Six Years After Ovarian Cancer

In some ways my brush with cancer seems so minor. And yet it changed so much about me and about what I really wanted from life. Having been pregnant with my second child when I was diagnosed I would've been at what some people thought an optimal time to become surgically sterile and proceed with life. Once I was faced with the reality that I could choose to never have any more children I knew very much how deeply I wanted to have more children. I wanted to create a community, a family, that was uniquely ours. I knew that I didn't have a moral decision to make: to remove or not to remove all ovaries and prevent any future pregnancies. I chose to proceed on the path that gave me the most peace: keep that left ovary if it was healthy. Be open to having more children. This decision gave me peace. My obstetrician assured me that most people chose the opposite route: remove all diseased and potentially future diseased organs. I will reveal how self-centered I am by saying that I consider this choice almost daily around 3-6pm. This is the time of the day that the stresses of my vocation are the most pronounced. If someone were to observe me unnoticed they would find me sometimes unsuited for this chaotic life. It is also that time of day that I am challenged to do the most Christian thing I can think of doing--to live in the present. God knows our past and future and He tells us to live in the present. And while we plan for things and mourn or celebrate things that have already happened, I feel like there is real fruit that comes from being able to embrace the present, even or especially if it's uncomfortable, and be thankful. Daily around dinner, homework, madness hour I am reminded of this challenge to live in the present. It's all I have with my kids and it's the foundation of what our future will be together. Can I discipline myself to not despair of this time? To pick up whatever shambles we have sometimes hourly made and begin anew? To choose patience and kindness with little people who rarely return it? I could've chosen two children. I could've had relative freedom at dinner time. I chose this. I didn't do it because I am a superior mother or individual, but because six years ago the thought of remaining open to life gave me the peace that transcends understanding. I've had to trust every day since then that God would use this for my good and the good of my husband and children.

Dear Hanson kids, I never meant to be away from this space for this long. I really don't have a good excuse. You guys don't take up so much of my time that I can't write. I know I make plenty of time at night for other things like watching Foyle's War and Downton Abbey. The only thing I can attribute it to is fear of man. I had a hard time in 2012. I was very concerned with what other people thought of me. This was a result of some relatively awful words that were spoken about me. About us. I let it bother me too much. I let myself waste time worrying about other people approving of our little (growing) Hanson family. There has been estrangement. It brought with it clarity. I wish I could say that I don't worry one bit about what people think, but it's not true. I still have a soul connected to a very human body that has the burden of this flesh. I worry but I work hard at overcoming those worries. And I do it first for Jesus. Then I do it for your father and then for you. I love people. And I also get annoyed by people. I am loved and I get annoying. This is life. This is why the Lord's prayer is such a good reminder: forgive us and we forgive those who trespass against us. I'm working on it. It's working. But I've wanted to record here in this space all that you mean to me. All that you have brought into my life. All the transformation. During this Lent I have felt more and more that it was necessary to start again. I've been tempted to make this blog private so that I don't incur ANY criticism. But I have been so encouraged by other people and their writing about their lives--their everyday normal lives--that I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not because I have such amazing and profound things to say, but just because after all this time it seems like it's what I'm supposed to do. I have a story to tell. It's your story, too. And I wish I had more of my parents' stories. I wish I had a collective memory of theirs. That is for another time. I am starting anew. And I will laugh at myself if I don't write anything again for months. You are my gifts. My third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh gifts. Immediately following Jesus and your father. Love, Mom

This is what I made for dinner tonight: Eggplant Parmesan Except!! Except!! I also made lentils and kale and mixed it up in the Vitamix and added it to the marinara. This is how I try to do veggies with the minions. They always have so many opinions. Minions with opinions!! I also added lots of parmesan cheese. Can't go wrong there, right? Who can resist cheesy, melty fried eggplant? My children can, probably. They will most likely cry. If my husband read that he'd say, "Why do you always have to be so negative?" To which I would begin to protest and stop because--why argue. But what I would like to submit is that I can anticipate a negative response because I am the one with them five nights a week in which I attempt to get them to consume reasonable amounts of good food. Why? Because I'm a health nut? No. Because I want them to poop. If that makes me a health nut, then... Did I mention the wine? I added wine to the sauce, too. Yip. EE.

