Mood: proud, grateful, blessed
Today, Jeff picked Malcolm up from school. While I'm moving 100 times more and better than I was anticipating after the ACL reconstruction, I'm still not ready to take Malcolm to and from school yet. Jeff walked in carrying the mail and Malcolm had his backpack.
Jeff got Malcolm a snack and returned to work. Malcolm asked if he could watch cartoons. I said yes, but first he had to read a book that he had brought home from school. I asked him to read it to Jeff and I. The last time he brought a book home, I helped him through it once and then he read it back to us.
Not today. Today, Malcolm sat down, opened the book and stole my heart once again. Malcolm read the book "I Like" to us making only one mistake. I wanted to cry tears of joy, but I didn't want to confuse Malcolm at all. So we gave major high-fives and told him how immensely proud of him we are. This is the first time he's read us a book all by himself. And I fell in love all over again with this kid and his father.
When I was dating, I decided I did not want to date a man with children. I didn't want the baby mama drama and I, selfishly, wanted to be the center of attention. Instead of sticking to my rule, I fell in love with Jeff. Partly because of what an amazing father he is.
Today while Malcolm read to us, I sat next to him in awe. Moments like this remind me that sure, not everything is perfect. Jeff and I are still working towards our own place and towards paying off chemo and hospital, dental and now ACL surgery bills. Yet, in the little family that consists of myself, Jeff, Malcolm, Zooey and Yoda, we truly do have everything. I am constantly reminded of the millions of reasons that I love these boys and today, I could not be any prouder.
Malcolm, I am so impressed with how intelligent, articulate and kind you are. Jeff, I do not even have words to adequately express my love, admiration and respect that I have for you. I never imagined this much happiness in my life from two males that are insanely stubborn and would live on planet Cybertron if they could. Yet here I am. In love. All over again. On a Tuesday afternoon.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
2013/11/26
Black and White
Mood: thankful
My most hated nickname from my family is Drama Queen. I HATE that nickname more than any of the others, and my dad has an affinity for calling me Poopstain so I think that is saying quite a lot. The reason that I hate it is because, well, it's true. And I hate this about myself. I live my life in extremes, in black or white. I am forever disappointed that life is a series of confusing, convoluted, nebulous events rather than concrete absolutes
Today is one of those days where I am just so disgusted by myself and my need for things to be 100% one way or the other. I really do wish that I could change, but time and again I find myself disappointed over unclear or indirect answers.
Today Jeff, Malcolm and I headed to the oncologist for his post chemotherapy CT scan. A little over three hours after arriving at the hospital we arrived at our moment of truth. Were we facing a happy, healthy holiday season? Or another battle for Jeff's life?
I wanted so, so badly to hear that Jeff is 100% in remission and is healthy and has kicked cancer's ass. I really did want to hear that.
And, for the most part, that is what we heard. Thank God that Jeff is healthy! The oncologist declared Jeff to be in remission, but, there are still spots visible on the CT scan. They do not appear cancerous, and it is unlikely that these spots are, however the oncologist just is not sure what they are. He says that he does not believe them to be cancer. A needle biopsy is out of the question due to the position of these spots; they are located too close to blood vessels. If a biopsy is to be done it would be invasive surgery removing the mass and a chunk of lung.
So, while we got tremendous news today, is yet one more shade of gray in a world that I so wish was black and white. The poetic justice of the CT scan images is too much, really. It is the white and black that are normal. The gray masses are the unknown, the threats, the unanswered questions.
I am truly thankful that Jeff is healthy and the smile on his face once he heard the news...I haven't seen one like that in months. I cannot say how relieved I am to know that all of his heartache and physical pain from chemotherapy has resulted in his health once again. Yet, I cannot get these masses off of my mind. I know I am in for a long holiday season because I am a drama queen and I worry about everything. Cancer continues to humble me and I continue to learn and grow because of it.
Now we play a waiting game again, and on top of being dramatic I am eternally impatient. In January Jeff returns to the oncologist for another CT scan and more blood work. If the masses are gone, we are totally in the clear. If they are not, we are facing a bone marrow transplant.
Thursday, when we sit down to eat I know I will not be without worry or anxiety, because that is just who I am. But, I will be thankful that my husband is alive. I will be thankful that Malcolm has a father with many years of life and love ahead of him. And I will be thankful to bear witness that God has carried us through this.
My most hated nickname from my family is Drama Queen. I HATE that nickname more than any of the others, and my dad has an affinity for calling me Poopstain so I think that is saying quite a lot. The reason that I hate it is because, well, it's true. And I hate this about myself. I live my life in extremes, in black or white. I am forever disappointed that life is a series of confusing, convoluted, nebulous events rather than concrete absolutes
Today is one of those days where I am just so disgusted by myself and my need for things to be 100% one way or the other. I really do wish that I could change, but time and again I find myself disappointed over unclear or indirect answers.
Today Jeff, Malcolm and I headed to the oncologist for his post chemotherapy CT scan. A little over three hours after arriving at the hospital we arrived at our moment of truth. Were we facing a happy, healthy holiday season? Or another battle for Jeff's life?
I wanted so, so badly to hear that Jeff is 100% in remission and is healthy and has kicked cancer's ass. I really did want to hear that.
And, for the most part, that is what we heard. Thank God that Jeff is healthy! The oncologist declared Jeff to be in remission, but, there are still spots visible on the CT scan. They do not appear cancerous, and it is unlikely that these spots are, however the oncologist just is not sure what they are. He says that he does not believe them to be cancer. A needle biopsy is out of the question due to the position of these spots; they are located too close to blood vessels. If a biopsy is to be done it would be invasive surgery removing the mass and a chunk of lung.
So, while we got tremendous news today, is yet one more shade of gray in a world that I so wish was black and white. The poetic justice of the CT scan images is too much, really. It is the white and black that are normal. The gray masses are the unknown, the threats, the unanswered questions.
I am truly thankful that Jeff is healthy and the smile on his face once he heard the news...I haven't seen one like that in months. I cannot say how relieved I am to know that all of his heartache and physical pain from chemotherapy has resulted in his health once again. Yet, I cannot get these masses off of my mind. I know I am in for a long holiday season because I am a drama queen and I worry about everything. Cancer continues to humble me and I continue to learn and grow because of it.
Now we play a waiting game again, and on top of being dramatic I am eternally impatient. In January Jeff returns to the oncologist for another CT scan and more blood work. If the masses are gone, we are totally in the clear. If they are not, we are facing a bone marrow transplant.
Thursday, when we sit down to eat I know I will not be without worry or anxiety, because that is just who I am. But, I will be thankful that my husband is alive. I will be thankful that Malcolm has a father with many years of life and love ahead of him. And I will be thankful to bear witness that God has carried us through this.
2013/10/31
Namaste
Mood: it's good to be alive
I traveled to India in January of 2008. That trip changed my life. It not only gave me a broader worldview, it made me face truths and fears and it forced me to forge new relationships. It helped shape me into the person I am today. Compassionate. Empathetic. Judgement free. While many, many people contributed to making that trip spectacular for me, one man in particular deserves my thanks.
This man is Frank Stalfa. He was laid to rest yesterday in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and my heart is still breaking that I was unable to attend. This wise, gentle man that we referred to as our "fearless leader" showed me how to live. He taught me many things, but I think the most important and the one foremost in my heart today, is to find the moments of quiet joy in each day. His wife taught me to celebrate the simple act of living, one that Frank's teachings reinforced. The two of them are a model for living a grateful, joyous life.
