A Lady and Her Prince

A year ago today, a dear friend and his wife (well, I say friends but really they are family to us) heard the word no one ever wants to hear.

Cancer.

The prognosis was not good.  Stage Four.
 
I remember exactly where I was when I found out.  I remember where I stood when we talked on the phone the next day.  I remember not wanting to call.  To give them time.  They were so far away.  But I remember just needing to hear their voices.  I remember trying to be strong on the phone but knowing damn well that I was anything but at that moment.  I remember when we told our girls.  Oh, God.  That was one of the worst moments of my life.

[I'm sorry.  Say that again?  This can't be right.  You must be mistaken.  This isn't happening.]

The long and the short of it is that he is, by nothing short of a miracle (if you ask me) cancer free today.  And stronger than you and I will ever be.

[I'm sorry.  Say that again?  This can't be right.  You must be mistaken.  This isn't happening.]

The thing is, there was quite simply no. way. he was going to let cancer win.  And it didn't. 

I don't mean any disrespect to anyone.  (Some that I know and love now as I sit and type are fighting the battle of their lives).

They are just as strong as he.  They pray just as hard as he.  They think positive thoughts just as much as he.  They should win too.

Who can ever even begin to understand why some people suffer and others don't?
Who can ever even begin to understand why horrible things happen to great people?
Who can ever even being to understand why some people "win" and others don't?

We never will understand.

But I do understand this.

If ever in a situation like this, I will never give up.  I will never let the people around me give up.  I've seen things that I never thought possible, become possible.

When my mom was going through her whole ordeal a little over a year ago (remember when she couldn't walk...yah, crazy, huh?) Well, not walking, for her, was simply not. an. option. She never gave up.  If she had given up, it's likely that she wouldn't have allowed herself to be given the amazing gift of walking again. But she didn't.  And she did.  And she is.

And so is he.  He, like her, is proof of what can happen when you don't give up.

It doesn't always happen.  The good guy doesn't always win.  But at least in the end, if you don't give up, you can say that you gave it all you could. 

I love this man with all my heart.  I love his wife to the moon and back.

They are a Lady and her Prince.  And I love them both with every breath I take. 
 

Patty and Nancy

I am the first person (and truly I mean that) to say that our children are very easy children to raise. I have never, not ever for a moment, taken this for granted.  Somehow, the planets aligned (or my mother's prayers were answered) and we've been given an easy parenting road.  I know that we are only twelve years in and things may change in a millisecond but until then, just follow my lead.

They are easy going, flexible, polite, respectful, well-mannered, funny, smart, kind, talented, courteous and down-right nice kids.

However, they are driving me effing crazy.

The thing is, right now, they are each displaying the two things about myself that I dislike the most.  At the same time. 

Sweet Baby Jesus, I can't take it.

If you ask me, I only become Miss Passive Aggressive Patty (aka Hannah) with my poor husband.  He's been dealing with it for decades. I think he's resigned himself to the fact that I will not tell him when something is bothering me. Instead, I will let it stew and soak and will not be happy until I allow every. single. move. he. makes. to bother me and bring it back to whatever is at the core of my issue.  He loves when I do that.  Just ask him. 

And I really don't think that I am Do It My Way or No Way Nancy (aka Maddie) anymore.  I used to be as a kid - just ask Amy about the Snoopy umbrella...I was a disaster.  I realized that I had to stop being the boss of life and that things would be okay if someone else called the shots.  I became so okay with it that I now (unfortunately) don't like to make any decisions about anything and would rather let others do it around me.  At times, this can be equally disastrous (minus the Snoopy umbrella).  It's difficult being me.  ;)

Anyway, the long and the short of it is, if you see me wandering down Main Street, it's because I have very little patience (and by that I mean no patience) when these two gorgy girls of mine don't get along.  It may only last for a moment while other families deal with similar behavior like this for hours on end.  Every day. 

Well, I don't care how much others have to deal with it.  I only care about how much I have to deal with it.  'Cuzitsallaboutme, remember?

Three Words

Yesterday, G and I were sitting happy hour at The Beach Bar (Don't hate on us too much.We'll be home soon...)

Anyway, at the bar were those "conversation starter" cards.  Now clearly, neither one of us necessarily needs help in that department (unless I'm "small talking" at a party but we've already covered this topic at length) but he grabbed the cards and started asking me questions.  It was fun.

"What do you most love about your hometown?"
"If you could be sure that you would not be harmed in any way, which would you rather do - skydive or dive with sharks?"
"If you could meet anyone, past, present or future, who would you meet?"
"What three words do you think your family would use to describe you?"

Wait - what?  Say that again?

I never thought about it.  What WOULD they say?  What would anybody say?  I THINK I know what they would say?  Or am I thinking of what I WANT them to say?

