tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70409541707908899122024-02-06T21:21:39.115-06:00My 3 SonsAllys Wishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15634954827381832283noreply@blogger.comBlogger423125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-89149113819384244282014-06-29T09:44:00.002-05:002014-06-29T09:44:20.167-05:00Longing<div style="text-align: justify;">
My world has been narrowed quite a lot in the last several weeks. Although I agreed to the terms of hospice care, I am always surprised when the next "thing" comes up and the response I get. That's not to say that I am dissatisfied with the service. In fact, I've been quite pleased with my experience. I recently had an episode in which I slept from 9:30 p.m. until 4:00 p.m. the following day. That, my friends, is a lot of sleeping! The nurse came out to make sure I was ok (I was). Since that initial day, it has happened a couple more times. On that first day when the nurse was here, I was surprised that I didn't get the reaction from her that I expected. She was very, very calm. Not negligent, not uncaring...just calm. I suppose that's how it goes in the hospice world. </div>
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I have a deep longing to be done here. If I were to be really truthful, I would tell you that I am disappointed most mornings to open my eyes and figure out that I am still here. I honestly thought I would have been taken home by now. Of course, the plans I make for myself rarely coincide with the plans that God makes for me. So, I spend a lot of my time thinking about heaven. What will it look like? Will I get to spend some one-on-one time with Jesus? Will there be lines to stand in to wait to meet the heroes of my faith: Moses, Noah, David, Peter, Peter (to name a few) like the queue at DisneyWorld? </div>
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"<em>Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man all that God has prepared for those that love Him." 1 Corinthians 2:9</em></div>
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My mom wrote this verse for me and hung it on the wall where I can see it often. It is a promise I cling to with all my might. I know that there must be some reason that God is keeping me here, still alive, instead of swooping me up to be with Him. I certainly do wish I could understand it.</div>
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Instead, Monster marches on. Although my pain is well-managed, it has been necessary to take extra measures lately to ensure that that continues. I recently switched from oral meds to a pain pump. Were you to ever see me, you would notice the giant needle that is stabbed in my chest, or you might widen your eyes at the iv tubing that is attached to me, which must be carried everywhere I go. Everywhere. There's no question that the pump is the better option...I was taking as many as 30 pills each day. Still, it is cumbersome and only so much tubing will stay put in the cute Vera Bradley bag I tote around.</div>
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All that medicine is making me do weird things. Example: I had a dream where I was quite insistent that Princess Lovely come for tea. This was overheard by my mother, who is still giggling about it. Princess Lovely--ha! I also have had several instances where my hands will move while I'm sleeping. A few nights ago I tried to feed myself some imaginary yogurt with an imaginary spoon, only to wake up and find that things were just as I had left them when my eyes were closed. There was no spoon, no yogurt--just bedsheets. Bummer.</div>
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You might be wondering how my three little cowboys are holding up. Truth be told, I'm kind of wondering the same thing. It is like pulling teeth to get them to talk about it, and when we begin to scratch the surface, I get <u>so</u> nervous! What I do know for sure is that they are frightened and insecure--even though we are trying so hard to make it okay for them. Three individual little people = three individual needs. The hurt is huge. At times, it feels insurmountable. I have some guilt, because when this is all said and done, I get to be the lucky one. They have to stay here and learn to live without their mom. Some days seem good, and other days are very emotional and difficult. You would not waste a prayer on my three precious boys.</div>
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How about some good news? Ally's Wish is booming! Due to the generous support from so many, wishes are being granted! The Harrison family just returned from their trip to DisneyWorld. Angie was able to spend time in the parks each day with her husband the their three children, making memories that <u>will</u> last. Additionally, we have another mom whose wish we are already working on! She has meticulously journaled throughout her long fight with her Monster, and now she wants to have her journals bound into a book. That will be the next project for the team. It thrills me to no end that this foundation exists to make wishes come true for hurting families! As always, you can support us financially and make a difference to other people. Simply go to <a href="http://www.allyswish.org/">www.allyswish.org</a> and click on the "donate" button. Thank you!</div>
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Please pray. Please pray that the days, however many there are left, would pass quickly--but not TOO quickly. Please pray that I would have discernment in making decisions and that the hearts of those who love me would be prepared. I am fully, 100%, no-questions-asked ready to go home. I'm thankful---SO thankful--that this space is only temporary. You can have all this world, but give me Jesus. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-18296539276428336772014-05-21T14:47:00.002-05:002014-05-21T14:47:54.300-05:00From This Side<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have great friends who remind me daily that I am loved.</div>
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I have a great family who takes care of me and shows love through their sacrificial giving.</div>
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I have three little boys who are my world.</div>
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And I have Jesus, who is faithful and unchanging.</div>
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<em>"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Psalm 73:26</em></div>
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Many of you know that Psalm 73:26 is my life verse. These are dark, scary days when my flesh and my heart actually <u>are</u> failing. These are days when I desperately need something to cling to, and this is it: Jesus. He has given me everything I need. Admittedly, there are times I take my eyes off of Him, and that is the very second I begin to flail in overwhelming waters. I start to drown. I can not--not for <em>one second </em>--take my eyes off of my Light.</div>
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I have recently experienced a minor (felt major to me!) medical emergency where I could not get enough oxygen. It felt like there was not enough air in the whole world to help me breathe in a cadence that would sustain my life. So. Very. Scary. We called hospice to help, and eventually I got it under control. It was an eye-opening experience for a lot of reasons, the main one being this: When I need medical help--REAL medical help for a REAL medical crisis--I'm not going to go to the hospital. I'm not going to call a doctor. There will be no emergency room. I'm going to call hospice. Nurse will come and she will hold my hand. Mom will tell me "It's okay," over and over again. I will feel panicked, and I am very, very afraid of that.</div>
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It's a bad feeling to live in fear. Especially when I know that the fear is unnecessary. Jesus will take care of me. But from this side, it's hard to see how that will happen. From this side, it's dark. From this side, it is terribly frightening.</div>
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I have so much. But from this side...my most hidden thoughts bubble up. He <u>is</u> enough. But how can it all possibly come together for good?</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-848835453486035292014-04-13T21:30:00.000-05:002014-06-12T08:29:41.141-05:00Catching Up<div style="text-align: justify;">
The good news never stops. My computer died. Apparently, according to my IT-gifted Hubby who is supper amazing and I have not said enough about through this ordeal, it was a tragic, nothing-could-have-stopped-it death. Irreversible. Bad news for someone who passes many of the hours of the day online. He has been there with me through the roughest parts from the beginning and to even blog about it is too hard.</div>
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The computer I'm using now is one that Hubs managed to resurrect "just enough" from the family electronic graveyard (What? Doesn't <i>your</i> family have one of those?!?). He pulled a power cord from the mix-and-match pile that fortuitously made the green light come on. Ahhh.....sweet relief! </div>
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Baby has taken a liking to Goliath's euphonium. 90% of the time, Goliath fails to put the instrument fully away in its case, which is more of a temptation than his youngest brother can handle. I doubt I will ever fully get used to that which sounds like a dying animal in my front room.</div>
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Little Middle is playing baseball for the first time. Unless you are a baseball mom, you can NOT understand the feeling of the knot in the pit of your stomach when your little guy steps up to bat. No amount of time spent in the batting cages or balls tossed in the backyard can prepare either one of you for the enormous pressure of <strike>wanting</strike> needing to make the aluminum 'POP!' sound when the bat and ball make contact. The pressure is SO intense, in fact, that when the pitcher (whose mother is biting her fingernails 2 rows in front of you, by the way) pegs your little man with the ball on his fifth pitch, you have to restrain yourself from rushing the mound to hug him because <i>your kid just walked to 1st base!!!</i> And so it goes...until the next time he goes up to bat. There is not enough <b><u>Xanax </u></b>on the planet for this wonderful walk into the world of beginning baseball.</div>
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Of course, real life continues to barrel its way straight through our family. Kids can say and do the darndest things, but Monster threatens to cover their light with his darkness. Truthfully, each morning I open my eyes, and I am disappointed. What I would really like to have happen is that I could go to heaven one night while I sleep. Wouldn't that be perfectly lovely? Fall asleep and transition from this stupid broken world into the next beautifully perfect one. Talk about a dream come true!</div>
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I have "settled" (a term I use super-loosely) into a daily sick routine. I still get up and wake the boys up at their appointed times each morning. This is my favorite. I think, especially for the littles, that it helps promote a sense of normalcy, i.e. "Mom's face is the first one I see in the morning. That is right.". We get them fed, dressed, and out the door, usually on time, with lunches in their hands and completed homework in their backpacks. I know that's a lot more than what a lot of healthy parents are able to do, so I try to be thankful. Honestly, though, it's not enough for me. I can't believe that I, who was once such a hands-on, do-it-all mom, have been reduced to a watch-them-shovel-in-Lucky-Charms mom who considers it a successful morning if she doesn't vomit in front of them. </div>
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After they go to school, I breathe a sigh of relief, take my first handful of many pills, and make my first big decision of the day: to shower or bathe? Yes, I do one of the other each day. Both are wrought with perils that an ordinary person might not consider. A shower means that I need to wash my hair, a problem all in itself. Fortunately, I have added to my repertoire of medical equipment a shower chair. I hate it just like I hate all the other stuff. BUT...you'd be surprised how helpful it has been in doing something as simple as washing my hair. I had one morning when my sweet daddy was here that I asked him to help me wash my hair over the kitchen sink. It was the day after that that the shower chair was delivered! A bath...well, who doesn't like a nice warm bath every now and then? Especially when they don't feel well? The problem with that is that I keep falling asleep in the bathtub. It's happened so often that now my caretakers (i.e. Hubby and Mom) have strict instructions from Nurse to keep a close eye on me. That eye that she has in mind is closer than I will allow, so we've had to compromise with sponge baths a few times. </div>
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After I get cleaned up and changed into fresh pj's, it's time for a nap. Yes, even though I just got up, it's time to go back to bed. Very often, I will sleep for another 2 hours (or longer). Truthfully, I wish my body would allow me to sleep even longer. There are points in the day that I think would be <u>better</u> if I just let go and slept straight through. </div>
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When I wake up, sometimes I eat lunch, and sometimes I eat nothing at all. It all depends on how I'm feeling. I can't seem to hold interest in my books. I've always been an avid reader! But right now, for example, I am at the halfway point in a new book by one of my favorite authors, and I just can't feign enough interest to talk myself into reading further. What a letdown. I'm not much of a TV or movie person, but a lot of times I leave it on for background noise. What else am I going to do?</div>
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I don't drive anymore. Correction: I <u>can</u> drive, but I don't. I am taking so much medication (23 pills a day to be exact, and that's without "extra" stuff like phenergran for nausea or <b><u>Xanax f</u></b>or <strike>my 6th grader</strike> stress), that who knows what is happening to my response times, my reflexes, etc. <b><u>So I depend on Hubby</u></b> or the occasional friend to get me where I need to go. It's not really that hard to work out, because I don't leave the house much. Still, the loss of that independence stings. It's amazing how I never seemed to care about just getting out of the house for no reason before, and now that I <u>can't</u>, it really feels like it matters. The Bus just sits in the driveway, seemingly taunting me. </div>
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Anyway, back to the rundown of my day: The boys come home in the afternoon, and then the craziest thing happens. I swear that as soon as the door opens and I hear the first, "Hi, Mom!", my stomach starts to hurt. I become uncomfortable in my own skin, and that horrible feeling increases over the next several hours until the clock mercifully allows me to take bedtime meds and I can sleep. I don't know why those two things have to intersect, but that is what happens nearly every. single. day. I hate it so much, because I feel like I don't spend nearly the time with them that I want to. They come in my room and tell me about their day, of course, but I'm no match for them. Most nights I have reading time with Baby, usually some math or some other can't-wait-to-be-done assignment with Little Middle, and then Goliath will come in and demonstrate his newest playlist for me before bedtime. I am so thankful for these times with them, but again: it's not enough. I've fallen hard. And every day is a tough reminder that I'm not what I used to be.</div>
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So that's a typical day. Of course, weekends are a little different. I have been trying very hard to make Little Middle's baseball and Baby's soccer games. Hubby and I sat out in the crazy wind on Saturday morning cheering for a bunch of second graders who were falling all over themselves. Hilarious! But even that felt bad to me: I used to be the team mom. I went to every practice, I set up the snack schedule, I made sure he had his cleats, his socks, his shin guards for every practice and game. Now I have no idea how it all comes together each week! Of course, I'm not so arrogant as to believe that the world of soccer needs me to make it all jive. I simply miss being an integral part of my children's lives. And I'm at a loss how to achieve that feeling of closeness again in this new world.</div>
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The boys seem to be doing well. They have each had their own mini-breakdowns from time to time, and that is to be expected. I don't think you live knowing that your mother is dying and not have issues. School teachers, counselors, coaches, church personnel...they're all on board with us. There are people falling over themselves waiting and wanting to help the 3 little cowboys. And for that, ya'll, I am unbelievably, overwhelmingly thankful. Crazy thankful. God has been so gracious to put our family in a place where we are cared for and loved on. There's no way that the boys could be carrying on so well if they weren't in the middle of a you-are-loved cloud everywhere they go. Life is hard enough, and a curveball like this can really alter the course of one's entire life one way or the other if we let it.</div>
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I still worry, of course. I spend a lot of those empty hours in my days worrying. Some days I feel like all I DO is worry. I love this translation of a well-known verse: <i>"Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life." (Philippians 4:6-7, MSG)</i></div>
