Musings On Motherhood

Motherhood is an experience that is virtually impossible (especially for me) to capture through the written word, as the experience is much too powerful and all-encompassing. The days I birthed each of my children, it just blew my mind (and still does) that I had taken part in something so incredibly extraordinary, yet so ordinary that it had been happening since the dawn of time, across so many species. I felt like I had tapped into this ancient universal force.

Now, don't get me wrong--I don't float effortlessly through each day in a flowing white gown and a flower in my hair, showering my children with nothing but patience, love and kindness. Just as Superman periodically became disabled by kryptonite, my flow of motherly love gets clogged by toys strewn about the living room, whiny voices, unfolded laundry, husbandy husbandness...the list goes on. And on.

But--I do have an innate, powerful appreciation for life and all the good that I have that I can only genetically attribute to Harold, my late grandfather. At any and every family gathering, Harold would weep out of joy for all of his family. All the women on that side of the family are the same way. When I was younger I would scoff at the teary-eyedness of my family, but that gene surfaced strongly somewhere in my early adulthood.

There are many children's books that I can't get through without my voice cracking, pausing in an attempt to keep my tears up in my eyes as my children patiently wait in my lap for the next page. I absolutely refuse to read I Love You Forever. Can't do it. Dog Heaven, which the wonderful veterinary oncologists sent us in the mail after we had to put my beloved 4-year old weimaraner to sleep is a definite, emphatic no. Yesterday during morning reading time in Jackson's 1st grade class, Jackson brought over a book for me to read him called Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge, about a young boy and his relationship with a woman who has experienced memory loss. I made it 2/3 of the way through before I was discreetly wiping away tears.

Songs? I've got a ton that do me in: 100 Years to Live by Five For Fighting, Elton John's Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters, James Taylor's Carolina in My Mind, Linda Ronstadt's Goodbye My Friend...

Life in general, but particularly motherhood, is so precious, and difficult, and life-changing. I have a hard time when I think my boys are growing up faster than I'd like, but then I remind myself that my job as a mother is not to have cute little children, but to raise strong, intelligent, productive members of society. Only then does my heart feel a little less tight.

This past weekend as I made the 4 minute drive to the grocery store, I tuned into my favorite radio show, This American Life. The week's theme was The Parent Trap, about parents who unwittingly set traps for their children. I caught the show mid-way through, but sat in my car, riveted, in the Safeway parking lot for twenty minutes as I listened to the story of Lucy, a chimp that a psychologist and his wife had raised from infancy as if she were their human child. As an experiment. This was the '70s, clearly before humans had the decency to introduce ethics into experimentation. The story of this poor child that was caught between two species was heartwrenching. You can listen to the show in its entirety here.

My friend Kami at The Fence wrote a post today about struggling to be the mother she wants to be, and it really resonated with me. She recently had a few wake-up calls that are helping to put things in perspective. I get a quick, slap-in-the-face back to appreciation anytime I think of the Bingham family. In late fall of 2006, I was a mother of 3-year old and a 2-year old. The Binghams had a four-year old daughter and a 2-year old son, and went out downtown for a cup of hot cocoa to celebrate fall one evening. As they crossed the street at the crosswalk, a drunk driver plowed them over, killing the mother and her two children. The unbelieveably terrible details can be read about through my link. The father had a few injuries, but his entire life was gone. In an instant. A nice young family, with their son wearing his superhero cape, out for cocoa? They were US; that could have been us so easily. For whatever reason, I, the mother of three little boys, get to be here now, and Rebecca Bingham and her two beautiful children are not. Dammit, I'm going to appreciate it, because my life can change in an instant and I would hate to look back and think, "Man, I had it so, so good and I wasted all those years bitching and complaining."

In her blog, Kami linked to a Mom-101 video that sums up the motherhood experience so wonderfully, I wanted to share it. I don't know how any mother could watch this with a dry eye.

Table for Two

Poor Valentine's Day.  It kind of got the shaft as far as holidays go, being relegated to chalky conversation hearts and lame packages of Disney-themed cards awkwardly passed out in elementary school classrooms around the country.

