Prepared...Perhaps

I'm an artist. I've never really believed those words, but I am. I always have been. 

First was ballet. I was never going to be the best ballerina. I have a barrel rib cage, a short neck, and little to no coordination. But I loved it. I didn't love ballet class. I was kind of a clown in class. Once I wrote a letter to my teacher, telling her I was sick so that I could get out of class. I signed Mama's name to it. We were on our way to ballet class at Huntington College. Anne McCabe and I sat in the back seat as I asked how to spell "threw" like "threw up." I'm pretty sure I spelled it "through up." That, combined with my youthful handwriting (I'm not sure I was more than 5 or 6 at the time) was enough to land me in a lot of trouble. I did not get out of class that day. And I'd bet money on a spanking.

No, I didn't love dance class. But I loved, with a passion, to be on stage. I danced in Nutcracker for several years. Spring recitals were always so much fun. As I am typing, I am vividly remembering that dance class in Spring semester was spent preparing for the Spring recital. Hands swinging high, pas de bourree, hips rocking...all to The Little Mermaid's "Under the Sea." Performance on the Green in August. An outdoor stage. August in Alabama. Closed eyes to the sky. Sun peeping between dense evergreen branches. Arms stretched out. Spin. That wasn't part of the dance...just part of the experience. Getting lost in the whole experience...in a good way.

I quit ballet and found Speech and Debate, and later theater. I had teachers and friends of who nurtured my talent and love of performance. And it paid off. State and National competitions in Forensics. Travel. Bad Seed. "Mom? Yes, Rhoda?" Mama said that watching me act out Forensics pieces was like watching someone with split personalities jump back and forth. I thought that was the ultimate compliment. Theater was kind of like Forensics, but next level. Forensics prepared me for theater. So did dance. Prepared me for Polly. Crazy for You: A Gershwin Musical. Lost lines. Recovered. Hot mic. Tap dancing. White dress. Bright lights. Hands held. Arms up. Big bow. 

And then it was over. But was it? I've spent a lot of time in my career in front of people leading meetings, leading projects, and presenting. All of my experiences on stage have prepared me for these moments. I still get a little excited, like I once did before a performance...adrenalin surging. But I'm not scared. I'm prepared.

My art now is limited by time, but I paint. I prefer acrylics and pastels, but I also love working with watercolor and charcoal. Oil is not my medium. I paint for fun and for close family and friends, and I would love to do more of it. Every once in a while I start something, and then I have to clean up the house for one reason or another...and there it sits, prepped for its future moment, a work in progress. 

Yesterday I had my post op appointment with the surgical oncologist. He gave me a hug, checked my excision site, and asked me if I had any questions. I asked him to describe exactly what he did...because my excision site looked far more I-don't-know-what than what I expected. Warning that there are pics posted below if you scroll down low enough. It looks like a shark bite. Dr. Sharma explained that my skin is very taught. That's something that I've always felt like was a good thing. But apparently when they're cut out a 3-4 cm diameter circle, they have to be able to pull it back together to close it. So Dr. Sharma took an area that's kind of rainbow shaped from the area outside of that circle. Then he used that area to graft my leg. The procedure is called a Keystone flap. And boy, does it seem excessive for a 6mm lesion. Dr. Sharma is an artist. He says I shouldn't have a scar when it heals. I laughed out loud when he said that. I think he is also a comedian.

After explaining the procedure with the drawing (below), Dr. Sharma asked if I was ready for good news? An overwhelming wave of relief came over my body as he asked the question, and I answered yes. I didn't even realize how physically tense I was in anticipation of these results...the pathology from the chunk he took last week in surgery was clear. No melanoma. No lymph invasion. No nervous invasion. No vascular invasion. They got it all with the biopsy. Overwhelming relief. Now I can relax, right? It's gone. 

Dr. Sharma did want to send my biopsy off to a company who performs a special genetic test that can tell with a 98.5% confidence level, whether the risk of metastasis (spread to other organs) is low, middle or high risk in 5 years. But as it turns out, there wasn't enough tissue left to do that. That's disappointing. But it is only disappointing. Let me be very clear bad news would have been traumatic. This isn't traumatic...it's just disappointing. 

There is no treatment for my Melanoma Stage 1a. Only surgery. But there is follow up...and lots of it. I just graduated from seeing my Oncologist every 6 months for breast cancer. Now I get to see my surgical oncologist and my oncologist annually. And I get to see my Dermatologist every 3-4 months for the rest of my life. As Dr. Sharma says, my Dermatologist is going to be my new BFF. I'll take it. It's better than the alternative. 

The dreaded alternative. I would be lying to myself if I didn't talk about it. There was a little of that the first time around with breast cancer. I thought about what life might be like for others if I died of breast cancer at some point. It was easier to imagine that happening when the boys were younger. Nate would have moved on, the boys wouldn't have really known me. They wouldn't remember the trauma. It would just be an unfair thing that happened to them. I have wondered how my parents would feel...my sisters. How James would feel. Jimmy and Lizzy. My friends. And every year it got harder to imagine as I formed these bonds with people who I cannot imagine living without. That is a heavy burden to carry. It is a lifetime burden. It's like always waiting for something and willing it not to happen. There is so much anxiety in that. If you know a survivor, this is your sign to reach out to them and let them know that you know it isn't over for them. So there was a little bit of that with breast cancer. And by little bit, I mean that, from time to time, I thought about it, but never let it overcome me. They were little. I was strong. 

This time around has been different. It's been emotionally challenging. It's been challenging to keep my emotions from going down a rabbit hole. I am a different person now. I am stronger. I'm more faithful. I have spent years building actual relationships with my husband James and the four children between us. I am invested fully in my faith, my family and our future. So there's a frank element of how bad this could have been that resonates with me differently this time around, and if I am being completely honest, it's been scary. 

But it's not bad. I caught it early. I got into the doctor. They did what they were supposed to do. They persisted. I thank God every day that he built me strong and courageous, and that He prepared me for this. I'm not sure that I would have thought anything about that little pink bump if I wasn't hyperaware of changes in and of my body...all thanks to breast cancer. There's God in all of this, and it seems silly to think, "Thank God for my breast cancer," but I mean that with my whole heart. I'm not sure that I would have thought anything about that little pink bump if I wasn't hyperaware of changes in and of my body...all thanks to breast cancer. 

I don't know what God has planned, but I trust that it is good and useful. I do pray that there is peace in the waiting. What I do know is that, figuratively speaking, my hands are up to the sky. My eyes are closed, and I am just soaking it all in. Perhaps I have been called for such a time as this. At the very least I am prepared...and a work in progress.