Frank passed after a short, but brave battle against cancer. I've been largely avoiding social media as Jeff battles his cancer for a myriad of reasons. One, I am exhausted much of the time and just don't feel the energy at the end of the day for Facebook. Two, I am a chronic comparer. I think I made that word up. Here's what it means. I see the posts, the pictures, the food, the travels, the whatever my friends post and I compare where I am at and wallow in pity or self-loathing. As friends of mine work in professional sports, in important media positions, overseas, or even as high school teachers I think of how I am freelance writing and have no steady paycheck. As friends of mine post their beautiful babies I see the empty space in my arms where I can not put a child, because my body is not able to carry one. As friends post their homes....you get the idea.
So. I've been away long enough that I didn't even know Frank was ill. When he passed I sent an e-mail to my mother. When her reply came a few minutes later, I wept. I wept because I didn't get a chance to share with him what he taught me. I wept because I did not have the chance to offer words of encouragement to friends who were suffering in light of Frank's illness. And lastly, I wept because he touched my life and a beautiful soul left this earth.
Yesterday his funeral was on my mind. I ached to be in Pennsylvania, crying in my mother's arms at the loss of Frank. But with Jeff fighting an infection and cancer, it was not to be. As Jeff was sick I was responsible for taking Malcolm trick-or-treating. And I didn't want to. Because as I compare myself to others on Facebook, so do I do it in real life. And I felt vulnerable and weak, not able to handle public scrutiny or mingling with strangers. But Malcolm is 4 and he deserved to go, so I headed out into the night as Princess Mom with Malcolm as Black Spiderman. And somewhere between the fifth and tenth house, I felt light as air. I was smiling. I was interacting with people. I was happy. I was not comparing my size to other mothers. I was not comparing my living space to other's homes. I simply was. I was in the moment. With Malcolm and a gentle breeze ushering in the smell of fall and rain and leaves.
Frank's death has forced me to be grateful that Jeff has the chance to fight his cancer. That Jeff has a future to face. And that I get to be by his side through it. There are so many ugly moments during a cancer fight. So many heinous thoughts and emotions that remain hidden and eat away at you. Sometimes it is hard to be fully in the present as Jeff and I worry so much about the future. When he comes out of this our medical bills will set us back for years. When he comes out of this, we will worry that it still isn't over.
But last night, as I walked with Malcolm, Frank's message of joy and thanks filled me and I came home with a renewed sense of gratitude for the life I live.
I will miss Frank, but his teachings will never leave me. His teachings will live in the hearts and minds of those he touched near and far. Today, I will remember him. And the simple pleasure of finding a little bar in India to grab a cocktail and share conversation. And I will give thanks for all that I do have, rather than focusing on what I don't.
Life truly is good. And a gift. Give thanks. Namaste.
I traveled to India in January of 2008. That trip changed my life. It not only gave me a broader worldview, it made me face truths and fears and it forced me to forge new relationships. It helped shape me into the person I am today. Compassionate. Empathetic. Judgement free. While many, many people contributed to making that trip spectacular for me, one man in particular deserves my thanks.
This man is Frank Stalfa. He was laid to rest yesterday in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and my heart is still breaking that I was unable to attend. This wise, gentle man that we referred to as our "fearless leader" showed me how to live. He taught me many things, but I think the most important and the one foremost in my heart today, is to find the moments of quiet joy in each day. His wife taught me to celebrate the simple act of living, one that Frank's teachings reinforced. The two of them are a model for living a grateful, joyous life.
Frank passed after a short, but brave battle against cancer. I've been largely avoiding social media as Jeff battles his cancer for a myriad of reasons. One, I am exhausted much of the time and just don't feel the energy at the end of the day for Facebook. Two, I am a chronic comparer. I think I made that word up. Here's what it means. I see the posts, the pictures, the food, the travels, the whatever my friends post and I compare where I am at and wallow in pity or self-loathing. As friends of mine work in professional sports, in important media positions, overseas, or even as high school teachers I think of how I am freelance writing and have no steady paycheck. As friends of mine post their beautiful babies I see the empty space in my arms where I can not put a child, because my body is not able to carry one. As friends post their homes....you get the idea.
So. I've been away long enough that I didn't even know Frank was ill. When he passed I sent an e-mail to my mother. When her reply came a few minutes later, I wept. I wept because I didn't get a chance to share with him what he taught me. I wept because I did not have the chance to offer words of encouragement to friends who were suffering in light of Frank's illness. And lastly, I wept because he touched my life and a beautiful soul left this earth.
Yesterday his funeral was on my mind. I ached to be in Pennsylvania, crying in my mother's arms at the loss of Frank. But with Jeff fighting an infection and cancer, it was not to be. As Jeff was sick I was responsible for taking Malcolm trick-or-treating. And I didn't want to. Because as I compare myself to others on Facebook, so do I do it in real life. And I felt vulnerable and weak, not able to handle public scrutiny or mingling with strangers. But Malcolm is 4 and he deserved to go, so I headed out into the night as Princess Mom with Malcolm as Black Spiderman. And somewhere between the fifth and tenth house, I felt light as air. I was smiling. I was interacting with people. I was happy. I was not comparing my size to other mothers. I was not comparing my living space to other's homes. I simply was. I was in the moment. With Malcolm and a gentle breeze ushering in the smell of fall and rain and leaves.
Frank's death has forced me to be grateful that Jeff has the chance to fight his cancer. That Jeff has a future to face. And that I get to be by his side through it. There are so many ugly moments during a cancer fight. So many heinous thoughts and emotions that remain hidden and eat away at you. Sometimes it is hard to be fully in the present as Jeff and I worry so much about the future. When he comes out of this our medical bills will set us back for years. When he comes out of this, we will worry that it still isn't over.
But last night, as I walked with Malcolm, Frank's message of joy and thanks filled me and I came home with a renewed sense of gratitude for the life I live.
I will miss Frank, but his teachings will never leave me. His teachings will live in the hearts and minds of those he touched near and far. Today, I will remember him. And the simple pleasure of finding a little bar in India to grab a cocktail and share conversation. And I will give thanks for all that I do have, rather than focusing on what I don't.
2013/10/11
Win Some, Lose Way More
Mood: defeated
I've always tried to be kind. To live my life in a way that showed compassion for others. To imagine other's lives and try to see things that are kept hidden. One of my very favorite quotes is "be kind to everyone you meet, for everyone is fighting their own battles." I love that quote because it is true. And because sometimes, we all need a gentle reminder of that.
Jeff was admitted to the hospital on Monday night. Tuesday morning Malcolm and I went over to the hospital around 9. Just before 11, I took Malcolm back home, got him lunch and took him to school before stopping to grab some lunch for myself to take back to the hospital. Panera sounded good, so in I went. I ordered behind some well-dressed gentleman and his fiancee, but my order was prepared before theirs. As I stepped forward to grab my bag he turned to this beautiful woman with the perfect hair and makeup and Gucci purse and said, "I'm so tired of people being too lazy to dress themselves."
In another lifetime I would have slunk out of the Panera and berated myself for looking like such a hot mess in my yoga pants and band t-shirt. But not in this lifetime. Instead I turned and looked him directly in the eye and said, "Sir, actually, I just didn't think that I needed to be business casual to go and sit with my husband who is unconscious in the hospital." And then I smiled.
That shut him right up. Which was my intention.
But, it's still bothered me all week. Partly because HOW DARE HE? And, in part, because I did look like a hot damn mess. In college, the one time where it is acceptable to go everywhere in sweats, I didn't. I did not attend a single undergraduate course in anything less than jeans with my hair and makeup done. I was also so self conscious that I would have never been seen without makeup except by my roommates, and only then because it's pretty unavoidable.
The older I get, and the more comfortable I am with myself, the more I realize that I don't need to please everyone. And that trying to do so just ends with me upset and feeling defeated.
The thing is, I already feel defeated this week. It has kicked my ass. I have spent more time in the car than I have sleeping and I am beyond hormonal. I am trying so hard to be the caring spouse, the fun and educational stepmom, the daughter, trying to be a friend. I feel like I haven't done a single one of those roles justice this week. I have failed in every single way I could this week.