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This Scripture offers an option: Instead of worrying, pray. And don't just pray asking for things, but offer up praise. I love that. If I am doing it right, I shouldn't just ask God for his watchcare over my sons. I should <u>praise</u> Him! And there's plenty to praise Him for: He is big enough to handle my requests. He loves the boys even more than I love them. He has good plans for them. And before I know it, my need to worry is replaced with Christ. A sense of God's wholeness...I can't think of anything better to have on this earth until I can get to heaven and be remade!</div>
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I don't know how it's going to happen. A lot of days--more often than not--I get bogged down with the imaginings of everything that can go wrong. Raising three children with two parents is a huge job. Raising three broken, hurt children with only one broken, hurt parent is an astronomical, how-can-it-be-done job! But my God knows. He knows our hurts, and He can heal. That's what I pray for: healing for my sons. I don't want them to ever forget me. But I do want God to use the experience that this hurt and loss is/will be for something spectacular. I can't even imagine yet what it could be!...But God knows. And I trust Him with them...even the one who never takes his ear phones out of his ears just to make me nuts.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-39407143542490234372014-03-31T10:22:00.001-05:002014-03-31T10:22:11.338-05:00Ally's Wish<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cancer is a lonely place to be. Instead of planning out dinner menus and baseball schedules, I'm making end-of-life plans. Instead of dreaming up the next family vacation, I'm fretting over life insurance policies and trust funds for the boys.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsHu_y-UdcJ2aBjX4-eRnR6JkSfLUHYLcYtuCpdm_F_hT9VpxrtYU7Lz2mxSsWB2sbYBaC4YAqsy00dFnNhwpOubmboKWvMtTHjPkrvirhNW765G00JxDe6vXsWPsuUXBpyxD7oJHcTA/s1600/Dreams+into+Plans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsHu_y-UdcJ2aBjX4-eRnR6JkSfLUHYLcYtuCpdm_F_hT9VpxrtYU7Lz2mxSsWB2sbYBaC4YAqsy00dFnNhwpOubmboKWvMtTHjPkrvirhNW765G00JxDe6vXsWPsuUXBpyxD7oJHcTA/s1600/Dreams+into+Plans.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have good people in my life. Really. I have GOOD people in my life. A few weeks ago, I met a group of friends for dinner. I had no idea why we were gathered, but I quickly found out that it wasn't just to talk about hedghogs, our kids, and shampoo. No, they had something much bigger and more important. Something that made me forget for a while that my life is not what I want it to be:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wZIMWkzwESHEe3zdbaV7EA-pV8id2OsXiVLkLag0xV1JOU8HZO8EtivLvo-k2JF_Kk8G08vkoDR1_rRwZISkx6S6AR2Or_8IegTHbgzOTg3GPwth2oNDwjJLKs0f7L2YEhhy4gRzl1g/s1600/Allys+Wish+Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wZIMWkzwESHEe3zdbaV7EA-pV8id2OsXiVLkLag0xV1JOU8HZO8EtivLvo-k2JF_Kk8G08vkoDR1_rRwZISkx6S6AR2Or_8IegTHbgzOTg3GPwth2oNDwjJLKs0f7L2YEhhy4gRzl1g/s1600/Allys+Wish+Logo.png" height="138" width="400" /></a></div>
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Ally's Wish is a new foundation put together by my amazing friends. The purpose of Ally's Wish is to grant wishes for other mothers with terminal illness. Spread joy. Give <i>hope</i>!</div>
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I can not think of a more fantastic way for my legacy to live on. It's not often that I am without words, but I was at the dinner table that night. My friend Missy explained to me how she had been praying faithfully for me (which I knew she had been). Like so many of us, she wanted to <u>do</u> something. She wanted to put something behind her words. But she didn't know <i>what</i>. So...she kept praying. And one morning, God gave it to her. She immediately called the other friends, and Ally's Wish was born. They had the whole thing put together and finished before they ever even presented it to me. There was not a fear that I would say "no". Because God was at work...there was something so much biger happening than what any of us could ever do on our own.</div>
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At dinner that night, they asked me what my wish is. They wanted mine to be the first one granted. They said that I should dream big. They said that I should think outside the box. They said that I am loved, and that people want to help. </div>
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So, I am thrilled to tell you that my wish is for this blog to be published. I don't necessarily want it to be on a shelf in every Barnes & Noble across America, but I want it to be published at least so that each of my boys can have a copy of their own--a way for them to remember that their mom loved them with every inch of her heart.</div>
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Maybe you want to help. Maybe God is leading you to bring hope to other sick mothers the way these friends of mine have brought hope to me. Maybe you want to donate or volunteer. Go to <a href="http://www.allyswish.org/">our website</a> and look around. I hope your heart is touched and you are moved to help. On behalf of moms like me who love their kids and will have to leave them sooner than we want to...thank you. Thank you for being an instrument in God's hands. Thank you for reminding us that there are still good things to be had, joy to fill hearts like ours. He is a good God. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-42786142473647911942014-03-25T21:34:00.001-05:002014-03-25T21:34:27.285-05:00Happy Birthday, Little Middle!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Little Middle,</div>
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Happy 10th birthday to my little man! And what a little man you are indeed! You have grown and changed <u>so much</u> this year...it makes my head spin to look back! All the while, you give us great reason to look ahead. Dad and I are SO unbelievably proud of you.</div>
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This year was finally the year that you started to outgrow your Lego mania. For five+ years, I never thought you would want to do anything else as much as build Lego sets. Those nasty little blocks have nearly taken my foot off more times than I can count during late-night bedtime checks! And yet your love affair with Legos persisted. It's what you asked for for birthdays and Christmases. It's what you spent your saved-up dollars on at Target and how you spent long hours sitting in the game room. Do I think you are completely over your Lego love? No way. But the good news is you've passed it on to your little brother...a legacy not lost.</div>
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This summer you experienced one of your first heartaches when your best friend moved away. M had been your best buddy for two years. You guys did <u>everything</u> together--games, swimming, running between each other's houses--and it broke your heart for him to leave. To tell the truth, it broke mine, too. You were a little lost this summer, but you have slowly found your way again. There will never be another M, but you are learning to spend time with other friends and still have fun. Did I tell you that I'm really proud of you? </div>
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In the fall you started 4th grade. <i>4th grade?!?</i> How is that possible?!? It took little work on my part to convince the powers that be at school that you <strike>deserved</strike> needed to be with the same amazing teacher that Goliath had. And, boy, am I glad I did!!! You, even more than your older brother, have shown me the crazy-good perks of having a teacher who is also your friend. Just yesterday morning, you were freaking out a little bit about the did I?/did I not have math homework over the weekend? question. I was able to text Mrs. C and ask her, thereby diverting a crisis. It pays to be friends with your kid's teacher!</div>
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You do well in school, although you would obviously rather be spending your time doing something <i>outside</i> the classroom. You consistently perform better in ELA/spelling/grammar than you do in math & science. Your brain is wired like your mama's, and seemingly no amount of patient coaxing by Mrs. C is going to change that! You like weird science experiments, though. We could mix baking soda and vinegar together every day of the week and you would never tire of it. The messier, the better!</div>
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Speaking of school, you got a great gift this year! Our school district is on the technology bandwagon, and is investing in iPads for every student. 4th grade was on the first deployment list this year. For WEEKS, all I heard was, "When I get my iPad, I will __________" and " I will download ____________ app when I get my iPad." And then....the day was HERE! I had to go to school and stand in a crazy line--not at all too much to ask of a mom with the happiest son on the planet! You love that thing! You have become very proficient at using it, and it's been more than one occasion that I've needed to ask you an Apple question. We laid down rules early on, and you are near-perfect at obeying them. Thank you for not being a technological nightmare kid.</div>
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The Year You Were Nine has been a year with joys of its own, but also plenty of sadness. Just recently we had the very worst family meeting that you could ever imagine: the one where we shared the news that I am not going to get better from The Cancer. That news was met by a staggering silence on your part. No crying, no yelling, no nothing...just an awful, dreadful silence. I don't blame you one little bit. Since that day you have actually been a little more hands-on. You have hugs a'plenty when I need one. You are almost always happy to come down and sit for a spell to catch a show on Disney Channel or to do math (ugh) homework in my company. I don't really care what it is, as long as I get to be with you. </div>
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Little Middle, you have always been my happy-go-lucky, laid-back son. You easily have a smile on your face and you laugh fast and loud. I think you are one of the best ideas that God ever had! I wish so much that I had been able to give you different news on that night, or at least tell you that we are in the middle of a bad dream from which we will surely wake up very soon. Neither one of those is true, though. It seems that our family's bad dream can't be stopped. I want it to be different for you. It appears, though, that God has a plan for you that is opposite of the one I would have written. I don't understand it, but I choose to trust Him, and I pray every day that you will, too. Remember, sweet love: We serve a big God who loves us and is always in control. One of the ways I know that is because that same God gave you to me! I didn't deserve the happy, calm baby that I met at the hospital on that beautiful spring afternoon. All I knew was that God had chosen us to be together. And I'm so glad that He did! I have loved every single day I've gotten to spend with you. No matter how many days we have left to be together, I will make the most out of them. You are precious to me, little man. Never, ever wonder if your mom loves you...because she does.</div>
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With my whole heart,</div>
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Mom</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-23301489755172466692014-03-14T14:27:00.001-05:002014-03-14T14:27:46.739-05:00Bellies, Beds, and Body Bags<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have a Monster growing inside of me. There is no denying his existence, nor his growth. Yesterday, I looked like myself. A little rough, yes, because I was in dire need of a good hair-washing and some fresh pajamas. But other than that, I looked like me. This morning I got up and I look like me .... at 5-months pregnant! Seriously. I called Nurse in a bit of a frenzied panic. How could this happen just...overnight?!? She calmly told me a story about abdominal disease and fluid build-up. I not-so-calmly asked her what we could do about it. Her answer? Nothing. That's what. We do NOTHING about so much accumulation of fluid that I look like my former pregnant self. Wha..........???? This just keeps getting better.</div>
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Then, I went on a little field trip with Hubby and Daddy. We went to a funeral home. I'd been there before, when my friend lost her own daddy in a sad and sudden way. I had no real emotion going in. Actually, I felt a little detached. Maybe that's why I was so surprised to see a dead person first thing upon entry. She was just laying there in a room off to the side, surrounded by floral sprays, waiting for her friends and family to come pay their respects. I actually whispered out loud, "There's a dead person over there." Stating the obvious didn't help, but it broke the ice when the funeral director came out at that exact moment.</div>
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He seated us in a conference room that was not spectacular by any means. I could have been at any company in Anytown, USA. This room was only set apart by the collection of urns in a glass case in the corner. The Director took a seat at the head of the table and started his spiel. He did a good job. We were well-armed with a list of questions and ideas, and Mr. Director provided all the answers that we needed. He also gave us some good information about cemeteries in the area. Since I am lacking in this area of expertise, I felt grateful. Did you know that not all cemeteries have perpetual care? If you are a local, this might explain a lot to you like it did for me.</div>
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I never realized how many decisions there are to make for a funeral. I have been working on a few things on my own at home, but WOW! Who knew? One of the most important decisions to make is the choosing of the casket. We were quickly educated about the differences in steel grades, wood types, and then we were allowed to enter The Casket Room. It wasn't like the casket rooms that you see on TV and such. There were only 8 full-size caskets in the room. The rest of the displays were just cut pieces of the casket with a pull-out display from the wall. Weird, but efficient. <br />
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I found one I liked. I mean, I guess I like it. Again, weird. Mr. Director regaled us with a tale of a husband and wife who visited The Casket Room and asked him to take their pictures <i>inside their caskets</i> of choice. Why? What in the world is wrong with people?!? I guess that's one way you can really be sure you're getting what you like. <br />
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While I held up pretty well through the funeral home experience, I must confess that I am a little freaked out by the thought of bugs and creepy-crawlies and, um, <i>elements</i> getting through. Hence the need for an outer burial container, but still....ew. That's the only thing that really bothered me. I was pretty calm as Mr. Director went down the list of his a la carte menu. We selected some things we really wanted, and drew question marks beside others that require decisions. Then we thanked him for his time and went on our way.<br />
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For as much as I had been dreading this visit, I suppose it went relatively well. I did it, and I'm proud of myself for that. I feel like taking care of these things is a way that I can take care of my family. They don't need to see to all these little details and worries if I can do it for them while I'm still here.<br />
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Right now I am waiting for Nurse to come. This will be the third appearance she has made at my house this week. Maybe it's just me, but I'm thinking a 3/5 ratio of nurse needs isn't that great. She's coming to access my port (which I haven't used since last spring--almost one year). They are going to "feed" me some of my medications through my port so I have fewer pills to take. It's a lovely thought, because I have got some <b>pills</b>! Mom bought me one of those old-people pill organizers. It's the supreme version:<br />
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Nifty, huh? Every one of those little spaces is filled up with pills for me to take. Every. Single. Day. It's a lot.</div>
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Update: Nurse has come and gone. She totally threw me under the bus to Hubby and Daddy about not wanting to use the wheelchair. Which I don't. I was thinking maybe we could take it when we go to look at cemeteries. Seems appropriate. She managed to access the port with minimal discomfort to me. I am most thankful. The port has always been a difficult thing to deal with. Maybe now I know that the medical staff just weren't doing it right!</div>
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I now am receiving methadone through the mediport. I am hooked up to it, which means I must carry it with me all the time, everywhere I go. Ugh...I <u>hate</u> that. Just looking at the unattractive bag which houses it, I am already freaking out, wondering how I will carry it around and what I can possibly wear that will hide the tube sticking out of my chest (and disguise my giant belly). Again: ugh. These are problems I didn't sign up for when Monster came nosing around.</div>
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Also, this afternoon we are expecting delivery of a hospital bed. Nurse asked me how I had been sleeping, and the answer is, "Not well." I even take Ambien, the magic med, every night, and I am still waking up several times each night because I am crazy-uncomfortable. It's like she can read my mind. Nurse said that is due to the swelling in my abdomen, and that laying flat will become increasingly difficult. Then she gently reminded me that I could have a hospital bed that can elevate my head and/or feet, and it would probably be a great time for it. I agreed, even though it's about the last thing in the world I want to have in my possession (except a wheelchair). So there is one coming. I think that the only twin sheets we have left are Goliath's old ones with the camo pattern. Mom suggested that I send Daddy to Target to buy pretty new ones for my "new" bed. Or maybe I'll just sleep on the camo sheets for a few days.</div>
