Why One is So Fun

I officially have a one-year-old on my hands!  And while I am not crying into my morning latte, I am laughing my butt off at all of his adorable antics!  It's been a while since I've had a one-year-old, and I'd kind of forgotten all of the funny things that they do.

Baby E obviously takes after
 his mom in his love of cake.

I adore this age!  Actually, between six and eighteen months are my favorite ages.  They are discovering so much.

And they are busy, busy, busy!  I went shopping recently to find a toy for his birthday and couldn't find a single thing that a.) we don't already have (Fifth boy, people. We have it ALL!) and b.) is more fascinating than the trash can.  Seriously, he spent the entire weekend of his first birthday throwing things away in the kitchen trash can.  Here are some of the items we found in it:

• various toys, including balls, trains, and parts to other toys that the older boys have broken (okay, maybe the latter should have been in the trash in the first place)
• my niece's missing flip flop
• a pair of socks
• a dish towel
• items from the recycling sack (I've got to teach that kid about green living)
• cans of food from the pantry
• my wallet (thank goodness I saw that one go in there)

Baby E (I guess I need to think of a new nickname for him now that he's not technically a baby any more *sniff*) has been so busy discovering the house now that he can walk, I don't think I am going to get him any birthday toys.  He is being creative enough on his own.

In fact, he would like me to share with you his list of the most fun games he's learned to play now that he is one:

1. Switcheroo: This is when he puts the frozen waffles in the linen drawer and the kitchen towels in the freezer.  Or the clean, wet laundry in the dirty clothes basket and the dirty clothes in the dryer.  Or, much to his brothers' dismay, all of their socks in different drawers.

Okay, Slim's socks would be better up here,
and Knox's socks should go here...

Let's see if I have this right...

2. Dinner Time Oopsie Dropsie: He thinks this one is hilarious.  This is a game of "dangle-the-food-object-Mommy-wants-me-to-eat-over-the-side-of-my-tray-until-she-is-looking-and-then-smile-aaaand-release."  And repeat until Mommy gets the hint and takes the food off the tray.

3. Hide the Object: Said object is usually shiny, small, pokey, or round, and the hiding place is usually his mouth.

4. Putting in and Taking Out: This is a variation of Switcheroo, only in this version, you never know where things are going to end up.  And this version mostly involves taking things out - clothes out of my dresser drawers, towels out of the linen closet, objects out of boxes.  It is also known as Make a Huge Freaking Mess that Mommy Has to Clean Up Later.

There are no pantyliners in the
box, only tub toys.

Found the pantyliners.

5. Dirty Hands/Clean Hands: He'll stick his hands wherever he can - in someone's mouth, in food, in his poopy diaper, in the potted plants outside.  But don't worry, he'll wash them off later...by sticking them in the toilet!

This looks interesting and fun.

6. Hide and Giggle: He has free reign of the house now, and he's going to explore!  Any cabinet that doesn't have a lock, becomes a hiding place.  Any furniture that he can crawl behind, he's going to check it out.  And the stairs, as tempting as Mount Everest to a veteran climber. Now, before you go calling DCFS on me, we do have safety devices in place, and I do watch my child. Luckily for Mommy, he is either giggling with pride over his accomplishment or "answers" me when I call for him. So, if I do happen to lose him for a moment, I can usually find him rather quickly.

7. King of the World: This is a new one he's learning.  It's otherwise known as climbing.  I'm afraid...I'm very, very afraid.

Ah yes, one-year-olds are daring, they are clever, and they make terrible messes.

But they can be contained if necessary, and they haven't learned to talk back.

Now I think I remember why one is so fun.

What has been your favorite age or stage for your child so far?

Doggone Vacation

We have a vacation condo on a lake about three hours from our house. It happens to be the same lake that Hubby's family used to frequent when he was a kid. And for a year now, he has been asking his mother to come with us for a weekend. She has been saying no, mostly using her dog as an excuse.

This past weekend, he asked her to come with us again, and suggested that she bring the dog.

I don't know about you, but to me, three little boys+a baby+a dog+a MIL+a three-hour car trip=something that didn't sound fun at all!

In fact, I was dreading it a little bit.

Don't get me wrong, I'm actually pretty lucky - when it comes to MILs, I have a pretty good one. Yes, she freely gives unsolicited advice, but the woman raised eight children. I have found over the years that her advice is usually dead on.

"Look at it this way," Hubby reasoned, "if we're thinking about getting a dog, this will be a good way to test it out."

Testing out how the dog stresses out the MIL, which stresses out the Hubby, which stresses me out, which upsets the boys, who get the dog all riled up, which stresses out the MIL.

You mean that kind of test?

I had one response to that:

Meet my new boyfriend, Paul Hobbs.

Regardless of my opinion, we loaded everyone up and set off, me in the backseat with the kids, and MIL up front with the dog on her lap.

And do you know that I heard not one peep from that dog the whole trip?  (Can't say the same for the children.) And Hubby actually had a nice conversation with his mother.

In fact, the MIL and the dog were far from a problem at all. The only "problems" we experienced were the ones we usually have.

Despite being told to go potty before we set out, everyone had to go halfway through the trip. And stopping the car always makes the baby wake up, which makes him cry the remainder of the trip.

Which means that Mommy cannot read the three back issues of In Style magazine that she brought with her because it is the only chance she gets to read them.

We made it to the condo by about 9:30 p.m., well past everyone's bedtime.

That's when Slim found the dog's squeaky toy. Let me tell you a little about a squeaky dog toy in the hands of an 8-year-old with ADHD.

Torture people, pure torture!

In fact, I'm quite certain I read somewhere that the government is considering replacing waterboarding with an eight-year-old repeatedly squeaking a dog toy as a means of coercing prisoners into spilling their country's secrets.

Still no barking from the dog, no stressing from the MIL.

The next day, on the way home from the waterpark, the four-year-old sat down in the middle of the parking lot, just sat down because he was too tired to continue walking. And as I pulled him by the arm into the elevator of our condo, a group of young, good-looking guys got on with us. They saw me yank him by his arm, and they were extra nice to him on the ride up (you know, because of his bitchy, psycho mother).

"Hey Buddy, can you push number three for us?" "Great job, Pal!"

The same guys who were partying on their deck into the wee hours of the morning.

But MIL and the dog slept through it all.

The baby, Hubby, and me...not so much. We were all up at four o'clock in the morning listening to the party revelers out on their deck next to us. They all went to bed shortly after 4:15 a.m. Baby...didn't fall back to sleep until 5:45 a.m. Then I slept until 9:30 a.m. missing the trip to our favorite cafe for breakfast (I thought it was a little too quiet in there).