Here's the thing though; in the same lifetime that would have found me leaving Panera silently I would spend all weekend beating myself up and hating myself. And sure, I'll probably do some of that. It's just in my nature. But, I will also try again. I'll get some sleep and I'll tend to Jeff. I'll recharge myself so when we get Malcolm back on Sunday night I'm ready to practice handwriting and play with his superheros. I will rise again.
They say cancer is a family disease, and I couldn't agree more. It touches every single aspect of life and affects all interpersonal relationships. It's brutal and it's scary, it's humbling and hard, but it has already taught me how much stronger I am than I think. And that, despite my previous opinion of myself, I AM a fighter. I will be knocked down on my feet 1,000 more times before this is done but guess what? I'll get up 1,001. And that is a beautiful lesson.
To all those who have reached out after my last post, please be patient I promise I have read your messages. And I cannot express my gratitude. This weekend I will be answering messages, this week was just too crazy for anything more than this generic thank you. But there are people who have reached out and touched my heart and I will be forever changed because of the kindness shown to me.
Thank you.
From the bottom of my heart.
Thank you.
If you are able, please consider donating to my husband's fundraiser, or spread the word if you are unable to give financially.
https://www.giveforward.com/fundraiser/8t73/jeff-lilland-s-testicular-cancer-fund
I've always tried to be kind. To live my life in a way that showed compassion for others. To imagine other's lives and try to see things that are kept hidden. One of my very favorite quotes is "be kind to everyone you meet, for everyone is fighting their own battles." I love that quote because it is true. And because sometimes, we all need a gentle reminder of that.
Jeff was admitted to the hospital on Monday night. Tuesday morning Malcolm and I went over to the hospital around 9. Just before 11, I took Malcolm back home, got him lunch and took him to school before stopping to grab some lunch for myself to take back to the hospital. Panera sounded good, so in I went. I ordered behind some well-dressed gentleman and his fiancee, but my order was prepared before theirs. As I stepped forward to grab my bag he turned to this beautiful woman with the perfect hair and makeup and Gucci purse and said, "I'm so tired of people being too lazy to dress themselves."
In another lifetime I would have slunk out of the Panera and berated myself for looking like such a hot mess in my yoga pants and band t-shirt. But not in this lifetime. Instead I turned and looked him directly in the eye and said, "Sir, actually, I just didn't think that I needed to be business casual to go and sit with my husband who is unconscious in the hospital." And then I smiled.
That shut him right up. Which was my intention.
But, it's still bothered me all week. Partly because HOW DARE HE? And, in part, because I did look like a hot damn mess. In college, the one time where it is acceptable to go everywhere in sweats, I didn't. I did not attend a single undergraduate course in anything less than jeans with my hair and makeup done. I was also so self conscious that I would have never been seen without makeup except by my roommates, and only then because it's pretty unavoidable.
The older I get, and the more comfortable I am with myself, the more I realize that I don't need to please everyone. And that trying to do so just ends with me upset and feeling defeated.
The thing is, I already feel defeated this week. It has kicked my ass. I have spent more time in the car than I have sleeping and I am beyond hormonal. I am trying so hard to be the caring spouse, the fun and educational stepmom, the daughter, trying to be a friend. I feel like I haven't done a single one of those roles justice this week. I have failed in every single way I could this week.
Here's the thing though; in the same lifetime that would have found me leaving Panera silently I would spend all weekend beating myself up and hating myself. And sure, I'll probably do some of that. It's just in my nature. But, I will also try again. I'll get some sleep and I'll tend to Jeff. I'll recharge myself so when we get Malcolm back on Sunday night I'm ready to practice handwriting and play with his superheros. I will rise again.
They say cancer is a family disease, and I couldn't agree more. It touches every single aspect of life and affects all interpersonal relationships. It's brutal and it's scary, it's humbling and hard, but it has already taught me how much stronger I am than I think. And that, despite my previous opinion of myself, I AM a fighter. I will be knocked down on my feet 1,000 more times before this is done but guess what? I'll get up 1,001. And that is a beautiful lesson.
To all those who have reached out after my last post, please be patient I promise I have read your messages. And I cannot express my gratitude. This weekend I will be answering messages, this week was just too crazy for anything more than this generic thank you. But there are people who have reached out and touched my heart and I will be forever changed because of the kindness shown to me.
Thank you.
From the bottom of my heart.
Thank you.
If you are able, please consider donating to my husband's fundraiser, or spread the word if you are unable to give financially.
https://www.giveforward.com/fundraiser/8t73/jeff-lilland-s-testicular-cancer-fund
2013/10/07
Are You There God? It's Me, Ashley.
Mood: scared, exhausted
When we got the news that Jeff's cancer had returned and that he would need three months of chemotherapy, I made a promise to myself that I was going to blog my way through the experience. And so, I write tonight. Bear with me. I am running on 5 hours of sleep and a day from hell. As I started this post I got angry at myself for not writing more of this journey. But, it occurred to me that we have only gotten through one full 5 day cycle of chemo. He has about 8 more to go. It's been just over a week....
That week has felt like a million years. I'm positive that I have aged at least 20 years.
Jeff has tolerated the chemo fairly well, and at the end of his third day we were actually pretty hopeful that he'd get through this without much discomfort and pain. The end of his third day was two days before my last post. Perhaps we got too excited too quick, or perhaps we were just incredibly naive about what this process really is.
The thing is, you really don't know much about chemo and cancer and IVs and pills until you are forced to know. I've always valued knowledge and learning and books but I find, as I sit here too scared to sleep, crying for my husband, for Malcolm, for myself and the loss of some imaginary sense of innocence, that there really is truth to the whole "ignorance is bliss" thing.
I know now, that cancer and chemo seem to be one step forward and three miles back.
I spent all of last night and this morning trapped in my head and hating myself. I got my period for the first time in a year and I hated that it's more confirmation that I can't have a child and that I was even thinking about given our current situation. I hated how fat I have gotten and that I haven't done a damn thing about it. I hated that I have no "best" friends in Iowa and that I'm too scared to get close enough to people to make any. I hated that sometimes I feel like I have no best friend at all. I hated that my sister is too far away and I haven't spoken to my brother in a year and that my mom could do nothing more than listen to me sob over the phone. I hated that Malcolm saw me cry and that he kissed my stomach to make me feel better and all I could do was cry more.
I hated so, so much today.
Jeff was running a fever all day. I hated watching him try to fight it. I hated that he seemed to be unable to do so.
He has been admitted to the hospital with the fever and a low white blood cell count. And I sit on the couch, alone, crying. And scared. The one thing I did know going into this battle is that it is very rarely cancer that takes a patient. It is an illness or infection that they just can't fight. And I am trying so, so hard to KNOW that Jeff is not going to go due to an illness...but I also told myself he wouldn't get this bad. I told myself the cancer was gone after his surgery in April. I seem adept at lying to myself.
And while I have no idea what will happen later tonight or tomorrow morning or the next day, I do know that I don't hate the fact that Jeff is in the hospital. I don't hate that I can't breath because my throat is so tight from choking on tears. I don't hate that Malcolm left the hospital telling me how much he was going to miss Daddy tonight. I don't hate any of that because I am just so aware of what I do have. I am alive. I have Malcolm to talk to, even if it's sad and scary sometimes. And I have a husband I love that I get to see tomorrow morning. And I have a Pomeranian cuddled on my lap, licking away the salty tears.
I have a great iTunes playlist going. I have a pink glittery cup holding my water. And I have people reading this. This might not get read by many people, I don't know. But if it does, I hope it gives you some hope. Or a bit of happiness. Life is scary. As much as we learn and plan and love and think, so much is out of our control. Sometimes it's important to remember that. And to stop fighting for control for a moment and to just be. And to allow what will happen to happen.
And if God is reading this,
Help.
