hooray for steroids

It's 12.18am.

I don't have a wink of sleep in me. I even lay down next to Huz for what I was imagining was a sleepy talk before drifting off, but then somehow he was almost asleep beside me and I was all, well, awake.

I knew at chemo today that I would feel kind of super-charged when I got home (thanks steroids. you make my face puffy, but gee I like the energy you lend me) as that's kind of been the pattern, but somehow I let myself forget, and now, here I am in a deliciously quiet house with an awake mind, which is a rare combination let me assure you. 

I've always loved the sound of our house in the peaceful quiet of littles and one big boy asleep. The hum of our fridge, soothing tick of the clock and faraway thrum of Shepherd's Hill Rd noise. It's nice. It's soothing. It's so familiar.

And tonight i'm glad chemo today is over. And I'm not going to lie that it was a calm afternoon as such since one moment in time involved Brave and I crying on the floor, 
(separate rooms, same moment in time, completely different reason).

And when I think back to it now it's terribly dramatic to cry sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, and I really think if I had thought of it at the time ( I didn't, which is a pity because I love a sincerely dramatic moment) I would have had a teensy tiny smidge of smug delight. oh cancer cancer where art thou?

Ahh. A good 'sit on the kitchen floor and sob' moment. nice.

Because sometimes you don't know why, but a good cry is what fixes whatever is a little broken.

So. Like the good girl I am I decided to get things done. Like a boss. And indeed I have.

This week I have begun to record myself reading aloud 'The Chronicles of Narnia' starting of course (though I know it's out of sequence) 'The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe'.
I'm having so much fun recording it, half imagining that at any moment I will be interrupted while I attempt some character voices to bring it to light. Really, it needs only to be read in a monotone voice, as even doing this C.S.Lewis is genius and the story really is undeniably magical.

And of course for me I get caught up in the magic of it all. The magic/truth that it slowly uncovers as Aslan is so beautifully, terribly good,and the White Witch so undone with evil.

Will the boys listen to it down the track? I really don't know.

I probably hope too much that these three of mine want me to soothe them to sleep when my voice-and my self-has been missing. Maybe that this story will speak, maybe my mummy voice lull them off on nights they miss me.

It's ok however they need to roll. The words are here for them, my prayers will saturate them, my stories will wait till they want them.

So perhaps the 'long goodbye' that I'm saying is lots about me and my heart and how to let go of all this life and love just as much as it is for my boys to help them keep on living well their lives and loves.

One of my daily joys is reading 'Narnia' to True and Brave in the evenings before bed, and am beyond stoked that they are soaking it up. I truly thought it might be a little too old for them, but, thank goodness they have been absolutely indulging me with looking forward to it and we are almost at the end.

Love these small moments together with the hearts I love the best. 

And it's funny, because if you peeped into our house about 7pm you would find us piled all together pouring over the huge volume with the lion etched on front and it might not look like much. But to me this is the essence of it all, the way I choose to spend some of this final chapter of my very own life, in that warm place with my little loves beating out this love story of Jesus as we read together.

More. than. blessed.

 

prognosis. oh dear.

There is a really big difference between knowing that you will die one day, and being told by an oncologist that you will die soon, and probably in 2015.

oh my.

At times people have offered to comfort me by saying that they suppose we are all in the same boat really, as all of us know that one day we will die, it's just none of us know when.

i've been told when. 

And it's truly such a shocking, rubbish, unbelievable, horrid piece of knowledge to be handed. I've not asked to hand it back, (or re-gift it. can you do that?) but I really should. It has changed almost every thought, every plan, every purchase, and every hope for the future with my littles.

It hasn't changed that God is good or that Jesus is the Man. It hasn't changed that I'm excited to imagine being in heaven, in that place of no more pain, with my forever family.

It has changed practically everything else though.

