tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4488012295061396592024-03-14T02:43:59.595-04:00The Brothers H...the life and times of a ragamuffin mother and the boys who have her heart...Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.comBlogger374125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-71803374503308469852016-05-05T12:43:00.001-04:002016-05-10T21:53:56.976-04:00The odds in our favor...Guys, we got some really great cancer news this week. To appreciate it, you need to understand where we've been over the last three years. Here's the condensed version:<br />
<br />
C: My knee hurts.<br />
S: I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm still going to need you to hang the Christmas lights.<br />
(next day)<br />
C: My knee hurts.<br />
Doc: You have cancer.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Chris was 37. The boys were 3, 6, 7 and 9. Our whole life exploded. <br />
<br />
Doc: If chemo shrinks the tumor, your odds are great.<br />
<br />
Two months of chemo. We're in and out of the hospital. Chris is miserable. Rand starts crying when I need to leave him. My big boys are struggling in less direct but louder ways. The only place I can cry is in the car between the hospital and home. <br />
<br />
Doc: That chemo didn't work. If the next one shrinks the tumor, your odds are good. If not,...<br />
<br />
Two more months of chemo. Now we have a system. The grandparents, aunts, and uncles have almost completely taken on parenting duties. Chris has found some sort of mental zone where he's able to cope with the awfulness of chemo. I've developed a twitch in my eye from the stress.<br />
<br />
Doc: Chemo #2 didn't work. Let's take out the tumor. Your odds are not good. This will probably get you in the end, but maybe not.<br />
<br />
Remove Chris' knee along with a good bit of thigh bone and some muscle. Another year of chemo (while trying to regain mobility with the massive leg surgery) to hopefully blast any hidden cancer cells. This is our life now. Every month, as soon as Chris claws his way out of the pit that is chemo, it's time to give him more. But we make it. We survive a year and a half of chemo.<br />
<br />
Doc: Great news - you're done with chemo. Other news - your odds don't change unless you make it two more years cancer-free. Come back in three months.<br />
<br />
When he was first diagnosed, it was like Chris was dropped in the middle of the ocean and had to swim to shore, with the boys and me on a raft, paddling beside him. And now we've made it to land, but we don't know how long we can stay. We're on a kind of three month shore leave. So we try to balance enjoying the heck out of our time on land with preparing for another stint in the ocean - one that Chris may not survive. And this is where we've been for the past two years - living our lives in three month chunks. We've made a kind of peace with that arrangement, but it colors everything. I watch Chris having a moment with one of the boys and remember how much they'll miss if we lose him. I see older couples together and know that's probably something we'll miss. I get tired and freak out on the boys and realize again what a crappy single parent I would be. It's been a wonderful two years, and we've leaned in to this time and have loved on our boys and one another, but always with this heaviness and fragility.<br />
<br />
But, we made it past another scan this week, and the doctor has adjusted Chris' prognosis. <br />
<br />
Doc: Things are looking good guys. At this point, cancer is unlikely to come back. We still have to check you every few months, but you no longer need to plan your lives around the possibility of more chemo.<br />
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It's the difference between, "May the odds be ever in your favor" Effie Trinkett style and "The odds are in your favor" from an oncologist. And that changes everything. We can make plans more than three months out without an asterisk. I have fewer excuses to cry. Guys, I will probably not have to navigate teenage boy territory by myself. I can sit on the sidelines, sipping a margarita, cheering Chris on as he guides those precious boys through adolescent, testosterony minefields. This thing - life with Chris and the boys - didn't feel like a gift until it was broken. There's a whisper of redemption in it.<br />
<br />
"Everything sad is going to come untrue and it will somehow be greater for having once been broken and lost." Tim Keller<br />
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<br />Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-77237465713507277232014-06-10T23:00:00.001-04:002014-06-10T23:44:09.439-04:00No more chemo...<div style="text-align: justify;">
Guys, we made it through chemo. A few weeks ago, at dinner, Chris unveiled a PICC line-free arm, and in what Chris proclaimed the most gratifying reaction to his good news, Jacob jumped up onto his chair, flung his arms out and sang, </div>
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"Everybody dance now!"</div>
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Chris is still recovering and has a lot of ground to regain, but this time, he gets to stay better. Several months ago I wrote about being where I am. If you're in a painful, hard place; if it's not fixable but what is intended for you, then be there. Lean into it. Do it with your heart and soul. And guys, where we are right now is happy. I feel like the Israelites must have felt when they crossed the Jordan River. Like a promise has been fulfilled, and I can move out of this godforsaken tent and build an actual home. Entering the Promised Land wasn't the end of their struggles, but glory hallelujah, it was definitely a time to celebrate. So, we're having a party. I only have a vague-ish notion of what I'm serving, but the No More Chemo playlist is in great shape. The boys and I have been rockin out to those songs. </div>
<ul>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;"><em>Forget You</em> by Cee Lo Green because... forget cancer. </span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;"><em>Mama Said Knock You Out</em> because Chris H has been knocking out some cancer. </span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;"><em>O Love that Will Not Let Me Go</em> because The Lord has showed up for us in cancer. </span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;"><em>Tonight, Tonight</em> by Hot Chelle Rae because I dare you to resist singing along with it, and we're at a roll down the windows, turn up the volume and sing your heart out place right now...</span></li>
</ul>
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Around this time last year I had a breakdown in an elevator at the hospital when I realized I probably would not be able to take the boys for our annual week in a cabin in a bit of wilderness. A kindhearted woman with a PICC line and no hair tried to comfort me, but she just made me feel worse - like a self-aborbed fool crying over missing a favorite vacation to my exhausted, perpetually recovering husband who would definitely be staying home feeling crappy (at best) for the summer. Thanks to my sweet father-in-law who devoted his year to lightening my cancer load and my parents who tracked down a cabin not too far from Houston but enjoyable in August (look at a map - it's not trivial), we did get to take our trip last year. This year, the boys and I are in Colorado. It's been another amazing trip which is not so much a testament to our awesomeness as it is to a quiet, scenic location and some cabin traditions and guidelines that have evolved over the years.</div>
<ol>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">No electronics. Not even for me.</span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Supply the boys with whatever ridiculous, normally off-limits breakfast cereal they choose.</span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Just because children complain about something doesn't mean you shouldn't do it.</span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">When you go for a hike, think of it more as being in the woods than covering any real mileage.</span></li>
<li><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Except for one day. Go for a hike that pushes the envelope - something ill-advised that they'll be proud of completing.</span></li>
</ol>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our first year, this was a 3 mile hike that ended with Jacob on my shoulders and Bryan in my arms. This year Cecilie the Fabulous agreed to keep Rand, and our ill-advised hike was a 7-mile trek through snow, across creeks, through meadows and up mountains. But, my unlikely favorite part was along the side of a mountain that had been devastated by fire. It was stark - blacks, greys and whites, all the more jarring after miles of lush greens and browns. But this ruined forest held it's own kind of stoic, understated beauty. The fire left unlikely patterns on some of the blackened tree trunks. <br />
