It's the Little Things

Sometimes it takes big things to remind us of the little things.

Since my friend's 12-year-old was diagnosed with recurrent neuroblastoma three weeks ago, their lives have been turned upside-down. Again. No parent should have to go through this even once... but twice?

He was nine months old the first time he had neuroblastoma - cancer in his abdomen and spinal cord. After six months of chemotherapy, the dead tumor was removed surgically. For the next five years, he was tested and scanned every few months before he was finally declared cancer-free.

By January 4 this year, the cancer had returned - a rare occurrence for this type of cancer and in a patient so "old."

He spent five days in the hospital last week for surgery to remove as much of the tumor as possible. Over the weekend, he came home to spend time with his family and friends before returning to the hospital today for further testing and his first round of chemotherapy.

During those days at home, he spent time doing ordinary things - playing video games with his younger brother, texting his friends, watching football on TV with his dad. But in their new world of cancer, this family doesn't take even the ordinary for granted. In fact, the ordinary is extraordinary to them.

And my friend wants the rest of us to know this, too. That our seemingly tedious lives of school lunches, after-school activities, homework, dinners together, and - yes - even sibling bickering are rife with moments to cherish.

The things I can do to make our friends' lives a little easier help them, but what I'd really like to do is make the cancer and the pain go away. I can't do that, much as I would like to. But I can pass along her words of wisdom - from one mom to another to many.

She's busy taking care of her boy right now. But she'd want you to know: appreciate the little things in life.

And hug your children.

Dearth

From the time my children were able to write their names, they've written their own thank-you notes.

(Admittedly, we're still - as a family - working on the timeliness of those notes, but within a few weeks of any birthday or Christmas, the notes are in the mailbox.)

To make note-writing a little more "special," I typically custom-order personalized notecards for each member of our family. The advantage is that the kids have greater enthusiasm for writing notes that have their names or initials printed or embossed on them. The disadvantage is the lead time necessary to reorder the cards. Sometimes we unexpectedly deplete our supply and I have to find alternatives.

Such was the case this Christmas. The girls had a few of their personalized notecards left, but my son had completely run out. And with his birthday occurring right after Christmas, he needed double the supply that the girls needed.

No problem, I thought. There wasn't time to place a special order, but I figured I'd buy some nice non-personalized notecards locally. No problem, indeed - for the girls. There's plenty of funky or pretty or cutesy stationery available for girls of all ages. There was a problem, however, with finding appropriate cards for a tween boy. In my visits to multiple stationery stores - of all price ranges - I found there's a dearth of ready-made cards appealing to males between the ages of 6 and 50.

They've got the little boys covered - they're the cards with the little frogs or baseballs on them. And they've got the older men covered - as long as you like the formal look. But if you're in between? Slim pickings.

In the end, I finally found some cards on cafepress.com that have cool geometric designs on them that my 12-year-old "approved" of. Ordering online necessitated a lag time of a few days, but at least it didn't take as long as fully-customized notecards.

So we're back in business - problem solved.

But the bigger question, really, is that of etiquette - and from whom we expect it. {Just a second as I climb onto my soaopbox...} Are our stationery manufacturers implying that it's correct for girls of all ages - but only the very young boys or older men - to send letters, particularly the hand-written thank-you note, in this case? How will boys grow up to be note-writing men if they aren't encouraged to be note-writing boys?

I'm sure you'll counter that this is an electronic world. Invitations (e-vites) are sent electronically, letters (e-mails) are sent electronically, so logically it follows that thank-you notes should be sent electronically. And I'll concede that in some circles, that's OK. For example, if my son had pushed hard enough to send his same-age friends e-notes, I probably would have given in. I try to choose my battles carefully.

Miss Manners I am not. Nor am I an electronic prude. After all, I do publish my journal - this blog - online for the world to see!

But if someone takes the time to consider a person's hobbies and interests, then to purchase a gift, then to wrap and present the gift, shouldn't the recipient take the time to thoughtfully write a few lines on paper to show gratitude for the friendship and the thoughtfulness?

Yes.

And should such hand-written notes be limited to girls?

No. That's sexist.

As I hop off my soapbox, I thank you for listening. But now I have a few letters to write. With a pen and paper.

Google Dx

Well, I've done it again: I've given myself an overuse injury.

This time, my hip's okay. But my shoulder isn't.

