LOST A SOCK

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I don't know what to say, how to say it, what is appropriate or what is too much.  It's all too much right now.

My Aunt Kath died during the night last night.

I've not shared her story on my website, her three year battle with breast cancer, because I felt that it was her story to tell and always the news, good or bad, was hers.  She always read my blog and whenever we got together she was in the know on what was going on in my life.  It is always so humbling when someone takes interest in you like that.  She left comments from time to time, and in a while I will hunt for them.  The pink breast cancer ribbon in my sidebar is hers.

 

Wicked, August 2008

We had become a fine fun group, my Aunt Kath and my mom, my sister Sant and her girlfriend Leslie.  It was good, and it made me happy.  It made her happy too.

 

She fought her metastasizing disease bravely through the stages, through every God-forsaken organ it spread to, right to the end.  She fought for her life and for her family.  More than anything she didn't want to leave her boys.  She won't.

We kept up with knowing her treatments and what tumor marker number she was at.  Ironically, and hitting so close to home, the test I just went through last week.  My mom, Sant, Leslie and I spent the day with her on Sunday after she was admitted to the hospital.  We discussed Jon and Kate and painted her fingernails and her toes.   The girls and I snuck out to the car while she rested and demolished a bag of chocolate chip cookies.  (Not that that has anything to do with anything, but it gets honorable mention just the same.) 

 

She lost all of her hair through radiation and chemotherapy, and also her taste buds and appetite, and she lost weight.  Her voice quieted and her mobility tapered.  Cancer is the most unimaginably violent disease.  It doesn't have to say a word. 

Thankfully, my Aunt Kath hung on to her sass and her zest and would still happily inform you when you were being a pain in the ass, even if she could only say it quietly.  The rear window of her SUV displays the little boy peeing, like you sometimes see him pee on Ford or Chevy.  Her little guy pisses on the word Cancer.  In pink, even. 

I thought, when we left her on Sunday night, that we would see her again the following weekend.  Then the next afternoon when her CAT scan results came back they let us know that she had only about a month left.  It wasn't that we were unaware of how bad she was; it was just still so hard to believe.  And then when everyone had gone home to rest, late last night, she slipped away quietly.

My Aunt Kath was fun loving and happy.  She worked in Special Education at a Middle School up until last fall, and she loved her job like most people hope to love theirs.  She didn't stop working until she practically couldn't walk into the school building anymore.  At only fifty-two years old she leaves her husband of thirty-two years, and her sons Danny and Jonathan, twenty-two and twelve.  She leaves all of us, for a while at least.

 

And she will be missed.

We chat. They jump.

My two smallest children have a new shared love.

Jumping on my bed.

So now let's pretend that this is precisely the reason why I have made my bed so infrequently all these years, m'kay? 

It's because of the kids.  They just jump on it and mess it all up, those little rascals, they.

 

Now you just let them jump there, and I'll finally check in as if I remember from time to time that I have a blog. 

Now that the weather is perfect in every way, we have spent our days walking to the park, the library, the lake, the other park and the other park, every single afternoon without fail.  My upper arms are finally seeing the return of a little muscle action from pushing our double stroller all over town, and I'm sure my backside would see a difference, too, if I weren't offsetting all of the exercise by inhaling the cupcakes I baked for myself for the kids.  I mentioned here a couple weeks ago that I'd finally lost thirty of my fifty pregnancy pounds and just like that I fell off the wagon.  Interesting, yes?  I am determined to continue getting back on the doggone wagon, though, no matter how many times I fall off, because my eight month old baby girl is going to have a birthday at the end of this summer and then I can no longer say I am overweight because I *just* *had* *a* *baby*.  Something about using that excuse one year later bleeds I consumed six funfetti frosted cupcakes last weekend.

Keep jumping kiddies.  Blur blur blur.

