how are you feeling?

This is a question I ask Mitchell probably 6 to 10 times a day. I'm sure he feels like hitting me in the head with a pot every time I do, but I can't help myself. Lately he just pretends like he hasn't heard me and goes on about his slow-going business, forcing me to ask again and again and then demanding, "Are you listening?" Clearly not.

ciclo número cinco

Mitchell endured his fifth chemo treatment yesterday. He was happy because the infusion took much less time than the last four. Unfortunately the culmination of the chemo treatments causes him to feel more poorly more quickly than before. At least he's at the half way point.

fart heard round the world

This lady totally farted during the work out this morning. It was a ripper, too. Because I am immature, I found it hilarious and was unable to let it pass unnoticed. I love it when stuff like that happens...to others!

thank you, easter bunny! bock! bock!

Mitchell and Hayden test out Easter toys.

This is fun, guys!

What's going on?

Hunting, hunting, hunting...

Taylor & Dylan hunt for eggs! Mitchell & Hayden checking things out.

Hayden seems happy with her Easter .

maybe it's not

One of the bad things about living with someone who's living with cancer (aside from the obvious difficulty that he has fucking cancer) is that it constantly hovers between you, unspoken but lurking. It's something you whisper about when people ask, hoping he won't hear. It would be so easy to crawl into some secret hole and pretend, but we don't. We push away those thoughts that come to us in the dark moments. We get up and we do what needs doing.

We are good. He feels fine. Everything is fine.

Even though, maybe it's not. Maybe he's not feeling that well, even though he tells people different. Maybe I'm tired of picking up the slack, even though I say it's okay. And I feel bad for the resentment and frustration that sometimes builds. And I wonder how many moments are left for us. And I resolve to be more aware, more mindful. And then I think maybe it isn't a big deal. And everything really is fine. And I'm making more of it than I should. Maybe I should believe him when he says he is okay. It would be easy. He says he's fine, so he is. But then I think of his silence. The times when I'll look over and find him asleep in the middle of the day, bundled in a comforter on his chair. The way he sometimes makes small noises in his sleep. And I'll look at my girls, and I can feel their worry. And I try to make things more normal. More like they were. But it's not.

my blue eyed baby girl

booty camp?

I was up this morning at 5:45, making lunches and setting out clothes for the girls so that I could attend Booty Busters Boot Camp (trust me, I will NOT be saying that title aloud).

The trainer, Brian, led us through push ups, burpees, squat things and endless jogging for an hour. After about 15 minutes, I was panting and dizzy and felt WAY older than 36.

Triumphs for today's workout: I finished the whole thing AND didn't utter one curse word.

cycle 4

Mitchell had his fourth chemo cycle on Friday. It went much the same as the previous 3. Same crazy long wait between blood draw and infusion start. His appointment was for 9:30; they didn't even begin his pre-chemo "cocktail" until after 10:30. Same marathon visit. I don't think he finished until sometime in the neighborhood of 3 o'clock. In terms of how he's feeling, it's seems to be pretty much the same. He's tired and a little nauseated. The hypersensitivity to cold hasn't set in yet, but I'm sure that will come up any day now. Overall he's doing well.

the life

Sometimes I want to lay around in a adult-sized boppy pillow, while others carry me around feeding me and clothing me and changing me at will. Discerning the subtle differences between my hungry and my tired cries.