3,285 days

My sweet boy,

Today you are 9 years old, and every time I write a birthday post for you, I have no idea where the time has gone.  It seems like not long ago at all when I held you for the first time and watched you sleep.  I remember wondering what on earth I was going to do with a boy, and little did I know that you would inspire within me such a fierce and enduring love.

This has been a year of change for you, I think.  You are slowly but surely growing up.  You are still hesitant and cautious when it comes to new things, but you're more willing to try them now than you were a year ago.  Last year, you said, in your old man wisdom, that you thought Cub Scouts was too dangerous because there were arrows and bb guns involved.  I knew you wanted to do it, but there was something deep inside that was holding you back.  This year, you casually mentioned that you were ready to try Scouts, like you had never had any qualms about it in the past.  I don't know what changed in your mind, but I'm excited for you to have a new experience.  You are jumping in the deep end of Uncle Matt's pool with abandon and riding rollercoasters while you scream with joy.

You have become somewhat more confident in yourself and your abilities.  You still get easily frustrated when you can't do something right away, but you are allowing yourself some grace time to learn and make mistakes.  If you hurt someone's feelings, you are more forthcoming with an apology than you have been in the past, and I'm so proud that you are really learning to think about other people's feelings.  Dare I say that you are learning to relax a little, too?  You are always going to be someone who thinks about things deeply and often for a long time before wanting to talk about them, but I feel as though you are taking more in stride these days.

When it was time to go back to school, no one could believe how tall you had grown over the summer.  It won't be too long before you surpass Lottie, and then soon after, me.  I actually wore your slippers around the house one time for the whole day before I realized that they were yours, so your feet might overtake mine sooner than I think.  The summer brought you a sprinkling of freckles on your nose that you hate for some unknown reason but that I find swoon-worthy. Your hair is darker and longer, so it makes you look like a teenager!  Thank goodness your beautiful blue eyes and your dark, long lashes haven't changed because they are one of the things that melt my heart.

Although you have grown in so many ways, you are still the sweet boy I have always known.  You are just as happy with a good book as you are a video game.  You love to spend time with family, and you're up for any adventure than I plan.  Something as little as a new pair of pajamas can make you beam from ear to ear.  I hope that you continue to find joy in the small things in life.  Your kindness and love to the animals in our lives is boundless.  You love to lie on the ground with Sally and gaze deep into her eyes, and you are gentle and loving with Judy.  I know that when we ever get a dog of our own, you will help me take such good care of it.

I'm probably easier on you than I should be because you're my baby, my last child.  You will be the last one to leave the nest, if you ever do, and you're far more sensitive in most respects than anyone else in the house.  Maybe I should be more firm, maybe I should make you do more that you don't want to do, but my instinct tells me that it wouldn't be good for you.  What I have learned about you in the last nine years is that you'll get around to doing everything in your own way and in your own time.  You won't be pushed, you won't be cajoled, and you won't change your mind unless you feel like you are ready.  That can make parenting you difficult from time to time, but as an adult, I think those qualities will all serve you well.

I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of you.  You are your own person, and with each day that goes by, I appreciate that more.  You bring a unique joy to our lives that I couldn't live without.

I love you the most,
Mom

Waiting on the world to change

Four years ago, the unfathomable happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  Children and adults who tried to protect them were slaughtered in a place where they should have felt safe, where they should have BEEN safe.  After that horrific day, there have been terrible shootings in San Bernadino, the Navy Yard in D.C., and Orlando just to name a few.  Since Sandy Hook, there have been 186 shootings on school campuses in the U. S.

ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY SIX.

What are we going to do about it?

I don't know.   I don't have all the answers; hell, I don't even have one answer.  One thing I do know, however, is that nothing has changed.  There are still mass shootings and individual shootings and horrific public spectacles of hate.  And what are we doing?

We're arguing about "illegal" emails.  We're arguing about deflated footballs.  We're watching celebrity meltdowns with a gleeful sense of schadenfreude.  We judge people who say "Happy Holidays" and others who say "Merry Christmas." We're blatantly ignoring the fact that maybe something could be done, and we're just not doing it.

