just getting up

Somedays my boys it's hard to get up. It's just hard to get up and out of bed.

I'm slowing weaning myself off of the steroids I have been on for pain relief. I am switching it up a little and giving this body (and swollen face) a break, but the process is draining, and sleep inducing (hello sleeping until noon everyday!) and Daddy is carrying the load more than ever, and you three seem fine with a mummy who mumbles in response to questions hurled at her from 7am.

early morning antics

I wonder today if you have begun to see this as normal, this pattern of a mama in bed all morning as you race to find school uniforms, hats, communication books and shoes. Always shoes. Doesn't matter how organised I try to be the night before it's always those pesky shoes that can't find their partner in crime in time for you to race out the door. 

The 'pink slip' constantly chases us these days - a reminder that there's some level of disfunction present in the mornings. But I've always thought those pink slips are a slap on the wrist for the parent. How responsible for getting to school on time can a year 1 & year 2 child really be?

I don't like that thought. Not the pink slip so much, but the thought that you three littles would think I don't want to be in the mix of getting you sorted in the mornings, being the keeper of milk jugs overflowing into cereal bowls piled way too high, and hair that's doing a crazy cocky thing at the back, teeth needing to be brushed, notes signed, dishes packed tightly into that dishwasher. All of it.

But I don't do any of it.

So I sleep on (well, if you count sleeping as being asked by Soul repeatedly where 'teddy has gone away' or you two older ones asking if it's an OSCH day or can you have ice block money?) in that dreamy way, with breakfast in bed bought in (thank you thank you Huz) along with hot water bottles and heat packs to dampen the morning aches until the myriad of medications I have downed with orange juice kicks in.

And I have my phone next to me playing songs that will soften the waking up: music to my soul. It's good.

So it's not the way I planned it. You know, planned the whole, 'I'm the mama and you three are my littles, and here is my guy next to me and here we all are doing life together' plan. And it's not going to plan. But then, what has? There are so very many ideas and plans and hopes and vague thoughts that have catapulted through my mind over the years, and rarely has any of them gone 'to plan'. The 'to plan' I come up with sometimes has mirrored reality, but more times than not I've been glad when what has actually happened has been better than my original plan.

This time not so much.

But then, in the mix of all the yuck, here you three are, and that's amazing and excellent, and Soul you are the cherry on the pie, the added bonus, and Daddy will tell you all about that down the track. And so, all up, it's ok. The mornings are hard, and yuck, and I want to be 'more' for you than I can be in lots of ways right now. Can you understand that chooks? Can you wrap your minds around that?

True, you are brilliant at understanding beyond your years. You extend love beyond what I can imagine seven year olds often do. I'm so thankful. In years to come, you three littles can know that in the middle of the messy mess, you guys have been some of the best, yummiest, most authentic, unpredictable, welcome comfort I've ever received. 

Thanks my littles.








































So I'm sorry my babies that this snapshot of our day is not normal. It's not what I thought the 'good story' would be. It's not the way I planned it. 


I'm determined though to see beauty, hunt it down and gather it to myself. Because there just has to be beauty in all of this mess. Call me the beauty hunter if you will. (you know what I'm talking about Aunty L - you're my inspiration) Because if it has to be like this, if Jesus has called this the 'good story' for me then I'm in. I'm diving in. 

And the beauty I see is you three lovelies with your sweet sweet eyes and hearts gathering to my bedside when I can't come to yours, and who's kidding, because you guys get up waaayyyyy before me anyway don't you True - you early bird you - and I get to pull you up and snuggle you under my warm covers and ask you about your dreams, 'were they good dreams Brave?' and then you can tell me everything that you can think of before racing off with your brothers. 

I get to not have to govern the extreme use of Oatflakes and determine who is deserving of a second helping of Weetbix, so there's a plus right there. Don't know that I would have gone to the extreme of having stage four cancer to avoid it, but there it is. Hunting the beauty.

And you are all off at your places. We all have our places to be today. And I'm glad thinking I will see you in a few hours and get to hear all your news as you do our secret knock on the front door so I know it's you. And I get to knock back cos that's our thing, and then there is the outpouring of cuddles and news and often a new rock or two ('for the collection mum') and it's all on then, and you three are glad to be home, glad to be next to my side. 

I feel it too. We belong together you littles and I. 

Waiting for your knock!

thank you internets

So for whatever reason, I just keep feeling the pull to write here.