Wide Local Excision of Melanoma with Keystone Flap surgical plan:

WARNING AGAIN: Graphic pics below

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Black is the New Pink

I'm at the tail end of GenX. Some might call me a #Xennial (a mix between #GenX and #Millennial). I don't really get it...Here's what I do get...

I have a strong affinity for music that moves me, but I'm not tied to any specific genre. 

My first love of music was classical, likely because of the exposure through ballet.

I was brought up on 50s and 60s music...Leader of the Pack, My Boyfriend's Back, Great Balls of Fire, Splish Splash...We used to buy these cassette tape sets at the grocery store around the corner. Mama would take us into Super Foods, and the people behind the finance counter where they cashed paychecks would wave, oohing and ahhing about how much we were growing "like weeds." At some point during our grocery trip, we would approach an endcap with the cassette tape sets and beg Mama for the next one in the series. If I recall correctly, they had a light turquoise label on them. There were two songs  on each side. It was like listening to your own personal juke box in the car. The way we belted those songs out, you would think that we had prophesized American Idol. 

I used to belt out Whitney Houston, David Lee Roth, Bon Jovi and Wilson Phillips on the patio with my pink Casio boombox. Man, were we cool. And hot...soaking up the Alabama sunshine on the patio, the beach, by the pool, all while blasting that boombox. It was pink.

Tiffany and her boyfriend Craig later introduced me to 90s country. I listened to Tiff and her friends sing Garth Brooks's "Friends in Low Places," and cringed when they sang "oooooasis." Craig had a karaoke machine that he would bring to the lake, and he even let me sing a duet with him once. I thought that was so cool.

I have always loved music at church. I've referenced the Song of Simeon before, and it still sends shivers down my spine when harmonized. I listened to a rendition from #CampMcDowell today, and it gave me all the feels.

I was later introduced to Blind Melon, Dixie Chicks (aka The Chicks), Pink Floyd, The Police, Phish, Medeski Martin and Wood, John Coltrane. I just love music. Some things never change. 

James and I have really connected over music. A few years ago, we were meeting in Nashville to see Mumford & Sons...it was a bucket list item for both of us, and we were so excited. I sat in the airport at the gate marked "Detroit," where I had a connection. I was jamming...and I mean jam-ming out on my earbuds to Mumford & Sons. I finally looked up, thinking we should have boarded, and the gate still had my flight info. I removed my earbuds, looked around at the lack of passengers at my gate, and walked around. My gate changed. They paged me overhead...not one, not two, but three times. I missed the flight. James picked me up from the Nashville airport and we pulled into our hotel right as concert goers were leaving the venue. We missed the concert of a lifetime. And why? I wasn't paying attention. I was distracted. I let my guard down. Still, he loved me. Still, he loves me.

So that's music. I was raised on TGIF and CW television...Family Matters, Full House, The Hogan Family, 7th Heaven. And in college I was obsessed with all things Friends, Sex and the City, ER, and The OC. I watched the Challenger live. I remember credible and unbiased news...before people were beautiful and scripted across the globe. 

I remember hearing about the information superhighway...one day we would be able to hold tiny computers in our hands and drive flying cars. One out of two ain't bad. 

Do Millennials remember when pink was the new black? Or why that was? Everyone, and I mean everyone was wearing black. It was everywhere. My entire high school wardrobe was from The Limited. I wore black suits to school...complete with big, chunky shoes (and purple eyeliner/mascara). I thought I was so stylish...my style icon was Posh Spice (aka Victoria Beckham, who is still quite frankly a fashion plate). My art teacher Mrs. Terry once told me that I was so fashionable, and I thought, "Right...because I wear black!"

And then pink was the new black. It was the universally flattering hue. It was a Clueless, Legally Blonde, and Mean Girls decade of pink. I had pink sweaters, pink dresses, pink, pink, pink, pink, pink.

I don't remember what came after that. Adulthood, marriage, motherhood, job loss, breast cancer (more pink), divorce, remarriage, puppies. It's all a blur. I never felt like a Millennial. I feel like I have lived too much life to even be considered a Xennial. Somedays I even feel like a Boomer. I bet they never wore pink...except maybe in the 80s. Yes, hot pink. Not the same. Nope, not Boomer pink. And Millennial pink was more rose gold. I am definitely GenX pink.

GenX is weird. We are the end of microfilm and microfiche and the beginning of credible sources on the internet. We are first computers in our homes (but only if you had money). We are MTV, VH1 and CMT. We are trophies only for winners. We are multi-colored scrunched double socks and side ponytails. We are crimped bangs and rolls of cash in our bras. We are sike your mama and hours on a trampoline. We love our weird. I think that's the biggest difference in GenX and Millennials. Millennials don't want to be weird. They want to be different from each other, but fit in with everyone. Huh? GenX embraces its weirdness.

Fast forward to 2021. Stupid CoVID. Everyone is exhausted. I need a vacation. James and I booked a vacation to St. Thomas for August. It's our place. It's our lie in the sun with a champagne in one hand and a book in the other place. And there it was...pink. There was a little bump on my leg...kind of flat, translucent almost. It didn't itch. It wasn't dry and flaky. Just a little, flat pink bump. Right near my left knee. I ignored it. I was in St. Thomas. In the sun. With champagne and a book. I never get to read. I refused to think about it. How do do stop thinking about it when all you can think about is not thinking about it? Stupid pink bump.

In October, I celebrated 10 years in remission from breast cancer. I have graduated! It was such a cool feeling. I was taken off of Tamoxifen after 10 years. Couldn't wait to go through hormone regulation. Not. What-ever...10 years. That is really something. No more pink.

A week later I got CoVID. Great year to name your dog Delta. I repeatedly tell people, "After the airline, not the variant." It didn't age well. When I was at my Primary Care office, I asked my doctor about the pink bump, which was no longer flat. It was pretty round, but it was kind of bulbous. A little irregular around the edges, but not dramatically so. And it was pink. Likely nothing to worry about, she said, but she took a picture and sent it off to Dermatology for review. That's neat how they can do that now. She snapped it with her iPhone and off it went to Derm. Derm called the next day. They were not worried about what they saw. They booked an appointment for me to come in on Dec 21. No big deal. It was pink.

