That time I was in SELF...

Several months ago I was standing in Jet’s pizza on a Friday night trying to convince the cashier to use my coupon that I had accidentally left on the counter when the phone rang.  I saw that it was a Nashville number so I politely excused myself from the coupon convo and walked outside.  The sweet young voice on the other end was a girl from the PR department at Vandy who asked if I’d ever heard of a magazine called SELF.  

She went on to explain that SELF had talked with some of the doctors at Vandy and they were looking for stories for their October issue on women in cancer.  The focus has typically been about breast cancer but this year they wanted to look at other cancers that women get and focus on precision medicine.  She asked if it was true that I had benefitted from precision medicine and if would be willing to speak with them.  I agreed.  She explained that my story would have to be chosen so they may or may not call but needed my permission to give them my name.  I asked if she knew my story and when she said no, I gave her the 3 minute elevator version.  This resulted in her silence and I kind of felt bad because she probably just had a piece of paper with a list of names to call for permission and she may or may not have been an intern. After all, it WAS after 6:00 on a Friday night.  I thanked her for calling and assured her I was doing well, thanks to her kind friends at Vandy, but I would be doing better if this pizza guy would give me a discount.  

Several weeks went by and I had heard nothing so I figured either I scared the girl or they had all the stories they needed.  Then, on my way back from our last scan appointment in July I checked my email and there was this one:

Hi Kimberly,

I’m Kristin Canning, a writer for SELF Magazine. I’m working on real women stories for our October cancer package, and you were referred to my editors by Vanderbilt-Ingram Cancer Center. I’d love to interview you about your experience and treatments for melanoma. Would you be able to talk on the phone sometime early this week? Looking forward to hearing from you!

Thank you,

Kristin Canning

Editorial Assistant | SELF

Condé Nast | 1 World Trade Center| 37th floor

New York, NY 10007 | 212.286.3418

It looked pretty official to me.  Stephen was driving and playing “name the 80’s song.”  I told him that I couldn’t talk because I was busy responding to SELF magazine.  We set up a phone interview for the next day.  I left a work meeting early with a strategic plan to drive far enough outside of downtown Memphis to find a safe parking lot to sit in before the phone rang.  I’m sure that’s what most famous people do.  I think I ended up at Old Navy.  

So the phone did ring and I talked to Ms. Kristin for about an hour about what went down in my life since that day in December.  I gave her the fairly long synopsis of the last nearly five years and just when she thought I was finished, I would give her another dramatic detail.  There was lots of “hmm, I see..” from her and “How did you feel when the treatment didn’t work?” to which most of the answers were either kind of self-explanatory or “like I was going to die” and I started running out of adjectives.  I left out the squamous cell nose job incident because I felt like she had plenty of material.  Somewhere near the end of the hour I looked down at my scrub pants and my steering wheel and it hit me that I was sitting in my car in a parking lot recounting details of my life that I will always wish didn’t exist to a perfect stranger in New York City on Eastern time.   She had no idea how very ordinary I was and I was pretty sure that I was not magazine material.  In an effort to explain this I blurted out, “Look, I live the most normal kind of life.  Most people don’t know what I’ve been through and I don’t walk around telling them unless they ask.  I just try to live my life, to be a mom, a wife, and do my job.”  A few minutes later, we hung up and she said she’d get back with me.  I asked if she was actually planning on publishing this and she said, “Oh yes, it will go in the October issue.”  So that was that. 

I kind of wondered what she was thinking after we hung up.  I was thinking that I was exhausted and that I’m a lot better in writing than on the phone.  She had asked me if I made any lifestyle changes after being diagnosed with cancer.  I wanted to come up with something very profound and health-conscious-like such as only eating the seeds of Mexican turnip because you know, SELF magazine and all.  But I just said, “Not really - I was not unhealthy to begin with - this came out of nowhere,” and had the vision of me walking my dog in my pajamas the night before.  I’m not sure why they didn’t put me on the cover.  

When I got home, Stephen asked how it went and I told him that I had no idea what I said.  He then proceeded to tell me how he had told my story to someone on the phone that day and the guy asked if I was bed-ridden.  I got nervous about Ms. Kristin's mental image of me as she wrote my article so I panic emailed her a family picture, just to prove that I was upright, functional, and not overweight or whatever and that we all looked reasonably happy.  She complimented me on my beautiful people and asked if she could use the photo.  

