Fathers Be Good To your Daughters....Mine Was!

Me And My Dad on Top Of The World

     Do you know that song by John Mayer? "Fathers be good to your daughters. Daughters will love like you do. Girls become lovers who turn into mothers. So mothers be good to your daughter's too." It's a beautiful song and very true. With Father's Day approaching, I have naturally been thinking a lot about the kind of Dad my father is and the kind of dad that Mr. Jones is to our girls. Unfortunately, in America, we don't really have too high of a standard for dads. Mothers are expected to feed, clothe, bathe, change, nurture, engage, teach and discipline their children. This is a given. Fathers on the other hand are not really expected to do much. In fact, in this day and age, they are praised just for showing up. So many men just check out of their kids lives. I can't tell you how many single moms I've met during my 11 years of teaching who refer to their child's father as "the sperm donor." It's a sad state of affairs when all we expect from our men is a child support check and a visit once a week.

     My husband is not like that because his dad isn't like that. In fact sometimes, I'm embarrassed when my girlfriends complain about the lack of help they get from their husbands because I cannot contribute to the conversation. Mr. Jones does everything from diaper changes, to laundry, to homework. He is insulted if someone says he's "babysitting" our children. He says "I'm not babysitting. I'm parenting." He does a hell of a lot more than just show up. He's the kind of dad that my dad was (and still is). When I was born, most men didn't change diapers or even feed their babies. They went to work, came home and drank a beer in front of the TV. My dad went to work and fell asleep in front of the TV too, but with my sister and I asleep on his chest. My dad set the bar pretty high. He was the over achiever of dads. He didn't have any sons, so I was the best he could do. He taught me to hit a baseball such that the boys in the outfield would back up when they saw me coming. (Yes, I said boys. We played in a boys league 'cause there weren't enough girls. He was the coach, of course.) Most dads teach their kids to ride a bike. Mine did too, after he taught me to ride a horse (western, of course, he wasn't going to raise a horse-snob). I learned to sit back into a canter, and "cowboy up" if I fell off.  If he had a hammer, I had a hammer. If he was working on the engine of our boat, I was right beside him. I was never very mechanical, but that didn't matter. He taught me how to navigate across the Long Island Sound using a compass and a chart (right-red-returning), and to pilot and dock our boat before I was old enough to learn how to drive....which he, of course, taught me to do as well. He taught me to shoot a mean game of nine ball. (Although I'm not sure if my success in the game had more to do with my skill at shooting or subtly leaning over the table at just the right moment when my male opponent was about to make his shot---that I learned from my mother!) My dad had a lot of interests. And I was interested in anything that he was. It didn't matter what we did, as long as he was with me. We would talk about everything in my life. As a teenager, he'd take me out to lunch to try some random restaurant that my mom and sister would never set foot in. We went alone on a pack trip (camping on horseback) through the Colorado Rockies when I graduated college. We'd head to the beach in March and just walk and talk about life. He was always interested in my perspective on things, and he always had the best advice (still does). Today, we don't get as much time alone together with my girls and my sister's kids occupying everyone's attention, but he's there for almost every one of his grandchildren's soccer games, field days, recitals, shows, and concerts. Not to mention that he'll drop everything in an instant if we need a quick babysitter. He really is an amazing man- an amazing father.