<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.3em; text-align: justify;">Any bit of color - vibrant yellow flowers or bright green shrubs that went unnoticed in the thriving, healthy forest were remarkable - beautiful in that way that hurts - against a backdrop of desolation. </span><span style="line-height: 1.3em; text-align: justify;">It made me think of our past year and a half with cancer. The moments that I rarely notice in the midst of our happy, busy, cancer-free life - my family eating dinner together or Chris and I laughing over the boys' antics - felt like precious gifts in the middle of cancer. Miraculousness is easier to notice in the middle of a desolation.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 1.3em; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 1.3em; text-align: justify;">I watched my boys hike their way through that forest that was and will be again. Each of them was wearing a bit of bright blue, and they were conspicuous in that stark forest - as they are when they're at the hospital with us. I worry for them over the cancer hits they've taken. To watch your dad go through this is hard and painful and it leaves marks in ways they can't understand yet. But I watched those bright, blue boys walk persistently on and felt assured - in a way I can't quite define or describe - that they're going to be okay, even if they're not okay.</span><br />
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Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion. Psalm 84:5-7</div>
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Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-26122781156660296692014-03-23T23:18:00.001-04:002014-03-23T23:18:19.247-04:00A weekend in pictures...<blockquote><p> My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it. - Mark Twain</p></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-sFQcDnCr69c/Uy-jiZTDX8I/AAAAAAAABpg/ev7zycKlNt4/s2048/Photo%25252020140323221558.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-sFQcDnCr69c/Uy-jiZTDX8I/AAAAAAAABpg/ev7zycKlNt4/s500/Photo%25252020140323221558.jpg" id="blogsy-1395631099672.564" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-GauHfZ7454k/Uy-jpXy1gaI/AAAAAAAABpo/IXeOLwVOPnA/s2048/Photo%25252020140323221559.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-GauHfZ7454k/Uy-jpXy1gaI/AAAAAAAABpo/IXeOLwVOPnA/s500/Photo%25252020140323221559.jpg" id="blogsy-1395631099729.0981" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--mSZeHjdUSc/Uy-j0yEX7YI/AAAAAAAABpw/vgCQErZcCMA/s2048/Photo%25252020140323221559.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--mSZeHjdUSc/Uy-j0yEX7YI/AAAAAAAABpw/vgCQErZcCMA/s500/Photo%25252020140323221559.jpg" id="blogsy-1395631099706.4739" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-z41JNFT4Vq0/Uy-j9-pGQ1I/AAAAAAAABp4/oH0EX_F0gOA/s2048/Photo%25252020140323221559.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-z41JNFT4Vq0/Uy-j9-pGQ1I/AAAAAAAABp4/oH0EX_F0gOA/s500/Photo%25252020140323221559.jpg" id="blogsy-1395631099703.195" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div><p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-43947191944934971152014-03-09T22:21:00.001-04:002014-03-09T22:21:44.438-04:00Stumbling...<p style="text-align: justify;"> A few years ago I did a 100 mile bike ride with my family. Mine was an ill-conceived plan. I was in shape to do about 50 miles, and 100 - 50 is still a big number. The last 40 miles were rough. Miles 80 to 100 were ridiculous. At the beginning of the ride I was focused; I was chipper; there was a plan. My brother had a pig squeaky toy attached to his handlebars. We rode in a line, and every 2 minutes the little pig oinked, and it was time for the leader to move to the back of the line and the next person took over the hardest, front position. By mile 80, I was done. I didn't want to ride in a line. I didn't want to hydrate. I didn't want energy chews. All I wanted was to get myself and my bike to the end of that godforsaken race. When we found out at mile 90 that the route was 102 miles instead of 100, I nearly cried. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Friends, that's where we are in chemo. It's been fifteen months, and we're weary - limping to the finish line. The whole thing feels ridiculous and beyond endurance. We're at the hospital for another round of chemo today. It feels like we're a couple of washed out Vegas performers running through the same sad, tired act we should have quit years ago. Chris stoicly verified his medical information and accepted the medicine that's definitely going to make him feel crappy but will hopefully (we're staking months of our lives on it) make any subversive cancer cells feel crappier. I had the same worn out conversations with the nurse and pharmacist that, I'm sure, annoyed the hell out of them but also established me as a person less irritating to placate than ignore. There's always a moment before I speak to them when I think, "You know, most people really do like me, but you're not going to be one of them. I'm going to be that person you complain about tonight when you complain to whoever it is you complain to, but sustained nagging is the only way I've found to walk out of this hospital today with what we need," and then I begin my unremitting attack like that Komodo dragon with poison teeth on Planet Earth who bites an elephant, infecting him, then relentlessly follows him for weeks, refusing to let him lay down or stop to drink until the exhasuted beast just voluntarily lays down in some kind of aggravated suicide. It's not that the Komodo dragon is cruel, it's just <em>hard</em> to kill an elephant. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">There were holy moments today too, but those tend to happen when we're alone. Chris with his hand on my leg in the car on the way here because he could see I'm struggling today. And friends, that's what love is - comforting your wife on the day <em>you</em> have chemo. We usually listen to NPR in the car, but this morning's program was "The Way We Die" so I plugged in my iPhone and hit shuffle to hear Jars of Clay sing, </p>
<blockquote><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">On Jordan's stormy banks I stand and cast a wishful eye to Canaan's fair and happy land where my possessions lie. I am bound. I am bound. I am bound for the promised land.</span></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And I laughed at the irony and beauty and we sang along. In our room I told the same comfortable old jokes about how things are harder on the caregiver than the patient - especially the nausea and needles. Then we negotiated the lighting situation. Chris prefers absolutely no light. I feel like the dark shrinks my soul and probably his too, he's just not emotionally aware enough to feel it. He threatened to call my mom. I rolled my eyes and gave in. Then he fell asleep, and the sadness started to creep up on me again, so I took out my Bible and read my cancer psalm. And when I got to this part,</p>
<blockquote><p>You give me your shield of victory and your right hand sustains me.</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I remembered my sons' piano recital. A few times, a student would lose their way in the middle of their piece. The teacher, a lovely, kind-hearted elderly woman, would sit beside them on the bench, place her right hand on their back and whisper words of instruction and encouragement, and the child was able to continue.</p>
<p>So, I'm not finished with my song and I'm stumbling, but his right hand sustains me.</p>
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<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-85996315680789586922014-01-23T16:26:00.001-05:002014-01-23T16:26:45.151-05:00There's no crying in deer hunting...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ideuwSTBb3A/UuGIy2l64aI/AAAAAAAABnk/7fkcZbO3XYQ/s1600/Photo%252520Jan%25252019%25252C%2525202014%25252C%2525208%25253A37%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ideuwSTBb3A/UuGIy2l64aI/AAAAAAAABnk/7fkcZbO3XYQ/s500/Photo%252520Jan%25252019%25252C%2525202014%25252C%2525208%25253A37%252520AM.jpg" id="blogsy-1390512406494.7148" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> Guys, there are scenes from cancer that would break your heart: Chris sitting at the window watching the other men play basketball with our sons and nephews. There are so many things he may not be able to do again - basketball, skiing, hiking (also bowling and roller skating, but he's reconciled himself to those losses). So when the men of my family organized a trip to take David and Chris on their first hunt, I was... verklempt.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">They had such an amazing time. <span style="line-height: 1.3em;">My dad, my uncles, one of my brothers, my cousin and nephews were all there. </span><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">There were weapons, rude noises, lots of red meat, and, apparently, with no moms in the picture, unlimited cookies. David and Chris each shot their first deer. David got a couple of wild hogs, too. Evidently, Chris is an excellent shot with a pistol. David came home bragging on his dad's prowess with a gun. They both came home refreshed, freer. It was like they got to check out of cancer-land for a weekend, and something unseeable loosened its grip on Chris.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">I know there's no crying in deer hunting, but to see my husband and son doing something manly, something they've always wanted to do, that has nothing to do with cancer, was so overwhelmingly good - real-life-good not cancer-good* - that I'm afraid I cried. I felt like I needed Tom Hanks to yell at me.</span><br>