It's not really like me at all to want to make myself so vulnerable, but somehow when I get quiet with Jesus, He reminds me that my story is what I have right now to tell. For my littles, for the speaking-it-into-the-future, and for what it might stretch into for my boys who are fast growing and will be men one day, reading droplets of words and heart of mine. 

Here's hoping that these word droplets meet them when I cannot.

Words have a longevity that I don't. They can be a fixture when I cannot. They can (hopefully) communicate some of my mummy heart for later when right now the little ears I need to be listening are much too little for my today words and my today tears.

real tears from Brave...can't remember exactly the offence of Soul, but here it is all captured for future generations. You're welcome boys.

In more ways than I want to be true, we are passing in the night these boys of mine and little old me.

I'm trying to 'hang around', trying to live beyond this expiry date I've been handed so I can more than just 'pass by' you. I want my life to impact and drive deep into your little persons so my incredible imbedded wisdom will serve you well in twenty, thirty, forty years time.

No. Just jokes. No imbedded wisdom. But I do want more than what I'm getting time wise that's for sures.

But then boys, you will already know that as revealed by all the embarrassing Super8 footage taken over my life, combined with the stories Daddy will tell, and this little blog. All of which will seem outrageously irrelevant by the time you take a look. I mean, I have no idea what kind of technology, or way of communicating will even be a 'thing' in twenty years time. Whatever it is will make my attempts here look quaint and old fashioned. 

That's ok. As long as you hear my heart. 

And I lay awake the other night (not at all like me - as soon as my head hits the pillow I'm out to it) I finished pulling together in my mind why it's so hard to think of writing you littles birthday cards that stretch into the future. Cards for when you graduate, words for you for significant dates. 

And then I remember the beauty of how mamma's grow with their littles. I have naturally grown as you boys have. I have been ready to parent a 3 year old when you turned three True. Before you were 5 I had no idea how I would meet all the emotional needs of a boy this age. How would I know what to do, what to say, how strong to be, when to be gentle of heart. And yet, when you turned 5, I graduated as a parent too. I was made ready because we had journeyed those months, the small days making up weeks, months, and finally years. 

It feels presumptuous to write cards stretching years ahead of where I have grown as a parent. I have taught hundreds of students in their teens, yet I have never mothered one. Maybe as this year goes on I will feel the pull to do this very thing, to write cards for you boys. If I do not though, this is the reason, and this is the rhyme to it: I am not ready to reach into the years ahead and hand out advice, or lend wisdom to the moments God hasn't granted me to live alongside of you. I am full (too full, I know I know) of advice and thoughts and revelations and ideas for you littles today. Today. 

Beyond this, beyond the days I'm here to live and love on you, I guess we will see.

Mum xx

puppy love

It's only four weeks until we will have our first puppy at Robinvale!

I am dreaming of sweet puppy love, licks and fun.

Such joy.

Only a few more weeks to wait, and then we will all meet him at the airport because his first home has been in NSW.

I'm SO excited!

All the boys are going to be thrilled. Each of them love animals, and a new puppy is going to be the recipient of much much love. Probably too much. We are going to need to give him some space I'm guessing. There is going to be a lot of love. 

But the one in particular I'm thinking will have his heart full to the brim with puppy love will be Brave. He was made for a dog. This boy of mine has from the very earliest age simply adored animals, and for the last three years straight has been begging for his own to love, every single Christmas and Birthday. Up until now he has been content with stuffed toy dogs some of which have barked if I remember to put fresh batteries in. And he has never complained as such. He accepts that pretending he has a dog is how it will be for now.

So I can't wait to surprise him!

This puppy will be a family pet, but I'm guessing that Brave will do the lions share of the work and care for our newest little guy.

And this new adventure ticks many boxes for our family right now. I'm looking forward to company during the day when I'm at home, and maybe even some motivation for a daily beach walk too. For our boys, a pet to love and adore and look after is just right, and for my Huz this puppy will be a shared love of ours for the now, and a great comfort and companion in the lonely evenings in the days to come. I'm thinking this puppy is going to be pretty special for all of us.

We think we will wait a few more weeks to tell the boys so that they can be excited about getting him, but not have to wait a whole long month. A month is a long time when you are three (or five or seven). And I have a feeling that if we do tell them this far in advance, that everyday for the next month I will be woken in the morning by Soul asking if today is the day we get our puppy.

Now to choose a name. I'm thinking something regal and 'Downton Abbey' esq...

dreaming about forever

Taking the time this evening to dream a bit about my 'forever home'.