At least they brought me a cinnamon roll.

Then there was the boat incident during which the six-year-old spilled blue Gatorade all over, and as the boat was rocking and knocking us all around while we tried to clean it up, the dog and the MIL were simply enjoying the breeze and the sunshine.

All in all, it was a great weekend. A car trip, a boat ride, a condo with seven people plus a dog - there's no way everything was going to go smoothly.

But I really think Hubby enjoyed showing his mom how much their old vacation spots have changed and how some things have stayed the same. For her part, MIL was sweet, helpful, easy-going, and kept the unsolicited advice to a minimum.

And the boys loved taking care of the dog, who was easy-going as well. Knox, who has said on many occasions that we will never get a dog, even said to me, "Guess what, Mommy? I'm ready to get a dog."

Oh?

"And you can help me take care of it." (I could have seen where that one was going from across the lake.)

Anyway, MIL will be 83 in August. Even though it seems like she's still going strong, one never knows. I'm glad she was able to come with us, bring the dog, and enjoy a (mostly) stress-free weekend.

Photo by Kathy Glow

Have you ever traveled with in-laws?  Or a dog?  How'd that work out for you?

A Frog Among the Toads

I have been having so much fun the past week featuring Father's Day guest posts from my readers!  I truly believe that everyone has a story to share, and each is important and touching in its own way.  A huge thank you to all of my guest writers, especially those of you who stepped out of your comfort zones to share your stories.  If you haven't read them, take some time to scroll back.

That said, I haven't forgotten about my own amazing husband, the father to my children.  So now it's time to share my story...

parachutingfish.com

I never gave much thought to the kind of father I wanted my future husband to be.  I knew I wanted a tall, dark, handsome, romantic man to be my husband.  I assumed that a guy like that would also be a kick-ass dad.

Then, one summer night, in the midst of partying with my friend, D, I ran into a guy who was the complete opposite of all that.

He was not so tall, had blond, thinning hair, was comically adorable, and he just so happened to be someone I had known since I was eight years old.

Hubby had attended the same Catholic grade school as me.  With 120 kids in each grade, however, we didn't cross paths very often.  And although we hung out in totally different social circles in high school (he with the cool party crowd, me in the shy, non-party crowd), he always spoke to me.  And he was always nice.

And he was a gentleman!  Most of the toads guys I dated in my twenties were, to be frank, just trying to get into my pants.  And that was so not my style (nothing against you gals who enjoyed your sexuality - more power to you, sistas, as long as you were safe about it).  But this guy didn't even try to kiss me for a long time (I won't say how long and embarrass him, but it was a good month and a half after our first date).

So as time went on, I fell for him more and more, especially after I saw the way he interacted with his twenty nieces and nephews at the time.  They adored him, and I came to as well.  This darling little frog became my handsome prince.

Needless to say, we got married, and here we are just having celebrated our eleventh anniversary last week.

Might I mention here that hardly anything about the past eleven years has been particularly easy?  But I think you know that; after all, that's why many of you come here to read.

First there was the bit about the infertility.  Hubby and I didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on how to proceed with that, but he knew having my own baby was desperately important to me, so he did what I wanted to do to make that happen.

And having twins gave him the first opportunity to show me just what an amazing dad and husband he is.  He had to be involved right away.  He kind of had no choice.  Since Slim was born with a cleft lip and palate and couldn't nurse, Hubby pretty much took over his care and feeding when he was home.  We would alternate cuddling and bathing the twins, and Hubby even jumped right in with all the routines I insisted were so important like tummy time and board book time and silly songs time.

Even after we moved halfway across the country to New York, and he would be gone for days at a time, on - call at hospitals in three different boroughs, he would still jump into his daddy role as soon as he was home. 

Is that a real man or what?!?  I know
you're jealous.

After Baby Knox was born, Hubby pretty much took over the care of both twins.  Every night he would give them baths while I nursed the baby.  It absolutely floors me when women tell me that their husbands have never given their children a bath.  Hubby still to this day helps the boys with their baths and showers every night.

When Joey was sick, Hubby was on his computer each night desperately trying to find some morsel of hope, some place we could take him for a miracle treatment, even though he knew none would be found.

I will never ever forget the moment Joey died, and Hubby said over and over to me, "I'm so sorry," because he knew how much I adored that child and how incredibly broken my heart was.

Hubby and Joey

And I will never forget how scared I was to tell him that I was pregnant after Joey died because I thought he would be mad, but he just said, "Huh," as if I had told him it was raining outside when no rain was predicted, and I let out a sigh of relief.

I don't think he wanted as many children as we have, but he knew I wanted them, and he has loved and cared for each of them with all his heart.

His favorite part of the day is when they all run up to him when he comes home from work.  A parade of little boys shouting, "Daaaadeeeee!!!!"  Hugs and a tumble of words as they all try to tell him about their day.

I know he secretly loves it when they fight over who gets to sit next to him at dinner.

And the twinkle in his eyes when one of them calls him his best friend...priceless.

Hubby and Knox on the fishing boat.

I had asked him to write a Father's Day guest post for me, but he hesitated, using his poor writing skills as an excuse.  Later he admitted to me that lately he hasn't felt like he's been doing too great of a job at the dad thing.

Oh, Sweetie, we all feel like that sometimes!

But I would have to say, hands down, Hubby is one of the best dads I know.  And I'm not just saying that because he buys me pretty things and treats me like a queen (believe me, that totally helps - you know "if mama ain't happy" and all that).

We make no secret about the fact that our marriage takes a hit every time we have another baby.  It's a stressful time for both of us, and he has to share me with some other little dude who also likes my breasts.

Our marriage took a huge hit when Joey was sick, a scary hit.  People thought we were so strong and together, but the reality is that we barely talked to each other because neither of us wanted to talk at all.

And this blog...this blog hits us, too, because I will send my thoughts out to cyberspace, but not tell Hubby about them.

Sometimes I wonder why he loves me the way he does, why he treats me like a queen.

I will say to him, "Do you know I love you?'  And he will always answer, "You do?" like this is news to him.

The only news is what I want to shout from every headline, "My Hubby is an amazing dad and husband!"

He puts up with my secretive, emotional crap.

He works harder than he really wants to just to give our boys wonderful experiences and childhood memories.

He never complains about his co-parenting duties - he just does them.

He sees each of our sons as individuals and treats them as such.

He is funny and takes a creative approach to parenting, especially when I am frustrated and out of ideas.

