Carpe Diem

Liz and I have been talking about how we can make the most of every day, every opportunity, every minute with our family that we can. Now that we're in a relatively "stable" place in her treatments, we have been striving to seize the day. Sometimes it just means some quiet time with her boys, or silly errands with me.

So like everyone knows that September 19th is International Talk Like A Pirate Day, right? Liz was a good sport and stopped by work to celebrate with my team. Arrrr, me hearty!

On 9/21 my friend Ross from my Notre Dame MBA class brought his Ford Mustang to show the boys. They went crazy for it. Especially Jensen: it's blue. Ross slowly drove each them around the neighborhood, then both of them together. Jensen tells me that it's just like my car ('02 Honda Civic with personality problems). Cohen apparently spent the whole time telling Ross how terrible my car is and that I need to get a Mustang just like his. Doh. So, Ross, even though you got my oldest son to hate my car, thanks for coming.

After Ross and I grabbed lunch at Frank's Night Out (YUM!), Liz and I decided to give the boys an apple orchard experience that included just the happy parts. The boys were sad that the apples they picked with Victoria the week before were left in the car after the accident. We wanted to get some more, and Liz wanted to make her own applesauce with the spoils of our labors (our booty, perhaps?). Some assorted photos from our journey below, including the boys playing in a silo of corn and Cohen shooting apples out of an air cannon. Awesome.

And Liz's applesauce is AMAZING. Her first canning venture, big success.

We've been enjoying our time together. Eli is a joy, even if he's growing too fast (he turns 1 tomorrow!). Jensen is a silly, quirky, joyful boy. Cohen is a loving, smart, active big brother. We're so blessed to have them in our lives.

Jensen has been sick for the past few days, and Cohen and I have coughs. Tomorrow evening we'll have Eli's birthday party, then we'll get the boys up early on Friday for a family vacation! About time. We'll see Grandma and Grandpa in Utah Fri-Sat, then we'll drive up to see Grandma and Grandpa in Idaho. Too much going on with work and school right now, so I'll come back Sunday night, then after classes on 10/12 I'll head West to go pick them all up. Wish us luck... !

Go Team Liz.

Mo drama fo yo mama

Long time since my last post. Crazy days.

We had another scare with our sweet boys last Saturday: bad car accident. Our babysitter, Victoria (or Vik-tor-dya as Jensen says) who was with us for the last 2+ years decided to move to the city (that means Chicago around these here parts), and she had a big goodbye planned with the big boys. She took them to the zoo, to the park, to an apple orchard. On their way home from her farewell tour, she decided to do one last thing and stop by an aircraft museum. As she turned off the main road, she was hit by a fast-moving SUV.

I must have a crisis mode in my brain, and it has unfortunately received some excellent training and good practice. Just after my classes let out in the city, I glanced at my phone and saw that Liz had tried calling twice and sent an ominous text: "Call me!" I knew something was wrong, so I started walking quickly to the parking garage while I called her, thinking all the while about how to get home in the fastest way possible in the trust '02 Civic. Liz answered and said in her emergency voice, "They were in an accident, they're going by ambulance to the hospital, meet me there."

She got a good friend to watch the baby, then she rushed to the hospital about 45 minutes away. I raced there from downtown (I had been in school in the city) and I arrived five minutes after she got there. I was so relieved to see Cohen, scraped and dirty, but calm and resting in the ER bed. Jensen was playing with Victoria's phone, he was fine. We pray for her: her back and neck still hurt a week later, and we hope she will have a full and fast recovery.

Cohen's back was sore for 3 days, but he's 100% fine now. Jensen had no symptoms at all. We saw pictures of the car and the SUV after the fact. The car is totaled from being broadsided by the SUV, which is probably totaled as well. The side curtain airbag probably protected Jensen from any injuries. A big ol' public thanks to Victoria for making sure the boys always were in car seats. We are so grateful for their collective safety: it could have been so much worse.

I won't complain about how busy I am, since the Harvard Business Review told me not to:

"Yes, we all have some strange need to out-misery each other. Acknowledging that is a first step. But next time you speak to a friend and want to lament about how busy you are, ask yourself why. Try steering the conversation away from a complain-off. With some practice you might find yourself actually feeling less “buried” (or at least feeling less of a need to say it all the time)."