Its only saving grace is its association with the second-best Simpsons episode--the one where Ralph Wiggum declares his love for Lisa with a card that says 'I choo-choo choose you'.  This episode is a very close second, behind the one where Homer is prescribed medical marijuana (I don't know how to attach sound clips, but you can find some great ones from this episode here if you are looking to procrastinate working on your taxes). 

 Eight years ago today, I had a dinner date at Sam's apartment (the one with the living room that featured the two non-matching lawn chairs and trusty cardboard box as furniture, where we spent our evenings playing Scrabble).  One of his many talents is making homemade pizza--none of that store-bought crust stuff, but real, thrown-in-the-air crust perfected from his days working at Pizza My Heart in Santa Cruz.  He made two really delicious gourmet pizzas, set everything on the table, and then ran next door to borrow a corkscrew (I know, it's surprising he wouldn't have a corkscrew considering his furniture...).  He came back in to join me at the table and knelt down on the floor.  I thought he dropped his napkin, but instead he asked me to marry him.

Fast forward eight years, and we've got that much love plus three as we sit at the table.  Time is what we don't have, and after a snowy morning spent at the after-hours clinic and pharmacy to treat Kenyon's ear infection, a romantic meal for two (plus an earlier dinner for three) wasn't going to happen.  Late this afternoon, Sam took the boys sledding--I hate to have missed the fun, especially after hearing how Alex laid down on the sled with Kenyon (ear infection and all) riding on top of him, and Sam and Jackson holding hands and standing up while riding down the slope.  We didn't give the kids candy or presents this morning, but I rallied and wanted to mark what this holiday means in our little family unit.

I made a mess in the kitchen and in the hour that my family was gone, I whipped up beef tenderloin medallions with potato risotto and salad, lit candles, set the table with placemats and cloth napkins, and opened a special bottle of wine.  I also made bittersweet molten lava chocolate cakes and homemade cinnamon-coffee ice cream.  Epicurious, I owe you big-time for your fool-proof recipes.



It wasn't a romantic dinner for two, but I am so incredibly thankful that I have these boys in my life to love every day, and told them so (after sending Alex away from the table twice before dinner even started, and threatened that if there was a next time he'd be eating dinner alone upstairs).  After dinner, Jackson told me that he had wanted to do something special for me, so he had folded down our comforter and turned on our heated mattress pad for us.  How cute is that?  Kenyon kept saying Happy Birthday because of the candles, but once in a while threw in a Happy Valentine's Day for good measure.

After the boys went to bed, Sam and I sat at the table and played a game much like we did eight years ago when we were first dating.  Sure, this table is a little more sturdy than Sam's old cardboard box, and I'd like to think our path together is as well.  Valentine's Day, I will never buy into your forced Hallmark card/boxed chocolate/flowers shtick, but you have become a special holiday for me as a reminder of this path that I've chosen with my Sam, and for that I will always look forward to February 14.

Done.

Here's a chemo recap for those of you keeping track of numbers:  Matt was originally scheduled for 12 treatments (6 rounds) of ABVD.  In between his third and fourth treatment, he had his PET scan which showed no evidence of disease and he was officially in remission.  As a result, his local oncologist agreed to shorten his chemo course to 10 treatments. 

Setting aside the fact that the experience of having chemo is miserable, it also does permanent damage to your heart and lungs (and hearts have proven themselves to check out early in our family).  Because people actually survive Hodgkin's Disease, there are many more considerations of quality of life longterm that are starting to be taken into account.  Matt and Mom did quite a bit of looking around and talking to people from the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society as well as his original oncologist at the Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa to see what the most current research protocols advise in this situation.  Current research states that complete remission plus two rounds achieves the goal of ridding the cancer cells from the body while minimizing the longterm effects of the ABVD concoction.

Thus, two days before Christmas, Matt had his final chemo treatment (although he didn't know that at the time).  He had a PET scan late last week to make sure everything was clear (it was!).  His port is being removed tomorrow, and he can say an official good riddance to the shitty second half of 2009.

