NCBE: When the Hubby's Away...

Update: The exterminator called. He can't come out until Friday. Today is Tuesday. Ugh.

My sweet Hubby doesn't travel nearly as much as he used to, but he still takes the occasional business trip. He left this morning for San Antonio, and my day with the boys started out normal enough. At least, normal for us. Goliath went to his friend Chandler's house to play, and I loaded up Little Middle and Baby to run a few errands. Here's a look at how the day progressed:

Little Middle, Baby, and I went to the toy store to pick out birthday presents for some friends. While I was waiting for the clerk to wrap the gifts, Little Middle and Baby noticed the plasma cars for sale and took a few spins around the store. My toes got run over more than once, and the little darlings suffered a sudden episode of hearing loss when I announced it was time to go. Goodbye, video game/TV time.

We had to stop by the grocery store to pick up a few items, one being cereal. I said "no" to Lucky Charms, but somehow we ended up purchasing Froot Loops with marshmallows. Huh?

After that, we went to the pet store. Although we have quite the menagerie, we only needed one item: Crickets. Live ones. I have never bought live crickets, and I don't think I will again. I don't care whose oversized lizard is starving to death.

The lizard got his lunch, and the little boys got theirs. They ate the Lunchables I had let them pick out at the grocery store, because I'm awesome like that. While I was eating my lunch, they went in Goliath's room and listened to music (no video games, remember?). Just when I was feeling so proud of them for playing together so nicely, they invited me to come in and see their new dance they had made up. The dance involved wearing pirate hats and standing in their brother's dresser drawers, which are now broken. Oh, and I could not locate one single hammer when I tried to fix them (although I'm certain we have at least 3).

At about the same time the two little boys were allowed access to electronics again, Goliath and his buddy showed up. Unless you've lived in a house where 4 boys are playing 2 separate video games on 2 different consoles in 2 different rooms, well--you haven't lived. I decided the best way to block out the noise and the yelling was to rearrange Goliath's room. My child, God bless him, is a slob. There's no other way to say it. I try not to nitpick about every little thing, but his bedroom looks like a war zone and every now and then I go on a rampage in there to make myself feel better. I don't know what made me decide to move furniture when I probably shouldn't have, but the big trash bag of junk I filled up was quite satisfying.

Goliath left again before he could admire my handiwork. After his room was cleaned (but not his closet--that's a whole other beast), I went out to water the yard. Seemed like a sensible thing to do, what with it being 658 degrees today and all. While I was watering, I noticed a message written in chalk on my front sidewalk: "Chandler is dum." I'm assuming Chandler's sister wrote it, although I'm not sure why she chose our sidewalk instead of her own.

It occurred to me that I should feed the boys some sort of dinner before I took them to their friends' birthday party. I don't cook much when Hubby is gone, so I gave them the choice of pb&j or chicken nuggets. They voted for nuggets, so I went to the freezer, and...you guessed it. No chicken nuggets. Rather, there was only the bag that the nuggets came in. EMPTY. Aarrgghh.

I slapped together some pb&j sandwiches, pretended not to hear their protests, then ran to make myself presentable and find new pants to replace the ones I was wearing when I dropped my lipstick on them. Hope that comes out. While I was searching through my closet (will I ever learn to keep up with laundry?!?) I heard voices. Goliath, Chandler, Chandler's sister, and one of her friends had come over and Goliath's opinions about his new room arrangement were coming through loud and clear. I chose to ignore him UNTIL I heard this: "Let's hurry so my mom won't see us."

They weren't fast enough. I appeared at my bedroom door as they were sneaking past it with Goliath's (very real, very expensive) guitar in hand. "Hello," I said pleasantly. "Whatcha doin'?"

"We're going to start a band," he explained, "and we need my guitar for our band practice."

"Oh, really?" I said. "That sounds like fun. Unfortunately, the only way you can have band practice with that guitar is if you have it in this house. Which, also unfortunately, can not happen right now because I have to take your brothers to a birthday party. So I guess you'll have to practice later."

