Day 1

The last three days have been the hardest of the entire month.  The tears started when I sat down to write my Yellow post, and have not stopped since.  Everything reminds me of Caden and his earth-shattering absence.  Everything is too much.  Everything hurts more than I can bear in my moments of sorrow.  I cannot believe this is my life.

One year ago we were here, playing Risk, being annihilated by Randy and his strategic mind.  I HATE Risk with a passion!!  It was torture playing that game!  Randy won (surprise, surprise).  Caden was a close second, a worthy opponent, the funnest contender.  Keilie and I enjoyed the show, cheering Caden on and Randy's losses.  It was the best night ever.  There will be no Risk tonight.  I can barely breathe, it hurts so much. 

For the past few years, I've spent more time with Caden than anyone.  Even Randy.  During those times in Seattle, whether it was at Seattle Children's or the Ronald McDonald House, Caden and I did everything together.  We watched TV shows, we watched movies, we played hours and hours of games, we did puzzles, we listened to Greggor the Overlander (all five books in a week!), we took hundreds of walks, both outside and within the walls of the hospital, we went to the park, we explored the area around us, and we talked.  We talked all the time.  About everything.  We talked of goals and dreams and fears and fun.  I knew him so well.  And he knew me.  He was not just my son, he was one of my closest friends.  Ever.  And now he's gone.  "Miss" doesn't even begin to describe what I feel.  I'm a bit lost.

It has been 207 days since we learned that Caden was going to die, dashing all hopes and dreams that the immunotherapy could be our Miracle Drug, that we could keep him longer.  It has been 88 days since Caden went to Heaven.  And it still feels like a nightmare that I cannot wake from.  I am not "depressed," but I am drowning in sadness.  I am sad.  I miss my Caden more than anything.

It's been days and days and unending days, but tomorrow is Day 1.  Day 1 of a year that Caden will not celebrate a birthday.  Day 1 of a year that will not have any pictures.  Day 1 of a year where we do not make memories with Caden.  Day 1 of a year that will not bring him closer to graduation or a mission or marriage or becoming a dad.  Although we are not in cancer care, I am back to living my life day-by-day, half-past Caden.

2018 is going to be a good year.  Because I am going to give it all I have, I am going to make it a good year.  Because we are still here.  We still have so much to see and do and become.

______ New Year!!!

Yellow

It seems like 2017 flew by.  When I consider all that has transpired since finding that tumor on Thanksgiving day 2016, how much we fought, how much we lived, how much we lost, I can't help but think that 2017 was our defining year.  Our lives are forever changed by 2017.

Our family journal came together in an unusual way.  We'd seen a friend's blog {Nate and Rebecca} and Randy immediately began researching how to get one.  I am not technologically savvy (like, at all!) so I really didn't want the fuss.  I love how they looked, and everything about them, but I didn't want to add the stress of technology into it.  I could see myself getting emotionally invested, super excited, ready to give it my all, only to be held back by technology and feel immense disappointment and failure.  Why even start?  I loved theirs from afar and continued to take care of my three babes, with one on the way very soon.  November 5th, 2007, Randy started our blog... and made me sit down to learn and take over.  And, as you can clearly see, I have not stopped.

The main reason for our blog was to document little things that our kids were doing, so that our Grand-kids could see what their parents were like when they were their age.  I also wanted my kids to see that I cared and loved them deeply from the second we found out we were pregnant, that I recognized how remarkable they were from the second I heard their first tender cries, that I gave raising them my whole heart, my every thought and concern, and that I love/loved being their mother.  It has not always been easy, it can be beautiful and wonderful even if it is heinously hard, and our stories need to be told in truth for both the glorious and the heartbreak.  We do not need to sugarcoat our stories-- "If life were easy, it wouldn't be hard."

Since we have lived away from our families for almost our entire marriage, I wanted a way for the Grandparents to know their Grand-kids.  I see them as the funniest, the sweetest, the most trying at times, and the most amazing kids-- I wanted their Grandparents to know them, even if they cannot see them on a regular basis.  Growing up knowing my Grandparents is one of the things I cherish about my childhood.  I have many fond memories with each of my Grandparents.

Around the time we received our purple 2013 book from the printers, Caden was diagnosed and our blog took on a few additional purposes.  Not only was this a central hub to give information on how The Boy in the Bed was doing, how we were all doing, it was therapy for me.  So many times I have come to this blog to pour out my entire soul, to have someone understand how indescribable it can feel to be where we were or have been, to share our faith, and to write our story so that we will never forget the details that mold us into who we are.  I have only gone back to look at my cancer care words one time.  I sought a specific post for a talk I was asked to give in church.  I copied and pasted it into my talk, only reading it that one time at the pulpit.  It is still much too hard for me to read from our yellow books.

