"On my birthday I'll be four. When will I be 2 again?"



4 Year Old Ella

Though she is still trying to wrap her mind around the thought that she will only get older, never younger, Ella is four years old today. My reserved, anxious, headstrong baby has grown into a socially confident little girl. She is still headstrong but she can't help it - everyone in my house is and we respect that.

For her party over the weekend, we treated our friends and family to our favorite summer pasttime: front yard swimming. (Truly, we'd love for it to be backyard swimming, but our backyard is more suitable as a parking lot, unless you prefer swimming in mud. I don't - especially when the floors are clean. One day - one day - there will be grass back there. I just know it.) She could barely contain her excitement from the time she woke up (at 7:30) until party time. She'd been planning her party for a month and a half and she was ready for everyone to be there at 8.

Four year old Ella finally sleeps through the night consistently (meaning all the time unless she's sick). This started about six months ago and she's been doing it long enough now that I've stopped expecting her to wake up during the night. It's fabulous. In addition to sleeping through the night, she often falls asleep in her own bed by herself while I'm getting Luke to sleep for the night. That just started happening in the last two months. Sometimes she's still awake and I cuddle her, but lots of times she's already asleep when I peek in there.

She has a few chores to do around the house and she gets very upset if she misses the opportunity to do them (because sometimes I forget that they are her chores now and do them first). She is in charge of feeding Georgia and Gypsy, keeping her shoes put away in her shoe rack, and clearing her plate from the table. Sometimes she gives Luke his medicine when he refuses to take it from me. If she finds me folding laundry, she asks to fold the wash rags and socks. She helps me cook and I've taught her how to use a knife (yes, a real one) to cut vegetables. We recently made homemade pizza, and she did 90% of the work, under my direction.

She is still doing gymnastics once a week and she's already talking about playing soccer again in the fall. Just as the spring season was ending, she was really gaining her confidence during the games, so I'm glad she wants to give that another try.

She loves playdates and recently went on her first one without me or Grandmother going along. Her friend from Florida was in town to visit her grandmother and they went to the local petting farm and out to lunch. While I nearly had a coronary about her going without us, she jumped at the chance to play with another little girl without her brother around.

She still loves to teach school and gymnastics and take care of babies but now she also likes to play Barbies and doctor her dolls and stuffed animals. Sometimes she works on their teeth, too. She tells us she wants be a cheerleading dentist when she grows up.

She is infinitely curious about everything from human anatomy to the reason septic tanks are smelly. I'm constantly amazed with what she observes and the questions she asks. She still loves to be read to and now she likes to spell the words that she sees (on flashcards, signs, anywhere, really). She's starting to learn basic addition, though she doesn't know that yet. She loves Sunday school and learning about God and she regularly prays or asks me to pray for our family and/or a whole list of others that she's thinking about.

She has a sweet, sweet heart and she is starting to understand that she has responsibilities as a member of our family. I am amazed at how fast she's changing and I love to watch her grow.

Edited to include a better picture.

Ella's Bad News

Backstory: Luke has taken a lovin' to riding in our red wagon. He's very cutely insistent when he decides he needs a ride, climbing into his seat and asking me, "Ready?" When he asked for a ride yesterday before Dave got home, I had to decide if I had the energy to pull them both. Ella wasn't feeling well enough to make her walk, and though she wanted to stay home by herself, I obviously couldn't do that. I decided, "What the hey? It's a good butt and thigh work out." So I loaded them up, leashed the dog to the wagon (because I make her help) and proceeded to pull 85 lbs of kids plus wagon around the neighborhood. When we'd gotten about 1/3 of the way around our route I was working too hard to carry on a conversation with Ella, and she really felt too bad to have much conversation. However, when we rolled alongside a squished, dead squirrel she immediately piped up with, "Mama, what's that?!" I huffed out a short, "Dead squirrel," and continued on.

Fast forward to this morning's drop off at Grandmother's house where this conversation happened.

Ella: Grandmother! I have some bad news.
Grandmother: You do?
Ella: Yes, we went for a walk yesterday and there was a dead squirrel.
Grandmother: There was?
Ella: But it's okay because there are more squirrels. Like one hundred.

I guess squirrels are disposable.

Father's Day: I blew it.

This is the way I pictured Father’s Day weekend.


Saturday morning – Take the kids shopping to pick gifts for Dave, Papa, and Pop the Pop.

Saturday afternoon – Go to a birthday party.

Sunday morning – Make breakfast for Dave and go to church.

Sunday evening – Have supper with my dad.

This is how it really happened.

Friday morning – Yes, that’s right, Friday, 4:30 am, Luke threw up in our bed. While Dave cleaned up the floor (complimenting me on my cat-like reflexes as I jerked Luke up and suspended him over the side of the bed so that most of the vomit landed on the floor instead of the sheets) while I calmed Luke down, cleaned him up, took his temperature, gave him Motrin, and settled into the recliner with him. He threw up again. I calmed him down, cleaned him up, wrote off going to the office, moved to his bed for a couple more hours. Again, Dave cleaned up vomit from the floor and chair. I worked from home with two kids, and mostly held Luke all day. Aunt Becca came to help me for a little while by holding Luke so I could do some work and going to get us some lunch. While she was gone and I was holding Luke and listening to him breathe rapidly, I decided he needed to go to the doctor. His fever was still climbing despite a dose each of Motrin and Tylenol.

Friday afternoon – I took Luke to the doctor while Ella went home with Aunt Becca. He was running 101.8 fever in the office, tested negative for strep but had a blotchy throat. Doc thinks it’s hand, foot, and mouth disease and prescribed Tylenol with codeine to manage the pain while we wait for it to run its course and keep him hydrated, and oh, by the way, he can run fever like this for the whole 4 -5 days. I started shoring myself up for a long weekend of pain/fever management, toddler holding, and coercing him to drink.

Friday evening – Dave ran the errands to get the medicine (and shouldn’t have bothered since liquid narcotics are too nasty for a child to swallow) and brought me supper from Pop the Pop and Grandma’s house.

Friday night/Saturday (wee) morning - I slept with Luke because he started crying every time I moved from his side. Ella got up at 2:45 and got in bed with Dave. And I didn’t even know about that until mid-morning. That’s a miracle.