So no out-miserying anyone here. At least not today. Until I feel like it again. OK, I feel like it again.

Work is good, but very busy, and I am thankful for my department peeps that help carry the load. Schoolwork is overwhelming lately. Apparently we're near the "I think I'm going to die" part of the program, although we just passed the half-way point. Good thing I have great classmates who are always willing to lend a hand. I have a whole lot of favors to pay forward.

I need to also publicly thank Gym Guy. Not because of any particular favors he has done for me, but because he helped me realize that I shall never, no never, sit on the nice leather couch to watch TV in the fancy locker room. Let's just say that I hope it's a fake leather couch that easily cleans with Clorox wipes. Gym Guy really needs to put some clothes on.

Boom.

Just felt the need to celebrate. Happy upcoming International Talk Like A Pirate Day and Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

6 months and counting

The six month mark came and went, and we didn't even notice until a few days later. Liz was first diagnosed six months and five days ago. It's crazy to think that, especially during those first few weeks, the doctors couldn't even tell us if she had six months left. Now we have hope that those six months will stretch to sixty years. How refreshing to "forget" about such a milestone. Hopefully because it's only the first of many, many more to come. Our friends are going through round two of their cancer journey, and they shared this reminder from Romans 12:12 to find joy, patience, and faith during difficult times:

On a lighter note, I'm still going to the gym. (Pause for laughter.) The good news is that I don't groan nearly as much when I get off of the floor after changing the baby or playing with the kids at home, and I generally feel a lot better, or perhaps I just appreciate the non-gym times more since I hate gym time so much.

So the demented mistress of the dark my trainer must be encouraging me to do something right. Still haven't lost much weight, but I really think it's because I'm converting fat directly into magical powers so I never have to work out again lean muscle mass.

The gym has mirrors everywhere. Usually it destroys my soul doesn't bother me. But I have learned a few things by evaluating my reflection:

1. Everyone looks way tougher than they really are when they use kettle weights.
2. It might look like I'm a super fan of a certain brand of workout clothes, but I'm not. I'm just cheap and bought a whole bunch of stuff on sale at Target.
3. No one looks cool prancing down the aisle touching opposite elbows and knees. I swear that my trainer makes me do things like that just to shame me into accepting further punishment entertain herself.

Gym Guy is still around. A few words of advice to him this week:

► Purple silk briefs aren't a thing.
► I know you want to impress yourself with your weight loss, but a pair of underwear really wouldn't add that much weight when you're on the locker room scale.
► In case I am wrong and purple silk briefs actually are a thing, perhaps you could do us a favor and keep your leg off the counter when you break out the Axe body spray.
► If you are going to bring a manscaping device into the shower with you, at least try to hide it under a towel so we won't know what you're about to do.
► Oh, and since you're over 30, Axe body spray isn't a thing either.

Go Team Liz.

Cohen and Mom holding hands in the waiting room at his checkup last week.

Cohen's latest creations. I love his drawings.

Success! We tossed the toddler bed, then the big boys and I built a new one for Jensen.

What having cancer is really like

I asked Liz to share this, from a conversation we had a few days ago. Here is a note from the patient (with stadium picture from me -- Go Broncos!).

Struggling to make sense of cancer is hard. It doesn't make sense. It probably never will. But after a difficult couple of days, this is what I came up with to help me make sense of it all.

***********

Having cancer is like playing football.

You are unexpectedly thrust onto the field during the first game of the season. The roar of the home crowd strengthens you, the cheerleaders cheer. You dig in, you fight, you hurt, you bleed. You follow your coach and give your all, then with a little luck, you win. The fans lift you above their shoulders and carry you off the field.

But after the game, the lights go out and nearly everyone goes home. Only your most ardent supporters stay by your side, quietly helping you pick up the pieces of your life that you just left on the field. You nurse your sore body, eat right, exercise, and you try to enjoy practice when you know it is just preparation for the next game.

No one knows when you will play in the next game. You hope the team, coach and cheerleaders will be back when that day comes. You quietly hope that you don't have to play again, but if you do, you only want to play if you will win.