When it came time to print our 2014 books (we needed two books, that year was so full!), one of the color options that we hadn't already chosen was yellow.  Since Childhood Cancer is represented by the yellow ribbon, we thought it would be appropriate.  We hoped it would be the only one.  July 2015 decided our book color for us: our lives were touched by cancer once more-- our book would be yellow.  2014, 2015, 2016: Yellow, all.  When you look at the books displayed on the shelf, it is yellow that catches your eyes first.  It is yellow that takes up the most space.  It is yellow that dominates.  That is how cancer has felt-- dominating, overtaking, overshadowing.  I desperately wished that yellow would end.  But not in the way that it has.  Our last yellow book will be sent to the printers in two days.  And it breaks my heart.  Oh, how it breaks my heart.  We have lost one purpose for this blog.  Forever.  Yellow has been my favorite color in the whole world since I was five.  It still is, but not for the same reason.  Now, it reminds me of Caden.

Ten years.  That's how long we have had a blog.  Ten years!  And yet, as I sit here today, it feels much the same as it did a decade ago-- I feel hesitant to write.  Not because of technology now, but because of my sorrow.  It is hard to find joy, sometimes, when my heart hurts this much.  Like those tentative years long ago, I will continue for those that I love.  I will write for my Grand-kids, I will write for my babes, I will write for our families, and I will write for myself.  No longer will it be mostly about cancer, I will once again write about our amazing, magically mundane, everyday lives, our treasured memories of The Boy in Heaven, and how it feels to move on after the death of a remarkable, extraordinary child.

One day I will read our yellow books.  Until then, we will continue to Come What May~ And Love It!

Confirmed

The kids had their regularly scheduled dentist appointment just a few days after Caden passed away.  The dentist told me that Brennon needed to see an orthodontist.  I told him that we'd been going to the orthodontist that shares his office for over a year, each of the three times being seen for seconds (they looked at the x-rays the dentist had taken prior to us coming in) and being sent away until other teeth had grown in.  It was a huge thorn in my side how many appointments were made, and how much time was wasted, to be told to come back in a few weeks.  I felt like there was a lot of miscommunication between people that were supposedly working together to make a one-stop dental office.  The dentist told me that the orthodontist would most likely recommend pulling the incisor teeth, to allow more space for other teeth to grow in and begin orthodontia.

We were able to get into the orthodontist the very next week.  The orthodontist sat down, told me that he'd looked at the x-rays and read the dentist's recommendations and would suggest we pull the incisor teeth, allowing more space for other teeth to grow in and begin orthodontia.  I assume that the reason their words were so similar was because he used the same ones the dentist wrote in our file.  I thought then, "Why did we need to be here for the doctors to communicate this information?"  I was just glad that a ball was rolling, instead of being told to wait.

When making the appointment, the receptionist told me that we were making an appointment for an evaluation for the dentist to consider the recommendation of the orthodontist.  Incredulous, I awkwardly stared at her, asking, "You're telling me that we're making an appointment for the dentist to corroborate the competent specialists' recommendation?  That I will have to make another appointment for the work to be done?  I am, in essence, making an appointment for him to tell me the same thing the dentist told me last week?"  She told me that there was a chance that the doctor would do the work right then, but there was a chance they would not.  I was certain that she must be mistaken, so I made sure to make the appointment for Christmas Break, so he would have time to heal after the procedure.  You see, the roots of all four incisor teeth have not started to disintegrate to allow the permanent teeth to move, so it will be a full-on extraction of all four.  If we waited for them to naturally come loose and be lost, we'd be waiting until approximately 8th grade (he said more likely High School) to begin.  It's a big procedure.

I went in to the appointment today with a sliver of doubt, but was 95% sure that the work would be completed.  We prepped Brennon on all that would be taking place, wanting him to fully understand that it was not going to be pleasant, but that we would make every effort to make him comfortable, and that we were only doing this because it was important.  Sure enough, the dentist walked in, told me he'd looked at the x-rays that morning, looked in Brennon's mouth for three seconds, and told me that that was what he would recommend.  To be clear: That is three professionals saying the same thing, without any work being done.  Our appointment was over.  We had to make another appointment to get the work done.  We were told October 10th by one professional that this work would be most likely be recommended, told by another professional on October 17th that that was what should happen, and another man on December 27th that, yes, that was going to happen.  We had to make another appointment.  The dentist looked at the appointments he had today and found a space to fit us in.  Bless him.  It feels weird to be glad that my Brennon {gets?} to have four teeth pulled in less than an hour.

I want to be clear that I love the dentists and orthodontists that we go to.  I love that they can get all 5 4 of my kids in to their dental appointments at the same time. They are fast, efficient, and super, super nice.  But there is some miscommunication that is really cramping my style.  Four appointments have been made in regard to orthodontia needs in the last year that have consisted of someone talking with us for less than five minutes, three of which were appointments where I needed to take him out of school for about an hour for a five minute meet with the doctor.  I do not understand why I needed to make an appointment (we were there for an hour this time, too) to be told that one professional agrees with another, all after a third professional said that was what was probably going to happen eleven weeks ago. *Caden passed away 12 weeks ago, today.*

Brennon was anxiously counting down yesterday, massively nervous for the appointment this morning.  He was mentally and emotionally ready to have them pulled and had to go home for a few hours.  He spent the time between appointments doing work around the house, working feverishly to earn money and keep his mind off of his anxiety.  I feel for him, wishing I could take his pain and anxiety away.  Add that to my frustrations and inability to handle most anything right now, and you have one hot mess of blubbering emotions.  I hate watching my children suffer and hurt.  My poor Brennon.  I wish I could hide us away from reality for a while.

