Gratitude for Healthy Kids

It's been an emotional week here at Mellow Lane.  I'll start by saying the everything is just fine, in fact, better than fine.  Better because I am more grateful for my life than usual.

Almost a month ago, while we were on vacation, Juliette and Zachary were sharing a bed.  Juliette and Zachary both like to be scratched when they are sleepy and somehow Juliette convinced Zachary to scratch her back and her legs.  (This is not surprising as Juliette can convince just about anyone to do just about anything.  Even her preschool teacher, when asked by a friend how she can stay strong with all those strong-willed preschoolers, said, "Oh I never have trouble saying no to them at all.  Except Juliette.  If Juliette asks for the doll house, I'll get it down.  If she wants the dress up clothes, they're hers.  For some reason I just can't no to her!"  This is not good.)  Anyway, she convinced Zachary to scratch her legs and in doing so, he found a lump on the back of her right knee.  Being a sensitive middle child (totally unlike his mother.  cough.  cough.), Zachary freaked out.  He came running out of the bedroom, Juliette trailing absently and smiley behind him.  We looked and felt the back of her leg, and indeed there was a lump behind her leg.  We assured Zachary that it was probably nothing, but that we would check with our friend, who is a pediatric radiologist when we got home.  This appeased him and both kids went to bed.  (Notice I said appeased "him" -- Juliette was totally unfazed.)

A few days later, we saw Dr. Friend, who looked at and felt the back of Juliette's knee.  She thought it was probably nothing, probably just a blah de blah or a blah de blah.  (It all went over my head.  On purpose.  I knew if I knew something specific I'd be on WebMD, which is the devil.)  She told us not to worry, but to keep an eye on it just in case.  This made us (and Zachary) feel better.

Then last week, Juliette was walking in front of me and, all of a sudden, her lump looked much bigger.  (It's about the size of half a ping pong ball for reference.)  I called Dr. Friend right away and we went to her house later that afternoon.  She looked and poked and felt and still thought it was probably still just a blah de blah but since she is someone who looks at films and not at feeling actual kids, she couldn't be sure.  She did agree that the lump was bigger.  She suggested that we go to see her friend at Children's Hospital who could tell us definitively what the lump is.  "Don't freak out when you hear what kind of doctor he is.  He's the lump guy.  He's the very best and he'll know what it is."  The lump guy is a pediatric orthopedic oncologist.

You don't really want to hear or read or use the word "oncologist" when you're talking about your four year old.  You just don't.  It also doesn't make you feel too much better when the lump guy's office is able to squeeze you into a completely full schedule "for something like that."  (Though I felt so grateful that I would have to wait less than a week to see him in the clinic, which is close to our home - and not at the hospital - on his next day there.)  And so we went on with our lives, tried not to think about it and waited patiently until it was the day for our appointment.  My mom was able to clear her afternoon to watch Annalise and Zachary, pick them up and drop them off at their various activities, so just Juliette and I made the trek to the doctor.  It was afternoon and so Juliette, who no longer naps, was pretty sleepy in the car, and therefore quiet.  (She's never quiet.)  Unfortunately this gave me time to think.  (I rarely have time to think.  Except when I'm falling asleep.  I don't sleep too well.)  And as much as I tried not to let it happen, my mind "went there."  I thought about what it would mean to have a kid with cancer.  I thought about how our lives would change, and everything we would do to fight.  I thought about how tough my little girl already is and how tough she would have to be.  I even thought about losing her.  And then I decided I had to stop thinking.  I cranked up the VBS tunes (and if you know how much I dislike over-produced children singing, then you can only imagine how much I can't stand listening to the VBS CD).  Fortunately it perked Juliette up and we sang along, badly and loudly, while she attempted to remember the "moves" in her carseat.  Much better than thinking.

We arrived at the clinic, and were greeted so warmly and cheerfully in a bright, open waiting room, well stocked with blocks and nice books.  (Like really nice books, like the kind you would actually buy or check out at the library or want to read.  Not like the usual torn, ragged, chewed crap books that you'd never even look at in normal life, but you will read over and over out of desperation, kicking yourself for neglecting to bring books from home, that you usually see in waiting rooms.)  We read about Piggie and Elephant and holes which are to dig and waited our turn.  I looked around at the other parents and children, some playing happily, some sitting quietly with their parents, one infant, and one preschooler with a prosthetic leg screaming "I hate this leg!"and wondered if I would be back in this waiting room another time; if I would become a regular, if I would meet other parents waiting anxiously like I was, if this would become another home for us.