Saturday morning – Luke’s fever was gone and he was well enough to play in fits and spurts between needing to be held. Any tiny thing ruined the moment and made him inconsolable again. That went on all morning until he was just a melted down mess at nap time.

Saturday afternoon - I got Ella ready for the birthday party and she took Dave as her date while I held Luke for three hours while he napped. He woke up grouchy and stayed that way until supper when he finally decided he was hungry enough that he had to eat through the pain. After that, bath and bed.

Sunday morning – I woke up in Luke’s bed again, though I’d only been there half the night this time. He was ready to play but sill drooling buckets and crying, “mouth hurt.” Dave was already outside working on a project. I got Luke stabilized with Motrin and juice and went to the fridge to scrounge up breakfast. There were no eggs. No milk. No muffin mix. Nothing to make for breakfast. Why did I expect otherwise? I had not left the house in days. Luke and I went to the store for eggs. He ran barefoot through Lucky’s in a t-shirt and diaper, celebrating being out of the house, and I let him. At home, I cooked breakfast as fast as I could so Dave and Ella could eat before church. They left for church and I took my little petri dish to the grocery store, for real this time, and only because I had to.

Sunday afternoon – Papa and Grandmother came over for lunch. Luke slept another three hours and woke up happy. Ella was a complete grouch until I forced a nap on her. She woke up from nap still grouchy. I was at my wits end with being touched and needed and listening to crying/whining/grouchiness and it was oozing out of me. Dave left to go to Lowe’s for more things for his project and probably because we were unbearable. I put one kid in front of one TV and the other in front of the other TV and went to the shower – for the first time that day. At 4 in the afternoon. I sent my dad a text saying we would be there for supper because I had to get out of my house. After that, I put Ella in the shower, thinking it would improve her mood. It didn’t. She came out crying and complaining of a headache. I took her temperature and it was 102.2. I put her nightgown on her, gave her Motrin, and put her on the couch. Sent my dad another text, “Not coming. Ella’s running fever.” Changed into my pajamas and sat on the couch with Luke. He was grouchy again. I nursed Luke, patted Ella, and tried not to lose my mind.

Sunday evening – My dad brought us supper – happy Father’s day to him. I fed the kids and put them to bed, and then put myself to bed.

It was awful. The worst weekend we’ve had in a very long time. Thankfully, I'm learning to be flexible. And, thankfully, today is a new day. And, thankfully, Grandmother is willing to tag team with a feverish child so I could go to work today for a much needed break.

Round 4, Check.

There's not much to report this time since I found myself able to write during this round of chemo, and thus, less traumatized. In the previous treatment rounds, I've been sort of paralyzed by the whole thing but I guess I've adjusted more than I realized to this episode of our lives.

Once again, he moved straight from week one side effects to week two side effects without an energy crisis in between. I read recently that some cancer patients' experience their bodies adjusting to the low blood counts so they don't feel as exhausted in later rounds of treatement when the blood counts reach their lowest points. We know Dave's bottom out around day 7 and 8, but for the last two rounds he hasn't crashed during those days so I guess his body is compensating.

Here's a little education in layman's terms, if you want it (remembering that I got my medical degree from the University of Google). Lymphoma is a blood cancer, specifically of the lymphocytes - the parts of the white blood cells that make up the immune system. Essentially, some of the normal cells in his lymph system morph into cancer cells (like gremlins changing from cuddly cute things to monsters when they get wet). The chemo drugs he gets every three weeks are designed to wipe out his white blood cells so that the cancer cells that are mixed in with the normal cells will be killed. He also gets a shot with each round (24 hours later) that stimulates his bone marrow to make more white blood cells. That medicine helps his body recover his immune system, but it doesn't take full effect until day 7 or 8 of the cycle - thus, days 7 and 8 are when his white blood count (WBC) is the lowest. Starting day 6 of the cycle, he takes antibiotics for five days to protect his body from bacterial infections. This is also when he's supposed to stay away from crowded places (like the county jail) and sick people. Today is day 10 and his last day of antibiotics, and that means we are well on our way to the rest portion of this round.

Next week, he'll be feeling almost normal again and he gets a bonus week of rest this time. He and his doctor negotiated the next treatment for the first week of July to give his body a little extra time to make white blood cells and to accomodate his work schedule. This means extra fun time for us!

So, for two and a half weeks, we play and then onto the business of round five.

Another Lesson from Cancer: Flexibility

I am a rather inflexible person. I really like routine. I like knowing what to expect. I take comfort in the familiar. My biggest source of stress in any given situation is The Unknown. Followed very closely by Plans That Get Changed. It really, really bothers me when plans get changed suddenly.

This inflexibility is something I’ve known about myself for a while. In the past, it’s been something that drove Dave nervous (Incidentally, he is indecisive – the exact opposite of inflexible – you can see how that would cause, umm… discussions). I also had an evaluation at work one time that listed my inflexible nature as one of my areas for improvement. So…

I’ve been working very hard on being more flexible for years now, and I thought I was doing an okay job with it. I still might hate it when I’m asked to do something new, but at least now I can (usually) deal with it in stride rather than having a breakdown about it. My love of routine is really good for my small children, because kids like to know what to expect (especially kids like Ella). But I’ve realized lately that even though I’ve been working on it, I still keep a very rigid routine. I know this because I get text messages like, “Hey while you are out this morning and up that way how about stopping by the house we like….”, not because I told the sender that I was going that way but because I go that way every single Saturday at the same time of morning to grocery shop at the same Publix. I can’t help it, the other Publix stores in the area aren’t laid out the same and I hate it because it makes me forget things that I need.

I am so predictable that the people around me don’t even have to ask to know where I am on a Saturday. And I’ve probably written about it enough here that you knew it, too, even if you don’t talk to me in real life every week. That’s just so boring.

Do you know what doesn’t give a crap about your routine or what you have planned for tomorrow or next weekend or next year? Cancer. Do you know what that forces you to become? Flexible.