Maybe we're all becoming numb when we see the news of yet another shooting and more death and more sorrow.  Perhaps we fall asleep at night thinking about how lucky we are that it wasn't us.  It's always someone else, somewhere else.  Worse yet, there are people who believe it never happened, and Sandy Hook was simply filled with actors playing parts.

This is unacceptable.  It was unacceptable then, and it's certainly unacceptable now.

Now is usually the time when people chime in about the rights of gun owners and the Constitution and, you know, the things.  But I don't care.  I really don't.  What is it the kids say, "Sorry, not sorry"? The victims of Sandy Hook had rights.  Those little ones, 6 and 7 years old, they had rights.  Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were stolen from them in single, awful moments, so please, don't tell me about your right to be able to shoot whatever you want.

While you're decorating, baking, buying, caroling, and hugging this holiday season, take a moment to think about the families who can't hug their loved ones this year because of a gun.  Really think about it.  Then think about what we need to do to ensure that this won't keep happening. Unless we all decide to make a change, the horror of all of the mass shootings will become just another blurb in the news.  We're better than that; we truly have to be better than that.

On the inside of a kitchen cabinet, I have a list of the victims of Sandy Hook.  It reminds me each and every day to be sure my children know how much they are loved before they get on the school bus and to kiss my husband every single time one of us leaves the house and to let go of the little things in life that are annoying, to be sure, but unimportant.  The list reminds me to live, but it also reminds me that there is work to be done, hard work.   I hope it reminds you, too.

Charlotte Bacon, 6                                            
Chase Kowalski, 6
Daniel Barden, 7                                                
Catherine Hubbard, 6
Noah Pozner, 6                                                  
Josephine Gay, 7
Jack Pinto, 6                                                      
Emilie Parker, 6
Jesse Lewis, 6                                                    
Caroline Previdi, 6
Grace McDonnell, 7                                          
Arielle Richman, 6
Dylan Hockley, 6                                              
Benjamin Wheeler, 6
Jessica Rekos, 6                                                
Allison Wyatt, 6
Ana Marquez-Greene, 6                                    
Vicki Soto, 27
Madeleine Hsu, 6                                              
Mary Sherlach, 56
Olivia Engel, 6                                                  
Dawn Hochsprung, 47
James Mattioli, 6                                              
Rachel D'avino, 29
Lauren Rousseau, 30                                        
Anne Marie Murphy, 52

Go to Everytown for Gun Safety for more information.

Now what?

In the last three months, T has finished his cancer treatments.  He had a final surgery to reconnect his bowel system, and he was able to 86 the colostomy bag that he had been carrying around for seven months.  The ileostomy take-down surgery has a long recovery period, very long, but T has already seen improvement since the procedure in May.  (If any of you are singing Bob Seger in your head right now, bonus points to you.) 

We spent so much time waiting for the next steps during all of the treatments, and now we are finally at the point where all there will be are follow-up appointments.  It's a wonderful, amazing feeling to finally be able to relax after fourteen months of never taking a deep breath.  The last year has been so chock full of tests and appointments and surgeries; now we're looking at only four appointments a year.  

So...now what?

We're planning a trip to Hawaii in the Fall to celebrate the demise of the cancer and to belatedly celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary.  Yes, we're taking the kids with us because they deserve a vacation as much as we do, and we also invited my dad to join us as well.  We went through the ordeal as a family, and I want us to unwind as a family.

I'm starting a new part-time job at the beginning of the school year.  I'll be working as a University Supervisor through Purdue University; basically, I'm going to help student teachers learn how to be the best teachers they can be.  I honestly never expected to go back out into the working world in any way, shape, or form.  I have always been fulfilled by what I do at home, and I have never felt the need to prove anything, to myself or others, about my value as a homemaker and mother.  But this opportunity fell into my lap, and after initial resistance, I decided to grab it.  I can basically make my own schedule, and the majority of my work can happen while the kids are in school.  