     I remember reading somewhere that studies show that fathers who spend a lot of time caring for and engaging their daughters as babies have better relationships with their children through adolescence and adulthood. This is because they don't have to make a connection with a teenager. They already have one from  birth. John Mayer hit the nail of the head with his song.
   Why did I choose Mr. Jones? Well, if you read Mr. Jones And Me, you remember how I saw him across a crowded room working with children with autism and I said, "That's the kind of guy I need to marry." I instantly saw in him the qualities that I knew would make a good companion- a good husband and a good father. I wasn't conscious of that at the time. I just knew there was something about him that made him special. And after I met my father-in-law, I realized that he was just living the example that learned from his father (another exceptional man who I love to death!).
     These are extraordinary men., but they are not alone. I know that there are a lot of dads out there that are doing a heck of a lot more than showing up. It's just that our society tends to focus on the negative... "the dead-beat dad." But I know some of my friends out there are exceptional dads just like my dad and Mr. Jones. I know you guys are stepping up with the diapers and the feeding and the changing and the laundry. And some of you are fighting to with every ounce of your being for custody or more rights to be a bigger part of your kids lives. So many of you are doing so much more than just showing up, and I think that that needs to be celebrated. If you are that kind of dad, I thank you for being an example to a generation of children who need so much guidance. (I hope my daughters meet one of your sons some day!) We need to celebrate the men who make this world a good happy secure place to live for our children. So this Father's day lets really celebrate the men who are being men and taking care of their own. Lets tell them that we love and appreciate them.

Mr. Jones, you make my life worth living, and our children are wonderful, happy and beautiful inside and out because you are their father.

And Daddy, I am everything I am because of the man you are and have always been. You taught me everything I said above, but most importantly, you taught me to love with an open heart and see with an open mind. There is nothing I would not do for you.

     I hope you will share this with the men in your life. As much as we girls have it all under control, the world is a better place because of the good men in our lives: our husbands and our fathers. They need to know we love and appreciate them because unfortunately, they are limited in supply!

Sending love out to you as always....especially to you boys!

 Happy Father's Day! 



My Gift is My Blog, and ....This One's For You



     We use the word "gift" a lot, don't we? "She has a gift." "He's a gifted..." What does it even mean anyway? Mr. Jones and I use it when referring to my sister's children. These kids can sleep anywhere. I remember once being in the middle of a noisy restaurant on vacation and I looked over and there was my niece, sitting upright sound asleep in front of her chocolate cake- fork still in hand. Meanwhile my daughter's bouncing off the walls at 10 pm, "I don't want to go bed, Mommy. I'm not tired. Can we go play air hockey? Can I have some soda? What time does the show start? Can we go down to the disco?" And a weary Mr. Jones looks at me, then at my niece and then back at me and says, "Those kids have a gift." But really, who is the gift for? Is it a gift for the kid that she can sleep? Or a gift for my sister that her kids have an off switch?  That's what confuses me. Who is receiving said gifts?
     Supposedly, everyone has a gift of some sort. Everyone has something that makes him special. For most of my life, I had no idea what my gift was. I was never really good at anything. I never thought of myself as particularly pretty or funny like my BFF, Jennie, who boys just pined over, and who can even make a story about digging up dead bodies funny (It's not weird- she's a forensic scientist). I loved music, but wasn't very talented like my sister.  I wasn't a great dancer or exceptionally witty like my other BFF, Missy. I wasn't a great athlete like my cousin, Andrea. I was "the smart one". In fact, the school district even went so far as to call me "gifted" because I scored high on some test that means nothing. But I always knew that there were plenty of people who were way smarter than I was....especially when I got to college. So I don't really consider my level of intelligence as that much of a great gift. I'm really not an expert on anything. I'm not even a great scientist because I'm not organized enough. I'd like to think I'm a great teacher, but I know what some of my colleagues are doing and I pale in comparison. I have many interests, and things that I'm good at, but I'm really sort of a "jack-of all trades" and a master of none.
     Mr. Jones has a gift. He has this way about him. He's so humble. He presents himself with no bravado, no pretense and no nonsense. And people love him. (He's not even going to agree with that statement because that's how humble he is. Meanwhile, every nurse/volunteer in the cancer center who has ever treated him has stopped by his treatment today to see how he's doing and to tell him how wonderful he is.) He's a great dog trainer....and people trainer for that matter. He has this way of affecting people (and animals) so that they want to change their behavior....and often they do without even realizing it. That's his gift. But I wonder whose gift is it really? Is it a gift to him from God? Or is it his gift to the world from within? Or is he God's gift to us? Maybe some combination of all three?
     I really believe that everyone one of us does have a gift. Given to each of us to present to the world. It took me a long time. I spent most of my young life trying to camouflage my personality. I realized early on that most people didn't get me. If I had a dime for every time someone told me to think less.... I worked very hard to appear normal. I didn't want anyone to think that there was anything extra ordinary about me. I don't know when I finally stopped hiding. Some time after I hit 30 I realized that I like who I am even if it isn't ordinary. I have an uncanny ability to develop deep friendships with people, and I like that about me. I do have a gift after all. I have been given a gift from God to share with the world. My gift is the ability to make anyone I meet feel good about who they are. Like I said, I'm not exceptionally good at anything.  BUT maybe realizing how not good I am, and how talented other people are is my gift. I am extra-ordinary. I have the ability to love people without fear, accept people without judgement and find the redeeming qualities that make each and every person I know feel special about something. And that is why I have been called to write. We spend so much time cutting each other down to elevate our own egos. We judge out of envy and fear. We are so afraid that if someone else has a gift that it makes our value less. Well I am not a 4 year old child who can't handle seeing my sister open her birthday presents. I am proud my sister. I am not jealous that she is tall and thin and beautiful and an amazing singer and the kind of teacher who students adore to the point of stalking. She has a gift. You have a gift too. And you need to stop hiding behind your fears and insecurities and come out and share that gift. You need to be celebrated. None of us is ordinary. Paradoxically, each one of us is extraordinary. We need to stop tearing other people apart for they gifts we are envious of, be grateful for the gifts we have been given to share, and celebrate the gifts that we appreciate in others. Poorly scripted reality TV and the anonymity of technology has turned us into a culture of  mean girls. We just criticize and put down and make fun of. We cannot continue support this culture of negativity. This nation was founded on the idea that each one of us has a right to be who we are without fear. We have become our own worst enemies. So I beg of you, be authentic. Be yourself. Let your gifts shine through regardless of what the mean girls say. You are extra-ordinary, so be extraordinary.

