Dec 9 2019

Holiday Cheer-ish

I have not been feeling very “holiday cheer-ish” lately. I can’t quite put my finger on why… maybe it’s irritation at having to put all the Christmas decor (and really anything) out of reach of an active toddler, being completely over the commercialization and overly advertised sales of the season, or because the carols seem to start earlier every year – I just feel like a Grinch.

But I have two kids, and the comparisons to other parent’s social media holiday magical bragging, I felt the need to buck up and fake the spirit for their sake. This evening, I figured getting dressed up for some pictures in front of the fully decorated trees at Union Station would do just the trick. Because the one thing I always love the most about this time of year is the arrival of real mail – and I love sending just as much as I love receiving. I figured this would be the opportunity to take pictures for our annual holiday cards.

With two sharply dressed kids, a wide open space to run, a tired camera only wanting to focus every third picture, paying for two hours of parking and only needing about ten minutes because the greatest part of Union Station was closed for an event (seriously…) It was not the ideal photo op afternoon I was hoping would reignite the much needed enthusiasm. I looked through the pictures trying to find something salvageable because I could tell there was no way to get the little guy to sit and smile, I could tell most of what I had taken was a waste and I could feel the Grinch creeping back in. But they were happy, my kids were smiling and having fun. We proceeded to Crown Center for more running wild while looking super fresh. And on the way home I passed our usual neighborhood turn and went to a Christmas lights display – the kind where you tune your radio so the lights go with the song playing on the station. My daughter danced along and my son sat silently content.

After putting the kids to bed tonight I put the pictures on my computer to order some cards… After all it is only 15 days until Christmas and if I didn’t order soon I might as well be sending Valentines cards. I found one picture that really made my Grinch heart grow, despite the slight fuzziness, I can see their excitement and lively personalities. It doesn’t matter how I am feeling about the perfectly imperfect top half decorated Christmas tree or how the season of giving turns into the season of needing. I am so blessed to be able to create a season of loving and happy memories for these two amazing individuals and their excited energy is contagious.

What puts you in the Holiday Mood?

Aug 24 2019

Fitting In

Did I ever tell you about the time I was mortified as a high school freshman? I made some close friends in middle school who didn’t exactly flow into being the same great friends in high school. For whatever reason – seriously none of us remember, we. just. stopped. being. friendly… I was really needing a new start with a fresh social circle as a freshman and tried out some new activities with a positive outlook (as much as a early teen with a “no one understands what I am going through” type mindset can be positive).

I joined the debate team and hit it off with a fun, more poplar than me, red headed freshman girl. Brenda spurred my interest in digging through my mom’s trunk to pull out shirts from the 70’s to wear – now that I am thinking about it, I wonder what happened to the white shirt with colorful embroidery I found and wore so much that year.

Brenda and I became debate partners and although we never hung out outside of school (or school functions), it was a budding friendship I was grateful for after the abandonment I felt from my last crew. Our very first debate tournament was in the early fall – most likely October. The debate topic for the year foreshadowed my social services career – JUVENILE CRIME. The first tournament was in Louisburg, Kansas just 30 minute drive south of our high school. Because of the proximity to the school and the type of activity, there was no team bus and everyone drove themselves and friends (upper class men) or parents picked up (freshman).

The results of the tournament are long forgotten but I can still remember Brenda and I sitting outside after our last round waiting for our rides. I was hanging out, trying to make the impression I was cool and worthy of being associated with. We sat on a cement wall watching the cars rolling up and down the long hills leading towards the school talking about whatever freshman trying to be cool talk about. Both of us quickly spotted a minivan off in the distance rolling up and down those same hills far off. It didn’t take long to recognize the van had the back completely open. We both laughed about it joking how wild it was someone could drive all that way not realizing the back was open. Up and down another big hill, the van got closer. Sure enough the van pulled into the Louisburg High School parking lot and right up in front of the school.

I said a quick good-bye to Brenda and nearly ran to the back of the van to close it before climbing inside. My mom and sister decided to stop by the Louisburg Cider Mill and pumpkin patch before picking me up. They laughed about driving all that way without recognizing the giant window agape in the back and were grateful their pumpkins didn’t fall out. At the time, I couldn’t even think to be grateful more of my new high school classmates weren’t present to witness my horrifyingly embarrassing pick-up.

Fast forward to a little over 20 years later and I am picking up my 3rd grade daughter from elementary school – her first week of school. I am chilling in the pick-up line and pull forward to see my beautiful girl in her crisp white polo and plaid jumper spot me and immediately her sweet face started frowning. She opens up the back seat to climb in and say, “Mom, what is that sound?”