</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">Are you crying? Are you crying? ARE YOU CRYING? There's no crying! THERE'S NO CRYING IN HUNTING!</span></p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Men come alongside one another in a way that's beautiful and foreign to me. It often seems to look like standing together and defiantly doing normal stuff in the face of terrible circumstances.</p>
<blockquote><p><em>Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. Galations 6:2</em></p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><font size="2">*Cancer-good is best described by example: "You only have to wait 30 minutes to start the medicine that makes you feel like you have ebola." </font></p>
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<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-26712693747384477912014-01-16T20:48:00.000-05:002014-01-16T21:06:27.205-05:00Incentivized by a 7 year old...<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the past year and a half, Bryan has had me on an incentive plan. He doles out kisses at bedtime based on his assessment of my performance that day. He keeps me updated on the maximum and the average number I can expect. A few months ago he had to recalibrate and bring the max down some because he decided the nightly kiss routine was taking too long. He's serious about his system. The maximum amount of kisses is reserved for truly exceptional mom behavior, </div>
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Bryan: To get the full amount, you have to do something like take me to Disney World <i>and</i> Chuck E Cheese. </blockquote>
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and he insists on taking into account all the information from the day. He's unmoved by emotional pleas. His system generates some interesting bedtime conversation.</div>
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A few months ago, on a day when I made cookies, allowed extra video game time and took them to the pool, I still only got a little over the average.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Me: Seriously?!? The pool, video games <i>and</i> cookies, and that's all I get? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Bryan: (sympathetic but with a hint of condescension) Yeah, but spinach.</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had served spinach with dinner.</div>
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Like any good manager, he gives me advice on how I can improve my numbers. Last night was a beautiful, clear night. We had planned on watching <i>Amazing Race</i>, but I took the telescope out instead and showed the boys the surface of the moon and Jupiter. You could even see a few of Jupiter's moons. At bedtime I got a few kisses over the average.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Me: Did I get so many because I showed you Jupiter and the moon? </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Bryan: Yeah. But you could have got more if I could have also watched Amazing Race. Like maybe next time you could plan better and serve dinner earlier and we could watch <i>Amazing Race</i> and do the telescope.</blockquote>
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<br />Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-58085338773700091792014-01-07T22:33:00.001-05:002014-01-07T22:33:55.780-05:00Pulling on my blogging shoes...<p style="text-align: justify;"> Okay guys. I've been waiting for something really inspired or witty to come to me but have finally realized that I've just gotten out of the habit of blogging and I need to lower the bar for myself. So this is me tugging on my blogging shoes and limping through my first post-holiday blog. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Chris is doing well... not real-life-good but cancer-good. He did a cycle after Thanksgiving and it was okay. There weren't any of the horrible side effects we dealt with in the fall. He didn't even have to take the meds that give him crazy drug eyes. We expected that he'd have to be on chemo over Christmas, but given his record of not responding to chemo the way anyone expects, his doctor didn't want to foist him off on a colleague over Christmas. So, everyone (especially the boys) was thrilled to get Chris for Christmas. It was a wonderful imperfectly perfect holiday with a mish-mash of holy moments and just enough reality to keep me from getting insufferably satisfied with myself. There was a Sunday evening service when, during a carol, I looked over and saw Jacob asleep on Chris' shoulder. The sight of all those boys I love sitting together in church made my soul happy. Really, I should look at them all in dim lighting with soulful music in the background more often. We delivered cookies at the hospital on Christmas Eve, and my favorite barista - the one who always gives me the employee discount, was working, and I was able to thank her for making the coffee that brought me so much comfort over the past year. </p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But then, those holy moments only come in snatches. I got the Christmas Eve service time wrong, so we were late and had to sit in the lobby. One of the boys told me that in the future he'd rather not deliver cookies at the hospital because it's really not that fun. Two of them fought over who got to hand the cookies to the security guard. The winner of that debate got his in the end, though. The security guard was a gregarious and affectionate woman who insisted on giving him a big hug. Rand dropped a full glass of water on my toe on Christmas. It hurt so bad I had to leave the room to keep from cussing at him. I was sure it was broken. I thought about swiping some of Chris' serious drugs. I whined. A lot. By the next morning it was clear I was fine.</p>
<blockquote><p>Chris: How's your toe?</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p>Me: Fine. How's your cancer?</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Wow. That's a lot of words and we're not even caught up yet. I'm going to pick up the pace. Chris did another round of chemo about a week and a half ago. It was okay. It's still chemo, but it's punch you in the gut and let you recover kind of chemo, not punch you in the gut, kick you in both shins, stomp on your face and then pull out your teeth on the way to the hospital kind of chemo.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Overall, Household H is doing okay. It's starting to feel like this chemo road may have an end at some point.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-V8eqQU1oyRA/UszHH_WcTXI/AAAAAAAABms/Ff1nTSzumB0/s2048/Photo%252520Dec%25252023%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525205%25253A08%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="line-height: 1.3em; text-align: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-V8eqQU1oyRA/UszHH_WcTXI/AAAAAAAABms/Ff1nTSzumB0/s500/Photo%252520Dec%25252023%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525205%25253A08%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1389152035070.5037" class="" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-45147372057781748592013-12-14T11:29:00.001-05:002013-12-14T11:34:18.642-05:00Ten books that have influenced me...Or, what I did Saturday morning (write this list) instead of the laundry. <br />
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In no particular order these are books that have influenced me or my reading...<br />
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1. <em>Mere Christianity</em> by C.S. Lewis - Chris recommended this book when we were dating. I read the chapter on pride, and it was painful. It was the first time I really understood that God wasn't super-excited to have me on his team since I was a "good kid" and the beginning of understanding sin and grace.<br />
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2. <em>Sailing Alone Around the Room</em> by Billy Collins - I told my friend Kara that I did not understand poetry, and she recommended Billy Collins. I love reading his poems because I understand (I think) what he's talking about. (for the poetry novice I also recommend Good Poems collected by Garrison Keillor.<br />
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3. <em>Wuthering Heights</em> by Emily Bronte - This isn't my favorite classic, but it's an important first for me. I saw it on my Senior reading list in high school and groaned because it sounded so boring. Wuthering... withering... ughhh. I was so surprised to find that it's actually interesting. The story grabbed a hold of me and gave me confidence to try Pride and Prejudice, The Count of Monte Cristo and more.<br />
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4. <em>Incidents in the of a Slave Girl </em>by Harriet Jacobs - This was written by a runaway slave in the mid-1800's. The scariest part of this book to me was the damage that was done by generally well-meaning people who lacked the courage or oomph to do the hard right thing. It's a fascinating window into what it was like to live with slavery. It turned me on to good historical nonfiction books.<br />
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5. <em>The Histories</em> by Herodotus - This was not easy to read, but it was worth it. It helped me see how much we inherit from Judaic law. And there are so many good stories here: the culture that auctioned off its unmarried women in order of beauty (men were paid to take the ugly ones and had to pay for the good looking ones), the Spartans brushing their hair and dancing as a pre-battle routine,...<br />