I am 99% sure it's tendonitis, or "tennis shoulder."

How do I know this? I admit I haven't seen the doctor (yet). Unless you count Dr Google. I mean, c'mon... the entries for tendonitis completely describe my symptoms. And with playing tennis 3-4 days a week, it just seems obvious.

Once I got my Google diagnosis (without having to wait for an appointment, share a waiting room with germy people, or pay a copay, I might add), I began following the recommendations:

1. Refrain from the repetitive activity that causes the pain {I hate to do it, but no tennis for this week and maybe next, and no upper-body strength training}

2. Take anti-inflammatory medication {I'm popping some ibuprofen as I write}

3. Apply ice to the shoulder several times a day {Gives me a chance to sit and read a book anyway}

Well, there were some other recommendations, such as therapy. I don't know if this mild case of alleged tendonitis really warrants therapy. So I'm skipping that part for now.

Hmm... not so fast there, Kimmy. Perhaps some therapy is in order. Retail therapy. Now that I've got some free time, I hear the call of shoes. On second thought, yes, I really think some therapy would do me good.

Toxic Skies

Winter is my season of discontent.

Every year I go into it thinking, "This time, I'm ready for it. Many people like winter - the holidays, the snow. It's a good time to work on indoor projects. So, suck it up and enjoy it. Or, at least, get through it."

But once Christmas is over, and we've had our first and/or only big snowfall, the clouds aggregate to form one solid gray expanse, like a dome, trapping me in the cold and bleak midwest for months. They poison my optimism and steal my energy.

I bundle up to go outside - confined. I drive in my salt-covered car with the windows rolled up - confined. I move slowly in a world surrounded by shades of gray - confined.

My skin contracts and cracks. My bones feel brittle and my joints sound creaky. I feel a chill in my core that doesn't quite go away.

I've been an Ohioan all my life. I like the changing of seasons - well, the concept, anyway - and I should be used to the winters by now. I wish I could see the beauty in the barren branches and the unicolor landscape. Perhaps if it were a one-week destination vacation, I'd appreciate its novel appeal. Yet as a permanent residence that consumes 25% of my year, it lingers like guests who have outstayed their welcome.

Yet Ohio is my permanent residence, and I won't be leaving it anytime soon. Like quicksand, it holds me here by my family, my friends, the places and things I know. I don't have the energy to move, so I suffer a slow sinking.

I want to be where the skies are nurturing, where I receive my dose of Vitamin D not from a daily supplement, but from the life-giving sun itself. I want to feel the hot rays penetrate every cell of my skin, through to my central core, so I can in turn radiate heat and light. I want the humidity from the warm, moist air to plump and naturally moisturize my skin. I long for June.

What's that? Out of my peripheral vision, I thought I caught the skies lightening. To glimpse direct sunlight would be too much to ask (or would it?), but some diffused brightness might be a realistic compromise. Alas, no. It was an optical illusion. Everything is still - still gray, still stark, still motionless.

So I will choose to create my own brightness today. I'll wear hot pink. I'll put on bright lipstick. I'll lighten my hair. If I can't see the sun, perhaps I'll just be it.

True Nature

I often enjoy one glass of wine or beer with dinner.

And typically that one drink is my limit. Except that I'll have a second if we're out with friends for a weekend night out. Why do I self-impose this limit? Mainly because I hate that spinny feeling when I lie down afterward.

But sometimes I let myself go. And I've noticed that, on those occasions, I get chatty. Really chatty.

On Friday night, friends of ours hosted a wine pairing dinner at their home. Each of the five courses featured a different wine specifically chosen to go with that course. And we started with a before-dinner champagne toast. The evening was spectacular - the conversation lively, the meal and wine selections comparable to any five-star restaurant.

Six glasses of wine for a one- to two-drink girl was definitely over the top. {Oooh - but so very good!}

So yesterday I was reflecting on my chatty-Cathy alter ego from the night before. {If you haven't guessed yet, I'm prone to self-analyzing...} Some people would say that a person's conversation or behavior when under the influence of alcohol reflects their true personality because they are uninhibited. However, others might argue that since the alternative behavior is displayed only when that foreign substance is consumed in large quantities, it reflects an aberrant personality.

So, which is it? Is my "true" personality one of excessive chattiness that I simply suppress most of the time? Or is my "true" personality just average chattiness (conversational) because that is the way I behave without the influence of alternate substances?