He speaks eloquently, feels deeply, loves unconditionally.

I told him on our anniversary that I was in this for the long-haul.  It's been a long-ass haul already, and I know there are many more tough times in our future; but it's him I want to haul-ass with.  It's him that makes me a better person, who challenges me to see the good in myself and our boys when my vision becomes clouded.  It's him who doesn't play into any one's bullshit, who calls them on it, in fact.

It's him. My Prince.

He's the frog that I kissed, that unexpected little frog among the toads who came out of nowhere and showed me just what an amazing man, husband, father he really is.

You know I love you, Sweetie...I know you do.

Guest Posts: Dads Gone Too Soon

My Dad
By: Cindy

My Dad was one of the hardest workers I have ever known. He was a police officer for many years. My Dad saw some gruesome things on the job, but he also made a difference in many people's lives.  After my dad's passing, my mom received many letters and cards from people telling her different ways my Dad affected their lives.  He never told anyone when he was approached for help by families; he just quietly did whatever he could to help.

He was like this with all of his children and grandchildren as well.  We could always count on him. He was supportive of us even when we made mistakes or got into trouble (and with five girls there was lots of that plus tears). I remember the pastor from the catholic grade school we attended (thanks to my parents sacrificing) teasing my Dad about buying some nice ladders so we could all elope!  My dad never showed favoritism. Well, not exactly; but he sure was happy when my brother, his only son, came along after us five girls.

He loved us all dearly, but none more than my Mom.  He loved her unconditionally.  He always held a second job so that my Mom could stay home with all six of us kids.

My dad was, and still is, a great role model for all of us.  We lost our beautiful Dad in April of 2008, and he is missed by many every single day.  Father's day is bittersweet for me.  I have a wonderful husband who adores me (I don't understand why most days) and is so much like my Dad with his kind, gentle, hardworking ways....but I always have a void in my heart missing my Dad.

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Missing My Dad

By: Diane

My Dad was a wonderful man who was cheated out of many things in life by being taken from us at such a young age.  He wasn't able to enjoy retirement, to meet his grandkids, and most importantly walk his daughter down the aisle when she got married.

But while on earth, he was a great friend to everyone, a successful businessman, a wonderful husband, terrific son, and an amazing dad.  He taught me so much and made me the woman I am today.  He coached me in softball, helped me with my homework, and tried to teach me how to change the oil in my car (I didn’t pay attention to that one very well). 

I know he is looking down from heaven extremely proud of me, especially when I got married, adopted my baby and gave birth to my daughter, and got my first hole in one on the golf course. 

I often think about how much he would have loved to have been a grandpa.  I keep his spirit alive by telling my children many stories about him.  Every night they say a prayer for him.  I miss my dad a lot, and Father's Day is always a little difficult for me. 

I think about my dad every day. Over the years the hurt has gotten a little easier, but it will never completely go away.  Though my children may have never met their grandpa and experienced the wonderful grandpa times with my dad, they do have a wonderful dad who gives them attention, love, and guidance. 

Happy Father's Day to my dad, my loving husband, and all the dads out there.

*          *          *

My Daddy

By: Anonymous

I had the pleasure of knowing the funniest, happiest, kindest, sweetest person in the world - MY DADDY.  He lived life to the fullest until one day, he was abruptly taken away in 1996. I was just 15. I was mad at God for taking my father away and still am today.

I was my daddy's little girl, and I had him wrapped around all my fingers very nicely. I just WISH with all my heart my father was here in this world to see my family.

The best lesson my father taught me was to enjoy life to the fullest.  Never sacrifice on things you need, as you can always sacrifice on things you want.

*          *         *

This last one is not about a dad gone too soon, but rather one about a wife singing the praises of her baby daddy!  Such a sweet story!

My True Love
By: Sandy

“What have I gotten myself into?!” I kept asking myself the week leading up to the blind date my best friend and her husband had set up.  “Will he think I am too fat? Will I talk too much? What if he is a real geek? How do I get out of this without Kelli and Gerald thinking I don’t trust them on their judgement?” All of these thoughts ran through my mind, but being a people pleaser I chose to keep the date; after all we had a very nice phone conversation, and he agreed to go to a restaurant where people had known me my entire life so how bad could it be?

I made Kelli come over to help me pick out my outfit for the night and talk me through the nerves that afternoon and made her leave before he arrived. I had super cleaned my apartment and prayed that he liked my two cats and didn’t think of me as the cat lady. I was 28 and my family had pretty much given up on me ever getting married and frankly so had I. I had settled into my job and my apartment and was getting used to the idea of being alone and doing my own thing. Then there was a knock on the door…

I opened the door and my first thought was, “Oh God! He looks so young! But, he does look like he played football and I LOVE football players so here we go.”  We drove out to Farmer Brown’s Steakhouse in his little pickup truck, had a nice dinner even though they purposely set us smack dab in the middle of the restaurant (I had known the owners and most of the workers ALL of my life and had even worked there in high school - they didn’t want to miss a thing!). Afterwards, we drove to Zorinsky Lake, walked around a bit and sat and talked for a few hours. I couldn’t believe how comfortable I felt with this guy! It was like we had been best friends forever.

He drove me home and then didn’t call for days that felt like weeks!  When he finally called me, he admitted that he was taking advice from some married friends.  They didn’t want him to come across as desperate by calling me the next day. I told him I had been looking forward to his call and would love for him to call as often as he wanted. We decided to not listen to them anymore. I think we have talked daily since that day 13 years ago.

Although we had both long stated that we would NEVER live with someone before we got married, within a month we had an apartment together and within 18 months of our first date, we were married.  He is my rock, my motivator, my sounding block and the love of my life. He is the most amazing cook, friend and most importantly father to our two children.  Sure we have had times that tested our marriage, but the thought of not being together was worse than what we were going through so we pushed on through the tough times.

Without him, I would not be as content as I am, as motivated as I am, or as loved as I am. I would not see his mischievousness in our daughter’s actions and our son’s grin. I would not look forward to the sound of the garage door opening when he comes home or seeing the truck in the driveway when I am coming home.

He lifts me up and sometimes he holds me up, but what I cherish most is that he holds me in his heart, puts up with my emotional moments and carries us through to the next big adventure.



Guest Posts: Amazing Dads

The Longest Father’s Day Haiku Ever
By: Kristin Petty

My dad is a man of few words, so at first I thought I would honor him by composing a haiku. Not just an ordinary haiku, mind you --- one with a tremendous amount of thought put into it. I figured it would be a powerful homage. But who knew those cute little poems we wrote in elementary school could be so difficult? Putting 42 years worth of influence into seventeen syllables just wasn’t going to cut it. And believe me, I tried. So what follows is an attempt to be succinct, but can actually be considered the Longest Father’s Day Haiku Ever.