I've been reading Mundane Faithfulness, Kara Tippetts blog for a few years now - compelling because she is also treading out this cancer life day by day. She too has been mulling over what heaven will be like, feel like, sound like.

It blows my mind if I really let myself go there. I mean, it makes me wonder how I can ever claim to be sad over this letting go of my wonderful, dream-like life here. Makes me wonder how I can edge toward panic in my heart thinking of how my three littles and my guy will be without me when in the blink of an eye and we will be together again. All will be put right.

And when the pity creeps in, when 'the-sad-and-so-very-sorry-for-me-wave' washes me under in its unexpected torrent like it does, and when the pull to the sandy bottom insists I see myself as 'unlucky', then its my cue to think again about the place of no more tears, and know in that deep Jesus way that this is where I'm headed: not for disaster as my mind can mistake, but for this place of utter peace so deep and full that worry feels like an abstract concept. A place where joy is the 'water in which we will swim' and will be as automatic and natural as breathing in and out. A home so inviting and warm that the best celebration I've ever been invited to is pale and cold to compare.

This is home. This is my forever home. This is more than fairytale or hopeful nothings. This is it.

And my Jesus is there in person. Jesus. The One and the Only.

Again. Mind blown.

And it's this tension, this discontent between desires met and unmet here that compel me yet again to imagine afresh my forever home as an answer to the deep longings.

Deep calls to deep.

And how many times have I trawled Pinterest scanning images like binge eating lollies as I find perfection layered on perfection in kitchens, dining rooms, exteriors of homes so inviting that I want to beg to come in, and I long to make my spaces the same, possessing the same warmth, the same beckoning to 'come on in'. And I've wondered it before, years ago really, why the decorating of a space, the getting ready of a place was ever something that mattered to my heart. Why should it? Why is it anything that matters? Perhaps it really doesn't.

But somehow the longing persisted, and the joy of it sat firmly in my soul.

And I think this is why. This longing for my forever home. This longing to come home to the ultimate in warm, the ultimate in welcome, the complete and utter 'come as you are, we have been waiting for you, you are so very welcome'.

And my fingers are more than crossed that in heaven these longings will be answered absolutely.

So perhaps this is just me justifying the chandeliers that are 'shining happy people holding hands' (remember that song?!) or the french provincial joy I can't contain, but my forever home is set to answer some of these longings in all of the best ways. Oh my goodness I'm excited for that.

Mostly, when I think about flying away, about my time here being done, I think about the enormously beautiful life I am saying goodbye to. And the beauty of this life is wrapped firmly in the insane gift of my Huz, our littles, of our incredible family and friends.

And the ache to stay is all consuming. It really is. I didn't anticipate being asked to 'wrap things up' this soon in the piece. It still shocks me. And yet I know that I will live not one day more than God has planned. So it's not a matter of having years of life taken away from me. 

And I'm deeply comforted by that. Deeply comforted that each day is known, is portioned grace, is important. So the seeming randomness of stage four cancer is not something I fear. My Jesus is bigger than all this and He could take my cancer away in a snap, in a heartbeat. If He doesn't then it is off to my forever home.

And imagining my forever home is good for my soul. Takes the panic and puts it in its place.

I adore this life. I adore it completely. And even the difficult parts are welcome these days. I guess that's what you call perspective.

And yet when I fly away, this heaven, this forever home is calling big and beautiful.

Thanks Jesus. I love how you know me so well, and get how much I need to imagine the beauty ahead on the hard days. And it's all because of you dying on the cross that I get to say 'yes' to you and 'no' to following my own way. And I'm desperate to go your way. Mine is so dark and drab. You give life, even when it looks to everyone else like I'm busy dying, you are busy letting me, waking me up to, calling me, prodding me, to LIVE!

So it's all life. All of it. The here. Our forever home. The getting there...that's the mystery...but when we are actually there, with Jesus, we will be free at last. Free at last. Love it.

Oh my boys. There is so much to say on this. I know you will busy yourselves mulling it over because once I've 'flown away' then you will feel more of a draw to your forever home too. I must remember to talk always with you about this beauty-fillled place so you can hear from my lips just how real I believe it to be.

And it won't be the same without you there.

And I promised myself I wouldn't cry at the thought that you might not be there. You simply must be. You must. Please don't push Jesus away. He will be calling you to Himself your whole life, longing for your heart, pursuing you in every way you let Him. But you get to choose for yourself, and heaven is for those who follow Him. There is no other way. So babies, follow Him. For every other reason under the sun, and for this one too: come be with me in this forever home.