Yesterday I was writing in my diary and flicked over to February to write down a coffee date with a friend, and maybe, just maybe a little naughty word slipped out as I realised: one month down, eleven to go.

oh crap. (not the actual word that slipped out, but you get it).

And Huz went quiet. The kind of quiet I now know he goes when what is happening is awful, and maybe he's working to find the words to speak into it. 

I have no idea what the literature advises that you say when your wife is counting down the months as if she has been handed a death sentence that is all neat and nice and she seems to think it'll hit exactly 12 months, and now she's running, running, running, marking in those diary dates, all those nice moments, all those birthdays, celebrations, events, and the mundane too, but all it adds up to is just 12 months, and now one of them is already gone.

Already gone? No. That can't be right.

And it does my OCD self some good that this conversation with Dr K occurred on the last day of 2014, on New Year's Eve, so that in my very black and white, concrete, desperate to hold on to some sense of order personality - well, maybe it was like I was suddenly on a starter block and the starter's gun went off, and now here we are - late January, heading into February.

But it is in no way the same thing as knowing vaguely, generically, in the distant (hopefully) future that we are all going to die someday.

No. This is a little bit more specific.

How can I ever say goodbye to this little Soul smile? Melts me. And if there's ever a poke or prod to get my inner 'lioness arising' then here it is.

I love you little guys.
xx

little sister visit and brave's words

I love it when my little sister comes to visit.

It's been a while. The school holidays have put a halt to most routines, and it's been fun to live out the days surrounded with small boys and loud voices, but now I'm counting down the days till school goes back. Only a few weeks to go. Phew!

And True and Brave were almost giddy waiting for her to come. She's so loved around here. And she's always been amazing with kids, she has the heart for them, and I reckon my boys smell the love that's on offer and just want to dive into it. 

They're lucky to be bathed in Aunty love this morning.

And I love the way True declared that since she was arriving first thing he would be able to wait. Thank goodness she's coming at 8.30 said he on his eighth check of my iPhone.

Half an hour can drag when you can't wait for the fun to begin.

And so I was given the gift of extra sleep while my boys skidded around outside showing off their skills to my sister. And when I woke up there was evidence of sketching and car races down ramps and home grown and hand picked plums eaten by very happy boys.

Such a gift to this tired mamma.

And I've spent the rest of the day with this guy. My middle little. The one who needs people people all day long. 

And I know we've all heard it before, but it has to be said again: old man cardigans for president!

Apparently it is also important when one goes on holiday to button it right up and comb it all over.

Huz and I took the boys to 'the rocks' where he proposed. Took them up there for a bush walk and breakfast overlooking the city.

Brave's 'on-camera' smile as we wildly embellish the story of Huz's proposal. Brave says he might propose up here one day too. That would be rad. Just put this lame smile in your pocket if you do dearest.

Brave and I just finished lunch out on the deck in the sunshine.  He says the most unexpected things. Today it was the following. And I quote:

"I know how God is everywhere. He curls himself up like a blanket to the world.

Or maybe he’s standing and he reaches heaven. With his long arms".

My favourite is the blanket. The sun is streaming in and today I can imagine it.
God wrapped around us like a blanket.

From the mouths of babes...

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no time off

I know what it is now. This surging, circling, wondering feeling in my gut when I think about Huz today.

I can't comprehend how he is processing everything that is happening with his wife, his love, the mother of his children, his best friend. I am all of these to him, and he is all of them to me -barr the mother part (!)

He has promised me that he will always be here for me. Always. With no time off.

That takes my breath away. That I have this offered to me every single day. This kind of deep, connected, intimate offer. Because 'being there' for me is absolutely a physical demand to care for me, take me to appointments, dish out pills etc, but it's also highly emotional. And that's a huge ask. Huge. It asks Huz to risk a lot, give a lot of his own heart.

And, because it's me he's married to, it also means he gets to listen. A lot. To the same content. Again and again. 

It's how I process. How I think. How i off load and make sense of it all. It always has been, but now the top topic of conversation is cancer.