There were a series of emails back and forth between Kristin and me and then another lady named Pat who had to “check the facts.”  In this series of emails I learned a lot about deadlines, and editors and fact checking, but mostly that anyone who hasn’t experienced cancer has no clue.  They did send me questions for clarification (see below) which I certainly clarified.  I was pretty sure by the fact that they kind of got some of the info mixed up and with the tight deadline, it may not be the most accurate.  I also learned that the online version would be written in my own voice so I saw this as an opportunity and I edited rewrote that one too.  Either way, the story would be shared and someone needed to read it.  I would have paid good money for a story like this five years when I couldn’t find one soul worse off than me that lived to tell about it.  

The online version came out on my birthday.  Some people would call that irony but I call it God’s timing.  There could not have been a better reminder of the gift of life.  Stephen was the first to find it, of course, and texted it to me.  I saw the word, “lethal” and I was scared to read it.  As I read it, I found myself crying for whoever that girl was, remembering that girl was me, thanking God that I was that girl, and then I went back to work.  The online article was almost exactly what I had sent them.  I was pretty pleased that they left the word “faith.”  Five letters can speak volumes.  Happy Birthday.  Stick a candle in that. 

The print version came out the next week with Jessica Alba wearing a swimsuit on the cover and it still makes me laugh.  Me. Her. Basically twins.  We watched as the article was shared over and over on Facebook by our friends, on MSN.com, and on Vanderbilt Cancer Center’s page.  It was tweeted and favorited and shared by all sorts of random people.  There were more kind words than I’ve ever been worthy of...all very cool, but a little weird.  And, the picture.  We could not have been more Southern if we tried - standing in a cotton field holding some dogs.  

I guess any fear I had in putting myself out there has pretty much diminished.  So much for flying under the radar.  I also realized that is when it’s your story and you’ve lived it, you are very protective of the details.  They matter.  I’ve written things over and over about my experiences but in the hands of a stranger, my control was released to their interpretation.  As I answered those questions, the details came flooding back, like the one about “setbacks.”  I thought about the day that I literally could not balance to put my daughter’s smocked dress on her for church.  Definitely a setback.  I thought about the moment that four somber-faced doctors walked in and I could read what they were thinking.  I thought about the day I told my crying son that I’d be back later that day, knowing I probably wouldn’t.  But, it’s a magazine article - nobody needs to read that. The bottom line is that somebody will pick that up in the grocery store or search for positive melanoma stories on the internet and my face will pop up - smiling and holding a dog.  They will need to hear what it says because it will give them hope.  It may only contain part of the story and we all know the whole, but the end result is good and for those that believe, there will be no doubt how God showed up. 

Next month there will be a new magazine with new articles and another gorgeous cover model.  My copy will probably go on a shelf to collect some dust, and I’ll save it to show my kids one day.  They know about it now but are seriously unimpressed which is just fine with me.  I certainly don’t consider being in SELF magazine my greatest accomplishment.  They are.  And they know it. 

KJ

Link to the SELF online article

*My clarification from SELF.  Note that they call questions "queries" which is probably in a Fancy Nancy book and that means they are important.  Also note that I was proud of my fancy colored ink but was supposed to use ALL CAPs.  I apologized for this because I was working on our fifth grade project at the same time I answered the queries.

QUERIES FROM SELF: ( If you could use CAPS, that helps distinguish your answers from the original query, thanks!)

1) Correct spelling? Kimberly Jessop  yes

2) You will be 37 as of October 1, 2015?  No, I turn 38 in September

3) Correct that in 2010 (which month was it?)  your husband pointed out a small cyst on your back? December 2010. Yes.

4) And you thought it was nothing, but still made an appointment with your dermatologist?  Well, sort of.  He made the appointment for me because he’s a worrier which I can also credit for my survival.  But, yes, I went that day, thinking it was just a cyst and hoping it was nothing. 

5) When the biopsy turned up stage 4 melanoma would it be fair to say you were dumbfounded? That’s fair.  Blindsided, dumbfounded, shocked, devastated...