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6. <em>Anne of Green Gables</em> by L.M. Montgomery - I think this was the first REALLY good children's book I fell in love with. I wanted to be Anne. I kind of still do.<br />
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7. <em>Ender's Game</em> by Orson Scott Card - For years Chris tried to get me to read this, but I had no confidence that he could pick something I'd find readable. Someone else recommended it, so I read it (he'll be mad about that until the end of time) and really enjoyed it. Now Chris is my fantasy guru. He knows what I will and will not like and has recommended several other good ones - Name of the Wind, Way of Kings, Wheel of Time, ...<br />
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8. <em>Winnie the Pooh</em> - I read this in college on a whim and was surprised to find much more sophisticated humor than I expected (I've read it to my kids a few times, and the older kids always enjoy it in a different way than they did when they were younger.) It was the beginning of rediscovering children's literature as an adult.<br />
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9.<em> Where is God When It Hurts </em>by Philip Yancey - I read this at a time when I felt set upon by God. I was too angry to read the Bible but wanted to read something spiritualish. This book helped me understand that I was not the only person in the world who had been hurt and helped me come to terms with my unanswered questions.<br />
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10. <em>Anna Karenina</em> by Tolstoy - I tried to read this in college and found it unbelievably boring. I picked up again as an adult and loved it. It's one of my all time favorites now. So, this book helped me give a whole category of books a second chance. Some (Madame Bovary) I still hate, but some that I hated as a teenager I was able to enjoy as an adult.<br />
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Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-53812055897446773402013-12-07T16:59:00.001-05:002013-12-07T16:59:26.201-05:00Star Wars snowflakes...<p> It's hard to find Christmas crafts for boys. A friend sent this awesome option. It's cool, and it works. All you need is a printer, paper, scissors and an exacto knife. Be sure and watch the video on how to fold.</p>
<p> <a href="http://www.anthonyherreradesigns.com/index.php/8-ahd-blog/8-star-wars-snowflakes-2013" target="_blank" title="Star Wars Snowflakes"></a></p>
<p> <a href="http://www.anthonyherreradesigns.com/index.php/8-ahd-blog/8-star-wars-snowflakes-2013" target="_blank" title="">Star Wars Snowflake</a></p>
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<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-84558015115707937662013-12-01T23:55:00.000-05:002013-12-01T23:55:31.719-05:00Chemo Eve...<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been almost a year since Chris and I got a message stating that his first round of chemo would start the next day. We were sitting at the bar at Lupe's waiting for a to-go order, and I cried because I just couldn't believe that my young, strong husband really needed chemo, and I was so scared because I had no idea what it would mean for all of us. Would he throw up all the time? Would he be able to get out of bed? Would he have eyebrows in a week? The reality has been slower and more relentless than I expected - less like climbing a mountain and more like walking from Maine to California.</div>
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Chris has been on a chemo break. The last round was terrible, and he needed a break. Slowly he's returned to us. The last few weeks have been almost normal, and that's been so good for all of us. He got to go on a trip with friends. We all got to enjoy Thanksgiving. We went out on a date, played games with the boys, and talked a lot. There's such blessing in normal life. </div>
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Chris has about six more months of chemo to go, and tomorrow morning we start another round. It's Chemo Eve again. This time I know more of what we're facing, so its a better-informed, deeper, quieter sadness. We'll lose something indefinable tomorrow - I can't quite put words around it, but it's a part of Chris we need for a normal, family life. It feels like a terrible preview of what could be coming. But now I know he'll come back. We're not going to lose Chris to chemo. The real battle is with cancer and nobody knows how that's going to end. Cancer is a much cagier beast. Living with that kind of uncertainty is... impossible. But the impossibility of it is a blessing. I know I can't manage it, and so I'm spared a lot of pointless effort.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="text Matt-11-28" id="en-NIV-23488" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span class="woj">"Come to me,<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23488AG" title="See cross-reference AG">AG</a>)"></span> all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23488AH" title="See cross-reference AH">AH</a>)"></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="text Matt-11-29" id="en-NIV-23489" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span class="woj">Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23489AI" title="See cross-reference AI">AI</a>)"></span> for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. </span></span><span class="text Matt-11-30" id="en-NIV-23490" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span class="woj"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;"> </span>For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30</span></span></i></span></div>
Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-55404811584477503762013-10-30T23:11:00.001-04:002013-10-30T23:11:36.652-04:00Nerf gun olive branch...<p style="text-align: justify;"> It's been a rough couple of weeks. Chris' chemo regimen changed and we thought he was going to feel better, but it's been so much worse. Twice in the past week I've thought, "He's in as much pain as I've seen him in," and I watched him get a fourth of his leg replaced last spring. The bar is pretty high.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And it's hard to deal kindly and gently with the boys when I'm tired and worried and when Chris needs me so much. I had good intentions tonight but was way too harsh with David. After the boys were in bed...</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Chris: Is David okay? Remember the advice we got about making it right with the boys at bed time? You should get one of the nerf guns and go shoot David.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Me: That's a great idea.</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So, because I ambushed him with a nerf machine gun, David and I are now okay. Boys are so weird.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Cj7Oni4jfvI/UnHKVj0oIkI/AAAAAAAABkI/wM1STN93vt8/s602/Photo%252520Oct%25252030%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A00%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Cj7Oni4jfvI/UnHKVj0oIkI/AAAAAAAABkI/wM1STN93vt8/s500/Photo%252520Oct%25252030%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A00%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1383189095010.9307" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="338" height="602"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9knZiZ3KuWg/UnHKZMEBp1I/AAAAAAAABkQ/8jiS9dGOkcU/s2048/Photo%252520Oct%25252030%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A27%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9knZiZ3KuWg/UnHKZMEBp1I/AAAAAAAABkQ/8jiS9dGOkcU/s500/Photo%252520Oct%25252030%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A27%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1383189094982.8667" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="667" alt=""></a></div>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-3389144498406499432013-10-10T01:15:00.003-04:002013-10-10T01:18:27.610-04:00An update...<div style="text-align: justify;">
We had some unexpected good news this week. Out of concern that he was developing pneumonia, Chris' oncologist scheduled a last minute chest scan this week. There's something going on in his lungs, but it's not pneumonia and it's not cancer.* His lungs are still clear. And we got that update without a weeks-long, emotionally fraught waiting period. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was in the car today and realized that I was in a really good mood. This is a novelty. Right now I'm generally okay or not okay, but the last few days have been good, smiling kind of days. </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Inner dialogue: Why am I in a good mood? Hmmmm... Chris doesn't have cancer in his lungs right now, and the boys are loving school. </blockquote>
<div>
