What do you get?

Take one forty degree day.  

Add in sunshine and melty snow. 

 Layer it with the imagination of two boys.  

Subtract hockey practice for the day.

What do you get?

Hours of fun...

A growing gaggle of boys...

Short sleeves in February...

And a fort made out of snow castles.

Plus, lots of honks and looks of utter amusement from drivers passing by. 

Yep, that's my boys... gotta love them.

being 11...

People ask me all the time how the kids are doing and I answer they are doing well.  And they are.  But  after spending 3 months with them all day, I have a better sense that I am not the only one touched by cancer.  Its just more subtle with the boys, and they don't always have words to articulate how it makes them feel.

We laughed at Colton the other day.  His comment was, "well I don't get to do anything cause mom is sick in bed every day..."  We had to laugh, because its simply not true.  We teased him about all the things we've done and he had to admit that might have been an exaggeration.  But I do get that is how he perceives me.

And Nolan?

Being 11 hasn't been easy on him.  We've tried unsuccessfully several times now to rescue a golden retriever.  The organization warned us that the young dogs go fast.  Every time we've inquired about just corresponding with a foster family, we've been told that dog is spoken for already.  Nolan gets his hopes up so high- theres been Jack, Susie, Gunner, and Booster as of late.  All spoken for.  We were a step closer with Jack than we've been with the other dogs- our family's file made it to the foster family to review.  But it was rejected because they felt Jack needed a fence.   Nolan sobbed.   He had already picked out the spot where Jack was going to sleep, next to his bed of course.  I know he just desperately wants that unconditional bond of love with a pet that he misses.

He has such a big heart.  His emotions can be so intense sometimes and anger flashes at times when he is covering up for how hurt he is.  Its later that he verbalizes how filled with remorse he is over his words, and how defeated he feels.

He's been camping out on our bedroom floor at night.  He waits till we are asleep and then sneaks quietly in with his pillow and blanket.   He has turned down going to 3 birthday parties this summer, and two sleep overs. He doesn't want to leave my side.  Its all I can do to convince him to go play at one or two friends houses on occasion.  But he either can't stay long or his friends can't play at all and I see how sad it makes him, but he'll tell me its okay, he just wants to be close to home and check on me anyways.   He is 11 sometimes, sometimes 30.

So we're bonding- this togetherness of him and I.  I see how very Tween he really is.  He and his Dad built this form for stick handling.  He is out in the garage every day with his stick and a ball weaving it in and out.  He is creating discipline.   He has also gotten strong enough to help Rick do some demo at my mom's old house.  He swung the hammer like a pro and stuck with it all day.  He has grown a ton this summer and is long and lean.  But I still find the little boy in him.  I'll find him making a team out of his stuffed animals and turning the basement into a baseball field.  The couch cushions double for bases and his stuffed animals get a work out around those bases.  

He is excited for 5th grade.  Many of his friends are in his class this year and he has such a fun teacher again. And then I see that smile fill his face when he speaks of seeing his friends every day at school... and I am hopeful for him.  For us.  Cancer is leaving its mark on both of us- our hearts just continue to expand together. 

Weekend-ing

                                                             From December chilling...

to June warming...

Excitement seeking boys car- riding-bickering... then finally... the fishing...

lots of catching and releasing...

new lawn mower mowing...

Hot tub dipping...

s'moring, "survivor torch" twirling, with mom eventually kaboshing... (oy).

and never enough- visual feasting... 

Mind clearing...

Clean air breathing...

Memorable sun lowering...

dipping...

soul searing...

And Daddy missing...

If I'm being honest, it really sucked... and learning how to trust.

If I 'm being honest, I'd have to tell you what a dark day I had yesterday.  Half of it anyway.  It really sucked, and I don't even like that word, but thats how yucky it was.

But before I start, let me say this, "I am fine.  Really.  I'm doing well.  But its not all sunshine and smiles.  So please read with the understanding, I am only being real and giving you the Dr. Phil "tell it like it is" account of the occasional bad day I have."  

The first half of my day was actually really good.  I went to Target and gathered ideas to inform the Easter Bunny on what he should bring to our house.  And I had lunch with my neighbor Darla, which we never get to do.

But then I went to get the mail and couldn't help ripping into the pretty envelope from the Mayo Clinic.  And there it was in black and white.  My report.  First from the nurse practitioner, Nurse Ratched, oops, did I really just call her that?  Next, from Dr. P.

Let me start off by saying, there was absolutely nothing new in that report.  I've heard it all, and read most of it before.  So I am not sharing anything new.  But, the cyclone of emotion that settled over me was astonishing even so.  Maybe it was the rainy day, on top of more gloomy days already.  Maybe I was just in a mood.  It wasn't like me, but I have to say it WAS me yesterday.

In reality, I completely get what "they" (the medical personnel) have to do.  When you go for a second opinion, they tell you what they think from A to Z.  And I am only at letter B or even C, with my own Doctor. We aren't skipping ahead to Q, R, or S.  But at the Mayo Clinic, they needed to remind me of the whole alphabet, A to stinkin'  Z.  Cause Z?  Really stinks.