My earliest memories are of him taking me fishing, to his office, coaching me, playing tennis and soccer with me, going on bike rides...just being there. All. The. Time.

He never missed one of my soccer games until I played in college. Even then, if his job and travel would have allowed, he wouldn’t have missed any of those either.

When I tore my ACL in high school and had to wear a large, bulky knee brace as I continued my soccer career, my mom told me he cried. I never knew this until much later. What I did know is the day I put it on for the first time, he went out to the rocky field behind our house and kicked the soccer ball with me for a long, long time.

The week before I got married, I laid in bed more than once and cried my eyes out because the thought of him “giving me away” was simply unbearable.

When I had my first daughter (his first grandchild), he came over every single night for weeks, actually months, after she was born...just to hold and look at her for 30 minutes or so. I think he would possibly still do that to this day, if 14-year-olds didn’t think that was weird.

His sons-in-law have dubbed him “Closet Fun Guy” and “Billy Magic” because those who don’t know him well would most likely never guess they were in the presence of one of the funniest guys in the room. Many a pants-wetting by my mom, my sister, or myself can be traced back to something he started.

He can build, sew or fix anything. And if you have a difficult math problem to figure out? He’s your guy.

When I went through a terrifying health scare and surgery a couple of years ago, he never really said a word about it. But when we moved into our new house three days later, he stayed for almost a week, doing anything and everything he could...placing furniture, hanging pictures, you name it. When he finally left, I shut the front door and cried like I had just lost my best friend.

Now with four granddaughters, he goes to every single school and sports activity that he possibly can. Other parents love it, and the common sentiment is, “That’s so cool.” And they’re right, although cool is a bit of an understatement. He’s one-of-a-kind. Irreplaceable. And he’s all mine.

*         *          *

Christmas Day

By: Julie

When I was very young, my family went over to spend Christmas Day with my mother's side of the family.  It was another brutal Nebraska winter, and somehow they had managed to run out of beer.  I don't always think of beer as a Christmas staple, but apparently at this time and with these folks, it was.

Rich, my dad, volunteered (or was volunteered) to go out and collect some of the precious beverage so that the party could continue.  He left and was gone for hours.  As time went by, people first grew impatient, then angry, then very, very worried.  This was before cell phones, and no one knew how to get a hold of Rich.

When he finally showed up, he was confronted with a lot of understandable questions.  He calmly explained that he had seen a homeless man and had picked him up and taken him to share a Christmas dinner.  As it was very cold, he then drove the man to a hotel and paid for a room for him for the night.

Everybody grew quiet.  They had been so upset Rich had not gone and completed his "mission."  But he had just gone out and quietly done what Christmas was all about.

That's my dad, and I'm so proud of him.

Guest Post: I Love Being a Stay-at-Home Dad

As told to Kathy by Dave, dad to Emma, 12, and Ella, 9.

Me being a stay-at-home dad was the last thing on our minds when Emma was born in January of 2000.  My wife was on maternity leave, and I went back to my job at a large company in Omaha. We had planned for my mom to watch Emma two days a week, and we would send her to childcare the other days.   But after Emma was born, I found myself thinking, there is no way we can share her with anyone else.

Then, in February of 2000, I was laid off from my job.  When my wife went back to work, I stayed home and took care of our little Emma.  Words can't describe how I loved being with my daughter when she was a baby.   My wife even said to me that she would have never believed how well I could take care of our daughter.  She mentioned to me that since I was doing such a great job, I should be a stay-at-home dad.  I couldn't believe it, and right away said yes.  And I have loved it from day one!

As a SAHD, I pretty much do it all.  I'm a great cook and grill master (according to my wife and kids), I do all the laundry, lawn work, grocery shop, pay bills, clean, and I even make the beds!

When Emma was three years old, I introduced her to golf.  In the summer, she would walk around with my sister, brother-in-law, and me.  It wasn't long after that when I let both girls tee off, then pick up their balls just to putt it in close to the hole.  Now both of them play a full nine holes with me.  They have been in a golf league for the last three years. They also play soccer and volleyball, and Emma also plays basketball and softball. Ella's favorite sport is golf. I would have to say I'm partial to golf!

It seems like the time has gone by so fast.  I often wish it would slow down.  I will have so many wonderful memories of the time I have spent with my girls.

As far as being a part of my daughters’ lives, I feel like I have given them guidance, support, and direction in a different way than their mom.  I have always taught them to say “please and thank you,” and I expect the best from my girls when it comes to manners and being polite. The fruits are being told from relatives to friends how polite and well-mannered our girls are.  I also try to teach common sense, or "street smarts," and it's coming along so-so. Sometimes, no matter how many times I tell them something about life, they just don't get it.  I know that my girls love the fact that I'm ALWAYS here for them in a "dad" way, even though I tend to let my wife handle the “girl” issues.  She is calm, cool, and collected; whereas when I try, I seem to get nowhere!

But for my part, I really hope I am showing my girls the way a man should treat women.  I treat my daughters with love and respect, plain and simple.  If they receive anything less from any other man, they should dump his ass!

Besides spending time with my girls, my favorite part about being a SAHD is relaxing if I want to or if I’m not feeling well (while the kids are in school). There’s nothing better in the winter months than watching The Price Is Right and taking it easy!  All kidding aside, I do get lonely, though.  All my friends have jobs, and I don’t want to bother them as they can't talk during the day.  So, I’m kind of starved for attention a little.   I have had other men give me a hard time about being a SAHD, but I just laugh it off.  I’ve found that 90% of dads wish they could be doing the same thing.

I believe that a father is and should be an important figure in his children’s lives.  In this day and age, being a SAHD is more acceptable and becoming more common.  Work will always be there, but your kids will not.  My advice is to enjoy this precious time with them as much as you can. I can't tell you how lucky I feel to be able to do this. There is nothing better in life than having children and being able to be there with them, guide them, and teach them about life before they reach "life" themselves!

Guest Post: My Father Will See Me Cry

By: Margaret (my mom)

When you’re 16 years old, fathers can be such a royal pain!  They talk to you when you don’t feel like talking, crack stupid jokes and expect you to laugh, and embarrass you in front of your friends.  Sometimes you wish they would just disappear!  My father did, and my life after that was changed forever.