6) After the Interleukin-2 treatment, you  started a two-year, PD-1 inhibitor immunotherapy infusion clinical trial? Yes, I failed IL2 and started the 2 year clinical trial.

7) You wold drive three hours to Vanderbilt then drive back, continuing to work and take care of our family? yes.  Friends and my husband helped with drop off and pickup and meals on the days I had treatments because I was usually gone about 18 hours. 

8) And your children were  2 and 5 years old at the time? yes (10 and 7 now!)  

9) You did the PD-1 immunotherapy for nine months; things seemed to be going well, but you had to wait until your first scan to be sure? I was on an 8 week cycle which meant that I was scanned for the first time after 8 weeks and every 8 weeks thereafter.  So for the first 2 months, I had no clue if it was working or not.  My first scans showed some shrinking so it was definitely positive.

10)  When your doctor called on your drive home and told you that your tumors were getting smaller, you screamed with joy? sure did.  Well, I waited until I hung up the phone, because you know, not to appear too crazy.  And, it’s a guarded kind of joy - everything is with cancer.  You are elated with any positive progress but guarded in how long the progress will last.  Always.  It is still this way. Four years and 8 months later.  Every time I walk out of a clear scan I know I’m not home free, just grateful that God gave me more days.  

11) Being away from your family for treatment makes you wonder if what you’re doing is worth it? Never. It was always hard to leave my kids even for a day, but I would go to the end of the earth and back if that gave me one more day with my husband and kids.  Have you seen them?  If those faces don’t give you a reason to live, I’m not sure what would.  

12) You did have a couple of setbacks, the worst being diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia?  No.  The pivotal moment was when the cancer had spread to my spine and paralyzed me.  I knew and we all knew that if I lived it would be a miracle.  I envisioned trying to care for my children in a wheelchair and knew that my career where I basically teach people to walk was pretty much over.  I don’t like to depend on others so this was devastating.  The neurosurgeon that did my surgery did not know the damage to my spinal cord that had been done and could not promise that I would walk normally again but it would buy me some time and relieve the pain.  I remember telling God that if I survived this, He could use me for whatever He wanted.  I woke up from surgery and felt my toes for the first time in a couple of months and I haven’t stopped since.  (Last week I ran a 5K and got 2nd in my age group.  It happened to be the 5K for the Melanoma Research Foundation that my husband and I brought to Memphis and hosted for the first time this year.  We raised 42K for melanoma research - not too shabby for a first year).  The CML was a complete sideshow.  Yes, it’s cancer.  Bad cancer.  I was diagnosed with that about 6 months after my spinal tumor.  I had spent 6 months trying to figure out how to walk again, so when they told me there was a drug for that, I figured the odds were a lot better than stage 4 melanoma.  If God had brought me this far, He wasn’t about to fail me now.  The biggest issue with getting another cancer while you are on a research drug is that you can no longer take the drug. So, I was basically left with no options to treat my melanoma tumors that were still there, but had no choice but to treat the CML.  It was a very wait and see approach which also required a lot of faith.  

13) As you explained to Kristin, at this point, you and your husband weren’t fazed by bad news — if cancer taught you anything, it’s that until everyone tells you there are no options, there are options? Oh we were fazed but the blow on the second cancer seems a lot softer, I guess.  (And the third is even less - I was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma last year on my nose.  Surgery took care of that one.) As a dear friend of mine says, you choose to “bow up or fold up” and I will always bow up.  We were certainly numb that day, and probably in shock because who in the world does that happen to? But again, I was given 3 drug choices that are FDA approved to treat the CML.  I hate poking, prodding.  Bone marrow biopsies are horrible.  Taking chemo pills for the rest of my life is not convenient, but cancer is not convenient.  And, yes.  I am not big on taking no for an answer.  We will always look for options.  The beautiful thing is that melanoma treatment has advanced so much that now there are actually options.  

