you love close, and focus on the joy. Never forget the heartbreak – often it is what makes us who we are, but FOCUS on the joy.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Memorial Weekend 5QF

It’s been forever since I participated in Mama M.’s Five Question Friday! Today is pretty emotional for me, so I think it’s a good day to play along and not have to think hard, or cry much.

(It’s not a bad emotional. It’s a good one. Jeep finished 6th grade today, and will move on to middle school in August. I’m just struggling with the whole “Where did the time go!?” aspect of all that.)

If you aren’t familiar with 5QF, it’s an easy-peasy game to play along with. If you join us, be sure to click to today’s 5QF post and link up!

1. Do you wake before the alarm or stay in bed until the last possible second?
2. Who should get a baby shower? Is it just the first baby or all babies?
3. How will you spend Memorial Day?
4. Do you have a Storm/Hurricane/Tornado/Fire plan for your kids, house..?
5. What is your favorite morning drink?

1. Do you wake before the alarm or stay in bed until the last possible second?         Sleep! I’m a HUGE fan of my snooze button. I then run through the house like a mad woman trying to  make sure we’re really all ready to leave, but I’m not a morning person AT ALL.

2. Who should get a baby shower? Is it just the first baby or all babies?   I think it’s situational. I ended up with showers for both boys, but part of that was because a friend knew that because the boys were so close in age and so off in seasons that I wasn’t going to be able to reuse a lot of Jeep’s stuff for Eli. She wanted to do it, and I didn’t fight her on it. (I did, however, get to bring Eli with me, since he showed up early. They all claimed it was their favorite shower ever since they got to pass the baby around while we were there!)

3. How will you spend Memorial Day?      I’m actually meeting a client for a little bit tomorrow, but after that, it’s going to be a nice, relaxing weekend. We’re joining some friends for a cookout for a bit tomorrow, and we are hoping to do some pretty serious clearing out of stuff it’s time to get rid of, and maybe even get our new TV (that we got for Christmas.. sigh..) out of the box and mounted!

4. Do you have a Storm/Hurricane/Tornado/Fire plan for your kids, house…?    Mostly. Everyone knows where to go in the event of severe weather or a fire. The part I’m working on now is “jump kits” for each member of the family. The kids are now old enough that  they can have a role in our preparedness. I have a bag with essentials, but a true jump kit for our family of 5 plus 3 pets would require more than one person could carry or be responsible for. I’d like to have smaller kits of essentials for each of the kids, so that if we were separated (God forbid) they would be able to take care of themselves and their immediate needs easily until we could be reunited.

5. What is your favorite morning drink?     Coffee. Lots of it. Black, strong and hot. I don’t function well before I have a good cup or two in me!

Ok! Just a few minutes left and my crew will be home from school, so I’m off to get things ready for tonight’s completion ceremonies! Have a fantastic holiday weekend.

Monday, May 20, 2013

A better me

I am a slacker.

Well, no, not really, I’m constantly busy doing a million different things, but typically those things are for other people.

I am a slacker when it comes to taking care of me.

I think, as moms, wives, shucks, just as WOMEN, we do this a lot to ourselves. We put so many other things in front of doing what we could to be good to ourselves.

My area of weakness? Personal health. Eating well, physical activity, generally taking care of myself physically.

I’m somewhat spoiled, because I’ve always been slender, and always been able to essentially eat what I want without gaining weight. That holds true for the most part now, as well, but what I’m noticing? Softness where I’d rather be firm. Weakness where I once was strong. Getting tired faster, where I was previously able to just keep going.

Part of this ties back to a back injury I had a few years ago. I had been in a really good place physically before that, but when I ruptured a disk, my whole world changed. Now, my core is weak (although better than it was), my upper body strength has faded, and I’m generally feeling pretty wimpy.