***********

As awful the physical "game" of cancer has been, equally as tough is the mental game. Knowledge is power, but sometimes knowing all the plays is just too much. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't wonder what next month will be like, let alone next year. I am a worrier. So now I pray for peace daily, sometimes hourly. If I don't do this, the emptiness of the field becomes too all-consuming.

I am determined to win every game, big or small. I have to beat the opposing team. I am not ready to have a losing record. I need to win.

Liz

Gym Guy

Liz was diagnosed with advanced stage metastatic breast cancer exactly 25 weeks ago. 175 days. Almost six months. And it has been 5 1/2 weeks since the end of chemo round 6 when she finally got to drop the Taxotere, steroids, and Neulasta. She still has no eyelashes, her eyebrows are barely hanging on, and her energy level is improved but it will be a long recovery road. She has a good 1/4" of head hair coming in though! We just want things to get back to normal, whatever that means now. We catch ourselves more often in moments when we are not thinking about cancer and death and treatments. It's a good feeling. It usually happens during The Great Food Truck Race or Judge Judy. Don't even get me started on Burn Notice. Boom.

The sitter is getting antsy to start her new job nearer to the city in a couple of weeks, and we still need early morning help at the very least. Why early morning you ask? (Just go along with me here.)

These last few months have provided constant, stark reminders of my own mortality. Not only because of Liz's diagnosis, but also because of friends and family who have gone (and are going) through serious and scary challenges. Plus my little brother now weighs the inverse of his previous weight. He skinny. So two weeks ago I signed up for a gym. And I go every weekday morning. Well, so far, at least for the last two weeks. Thus the need for a reliable early morning sitter.

On one hand I wonder what I was thinking. Cancer in the family, Cohen in first grade, Jensen in preschool and waking up like all night just to let me know he is there, I am in the most challenging and stressful part of the MBA program, I need to ease back into helping more within the lay leadership position at church <insert huge shout out and thanks to John, Kurtis, and Steve here>, and I have a job and responsibility to my team and company. On the other hand I realized that it's now or never, so I signed up to get mercilessly shamed multiple times a week work with a ruthless escaped convict personal trainer who helps me have accountability and learn how to actually work out the right way. Honestly, she's not so bad. (Yes, she is.) But after a couple of weeks her demonic methods scare me so much that I am afraid to leave I feel great and can't wait to get back the next day. But I'd still rather be sleeping.

The only problem with the gym is that Gym Guy is there. When I refer to Gym Guy, I mean literally any guy in the gym who does or says or shows anything that makes me throw up a little in my mouth. And I don't plan to make a lot of friends there, since most of the time Gym Guy ain't wearing much. Some recent examples (parents, shield your kids from the following):

• Mid-life crisis Gym Guy walked in with his workout shirt emblazoned with "Can we just skip to the part where we get naked?" I was offended by both the content and the grammar.
• Old and wrinkly Gym Guy was walking around the locker room, totally naked, except for the swim cap and goggles on his head.
• Short and overweight Gym Guy leaning way over onto the counter to brush his teeth. In his tighty whiteys.
• I hear showering Gym Guy blowing his nose. Note: there are no boxes of Kleenex in the showers. Good thing he uses the same stall every day, so I don't have to use it ever.
• I was minding my own business, walking from the front of the locker room to the back, when I had to make my way around tall and overweight Gym Guy, who had one foot up on the counter and the gym-supplied hair dryer clearing his nether regions. No clothes. Fortunately this morning I noticed that the hair dryer is conveniently missing. Whew.

So other than Gym Guy, the place continually reminds me of how much I hate working out is great.

One parting thought from our friend Colette, in light of the chaos that is cancer. Go Team Liz.

Strength to carry on

"Be strong, trust yourself, love yourself, conquer your fears, just go after what you want. And act fast, because life just isn't that long."
            - Pam Beesley Halpert on the final episode of The Office


I love that quote, and I have been hanging onto it for a while. Perhaps because I am having massive Office withdrawals (though they are not nearly as severe as my 24 withdrawals). But more likely because I did not want to reference anything that implied that life can be short. Seriously... It is crazy how often I think about what might be. Liz and I would be naive if we did not at least talk about the elephant in the room. But with the great news from the last few weeks of her treatments, we are at least encouraged and optimistic that we will make it. That she will make it. So these last few weeks have been all about enjoying every day, thanking God (and those who selflessly do His good work), and trying to help get things back to "normal."