 14) Since February of 2013, you’ve been in remission for both  melanoma and leukemia and I feel so lucky.  Ha!  Lucky is what happens when you win the lottery.  I won way more than that.  I won life.  I get to hold my children, watch them grow, pick them up from school, and tuck them in at night.  I get to spend my days helping others and doing what I love.  I get to celebrate anniversaries with my husband and hold his hand as I share this life with him.  I’m not lucky.  I’m honored.  I believe that it is all God’s plan and I believe in miracles.  I am not sure why He chose me for one, but I am grateful.

What thirty-eight looks like...

Thirty-eight does not fall in the milestone category like 30 and 40 and whatnot.  It’s a lost-in-the-middle kind of number - past 35 so you round up to 40, and shoot, well over 30.  We live life by fives and tens and the others just get lost in the middle.  But, thirty-eight for me is pretty significant - 20 years since I graduated high school, 15 years at my job, 10 years of motherhood, and 5 years since I first shook hands with cancer.  Plus, I’m never lacking for things to celebrate - I’ll just make stuff up. 

At thirty-eight, life seems to have brought me to a place where age and circumstance intertwine.  We all have something in common - our kids, our work, our past experiences.  We’ve moved past the intimidation of who’s older or younger and just see each other for who we are - or at least I do.  It’s really cool.    

Every year brings challenges, victories, defeat, and this year is no exception.  I find my prayer list longer and thicker with needs - illnesses that we thought only older people face, challenges that are reserved for “grown-ups” and then I realized I’m supposed to be a grown-up.  Somedays I long for that little two-bedroom house that we first put all the money we had in only because that’s before life got real big and messy.  But, then I realize that messy is sometimes beautiful and real and very much the glue that binds us all together.  Messy is rich with friendships and Friday night pizza, laughing and crying our way through life’s celebrations and heartaches.  

At thirty-eight, life has sure brought me to a place that was no where in my dreams, but part of it is better than what I could have dreamed.  So many times, my tendency is to say, “no, thank you” and go about my business, but thirty-eight has taught me “yes” because sometimes even though “yes” is not very comfortable, it’s the right thing.  So, this year, I decided to list 38 yeses - in no particular order:

1. Yes to cake.  My mom used to make me a chocolate sheet cake with homemade icing every year on my birthday.  This year, my aunt walked through my door with the same cake, tied up with a purple fluffy bow - yes, just yes to that.
2. Yes to spandex.  It helps with holding the things in that are poking out at thirty-eight.
3. Yes to lunch.  With friends, with your kids - even if I have to totally rearrange my day and spend an hour in a noisy elementary school cafeteria, I never regret it.
4. Yes to fear.  Facing it is harder than knowing you have it, but you will either determine that it was not as bad as you thought or much harder than you thought and both will be gratifying. 
5. Yes to fairies, fairy gardens, fairy dust, and gnomes.  They are tiny and cute and I am fueling a limitless imagination. 
6. Yes to meal sign-ups.  You can’t fix cancer, tragedy, or death, and you may not know what to say but everybody needs to eat.
7. Yes to jewelry.  I can wear solid colors the rest of my life and no one will notice.
8. Yes to an emergency stash.  Of chocolate, wine, coffee, wet-wipes, or whatever it takes to get through it.
9. Yes to the puppy.  He will weasel his way into your bed, your heart, and bring endless joy for your kids, even if he poops on the rug.
10. Yes to the kitchen table.  For homework, for family dinner, for art, for the piles of junk, and for all the dips that will start conversations that always end in side-splitting, cheek-holding laughter.
11. Yes to music.  Two of the four people in this house find their groove in music.  One claims that “her brain just plays music like a radio.”  I’ve learned to embrace it and sometimes use my galley kitchen as a dance floor. Sometimes.
12. Yes to the Big Green Egg.  It has saved me countless hours in the kitchen cooking meat and brought many people to my table.
13. Yes to child meal planning.  Taco Tuesday and Waffle Wednesday will be a big hit and the guesswork is removed every week.
14. Yes to humor.  Life’s not always funny, but it is.  And, you can find humor in the hardest places if you look for it.
15. Yes to play.  The kind that’s free and unstructured. I spend my life teaching and encouraging play skills for children with different abilities and their families.  There is no greater joy than watching my own fling off their backpacks and run free in the backyard. 
16. Yes to the littlest giver or gift.  For my birthday, I got sandbox cupcakes with stick candles made by toddler daycare friends, a birthday book made by my own little bitty artist, and a chocolate cupcake presented by a crying toddler because she really wanted to eat it.  All small but all big.
17. Yes to interviews.  The story was lived to be told.  
18. Yes to Tervis Tumblers.  They keep drinks cold and don’t leave those pesky rings that you see after it’s too late and the plastic cup is sitting in a puddle on your grandmother’s table.  
19. Yes to sporting events.  I’ve never watched one play of any NFL, MLB, or college football game, even though all of my vacations have been centered around stadiums.  I love watching my son play and sitting by my husband.  My people watching skills have sharpened and even bad nachos are good.
20. Yes to Bible verses.  I had no idea when I memorized them as a child how often my brain would recall them to bring me peace and help me look forward.  
21. Yes to thank-you.  Sometimes that’s all that’s needed - not score-keeping, not returned favors, just simple acknowledgement of kindness and good.  
22. Yes to survival data surveys.  Yes, I’m still alive.  Go ahead and extend the bar graph.
23. Yes to service.  Sometimes you don’t have talent or money to give but serving others in whatever capacity is a gift for the people you serve, for yourself, and for your children who are taking notes.
24. Yes to the consent form to use my extra blood for research.  It’s one more way I can help.
25. Yes to your gut.  It usually steers you right.
26. Yes to candles.  Especially trick candles.  I believe in making wishes and trick ones let you do this over and over.  Plus, the ten-year-old boy will really get a kick out of this.  My birthday cake came with three to celebrate past, present, and future.  What more do you really need? 
27. Yes to reading glasses.  It beats squinting and who are we kidding?
28. Yes to books.  It’s hard to find the time but good ones are such an escape.  Same goes for magazines.
29. Yes to Sundays.  For worship, fellowship, and family, and to sit down for a few minutes without feeling guilty.
30. Yes to stopping to smell the roses.  Or reading all the iris labels in the garden, touring the caboose, picking the blueberries, looking at the sunflowers, standing on the porch of Elvis’s birthplace - even though it wasn’t planned, you’ve got time and you’re teaching them something. 
31. Yes to art.  Especially kid art.  It’s one of the freest forms of self-expression and allows us to interpret the world through someone else’s eyes.  Glitter is optional.
32. Yes to coffee.  No explanation needed. 
33. Yes to the experience.  There will be a story later and it will be fun to tell.
34. Yes to Girl Scout cookies.  They are overpriced but delicious and some mom has to meet her quota of cookie money.
35. Yes to keeping your mouth shut.  Sometimes this is the best option.  
36. Yes to no.  Sometimes this is the best option.
37. Yes to prayer.  This is always the best option.
38. Yes to birthdays.  Celebrate them fully.  They are not just calendar days but gifts of life, growth, change, experience.  Parties are optional but cake is not.  

At thirty-eight, I live the most ordinary life in a suburban neighborhood dotted with SUVs where moms run taxi and dads cut grass.  I never would have thought what a miracle it would take to get to a place of ordinary and how happy I’d be with first world problems.  I ran across this quote that was written below some picture of a baby horse snuggled up to a teddy bear.  I can’t figure out what in the world this quote had to do with the horse and the bear, but it’s a pretty good summary of where I am and what thirty-eight looks like:  

"There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don't. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living."

Here’s to thirty-eight - the party's just getting started.

KJ

Summer '15...the farewell tour.

School.  

It’s a word I love for so many reasons.  It means structure, routine, schedule.  It means bedtime.  Glorious bedtime.  We are now on our fourth week.  My kids have had their first days once again, learned the rules, seen their friends, met their teachers.  They have new goals, new things to learn, and accomplishments ahead of them.  It makes me want to recite, “Oh the places you’ll go...” while I skip down the sidewalk.  This is as good as it gets.  Their shoes fit, their shorts are long enough, and their folders are crisp.  I have renewed strength.  I have complete thoughts.  I’m on top of my game.  They’ve been on time every day for almost a solid month.  With lunch.  (Except for the one day when he left his in the car.)  Because my old friend, School, is back.  I know this one.  Summer, you are tough with your unpredictability, and your shifty boundaries.  You tried me, you tested me.  You caused me stress.  Sure, the kids had fun, and I helped them have lots of fun, but you exhausted me with your constant hungry people and requests.  