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P.S. Just in case you ever need to know, "disaster pouch" is a nice way of saying "body bag."</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-42523098903482948102014-03-01T18:44:00.000-06:002014-03-01T18:59:14.294-06:00Come One, Come All!<div style="text-align: justify;">
We are <u style="font-weight: bold;">so incredibly blessed</u> to live in a community where we are surrounded by people who care about us and look for ways to show it. One of those ways is coming up this Tuesday, March 4:</div>
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A few things:</div>
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*You DO NOT have to have a paper flyer to show when you come in. You can show the flyer on your phone, or just mention to your server that you are there to support the "3 little cowboys" family.</div>
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*The event is open all day, not just at dinner time. You are welcome to go to Chili's for lunch, a mid-afternoon snack, or dinner--or all of the above!</div>
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*For every friend that eats at Chili's and mentions our name, our family will earn 15% of the amount of that check.</div>
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*The event is open at the Chili's restaurants in Flower Mound (3040), Justin Road, Lewisville, Hickory Creek, and Denton.</div>
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You, our friends, our community, sustains us. You have shown us unwavering support and unending love. This event at Chili's is one of the things we have pointed out to our little cowboys as a way that God cares for us because people care for us. We thank you in advance for your help with this special event, and mostly, we thank you for just being YOU!!! Each of you is a huge blessing to our family!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-32544940271424078492014-02-26T19:50:00.000-06:002014-02-28T07:47:13.091-06:00Living With Grace<div style="text-align: justify;">
It is a struggle, as I sit down to write this evening, to form all of my thoughts into a cohesive format. This day...oh, my.</div>
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It started as a regular day with regular cinnamon toast. Then Nurse came. Ten minutes into her visit, I knew I was going to throw up, and promptly did so. Maybe I have not made it clear here before, so I will do it now: I <u>hate</u> vomiting. It's for sure in my top 3 things I despise. Right after I returned from brushing my teeth, Nurse re-introduced the prospects of "assistance equipment," including an oxygen tank and a wheelchair. She first introduced the ideas during her visits last week, when I quickly and distinctly turned her down.</div>
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I lost the battle today. I am now the horrified owner of a WHEELCHAIR, which you will NEVER see me in.</div>
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She left, and then I threw up twice more.</div>
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THEN, my sweet Goliath came to me to confess that he "accidentally" read something on my iPad that was hurtful to me, so it was also hurtful to him. He was full of questions and a little bit angry. That caused me to ask more questions and be <strike>a little</strike> a lot angry all over again.</div>
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Stupid day.</div>
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What I really want to do here, though, is tell you about last night. This conversation happened:</div>
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Goliath: So Mom, you know how you have that cancer?</div>
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Me: Yes. Yes, I do.</div>
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G: Well, I need to talk to you about something. I'm not sure if it's wrong or not, though.</div>
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Me: You can tell me anything, buddy.</div>
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G: You know I would do anything for you, right?</div>
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Me: Yeah....</div>
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G: Every night when I go to bed and I say my bedtime prayers, I pray for you to not have to have cancer anymore. And a lot of nights, I pray that God would just give me your cancer instead. You know, so I could be sick instead of you.</div>
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Me: (Solid, streaming tears)<stunned silent="" tears=""></stunned></div>
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G: Is it wrong for me to pray that, Mom?</div>
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I think at that very moment I understood for the first time how sad my parents must be. Because the very thought of my baby having to go through this horrible, <i>wretched </i>disease made my head spin and my heart nearly split in two. At the <i>very thought</i>. </div>
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I somehow managed to keep my head on and I dried up my tears. I told my precious baby boy how God doesn't want bad things to happen to us, but they do because we do not live in a perfect world. I reminded him how God <u>wanted</u> perfection for us (remember the Garden of Eden?), but sin messed that all up. I said to him that God has a good plan and great ideas for all of us, and as Christ-followers, one of the hardest things we have to do sometimes is to BELIEVE that is true and TRUST Him to see it through. Yes, even if our mom has cancer. Yes, even if it turns our lives upside down. Yes, even if it <i>sucks</i>. (I allow this boy 'o mine to say the word "sucks" <b>only</b> when it is used in combination with the word "cancer." True mom story.) </div>
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Then I said to Goliath that while I don't think he's necessarily <i>wrong</i> to pray this particular prayer, that I wish he wouldn't do it anymore. Simply because I can't stand the thought that God could choose to answer his prayer.</div>
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No more than I can believe that I gave birth to a person who would do anything for me. He's only twelve--and I totally believe he would do it if he could. Grace is getting something you totally don't deserve...and if being this kid's mom isn't grace, I don't know what is.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-83025674595558625242014-02-20T19:27:00.003-06:002014-02-20T19:27:25.934-06:00Limitations<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is a weird time in my life. I've tried to think of other, better words. Lonely. Scary. Sad. Weird. I am working on creating--and accepting--a new normal for myself. This week, I've resigned from one of my last just-for-me activities, a volunteer position at Goliath's middle school. I simply don't have the energy or the physical stamina, to go and push buttons on a copy machine. It's really unbelievable to me. </div>
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I feel a little lost. I feel easily replaceable. It truly stuns me when I go out during the day and I see the little old man down the street preparing the soil in his gardens for the spring planting. Or when I hear the stories from my friends of what they've been up to, or notice the neighbors coming and going while I sit in the front room. Really....I don't expect that the world will continue to <u>go</u> like it always does--because I'm not in it. My husband is slowly but steadily taking over a lot of my stuff at home. My mom, and this week my dad, has been here taking care of me and doing a lot of the work. My darling housekeeper is even coming two days a week instead of her usual one Tuesday to help out. </div>
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While I am so appreciative of these people who love me and are helping with the transition process for my cowboys, my old self wants to jump up and do it all--just because it is mine to do. I want my mom to have her life back, my husband to just go to work and leave the running and the scheduling and the cooking to me, and I want Amparo to...well, I honestly don't mind her coming twice a week. I've finally found the solution to the laundry problem!!!</div>
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Mostly, I want my life back. I'm not angry or anything. Just sad. Because I had this great world made out of kids and noise and food and preschool and friends and shopping and taking care of things and church and activity and sharing and being a part of people. I <u>mattered</u>. And it was meaningful and sometimes messy, but wonderfully beautiful life. Now I have....what? A good bed and a quiet room and a few pairs of pajamas that I wear all the time. It pales in comparison.</div>
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A friend posted these words on Facebook last week from <u>Jesus Calling</u>:</div>
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<i>"Thank Me for the conditions that are requiring you to be still...Instead of resenting the limitations of a weakened body, search for My way in the midst of those very circumstances. Limitations can be liberating when your strongest desire is living close to Me...My strength and power show themselves most effective in weakness."</i></div>
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The day I read that, I wrote this in my journal:</div>
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"It's hard to be thankful for these conditions. I overdid it yesterday, and I paid for it today. It's so frustrating! Why can't I have at least a semi-regular life where I can do at least a few normal things? Can my limitations really be <u>liberating</u>??? Strong word. Oh, for grace to trust Him more!"</div>
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I want to be thankful. I really do. Being still is hard. Being weak is harder. I know God is in this new chapter. But the quieter it gets, the harder it is to hear Him.</div>
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Oh, for grace to trust Him more.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-5784892318733042122014-02-13T04:09:00.000-06:002014-02-13T04:09:53.991-06:00Insomniac Blogging: Thirteenth Edition<div style="text-align: justify;">
1:41 a.m. Indescribable leg pain has me wide awake. My hospice friends say the pain is most likely caused by tumors pressing on nerves in my legs and hips. Can't think of a better reason or time to blog, can you?</div>
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--This is my newest prized possession:</div>
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I am reading it cover-to-cover, music-nerd style. I have a long history with the hymnal, starting circa 1980, when I needed something to do to pass the time during the sermon. When I was growing up, before the giant screens hit Baptist churches all across the great South, we actually <u>used</u> the hymnal as part of the church service. In my growing-up hymnal, I knew that "Holy, Holy, Holy" was #2 and "Victory in Jesus" was #89. My new red hymnal is a little different, but I am having a fabulous time singing my heart out in bed (and yes, <b>Kelvin</b>, practicing the Hallelujah Chorus)! Smile.</div>
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--Campbell's advertises 32 feet of noodles in one can of their chicken noodle soup. This grosses me out <b>so much</b>! We will not be eating CNS at our house anytime soon.</div>
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--<i>Baby:</i> Mom, which super power would you rather have? Flying or web-slinging?</div>
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<i>Me: </i>Flying, for sure.</div>
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<i>Baby: </i>Me, too!!! (...happily skips away....)</div>
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--The weather lately has been crazy. I know it doesn't compare to my friends up north, but I am pretty tired of winter, and wish it away quickly. This little guy (given the name "Olaf", of course) turned up on the hood of my car last week with the latest snow/ice/stuff that fell from the sky.</div>
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--Baby has been on a roll lately. He makes me laugh like no other. This happened while he was working on his latest rainbow loom creation:</div>
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<i>Goliath: </i>How do you make that?</div>
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<i>Baby: </i>You'll understand when you're older.</div>
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--Later on today (<u>much</u> later), the Child Life Specialist that works for my hospice company is coming over for her first meeting with my cowboys. I've talked to her on the phone several times, and while I find her to be somewhat chatty, she's certainly pleasant enough. I hope the boys think so. I expect that their little guards will be WAY up, talking to a stranger about Mom's Sickness. It's a meeting that I think is necessary, but I'm not looking forward to it too much.</div>
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This is a little snapshot of my sweet nephew Truett. He's two months old now...isn't he great?!?</div>
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--Hubby's sister is on the countdown to her little one! My new niece should be here sometime in the next 3ish weeks...Audrey has been texting me pics of the adorable clothes, shoes, and nursery that is waiting for that sweet baby girl. The cuteness is almost more than I can handle. So excited!!!</div>
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--While we're on the subject of being an Auntie...</div>
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Seester is having another girl! Reese the Niece is going to be a big sister! </div>
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--<b>Buck and Grandmama</b>, this picture is for you:<br />
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The cowboys opened their bank accounts, and they say "Thank You!"</div>
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--I think that Valentine's Day is a "holiday" that Hallmark made up to boost sales. It's silly, if you really think about it. We should be expressing our love for people each and every day! Before you go off thinking that I am a big V-Day grinch, you should know that each night this week I am writing on paper hearts something I like about each of my boys and hanging them on their bedroom doors. When they wake up in the mornings, they are eager to find their new heart and see what Mom <u>really</u> thinks of them!</div>
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--It's tough to make blogging interesting when I never go anywhere or do anything.</div>
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--Goliath attended his first Revo weekend (aka Disciple Now) a couple of weeks ago. I have had a hard time with the idea that I am old enough to have a kid who is old enough for Revo! DNow weekends were my favorite growing up!!! Well, except for that one year when my foot was run over by the car I was riding in for the scavenger hunt. That was a downer! I have been so excited for my little boy--who isn't so little anymore.</div>
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--<i>I am worn out from my groaning.</i></div>
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<i>All night long I flood my bed with weeping </i></div>
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<i>and drench my couch with tears.</i></div>
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<i>My eyes grow weak with sorrow;</i></div>
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<i>they fail because of all my foes.</i></div>
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<i>Away from me, all you who do evil,</i></div>
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<i>for the Lord has heard my weeping. </i></div>
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<i>The Lord has heard my cry for mercy;</i></div>
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<i>the Lord accepts my prayer. </i></div>
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<i> Psalm 6:6-9</i></div>
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<i>--</i>I am going to try to go back to bed now. Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-85804796095594878162014-02-07T22:06:00.000-06:002014-02-07T22:13:57.151-06:00The Day I Told Them the Truth<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Cowboys,</div>
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I feel like although I desperately want to forget it ever happened, I need to commemorate in a small way the Day I Told You The Truth. One minute, we were a regular family of five playing a board game. The next minute, we were a group of broken-hearted people. The game lay forgotten for hours, until I pulled myself together enough to clean it up. I don't think we'll be pulling it out to play for quite a while.</div>
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There is really no good way to break terrible news to the people you love the most. I struggled for days with what to say to you, and all I could really think was, "This is so unfair. This is so unfair." Every interaction with you became all the more precious, because I knew that you were walking around in a bubble, of sorts. A bubble where your little world was intact and safe...a bubble that I was going to burst.</div>