Yes, he still looks like a cancer patient because of the dearth of hair.  But he feels...fantastic.  One of the common longterm effects of treatment is fatigue, but Matt feels energetic (although I think some of that may have to do with the fact that the typical oppressive Florida heat has given way to pleasant, cooler tempteratures these last couple of weeks). 

Has he changed?  Yes, in a huge way.  Close friends and family will not believe this, but he has not had a single. bowl. of. cereal. since he began treatment back in September.  Matt has been known to artfully mold a towering mound of cereal into a bowl, packing it gently to avoid any precious pieces from falling.  My parents singlehandedly kept Costco in business in the 90s from cereal purchases alone.

What he has been eating will also shock you.  Healthy stuff, thanks to the awesome Vita-Mix and Excalibur Dehydrator (and his awesome wife, Bodia!).  Keep in mind, when I told my brother last spring that Sam and I were thinking of participating in a community supported agriculture program, he scoffed at the idea and called me a dirty hippie.  I am excited for my new and improved brother, although I don't expect him to be purchasing a pair of Birkenstocks anytime soon.  (I highly doubt they come in a size 16 anyway!)

This blog will return to my mundane ramblings about life with my boys.  So, Matt's friends?  It was nice having you here, and you can return to your lives happily ignorant of my comings and goings.

Cancer, don't even try to make your way back into our family again.  In fact, you can stay the hell away from my friends and their children as well.  There's too many good things to focus on in this life, and I don't have the desire to give you one second of my time from here on out.  Good riddance.

Here's To a Good One

Last year, we woke up on New Year's Day and decided to go for a hike to celebrate the new year as a family.  Castlewood Canyon was our destination; the weather was gorgeous and we had a great time, despite the fair amount of complaining from kid #2 about the ice on the ground.

I guess we made a new family tradition by engaging in the 2nd Annual Tunheim Family New Year's Day Hike.  I figure if we do this each year, by the time they are in college it may prevent behavior leading to major hangovers if they have an innate need to be one with nature on a New Year's hike.
. . .

Ok, I'm not really that naive, but it is still a nice family activity.

There is snow on the ground here in town, so there was some concern that we would have quite a bit wherever we were going (read: heightened complaints from son #2).  We chose to venture to Mt. Falcon Park, out near Evergreen on the Castle Trail.  There are ruins from a guy's home built out there in the early 1900s that we wanted to check out, and we figured the two mile roundtrip distance would be a nice balance between covering some ground and keeping whining to a minimum.

There was an awesome fallen tree at the beginning of the hike that the boys climbed, and it seemed like a great place to take a family picture.  Sam deftly nestled the camera between branches in preparation for setting the timer and decided to snap off a branch that was blocking Kenyon's face and ruining his composition.  Bad decision.  The force of Sam's mighty muscles upset the camera's precarious perch, sending it crashing into a branch below and into a deep pile of snow.  Needless to say, that was the end of our camera, and my hopes for a family picture were dashed.  I took a few with my phone, although none capture the awesome views of Red Rocks, the mountains, and the city in the distance.

Jackson and Alex, with their headlamps that Merry gave them for Christmas, were fully prepared for any impromptu spelunking missions they happened upon.

Kenyon was happy to ride in the backpack but did get out for a bit so he could nosh on some snow. (And don't be fooled by this picture--I carried hefty Kenyon half the time, but of course there's no picture documenting it.)

 I love people here.  You'd think not many people would be out and about in nature on the morning of January 1, with 40 degree weather and snow on the ground.  We saw couples with dogs, families, friends, all out hiking or cross country skiing and enjoying the day. 

Handsome Sam with roundy Kenyon :)

2010 marks a new decade.  My last decade was chock-full of law school, getting married, fixing up/selling first house and buying our present house, losing Sam's mom to cancer, and three pregnancies resulting in three kiddos.  Whew!  I'm looking forward to a calmer decade ahead.

