Thankful

This Thanksgiving I'm thankful for so many things.... the new little man and my wonderful husband are at the top of the list.

But I'm also thankful for brunch with my Dad. This week we've had breakfast together no less than 4 mornings! For so many years, I treasured the special time that my Dad and I would get to spend together... just the two of us. In fact, that's what we called it, our "special time". "S" time for short. Now it's my Dad, my son and I.... just the three of us. Our "S" time.

Four years ago, when Dad was diagnosed with stage 4 multiple myeloma, the statistics, the internet research and most doctors gave us a grim prognosis. I prayed a lot during those initial days when the diagnosis was still sinking in. Mostly I prayed that God would give him the strength to face whatever lie ahead. I prayed that He would give us all strength. I never specifically prayed for God to save my dad. I know that others did, I just never really believed that prayer worked that way. Rather, I felt that the plan for my father's life was already in motion and while we had to do our part to find him the best doctors and he had to fight as hard as he could, we also had to trust God's plan- even if we hated the plan. The thought of living life without my father in it was as unbearable as anything I could imagine.

That said, there was one selfish wish that from the deepest part of my soul, I begged God to grant me.

"Please God, just let my children know him. Let him meet my children."

At the time of my Dad's diagnosis I was with the man that I knew I'd one day marry, but children were still a distant plan.

"Please God, I'll never ask for anything again, just let my children know their grandfather. They'll be such better people for his influence. Besides, I'll never be able to explain to them how amazing he is. They have to see for themselves. "

Four years later, on March 4th, 2009, my parents arrived at the hospital just after our baby boy arrived. When I watched my husband hand our son over to my father, now in complete remission, my heart smiled. I whispered thank you to God.

Every time we have our special breakfasts together, I sip coffee and my Dad effortlessly divides his attention between conversation with me and playing with his grandson. He calls my son "Big Time" and loves to playfully tickle him. He'll announce that he's just going to "rest his finger" in his neck, which elicits a tickle, a giggle and a look of love from my son. I know the look because it's similar to the one that I've given my father all of my life.

When a person you absolutely cannot fathom living without gets cancer, nothing is ever the same. I never take little moments like these for granted anymore. Without fail, in my head, I always whisper, to God, to the universe, to fate, to whoever......... "Thank you".

Yumminess

"Deciding to become a mother is to forever allow your heart to go walking outside your body."

I can't recall where I read this quote or even when, except I know it was a long time ago. I must have read this sometime in my twenties during a time in my life when becoming a mother seemed far far off. During that time in my life I was too busy traveling, working, and dating men with no long term potential.  But when I read the quote I remember thinking, "that's a strange notion".  I didn't get it at all.

I get it now.

Tonight, while trying to change c's diaper, he scooted away across the bed (he so on the move these days that it's hard to get him to stop for a diaper change). In my mind I was thinking that I needed to quick change his diaper so that I could then make his bottle, so that I could then get him to bed, to then clean the kitchen, to then have some me time..... and on and on. But in that moment when he scooted across the bed in all his adorable nakedness, he turned and smiled as if to entice me into a game. And a voice inside told me to set aside my own plans and eat this moment up in all it's yumminess. I smiled back, dramatically pulled him back across the bed and scooped him into my arms.

 

He laughed. That deep, baby, belly, nothing sounds better in the whole world kind of laugh. . 

When I let go of him again, he again scooted away quick as he could.... it was difficult for him to move fast because he was trying not to laugh. Then he looked back at me with that same twinkle in his eye, challenging me to go after him again. Of course I did. I pulled him back to me drinking in his laughter all the way. Does life get any better than this?

He turned to me, smiled, and extended his arm as if to tell me something.

I know little c. 

I feel the same way.