On December 21, I went to my Dermatology appointment. Still pink, and no visible changes from October (or so I thought before looking back at pictures). I was the first patient she saw fresh off maternity leave with her first baby. We had some great chit chat about babies and my breast cancer history. The conversation was light...it was pink. She looked at my bump with her dermatoscope and said, "Well, normally when something is pink I can tell the patient not to worry about it because I know it is benign, but in this case I can't definitively say that. So I'd like to cut this off and send it off to Pathology if you're okay with me doing that today." I won't lie...I expected that. I was fine with that. I couldn't feel anything. She did a great job of numbing me up. As she placed the bandage, I thought I might pass out. I told her that my body must be more nervous than my brain. Anxiety is a weird thing. I needed a Xanax. My Xanax is pink. 

Christmas came and went. New Years came and went. Still no results 2 weeks later. I know enough to know that is odd. I called Dermatology. The doctor told me that there wasn't report to share. My pink bump is weird. Oh, great. Another weird tumor. When I told James, he responded without skipping a beat, "I always knew you were one of a kind." Love him. I thought, "Did you also always know I was so much trouble?"  I didn't ask. I already knew what he would say. He would say I was worth every ounce. 

My pink bump was weird. It was GenX weird..kinda weird, kinda gangster weird. It was so weird, in fact, that they didn't know what it was. It was, with certainty, either melanoma or something called an Atypical Spitz Tumor of Unknown Malignant Potential. Melanoma is the worst and most aggressive type of skin cancer. It has a tendency to spread or metastasize quickly. It is black (or pigmented) 95% of the time. That's why it is represented by a black ribbon (kin to breast cancer's pink ribbon). It is often easy to spot. 5% of the time it is pink, or amelanotic. Atypical Spitz Tumors (ASTs) are the #1 misdiagnosed skin condition. They also account for only about 1% of skin diagnoses. The pathologists don't love this diagnosis because, as it states in the name, it has an unpredictable malignancy. It could be deadly, or it could do nothing. An even smaller percentage of these are amelanotic. What we do know is that it is a tumor. A weird tumor. So my weird tumor took a vacation to San Francisco two weeks after my biopsy. I've been there (in whole) twice. The bushman scared me half to death - my friend Jacci died laughing. Alcatraz is haunting (and cold). Loved it. I'd go back...preferably all of me though. There is a Dermatopathologist at UCSF who specializes in melanocytic lesions. So until they have given a report, I won't know what it is. Is it pink? Or is it black?

I ended up calling UCSF a couple of weeks later. It was the end of January...4 weeks since my biopsy. I'm impatient and this whole thing was getting a little more than a little distracting. I was transferred a few times, but was ultimately connected to William in Dr. Leboit's lab. He was so informative...he told me that Dr. Leboit stained the tissue yet again, and that he came up with the same inconclusive answer that they came up with here in central Wisconsin. And he's the guy for melanomas. They ran a special panel of 500 gene tests, and it would take 4 weeks. That started on January 12, so my results would be delayed until at least Feb 9. Awesome. My birthday. At least I had a timeline. I had some hope.

I contacted my Oncologist, who referred me immediately to Surgical Oncology. James and I were able to visit with him that day, and he was amazing! He presented me with all options, and explained everything thoroughly and with compassion. He specializes in melanoma excision (removal). Surgery was scheduled for February 17. 

Today my Dermatologist called me to tell me that the pathology report came in. I have a gene mutation that was inconsistent with the stain. Without the genetic testing, I most certainly wouldn't have been diagnosed properly. Today I was diagnosed with invasive amelanotic melanoma. Black. Pink...but really black. Black. Breathe. Here's the good news: there is no evidence of lymph, vascular, or nerve invasion. This could be way worse. It isn't deep. It isn't multiplying rapidly. I will have an ultrasound tomorrow to make sure there isn't any reason to have a lymph node biopsy Thursday. That's the only thing that would change anything for surgery. We had already chosen the aggressive wider excision would have been required if the report came back as melanoma. I'm going to have one seriously cool scar on my leg...roughly 7 inches long when it's all said and done. I bet it ends up being pink. 

I have a million questions. Is my melanoma linked to my breast cancer?  Do I have other genetic mutations that predispose me to other types of cancer? How does a 43 year old woman have 2 different primary cancers in 10 years? How am I 43 years old already? What does this mean for my biological children? For my sisters? For my parents? I've been referred to a Genetic Counselor, so I'm reopening the blog I started almost 11 years ago so that I can process this and share the information as I learn it. Genetic testing has come a loooong way in 10 years when I had the BRCA testing. It's fascinating.

I can share this...I think I needed a wake up call. God has a funny way of doing that, you know...when you're not paying attention...when you're distracted...when you let your guard down. And yet, He shows you with compassion that you need to wake up...check your priorities...refocus. Be still, He loved you first. Be still, He loves you. And by you I mean me...and I also mean you. So if you're reading this and you need a wake up call, maybe I'm taking one for the team (also compliments of GenX). I have had so many people tell me over the years that my breast cancer story helped them to be their own advocate in healthcare, brought awareness of changes in their own bodies, and empowered them to have things checked. My hope and prayer is that, by sharing my story this time around, one person may look at a pink bump or a mole or a scaly patch and have it checked. It's not all about checking the tata's. I've traded in my breast cancer pink for melanoma black. Black is back, baby. Black is the new pink.

Together...for Lizzy

Dear Lizzy,

I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to be a 14 year-old girl whose parents are divorced, with at least one of them remarried. I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to have a step mother or step siblings. I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to see your friends finding themselves in a world that doesn't exactly fit with the finding of myself, and that we never went separate ways. I wish I could say that I have no idea how it feels to want a part on stage so badly that I could taste it, only to feel rejection when I didn't get it. But I can't say any of those things...because...life. What I do know is that all of those things helped shape me into the woman I am today...a woman of faith who fell in love with a man who had 2 wonderful children...my bonus kids...whose lives I get to be a part of. We get to do this together. And if we're really smart about it we will. We are more alike than you know. We can lean on each other. We can learn from each other. We can love each other...together. 

I can describe in three words how I felt the first moment that we met: I. Was. Terrified. I had no idea what you would think of me, and I hoped that you would like me...that we would connect. We went to the zoo in Chicago, and your smile lit up the city. Your hair was like spun gold. Your eyes were so wide. You were like a little sponge, soaking up everything around you...full of things to say, you never lacked in drama when it came to telling stories or corralling the boys. All I could see was this delightful little girl who skipped through the zoo...and you accepted me right away. It didn't take long before I wasn't scared anymore. I knew we were going to get along just fine. The boys ran ahead with your daddy, and you stayed back with me. A butterfly caught our eye, and in an instant I prayed for something. I prayed really intently for God to help me make friends with that butterfly. That was the first time I taught you anything. We were patient. I think that each of us was holding our breath as I lifted my forefinger beneath the butterfly's legs. It tickled as it walked gently onto my finger. Your eyes were so wide! We both smiled. I asked if you wanted to hold it, and you nodded enthusiastically. I coached you through it. You gently held your finger out and we transferred to the butterfly to you. And there it stayed...long enough for me to take my phone out and snap a quick picture. It is still one of my favorite pictures on the family wall...not because it was so sweet or indeed a little perfect, but because it is my first real memory of you...of us. No matter what happens, we will always have the day that we made friends with a butterfly...and we did it together. 