I remember that day in May when the bell rang and the children ran out with their boxes of broken crayons, nubby erasers, and shredded notebooks stuffed in their bags.  It was the last day that I would complete a thought for two straight months.  As relieved as I was over social studies and spelling tests, a certain amount of anxiety was evoked in my core over how all the summer stuff was going to work.  I had my eye on the other mothers.  There was wide-eyed, hyper-alert panic under their smiling faces too.  Twenty minutes after we left the school grounds, we could all be found at one of three places - Kroger, Chick-fil-a, or some gracious soul’s end of the year pool party.  Buy food, feed kids, entertain kids.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  

It seems we all made it.  The first Monday morning of school, I walked my kids to school, took their pictures, kissed them goodbye and came home and sat in silence for two hours.  Ten weeks had never seemed so long.  I’m hoping they have good summer memories but if they don’t someday they will read this and something will spark.  I am not sure what they will remember but I’ve learned that the things that I take the least amount of effort with or spend the least amount of time planning, those are the memories that usually stick.  So, before we are too deep into the depths of common core math and symbiotic relationships of animals, I’ll share my general reflections on the last few months.  

On Summer:

    

I was feeling pretty good about my summer strategy.  I had the first week covered and a sprinkling of camps and sitters here and there with some carpool backup.  Not exactly solid planning, but hey, it’s summer and I’m going for that breezy, carefree mom look for a couple of months.  

Lesson one: It’s not a look I can pull off.  I need a certain degree of predictability that does not make me think, like the Friends re-runs I’ve watched every night at ten o'clock for the last six years.  (My Friends are still there for me.  They are still funny).  I also need silence on occasion.  (My tendency toward introversion was  confirmed recently by a quiz on Facebook.  I’m late to hop on the self-awareness bus.)

We didn’t make it to the library until the second week.  They were excited enough, checked out books, even read a few pages.  Martha Kate made it to the first prize but when it was a thimble-sized container of bubbles that wouldn’t blow, she was done with that.  I bought laundry bins for both of them in an effort to change the clothes to floor habit.  She climbed in hers and played game of sack-hop in her room.  Bailey used his as a basketball goal.  I came home to unbrushed teeth, and unmade beds every day.  I lost my calendar the second week (see “on water” below) and truly winged-it on childcare from one day to the next.  I guess I was going for the element of surprise.  

They did the camps - the ones that last three hours in the morning only and don’t start until 9.  She made the crafts, he did the sports, hung out with his grand-dad, the VBS, the summer mission (which gives me hope of them becoming decent citizens).  They swam in the pools, played in the sprinkler, built the forts, and played with the toys all over the house.  They even did Grandparent camp for the first time ever - the only camp where everybody wins in both financial and entertainment values. 

Lesson two: They are not tired.  They have not used their brains.  They met me at the door every day after work wearing goggles and swimsuits.  They had plans to go the movies, friends, get snow cones, or buy new shoes that they wouldn’t even wear until August.  They saved their questions for me about why they could not have a cat/fish/bird, go to Disney, and always, “when are we eating dinner?”  At ten o’clock every night their faces were still talking asking for more food and “Can we watch a movie?”  It was all just wrong.  But, it’s summer.  I’m carefree and breezy. 

I really lost that look shortly after the second week. 

On water: 

A little water goes a long way.  A lot of water can really do some damage.  About week two of my loosely gelled summer plan, I came home for lunch to two inches of standing water in my kitchen, pouring through the walls, out the garage, and down the light fixtures.  Our upstairs toilet chose that day to crack.  (It would be nice to choose a day to crack).  The poor dog was sitting in his little crated island in the middle of a pool.  I handed the sitter a twenty and told her feed the kids and bring them back in a few hours, turned off the water, and called the insurance on my way back to work.  The agent suggested that I used some towels to soak up the water. I politely explained that I did not own that many towels and that this was more of an ark-building situation so he decided to send over some yellow vans. 