That's it. Seriously guys, the bar is pretty low these days. (For more on simple life goals, see <a href="http://thebrothersh.blogspot.com/2011/01/road.html">this</a> previous post.)</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E6QUcMftCKM/UlY3vBLmOrI/AAAAAAAABjc/q9ciTfaINz0/s1600/limitless-life-goals.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E6QUcMftCKM/UlY3vBLmOrI/AAAAAAAABjc/q9ciTfaINz0/s1600/limitless-life-goals.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">* For the curious or medical types, it's probably a toxic reaction to chemo that the doctor describes as sort of chemical pneumonia. That sounds really bad unless you're comparing it to cancer.</span></div>
Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-76009522513080001882013-10-07T20:38:00.001-04:002013-10-07T20:38:04.555-04:00Waiting rooms...<p style="text-align: justify;">I spend a lot of time in waiting rooms these days. A cancer waiting room is fraught with potential for all kinds of inappropriate things, and I've seen some real gems. I'd like to think these particular selections were made with an ironic smile, but I doubt it.</p>
<p>This was on a table in a waiting room a few months ago...</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-QmxfMtOBaG4/UlNT4qvbyVI/AAAAAAAABjA/ON55O1tCSc0/s2048/Photo%252520Aug%25252023%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A04%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-QmxfMtOBaG4/UlNT4qvbyVI/AAAAAAAABjA/ON55O1tCSc0/s500/Photo%252520Aug%25252023%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A04%252520AM.jpg" id="blogsy-1381192686185.6096" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="667"></a></div>
<p>There's really nothing else to say about that.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And today, blaring on the television in the crowded waiting room of the oncologist, was a soap opera. To fully appreciate this, picture the waiting room. The patients included a teenaged girl, a nursing mother, a young man with his mom and many, many more hurting people in the middle of heartbreaking situations. Most were just breathing deeply and trying to get through this next appointment. And in the background we have heavily made up, hysterical people wailing about things that are definitely not cancer. Chris and I got the giggles over it. I made eye contact with the mother of the young man sitting across from us. I smiled. She rolled her eyes. We didn't need any words.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-WrzRD7ekUJQ/UlNT6UcHpgI/AAAAAAAABjE/SGMT-b89aCc/s1136/Photo%252520Oct%2525207%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525207%25253A34%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-WrzRD7ekUJQ/UlNT6UcHpgI/AAAAAAAABjE/SGMT-b89aCc/s500/Photo%252520Oct%2525207%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525207%25253A34%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1381192686144.9885" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="282" alt=""></a></div>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-45160293239624305142013-09-26T17:34:00.001-04:002013-09-26T21:55:39.178-04:00Brothers...While it's really unspeakably difficult to walk through cancer with four young boys in tow, these little ruffians I live with do a lot to lighten the mood around here. A sampling...<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Thinking man is always turned butt out. This was not my vision for him when I bought him.</span></li>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span><br />
<a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7A5uQx6_mXg/UkSn70Xdb2I/AAAAAAAABiM/hkblymzBT7Y/s2048/Photo%252520Sep%2525207%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525209%25253A46%252520PM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="320" id="blogsy-1380231716442.3538" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7A5uQx6_mXg/UkSn70Xdb2I/AAAAAAAABiM/hkblymzBT7Y/s320/Photo%252520Sep%2525207%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525209%25253A46%252520PM.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<li>At dinner a few weeks ago...</li>
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<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);">
<span style="text-align: justify;">Bryan: Rand, put your finger in your mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Rand: (innocently obeys)</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Bryan: Now put your finger in your ear.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Rand: (complies again)</span></div>
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David, Jacob and Bryan: (Uproarious laughter) He gave himself a wet willy!</div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7OsSVACxRrk/UkSoCVLiZxI/AAAAAAAABiU/MEfGl-XN1Lc/s2048/Photo%252520Sep%2525207%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A37%252520PM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="375" id="blogsy-1380231716450.8472" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7OsSVACxRrk/UkSoCVLiZxI/AAAAAAAABiU/MEfGl-XN1Lc/s500/Photo%252520Sep%2525207%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A37%252520PM.jpg" width="500" /></a></span><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
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<li><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Later during the same meal...</span></li>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Jacob: (finger gun pointing at Rand) Bam, bam, bam.</span> </div>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Rand: (theatrically collapses to the floor)</span> </div>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Chris: Rand, get back in your seat.</span> </div>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Rand: (slowly stands up, arms outstretched toward Bryan) (weird, loud monotone) OHM, OHM, OHM!</span> </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Me: I think he's a zombie. Just give him a second.</span> </div>
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); text-align: -webkit-auto;">Rand: (pretends to eat Bryan's brain and then calmly sits back in his chair to eat his roll and ignore his soup)</span></div>
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<li>After school today Bryan made Rand a super hero suit. Rand's self-proclaimed super hero name is Super Aunt Janet. Seriously, these guys make my heart happy.</li>
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"Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power which no subsequent connections can supply." Jane Austen</div>
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<div id="blogsy_footer" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="http://blogsyapp.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Posted with Blogsy" height="20" src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" style="margin-right: 5px; vertical-align: middle;" width="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>
Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-45432092796567154032013-09-15T23:15:00.001-04:002013-09-15T23:15:41.411-04:00Communion...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-xxaFYbgL03c/UjZ32rupYyI/AAAAAAAABh0/FXxkCTTLdVQ/s319/Photo%252520Sep%25252015%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A02%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-xxaFYbgL03c/UjZ32rupYyI/AAAAAAAABh0/FXxkCTTLdVQ/s319/Photo%252520Sep%25252015%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A02%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1379301339956.8135" class="aligncenter" width="319" height="280" alt=""></a></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> From last weekend...</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I'm living under a shadow. Most days I can walk here with, if not nonchalance, then composure. But today was too much for me. There was nothing new or unexpected, but the weight of what my family is battling lay particularly heavy on me. And so, of course, the boys sat on the front row at church, and by the time I dropped off Rand at his class and joined them, the seats were full and there was no other option. And anyway, how do you explain to your children that sitting in the front row of church is weird and the closest the normal people go is about the third row or so. It's too... I don't know, raw and naked, like Mary anointing Jesus' feet with perfume and wiping them with her hair and her tears. That scene would have been less awkward if she'd just teared up and kind of spritzed some perfume in his general area.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So, thanks to my children who don't yet know how to hold back part of themselves, I was in the front row when we sang "It is well with my soul..." and "From the depths of woe I raise to thee the voice of lamentation..." Most days I can sing those songs with, perhaps a few isolated tears, but not today. Today I crossed from composed sadness to undignified grief. The only tissue I had was decorated with bright purple, pink and yellow flowers. I felt like a self-conscious, overweight 15-year-old in a too-short skirt who <em>knows</em> everyone is looking at her and thinking she is ridiculous.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then communion was served. The congregants walked to the front of the sanctuary row by row, so I received the bread and the wine first. Not wanting to make eye contact with anyone in my disheveled state, I closed my eyes and listened as the man standing in front of me serving communion bread said, "The body of Christ, broken for you," about two hundred times.</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">The body of Christ, broken for you. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The body of Christ, broken for you. The body of Christ, broken for you. The body of Christ, broken for you. The body of Christ, broken for you...</span></p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is what makes a day like today survivable for me: the broken body of Jesus on the cross is not only about the forgiveness of my sin; it is also God taking my suffering seriously. </span></p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering. Isaiah 53:4a</span></p></blockquote>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-40041364000883098692013-09-05T23:41:00.001-04:002013-09-05T23:41:11.008-04:00A time for mercy...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-XUU-mp8PQgw/UilO07up8mI/AAAAAAAABhg/u23WpFH79co/s1600/Photo%252520Sep%2525205%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A35%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-XUU-mp8PQgw/UilO07up8mI/AAAAAAAABhg/u23WpFH79co/s500/Photo%252520Sep%2525205%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A35%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1378438872341.163" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="381" alt=""></a><span style="font-size: x-small; ">Four Seasons by Nicole Mastrodomenico</span></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I'm about to indulge in a parenting brag, so to maintain balance, I'm going to admit something embarrassing. I have a hard time keeping up with my children in crowded public places. You know that terrifying story most families have about temporarily misplacing a child? My family has... more than one. I think my problem is an unfortunate mix of ADD and optimism. I assume they're where I want them to be, and I'm chronically distracted.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Now, let's move on to something more flattering. This story is from a while back. I felt like things were off with one of the boys (I'll call him H). He had been distant and surly for a while. I couldn't decide if he was just going through a phase, but something seemed off. Chris and I decided to make a particular effort to spend time alone with him. We each pursued him on our own. One night Chris was playing a WWII board game with him. Things were not going well for H. His army was in a hopeless spot, and he started to get very upset. Watching this scene go down, I was immediately annoyed. My first instinct was to say,</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Hey, bud. Your father worked a very long, hard day, and then spent a couple of hours playing this game with you because he loves you. Do you think your attitude is showing him that you appreciate this?</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But a soft voice in my heart, one that I've come to recognize as the Spirit of God, said, "Slow down. This is a time for mercy." So I brought H a bowl of chocolate chips and said,</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">When my men are facing imminent slaughter, chocolate always makes me feel better.</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The attitude slipped away; he smiled and resigned himself to the destruction of his army and the loss of the game (in Household H there is sometimes mercy in relationships but <em>never</em> in board games), and the evening ended well.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I'm not saying there's not a time to be on a kid like "white on rice in a glass of milk on a paper plate in a snow storm"* - actually my 3 year old could use some more of that action, as evidenced by the whining situation around here. But there is a time for mercy, for withholding what he deserves, justice, not out of weariness or laziness or distraction but because it is the right thing for his soul.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But how do you know when it's right to choose mercy over justice? You don't. It has to do with his soul, and that is a thing of God and not of you. All I can say is that when I'm in a place of pursuing God there is sometimes a subtle, whispery leading that is not there when my life is crowded with too much food, too much TV, too much time spent mentally nursing personal grievances.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And the stakes are high. One of the reasons I remember this scene so well is because of what happened afterward. Just a few days after the chocolate board game incident, H came to us with something serious. It's something we needed to know, and I don't think we would have ever discovered it if he hadn't volunteered the information. I believe the reason he felt safe enough to come to us is that he had been pursued mercifully that week. It makes me wonder what we've missed over the years through laziness and self-involved anger.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So, I realize this post is shamefully braggy, but I'm not going to apologize for my arrogance. To the children out there who need mercy this week, I pray that you find it. To the ones who require something much less pleasant (ahem, Rand), I heartily wish you get what you need as well.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>* Major Payne</em></p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-9951495005435236152013-08-28T12:33:00.001-04:002013-08-28T12:33:18.819-04:00Changes...<p style="text-align: justify;"> Lots of things are changing around here. Our first several months of cancer as a family were about everyone's most basic needs. It was like being in the ER. The goal was to get everyone stable. So, we got Chris treatment, made sure the children's most basic physical and emotional needs were met and brazenly cast aside the nonessential (grammar lessons, team sports, organized meals,... ). Now, we're nine months into treatment, and we have at least nine more to go. We have to figure out how to live with this. So, we're changing some things...</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">First, about five minutes after Chris was diagnosed, I realized that I didn't have the bandwidth for homeschool and cancer. We winged it for the spring semester last year and decided on a university-model school for this fall. The boys go to school Monday and Wednesday and do the rest of their work at home. They started this week and had a wonderful first day. They had a wonderful half a day schooling at home on Tuesday. We rocked it out until about 11:00 AM and then limped to the finish line from there. Here's our first day of school picture.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-2VAs34AQnjU/Uh4mRdtEElI/AAAAAAAABhE/TcmjuZKfja8/s2048/Photo%252520Aug%25252026%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A46%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-2VAs34AQnjU/Uh4mRdtEElI/AAAAAAAABhE/TcmjuZKfja8/s500/Photo%252520Aug%25252026%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A46%252520AM.jpg" id="blogsy-1377707600454.7764" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="667"></a></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Second, Household H has grown. I am no longer the lone female, civilizing force in the house. We found a wonderful and brave young woman from Denmark to come and live with us for the next year. Her name is Cecilie, and she arrived about two weeks ago. Here she is learning to drive in Houston.*</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AeBVjQVHO_E/Uh4mSy1ZubI/AAAAAAAABhM/O_R7PL1Vd6Q/s2048/Photo%252520Aug%25252017%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A42%252520AM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AeBVjQVHO_E/Uh4mSy1ZubI/AAAAAAAABhM/O_R7PL1Vd6Q/s500/Photo%252520Aug%25252017%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525208%25253A42%252520AM.jpg" id="blogsy-1377707600418.923" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I read Cecilie's application on an au pair website and emailed her. She replied with good, thoughtful questions. In my response, I tried to err on the side of brutal honesty concerning four boys, some school at home and living with cancer. I suggested she think it over carefully and discuss it with her parents before we proceeded. Then, I read through her application more carefully and read her references and realized I had sent a really frightening email to someone who is definitely awesome. And then it was like junior high all over again. I scurried over to my friend's house to talk it out...</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">There's this girl. I'm afraid I scared her away. I gave her my number and told her to call me, but should I go ahead and call her? Is that weird and desperate? Should I wait for her to call me? What if someone else calls her first?</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Well, I didn't scare her away with my CANCER IS HARD and BOYS ARE GROSS AND LOUD diatribe, and Cecilie arrived two weeks ago. She's wonderful. We love her. And really, guys, to be willing to take on Household H at this moment in our story is no small thing. You could select, at random, an American family with young children and 99.5% of the time you'll pick someone whose house is less work than mine right now.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">For everyone keeping up with Chris, he made it out of the hospital after a few days. It was hard for him to recover from this round. He just started regaining some strength a few days ago, but... he's starting another round today. It'll start to get bad again the end of next week. We'd appreciate your prayers. </p>