.....As always, I hope you will pass this on. Someone out there needs to know that she is extraordinary too. Someone out there needs to stop being afraid to be himself. Click "like" at the top or the little "f" below to share the link on fb or the "T" to share to twitter. Or copy the http to email to someone whose gift you appreciate. (Be sure to tell them what you love about them!) Sending my love out to you always! <3

Feeding The Fire Burning In My Heart

     The world is bleeding. It breaks my heart. everywhere I turn if feel suffering. Everyone I speak to has a tragic story-needs a prayer. Do you have any idea how many people I hug everyday? I have spent the past 34 years teaching myself how to actively listen to people. This has been a challenge for me because it means I have to stop talking long enough to process what someone else is saying. And it means looking at the person speaking in the face and not being distracted by what color her shoes are or what song is playing in the background or is that cookies I smell? Listening for me has always been a challenge because I always have so much to say. But I have been actively working on this since I became an adult and I have to say, I've gotten pretty good at it. Maybe it's because I genuinely care about the speaker, or as my girlfriend Amina put it, I thrive on hearing people's stories, but whatever the reason, people tend to tell me everything. I know a lot of people's secrets. I know everyone's troubles, fears, birthdays, kids' names, favorite foods, religious beliefs, wifes' worries, husbands' shortcomings, parent's issues.....if you know me, I've probably shocked you by recalling some minute detail of your life that you told me in passing two years ago. And the thing is, Amina is right. I DO thrive on it. I love feeling connected to people. Bonded. 

