Goliath Turns 10

Dear Goliath,

You are double digits today! Ten years ago today, my dream came true when I became a mommy. When the nurse handed me that sweet blue bundle with the gloworm eyes, I literally stopped breathing for a moment. I will never forget that as I held you for the first time, it was as if time stood still. It was just you and me. You looked so intently at me I felt as if I were being interviewed for the job of being your mother. The commotion of the medical staff and even our excited family became background noise as the two of us got to know each other. We were made to be together, you know...

And now, ten years later, here we are. We live just a few miles from that hospital where you gave me the most important job of my life. Every time we drive by there, I remember January 2, 2002, and how much richer I was after I left there than when I went in.

You, my boy, are an adventure. My life has changed in every possible way since you entered it on that wonderful day, and yet I feel as if we have always been together. I think that's the way God made moms and their sons to feel. Being your mom is like riding a tall, fast loop-to-loop roller coaster--the kind that makes you laugh out loud even though you're terrified of what comes next. You make me laugh. Oh Lordy--don't we laugh a lot? Just last night when I was trying to have a conversation with your brother about New Year's resolutions, you popped in and said, "I thought a resolution was a kind of war." And then you popped back out of the room, and left me and your dad snorting with laughter. You crack me up when you assign made-up statistics to everything--like "How many people in the world believe in God? Probably about 52%, right, Mom?" and other random, less-meaningful "facts." You make me laugh when you try to act like you're asleep, because I know that as soon as I tickle your armpits you are going to jump out of bed and try to get away.

Mothering is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. You showed me more than once this year that I need to step it up in the bravery department because you are NOT such a little boy anymore. This summer you went off to camp with Nana's church, quite happily, I might add. You and Jacob never looked back, even as Ms. Lisa and I were calling for just one more hug. How did we get to a place where you can go away for a week and not need me?!? And what about that jiu jitsu tournament? I'm glad you were so focused on your fight, because then you couldn't see me alternately biting my fingernails and jumping up and down like a crazed maniac. I could hardly stand to see my baby out there...but I sure did love the smile on my baby's face with that big medal around his neck!

In fact, if anyone around here is brave, it's you. Remember the first day of 4th grade? I honestly didn't know if I could leave you in that new school that day because my heart hurt so much. But you put on the bravest smile I've ever seen and reported back that your day was great! I know you worry about a lot of things--you're like me in that way, I'm afraid--but you always try your best in spite of your fear.

We have a ton of fun together, but you also manage to strike fear in my heart more than any other person (although your two brothers are right behind you). When you were just a sweet blue bundle, I felt a heavy weight of responsibility to care for you. I still feel that, just in a different way. You don't need me to feed you or dress you anymore, but at age 10, things are a'changin'. You seem to think that you are much more grown-up than you really are. (Tell me again why you think you need a cell phone?!?) Do your old mom this favor: Let me help you. Let's talk about stuff, OK? Let me protect you and fight for you and struggle through long division with you. You're not a teenager yet, so don't act like one. Ask the hard (or embarrassing) questions, and expect honest answers. Accept other ideas and even criticism when it is delivered with love--and you know it always is. It is my job to make sure that you have all the tools you need to be the best you that God created you to be, and He created you to be AMAZING.

On the night of January 2, 2002, when it was just you, Daddy, and me in that hospital room, my heart was so full of joy that I thought I could burst. Today I feel that same way. You are my joy boy. I love you with everything that I am. Happy Birthday, Buddy.

Love,

Mom

Happy Birthday, Goliath!

Dear Goliath,

For the first time in your life, my birthday letter to you is late. Luckily, my excuse is a good one: you turned 9 while we were at Disney World! There could not have been a better way to celebrate!

Nine. WOW! How can I be old enough to have a nine-year-old? And how can that nine-year-old be YOU? It seems like it wasn't that long ago that I was watching it snow outside the hospital window while I waited for you to make your grand arrival.