 Brennon is a rockstar!  He needed extra numbing after feeling some pulling on the bottom, but he did amazing getting the shots, and eventually with the extraction.  He was awake, in case you were wondering.  Rockstar, I tell you!  The last of the four was the most difficult.  I am very proud of my son.

He softly wept the whole drive home.  Rip my heart out with a spoon.  He's resting now, full-up on Ibuprofen.  I'm off to recover from my adrenaline crash.  I'm not sure whose anxiety was higher, to be honest.  Maybe I can convince him to nap with me, like he used to....

Notice the way he is holding my finger, and the adorable tiger he wanted to sleep with.  And those cheeks and baby arms.  And that arm resting above his precious baby head.  Oh, my sweet Baby Brennon!  I may be a bit manic, but I can't help but laugh uncontrollably at how weird my arm looks.  I have since discovered ear plugs, thus negating the need for weird-arm.  It looks like a Photoshop gone horribly wrong, like something is smashing my face, or maybe a massive finger pressing my head into the pillow.  I better get some sleep before I scare the children with my frenzied, psychotic laughter.

Crown Vic

 Both of our cars are in the shop today.  The Charger needed some Recall stuff, the Yukon needs {brakes} and a few small little replacements and price quotes.  We were given this loaner Ford Crown Victoria for free to drive until we get the Yukon back tomorrow.  You'd think it wouldn't really be a good fit for us, but you, like me, would be wrong in your assumptions.

Because we are forever missing one (all forms of the word 'missing'), we all fit in this vehicle.  Feels surreal, breaks my heart, and astonishes me all at the same time.  So weird that we all fit into a mid-size car.  Sad.

*Editor's update: I had to change the original "breaks" to "brakes."  I know the difference between their, there, and they're, but not break and brake.  Nice.

White Christmas

First of Many...

Merry Christmas!!!

"Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care.  And fit us for Heaven to live with Thee there."

We love you, Caden.

Merry Christmas in Heaven.

Crazy Lights

When we first knew that we were going to buy this house, there was a room that we knew the kids would fight over.  It is not only one of the rooms connected to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom, but is also the room that has a really cool light system.  We dubbed it the "Crazy Lights Room."

There has once again been some room switching.  It's my thing, I guess.  In each of the homes we've lived in- minus the last one, since we only lived there for a few months (in fact, we've lived in this current home longer than we lived in that one-- crazy!)- we've moved rooms a few times.  Caden and Keilie tease me about it.  Randy does too, sometimes.  However, it makes me super happy that I am always looking for ways to make our current home work for us, instead of just complaining when things don't.  How else could we have lasted and loved our first home here with only 1,732 square feet and seven people and a dog?  Or when we added Ashlee's family of six for 6 weeks when they moved from Dallas to Washington, and made it work just fine?  I can make things work, but it does take some thought and furniture arranging. 

Keilie has Mira sleep with her now.  She is the messiest of my kids, always leaving her things out and never putting her laundry away, so I needed to look for a way for Mira to have her own space in the room despite Keilie's poor habits.  Instead of fighting her on it, I thought she should be the one to sleep in the bonus room, since the boys no longer wanted to share.  {Still hurts my heart}  We shoved the two Twin beds together and put her Queen comforter over it, making it look like a massive bed.  It doesn't matter, that room is so huge, the bed looks normal. 

 Tyson is now in the room that Caden wanted at first but gave to Keilie for her birthday in August, with a built-in desk and connected to the Jack-and-Jill.  Shelby moved from the Crazy Lights Room when she moved into Caden's room last month, and Brennon is now in the Crazy Lights Room.  Phew!  We're done moving rooms and homes for a LONG time.  Hopefully forever.

Brennon has been saying for a few weeks that his lights don't turn on sometimes, or that they turn on by themselves randomly.  He has only been in the room for six weeks, but it always struck me as odd that the anomaly started when he moved into the room.  I thought he was just pressing the switch half-way, no worries, user error.  We would always tell him to just use his lamp and not worry about using the Crazy Lights that night.  Last night, I was already upstairs when he went to turn them on.  Sure enough, he pressed the switch up and down many times, never turning on the lights.  Since the rest of the upstairs had light, I knew he hadn't tripped a breaker, so I called Randy up to look at it.  Like many things in this home that were not done or updated correctly, Randy knew that the previous owners must have installed the lights themselves.  He told Brennon not to turn them on, saying that he'd look at it tomorrow (which is today).  I'm not sure what changed his mind, but I am so thankful that he took the time last night to check-- the main box was BuRnInG hot.  Hot enough to need gloves.  We immediately started to take the lights down, stunned that it was that hot. 