I'm surely not hinting at folks to describe me in three words now (or even any time later) - it just made me think.  (And I've had a lot of time this here week to just think.  It's been lovely.  Really lovely).

But truly - when it comes right down to it - we really have NO IDEA what other people REALLY think of us.  That's kind of zonky.

What if how I think others perceive me is COMPLETELY different than how they really DO perceive me?  What if I think I'm HYSTERICAL and everyone else can only tolerate me in small doses (with lots of wine nearby).   What if I think that folks are thrilled to see me when, in reality, they try to turn and walk in the other direction all stealth-like, hoping that I won't see them.  What if I think my students love me and can't imagine their childhood without me when in actual fact, they wish that they took up soccer instead?

Damn.

 

15 West Central Street, THE BLACK BOX

This weekend, I saw what can happen when you don't let go of a dream.  No matter what.

This weekend, I saw a community doing what was needed to git 'er done. No matter what.

This weekend, I saw something really cool happen in our town.

And it was good. Real, real good.

"Do"

We just finished up our second week of classes.

I teach a lot of toddlers and, for many of them, my class is the first time that little kiddos attempt to be in a class without their mom or dad. Scary stuff.  (Because I'm wicked scary, I know.)

Today I was teaching a class with four little cutie patootie boys.  (I love our classes because they are, by design, so small and help us really get to know our students).  Two of them were totally fine with the big ol' meany teacher in the room.  The other two had their doubts.  Clearly.

The entire class was all about helping everyone feel comfy cozy and happy in our new space together. 

I was introducing "do" (blue) to them. We were all on our bellies playing with "do" blocks, building "do" towers, playing "do" leapfrog", driving "do" race cars.

Little by little, the sad, unsure, hesitant faces started to smile, sing and laugh. 

And a few minutes in to the "do" extravaganza, it occurred to me.

I. have. the best. job. ever.

Not Quite Fun in the Sun

We spent a LOT of time at the beach (mostly Horseneck Beach) our junior and senior years of high school.  That's funny, considering how self-conscious we were of how we looked - all the time - but especially in bathing suits.

I remember one day in particular during our junior year.  We were going to the beach with, among a bunch of our "regular" beach crew, two girls who were a year older than us.

They both were completely and totally gorg.  In every way.  They were popular.  Funny.  Nice.  Athletic.  Did I mention gorg?

Anyway, I can't imagine how long it took the rest of us to get ready that day.
I'm sure we put on every bathing suit 1,706 times until we found the one that we looked best in. 
I'm sure we EACH went through a can of aqua net to get our bangs just right.
I'm sure we tanned extra long (in the tanning beds - bad, bad, bad) that week before so that we'd be extra tanned.
I'm sure we didn't eat for days in preparation. 
Okay, maybe I was the only one who did all that but I digress.

We got to the beach, slowly took off our champion shorts and laid down our scrunchy ponytailed heads on our towels, just waiting for them to put us to shame.  We surely were feeling uncomfortable in front of the other beach goers (as we always did) but we were also feeling extra uncomfortable because we knew that, no matter how much time we had spent in preparation, next to these two, we'd fail miserably.

They took off their suits and I swear that the entire beach was suddenly in complete and total awe of the beauty that was before us.  It was as if everything started moving in slow motion, the beach got completely quiet and soft music started playing across the sand.   I'm pretty sure that they started riding along the beach on beautiful black stallions but I could have my memories confused.   Anyway, they were tanned to perfection, in white bikinis - who looks good in a white bathing suit??  THEY did!

It was ridiculous.  I'll never forget that moment of complete and total inferiority.   I'm sure we had a great time although I don't remember much more of that day.  I think I probably blocked it from my memory to avoid depression setting in.

Incidentally, a few years ago, I met up with one of the Gorg Girls for dinner.  And a few nights ago, I bumped in to the other Gorg Girl. Both still lovely.  Both still gorg. 


It made me think that, regardless of how much I loved high school (oh my GAWD did I love high school), I'd not want to go back to 1989 if you paid me. ... unless I could look like one of them in a white bikini.  If I could, well then, obviously game on.

One Step At A Time

The girls were, maybe one and a half.  

They had recently taken over the entire house and were in to EVERYTHING.  Not coincidentally, it's just about the time that I started to develop gray hairs.  

I was in the kitchen.  They were in the playroom.  

I heard hustle and bustle of two one-year-olds. And then I heard silence. 

I walked in to the playroom, not knowing what I'd find.  

What I found was M, all askew, diaper bum stuck in the air, with her head stuck between two bannisters in the stairway going upstairs.  

H just stared at her knowing, I think, that something was quite wrong but clearly couldn't articulate that things had gone awry. They had been having such a great time only moments ago.  Things had been going so well.

I ran downstairs and grabbed the saw and sawed the child out of the bannister. 

This was just one of the many times that I realized that parenting was really not possible without a good stash of wine readily available. 

It WAS almost noon.