I'm not sure Goliath's friends are impressed with my mothering skills.

The older kids left, somewhat in a huff. Little Middle, Baby, and I headed to the birthday party. The kids had a great time; I endured a stifling encounter with a person I am glad I don't see very often. I ate a granola bar and a piece of Hello Kitty birthday cake for dinner.

During the party, Goliath called to see if I would be home in time for his newly-formed band to practice tonight. No. No, I wouldn't. On the way home I collected him from his pal's house and thought how grateful I was that the day was almost over.

We made it home! I only had to get them bathed and to bed before I could collapse. This thought was comforting me when I heard, "MOOOOOMMM!!! There are bugs in our bathroom!!!"

I went to have a look-see, and sure enough, the bathroom had mysteriously been infested with strange bugs while we were out. I was able to identify tiny ants crawling around the edge of the bathtub, but there were many more, much larger bugs WITH WINGS. I don't do bugs if I can help it. But there was no choice--I went in armed with a fly swatter in one hand and a bottle of Spic and Span multipurpose cleaner in the other. The more I killed, I swear the more they multiplied. I finally called Hubby and told him we were being invaded by giant ants with wings. He might have snickered if he hadn't heard the desperation in my voice. He instructed me to see if I could tell where they were coming from, then spray every which way with the pest control spray I would find by his workbench in the garage.

Did you know that the bottles of bug spray and coolant for your car look similar?

I did as I was told, closed the bathroom door, and will not open it again until the exterminator arrives tomorrow morning. Then I washed my hands. More than once.

Hubby texted me a while ago to see if I was OK. I replied that besides being grossed out and feeling a little itchy, I am fine. I also mentioned that "all the best stuff happens while you are gone." He replied, "So it seems."

I have left out the parts about me trying to wrangle the hyperactive bird dog, running from a persistent wasp, and knocking over our trash can with my car.

Babe, I love you. Please hurry home.

Love Lessons (Re)Learned

It is true that in several ways this round of chemo hasn't been as bad as the first. I have had less nausea, fewer headaches, and not as many days curled up in bed. In other ways, it has been more difficult. The fatigue I feel is extreme. It has been difficult to find the right balance of food for my system. And the emotional strain is more. So much more.

I was surprised yesterday when I looked in the mirror and saw a sick person staring back at me. There was no trace of the old laughter, love, or life in my face. Instead, I saw baldness, weariness, and sadness. How did that happen so fast? How did cancer jump in and steal my joy when I wasn't looking?

While I was studying my pitiful reflection and wondering what happened to ME, something even more surprising happened. My husband walked in behind me and told me I was beautiful. He kissed my bald head. He wrapped me up in his strong arms--those arms that are carrying the weight of the world right now--and held me close. He said over and over again that he loves me, and that cancer will never change that.

This man promised nearly 12 years ago to love me, no matter what. He promised to give me the best of himself, in good times or in bad. He promised to help me and protect me, in sickness and in health.

He is a man of his word.

And you know what is really amazing? He tells me that he's a little bit glad we are facing this disease together, because cancer is teaching him what love really is.

We were so young when we got married! We were fresh-faced and ready to take on the world. Sometimes, I take inventory of our life: house in the suburbs, SUV with a soccer ball rolling around in the backseat, 3 noisy little boys, 3 pets. Long gone are the days of sipping wine during a leisure Friday night dinner, or taking a whole weekend to watch the Rocky marathon on HBO. No doubt that he loved me then. But now...there's a whole different element to us. We never could have imagined that the fire we would walk through would be this hot. One thing's for sure, though: there is no one else I would want walking by my side.

