Parenting FAIL Friday: Throwback.

If you’re on Instagram, you’re probably familiar with #tbt, or throw back Thursday. It’s a theme where you post old pictures of…whatever you want. I didn’t have any epic fails this week, so I’m taking this opportunity to kick it old school and show you that since the dawn of my parenting, I have been failing at this.

Picture a three-year-old Punkin, all snuggly in her jammies, tucked in, read to, prayed with, kissed goodnight. About an hour and a half after bedtime, I went to Punkin’s room to give her one more kiss.

I did not kiss her.

I did not touch her.

I left the room. I grabbed my camera. And I took this picture:

 

Stashed in her bed was a blue crayola marker. What I wish I had gotten a picture of was the inside of her mouth. Her teeth were blue. Her tongue was blue. I’m pretty sure her intestines were blue.

Note to self: Always check the bed. Always.

The Liebster Award?

So I’ve been nominated for this Liebster Award thing a few times. I have no idea who started it, where it come from, or until recently, what it was. Apparently it’s some thing circulating through teeny tiny blogs with a teeny tiny number of followers. So because I fit the bill, and I like other blogs, and the people who nominated me, I thought, why not? Plus I can give you nonsensical details about myself, which I’m sure you’re dying to hear. You’re welcome.

Many thanks to Of Glass and Books and Hearthemusique for nominating me for the Liebster Award, for which the rules of acceptance are as follows: 

Answer the 11 questions provided.

Create 11 questions for the next nominees to answer.

Link back to the one who nominated you.

Choose 11 people and link them in your post.

Notify nominees.

Here are the questions provided to me by the other blogs. I did a mash-up of the two because I am too lazy to answer 22 questions wanted to be fair.

1. Coffe or tea? If you have to ask, you obviously don’t know me at all. Coffee. Always coffee. I heart coffee and the way it counteracts the fact that once you have children, you will never sleep again.
2. Where do you like to write? Wherever my children aren’t pulling on my shirt to get them juice, or find the Barbie’s other shoe, or get them a towel because they made “just a little mess.”
3. Have you ever entered a writing contest? Egad, no. This is all for kicks and giggles. I didn’t go to school for writing, I just like being snarky and sharing stories about my kids breaking things and embarrassing me in public.
4. Do you sleep well at night? I did once, long ago. Before June of 2003, I slept in my own bed, all by myself, where no one woke up me snoring/crying/puking/sneaking out of their beds. It was a glorious time of peace and tranquility. Then I got married and had kids.
5. Favorite book genre? Mysteries. Is that a genre? I’m not a big reader, but I’ve hidden that from my kids so they would be.
6. What is your favorite dish? This is impossible. I love to cook, I’m pretty awesome at it (brag brag), and it completely depends on my mood. Fettuccine Alfredo was the first thing I learned to make myself, and I have a secret ingredient, so we’ll go with that.
7. Favorite book as a kid? Charlotte’s Web. I read it over and over and over again. That was before high school required reading destroyed my love for quality literature. Thanks, Jane Eyre.
8.  If you were published, would you use a pseudonym? Heck no. If I managed to write an entire article/book/etc. that was worth publishing while wrangling my rabid honey badgers, I’d want credit for it. And I ‘d also want to own up to the fact that I was the master of all those parenting fails. Because let’s face it, that’s pretty much the only thing I know enough about to publish.
9. Are you fed up with electronic devices? If by “fed up with” you mean attached to and dependent on, then yes, yes I am.
10. If you had to give up an electronic device for a day, would you choose TV or phone? TV, hands down. There are tons of things to do besides watch TV, but my phone has everything: All of Goo’s appointments, all her doctor’s phone numbers, the family Google calendar, and all my contacts. I don’t actually know anyone’s phone numbers anymore. Sad, I know.
11. Would you eat steak for breakfast? No. But I wouldn’t eat steak for any other meal, either.  I would totally eat coffee for breakfast, though.

Questions for nominees. I’m actually not really creative, so I’m reusing some of the ones I answered. Because I can.