Hmmm... Maybe I need to do some more field research ;)

War

There was the night, ten years ago, when the ringing phone woke us at 2 a.m. The NICU nurse said that our daughter had "coded" and doctors were doing everything they could to resuscitate her. She said to come quickly, but she wouldn't say what we would find.

For the next hour, nearly all of it spent in silence, our voices were paralyzed as our minds played out every possible scenario and explored every possible fear that we could not verbalize. We rushed into her room toward her incubator. Hoping to find her still there. Fearing she would not be.

Life? or Death?

Relief doesn't describe a parent's emotion upon discovering her daughter alive. It's a start, but ... Saved? yes Helpless? yes Fragile? yes Mobilized? yes Small? yes Numb? yes. And more. Not a linear progression of emotions, either; just a cloud of them obstructing your actions. You need to do something, yet you can't do anything.

We weren't allowed to hold her yet. As a preemie infant, she didn't know who we were, or that we were there. We could offer her no comfort. It was she who offered us comfort. She offered us the sight of her chest moving up and down with every assisted breath she took. She offered us the occasional twitch of an eyelid or finger. She communicated with us through the beeps of the equipment attached to her, the graphs on the monitor to show us her heart rate as proof that it still beat.

She didn't know, in her two months spent in the NICU since her birth, that she had become integral to our family. She didn't know the emotional devastation her premature departure would create. She didn't know she had the capacity to leave a twin twinless, creating a void that could never be recovered.

She didn't need to know any of those things. We carried those thoughts for her. All she needed to do to save us was to live through the night.

And she saved us.

Ten years later, we can see the otherwise invisible scars of her prematurity and her cardiac arrest. She has, and will continue to have, struggles that others do not. But in many ways, we are lucky. Our daughter's fight for life was a short war. Twenty-four hours later, we were certain of the outcome. No, we didn't realize at that time the years of therapy and the challenges that would follow. But we knew she was ours to keep. And that's all that mattered.

Life is precious. When our time to fight for it - and we all will have a time to fight for it - comes sooner than we expect, or comes to our children, causing us agony and heartache while we watch, we will struggle. I feel for the parents today who watch their children fight a war within their own bodies. I feel for those fighting or watching a war that may not be won in hours, but in weeks, months, or years.

To Them: As you watch your child fight his war, know that you are important to me and that you are not alone. I will listen to you and cry with you. And I will help you with practical and logistical measures so you can focus on your child. This is a war that can be won with strength and faith.

You are not alone.

White Space

Have you ever thought how important nothing is? For example, the white space we use to separate words, paragraphs, and images on a page is simply the absence of text or pictures. It is nothing. Yet when the white space is missing, so is the organization of thought. We don't know where to stop and catch a breath. Or to stop and think about what we just read or saw. White space actually draws our attention to the text or images on the page. Though the text or images may have importance, without a break for our minds to stop and consider them, they are just characters. Isn't that what's happened to the text you are reading now? This seemingly endless string of black characters on a white background?


Now stop. breathe. think.

Here is the space to do it.


Ahhhh... That's better...


Similarly, we need the equivalent of white space in our living surroundings and the demands on our time. After the rush of the holidays - time spent with loved ones, hustle and bustle of preparations, excitement of annual traditions - it's time to just be.

Yesterday, I threw away the remaining Christmas cookies.

Today, I took the ornaments off the tree and put away the decorations.

We took the leaf out of the dining table.

Without all the trimmings, the house looks sparse. Yet pleasing.

It's our white space, giving us time simply to live our normal lives. The stores may have filled the spaces vacated by Hanukkah menorahs and Christmas trees with Valentine's cards, but I haven't.

I like Christmas, New Year's, the long break from routine. They're happy times, allowing us to bake yummy treats, spend extra time with loved ones, dress up our home and our bodies for special events. The end-of-year holidays are like a giant exclamation point in the story of our year.

But after that exclamation point, I appreciate the space that comes after. Maybe even a line break or two.

Because I also like the vacated spaces in our home and in my schedule. I'm ready for the steady predictability of our lives. I'm not ready for the next holiday.

Yes, I'm happy in this space.

01-10

Today is the first day of January 2010. 01-10.

You know that. I'm just practicing saying it.

I don't make New Year's resolutions... I set goals for myself throughout the year. It's mental self-preservation: I just don't care for the artificial pressure of creating resolutions on January 1, then feeling the disappointment the first time I fall short of meeting those goals.

