Dear Josephine, {3 years old}

You've been three now for almost 2 month, this letter is a little late coming. I know, by the time you're old enough to read this, it wont matter how much time has passed between your birthday and now, but what will matter the most, is that it has been written.

If there is one thing I'm learning, it is that it doesn't matter when things get done, just that they do, because regret will only be found, in the un-did, when it comes to something like this.

Things this year have been unstructured and despite you being so young, I'm continuously driven by your spirit, within it all.

You're a combination of beautifully bossy and a charismatic spit fire. Daddy is quick to remind me how you get your stubbornness from me.. and you do… but I love it.

Stubbornness isn't a flaw, it's a force…and between you and me, that's what makes your father so nervous, he already knows at three year's old, you hold the world in the palm of your hands…. and as your parents, its the most brilliant kind of scary.

As for me, there is an unexpected parenting pressure, having a girl.
Out of all the three, you challenge me the most, on levels I'm thankful for you provoking growth.
I sometimes worry if I'm leading you best, but at the same time know, I'm doing good, in raising you right.

At three, you love your princesses and the color pink. Bossing your brothers and loving them more. You're independent and certain, reserved and kind. How you got to be so girly, so young, with your love of walking in heels, playing dress-up and applying make-up, I will never know and never take the time to further question.

You make our family, better.
You make our family, whole.

I love you,

Mumma

Chemo Eve's Weak

The fact that my conscious efforts of quality controlling the chemicals, preservatives, and GMO's that I let my body process, soak in, or come in contact with, is now being countered by the direct injections of the mac-daddy of all chemically generated poisons, has not gone unnoticed in the humor department, Irony… it has not gone unnoticed, in.the.least.

Tomorrow, I go in for my second sitting of chemo treatments.

As soon as any hesitation start to creep up, when thinking about it, my natural glass half full reflex coaches me to think how great it will be to have another treatment under belt…. how one more down, means one less to do… charging into the fire, is waaaaaay more satisfying than fearing it's flames.

I've always prided myself on my ability to mind over matter things. I can grin and bare with the best of them and I'm stubborn enough to pressing forward the hardest, when I feel like giving up the most.

Weak isn't something I show easily and rarely admitted to being.

Chemo is pointing out my weaknesses, ten fold.

Bottom line.
I just don't want to do it again.

I've never in my life experienced a flight response to a situation before, but the idea of running like hell from tomorrow, seems like a pretty great idea at this moment in time.

I've been overwhelmed and continually humbled by the amount of support my family and I have received.

People are caring, people are loving, people are good.

This pothole of weakness isn't something I hope to stumble upon frequently, but know it will be unavoidable at times along this journey. And like tonight, it's within the words of encouragement, kindness, and support that I find myself jumping in, to catch me during this moment of vaulnrability, hopefully rally any strength, during the times I find my knees quivering amongst this burdened weight. 

I know, when the alarm sounds in the morning, like a corner bell, I'll emerge from the pocket, in a fighter's stance, but tonight, tomorrow can take its sweet ass time coming.

"The" Goodnyou? Blog Post

For someone who is very 'out there' in the forms of social media, I also hold certain aspects of my life close to my chest. I not only like to control the information that gets thrown out into the world outside of this house's four walls, but that what I do release, isn't carelessly released in a haste of negative energy… This case, is not exempt.

After the whirl wind weeks we've had, the emotional ups and down within the unknown of the day to days, countless conversation, with the ones we love, laced with tears, anger, laughter, and drive, we're now at the point in our family's process to trump the mill of rumors and rest at ease the small town hear-say.

Though I played the "it's just a broken collar bone" roll, appeasing the curiosity of those who need not waste in the worry, this week, after many hoops jumped, I was officially diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

Lets stop right here for a minute and let me just say…  I don't want this information, displayed in this little space of mine, to flock the drama seekers… I don't want my door kicked down by a bunch cancer fighting rallied warriors… I don't want a flood of meat and cheese platters, despite my love of all sodium packed deli products...

What I do want... is for this place to be an area of escape from the schedules and appointment, chemo and needles… I want Goodnyou? to provide the kind of therapy, writing has always given me…I want to be able to love the day fiercely ...  I want to be able to not like life at all… I want to stomping my feet and screaming "it's not fair" … I want to show my fears and embrace my struggles….

It feels like we've already been walking for miles, though we know we've just barely settled our footing on this newly foraged path. I'm ready for the triumphs and prepared for the challenges that will push me to the limits, only grow me in the areas I unknowingly need it the most, along the way.

Dear Calvin, {5 year's old}

You turned 5 years old, less than a month ago. Right now, you're sleeping in your bed after the second night of my "you're old enough to go to bed awake, rather than having Daddy, hauling you from the couch after you've fallen asleep watching Sponge Bob" approach.

Life's been crazy lately. I'm sorry if it feels like the memories of your birthday, have been shoved to the back burner, but the haven't.

I'm in one of those weird places were the reality is…. it's only been 20 days since you turned 5 years old, but it somehow feels like 20 weeks… sitting here on the couch, by myself, I feel confident enough to tell you that sometimes life is stupid… that's it… just stupid.