These vans remained THE REST OF THE SUMMER.  Within hours the baseboards were ripped off, and our house sounded like an airport runway from the fans.  We had to go outside to think.  Or talk. And the dirt.  Oh, the dirt.  If we even looked like we were halfway put together when we went out in public for those two months we were living a lie.  There was plastic draping over the doorways, appliances, torn out walls, ripped up floors, and two kids, two dogs, and a babysitter right in the middle of it all.  I tried to sing a few verses of the LET IT GO song and embrace what we had.  It’s all replaceable.  I did not let go easily, fully, or willingly.  I like it clean - some people smoke. I vacuum.  When we backed out of the driveway and the garage ceiling fell in I reminded myself that we’ve done worse.

The kids camped out in their rooms.  I didn’t really cook because there was no where to eat and plastic on the fridge.  I let them drag out all the Barbies and the Legos and help us, Perler beads, as a consolation prize.  I cleared out a 12 inch space to get to the couch and the sensor in front of the TV.  They crawled over all the furniture to get to the snacks that were somewhere between the lamps and bookcases.  Kate tunneled her way through the holes in the furniture like an underground ant and the dog barked at himself in the mirror propped on the floor until the dust piled up so much that he could no longer see his reflection.  I quit vacuuming (except for the 12 inch space).  We spent evenings outside on the patio and afternoons swimming in friend’s pools.  We explored the city on my days off because we sure didn’t want to stay home.  

The kids seemed pretty unfazed by the mess.  Kate asked where she was going to eat breakfast and when I threw a towel on the floor and said, “There.” She grinned and then started inviting her friends over for picnics on our kitchen floor.  They roller skated in the kitchen, played wall ball in the dining room, but when Bailey tried out the floor guy’s mallet and broke the chandelier, I had to set a few ground rules on personal property.  The house reminded me of the beach condos you rent for a week and just let sand fill it up because it’s not yours and it won’t do any good to clean it.  Shoes?  Just throw them on the floor - can’t guarantee you’ll find them.  Several friends lost their flip-flops in the abyss along with a summer’s worth of craft projects - large paper flowers, fairy tutus, and VBS treasures. My calendar and wall clock were also in the mess.  Not good.

Yes, Camp Reno was fun.  It was just the summer spontaneity I was looking for - breezy and carefree and living in dirt.  I do have an uncanny ability to forget the unpleasant things in life over time which is probably why it has taken me a month to even document it.  Cancer three times and I was sure this would be my Achilles heel.  But, in the end, we have new floors, new paint, and the realization that our people are always our people.  They will sit in our dirty house in lawn chairs on Friday night and eat pizza out of the box.  They will tell us there is progress, even though there had not been any in 2 weeks.  They will help us pack or drop off boxes and tape.  They will come in and nod with sympathy and agreement that it is a disaster, and that no, you don’t need all those doors so ripping them off at five in the morning and throwing them out was totally validated.  They will bring dinner over and sit at the table piled with dusty trinkets because they’re not here for the food.  Or, they will just feed you and let you swim in their pool.  And use their wi-fi.  

The experience bonded us and made us sick of each other at the same time.  We had some good fun outside the house.  We visited Graceland, ate at the Arcade, had sno-cones from Jerry’s, and picked blueberries. I even took the exit in Tupelo and plopped them on the porch of Elvis’s birthplace and then ate fried bologna sandwiches at Johnny’s Drive In.  Because the only thing better than nitrites on white bread is fried nitrites on white bread.  

There were certainly parts that were uninhibited and carefree, mostly the schedules and the dress code - messy hair under a ball cap and too shorts gave me visions of my future.  Longer legs. Loose teeth.  Bigger feet.  Insisting that red and neon are complimentary colors.  Insisting that she fix her own hair.  
My vegetables didn’t do so hot but my kids grew.  

On growing:

Several months back I was drying my hair and I screamed with such panic that both kids came running and I’m sure thought my hair was on fire.  I happened to glance over and realized that the two inch piece of trim where I had measured their height for the last five years was completely painted over.  We had our bathroom painted in the spring and apparently “DO NOT PAINT THIS” did not translate well in Spanish.  This is the kind of stuff that totally breaks me down as a mother.  I am obsessed with watching my kids grow and develop and change and doing my best to document it.    