It was our turn and a lovely nurse led us to our room, asked questions, looked and took notes.  She was followed soon after by the lump guy's PA (also lovely), who asked more questions.  She lovingly helped Juliette roll over onto her stomach on the table and gave her a pen for her to draw on the paper covering the table.  She felt her leg, asked more questions and attempted to shine a light at Juliette's lump.  Apparently there isn't much use for the light in the orthopedic rooms and the light was out.  She led us to another room where we met the lump guy.  Equally lovely, he let Juliette get comfortable before he poked at her lump also.  She was a little nervous, so she laid on my chest while he shown the light all the way through the lump, its red light going all the way through, revealing that the lump was indeed the blah de blah which Dr. Friend had suspected all along... a Baker's cyst.  The light will shine all the way through only liquid or air and since there is no air in this part of the body, the lump is indeed liquid.  A Baker's cyst in children is totally benign and usually not painful at all.  There is absolutely nothing that needs to be done.  Juliette is totally fine and the cyst will eventually just go away on its own.  He said that some day we will look down and just realize that it is gone.  We spent much of the appointment remarking on how fabulous Juliette's big brother was to have found the cyst in the first place.  What a great little kid.

So my baby is going to be fine.  She is totally, totally fine.  She is the same happy and healthy girl that she was last week and last month and last year.

I am grateful, so grateful I don't even know what to do or say to express just how grateful I feel.  Honestly the whole episode has been an exercise in gratitude: gratitude for a not-even-yet eight year old big brother who found the lump to begin with; gratitude for a dear friend who is willing to look at my daughter (and the daughters and sons of all our friends because she is the kind of friend who doesn't mind looking at the rash, hurt wrist, etc.); gratitude that she has a friend who is a leader in the field; gratitude for a staff fitting us in when they could have told us to wait a month and gratitude for a mom who can watch my other kids so I can focus on the one who needed the attention at that time.  Mostly I am grateful for my beautiful family, with all our ups and downs, nooks and crannies, temper tantrums and doldrums and giggles and tickle tortures and hugs and kisses.  And scratches.  I'm grateful for scratches.

Smelling the Roses

I have been generally ignoring all of my responsibilities lately, including writing in my blog. I had surgery a few weeks ago and the recovery from that has largely taken over my life. It was supposed to be a pretty simple surgery, but of course not for me! I ended up losing a lot of blood, having really low blood pressure and extremely low hemoglobin levels, a bad reaction to the anesthesia and two blood transfusions to try to remedy it all! It was more than I signed up for, and certainly it worried quite a few people. (But not me -- I was still kind of high from the anesthesia and Vicatin.) This week I am feeling so much better and was even able to walk Annalise to school today. That alone felt like a major accomplishment!

The whole ordeal has been very eye-opening and humbling for me. For the first time in my life, I really, really needed to depend on other people. And not just Jason and my mom, but really the whole village. My mom, of course, was a saint, and kept the kids for the whole time I was in the hospital and then the kids and me the following week when Jason had to go out of town. And she whipped that baby (who was still nursing the day before the surgery!!) into shape! She now sleeps on her own, in her crib, with little or no crying or drama. It's still unreal for us! (We keep waiting for the other shoe to drop!) Jason was exhausted going back and forth between the kids and me and taking care of all the odds and ends that are normally my responsibility. And then there were all the friends and neighbors who pitched in. Different people brought the kids home from school, kept them for playdates, took them to practices. People sent flowers, brought us meals, brought down our garbage cans, etc. etc. My brother came down from San Francisco for a surprise visit. Yesterday my friend Sarah and my mom paid to have our house cleaned top to bottom and inside out! If you've been here before you seriously wouldn't recognize the place! It's like a whole other family lives here! People have been amazing. And I've learned that people want to help and it's OK to accept help. It's been a good lesson for me.

At the same time, the mother of one of Annalise's good friends just got diagnosed with leukemia. It's been really devastating news, though she and her family have been incredibly strong and resilient. But that, too, has reminded me how much I have to be grateful for. Our lives are short and fragile. Our family and friendships are so important. We should appreciate it all! I will be stopping to smell the roses!

Ungrateful

Yesterday was one of those days that just grrrr!!!!! It was bad. I know I just wrote a post about keeping perspective, but sometimes you have to bitch a little bit, too. Anyway, we have ants, the water heater isn't heating water, we have tons of bills to pay and not tons of money with which to pay them. I had a million things to do AND my mom (babysitter/lifesaver/person I complain to) left today for three weeks. Anyway, it started off as one of those days. And I was wearing my sweatpants, which actually are Jenn's hand-me-down yoga pants from when she was pregnant and just post-pregnant. And for those of you who saw me every day last year, you know I wore them every other day last year. Now a few more things actually fit in my wardrobe, so I am trying to disguise myself as an adult. Today I am actually wearing a skirt (a nice one that has to be ironed). But yesterday it was sweats and you know how that doesn't really help the whole attitude. So I was already on the edge.