Fortunately, for all of life's stupidity, you counter with brilliance. That light that pours from your deep brown eyes, that smile that's just crooked enough to disarm to most guarded of hearts… it's good stuff, good good stuff… and I'm humble enough to realize how lucky I am to be exposed to it, daily.

Since May 20th, I've had running through my head, the exact things that I wanted to construct for your Dear Calvin: you're 5 years old post… How I watch you play, at random times through the day and envying your innocent… How my chest sometimes gets this tightness when I think about how, after this summer, you're going to be gone to school for more day than you'll be home… I think about how selfish I am, for not wanting to share you with this world, but at the same time proud, when I watch others helpless drawn to your gentleness…  How you're mischievous in the most genuinely curious way….

Over the last few weeks, these thought have effortless streamed in my thoughts, with a beautiful flow, but now I can't help but feel like I'm grasping at straws to string words together, in a coherent way…

Simply… You're a third of my world and we all know how lucky we are to get the chance to love you,

Food Fight {and not the fun kind}

Last night, I lost my cool with Wesley. Over the same thing, I always lose my temper on with him… food.

I don't mind he is particular with his food…. Through out the week, I typically ask him if he would like to try the red pepper I'm cutting, the kiwi I'm slicing, or the sauce I'm stirring.

Every time the answer it no… and that's ok.

I plan ahead, every meal, and make sure there is at least one item Wesley can satisfyingly eat.

Some nights, I serve him well with a full plate of the same meal, different presentation…. When making a {rest of the} family favorite, stir fry, I pull from the pan, salted {no peppered} pieces of cooked chicken, before adding other spices…I save a hand full of raw carrots, before sautéing them with the other veggies… and I put aside a bowl of rice, before topping it with the rest… Did I mention, none of this food can touch… preferable on different plates…. and need their own utensils to be eaten with?

I will not cook a completely different meal, but do encourage any leftovers to be heated up and always have the makings for peanut butter & jelly or non-sugared cereal, as a standby.

I also make sure to remind Wesley, that if he chooses to be limited in his food intake then he is also limited to food choices, outside this house, and he can not {and will not} expect others to cater to him.

He will not make a fuss about other's offerings, instead he will adapt and settle for the extra effort I go for him, by keeping a zip lock bag, in his locker, full of peanut butter crackers, incase of a last minute school lunch menu change or by throwing granola bars into his book bag, when he goes to a friends house, just incase.

And though at times it's annoying, when I forget and throw garlic in with the chicken and have to scrap it off every individual piece, before he notices or roast the broccoli too much that every piece has at least one crispy part of in… but I do it, none the less, with little more than just a heavy sign and the occasional eye roll.

Sometimes, like last night, when I'm just too tired to stay on top of my food game and can't put out more effort for his food fright… I bring the menu down to Wesley's preference… a basic, mundane, meal… and on these occasions, when I am meet with resistance, sulking, pouting, gagging, and a full on "woe is Wesley" mode, all because the chicken is cut differently than the way he prefers it, my trigger is tripped… quick… and it aint pretty.

Last night, I couldn't stop myself from yelling my frustrations. Cognitively, I knew I should step away and calm down, address it later, because I wasn't being beneficial to any part of the situation, but emotionally, I.could.not.stop. the frustration infused words from running out of my mouth.

It resulted as it always does… Wesley, running off to his room, slamming doors along the way. Me dramatically dumping the remaining food on his plate into the trash, unrealistically declaring to never prepare a meal in this house again, and exasperatingly throwing myself back down at the table in festering frustrations, mixed with a "you're the grown up here" guilt.  The other two, acted accordingly by dropping any inclinations of jumping on the "I don't want to eat" band wagon and licking their plates clean, with fear based verbal support at how delicious this meal really was.

Like every time before, when the dust settled, I apologized for my fired fuse and explained my frustrations at an age appropriate level…. I wish this could be summed up with a "next time I'll do better… from this I have learned" but I can't… well, I can, but it wouldn't be true… This pattern will cycle back, as it always does... with hopefully a lengthy durations of time in between.

It's Been A While…

I haven't written on the blog in a while… I wouldn't necessarily say it has been intentional, but I wouldn't way it been unintentional either.

We've just been busy in that "not sure how much longer we can keep this up, without having to sleep for 3.2 months straight" kinda way. It's been on the back of my mind, to jump on here, throw some pictures up and pin down some words.

The fact, that this is a place I like to escape, reflect, and gain perspective on all the things I'm too "in the moment" to do at the time, hasn't been easy to find the time to nestle myself into here.

I've realized, that if I force my time, into just writing to write, it defeats the whole purpose of my intention of starting this blog to being with…... With that said, the whole purpose of starting this blog, was to have a written recording of my family growing… so finding time is necessary.

I'm in the vicious cycle of struggles in finding time for all the stuff I've got to do and creating time for all the stuff I want to.

I'm relying heavy on the theory of, an object being in motion and staying in motion, when it comes to tending all the irons I've found myself casting into the fire…. and I'm looking forward, more than ever, to getting back and purging a bit of pent up life, soon.

Happy Monday!