Cohen started school last Thursday. He jumped out of the van and ran right inside, not so much as a look back to his mom. When she picked him up, he ran to her yelling "Best day ever! Best day ever!" He loves the lunches she packs. And did you know he has recess? EVERY DAY? And P.E. twice a week? And his teacher is "great!" So, yeah, he's fine.

Jensen started preschool today. No screams or crying, which was quite an accomplishment. It was nearly impossible to get the first-day-of-school pictures, since he lives life on turbo speed. He must have learned that from his brother. When Liz took him to the inaugural bathroom visit at school this morning, he decided to hug lean into use the urinal. Not particularly successful -- he still is trying to master potty training, and we lost a few months of practice. Is it appropriate to give tips to his teacher? Or maybe just apologetic glances. Followed by high fives since Jensen is so awesome.

Eli is still awesome too.

Liz has now been to church two weeks in a row, and she has taken care of all three boys (including Cohen's school pickups) twice in the last week. She is exhausted. And she hurts. Maybe some physical therapy or other strength training will help, so we'll look into that. Recovery is not easy, especially with the continual concerns and thoughts creeping in. But we will just enjoy every day, grateful for her increasing strength and fighting spirit to carry on.

With family, work, and school lately, I have slacked on my bloggy duties. In the last few weeks we received some amazing Team Liz Logo submissions. These mean a lot, to both of us. Thanks to all here, and all who have sent them in so far. I will caption each photo and upload them on the Worldwide Logo page tonight. Go Team Liz!

Wisconsin by the numbers

What a great trip to the Dells (my Chicagoland team mocked me for calling it Wisconsin Dells):

• 4 hour drive
• 2 stops along the way, including 1 stop at Cohen's favorite rest stop in the world: walls he can climb up and walk along
• 3 days and 2 nights at Great Wolf Lodge
• 1 terrified toddler of the people in character costumes
• 2 hours later bedtime and 1 hour earlier wake-up for Cohen aand Jensen since they had to share a room and they have completely different sleeping preferences ("Jensen, will you please just stop talking so I can finally sleep?").
• 2 Cohen bathroom runs per hour at the waterpark
• 0 bathroom runs for most of the kids there. What are swim diapers really for anyway? I have never seen so many kids peeing in public. And I was a Boy Scout. Seriously, you could look in any direction and see the telltale signs on the faces of overfilled children testing the chlorine effectiveness in the pools. But I digress...
• 3 story cargo net climb for Dad, to Cohen's shock and to the shagrin of onlookers below
• Unknown number of inappropriate swimsuits worn by others that made me feel like I'm much better looking in my sweet swim shirt than I thought
• 14 inch fish (we caught 2) from the tourist trap kid fishing ponds in my feeble attempt to git some country back in my city boys. Didn't work. Though Cohen was impressed with the foreign exchange student working the gutting station who seemed to enjoy ripping the beating heart out of the fish just a little too much.
• 15,000 steps per day
• 6 Moosejaw root beers
• 12 dollars in tolls on the way home
• 45 extra minutes for trusting Google Maps to safely lead us through a 35-mile construction project
• 1 happy family with tuckered-out kids and tuckereder parents

We got back Friday, Liz was tired and sore, but it was from the walking and not from the chemo. So we got a sitter on Saturday and ran errands! It was a great date: Goodwill for donations, Old Navy and Gap for boys clothes, Eddie Bauer to make me feel super adventurous and want to buy a lot of safari pants. It felt...normal. I was starting to forget what normal feels like. It's definitely a new normal, but I love seeing Liz regaining her strength and exercising her considerable will.

Herceptin, Perjeta, and blood work yesterday. Her numbers are still great. Hopefully hair and nails will come back and the tingling pain in hands and feet will go away within the next 3 months, 6 at most (we hope!). Glad to be home. Gladder to be doing "normal" things again as a family.

Go Team Liz.

Attempting a family vacation

We're going to try it: road trip! Well, a short-ish one. We were going to go to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, for a few days starting tomorrow. But the weather might be iffy, Liz really is not ready for a sunny day at the beach, and I am not really ready to help keep Cohen afloat while chasing Jensen down the beach and keeping Eli from eating as much sand as he can find.