Phew. That's full on.

And I just realised this. The 'no time off' part I mean.

What? no time off? chemo is SO time consuming...

Sure, he goes to work, mows the lawn (religiously, and I love it darling), he does our food shopping, gets to go on boys nights (sometimes, not often enough though), and sometimes he even gets to go the church and singlehandedly handle our mess of boys (I've decided that a group of boys should be called a 'mess' rather like a 'herd' of animals or a 'school' of fish).

He never gets time off.

I can see it in him as he leaves for work this morning. He has a tender due, has been working (unpaid) on it over the weekend, juggling looking after the boys, household duties, caring for me etc.

He never gets time off.

The past few weeks he has been trying to work out why my new medications are making me groggy and exhausted and have been making my skin crawl. He sits up late to put all my pills into my medicine box. 

He never gets time off.

Most nights he stays up later than me and watches TV. Tries to decompress a little from the day, escape maybe for 40 minutes and think about Jack Bowyer or some fictional worldwide disaster while he enjoys an apple icy.

But he never gets time off.

I know this because our hearts are so entwined that what is happening to me is happening to him, only it's so much harder because he has to watch it happen from the outside, wonder if I'm in more pain than I'm saying I am, heat me up endless water bottles for my bone pain, dish out endless Endone so I can keep keeping on, listen to my weary words and my desperate need to be heard and connected with.

But he never gets time off the gnawing reality that one day 'we' will stop being 'we' and it will just be him. I'll not be here anymore. And he never gets time off from that.

I don't think I can even be me without him. I don't even know who that girl would be, because the thousands upon thousands of strands connecting us overwhelms me, and how would we break those bonds...I can't even comprehend us as separate. And so maybe we never really will be separated. Perhaps our hearts will stay together after all.

Or I just desperately hope so. 

And each trip to church without me reminds him that one day it will be like that every time. And each time I have to stay home from an event, miss out on a family activity he is reminded.

I want so badly to give him 'time off'. Real time off from our reality. From my being sick, from him carrying both of our loads. Care free, endless, relaxed time off without a care in the world.

But he loves me so big, so wholeheartedly that even if he wanted time off I know he couldn't. Because as long as I'm suffering then so is he.

And that's love.

So now I'm thanking Jesus that because He first loved Huz and I, now we know how to love each other. 

And I guess that means no time off. For me or for my Huz.

happy birthday aunty s

Today was a celebration of one of my beautiful sister-in-laws birthday. A very significant birthday actually. 

Hurrah!

But. I was so sad to miss out today because we've been re-adjusting my pain medications and so I was stuck in bed rather than getting to join in all the fun at Lobethal. 

A really fun part about the amazing family I've married into is how they like to celebrate birthdays - and today was all about the girls. Dressing up pretty, beautiful flowers, candles, macaroons, desserts and coffee and an afternoon together. Doesn't that sound amazing? (And Aunty Betty you really are the queen of pulling off a perfect event. You could run your own event co-ordination business without a doubt).

And isn't it always lovely to heartily celebrate those birthdays among our closest especially if we remain a few years off the birthday girls age still? I dunno, it always feel rather satisfying. Like vicariously living through them whilst at the same time remaining my youthful, 'not-even-quite-40' self.

And today's birthday girl is one of those extraordinary people who never, ever ever blows her own trumpet (or is that a horn? I always get that expression wrong....) she is the epitome of the word humble, and that just makes me more in awe of her actually.

Aunty S you are without doubt one of my favourite people to spend time with. I remember when my babies were little, and before that when your babies were little there just never seemed to be time to finish a conversation, much less be in the same room at the same time for any length of time to get to hang out. Life was hectic, and the 'little baby stage' fun, but I think I could count on one hand how many times we got to have a coffee together.

So for a long time you were on my list of people I just wanted to get to know so much better.