• Coffee or tea? (There is only one correct answer to this question.)
• Did you work after high school, or sink irreversibly into debt and go to college?
• Favorite food?
• How did you get sucked into this whole blogging thing?
• Pet peeve?
• Favorite movie as a kid?
• Are you Martha Stewart crafty? (If yes, help me. Please.)
• One new thing you’d like to try this year?
• Have you ever been published?
• Are you sick of answering questions yet?
• Too bad. Here’s another. What is your dream vacation?

And my nominees* are (Picture me saying that like they do at award shows. Wearing an obnoxious dress that cost far too much money, and fancy hair):

1. The Real Full House
2. Accidental Stepmom
3. Dear Young Mother
4. Taking Candy from a Baby
5. From the Bungalow
6. Tilt the Pen
7. The Pursuit of Normal
8. Banana Wheels
9. Grace for a Mommy
10. Perpetually Loading
11. Faking Picture Perfect

*Some of you have more than a teeny tiny number of followers, but I like your blog, so you made the cut.

That was far more time-consuming than I imagined. How come we can’t just be like, ‘I want to thank God, my agent, my personal trainer, and my three nannies for making this possible?”

I need to be on the red carpet.

Mother’s Day: Nailed it.

Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. I have to say, this might have been my favorite one yet, because it was so completely…us.

To kick things off, I took this idea from Rants From Mommyland and ran with it. I contacted a local shelter for women and children who are victims of domestic violence. I chatted with a lovely woman about what these heroes might need, and then I got some friends in on my plan. We bought all kinds of girly items that you don’t even think about when you’re busy fighting for your/your child’s lives. We filled 15 gift bags with mani/pedi kits, make-up, lotion, flip-flops, pajama pants (because that’s all we really ever want to wear), loofahs, fancy moisturizing razors, and lip gloss. Punkin labeled each bag with a little note that said, “To: A hero,” and I bought a mega box of crayons, ginormous paper, and lots of snacks for the kiddos at the shelter. My aunt has donation connections and also added 12 towel sets for the shelter itself, which they were super happy to get. Which made me super happy. 

The girls and I formed an assembly line and stuffed our bags, and the whole family drove to the office for the shelter together on Saturday afternoon. Dropping off those bags was hands-down my favorite Mother’s Day activity ever, and the Nerd and I already decided that this will be an annual tradition. Plus, my girls got to see nail polish and lipstick and not beg for it/paint my furniture, so that’s a bonus.

Sunday kicked off with the Nerd getting out of bed with the girls so I could “sleep.” This never actually works, but I have a particular loathing for mornings, and laying in bed is always impossible nice. He made me coffee, which was all I really wanted. Hot, not-made-by-me-in-a-delirious-stupor, coffee. The girls had spent the evening before frantically working on a ginormous picture that I wasn’t supposed to know about. Even thought they pulled out the markers and craft paper in front of me and loudly yelled, “DON’T LOOK AT THIS!” Subtle.

I slowly drank my heavily – heavenly? both. – caffeinated beverage, and hopped in the shower. The Nerd had to go do Nerdy things at church, like set up video/audio/Spanish translation stuff for service, and left the girls strict instructions to let Mommy have an interruption-free morning.

Naturally, Smush kicked and screamed at the door to the bathroom half the time I was in the shower.

When I got out, dripping wet in my bathrobe, I found what every mother looks for on Mother’s Day: her three-year-old, sitting on the floor, with an industrial sized container of Elmer’s glue and a paint brush. If you look closely at the upper left corner of my picture, you can see the  remnants of the dried glue puddle and the smeared marker. But not one to stick with just one medium, Smush was sure to use both her hands and the brush to paint not just the paper, but the hardwood floor as well. Happy Mother’s Day!

The Nerd came home to get the girls ready for our brunch at church (thank God in heaven) and I got to straighten my hair and do fancy make-up with no interruptions. Except when Goo needed to wash her hands. And when she needed a tissue. And when Smush’s bow fell out of her hair. Anyway.