So we're off to Wisconsin Dells tomorrow. This will almost meet our obligations to the six-year old who never forgets promises. And it will provide a comfy space to hang out without having to venture outside. Good news for Wisconsin: regular swim trunks for me, no Speedos. Actually, that's good news for the world. And if we get sick of the indoor water park (yeah right) I can take the big boys to the fake fishing ponds where you throw in your line and haul 'em out quick. Wish us luck...

Two nights ago after I put Eli and Jensen to bed, I took Cohen to the park. Liz and I have not had enough chances lately for 1-on-1 time with any of the boys. He assumed my answers would all be no, so he posed questions as "I wish" statements:

"I wish we could go over and jump on the rocks."
"It would be fun to go run on the grass."
"I wish I could go climb the tree."
"Too bad the playground is too far away."

I decided to say yes to everything, which blew his mind. So I got this smile and a very happy (and tired) boy. Made it all worth it.

After I put Eli to bed last night, Cohen had some mommy-and-me time and I took Jensen to get a haircut at SportClips. If you are not familiar with the SportClips experience, it is basically a sissy salon that makes you feel super manly about getting a head massage with your shampoo because there are TV's everywhere showing ESPN. Awesome. Jensen was shy when he arrived, but after double-fisting their free suckers, he bore down for the long haul. Cohen loves getting the MVP Package, which includes hair wash, hot towl, head and face massage, and neck/back massage. But he wasn't there. So I asked Jensen. He said yes. Here he is, trying not to like the shampoo while sitting in the massage chair, and J trying not to like the back massage. He loved both.



Liz has a few new eyelashes showing up late to the party. Her skin is glowing. So are her spirits. I have not seen her with this much energy and can-do-ness since March. It really has been two steps forward and one step back so far over these past few weeks, but that is better than the other way around. And I think we are close to three steps forward. Her eyes still constantly water, so pray that her tear ducts will start to heal as well.

It was SO good to have Howie, Amanda, and their kids here for a couple of days. I'll post more this week about our fun adventures, replete with photos. Wish we were closer to family. So glad we have each other.

Go Team Liz!

P.S. Here are some more awesome photos from Jen as she takes a cross-country road trip. More to come, I hope. Good reminder that the Team Liz Logos contest is still alive and well. Thanks, Jen!

Friendly folks

Jensen and Eli are apparently still sick, at least as of yesterday. This is a nasty bug. My deepest apologies to Heather's back seat where Jensen was sitting. To my credit, I did try to chase her down with a gift bottle of Febreze, but she drove away too fast. We owe her.

The doctor said yesterday that if we just give the baby Pedialyte and take away all dairy from Jensen for 24 hours they should be able to kick it to the curb. So I ran to the Meijer grocery store early this morning for more bananas, crackers, apple juice, and a whole bunch of other stuff that I hadn't planned on buying (because I'm a guy, so I can't help it).

Holy moly, shoppers are really nice early in the morning. The employees were pleasant and helpful. And the lady I thought was going to attack me in the parking lot just wanted to congratulate me for "coming to my store so early, I love seeing other shoppers at daybreak!" I actually left with a smile on my face, whistling back to my car, and I sang all the way home. Sorry, neighbors, for having my window down.

I believe that happiness is a choice. Sure, some people are predisposed with happy genes (as opposed to happy jeans, which are basically acid washed mom jeans, I think). And others learn to cope to life based on their worldview or their upbringing. But overall, we all can decide how happy we want to be. Apparently I did not want to be too happy this past week. Just ask my team. Good thing they're forgiving folks.

A favorite Old Testament proverb of mine states: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."

This cancer stuff is hard. Liz isn't going to be able to take care of the kids and her annoying husband for some time. Life moves on for the great people who have been such generous providers of support and service. They are tired. So are we. But we can choose to smile, to laugh, to enjoy the good moments we have. It makes life so much better.

Go Team Liz.

P.S. Great pics from my cousin and his family at the USAF Museum in Dayton, Ohio. Liz and I went to that museum back in our Ohio days. Love it! Thanks, Kevin.