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And burst it I did! I'm so sorry, heart boys. I'm so very sorry that we live in a world that is not fair. I'm so sorry that after all this time and effort, I haven't been able to beat this thing. I'm sorry that I can't stay with you. I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you.</div>
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I will never forget your blank looks. I was telling you the awful truth, but doing my best to avoid using scary words. I don't know if you really did not understand, or if you just didn't <u>want</u> to know. Whatever it was, I knew I had to be straightforward. So I started saying things like "not much longer," "dying," and "not going to get well." It felt like plunging into a freezing cold body of water. I couldn't seem to get enough air, and there was no way to go back and undo the huge jump I had taken.</div>
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Oh, loves. Your sweet faces were almost too much. I wanted to reach out and touch you...hug you...comfort you, but there was no room for that. The closer I moved to you, the farther you moved away from me. It was almost as if my physical presence was too much for you One of you moved to Daddy's lap. One of you continued to stare at me, as if you didn't even know me. One of you got up and simply walked out of the house. I expected different reactions from each of you, as God made you so wonderfully different. I was <u>not</u> prepared for such dramatic responses.</div>
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In a weird way, I was touched. Your strong reactions definitely showed me that you love me. The news I was delivering was not easy, and you demonstrated that you were hurting. I a m crazy-thankful for the intense feelings you have for your mama, because they mean that I matter. The Monster has had a way of making me feel inferior in the worst ways, but you three never fail to bring out my best.</div>
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I guess that's the key. There is no doubt that I was created for this. There are lots of other things I do, people I know, places I go, identities I have in this life. But all of them pale in comparison to being your mom. There is <u>nothing</u> else I want to do. Being your mom makes me a better person.</div>
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We will make it through this, my sons. I hate--HATE!!!--that you are suffering because of me. Because of my sickness. Not a single days goes by that I don't pray for physical healing so you can have the mom you deserve to have. Not one night do I fall asleep before I've begged God to guard your hearts and pave your ways. Not one.</div>
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As hard as it is to understand (I don't fully understand it myself), I want you to KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is good. I do not believe that God <i>caused</i> my cancer, but he did <i>allow</i> it. He is still good, and He loves you even more than I do. Cling to that truth with all that you have, babies. I am.</div>
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And let's hold on to one another. Whatever time I have left to be with you, I want to be meaningful time. I want to soak up every delicious minute of laughing with (and at) you. I want to create beautiful memories for you, even if we have to hurry up and squeeze all of those memories into a short time period. Let's do it. Let's live big and love bigger. I already love you all so much. </div>
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With my whole heart,</div>
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Mom<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-76640701773908005392014-01-29T20:08:00.000-06:002014-01-29T20:08:07.149-06:00Sovereign<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good news first: Hubby has a job! There is a whole back story of an interview, a staffing recruiter who dropped the ball, a prayer time where the two of us petitioned the Lord and honestly poured out our hurting hearts, and then a whirlwind 24 hours of contacts and circumstances that <u>only </u>our good, never-lets-go God could have orchestrated. He starts on Monday. His first paycheck will come in at just about the time we expect that the "reserves" will run out.</div>
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Huh. Just in telling you that mini-story, there is light shining through the darkness that has been this day. I actually intended to pour out my sad, hurting heart again here to you this afternoon. I meant to tell you about pain that refuses to be managed and the gray, Eeyore-ish cloud that was above my head when I woke up this morning. I wanted to tell you that I cancelled a coffee date with a friend and I have let my phone go to voice mail because I simply couldn't get past myself. I intended to tell you that I haven't even changed out of my pajamas today, and if I were to be <u>really</u> honest, I would have confessed that I could not wait until the cowboys left for school this morning so I could get on with the business of feeling sorry for myself.</div>
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Deep breath.</div>
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I flipped open my laptop to do just that, and Hubby said, "Oh--are you going to write about the job?"</div>
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I didn't tell him that his brand new, answer-to-many-prayers job wasn't even on my radar. I simply replied, "Of course!"...and I acted as if that had been my intention the entire time.</div>
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Huh.</div>
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It's a weird thing about being diagnosed with a terminal illness...your perspective changes almost instantly. I'm not talking even about the initial diagnosis. For seven years now, I have had some treatment up my sleeve. There has been a "next thing," something else to try--some reason to believe that certainly, <i>surely</i> there was no way that God was going to let me die. No, it's the part where there is no more medicine or technology or earthly intervention that can fix it. The part where the doctor looks you straight in the eye and says, "I'm sorry. There is nothing else to do." I've always seen the world through pretty black-and-white lenses. It's one of the best things about me, and it can also be one of the worst things about me. But now, almost overnight, my perspective has been even more narrowed. I just want to get straight to the bottom line. Only a few things really matter, quite a lot of other things don't matter much at all.</div>
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People matter. Families matter. Time matters. Jesus matters.</div>
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It's also super-easy to forget the things that matter and to self-focus. It is, after all, ME who is sick. I am the one who has to deal with stuff no one my age should have to think about: hospice services, wills and other legal documents, funeral arrangements. Sometimes my pain can be managed, other times it is unbearable. Nearly everything I do requires hard work: showering, helping with 4th grade fractions, explaining my decisions/feelings to <u>everyone</u>. My life has been turned upside down by this wretched Sickness.</div>
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( <b>Quick story:</b> When Goliath was three, Seester and I had a garage sale at our parents' house. While we were working ourselves to death in the Houston <strike>hellish inferno</strike> weather, Goliath and Abby Dog were watching us from a window. Thus, my small son witnessed the patrons who wheeled his tiny bicycle out of my parents' garage and tried to buy it from us. His comment to his Nana: "Those are wretched, wretched people!" That is how <i>'wretched'</i> came to be one of my very favorite words of all time.)</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"These are uphill, into-the-wind challenges you are facing. They are not easy. But neither are they random. God is not <i>sometimes</i> sovereign. He is not <i>occasionally </i>victorious. He does not occupy the throne one day and vacate it the next. <i>"The Lord shall not turn back until He has executed and accomplished the thoughts and intents of His mind" (Jeremiah 30:24). </i>This season in which you find yourself may puzzle you, but it does not bewilder God. He can and will use it for his purpose." --Max Lucado, <u>You'll Get Through This</u></span></div>
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It's not about me at all. Some days, like today, I need to breathe deeply and take a few steps back in order to get a clear picture. This Sickness--this life--is not at all what I thought it would be. I didn't plan on this or want this or even see it coming. But my uprooted plans and my changing circumstances do not change who God is. Not one little bit. He remains the same, whether I have a "good" day and I feel like my old self, or a bad day, and I barely manage to brush my teeth. (Hmmm...did I brush my teeth this morning?) He is sovereign. He is good. He intends great things for me, and he is determined to see them through to completion. There is comfort in that for me.</div>
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Truth be told, I've hated this day. It's dark out now, and I will be glad to go to sleep and put it behind me. Tomorrow, my new hospice nurse is making her first official visit. I'm not sure I'm exactly looking forward to that either, but I am certain that my Jesus has already gone ahead and paved the way. Just as he made provision for Hubby's new job, he will take care of this new chapter of the journey.</div>
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Don't you wonder how people who don't have Jesus get through life? I think about that all the time. My darkest days are still lined with victory. I hope that you know him, friend. I am so grateful that I can have hope to fall back on when the days are overwhelming. I'm so thankful that all the pieces of my life are in his hands. Tomorrow is a new day. Great is his faithfulness.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-57398914568666779632014-01-17T20:55:00.000-06:002014-01-17T20:55:42.240-06:00Not Forgotten<div style="text-align: justify;">
Life for the past 9 days has been a crazy roller coaster ride. I alternate between bouts of tears and moments of peace. I have done my best to balance my need to be with friends and loved ones with my almost insatiable desire to be alone. I have read my Bible and I have heaved huge, you-don't-know-what-you're-doing sighs at God. I have laid in bed and I have gone to Target.</div>
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I have also done quite a bit of worrying.</div>
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It wasn't too many weeks ago that I told you <a href="http://www.3littlecowboys.blogspot.com/2013/12/farewell-to-2013.html">that my husband had lost his job.</a> Truth be told, it was a terrible way to end a terrible year...and a terrifying way to begin a new one.</div>
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I suppose it goes without saying that we need him to be working. Insurance alone is absolutely necessary (and crazy expensive).</div>
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He is looking. He has made some contacts, and had a few interviews. So far, though, nothing too solid or promising has come his way.</div>
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We paid the January bills, and then we started crunching numbers. Every which way we trimmed it, there were more bills than money.</div>
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And so I worried. I despaired. I fretted. And yesterday, I threw a pity party for one: ME. I sat on my comfy bed in my warm house in my clean, soft pajamas, and I used my computer to read about hospice services. And I cried. Goodness, did I cry! Finally, after a couple of hours, I slammed my laptop shut and I said to God only three words: "Where. Are. You.?????"</div>
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This afternoon, Baby brought in the mail. He likes to sort it into five piles: Hubby, Me, Goliath, Little Middle, and his own. (Today, his and Goliath's piles were empty, but Little Middle scored a hunting magazine!) When he ran back outside to play, I went through the stacks again. Bill, bill, W-2, advertisement, sweet card, sweet card, more bills....and an envelope. Curiosity got the best of me and I opened it.</div>
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Inside that ordinary-looking envelope was a check. Are you sitting down, friend? It was a check payable to Hubby for <b>the exact amount that we need to make our next mortgage and insurance payments.</b> <b>THE EXACT AMOUNT.</b> <i><b>To the dollar</b></i>, what we had discussed and agreed that we need.</div>
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God was there. He has been working, even as I have worried.</div>
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We are not forgotten.</div>
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I collapsed into a chair, and with fresh tears streaming down my cheeks, I called my husband. I told him, and he simply said, "Praise God." </div>
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Friends, we do not know where the money came from. All we know is that our very real God met our very real need with a miracle in the mail.</div>
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Isn't that just like our Lord? To show up in an unexpected, unusual way to prove that his promises are 100% true?</div>
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So many things remain unknowns in my life. There are inquiries to be made and caregiver interviews to be conducted. There are details to be attended to and decisions to be made. There are unthinkable conversations to be held with my three little cowboys.</div>
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But my question from yesterday has been answered : <i>"Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5)</i></div>
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I still have goose bumps on my arms, and I'm sniffly from crying. But my heart...oh, my heart is refreshed. No doubt that could have happened without such a blatant miracle. I am so incredibly thankful. Thankful for the miracle in the mail...thankful that I belong to a God who loves and provides...thankful that I am never beyond his reach or outside of his care.</div>
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We are not forgotten.</div>
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<i>"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." Luke 12:6-7</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-17989149131598317182014-01-11T16:09:00.000-06:002014-01-11T16:09:07.222-06:00All I Can Say<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<i>Lord, I'm tired.</i></div>
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I have fought this Monster for a long time. Seven years. Nearly the entirety of my Baby's life. I have had surgeries. I've been hospitalized multiple times. I have done chemotherapy...five times. I lost my hair, my eyebrows, and my eyelashes. I've given up my dignity and my spirit has been crushed. I endured radiation as long as I could. My skin has been burnt to a crisp. I've traveled the country, made countless appointments, and researched until my eyes were crossed.</div>
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<i>Lord, I'm so alone.</i></div>
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No one understands--really understands--what it feels like to be me. I have an army of friends and family who have walked with me and stood in the gap for me. But nobody fully can understand the fear of laying on that CT scan table over and over again, month after month, year after year. No one else can really identify with that feeling I get in my stomach while I wait for the phone to ring with news--that is always bad. No one sees the way people look at me with pity or worse, look at my children. No one but me can read the precious cards that come in the mail that all say, "I am praying for healing,"...and then wonder why God isn't answering that prayer.</div>
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<i>Lord, the dark is creeping in, it's creeping up to swallow me.</i></div>
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God and I, we've stayed up a lot of nights together. Seven years equals a lot of insomnia. There have been nights where I've cried, nights where I've begged, and nights when I've tried to ignore Him altogether. (That never worked out great for me.) We've had days, when I've been alone in bed, and I could literally feel the disease--the darkness--moving closer.</div>
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<i>I think I'll stop, rest here awhile.</i></div>
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I had an appointment with Dr. F this week. I was very clear as I explained to him how I have been suffering. I told him how radiation has made me SO UNBELIEVABLY SICK, and how I feel like I made a deal with the devil by agreeing to do it. I am weak, and crazy tired. I calmly listed out the symptoms I am experiencing, and then sat back, swiped at the frustrated tears falling down my cheeks, and listened as my entire life changed...again.</div>
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It is time, he said. </div>
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<i>And this is all that I can say right now.</i></div>
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I am sick because of the progression of the disease. I have used up all of the treatment options, and there is simply nothing else to do. He is recommending that we start looking at hospice. He doesn't suggest that for patients unless he can estimate that the remaining time left to live is six months (or less).</div>
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<i>Lord, didn't you see me crying?</i></div>