<p><font size="2">* <span style="text-align: justify; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">I did not appreciate the rude texts from my husband, father, brothers and uncles about my ability to teach anyone to drive.</span></font></p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-39511717955457082842013-08-15T16:02:00.000-04:002013-08-15T16:07:56.358-04:00Update on Chris...<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is just a quick update on Chris. He is 3 months in to his post-surgery year of chemo. He switched to a new chemo a few weeks ago. His platelets and white blood cell counts got really low early this week and that ultimately landed him in the hospital. The first few days in the ER and hospital were really rough. He was in a lot of pain. Now he's more... spectacularly uncomfortable. He'll probably be in the hospital through the weekend. All the grandparents are doing much of the heavy lifting with the boys and Chris as I've got a lot of commitments right now (more on that later). Thanks for all the prayers and good wishes.</div>
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And in case anyone is curious, this</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kSveZEZ-QUU/Ug0zBzY-FRI/AAAAAAAABgY/5Q17Ry4tyC8/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kSveZEZ-QUU/Ug0zBzY-FRI/AAAAAAAABgY/5Q17Ry4tyC8/s320/IMG_0024.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
is really, really hard to sleep in. But, it's probably less uncomfortable than being slapped around by chemo, so I'm trying to hold my complaints to 1 or 2 per hour, though I have no limits on melodramatic texts sent to family members...</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Suffocating.<br />
Need.<br />
More.<br />
Oxygen.<br />
a;skldfhsl;akdjfgl;asgh;sahdf</blockquote>
Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-64790503947676578152013-08-11T16:23:00.001-04:002013-08-11T16:46:16.573-04:00Be where you are...<div style="text-align: justify;">
Historically, I suck at contentment. I married too scandalously young to be discontent in my singleness, but at basically every life-stage since, I've been looking to the next thing. Soon after Chris and I married, I started hankering after a baby. Then because the road to bringing David home was so long and painful, I worried over whether he'd ever have a sibling. When we lived in Virginia, I often longed to live closer to our extended families in Texas. I devoted such vast amounts of unnecessary mental energy to the boys' long term school plans. I was worried about when, precisely, to put Bryan in school - junior high vs. high school - before he even started kindergarten, and with absolutely no idea what our lives would even look like then. Ridiculous!<br />
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And now, when things are as treacherous and sobering as they've ever been, I find myself able to treasure where I am right now. It's been a hard summer, but in an unexpected way, it's been good and right. I've had precious time with the boys and Chris; we've<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> had a lot of good time together. </span>My boys have had an exceptionally good summer, in ways I didn't plan or control. They've spent a great deal of time with their grandparents, and in a gesture of love and support I will never forget, some Virginia friends, the parents of David's first friend, invited David and Jacob to stay with them for two weeks. Here are David and Ethan early in their relationship...<br />
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And a few weeks ago when their pool skills were somewhat more advanced...<br />
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I'm reading through Jeremiah right now and recently got to this passage:</div>
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"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11</div>
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This has been a favorite passage of mine for years. We even have a kids' worship song with these verses, verbatim, as lyrics. And yet, I didn't notice the context until this recent reading. Jeremiah was writing to the exiles in Babylon. The recipients of this letter were Israelites who were separated from their country and their homes. Things were dismal, depressing and were going to get worse. But,</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: "Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease." Jeremiah 29:4-6</div>
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God is saying to them, "This crappy, heart-breaking, foreign place where you are - this is exactly where you're supposed to be right now. Now live. Invest. <strong><em>Be</em></strong> there."</div>
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And then,</div>
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"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11</div>
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So, cancer sucks. It's a heart-breaking, horrible place to be and it often feels like exile from normal life. But it's exactly where I'm supposed to be. Not that God wanted Chris to get cancer any more than he wanted the Israelites to go into exile, or David to cheat with Bathsheba or Cain to kill Abel or any of the other devastating and damaging things that have been happening on this planet almost since the beginning of time. But through these words, I felt The Lord affirming - "Yes. This is where you are. <strong><em>Be</em></strong> there. And trust me. I know the plans I have for you, and they're plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."</div>
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Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-68325090244576628072013-08-06T00:01:00.001-04:002013-08-06T00:01:03.760-04:00Petit jean state park wrap up...<p>The rest of our week...</p>
<p>Dad and I took the big boys on what was my favorite hike.</p>
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<p>We played games,</p>
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<p>Read books,</p>
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<p>Burned things,</p>
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<p>And whittled.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G4t-OXIGus4/UgB0-8FDdGI/AAAAAAAABfo/uTsNm_JcqJs/s2048/Photo%252520Aug%2525202%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525203%25253A41%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G4t-OXIGus4/UgB0-8FDdGI/AAAAAAAABfo/uTsNm_JcqJs/s500/Photo%252520Aug%2525202%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525203%25253A41%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1375761664029.0208" class="alignnone" width="500" height="373" alt=""></a></div>
<p>David and Jacob got poison ivy, but they must have been successfully distracted by the pocket knives and fire because they really weren't fussy about it. It was a great week. </p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-5822108226283371242013-07-31T22:48:00.001-04:002013-07-31T22:48:09.552-04:00Petit jean state park, day 3...Critters and grandparents.<div><br></div><div>At one point in our hike, the ground was crawling with miniature frogs.</div><div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MPPpG05QCCQ/UfnMMEa2dlI/AAAAAAAABeQ/AuO1Uv6g5BA/s640/blogger-image--1981616444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-MPPpG05QCCQ/UfnMMEa2dlI/AAAAAAAABeQ/AuO1Uv6g5BA/s640/blogger-image--1981616444.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div><div>Jacob found a copperhead.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-q_AUK9mcv_k/UfnMZ2KuBVI/AAAAAAAABeo/pOi0lHcyaS0/s640/blogger-image--941081686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-q_AUK9mcv_k/UfnMZ2KuBVI/AAAAAAAABeo/pOi0lHcyaS0/s640/blogger-image--941081686.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Cooling off in the creek</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LGGKf3esxt8/UfnMV4vO2nI/AAAAAAAABeg/-34zJq4zZzA/s640/blogger-image--1429852087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LGGKf3esxt8/UfnMV4vO2nI/AAAAAAAABeg/-34zJq4zZzA/s640/blogger-image--1429852087.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>My parents and grandmother joined us.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-JqVOyjVCdlo/UfnMIVRhngI/AAAAAAAABeI/ZYZ64SuOGPA/s640/blogger-image--173443963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-JqVOyjVCdlo/UfnMIVRhngI/AAAAAAAABeI/ZYZ64SuOGPA/s640/blogger-image--173443963.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Gran rocked out her hike</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Ciaccnz-0vk/UfnMEXGqyiI/AAAAAAAABeA/M4NbXPDg4eE/s640/blogger-image--176280744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Ciaccnz-0vk/UfnMEXGqyiI/AAAAAAAABeA/M4NbXPDg4eE/s640/blogger-image--176280744.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-DAFNoo4H4Ks/UfnMSJu0LqI/AAAAAAAABeY/iFAA0PO3rpw/s640/blogger-image-1298623048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-DAFNoo4H4Ks/UfnMSJu0LqI/AAAAAAAABeY/iFAA0PO3rpw/s640/blogger-image-1298623048.