Sincerely,
Ashley
When we got the news that Jeff's cancer had returned and that he would need three months of chemotherapy, I made a promise to myself that I was going to blog my way through the experience. And so, I write tonight. Bear with me. I am running on 5 hours of sleep and a day from hell. As I started this post I got angry at myself for not writing more of this journey. But, it occurred to me that we have only gotten through one full 5 day cycle of chemo. He has about 8 more to go. It's been just over a week....
That week has felt like a million years. I'm positive that I have aged at least 20 years.
Jeff has tolerated the chemo fairly well, and at the end of his third day we were actually pretty hopeful that he'd get through this without much discomfort and pain. The end of his third day was two days before my last post. Perhaps we got too excited too quick, or perhaps we were just incredibly naive about what this process really is.
The thing is, you really don't know much about chemo and cancer and IVs and pills until you are forced to know. I've always valued knowledge and learning and books but I find, as I sit here too scared to sleep, crying for my husband, for Malcolm, for myself and the loss of some imaginary sense of innocence, that there really is truth to the whole "ignorance is bliss" thing.
I know now, that cancer and chemo seem to be one step forward and three miles back.
I spent all of last night and this morning trapped in my head and hating myself. I got my period for the first time in a year and I hated that it's more confirmation that I can't have a child and that I was even thinking about given our current situation. I hated how fat I have gotten and that I haven't done a damn thing about it. I hated that I have no "best" friends in Iowa and that I'm too scared to get close enough to people to make any. I hated that sometimes I feel like I have no best friend at all. I hated that my sister is too far away and I haven't spoken to my brother in a year and that my mom could do nothing more than listen to me sob over the phone. I hated that Malcolm saw me cry and that he kissed my stomach to make me feel better and all I could do was cry more.
I hated so, so much today.
Jeff was running a fever all day. I hated watching him try to fight it. I hated that he seemed to be unable to do so.
He has been admitted to the hospital with the fever and a low white blood cell count. And I sit on the couch, alone, crying. And scared. The one thing I did know going into this battle is that it is very rarely cancer that takes a patient. It is an illness or infection that they just can't fight. And I am trying so, so hard to KNOW that Jeff is not going to go due to an illness...but I also told myself he wouldn't get this bad. I told myself the cancer was gone after his surgery in April. I seem adept at lying to myself.
And while I have no idea what will happen later tonight or tomorrow morning or the next day, I do know that I don't hate the fact that Jeff is in the hospital. I don't hate that I can't breath because my throat is so tight from choking on tears. I don't hate that Malcolm left the hospital telling me how much he was going to miss Daddy tonight. I don't hate any of that because I am just so aware of what I do have. I am alive. I have Malcolm to talk to, even if it's sad and scary sometimes. And I have a husband I love that I get to see tomorrow morning. And I have a Pomeranian cuddled on my lap, licking away the salty tears.
I have a great iTunes playlist going. I have a pink glittery cup holding my water. And I have people reading this. This might not get read by many people, I don't know. But if it does, I hope it gives you some hope. Or a bit of happiness. Life is scary. As much as we learn and plan and love and think, so much is out of our control. Sometimes it's important to remember that. And to stop fighting for control for a moment and to just be. And to allow what will happen to happen.
And if God is reading this,
Help.
Sincerely,
Ashley
2013/09/29
And it Begins
Mood: scared, sad
On Friday Jeff finished his first week of chemotherapy. We got to the hospital at 5am on Wednesday for his port insertion surgery. We left the hospital at 4pm after his 4.5 hours of chemo. 11 hours at the hospital, no matter how pleasant the staff (they are incredible) or how great it is to have your own room with a bed for the chemo (seriously that is sooooooo nice), sucks. 11 hours at the hospital sucks.
Thursday and Friday were, time wise, much easier. Only about 2.5 hours per day at the hospital and Jeff was able to sleep through the majority of his treatments.
We saw his oncologist on Friday and he gave us some good news; if Jeff hadn't gotten physically ill from the chemo yet, he probably would be spared the violent vomiting.
We got pretty excited as Jeff hates vomiting and historically I have a tendency to be a sympathetic puker. If I don't get sick I spend a few hours feeling nauseous at the very least.
We knew going into the weekend that these days would be when Jeff would most likely be at his most fatigued. And that's been very true. My husband can barely take a 5 minute shower without passing out from exhaustion. He cannot hold the comics he bought in anticipation of a ton of bed rest for more than 3 minutes and can't focus on the words or pictures for that long. He can't sit up. It is so painful to watch as he lies lifeless on the couch, this man who usually has a problem sitting still. It is painful to watch tears fall down his face when he can't hold a toy to play with his son. And it is most painful to be 100% helpless to make him any better. All I can do is watch and take care of him the best I am able.
Today, I managed to sleep in after a sleepless night. I got up, checked on Jeff and drank some coffee. He got in the shower and I thought about going for a walk with Zooey. I decided it would be best to wait and make sure he had everything he might need before I left the house, so I chose to go after he was out of the shower.
He got out and could not walk. He fell to the couch and asked for one of his anti-nausea pills, but it was too late.
As he ran to the bathroom I lost hope once again. I rubbed his back as he got sick and grabbed his special mouthwash, a pill and his Sprite. I massaged his shoulders while he could barely manage to hold his head up as he was sick. And my soul was ripped apart.
That's the thing about cancer. It takes away all happiness and hope at the very sneakiest of times. I knew that we had a long road ahead of us. And I knew that things would likely get worse than they had been this week. But I had faith that Jeff might escape with some shred of dignity. And that I might escape with hope.
Cancer strips the humanity of those who deal directly with the disease. Jeff is reduced to a person that I no longer know. His sense of humor and laugh, his energetic demeanor....they are hidden within, forced to take a backseat to this illness. My outgoing personality has retreated, and now I live in fear. Fear that this disease could win. Fear that Malcolm will have to watch this happen to his daddy and fear that I can do NOTHING to help. I have zero control and power and I am afraid.
I have become, in sorts, a robot. Waking each morning at 1am to check on Jeff and getting up later to take care of Jeff, the dogs and Malcolm. Then we go to chemo and I sit and watch as medicine pours into Jeff, draining him of all the life I am used to.
I know we are far from alone in this, and I am very aware that we are lucky. We have an excellent prognosis and only 3 months of this to deal with. I get that. I think that prior to treatment I told myself how lucky we were and I expected that to help with all of the negative side effects. The fact is, this sucks. While we are lucky, it does not change the fact that Jeff is sick. Very sick. And I cannot help. We are wading out way through this hell and hopefully, we will see a light at the end that helps keep us going.
To those who are offering support, financial, religious, spiritual, physical....whatever....we thank you. From the very bottom of our hearts and souls there is nothing we could do to ever repay the kindness and gratitude we have been shown. The John Stoddard Cancer center is amazing and our families have been a constant source of support in every sense of the word.
As we face the next few months, unsure of what will happen financially or physically, we know we have each other. And that we have an amazing group of family and friends that have reached out to let us know just how loved and cared for we are. Thank you. It seems like hardly enough to say, but it is all we have for now.
I'm watching Jeff sleep now. The dogs are curled on him as if their presence might protect him for future pain and sickness. Zooey sits in my lap, my constant companion. I sit here, praying for hope and some sense of peace, even if it is fleeting. I pray for an answer to our financial situation. And I pray, most of all, for the health of my husband. That he not suffer and that he returns to himself as quickly as possible.
And to my husband, who I am sure will read this when he wakes....Do not feel guilty or badly because you are not able to function as you once could. Do not feel uneasy that you need help and to be taken care of now. We all love you. And we all support you in this fight. And if I could, I would fight this for you. But as I cannot...I will sit by your side and bring you water and pills and rub your back when you are sick. And I will watch you sleep with a smile on my face knowing that one day, we will look back on this and remember just how fortunate we are to have our lives and our health for many, many years to come.