“Sorry girl, there is something dragging on the bottom of the car I need to get screwed back in.” I apologize.

“You cannot pick me up like this mom, you have to get that fixed.”

And there it was, the memory of trying to fit in hit me, I was embarrassing my girl in front of her peers. I promised her I would get my car taken car of so that she could be picked up in a neutrally blending in vehicle to minimize the social impact.

Sep 28 2016

Grief at Five

“We feel mad and sad,” these were the words my five year old daughter articulated to my mom’s neighbor when Mom couldn’t respond to his question the day after my dad passed. Parker’s wisdom in the moment demonstrated some maturity and emotional understanding of what we were all experiencing.

And just as everyone in the family has shown moments of strength, we have all succumb to the weight of his loss in different moments too. For my daughter, she began grieving the changes to her Papa long before he had been diagnosed with cancer.

Parker and Papa shared rituals. She would get the stick and flashlight for Papa and they would get down on their hands and knees to get kitty toys out from under the stove. She would bring him the DVD case and together they would put in a movie and she would snuggle on his lap to watch. Parker would sit with him after dinner to have dessert and he would allow her spoonfuls from his bowl of ice cream even when she had her own.

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Papa would let Parker interrupt his work in his home office to let her sit in his chair and play on the computer or make copies of her hand on his printer. She would get excited when Papa would fill up the teapot and assist by getting out the honey and a spoon then patiently waited for her helping of honey. Parker started calling him “Poppy,” a term of endearment he adored. And a favorite ritual before we left their home was for Papa to pick her up for a giant sandwich hug with Poppy and Nana.

When my dad injured his back we made modifications to the sandwich hug. Instead of getting down to play on the floor, she found joy in getting to play in his remote lift chair. She naturally became more gentle with him and found on some days when he was more comfortable, she could still snuggle in to watch a movie with him. Parker asked a lot of questions and mourned why Papa couldn’t pick her up anymore. I tried to reaffirm it would only be a matter of time, he would heal and things would be back to normal.

30 July 2015 – One month before diagnosis.

This time last year, her worry became even more evident, she questioned daily when Poppy’s back would be better. He was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma about a month shy of Parker’s fifth birthday and it seemed too complex to try to explain what was happening to her Papa. “The doctors are helping Papa because he is sick,” seemed the only rational thing to say to a five year old. Then we would talk about praying for him to heal and for his back to be all better again soon.

Repeating this conversation seemed to temporarily satisfy her and my dad improved through the autumn of 2015. He was showing signs of healing and getting around easier. Parker understood his limitations and adjusted to how their adoration for each other was changing. A huge setback came just before the new year when a lesion on his femur broke with only the weight of his body standing. With the exception of medical appointments, Papa lived in his own personal medical suite upstairs. As the months passed in late winter and early spring, Parker went upstairs less and less. I could see how nervous she felt in his presence and witnessing him suffer. I made attempts to encourage their interactions with playing games or showing him a dance she was practicing in class. Right or wrong, I tried to explain what was happening to his bones in five year old terms. For months straight she would pick out the same bedtime story “Magic School Bus: The Human Body,” and often stopped on specific pages displaying a graphic of a skeleton to talk about Papa’s bones. It was her own way of coping and trying to understand.

Dad never rebounded from the surgery, medications and treatment. He passed at home in his sleep days after Easter. Since it was early in the morning when I got the call, I left before Parker woke. My husband and I agreed not to tell her, instead sending her to school so we could have a day to sort out arrangements. The following morning, I dreaded telling Parker what happened to her beloved Poppy. I worried she wouldn’t understand what death meant as she had no memory of losing someone. We sat down with her in the kitchen and I did my best to conceal my tears and calm my voice. Her tears were immediate as though she completely understood the gravity of him being gone. We embraced and tried to turn our sadness to appreciation for him to no longer be in pain. When we told her we would be going to Nana and Papa’s house for the day Parker begged to go to school, a place where she could be happy and forget. She didn’t want to go to the house where Papa is supposed to be and him not be there.

As always, the opportunity to see her cousins and trumped the fear of the empty house. She played with her cousins while the adults seemed to float around the house without intention, numb from the turbulence of the last year. After her cousins had been gone a while in the late afternoon, Parker came running from upstairs sobbing. Mom and my dad’s sister and I all felt the ripple of emotion and broke down with her. I believe she had been upstairs to play in his lift chair, a game that was no longer fun with him gone.