Dave and I had a conversation this morning about how we – our little family – have become more flexible since March. And we like it. We’ve spent that past few weekends meandering around with no solid plans in mind and it’s been wonderful. We’ve gone out to breakfast, made an impromptu visit to my brother-and-sister-in-law’s house in Gardendale (and it was reminiscent of how we used to just end up there on the weekends when we lived in Gardendale. And, I realized how much I’ve been missing them!). We had dinner with friends I had not seen since Ella was a newborn and we stayed out too late (with the kids!) and loved it. We’ve been to the Galleria, mostly just to ride the carousel – and I did ride it even though it makes me feel sick to go round and round – and I had fun because it’s been a really long time since I’ve actually ridden a carousel and because Luke was riding with me. We went to a birthday party. We shopped at a different grocery store and not always in the morning. Dave took Ella on a date while I cuddled Luke for a nap and watched movies on the couch instead of doing grown-up things like laundry and cleaning. We played in the pool when the weather was nice; we dragged a screaming kid on a walk because we needed it, even though it was rainy. Luke ate breakfast and lunch at the table in his room because he was playing and I didn’t care.

We are living The Unknown right now. I started this journey half afraid to make any plans, but now I realize that I half want to be open for entertaining our whims. I have planned exactly two things this summer: the kids’ birthday parties. And I almost decided to skip those altogether, but Ella will be turning 4 and I just couldn’t tell her we weren’t having a party. We don’t have a vacation planned. We don’t have every weekend booked from now until September. But there’s potential for those things. Maybe we’ll take a vacation. Maybe it will be to the beach, but maybe not. Maybe we’ll find a nice hotel with a good pool and just swim for a few days, somewhere other than in our yard. Maybe we won’t go anywhere at all.

All this un-commitment, this potential, this non-routine is rather freeing. Though living in a rut as deep as the Grand Canyon is comfortable for me, I get so stressed out and exhausted by the expectations and demands on my time, the sense of responsibility and obligation I force myself to uphold. Not that those are bad things – they are really good, but sometimes it’s suffocating. And sometimes I just need to breathe. Is it coincidental that cancer brought that breath into our lives? I doubt it; I don't believe in coincidence.

The Valet Parking Lady

As busy as the Bruno Cancer Center is and as much as I've been impressed with the nurses and doctors and office staff, there is one lady there who just blows me away: The Valet Parking Lady.


Today's parking spot.



We found out yesterday that she goes by the name of Suzy Q, and I'm ashamed to admit that it took us four treatments to learn this. Because she knew Dave's name the day after his first one. She never fails to call him by name and she knows when he's there for a long day of chemo and when he's just there for the quick shot (he gets a shot 24 hours after each round of chemo to help his body recover his white blood cells).

This space usually holds 1 or 2 more with
just enough room to drive around them to get out.




The lot was not full today.. there are usually
2 more cars squeezed in this space you see.



Suzy Q works in the hot stress of a parking lot with a seemingly unending flow of traffic - and she is always happy and caring when she talks to the patients. She also has mad parking skills. I'm astounded at the number of cars she can fit in this tiny lot. One day, when she allowed me to parallel park the car myself for our quick shot day, I sucked it up so bad that she offered to fix it for me and bring the keys inside to me when she was done - teasing me the whole time. Another day, she said, "I'm gonna park you right over there in the shade Mr. Roper 'cause we don't want you gettin' too hot."

She does a job that I would hate and she does it with a good attitude, even when the cars are lined up so no one can get in and out of the lot and it's 95 degrees outside. I don't know how much a parking attendant makes, but I know it's not millions. Her job is one that would be easy to glance over without much thought; I'm sure some people see her as a mere convenience so they don't have to find a parking spot. But she's more important than that.  She spends her days running all around the St. Vincent's campus so that cancer patients have only to walk into and out of the front doors to get to their cars - not because the parking situation is sketchy, but because sometimes even the walk to the front door is too far. I don't know if she realizes it, but she has a pretty powerful ministry going on right at the front door of a place where people really need ministering. Any random person could be parking cars there, but not many would do it with the love that she displays for the patients. 

There are so many cars parked that the entrance/exit is one lane.



I believe she has a spiritual gift of service and probably also of mercy, and she is putting them to good work every day.

Do people recognize my spiritual gifts from watching me live my life? I'm not so sure...

Chemo Day

The waiting room at the Bruno Cancer Center is a bizarre and busy crossroad of lives. I sit in a chair in the corner,  so I can see the majority of the room (save for the chairs that are blocked by the aquarium in the middle) but most importantly, the door where Dave goes in. I like to watch the traffic and try to guess who is here for the first time, who is in the middle of treatment, and who is here for follow up. I want to see the nurses when they come out in case one of them is looking for me.

Also, I've scoped out the place and my chair is one of the few next to an electrical outlet, which is necessary if I'm going to work while I wait.  Sometimes I work, sometimes I Google, sometimes I read. Today, I've done a little of all of that and addressed birthday party invitations for Ella. Last time, I worked the whole day, with my business all spread out around me, talking on the phone and annoying my fellow waiters. I sent my dad a message that day to tell him, proudly, that I had been acting just like him all day. (When he waited with me for Dave to have his port put in back in March, we both spread our business out around us and worked, him borrowing my notebook, glasses, and laptop because he wasn't planning to work until he saw me with all of my work things. It was classic Wyattness.)

It's really hard to focus on anything for very long because there is so much traffic in and out of this place. Dave has one of the longest chemo treatments, so we get here first thing in the morning when there are usually only 2 or 3 other people here, and we leave late in the afternoon, when the crowd has thinned out. That means I get to watch a group of people pass through in the morning and then be replaced by a new group in the afternoon. Some people bring a herd of people with them and some come completely alone. I'm not sure how that works. Maybe they don't get Benadryl with their chemo cocktail? Or maybe they have a ride coming later?

All these people make for good People Watching. I like to listen to their conversations and try to figure out who has cancer, what kind, how old they are, etc. And also, sometimes they are just funny.

There is one pair of older ladies, always dressed to the max with jewelry and shoes that put my t-shirt and flip flops to shame, that I've sat next to twice now. They come in the morning. The husband of one of the ladies has cancer and I'm convinced that one brings the other lady along for entertainment while she waits. Today, armed with new iPhones in pink Otterboxes, they were discussing whether or not they had the Timeline on Facebook, how to create notes on the iPhone for their grocery lists, and looking at a picture on Facebook of so-so's new wife whom no one knows is married. They left before lunch.