On Friday Jeff finished his first week of chemotherapy. We got to the hospital at 5am on Wednesday for his port insertion surgery. We left the hospital at 4pm after his 4.5 hours of chemo. 11 hours at the hospital, no matter how pleasant the staff (they are incredible) or how great it is to have your own room with a bed for the chemo (seriously that is sooooooo nice), sucks. 11 hours at the hospital sucks.
Thursday and Friday were, time wise, much easier. Only about 2.5 hours per day at the hospital and Jeff was able to sleep through the majority of his treatments.
We saw his oncologist on Friday and he gave us some good news; if Jeff hadn't gotten physically ill from the chemo yet, he probably would be spared the violent vomiting.
We got pretty excited as Jeff hates vomiting and historically I have a tendency to be a sympathetic puker. If I don't get sick I spend a few hours feeling nauseous at the very least.
We knew going into the weekend that these days would be when Jeff would most likely be at his most fatigued. And that's been very true. My husband can barely take a 5 minute shower without passing out from exhaustion. He cannot hold the comics he bought in anticipation of a ton of bed rest for more than 3 minutes and can't focus on the words or pictures for that long. He can't sit up. It is so painful to watch as he lies lifeless on the couch, this man who usually has a problem sitting still. It is painful to watch tears fall down his face when he can't hold a toy to play with his son. And it is most painful to be 100% helpless to make him any better. All I can do is watch and take care of him the best I am able.
Today, I managed to sleep in after a sleepless night. I got up, checked on Jeff and drank some coffee. He got in the shower and I thought about going for a walk with Zooey. I decided it would be best to wait and make sure he had everything he might need before I left the house, so I chose to go after he was out of the shower.
He got out and could not walk. He fell to the couch and asked for one of his anti-nausea pills, but it was too late.
As he ran to the bathroom I lost hope once again. I rubbed his back as he got sick and grabbed his special mouthwash, a pill and his Sprite. I massaged his shoulders while he could barely manage to hold his head up as he was sick. And my soul was ripped apart.
That's the thing about cancer. It takes away all happiness and hope at the very sneakiest of times. I knew that we had a long road ahead of us. And I knew that things would likely get worse than they had been this week. But I had faith that Jeff might escape with some shred of dignity. And that I might escape with hope.
Cancer strips the humanity of those who deal directly with the disease. Jeff is reduced to a person that I no longer know. His sense of humor and laugh, his energetic demeanor....they are hidden within, forced to take a backseat to this illness. My outgoing personality has retreated, and now I live in fear. Fear that this disease could win. Fear that Malcolm will have to watch this happen to his daddy and fear that I can do NOTHING to help. I have zero control and power and I am afraid.
I have become, in sorts, a robot. Waking each morning at 1am to check on Jeff and getting up later to take care of Jeff, the dogs and Malcolm. Then we go to chemo and I sit and watch as medicine pours into Jeff, draining him of all the life I am used to.
I know we are far from alone in this, and I am very aware that we are lucky. We have an excellent prognosis and only 3 months of this to deal with. I get that. I think that prior to treatment I told myself how lucky we were and I expected that to help with all of the negative side effects. The fact is, this sucks. While we are lucky, it does not change the fact that Jeff is sick. Very sick. And I cannot help. We are wading out way through this hell and hopefully, we will see a light at the end that helps keep us going.
To those who are offering support, financial, religious, spiritual, physical....whatever....we thank you. From the very bottom of our hearts and souls there is nothing we could do to ever repay the kindness and gratitude we have been shown. The John Stoddard Cancer center is amazing and our families have been a constant source of support in every sense of the word.
As we face the next few months, unsure of what will happen financially or physically, we know we have each other. And that we have an amazing group of family and friends that have reached out to let us know just how loved and cared for we are. Thank you. It seems like hardly enough to say, but it is all we have for now.
I'm watching Jeff sleep now. The dogs are curled on him as if their presence might protect him for future pain and sickness. Zooey sits in my lap, my constant companion. I sit here, praying for hope and some sense of peace, even if it is fleeting. I pray for an answer to our financial situation. And I pray, most of all, for the health of my husband. That he not suffer and that he returns to himself as quickly as possible.
And to my husband, who I am sure will read this when he wakes....Do not feel guilty or badly because you are not able to function as you once could. Do not feel uneasy that you need help and to be taken care of now. We all love you. And we all support you in this fight. And if I could, I would fight this for you. But as I cannot...I will sit by your side and bring you water and pills and rub your back when you are sick. And I will watch you sleep with a smile on my face knowing that one day, we will look back on this and remember just how fortunate we are to have our lives and our health for many, many years to come.
2013/09/09
Cancer: A Lesson in Humility
Mood: humbled
This post has taken me nearly two weeks to write. So bear with me....
I don't know who reads this blog, I suspect my parents. My sister. Maybe my brother. Close friends from the east coast. A few co-workers from Iowa. Other than that, I have no idea. Many of you probably already know then, that my husband Jeff had a brief battle with testicular cancer in April. We got the all clear and he's been having two month check-ups.
His last one was August 30.
I hate going to the cancer center at the hospital. I hate that we have to go. I hate dragging Malcolm along as he sings and chatters and Jeff and clutch to what little sanity we have left before the appointment. I hate the waiting room.
Last time we walked in, sat down and within two minutes watched a woman have a complete breakdown as she left the office. I've never heard wailing and sobbing so loudly in public before. And it's not at all that I was uncomfortable, but I was completely helpless. I don't know what prompted her tears and it really is irrelevant. I wanted to hug her, to tell her she mattered, to do anything that might momentarily relieve the pain in her heart. All I could do was wipe my own eyes and focus on Malcolm reading the story he had picked up from the front of the office. Jeff and I caught each other's eyes and the heartbreak I felt was mirrored.
To get to the office that Jeff's oncologist is in we have to walk past a pediatric cancer office. The first few times we went it was empty. The last two times we've gone, there have been children, younger than Malcolm, and mothers waiting. Each time we walked past that office or we left the cancer center with only a two month check-up appointment and a bill of all clear I realized how immensely lucky we were/are. Sure, we got the news that Jeff did have cancer at this office, but it was out of his body by the time we needed the oncologist. And at least our child was accompanying us because we didn't have a babysitter and not because he needed an appointment.
With each time that we left I got a little more confidence. It was a little easier. We didn't hear bad news. We weren't taking Malcolm. Maybe, just maybe, one brief battle was all we had to endure and we were now impervious to bad news and the devastation that is cancer. After all, Jeff is in his early 30s. I have yet to hit 30. Malcolm is only 4.
That's the thing about cancer, though. It doesn't care how old you are or who you are or where you're from or what you've done. Cancer attacks without rhyme or reason. And that, is a humbling lesson to learn. You grow up knowing of the horror stories or watching them play out. The first funeral I remember attending was for a very good friend in high school who died at the age of 15 after a horrendous battle with leukemia. My grandfather battled cancer for a large part of my adult life. But, you know, it just doesn't happen to you.
Until it does.
On August 30th we found out that there is a mass in Jeff's lung. Testicular cancer typically reappears in the back, according to the oncologist. That doesn't mean it can't come back in the lungs. So, now we wait for his biopsy. I really don't have coherent thoughts on what is happening now. Except that it sucks. And it's scary. And I hate it. And, I know better than to expect that nothing is wrong because I've learned this year, if nothing else, that nobody is immune to anything. Cancer sucks.
And it can happen to those you love the very most. Those that you've pledged to spend the rest of your life with....and only had 2 years with. It happens. And it sucks.
As we wait, I guess I'll try and keep calm. And laugh as much as possible. And enjoy every second of health that Jeff has at the moment. If the mass is cancerous he's looking at a three month round of chemo. So. I'll take deep breaths when I need to and cry when I have to and laugh every second that I can. And I'll remember above all else to count every blessing I have instead of focusing on what is going wrong. Because positivity matters.