I love you tonight as you sleep all tucked up in beds just next to me, and I will love you all my days even when I am in our forever home waiting for you to come.

I'll get it ready for you!

tangled words give me belly laughs

It's so lovely to have a day. Just a day today. Nothing medical, just pure sweet old fashioned life.

After you tucked yourself into the crook of my arm this morning it was easy to convince you to come for a little walk with me up the road Brave. And how much lovelier was it with you by my side than if I had just trudged up there on my own. It was a little (well, no, a lot) slower because right now you only have eyes for your rock collection. So as we meandered up to where the road meets the train line, you had your eyes peeled for rocks on the side of the road. You don't actually like the rocks for the way they look or feel. You tell me that it's about nature. That's all. A nature collection.

And this week you have been so entertaining as you repeat the knowledge of all your Ms A has been teaching you so very well: 

1. that an adult should start brushing your teeth for you until you are ten when you can do it on your own.
2. it is important to floss your teeth
3. if you feel unwell (as Daddy and I have been pushing through our colds) it is important to 'eat hygiene'. 

Number 1 and 2 I am absolutely down with. Luckily for me we have been doing number 1 already. Not so lucky for me is that I hate doing number 2. Hate it. Actually laughed out loud at the dentist a few years back when they quizzed me as to if I was flossing Soul's teeth (he was under a year old!) 

oops.

Right. Well done Brave - you have put me back on the right path with oral hygiene. You have your very own flossing device. Mission accomplished!

But number 3 is what totally cracked me up. Some de-coding later, and yes, I think it is a fantastic idea to 'eat hygiene' or shall we say 'behave hygienically by washing our hands and eating healthy food'. Right. Now we are all on the same page.

And it made me go back to my little red book, the one where I've been counting out all the funnies that the littles have said over the years - the book with the name, the date, the age and the quote diligently written out so as I wouldn't forget as the years pour out and my mind forgets the simple statements that had us laughing out loud together. oh my. this book keeps me laughing still.

I do have to add one more to the book from the other day. 

It's becoming a rarer phenomenon the older my littles grow because gee whiz these boys grasp of the english language is strong, and they are just spot on mostly.

But when we arrived at Mt Lofty Gardens for a photo shoot with the amazing Kelsey Grace, True jumps out first and I find him with furrowed brow studying the sign in the parking lot.

But what does it mean? He asks. 

Why does it say not to leave your vegetables in the car?

oh my darling boy.  Stop the world so I can have the belly laugh that wants to bubble up if only it could without crushing the sweet question that hangs between us, because he really wants to know. 

Umm.

Well, that word is actually 'valuables' not vegetables.

My True has just jumped up about ten levels in his readers this week after Ms K had a chance to listen to him read. I'm so proud of his recent passion to devour chapter books - it makes my heart sing when I think of all the imaginary worlds he is going to enjoy by way of this great gift of reading. I feel myself relax when I remember the hours happily lost as I swung in a hammock or lay on my bed during my childhood days - the days that stretched into eternity at the time, the days that had no real beginning and no distinct end, the days where my little sisters begged me to play their 'baby-ish' games and I refused, this time later being dubbed 'Cathy's reading stage'. 








































Oh my goodness, the power and the joy of reading a book. One of my favourite things ever. Ever.

And so seeing my True devour Andy Griffiths 59 Story Tree-House or Enid Blyton's Secret Seven makes me tingle a little.

But secretly I'm happy that words can still get a little tangled, because I want to live in a world where a parking lot sign might think to warn me not to leave my vegetables in the car. 

Leave the fruit for sures, just not the vegetables...

liver biopsy all done. well, undone

So, yesterday came and went and the big anticipated needle did not feature!

Yes, after all my anticipation, anxiety and worry I found myself at the centre of the best kind of mystery I could dream up...the mystery of the shrinking tumours...

A gaggle of doctors surrounded me with my anaesthetist at the ready, all the paperwork finally done, the explanations given about what was about to occur, and there I was all propped up on the bed donning the exquisite hospital gown with 'easy access' to boot.

And with my eyes closed, my heart remembered all the sweet friends praying for me at that very minute. I was ready. 

Huz had been allowed in the room and was sitting in the corner just in my line of sight. It is the most comforting thing to have your very best friend and ally in all the world within arms length during one of the most stressful moments in life. I can conquer pretty much any of my fears if Huz is next to me.