I also went through my tumor check this week, which I have been doing every three months since last September.  And each time this rolls around I tell myself I shouldn't worry unless I know I need to, blah blah blah.  And every time I finish having those strong positive thoughts I begin worrying immediately about the ovary checking process (unpleasant) and the tumor marker blood draw (frightening) and then I spend all of the in-between days hoping this isn't the time I have cancer, three small children, blah blah blah.  Results next week, repeat in three months.  I informed my doctor, this week, that if another tumor is spotted I would most definitely benefit from a complete hysterectomy rather than just another take a chunk of this, portion of that again.  This worrisome process every few months is for the birds.  (Is it awful to admit that in the days before and after the tests until results come in I always sing in my brain We're Going on a Tumor Hunt, slightly adapted from a happy children's song?  THIS is precisely the reason I tried to convince the damn doctor to take all the guts on the operating table last year.)  (Also, yes, I know that is a very strange thing to sing.  Somebody mail me some coping skills.  I'll give you my address.) 

 

Yikes!  Bounce, fall, jump.  Giggle giggle giggle.

Little league is also still all kinds of fun, even when my son Mexican Hat Dances on second base.  I'll guess that becomes less cute when these kids play at twelve and thirteen, yes?  I've been trying to wrap my head around what sport and for whom might be next, now that we have reached That Age (oh how fast, babies, toddalahs, baseball players.  What next?  Driving?)  We did decide to sign Jack up for a two-mornings-per-week preschool in the fall for purposes of fun and socialization, and thus he becomes our double duty kid, homeschooling and preschooling both.  Nothing like conducting this parenting thing by the seats of our proverbial pants, eh?  My hope is that it will be a fantastic opportunity for him to make friends outside the shadow of his big brother, and pick up a whole new sort of structure along the way. 

The laughing and the blurring- it never gets old.

Aaaaand we're off- to the eye doctor this time.  Today is the day I finally stop applying super glue to KJ's glasses every few hours.  Fingers crossed he picks something good.

How's your intro to summer been?

But what I really want, is for everyone to sleep until nine a.m.

I can't really say there is a reason, other than lack of...hmmm...time for sitting and thinking...but I've been procrastinating something terrible when it comes to writing about our upcoming adventures with homeschooling.  I wrote a post a couple months ago, full of reasons for and against and should I, shouldn't I, should I, shouldn't I, okay yes I should, definitely.  And now the boat has left the dock and is well on its way, and I fear that if I don't hop to it on documenting this process these children will be entering high school and I'll be all, Hey did I mention I've been teaching them at home all these years, using legos, marshmallows, scotch tape and the occasional textbook?  It worked!   

I've been doing my homework these last couple months.

I also had this crazy revelation that, You know, I was an elementary teacher before birthing these noisy people...I should unearth my teeeeaching stuuuuuuff.  Reopening giant Rubbermaid bins full of photocopied idea binders, bulletin board cutouts and books for seasonal projects and science experiments alike was like exploring a past life.  I instantly recalled how much I really did love my job as a teacher and began printing resumes and I knew for sure that this homeschool thing would be a good experience for not only the kids, but for me too.

Almost daily, now, the boys and I talk about the things we'd like to do for school next year.  They want more! painting! and clay volcano constructing, to dump packs of Mentos into 2-Liters of Diet Coke in the back yard, and to hatch baby chicks next spring.  Nothing like starting small, right?  Jack always interjects into these conversations that he will play, just so I don't overlook that part.  (Note to self, Jack should play.)  And as funny as it sounds to say for a six year old, I think KJ really realizes that this is one hell of an opportunity for him.  I hope, and I do believe, that he knows what is to come are all of our usual library trips and zoo trips and afternoons spent writing and coloring and building with legos, times ten.  With more purpose.

Even on a worksheet listing the days of the week at school, he sat down and outlined a general schedule of what we shall do with all of our time.  Clearly we will have Baseball covered, plus a touch of Maht.  Or Math.   

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending how we look at it) given the storm we are weathering, Kevin and I recently sat down, needing to really evaluate what things we absolutely hold as our top financial priorities (house, duh, electricity, duh) and what could be cut out should the need arise (goodbye cable, adios second SUV).  And when we got down to the topic of homeschool, which could be a moderate expense given the costs of books and paper, project supplies, museum admissions and so on, we wondered for a bit whether another year in The Land of Ten Thousand Worksheets was something doable, just in case.

