how my baby helped me battle cancer...

Beautiful Heather.

Today I would like to welcome Heather to the blog. Her story is beautiful and must be shared. I hope you all find it as inspiring and heartwarming as I did.

Heather, you are so strong and I am so grateful you chose my blog to share your story. Your family is so insanely beautiful and your story is even more so. Cancer has nothing against your strength. Nothing. It means so much to me to have you with us today. 

 

If you were to ask my seven-year-old daughter about my struggle with cancer, she would tell you the same thing, "I saved my mommy's life." Her response is automatic now, such as if she were expressing her hunger or a stomachache. She knows she saved my life, and she says it without needing to think twice. Some may not take her words seriously, while others simply do not understand the value of truth behind her statement. I will be the first to say how true her words are.

Seven years into our marriage my husband, Cameron, and I considered having children. Being 35 years old, I was nervous that we would be unable to conceive due to my age, and I was unsure about how long it would really take to get pregnant. Within three months of making our life-changing decision, we confirmed our blessed news after three pregnancy tests! Cameron and I were going to have a baby! As all new mothers understand, several feelings – shock, nerves, and excitement – ensued at the same moment. My new role in life was to be a mother! Looking back on that time, it's funny to think about just how quickly I fell into a mother's role. I found myself constantly rubbing my stomach, growing excited with the knowledge that new life was growing and being nurtured within me. Thousands of questions rampaged through my thoughts. What type of mother would I be? Would I be fun, strict, or cool? Maybe I would be all three. The only thing I knew was that my whole desire was to be a good mother.

After experiencing such a smooth pregnancy, I would have been thrilled to be pregnant 10 more times! The only hiccup was that our baby, Lily, was breech, and the doctor said I would need an emergency C-section. I will always remember my response, "At least she will have a round head." I always wanted to see the positive in hard situations. It still overwhelms me when I think about the surge of emotion that filled me when I was finally able to hold my little girl. At that very second, I knew I would willingly accomplish anything to show her happiness, love, and protection. My sole desire was to nurture, teach, and coach her to reach her full potential, while offering her the love I never felt before I held her in my arms. With her bundled in my arms, nothing else mattered. My life was hers. In that moment, my life was so perfect that I would never have guessed a storm was looming just around the corner.

Within 3 ½ months of Lily being born, life changed once again for us, but this time our happy life turned into a nightmare when the doctor diagnosed me with malignant pleural mesothelioma. If that was not bad enough, the doctor explained that I would need to start treatment immediately; otherwise, my life could end within 15 months. In those moments following the diagnosis, my husband was my savior. I was unable to move as immeasurable shock overwhelmed me. All I could think about was Lily, and the thought of leaving Cameron and her behind without me to care for them seemed unfathomable. As these thoughts swirled through my mind, Cameron remained calm and listened to the treatment options, making the tough decision to travel to Boston and meet with one of the best mesothelioma doctors in the world. Treatment meant that I would have to undergo an extreme procedure, resulting in the removal of my heart's lining, left lung, and lining of my diaphragm. After spending 18 days recovering in the hospital, I spent two weeks in one of Boston's outpatient facilities and another two months in South Dakota at my parents' home where Lily was currently staying. Finally, I was able to return to our home in Minnesota where I began radiation treatments and chemotherapy.

Just as other mothers would, I had to sacrifice things in order to be there for Lily as she grew up. I gave up the opportunity to see my little girl turn six months old, which was excruciatingly difficult, as I had to miss a whole month of my baby's life. However, my sweet little girl needed me to survive this nightmare. Lily provided me with the courage to face the unknown and the strength to undergo life-threatening surgery, radiation treatments, and chemotherapy.

Mesothelioma kills an estimated 95 percent of diagnosed victims. While looking back at my struggle with cancer, I discovered that being a mother provided me with the strength to continue fighting. The knowledge that my baby needed me to guide her through life kept me fighting each day, so my Lily tells the whole truth when she says, "I saved my mommy's life."

Bless your hearts Heather, Cameron and and Lily.

a family that plays together stays....

I always wanted to be the mother of a family that actually wants to spend time with one another. A family that is thrilled to reunite and chat over dinner. A family that shares their secrets with one another and has too many inside jokes. You know, the kind of family that makes outsiders feel uncomfortable? Yeah, I kind of want that. I want to laugh hard. Play hard. And love hard.

I know I have littles --all of my children are under the age of 7-- and it is true that I have never experienced the teenage years, BUT, damnit if a girl can't dream.

I believe a family that plays together stays together.
Hormonal teenage tantrums and all.