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I was barely aware of the tears that persistently fell. I hung on every word that Nurse Allyson spoke about hospice: where to look, what to ask about, how it works. I nearly missed my sweet Dr. F, out of the corner of my eye, reach for the Kleenex box. It took me a moment to figure out that he was crying, too.</div>
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<i>And didn't you hear me call your name?</i></div>
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It ended with Dr. F just asking me to let him know what I decide. When I give the green light, he and Nurse Allyson will go to the ends of the earth to help me find the right people, get the right meds, and be as comfortable as possible. They both hugged me, and I walked out of there, stunned.</div>
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Of course, nothing that he said was a real surprise. I think I felt it in my body long before I heard the words. There is simply a bit of shock value to hearing someone verbalize such absolutes. </div>
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<i>Wasn't it you I gave my heart to?</i></div>
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Six months. Or less.</div>
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<i>I wish you'd remember where you sat it down.</i></div>
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There is still the idea of the clinical trial at MD Anderson. It is Dr. F's belief (and I have no reason to doubt him) that the trial would not result in any significant extension or quality of life for me.</div>
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There are decisions to make. Many hard decisions.</div>
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<i>And this is all that I can say right now.</i></div>
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<i>And this is all that I can give.</i></div>
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<i>And this is all that I can say right now,</i></div>
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<i>And this is all that I can give, that's my everything.</i></div>
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I've walked with Jesus for a long, long time. I don't claim to know everything, or to understand why he does what he does. Not by a long shot. As the darkness creeps closer, I have to dig deep to get back to what I <b>do</b> know is Truth:</div>
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1) God loves me.</div>
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2) God will take care of me.</div>
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3) God is always in control.</div>
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These are The Three Things that I have taught my boys. The four of us have recited them over and over again until we were red in the face and they were rolling their eyes at me. But The Three Things have never been more important than they are now.</div>
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<i>This is all that I can say right now.</i></div>
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<i><b>"Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Psalm 73:23-26</b></i></div>
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<i>Yes, that's my everything.</i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-26060116216921075282014-01-02T21:50:00.003-06:002014-01-02T21:50:55.390-06:00Happy Birthday, Goliath!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Goliath,</div>
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Today is your day, buddy! I could write here about this day twelve years ago--the day that you made me a Mom. I could retell the story you've heard hundreds of times. You know, the one where it's snowing outside? The one where I look out the window off and on for nearly <b>14 hours</b> of labor? The story of the day that the hospital waiting room was filled to the brim with people who were thrilled about you? </div>
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Yes, I could tell you all of that. But instead of talking about how Aunt Jenny gave you the nickname "Gloworm," let's talk about how you've grown. Because really, I am just as astonished about the person you have grown into as I was about the baby that was born on January 2, 2002.</div>
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The Year You Were Eleven had plenty of highs and lows, for sure. In a lot of ways, you are predictable. All of the parenting books and websites and experts warn that when kids reach your age, parents should expect mood swings. (Um, no kidding.) I have been prepared for you to want to spend less time with us and more time with your friends. I was ready (I thought) to work harder and to ask more questions in order to keep up with what's going on in your world, because your world is increasingly becoming more <u>yours</u>.</div>
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In more ways, though, you are <i>unpredictable</i>, just because that's who you are. Often, when I think that I've got you figured out, you find a new way to surprise me. I don't mean that in a bad way, sweetness. I just mean that you manage to keep me on my toes!</div>
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One of the ways you have surprised me this year has happened as you have continued to develop your personal interests and hobbies. It has been fun (mostly) to watch you! Especially since you started to middle school last fall...you have a lot of opportunities to try new things, and you are being fairly picky about how you spend your time. This time last year, I never would have thought that there would be a target set up on our back fence for you to practice archery. You saw something you wanted, and although you get frustrated, you continue to practice and fight for your spot on the team. I'm proud of you for that. Alternately, I really thought you would enjoy band. Maybe I should have worried a little more when you couldn't decide on an instrument--the euphonium wasn't even in your top 3 choices! You like it, but you don't <u>love</u> it. We'll see.</div>
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Speaking of middle school...Oh, my. There aren't really words to describe how I felt on the first day of school as I watched you and Henry cross the street and walk into that giant building. I felt helpless! I've only had that feeling one other time in my life--on the day you started school, and I left you sitting at that little table in your kindergarten classroom. When I could no longer see you, I drove home and cried a little. Of course, you aced your first day of kindergarten and had the same success on your first day of 6th grade. Sniff.</div>
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You are now halfway through your first year of middle school. You've been to your first school dance--and enjoyed it. You had to sort through some relationship drama, but that seems to have leveled off and you know who your friends are and who to distance yourself from. You are doing well in your classes. Well, except for math. I'm afraid you take after me when it comes to mathematics. Sorry, dude. Fortunately, you still like to read--also like your mama!--and you really enjoy your ELA class. Overall, I have been impressed with your adjustment to middle school. I often feel overwhelmed by it, but you seem to have a solid grip on what's going on. I am very proud of you!</div>
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Another big change this year happened at church. Our student ministry was restructured to include 6th grade--that's you! The leadership is doing a great job, and you have made a seamless transition. I am so thankful for that. With a little pushing from me, you decided to be part of Priority. It makes me laugh (to myself) that I have to, um, "encourage" you to go to rehearsal most Sunday afternoons, but how you always have such a fun time with your friends and tell me great stories when I pick you up. Why can't you just go willingly and save us both the trouble?!?</div>
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You got a cell phone this year. I want you to know that this was a HUGE decision for Dad and me. More so for me--your dad was on board early on, but I needed some convincing. I haven't admitted it to you yet, but you should know that I'm glad now that I agreed. It has come in handy on more than one occasion. It also is our go-to punishment item--the first thing to get taken away when your behavior calls for consequences. Gosh, you hate that! ;)</div>
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You know what else you hate? You <u>despise</u> cancer. You are reluctant to deal with it, and <u>very</u> reluctant to talk about it. That's making it tough. You know that I am sick--maybe sicker than I've ever been--but you don't want to discuss it. I press on, though. I am determined for you to talk to me, even though it's hard. Believe me, buddy...it's hard for me, too. But I love you so much! Way too much to just let it go. So I will continue to try to gauge how much is too much, what is safe ground and what will push you too far. Here's a small reminder for you: God is in control. There is nothing that this life can throw at us that He can't handle for you if you let Him. Your mom loves you, but your God loves you infinitely more.</div>
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Life with you is a grand adventure, Goliath. Some days are up, other days are not quite so easy. I would not trade a single one for ANYTHING. Each night at bedtime (sometimes I tuck you in, other times it's the other way around) when you hug me, it feels like the greatest thing in the world. All the craziness and busyness of the day melts away, and I am taken back in an instant to that fantastic snowy day in 2002 when I first hugged you. No matter what you do or where you go, I will be there. No matter how big you grow and how diverse your interests become, I will be there. Because, sweet one, that's what love is all about. </div>
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Thank you for letting me be your mom and accompanying you on your life adventure. You carry around a huge piece of my heart, and there is no one else who I would want to have it. I look forward to what this new year will bring us and where it will take us...I love you so much!</div>
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Happy Birthday, amazing son.</div>
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Love,</div>
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Mom</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-43675676470098193052013-12-31T22:20:00.000-06:002013-12-31T22:20:18.560-06:00Farewell to 2013<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear 2013,</div>
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The TV is droning in the background with a "year in review" program. How in the world did "selfie" make it into the dictionary this year? Who decides that?!? I guess we should be glad the word isn't "twerk." Blech. I am finishing this year in the same way that I have spent much of the month of December: in bed, propped up on pillows, waiting for the next round of medication.</div>
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I am also waiting for the clock to wind down the minutes until you are gone. You've been unkind, 2013. There's no other way to say it. I will not shed tears at the stroke of midnight.</div>
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The Year of our Lord Two Thousand Thirteen has taken me on a wild goose chase as I continue to pursue care for the Monster. I went from Texas to New York to Oklahoma, only to be sent back to Texas empty-handed. Monster has grown, uninhibited, while doctors literally across the country seem to shrug their shoulders and wish me the best before passing me along to the next stop.</div>
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I am discouraged. I am tired. I am uncertain.</div>
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2013, you have sucked the fire out of me. All of the bravado I can muster has fallen short when stacked up against you. </div>
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Things that I have held on to for security or comfort have also been taken from me this year. Important things, like my AbbyDog. There's no question that it was time, but I would be lying if I said that I haven't missed her during this ongoing time of convaslescence.</div>
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Husband just got notice that when the ball drops tonight and 2013 expires, so does his job. It's all about budgets and contracts and he's not the only one, but in no way does that calm my fear. </div>
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My very identity--how I define myself, how I find my self-value--has been undermined this year. For the first time ever, I have serious doubts about my mothering abilities as I spend more time being "sick" and less time being "Mom." Of course, the "right" answer here is that my value is found in Christ, not as a mother or a wife or through any level of activity or accomplishment. But the enemy of self-doubt is hard at work, and I feel it so strongly in my soul!</div>
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My natural inclination is to hide. It's actually been easy to do this month as the wretch of radiation has almost dictated hibernation. This way, I can nurse my wounds--and my fear--in peace. The warrior in me is beat down. You've busted her up, 2013. I hope you're proud of yourself.</div>
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Before I go, though, I want you to know one thing: You don't win. You've tried hard, no question. But tonight, while the clock ticks down, I have the sense to count my blessings. Forefront among them: I was there to welcome my nephew into the world this year. I honestly did not think I would live long enough to hold that precious baby, and there is <u>no way</u> the joy that is knowing Truett can be stolen from me. </div>
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There are others, of course. My own 3 sons are healthy and growing well. I am part of something much bigger than just me: a family that loves and cares for one another in unbelievable ways, ways that so many other people just don't have. I get to be Auntie to darling pieces of my own heart. I have amazing friends who are committed to walk this path with me. I am part of a dynamic church that supports, loves, and helps us.</div>
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So, 2013, take that. I am tired of you. I will not stay up tonight to even give you the satisfaction of a proper send-off. I'm so done with you. Here's to a happier, healthier, all-around <u>better</u> 2014.</div>
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<i>"Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, indeed He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you.' " Isaiah 35:3-4</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-64392670877005341312013-12-12T20:24:00.000-06:002013-12-12T20:24:03.693-06:00Digging Out<div style="text-align: justify;">
Six Days.</div>
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<b>Six Days.</b></div>
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<b>SIX DAYS!</b></div>
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Six days is how long it has been since we have had any kind of normal (cough, cough) in our household. Six days ago, Old Man Winter caught DFW in his sights, and life as we know it came to a complete standstill. Here's what I've learned in the last almost-week:</div>
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Ice is pretty when it blankets your world and you can snuggle up by the fire with nowhere to go.</div>
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Ice is fun when school is cancelled for the first day.</div>
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Ice ceases to be pretty or fun when school keeps closing and cabin fever sets in.</div>
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If you live in a continual state of winter, 3 pairs of flannel pajamas is not enough.</div>
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A major ice storm is in Texas what a major heat wave is in New York.</div>
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You can only toss so many coats, jeans, gloves, scarves, hats, and socks in the dryer at one time.</div>
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Little boys do not freeze or tire easily.</div>
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You should clear the ice not only from your windshield, but also from the roof of your vehicle before you drive.</div>
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Our children's children will be regaling <i>their</i> children with stories of The Great Ice Storm of 2013. How we didn't see our youngest for more than 24 hours because he went to a friend's house and stayed...and stayed...and stayed. Or how we got what seemed to be the last loaf of bread in the city before store shelves were completely emptied by <strike>crazy</strike> frantic citizens...or how the freighbor girls, who hail from Michigan, shared their real live sled and showed our Texas boys a thing or two.</div>
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Finally--FINALLY!--this morning, everyone went back to work and school. I love my family, but all of this quality time (and wet shoes tracking in leaves and mud) has pushed all of us a little closer than we want to be. There is still plenty of ice around. We live on the north/sunny side of our street and there are still several inches on our back patio! Across the street, where there are more shadows than sun, dangerous icicles (seriously!) still hang from the rooftops and the sheet of white in the yards remains largely the same. Every night, what little bit has melted refreezes on the driveways and sidewalks. Because it's <u>still</u> cold. Yesterday we reached a whopping 37 degrees...<i>heat wave!!!! </i></div>