However, these are not resolutions. It's just a score sheet on my Bucket List. (Nice loop hole, huh?)

In September 2008, I created a Top Ten list, containing the first 10 items below. In January 2009, I added #11. So, since it's no longer a list of ten, let's just rename it Bucket List: It's the list of things I'd like to accomplish or do before I die. {Preferably sooner.} This list is ever-changing: Each year I'll cross off some, I'll make progress on some, I'll add some as my interests change.

So, how'd I do this year?

1. Visit all 6 inhabitable continents (we'll count Antarctica as a bonus continent). {Note that I included Antarctica in my January 2009 revision. So I would like to visit all 7 continents, whether or not they're permanently inhabitable. I mean, I'm not planning on living on all of them - just visiting.}

Holding steady at 2 so far. Thinking about hitting a 3rd in 2011.

2. Visit all 50 states in the U.S.

Visited several favorites this year, but no new states. Will try to add 1 or 2 in 2010.

3. Climb a mountain.

Done! Along with five amazing family members/friends, I climbed to the peak of Mt Whitney in July 2009. It is the highest peak in the contiguous United States, at 14, 597 feet. Though the challenge was difficult in the thin air, and our muscles fatigued with the relentless up, up, up, it was nevertheless an exhilarating and memorable experience - one made all the more possible with my fabulous family and friend! Thanks to Kelly, Dad, Joey, Tony, and Connie for this one-of-a-kind experience. I love you all!

4. Run a marathon.

Not yet. But getting closer. I ran my first half-marathon in October 2009 and found it to be an experience that I loved and definitely want to repeat! However, I have to respect my aging bones. So I've scheduled two half-marathons for 2010 - focusing on improving my time - and then I plan to tackle a full marathon in spring 2011.

5. Write a book (that is actually published!).

Again, not yet, but working toward it. It may take several years before I'm there.

6. Learn to fly an airplane.

Haven't even attempted this one yet. I'm waiting until my son, who also has an interest in learning to fly, is 14 so we can learn together.

7. Play in a tennis match and (here's the kicker:) actually keep score, by myself, without having to stop and think! (I know -- doesn't seem like this should be so hard. But I must have a mental block about scoring tennis. I always have to stop and figure it out.)

Done! And OK, this wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd made it out to be. I joined a tennis team on a competitive league this past fall and am having a blast. Now, if only I could log more wins!

8. Cook a Thanksgiving turkey dinner without help from my mother or mother-in-law. (OK, I don't really want to achieve this so badly; I just think I should.)

Don't know how to answer this one. Does it count if it's a joint effort? Wait a minute, it's my own goal, so I get to decide. But I think that means I also have to do it myself. Let's replay this past Thanksgiving: My husband and I hosted Thanksgiving here for the first time, and we prepared everything (well, not quite: Mom brought the pies - her specialty!). I did all the appetizers and sides. My husband deep-fried two turkeys. To be specific, he deep-fried one turkey completely; the other was deep-fried partially. Then he brought it in the house and I stuffed it and finished cooking it in the oven. So - wait a minute! - I think that counts! I had no help from my mom or MIL. I stuffed it and I did actually do some cooking of the turkey. Let's go ahead and cross this one off the list...

9. Create something, from scratch, with my hands. (A quilt? A needlepoint creation?)

Not this year.

10. Dance sometime in public the way I dance when I'm at home - unselfconsciously!

Not this one either. This one takes a lot of guts! And anyway, I didn't go dancing. Would have been kind of weird to dance at the mall or my kids' schools...

11. Wear a bikini -- in public! This isn't a "body" issue so much as a "mind" issue. It doesn't matter if you're a size 2 or a size 20, if you weigh 110 or 210 lbs, as long as you exude confidence. That's the real goal, of course.

Yeah, I did it. This one's kind of tough around the neighborhood pool. But I can handle it better on vacation, where I don't know anyone except the close friends and family I bring with me.

So here's the score: I can cross off 4 items on my Bucket List (#3, 7, 8, 11)! That leaves 7 goals, and nearly all of them will take time and perseverance to accomplish. Though I may not be able to cross any off the list by the end of 2010, I expect to make good progress on four or five of them in 2010. And I might even add a few - 7 items on a Bucket List seems a little light.

What's on your list?