When I was a little girl, I adored my Dad and thought he was the handsomest man in the whole world.  He was a farmer; and I proudly walked alongside him wearing my bib overalls and straw hat, struggling to keep up with his quick pace as I swung my little silver pails which were miniatures of the larger ones he often carried in each hand.  I loved it when I could bounce along the country roads with him on his big tractor.  At night after the workday was done, he often would sit in his chair and beg me to pull his boots off for him.  He thought it was great fun to curl up his toes and then release them at the very point where I was tugging the hardest, at which time I would go scooting across the floor, boot in hand.  You should have heard him roar at my less than graceful pose.  He delighted in giving me a “whisker rub” with his several-days-old stubble.

Then the day came when I thought bib overalls and straw hats looked dumb.  I no longer wanted to ride on the tractor; I preferred, instead, to be escorted in the family car.  “Pull off your own boots, Dad,” I would say.  “Stop it Dad; your whiskers hurt,” I would shout.  I had become a teenager, and my father--in my mind--had become a total idiot.

In the spring of my junior year in high school, Dad began to sleep a lot.  He no longer had much interest in anything.  He lost weight and began to get horrible nosebleeds.  Clearly, something was very, very wrong, but he refused to see a doctor.  One day he came to me and said:  “Sis, I’m going to die.”  I wheeled around and turned on him in my snotty teenage way and shouted:  “Well, if you won’t go to the doctor, you deserve to die!”  And I stormed out of the room.  Shortly after, he did see a doctor, perhaps because the time had come when he had no other choice.

A few days later, as Mom and I were riding home from school in the car, she broke the news to me.  The words she spoke bounced off my brain like an electric shock:  Kidney disease.  Nothing the doctors can do.  He only has a short time left. 

Stunned for a moment, I finally managed to ask my Mom:  “What are we going to do?”  “We’re going to be strong for him,” she replied. “I told him he deserved to die,” I thought.  “I didn’t mean it—I didn’t!  I just wanted him see a doctor and get better.”  For the first time in my short life, the realization that there are some things a doctor just can’t fix hit me like a wall of bricks.  In the days that followed, there were so many things I wanted to say to my Dad; but every time I tried, my emotions would get the best of me and I would have to run out of the room.  Because, after all, I had to be strong for him as Mom had said; and I couldn’t let him see me cry.

The last words my Dad ever said to me before he was transported to the hospital for the final time were:  “Goodbye, Sweetheart.”  He lapsed into a coma shortly after arriving at the hospital and never regained consciousness.  And the one thing I never said to my Dad before he passed away has haunted me ever since. 

 That’s why I’ve got to believe there is a Heaven and that I will meet my father there again someday.  He’ll come walking toward me with those quick, short steps I struggled to keep up with as a child.  He’ll be wearing his “Sunday” felt hat cocked to one side, and his white shirt will be rolled up to reveal his farmer’s tan.  His bright blue eyes will be twinkling, and his wide smile will reveal his perfect white teeth.  He’ll probably have a rolled up cigarette paper filled with Velvet tobacco in his hand.  And I’ll begin to say what I never said to him when I had the chance:  “Dad, so many times when you were sick I wanted to tell you something, but I couldn’t because I got all choked up when I tried.  And I had to be strong for you; I couldn’t let you see me cry.  I love you, Dad.”  He will smile at me again and simply reply:  “I know, Sweetheart; I’ve always known.”  Then I’ll hug my father; I’ll feel his whiskers, but they will not hurt me.  At last—at long last—my father will see me cry.  And I will be set free from the regrets of the past.

When you’re 16 years old, fathers can be such a royal pain!  But whether you’re 16 or 60, if today you still have a dad who’s talking to you when you don’t feel like talking—talk to him!  If he cracks stupid jokes and expects you to laugh—laugh with him!  If he embarrasses you in front of your friends—smile sweetly at him!  You’re one of the lucky ones.  Go to him—right now—and tell him you think so.  And don’t forget to hug him and say “I love you, Dad.”  And if by chance the tears should start to flow—let them flow!

Fifty-one years after the death of my father, as I’m editing this piece for Kathy, the tears are flowing.  The difference is that now I know a true measure of strength often is found not in stifling your emotions but in being able to show them.  It’s okay to cry!

We Must Cherish the Journey

Shortly after Joey died, I found this book, The Station, by Robert Hastings. In it, he compares life to a journey by train during which "uppermost in our minds is the final destination."*

He muses that "[o]n a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station...Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle."

We restlessly pace the aisles of this train waiting to pull into that station.

Waiting for graduation.

Waiting for our dream job or ideal mate.

Waiting for a baby.

Waiting to acquire a certain material possession.

Waiting to lose that last ten pounds.

Waiting for retirement.

Waiting until we have the time or the money.

But the joke's on us because "[s]ooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all."

We never truly arrive anywhere because as soon as we do, as soon as we meet one goal or accomplish a task, another opportunity makes itself known to us.

We are constantly moving forward, pushing ahead either out of a drive to succeed, a search for happiness, or out of sheer necessity and survival.

I have imagined this fictional station more times than I can count: as soon as I am in college, as soon as I get a real job, as soon as I am married, as soon as I have a family of my own, as soon as I am a published writer.

And even in a smaller sense: as soon as so-and-so is in school, I will have three mornings a week to myself.  As soon as the boys have all-day summer camp, I can get some things done around the house.

The thing is, these stations were either brief stops during which I was not allowed to depart the train or merely fleeting images glimpsed out the train's window.

None of these events brought finality or the neat package tied with a pretty red bow that I desired.  They simply brought more baggage, more memories, more goals, more joy, and more pain.

The train simply picks up speed, winding through canyons, climbing mountains, coasting down hills, and switching tracks, continuing on its journey toward this unknown destination of finality.

People, we must learn this: "[t]he true joy of life is the trip.  The station is only a dream.  It constantly outdistances us."

We've all been told we should live in the moment, but how often do we really do just that?  How often are we feeling guilty about our past sins, regretting our poor choices, mourning a lost relationship, beating ourselves up over a missed opportunity?

And when we're not looking back, we're looking forward with stress and fear about our families and jobs, our health and happiness, thinking, I must accomplish this task or meet that goal and I must do it by a certain time.

Because we know, time does not stand still.  It continues to roll right along with that train.

We might be able to allow ourselves some 'what-ifs' or a few 'if-onlys', but too many will cause our train to break down and our journey to be delayed.

No.

Regret and fear...the "twin thieves who rob us of today."  Today is a gift.  A gift we can't return and one that shouldn't be re-gifted. 

