Time Off

The last few weeks have been a bit stressful on me.

October is always a busy month around here. Three-fifths of my house work a part-time seasonal job, the husband included. Which makes me a bit flustered.

Throw in the enlarged lymph node and the anxiety that that brought with it.

Frankly, I'm exhausted.

I'm also behind on some projects I wanted to accomplish this year.

So about a week ago, I decided to take a break from whatever I could take a break from.

Invites I declined. Places I decided to not go. Requests from others turned down.

A small break.

Even though I don't often have much to do. A time to say no-thank you to the few things that popped up felt really nice.

A nice break from a busy October. As we gear up for a busy December.

And maybe I can get a few steps closer to completing some of the tasks on my year's to-do list.

It was a good thing. And I almost don't feel guilty for declining invites and saying no.

To be fair, I thought we might have been learning I had cancer, and I knew I wouldn't want it to be out of the house while dealing with it all. Thankfully, that was not how the weekend unfolded. But a break was surely nice.

Time off. It's a good thing.

Traditions

Our 2015 pick!

For the last 5ish years or so, my oldest child and I have set out to make a lot (and I mean a lot!) of cookies at the holiday time.

But we don't just make cookies, each year, we head out and pick a new cookie magazine to get our recipes from, along with a few standard ones we make each year (like chocolate chip!).

We bake most of the cookies together. Sometimes the other children help. Sometimes my oldest can't be helping. Sometimes I rest and let her mix and stir and roll and cut.

But at the end of a few days work, we have a lot of cookies to eat, and share, and give and distribute. Mostly we bring them to parties. We send some over to neighbors. We send some to work with my husband.


It is a lot of work. We spend a bit of money on baking supplies. But it is all fun. And it's our tradition.

Today, we headed out to the book store, and we picked out magazine for this year. And I can't wait to dive in head first. We'll flip trough it a few times. We'll make a list of the all the ones we want to make. We'll cross a few off the list as we usually pick out about 6 recipes too many. We decide which ones to double, or maybe even triple, and which ones to make just once.

Then it's the shopping list. A massive list of all the things we need: sugar, vanilla, flour, eggs, butter, nuts, extracts of all kind, chocolate chips, dark chocolate chips ... the list is long.

Shopping comes next. We send husband to get some things. We go together to get the rest.

And then the baking.

Last year we had to readjust around her school schedule. This year we will do the same. This year, we will try to bake some cookies early and freeze them. Or mix the dough up and freeze it. Anything to make the task - however fun it is - a bit less daunting. And easier on my back.

This is our tradition. Our thing.

It's not exclusive. We share it with whoever wants to share it with us.

But it's still ours.

Someday I imagine going to her house, and seeing the magazine her and her child picked out and getting a chance to help them mix and stir and roll and cut and back. {note: these are my dreams. I don't know if they her dreams, and I certainly won't push them on her if she chooses to do something else.}

But this is the start of the holiday season for us. And I can't wait to see (and taste) how cookie baking goes this year! 

Saturday Night

It's Saturday night.

Everyone is asleep now, but me.

The house is quiet.

I often end the day like this.

I love ending my day like this.

I have netflix streaming on my computer; a craft in my hand - knitting, crochet, needlepoint; a game in the background on the tablet.

It's peaceful.

It lets me unwind.

There is no one to interrupt me. No questions to answers. No cleaning to do.

Just me. And a few hours to kill.

If you had asked me 15 years ago if this was how I'd spend my ideal Saturday night, I probably would have laughed.

Not that, even then, I thought it would be party all the time. But a movie. Dinner out. Something. Anything.

But sitting on the couch. In pajamas. With yarn.

Yeah, not high on the list of things to do.

Yet, here I am. Here I sit. Pajama pants and all.

And I love it.

It's Friday

Just a few hours old

It's Friday night. Really, it's almost Saturday.

I spent tonight just chatting and hanging out with a friend while her daughter and my daughter and 5 other girls celebrated my daughter turning 16.

My oldest daughter is 16.

She turned 16 last week.

She got a driver's license last weekend.

She's a great kid. No, really, she's a great kid.

And all of her friends that I've had the pleasure of meeting are pretty great too.

I keep hearing about how kids today are this and kids today are that. And the this and that? It's almost never good things. Teens today are apparently rude, have no respect, don't care about others, are selfish, expect to get good grades without doing any work, don't want to give back, whine, complain, expect everything to just be handed to them, they don't want to work hard, and will apparently be the undoing of the human race.

I don't get it.

I mean, sure, my kids aren't perfect. Their friends aren't perfect.

Together just a few years ago

Sometimes they have bad days. Sometimes my daughter wants to argue with me. Sometimes she doesn't always do what she's supposed to. Sometimes she fights with her siblings. Sometimes she sighs when we tell her to do some chores.

But those sometimes? They aren't even close to the majority of times.

Also. Sometimes. I am the same way.

I am human. So is my daughter.

But do you know what she is most of the time?

Mostly she is helpful. Mostly she comes home and gets her schoolwork done without me saying to. Mostly she does her chores willingly. Mostly she is kind. Mostly she gets really good grades. Mostly she works hard. Mostly when she has a bad moment, she apologizes to me later.

Mostly she is growing into a wonderful young woman.

Always I am proud to be her mother.
Always I love her.
Always I think she's pretty darn fabulous.
Always she has my whole heart.

As does her sister. As does her brother.

I see many of the same traits in her friends. I see it when they hang out. I see it when they talk to each other. I see it when they talk to me.

Before Halloween, the high school opened it's doors and many of it's classrooms for local kids to come trick-or-treat. I mostly saw a bunch of high school students reaching out to kids younger than them to scare them, entertain them, give them candy, tell them they liked their costumes, play games with them, and just be pretty awesome people.