I don’t like it. I also have to recognize that it will not correct itself. 3 Musketeers bars and Cherry Cokes to survive a bad day won’t help. *DO NOT BE ALARMED. THIS IS NOT ABOUT TO BECOME A CRAZY FITNESS BLOG.* Why not? Because I’m realistic. Because I’m not a crazy fitness person. Because I’m a person who has days where a 3 Musketeers and a Cherry Coke may be my only lifeline to sanity. I don’t like to work out. I see people running, and I’m one of the ones who think “Only if I am being chased, and am certain that being caught will end up really bad.”  I don’t mind eating healthy, and that’s easier for me in the summer as fresh foods abound, but I love me some potato chips.

I also love being able to keep up with my kids, and going non-stop at the amusement park. I love feeling ok in a pair of shorts. I don’t love looking in the mirror and realizing that I have a muffin top. So, time to fix it. It’s time to work on being a better, healthier me. Not fixated on health, but refocused. Making choices based on what’s right, not what’s easy, and taking some time for me.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Pity Party

I’m having a bit of a pity party today. Part of me even has the audacity to feel guilty over my pity party, because really, in the grand scope of things, my stuff is pretty trivial.

But the “my” stuff isn’t really “my” stuff at all. It’s bigger than me, and not something I have a lot of control over, or say in. I’m just along for the ride, and right now the ride SUCKS.

So many of my friends are hurting over so many different things. Last week involved 2 different kids being diagnosed with cancer. This week includes some big changes where a number of my friends work. There are huge, scary, lingering unknowns out there for all of these folks, and I’m hurting and frightened for them. I want to fix things, and make it all be better, and I can’t. And I hate it.

I want to look each of them in the eye and say “It’s all going to be fine!” but you can’t do that. You don’t know that. It’s scary, and overwhelming, and consuming me from the inside.

I’ve cried a lot today. I’ve also had a 3 Musketeers and a Cherry Coke. I’ve used about a million tissues, and undoubtedly look like something even the cat wouldn’t bring in. And none of that is going to change anything. None of that is going to help any of the people who are hurting, and who need some support, or answers, or whatever they need. It’s certainly not making me feel better. But it seems to be all that I can do right now. Cry.

So, I’m going to push on for now. That’s all I can do. Be thankful for the good in my life, do my best to hold up my friends, and push on. What else is there, right?

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Yesterday

It should be such a good week.

It WAS such a good week.

I finally treated myself to a DSLR camera, which I had wanted for a very long time, and just couldn’t justify. It was a want, not a need, and let’s face it moms, wants aren’t typically at the top of our “get” list.

It was finals week, and I was feeling good about my classes, and getting to take a few weeks off before summer session starts.

School is nearly over, and it’s time for the fun, year-end stuff. We’ve been planning a fun trip to an amusement park for the 6th grade, and we’ve had a blast with fundraising. We go on Tuesday, and I’m super-excited.

And then? Yesterday happened.

Part of yesterday I cannot yet talk about specifically. I know that I have friends who are hurting, and that there will be more hurt before healing comes. I’m hurting. A relationship, one that we hoped would grow and flourish, and be wonderful for so many people, is being pulled apart. Not by the parties in that relationship, but by others, higher up, who don’t know. Who don’t understand. It’s painful, and going to get worse.

And after spending time with some of those most directly impacted, wounded by what is coming, I came home and found more bad news.

Naomi, a sweet two year old little girl who lives in my community with her mom, dad, her four year old sister and one year old brother, was just diagnosed with neuroblastoma. Another baby, whose life is now forever changed by the monster that is childhood cancer. Another family, stopped in their tracks, and entering a new normal, on that involves oncologists, MIBG, CT, TPN, DX, stem cell rescue, chemotherapy, radiation, and hopefully sooner rather than later, NED.

It was enough to destroy me last night. I lost it.

Today? It’s enough to strengthen my resolve. Reaffirms for me that, no matter what, I cannot stop fighting for these kids. All the kids.

Tomorrow is a new day, with new challenges and new successes.

I need a few successes for a minute, though. Please.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

The “Why”

Friday night, I was as proud as I could possibly be of my boy.