Not everything has been grand for us this year, though, has it precious boy? There are lots of people who have been affected by my illness, but probably none more than you. You have gone through so much. No little boy should ever have to see what you have seen or feel what you have felt, and I wish with every ounce of my being that I could erase those things for you. Cancer has made an ugly mark on you. You exhibit real separation anxiety, to a degree that you didn't show even as a baby. You want to be with me, or at least know where I am, all the time. You are fearful that I will forget to pick you up (or maybe not come back at all?) when we are apart. You worry about most everything--from the Sickness down to buying your lunch at school. You have extreme mood swings. One minute you're happy and all is right with the world, and the next minute you're fussing at anyone who dares get in your way.

My goodness, I'm making you sound like an awful kid. I hope you know that isn't the case at all. I think you're the best kid ever. Daddy and I have been proud of how you have navigated these uncharted waters. Not too many boys have moms with cancer. You've been very brave, even when it hasn't been easy.

Of course, cancer or no cancer, the world keeps spinning. You have done a lot of growing up this year. You love to be with your friends, and we have slowly allowed you more freedom. You really enjoy riding your bike and meeting up with your buddies at the park in our neighborhood, or at someone's house to play. The rule is that you MUST stay wherever you say you're going unless you call me to tell me otherwise. Only once have I gone to the park and discovered that you had moved on to a friend's house without calling. The consequences--or maybe the embarrassment of discipline in front of your friends--made that the first and last time you committed that particular crime!

Speaking of consequences, Daddy and I have found that it is necessary to be more creative. Writing sentences, yard work, and cleaning up dog poop in the backyard are all effective punishments for you. I was temporarily stumped on the day that you TP'd our living room, but after you had to clean up all the toilet paper and use it as your very own, I feel confident that you will never EVER do that again!

You still enjoy school, although math has become more difficult and much less enjoyable for you. I try my best to help you with your homework, but sometimes I don't even understand it! Why they ever replaced tried-and-true methods like carrying and borrowing with regrouping and drawing pictures is beyond me. Your teachers have been simply amazing. No doubt these professionals were hand-picked just for you by God. You have been loved and cared for at school--what a gift!

You are old enough this year to participate in extracurricular clubs at school. When the paper came home at the beginning of the school year, you surprised me by saying you wanted to join a club. Then you surprised me again by picking Soccer Club! I totally had you pegged for the Chess Club. Silly me. You have really enjoyed playing, and I am so proud of you for trying something new.

You've also shown a real interest lately in cooking. You asked Santa Claus for a kids' cookbook, and the look on your face when you opened it up on Christmas morning was priceless! Although you are a little messy in the kitchen, I try to bite my tongue because a) I love that you are learning a new skill, and b) I love spending that quality time with you.

You still think that girls are icky and that kissing is gross (and that's fine with me!). Unfortunately for you, this has been the year for weddings. After Caroline's wedding, you didn't think it could get any worse--until you had to be IN a wedding. Fortunately for Aunt Jenny and Uncle Howie and Uncle Phil and Aunt Chelsea, you were crazy-handsome in your wedding attire, and charming to boot! When you're all grown up, we will all probably still be laughing about how you fell asleep under the table at Aunt Jenny's reception while your brothers danced the night away with each other.

This year, right in the middle of the worst thing, the BEST thing happened. On August 4, Daddy and I were privileged to sit on the floor of your bedroom and listen to you pray a prayer inviting Jesus to be the Lord of your life. The decision had been floating around in your brain and heart for some time, but for months you had been working hard to find a satisfactory answer to the age old question: Why does God let bad things happen to good people? Time and time again, we have simply said that faith means believing in what you can't see or make sense of. None of us know why God let cancer happen to our family, but you finally came to a point that you could believe that He is loving and good in spite of it. I will always remember that night, and how your prayer was a direct answer to one of my own.

I love being your mother. I love the lessons I learn from you and the memories I make with you. I love the way you won't go to sleep until I've kissed you goodnight. I love to hear you laugh. I love how you feel empathy for other people who are hurting, and how you want to help those who are not as fortunate as you are. I love that you are a morning person like me and that you are a hunter like your dad. I love that you tell me corny jokes and that you honestly think they are hilarious. I love your singing voice. Most of all, I love that you are mine.