In the days and weeks following we cried together frequently. We expressed gratitude he was free from pain and we talked about how he would always be with us. I encouraged Parker to know he could be with her whenever she felt she needed him. On the way to school she would say she was going to bring him with her and talked to him on our way there. She joked “He’s going the wrong way, no Poppy that’s not the right turn…” And when we talked about him being with his mom, she would sometimes bring Grame along to school too.

It seemed the tearful sadness of losing Papa was lessened during the early summer. She could talk about him without the heavy emotion and I was relieved she was coping so well. Then there were times I wondered if I was doing everything right to help a five year old with grief. On a few occasions she got stuck looking at pictures and would break down unable to catch her breath. I validated her feelings by recalling stories of him and the funny things we would remember him by to help in the moment.

I had been concerned maybe my daughter was reflecting my emotions, maybe she was feeling the grief I was immersed in and so I have been careful to not initiate her thoughts or feelings. I know her moments of grief are her own because many times I am blindsided by her eruption of sadness. Like a peaceful ride in the car interrupted by a quivering voice in the backseat “I miss Papa.” Parker recently began associating one song to Papa, a song she has loved for a long time but now can’t manage to hear without thinking of how much she misses him.There are even joyful celebrations where she turns to despair because Papa is not there to share in it.

The variety of ways Parker has expressed her heartache demonstrate how much she deeply loved her Poppy and also resemble the complicated way our whole family is coping with his loss. In the last six months there have been times when talking about him was easy and then there are days when even the sight of a bird soaring can cause hysteria. We know we each have individual triggers which can cause deep sorrow; a song, a date, a place or any synchronistic event. And then there are other waves of grief which don’t seem to have a pairing, the misery builds to a peak and subsides.

The helplessness I felt with my dad in the last year of his life has transitioned to feeling helpless to support my mom and my daughter. I want to always have the perfect words to make them hurt less. And just as there were days I couldn’t do anything but stare at my dad, there are moments I am paralyzed in the faces of my mother and my child. I am managing as best I can and accepting the unpredictable nature of grief and how it is impacting us in unique ways. I understand it will get easier over time, though the waves may be less intense or less frequent we will ride these waves of grief indefinitely.

My hope is the waves Parker experiences will calm much sooner and easier than my own. I want her to be able to remember the love he had for her without the deep sorrow of missing him. I worry her memory of their rituals will fade, though I know she will never forget how much she loved Poppy. And I know the pride he had in her will live on forever.

Aug 22 2016

Life on Purpose

As a mother and wife, it has been an extreme importance to provide a healthy life to those I love. Until recently I believed I was doing a great job by being mindful of nutrition, being aware of toxic products and making conscious decisions about medical interventions. It seemed simple because it was the lifestyle I was fortunate to grow up with, though something changed to make me understand there is more I can do to improve the environment I am raising my child in.

When my dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma in September 2015, I watched his condition deteriorate and felt the confusion, frustration and fear involved with cancer. He was the only person in our family to ever receive a cancer diagnosis and I thought he was doing everything “right” to avoid getting cancer. He was one who rarely got sick, religiously took vitamins, stayed active, maintained a healthy weight, often ate a vegetarian diet and stopped using the microwave because it zapped nutrients from foods. Dad had never been hospitalized for anything ever, I wrongly assumed he would be safe from this type of disease. Like most cancers, myeloma doesn’t have a direct cause provided with the diagnosis. My dad received a double major in chemistry and biology, then made his professional career working in the chemical industry. Despite the doctor’s hesitation to name a cause, it’s easy to see some correlation in how his cancer likely developed.

About the same time of the diagnosis, a friend contacted me about Norwex and emphasized how important this product could be in his home. I declined hosting a party or learning more about the products as we were all engrossed in treatments, symptom management and appeasing his appetite. At the end of March 2016, my dad passed and was finally at peace from the pain.

In the cycle of grief, I consider what we could have done different, how I could have helped more or what might have changed his outcome. There are many things I wish could have been different for my dad and because I can’t change what happened with him, I am propelled to try to reduce the chances of anyone else suffering in the same way.

In every home there are known cancer causing agents; environmental toxins we clean with, put on our body, ingest and breathe on a regular basis. Because they have commercials and are available to buy in stores, it’s normal to believe they are safe. Alarmingly, of the 80,000 new chemicals which have been introduced to our market in the last fifty years, less than 200 have actually been tested for safety. Many we use on a regular basis in the United States have been banned across Europe. The statistics are shocking and really show consumers are not protected. Norwex can provide the same or better standards of clean and can do so with only water and a lot less time. Don’t believe me? I’d be happy to prove it and help you create a safe, chemical free environment in your home. While I cannot change the past, I am confident in my choice to live life on purpose now and share the microfiber magic with those I love.