This guy:
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Became this guy : Jeep's After Picture

And donated this:

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to help a child who has lost their hair to a medical condition. He went ahead and raised money for St. Baldrick’s while he was at it, raising over $3,200.
(I gotta be honest. Right now? Still pretty proud.)
I forget sometimes though that people don’t know why we care this much. Why my son, at 9 years old, decided to grow his hair until it would be long enough to donate. Why he smiled through three years of being mistaken for a girl, and endured endless questions about when he was going to cut that hair.  I hope it helped him that his dad and I were so supportive of what he was doing, that we never hesitated to explain to people that we were incredibly proud of what he was doing and why.
You see, our awareness of the reality of childhood cancers began in 2005, when Jeep was just 4. A little girl in his Sunday School class was diagnosed with Stage IV Neuroblastoma, an aggressive cancer of the adrenal system. Her diagnosis came just days before her fifth birthday. Her name is Morgan, and she was our friend. And so? We talked about it. Morgan was sick, and the doctors were going to have to try to make her better. It was going to make her hair fall out, and there would be lots of Sundays that she wouldn’t be at church with us.
When Jeep started kindergarten a little over a year later, Morgan was a first grader at our school, and we saw her after school every day, when she was well enough to be there. You see, the treatment protocol for neuroblastoma involves several rounds of chemo, surgery to remove as much of the solid tumor as possible, maybe more chemo, some radiation, then a bone marrow aspiration in the hopes that they can get clean marrow. Why do they need clean marrow? Because they then attack the body with enough chemical to kill off the marrow still in the body of an innocent child, and then they return the “clean” marrow to the child and hope it sticks.  Then there are days, weeks, months of isolation. The fear of contracting an illness before the marrow has fully recovered is overwhelming. Your bone marrow is what provides you with your immune system, and for a child who is already weakened by chemo, and who has no immune system, a simple cold that inconveniences you or I? It could be a death sentence.
Morgan’s cancer wouldn’t give up, but neither would her family. Her mom and three younger sisters packed up and they went to New York to be part of a clinical trial, hoping that it would be her cure. Lots of times, her scans would show improvement, things would look better and better, and then? A new spot. Another tumor.
Eventually, after fighting for more than half of her life, on October 2nd of 2010, Morgan passed away.
Early in Morgan’s treatment cycle, we connected with another family whose 2  year old was diagnosed with the same cancer, about 2 weeks after Morgan’s diagnosis. The girls underwent essentially the same treatments, just a week or two apart. Colette is a survivor, but the impact of the treatments on her body are still very much an unknown. Her hearing was severely compromised, and she wears hearing aides now. She’s still to young to know for sure what the impact may be for her in regards to her reproductive system, and the risk of secondary cancers as a direct result of the treatments she received are very high.
In 2011, another friend’s son was diagnosed with medulloblastoma, a brain tumor. Again, treatments, surgery, more treatments.
The part that crushes me is that when you see marketing from cancer fundraisers, you frequently will see young kids. What you don’t see, the reality of it is this:
  • There are 12 primary forms of pediatric cancers.
  • 1 in 330 kids will be diagnosed with some form of cancer before they are 20.
  • Most pediatric cancers are treated using lower doses of adult treatments. Research is needed to provide kids with safer treatment options, providing them with a better future.
  • Less than 5% of the federal government’s total funding for cancer research is dedicated to childhood cancers each year.
  • In 2009, the American Cancer Society spent $22 of every $100 raised on fundraising expenses, $6 on management, $14 on research for adult cancers, and spent $0.60 of that same $100 raised on research for childhood cancers. Sixty cents.
  • Worldwide, each day another 720 children are diagnosed with a form of pediatric cancer, and 250 kids lose their battle.
No one asks for cancer. Some make choices that they know carry a higher risk – smoking, sunbathing, etc, but kids?
Kids have done nothing.
Think about the people you know who have been treated for cancer. Think about how sick they were with chemo. The pain in their bodies. The surgeries. The recovery.
Now, imagine that they’re two.
THAT is why we fight. The reality of it is why I’m passionate about it, and Jeep embraced it early on.
Possibly my most favorite part of Friday night was much later, in the quiet of our own home, as we prepared to say goodnight, as I rubbed his fuzzy shorn head, I asked Jeep if he was glad he’d done it.
“Oh yeah.”
Would you do it again?
“Over and over.”
 

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