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Now, you might be wondering how a Texas girl passes the time when she is iced in. Good question. I'll tell you: She warms up with a bit of radiation. Oh, yes. While the rest of the world is snuggled up drinking hot coca and playing board games, <b>I</b> (and my darling I'll-do-anything-for-you friend, Rachel), drove into Dallas to the hospital for radiation treatments.</div>
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Here's the deal on radiation: I've never done it before. I've never done it before because radiation is not a typical treatment for ovca patients. In my case, the cancer has been too widespread to risk radiation in lieu of more traditional treatments. Now, though, I've exhausted traditional. We are all done with standard. The choices are 1) Non-traditional, or 2) Nothing. So, I am allowing myself to be radiated. In exchange for making the trip to the hospital every. single. day., (You heard me. Monday through Friday, for three weeks. I get off on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.) allowing strangers to use me for their own personal sketchbooks ("x" marks the spot!), and risking a slew of side effects (they were said to be no big deal. Liars.), I might get some relief from the harsh, relentless symptoms of fast-growing Monster. Did I make a deal with the devil? Perhaps. It has not been an easy go. Of course, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. Topping the list: nausea, extreme fatigue, and fever-like chills and shivers. Rounding out my bottom-of-the-barrel, my radiation oncologist had a medical emergency of his own and will be out for the remainder of the month. </div>
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Reeeaaalllyyy?!? I only need him <u>this month</u>.</div>
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This morning I woke up feeling super-nauseous. I have plenty of meds to meet all sorts of needs, but today not even prescription-strength anti-nausea was making dents. I went ahead and went to radiation anyway, because I thought I could not feel much yuckier.</div>
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Bad call. I found out I <u>could</u> feel worse, and I found it out while I was getting sick in a McDonald's parking lot close to Highway 75, with my deserves-better-than-me freighbor patting my back and looking on helplessly. (I switched drivers yesterday. Lucky Rachel.)</div>
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Damn cancer.</div>
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I hate this wretched disease. If you piled all of my "dislikes" together--cold feet, wet blue jeans, empty toilet paper rolls, children with no manners, alarm clocks--it still could not amount to the level of hatred I have for cancer.</div>
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Susan graciously delivered me into my own driveway, although hers is about 10 feet away. I managed to wiggle back in to my pjs and when Little Middle and Baby got off the bus, they found me on the couch in exactly the same position I was in when they went to school this morning.</div>
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I've had a few words to say to God about this new treatment, and they haven't all been nice. Actually, hardly any of them have been nice! I am so over it.</div>
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When I started writing this post this morning from my position on the sofa, I occasionally glanced up to look at this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcxIz6Jf7dVL4nJx6O6GnIni6BbrbbCjP-6mkKWWncMEt5qYVBvJ1PEShsM3EYRmTJOSSKypvIyeDLz-R81v-R0DLGbOSGKp2JCfx8PkLhGJrC0WO2udM2dUPN73vNf8n915r5MRhyphenhyphen7w/s1600/Christmas+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcxIz6Jf7dVL4nJx6O6GnIni6BbrbbCjP-6mkKWWncMEt5qYVBvJ1PEShsM3EYRmTJOSSKypvIyeDLz-R81v-R0DLGbOSGKp2JCfx8PkLhGJrC0WO2udM2dUPN73vNf8n915r5MRhyphenhyphen7w/s320/Christmas+tree.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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It's not a perfect tree, but it's ours. There is something really peaceful about sitting by the Christmas tree, isn't there? I yearn for that peace all the time. It is a hard-fought battle every day. <i>"Let every heart prepare Him room....." </i></div>
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Lord, please help me to make room for you. Thank you for being my Friend and for being a safe place for me to go. Please give me joy, especially in this season. I want to be soft and open to You and to Your spirit. I believe that you can heal, both inside and out. Please let this be a season of healing and <i>miracles</i>. I want to be ready to receive my King: You. Thank you for loving me and for your promises that are always true. Amen.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-70590006182283327212013-12-04T15:38:00.000-06:002013-12-04T15:38:00.490-06:00Insomniac Blogging: Twelfth Edition<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning. 4:34 a.m. Yawn.</div>
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--I have never cooked a turkey all by myself. I consider that to be an adult fail.</div>
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--<b>Strong opinion alert!!! </b>I am not a fan of folks who put that crazy Rudolph the Reindeer costume on their car during the holiday season. First, costumes are for Halloween, not Christmas. Second, your car is not a reindeer. It's a car. It's just silly. All those rein-cars sitting in the parking lot do not inspire Christmas cheer--they just make us roll our eyes heaven-ward. <b>Strong opinion rant over.</b></div>
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--We put our tree up and did all the decorating on Sunday afternoon. I was working hard to get the ribbon on the tree "just right!", when I heard it...the unmistakable "Away In A Manger" tune from the Little People Nativity. You know the one--you push the angel down on top of the stable, and she sings. My cowboys are 8, 9, and 11 years old, and they will not hear of passing on "their" nativity scene that they have painfully outgrown. I guess it's not the biggest thing I have to worry about.</div>
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--When I woke up, my immediate thought was: "I don't have anything to put in the boys' lunches!" Then I remembered what day it is. It's Waffle Wednesday!!! Phew. (Yes, that's a real thing, and they LOVE it.)</div>
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--Every meteorologist in DFW is going nutso right now promoting the upcoming "Winter Weather Event." It's December. It's <u>supposed</u> to get cold. This happens every. single. year. Settle down, troops. Settle down.<i> </i></div>
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--All I want for Christmas is to see <i>Saving Mr. Banks.</i> Sixteen more days.</div>
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--I worked a shift at the book fair at the boys' elementary school. Maybe I'm just viewing it through jaded adult lenses, but the book fair isn't what it used to be. I remember volunteer moms spending weeks ahead of time working on decorations, and hyping it up to us kids. It was magical! Now, Scholastic decides on a theme, and packages everything you need for a successful book fair: Book Fair In A Box. Twice a year like clockwork, the boxes arrive, the kids come, the parents spend, and then everything is boxed back up and the Scholastic truck picks it up.</div>
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--While I was working, two classes came in: one 4th grade class and one Kindergarten class. All of the kids are paired off as "book buddies." The big kids were so sweet as they helped their little friends write their "wish lists". I saw one big, tough-looking 4th grader gently put his hand on his buddy's back to guide him through the crowds. That touched my heart.</div>
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--We did get our hands on the highly-coveted brand new <i>Diary of a Wimpy Kid </i>book. Little Middle is super-excited!</div>
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--When I was a kid, we also did Santa's Secret Shop. It was awesome because I, as an eight-year-old, could buy Christmas gifts for my entire family for $4.00. I remember feeling pretty good about that, and I always bought something for my brother (that was the spirit of the season at work in my little heart). Do schools still do that? </div>
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--I feel sorry for people who work for the USPS. They must walk around feeling unsettled all the time.</div>
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--I hate days when I have so many things to take care of that I don't get to be at home for any period of time. I mean, I like my life and I don't sign up to do anything that I don't really <u>want</u> to be a part of. Some days, though, stack up quickly because I underestimate. That's how I get mountains of laundry like what we have going on right now. Luckily, the Winter Weather Event is coming!!! Maybe it will be a good excuse to be homebound.</div>
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--We do not have an Elf on the Shelf. Honestly, I think that little Elf is sort of creepy, and I don't want it watching me all the time. So it's bad enough that my kids believe (probably correctly) that we are the only family without our own elf. Honestly, you over-achieving moms out there: there is ZERO reason for you to make me feel worse by allowing your elf to take a "bath" in a bowl full of marshmallows. Or allowing the elf to pull the laundry from the drawers and toss it onto the floor. Or let the elf build a roller coaster out of toothpicks on the dining room table. For real--there' already so much pressure on parents to make the holidays picture perfect. If you MUST have an elf in your home, please tell your children to keep it a secret from their friends. That way I don't have to hear about how WE don't have an elf who made chocolate milk last night and fed it to our dog! Thanks a lot.</div>
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--My favorite boots are falling apart, and I find myself for the first time <u>ever</u> needing a shoe hospital.</div>
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--I love, love, LOVE being an Auntie.</div>
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--Four words: The Cowboy Rides Away. What would I not give to see George on his farewell tour?!?</div>
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--I have a nearly-neurotic fear that if I leave the Christmas lights on the tree on when I leave the house, then they will start a fire and the house will burn down. It's a little ridiculous--even to the point that I was halfway to Target and I turned around and went home to unplug the lights. But if the house burns down, well...that would be a BIG thing to have on my conscious.</div>
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--(Walking in to church on Sunday...)</div>
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<i>Me:</i> Doesn't our church look so pretty with all the Christmas decorations?</div>
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<i>Baby:</i> There's too much mistletoe in here, if you ask me.</div>
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--All three of my little cowboys have asked for a <live> puppy for Christmas. And they each want a different breed. We still have Gus the Terrible, and that's all the dog --and more--that this mama can handle.</live></div>
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--In other Christmas list news, Baby wants an elf. Not a creepy Elf on the Shelf, or even an Oompa Loompa. He wants a <u style="font-weight: bold;">real</u> elf. As in, one who is trained and certified by Santa himself. I asked him what he would do with a real elf, and he said, "He would do stuff for me, bring me a drink when I'm thirsty, and build me toys to play with."</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-82595565616508350832013-11-27T08:07:00.002-06:002013-11-27T08:15:42.817-06:00Monster Madness<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been sitting on the counter in my mom's kitchen for the last little bit, popping cherry tomatoes into my mouth like they are the last morsels of food on the planet. That's because I ate next to nothing today. I couldn't eat anything because I was too busy being treated like a cancerous piece of crap. Wanna hear about it?
I'm here in Houston, where it is actually <b>cold</b>, ya'll. Well, cold by Houston standards, anyway. I'm wearing a sweater. It's unheard of. I'm here because I had a crazy lineup of cancer appointments at MD Anderson. I was there from 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. yesterday, and 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. today. It's been a long, grueling, unbelievable 48 hours. Yesterday was Test Day. I had blood work done. I did an echocardiogram, an EKG, x-rays, and last but not least, my favorite: The CT Scan. It went ok up until the end when the nurse was trying to start an IV for the CT contrast. She was not able to find a usable vein. She called a friend nurse, who found one, stuck a needle in me, and then watched the vein collapse. Nurse #3 came along, stuck me, failed, and stuck me again. Ow ow ow ow ow ow ouch!!!! After that, they gave up and sent me to the Infusion Therapy department, where I waited an HOUR for a member of "The IV Team" to save the day. Ridiculous. But Super-Craig easily placed the needle and got good blood flow. Once that was done, the test itself was far from enjoyable, but was manageable.
This morning I put on my sweater and my tall black boots, and braced myself for the day. Mom and I got to MDA 40 minutes before my first scheduled appointment. I can't go into all the details here--you wouldn't believe it if I did--but it will suffice to tell you that I FINALLY saw a nurse practitioner at 2:30...more than <b>4 hours</b> after my 10:10 appointment time. Unbelievable. I'm usually a pretty nice lady, but I wasn't feeling all that benevolent this afternoon. So much so, in fact, that I rounded out my day by filing a complaint in the Patient Advocacy department. MDA needs to get it together.
The complaint came as a result of <i>someone</i> failing to do their job. We have been waiting for our insurance company to approve the clinical trial. Staff that I spoke with assured me that it would be taken care of by the time my appointment rolled around today. However, when I arrived at MDA today, insurance had approved only one of the two pills that make up the clinical trial. One without the other is useless. (Confidential to all you haters: This is not a political thing, an Obamacare thing, a Democrat thing, or whatever else you want to blame it on. It's just a stupid money thing.) An appeal has been filed, but if Aetna doesn't come to their senses, then the clinical trial is out. I also discovered that under clinical trial rules, if insurance doesn't come through and pay, then all of the tests that I did yesterday will be for nothing. They are only good for a short period of time. After that time is up, I will have to go back and redo every blood draw, heart check, and The Scan. Grrrr.
One of the appointments that I had today was with a radiologic oncologist. (Try saying that three times fast!) Interestingly, this is the first appointment I've had with a radiologic onc. Ever. It has never been a viable treatment option--until now. The radiation intern showed unmatched kindness as he explained how it works, and more importantly, why I need it. Monster is growing...really, really fast and really, really big. Dr. Brown displayed the images from yesterday's CT scan. He patiently explained what I was looking at on each frame. What I saw was astonishing, and then was confirmed by the paper report from the radiologist. That report tells of "a large pelvic mass", measuring nearly 10 centimeters at its widest point. The mass, aka "Monster", is tangled up, wrapped around, and filling up every nook and cranny in my lower abdomen. He is even touching my tailbone! Additionally, there are two Monster babies in my lungs--one on the right, and one on the left.
With such exponential increases in growth, radiation would be a palliative care option for me. There is some hope that it might help to control the symptoms that Monster has brought along. The always-amazing Nurse Allyson gave me a name of a doctor who works with Dr. F. I'm banking on him agreeing to do the radiation so I can be close to home.
Two days before Thanksgiving, and this bombshell was dropped in my lap. It's not a surprise, per se, but there's something about sticking a number on it... 10 centimeters is a big enough space to birth a baby. 10 centimeters is approximately the diameter of a bagel. 10 centimeters roughly measures an average-size man's palm (crosswise). 10 centimeters is the diameter of a wiffle ball. <b>Those</b> are sobering measurements.
While I was lying on the table listening to the machine instruct me on when to breathe, I closed my eyes tight. I did not really care to see the fake ceiling tiles that I suppose are meant to be calming. They had lovely cherry blossoms on them. In my mind, cherry blossoms don't belong in the fifth circle of hell. I chose instead to keep my eyes closed and concentrate on Truth. Snippets of Scripture played through my mind like an old recording: <i>"You are precious in my sight...I will not leave you or forsake you...wherever you go, I am there...when you go through the fire, the flames will not touch you...I know the plans I have for you...I will strengthen you and help you...My yoke is easy and my burden is light...I will lift my eyes to the hills from whence comes my help." </i>Those same pieces of Truth ran through my head as I looked at the pictures of Monster. His ugliness, his scariness stared back at me through the screen and made my heart beat faster. Even the doctor said, "He is angry." But I know this: Whether Monster is the size of a bagel or a beach ball, my God is bigger. My God is stronger. My God will not leave me to do this by myself. Every day brings me a little bit closer to the reality of Psalm 23: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, <b>I will fear no evil, for you are with me."</b> I don't have to be afraid.