We've actually done a lot of things together...we have danced to "Shake It Off" more times than I can count, though it's been a long time since we danced together without caring about who was watching. We have made shells stuffed with broccoli and chicken, smothered in Alfredo sauce...a modified version of one of your favorites. We have painted, picked out decorations for your bedroom, and shopped until we dropped at the American Girl store. We were together the first time you skied, the first time you realized you loved cheese curds, and the first time you rode on an inner tube. 

We were together when your daddy proposed to me...you took the picture...and you were so happy!  You ran over to the boys and said to Jimmy, "You're going to be my brother!" He laughed and said, "I already am your brother!" You shook the confusion right out of your head and ran over to Logan and Parker Dean. You were so very happy. We were all so very happy. 

We were even together on our honeymoon. People thought we were crazy because we were taking four children on our honeymoon...but we kept telling people, "We got married so that we could all be together...so we're going to be together as much as we can!" The six of us sat together at a table and worked on a puzzle throughout the week, and we were so bummed when the week ended and there was a missing piece! We had a challenge on that trip for no one to eat the same meal twice, and boy, was that a challenge! But you did it...everyone did. Do you remember the video that you and Logan made? It was a news show about the Dickens and Frey Family Show...I can still hear you two singing it in my head. You told a story about me turning on the shower with clothes on, and jumping and kicking because it sprayed all over the place. "and then she was like this! And then this!"

The distance makes it very difficult to do things together. While your daddy and I have made every effort to have game nights over Facetime and dedicated calls at specific times, it gets more difficult the more busy everyone's schedules get. But we try...and we try hard. Technology makes that so much easier...it really can bring us together. But when we are all together in the same city, it becomes so much more important than being together...it's about connecting. We live in this world where we are all so connected to technology all the time...your daddy uses his computer and his phone to connect to work. I use mine to connect to work and the rest of the world. Logan, Parker Dean and Jimmy use theirs to connect to their friends and to each other). And you use yours to connect to whatever it is you connect to...friends, Pinterest, school...So when we are all together, connecting to each other becomes so incredibly important. That's why, at the dinner table, we ask you a million questions about your day. It's why we don't pull our phones out. It's why we take that opportunity to connect together. 

I love that you are full of drama...the good kind of drama...singing, dancing, acting. I was always on stage as a child and teenager, and I feel like I get you. I don't know how you feel about it, but when I was on stage, I always felt like I got to be someone other than myself. I could be sassy or evil or overly silly or super serious...and I was none of those things (but all of those things) in real life. I never had to share that part of it with anyone. But I had a Mama (DotDot, of course) who shared in the experience - she was always with me. She was at every show, sometimes backstage...sometimes watching with the audience. She really believed that no show was the same, and if she missed one it would be the best one. I genuinely want to be there for every performance that you are in. I have some major FOMO when it comes to missing you on stage. That is one of the things I hate most about this distance...not being together for those moments. 

And now we are here...at the place where I have to say this: I am not your Mama. You have a good, strong, beautiful mama. You are blessed in that way. You are also blessed that I am never going to try to take her place. I understand my role...I hope and pray that you do, too. I will listen to you. I will support you. I will challenge you. I will correct you. I will wake you up by drawing butterflies on your sweet face. I will make you green beans and sprinkle pancakes until you ask me not to (not at the same time, though...that's gross). And I will love you. I will always be here when you need me. While I may not be your mama, you are the daughter I always wanted but never knew I would have.

The way I see it, you were a cute little caterpillar when we first met...perfectly happy just beebopping along to Shake It Off. But something changed at some point...you started to transition. You are growing. You are changing. You are transforming into something so much more than a cute little caterpillar...you are turning into a fascinating and beautiful little butterfly. And part of my role is respecting that. Part of my role is simply admiring the young lady you are becoming. And part of my role is to help guide you so that, when it is time, you can spread your wings and fly. When it boils down to it, I am still terrified, praying every day that I can make friends with a butterfly. I hope you will let me. 

I love you, Lizzy. Even when you don't love me, I love you. Even when you don't love yourself, I love you. Because...you.

Happiest of birthdays to you, starlight.

Bean

Parker Dean Machine

Dear Parker Dean,

Last week you asked me to play the song "7 Years" by Lukas Graham. I didn't even know that you knew that song. We listened to it a thousand times when it first came out, but mostly because it was Jimmy's favorite song to sing in the car. But you knew every word...you even knew, for the most part, what ages the song mentions. When the song ended, I reminded you that soon you would be able to sing the lyrics "once I was 7 years old." You giggled. I think there was some joy in that. Today I asked you if you thought about that. You giggled again, but only because now you won't be able to get it out of your head all day. You're welcome. 

Once you were one year old...I wrote you a letter on your birthday. At that point I didn't know much about you. I knew that you loved to snuggle. You were a BIG baby...we used to laugh about your sweet chubby cheeks and turkey legs. No one would ever guess now that you were close to 9 pounds when you were born. Do you know that DotDot was the first person to see you on your first birthday? I woke up to her singing Happy Birthday on the baby monitor. I was so jealous. Now I think that is about the sweetest thing for both of you. I'm not sure if she has been able to do that with any of the other grandbabies. 

Once you were 2 years old...around this age (though I really think you weren't quite 2), you and Logan would sit in the living room while I was upstairs taking a shower. You would eat your breakfast in front of the TV watching Dinosaur Train. Then I would come downstairs and get y'all dressed for daycare, and we would head out the door. And then there was this one time...I came downstairs. No one was in front of the TV. I walked around silently, trying to figure out where y'all were. I turned the corner and saw water...everywhere. It was on the floor of the dining room. My eyes followed the water up to the dining table, where I found you sitting in nothing but a diaper in a puddle of water. I immediately grabbed you, thinking, "Get the baby to safety." As, I placed you on the floor, I realized you had goldfish scales on your cheeks...and a string of fish guts hanging from your chin! Oh, my goodness! I looked up at the goldfish bowl on the dining table to find three dead goldfish floating in the bowl...each with perfect teeth marks in them! You literally caught the goldfish with your bare hands, chewed them up, and spit them back into the bowl. "Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Oh! My! Goodness!!" I kept repeating it, as if "Oh, my goodness" was going to make it go away! Quickly I cleaned everything up. You would never even know we had goldfish in the house. I called the doctor. We were new in town, and you didn't even have a doctor yet. 