The timing was right to start doing something new.  I thought I would be ready for business as usual once all of T's treatments were over, but I have found that I'm ready for change instead.  People have asked what I have learned throughout this whole journey, and I don't know that I have one simple answer for that.  I think, though, that I have started thinking more in terms of why not instead of why. "Change is good" has always been one of my mottos (although it makes T shudder) but it's not exactly change that appeals to me now as much as it is taking advantage of opportunities, no matter how big or how small.  

It's not as dramatic as deciding to live life to the fullest, grab the brass ring, etc.   I wish I could say that the last few years of cancer hullabaloo have made me appreciate every moment in life that I have, but I think that's a pretty high expectation for one person.  I'm only human, and things are bound to get me down now and again.  But instead of wondering if I should do something, I want to start asking myself why wouldn't I do it: small things like giving the kids ice cream before dinner and letting them stay up late, big things like a new job and a dream of starting my own business someday, or in-between things like nights out with friends.  I don't want to look back and regret the things I didn't do, the places I didn't go, or the friends I didn't make because I was afraid or thought somehow I didn't deserve to do it.   

There is, of course, another side to this.  I also have to learn how to say no when I really don't want to do something.  That is going to be difficult because I don't like saying no or letting people down.  Like anything in life, there needs to be balance between what will make others happy and what will make me happy.  Right now, I don't know how that balance will fit into my new viewpoint, but I'm eager to see how it's all going to work out in the end.  The beauty of it all is that I have the power to choose and make my own decisions.  I don't have to be perfect, and I don't have to be everything to everyone at every moment.  

Now what?  Now we breathe in and out; we laugh and we cry; we travel and we enjoy nights at home; we go to soccer games and we host play dates; we do what we have to do and we do what we want to do; mostly, we live and love.  Beyond that, we'll just have to wait and see.  

All in

We have made it past a pretty important milestone chez Wells: T is done with his chemo treatments.  It's such a simple statement, but it means so much more to us.  It's the end of nausea, the end of overwhelming fatigue, the end of dreading what we know would happen every two weeks, and most importantly, the end of the damnable cancer.  He'll have a CT scan at the end of April, and he'll also see the surgeon to determine when the surgery to reverse his ostomy will happen.  By the time the kids start summer break, I hope this is all behind us.

The thing is, it'll never really be done.  Of course, he'll have follow-up appointments and scans to determine that the cancer has not returned.  But the last ten months and the next few to come will always be with us.  We'll never go to an appointment without a modicum of fear or worry.  It will forever be the year of cancer when we look back at this point in our lives.

When T was diagnosed, I remember wondering how this would change us as a couple and as a family.  I was so afraid of what we would become.  In a small sense, it was far more difficult than I ever anticipated.  Seeing T in the hospital, knowing how terribly ill the chemo made him, and wanting to just take it all away was almost more than I could handle.  In a larger sense, it went so much smoother than I ever thought possible because of all the help we received.  I was lucky enough to have the kind of help that made it fairly easy to stick to a daily routine and a "normal" life for the kids.  I can't think of many events, major or minor, that we missed out on because there were always people around to ensure that we were where we needed to be when we needed to be there.  The way my family and our friends made themselves utterly and completely available to us was truly a thing of selfless beauty and love.  Because of everyone who helped, nothing changed for the worse.  We were still a family, and better yet, my kids had and continue to have amazing examples of what it truly means to be a friend.

As far as changing us as a couple, I think the cancer has made us appreciate each other more.  I can only speak for myself, but at the end of the day, I'm happy to curl up and watch a show or read a book at home, anything just to be near T.  I'm still totally annoyed when he doesn't change the toilet paper roll or puts his dirty dishes near the dishwasher instead of in it, but I'm more willing to overlook the little stuff.