Words like "palliative" don't exactly conjure up warm fuzzies, but I know that this hurting is for such a short time...and what waits for me is a forever that is so much more beautiful than even the prettiest cherry blossoms. He is worthy, friends. Oh, He is worthy. This Thanksgiving season, when on the surface it may look so dark, I will still be grateful. He has given me so much--SO MUCH--that I don't deserve. Jesus owes me nothing, yet He gave everything. Me and my wiffle ball-sized Monster will worship and give thanks. He is good all the time. THAT is TRUTH.
P.S. My grandparents love me a lot. Like, a bushel and a peck. At age 38, that still amazes me, and is one of the most precious things I know in this life.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-25925158005507435042013-11-11T21:14:00.003-06:002013-11-11T21:14:51.538-06:00Happy Birthday, Baby!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Baby,</div>
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It's Monday, it's Veteran's Day, and most importantly, it's YOUR day! I woke you up this morning with a special birthday song, made better with my own lyrics, of course. <wink .=""> You were smiling before you ever opened your eyes! And when you did finally bat your handsome eyelashes, you said, "My armpit itches." Good morning, birthday boy!</wink></div>
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Let's talk about that smiling thing. So often I look at you and think of Buddy the Elf saying, "I like smiling. Smiling's my favorite!" You are the most smiley creature I have ever laid eyes on. You smile in the mornings, you smile when you jump off the bus in the afternoons, you smile at bedtime. I swear, happiness just seems to puff up around you wherever you are! I don't understand it, but it is my single favorite thing about you. You don't even know how many times you have changed my mood or calmed my soul with your inescapable cheerfulness. You are one happy Baby boy!!!</div>
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You wanna know what else you are? Roly poly, Tigger-bouncy, jumpy-jump bundle of boy. You are almost <u>never</u> still. Every morning when I come in to wake you up for school, you are wrapped tight--in a corner of your sheet. All other blankets have fallen on the floor during the night because you move around so much in your sleep. Your favorite move? Somersault. You can somersault with the best of 'em, even across the whole house. On almost any given evening, while I am cooking dinner, I can glance outside and see you bouncing away on the trampoline.</div>
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You have a ton of friends, so you have plenty of social activity going on. You go to more birthday parties than any kid I know! Occasionally, though, you will turn down a playdate invitation just so you can stay at home with us. You are content to simply <i>be.</i> I think that's a great way for a person to be. In fact, I wish I could be more like that. Who would have thought that I would be learning things from my youngest son?</div>
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In between all your bouncing and your somersaulting, you make us laugh. Like that day at camp last summer when the weather was particularly cool and <u>very</u> rainy. You were so frustrated because you couldn't go to your favorite recreation activity. You looked at the sky and said, "WHY does God have to cry so much at camp?!?!?" I almost fell in a puddle laughing. Or the morning not too long ago when I announced at breakfast that I would be washing the sheets and going to the grocery store that day. You never missed a beat: "Hmmmm. You are <b>not</b> lucky, Mommy." And last week, when I asked you about your homework, you sighed a great big sigh and said, "It's the same thing everyyyyy singllllle dayyyyyyy." I'm sorry (sort of) that I laughed at you. One more for good measure: you recently had an assignment where you had to draw a picture of your favorite animal. You brought it home, and I was quite surprised to find a billy goat on one side and a yak on the other. Or, a "yack", as you labeled it. :)</div>
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One of the things that hurts my heart for you is that you are still dealing with that blasted speech impediment. After years of waiting, the school district finally agreed that you needed extra attention. You started going to see the speech therapist at school at the end of 1st grade, and I know you hate it. I know that because we had one of those everything-stands-still conversations about it. You asked me, with tears streaming down your cheeks, why you talk different than other kids. Why you try, but you can't make the right sounds. I swear I could hear my heart breaking as I swiped at my own tears. No mom ever wants to watch her child hurt, and if there were any kind of a magic fix, I would do it in a second for you. Keep working, baby. It will come.</div>
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Daddy and I have had the pleasure of teaching your 2nd grade Sunday School class. There's not much that is more exciting to me than watching you learn about the Bible and the truths that God put there for us. When we first started back in August, I was really surprised to find that you can quite easily navigate through the Bible. We are building on that skill, and I pray often that you will find verses and hear stories that touch your heart. You have great ideas about Jesus and the way that He wants us to live and treat other people. I love listening to you. He made you incredibly special, Baby boy.</div>
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I hope you are always happy. Even as I write this, you are following my directions to finish your homework. (Who gives a kid homework on his birthday, anyway?) You just passed me with your homework folder singing, "I get to do my math homework! I get to do my math homework! And it's my birthday!" May you always carry that same enthusiasm and zest for math homework--or whatever else your precious life may bring. Our God is so good, Baby. I know that life won't always be joyful, and you won't always get what you want. But the God who made you with such meticulous care certainly has good things in store for you. Your very existence is a testament to Him! On the night you were born, I held you in my arms and counted ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. I clearly remember how you were so very calm. That was the moment that I KNEW the most clear definition of <i style="font-weight: bold;">grace</i>: God giving you something that you don't deserve. God gave me you. I certainly did not deserve you, and I still don't. But every morning when I pick up your covers off the floor and untangle you, I get my first glimpse of grace for the day. What an amazing gift you are, sweet son! An amazing gift. And I am <u>so incredibly thankful</u>.</div>
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Happy, happy birthday, Baby of mine.</div>
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Love,</div>
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Mommy</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-34905484076143123442013-11-07T21:23:00.000-06:002013-11-08T12:01:18.983-06:00Something<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Monday afternoon, it was raining in Big D. A promised cold front had pushed through (finally!) and brought with it a brisk wind and much-needed rain. It was the perfect afternoon to snuggle up with a warm cup of coffee--pumpkin spice creamer included--and watch the Disney Channel with the cowboys. Ahhhhh.</div>
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Except.....that's not what I was doing on Monday afternoon. I was speeding across Dallas in the cold rain, trying to beat the rush-hour buildup. My hair was a frizzy mess, my makeup was smudged, and my sweater was hanging halfway off because I couldn't decide if I was hot or cold. I was a hot mess, on my way to the airport to catch a plane to Houston.</div>
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After <b>weeks </b>of trying, I was finally able to score an appointment at MD Anderson. My regular MDA doctor rejected my request to see her, by flat out telling me that she had nothing to offer. Instead, I was referred over to the Center for Targeted Therapy. The doctor there, Dr. W, was one of those people who makes you feel dumb just by being in the same room with you. Not because she was arrogant or talked down to me; she was just SO SMART! It was almost like she was speaking another language, which I had to struggle to follow. Dr. W also had two assistants: Rosa and Roosevelt. I think that Roosevelt is an awesome name. (<i>Hey, Brother and his Other! Take note! Just in case you want to change your mind....)</i> </div>
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So, the culmination of my meeting with Dr. W, Rosa, and Roosevelt resulted in an agreement to do two different things:</div>
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1) Molecular mapping. Samples of my tissue will be analyzed at the molecular level. Through this analysis, they should be able to determine the exact abnormalities/defects that cause cells in my body to be "bad" cancerous cells. With that information, they may be able to match me to a specific drug that would not normally fall within my standard of care. For instance, I might have the same abnormalities as another group of patients with liver cancer. I would then be able to be treated with medications for liver cancer. Weird, but interesting.</div>
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2) Clinical trial. The molecular profiling will take a while--at least a few months. The trial in question is an "in the meantime" solution--completely different from the Oklahoma <strike>fiasco</strike> trial. This clinical trial involves 2 drugs, both of which have already been approved by the FDA. One drug has been used for a long time with diabetes patients, the other has been used to treat breast cancer. The trial is testing their efficacy when they are given in combination. Both drugs are given orally.</div>
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Now, a few things you should know about this clinical trial: The temptation to dance a jig is pretty huge. Just the fact that she did not dismiss me but instead had some ideas is a cause for celebration! But I need to step back and gather my thoughts before I jump off the cliff of crazy. The truth is that these medications, even if successful, are not designed to be a cure. They are meant to, at best, slow the growth of those wretched bad cells, thereby buying me some more time until, hopefully, there IS a cure. (Worst case scenario, I'll endure funky side effects, but maybe I won't get diabetes or breast cancer.)</div>
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Knowing that truth reminds me of the sobering fact that cancer is what I have. Unless God changes his mind or intervenes, I will have cancer until I die. It may not always be as big, or as painful, but modern medicine tells me that this is my lot in life. Many have prayed for my healing. And it may still be done, but it has become pretty clear to my medical team (and to myself) that this Monster intends to stay. </div>
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I am not publicly declaring my "I am thankful" list this month, but I do have one. While the rest of the world is using social media to advertise what they are thankful for, I am keeping mine private. But on Tuesday afternoon, when my plane landed safely on the runway in Dallas, and I knew I would soon be home with my babies, there was no question about it. I am thankful for <u>something</u>. Something to do. Something to take. Something to aid in my fight. Something instead of nothing.</div>
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I don't claim to know God's plan. I don't understand why he chooses to withhold physical healing. I don't like my situation, and there are a lot of days when I don't say, "Your will, not mine." And still...He loves me with a depth that I can not comprehend. He values me to a point that I can not understand. He is faithful to provide for me--whether that be the miraculous healing, or a small "something", He is good.</div>
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P.S. This is for sale in the Dallas airport, as if the world needed reminding. Poor taste, Dallas. Seriously.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-15450922122680827812013-10-29T14:02:00.001-05:002013-10-29T14:02:29.914-05:00Insomniac Blogging #11<div style="text-align: justify;">
--Out of all of the celebrations we have throughout the year, Halloween is my least favorite (except for Labor Day). It is so much WORK for us moms, and a money drain!!! And at the end, we have tons of candy that the kids fight over. Then I have to hide it, and they get grumpy with me. </div>
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--There are some things about Halloween that I do like, though. One of them is this guy in his costume:</div>
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Can you see it? He's a Smartie Pants!</div>
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--Goliath is too big/old to go trick-or-treating this year. I thought it would be a fight, but thankfully I was wrong. He is going to sit in our front yard and pass out candy while his brothers trick-or-treat around the neighborhood. <u>Then</u> the candy is all going in to one big family pot, which I will have to hide. It's the only way to avoid the crazy crash and burn that I know will happen.</div>
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--We have an awesome neighborhood for trick-or-treating. One family rents a cotton candy machine, and makes it right there in their driveway. Kids line up to wait for it! Another family makes homemade root beer and hands out samples to all the trick-or-treaters. Another family shows Halloween movies (i.e. <i>It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown</i>) on their garage door and does a mini-potluck.</div>
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--I attended fall teacher conferences last week for both of my little boys. There was nothing really that they wanted to say. Both boys are doing great, both socially and academically. I'm a proud mom.</div>
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--Something I don't fully understand=Daylight Savings Time.</div>
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--Dear person who smashed the window out in Hubby's pick-up truck: Thank you so much for leaving his Bible safely on the seat. I mean, you were such a gentleman. The Bible hardly had any glass on it, it having been preserved perfectly. Enjoy your new laptop and the other equipment. Next time you steal, might I suggest you grab the Bible with your other loot. It would be beneficial for you to do a little light reading.</div>
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--<i>Baby: </i>What are you cooking?</div>
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<i>Me:</i> Blueberry muffins.</div>
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<i>Baby: </i>Oh. What's in them?</div>
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--I mentioned that my local Kroger is remodeling. A few shopping trips left me frustrated, as they moved the coffee to the organic section and put the Gatorade on an aisle separate from the other drinks. One afternoon, I needed just a few items for the chili I was making for dinner, so I ran into a different Kroger. Wouldn't you know that they also remodeling? I couldn't find anything.</div>
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--It is a bothersome problem that I and O are next to each other on the keyboard. </div>
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--On a whim, I bought a can of potato sticks for the cowboys. Remember those? I think when I was a kid we called them shoestring potatoes. The boys l-o-v-e them! So much so, that they wanted to sprinkle them in their soup last night at dinner. It's weird that I've never thought to buy them before.</div>
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--Middle school. Oh, middle school. There is so much I could say about this. I did the math, and not counting this year, our family only has 6 more <strike>long </strike> exciting years of middle school. (It helps to double up on kids.) Ugh.</div>
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--Goliath has been going to school 1 1/2 hours early for the last week for archery practice. Apparently, his school has a really good archery team. Like, <u>really</u> good. And he <u>really</u> wants to be on it. But this practice before the sun comes up? That's for the birds.</div>
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--I took Goliath to see a marching band competition over the weekend. We had a great time being together, and my inner band nerd was happy, happy, happy.</div>
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--Speaking of happy, happy, happy...like millions of other American families, we are Duck Dynasty fans. Hubby has started complaining recently about the show, saying that there's no way that it could be "reality" television. I say that their reality is a lot better than ours, so let's shut up and tune in.</div>
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--If we were all genuine and honest about our lives and the struggles we face, wouldn't it be a much more meaningful life?</div>
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--My kids broke my OtterBox phone case. That's talent.</div>
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--Reese the Niece can now clearly say "Auntie!"</div>
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--Just a few more weeks until Nephew Truett arrives! The doctor is estimating that he already weighs 7 pounds...I am guessing that he will be big, crazy-smart, and <u>perfect</u>. Come on, Truett!</div>