There really are some crazy good things that have come from the awful hard of the last few years, and one of my favourite things is the way you came to rescue your little brothers family while I was in the middle of treatments and newborn fatigue, and you just got busy showering love on my boys while I cocooned myself away to rest. Having you around our home was such an amazing gift, and somehow we even had a chance to have some coffee's together without all the littles interrupting. 

And that's when I knew just how blessed I was to have you as my sister-in-law. 

I guess that's when I stopped thinking of the 'in-law' part, and just think of you as my sister!

You are one of the best listeners I know. I never feel rushed when we spend time together, you are really good at being in the moment and hearing my heart.

You are one of the best cooks. Oh my goodness your lasagne and shepherds pie is talked about around here!

You have often lent me a gentle perspective on something I've been going on about that shows me wisdom far beyond my own thinking. I need this in my life.

I love the intentional way you and Uncle D live. I feel like I could ask you about so very many aspects of how you guys choose to love Jesus and live out your faith and there would be depth there every time. 

I see the beautiful connection and joy you have in each of your kids, and it's so so lovely.

You are loyal, kind, and always give others the benefit of the doubt. I often hear you building other people up and I love that.

And do you even know how beautiful you are? No I don't think you do - I would give anything for such gorgeous cheek bones and perfectly styled hair. You are so unbelievably photogenic!

I'm so glad you're my husbands sister and so I get to have you as mine too. Being the oldest sister growing up I always wondered what it would be like to have an older sister - and now I know - it's really amazing having someone like you on my side.

Happy Birthday!

love Cath xx

good cop bad cop

I have a favourite doctor.

She's young, intelligent, dresses beautifully, and is drop dead smart.

She talks to me like I have a say in my treatment, and she looks me in the eye and asks me detailed questions about my medications even though she knows that Huz is the one who keeps track of all that and I actually know very little about what I swallow morning and night.

But she lends me dignity by asking me, knowing I'll default to Huz, and its gotten to be our joke now that this is how it'll play out.

She is totally 'can-do' about making holidays happen for us. Actually it was because of her 'go for it' attitude that we got to Bali in December 2014, and she reminded us today that we have mentioned a jaunt to Europe at some point, and she gave us some insight into when might be best to plan a trip like that.

The constant blood transfusions, IV meds etc all have to be worked around, but she gets that it's worth it to me.

Today she noticed that I looked tired. I was. I felt really tired, and you know how sometimes when you're told you look tired it makes you feel worse, tho with her noticing it just felt like she really saw me. Not just the me that is a little puffy faced from steroids with the punk chick spiked hair, but she actually saw me.

I have another doctor too.

He is very experienced, off the charts intelligent, has literally 'written the book' on cancer (or a few books to be exact) and I have a sneaking suspicion he doesn't really have to write down the details of my case as he keeps it all in that amazing mind of his.

He is witty and sarcastic which I like. But somehow we leave appointments with him feeling a little extra deflated. A bit heavier. Like we have been reminded afresh that yeah, I am dying, this is a horrible aggressive cancer, and gee whizz what 'the hecka' are we gonna do. We kinda know this already, so the weekly reality check is a little overkill.

Driving home today I wondered aloud to Huz about that. It's all in the delivery me thinks. All in the 'how to' of the news given, the importance of side effects, the living out of this disease which can liberate or deflate.

A 'Blue Moon' rose to balance the one my fav doctor gave me. She's a gardener too. 

So i'm lucky. I have two brilliant doctors, and they have both been humble enough to collaborate on looking after me. Being Stage IV it's not a cure that either is after, but instead this intricate balance between the actual treatment of my cancer and all the side effects of the drugs used to keep it all in check.

The living out of this Stage IV extravaganza has shifted a little in the last few weeks. It's been a messy week with lots of hip pain and some pretty yuck mornings. Pain is often an indicator of undercover menacing goings ons...don't want to think too much about that, but there it is. In my thinking anyway.