That whole "in sickness and in health" line in a wedding ceremony tends to get lost sometimes, but it's one of the most important parts there is.  T wasn't allowed to give up his fight, and I wasn't either.  His fight was obviously more important, but I fought to keep everything else in our lives together.  I think we'll both carry those war wounds around for the rest of our lives.  It is said that time heals all wounds, but I don't think that's necessarily true.  Time allows the wounds to scab over and begin to heal; however, time also creates scars, lengthens them, and raises them to the surface, making them impossible to forget.  Maybe that's not the worst thing in the world though, remembering.  Even though it's not a time I ever want to repeat, it's worth remembering that life gets tough, but we are tougher.  Maybe we have changed; however, we're together, and nothing else really matters.

1,825 days

My Dallas,

Happy fifth birthday to you today!  The last five years have flown by so quickly that I think I am finally starting to understand when other parents say how it all goes so fast.

You have done quite a bit of growing up this year.  This was the first summer that you truly enjoyed being in the pool.  In years past, you have clung to Daddy or me like a spider monkey, but this year, you love playing on your own in the water and even jumping into the shallow end from the side of the pool.  After telling me that I should go ahead and sell your bike because you were never going to ride it, you have learned the joy of pedaling and racing around the driveway.  You mastered all of your sight words at school, and you're slowly, very slowly, starting to work on things that are out of your comfort zone.  As a general rule, you don't like new situations or trying new things until you have had plenty of time to suss things out.  That's not a bad quality to have, but I'm happy to see you taking some chances.
You're even excited about your birthday this year, and that has not always been the case.  Being the center of attention isn't your favorite thing, but you're learning to handle it with grace.  We're having a party for you this weekend, talk about center of attention, but I know that you will be a great host and have fun with your friends.

I was worried about you going to your last year of preschool this year because it's an all-day program.  Once again, you have pleasantly surprised me by taking it all in stride.  I think you like being a big kid and eating your lunch at school, and having a new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunchbox hasn't hurt. You're getting bigger-kid tastes now: even though you still like pirates, you're more into TMNT and anything that has to do with the Star Wars movies.  You're also really into Legos, much to my dismay.  Legos are cool, but I envision lots of lost parts and stepping on small pieces in my bare feet.  But watching you play with your very first Lego set is fascinating to me and I love how much joy it brings to you.

You're still my pragmatic child.  You want to know how everything works, what every word means, and why things are the way they are.  Sometimes I just don't have the answers for you, but you seem content to think up the answers for yourself.  You definitely tell it like it is.  One night, I asked you if you would still snuggle with me when you were a grown-up.  You thought for a minute then said, "Well, you'll be dead."  A morbid thought, kid, but you certainly do think ahead.  You're absolutely brilliant with your reading: your teacher says you're currently reading at a third grade level.  I love that you love to read as much as I do, and you learn SO much from your books.   There are a lot of times that you want to curl up with a book or your favorite catalog and read out loud.  I'm not sure you even care if anyone is listening to you while you read.  Along with your matter-of-fact nature, you have gotten really good at dealing with your food allergies.  You ask if something is "Dallas friendly" before you eat it, and you're not afraid to tell people that you can't eat just anything they may try to give you.  That makes me feel a lot better about sending you to Kindergarten next year.

You crack me up at least once every day.  I know there is a lot going on in that head of yours by the hilariously random things you say.  One night, you told us that when you put your pajamas on, you like to call yourself Chico.   When Mimi wouldn't let you watch TV and wanted to read a book with you instead, you told her you hated daytime reading.   You're obsessed with, um, the rump and anything that has to do with the rump.  You sing a lot and endlessly hum the "Imperial March" from Star Wars.  You find it hilarious when I can't identify Shredder or Baxter Stockman, the mortal enemies of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

You are wicked smart, and I know in my heart that there are amazing things ahead for you.  Never lose the sweetness that you have inside of you.  Stay best friends with your sister.  Laugh a lot.  Try new things.  Fail and then try again.  Play outside in the snow.  Read all of the Harry Potter series.  Be bold. Be who you are without apology.

You are my best boy, and I love you so much,
Mommy