It should be opened immediately.  The paper torn off in an excited frenzy, and the bow placed squarely on top of our heads. A gift that should be played with right away.  And often.

Today is what matters.  Today we should enjoy the journey.  Cherish it, in fact.

We should cry less and laugh more.

We should eat more cake and worry less about our pant size.

Or the way we look in a swim suit.

Vacuum less, play with our kids more, and stop stressing over the things we can't control.

We should splash in puddles, build Legos, play Barbies, drink wine with friends, get pedicures, smell flowers, pet stray dogs, smile at strangers, ride roller coasters, and take trips.  Preferably overseas.

Leave work early sometimes.

Volunteer.

Pray.

Call that friend.

Run that race.

Say I'm sorry and I love you and You're important to me.

Write that story or start that novel.  And ask someone to read it.

We should do all the things we want to do because we don't know when the train will stop, and when we will reach that station.

Live life because "[t]he station will come soon enough."

Don't sit and wish the train would stop already. 

Stand up and enjoy the ride.

*Quoted text taken directly from The Station by Robert Hastings, copyright 2003.

In the End

The death of a child is something I would not wish on my worst enemy, nor the worst possible monster of a person.  It seems so unfair when any life is cut short before its time; but when it's a child, there is no way to even begin to imagine.

For the first time in a long time, I cried reading this.  Really cried.  I can write the words, but reading them is like reliving them and remembering exactly how I felt just like it was yesterday...

Written Jun 9, 2010 8:34pm

The Bed

We've had this hospital bed, delivered by Home Health Care two weeks ago, sitting in our front room.  Every night, I have offered it to Joey to sleep in so he wouldn't have to ascend the stairs to his bedroom.  Every night he has wanted to sleep in his own bed.  So I have helped him climb the stairs and get into his own bed in his own room with his brothers.

I always thought that once he was in the bed in the front room, that he was there to stay, that it would be the beginning of the end.

Last night, he slept in the bed in the front room.

Over the past two days, Joey has rapidly deteriorated, not wanting to eat, finding it difficult to move or even speak.  Last night, he was complaining of abdominal pain and was very weak.  He didn't want to go upstairs, so I coaxed him into the bed in the front room.  I sat with him for hours as he moaned and squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, breathing rapidly.  We both finally fell asleep, although we both woke frequently throughout the night.

Rick was off work today, thankfully, because this morning he recognized the need to call for Hospice Care.  They arrived swiftly and began caring for Joey.  While Hospice Nurse Peggy waited for Hospice Nurse Bob to bring meds for Joey, she assessed that that his breathing was rapid, his pulse was tacky, and his lungs had a "crackling" sound.  This all became worse while we were waiting, in a matter of merely an hour.

Joey was given Adavan for anxiety and Oxycodone, which is a narcotic, to make him comfortable and a cannula of oxygen.  After talking to Dr. A on the phone, who stated, "It won't be long now," we began the painful process of calling people to come and say good-bye, and tearfully confirmed our preset plans with the mortuary.

I have been staring at Joey, drinking every aspect of him in, from his fuzzy blonde hair to his beautiful long eyelashes.  I have let my lips linger longer on his cheeks, and I have stroked his skin, trying to imprint it all on my mind.  This is because I know when he leaves this bed, he will be leaving us.

Written Jun 10, 2010 6:03am

In the Arms of the Angels

This morning at 4:44 a.m. our beautiful, strong, stubborn little boy gave up his fight against the beast and died in our arms.

He is now in the arms of the angels, and they are having so much fun.

Lucky angels...

*     *      *

I wrote a post last year called "Unhappy Crapiversary" where I remembered the moment of Joey's death.  It might be difficult for some to read.  A friend, who is a writer, featured it in one of her posts.  I remember reading one comment that said I was just "trying to milk it."

That comment made me laugh.  Anyone who has lost anyone important knows that you don't "milk" anything about their death.  You remember, you deal, you figure out how to move on.

Everyone has her own way of doing this.  For me, it has always been looking back.  I have always kept journals, ever since I was ten.  I have always gone back and read what I wrote, even the most painful things, because it helps me to heal and grow and move on.

And mostly remember...

Our Journey - Part 4

By the spring of 2010, things with Joey were getting really bad.  I think in a lot of ways, I wanted to deny it.  I wanted to hold on to my beautiful, bright little boy.

It hurts to read this all again because it hurts to know what that terrible cancer beast was doing to him.

I was telling Hubby the other night about another blog I have begun reading.  The woman had lost her son, but I couldn't figure out how.  Then one day she posted a link where she talked the accident in which during a torrential downpour he was swept away in a raging creek while playing with some friends.

I've said before that I live in fear of freak accidents, now more than ever.  At least I knew what was coming.  At least I had time to say good-bye.

• Written Mar 25, 2010 1:09pm
  Groundhog Day
  "Mommy, why is Playhouse Disney still on?"  Joey asks me as we sit here for chemo.
  
  "Well, here at the hospital, they play it in a loop all day long.  Isn't that neat?"  I answered.
  
  Nurse Claudia comes in and changes the chemo bag.
  
  "Look, Mommy, Playhouse Disney is still on.  Why is it still on?"  Joey will ask me this three more times.  And each time I keep the smile in my voice as I give the same answer.
  
  The beast has thrust us into reliving Groundhog Day over and over and over.  Joey's short term memory is gone.  Not only is he asking the same questions over and over, he now cannot remember something he did five minutes ago, even one minute ago.  I have long passed getting upset or irritated because I realize just what this is.  This is a little boy who cannot help not knowing, and he needs his mommy to answer his questions.
  
  And so she does as she internally cringes every time she knows that she will be asked the same question. She keeps a smile in her voice and holds fast to patience that comes from the depths of a pleading prayer.
  
  Joey received his chemo infusion two weeks ago and went back on his nightly Temodar.  His cough cleared up, and after three weeks of being absent, he went back to school on Monday.  He took two naps of an hour or more apiece, and when he got into the car, he couldn't remember one single thing he had done at school that day.
  
  To me, this is one of the most painful parts, so far, of this tumor process.  This is Joey we're talking about.  He's a little boy who can remember with great detail an event that happened when he was two.  He's a boy who would come home from school and give a minute-by-minute replay of his day.  He is the boy I relied on to answer the questions I would ask of all the boys, and when none was willing to share, Joey would step up and fill me in.  Now I'm afraid I will never know everything I want to know.
  
