Cancer, Coping, and the Every-Day Maces

Nothing profound this time! Just an overall person by person update. Emily. She's currently potty training herself. (Absolutely a blessing because I do not have the 3 day juice/movie/underwear marathon in me right now...) Still says "Rawr!!" very loudly at any given opportunity. Clomps around in sparkly shoes and rainbow Crocs. Climbs everything and often solicits "Should she be doing that?" from strangers. Loves to hide from me. Laughs at her own cleverness constantly. Sometimes stops being mischievous to tenderly stroke my face and ask me "Okay?" Caleb. This boy LIVES in costumes and his brain is SO full. Last week I was about to give him his preventative inhaler (we do it twice daily) and I asked him if he had any questions before we started. His response was something like, "Well... Can monkeys really run? What does a rhino baby eat? Do eagles live everywhere on the earth? How much water is in that lake? How to baby turtles know when to hatc

I think I've discovered another one of my lifestyle cycles. It goes something like this:  1. Observe life events. Say relatively little about it. 2. Ponder said life events. Say relatively little about it. 3. Find meaning in aforementioned life events. Have WAY too much to say about it. This doesn't make for very consistent or concise blogging. But hey, at least I acknowledge it? On my Facebook page you'll find a cute video and news article about our arrival back to Utah. I smile every time I think about. What would the human experience be without delightful little moments to discover each other's goodness? My heart finds rest in the goodness I observe in so many of you.  As for the two weeks before our epic Breeze flight, we were thrilled with Hyrum's almost flawless 2nd infusion. Only one week in the hospital! No brain bleed! No regression of speech, diet, or motor skills! It's a miracle I honestly didn't expect. Michael spent a lot of his hospital time pl

Sunday night, I sat myself on the gray felt couch of the RMH lobby. The occasional Door Dash drop off and the distant chatter from the kitchen didn’t deter me from crying. The next morning was Hyrum’s second infusion. The day before had been Clara’s burial. I’d had no time to breathe in between. More than anything, I just don’t want to lose him again. Last time he “checked out” for a whole month- losing speech, diet, walking, sitting… everything. We just started to get him back, and I don’t want that all over again. After I cried the needed tears, my brain found an even more cheerful thought: the aftermath of Hyrum's first infusion was only a partial, temporary loss. I still got to see him. Visit him. Lie next to him in bed. I still got to stroke his hair and give him a foot massage and see him shake his head. “Mm-Mm” for no, chin tuck for yes. If that partial loss was so devastating, how will I possibly handle his death? One long moment of sober consideration, and my mind fla