Hoping For Good Things

  My mom goes to the drs tomorrow for her final consult with the radiation expert and the chemotherapy dr. They originally wanted her to start her chemotherapy pill and the radiation treatments last month, but she asked for more time to heal from her surgery/hospital experience and to get her anxiety/depression under control. I'm not sure her anxiety/depression is under control yet, but I'm happy to report that she's feeling a lot better than she has in a long time. That being said, she's very anxious about tomorrow and what may happen. I'm trying to give her the space she needs so I won't hear anything for the next few days... but I'm hoping for a good outcome, one that she will be at peace with, tomorrow.

  In other Mom news, their English Bulldog, Buster, had to be put to sleep on Friday. A few months ago, he had been diagnosed with liver tumors (Ironic, eh? Mom has cancer near her liver; Buster has tumors in his liver.) and Mom and Tony decided to just let him live out the remainder of his days at home. They had an option to take him to a local university for an experimental treatment, but that would cost a few thousand dollars and success was not guaranteed. Plus, Buster was already twelve/thirteen years old (The average lifespan of an English Bulldog is about 8-10 years.) and had lived a pretty awesome life. It's a sad thing. He was one of the few dogs I could tolerate and I know my step-dad absolutely adored that dog. The memory of Buster as a wrinkly little puppy has been playing across my mind this weekend. He was soo adorable and such a pain in the ass because he was one feisty little pup. He would jump up and latch onto my mom's bathrobe with his teeth while she would try to walk around the house, getting ready for work. You could just hear that little pup growling as he was dragged up and down the hall. He loved kids though and always wanted to be around them, playing with them. So much so that when the neighbor kids would come over to swim, he would have to wear a special doggy life-vest because he had been known to jump in after the kids and then sink to the bottom of the pool. We thought he was rather dumb until Sophie (An English Bulldog sired by Buster) came along and we realized Buster was rather smart... Anyway, Buster, you snorted like a pig, were stinky, drooled a lot, and would have asthma attacks when too excited, but you were loyal, loving, and patient when the kids used you as a pillow and whatever else they could think of. Thank you for all the laughter and the opportunity to get to know an English Bulldog and fall in love with the breed.

  I am also hoping for good things for Phoenix tomorrow. He had a rough day in preschool on Friday. Apparently, he burst into tears off and on throughout the three hours of school. It took me all day to finally get him to tell me what the deal was. Long story short, he told me he thought the teacher was mad at him because he couldn't put his jacket on and he couldn't write his name. So today, we worked on the letter of this upcoming week ("I") as well as a few other letters (B, H, L, T and P). I worked hard to get him excited about learning how to write (Okay, I bribed him with candy) and am hoping he goes to school full of confidence and just knocks those I's out of the park this week. It broke my heart a little to see him so sad and I vowed to work with him every day so that he wouldn't be the last one in his little class to learn how to write his letters.

Learning to Be Still

 There are days when I think "My baby isn't a baby anymore". And then there are days when he wakes up, cranky and grumpy from either too much or too little of a nap. Mad at the world, he lies on the couch and whines/yells about trivial things until I stop what I'm doing, sit down next to him and pull him on to my lap. Nowadays, it takes a little bit to re-arrange limbs and to fit him in my lap, but we cuddle up and he leans his head on my chest, his hand finds my hair, and we both breathe a deep sigh and sit in stillness for a while. I bend my head until my nose brushes his hair, take deep breaths (catching faint whiffs of baby shampoo and, sometimes, sweaty boy) and feel as though my world has stopped for just a few wonderful moments. I stop thinking about what I was doing, what needs doing, and what is not getting done.. and all I think is "This is exactly where I'm supposed to be". We can sit for five minutes or, sometimes, forty-five minutes but it doesn't matter. Each minute is precious and more than worthy of my time. He may not be a baby anymore, but to still be able to give him love and reassurance that all is right in his world.. Well, that's what I'm here for.