  I can't believe the other boys don't notice that he is repeating himself or asking the same questions.  But Joey has always been the kid who, if he didn't get an immediate response to the question he asked or the statement he gave, he would simply keep repeating himself until he received the response he desired.  I feel like this is why we were never really sure about what was going on cognitively with Joey repeating himself until the memory loss confirmed what we had expected.
  
  In the last two weeks, Joey has also had more episodes of what seemed like really bad reflux, but we suspected might be small seizures.  Nurse Claudia witnessed one today and said that it was in fact seizure activity.  He is now having about three a day.  He has an appointment with neurology next week and a possible MRI.  The doctor is checking his Keppra level (his anti-seizure medication) and his prolactin level (a hormone that is secreted during a seizure).
  
  Joey is very sleepy, with not much energy.  There are a few times that he giggles over something that has been said or makes a joke of his own, and we relish these moments.
  
  So, for now, I will continue to answer the same questions over and over, but it is wearing me down.  It is all I can do at night to crawl onto the couch and hope that I can fall asleep listening to mindless television rather than lying in quiet darkness in my own bed with those questions, as well as my own, replaying over and over in my head.  We may have been thrust into this Groundhog Day loop, but I am trying to cling to each and every one of those days.
  
  
  
  

  Written Jun 6, 2010 Down, But Not Out

  • It is summer once again.  I cannot believe how quickly the school year flew by.  As I reflect back, I am so glad Joey got to attend kindergarten for a while, although I was so sad and disappointed about how it ended.  There were events that I wanted to bring Joey to, like the all-school mass, field day, the kindergarten swim party, or even just to say good-bye to his classmates on the last day of school.  But, for one reason or another, we didn't make it to any of those.  It made the school year feel incomplete somehow, unfinished, and I saw these things as defeats.

  Joey is no longer on chemo of any kind.  Dr. A decided it just wasn't doing enough for him and began looking for drug trials that he could be a part of.  She found one, but it ended up that Joey's liver enzymes were too high to be a candidate.  Ironically, the liver enzymes were too high because he is now on six milligrams of steroids a day to prevent seizures.  Without this, he would be having more than the one seizure he is having a day.
  
  So, we're feeling down.  We look at Joey and what has become of him, and it is so hard not to feel way, way down.  He is very weak.  It is hard for him to walk, to hold a spoon, to chew, and even swallow.  He sleeps almost all day, and when he is awake, there is no more sparkle at all left in his eyes.  No smiles, no talking in Stripey Kitten's voice.  It has been weeks since I have heard him say, "Thank you," or "I love you, Mommy."  He has become very stubborn over strange issues, and I'm not sure why this is.  He says many things that do not make sense.
  
  And then, he will be awake for a large portion of the day.  Or he will say yes to the invitation to sit outside or go to our babysitter's graduation party.  Or he will want to sit with his brothers and read stories at night.  But these instances are extremely rare, and mostly, I have just been sitting with him at home.  I know this hurts the rest of my family, but I can't bear to be away from him for too long.
  
  A couple of months ago, the social worker in the hem/onc clinic gave me a nomination form for the Spirit of Survivorship award.  I decided I would fill it out, and perhaps have his teacher fill one out too.  I had no idea how far it would expand out from there.  Many of Joey's other teachers filled out a nomination form, as well as his principal, school nurse, and the pastor of our church.

  Today, in a truly moving ceremony on a beautiful day, Joey received the award for his age group, and I breathed a sigh of relief as he actually made it through the ceremony without anything catastrophic happening.
  
  The ceremony was attended by cancer survivors and their families and friends.  The keynote speaker was a woman named Ruth Wassinger, an author, a marathon runner, and a cancer survivor who spoke passionately about how tough cancer is and about not letting it win.  I sat in the front row, next to my little honoree and cried.  I cried about how it will beat Joey, but I'll be damned if I let it beat my family down. 
  
  I generally avoid situations where cancer is being talked about and survivors are being honored because it just hurts too much.  But today, I am so glad I went.  I sat there realizing how much Joey has affected so many people's lives, and how I want to be a better person because of him.  I want to adopt his spirit of adventure, of humor, of kindness, of courage, and as Nurse Bridget said when she introduced the award to Joey, I want to be kinder, gentler, and take better care of people because of him.

  
  Joey had an MRI last week.  It showed that, of course, the tumor is growing, and it is now taking a path along the optic nerve.  It angers me to imagine this thing running unchained like some deranged, laughing monster.  Like Ms. Wassinger said today, I want to spit in its eye and stomp on its toes and twist its fingers until it cries out, but I can't.  I can take care of my sweet boy and hug and kiss and spend as much time as I can with my other little and big boys.  I can vow that I am not going to let cancer ruin me or my family.  I can decide that it will make us - all of us - better for having been affected by it.  It may knock us down and kick us while we are on the ground, but it is not going to take us out.

  
  

  
  
• 
  
• 
  

Our Journey - Part 3

All I ever really wanted for my life was happiness.  I honestly thought once I got married and had a family, life would just be happy.

Turns out it doesn't always work out that way.

But Joey and his illness taught me to look for, and sometimes really search for, the sunshine among the clouds.

Written Dec 23, 2009 11:02am

So This is Christmas...

Every time I hear John Lennon's Christmas song, Happy Christmas, I find the words to be so appropriate for us:

A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
Let's hope it's a good one without any fear.

With Christmas approaching in two days, I think I am over the fear that Joey will not be well for the holiday.  Since his surgery to replace a portion of his shunt two weeks ago, he has improved quite a bit.  After five days of throwing up, he is finally feeling better, having more energy, and has been vomit-free since Friday.  We are here in hem/onc for his chemo infusion.  Dr. A agrees with the neurosurgeons that it is too soon after surgery, and is holding off on the Avastin for another two weeks.

But, there still is the fear that I have that this Christmas will be our last with Joey.  My fear that on every subsequent Christmas after this one I won't be able to send out holiday cards if there is one person missing from the picture.  My fear that I won't be able to enjoy the holidays if I can't hear Joey's giggle or have his help decorating the Christmas candy.  There was already some sadness this year as we could not think of much to get for Joey, when in years past we never had any problem with his gifts as he was interested in everything!!

There is a line in the song that asks, "What have you done?"  That line haunts me a bit, as I wonder what I have done to make this Christmas special, not only for Joey, but everyone in our house.  I couldn't even shop - other people had to do it for me!  I have a counter full of supplies to make Christmas candy and holiday mixes, but so far only one treat has been made.  The boys were out of school last Thursday, and I thought about taking them to the Durham Museum or Children's Museum to see the holidays lights and trees, but honestly?  I didn't want anyone to catch anything that might put Joey in the hospital for another holiday.  I have a sack of toys and blankets that were destined for the Open Door Mission, or maybe at least the Humane Society, but they will sit for another year.  