So after we ran a bunch of errands that required Zachary and Juliette to be in the car for almost two hours, we had to pick Annalise up from school, zip over to South Pasadena to buy Annalise both new ballet and tap shoes and then get back to La Canada in time for her dance lesson. (Basically this meant almost another hour in the car for the little ones who, miraculously, weren't complaining at all.) We were half way to the shoe store when I told Annalise that we probably would not have enough time to go home and change before class, so she would just have to wear her dress and leggings that she wore to school. She proceeded to have an enormous fit (with tears) and would not let it go. So of course, I overreacted as well, turned the car around, yelled about how ungrateful she was, drove home, screamed at her to change her clothes, changed Juliette's diaper, threw everyone back in the car, yelled some more, got the shoes (Thankfully I had my checkbook since in all the yelling I had left my wallet at home.), and took her to dance class fifteen minutes late.

I was so upset I didn't know what to do. Jason said he was surprised I had taken her to the class at all and that I had bought the shoes, too. Truthfully, I wouldn't have done either except that I had already paid for the class AND given away her too small shoes.

Sometimes I get so frustrated with my children. I feel like I've done a good job at teaching them to be grateful for what they have. And then they turn around and have this real sense of entitlement. Where does that come from? Do I give them too much? Do I need to start cutting back on things? I really don't feel like I have spoiled them, but maybe I'm just naive. Maybe I have. Is it just an age thing? Are all seven year olds self centered? Do they all really only care about themselves? Annalise has always done a great job of showing empathy. When someone is hurt, she's great at taking care of them. When they're feelings are hurt, she will be the one who plays with them. But she didn't seem to show any care at all that her brother and sister were being carted all around town. She wanted her shoes. She wanted her ballet outfit and she didn't care who had to suffer in the meantime. I don't know what to do to teach them better that they can't always have everything they want and they can't always have things when they want them. I hope these lessons will come with age. I didn't handle the situation well yesterday, but I hope I don't have to handle the same kind of situation too much in the future either. Maybe next time I'll have a cooler head. Maybe nest time the kids will be a little more grateful. We'll see.

Perspective

One of the things that I struggle with as a mother and as a person in general is keeping things in perspective. I really need to make a conscious effort to take a step back and be grateful for what I have. Somehow, like many of us, this concept does not always come naturally to me. You would think that with all that has happened this past year with the economy, I would have more perspective on our personal finance situation. Yes, our mortgage is outrageous and we struggle to make ends meet. But we live in a great house with some of the best schools in the state. And my husband still has a job. I am SO grateful for that. You would think that with the horrible car crash that happened in our town this past year, I would be more conscious every time I got in the car. You'd think I would slow down; chill out; be a few minutes late. What's really THAT important that five minutes late is worth getting into a car accident? You would think that with the horrible fires that ripped through our mountains and STILL are not fully contained that I would be more grateful for our house still being here. Never mind the stained carpeting and the peeling wallpaper. Never mind that weird bump that has popped up on our kitchen floor (what IS that?). Never mind the often-failing water heater. You would think that the fact that I have three healthy and thriving kids would be enough. Yes, they sometimes yell or sass or refuse to follow directions. They sometimes fight with one another and drive me up a wall. But they also give great hugs and kisses, tell incredible stories and make us constantly laugh.

Yesterday I was having one of those days. You know the days I'm talking about. Nobody slept that well. I've overextended myself with the volunteer stuff and it seemed like everything had to be done by yesterday. I was annoyed with the people who don't volunteer at all and then ask for accommodations for their schedules and their lives, forgetting that we are not their employees and don't need to volunteer to help out their children. We do it anyway. My kids were grouchy; my husband was grouchy; I was grouchy. Yesterday morning, late as usual, I turned onto the main street off our little lane behind a driver with a "Drive 25" bumper sticker. "Please do," I thought. "You're only going 19!" Annoyed, I followed him all the way onto the freeway, where he proceeded to drive a speedy 45. Getting off at the next offramp, coming down the crest, out of the mountains, were five fire trucks. All five were from towns I had never heard of, far away from our little town. All five were packed full of weary firefighters, dusty and dirty. All five were full of men who had helped to save our town.

I took a deep breath, waved a wave of gratitude and slowly turned into the intersection. Perspective, Christa, perspective.

Fires, Part Two

The last time I sat down to write, there was a little forest fire brewing up in the mountains above our home. It was only 5% contained, but it remained at less than 25 acres for over a day. It was scary, but not a full scale emergency. Since then, the fire has grown to be the largest in the history of Los Angeles County. Thousands and thousands of homes have been threatened and thousands and thousands of acres have been burned. Over 60 homes have been lost and two firefighters have lost their lives. It is tragic and sad and at the same time miraculous.

