A Few More HER Moments

Remember those? Take one moment and live as though it is in an entire lifetime? I've had a few of those lately.

For instance, I scheduled Joshua's 3 year well baby appointment for a Monday morning. As though I would be able to keep a Monday medical appointment that was not my own.

Christ suggests that this kind of thing means I'm getting back to regular life, carrying on as usual, and that it's a good sign that I don't hear "Monday" and think "Chemo barn."

I like the positive spin.

And it also works to cover the next HER moment: I wore a turtleneck to my protein appointment this week. As though the nurse wouldn't need to access my port that day. Usually, I wear a V-neck shirt and I just tug it to the side to let her stick me. This week, I was yanking my shirt far over just to give her a peak at the spot.

Next up: I ran some errands with the kids today, got them all buckled in to leave the parking lot of Party City, and discovered that my key was missing.

Not my keys. Just my key. The one that turns the car on. It wasn't attached to my ring with all the other keys that, now I realize, I wouldn't have minded losing right then.

It was nowhere. Not in the front seat. Not in the back. Not on the asphalt near my car. Not on the sidewalk. Not in the store where we had tread. How would I get home without a key?

I was so calm about it, I even thought, "Wow, you're being really patient, Amy!" Then I thought, "While you're at it, why don't you live this key-less moment as though it were a whole lifetime?"

Then I looked in the bag of things we'd bought for Gemma's birthday party, and there it was.

Final HER moment to share:

We came home from errands to our home after the Merry Maids had left. That's right. We have maids clean our house. It's almost the first thing I told Bryan after that first medical appointment to check out the "swollen lymph node." I said, "If this is cancer, we're getting a cleaning service."

And it's been wonderful. I've especially appreciated when their day here has fallen during a chemo week.

So, it's like, "Kids, keep this house clean! The Merry Maids were just here!"

Then I told Joshua to make potty.

Asking him if he had to go doesn't usually work. But if we remember to tell him every 2 hours, then he does pretty well. Many times, he'll say he doesn't have any potty and he'll carry himself with slumped shoulders and whining voice--oh the oppression!--to the bathroom. Then we'll hear him whiz for about 25 seconds straight. Yeah. "No potty."

Today, I told him to go. He dropped trou and went without fuss. Then found that his stool was not lined up right in front of the commode. And that the seat was down. So he just let it rip.

All over the wall. And mis-placed stool. And downed seat.

"Joshua!" I yelped when I saw. "The Merry Maids were just here!"

Here's one toy I would not give a 3 year old boy: A bottle with a squirt cap that is full of urine. "Here, son, squeeze this baby 'till it's empty, but only into a toilet, OK?"

But the choice to equip my child with a very similar toy wasn't mine to make.

I mopped up with a towel. Wiped up with a bleach rag. Thought to myself, "I am thankful that this is not my entire lifetime."