The very best way to experience this safe clean and do it for free is by hosting a party. Norwex is an extremely generous company by spoiling a hostess with free gifts just for bringing friends together to learn about the products. Please check out my website, contact me about hosting a party and share with those you love and wish to protect. Norwex life on purpose

May 18 2016

Strawberry Adventure

My family loves an adventure, sometimes just a ride in the car with no destination in mind will lead us to creating fantastic memories. On this particular day, we did have a plan to try something we hadn’t done together before. We found ourselves near Edgerton, KS on a family farm for strawberry picking. The fields at The Gieringer’s Orchard wafted with the 01strawberry sweet fruity fragrance I had engraved in my childhood memory bank from the back corner of our yard in Minnesota. It was refreshing to crouch down and search deep into the leaves to find the most perfectly ripe fruit others had passed by. I had forgotten completely about the little white flowers on the plants and the method to plucking with the stem. Like some new adventures, Parker was hesitant at first and then enthusiastically joined in the hunt. When I noticed she had a tendency to choose tiny berries which were far from ripe, as she has an undeniable preference for tiny things… I asked her to nibble on one and tell me if she would like to eat more. Her pre-prepared it tastes good mom nodding smile turned to a bitter tongue out frown and her strawberry picking greatly improved instantly.

It was a chilly morning for May, though the temperature didn’t impede on the dozens of other strawberry pickers present there. Thankfully we were able to fill our tray before the skies opened up to a cold shower.

As we love to eat strawberries: plain, covered in chocolate or juiced with spinach. I know we will be back again soon because picking up a carton in the grocery store just won’t taste as good now. 00strawberry

Apr 27 2016

How are you?

A while back a friend inquired, “Has anyone asked you any stupid questions?”

After the conversation, I was still left lingering on the thought. In general people make statements and ask questions which may come across as stupid, when really it’s with good intentions or out of complete ignorance. I know I am guilty of this at times too, we all have been there. When it comes to sensitive topics, these stupid questions can come across as insulting and evoke strong emotions. Fortunately, I’ve been able to brush off some comments and find the humor in them. There is always one question I get stuck on and don’t know how to answer.

“How are you?”

This usually simple question has a much different meaning to it when people look at you with their head already tilted to one side and a worried frown on their face. My mind frantically looks for a reasonable reply and I wonder if I should state my mood right in that moment, or an average of the past day or week? I give a thoughtful pause but really it’s to internally criticize my own response before it escapes my mouth. I don’t want what I say to be too positive and have someone judging me for being happy or too negative and risk they might think I’m not handling things well.

“How are you?”

Does someone really want to know it’s a struggle to drive in the car alone with your thoughts at times, that for some reason those are the moments when the regrets become their strongest? Is it okay I have had fun days full of laughter and smiles when I have been present in what’s happening in front of me? Should I tell people there are lapses in time when I have been completely numb and have proven to be ineffective at everything? When is the appropriate time to say I haven’t been able to keep myself together when my daughter is full of sorrow and I cannot possibly fix what she needs fixed? Is it unhealthy for me to have times when I think I am accepting and other times when it is unreal, it didn’t happen and it’s not true? Do people want to know I can be fine one minute and completely loose my mind in a sobbing mess all while washing dishes? Is it alright to tell someone “I was great until you asked and made me think about it”?

“How am I?”

Dad passed four weeks ago today, how I am is existing moment to moment. Sometimes I am good and sometimes I am really not. There isn’t really a consistent progression of things getting easier, one day may feel less emotional and the next day feels as raw as the day he passed. The truth is I don’t know how I am doing, I know I am doing the best I can and things will be okay.

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Mar 31 2016

My Father, My Friend

Early yesterday morning my dad passed at home in his sleep, he had been ill and fighting for his life for the past year except we didn’t know how quickly it would take him from us. How unfair it had been for him to get sick right at the time he should have been celebrating his retirement and living well-earned carefree years traveling with Mom. I keep thinking of other things I wanted to tell him, words I wanted hear from him one more time and other ways we would have handled things if we weren’t acting out of a paniced fear. My Dad and I knew each other in a way no one else on earth could relate to and I can’t think too long about how lonely life will be now without his connection.