Babe, there are not words that would be adequate to express everything you are to me. How you manage to maneuver through each day and still be yourself is beyond me. I love the man that you always have been, but especially the man that you are right now. When I need you the most, you amaze me...over and over and over again. Thank you for taking out IV lines and dispensing medications. Thank you for working so hard and traveling when you have to, even though I know you dread it. Thank you for spending so much extra time with the boys and making them feel like all is right with the world because their daddy will take them fishing. Thank you for making me feel safe, and loved, and still pretty. Thank you for being who God made you to be: the perfect one for me. I love you.

Wanting to Worship

I am spending a lazy Sunday afternoon in my polka-dot pajamas, curled up in my bed. Outside the window, I am watching the last of a Texas spring snow melt away and trying not to think about how much I enjoyed the 70 degree temperatures less than 48 hours ago. In the other room, I can hear the little cowboys cheering and jeering their way through a new Wii game. Hubby is passing back and forth, cleaning out cabinets--due in part to boredom, and in part to a need for some spring cleaning around here. He's a good, good man.

This morning I got up early, got all fancied up in my best jeans, and headed to the church house. I haven't been to church in a month, and I HAVE MISSED IT. I am of the opinion that the command God gives us to "not give up meeting together" (Hebrews 10:25) is a lovely one indeed. We love our church. I was glad to be there when my boys practically skipped into their classrooms. I was glad to be there when I got hugs from friends, big and small, who I haven't seen in a while. I was glad to be there when "my" usher, Mr. Bill (who keeps mini chocolate bars in his coat pocket to give to the kids each week), opened the door for me and when I made eye contact with precious Ms. Dessie over the balcony railing and blew her a kiss. I was glad to be there to sing the words of the great hymn "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing." I was glad to be there to hear a sermon on what authentic worship is and what it is not.

I jotted this tidbit down in my notes: "Worship is done everywhere--even in the middle of crisis and disaster." What a timely reminder! I will be mindful of that when I go back to the oncology office on Wednesday for a chemotherapy teaching session. This session, slated to last 1 1/2 hours, will be Hubby and me and my parents, learning everything we ever wanted (or did not want) to know about chemo. She will tell us when my chemo sessions will be, what to expect, and what they think the drugs will or will not do to my body. They say that information is power, but I am scared of what I will learn at that appointment. I don't want to find out about a chemotherapy protocol that has been specially designed for me. I don't even want it to exist!

Even more than that, I dread what must happen after the appointment on Wednesday. Hubby and I must sit down with our sons and try to explain chemotherapy to them. I have the same knot in my stomach that I had four weeks ago when we told them that the cancer had returned. How can I explain to my children that the only way to fight is with more sickness? This seems even more complicated after a conversation I had with Goliath yesterday. He and I went out in the snow yesterday afternoon to run a few errands, and on our way back I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up some clothes we had waiting there. It went something like this:

Goliath: Mom, what are we doing here?

Me: I need to pick up these sweaters so Dad has them for church tomorrow.

Goliath: Why are we going to church tomorrow?

Me: Ummm...because we always go to church. We haven't been able to go for a few weeks, but it's important that we are there to learn and worship.

Goliath: We just didn't go because of your surgery.

Me: That's right, buddy. Goliath, do you think that God stopped loving me because I got sick?

Goliath: Noooooo...

Me: And do you think that God stopped loving you and your brothers and your dad because you feel sad about me?

Goliath: Nooooo...that's not how it works. But Mom, I don't know why we have to talk about this, because you're not sick anymore.

My sons believe that I am well. They understand that I am not 100%--they see me resting and taking medicine--but as far as we can tell, they think that my release from the hospital meant that the cancer is over. This week will be a bad surprise for them.

This disease is my crisis, my own personal disaster. I am sad and scared. But in spite of that, I want to worship. I want to show my sons what real worship looks like, so they can draw from that when they are ready. God is not contained by my cancer or boxed in by my sorrow. His goodness and loving kindness reach far beyond my weakness. Even when I am hurting, I will choose to worship. Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise. He is so worthy!

"I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonders. I will be glad and rejoice in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High." Psalm 9:1-2