And so the ground I'm walking on may be shifting yet again even now. Just as I have adjusted to the tad bit more energy, the tad bit more independence, gardening, pottering, cleaning, arranging and beautifying my 'Robinvale'. 

Soul helping me organise our new pantry cupboard. Cheeky bottom!

And I knew the shift would come and I would one day meet again more limitations, more edges to living this out, but I don't welcome it today. 

In fact if I could just stay well for another two weeks until the end of Christmas holidays that would really help me enjoy my boys being home and then I can crash as they head back to school. Yes. That sounds like a reasonable plan cancer. Pity I can't bargain with you like I wish I could. You're so jolly bossy.

breast cancer 101

Cath on Cancer.

Yep.

I'm muddling my way through. Doctors appointments, chemotherapy, packing school lunches, reading bedtime stories and brushing teeth while I battle the inner demons that want to take up residence.

These writings are just me, all raw, on cancer.

I've been writing for my littles. For what my words might mean as they grow. For how my words, my heart might meet them in the years, decades after I go. And my writing is here as a bit of a peek into this insane, unwelcome, bumpy ride. How a heart can cling to Jesus with a torrent of cancer flung into the mix. 

I guess that's why I let Huz convince me to make this little blog public. Im writing for my boys, but if you're brave enough to take a peek, then do. 

I'd like that.

Maybe my boys will read this one day. Maybe they won't want to. But it'll be here for them. 

This is me on paper. Cath on Cancer. Just thoughts on how it is.

xx

the weary world rejoices

In the dribs and drabs of noticing how my heart is tracking along, I am mostly all sadness for my Huz and littles today and can't think straight, can't keep functioning externally while I self combust internally all morning, all afternoon and evening too.

The gnawing of 'all is not right', the constant nag of the cancers pain in my right pelvis, my lower back, it screams out for my attention.

Just like Christmas.

Just like all the cooking, preparation and present wrapping.

And it's too close to my thoughts, too near to each moment festively hanging lights, re-jigging my Christmas tree decorations and stealing a secret slice of Christmas cake. Death is too near to this Jesus birth, this new life, new baby, weary world rejoicing, for me to get comfortable.

Have I lived the moments wide eyed enough? Have I slowed down enough, (but not too much) so as to capture the hearts of my tribe as we go through advent? 

For the first time we have been tracking through advent with Ann Voskamp's 'Unwrapping the Greatest Gift'. Life changing. A chance to stop every morning and get our hearts ready to be glad in the deepest place that Jesus came, and that nothing will ever be 'very wrong' again. I drink the words, the life-giving (or in my case life-saving) truths spelt out in beats that I can keep up with, droplets of truth that are threatening to change me from the inside out. 

Droplets that won't let me stay thinking that maybe God has forgotten me.

Droplets that taste of God's goodness, of His unthinkable sacrifice, His deepest love for little me.

Yet in my morbid way I found myself crying over my orange juice tonight at photos of my boys, these three wonders, that will in time no longer have me all warm and in the flesh to love them new each day. The photos taken, video recorded, memories etched in small minds will have to be enough. But how can they be enough. None of it is the good story I imagined over and over as I nursed True. That season when my world plodded along all cozy and right, and the biggest problem was how long he napped in the day for and which playgroup to attend.

Yes. I've lived those days. Not all my days have had a ticking clock in the background, the endless swallowing of heaped pills morning and night. Not all my days have been achingly lonely because how can I ever ever explain or articulate the endlessness of having to say goodbye when all I want is to stay.

On the day that will be my last on this earth, it will be well with my soul if I have lived this life the best I can. Not in that 'striving to get it all done/freaking out over not getting it all done way', but the knowing that I know that I know I loved with all I am, gave with all my heart, treasured and nurtured my four boys, my three littles with my whole self, and gave my heart daily, hourly to love big my Huz. All in the name of Jesus. Without whom I would have self combusted a few years back.