While they were here, another family of husband, wife and 2 grandchildren came in and sat beside us. The wife has cancer. The children were young, a boy around 5 years old and a girl about 12 months, she sort of walked but mostly crawled. And she tried to take Fancy Lady's phone and magazine. They also left before lunch.

After them, an older man sat down next to me with a lap desk, a Bible, and a stack of mail. He actually initiated a conversation with me because I'm wearing my Job 13:5 shirt today. (I almost never initiate conversation in waiting rooms because I'm socially awkward with strangers.) I found out that his stack of mail was actually tests from a prison correspondence course - a Bible study - that he and his wife help facilitate. His wife had cancer and they come back to Birmingham once a year for her follow up appointments. They live in Georgia now but they like these doctors. The wife grades the multiple choice part of the test, then the husband reads and comments on the discussion questions. Their daughter got her Master's degree in audiology at the University of Montevallo. He and his wife live near her now to take care of their grandkids while she works a few days a week. She actually called and asked them to move to Georgia to do that and they did. I told him I thought they are doing good work, both with the prison ministry and the grandkids. And it got me thinking, my introverted self could grade tests for Biblical correspondence courses...

Then as I was answering the question about Dave's profession, another man sat down with us and volunteered that his brother was a criminal defense attorney until he finished his 17th capitol murder trial and decided he needed to do something else. His wife has cancer, and he's still here waiting for her to finish her treatment.

There is another man here who had a visit from his son, daughter-in-law and baby granddaughter while he waits. I'm not sure who he's here with, but I presume it's his wife. He's still waiting, but the baby is gone.

There's a whole group of people on the other side of the room that I watch, but can't hear. I keep track of the young ones because there aren't many. Most of the people here are 40 or older. I keep track of who has lost their hair and who is in a wheelchair that wasn't last time. I wonder how often they have to come.

I really like it when there are little kids here because they liven the place up a little. But there aren't many kids because treatments take hours and there is nothing to do here but read 8 year old magazines and watch Judge Somebody loudly berate young idiots about their failure to use birth control (a point I agree with, though at a lower volume).

I check on Dave periodically but I can't stay with him because the treatment room is a large open space with lots of chairs separated by little walls so the patients can't see each other, and so they can pretend they don't hear each other. When I'm back there, I take note of the young ones as I scurry into his little space, trying not to invade the others' privacy and disliking the wide-open feeling of many sets of eyes on me as I walk through the door. I bring him snacks and lunch and try not to bug him if I think he might be sleeping. When he's finished, he comes out looking wholly normal without even a visible bandaid since his port is in his chest. Then we go home.

This is what Chemo Day looks like for me.

Babywearing Just Makes Life Easier

I've had conversations this week about babywearing with two different friends who have young babies. It took me back. I still wear Luke with some regularity, though that phase is coming to an end as fast as his babyhood. I wore him in the Spring during soccer games to keep him contained. I wear him at the grocery store if he's sleepy or anytime we are out if he falls asleep in the car. That's about all he will tolerate at this point because he is very busy. And he likes to "balk"  - that means "walk", if you don't speak Luke. He still likes the cuddliness of the Babyhawk, but he likes to "balk" more.

When they were tiny babies, I hated lugging the carseat everywhere. It takes up too much room and it was too heavy. When Ella was less than 6 weeks, I wore her in an Infantino sling. I wanted to love it, but I didn't. It didn't fit me right; then it got recalled because it didn't fit the babies right either. I stopped putting her in it at 6 weeks because she had to wear the Pavlik harness to correct her hip dysplasia. That's when I started working in earnest on learning to tie and put her into my homemade Moby-style wrap. I wore her everywhere in that thing until she was 6 months old. At that point, she was getting a little heavy for it and Dave gave me a Babyhawk mei tai for Christmas. I wore her everywhere in the Babyhawk until I was 5 months pregnant with Luke and it got uncomfortable to tie it around my belly (because we know how large I get when I'm gestating).

I didn't wear Luke in the Moby-style wrap as much because I learned how to put a newborn into the Babyhawk safely, and I just found that easier. However, I did resurrect the Moby-style wrap for his first beach trip. I bought 5 yards of chiffon off the clearance rack at the fabric store, tied it on, put him in it, and strolled into the ocean - baby contained safely on my body and able to play in the water. The chiffon was lightweight and dried super fast. It was perfect. I still keep my Babyhawk in the car so I always have it if there's a babywearing emergency (i.e. an energetic toddler in a crowd of people).

Here's my real-life list of reasons for wearing my kids.
1. Inconsolable crying - wearing and walking was often the only thing that made Ella stop crying.
2. To facilitate naps and bedtime. Sometimes I wore them just until they were asleep and sometimes I wore them for the entire nap.
3. While shopping.
4. Instead of holding - at events, church, parties, anywhere I would have been holding them or would have had them in the carseat or stroller.
5. On walks instead of pushing a stroller.
6. While cooking, cleaning, working.
7. To contain them in crowds or at the pool/beach.
8. To get through the witching hour - it's why I call it the Grouch Pouch.

I think that generally covers everything.

Since retiring the Infantino sling, I've stuck to alternative carriers (things you couldn't find at Target - though now they carry Moby!), because of the way the baby fits in them. I learned with Ella that it's much better for their hip development if the fabric of the carrier spreads their hips wide, as if they are sitting with their legs wrapped around your waist, rather than letting them dangle straight down, like some of the more mainstream carriers hold them. I also very much prefer a carrier that goes over both shoulders instead of a sling that just uses one shoulder. Double shoulder carriers are just more comfortable for me.  I love both my Moby-style wrap and my Babyhawk so much that they are of the few things I'll be keeping so I can wear my grandchildren one day.

My favorite resource for information and instructions for different types of carriers is The Babywearer. There's even a forum where you can swap or buy used carriers and ask questions. You can also find patterns for making your own carriers. It's a wealth of information.

For fun, I rounded up all the pictures I could find of my kids being worn. Sadly, I don't have one of Luke as a toddler in the pouch. I'll have to get one ASAP, before this phase is gone completely.

Luke, 6 months old, at Ladies' Night Out

Luke, 8ish months old, during the witching hour

Ella, 2.5 years, wearing her baby



Luke, 3ish months old, when he was fussy.

Ella, 4 months old, ready for a walk to the park.

Ella, probably 8 weeks old.