I knew he was dying, I could see life fading away and I felt helpless to know there was nothing I could do to take the agony away from his body. He pushed his body past it’s limits while bones collapsed and broke with no effort at all. Dad’s steps became slower, his body weaker. Towards the end he was sleeping more and eating less each day. I knew he was dying, I could see life fading and I still believed I had more time. His appearance became more fragile, he avoided having visitors because he didn’t want others to see him and remember him so sick. For months I avoided being physically close to him when I came to the house, afraid I would unintentionally infect him with germs and make him feel even worse.

In the past few weeks I returned to giving him kisses on the forehead or cheek when I said goodbye. Being so close, I could feel his bones protruding through his face and still I wanted to believe he would rebound, this would not be his fate. I realize now our final interactions were my last goodbye. If I had known, I would have stayed for longer. I would have told him I’m okay with him going because I don’t want him to be in pain. I know he knows this now.

There are moments when peace calms the house and I feel reassured, Dad is not in anymore pain. He is not suffering. Our family is together now and connected by hugs, holding hands and laughter. Then there are waves of grief which catch me off guard and squeeze the air tightly from my lungs, how did we get here to this point, how could this have happened to him?

Seeing how family and friends have responded in the last day has made me observe I am not the only one who has a unique and special connection to my dad. It’s both comforting and distressing to recognize how influential my dad was to so many people. He taught life lessons, was an example for how to be genuine to people and a devoted husband, father, brother, uncle and friend. His cancer spread to impacting the lives of so many who loved and respected my dad, the grief is widespread.

In one of the moments of calm yesterday, I looked through the photos on his cell phone. As predicted there were pictures of his grandchildren, of him with my mom, of his motorcycle travels with his brother, of the only cat he says ever loved him “Mozie,” and of the countryside in Italy where he took his last international trip. Some pictures made me sob to see the joy on his face and the love in his eyes, knowing I wouldn’t ever see this in person again. Then one image seemed to stand out from the rest, a heaven sent message from my dad for exactly this moment. It hurts so much right now to think about him being gone and I know down the road everything is going to be okay, even if I can’t see it or feel it today.

Jan 4 2016

My Little Storyteller

In the moments Parker will go play by herself it’s not unusual to peer into her room and find her occupied with books. Sometimes she curls up in her brown corduroy rocking chair and looks through the illustrations. My favorite is when she lines up her dolls or stuffed animals and presents the books as though she is reading to her own make-believe classroom. She carefully tells the story of each page before lifting and turning the book to her viewers to see the pictures. 01books Each night we read each other one story before bed too. She has several stories or lines out of books memorized and even mimics the inflections and character voices I use when I read to her. A lot of her reading is completely made up as she goes along incorporating characters from the story I had read or from events that happened in her day. It won’t be long before she is truly reading the words on the pages but for now she is using her imagination and her own words for storytelling.

Parker has an advanced vocabulary and communication skills for her young five years. She is full of opinions, questions and comments and is fearless about opening her mouth to speak. I want to empower her to continue this since it demonstrates curiosity and leadership, while also trying to rein her in and ensure she remains respectful with her words. It’s also been a priority for me to educate her on the proper use of her vocabulary and practice pronunciation. It’s not uncommon for her to completely make up words and throw them into sentences. She has a few words she frequently stumbles over, like before she could say computer and asked to play on the “paduter.” There are two words which come to mind I hear currently mispronounced, as long as she is not still saying them this way five years from now they will be a fun memory of her growth.

“Mom, we are out of skabetty? That’s just rediclius.”

(*Spaghetti, ridiculous)

Sep 9 2015

Teddy Bear and the Nightmares

While both of my parents are significant influences in my life, I have to give the majority of the child rearing credit to my mom. Mom fed us, dressed us, bathed us, got us to school, chauffeured to activities, read bedtime stories, fixed boo boos, and knew all the details of her three children’s lives growing up.

There are some memories I have of my dad during my childhood which stand out, like the time I ran screaming from him when he asked to do my hair during a summer trip to Colorado. It was in fact the first and only time I can recall him showing any interest in doing my hair and it was my mom’s job… Or so I thought, until she pointed out how upset he looked at my response. Remorsefully I agreed to let him try to which he responded, “Nevermind.”