This post has taken me nearly two weeks to write. So bear with me....
I don't know who reads this blog, I suspect my parents. My sister. Maybe my brother. Close friends from the east coast. A few co-workers from Iowa. Other than that, I have no idea. Many of you probably already know then, that my husband Jeff had a brief battle with testicular cancer in April. We got the all clear and he's been having two month check-ups.
His last one was August 30.
I hate going to the cancer center at the hospital. I hate that we have to go. I hate dragging Malcolm along as he sings and chatters and Jeff and clutch to what little sanity we have left before the appointment. I hate the waiting room.
Last time we walked in, sat down and within two minutes watched a woman have a complete breakdown as she left the office. I've never heard wailing and sobbing so loudly in public before. And it's not at all that I was uncomfortable, but I was completely helpless. I don't know what prompted her tears and it really is irrelevant. I wanted to hug her, to tell her she mattered, to do anything that might momentarily relieve the pain in her heart. All I could do was wipe my own eyes and focus on Malcolm reading the story he had picked up from the front of the office. Jeff and I caught each other's eyes and the heartbreak I felt was mirrored.
To get to the office that Jeff's oncologist is in we have to walk past a pediatric cancer office. The first few times we went it was empty. The last two times we've gone, there have been children, younger than Malcolm, and mothers waiting. Each time we walked past that office or we left the cancer center with only a two month check-up appointment and a bill of all clear I realized how immensely lucky we were/are. Sure, we got the news that Jeff did have cancer at this office, but it was out of his body by the time we needed the oncologist. And at least our child was accompanying us because we didn't have a babysitter and not because he needed an appointment.
With each time that we left I got a little more confidence. It was a little easier. We didn't hear bad news. We weren't taking Malcolm. Maybe, just maybe, one brief battle was all we had to endure and we were now impervious to bad news and the devastation that is cancer. After all, Jeff is in his early 30s. I have yet to hit 30. Malcolm is only 4.
That's the thing about cancer, though. It doesn't care how old you are or who you are or where you're from or what you've done. Cancer attacks without rhyme or reason. And that, is a humbling lesson to learn. You grow up knowing of the horror stories or watching them play out. The first funeral I remember attending was for a very good friend in high school who died at the age of 15 after a horrendous battle with leukemia. My grandfather battled cancer for a large part of my adult life. But, you know, it just doesn't happen to you.
Until it does.
On August 30th we found out that there is a mass in Jeff's lung. Testicular cancer typically reappears in the back, according to the oncologist. That doesn't mean it can't come back in the lungs. So, now we wait for his biopsy. I really don't have coherent thoughts on what is happening now. Except that it sucks. And it's scary. And I hate it. And, I know better than to expect that nothing is wrong because I've learned this year, if nothing else, that nobody is immune to anything. Cancer sucks.
And it can happen to those you love the very most. Those that you've pledged to spend the rest of your life with....and only had 2 years with. It happens. And it sucks.
As we wait, I guess I'll try and keep calm. And laugh as much as possible. And enjoy every second of health that Jeff has at the moment. If the mass is cancerous he's looking at a three month round of chemo. So. I'll take deep breaths when I need to and cry when I have to and laugh every second that I can. And I'll remember above all else to count every blessing I have instead of focusing on what is going wrong. Because positivity matters.
2012/12/27
Lessons in Humility
Alternate title: Proof That my (Almost) 4 Year Old Stepson is Smarter Than me.....
Mood: humble, happy, hopeful
I have to admit, I never wanted children. Publicly anyway. As I've gotten older I've realized that not wanting children was indeed a defense mechanism. If I say I don't want any then how can I possibly be disappointed when I don't have any? I do have one, though. Malcolm may not be my son by blood or biology, but in my heart I know we were meant to be in each other's lives.
Reason #1 I know this to be true? He forces me to learn something new every single day. And if we're being completely honest I learn something new about 20 times a day when I'm with him. My current favorite example happened last night. Last month my mom shipped her old Clarisonic face brush to me as I was having a horrid time with my face breaking out, but could not afford to purchase one myself. Last month is the most important part of that sentence. I have been using this for a full month. 30 days. I've been cleansing morning and night religiously with this thing. I just yesterday learned that there is more than 1 speed. How did I learn this? Malcolm picked it up. That's it. Withing 10 seconds of having it turned on he managed to show me that there is more than 1 setting. Why had it never occurred to me to press that damn button a second time?
Which leads me to reason #2 that I know we are destined to be lifelong friends. He makes me wonder. I took a course in seminary on wonder. What wonder is, how to encourage it, how to take time to wonder. It seemed so logical and smart and easy at age 23, having never been outside of an academic setting. I would sit in class and think that of course we all needed to stop and smell the proverbial roses, why on earth was I earning credit for this class? Then life happened. 5 years of work and general living and not being an official student later, I wish I would remember to smell those roses. Or to look at the snow outside and think not of the delays and headaches that it will result in, but how infinitely amazing it is that there is 13 inches on the ground and not one single flake is the same as another. Malcolm is a constant reminder that the world is full of things to marvel at. From the universal and deeply meaningful to remembering that it's okay to experiment with everyday items just to "see what happens."
And the third and most important reason I know that Malcolm was more than a huge bonus to meeting and marrying Jeff? I love him. It may seem like that reason doesn't make sense. But to me, it does. I love this child. This child that did not grow inside me, nor did I ever see in infancy. This child that could already walk and punch and argue when we met. This child that teaches me all the time that I am capable of more. I am so much more than what I limit myself to. Jeff tells me this, my parents and sister tell me this, it is something I "know." Yet for some reason when this realization comes from Malcolm it clicks. I have a sudden, fleeting moment of clarity that whatever horrible thing is happening at this exact second is just a speck of dust on the "big picture" of our lives. I have gained patience that I never thought I would have. And love that is so pure and real that wondering at it now, tears of joy fall from my eyes.
Parenthood, and step-parenthood in particular, is trial by fire. There is nothing to be done except do and then pray that you're doing something right. Judging by Malcolm Jeff has done a great job, and the way he relates to me I think maybe I'm not doing too shabby. I know that this is a lifelong job, and I am already dreading Malcolm circa age 12...but today I am so blessed to be spending time with him. Teaching him. Loving him. But most importantly, learning and growing from him.
Mood: humble, happy, hopeful
I have to admit, I never wanted children. Publicly anyway. As I've gotten older I've realized that not wanting children was indeed a defense mechanism. If I say I don't want any then how can I possibly be disappointed when I don't have any? I do have one, though. Malcolm may not be my son by blood or biology, but in my heart I know we were meant to be in each other's lives.
Reason #1 I know this to be true? He forces me to learn something new every single day. And if we're being completely honest I learn something new about 20 times a day when I'm with him. My current favorite example happened last night. Last month my mom shipped her old Clarisonic face brush to me as I was having a horrid time with my face breaking out, but could not afford to purchase one myself. Last month is the most important part of that sentence. I have been using this for a full month. 30 days. I've been cleansing morning and night religiously with this thing. I just yesterday learned that there is more than 1 speed. How did I learn this? Malcolm picked it up. That's it. Withing 10 seconds of having it turned on he managed to show me that there is more than 1 setting. Why had it never occurred to me to press that damn button a second time?
Which leads me to reason #2 that I know we are destined to be lifelong friends. He makes me wonder. I took a course in seminary on wonder. What wonder is, how to encourage it, how to take time to wonder. It seemed so logical and smart and easy at age 23, having never been outside of an academic setting. I would sit in class and think that of course we all needed to stop and smell the proverbial roses, why on earth was I earning credit for this class? Then life happened. 5 years of work and general living and not being an official student later, I wish I would remember to smell those roses. Or to look at the snow outside and think not of the delays and headaches that it will result in, but how infinitely amazing it is that there is 13 inches on the ground and not one single flake is the same as another. Malcolm is a constant reminder that the world is full of things to marvel at. From the universal and deeply meaningful to remembering that it's okay to experiment with everyday items just to "see what happens."