Ella, 6 months old, during Night In Bethlehem.

Ella, 14 months, in the museum at Ft. Morgan

Ella, 14 months, on top of Ft. Morgan

I made Aunt Becca a babywearing believer before she even knew there would be a Jake. This is her very first babywearing experience. She loved it. She wears Jake everywhere now.

Luke, 2 months, at Target.

Halfway There

Round three of chemo is over, I guess. He has energy and has already developed the week 2 side effects even though he didn't have the second crash first. That messes with my head. I was expecting the crash Monday or Tuesday of this week, even had meals lined up for those days, and it didn't come. So I'm calling round three finished.

This one hit him hard and fast but he recovered more quickly, too. I'm certain that's because he had no choice but to sleep in the two days following the treatment and that's what his body has been needing. I'm hoping he can arrange his schedule so that he has time to sleep like that for the next three rounds.

This round was hard on me. I haven't been about to lose my mind, but I'm feeling less like, "Let's do this thing" and more like "How am I going to make it through three more rounds?" He told me after the first round that he thought it might take all of his willpower to survive six rounds of chemo. I'm thinking it might take all of mine, too, and I'm not the one being poisoned every three weeks. We are living in a bizarre world right now.

I was laying in bed with Ella the last week and she kept asking me when we were going to eat at a certain restaurant. It was taking me forever to figure out which restaurant she was talking about and I asked her when we had been there before. She said, "You know, that day we walked around and passed out fingernail files." And I did know. She was talking about a restaurant we stopped in one day when we were handing out campaign literature for one of the local elections. It was Sunday, February 26, two days before I took Dave to the ER. It was all I could do not to lay in her bed and cry, thinking about how drastically our lives changed two days later. Not for the worse, but never to be the same again. Having a new normal thrust upon you without warning takes some getting used to. I occasionally find myself in situations like this one with Ella where old normal and new normal collide in my mind at the same time and I struggle to process everything that's happened since the end of February. Some days it's hard to believe it's been three months already and some days it's hard to believe it hasn't been three years.

I've come to realize that cancer has a time warp similar to the one that happens at the end of a pregnancy. All at once, time is flying and standing still. And, cancer is a line of demarkation in our lives together. Just like having kids. In the timeline of us, there are periods of time I think of as Before Kids and After Kids, and now I've added Before Cancer. There's no After yet because this isn't over. I'm not sure it will even be over at the end of chemo. I'm thinking there will be other time periods known as During Chemo and After Chemo, but I don't know when After Cancer will happen. Will there be another line of demarkation or will we just ease into it without realizing it until we're well on the other side? Now I'm rambling, but at least it's cathartic.

Anyway, three rounds down and three to go. With my whole body and soul I'm looking forward to this long weekend of playing in backyards with my family, to soaking up the sun and fun and laughter, to restocking my mental facilities in preparation for round four. And Lynyrd Skynyrd's Tuesday's Gone in my ears has mellowed me out just in time for the weekend. 

Around the House

More random quotes, from our house to yours!

"Iwanna baby geese! Iwanna baby geese!" - Luke's response to the goslings we saw in the office park one day when they came to have lunch with me. He was very excited about the babies. And very upset that we did not stop to kidnap one.

"Not today, devil. Git on outta here in the name of Jesus!" - Me, giving the devil my most Southern rebuke when our sign suddenly fell off the front door, scaring me and the dog.

Through the baby monitor in the middle of the night one night I heard, "Halp! Haaaalp!" - Luke was tied up in his frog blanket and could not get untangled.

"Does this wash my sins away?" - Ella, while dunking herself backward into the pool. It led to a great teaching moment where we explained the difference between making a decision to accept Jesus (that's the part that washes the sins away) and baptism (the public expression of that acceptance).

"... and they will start spelling 'eye patch' like i-P-a-t-c-h." - Dave, in conclusion to a rather lengthy dissertation on his vision of future iPhone technology. There was something about plugging it into the side of your head and having a display right in front of your eye, thus, the iPatch. He is now an iPhone user, but he didn't love it until I installed the I Heart Radio app for him.

"Iwanna bite." - Luke's counterargument whenever I tell him he has his own drink/snack and cannot have mine or that he has to wait until later to nurse. I believe it translates to, "Just a little?"

"Ungratulations, Mommy! I pooped!" - Ella, after a traumatic few days of not pooping. I'm adopting this one into my daily snarkasm. She meant "congratulations" of course, but given the situation and her perfect mispronunciation, I'm redefining it to mean the opposite (i.e. "You just found out all the work you did for three days was for nothing? Well, ungratulations."). You are welcome to use it, too, but remember, you heard it here first!

After taking a bite of chicken pot pie, Luke looked at me in confusion, removed it from his mouth, and said, "Pie?" Apparently he thought we were having chocolate pie for supper; after I clarified that it was chicken pie, he ate it.

"Mommy! It's SpongeBob Underpants!" - Ella, about a yellow starfish beach toy she found that has a face remarkably similar to Mr. Underpants. No, we don't watch SpongeBob, and yes, he will forever be known in our house as SpongeBob Underpants.

Photographic Evidence: He does eat.

We don't know how Luke got to be such a skinny little thing, but he is. He's skinny enough that our pediatrician wonders if we feed him. We do. 

And he eats.

At Petrucelli's he ate half of my fettucine alfredo.
I was planning to bring home leftovers. I didn't.

And eats.

Luke knows Moe's knows how to make a quesadilla.
He ate every bite and tried to lick the queso drips off the table.

And eats.

At home, he often stands while eating, because he is so busy.

 And he still looks like this.

Long, lean, Luke.

We feed him the same things we feed Ella, but she has entirely different body type - much more what Dave and I looked like as kids. Lately, he eats more than her and we find ourselves waiting for him to finish. He's becoming a bottomless pit. It's amazing to watch how much food he can put away in one meal. I'm kind of worried about what it will be like to feed the teenage version of him. And I'm sure he's about to grow two more inches.

Mother's Day... Sometimes I hate it.