 

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like...the Arctic

I grew up in Miami, and although I don't own even a single pair of shorts (that is a subject for another post), I am definitely a tank top, jeans, and flip-flop kinda gal.  I could never survive in, say, Boston or New York because a) I prefer Colorado casual, like being able to wear a nice pair of jeans to a fancy restaurant--I definitely don't have the urban chic style, and b) I could never stand the brutal New England winters.  Denver, however, is a crafty little city that chose the gorgeous Rockies as a backdrop but settled itself neatly in the plains to avoid those unreasonably cold temperatures.  It snows infrequently enough that I am excited each time, exclaiming to the children that it is certainly a hot cocoa day and sitting with a blanket by the window to watch the flakes fall.  When it does snow, it is peaceful and cozy.  We go sledding and build snow forts and do all the appropriate snow activities during the storm and the next morning, and then by that afternoon the snow fades away under the electric blue skies and warm sun.  Aaahhhh, winter in nice, neat little packages.  Adore it. 

You see, I am a prime example of a product of Classic Parenting Rule #346--Deprive your children of something (in this case, seasons, written about previously in the middle of this post) and they will be forever be fixated on that wondrous, elusive thing.  It worked out for the good in my case, because I am filled with glee every three months as the landscape changes around me, opening up new activities and making me excited for what's to come.

I think it is backfiring for Sam and I, because we implemented Classic Parenting Rule #346 with the television.  Our kids don't watch television and only have Friday Night movie nights.  There is also a rare occasion where I am solo for the evening and need something to occupy our little man while I get dinner going, but for the most part we totally deprive our kids of the tv.  They aren't fixated on tv on a day-to-day basis by any means (in fact, it's not on their radars at all), but if we are in a public place or over at a friend's house and a television happens to be on, it is like they are drawn in by an invisible magnetic force, unable to avert their eyes, no matter what is on.  If you had witnessed the sheer joy my boys displayed when I popped in the instructional DVD that came with my super-duper amazing Vita-Mix blender you would have immediately picked up the phone and told a social worker at Child Protective Services to open a new file, stat. 

So, last week it got pretty chilly here--"unseasonably cold", the weather report read.  I was excited--Sam chopped a bunch of wood (free from Craigslist--score!), and we planned for butternut squash soup and other yummy wintry foods for dinner.  I came in the door each afternoon with the kids and immediately got the fire going, and one of them would pipe up saying, "It is definitely a hot cocoa day!"  Yes, I would agree, and made hot cocoa (not the packaged stuff, the real stuff) and made sure they each had 7 mini marshmallows in their cup.  It was f.r.e.e.z.i.n.g outside, homeless shelter workers walking around and trying to get people to come inside kind of freezing.

Did I mention that I adore seasons?  Well, Farmer's Almanac, I know you said this was going to be a harsh winter, but I am a girl from Miami who is living in Denver because, with the lack of humdity and the altitude, 40 degrees and sunny is absolutely lovely and you can put on a fleece when it is snowing and feel perfectly comfortable.  I didn't sign up for this "unseasonably cold" weather that we are now braving Week 2 of (and I capitalized that word because it feels about as a big as an eternity at the moment).  We came home today and I grumbled something about not making hot cocoa every single day before being a mean mom and refusing to make it.  As you can see, Sam braved the roof climb to hang the Christmas lights but only got partway done before the snow started.  Weather, you are sucking the joy out of seasons, so go easy on this deprived Miami girl, ok?

P.S.--One good thing about dealing with "unseasonably cold" weather and living in an old house where the youngest child's room is inexplicably freezing is seeing him in the cute hat he wears to bed...it accentuates his unibrow (sorry Kenyon, that came from me) but also his impossibly long eyelashes.

FREE

Matt is officially in complete remission, which means his PET scan showed no evidence of disease.  Awesome.  It's what we hoped for at the start of all this of course, but to have it happen so early on in treatment feels great and is a huge relief.  The fact that his tumors were knocked out so quickly from ABVD's punches makes them much less likely to return.