"My baby just ate three goldfish." Then there was silence. 

The nurse said, "Okay." 

"Not of the Pepperidge Farm variety, but of the swimming in the bowl variety!"

"Oh. Oh!" She said, as she tried to wrap her head around what you had done. "I'm going to put you on hold for a second."

As it turned out, there is no major issue with what you had done. We had to watch for signs of food poisoning, which you never developed. But from that point forward at the doctor's office, you became known as the Goldfish Baby.

Once you were 3 years old...we called you Parker then...except for when I picked you up at school. Because I called you Parker Dean, your classmates called you Parker Dean. You were having a hard time adjusting to Trinity after we changed daycare so that you and Logan were in the same space. You cried one night, saying, "They don't even know my name!" 

"Yes, they do...your teachers call you Parker every morning," I said, confused. 

"That's not my name. My name is Parker Dean!" And from that moment, you were Parker Dean. 

On your third birthday, we took you to the waterpark. You could always take a 3 hour nap, and that day was no different. We had to wake you up to eat cake and ice cream. You know this story...you've seen it on video a million times. Logan is like a squirrel, jumping up and down, poking you in the face, talking about how excited he is that it's your birthday. You are barely awake and Logan is barely tolerable. He tells you that you are his best buddy ever, and you respond, "No, I'm not!" He says, "But I am your best friend, though, right?" You respond, "No!" But we all know better. I know that you love him. I know he drives you crazy because you couldn't begin to understand how he is so carefree and happy and head-in-the-clouds all the time. But that is only because you are so very different from one another. God does that. He takes the best parts of the parents and builds them into a child. And then he finds other best parts and builds them into the next child. If you look very closely, what you will find is that you and Logan are a very different mix of my best and your daddy's best parts. Love him. Love Jimmy. Love Lizzy. You are all awesome little beings.

Once you were 4 years old...you decided that you no longer wanted to share a room with Logan. And we had room to spare. It made perfect sense. There was only one problem...Logan wasn't going to like it, and we both knew it. I told you that you would have to tell Logan if you wanted to move into the other room. You were perfectly cool with that. We made a plan. You two sat on Logan's bed. 

"Logan," you said, "I want my own room. I'm going to move."

He shrugged his shoulders like it didn't both him. "Which room do you want?"

"The one with the desk."

Logan thought about this for a minute, and then he responded, "Well that room is really dark."

"I know. Mommy will get me a light."

Logan responded, "It's kind of cold in there sometimes, though."

"I know. Mommy will get me a blanket."

Logan responded, "Sometimes when we play in there you get scared, though."

"I know. But I'm not scared anymore."

Logan started crying and said, "But then I will be scared!"

You see, Logan wasn't worried about you in the least. Logan was worried about Logan. You weren't worried about either of you. You were ready for the next thing. You were prepared. You held your ground. And, eventually, you moved into the other room. You were never scared or cold. You knew what you wanted and you went after it. I like that about you...you know when you are ready for the next thing. You are prepared.

Once you were 5 years old...you were in Mrs. Raben's Kindergarten class. You told me about a couple of kids in your class who told the other kids that they loved each other...a boy and a girl. You said it was "weird." I asked if there was anyone in your class that you liked. 

You quickly answered, "I only love two girls." 

"Whoa! Two girls? I'm not ready for that!" I thought.

"I only love my mommy and Mrs. Raben!" 

I figured I could work with that. I did explain to you that one day you would love someone more than you love me and Mrs. Raben, but you didn't believe that was possible.

Once you were 6 years old...it was in this year that you really began to shine. You lost your first tooth...but you didn't just lose it. You pulled it out yourself. In fact, I have never pulled a single Parker Dean tooth. You have pulled all of them! It was a show of independence that I didn't expect from you. You discovered a love of the beach, Alabama football, playing baseball, playing basketball, the Country Club, Lake Martin, sushi, pizza, a mile high Mississippi mud pie, and the Cheese Bomb burger! When you prayed at night you almost always asked God to "make us helpful to our parents" and to "let us be thankful even when it isn't Thanksgiving." You became kind and generous and grateful. When your teachers talked about you, they talked about how good you are. And they were right...you are so good! You are the child who helps me pull weeds in the garden and decorate the Christmas tree and cook...so helpful. You did not like being in trouble...you came down to my office at the church once and stood in my doorway with a piece of paper in your hands. The moment I looked at you, you burst into tears and curled up into my lap. I didn't know if you didn't want to be in trouble, or if you didn't want me to be disappointed...or both. Whatever the reason, it kept you out of trouble moving forward...for the most part.

Once you were 7 years old...this last year has been just awesome. We discovered that you are a math whiz, which is not surprising. Math is practical. It makes sense. It is right or it is wrong. You have always been drawn to Legos in a way that an engineer would be drawn to Legos. You have what is called spatial reasoning...you can see things in your head before they are built...and then you can build them. You can see how things fit together and work together. That is a great gift that you have been given. I have no doubt that you will use it to do great things. You know what it is like to struggle. Reading has not been easy for you, but we have been working on it. One day it will click, and you will be unstoppable. I want so hard for things to be easy for you. But the fact of the matter is that life is sometimes hard. And we have to work at it. Some people learn this sooner than others, and you are one of those people. That will be a good thing one day. What I do know about you is that you never give up. You will work on something until you get it. 

And now you are 8 years old...it's hard to believe, but it is true. You are good. You are smart. You are funny. You are kind. You have a love for Jesus. You are helpful. You are thankful...even when it isn't Thanksgiving. You have always been the very best snuggle buddy.

Soon you'll be 60 years old...Here are things you should always know:

• 2 rules: No ER, No Jail.
• You stay out of trouble by staying away from people who get you into trouble.
• If you get people into trouble, they will stay away from you.
• Encourage others. If you can see how pieces fit together to make a whole, you can also do that with people...use people's strengths to build something great. 
• Say you are sorry. Forgive others. 
• Love your siblings. You will need them one day.
• Keep faith. Your faith will help you through everything.
• Never stop hugging your Mom.
• Know when to make funny faces in pictures (and know when not to).
• It's okay to be disappointed in yourself. It's not okay to let your weaknesses keep you from growing. Figure out what they are and never stop working on them.
• Be thankful for what you have and do not focus on what you don't have. Hebrews 13:5
• Keep laughing. Through it all, keep laughing.
• Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely. It's a big, big world...see yourself as bigger, push each other to the limits and learn quicker. Remember life and then your life becomes a better one. Come and visit once or twice a month. (CR: 7 Years)

Happiest of birthdays, my one and only Moonbeam. My heart is always with you. 