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-63715627641065750062013-07-30T23:47:00.001-04:002013-07-30T23:47:28.561-04:00Petit Jean State Park, Day Two...When I started taking the boys to the woods for a week every summer, David was five, Jacob was three, Bryan was a year and a half, and Rand was a possibility. On our hikes, once we got further than 100 yards, at any given moment, at least one child was crying, but a long as someone was having a good time, I considered the outing a success. Now we can cover a lot more distance and my challenge is finding that parenting sweet spot where the boys can climb and explore and be the fierce, wild things The Lord made them, and yet not plunge to an early and grisly death. With four boys, each with his own plan, it's nontrivial, but my theory is that if I let them get their adrenaline fix climbing rocks, they won't turn to base jumping or crack cocaine.<div><br></div><div>Everyone survived today's hikes. We saw some spectacular stuff.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-NejO49SITmA/UfiIrWLS-gI/AAAAAAAABdg/fQAHEPbw8Qw/s640/blogger-image--1479467454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-NejO49SITmA/UfiIrWLS-gI/AAAAAAAABdg/fQAHEPbw8Qw/s640/blogger-image--1479467454.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-d_RL_CAyntU/UfiIvuS1zrI/AAAAAAAABdo/0GkTusblwwY/s640/blogger-image-892296569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-d_RL_CAyntU/UfiIvuS1zrI/AAAAAAAABdo/0GkTusblwwY/s640/blogger-image-892296569.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p6jmTeYwyxI/UfiInaVtrLI/AAAAAAAABdY/RUz9PZ9MNMs/s640/blogger-image-479774006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p6jmTeYwyxI/UfiInaVtrLI/AAAAAAAABdY/RUz9PZ9MNMs/s640/blogger-image-479774006.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-XPd0lBcxVvs/UfiIzvv1r7I/AAAAAAAABdw/2L6s7cqxPSQ/s640/blogger-image--2112662316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-XPd0lBcxVvs/UfiIzvv1r7I/AAAAAAAABdw/2L6s7cqxPSQ/s640/blogger-image--2112662316.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>On the way home tonight, David told a scary story. Then it was Rand's turn...</div><div><br></div><div>Rand: My turn! My turn! (serious voice). Once 'pon time, there was a boy. He lost he mommy and daddy. (dramatic pause). Then he not find he brothers. (dramatic pause, then with great pride). I make that up my selse.</div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-81977568387911221802013-07-30T22:37:00.001-04:002013-07-30T22:37:51.404-04:00Cabin week 2013, day one...<div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">I didn't know if we'd manage it this year, but we pulled it off. The boys and I have spent a week at a cabin every year since 2008. This year we're at Petit Jean State Park in Arkansas.</div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">One of our cabin traditions is shameless sugar cereal. For the week, I keep them supplied with candy masquerading as breakfast.</div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ju1Ens_UTfc/Ufh4bSi-ByI/AAAAAAAABdA/peRNE3ICD9w/s640/blogger-image--575808207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ju1Ens_UTfc/Ufh4bSi-ByI/AAAAAAAABdA/peRNE3ICD9w/s640/blogger-image--575808207.jpg"></a></div></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); ">Today we did some rock scrambling,</span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-T3gUNX_sQwQ/Ufh4OAs1daI/AAAAAAAABco/HGVYrl4TGJk/s640/blogger-image-567816628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-T3gUNX_sQwQ/Ufh4OAs1daI/AAAAAAAABco/HGVYrl4TGJk/s640/blogger-image-567816628.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-dQK37ze8liw/Ufh4XKOgofI/AAAAAAAABc4/90hPQn8ioBo/s640/blogger-image-227126283.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-dQK37ze8liw/Ufh4XKOgofI/AAAAAAAABc4/90hPQn8ioBo/s640/blogger-image-227126283.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-WaLi63WVndg/Ufh4Kkpna_I/AAAAAAAABcg/g6dCss8h7a0/s640/blogger-image--1227333550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-WaLi63WVndg/Ufh4Kkpna_I/AAAAAAAABcg/g6dCss8h7a0/s640/blogger-image--1227333550.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-9vjTn_p6qII/Ufh4TGKxg0I/AAAAAAAABcw/SGv-T_nI6zw/s640/blogger-image-162101585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-9vjTn_p6qII/Ufh4TGKxg0I/AAAAAAAABcw/SGv-T_nI6zw/s640/blogger-image-162101585.jpg"></a></div></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); ">Rubber band gun shooting,</span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); "><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-_IRS-_G2hHw/Ufh4fSrGQtI/AAAAAAAABdI/TkQwNpnwJ38/s640/blogger-image--1689506221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-_IRS-_G2hHw/Ufh4fSrGQtI/AAAAAAAABdI/TkQwNpnwJ38/s640/blogger-image--1689506221.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div style="font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 20px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); ">Played Carcasonne and went for a night hike (which turned out to be awesome and not boooooorrrrrrring as some people feared).</div><div><br></div></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-72938321142725211022013-07-28T00:57:00.001-04:002013-07-28T00:57:04.432-04:00Happy birthday to me...<p> Museum of Fine Arts</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2YdOruIU7dM/UfSkmJV9LSI/AAAAAAAABcI/AjJT466h36A/s640/Photo%252520Jul%25252027%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525204%25253A45%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2YdOruIU7dM/UfSkmJV9LSI/AAAAAAAABcI/AjJT466h36A/s500/Photo%252520Jul%25252027%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525204%25253A45%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1374987425148.7812" class="alignnone" alt="" width="478" height="640"></a></div>
<p>Backstreet Cafe</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-bpkTMkEDgmA/UfSkneq0hGI/AAAAAAAABcQ/OBrlNIZk9O4/s640/Photo%252520Jul%25252027%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A07%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-bpkTMkEDgmA/UfSkneq0hGI/AAAAAAAABcQ/OBrlNIZk9O4/s500/Photo%252520Jul%25252027%25252C%2525202013%25252C%25252010%25253A07%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1374987425102.4302" class="alignnone" width="500" height="373" alt=""></a></div>
<p>Happy birthday to me!</p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-448801229506139659.post-10981887586335121552013-07-25T19:13:00.001-04:002013-07-25T19:13:00.629-04:00Passive-aggressive driving<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ZL5J1OXozs0/UfGw2cHHG4I/AAAAAAAABb4/I1aNgUiTUqc/s276/Photo%252520Jul%25252025%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A08%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ZL5J1OXozs0/UfGw2cHHG4I/AAAAAAAABb4/I1aNgUiTUqc/s276/Photo%252520Jul%25252025%25252C%2525202013%25252C%2525206%25253A08%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1374793982669.794" class="aligncenter" width="276" height="183" alt=""></a></div>
<p style="text-align: justify;">My stint as Chris' full-time driver has come to an end. While chemo will continue to lay him out every two to three weeks for the next nine months, his leg has improved a lot, and I'm just an intermittent chauffeur now. On one of my last full-time days...</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Chris: Episode #11 - Changing lanes erratically.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p>Me: (eye roll)</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Chris: Episode #17 - Indecisiveness causing us to miss the light.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p>Me: (eye roll)</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Chris: Episode #29 - Exceeding the speed limit.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Me: (serious voice) Oh my goodness! You're right! I <em>am</em> speeding. Well I can fix that.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Do you have any idea how annoying it is to drive the actual speed limit on the freeway? Chris does.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">(58mph on the freeway in very light traffic, cars flying past us) </p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Me: Oh! I almost passed someone. I need to slow down.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Chris: (laughing). Summer, come on. I have cancer.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Me: All you have to do is apologize for your rude comments and say, "Summer is a better driver than me."</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Chris: I'm calling your mom. (Ring, ring). Judy, Summer's being mean.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Me: I'm just trying to be safe, and all he has to do is apologize.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Mom: Summer, you be nice to Chris.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;">Me: (still driving painfully slow, cars zooming past) Okay, Mom. I sure will. (Click). Wow. This is such a powerful weapon. I can't believe it's taken me 16 years to discover driving the speed limit as offense.</p></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: justify;">It took 15 minutes for him to capitulate. I'm still kind of dizzy from the power rush.</p>
<p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Summerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10448610441015802200noreply@blogger.com0