I gave it a fair shot in my mind, the thought of breaking the news to KJ that we should play things safe and keep him where he is.  Just this time last year we changed up our school plan for him, deciding that we couldn't swing private school after all, given the shit storm with the two houses, and he did just fine with that.

But I somehow feel so differently about this, deep in the pit of my gut.  It wasn't until we considered letting go of homeschool that we knew for sure it is the absolute right path for us, and that the fears of not enough socialization and time management and affordability will work themselves out when the time comes, because this one's a non-negotiable.

It's funny how that happens, isn't it? 

So forward we move with baby chick hatching and time for Jack to play, working around Marin's emerging nap schedule and hoping to God someone (all of them) figure out we really can sleep in every day next year.  No more of this six a.m. business...

...or recess will be compromised.  I'm calling it, and I'm the principal.  Or something.

Your Mom

It's Mother's Day, and I bet you'll be glad to know with my recent propensity for blogging only once or twice weekly?  That as long as you return to this website each day until I write a new post, it is still Mother's Day for all you moms. 

Monday?  Why, I have nothing to blog about.  And Mother's Day it is.

Tuesday?  Okay I do have something to say but the baby's diaper is leaking, my six year old has a little league game in an hour and the twelve baskets of laundry lining my bedroom floor won't be putting themselves away.

Wednesday?  Continue celebrating.  You're a real mother, I tell you.

And you get the idea.  Thank me later.

While switching loads of laundry this morning I thought about all of the Mother's Days we celebrated when I was growing up and I wondered if this Mother's Day thing, and motherhood in general, is what I thought it would be 100 years ago before I had kids.  I don't remember whether my mom washed my clothes on Mother's Day, and I don't know what she quietly thought about, or if she was happy with the way things were going on that particular day or in general for our family. 

My kids won't remember today either.  They made me presents and a card and told me that they loved me, and as a kid I thought that to be the most important part- to give mom something good.  But now I know as a mom, that the best part of all on this day and every day, as insanely cliche as it sounds, is just to have these kids.  They don't need to do anything or say anything or make anything.  Just being who they are without giving it so much as a thought, and being mine, is indescribably Good, even when it isn't.  Turns out the day isn't about celebrating my role in this family at all, but simply celebrating this family. 

Later this afternoon in five minutes we will have both sides of our families over for a feast, and to give them the gifts that we've been working on this week.

Last Sunday afternoon the five of us took a long walk together and played at the park.

The Sunday afternoon before that Kevin and I had front row tickets to this crazy wild rock show (where the drummer wasn't even wearing pants!)

Though the xylophone player kept making her way too far into the middle of the action for the drummer's liking.

The Sunday afternoon before, I don't know, but I really think most of them have been Mother's Days, and that's what I hope my kids remember.  And for when they someday read this, today I think we're doing okay, and even better than okay, and I love whatever it is we do when we're all together.  I didn't mind washing your clothes on Mother's Day (though we'll talk differently when you're 17, 14 and 12) and I quietly thought, this morning as I picked up the family room, about how and when we can finally add a giant table to that room and let the homeschooling begin.  I loved your pot holder and your picture frame this morning, but most of all I love you.

(Also, Marin, way to go on conquering the word Mama this week.  I may be second to Baba, but I get it.  Ha!)

Heads I win, Tales you lose

I painted with the kids again today.

This may sound like No Great Accomplishment to some, but whenever I manage to pull off this monumental task with three active little kids I always get the feeling that I Win At Motherhood.  At least until someone begins flipping paint onto my decent shirt and wipes Deep Sea Blue on my hanging white bath towels.  Or when I turn around to find Little Miss Exersaucer four inches behind me sucking on the plastic garbage bag from the paper recycle can.  Then, Hey! I Suck At Motherhood.  (But look!  Art, accomplished!)