Happy birthday, Goliath. I love YOU.

Love,

Mom

He Really Loves His Mama

Goliath: "I think I love you more than cheesecake, Mom."

NCBE: First Day of School

First Day of School!

Little Middle is going to first grade.

Goliath is going to third grade.

Little Middle is proud of his new backpack!

Brothers and best buddies.

Ready to go into his classroom--too big for Mom to go with him.

This little guy also told us that he didn't need us to go with him to his classroom.

"I can do it all by myself, Mom."

I couldn't bear to let him go alone...maybe when he goes to high school.

The cowboys had a great first day! They both like their teachers and have lots of friends in their classes. Baby loved his first day, too, because he got the Wii all to himself!

Welcome back, School Year. I have missed you.

NCBE: Heavenly Secret

Goliath: "Mom, I talked to God while I was in bed last night."

Me: "That's good. What did you say to him?"

Goliath: "Sorry. That information is classified."

NCBE: This Has Never Happened Before

Summer is drawing to a close, and boredom set in a while back. In a good faith effort to combat the boys' summertime blues and keep my sanity (or what's left of it), Goliath and Little Middle both had friends over to play. They are at the age now where it is sometimes well worth it to have extra children in the house for them to play with rather than have to hear, "There's nothing to DO around here!" over and over again.

So, today there were five boys at my house. They seemed to be playing happily, so I escaped into my bedroom to check my e-mail. After a few quiet moments, there was a soft knock on the door. "Umm, Ms. Allyson? Goliath is putting toilet paper in the living room."

Could you repeat that, cute little boy? Because it sure sounded like you said that my son was toilet papering our living room.

The scene in my living room was so astounding, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Just try to imagine 3 full rolls of toilet paper decorating my small-ish living room...draped over furniture, thrown over ceiling fan blades, arranged in lovely designs on the carpet, and just plain 'ol piled up. I don't know what he was thinking.

And crazy as I might seem, I do not think that toilet tissue is an appropriate form of decor. So Goliath cleaned it up. And while I watched him clean, I had a great idea. Remember in Ramona and Her Mother (Beverly Cleary) when Ramona made a toothpaste "cake" in the sink? Mrs. Quimby made her clean it up and put all that wasted toothpaste into a jar. Ramona had to use the toothpaste from the jar while everyone else in the family used fresh toothpaste from a new tube. Mrs. Quimby was a good mom.

This classy plastic bag holds Goliath's personal toilet paper. All 3 (plus a little extra) rolls. The bag is hanging in the boys' bathroom, labeled with his name, just waiting for him to need it. According to Goliath, this makes me the meanest mom in the world. But I'm guessing that Mrs. Quimby felt pretty proud of herself, too.

Oh--if you come over and need to use the facilities, you're more than welcome. Just please don't use the toilet paper in the Wal*Mart bag.

Faith of a Child

Last night Hubby and I shared one of the greatest joys that we have known as parents: we sat with our precious Goliath on the floor of his bedroom and listened while he prayed a prayer asking Jesus to be his Savior.

"If you confess with your mouth 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." Romans 10:9

His faith is simple, and his life is forever changed. Welcome to the family, son.

A Letter to My Son

Dear Goliath,

I woke up super early this morning, unable to go back to sleep, because you are weighing so heavily on my mind and in my heart. There has been a change in you in recent days. It's not necessarily a bad change, but I can sense a true shift in your attitude about many things and just in your being. With the exception of one rowdy backyard swim session with your brothers (what must our neighbors think of us?!?), you have been quiet--VERY un-Goliath-like. You've been pleasant and compliant--not that you aren't usually delightful, but let's be honest: you typically don't think twice before loudly and passionately sharing your opinions. About everything.