Our family had planned a camping trip north of Santa Barbara for last weekend long before the fires started. After much debate about going, our stuff, me being sick, etc. etc., we decided to go. We took one box of valuables (that really was everything that was important) over to my parent's and hit the road. As we drove away from town on the 2 freeway, I turned around to watch the flames and smoke rise up out of our little town, nervous that it wouldn't look the same when we returned. It turned out that being away was the best thing for us. We had a a great time at the beach, hung out with friends and, though we checked updates often on Jason's Blackberry, we didn't have to witness the terror that was going on at home. Back at home, my dad watched in horror, from his house, a fire that he thought would surely take out our neighborhood. Watching that scene now on time lapse photography, it is truly amazing that our house is still standing (as is every other house in our neighborhood!).

After the weekend, the threat to our homes had largely past, but the threat to our lungs had not. With a new baby and a four year old with asthma, we decided to stay at a hotel in Oxnard for a couple days. My mom came up and met us so Jason could go back to work. We relaxed (some), checked Facebook constantly for updates, and waited to hear about school cancellations. The kids played in the pool, jumped in the ocean waves and directed us as we pedalled a surry with the fringe on top (a funny picture with Juliette bobbing up and down in the Bjorn). It was a great extra two days of summer.

We arrived home to heat and oppressive smoke, though apparently much improved from the weekend. Annalise started school the next day and it was back to reality. But our town has been changed. Once again, a tragedy (This is the second tragedy in five months for us here -- the first being a semi truck crashing into the town bookstore, killing two people in the process.) has brought this town together. Everywhere you go, you see car windows reading "Thank you firefighters!" or "LCF Loves Firefighters." Posters and signs hang on stores and in front of people's houses. Restaurants and hair salons are offering free services to the firefighters. Business owners and regular people have been bringing food and drinks to the men and women fighting to save our town. One elementary school girl held a fund raiser (already) for the families of the two men who died. Annalise's school principal (who was herself evacuated), opted to stay in the unairconditioned high school gym evacuation center instead of a hotel or someone's guest house, so that she could bring comfort to the students who were also evacuated. We are now trying to plan a town party to honor our firefighters.

One of the firefighters from Northern California said that this was the nicest they've ever been treated, and what a great place to live this must be. It is, but it is today only because of the people who risked their lives to save our town. After touring some of the damage the other day, I was amazed. The fire lines run right up against the backyards at the end of every street in town. Literally inches from people's properties, the fires were stopped. Amazing. Not a single home in La Canada was burned. (Even my friend's in the mountains whose house was surrounded by flames somehow was saved.) These incredible people have done unbelievable things. We are truly blessed.

A Sensitive Guy

Sometimes you have doubts about some of the activities and stuff that you sign your kids up for. Sometimes you wonder if it's worth it to pay $18 a class for a gym class or if it's worth it to drive all the way to Burbank for swim lessons. Sometimes the answer is no. It's not worth it. But sometimes you have to try and take a chance. Sometimes there are real successes. This morning, Zachary did his second day at "Gym Camp" at our local MyGym, where he has been taking classes since before he was 18 months old. He LOVES MyGym. He loves to run around and climb and go on the trampoline and bars, ride on "Space Flight" and play in the ball pit. And he loves his instructors, too. He listens to them, follows their direction and has fun with them. Today was one instructor's last day. Chrystal is moving to another gym. Zachary is so sad to say goodbye to her. All morning he talked about how he wanted to see her and when he did, he gave her a huge hug. She picked him up and he rested his head on her shoulder for what seemed like a century. When we left he told her, "I'm going to miss you when I go camping!" (It is all about him still, after all.) And then he told me, "I'm going to miss Chrystal because I love her."

You never know what will work for what kid. You don't know who will make a connection with your kid, who will bring out the best in him or her. But when it happens, it feels really good. It feels wonderful to know that your kid loves somebody and that somebody loves them back. Parents can't do everything for their kids. It takes a whole team. How lucky I am that we have had such a great team.

So good! So good! So good!

Summer Sundays in La Canada mean music in the park. It's one of my favorite things about living in a small town. Half the town turns out, brings a picnic dinner. The kids run around and dance, do cartwheels and play on the playground. There are tons of dogs, but hardly any barking. It's really quite lovely. Last night featured "Hot August Nights," a Neil Diamond tribute band. We arrived before the band even started and already the park was packed. (Apparently "Neil" brought in the biggest crowd of the summer.) Neil's biggest fan was upfront dancing her little heart out in gray sweats from the first chord. At a certain point, a huge crowd formed in front of the stage (read gazebo). It was a mosh pit La Canada style: Neil Diamond music, a glass of wine in one hand, a child on the other hip and, as my friend Debbie added, a Coach bag back on the blanket. But, as the Evans family joined in for "Sweet Caroline," we had, "the most fun EVER!" as Annalise exclaimed. We even had our own little circle going with Debbie's family for screaming, "So good! So good! So good!" It was a lot of fist-pumping, hip-shaking good times. We may have shot Juliette's hearing, but wow did that kid have fun! It was a great reminder that life really is "So good!"