My dad may not have been successful at styling his daughters’ hair, though, he did have a knack at resolving my childhood nightmares. I had a reoccurring nightmare which likely stemmed from cartoon watching and stranger danger lessons in early elementary school. To a six year old, the Care Bears being kidnapped was a wickidly frightening dream and one I would wake up from crying. Whether from brilliant parenting insight or just an effort to keep me from trying to sleep in my parents bed, my dad reassured me in a way I found strength and confidence. My dad told me to fall asleep holding my teddy bear up to my head and it would scare the bad dreams away.

It was a simple piece of advice from my dad and helped me sleep soundly through my childhood. A few weeks ago I was fondly remembering how this memory made an impression on me when the realization hit me, my dad lied to me. The teddy bear didn’t scare anything away, it was a false sense of security which tricked me into sleeping. Now some people might say “so what, you got to sleep.” Except my parents raised us with the belief and my dad maintains it is important to never lie to children. He stands by the necessity of being truthful, not misleading with fairytales or disception. Granted, this does not mean full disclosure to kids, there are times to limit topics into adult conversation. For my parents it was important to set the example for always being honest.

In a quiet moment with my parents I broke the silence by asking my dad if he remembered this childhood advice. I told him how I affectionately remembered the influence it had on me and my nightmares, he closed his eyes and smiled. “It was a lie,” I pointed out, “The bear didn’t scare anything away, you lied.” I felt so cleaver to finally uncover the one example in my lifetime where my dad was intentionally dishonest with me and hung to the thought for only a moment.

“It wasn’t a lie,” he said softly, “I helped you to change your perception so you weren’t afraid.”

As soon as he said it I understood what he meant, since a fear of a dream is unique from real danger. The power I was given by the teddy bear wasn’t false at all, I was able to envision the protection it served me and it did provide me safety from my Care Bear nightmare. The change in my perception gave me the confidence to control how I felt and what I didn’t need to fear.

Our conversation was broken up by a lab technician coming into the hospital room to take more blood samples from my dad. He laid weak under the florescent lighting on an emergency stretcher, medical machines beeping with IV fluid being flushed through his body. Dad’s skeletal frame had been deteriorating over the past six month, starting as a back ache escalating to full blown crisis. Knowing what we know now, I wrestled with the guilt of thinking he just wasn’t trying hard enough to get well.

Dad was admitted to the ICU and the following few days were met with a whirlwind of doctors, blood tests, CT scans, X-rays, medicines and finally a bone biopsy. For a man who had escaped injury and illness throughout his life, it was a nightmare come to life to watch him dependent on help from others. My mom, siblings and our significant others rallied to support Dad during his hospitalization. After an emotionally taxing weekend, we surrounded my dad when a doctor confirmed the diagnosis of multiple myeloma.

Six days after entering through the emergency room, Dad was sent home and began preparation for cancer treatment. Taking advice from my sister-in-law to heart, I have not looked into the statistics of the disease and only focused my attention on gaining knowledge of treatment. I am not naïve about his frail condition or the long road ahead, instead I am making a choice not to dwell in what we cannot change. Dad’s advice of the teddy bear and nightmares seems to be relevant even more today. By changing our perception we can develop strength and avoid fear, keep our minds open for opportunities and be confident about handling what the future brings.

My dad continues to reinforce life lessons and bring a positive influence into my life, as does my mom. Through all of this, my mom has stayed the consistent caregiver. She makes meals, helps dress, chauffeurs to doctor’s appointments, and maintains all the details of dad’s needs. Mom even helps him with his hair.

For family and friends who are interested in knowing more about his diagnosis and treatment, Dad and I are keeping a journal to document the road to recovery on Caringbridge. You can find him by searching his full name.

Nov 27 2014

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is here to celebrate!

It’s not about the Turkey on your plate,

It’s not about watching football,

Or a late night shopping trip to the mall,

Thanksgiving is time to appreciate,

Be thankful and know life is great.

From Inspired Living we send,

Wishes for happy times with family and friends.

Since I am lacking in skill in the kitchen, Parker and I worked on a crafty project in preparation for Thanksgiving. We painted her hands and printed cards for her family and a few friends. She wrote out her name (in her sweet four year old print) on hearts and we pasted the turkeys, hearts, pictures and a simple poem onto cards. Parker stickered up the envelopes while I printed out the addresses and sent them across town and across the country.

Parker and I talked about her cousins and her family, she was excited knowing her thoughtful piece of mail would make them smile. As Thanksgiving seems less and less about being thankful, and more and more about consumerism and holiday shopping – I want to ensure she knows the holiday is dedicated to family time. I want her to spend time appreciating the people around us who help make our life wonderful.

Inspired Living KC

Inspiration can come from everywhere, you just have to slow down and notice it..

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