So my mom senses have been on heightened alert. You're not running fever. You don't have a rash. You are sleeping well at night and eating well during the day. You assure me that you feel fine. But as I've asked you more pointed questions, the answers have become a little more jumbled. At bedtime a few nights ago, after we'd said your prayers together, I asked you simply if everything is OK with you (I ask that often, hoping that in a few more years when you've morphed into the dreaded teenager, that we will have established good communication and you will know it is fine to tell your old mom anything.). You were silent for a moment, and then you said, "Mama, are you going to feel better tomorrow?"

This last round of chemotherapy has been beyond miserable. For all of us. I now know why so many patients quit before they can finish the regimen: it makes you feel like you'd be better off to just let the cancer have its way with you. I have done everything I could think of to keep you and your brothers from witnessing me at my worst, but I know I can't truly keep you away from what is happening right under your noses. The only way to do that would be to keep you away. Period. And none of us, most of all me, want that.

You have been so tender and gentle with me. Although we haven't really discussed it, you know that I am suffering. I know you know, because I could feel the compassion in your 8-year-old hands when you helped me up off the floor after our Uno game. I could hear the concern in your voice when you asked if you could get me anything. I could see the worry in your eyes when you came in the bedroom to check on me. And I could almost reach out and touch the longing when you curled up beside me on my bed yesterday--a longing for better days and a normal, healthy mom.

Over and over again, I have prayed for you. Long before The Sickness invaded our happy home, I was asking God to draw you close to Him. I have prayed that you would have an understanding of who He is and what you need, and that you would learn to love Him and walk with Him. With my diagnosis, my prayers expanded. I began asking God to protect your mind and your heart from anger and bitterness, and to give you wisdom beyond your years so you would still be able to seek and find Jesus. I feel like now you are at a pivotal point in a journey you may not be fully aware you are on. You have tough questions that prick my heart. You are certainly justified in asking them, but it makes me angry that the innocence of your childhood--what Daddy and I have wanted so much to preserve and protect for you--is scuffed up by such a hard, unfair thing. I feel so sad when I think that when you and Little Middle and Baby grow up and look back on being little boys, your memories will always be marked in some way by me being a cancer patient.

But even that, sweet son, is not beyond God's control or out of His reach. The two things I tell you repeatedly about God--that He is good and that nothing happens to us without Him knowing and caring--don't really fit for you right now. Honestly, they don't really mesh together for me that well, either. BUT..."I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God." (Romans 8:38-39) Not cancer. Not fear. Not broken routines and uncertain futures. Not questions. NOTHING can separate you from the God who made you so well and loves you so much.

One more thing, Goliath. Every night, when the house is still and quiet, I sneak into your room. I make sure you are covered up, and I breathe a prayer of thanks that I got to be your mother. God could have chosen anyone else for you (I'm sure sometimes you wish He had!), but He picked me. I sometimes still can't believe it. I know I'm not perfect, but if love alone could make a good mom, I'd be the best on the planet. Never, ever doubt that I love you. I promise that I will always do my best for you, even when I'm not sure what the best thing is. And I promise that I will continue to teach you about our good God, and I will "...pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power...to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fulness of God." (Ephesians 3:18-19)

And to answer your question from last night, YES. I would love to spend some more time with you.

Love,

Mom

Happy Birthday, Goliath!

Dear Goliath,

You are 8 years old today! We started the day with the traditional family birthday muffins. Actually, you started the day before any of us...you were already waiting for me when I came in the kitchen to bake! You always are an early riser. And it's a good thing you got a jump start on the day. As soon as you finished breakfast, you waited impatiently for your dad to take you to get your birthday present: a new bike! Much of the rest of the day was taken up riding around the neighborhood with your friends.

As I watched you blow out your candles this morning, read your cards, and ride your bike, I kept thinking the same thing: "He is so grown up!" And so you are. There is no trace of the baby you used to be--I long ago went from being "Mommy" to "Mom". You refer to your brothers as "you guys" and your friends as "dudes." You prefer a hot morning shower over the leisurely evening bubble baths you used to enjoy. You would rather watch a cowboy movie with Dad than cartoons with your brothers. You run to answer the phone when it rings, you know how to use the internet, and you recently figured out how to purchase pay-per-view movies off the TV. After 3 mysterious charges, we got smart and put parental locks on all the channels!