I have a love-hate relationship with Mother's Day. Mostly, I love to hate it. I resent the commercialism around it and the implication that I want or need expensive gifts to feel appreciated. I don't. I don't need a steak lunch; I don't even need a special day. I would hate it if I only felt appreciated on one day of the year. I would hate it if my mothers only felt like I appreciated them on one day of the year. I try to make sure they know how much I appreciate them regularly. I celebrate Mother's Day every day of the year - sure, sometimes it's with a prayer of thanksgiving that the monkeys are finally asleep at night, but if every day was fabulous, I would take it for granted. Dave does a great job of recognizing the work I do and thanking me for it regularly. I'd much rather find all of the laundry washed and folded and the dishwasher emptied on random days of the year than wait an hour and a half on a special day at an overcrowded restaurant to receive an expensive present that some radio commercial says I need. I also struggle to balance the pressure to recognize my mothers (with food and gifts and time) and the desire to claim the day for myself. Because, even though I'd rather be appreciated all of the days of the year, I still want to be appreciated on the made up holiday that's supposed to be for me. See? Love-hate. I thank the greeting card and jewelry industries for making me irrational about it.

Maybe it's just me. But luckily, I have a baby daddy who knows how to speak to my heart.

My Mother's Day started Saturday morning at 6:30ish when Ella came out of her bedroom fully dressed, asking me to button her shorts. I did so, gladly, thankful that I didn't have to get up to help her put her clothes on. This was the very first time she's gotten up, picked her clothes, and put them on with no prompting at all.

Luke was in our bed, so he woke up when Ella came in. Dave asked them if they wanted to load up and go somewhere and they consented. He dressed Luke and took them out of the house.

I never had to leave the bed. This has never happened before.

I went back to sleep until almost 8 (!). Then I got up and showered all by myself without anyone playing in the water, asking me questions, or yelling through the locked bathroom door. Then I sat on the back porch and read and drank two cups of coffee. I had the pleasure of listening to Dave and the kids unload from the car when they got home. I love to hear them talking to each other when they don't know I'm listening.

We spent a low key day at the house. Ella and I took our recycling to the recycling center (she loves to help with that job), then we picked up Luke and went to the grocery store. After that, Ella helped me make lasagna for our Sunday night supper. She was in charge of the cheese layers and she helped clean up the mess. She has gotten to be quite helpful around the house - taking her laundry to the hamper, feeding the animals, putting our recyclables in the bins, cleaning up messes, and occasionally helping distract Luke when I really need to finish something and he's needing attention.

I thought I had gotten the best Mother's Day present in the three hours to myself first thing in the morning, but I was wrong. It came Saturday evening when I had the pleasure of watching Ella and Luke walking across the porch with presents they had picked for me in their hands. They each had a card and a gift and they were so excited about it. Luke handed me his and told me, "Tank choo, Mommy!" Such sweetness. They had been to Target that morning to shop for me. Ella picked a hilarious necklace that I told her I will wear around the house but not to church and a card that she loved so much she's been carrying it around with her. She signed it herself, so I'll have to confiscate it at some point to put in her keep box. Luke had help picking his gift and he also gave me a card that he "signed". It makes monkey sounds; it's completely appropriate. I hope I never lose that image of them coming across the porch with their presents, so excited to give them to me.

Dave cooked breakfast for us Sunday morning and then we had a full day of church followed by lunch at Aunt Becca's with Grandmother and supper at our house with Grandma. Dave did most of the kitchen clean up after supper.

That man is amazing. I had a great day celebrating my mothers on Sunday, and he did things that were just for me throughout the weekend.

So, Mother's Day. Sometimes I hate it, but not this year.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Breaks a Nose

It's not broken, but we thought it might be for a few minutes.

We were all assembled in a circle for game time in Grandmother's living room last night - criss-cross applesauce, hands in our lap, mouths closed, eyes watching, ears listening. Shoes to the side. Ella was giving instructions.

Luke was wearing her purple Tinkerbell crocs and jumping like they were jet-powered moon shoes. Over and over again. Landing hard on his butt/back every time. Ella was slightly put out that he would not follow her instructions and sit quietly.

When it was time for our water party, we needed a slide. There was some discussion of using the little plastic slide as the water slide or - we could just use Mommy. Naturally, because I was on the floor, Luke started climbing me. Immediately the game changed.

No longer were we sitting quietly in our circle. The wanted to play Mommy Mule. (That's our version of riding a horse where I try to buck them off while they count loudly and laugh hysterically. It really should be called Mommy Bull Riding.) Because I was sitting criss-cross applesauce with my hands in my lap, I wasn't prepared for giving Mule rides, so I just flipped Luke over my shoulder instead.

The game was on.

Ella lined up for her turn, climbed on my back and I flipped her.

She's too tall for that game.

She landed on her nose.

It was dramatic. I felt horrible. She cried until she managed to choke up a little vomit. I held her and tried to convince her to breathe.

When she finally calmed down a little, Aunt Becca said, "Is it turning blue?" It was. We iced it and gave her a cold rag to wipe her face - and because cold rags make everything better. It wasn't crooked or bumpy, so I knew it wasn't broken.

It was a little swollen but no longer blue when I left her at Grandmother's house to spend the night. (A plan she had already put in place before I almost broke her nose). When I came back a few minutes later to drop off her pajamas, she was running back and forth accross the living room so that Papa could catch her and trap her in his arms so she could use her super strength to break free. The nose was forgotten.

This morning, it looked fine. I was certain she would have two black eyes, but they looked normal.

We play hard around here. Sometimes we get hurt. Then we count teeth, clean up the vomit, and play some more.

Thinking Back, Living Forward

It’s been just over 2 months since Dave’s surgery. There are still unknowns, but we are in a much better place now. We know that the surgeon got all of the tumors, that the surrounding tissue did not show evidence of cancer. We know that his PET scan showed “no measurable amount” of cancer left in his body after the surgery. We know that his type of lymphoma generally responds well to chemotherapy and that the majority of the time chemo will cure it. We know what the chemo does to his body and how to manage the side effects. We know how long he will feel bad and when he will feel good again after a round of chemo.

We are very optimistic that this is just another episode in our lives to be survived rather than an ending.

I am glad to be in this place, where we know what is going on and we have some reassurance for the future. But occasionally I flash back to the lowest moments immediately following his surgery and I’m consumed with the emotion all over again. Sometimes I’m overcome with the feelings I had while I sat beside him in the dark each night in the hospital, wondering what this meant for us, where we would go from there, if he would be alive the same time next year. I was so scared. For him, because I had no idea what he would have to endure and for us because I didn’t know if we’d still have him.