     But lately, it seems like the world is bleeding. We're suffering. We're angry, depressed, abused, neglected, tormented, afraid, depressed, disatisfied, confused, frustrated, worried, troubled and downright sad. And all I do is worry. Funny thing is, I'm not worried for myself or Mr. Jones. We're doing just fine...cancer and all. People have said to me, "I'm so sorry to bother you with my problems. You are going through so much, and yet, when I read your blog, I can't believe how positive you are." That's when I began to understand the purpose of the blog. I have been called to write. I have been called to ease the suffering. I need to spread the love. I need to send it out through cyberspace. A message to the world that we can all get through it. With faith anything is possible. Yes, we are all suffering, but together we can hold each other up. We can carry each other through it. 

     Make no mistake. I have BAD days. The other morning I spent my drive to work fighting back tears and asking for strength to get through the day and rest of the longest dreariest week ever. That is until "Fat Bottom Girls" came on the radio and I had to rush through that last Hail Mary so I could "make the rockin' world go 'round." And while Freddy Mercury and Brian May did make me feel better for 3 minutes and 22 sec, the morning still dragged on. When I got to work I told my friend Heather how much the day was sucking and she threw her arms around me and gave me her strength. And somehow I found the drive to push forward through my first period class ,and then my second, and then my third, and before I knew it I was home on my couch with my little monkey and my angel-baby and everything was right with the world. And that's what I mean. Heather's got her own troubles and fears, but that day she gave me her strength. Another day she might need me to give her mine.

       This is what we need to do. Focus on reaching out to support each other. We can get through it all together. You know I believe in the power of love. And all I can do is open my heart and focus on sending it out. I'm sending you my strength. I'm sending you my love. In yoga practice we say Namaste at the beginning and end of practice. While it literally can be interpreted as, "I bow to you," it means so much more than that. The most beautiful way that I have ever heard it interpreted is as to mean, "When I am in this place, and you are in this place, we are one." Whoever you are- wherever you are- at this moment our lives are touching. We are one. I wish you strength. I wish you happiness. I wish you love. Reach out to someone. By helping others we help ourselves. I feel this burning in my soul to reach out and spread love. To give hope. And if you can feel it, I ask only one thing of you: Share my love, our love. Click "like" above. Click  "Share" below. Send this link in an email. Someone else needs to know you are thinking of them. Someone out there needs your strength. Lets support each other. Put your own troubles aside for a second and do something for someone less fortunate than you. As always, I wish you joy. I hope you find strength and faith to follow the path that has been laid before you. I know you can do it.We can do it. If I can, you can....Namaste! 



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XOXO



Mirror, Mirror On The Wall, I Am My Mother After All...(I Hope!)

    The most challenging thing I've ever done was to become a mother. I don't remember the exact moment that it happened, but I'll never forget the day I found out. It was the last thing I expected to see, that little pink cross in the window. I took another test the next day because I was sure that the first one was wrong. Even though my biology background told me that there couldn't be a false negative, I was in such shock. I remember the terror. I just stood there in front of Mr. Jones. We stood there with tears in our eyes in disbelief. As the reality sunk in, I told him- and myself- that this was a good thing. We were married. We had health insurance. We both had jobs. There was no reason why we should worry. I thought of my sister. She had just given birth to her second son. She was (is) a great mom. She had a system for everything- I could just do whatever she did. And her boys (MY boys) were healthy and happy and developing into beautiful children. There is no reason why I couldn't do it. After all, I had her to ask for help.