I can't fathom walking this yuck of cancer without His presence in the deep places.

Just needing You to help me do it Jesus. So glad you never leave me. Please remind my tired heart tonight that Your good is better than my imagined plans that seem better.

bali & cancer

I've found that the longer I live with cancer, the more spontaneous, 'seize the day' I become. 

Planning for holidays has never been my strong suit. I tend to be pretty happy at home. I'm such a homebody. Love my creature comforts and pottering about my own place. But cancer has definitely changed my 'it can wait' perspective on getting away. I've got to fit a lifetime of holidays into a few short years! Can it be done? Well I'm giving it a pretty good go!

The more I think about how great I'm feeling on this drug combo of 'Vanilla Bean' and Xeloda the more I don't want to take my chances waiting to do the things I've always wanted to do.

So.

Getting away with Huz is one of my favourites. He and I travel so well together. We love relaxing and taking it all in, and he's such great company. I love to do holidays with him.

Six nights away with Huz at a luxury villa was so good for my soul. Bali was the perfect spot.

Beyond grateful to our parents for looking after the littles so we could whisk off. It was a pretty big ask, and we timed our trip while school was still on so that our parents wouldn't have to entertain all three all day every day that we were away. It's a huge ask though. Such love showered on us from all four of them to set aside plans to love on the boys for us.

And a trip to Bali with Huz? A definite cancer perk!

Do we look fit to be parents? 

That's better. Think we'd fool them now.

There were so many highlights on this trip. Swimming, eating divine seafood, our amazing four poster canopy bed, shopping in the markets, watching beautiful sunsets, reading amazing books, long conversations and beautiful silences, daily massages and coffee in the rainforest.

Very memorable and so very life-giving. Living each moment well was a privilege. 

Lots of smiles in these photos, which was easy because there was so much to smile over and marvel at.

But by the final night as we watched the amazing Bali sunset my hearts ache was for my littles. I am so tied to these three boys of mine, and truly 6 nights away was my utter limit for missing those squeezable cheeks, cheeky, toothy smiles and tight cuddles.

Huz will tell you I was a mass of tears for most of the final evening. Induced mostly by the desperate realisation that someday soon my separation from the boys will be final and one that a quick plane trip home won't remedy. 

Me in my forever home, that place of no more tears, but my precious 4 boys with that homesickness for me that will remain until they join me.

And the thought of that had me crying into Huz's shoulder even while Balinese singers gathered round our table on the beach to serenade us.

Oh my breaking heart. It just breaks a little more at the most unexpected times, leaving me spinning.

This long goodbye. The one I want with all my soul to be beautiful, and life giving to my True, Brave and Soul. And my Huz. How am I so blessed that he would love me and choose me, and still choose me everyday in this muck of cancer. 

And that's how we did Bali with cancer. I swallowed pills morning and night, and the rest of the time we ate, drank and were merry. 

And aside from being referred to as 'sir' once or twice, courtesy of my super short do', most of the time I think we had Bali fooled! 

Just another couple on our 'honeymoon' as far as they were concerned. And that was the best feeling of all! A true break from being a patient. Just what the doctor ordered!

the inside

I got to meet with some of our 'forever family' yesterday. For the first time in months and months. It was like taking a big gasp of air after being underwater for far too long.

Our church is kind of small and humble. It's got some broken, real people. Like me. And it was so good to be there in person and get to sing alongside others worshipping Jesus, and next to my boys who cuddled close to my legs during the worship time. To sit together as a family was sweet and so comforting. My beautiful friend Em came and joined us halfway through, and to feel encased in love after being tucked away in my own sick world for so long was especially lovely.

And just being there together was enough to refresh my soul. It was good. And I felt ridiculous for all the times over the years that I have resented going to church because of various things ranging from tiredness to not wanting to front up to having to be authentic with people after a particularly difficult week. It just felt a little silly. My perspective has changed since not being able to go for most of this year. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder.