*

Times have been rough here, lately.  We took a chance in a really big way a while back (which, in our defense, was not presented as "A Chance" back then, but rather "Incredible Opportunity Which Would Be Completely Crazy To Pass Up") and it is in mid-stages of imploding.  I've got approximately four people whom I can vent my heartaches to, and of course the internet is off limits for now.  My mind has been racing through our days over the last week or so, and by dinnertime I am dying to get the kids in bed so I can have a good cry already.  I want them to feel secure, and shelter them from grown-up worries as best I can.  You've felt this, right Internet? 

This may get worse before it gets better.  I choose to hold onto hope when it is honest, and panic as needed.  (Where needed equals often.)  I would love to believe that the best case scenario will play out here, but I have no way of knowing what will happen in time.  I know we will get through it somehow, though, because nothing lasts forever.  We do not fail until we give up (but we do constantly worry until we feel adequately sick.)

*

Attempting to witness the action, Jack managed to pee in his own hair today.  Newly potty trained boys can be dangerous.  I wiped his head on the painted blue bath towel.  Good enough until bath time tonight.

*

Our house-buying renters have sworn to us that they will carry out an entire one year contract if we are willing to offer it.  Selling the house at this moment is sure financial ruin; renting it for another year is only possible demise.  Dare we believe them?

*

Though I've not been documenting it here, I have lost thirty of the fifty pounds I gained during my pregnancy with Marin.  I finally feel like I am getting somewhere.

*

This morning I made appointments for my ovarian tumor re-check and a root canal.  I scheduled them for the same afternoon, back to back.  That should be fun, no? 

*

I am so grateful to be thirty.  I never could have handled all this shit at once, at twenty-five.

Boys

As I worked my way through the April pictures on my hard drive yesterday, I noticed that I have quite a few this-n-thats of KJ and Jack from recent.  (Which shouldn't be so odd, unless you consider that over the previous six months they've barely salted and peppered the Marin collection I have going.)  (But she's a baayyyyyybeeee.)

There are lots and lots of these, as oh yes, we have delved into the Wonderful World of Little League. 

I will admit to having many an unkind thought about Little League throughout all of March and April as I sat in the middle of a wide open, disgustingly squishy mud field through terribly cold, damp windy evenings, in a sinking lawn chair with chattering teeth, numb extremities.  I twisted schedules as far as I could to save Marin from sure misery, setting her up with my sister and her girlfriend as often as humanly possible.  Jack, on the other hand, happily attended each practice because apparently he does not mind hypothermic shock or being caked in mud from ass to toes...as long as there are other younger brothers to run around with.  And mud to play in.  I mentioned the mud, yes?  He also doesn't have to clean shoes and wash muddy laundry.  Heh.  Mud.

Thankfully there is a light at the end of the tunnel in the case of all these practices, and it comes when you get to see your cute little kid in a cute little baseball uniform. 

And all at once the weather grows slightly warmer, thank God, so that I can actually feel my fingers while scraping muddy gym shoes, pants, jackets, sockstoysstrollerwheels. 

Now?  Pretty fun, that Little League.

I think next year we shall skip practice season altogether and get right to the concession stand popcorn games. 

Also on my hard drive, children building tents everywhere, which is one of their afternoon favorites.

Playing in their two-man late-night band,

and game playing.

I love Jack's crazy expressions.

Also, this.

Am thinking it will be a while before he smiles for the camera again.  Male child, age three is in full swing now, folks.

...Giving way to this Loch Ness something or other. 

At least I have something to save for a high school girlfriend or two, right?

Not that the other one is without his own April '09 collection of crazies.

He does know how to work the camera, eh? 

That's mah boy.

This one's cucu bird picture collection will begin soon enough, I guarantee.  Those I can save for her teenage love affairs with the Jonas Brothers or Children of the Backstreet Boys or whoever is popular then.

She's been practicing. 

And most thankfully her practices take place on an indoor carpeted surface, sans cold, sans mud, muck, yuck- though sadly they do not involve paper bag popcorn, double butter little salt.  Trade offs, I tell you.

Goodbye, April!