Beginning before we left the house, and for 15 minutes after arriving at the brunch, Goo whined about being hungry. Her eating is critically important, so I was super happy she was hungry, but I can’t make them start serving the food any faster, so after calmly explaining several times, my patience was wearing thin. I finally lost my mind and turned around, pointed my Mommy finger, and snapped, “Knock it off. I can’t make them serve the food, I got you juice, now stop. whining. at. me.” IMMEDIATELY after I finished, the pastor had apparently been making an announcement about how amazing all the moms are, and the congregation erupted in applause. Umm, thanks? Should I take a bow? It’s really taken me years to perfect that tone. You’re welcome.

We finished up at church, headed out to pick up our wedding rings at the jeweler which were getting resized, and to kill some time before having a fabulous dinner with family.

And one of my favorite parts, we rounded out the day with the Mother’s Day cards Punkin is becoming famous for.

Do you see a theme? I’m basically awesome and … tired. She pretty much nailed it.

From this (tired) Mediocre Mom to you, Happy Mother’s Day!

Parenting FAIL Friday: Hypocrisy.

If there is one thing this whole cancer thing has done, it’s turned me into a giant hypocrite.

Well, not just that. But I have done more things I swore I would never do than I can count. My discipline theory has always been founded on two things: consistency and follow-through. If you aren’t actually going to follow-through with a punishment or rule, don’t even mention it. That way they can’t call your bluff.

Please ignore all of that. I apparently am horribly weak and cannot even follow my own advice.

Example one: The Nerd and I are pretty strict with a lot of things. We don’t hide that. I’m not into kid bikinis, kitten heels for my 8-year-old, or TV. What they do watch is closely monitored, and we nix anything that promotes disrespect to adults, immoral/unethical lifestyles, and or general obnoxious activity. I forbid Caillou because he whines all the freaking time. And I always found SpongeBob to be annoying and inappropriate at times.

Fast forward to the first hospital stay with Goo. The long haul of 15 days worth of tests, scans, needles, morphine drips, and horror. What did we watch incessantly? SpongeBob. It was on the TV first thing every morning. I bought SpongeBob band-aids.  I looked for SpongeBob books. I totally went back on my previous years of explaining why obnoxious cartoons can influence behavior. I’m all about consistency and follow-through.

Example two: The Nerd and I try not to spoil our kids. We laughed at parents who spent hundreds of dollars on professionally catered birthday parties with bounce houses and clowns.

Goo and Smush just had birthdays. The main attraction was a bounce house. I’ve become *that* mom. (In my defense, we got it for the day for free by an amazing company who said they wanted to give back to the community, and couldn’t think of a better way than by making Goo’s wish come true. I heart them.)

Example three, and my favorite: I put up a little snarky comment on Facebook months ago when I saw this product – the iPotty.

This is a joke, right? (Photo credit: 欧黛创意)

Stickers? Sure. An M&M for successful potty-ing? Absolutely. Customized seating for use of a $500 electronic device? You are out of your mind. What are you going to do for their sweet 16, buy them an island? Good God, people. What nonsense.

Now that I got that out of the way, allow me to share with you this photo:

That would be Smush. Sitting on the potty. Playing a game on our tablet. Also, on that tablet? A SpongeBob game.

Consistency for the win.

Guest Posting on my favorite site ever. Of all time.

Hi! I’m guest posting over on Rants From Mommyland today. High fives all around! I am super excited to be able to whine about share information about being a mom to a kid with cancer. You should totally go read it. And then read their other posts because they’re a.maz.ing.

That’s all. Carry on. After you go read my post, obviously.

Also – Goo is still fantastic. My kids are still making me lose my ever-loving mind, and the Nerd is still the best husband in the history of ever. In case you were wondering.

Watch your language, nurse lady.

The hospital where Goo receives her treatment – I LOVE EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO WORKS THERE. Except for this one transport guy that I almost had to go Jackie Chan on in the hallway. I’ll chalk it up to him having a bad day. But besides him, I’ve literally never been at any school/business/office/etc. where everyone you encounter, from custodial staff to department heads, is so unbelievably kind.

Every week we go to chemotherapy clinic, and the kids are assigned a nurse who will work with them throughout the course of their treatment. This allows them to build a relationship, which in turn builds trust and comfort. I’ve nicknamed our nurse Little Debbie, because she’s so sweet she practically gives you a toothache.