The whole time, I prayed thanks.  My babes have slept in that second-story room with windows that they would need to jump from if a fire had broke out in the night, a very-possibly-could-have-been fire trap every night.  I was sick to my stomach all night at the thought of what could have happened.  It is the furthest room from ours, so it would have taken us a long time to get to that room, making the need to jump from the window a very real possibility.  Oh my gosh, even typing it makes me skitty.  That box was SO HOT!  I'm so grateful that nothing came of this, that those lights are gone, and that Randy is installing a new light at this very second. 

 Crisis averted.  Gratitude magnified.

MPH

While stuck in traffic so close to Leavenworth, Randy speculated how long it would take for us to travel those last few miles in such slow traffic.  Keilie was saying something about needing to go at least 60 miles per hour for the exact number to be known.  Randy was trying to tell her that she was not correct, so he asked Keilie, "How long would it take to go 100 miles if we were going TEN MILES AN HOUR?"  However, it was not Keilie that answered in a split second...

It was Tyson.

"Ten."  Randy and I looked at each other so fast, I can't believe we both do not have whiplash.  He knew the answer so fast, it was astonishing.  I don't know if this boys' understanding will ever cease to amaze me.  He turned eight just 2 months ago, yet he understands that kind of story problem.  I could see him getting it if we would have asked something like, "How long would it take to go 1 mile if we were going 1 mile per hour," but not 100 miles at ten miles per hour.  He's going to surpass my math knowledge at 10 years old, I tell you!  Even one week later, I am still floored by the memory.

******************************************
People always ask if Brennon and Tyson are twins.  There are even times that, if I am looking at their backs, I can't tell them apart.  They get asked so much, one time Brennon asked, "Mom, are we twins?"  They have very similar facial characteristics and have always been pretty close in height-- add that to 19.5 month difference, and it is no wonder they are mistaken for twins.  Their similar height was made even more clear last night when Randy measured the kids against our growing plank.  In six months: Shelby and Brennon have grown 1 inch, Keilie has grown 1.5 inches, and Tyson has grown 2 inches.  Like Steve, the baby in Randy's family, Tyson is going to probably the the tallest.  Maybe I could start dressing them in matching clothes!  Just kidding-- I have a hard enough time as is.

Nursery

While meeting with the Bishop to renew my temple recommend in September 2016, he sprang a new calling on me: Nursery Leader.  With a very real, very loud huffy breath, I accepted.  It was so surprising, he actually told me he wanted me to take some time before accepting.  I told him that I didn't need any more time, that I always accept callings, but I was not really looking forward to it.  After my very first Sunday, I lay in our black-out bedroom, on the center of our bed in the fetal position, wondering why I had been so willing-- what in the world was I doing?!  15 months later: I cannot imagine my life without this calling, without these sweet, precious spirits.   Heavenly Father knew I needed it, knew I needed them.  These kids have changed my life.  For good.

I have been working for a few days to make each one of them a special gift, something to remind them to pray and remember me by: a pillowcase.  I was confused by the mounting pressure of sadness as I was making them, since I was mostly excited to give them their homemade gift.  While pondering my depressed feelings, I realized today: I am struggling having to say goodbye to them too.  They have been a very bright, shining light these last few months.  Their love and kisses and snuggles and fighting to sit on my lap has been so good for my soul.  They love me.  I love them more.  And now I must allow them to move on.  Just like my Caden.  I know they need it, I know it is good for them, I knew this was coming, but it doesn't make it any easier.  Saying goodbye to those we love is never easy, even if it is for the best of purposes.  I'm so grateful for inspiration from a loving Heavenly Father, giving us what we need, especially if it is so far from what we think we do or do not want.  I am convinced that Nursery is the best calling in the church.

Finders Keepers?

When I told Randy that I was giving Brennon the money, he posed a question that ticked me off at first, but made me realize soon after that he was right: "Shouldn't we teach Brennon to find the owner first, instead of simply taking what he finds?"  I, like Brennon, recognized that he found that money and felt he was entitled to keep it.  But Randy wanted to teach him an even more valuable lesson.  We sat Brennon down and asked him how he would feel losing $100.  He said he would be SO sad.  We then asked how he would feel if someone found it and gave it back.  He said he would be SO glad.  And then the light when on above his head-- you could see it on his expressive face.  Randy made sure to tell him that if the owner cannot be found, sure, the money is his, but we should always first look for the owner and return things when we can. 

Brennon may not have gotten the $100, but he (and I) learned a valuable lesson.  Thanks to Randy.  Brennon was OK with it, but he was even more OK when Randy presented him with a finder's fee: A fidget cube.  Learned a valuable lesson and got a gift the other kids were super jealous over.  Score!  I'm super proud of Brennon, but I am also so proud Randy is mine.  This was a really great lesson to teach, one that I needed to learn from as well.  For the record: Randy was right.  There, I said it.

Three B's.

Not only is December 16th Ashlee's and my day, it is also Brennon's day!  Randy found an authentic Brazilian restaurant while traveling through Ellensburg, WA last week.  It was the exact taste and food that he had on his mission, and he wanted us all to try it.  We stopped by on our way to Leavenworth.  Out of all of my kids that could potentially hate the food (and complain loudly about it, sucking the fun right out of the experience), Brennon was the one I was most concerned about, picky as he is.  But you know Brennon, he has a way of surprising you when you least expect it-- he was the one that loved it, ate the most, and said he could live in Ellensburg and eat there every day.  SuRpRiSe!