     Slowly, over the next nine months I got used to idea of being Mommy instead of the favorite aunt. I went to birthing classes, practiced pre-natal yoga, read books on nursing...I was going to do it all the right way. My amazing family and friends bought me everything I needed. And then one day, in the bathroom of Macy's, my water broke.  And it really began. 12 hours later I was holding the most perfect, beautiful little angel God had ever created. I remember initially feeling like I was trapped in a Dali painting. How could this be real? Who is this little person? Shouldn't I feel like I know her? I was responsible for this tiny soul. Her life depended on me not screwing up. She could die if I did something wrong. Forget about the 12 hours of natural childbirth. That was the easy part. For the rest of my life I had to take care of this child and somehow not f--- her up. So I bought some books. Books that told me that everything I was feeling was normal. Books that told me how to be successful at nursing (something American culture makes very difficult). Books that told me when to worry, and when to call a doctor. And then there was the Internet. There is no shortage of information to teach you how to have a healthy baby. And day by day, week by week my Angel-baby and I became so emotionally connected that sometimes I wasn't sure where she began and I ended. Her every joy was my joy. Her every pain was my pain. I was no longer just Melissa any more. I was Angel-babie's mom. For the rest of my life I would be introducing myself with her name first..."It's so nice to meet you, I'm Angel's mom." I had joined the club. The mom club. Where everything in your life shifts. The focal point of the world's orbit shifted from Mr. Jones and me, to my Angel-baby. And I joined billions of other women who had all had the same experience and were travelling in orbits around their own angel-babies.
     At some point I remember marvelling at the love I felt for this perfect child. I remember thinking, Is this how my mother feels about me? All these years, I've always know she loves me, but I never realized how much because up until this point I was incapable of understanding. And suddenly it made sense. I understood how she could give up her career to take care of my sisters' and my children so that we could continue to eat. I understood how she could manage to work a full day and still make cupcakes at 11 pm becase I needed them for school. I understood how she could sacrifice buying things she wanted so that we could go to dancing school or acting classes. I understood why she was with me on every school trip, every class party, every single performance of every concert or show that my sister and I performed in. I understood why it devastated her that when I studied abroad I could only call once a week. She has given me everything. Everything I have, everything I am, I am because of the woman who she is. I felt so humbled. So lucky. So in love with my mother. I decided at that moment that there was nothing that I could ever do to repay her for her sacrifices. The only thing I could do was to never refuse her anything she needed from me. And I never do. Anything she needs, anything I can ever do for her, I do.
     It was with this revelation that I also realized how blessed I was to have her as a model. If I just did everything the way my mom did. If I am half as good as she is, my kids will be okay. I realized that it doesn't matter what the books say, I was going to model myself after the best mother I knew. Just like the generations of mothers before me. As humans this is how we learn. We don't even realize it, and unless we make a conscious effort to be different from our parents, we will have the same successes and the same failures. I think about this as a mother. I learned everything I know from my mother. I sing the same lullaby, tell the same bedtime stories, cook the same dinners. I can't tell you how many times I've said, "Don't you dare!" and I hear her voice echoing in my own. With this in mind, I realize, that like it or not, my little cherubs will someday echo me. If I speak with prejudice, they will speak with prejudice. If I act with violence, they will act with violence. If I abuse drugs or alcohol, I doom them to a life of abuse. And likewise, If I treat people kindly, they will learn kindness. If I pray, they will pray. And if I treat myself with respect-if I choose a healthy lifestyle-if I manage my stress-if I take care of myself as a woman, they will do the same as adults. And if I show gratitude and take care of my family when they need me, then they will someday do the same. As mothers, we are living models for our children. I was fortunate to have such a model whose example I can only pray that live up to. Motherhood is challenging. It comes with great responsibility. But when my 5 year old insists on hugging me until she counts to 100, or my 2 year old begs me for one more kiss goodnight, I know what is meant by the expresion "a labor of love."
      I hope you can find time this weekend to celebrate the love your mother gave you. Even if she wasn't perfect, she did the best she could. She may not have had a great model. If you are a mother, celebrate the life you've made for yourself and your family. In the end, all we can really do is our best to support out children and show them in every way possible that we love them and hope it's enough. That's all my mother did. And still does!

Happy Mother's Day!

Bet Your Bottom Dollar That...

     Mr. Jones' FB post today was, "Round 2 here we goooo."  And here we are. Once again I am writing to you from the treatment center. He's reading a book on parenting, so I don't feel badly about ignoring him for a bit to get all this stuff crammed in my head out into cyberspace.