In the beginning I felt bad for Little Debbie. She is extremely kind, and gentle, and generally sweet. Goo is not. At least not when something is happening that she doesn’t like. She has an iron-clad will, a temper that could make the Hulk shudder in fear, and no qualms whatsoever about ruining your day if that’s what it takes. This is the exact fight in her that’s letting her destroy cancer, but it doesn’t make dealing with her very easy. Poor Little Debbie had some adjusting to do, because all of her usual tricks didn’t work: How about if you do the bandage all by yourself? What if we look at the pretty pictures on the wall? I know, what if we get a popsicle when we’re all done? After the first few weeks I finally had to tell poor Debbie that with my little firecracker, you have to just rip off the band-aid. Literally.

Goo recently finished her radiation therapy. You can feel free to applaud and yell and do a dance right at your computer. I’ll wait.

…

Thanks for celebrating with us! Anyway, after a patient’s last radiation treatment, they come out into the waiting room and ring a gong to symbolize their victory. This happened many times during the course of our treatment, and there was always an instant comradery formed when the waiting room erupted in applause. I loved those moments.

Last week, when we saw Little Debbie in clinic, the following conversation ensued:

LD: Hi, Goo! I heard that you finished your radiation!

Goo: Yeah. (She’s super conversational).

LD: You know how I knew that?

Goo: How?

LD: My uncle was downstairs a couple of weeks ago, and he said that he saw the most adorable little girl wearing a sparkly flower hat. And I told him, “That’s my patient!”

This is a G.O.N.G. They are perfectly legal and cause no mental impairment. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Goo: …

LD: And do you know what he said? He said you got to hit the bong!

Me: *deer in headlights*

Umm, I know that medicinal marijuana is a thing, but I can assure you, we’ve had no need for that. She most certainly did not hit the bong. She did, however, hit the GONG. Two completely different things, Little Debbie. Completely different.

Goo obviously just nodded in agreement, not realizing that Little Debbie had made a single-letter submission and totally changed the meaning of the word. I had to try really, really hard to stifle my laughter. Because apparently I still have the maturity of a high school freshman.

But hey, it’s a children’s cancer unit. We take the humor whenever we can.

Hope in the most surprising places.

In an attempt to get Goo to eat anything, ever, I have basically instituted an open menu policy with her: Tell me what you will eat willingly, and I’ll make it happen. Please note that I hate this with the fire of a thousand suns, as I have never, ever, let my kids regularly run the show at home. You either eat dinner, or you go hungry. There are compromises in there which I will share at some point, but that’s another post.

Sunday, Goo requested cheese pizza. Not only does she happily eat this, but it has tons of calories and protein from the cheese, so these days it’s basically the mecca of foods for her because she’s always been so dang skinny, and that’s bad when you’re on chemotherapy.

The Nerd and I packed up the kids after church and headed to a local restaurant with really yummy pizza and tasty bruschetta – my favorite appetizer ever. Our waitress was good. Very polite. Beautiful young girl with bright blonde hair that she wore in a short, sassy hairstyle. You’ll understand why I noticed this in a bit.

We ordered, ate our food, and waited for her to come back to pack up the leftovers and bring us our bill. Then this happened:

Waitress: Are you guys ready to wrap?

Me: Yes we are:

Waitress, looking at bald Goo: You rock that hairdo much better than I did last year.

Nerd: Did you cut it, or were you undergoing treatment?

Waitress: I was undergoing treatment, and now I’m done. You’ll see. It flies by and it’s over before you know it. 

Me: (Silently tearing up. A few minutes go by and she returns with our box).

Waitress: You guys are all set. Lunch is on me.

The Nerd and I were both in awe. I wish I had taken her picture, because after that, I’m fairly certain she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. There is something about knowing that these warriors overcame the very enemy that Goo is fighting that makes them more beautiful. At least to me.

She saved us some money, yes. But she gave me something much greater: hope. Hope in seeing that for all the heaviness and fear that the word, “cancer,” carries with it, there is always someone conquering it. Always someone saying, “I fought you, and I won.” I looked at her and caught a glimpse of Anneliese in a year – with a bright smile, a bounce in her step, and a warrior status that no one can ever take away.