And the third and most important reason I know that Malcolm was more than a huge bonus to meeting and marrying Jeff? I love him. It may seem like that reason doesn't make sense. But to me, it does. I love this child. This child that did not grow inside me, nor did I ever see in infancy. This child that could already walk and punch and argue when we met. This child that teaches me all the time that I am capable of more. I am so much more than what I limit myself to. Jeff tells me this, my parents and sister tell me this, it is something I "know." Yet for some reason when this realization comes from Malcolm it clicks. I have a sudden, fleeting moment of clarity that whatever horrible thing is happening at this exact second is just a speck of dust on the "big picture" of our lives. I have gained patience that I never thought I would have. And love that is so pure and real that wondering at it now, tears of joy fall from my eyes.
Parenthood, and step-parenthood in particular, is trial by fire. There is nothing to be done except do and then pray that you're doing something right. Judging by Malcolm Jeff has done a great job, and the way he relates to me I think maybe I'm not doing too shabby. I know that this is a lifelong job, and I am already dreading Malcolm circa age 12...but today I am so blessed to be spending time with him. Teaching him. Loving him. But most importantly, learning and growing from him.
2012/12/26
I Survived Christmas...and the Apocalypse
Mood: hopeful, excited
Well readers, I survived Christmas. And if you're reading this you have also come out alive. To be honest this year was my best Christmas ever. Jeff and Malcolm and I were all supposed to make the trek to Pennsylvania to be with my family for Christmas but we stayed in Iowa instead. Jeff got a new job (YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY) in November and we didn't feel comfortable requesting vacation time that quickly.
So another Christmas in Iowa for me. It was spectacular though. First, even though I miss my family like crazy, I know my parents will agree that not having to travel during the holidays is truly a blessing in itself. Not having to haul Malcolm and his gazillion toys to the east coast and then haul a gazillion and 10 toys back home was quite a relief. Secondly, the amount of time it takes to travel seriously cuts into actually celebrating the holidays. If Jeff and Malcolm and I drive we are looking at 2 days to PA and 2 days back to IA. If we fly then it's 2 days of being at airports and driving. Not a bad deal, but still 2 days that we don't get to spend with friends or family or enjoying the holidays.
Lastly, this is Jeff and I's first Christmas with Malcolm as a married couple. Essentially it was our first Christmas as a family, as last year we celebrated a week later. Sure it's just a day to Malcolm who isn't 4 yet...but it does hold weight for me.
So once the end of the world came and went I started preparing for Christmas 2012...Lilland style. I've never made sugar cookies from scratch before but since Jeff can't have any dairy I had to figure it out. Not so hard...and about 6 dozen cookies later I think I did pretty well. We wrapped gifts, wrote cards, and decided which cookies to leave out for Santa. Jeff and I sat together on Christmas Eve after family members departed for the evening and did nothing. It was perfect.
I woke up before Malcolm or Jeff on Christmas, and the kind of excitement I remember feeling as a kid was present. The pit of your stomach excitement where you can't wait to get started with the day. Trust me, I like to kill as much time in bed under warm covers as possible in the morning, but I couldn't wait to hop out of bed and enjoy the morning. We got Malcolm up and did just that.
The joy of watching a child on Christmas morning is so unlike anything that I have ever experienced. It was the first time in my whole life (I'm sad to admit this) that I truly didn't care at all if there was a single present for me. All I wanted was to watch Malcolm smile and fist pump with joy and continue to say "YESSSSSSSSS" forever. Last year he was still young enough that unwrapping wasn't that fun for him. This year? Oh, he loves it. We opened presents, played with presents, and my mother in law made fresh cinnamon rolls. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would have been to have my family sitting in the same room. Alas, life isn't perfect.
Now that I've survived Christmas I'm finding myself with a renewed joy. With a happier spirit. I'm still working on becoming who I want to be...but I have a better idea. I want to be a better person, for Malcolm. And I think I have a few ideas as to how to better myself.
I pray you all came through the holidays with a spirit of laughter and love. And probably some awesome presents. And if this year sucked, next year will be better! Plus, you survived the end of the world with flying colors so not everything is terrible!
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Well readers, I survived Christmas. And if you're reading this you have also come out alive. To be honest this year was my best Christmas ever. Jeff and Malcolm and I were all supposed to make the trek to Pennsylvania to be with my family for Christmas but we stayed in Iowa instead. Jeff got a new job (YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY) in November and we didn't feel comfortable requesting vacation time that quickly.
So another Christmas in Iowa for me. It was spectacular though. First, even though I miss my family like crazy, I know my parents will agree that not having to travel during the holidays is truly a blessing in itself. Not having to haul Malcolm and his gazillion toys to the east coast and then haul a gazillion and 10 toys back home was quite a relief. Secondly, the amount of time it takes to travel seriously cuts into actually celebrating the holidays. If Jeff and Malcolm and I drive we are looking at 2 days to PA and 2 days back to IA. If we fly then it's 2 days of being at airports and driving. Not a bad deal, but still 2 days that we don't get to spend with friends or family or enjoying the holidays.
Lastly, this is Jeff and I's first Christmas with Malcolm as a married couple. Essentially it was our first Christmas as a family, as last year we celebrated a week later. Sure it's just a day to Malcolm who isn't 4 yet...but it does hold weight for me.
So once the end of the world came and went I started preparing for Christmas 2012...Lilland style. I've never made sugar cookies from scratch before but since Jeff can't have any dairy I had to figure it out. Not so hard...and about 6 dozen cookies later I think I did pretty well. We wrapped gifts, wrote cards, and decided which cookies to leave out for Santa. Jeff and I sat together on Christmas Eve after family members departed for the evening and did nothing. It was perfect.
I woke up before Malcolm or Jeff on Christmas, and the kind of excitement I remember feeling as a kid was present. The pit of your stomach excitement where you can't wait to get started with the day. Trust me, I like to kill as much time in bed under warm covers as possible in the morning, but I couldn't wait to hop out of bed and enjoy the morning. We got Malcolm up and did just that.
The joy of watching a child on Christmas morning is so unlike anything that I have ever experienced. It was the first time in my whole life (I'm sad to admit this) that I truly didn't care at all if there was a single present for me. All I wanted was to watch Malcolm smile and fist pump with joy and continue to say "YESSSSSSSSS" forever. Last year he was still young enough that unwrapping wasn't that fun for him. This year? Oh, he loves it. We opened presents, played with presents, and my mother in law made fresh cinnamon rolls. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would have been to have my family sitting in the same room. Alas, life isn't perfect.
Now that I've survived Christmas I'm finding myself with a renewed joy. With a happier spirit. I'm still working on becoming who I want to be...but I have a better idea. I want to be a better person, for Malcolm. And I think I have a few ideas as to how to better myself.
I pray you all came through the holidays with a spirit of laughter and love. And probably some awesome presents. And if this year sucked, next year will be better! Plus, you survived the end of the world with flying colors so not everything is terrible!
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2012/07/08
Goodbye
Mood: anxious, sad
It's never been easy to take Malcolm back to his mother's. I have always had a deep hatred for Sunday nights...since I was in 4th grade or so. I get anxious, I get sad, I get really stuck inside my own head. I've written about it before. No sense beating a dead horse.