Kids, I started this for you. There's a lot that happens in this lovely life of ours. Sometimes I don't always take the time to write it down. I've spent a lot of time thinking about stuff and wondering why I don't write it down. It comes down to fear. I don't want to be judged. I'm starting anew because you're worth it. It's fun to look at the record of our life together. So bit by bit I'll get this ball rolling again. I have lots to share with you.

She Asked Me...

"What's a 'toots'?" asked Stella.

"It's like someone calling you their sweetheart or honey."

She's ponders for a moment and asks again, "So I'm like Jesus' toots?"

Yes. Kinda. It was too sweet to explain the nuance.

Did I Just Say That?!

"Don't put rubber bands in your underwear!"

"If you don't want her to hit you with a spider don't play spider games with her."

Her Ways

Rowena favors the "h" sound these days. For example:

She really likes to eat "hoop," which is a warm broth that usually has vegetables and/or meat.

She asks for "How-wah" for breakfast. This is grain that is a complete protein and starts with the letter "Q."

She's a little too happy to tell you when she's gassy--"I hartin'!"

She calls my friend Cindy "Honey."

I'm so used to deciphering sentences that lack articles and sensical nouns, etc, that when she talks to me in a complete sentence these days, which is (sadly) more and more frequently, I don't understand her. It requires an opposite paradigm shift.

It's also important for me to communicate what a great little worker she is. She loves to help with chores. She folds clothes with abandon I tell you. Quite indiscriminately picking up the dirty with the clean and folding them into tiny squares and putting them in piles. This is why you might open up John's shirt drawer someday and find a bunch of kitchen towels.

Sweetest thing ever.

Her Growing Vocabulary

If Rowena approaches you and says she wants to "him" with her "hoaties" what would you do?

Help her swim with her floaties of course.

If she exclaims "A harwk!" you should look out for Jaws underwater.

If, at dinner, she asks, "Halt. Peez," know that she's politely asking you to pass the salt.

And when she's riding in the car down 15th Ave and screams "Mom! Dub-dub! One, two, one dub-dubs!" She wants you to know that there are one, two, three horses.

Sent from my iPhone

My Truly Naked Chefs

This is how I'm getting help lately. Making an egg frittata? In the crock pot? Yes! Gianna and Rowena mix up my eggs. It takes them ten minutes because they enjoy it so much.

Stella Starts School

"I'm going to miss you tomorrow, Stella."

"I know. My cute little voice when I say prayers?"

***

And then at dinner we're talking about Stella finally getting to go to school. Little Gianna scoots next to me to say, "I'm going to miss Stella."

I think I'll make it in the morning without crying. But I don't think I'll last long if Gianna starts to cry because she misses her constant playmate of the last four years of her life.

Sent from my iPhone

A Childlike Faith

Stella informed me that God spoke to her in the middle of the night the other day.

"What did He say," I asked.

"He said, 'Do not be afraid.' And then Mary said, 'I'm praying for you and your sisters.' And then my Guardian Angel said, 'I'm watching out for you always.'"

Truly good news.

It's a Workout

Upon completing our ascent on some stairs out of Oak Creek Canyon in Sedona, Stella is a bit winded and sighs, "Whew! I'm breathtaking!"

Gianna concurs, "Me, too, I'm breathtasting."

***

After lunch the girls are talking in their bedroom, Stella leads the discussion, "OK, girls, girls: let's play...let's play 'Darling'!"

About John

What does little Johnny enjoy these days?

He likes to eat. He likes to sleep with a pacifier. He likes to follow his sisters around the house. He likes his dad.

He likes to wave. He likes to stand up. He likes it when the girls dote on him. He likes his dad.

He really likes his dad. He especially likes it when his dad punches him in the gut over and over until John smiles like a schoolgirl. John also like to be shot with fake guns.