She may just have to rock that short, sassy hairstyle, too.

 

 

 

Parenting FAIL Friday: A healthy dose of normal.

When tragedy strikes, and you’re going to be in the trenches for the long haul, the first thing that teachers/psychologists/child life specialists tell you is how critical it is to keep things as normal as possible. Every fiber of your being wants to lavish them with gifts and lollipops and magical unicorns, but if you do that not only will you have a gremlin on your hands, but you will remove the sense of security they gain from routine, discipline, and seeing that life goes on. Even with cancer.

The Nerd and I are trying very hard to do this. Goo still gets punished. The girls still have chores. They still have to eat their vegetables (although Goo’s are now slathered in butter to fatten her up). I still lose my ever-loving mind on at least a weekly basis. It’s all very healthy.

Smush is doing her part to keep things normal, too. In an attempt to obviously make Goo feel as secure as possible, she has whole heartedly embraced her role as the toddler force of destruction that one would expect from an almost three-year-old. Insider tip: Three is much, much worse than two. She’s almost there. God help me, she’s almost there.

The other day I heard her happily singing a song in the living room. I decided to peek in and listen for the lyrics, at which point I found her throwing my brand new pillows and blanket all over the room, merrily announcing:

I loooooove making messes, I love making messes!

Ahem. I’m aware. That’s why it’s taken Mommy and Daddy almost TEN YEARS to finally get something just a little bit decorative in the living room. Something that isn’t a stained or broken sofa. Or a brand new ottoman that is busted beyond repair two weeks after I purchase it. Ten years, girlfriend. Put. Those. Pillows. Back. Now. I dream of a brand spanking new, leather sectional. But that’s a HUGE ticket item, so I will continue waiting. But in the meantime, keep your grubby little hands off my pillows. Kapeesh?

Goo and Punkin got a kick out of her little display, so she decided to up the ante a few days later. She bounded out of the bathroom on a Wednesday morning exclaiming, “Mommy, I brush-ded my hair!”

Indeed she did. With a toothbrush. And toothpaste. All up in there. What is it with this kid and toothbrushes?

I basically have my very own little Stitch. This clip is, in essence, what Smush is like on a daily basis. Just to be clear, Stitch is not the adorable little girl in this movie. It’s the creature of mass destruction.

Welcome to my life.

If you want to restore your faith in humanity, spend a week with me.

For those of you following this story, I apologize for keeping you in the dark. Apparently having a kid with cancer is time-consuming and exhausting. Who knew?

Goo is, as expected, kicking some serious – well, you know.

Radiation? Owned it. Finished 28 days of treatment with NO – that’s right, NO – side effects. No burns. No neuropathy in her extremities. No mouth sores. No esophagitis. No fatigue. Because frankly, cancer, you don’t stand a chance against my kid.

Chemotherapy is expected to be ongoing through November. We have an evaluation in six weeks. But she’s on a roll, defying the odds, shocking the doctors, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if we got to finish early. I know that’s unheard of, but so it is having 5.5 weeks of intense radiation therapy with no side effects. Well, except the sweet tan she’s got going on.

I don’t write often because I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer (if you don’t get that reference, watch this). There are days when I’m kicking butt and taking names, and there are days when I cry in the shower because no one can see me. Or in the car because I’ve got a good hour to get tears out, and still have time for the red, puffy eye and nose thing to go away. It’s so unbecoming. Honestly, most people are aware of the heartache that having a child with a serious illness can cause. I didn’t want to write about that as much. I didn’t want to wallow there, to dwell on the overwhelming physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual fatigue. So there. Now I’ve said it happens, and we can move on to the good part.

Goo’s fight with cancer has shocked me in a very, very good way. The world is full of ugliness. Full of wars, threats, disease, incomprehensible greed, and suffering. It is easy to forget that it is also full of courage, hope, victory, inspiration, and love. If you hang out with a pediatric cancer patient for a while, you get to see that. And because you just can’t understand unless you really see, I’m breaking my own rule and sharing photos. This is my family. This is our team.