In some ways, you are just like any other growing boy. For one thing, you are pretty messy. Your room is a disaster, and I've had a hard time finding the balance between allowing it to be your personal space and insisting that it be tidy. I'm working on it, though. You also have become less careful about your appearance. You used to drive me crazy because you would roll up your pants legs because you thought you looked cool that way. Now, you don't seem to care if you're even wearing pants! You must be reminded to brush your teeth and comb your hair most days, and if I dare let you choose your clothes, they probably were picked up off your bedroom floor. I fear that this is just the first of many years of smelly socks, sweat-stained T-shirts, and moldy duffel bags for our family of boys!

In other ways, I am seeing more and more how God crafted you to be the one and only wonderful you. You really enjoy cooking--we have shared sweet moments in the kitchen creating delicious treats together. You adore horses! This year you finally got to take Papa's horse outside of the pen, and you are a pretty good rider. In fact, you are quite the outdoorsman. You also caught a gigantic fish this spring and killed your first deer just a few weeks ago. I will never forget how excited you were when you called me to tell me you "stopped him dead in his tracks!". You love to read, and can easily spend an hour (or longer) with your nose in a book.

This year you have enjoyed great success, but have also faced some tough challenges. This summer, one of your Sunday School teachers went to heaven after battling cancer. You asked questions that I couldn't answer, and it hurt my heart to realize that you still carry so much fear and worry from my illness. You faced a difficult situation at school in the fall, and showed us that your emotions--good and bad--run fast and furious. I wanted so much to step in and "fix it" for you, and I just couldn't. Talk about growing pains! As hard as these things have been, I am thankful for the bond that we share and the evidence that the God of the Universe holds my boy in His hand.

There are two mental pictures I have of The Year You Were Seven that I hope I never forget. One is from the day you broke your arm in Abilene. A visit to the ER became a trip to the operating room to reset the bone. While we waited for them to wheel you in to the OR, I was an emotional mess--I couldn't bear the thought of you going in there alone. But I didn't want you to feel scared, so I tried not to let you see me cry. When it was time for you to go, I leaned over to kiss you, and you gently wiped the tears off my face.

The other happens on a pretty regular basis: When I drop you and Little Middle off at school in the morning, you take care of him. Even if we're pressed for time, you wait for him to get out of the car, and you walk with him into the school building. I love to watch you caring for and loving your little brother that way, and I equally love how he seems to walk a little taller with you by his side.

Dad and I are so proud of you, little man. God made you strong, smart, and so very, very special. I expect that eight will be great for you, and I look forward to seeing what you will do next. I have no greater joy than simply being your mom. Happy Birthday, baby.

I love you,

Mom

Back to School

I welcomed the first day of school with a mix of relief (it's FINALLY here!) and sadness. Today I sent two of my babies off to school...Goliath to second grade and Little Middle to kindergarten.

They were SO excited!

Ready for 2nd grade

Ready for kindergarten

Showing off their new backpacks

Sweet brothers

The first day of school is always a family affair...everyone was up early, dressed, and ready to go in plenty of time! We took Little Middle to his classroom first. He had no trouble opening up his locker, hanging up his cowboy backpack, and finding his seat. He got right to work, pausing only for a quick photo op with his new teacher.

We left Little Middle happily gluing Cheerios at his desk and walked Goliath to his classroom. He is an old pro at school by now, and settled quickly in his desk and got busy! I suspect that it may not be as cool to have your parents linger in your classroom when you're in 2nd grade...so I took one picture of my first-born and made my exit:

Both boys had a fantastic first day! I asked God to pave the way for my boys today and to make school a fun, exciting place where they want to be. He must have heard my prayer, because when I asked Little Middle this afternoon if he liked kindergarten well enough to go back tomorrow, he answered, "I think I do!"