 Tyson (the one that will try anything!) didn't even want a taste.  After the first bite, Randy couldn't stand that Tyson wasn't willing and made him come in.  If Mira would have been allowed, I'm sure he would have brought her in for a taste too.  He is very passionate about Brazil.

Tyson didn't believe Randy when he said they had Rice & Beans every single day in Brazil.  I'm not sure he believes him even now.  I think that is fueling Randy's desire to take us all to Brazil.  He's been wanting to take me/us from the second we got married.  One day we will.  And we'll eat Rice & Beans every single day.  *Brennon just came to see what I was doing and saw the picture.  "I love that food!!  It's so good!!"*

After we got all bundled up and started walking to Main Street, I remembered I wanted to get a picture with Ashlee.  We walked a few feet when Randy called out, "Hey, Russ, Ashlee, did either of you drop a $100 bill?"  And it hit me-- I must have.  Right before leaving the house, I opened a card from Jackie and Darwin, taped the card on our fridge, and put the money in my pocket to give to Randy.  Only I forgot to give it to Randy.  I forgot about it at all.  When I grabbed my phone out of my pocket with gloved hands, I didn't feel it and pulled it out for some lucky person to find.  That lucky person was Brennon.  Randy put the money into his wallet, much to Brennon's dismay.  Hours later, while waiting for the bathroom about halfway home, Brennon said, "I am just so sad.  I found $100 bill on the ground and Dad won't let me keep it."  At that second, there was only one thing to do-- Give Brennon all of my Christmas money.  Because he's right-- Finders Keepers.  Losers Weepers!!

December 16th is Brennon's day!  B-boy's Brazilian and $100 Bucks.  Awesome!

Leavenworth 2017

A few weeks ago, Ashlee and I planned a trip to meet up in Leavenworth, WA for a lighting ceremony that someone had told me about the year we moved here.  I'd never even been to Leavenworth, and we all had never gone to see the lights, so we decided to give it a try this year.  We were unprepared for just how big this event really is.  It was packed.  But, oh, so beautiful!

Since we didn't know the exact time the lights would come on, but we did know it gets dark around 4:30, we decided to meet up at 4:00.  We would have made it right on time, but 5.6 miles from Leavenworth found us waiting 10 minutes on an on-ramp onto the "parking lot" Highway 2.  Everyone, it seems, wanted to go to Leavenworth to see the lights.  Ashlee and Russ got there at 3:40, sending us pictures of just how packed the town already was.  We kept up constant communications, with her sending me directions to the parking space they were saving for us, and me telling her that we hadn't moved an inch in five minutes.  During all of our glacial moving, someone tried to convince Ashlee that they needed to park in the spot that Ashlee was saving for us-- she was standing outside, waving people away.  She loves me that much.  We finally made it at 4:20, got all bundled up, and headed for Main Street.

We made it to Main Street at the perfect time.  As we approached the massive crowd, someone over a PA system welcomed us all and started the countdown.  We had enough time to pick up the younger kids that were too short to see by the time we had all counted to one, and the lights on the whole street lit up at once.  The German-style shops for as far as the eye could see were lit up.  The trees from top to bottom were filled will all colors.  The gazeebo in the center of the street was lit up with a large choir singing.  It looked like an antique Christmas scene, Santa Hats, scarves, and playbooks in hand, with a choir director waving his conducting stick in time.

It was cold.  It was chaos.  It was packed with people and pets and strollers and groups needing to stay together in every blink of the eye.  But it was fun.  It was festive.  It was intoxicating, this feeling of love and joy in the air.  It was exactly what we needed this Christmas Season.

Waiting during potty breaks doesn't mean it has to be boring-- we can always capture a few pictures.  Even if it didn't smell pleasant where we were standing.  My kids and their peace signs.  Last year it was Tyson, this year it is Shelby.  Guess they all have to have their year...

Everyone that traveled in- including those that made it hours before we did- all traveled home together.  We even saw school buses from Kennewick and Pasco!  It took us exactly one hour to make it one mile from where we parked.  It took us 1.5 hours to travel two.  It was about this time that we all felt a smidge warmer.  But the talk in the car about how much fun we'd had made it all worth it.

 12/16/16- Gentri concert in Richland, Washington.  12/16/17- Leavenworth, Washington.  Looks like December 16th is our day!

Proof

While eating dinner tonight, we somehow got on the subject of telling funny stories from our past.  It felt so good to laugh so deep.  One funny story prompted us to find a specific picture to show the younger kids, since Keilie remembered what we were laughing at.  We haven't found the picture yet, despite looking through our blog books, but we did find the treasure I was looking for a few weeks ago when I was posting about our Nativity.  We're not sure what has happened, but we are legitimately missing a few years of pictures on this computer.  I thought it was just my own mistake (I'm technologically illiterate, I tell you), but if Randy can't find something, it's not there.  Anyway, remember how I was saying how ticked I was that they couldn't simply "look at baby Jesus?"