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--When I was in college, I was convinced that I had narcolepsy. Sit me in a desk, put a professor in front of me, and zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....The condition has recently resurfaced, only now, it can happen anytime, anywhere. If you're talking to me and I suddenly fall asleep, don't be alarmed. Just cover me up and leave me alone. At 2:45 my phone alarm will go off so I will at least be awake when the boys get home.</div>
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--I think that my iPhone is haunted. It is mysteriously changing ring tones, playing tunes by itself, and cutting off calls before they are over. Apple has taken over the world.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-69059612811025050412013-10-26T20:46:00.001-05:002013-10-26T20:46:29.836-05:00A Blog for Buck<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Buck,</div>
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Today I am missing your birthday party. A lot of our family is gathered there with you, and I am here. I hope you know that I am <u>so sad</u> that I can't be there to celebrate with you. And this is a birthday that deserves to be celebrated! <b>90</b> <u>is</u> pretty amazing, after all.</div>
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For 90 years you've made the world a better place just by being you. For 38 years you've made me a better person by being my grandfather. Lots of little girls have grandfathers who love them, but I had YOU. </div>
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They tell me that when I was born, you made a "It's A Girl" sign with my name so that everyone at work could share your excitement.</div>
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You let me wear your pajamas when I spent the night at your house. Yes, I had my own, but it was so much more fun to borrow your striped, button-down pjs. You would roll up the sleeves and the pant legs to make them "fit."</div>
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You gave me my first "driving" lessons on the old John Deere tractor. I remember the thrill of moving from turtle speed to rabbit! I thought I was so wonderfully grown-up...and you never would have let me think anything else.</div>
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You traveled with me. Those trips to Lake Livingston and Arkansas were childhood highlights! You and Grandmama introduced us to The Oak Ridge Boys. I remember how I felt like I had beat the system when I stood with one foot in Texas and the other in Arkansas. And you know that I can't think about going to the lake without recalling how I went running to you for help when Phil's raft became untethered from the dock. You were set on finishing your Oatmeal Creme Pie before moseying down to the water to save my brother. Ha!</div>
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You took me to work with you, giving me hundreds of hours of fun and <u>thousands </u>of delightful memories. You allowed us access to the activities building where we played pool and foosball. Phil and I loved to roller skate, but we loved it so much more when you skated with us! When we were hot and sweaty, you opened up the soda machine and gave us Mr. Pibb. You took us in to the sanctuary where I played the organ and Phil preached from the pulpit (which he could barely reach). </div>
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You taught me to love good food. I don't know <u>why </u>you let me drink pickle juice or mix mashed potatoes in my Blue Bell...oh, I DO know: I wanted to! Your fried catfish and the infamous Buck Burger are forever unmatched in yumminess and love.</div>
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You drove up to my middle school in that old church van to pick up Caroline and me. <i>How embarrassing! </i>You came to see me off to my Prom. You were there for my high school graduation. I often found "a little extra" in my mailbox when I was a poor college student at HSU.</div>
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You bought my wedding dress. There couldn't have been a sweeter gift.</div>
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You loved Abby Dog with me from the time she was a puppy. She made countless trips to your house with me, and she just <i>knew</i> that you would take her for a fun walk. She was always right.</div>
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Each of my sons met you when they were just a few weeks old. Even as infants, they were a captive audience for Buck. That has not changed as they have grown. You are a hero to your great-grandsons, as you are to all of us. They are fascinated by your war stories, and they know you can be counted on for a pocketful of Tootsie Rolls.</div>
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Some of these memories are funny; all of them are good. You've given me a lifetime of happiness and love. But I think that the greatest gifts you've given me are not things you have <i>done</i>, but it is who you <i>are</i>. You are calm and you are gentle. You are a hard worker, and sometimes you are stubborn (remember when there was the huge flood and you refused to leave with everyone else?). You love Jesus, and you are committed to His church. You are quiet and peaceful. You have a great sense of humor, and you make people laugh. You are love. That's the thing: I have never doubted for even one second that you love me. You make me feel special, like nothing matters more to you than being with me. I wish everyone could have that feeling at least once.</div>
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I want you to know today that you are so very important to me. I am proud of the man you are, and I am enormously proud that you are my grandfather. I am thankful that my sons have a relationship with you and that they get to make their own memories with Buck, just like their mom did. I appreciate the investment you have made in me. I know that I would not be the same person without your influence on my life. I love you very, very much. No matter where I am, my heart is there with you.</div>
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Happy 90th Birthday, Buck!<br />
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Love,<br />
Allyson<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-17783045207780383052013-10-11T06:20:00.000-05:002013-10-11T06:36:37.720-05:00Insomniac Blogging: Tenth Edition<div style="text-align: justify;">
*You know that feeling you get when you work really hard to make your husband's favorite cookies and then the dog helps himself? Me too.</div>
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*The comma key fell off of my keyboard on my laptop. It is gonna be a problem for sure: </div>
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<i>Dear Hubby Could you please stop by the store after work? We need milk bread bananas soup cereal coffee mayonnaise pepper waffles chips and ice cream. </i></div>
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<i>*</i>Goliath is having an adventure today! Later this morning he is flying to Houston for a fun weekend with Poppy and Nana...all by himself. This is a first for our family, and a BIG deal for my boy who might be a little afraid of airplanes.</div>
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*My family has all sorts of fun things planned for Goliath. First on the list: Nephew & Nana camp at Uncle Phil's. Goliath and Uncle Phil are going to cook a special dinner together. </div>
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*Speaking of my brother, he is going to be a daddy very soon. My nephew, Truett Neal, is growing perfectly and running out of room in his mommy's tummy! Come on, Truett!</div>
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*Hubby's sister is also expecting her first baby. I love being an Auntie!!!<br />
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*Little Middle is now taking jiu jitsu classes with Goliath. We have been surprised to find that he really enjoys it! I'm thinking that it feels good to him to be able to punch and wrestle someone without getting in trouble.</div>
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*I am simply stunned that our federal government shut down, and can't manage to pull it together to resume operations. The USA looks <u>terrible</u> on the world stage right now...its embarrassing. And, every time I think about all those hard-working government employees who had their paychecks yanked away from them, it makes my blood boil. And I won't even go into the slap in the face that this is to our military servants and their families. The greatest country in the world isn't that great these days. </div>
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*George H.W. Bush is getting more adorable in his old age. There's something about his wheelchair and his outrageous colored socks that makes me smile.<br />
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*Goliath has started bringing his euphonium home to practice each day. Huh. It might be a long and noisy year.</div>
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*This is one of my favorite commercials lately:</div>
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*<i>Baby: </i>"Mommy, will you help me get a six-pack?"</div>
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<i>Me: </i>"What?!?!?"</div>
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<i>Baby: </i>"I want a six-pack."</div>
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<i>Me: </i>"Baby, do you know what a six-pack is?"</div>
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<i>Baby: </i>"Yes. It's when you have really strong muscles in your belly button."</div>
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This kid cracks me up. And I'm so thankful he wasn't actually asking me to take him to the liquor store.</div>
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*Little Middle had to leave his iPad at school yesterday because of some technical glitch that prevents all of the safety settings from operating correctly. This is a real bummer for him because it's a 4-day weekend. </div>
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*I almost never go to Wal-Mart anymore. I typically shop for groceries at The Kroger, and anything else we need is a good reason for a Target trip. But yesterday, I stopped at WM to pick up a few things for Goliath's trip and some food items. When I got home I realized that I was missing a bag and I had to go back. Of course, they couldn't find my missing bag, so I had to retrace my steps and pull everything off the shelves again. I am affirmed in my decision to NOT shop at Wal-Mart.</div>
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*My usual Kroger is undergoing a major remodeling project. I'm certain that it will be lovely when its finished, but right now I can't find <u>anything</u>. They moved the coffee into the health food section and the cereal is next to the canned vegetables. Huh?</div>
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*The 50th anniversary of the JFK assassination is coming up next month. There's an app for that, courtesy of the local NBC station. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that, but it seems disrespectful and unnecessary.</div>
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*Goliath's middle school sent home information about the upcoming Middle School Parent University event. This is a repeat of the <a href="http://www.3littlecowboys.blogspot.com/2013_05_01_archive.html">one I attended back in May</a>. I will not be attending this round of MSPU--or any others, EVER. It only takes one try to freak me out.</div>
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*I don't understand the zombie trend.</div>
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*Halloween is 3 weeks away, and I have done zero work on costumes for the cowboys. Maybe they will dress up as zombies.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040954170790889912.post-87846982019804131402013-10-08T21:30:00.001-05:002013-10-08T21:30:52.897-05:00C is for Cancer<div style="text-align: justify;">
It cracks me up when I go to a medical office and I have to do the assessment with the nurse. They're all basically the same: current complaint, history, vitals, and then she will ask, "Do you have any other conditions that we should be aware of?" My answer: "Nope. Aside from the pesky cancer, I am perfectly healthy."</div>
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It's an answer that came in handy on Sunday morning when I found myself in the emergency room. I started feeling more cancer-y (yes, I just created a new adjective) than usual late last week. Friday afternoon was a rapid decline of stomach-related symptoms and pain that refused to be controlled with meds, even heavy duty prescriptions. I had more of the same on Saturday, growing progressively weaker and dehydrated. By 8 a.m. on Sunday I knew that I had to get help. We called ahead to Dr. F's office and Hubby drove me to the ER.</div>
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I have only been in the ER once before, on the day that Monster moved in and set up shop. That was six years ago. It hasn't changed much. Even though we had called my doctor ahead of time, I am an established patient at the hospital, AND I was miserable, it took more than two hours to get past triage, and I didn't see an actual doctor until I had been there for seven hours. In spite of feeling terrible, though, the wait gave me plenty of time for people watching. One quartet was particularly interesting. The gentleman who turned out to be the patient (it took me a while to figure <u>that</u> out!) was dressed in a heavy camouflage hunting coat. Now, we had a cold front come through DFW, but this coat was crazy. It was the I-am-going-out-in-a-snowstorm-to-kill-a-wild-animal coat, not a there's-finally-a-chill-in-the-air jacket. Coat Man was accompanied by an entourage of characters who appeared to be family members...maybe his mother and siblings? Mama was probably so distressed about her sick son that she rushed out without her bra. It was frighteningly absent beneath her straight-from-the-junior-section Tinkerbell t-shirt. Coat Man's brother might have been equally distracted, because he forgot to pull his pants all the way up. He also never removed his sunglasses. For <i>hours</i>. Coat Man's sister won the prize, though, because she forgot to get dressed AT ALL. She seemingly fell out of bed and straight into the car that brought her brother to the hospital. Had I been brave enough, I might have given her this nugget of advice: You might receive better service in this fine health care establishment if you wear undergarments with your paper-thin white t-shirt, don pants that are NOT decorated with flannel Cookie Monsters, and leave your bathrobe with holes in the elbows at home. Oh, and please just <b>try</b> to last longer than 5 minutes before you go outside for another smoke. Good grief.</div>
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I finally got called back into a tiny room. I had x-rays done, blood taken, and got fluids going. The sweet nurse gave me injections of pain and anti-nausea meds. After the second round, I felt relief. FINALLY. Turns out that I have a couple of nasty infections. Monster welcomed the visiting germs...he probably offered them lemonade and asked them to stay a while. I walked out of the ER with hefty meds to add to my collection and directions to call my doctor during regular business hours if I needed anything else. </div>
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Two days later, I am <u>still</u> feeling blah (but better than Sunday!). Monster and his buddies seem to have their seat belts fastened in their easy chairs in there. Lemonade, anyone?</div>
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As is my practice, I have been trying to find the proverbial silver lining. First, it was a weekend. As much as I hate it, Hubby was able to step up for full-time Cowboy Duty so I could rest. Second, there is nothing like a crisis to bring the best out in the best people. I've said it so many times, and I will say it again: We have been blessed with some <u style="font-weight: bold;">amazing</u> people. They continually stand with us, behind us, and around us--encircling my guys and me with incredible love. This is the body of Christ as it should be...Jesus with skin on. </div>
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Finally, and I know this sounds strange, but this weekend was useful as a practice run. Dr. F expects that Monster will culminate his stay by causing obstruction of some vital organs/functions. When that happens--and it is WHEN, not IF--it will be a true, life-threatening emergency. We have a plan of action ready for that occurrence, which begins with me getting to the MCD ER as quickly as possible. Now we know a little more of what to expect, and that is not a bad thing.</div>
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C is for cancer. C is also for Cookie Monster and coat and crazy and cry...and cowboys. I despise this disease that I sometimes say is ruining my life. But there are times when I think of all the things I have seen and done and learned because of cancer that I would never have encountered otherwise. And I have just enough sense in my little head to be thankful.</div>
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P.S. Highlight of the long, sick weekend: Lengthy FaceTime with Reese the Niece. She showed me her puppy dogs, she took me outside, and she read me her favorite books. The Princess was astonished that Auntie knew <u>5 Little Monkeys</u> and could do the hand motions with her. Our favorite part, of course, was when "one fell off and bumped his head!" She'd bump her head, I'd bump my head, and then we would laugh at each other. I am so totally in love with that little girl!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4