Mom

Little Jimmy Dickens

Little Jimmy Dickens

Dear Jimmy,

It must seem funny that this family has come together like it has…and that love knows no distance of time or space. One day you will really get it. I have no doubt about that. You will really get it. You will understand the love and the sacrifice and the overall romance of it all.

I think you enjoy the distance…for several reasons. Mostly, you get to spend a lot of time with your Daddy without sharing him with me, Logan or Parker Dean. You have only Lizzy to contend with when it comes to his attention. And because you love a lot of the same things (baseball, the farm, hunting, fishing), it’s not too hard to get it. There is a lot of beauty in that. You two are totally connected.

Do you know when I first met you, I was so worried about whether or not you would like me? I wondered if you and Logan and Parker Dean would get along. But mostly I wondered if I would be able to love you and Lizzy like I love Logan and Parker Dean. I thought, “That has to be impossible, right?” How could I possibly love these two as much as I love my own kids? I didn’t know them as babies. I didn’t get to hold them and snuggle them and figure out how to help them. But the first time I met you, I knew instantly that everything was going to be okay.

You sat in Parker Dean’s stroller before we went into the zoo. And he was perfectly okay with that. In fact, he just wanted to push you! You, Logan and Parker Dean were instant friends. You played together so well that it felt like you always knew each other. You were always rocking a smile on your face. Your cheeks would light up all pink…your Daddy had already informed me about the little Jimmy Dickens smile, and he was right…it is awesomely contagious.

Over the past four and a half years, I have come to know you as the jumping bean who won’t sit still…even during a Yankee game. You are constantly clicking Nerf guns and bouncing balls on the floor (or the wall…or the ceiling)…always with a smile on your face. You are happiest with a ball of any kind, be it baseball, golf, or basketball.

And, boy, do we love watching you play! Despite the distance, I have had the great privilege of cheering you on at basketball games over the years...and you have really turned me into a baseball fan! I think your Daddy always felt like he could turn me into a baseball fan…but it was you! I absolutely LOVE watching you play. I like watching you sit in the dugout getting coached by your Daddy. I like watching you lean your arm against the fence with your bat down by your side as you cheer on your team. I like the hot Summer days, the exhausting All-Stars season (and the cool bag that came with getting into All-Stars), and sitting in the bleachers. You have really turned me into a fan. I even like watching MLB play. I love that you love Jeter and Judge as much as your Daddy loved(s) Mattingly. I love the you forgive me for loving Didi Gregorius, even though he’s not your favorite.

You have become quite adventurous…with your food choices. And, as a foodie, I love that about you. Do you even remember all of the different foods you’ve tried over the last few years? Gator tail and crab legs at Tacky Jacks during the Familymoon…Crab Claws at Lulu’s…you have even tried sushi! You even liked some of it! As it turns out, there are things out there other than Chic-fil-A and Moe’s. Now keep in mind I don’t knock those things…I love Chic-fil-A and Moe’s…so I get it. But there is this whole world of delicious food out there (I mean, I would never know that I love a peanut butter jalapeño burger if I hadn’t tried one!), and I am so glad that I have witnessed you trying some of it for the first time.

I love that you tell me when you don’t like something I cook. I get that, too. You don’t like the way I cook broccoli. Okay…I won’t make it for you. Believe it or not, I am not in the business of making kids eat gross stuff all the time. I find great joy in finding things that you do like, though. Like my famous sprinkle pancakes! I’ll be coming up to college when you go to Auburn…making sprinkle pancakes for your fraternity brothers…I can see it now!

You are considerate. You are so good at trying to think of stuff that other people like before you make a choice…even though the choice is yours. You love some Krispie Kreme. I know that you prefer that over Dunkin Donuts. And yet, you will choose Dunkin Donuts for breakfast because you know that Lizzy doesn’t like Krispie Kreme! That is really thoughtful, Jimmy, because you know good and well that she could eat dry cereal at home if you really wanted to go to Krispie Kreme. Really thoughtful. And there are plenty of examples of this.

We have so much fun teaching you things (like how to dive) and exposing you to new experiences through traveling. I know that this life we are all living seems a little crazy sometimes, but it has also opened doors to new experiences. I’m not sure you would have had an opportunity to learn to ski or go sledding if we didn’t have this crazy life. You are so good on the ski slope…and you have a blast sledding!

You just love to play and have fun. And we love to play and have fun with you. Some of my fondest memories of you involve games. Do you remember that I sent you and Lizzy a box of games to play with your Daddy before we met? I thought it would give y’all something to do together when you were with him…and you loved it! Guess Who, Uno, and Pie Face all evolved into FaceTime Game Nights. Do you realize that your Daddy and I used to make sure that if y’all were eating hamburgers for dinner on Game Night that we also ate hamburgers for dinner that night? Or spaghetti? Or pizza? I don’t think y’all ever caught on that we were all having the same thing for dinner on those nights!

Some of the best times we have had together have been at Lake Martin with DotDot and Bees (and all of the cousins). Your Daddy didn't grow up going up to the lake, but I did, and I was so excited to introduce you to the world of boating, tubing, and swimming around the boat. The first time we went up there, you Daddy told me not to be too concerned if you and Lizzy didn't like it...because he didn't think you would be "lake kids." I do love it when he is wrong! Kicking you off the inner tube is definitely one of my favorite memories...not just memories of you, but of all memories ever. It was especially fun when the tables turned and you pulled me into the lake when I tried to help you back onto the tube! That was so much fun!

I had the most fun putting together your Flat Stanley scrap book. I wanted it to be the coolest Flat Stanley scrap book that anyone in your class had…just so you would know just how much I loved you. Logan, Parker Dean and I went all over Wisconsin to assemble that thing…we wrote letters and took pictures and gave it a lot of pizzazz. I was truly honored that you asked if you could send Flat Stanley up to us.

You have a voice like an angel. Every once in a while I get to hear it in the car because you usually sit right behind me. And sometimes I hear it at night when your Daddy plays the guitar and we all sing before we say our bedtime prayers. I know it’s probably not your favorite thing to do because it doesn’t involve playing with a ball, but I love it when you sing. I love it when we all sing and pray together. That is my favorite family activity.