     I've been thinking about my friends. I feel so blessed to have SO MANY people I call friends. Not acquaintances, but real friends: people with whom I have connected with emotionally at one point or another. Some of you I see everyday.  Some of you, I wish I could see everyday. And there are those of you whom I see maybe once a year, but when we're together it's like no time has passed. I am truly lucky to have so many people to love. And whenever I encounter any one of these friends, I am immediately asked how Mr. J is doing. And then after I give the overview of his symptoms and how he's managing and happily explain that he's doing amazingly well, the next question is, "And how are YOU doing?" And I say, I'm fine as long as he's fine." And that's true, but I'm also unusually tense most of the time, irritable and worst of all impatient. All this is to be expected when one is under stress, and I am doing the very best I can to not let my mood swings become apparent to those I love and really don't want to lash out at. But I am finding it harder than usual to feel the endless compassion with which I usually pride myself. You see, the reason I have emotionally connected with so many people is that I have learned over the years to how to listen without judgement. I am fascinated by people and I love to feel connected. I feel like every time I share these moments with others that I am made richer and my heart swells and I feel a joy that can only come from loving another person. If you know me well, I have probably told you I love you...on many occasions. And the truth is that I really do. I love each and everyone of my friends with an open heart and would do just about anything for each one of you if I knew it would make you happy.
     The problem is that lately I am finding myself to be impatient and judgmental. The events of my life have me finding myself frustrated by people who are caught up in trivial frustrations of everyday life. I am finding it very hard to feel badly for someone who is crying to me over some great problem that amounts to an issue of vanity, or not getting what they want when they want it, or even worse when they created the problem themselves by doing something selfish or dishonest or immoral.
     Many of my friends are coping with real tragedy. I have several friends suffering from infertility and loss of pregnancy. I have one friend who recently had to send her college-age son to rehab due for his crystal-meth addiction. Another friend is in the middle of a messy divorce where her ex husband is abusing their children and trying to ruin her financially. Another is just hoping that his mother lives to see Easter. I know people who have lost their jobs or whose hours have been cut so dramatically, that they may not be able to pay their mortgage. I have friends who are struggling to buy milk and diapers. And did I mention that the man I love more than anything in whole world is undergoing treatment for cancer, had an allergic reaction to one of his meds and is losing his hair? So it's a bit hard for me to feel badly for someone who got a speeding ticket or someone who's pissing away their parents' money or anyone who is feeling sorry for themselves but not making any effort to affect change in their lives.  
      It's not that I don't care. I really do. Friedrich Nietzsche said that suffering is like a gas. It always fills you up. So to someone who has no worries at all a paper cut can be all consuming. I don't want to minimize anyone's suffering, but when I think of all the tragedy in the world, it's hard not to. Somewhere in Haiti, a mother is feeding her toddler a "cake" made of dirt and lard because there is nothing else to eat. Somewhere in Iraq, one of our boys is thinking about his baby girl whose birth he missed while he was dodging improvised bombs on the road wondering if he will ever meet his child. Somewhere in Japan a family has walked away from everything they own and may never see their home again. Somewhere "in the ghetto" a toddler just smoked pot for the first time because his uncle thought it would be funny. Somewhere nearby, a mother has just buried her baby. Down the block from you, a woman was beaten last night and is desperately trying to cover up her bruises. The world is full of real tragedy. I count my blessings everyday. And I wish you would too. I know how lucky I am to live in a free country. I know how fortunate I am to have two beautiful healthy children. The fact that I have luxury to need to LIMIT my food intake almost seems unjust. I am sitting here in chemo with my husband feeling grateful for modern medicine and the kindness of strangers. Not to mention, the luxury of 3 or 4 hours that we have to spend alone together. (That, my friends, is a commodity.)  I actually made chocolate covered strawberries and brought apple cider "champagne" to make the best of our time together. We brought a DVD to watch and I made a nice lunch to share. I wish you could all do that. I wish everyone could just take a step back and find something joyful. Find something to be happy about. Life is too short to worry about a paper cut.
    And for those of you for who are really suffering. For those of you who can find nothing joyful in today. There is always tomorrow. The beauty of the Earth is that it keeps turning. The sun will come out tomorrow. (Bet your bottom dollar that) Tomorrow, there'll be sun! And even if Mr. Jones does look like Daddy Warbucks, we will be playing in that sunshine celebrating spring with our girls by making flower crowns out of forsythia. At the end of of each terrible day, the sun will set and then rise again. Today's suffering will soon be yesterday's, then last week's, and then last month's, and before long, last year's. You will get through it. You will endure.....we all will! I implore you. Take a look at the clouds in your life and find that silver lining.  And now it's time to give my attention back to the one who needs it. My chocolate covered strawberries await!