But today it's been the little moments that have made me catch my breath, and at the times I'm least prepared for it. Just in the middle of normal I'll feel my stomach give way, and I go from being all normal to being all 'cancer-y'.

I dropped off Soul to my mum and dad's for the day, and just in the middle of talking about photos and how to get them off my computer I just felt myself spinning out. And it was the bolt of lightning to my heart saying that all of it is for nothing because all my effort is in vain to capture memories. Huz won't do all of that after I'm gone, my boys won't have albums all neatly lined up of year after year of memories. It is all for naught.

And my heart writhed in me while I pretended to be normal and discuss photo storage options, but my soul was faint with the realisation.

Another thing I can't control.

Another area of my life and priorities that will crumble as soon as I am gone.

Somehow I can't get used to how shocking this all is. This letting go. This gradual, hair pulling, nail biting, deep hallow sickness that weasels its way inside my insides. 

It's the inside of my insides that hurts.

And there's no denying the power of the grave in those moments, because all seems lost. All is lost. When I cease to go on so will every single priority I have ever set, every dream I have ever dreamt, every song I have sung, every word I have spoken. All gone. Done and dusted.

But all is not over. The Jesus in me will raise me from the dead just as He was raised, and I will go on to be with Him in the sweetest place I can dream. This heaven is more real than this earth. And there I will be.

And I bet I won't be thinking about my lost photo albums then.

Today I'm asking myself if Jesus is enough. If He's really enough for me. Enough in the face of lost dreams and futures and photo albums and moments I imagined were mine for the taking but have been snatched away. 

Is He really enough? And He's come to me before and reminded me that He is, but I'm needing the reminder again. A fresh one, because the inside of my insides needs to hear it. I need to know He's enough for me, enough for this life and the next, and enough for my boys. 

More than enough.

sweet and sour

It's been an afternoon of sorts. Well, out-of sorts. Huz for whatever reason has bitten back at a few of my remarks that he has taken badly. I guess I don't blame him.

Part of the deal with 'getting better', or 'coping really well' comes the confusion for everyone about how to treat me. What is the new normal, and all that. I mean, one minute I'm flat out on the couch or bed and sleeping most of the day, and all of a sudden I'm getting amazing medical scan results and bouncing around like a new little puppy who has been locked up too long. I actually really do feel like a puppy -just wanting to go go go until I literally collapse to make up for all the lost months.

But that does make it pretty confusing for handsome spouse and wonderful family who are trying to interpret/continue to support sick/bouncing puppy moi. 

I'm a little confused myself.

The 'rules' seem to shift beneath us each time I take a step of health. This weekend we spent the morning clearing out the back garden of branches and foliage to prepare for bushfire season, and I did my first bit of cooking with the boys and my beloved Thermomix with a yummy chocolate cake for morning tea. Then in the afternoon we headed off to Crossroad Bowls to take the boys bowling! This morning I went to church for the first time in about 9 months, and this afternoon couldn't help but try to trim back a large bush that  was getting out of control. 

Then this afternoon I kind of crashed out.

After all the sweetness of an unusually busy weekend full of life and packed with heaps of family time, I just kinda hit the wall.

It was at this point that Huz hit his own wall.

His wall was made of my requests (read: jobs I've asked him to do) all piling up, stacked up against a whole pile of Sunday night tasks like making lunches for the week and putting a baby seat in the car.

He was not happy. And so while I inwardly crumbled he kinda did too. And it was in front of our crowd of littles, with True commenting that 'adults fight too sometimes' and so our tribe watched Huz and I fight fair over the extra load, the working around all the little changes, all the declines, all the 'can'ts'...and the can'ts that have become can's. It's super confusing.

I don't really know how to navigate this, and all the while as I'm getting these fabulous results, and feeling my energy levels elevate I'm inwardly struggling to keep it together. 

