Complete Remission!

Just got word that my father's cancer remains in complete remission.

I feel relief, joy, thankfulness.

Every six months, my dad flys back to the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City, Utah, gets poked and prodded and then meets with his doctor to hear if his cancer has returned.

One of the ugliest aspects of multiple myeloma is that although you can achieve complete remission, as of now, there is no actual cure. I hate that part. But I will take complete remission.

My father's doctor is Dr. Tricot. He is a brilliant man who dedicates his time, brain and energy to researching and treating multiple myeloma. I've never met him and yet I feel so indebted to him. I imagine what it'd be like if I ever were to meet him. What would I say? How do you even begin to thank a man who manages to keep your loved one alive? There are no words.

Sure, my dad has great will to live and an enviable positive attitude. But that's just part of it. In order to beat this disease, you need outstanding care. Not only has Dr. Tricot provided the most aggressive, effective treatment possible, but he does it in a caring and compassionate manner.

I'm just so thankful that somehow, through a series of coincidence, guidance, and fate, we found Dr. Tricot. I pray other families who find themselves facing cancer, can also find their Dr. Tricot.

Body armor for babies?

This morning my precious baby boy fell off our bed and landed on his head. I was standing RIGHT THERE next to him. I'd set him there, on the bed, so that I could get dressed for the day. And in the split second moment that I ever so slightly turned to reach for a shirt, he flipped off of the bed. The space in time between when I saw him hit the floor and when I knew he was at least still alive was probably the worst moment of my life.

Frantically and in tears, I called the doctor while holding my sobbing little man close. Off we went to the Doctor just to be sure he was truly fine.

He was. Other than the egg on his temple, he is fine. Oddly enough, just 10 minutes after it happened, he was somehow smiling and showing our dog Olive his new trick- hand clapping. How could he be okay after falling off the bed?!

Again, the little man is fine. I, on the other hand have been in tears on and off all day. I kept holding him with tears in my eyes saying over and over how sorry I was. He just looked at me like I was nuts. And let's face it, I probably am.

But I feel like my primary job is to make sure that he's safe and healthy and on my watch, he fell off the bed. Had this happened on anyone else's watch, I'd be furious with them!

My thoughts tonight as I head to bed are that 1. I need to somehow forgive myself and 2. I need to look into buying some body armor that he can wear for the rest of his life

What if that were my child?

Last night while feeding little c in his highchair, I turned on the evening news to see what was going on in the world. There was Diane Sawyer, in Afghanistan, reporting that the surge of 30,000 more troops was about to begin. Then the they flashed to young men and women (but there were primarily young men) assembling on a military base, literally about to go into harms way. I say "young men" but they really weren't. They were just boys.

As a daughter of a retired Naval officer, I have a certain love and respect for the military. I know these boys are well trained for their mission, but I still can't help but be taken a back by their baby faces.

Diane began to interview the head commander over there and pointed out that with the upcoming surge, the casualties would increase dramatically. He reluctantly agreed that difficult months lie head.

Then they showed a marine battalion running through hills of this far away land. The backdrop is actually very beautiful. In any other circumstance, you'd feel happy that these kids get to explore in a land as beautiful as that. The only problem is they are being shot at.

Before I knew it tears were streaming down my face. My little man looked at me funny as I tried to mile. "Momma's just being silly" I said. But really, I was restraining myself from just crying my eyes out. Because it strikes me that every one of those 30,000 "kids" about to run through the hills of Afghanistan, with the potential to be shot at, has a mother. Each one of those boys is somebody's little man. My heart aches for those mothers. Will I ever be able to watch the news again without thinking, "what if that were my child?"

I momentarily pictured my little man grown up a bit and running through those mountains, gun on his back, ready to fight and then, the only logical next scene came to me. I pictured myself hopping on a plane and running across the mountains of Afghanistan, probably still in my mom jeans and unbrushed hair, to make sure he's safe. I can't help it. In fact, I'm sure that there are many mothers who have babies fighting over there and are tempted to do the same thing (picturing hoards of mothers running across Afghan fields to scoop up their boys and the boys saying, "moooommm, what are you doing here?").

God Bless them.

Like father, like son

I'm in the basement watching little c play. There are toys all over the room and this is what he's drawn to:

He hasn't put his hammer and wrench down in over an hour!

Even when crawling around.

Then, I went upstairs to check on my husband, who is still working on remodeling our master bath. This is what I found:

Like father, like son....

This would never happen to Angelina Jolie

Well, I was GSDing my way through the morning and feeling quite proud of myself. Then, as any good stay at home mom with a baby does mid afternoon, I headed to Target. This is where things went downhill.

As a side note, I wonder why I always spend around $100 dollars at Target no matter what I go in for. Today I went in for paper towels, chicken for my hubby, and a card. I spent 87 dollars.

And they didn't even have chicken.

Somehow while paroosing the Target isles, I found all sorts of items that I hadn't even realized we needed. More undershirts for little c (it was 12 degrees here today), a storage bin (to organize something with), bowls that were on sale, and who knows what else jumped in the cart.

After purchasing my "necessary" items, I headed to my car feeling very good about myself. The day was going so smoothly, I was getting so much done, and I even brushed my hair and put on a cute shirt. Just as I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back for how together I had things, my car keys somehow went flying out of my hand and landed under the car. Not under the car along the edge, but dead center under the car.

So after getting the little man into his car seat, I layed down on my tummy in the parking lot of Target, in 12 degree weather, and wormed my way under there to retrieve the keys. All I could think was, "I bet this doesn't happen to Angelina Jolie".

My previous feelings of pride for being so organized and on top of things completely deflated.

However, when I popped up with keys in hand, I was right next to the little man's window. He thought I was playing peek a boo. I went with it.

Somehow no matter what, he still thinks I'm the greatest. I'm so thankful for this, and I take it in, because I know that one day these sorts of antics will no doubt embarrass him.

One other thing that happened today that I can't quite figure out. About an hour ago, when I picked c up, I felt a bump on his back and when I reached inside his shirt, there was a pacifier stuck half way down. A pacifier was stuck half way down the BACK of his shirt. What???? How did that happen?? And better question, "How long had it been there?"

Merry Christmas

Highlights from Colin's first Christmas:

-He wore the cutest green "big boy" pajamas the whole day!

- Spending two whole weeks with gramma and pop-pop, uncle kyle, aunt madeline and uncle gavin

-Eyes big as saucers during the Christmas Eve service watching all the candles and lights

-Olive cozy by the fire

-Chris having to leave the day after Christmas to head back to our home in Chicago and continue plugging away on the master bathroom renovation

-Chris calling and putting him on speakerphone. Colin excitedly pointing at the phone saying, "Dada! Dada!" Then trying to eat the phone

-Pushing his toy on Christmas Eve. He thinks he's hot stuff with this toy.

-He IS hot stuff with this toy

We're back in Chicago and the bathroom is not quite done..... but it's almost done. I can see the finish line! I am AMAZED by what my husband has accomplished in these last two weeks.

Oh- one other thing. My Christmas present from my husband was photography lessons which I'm so excited about. So I'll be posting more pics starting now.