Today is the one year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. This is actually a big day for me. It’s the anniversary of the day my life was turned inside out, and it has put me on a wild emotional roller coaster ride. Thinking about this cancerversary has eaten up all my energy and focus lately – right in the middle of midterms for my school and due dates for my other writing projects, as well as finals for daddy’s school, and his preparation for teaching classes next quarter, and all the other urgencies and emergencies we tackle day after day. Here we are less than two weeks away from your second birthday, and I’m just now getting around to writing this letter for your 23rd month. I haven’t even started planning your birthday party.
Don’t go thinking you are being neglected. You are by far the best part of my day – the one I will drop everything for, no matter what.
But it’s important to know that there are times when life is like this. There are times when everything seems to be coming at you from all different directions, right while you’re dealing with an emotionally heavy load, and you just can’t seem to get anything done. Forget everything, it’s hard to accomplish even one thing. It’s hard to focus; when you react to one urgency, 3 more show up right away from other arenas. You bounce from crisis to crisis, putting out fires without ever touching those all important items on your to do list…
Yup, everybody has days like that. It’s part of the human condition.
That is the most important thing to know about this situation. That when you are overwhelmed like this, you are not alone. Everyone else has been there, they know what it feels like. The details may differ, but the everything-all-at-once-ness of it is universal.
Lately, you’ve taken to holding your little hand up, palm out, and telling me to “Stop” when things aren’t going quite the way you think they should. I’m not quite sure where you got that from, it’s not something that I do, but that idea might be right where you need to start in order to get through a situation like this. Well, without the hand gesture. Most grownups don’t respond very well to that particular gesture. But take a minute. Stop everything. You might even need to tell people that unless someone is bleeding or on fire, you need 5, or 10, or 50 uninterrupted minutes to sort things out. Lock yourself in a closet if you have to, and take some time for yourself.
Taking a long walk is also a great option, if you’re in a place where you can do that. An outdoors walk is best. Yoga is also a great option for releasing nervous energy and helping you regain focus.
Then once you’ve expended a good bit of that nervous energy, come back and pull out a notepad and start writing. Write whatever. Anything and everything that comes into your head. Just dump it all. Let it all out. I call this the brain dump. I got the idea from the Artist’s Way, where you start each day with writing time. The idea is that all these little stressful bits and pieces of everything that you’re carrying around with you are keeping you from connecting with your creativity. While I don’t necessarily do pages every day in the morning, I do agree with the general idea. I find that all that crap floating around in my brain gets in the way of my productivity as well. So just empty your brain onto the page. Shred the pages when you’re done if you like, this is for you and no one else. You’re just clearing your head of all the noise and static.
Now you can start writing your to do list and prioritizing items. This whole process could be done in half an hour or less, but would likely be more effective if you invested a little more time.
Of course this wont make all those emergencies go away. But it will help you dodge, parry, duck, or deal with all the crap that comes flying at you.
I went through that process myself today, and as a result, I’ve decided that your birthday party is not going to happen in March. And since I have a conference and finals in April, it might even be later. I suppose we could just cancel the party altogether, but I do love getting all our friends and family together, and it doesn’t happen very often. I have also been looking forward to using your birthday party as an opportunity to say thank you to all the people who have been so supportive of us through this entire cancer ordeal (and I can’t bear the thought of missing one of your birthday parties). I still don’t know what I’m going to do as far as that is concerned. I just know I’m not going to put the time and energy into a party for this month.
I have already started rounding up and just telling people you are two years old. There’s a part of me that resists this still, but you are behaving like a two year old. Yes, the temper tantrums, and the back arching, and the constant testing of boundaries, but also a more sophisticated sense of humor, you can count to ten, know all of the letters, and draw these amazing little smiley faces.
We’ve had a rough, and very busy month. You even had your first Emergency Room visit with a significant fever and cold. But we got through it all, and we had a lot of laughs, too.
You bring so much joy to our lives. I’ve had a very difficult year, but there has not been one day since you were born where you did not brighten and improve my day.
You are starting to learn the power of manners, and the call and response of some of our social conventions. You’ve had Thank You down for a little while now, and you are getting so much better with Please. It’s so cute when you say please, you clasp your hands together and look up at me with those big, earnest eyes. Oh, I’m such a sucker for that look. But the one that really cracks me up these days is your discovery of the bless you response to a sneeze. I can tell when you’re going to do this, because you smirk and get a twinkle in your eye first, and then “ah… ah… choo!” you fake sneeze to see if you can get someone to say Bless You. You especially love doing this in elevators.
You are a very compassionate little girl. You’ve latched on to the word OK, and it holds a great deal of meaning for you. If I cough, or trip, or make any kind of an owie type of sound (my official line is that I don’t curse in front of you, even if I stub my toe) you ask me if I’m OK. “K? K? K? Mama, K?” You will keep asking until I say “Yes, I’m OK.” And then you give me the biggest relieved smile. Of course you also expect me to ask you if you’re OK if you stumble, or choke on your milk. Not that I wouldn’t anyway.
This carries over on the playground, too. If another child is crying, you’re right up in his face asking if he’s OK. But these poor kids don’t understand what you’re asking them. The other day you dropped your babydoll, Molly, and then you got down on your knees, bent down and kissed her, and asked her if she was OK. She didn’t answer, either. “K? K? K, baby?” Oh, my heart.
Grandma introduced you to Cheetos
You are so genuine; you’re not consumed with what others think of you. I hope you can hold on to that attitude. It can be really tempting to get caught up in the opinions of other people, and even put on an act to pretend to be the person you think they want you to be. I’ve done that myself on occasion, and I don’t recommend it. That approach leads you away from happiness, not towards it. Being true to yourself is the big part of being happy.
Today’s focus was photographing a loved one doing ‘what they do’ – in my case, that was Gem completely in awe of everything she discovers.
Today’s challenge was using natural light, and capturing the catchlights (the little bits of reflected light) in your subject’s eyes. Of course, my challenge was the same challenge I have every day – keeping up with Gem enough to capture her face. I’ve got hard drives full of photos of the sides and back of her head. The girl does not have time sit for portraits, she’s got some exploring to do.
Oooh! There’s her face. Of course it’s backlit…
Then she was done. Just like that. No more discovering, she wanted a hug. I held the camera out at arms length to grab a shot of that hug, and finally caught the ever-so-faint catchlights in her eyes.
No, the house piper is not playing tonight; it’s been a long time since Aaron has had time (and a decent location) to do any serious practicing on his pipes.
We’ve been so busy lately, we completely forgot about Burns Night, and didn’t make any plans. But in honor of Robbie Burns birthday, I’ll leave you with a couple verses of his most well known song. The one that every one sings along with, but few actually know the words – or even what they mean. I’ve been told (by a very drunk man with a very thick accent, so I think this is what he meant) that this song is a toast to old times and old friends. Auld Lang Syne meaning “in the days of old,” or “in days gone by,” or even “once upon a time.”
Here’s to old friends, and the good old days.
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne
CHORUS: For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
and surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d i’ the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.
CHORUS
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.
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