Sometimes I think back over the sadness of a conversation we had one Friday afternoon, after his first oncology appointment, before we had any real information about his diagnosis and treatment plan. I told him that I truly didn’t believe he was going to die, but that I knew that I would be okay if he did. That I didn’t want to think about my life without him in it because he is my best friend in this world, but that if he came to a point where he was holding on to life for me when he needed to say goodbye, I would be able to let him go. Because I would rather he be in Heaven waiting for me than suffering on earth with me.

He has no intention of dying this year and we are planning for his full recovery, but it’s important for me to capture the low points in words to help me process those feelings that bubble up and to help me remember how far we’ve come in two months.

This was a life event that changed me. While the process is sometimes painful, I’m confident that the results will be worth it. If nothing else, my life was brought into razor sharp focus and my perspective was adjusted. The things that don’t matter are clear and so are the things that do.

God is in the forefront of my mind most of the time now in a way He wasn’t before. I find myself considering my words and actions with the questions, “Does what I’m about to write/say/do reflect God’s glory? Does it make it evident that I’ve been with Jesus?” My humanity still gets the best of me, often, but I am trying to take that breath and consider the testimony I’m living. I’m a work in progress.

My nucleus, the man that God made for me and the little souls He put into my care, they teach me new things every single day and they constantly remind me of the importance of time. They are infinite sources of joy and laughter. They keep me busy living.

My family, those outside of my household – both of my blood and of my heart, has bound itself around us and lifted us up, held us together when I could not. It’s a surprisingly extensive family. I’m awestruck and humbled by it. It’s one of the things that matters a lot.

I was asked recently if I wanted to go back to the fall of last year, before any of this happened, when everything was still normal. My answer was unequivocally, “No.”

I have grown and I have been richly blessed through this trial. I would not undo it. This is our normal now.

We Survived Round Two

Dave's second chemo treatment was last Monday, and last night, ten days later, he gave me the clue that it was over: "It feels good to feel good again." Also, he went to bed at normal time - that is to say that he fell asleep in the chair, watching TV in the 8:00 hour. That's normal.

I think this round went smoother for both of us, mentally speaking. I didn't lose my mind and I successfully fended off the devil the few times he tried to hijack me (thanks for the prayers and Bible verses to help me handle that bit of business). Luke was pitifully sick for a couple of those days, so between him hanging on me like a baby monkey and his inability to sleep through the fever, I was ripe for losing it. But I didn't. I take absolutely zero credit for that. That was God working as a result of you praying. And when I was able to leave Dave on Thursday and go back to my office, I rejoiced all the way there for the hour of alone time I have during my drive to work. By Thursday of last week, I desperately needed some alone time.

And that night, Grandmother kept both kids so I got to sleep. I was in my bed at 7:58 that night and asleep before 9. I didn't get up again until it was my turn to shower the next morning. It's amazing what a full night of sleep will do for your soul. Friday, Grandma and Pop the Pop cleaned the house for us. Monday, Rebecca brought supper. All those things made Chemo Week easier for us this time.

I've already consulted My Favorite Sister about organizing meals for us for the future rounds, because having food show up at the house already ready to eat is a lifesaver on the days that Dave is out of commission and the howler monkeys are screeching. I didn't realize how much I need that until this week, when it happened twice. Also, some of you who brought food after Dave came home from the hospital? That's still helping us because I was packing some of those meals away in the freezer like a mouse storing up grain for winter. 

Dave probably worked too hard the first couple of days after chemo this time, but he had a busy schedule and he was insistent that he keep it. So we did. I just went to work with him so I could drive if he needed me to, and just be there with him. I think that helps. Physically, he says he thinks it affected him about the same as the first treatment, and he followed pretty much the same up and down pattern that I mentioned after the first treatment. That's encouraging because it means we should have about a week and a half of fun days before round three.

Finally, the update I know you've all been waiting for: His eyebrows are still hanging in there.

Around the House

I don't have a full post in my head right now, but I have compiled a list of quotes from around our house. Some of these go back several weeks.

"I'm gonna eat lunch at Grandma's... I don't know who Aunt Tricia's people are." - Ella, in response to the news that Aunt Tricia was bringing us lunch from the Christ Table ministry at her church the day after Dave came home from the hospital. And no, we don't generally talk in terms of someone's "people," so I have no idea where that came from.

Through the baby monitor, in the middle of the night, I heard Luke saying, "No-no. No-no." I went in to check on him and found that Ella had rolled over and snaked her arms around his so that he couldn't get away. Sometimes she sleeps in his bed if she falls asleep before he does on nights when I do bedtime for both of them.

"Mommy, will you just brush my teeth for me tonight? Because I have a wedding tomorrow." - Ella, at toothbrushing time Saturday night. I guess teeth need to be Mommy Clean for weddings? We did not actually attend a wedding, so this is a good example of our combination life - half real and half Ella's alternate reality. It's hard to keep it straight sometimes.

I did bedtime for both of them last night, so we were cuddled into Luke's bed. Ella was telling me all about their trip to the zoo that afternoon with Grandma and Pop the Pop. In the middle of it, Luke leaned over me and said, "Mama. Boo. Chicks. Baaak, baaak, baaak (chicken noises)."
Me: "You went to the zoo and saw chickens?"
He smiled.
Me: What else did you see?
Luke: Baby!
Me: A baby gorilla?
He smiled again.

I love that he's participating in the conversation now.

And for fun, another photo comparison of my offspring that do not look like me.

Ella at 21 months, after her tonsil/adenoid/tube surgery.

Luke at 20 months, after his tube/adenoid surgery.

That juice cup he's holding? That was a serious situation. After fasting for 16 hours, he was thirsty. The nurse told us he woke up from the anesthesia reaching for the cup. Not a single tear, just reaching for the cup. He drank 16 ounces in the hour or so we waited to go home, and another 4 on the way. Withholding his "ju-ju" was by far the hardest part of his surgery experience.

Family Foto Fun

More classic Roper picture takin' from Easter. We got some really good ones, but these are the silliest and most typical of us.

The first one is just perfect. Luke's tongue wouldn't stay in, Ella looked like a precious little angel gangster, Georgia insists on being in family pictures, my eyes are closed, and Dave looks normal.