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.....

    So I'm sitting here in the cancer treatment center with Mr. Jones scrolling through everyone's FB posts. Lately I feel like my life has been inundated with other people's hardships. I find myself so worried about this one and praying for that one and feeling so bad for the other one. And here I sit watching the man for whom the sun in my life rises and sets face the most difficult thing he's ever had to, and the last person I'm feeling sorry for is MYself. "FML?" WTF?!.... Really? Maybe there's something wrong with ME. Maybe I'm delusional, but I just can't sit here and whine and complain that things are going the way I would want them to. I know I'm a freak. I'm not wired the way most people are; happy is my factory default setting. I wake up every morning feeling happy automatically. If there's something going on that makes me unhappy, it actually takes a few seconds after I wake up before I remember that my life at the moment is less than perfect. And even then, during the course of the day, I get caught up in my lesson or the of-color jokes of my colleagues or my 2 year old daughter saying "Are you kidding me?" and I forget for a minute or an hour or a 39 minute period that I'm supposed to be feeling depressed about my life. How can I?

     I teach biology. Every time I look around at the world in which we live, I am amazed at the perfection with which it was created. The more you understand about the intricate mechanics of life, the more amazing the world becomes. There is absolute perfection in the universe. The dynamic relationships of living and non living things. The way that certain flowers are specifically designed to be pollinated by a specific moth or butterfly. The way a single egg cell can become a beautiful child. The way that the a mother's body can create the most perfect food for her baby complete with specific antibodies tailor made for her perfect child. How we possibly can look at the intricate beauty of the universe and even for one second think that this complexity could be the result of a series of random accidents. Coincidence, "Are you kidding me?!"

     So at any given moment, I have to concede that universe was created with a plan far beyond my ability to comprehend. Where in this perfection do Mr. Jones and I fall?  Well it was no coincidence that I walked into that gym where he was sitting at that moment in his and my life. It was no coincidence in that night in 2003 when I took that 3 minute test that couldn't possibly be positive and found out my life was about to change forever. Nor is it a coincidence that I am sitting here watching Nurse Wendy push vincristine into the man I love's veins while he flashes his perfect smile and laughs about how "milk does a body good." We are all pawns in His master plan (And do I mean capital H-i-m). I actually feel excited sometimes with anticipation about where this is going to lead us. Cancer IS going to change both of our lives forever. We are meeting so many interesting and wonderful people. I wonder who else we will meet that will introduce us to someone who will show us something that will inspire us to...something. Something wonderful is at the end of this journey. Maybe it's a deeper faith. Maybe it's a closer marriage. Maybe it's a new appreciation for the simple things. Maybe it's just a better outlook on life. But make no mistake, my life is has already changed direction, and I am fully aware that I am not driving the bus. All I can do is open the window (so I don't get motion sickness) and enjoy the ride.

     Lately I have that Katy Perry song playing in my head over and over again, "BABY YOU'RE A FIREWORK..." (although, sometimes when I get to the "Boom Boom Boom" part the soundtrack changes to another song from 1987 with a very different message- but I digress.) I KNOW he will conquer this cancer, and I feel like I can conquer the world. And I WILL leave you all going AHH! AHH! AHH! You will NEVER see me post FML. Because my life is blessed. And maybe I AM a freak....but I'm a HAPPY freak. Don't you want to be a happy freak too?