And I remembered back to a few years ago in one of the first bone scans that I had when I felt the voice of Jesus say, 'Beloved, I'm here'. 

I'll never forget it. 

Those words calming the panic, and knowing (that I know that I know) He really is with me in every moment. The horrid,  the mundane, the good, the now.

And then I realise that I'm being poked and prodded for a realllllly long time. Much longer than it should really take. And then apologies are being made for not being able to locate a tumour large enough to biopsy.

Are you kidding me? You're apologising for my cancer shrinking faster than could be anticipated! Say what?! And so after spending the rest of the day at St Andrew's Hospital having a CT and then reading and re-reading a Marie Claire magazine while my amazing mum and Huz waited and waited...we left.

Just scanned. No needles.

And then Huz and I had an appointment with Dr K who is surprised at my 'almost complete response' in the liver to the chemotherapy. He was actually surprised. Awesome. So we have no idea if my cancers DNA has altered, but I don't really care. It can be tested another time when my disease has progressed further.

So I'm happy/undone.

I'm beyond grateful/ bit confused.

I'm wonderfully glad chemo hasn't been a waste of time/ I'm busy not wanting to get my hopes up.

I'm wondering if my stress that eventuated into nothing can still buy me a pair of those fabulous shoes...hmmm...

It all sounds a little strange even to my heart as I process what it means. And what does it mean to have tumours too little to biopsy? They say that stable cancer is as good as cancer shrinking. They say that a complete response is good, but let's hope the chemo keeps doing its job. 

It's just that from what we also know of my breast cancer, this doesn't correlate into a longer time frame for me on this earth. But then again, why not let hope flourish? Why not allow myself a little victory along the way?

You see, I could get used to this whole surprising my doctors thing. It's pretty fun.

liver biopsy

I'm doing it pretty tough this evening. Anticipating a biopsy tomorrow has me all on edge, in tears, and binge eating through a box of Cadbury Favourites I found in the pantry.

And I knew it would be the anticipation that was the most difficult part. They say that the hardest part is the mental battle with this whole cancer thingo. 

I think 'they' might be right.

And it's a good thing that I'm scoffing so much chocolate because tomorrow morning I will be needing to fast for a full 6 hours. Yes. 6 whole hours without even a skerick of food or water touching these lips.  All this so a rather large needle can be hammered into my liver and navigated while I breathe steadily. It will need to find a tumour to take a sample to test if my cancer has changed its DNA since 2011.

oh dear.

Just typing that out made me queasy. Of course it may also be the rather potent dose of cherry ripe I also indulged in, so I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt and err on that side of things.

I can't believe I have to be awake and aware for this. It's super barbaric. And of course I did ask if maybe I could please, pretty please, have a general because that seems so much nicer to not know at all what's going on, and instead waking up like out of a dream. But it is not possible as I have to hold my breath at certain points and generally co-operate on the whole.

They haven't met me yet.

They may perhaps find themselves wishing they had me fully sedated. I'm just too needle-phobic to be calm about this one.

And today at Tennyson the nurses and I joked about going on a shopping spree to reward myself for undergoing this little procedure. I'm thinking a fabulous pair of shoes may ease my suffering. But jokes aside I'm dead-set sure about why I am doing all this. Going to all this hassle, this emotional distress. I am absolutely single minded in my approach.

It's all for you my babies.

And you never asked me to, and you never would ask me even if you were old enough to, but here it is anyway. I'm doing this for you.

I want Daddy to be able to look you in the eyes and answer you honestly when you ask him 'did Mum do everything she could to live as long as she could'?

And I want him to answer 'yes'. A quick steady answer, with no hesitation, because he remembers days like tomorrow. Days of biopsies, days of tests and injections and blood-work and chemo and IV flushes. Days of procedures.

And the answer is 'yes' my boys. Yes, a thousand times yes. 

I said yes to doing the biopsy tomorrow for you.

Not because you asked or begged me. Not because it was the 'right' thing to do. Not because anyone else told me I should, or bossed me into it.

Just because when I was told that if they tested my liver and the cancer had changed and that meant my treatment plan would change too, then my heart said 'yes' before my brain could say 'no no no'.

I want as many tomorrows with you as I can.

So I guess I'll set my mind to that as I face this 'scary snort'. 

Your faces. 

And that will make it all worth it. Well, that and the shoes.

Keep me safe, O God,

    I’ve run for dear life to you.

I say to God, “Be my Lord!”

    Without you, nothing makes sense.

Psalm 16.