So my eyes  skimmed right over the "Patient is a pleasant woman, and seems to be coping well...," and lasered in on the more ominous language.


"Palliative care."  Bam, it cuts through me like a nail on the cross.


"Comfort measures."  Bam.  I recoil with the sensation of pierced skin.


"Incurable."  Bam...  sears me to the core.




For the second time, I want to shout at them, "But I am alive, and I want to live.  Can you not obviously see my two boys alive in my eyes, whom I breathe for?  My husband, my Superman who is every and all things to me?  I am not cancer.  I am alive in spite of the cancer.  Please see ME."


I am a sobbing, weeping, mess, leveled on the floor.


I can't help but think of Easter.  Its Good Friday today.  Why has the word "good" never seemed ironic before to me?  I think I have always pushed past the sadness of Christ on the Cross, to the joy and celebration of the Resurrection.  I've never invited in, the pain of the cross.

How did Jesus feel, washing the feet of Judas who would betray him?  My thoughts circle and swirl around the events of Good Friday.

I sat with it all day yesterday.  My very best "virtual couch" friends were by my side.

"Please God, give me the shift in perspective I need to go back to Hope."

Robin encourages me to read chapter 8 of One Thousand Gifts, and as I do, my faith restores piece by fragile piece.

Ann's words again, a balm to my weary soul... she reminds me "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me."  (John 14:1)  Bible verse after verse she reminds me.

Her words, now pierce me, "I've got to get this thing, what it means to trust... because I can't fill with joy until I learn how to trust."

The last nail hits especially hard and truthful... Bam.  




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To show you I am okay, look what my friend Roxane  brought me this morning "hope" in the pewter cross on the book above.  Roxane blogs at Peace Garden Writer, and Peace Garden Mama, and its worth a visit to her blogs.  Thanks for a wonderful morning, Roxane!

As I go to snap the photo of the cross, I realize the renewed feeling I have, hope- restored.

Have a Blessed Easter everyone!

Meeting the newest Westra, part I

We've waited so long to meet this new little man of the Westra clan.  Cousin Ethan is already 9 months old and crawling and pulling up, so we were so thrilled to meet him finally.





Ethan with his mom Julie











Mackenzie, Ethan's older sister, watching a movie with Colton.








We spent a casual night hanging out and got up and left for Grandpa's and Grandma's at the lake.








I just knew when I first saw this field just a few miles from the lake, we'd be stopping.














Rick's brother Matt, and his daughter Mackenzie.  Out of 30 pictures I attempted to take of her, I maybe got her 3 times to look at me... but I am posting these anyways.  She has to hold her own being the only granddaughter in a group of boys and that spunk in her is just the ticket.


Uncle Matt tubing on the lake.  Despite Rick's attempt to dump him, he proved a worthy opponent and hung on the whole way.


Rick's sister's boy, Gunnar.  Bravely getting back on a second time after a massive wipeout.   Where is that zoom lens when you need it?


The crew preparing for a bonfire.  Even though there were tornado warnings sounding in the distance and unbelievably humid conditions, we wouldn't be denied our s'mores.


The next morning, with more hot and sticky weather due for the day, we started off with a trip to the logging camp for breakfast.



The logging camp is a summer tradition, nestled into a rustic setting that takes you back to the days that timber ruled the area.  The food is served family style and we actually polished off two of these huge platters.


Almost a smile from Ethan... he was firmly attached to mommy's hip, even though we all attempted to snatch some snuggles with him.   If he wasn't so darn cute...


Knowing we had maybe a minute before Ethan would realize he wasn't with mom or dad, we grabbed a quick photo of all 5 Westra grandchildren.


Left to Right: Colton, Mackenzie, Nolan with Ethan, and Gunnar.

part II coming soon...

Frozen fireflies

We awoke Saturday morning to the smell of hockey in the air. It was a brisk -22 as we jumped in the car at 7:30 for our first of 4 games that day. It was jamboree time.







As if mother nature knew of the thrill of the big day, she sent shimmers of frozen ice particles to dance in the sun drenched air. They reminded me of what frozen fireflies might look like.



We sat in the arena and cheered on our Mite-y skaters as they reveled in playing their first full ice game. For the first time of their "storied" hockey careers they skated all the way down the ice and back again. They learned that two minute shifts, on big ice, can make your legs burn. Scoring a goal on big ice, is really, hard, work. But victory tastes even sweeter after you have left all your sweat and effort on the ice. They also felt the sting of defeat, when exhaustion kicks in long before the minutes on the clock expired.












We bring our hockey loving, living, eating, breathing kids... to the rink for a day... and they leave with rosy cheeks, sweat-filled-hockey-stink-soaked gear, and hockey-filled dreams as they nod off to sleep.




more to come soon...

Candy wars

Who said Halloween candy was all for eating?