      Hoping I made you smile and forget that you are unhappy....even if it is for just a minute. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to "go back to my room. So we can..." forget it, wrong song again.

Love, Joy and Happiness to you Always (....and foreverrrr each moment with yooouuuuu...I really need to stop..)

  

March Madness: Am I tough enough?

I’ve been thinking a lot about inner strength. My life, as of late, has given new meaning to term “March Madness.” It used to mean how mad I get when my favorite TV shows have been replaced by a basketball game that I couldn't care less about, but in 2011 it describes a series of doctors visits, re-arranged schedules, last minute baby sitting requests, frenzied Google searches, mass text messages, and hour long commutes to spend hours in a waiting room. This is totally ignoring the fact that I have a full time job, two kids and a household to maintain. I keep looking for the fast-forward button of life. (I won’t tell you what my friend Jennie said she did with it.... apparently I’m not the only one who needs it.) And that’s just it, I’m NOT the only one who needs it.

I won’t keep you in suspense any more. For those of you wondering the results of Mr. Jone’s tests last month, the results came back cancerous. But its OK. It’s “only” lymphoma. In case you haven’t been told as many times as we have, “If you’re gonna get cancer, that’s the one you want!” That’s because it is considered “curable,” and treatments only last a few months. And that’s all well and good (you see that’s why I need that damn fast forward button), but it’s still cancer. He still has to endure being poked and prodded, undressed and felt up and then of course there is the chemotherapy which has not yet begun. Plus there’s the realization that he has cancer. I can’t really understand what he’s going through emotionally. I can only address my own feelings, and mostly I feel overwhelmed. I know in my heart of hearts that he will be fine. We will endure, and he will be well again. His hair should even be grown back by Christmas. Every night I pray for the strength to get through it. I pray for both of us.

I didn’t start this Blog to complain. Nor did I want to invite you to a pity party. My intention has always been and still is to inspire hope for a happy life. And in spite of all the insanity around me, I still feel happy. I still can’t help smiling. The two of us are sitting in the oncologist office laughing hysterically over rubber gloves. How can I still be happy? No, I’m not delusional. I am very aware of the challenges I am about to face. But it doesn’t change that fact that I have a beautiful family, a job I love, wonderful colleagues, amazing friends and a faith that is unshakeable. I have created a world in which I am surrounded by love. I don’t tolerate negativity; I disassociate myself from those people. I always find something to laugh about. I am fortunate enough to have friends who can make even the most awful things seem hysterical. (If I could only tell you what she said she did with that fast forward button!) Laughter really is key. Plus, I’m painfully aware that others around me and in other parts of the world suffer so greatly, and that it makes my issues seem less difficult to handle. We WILL endure.

Last week I had a moment of fear and weakness. I was talking with my friend John at work about it. This is a guy who has lived through great loss, a tour in Iraq, and more than his share of traumatic events. He said to me, “You’ll be all right. You’re tough.” I said, “Yeah, but I’m afraid I don’t know if I’m THAT tough.” He said, “Yeah, you are. I can tell.” A brief conversation. He probably doesn’t even remember it. But for some reason it replays in my head every day. I AM tough. I CAN do this. I can take care of Mr. Jones, and my girls, and my students, and my house, and it WILL all be over soon. WE WILL ENDURE!

And so will you. Whatever it is in your life that seems insurmountable. YOU can endure it. Find something to laugh about. Find someone to hold you. And in case you’re not lucky enough to have a good friend tell you.... YOU ARE TOUGH. YOU WILL ENDURE!

Sadly, I don’t think I ever will find that fast forward button. So I’ll leave you with a quote that one of my girlfriend’s recently gave us on a plaque. “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
Be well! Be happy! Be strong!

We Can Do it!

My name might not be Rosie, but I can still be rivitting!