I hope you realize that, over the past few years, I have learned that it is definitely possible to love children who didn’t come out of your belly just as much as you love the ones who did. The biggest difference I can think of in how I treat them and treat you is this: Sometimes I feel guilty because I want to snuggle you like I’ve snuggled Logan and Parker Dean their whole lives…but I am trying to be respectful of your space because I don’t know if you would welcome that. But please know that I would welcome that if you ever felt like you needed a snuggle or a hug from me. 

I also think that sometimes you think I am hard on you. And I am sometimes…just like I am hard on Logan and Parker Dean and Lizzy. Think of me as a Coach. Your Coach will ride you because they know you can be better. If your Coach stops riding you, it’s because they’ve given up on you. I will not give up on you. I will continue to coach you…all of you. But I will also be a cheerleader...cheering on all of your accomplishments...big and small.

Happiest of birthdays to you, Jimmy Dickens. You are a bright and shiny blue sky, a sunny day, and I am a Jimmy Dickens fan. I love you.

Bean

A Decade of Bear

Dear Bear,

Today you are ten years old. On your third birthday, I
wrote you a letter

(http://beansbreastcancerblog.blogspot.com/2011/10/),
thinking that one day you would stumble upon it. Oh,
how I hoped to be a fly on the wall when that happened.
I imagined that it would be after I was long gone, and
that DotDot would show you how to find it…or that you
would be doing research for a paper and come across it
on your own. But I should have known better than that.
You like to ask questions, and I don’t like to feel left out!

I’ll never forget the conversation that we had last year
about blogs. I asked you what you knew about blogs,
and you blew my mind. You knew an awful lot. I told
you that I had a blog, and you immediately asked to
read it. I told you that you weren’t ready yet. You
negotiated a peek, in true Logan fashion. I let you read
the letter I wrote to you. We were sitting in the Dunkin
Donuts parking lot. You were silent. I turned around to
see if you had finished reading, and you put the phone
in your lap, still silent. Your eyes were swimming in a

pool of tears that refused to drop. I told you I loved
you, and your response was, “I know you do...now.
Thank you for letting me read that.” We both bawled.
You unbuckled and crawled into the front seat with
me, and I hugged you a big hug. I am so glad that got
to be there when you read that letter.

You have a wonderful curiosity about the world
around you. You love to explore. You climb trees. You
get stuck in them. You get cut out of them. Then you
climb them again. You know who you are, and you
are proud. You are so confident. You probe. You are
constantly asking me questions about when you were
a baby, and I think to myself, “Wasn’t that just
yesterday?” It wasn’t. We have come a long way since
I first wrote you that letter.

You haven’t changed much either. As I have read that
letter many times over the past 7 years, I have often
been in awe of how developed your personality was
at that age. Honestly I could tell a million stories
about pokie fish and triangles and beating bed bugs
(not literally) with a shoe. I could go on and on
about you singing “3 Little Birds” on stage at a
concert, or the significance of that song. I could
talk about sushi or flossing or cactus costumes until
I was blue in the face. Because you love to hear
stories about what an extraordinary boy you’ve
always been, I’m going to share some of my favorites
here. Roll your eyes all you want to. Pronounce the
word “ugh” as “uhhhhgg,” drawing it out long and
emphasizing the “g.” Nervously fidget with your
fingers touching your lips…whatever it takes to get
through this letter.

Your pre-school teacher stopped my hustle and
bustle at pick-up one day to tell me a story. I
thought, “Oh, no. What has he done now?” She
told me about how, at 4 years old, you wanted to
sort the foam alphabet interlocking tiles in order.
You assembled a group of girls from the class (4
or 5 if I recall correctly), and directed them to find
each tile and put them together. When the girls
got stuck, you did not tell them what letter came
next. Instead, you lead them in the ABC’s and yelled
“STOP!” when they reached the next appropriate
letter. The teacher pointed out your natural
leadership abilities, and at that point I laughed,
saying, “Yeah…I’m pretty sure he will be a lawyer,

a preacher, or (heaven help us) a politician.” I have
no doubt that stands today, given your love of rules,
your strong negotiating skills, your ability to lead,
and your charismatic story-telling ability. I do
wonder where those traits came from. ;-)

There was a night that we drove down Franklin
Street. Franklin is the steep hill that goes from our
house on the east side of town to the downtown
area. As the leaves change colors in Wisconsin,
Franklin is nothing short of magical. Between the
maples lies a view of the west side of town
blanketed by the dark night sky. If you catch it at
the right time, the moon lingers in that space
between the trees. I’m not sure where we were
going that night. I’m not even sure of what time
of year it was, or if the leaves were in full color.
But I remember silence. I remember you saying,
“Mama, I think that moon stole somebody’s smile.”
I looked to the sky to find the most perfect
crescent moon. I looked back at you…so peaceful,
so imaginative…just staring out the window, so
unaware of how you just touched my heart. Those
moments haven’t stopped as you’ve grown. You
even had a conversation with James this month
about how the moon looked like an orange slice.
I’ve caught your day-dreaming more times than I
can count, and I often wonder what vast
adventures are bouncing around in that head of
yours. I’ve wanted to join you every time. Keep
your head in the clouds, Sunshine…as you told
me sometime in the past year, “The clouds have
stories to tell.” You deserve to hear every one of
them.

There are times where your imagination kind of
freaks me out. Like the time that we were
snuggling in your bed and you were petting my
hair. You said, “I love your hair.” I had a
flashback to when you were 3, rubbing my bald
head, telling me that I was cute. And then you
said, “I wish I could cut if off and make a blanket
out of it so that I could sleep with it forever and
ever.” Ummm, that was the line from cute to
creepy, and you just crossed it. There was also a
time when you told me that I would always have
a place in your bed to snuggle you…right between
you and your wife. I rolled onto the floor laughing,
and I thought, “Your wife is going to love me!”
Mostly, though, your creativity helps you in areas
you couldn’t imagine.

You are so clever…and funny. We sat in church
one day…you were 4 or 5. Parker Dean was in the
nursery, and it was just you and me. You picked a
pew 4 rows from the front, and you would have
sat in the front row if I hadn’t talked you out of
it. I told you that the closer you sit to the front
the more responsible you have to be because
everyone behind you can see your every move.
You said you understood. The Sunday School
teacher gave you an M&M cookie in a Ziploc
bag. It looked delicious, and you wanted it
badly. In a moment of sanity, I told you that
you could have the cookie after church…if you
behaved. I was not counting on you getting that

cookie. I was gearing up for a fight. You were
pretty still. And I was proud that day. Then it
came time for the sermon. You got squirmy. I
wrote a note on the bulletin and slid it over to
you...you see, you were also an incredibly
advanced reader for your age.  The note read:
"I will eat your cookie." I looked at you, and you
straightened up right away…still as a statue.
That may have been the first time I listened to
a sermon without distraction in over 4 years.
As the preacher wrapped up, I looked at you
and smiled. Then I noticed you glance at my
thigh. The bulletin was under my left leg. I
pulled it out and read the words: "Then I will
eat you." I wasn’t the only proud one that day.

