Relay For Life, and the coolest old guy I’ve ever seen.

Saturday, after an insanely boring very important visit to the ER with Goo, for what turned out to be nothing (thank God), we got to participate in a local Relay For Life event. While the American Cancer Society donates very little to childhood cancer research, we still think it’s a wonderful organization, striving to help millions of adults beat the odds, and honoring those who have done so.

Plus, there were cupcakes.

A family from our church was volunteering at the event, and the oldest daughter was walking with her friends on a team that raised money to support cancer research. They are an AMAZING family. I tutored their son a couple of times, and let me just say, he’s what every parent hopes their daughter brings home to meet the parents. Anyway.

We also had the pleasure of meeting up with two very dear friends of ours, one of whom is currently beating colon cancer. Goo once got to have a heart to heart with her about what it’s like to have a port put in, and that it doesn’t hurt because they give you sleepy medicine for the operation. I cried. I do that a lot lately.

Speaking of which, holy tissue fest, Batman! If you ever attend a RFL event, bring tissues. Lots and lots of tissues. I cried during the ceremonial speech – a young teenage girl who recently beat osteoblastoma, and lost her leg in the process, shared her story. She walked at RFL like a boss rocking her prosthesis and inspiring hundreds. I also cried when the other girl sang a song about standing together, one she had written for her dad when he was battling cancer.

Are you crying yet?

The real kicker was the survivor walk, a lap dedicated to the survivors and current warriors in this epic battle to send cancer back to the hell from whence it came. (Didn’t I sound super fancy and old English just then?) I carried Goo through the walk.

Then came the caregiver walk – a lap dedicated to those who have helped the heroes in their fight. I continued to carry Goo, and “I Need You” by Leann Rimes played in the background. These are the lyrics:

I need you like water
Like breath, like rain
I need you like mercy
From heaven’s gate

There’s a freedom in your arms
That carries me through
I need you

You’re the hope that moves me
To courage again
You’re the love that rescues me
When the cold winds, rage

And it’s so amazing
‘Cause that’s just how you are
And I can’t turn back now
‘Cause you’ve brought me too far

I need you like water
Like breath, like rain
I need you like mercy
From heaven’s gate

There’s a freedom in your arms
That carries me through
I need you
Oh yes I do

This was playing as I literally carried Goo through the last stretch of our walk. I full-on ugly cried. And I start crying again every time I think about that walk. Dang it, Leann Rimes.

But just as I was certain my mascara would start jumping ship, I saw the coolest white-haired guy I’ve ever seen.

His shirt says, “I survived Hitler, Stalin, and Cancer (x3).”

High five, guy in front of me. You win the world.

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.

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.

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.

Here our story changes.

Up until now, this has been a humor blog.

It is here that my story changes.

It is here that I tell you that we’ve spent the past few days at the hospital with Goo. It is here that they found the tumor.

We will fight. We will win. For my own sanity, I will write when I am able. I will tell you how we’re going to beat it. How Goo is stronger and braver and more beautiful than ever. How never before have God’s arms seemed so big, as when He carries our family through this.

Parenting FAIL Friday: I get paid for this.

I have mentioned that I scored a sweet work-from-home gig that lets me make a little extra cash while still wrangling my rabid howler monkeys.

A friend is paying me to watch her two-year-old.

Stifle that laughter, please. I’m actually kind of awesome at it. And by awesome I mean no one has suffered serious bodily harm.

But we do fun things like  coloring projects. And yesterday I totally took one for the team and bundled us all up for outside time. In the blistering windy cold of winter. This had nothing to do with the fact that I needed the children to not be fighting in the walls of my home. Or that I may or may not have caught the two toddlers (mine and hers) physically fighting over a high chair, and swinging it around the living room trying to grab it from one another.

Toddler squabbles aside, it’s been kind of perfect. Curls (the second toddler – who has a full head of halfway-down-her-back black ringlets) is a very enthusiastic cleaner, and God knows Smush needs some work in that department. Plus it’s like a crash course in sharing for everyone involved, and I imagine that will be helpful once school days roll around for this brood. Either that or they will have learned how to go Jackie Chan on anyone that takes their pencil sharpener.

And even though they make messes, we use teamwork to clean them up.

Confession: I totally blew it in this department early on. Too often I gave in and cleaned up myself because I got sick of the tantrums. When it’s four against one, you can’t win. So you have to learn to stick to your guns and get all hands on deck. And I’ve been nailing it.

Except for this.   

That’s sugar. From my sugar bowl. That Smush and Curls emptied into their play sink to “cook.”

Oh look, they were stirring with Goo’s brand new paint brush from Christmas.

And because no toddler fiasco is complete without grinding tiny granules of insect-attracting food pellets into the carpet, I give you this.

As an added bonus, they painted Curls’ pants. In sugar. Which, upon putting them in time-out for taking food and dumping it out, they licked off with their fingers while they happily giggled in their chairs.

I get paid for this.

My children keep acting like children. I’m working on it.

I have encountered the same scenario in the general public over and over. It happens in the form of the disgusted eye roll at a toddler having a tantrum. In the snide remark about a lack of discipline in regards to the 5-year-old crying inconsolably. There’s something many adults in America can’t stand. Something that drives them batty and brings out the nasty in many of them.

They hate it when children act like children.

Who can blame them, really? They refuse to eat dinner. They throw tantrums. They roll their eyes when someone brushes their hair. They get completely overwhelmed when they’re exhausted and have little control over their emotions. They fight – egad do they fight. They get loud and rambunctious and make messes.

Then again, so do many adults.

And then there are the emotional and social problems. Children are on a completely different plane from adults. And try as I may, I still cannot get mine to come up to the level of a normal American adult. They have *no* idea how to judge someone based on their appearance. They assume every person is a life, equal in value and importance to theirs, and should be treated as such. I have yet to get them to understand how to get angry in traffic, or be rude to a store employee, or gossip about their peers. For the life of me, I can’t get them to worry about money, or question God’s faithfulness, or hold a grudge. Not to mention that they have absolutely no desire to bash political leaders on either side.

No matter what I do, I just can’t get them to act like adults. My sincerest apologies to the eye-rolling onlookers in the grocery stores and malls.

And people have no qualms about pointing that out. “Does she always act like that?” “Are you disciplining her?” “My kids never did that.”

I know, I know. I’m working on it. And in relation to these observations, I’m also working on teaching them to be judgmental and elitist. It takes time to develop those skills.

So please understand, I know how things look. My two-year-old can’t sit still, and she has no idea how to not immediately forgive any offense. My four-year-old ruins meal times with her food issues sometimes, and for the life of me I can’t get her to stop outwardly displaying love to her family, or making friends wherever she goes. And the eight-year-old. Don’t even get me started. Every morning is a battle over the hairbrush, and I can’t get her to stop helping her sisters, encouraging me to keep trying, or throwing herself passionately into learning as much as she can, about as many things as she can.

In fact, at this point in time, I’m starting to worry that they may never fit in with normal adults like me.