Look at Keilie's eyes!!  Brennon's picking his feet (notice the rolls of Buddha-chub covering his entire body!), Shelby's distracted by the white sheet, and 8-year-old Caden is definitely not looking where he's supposed to.  What should have taken one or two shots took more like 50.  What should have taken 5 seconds took like 55 minutes.  I cannot look at Keilie's eyes without laughing hysterically, even though I remember clearly how enraged it made me then.

I love my sweet, tiny babes.

Treasures without price.

Roster Rememberings

A few years ago, our Aunt Veniece (Jackie's oldest brother's wife) put together a spreadsheet with all of the Griffin side's information, including names, addresses, phone numbers, emails, and blog addresses.  Each year around Christmas time she gathers all of our changes, if any, and updates the roster for easy access to our entire family's information.  It has been a great help these many years when we have sent any kind of card or invitation out, especially since our family has had a change pretty much every single year she's done this with either a baby or a move.  Or the only death the family has had on that side for a long, long time.  If I remember correctly, Uncle Jerry said Caden was the first in three generations.

When emailing our multiple changes from 2017, I told Aunt Veniece that she could "choose to keep Caden as is, take him off, or add his death date of 10-4-17, either is OK with me," since there could potentially be less space with the addition of babies to be born.  I had already come to terms that Caden has been taken off of the rosters at church, so it wouldn't have been too difficult to see him taken from the family roster.  On LDStools, our family pictures show Caden, but to someone that is simply looking at our names, we only have four kids.  Her response- which was to the whole family, but was meant just for me- had me bawling uncontrollably in the kitchen this morning.  My heart was overflowing with awe, gratitude, and all-consuming love.

"My mother had many poems that were dear to her which I heard her recite many times as a child.

One has come to my mind a lot in updating the family roster.  It was written by William Wordsworth, an English Romantic poet from 1770-1850.

We Are Seven

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

———A simple Child, 

That lightly draws its breath, 

And feels its life in every limb, 

What should it know of death? 

I met a little cottage Girl: 

She was eight years old, she said; 

Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 

And she was wildly clad: 

Her eyes were fair, and very fair; 

—Her beauty made me glad. 

“Sisters and brothers, little Maid, 

How many may you be?” 

“How many? Seven in all,” she said, 

And wondering looked at me. 

“And where are they? I pray you tell.” 

She answered, “Seven are we; 

And two of us at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea. 

“Two of us in the church-yard lie, 

My sister and my brother; 

And, in the church-yard cottage, I 

Dwell near them with my mother.” 

“You say that two at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea, 

Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, 

Sweet Maid, how this may be.” 

Then did the little Maid reply, 

“Seven boys and girls are we; 

Two of us in the church-yard lie, 

Beneath the church-yard tree.” 

“You run about, my little Maid, 

Your limbs they are alive; 

If two are in the church-yard laid, 

Then ye are only five.” 

“Their graves are green, they may be seen,” 

The little Maid replied, 

“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door, 

And they are side by side. 

“My stockings there I often knit, 

My kerchief there I hem; 

And there upon the ground I sit, 

And sing a song to them. 

“And often after sun-set, Sir, 

When it is light and fair, 

I take my little porringer, 

And eat my supper there. 

“The first that died was sister Jane; 

In bed she moaning lay, 

Till God released her of her pain; 

And then she went away. 

“So in the church-yard she was laid; 

And, when the grass was dry, 

Together round her grave we played, 

My brother John and I. 

“And when the ground was white with snow, 

And I could run and slide, 

My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side.” 

“How many are you, then,” said I, 

“If they two are in heaven?” 

Quick was the little Maid’s reply, 

“O Master! we are seven.” 

“But they are dead; those two are dead! 

Their spirits are in heaven!” 

’Twas throwing words away; for still 

The little Maid would have her will, 

And said, “Nay, we are seven!”

Caden Randy Dirks will remain on our family roster.

All my love,

Veniece"

The roster now says, "Caden 5/15/2001- 10/4/2017."  

It was a Tender Mercy that both she and I married into the same, wonderful family, so that she could be my Aunt.  I not only married into a great immediate family, giving me two amazing parents, three amazing sisters, and three amazing brothers (I grew up with all sisters, so this was a new thing-- brothers), I also married into an amazing extended family who have enveloped me with so much love from the second they met me.  It comes as no surprise that Randy is so wonderful-- he was brought up by incredible people.  We both were.

Tuesday

Sunday: Randy, Monday: Stephanie, Tuesday: Caden, Wednesday: Keilie, Thursday: Shelby, Friday: Brennon, Saturday: Tyson.

Seven members of one family makes for a perfect prayer system.  But with one member forever gone, we had to kind of come up with a new system.  It was Randy's idea-- We'd each take a turn praying in Caden's place.  1st Tuesday: Keilie, 2nd: Shelby, 3rd: Brennon, 4th: Tyson, 5th: Parent.  We'll remember it is Tuesday and immediately look at the calendar near the kitchen table to determine which Tuesday it is.  "{Insert name,} will you pray for Caden?"