What have you done...?  I must mention, though, the many people who have done some wonderful things for us lately.   Joey and Jack's fabulous kindergarten teachers had the boys make calendars with their hand prints that are so precious, and the boys' art teacher made  them pictures of their beloved stuffed animals that are just darling!!  We are going to have them framed.  A family surprised us with a (gluten-free!) ham to add to our holiday dinner, and we had some "santas" shop for us, which helped tremendously! I was invited to a couple of holiday parties with the ladies, which were such fun distractions from meds and chemo and hospital stays.

Lennon's song is subtitled "War is Over."  Our war over this cancer is far from over, and it's in the fore front of our minds constantly (unless I choose my usual denial mode and push it back somewhere in the depths of my own nightmares).  Our holiday will be a four-day extravaganza - Christmas Eve mass and presents from Mommy and Daddy, Christmas day and presents from Santa (one of which Joey keeps telling everyone Santa will bring him, and this is news to me!), the day after Christmas celebration with my family, and the day after that celebrating with Rick's family....whew!  It's a lot when everyone is well.  But, I worry the toll it will take on Joey, and how much we will all be able to enjoy it.

There's a song by that more loved ex-Beatle Paul, that talks about a "Wonderful Christmastime."  Even if the boys don't get everything they want, even if the candies don't get made, if the gluten-free cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning really don't taste good, if we don't see lights and trees or celebrate in any other way, at least we're together and safe and laughing and well for one more Christmas.  "We're here tonight, and that's enough.  Simply having a wonderful Christmastime."

• Written Feb 12, 2010 1:06pm
  Except That One Thing

  We're still doing okay here, quite okay, in fact, although I hate to say that.  I feel like if I start thinking too positively, things will take a turn for the worse.  That is my negative thinking tendency.

  I do appreciate all you "glass-half-full" people and the comments you leave.  It is good for me to hear that.  It is good for me to hear you focusing on the "okay" and not that one other thing.

  That one other big thing.

  In the past few weeks, we have decreased Joey's steroid by a half milligram.  It may not seem like much, but any change in his routine can cause a change in Joey.  And we are constantly looking for these changes, whispering and wondering...

  Joey has been enthusiastically going to school and having great days!  He has an 8th grade buddy to help him in P.E. and is allowed to rest in the nurse's office whenever he feels the need.  His school papers come home meticulously completed and beautifully colored.  Another child reported to her mother, "Joey never does anything wrong at school.  He's never gotten a color change!"

  Except...I see that he struggles to remember sight words that I could have sworn he once knew, and sometimes gets the days of the week mixed up.  He sometimes writes letters and numbers backward.  Is that me just looking for something that's not there?

  He's taking swimming lessons, which he asked to resume after enthusiastically attending an open swim where he jumped in the pool, went down the slide, and dove for dive sticks.  He loves the lessons and is doing well.
  
  Except...his teacher reports that he lacks confidence.  I think he gets short of breath as well.

  We have been doing the chemo infusion of Avastin and Irinotecan every two weeks.  Even though this takes all day and wears us both out, we do crafts and watch movies and giggle about silly things.  Last week, instead of coming away with his usual nausea and diarrhea, he felt pretty good.
  
  Except...that it's still chemo.

  I do treasure spending this time with Joey, as well as the cuddling in bed at night.  He used to be too worn out to read any books before bed, and now we are reading two a night.  He tends to talk a lot, and I have to tell him, "It's time to be quiet now and try to go to sleep."  He wants me to tuck him in and sing to him before he goes to sleep.  He likes me to sing, "You are my Sunshine," only, as I've said before, we change the words to "You are My Sweetface."
  
  Except...I can never sing the last line - without gritting my teeth anyway.  Since he cuddles every night with his green spotted frog, Spotty (this is only because Stripey Kitten, when wearing her months of the year sweaters, is not very soft and cuddly) instead of singing, "Please don't take my Sweetface away," I usually just have Spotty "ribbit" that line for me.
  
  Some of Joey's blood counts are beginning to drop rather low, namely his white blood count, which are the infection fighting cells.  He has had the same cold since early January.  For this reason, he can not go back on his nightly Temodar.  And for this reason, today he is receiving an extra infusion called IVIG.  It is an infusion of infection fighting immunoglobulins that evidently many of the children here in the clinic receive.
  
  So, I see Joey having energy, being excited about school and swimming, goofing around and giggling over silly boy jokes.  And I see him fighting with and bossing around his little brothers.  It feels...a little normal.  Like I can almost think that the glass is half full.
  
  Although, I can't quite seem to wrap my mind around a cup that will ever be running over.
  
  So again, okay, slightly normal...
  
  ...except for that one thing, that one big, ugly, awful thing.

  
  
• Written February 23, 2010

  Great Day for Ordinary

  The boys piled into the car after school today.  "So, did anything exciting happen today at school?" is the question I always ask.

  There was a pause, and then came Joey's voice. "Nope.  It was just a regular, ordinary Monday."
  
  That made me smile.
  
  We stopped at Nobbies after school so the boys could all help choose balloons for Daddy's birthday.  As we waited for our balloons to be inflated, Colin and Adam found an Elmo balloon that played music.  They played it over and over, batted at it, fought over it, while Joey sang "Happy birthday" in an Elmo voice and Jack took balloons out of containers and started blowing them up.
  
  "Got your hands full, don't you?"  The ladies inflating our balloons were laughing.
  
  "Ya think?"  I replied sarcastically, thinking, 'just inflate the #@*! balloons so I can get out of here!'

  When Daddy came home, there was a rush of little boys each wanting his gift opened first.  There was cake and some candles to blow out.  Joey was leading the singing of "Happy Birthday," and for a change, was not too tired for dessert.
  
  Before bedtime, I gave Joey a long absent dose of Temodar, his chemo medication.  Since his white count has raised some, he is back now on a lower dose.
  
  Later, Joey was all snuggled into bed, and as I was about to crawl in and read to him, I noticed a booger smeared on the wall (moms of boys know what I am talking about).
  
  "Is that a...booger?"  I questioned Joey, giving him my best one-eyebrow-raised-angry-mom stare.
  
  He broke out into a sheepish grin.  "Well, yeah, but it's only one.  When I slept over there" - he pointed across the room - "I used to do it all the time."
  
  Having no response for that, I went to get a wet cloth and made him clean it off.
  
  If not for the Temodar, it would have been a perfect, ordinary day.