Exhibit one: Goo’s radiation oncology team.  These ladies were there every single day, reassuring her, playing her favorite music, cracking jokes, and getting us through what is, in the beginning, a very scary ordeal. The fact that they get paid a fraction of what some tall guy with a ball gets paid is deplorable in my opinion, but that’s another post. These are my heroes. There is a lot more money in other fields, but they spend their days lifting patients, reassuring terrified families, and bringing a little bit of joy to a very dark road.

Exhibit two: This beautiful group of bald heads.  Our church did a St. Balrick’s fundraiser in honor of Goo, and several other members who are battling cancer. We had about 30 heads get shaved, in addition to 8 ponytails donated to Locks of Love. And because the sight was so overwhelming (read: I cried my mascara off), I’m breaking my own rule and sharing pictures. Because you guys have got to see this. Donations are still being accepted, and all funds go to support pediatric cancer research – the scientists taking the cure rate of children’s cancer from 58% to 80% in just the past 35 years. If you’d like to donate, please go here.

Exhibit three: Sisterly love. Cancer impacts everyone in the family, and siblings are no exception. Punkin has always been an inspiration to me, but watching her fight alongside her sister has blessed me more than I could ever communicate. She has endless patience, even when mine has run out. She opens up her room to extra sister sleepovers, and spends her days off from school going to chemo with us because it gives Goo extra courage to have her big sister there. And then there was this:  At our church’s St. Balrick’s event, we also had women donating their hair to Locks of Love. Punkin has had long hair for years, almost covering her back. She hesitated to even let me trim it, until Goo lost her hair. Almost immediately, she decided she would donate her hair to help other girls fighting the same fight. I want to be like her.

Exhibit four: I don’t have a picture for this one, but I’ve noticed something. When Goo lost her hair, I immediately went into Mama Bear mode. One horrific comment was made to her from an unknowing observer, and I prepared to obliterate anyone who used hurtful words with my baby. I braced myself for the strangers staring. And it happens all the time, just not in the way I expected. I expected to see looks of fear, curiosity, even disgust. What I have seen? Looks of compassion. Looks of hope. Kind nods from passersby that seem to say, “Good work, Mom. You’ve got this. She’s a fighter.” If you take the time to look, the world is full of truly wonderful people. We encountered a fellow cancer patient, a beautiful woman with three children of her own, who took one look at Goo and said to me, “She will be a strong woman, with a powerful story to tell.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Strength for my warrior.

Nobody signs up for cancer. Nobody raises their hand and says, “Me! Me! Pick me!” But when it comes at you, you have a choice: You can let the sadness and fear swallow you whole, or you can take the lemons life has just handed you and chuck them back at that tumor ala David and Goliath.

Sharing our story has proven to be very therapeutic. Part of that story is about finding strength in unusual places. In the compassionate nod of a stranger. In the firm handshake of a doctor that says, “I know what I’m doing, and I’m fighting for your baby.” In the big bowl of pasta that a friend brings over because they are desperate to stand with you. In the comments of people you’ve never met, telling you they’re following your story and fighting with you. In the sight of your little warrior, worshiping and praying for a friend who is also battling cancer.

In what is undoubtedly the hardest battle I have ever fought, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Yesterday, Goo started losing her hair. We knew it was coming soon, but I didn’t expect it until her next big round of chemo. I brushed out handfuls of brown waves, walked into the kitchen, and cried. Alone. Scared. Hating everything about this disease.

I tossed and turned for hours last night, battling waves of anxiety, praying over and over because that’s all I know how to do.

And this morning, I woke up to this post from a fellow church member:

“By faith these people overthrew kingdoms, ruled with justice, and received what GOD HAD PROMISED them. They shut the mouths of lions, quenched the flames of fire and escaped death by the edge of the sword. THEIR WEAKNESS WAS TURNED INTO STRENGTH. They became strong in battle and put whole armies to flight!” Hebrews 11″33 – 34. Goo has been added to my list of heroes in the faith!!!

She’s my hero, too. And now she’s got a little extra room for that helmet.