No More School, No More Soccer

In the last few days we have bid farewell to first grade and finished out our first soccer season!

Goliath's class ended their year with a fun classroom party. Goliath received an award for "Best Attitude." He has done really well this year!

Goliath and his teacher, Mrs. C

Best buddies

Goliath and Sydney, his choice for "the prettiest girl in the whole first grade!"

Little Middle has really enjoyed his soccer season. He played Upward soccer, and it's been a terrific experience. Nearly everything about a group of Pre-K boys playing soccer is comical, but the boys never knew they were anything less than winners!

Praying before the game

Action shot...Go Falcons!

Taking a break on the sidelines

Little Middle and his teammate Andrew at the awards ceremony

And now...we can take a deep breath, sleep late, and head for the pool. WELCOME, SUMMER!!!

Vocabulary

After being reminded--again--that his room needed cleaning, Goliath stomped off yelling, "This life is so INVIGORATING!"

I think he means infuriating. Ha!

Goliath the Goat

Goliath made his theatrical debut tonight as a gourmet goat in the 1st grade production of "Barnyard Moosical." He did a great job (even with only one arm)!

The Goat Song!

What a Weekend!

We spent the weekend at my in-laws' place in Abilene. There is so much to do there, and the boys love going! Here's the rundown of how we spent our West Texas Weekend:

Off to a good start by watching movies in the car

Fishing at the pond

Playing with the bait

Goliath was fishing for bass, but caught this HUGE catfish instead.

It was 28 inches long and weighed 10 pounds!

Goliath also caught this nice-sized fish!

While Goliath was busy cleaning his catch, Little Middle and Baby
had fun playing with the puppies...

and kept a wary eye out while visiting the pigeon house.

Just like their dad, all of my boys love horses. On Sunday afternoon we saddled up Blaze and they took turns riding. Aren't they good-looking horsemen?

Goliath was riding out in the pasture when our weekend suddenly took a downward turn--literally--when he fell off of the horse. To be accurate, he slid off when the horse walked under some trees. Goliath ducked to avoid the branches, but couldn't get low enough fast enough. The mesquite branches actually brushed him right off of Blaze's back, and as he says, "The horse just kept on walking!"

We rushed to the emergency room...

...where we learned that a pitiful-looking mini-cowboy who screams really loud during X-rays can earn the sympathy of a few nurses and get his chart moved to the ER "fast track."

The X-rays showed that Goliath's wrist was broken, as well as the bones in his forearm were out of place. The ER doc summoned the on-call orthopedic doc, who explained that he would have to manipulate the bones to get them back in place--a procedure that would need to take place in the operating room. For obvious reasons, he wanted Goliath to have full anesthesia so he could neither feel nor remember anything that would happen!


This is my brave boy getting ready to be wheeled into surgery. Explaining to him why we couldn't go with him was really hard--look close and you can see the tear stains on his cheeks!

Post-op Goliath

He ended up having a tough time fully shaking off the effects of the anesthesia, so he spent the night on the pediatric floor of the hospital for observation. I slept on a chair in his room, and we both were awakened every 90 minutes by a nurse checking his vitals, doing breathing checks, etc. At about 4:00 in the morning, after one such check, I got up to turn off all the lights. I was sure he had gone right back to sleep, but I heard his little voice in the darkness say, "I didn't expect it to turn out like this, Mommy."

Neither did I, buddy.

The next morning, Hubby brought the brothers and some McDonald's breakfast for all of us to share before Goliath was discharged. He now has a fiberglass splint that reaches from his fingers almost to his shoulder. His arm is wrapped up in bandages and he is wearing a sling to keep it "still" (yeah, right!). He will get a regular cast in a few days after the swelling has had time to go down.

As soon as we left the hospital, we packed up the car and made a beeline for home. I'm all for adventure, but this weekend was a little more excitement than any of us bargained for. Thing is, with 3 little cowboys, I doubt this will be the last time that family fun becomes a medical mishap! As one ER nurse said, "This is par for the course for a boy mom."