Last night it was Shelby's turn to pray.  She had figured it out before we'd even sat down to dinner, saying she'd been counting down to her Tuesday.  Excitedly and a bit too loud, Shelby practically screamed, "You don't even have to look!  It's my turn to pray for Caden!!!"  Giggle, giggle, giggle.  Clap, clap, clap.  Jump, jump, jump. 

Tuesday's are our new favorite prayer days.  It's an honor to pray in Caden's place.

At bedtime, Shelby prayed fervently about many different things we were thankful for.  They usually pray for three or four things that we're thankful for with a few blessings asked for, but this time she did about 9-10.

"Mom, I said more 'we're thankful for's' because I remember that was always how Caden prayed!"

His legacy continues to teach us; to remind us to strive for more, to be more thankful, to be our better selves.  I can't wait for the next 5th Tuesday.  Then it will be my turn to pray for Caden.

Frost: Part 2

"The formation of frost is an indication that the air temperature has fallen below the freezing point of water, and plants that have evolved in warmer climates are known to suffer damage... Many plants can be damaged or killed by freezing temperatures or frost."

--Except roses left with love at your son's grave sight by a beautiful friend.

11 days.

It has been 11 days since Jennifer left this rose.

Yes, there are differences between the fourth-day rose and the eleventh-day rose, color being the main difference, but can you see how plump and full and round the rose still is?  Eleven Days!  Remarkable flower from a remarkable young woman for a remarkable young man.  Joy.

Procrastination

It is no secret that I am afraid of needles.  I have been called the scariest patient imaginable when it comes to needles.  I have passed out many times because of needles.  I obsess over them when I need to get them.  I know that my reactions are completely ridiculous, but I just can't help it.  One time, when I was pregnant with Tyson, I told the nurse that I needed to lie down to get my blood drawn, that I have been known to pass out, and she just laughed and laughed.  "Is this your first child?  Because you do know you're going to have many chances at needles, right?"  "Oh, I know, this is my fifth baby."  Her reaction to my statement gave me the opportunity to be the one laughing.  I have had many chances at needles, but I still can't stand them.  It's the smell, the tapping, the prick, all of it.  I just hate needles.

While at my appointment last month, the doctor asked when my last blood work had been taken.  I am one that loves to give exact dates, so my mind started to try coming up with the exact date.  But, as you've read, my mind is pretty much mush-- I could barely even come up with what day it was that day!  So, I said it had been somewhere in the ballpark of the last five years, since I knew I had gotten it taken while I lived here.  "You don't like needles, do you?"  "How do you know that?"  "Well, you paused for a long time right there."  "No, that was me trying desperately to remember the exact date, but my mind is too beaten!"  "Well, your face registered hope that maybe it had been within the last year, so you wouldn't have had to go for me."  He had a point.

Because Brennon's appointment was so close after mine, I couldn't go get that blood work after my appointment.  Because Brennon's appointment went so long and I had the tree guy coming to give us a quote, I couldn't get it after his.  And then came the forgetting part of all of this.  I legitimately forgot about that blood work until I got a reminder about my upcoming appointment this week.  When I realized that I needed to get it ASAP, I had a moment of disappointment-- "Dang it, I didn't even get to enjoy my procrastination!!"  Because I would have procrastinated until a certain date where I felt it was OK to procrastinate, but not to the day where it wasn't a choice not to procrastinate.  It's a fine dance, my friends.  But you better believe I know the steps after this many years!

I got the reminder on Friday.  Since my day was so full, and because I most often feel massively drained after the adrenaline rush and we had a party that night, I told myself that I would go first thing Monday morning.  I looked online to find the opening time, so that I had the best chance of getting in and out quickly-- barring passing out, of course.  7:00am.  Done.  I set my alarm, was up, dressed, teeth brushed, and out the door by 6:55am.  Arrived right at 7:00am and found the hours on the door telling me they didn't open until 8:00am.  I got back online to the thing I had seen even the night before when I double-checked and sure enough they said OPEN UNTIL 6:00PM.  You may think, "Well, be happy Stephanie, you can finally procrastinate!!!"  But I had already prepared my mind!  I had already gotten up the courage and nerve necessary to even drive there!  I was ready to get it over with and be done with the thought!  And now I had to go home!  Procrastination is only worth it when you get to choose procrastination.  Plus, I will never be happy where needles are concerned.

Well, better hurry-- they open in 25 minutes, and I have to start preparing my mind.... (commence accelerated breathing and heart rate now)

Update:
I arrived at the office at 7:52am and was TENTH in line.  Let me just say, "Annoyed Stephanie" is not as pleasant as "No Procrastination Choice Stephanie."  Then, the employees came at 7:59am.  Then, they opened the doors at EIGHT OH FIVE.  Let me just say, "Rage Stephanie" is not as pleasant as "Annoyed Stephanie."  The one redeeming quality in all of this was that there was a bed in the room that I was called back to.  This is the only bed in the two clinics near me, actually, and I got called into the one room that has it.  So, I was "happy."  I almost didn't say anything about needing it, but then I realized that the woman would much rather have me use the bed than have to smack me around to get me to breathe after passing out from sitting.  So I asked.