He likes it when Jamie bursts into the room pretending to rain down artillery fire upon him mercilessly. But even more, he likes it when Jamie picks him up and stabs him in his little chest and twists the knife to the side to finish the job. Then John likes when his dad drags the knife up his chest and pulls out his fake little beating heart in his hand and holds it in front of John's face (signified by Jamie's pumping fist and the noise "gu-dung, gu-dung, gu-dung").

John really loves that.

They're Pretending

Stella's playing baby, Rowena's playing detective and Gianna's playing pirate. John's watching.

Gianna says to Rowena, "Mrs. Lump! Mrs. Lump! There are pirates in your yard!"

Noni gives a subdued, "Oh!" and goes to her front yard to...shush them.

Stella cries, "Me want out!" and Rowena sympathetically pats her and says, "Oh, honey!"

She wants to 'him!

And she wants to do it with "hodies. on."

That's how Rowena asks to swim with her floaties! Cutest ever.

Sent from my iPhone

Things They Say

Gianna told me, "I'm gonna buy you something really, really, really pretty with my money. It's gonna be a shirt for you. And for dad. You cam share it."

Sounds flattering.

Sent from my iPhone

Lots of swimming lately. The big decisions are: diaper or no diaper?

John LOVES to be in the water. He tries to bolt over the side of his little flotation device. His sisters pull on it and push him around the pool. I try to keep him alive.

We had popsicles after lunch (Rowena calls them pock-e-pull!!). Being the resourceful third child that she is, Rowena headed to the bathroom to clean herself up. All was quiet except for the pleasant sound of running water. It kept running and running but I was so enjoying the quiet. Finally we wonder, "What's taking her so long?" Jamie shouts, "OK, Rowena, that's enough." No answer. Upon inspection this is what we find:

Our sink runneth over with Rowena. Aren't we lucky?

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

pretty

Really: What's My Problem?

Where do I start? I have lots of "problems."

Not really.

I have problems with sharing: over-sharing, under-sharing, worrying about peoples' opinions of my sharing, people knowing things that I wouldn't share with them in person, (people knowing things by reading my blog and me not knowing that they read).

I split mental hairs over this. Then I think about all the people who share on their blogs and who really make a difference in my life. People I don't know. People I wouldn't recognize on the street.

The difference between them and me...am I too prideful?

It's embarassing to think about people knowing that I don't have all my life together. I have these four beautiful children and I'd like to have more but I (in no feasible way) have all this parenting of many small children thing figured out.

It's very humbling.

I want my children to know how very hard I tried. And even how very frequently I failed. And had to ask forgiveness. And had to think about how impatient and awful I was at night following a day of impatient spewing.

Stella likes to remind me to avail myself of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. "Mom, you know how you have to go and talk to the priest and tell him all the things you've done wrong?"

"Yes, my sweet," through clenched teeth.

Different Ashes

Four years ago I was recovery from surgery. I was pregnant with Gianna and they were coming in to tell me that the baby was still alive. Phew. To say the least. I didn't realize how much I cared until they were wheeling me back to prep for surgery and my eyes started to sting with tears. We found out the baby was a girl the day before. We named her Gianna after the saint. I said goodbye to Jamie and went into the cold--really operating rooms are freezing--cold room with the surgeon and his assistants.

This Ash Wednesday finds me neck deep in children. I took photos to illustrate but, appropriately, Stella was documenting the day and now that she's in bed I cannot locate the camera. I remember asking her where she put it...

I don't take for granted how charmed my life is. Even at this point: months from Jamie's conclusion to las school, two babies in less than two years, a small house, an Arizona summer heading our way--I am lucky. All my children are well. We have no major problems. I love my husband and he loves me back. I cannot avoid those ashes that we all return to, but this Ash Wednesday I can give up some things and offer prayers of thanksgiving for all that I have and prayers of supplication for all that so many others want or need.

I'm trying to get back in the groove of writing. Can you tell.

Insert precious progeny photo here: X.