1.  Write a song. If you have any instrument players in the family (or even if you don't), write a song. Use the piano, the pots and pans, your voices --whatever. Just write, create, and --of course-- perform.
2. Trade places. Let your daughter play mom for the day. You be the daughter. Mix it up. Trade rolls and enjoy the silliness of being someone else for the day. 
3. Let your sillys out. Stick out your tongue. Use funny voices. Dance crazy. Act a fool. Life should always be fun, and not always serious.
4. Mess up. Sometimes the most ridiculous games are the funnest. Pull the covers over everyone's head, steam roll and be absolutely silly beneath them. Let everyone yell, "mess up." It is complete chaos and has no point other than to be ridiculous.
5. Play at the playground. Yes, that means you mom. Whip down the slide, play tag, swing as high as you can. Spend your day being apart of their lives, not just watching them.

6. Take bike rides. All together. Little ducklings behind the big ducks. Waddling (or riding) your way through the world.
7. Involve everyone. Let the children help you with your tasks. Give them a sponge to help clean, a knife to help chop, or a spoon to stir. Keep them ingrained in your life. Even the mundane.
8. "My days" all around. Give everyone a "my day." Let them choose the activity, the food, the beginning, the middle, and the end. Whatever they want. For one day, everybody is focused on why that one person is special.
9. Bucket lists for every season. Sit down as a family and create lists of must-dos each and every season. Each activity listed should be intended for the whole family. Hold yourselves to it. And enjoy the process.
10. Movie and pizza nights. Life makes sense beneath a blanket, eating pizza and watching movies. It just feels right, no?
11. Family memory bins/books. Keep a bin (or a book) of keepsakes and memories. If you visit the beach and a child finds a special seashell, label it with the date and any kind of special note, then toss it in the bin. Throw in anything with meaning. Go through the bin once a year to talk about the memories you have made as a family.

12. Vacation in the backyard. Life does not have to be expensive to be meaningful. Sometimes the best experiences can be had in your own backyard. Set up a tent, have a campfire, toast marshmellows and tell stories. Enjoy an unplugged night of stars and smiles.
13. Volunteer. Find ways as a family to give back. One of the most beautiful things in life is finding fulfillment in something that is bigger than possessions and self. Teach your children this. Learn this. Give back, together. 
14. Participate. Build snowmen in the winter and sandcastles in the summer. Be a participant in your children's lives, not a spectator.
 



Because in the end, a happy family is a happy life.

what I really want for Mother's Day.

I don't want a card filled with trite words on the symbolism of the day.

I don't want an array of flowers (unless they are freshly picked tulips).

I don't need dinner out or breakfast in bed.

I hope to not receive a single gift unless they are in the form of kisses.

What I need is a tiny glass perfume bottle, to save all of the lovely scents that will forever remind me of these moments with these beings.

            the sweet tang of freshly washed hair after a tubby.

            the i think-this-smells-bad, but-I-can't-turn-away scent of baby morning breath.

            kisses drenched in mashed bananas.

            apple juice.

            fingerpaint stained skin.

            playdoh in the crevices of the kitchen table.

            canned sweet potatoes. 

            pillowcases that have welcomed soft slumbers. 

In my glass bottle I would also save all of the ordinary things that make my life extraordinary like butterfly kisses against the tiniest of lashes, the softness of their cheeks, belly-deep giggles, shrieks of joy over the simplest things, and dance moves that are so completely offbeat they are flawless. 

I would save the truth...

             which is that life should be bottled up and soaked in

                            it should be remembered.

So, tomorrow. On Mother's Day,

I am going to lose my phone.

I am going to unplug.

I am going to sit on the floor and play.

I am going to suprise my children with icecream and fingerpaints.

I am going to be a "yes" mom.

I will lay on the couch and doze off with a baby on my chest and let my breath steady itself to his.

I will jump on the bed.

I am going to dress up as a princess

and let my son tell me how beautiful I am.

I will tell him that there is no greater prince than he.

I will be absolutely ridiculous.

I will make a fool of myself.

I am going to dig up worms

and splash in puddles.

I will let my daughter use my makeup

and I will tell her that she is more beautiful without it.

I will give butterfly kisses

and eskimo kisses

and big wet ones

and little ones

and forehead ones

and pressed in chubby cheek ones.

I will be a "more than mom."

I will shut my eyes and imagine I am holding a bottle of all the lovely scents of my children.

I will soak them in 

to my core.

And I will cherish the day.

Not because it's trite

but because it's messy

and real

and absolutely ordinary.