Is everyone perfect all the time? Nope.

But when I look around - at people and children of all ages - I mostly see most people doing the best they can most of the time.

I'll take it. I'll enjoy it. I'll remember that when I have to cross paths with people who maybe aren't shining bright in that moment.

I'll also remember that when I parent my kids. My kids are pretty awesome.

Sure, they have their moments. We all do.

But they are pretty fantastic. And I'm so glad I get to be their mother.

Even when I worry as my 16 year old drives herself to guitar class. By herself. Without us in the car.
Even when she's hanging out with her friends. At their house. Where I can not see her.
Even when she comes home worrying she did poorly on a test. But figures out how to move forward for the next one.
Even when she gets annoyed with me and sighs and talks back. But she comes back later to apologize.
Even when I feel sad about her growing up. But am also really happy as well. And proud. And love watching her grow.

Our relationship has changed so much in the last few years. As it should. As it's supposed to.

She doesn't need me to hold her hand anymore.
Or pick out her clothes.
Or do her laundry.
Or to kiss her owie when she falls down.
Or to pick her up so she can see.
Or teach her to tie her shoes.
Or teach her to sing simple nursery rhymes.
Or read her the stories she loves so much but can't quite read herself.

She still needs me though.
Just in a different way.
And in a few years, she'll need me in a different way still.

She is learning to be independent. She is ready to be independent before I am ready to let go.

I tell her this. I tell her to be patient with me. I'll get there too, it just takes a bit longer.

I know she needs to do this. She needs to grow. And stretch. And learn.

She needs to push boundaries to learn when it's okay to push them and when it's not.

She needs to know we trust her to make decisions, but also she can come to us when she needs some input.

Some day. Some day soon. She will be an adult.

It's my job, along with the husband, to get her there. To get her ready for it. To teach her to trust herself. To teach her to do what's right, even when it's hard. To teach her to get back up after she falls down. To teach her to sincerely apologize when she is wrong. To teach her to love others and let them love her.

Some of it we've been working on her whole life. Some of it is new to her. Some of it's new to me too. I've never parented a 16 year old. We are entering this territory for the first time together.

It's the blessing and the curse of being the oldest. She gets to do it all for the first time. The bumps we go over, the pitfalls we face, will be navigated differently for her siblings. Though, they will be sure to find their own bumps and their own pitfalls, it won't seem as scary. We will be more prepared to handle them. But with her, it's the first time. It's all new. It's a wonderful, new, scary, worrisome path we will take.

But tonight, as I watch her with her friends celebrating the milestone of turning 16, I am so incredibly proud. My worries are alleviated some. She's a pretty amazing person. She's got some great friends in her life.

I'm sad she's no longer my little girl. But not as sad as I thought I might be, when 16 years ago, I was holding this tiny little baby in my arms. Wondering if I could be a good mother to her. Wondering if she'd be a good kid. And panicking at the thought of this little, tiny, baby being in the world without me. How could that be?

Today, I see how it is. And how it will be.

It will be good.

She is good. I am good.

I am her mother and she is my daughter. Nothing can change that. How she needs me in her life will change. But I am always her mother. And she is always my daughter.

My Favorite Word

Today, I got to hear my favorite word. There is (thankfully) rarely an occasion to use it, so I don't hear it much, but when I do, it is sweet, sweet music to my ears.

The word isn't love.
It isn't money.
It isn't chocolate.
It isn't cake.
It isn't surprise.
It isn't winner.
It isn't clothes. Or cars.

It isn't anything you can give me. Or buy me.

The word I heard today was simply "benign."

I also heard non-malignant, which is practically the same thing, but I think benign is more fun to say. Also it makes me think of Bingo. B9.

Benign.

I got to hear that word today.

Which was a relief. Because for the last few weeks, I had walked around in a panic; thinking, worrying, fretting, terrified that I would instead hear Sorry to have to tell you, but you have cancer. Again.

All over a freaking enlarged lymph node by my clavicle. My left supraclavicular lymph node if you want to be exact. It was enlarged. For no reason we could discern. I found it accidentally about a month ago. Then the doctor felt it. Then they ultrasounded it. Then they biopsied it. Apparently, we don't mess around with supraclavicular lymph nodes.

All I could think was here we go again.

Again. This is the fourth time I have been biopsied. Going into this biopsy, I was 1 for 3 with cancer. I didn't know if I'd come out the other side 2 for 4 or 1 for 4.


And I'm just so over all of this.

But it's not all over me.

I spent the last few weeks imagining that everything will come back fine. I imagined that cancer had returned. I hoped that it hadn't. I pictured telling my kids that it has. I pictured laughing with my husband about how nervous I was and how all that worry was for naught. I wondered what words I would use to tell my mom that I have cancer again. My dad. My sisters. My family. My friends. I wondered if even if the results were good, if I'd still have a worry, an ever-present fear, at the back of my brain. Wondering if cancer was back.

The weight is ever present. It is so heavy on me.

I wonder will it always feel this heavy. Will the worry always be this deep. Will the fear always permeate everything I do. It must get better.

When we checked my thyroid, I called support people crying before the biopsy. I was so scared. This time, I haven't said a word to hardly anyone really.

So it must be better? It must not be so scary or painful. It must be getting better.

Time eases all we're told. Albeit slowly, at a snail's pace. So slowly that if you were a bystander you might not notice the changes at all. But over time, a subtle difference would start to emerge. And if you pulled out a photo from 20 years ago and held it up, you might think well look at that! I can see a difference.

And that is what I'm holding onto tonight. No matter what happens, it will be okay. It's got to be okay. Even if it's not. It's got to be.