Waking and feeling somehow alone, moments in time with boys giggling loudly beside me and mayhem of bikes on the deck and Soul wanting to get in and out of various dress ups, and I've fazed out to that darker place where I'm confused about how to just be right now, what to feel and how to be in the moment, because I'm feeling good now so there's pressure to be fully 'here' fully present and lap it up. And I do. Mostly. 

But there are the moments now I'm doing so much better that really I'm doing so much worse, and my heart is taking a beating, and I'm fatigued from how wonderful it is for everyone else that I'm 'doing so well right now', because playing along is kind of mandatory, even though I am at a loss as to how to walk it out because I've never been dying before while trying to live so hard. 

I'm tired, and rest for my soul is hard to find today.

So when Huz is baffled over how I can go bowling yesterday and be too exhausted to make school lunches today I don't know what to say.

It's just the sweet and sour of 'doing so much better' I guess. But it's unfair that I get to choose the sunshine and not the nitty gritty tasks, and I've promised myself I'll save him from that.

Just not today.

oops.

My True lost his first 'for real' tooth on the weekend.

When he was four, Brave and he were playing on the couch and jumped down at the very same moment, ending up with Brave's head having True's tooth lodged in it. Now while this event did entail a visit from the Tooth fairy, this time was the real deal.

It wobbled and wobbled for a few weeks or more before an apple took it out. Huz searched around and True looked everywhere, but it seems it was swallowed somehow.

So a note was written and placed in the little bag to hang on the door instead of a tooth. Just so a certain fairy wouldn't get confused.

Luckily all worked out, and the Tooth fairy came through. She's good like that.

Cha Ching! $4 right there.

Score.

I just love this kid's grin. There's something awesome about how it changes with each tooth's coming and going.

(These smiles were achieved by the promise of a 'chubby chup' afterwards. Unfortunately I was rewarded with strained expressions from the older two and a strangled youngest. Sorry Soul. Was worth a go.)

3rd birthday letter for Soul

Dear Soul

Beautiful time keeper of my joy these past three years. How can you be three my sweet, soft cheeked boy? 

Happy Birthday darling!

Today it's like I'm seeing you with new eyes. The baby of my three boys is now so much not a baby. You assert your three years with long sentences, 'grown up' phrases and understanding so much more than surely you should at only three!? Today we have opened presents (lego of course) and gone to the shops hand-in-hand with you choosing a chocolate cake for this afternoons celebrations. Daddy and I have had you all to ourselves for most of the day, and you have been utterly delightful. Cheeky, chatty and so very aware that this day is your birthday, your day to be the centre of attention; the star attraction. And why not? So it should be!

We stopped in at the florist on the way home - you started a detailed conversation with the florist over your brand new hat and how it was your birthday - turning three of course- and you even threw in a mention of 'fake christmas' the celebration we held last weekend as Ali and her family won't be in Australia for the 25th…there was nothing you weren't happy to talk over with this lovely stranger. Oh my goodness, how grown up you are becoming, and how confident too.

You know your own mind Soul. You are stubborn and won't let go of an idea if you can help it. You understand the justice of 'time outs', and have experienced probably more than your fair share of them! When something is fair though, you are on board.

I am undone by your eyes. Those big eyes looking at me and telling me 'I love you mummy'. This is the best. 

We have a new little nighttime routine at home since you have recently moved into the daybed from the cot. You are the first of my three who likes me singing you to sleep, and oh my goodness I am revelling in the joy of it. To sing over you is such a treat! You love nursery rhymes equally as well as 'Jesus love me' and 'Jesus loves the little children'. We have started to finish our singing with the 'One.Two.' that the older boys learned at BSF some years ago. You are so darling as you lay there in the huge bed, utterly dwarfed by its length.

It reminds me that although you are still small Soul, you will be big soon enough. These days of quiet routines at home are beyond precious to me. I am so blessed to be your mama.

Love you baby,

Mummy xx