I still had the same reactions I always do when she started tapping, and rubbing, and rubber band wrapping, and wiping, and poking.  Ugh, even the thought of veins bulging-- GAG!!!  I still had the same condescending tone talking softly in my head saying, "See, that wasn't so bad.  The needle prick doesn't even hurt.  You've got this.  Keep breathing.  Good, you're doing so good, Stephanie!  Look at you, all grown up, getting your blood work taken with teddy bears surrounding your head while you lay on that bed, I am so proud of you!  The rubber band has been freed, good, the needle is out, good, you can feel the adrenaline leaving your body in a rush, good, you can breathe again.  You did it!  Good Job!  You can get that lollipop, yes, the red one, absolutely.  No judgie!"

Stephanie, remember, December 10th, 2017 is the day you got your blood work taken last.  Check, Check!  And, even more important, remember that you did NOT pass out!  Check, Check, Check!

Button Holes

The kids and I went to our Towel sewing class yesterday and had a blast.  And let me just say, I have found my new favorite thing to sew: button holes!  I loved it so much, Randy and I went almost immediately after the class to Joanne's to get me supplies to make more, simply because I couldn't wait to make more for Christmas gifts sew more button holes.

 One of the more fun aspects of doing a class with the kids is watching them choose their fabric.  (I can also say that it is a challenge sometimes not to "help" them choose something that matches or coordinates just a bit more, but only because I am a perfectionist that thinks that Ho Ho Ho goes with Santa, not snowmen.  But whatever, go ahead and put them together-- it looks awesome!)  Jamie had about 10-15 different fabrics, with choice of two for the white towel and two for the red.  It was fun to see Keilie choose hers almost immediately, Shelby choose and then re-choose, Brennon try his two favorites next to many different fabrics, and Tyson take his time looking at all of them.  Not one of the towels is like the other.  My choices were made after all of theirs.  You might think it was because I wanted to make sure they got the exact choice they wanted, but the truth is that it is always hard to choose coordinating fabrics when there are that many cute, fun choices.  *Side note: I watched a Brain Games episode all about choice.  We think we'll be happier with more choices, but the truth is: if we are given less options, there are decreased possibilities for regret, which will make us happier in the end.  I find the brain to be so interesting.  Well, sometimes.  Others, I just want to take it to task.* 

Since the kids do these classes for learning as much as making gifts, I gave them the option of gifting their towels or keeping them.  It was fun to see that each wanted to keep one for themselves, and that each chose a different Grandma to send one to.  One for Grandmas' Burrell and Dirks, and Grandma-Greats' Fuller, Griffin, and Windley.  Well, if we're sending one towel to all, we might as well send more, hence my extra five towels made last night.  All those button holes!  *Sigh*

As I was finishing up the last of the buttons, Tyson came over to me and sighed while saying, "Hhhh, I just want to sew something."  Jamie sent me a funny meme that said, "If you teach your child to sew, they'll never have money for drugs."  I say, "If you teach your child to sew, you'll never have a project to do on your own, or a machine to do it with."  And that brings Joy to MY World!!

Baskets

We found another thing a few months ago that Mira is nervous around-- baskets with taller sides.  I can't remember exactly how we came to this knowledge, but this girl will not get a toy -filled with peanut butter even- from a laundry basket.  We know, we've tried all of her faves.  And it's not just laundry baskets, it's any basket with sides that are taller than a few inches.  She's fine getting her toys from a basket with about 6" sides, but anything taller is a no-go for this pooch.  So peculiar and so endearing.

I have a genius idea: This is where we'll keep our bread and Halloween candy (this girl is my Spirit Animal.  Carbs are our Kryptonite!  The struggle is real.) when we leave the house!  It's basically Fort Knox, I tell you.  Oh, she'll want it.  She'll smell it.  She'll push the basket around with her cute nose and then frantic-bark at it.  But she will not get anything out of the bottom of that basket! She can get the ball out of there-- it's not too high, making this a cruel joke-- she just won't.  She has the cutest quirks! 

Last of the Majors

 1 year ago today, we were going in for what we now know would be our last major surgery to try and save our child's life.

 I realize that this is very graphic, but it is real.  This devil, this monster, was the smallest of the three massive tumors taken from him, each needing to be held with two hands. 

 Two months after this surgery, we'd find another one growing on his liver, with cancer remaining ever-present until the end.  12 tumors detected, eight growing until October 4, 2017. 

 It's confusing to be so grateful that we'll never be here again, that I'll never have to worry about his uncontrolled pain due to an epidural failure ever again, that I'll never have to wait for my son to wake up in the ICU after hours and hours in surgery, but desperately, with my whole soul, wish that we needed Seattle Children's for many more years.  This beautiful boy will always be my hero.

STUPID CANCER!!!

STUPID. FREAKING. CANCER!!!