Annnnnnyway. Like I said, it is NEVER fun to drive Malcolm an hour away and say goodbye. Especially since we won't get to see him for another 2 weeks. I've been stuck with that thought all day...the waiting to say goodbye. And I really didn't want to be stuck with that cause I had that feeling all week last week. The second I saw my parents Monday afternoon it was a constant battle in my head between enjoying the moment in front of me and wallowing in pity that saying goodbye was imminent and quickly approaching. Wednesday I lost the battle between wallowing and was an irresponsible idiot...but the rest of the week I managed to at least wage the internal war.
Now that Jeff and I have had to say goodbye and returned to our normal routine I can't help but get stuck in the feeling of goodbye. It sucks and I'm horrible at them. I hate saying goodbye. I hate feeling goodbye. I hate picking up and moving on when all I want to do is cry and scream about how it's not fair to have sooooooooooo much love around and have to let go of it all sometimes. Physically, that is.
I've gone back and forth about blogging today. I don't like to blog when I'm really stuck inside my head. When I really can't stop the depressing thoughts. When all I can feel is a constant tightness in my throat and chest and the tears burning my eyes. But it isn't fair for me to expect I can only blog happy (or the new/old blog would have been more successful...) so I decided to go ahead and write tonight.
I have Jeff and that in itself is something to be insanely giddy about. And, I have the list of 101 goals I hope to accomplish in the next 1001 (999 since I already started) days. Here it is readers. Enjoy!
It's never been easy to take Malcolm back to his mother's. I have always had a deep hatred for Sunday nights...since I was in 4th grade or so. I get anxious, I get sad, I get really stuck inside my own head. I've written about it before. No sense beating a dead horse.
Annnnnnyway. Like I said, it is NEVER fun to drive Malcolm an hour away and say goodbye. Especially since we won't get to see him for another 2 weeks. I've been stuck with that thought all day...the waiting to say goodbye. And I really didn't want to be stuck with that cause I had that feeling all week last week. The second I saw my parents Monday afternoon it was a constant battle in my head between enjoying the moment in front of me and wallowing in pity that saying goodbye was imminent and quickly approaching. Wednesday I lost the battle between wallowing and was an irresponsible idiot...but the rest of the week I managed to at least wage the internal war.
Now that Jeff and I have had to say goodbye and returned to our normal routine I can't help but get stuck in the feeling of goodbye. It sucks and I'm horrible at them. I hate saying goodbye. I hate feeling goodbye. I hate picking up and moving on when all I want to do is cry and scream about how it's not fair to have sooooooooooo much love around and have to let go of it all sometimes. Physically, that is.
I've gone back and forth about blogging today. I don't like to blog when I'm really stuck inside my head. When I really can't stop the depressing thoughts. When all I can feel is a constant tightness in my throat and chest and the tears burning my eyes. But it isn't fair for me to expect I can only blog happy (or the new/old blog would have been more successful...) so I decided to go ahead and write tonight.
I have Jeff and that in itself is something to be insanely giddy about. And, I have the list of 101 goals I hope to accomplish in the next 1001 (999 since I already started) days. Here it is readers. Enjoy!
101 in
1001
Long-term
goals
Start
Date: July 6, 2012
End
Date: March 30, 2015
1.
Start blogging again
2.
Maintain blog
3.
Pray in color regularly
4.
Start and KEEP a new journal until it is
full. Start a new one when that is full.
5.
Become a biological mother (if it is in God’s
plan)
6.
Add a Pomeranian to the family
7.
Be settled (everything out of boxes) into our
first house
8.
Host a holiday party in our first home
9.
Take Jeff and Malcolm to New York City during
Christmas time
10. Find a
place to worship
11.
Make a statement necklace by myself
12. Completely
reread the Bible
13. Lose and
keep off 30 pounds
14. Make “safe
for Jeff” chocolate chip cookies
15.
Enroll in a graduate program
16. Make a
piece of clothing by hand
17.
Create a family calendar to send to parents at
the holidays
18. Write a
Christmas/holiday letter and cards for 2012 and mail to all people on our
wedding invite list ON TIME
19. Make a “Lilland”
piece of art to hang on the walls in our house
20. Put wedding
photos in frames and display
21. Visit the
capitol building in Des Moines
22. Get lines
of my heart tattoo cleaned up
23. Purchase
and relearn how to use a sewing machine
24. Read an
entire book on marriage
25. Get rid
of (permanently) clothes that have not been worn in 3 months or more
26. Spend a
day organizing make-up and cleaning brushes and bags…give away all colors that
have never been or will not be worn
27. Learn how
to make mom’s Irish stew by heart
28. Find a
method to control nail polish storage clutter
29. Become a
member at a gym
30. Find a
couple with whom we can double date
31. Plan a
romantic weekend for Jeff and I
32. Continue
moving forward in career…no moving backward no matter how scary or hard going
forward is
33. Bake homemade
bread
34. Refurbish
at least one piece of furniture for living space
35. Make throw
pillows by myself
36. Purchase
the entire Scrubs series on DVD
37. Visit
Myth lounge in Omaha with Jeff
38. Master
making pie crust and bake an apple pie from scratch in the fall
39. Get a
couples massage with Jeff
40. Write something
with Jeff
41. Reread the
entire Harry Potter series
42. Dedicate
one month to cleaning something every single day
43. Learn how
to make an authentic Indian curry
44. Develop
a family emergency binder and emergency preparedness kit
45. Take dance
lessons
46. Spend a
weekend in Vegas with Jeff
47. Find a
style of meditation that works for me
48. See a
ballet in person
49. Transfer
contacts from online storage to handwritten leather address book
50. Make a
glittered Starbucks cup
51.
Spend a day skiing
52. Play a
game of miniature golf
53. Learn how
to prepare hollandaise sauce
54. Make an
entire dinner out of appetizers
55. Use chik-fil-a
recipe for Malcolm and Jeff on a weekend
56. Whiten my
teeth
57. Spend one
month doing Pilates every single day
58. Attend
a yoga class
59. Make a
traditional Irish dinner
60. Decide on
a charity with Jeff to donate to
61. Take Malcolm
to Adventureland and ride roller coasters
62. Make my
own homemade body scrub
63. Read a
book on managing personal finances
64. Write creatively
every day for a month
65. Spend one
week without facebook
66. Buy an
investment little black dress
67. Participate
in a 5k
68. Invest in
a new flat iron
69. Avoid fast
food for one month
70. Donate blood
71.
Go shopping for antiques on a Saturday
72. Bake and
decorate Christmas cookies with Malcolm
73. Craft
my own wire knot ring
74. Buy a
classic, red Chanel lipstick
75. Watch the
Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade
76. Visit the
Iowa State Fair
77. Go to
Tulip Time in Pella and send Dutch letters home to Pennsylvania
78. Get a
kitten for Malcolm
79. Learn how
to curl my own hair with a flat iron
80.Spend one month doing random
acts of kindness for strangers
81. Read “Love
Wins” by Rob Bell
82. Tour a
brewery
83. Beat Super
Mario Bros. on Wii
84. Learn how
to play chess
85. Send a
piece of writing in for publication
86. Attend a
KU men’s basketball game in Lawrence at Allen Fieldhouse
87. Watch the
original “Star Wars”
88.Color every page in a coloring
book…even if I don’t like the picture
89. Buy a
pair of Tom’s
90. Wake up
and take a random day trip to an unplanned destination
91. Upcycle
a pair of old flared jeans to make them a colored skinny pair
92. Locate a
ballet class or order DVDs online and start ballet again
93. Finish reading
“An Altar in the World” by Barbara Brown Taylor
94. Spend a
weekend going through wardrobe and get rid of sloppy, college clothes to start
putting together a more polished one
95. Find an
organization to volunteer with
96. Spend an
afternoon at a winery
97. Take a
self-defense class
98. Redesign
and personalize blog to increase traffic
99. Spend one
month getting up earlier to stretch, and put together a polished look each day
100.
Send out all Christmas 2012 presents BEFORE
Christmas
101.
Break addiction to caffeine gradually
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