I was so proud of myself for taking the Love
and Logic parenting class. I needed something
that worked. You were so independent that I
couldn’t get you to do anything without
yelling and fussing and crying and time outs
and spankings. I was exhausted. You were
winning. Then I learned that all I had to do was
to not lose my cool with you. Eventually, if I
said something twice, I would follow it with
“That’s two.” You no longer got a third chance.
You knew that “two” meant business. Now all
I have to do is say your name and hold up two
fingers and you do what I said the first time. You
know, that time you acted like you didn’t hear me
but really you did? If you argued with me (which
was all the time), all I had to do to leave the
argument was walk away while saying, “I love
you too much to argue about it.” Argument
ended. #winning. You crawled into bed with me
one night, and I groggily told you to go back to
your bed. You said no. No? Really? “Go back to
bed, Bear, that’s two.” You rolled away from me,
snuggled into my down comforter, and scooted
your little butt up next to mine. “I love you too

much to argue about it,” you said. You won that
one…hands down. Or did you?

You are a really good “big.” I mean it. You are so
loving and helpful with Parker Dean. You celebrate
when he does something well. You encourage
him when he doesn’t. You play so well with him.
You have never known anything to be just
yours…you share because it makes things more fun
when others can participate. You are genuinely
excited for others. Remember on Parker’s 3rd
birthday when he was a total grumpapotamus and
you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? You were
like a chipmunk – all chipper and happy, bouncing
in his face. You kept saying, “It’s your birthday,
Parker! Aren’t you excited? This is the best birthday
ever!” You didn’t care that it wasn’t your birthday
…you were genuinely excited to celebrate him.
That’s just how you are…and I love that about you.
You are a nurturer. You are social. I have no doubt
that, one day, you will take care of me and Parker
Dean will provide the financial resources. This is
where you say, “Hey!” And then you throw your
hands up because you know I’m right.

You are also a really good “little.” From the day
you met James, Lizzy and Jimmy, they were your
family. You are like your aunt JayJay that way.
Whenever you are asked how many people are
in your family, you say “7” without skipping a
beat. There are always 2 dads and there are
always 2 brothers and 1 sister. Family is important
to you. You love your Mama and your Daddy and
your James...you love all 3 of your siblings. You
love all of your grandparents and
great-granddaddy. Your heart knows no distance.
I love that...so much. And I get it.

You are perceptive. One time, while you were in
the bathtub, I asked you a question. I asked how
you thought it would feel if I said, “Logan…Jimmy
is my favorite child. Then Parker Dean. Then
Lizzy. Then you are my fourth favorite! You’re
still one of my favorites, but my fourth favorite.”
You pondered for a second, and your response
was so astute. You said, “I don’t know what kind
of lesson I’m about to learn, but I bet it’s a good
one.” You never once thought that I loved any of
you over another. You knew better than that.
You knew that there was a lesson in my
example…even without me telling you that. And
I bet you will never again tell your friends about
how they rank in your world.

You deny that one day you will tell me that you
are too cool to hug on your mama, but I think
that deep down you know that it is coming. I
always try to tell you that, when that happens,
it will hurt me deep down…but that you are
not responsible for my feelings, and I am
allowed to have them. I also tell you that it will
be okay, because there will come a point when
you want my hugs again, and I will happily give
them to you. I do know, with all of my heart,
that you love me more than I think is fair.

Watching Alabama football with you is one of
my favorite things on this planet. I love how
excited you get, that you yell at the TV, that
you wear your Bama gear, and that you
genuinely love the game. I love it when you
tell me that you are going to play football at
Alabama in college. You dream big, baby.
Dream big. I’ll have the Campbell’s soup
waiting. Just make sure you move when you
fall…because your mama is watching, and
she needs to know your limbs and spine are
intact. Roll tide.

You are a Southern boy deep down. It comes
out when you lovingly mock my accent. It
comes out when you run off the pier into
Lake Martin, without a care in the world. As
much as you love the lake, you also love the
Country Club, formal church, button up shirts,
shaggy hair, and Chic-fil-A. Yes, Bear, in those
moments, I know that you are Southern at
heart. You tell me that you will move to
Alabama someday. Whether you do or you
do not, I hope that you do what makes you
happy and healthy, all the while knowing
that I love and support you with all of my
being.

What I never saw coming was your deep
appreciation for and love of Jesus. Bear, you
are faithful and forgiving and ready to
spread the Gospel beyond my wildest
dreams. You want people to know Jesus. I
cannot wait to see how the Holy Spirit
works throughout your life. Stay steadfast.
Be the spiritual head. Keep talking to God
like he’s the best friend you’ve ever had.
Know that He will never leave you. Say
the blessing. Share the good news.
Remember to pray…any time…any place.
Be strong. Be courageous. Let the wisdom
of Scripture flood your heart.

How are you 10 years old? Where did
that time go?  It seems like just yesterday
that I was wondering why they were
sending us home from the hospital without
any training or instructions! Yet, here we
are...10 years later. You are no longer a
child, but a tween. My job now is to let you
take everything that I’ve taught you and
put it into practice, making good decisions.
And in 10 more years, you will be an adult.
That’s a tough thing for this mama to
imagine.

I cannot wait to watch you grow over the
next span of time. I pray that you do not
endure heartache or illness or trauma or
disappointment or drama, but I cannot
promise you that you won’t. What I can
promise you is this…this wasn’t the first
letter I wrote you, and it won’t be the last.
I am healthier than I have probably ever
been, and I plan on being around for a
very long time. My 7 ½ year check-up
was last week. Labs look good. No lumps.
No pain. No cause for concern. God
continues to bless me with more time to
get to know you. You, Bear, are stuck
with me. I will be with you through
anything that comes your way, and as
you grow my role will change from
protector to supporter, from coach to
cheerleader. Whatever my role, I hope
you know, without a doubt, that I love
you for everything that you are…always.

Happy birthday, Sunshine…Bear…Lo.
May we have many more.

I love you bluer than the sky. Mom