Classic Roper Family Photo





Waving at the neighbors. And my butt. 

 Luke was so serious about dying eggs this year that he cracked all of his because he was throwing them into the cups so hard.


Dying eggs. Notice the mess.





My Kids Don't Sleep Til Nine

People keep telling me about how their kids sleep til 8:30 or 9:00 in the mornings. Is this for real? In my world, that mythology ranks up there with kids who don't puke or who sleep through the night.

In my house, we consider 7:30 sleeping late - and that doesn't happen very often. Dave thinks it's fantastic, of course. I believe his exact quote when I mentioned someone's kid (maybe it was Jake) sleeping until 8:30 was, "That would be awful." Indeed.

At this point in my life, after being so well conditioned, I guess I would feel like I slept the day away if I didn't get up until 9:00. But it would be awesome to wake up occasionally of my own volition - without the alarm clock, or a request to put on a Barbie shoe or play a game of electronic fishing, or "Mamamamamamamamamamamamamama..." or "TV.Donald." Because it's really hard to catch fish and put on Barbie shoes when your fingers are still fumbly and your eyes are barely open. Sometimes I get so many requests before my feet are even on the floor that I have to say, "I haven't even peed or gotten a drink yet. You will have to give me a few minutes." In so many ways they are like their father, and this is one of them. Ella especially pops up out of bed ready to rock and roll, just like Dave. Luke will linger for a little while on the weekends, but he is notorious for waking up half an hour before the alarm goes off every weekday - and it doesn't matter what time the alarm is set for. I know it's only a matter of time before he's bringing me an armload of trains or cars or books first thing in the morning.

Last Tuesday we had to be at Children's Hospital at 6:30 in the morning for his surgery. He slept on the way there and rode to the waiting room in a wagon. Once we set up camp there, he needed to pull the wagon all over the place. As the room filled up, I noticed that all of the kids were bleary eyed and groggy. Except one. Mine. He was running laps and shouting "Mommy! Daddy!"

It's not that I resent their enthusiasm for each new day - I don't at all and I kinda wish I had the same enthusiasm, it's that I'm a nocturnal creature by nature. I go to bed these days right after the kids, usually by 9:00 because I get up early for work and for play, but I prefer to stay up much, much later. Usually with a book I can't put down. I don't wake up rearing to go, ever. Before we had kids it was an established rule in our house that I should not be spoken to until after I'd showered. Just like uninterrupted sleep and only cleaning up my own bodily fluids, that's just a vague memory now.

I know I'll get it back one day, the ability to sleep through the night and wake up on my own, and by then I'll be wishing for those little footsteps coming down the hall and the little voice calling me through the baby monitor. I'm not wishing it away, I'm just expressing my disbelief that actual, real, live, non-movie children sleep past 7:00 a.m.

It's Me, It's Me, It's Me, Oh Lord

Standing in need of a prayer.

Yep. Asking for prayer again. Not for healing or the ability to cope and care for others, but for peace and strength and wisdom.

I had an epiphany during church this morning. No, strike that, I got smacked over the heart with a realization. I've been under attack. I'm talking about spiritual warfare. The devil.

Since Dave came home from the hospital, 6 weeks ago, I've been waking up at 4 in the morning several times a week thinking horrible, nightmarish thoughts. Thoughts that don't even get close to my mind in the daytime, but that keep me awake in a near panic until I finally give up and get out of bed or fall back asleep. Sometimes I can put them away from me in the light of day and sometimes they linger for days on end, making me bitter and anxious and hateful. It's been so confusing because I really seem to have no control over my mind during those times and they aren't things I believe, but it keeps happening.

I know what I need to do. I need to fill my heart and mind with the word of God. I need to pray out loud in the name of Jesus. I need to make sure I clothe myself every day in the whole armor of God (Ephesians 6: 10-17) because I know that the devil is alive and well and he's after my soul.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." - Ephesians 6:12

You see, when things are happening in your life that display God's glory, the devil hates it. And he'll do anything to stop it. This is a time in my life when I know without a doubt that God is working and that everything that is happening to us and around us is for His glory. My constant prayer since I was able to put more words around the "please God" has been that He use us to draw people closer to him. Obviously that's happening, else the devil wouldn't be visiting me at 4 o'clock in the morning.

So now I'm asking for another prayer - for protection of my mind, my heart, my soul. For my own strength to say, "Devil, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus; leave my mind." If you happen to wake up in the middle of the night and think of me, please, please pray. I probably need it. I probably need it all day long, too, but it's definitely worse at night.

In exchange, I'll be thanking God for every person who is praying for me though I don't know who or what or when.

"Well It Certainly Sucks"

Monday afternoon I got a text from Dave: "It's coming out. Right on schedule I guess." He meant his hair. His oncologist told us it would start falling out 14 days after his first chemo treatment.

We didn't own any clippers, so that night at supper we discussed his options.
1. Go to Great Clips and ask them to shave it. - He didn't want to pay for it.
2. Cut it with scissors and shave it with a razor. - We didn't feel like doing it once Luke was asleep.
3. Get a Flowbee. - Which led to: "Oh, we could vacuum you!" He told me we'd do it and I could put it on the blog.


We don't have a Flowbee, but we do have a vacuum.

It worked about like it does on the dog; it got the loose hairs but didn't do much else. We decided to wait a day and see what happened.
He had a new party trick. He could pull out clumps of hair, and he did all day long until the floor in Luke's hospital room looked like this.

Has somenone been cutting hair in here?

We had to shave it. He was shedding everywhere. He even commented that he'd have to vacuum our stairs again if we didn't do something soon. So, on the way home from the hospital we stopped at Target to buy clippers.

He went to work when we got home - shaved it with clippers and then finished it with a razor.

Last look at Hairy Dave.

I think he loves his bald head.

Last night at bedtime, he made some threatening remarks about how cold his head was and the temperature at which I keep my sleeping chamber, so I found him a hat to sleep in. Touching the thermostat at bedtime is a no-no, even if you do have cancer and a bald head.

And so, he's bald. None of the kids freaked out about it because we made sure they were around for the whole shaving process. Jake was the most enthusiastic - feeling all over his head as if to ask, "What happened to your hair, Uncle Dave?"