While he was scheduled to have 12 treatments (6 rounds), he will most certainly be saying an early farewell to the comfy chemo chair.  The standard oncology formula is Complete Remission + 2 Rounds, to catch any little microscopic buggers hanging out that the PET scan couldn't find.

Not a bad way to start out a Tuesday morning.  Matt is having some ABVD for breakfast as I type, but I'd bet it's a lot easier to stomach with this news!

Catching Up

**Matt update**  I'm sure the vast majority of you know this by now because my Mom has likely put up billboards in most major cities, but Matt's PET scan last week was 'great'.  We won't have specifics until Matt speaks to the doctor (on Tuesday before chemo, probably), but the nurse called and said the PET scan was great and that the doctor wanted to speak to him about altering his course of treatment.  The doctor would only think about altering treatment if the PET scan was clean, so it's fantastic that the tumors responded to the chemo so quickly.  Matt has been wondering about most current research, and how he can ensure that this cancer is completely wiped out while doing as little longterm damage as possible from the chemical cocktail he undergoes every two weeks.  He plans on speaking to the doctor about whether it would be more beneficial to shorten the number of chemo treatments, or doing less chemo and then a light radiation treatment...I'll keep you posted.  But we're all thrilled that things are going so positively.

I haven't posted recently because we've been busier than usual around here, and much of it has been enjoying the glorious Colorado fall weather.  Having grown up in Miami, I didn't fully understand and appreciate what a season was until I moved out here.  And I love it.  Fall in Colorado, as I've seen up close and personal this past month, has everything from bright blue skies to crisp leaves swirling in the air to heavy snowstorms.  Three weeks ago, the Autumn Blaze maples that we planted in the front yard were the most brilliant fiery red--I looked out the window constantly and can't wait until next fall to see them again.  Then, snow.  This is what our street looked like just 3 short days before Halloween:

We had about 14 inches of snow--school canceled, the whole bit.  It was awesome fun--Sam built a snow fort in our front yard and we all had snowball fights with neighbors.  Kenyon, true to (round) form, focused on eating as much snow as he could.  I used the snow as an excuse to make hot cocoa with marshmallows, and we had a fire going the whole time.

After two and a half days of snow falling steadily, the sun came out and worked its magic for all moms who were dreading attempting to fit snowsuits under two vampire costumes and lugging around a toddler while trudging through ice and snow so they could get candy that they don't even eat--namely, this mom.

Thank you, Sun.  By Halloween night, snow was nowhere to be found, and we didn't even need to wear jackets.  I love the fact that snow comes to visit Denver but doesn't stay like a dirty, unwanted houseguest as it does in the midwest and east coast.


I stupidly announced to the boys that we were making our own Halloween costumes this year.  Their initial hesitation vanished upon our entrance to the fabric store, where they were allowed to pick the inner fabric for the vampire cape I would be 'sewing' for them (red spider webby material for Jackson, silver swirly material for Alex).  I use the term 'sewing' loosely, because I have never actually come in direct contact with a sewing machine, nor do I have anything but the most rudimentary knowledge of needles and threads.  The universe took pity upon me and placed a woman in front of me in line at the fabric cutting counter who was also making a vampire outfit for her child, but this was a crafty woman.  She told me exactly how I could sew a cape, and although it would take longer because I was doing it by hand, it seemed doable.  How difficult could it be to make a cape?

Well, it wasn't all that difficult, but it was time-consuming and also did not hold up all that well to even two uses.  The boys were thrilled, which of course was the whole point, and they looked fine as long as you didn't examine the handiwork (or lack thereof).  They are already planning their costume for next year, which means I need to enroll in a sewing class, and fast.

Kenyon was an owl for Halloween, because I wanted to reuse an amazing costume that my mom made for Jackson when he was just about the same age.  Amazingly, we were able to stuff his body into teeny brown tights (belly hanging over unfettered, of course).  I couldn't manage to get a good picture of Kenyon in costume for comparison, but here are the two brothers in costume, five years apart:

Too bad Alex wasn't an owl when he was that age. 

I blinked and five years have gone by; how is that possible?