I’ve been old and sentimental for as long as I can remember. I have loved hearing the story behind old things as long as I can remember.   I’m sure that my obsession comes in part from losing my mother and fear of them losing theirs.  Over half of the artwork in my house is what my kids have made.  I had a stack of art ready to frame that I had put under a chair in my dining room and found it floating in water in the flood.  It was the first thing I rescued.  I laid it all out flat in the sun before I turned off the water or called the insurance.  Screw the floor, I’m saving my kids’ art.  

I stared at that piece of trim for months until one day this I got brave enough to tackle it with paint thinner and a my fingernail to scratch through the oil-based paint.  Stephen was in the background talking about how it’s already cured or something - words and sounds, you don’t get it, man.  It is now visible enough for me to fill in the blanks.  Kate had even marked the height of her American Girl doll.  These are things I want them to see later.  I see people post pictures all the time with the caption #timeslowdown.  Well, it doesn’t.  We can ask it to or wish it would, but it doesn’t.  So, the only real option we have is for us to slow down and watch our them grow. I’ve learned in the last five years, that no matter what turmoil, I’ve got going on, the world is still turning and when I sit down and they cover me with their bodies, there’s always just a little more of them than there was yesterday.

Summer is also good for this.  Immediately after they are home for a few days, you start to notice that

the legs and arms and bellies that used to be covered by their clothes are now showing to a much greater degree.  You look in the backseat when you are coming back from vacation, and get a glimpse of your ten year old boy with a rather punkish expression on his face because he’s so annoyed that he is in a car, and see legs everywhere and his foot in your face on the console because it can now reach.  You have a hard time folding them up in your lap even though you try really hard.  You watch him run and jump to try to touch every doorframe in your house and remember when your brother did that too.  And, you feed him.  All day.  He likes real food because he now watches Food Network and would like to try all the restaurants on Diner’s, Drive Ins and Dives.  He eats adult meals and you realize you might need a second job.  You are glad that she’s still 37 pounds because at least you have one, but somehow she’s as long as the bathtub and can stretch her arms and legs out to climb all the door frames so she can touch them before her brother gets there.  You will hear all summer that “my shorts/shoes/shirt” are too small and you will be thankful for flip-flops and swimsuits because when their heels hang over the back or when they get wet it’s not as noticeable.

And, the personalities.  They grow too.  He has inherited your ability to impersonate almost anyone

and you beam with pride as he completely nails the one-liner in context and right on cue.  If used properly this obvious genetic trait will bring you and him much entertainment value.  He understands and loves the Griswolds which is both a blessing and a curse.  She marches on to her own drum.  You find yourself embracing it because you are so opposite yet so alike and she makes you happy with her made-up songs and elaborate stories about how the fairies will come and leave treasures, or how she cannot understand rain on happy days when there should be rainbows and unicorns flying around.  Then in the next breath she will say the truest and most profound thing about heaven or how God loves people and we should love them too even when they are different than us.  You wonder how you could bottle that all up to give to the rest of the world.  They both tell you a million times a day how much they love you.  You know it’s true and they know love because you give them love and for ten and seven years you have told them over and over.  

You will watch them spend a summer together and see them fight but also bond, sure maybe over Minecraft, but still sometimes they are sitting next to each other and he is teaching her something.  He will still embarrass you in public by saying, “YOU LOST HER AGAIN!” even though you know right where she is but you will know that he is looking out for her.  You will realize that at the beach, they can actually play with each other and that the age gap is closing enough to make them relate.  He will empathize with her over pulling teeth and offer his hand to squeeze, or do a dance with the dog to distract.  And while you’re mourning over the loss of her last front teeth, he’ll walk by and hand you his first molar.

When you are shopping for school supplies, long-enough shorts, and bigger shoes to fit the feet that grew from Food Network experiments, you will be grateful to be doing so.  And, then you will remember that he is in 5th grade and you will freak out because this is the last year of a smallish bubble, so you will stop the car and turn around and give the speech:   

“You can choose to lead or you can choose to follow. I suggest you lead or at least don’t follow trouble unless you want to be in it.  I will not back up nonsense, do you understand?”  

He will look at you like you have two heads and wonder if he’s still going to get any shoes or what he ever did but you hope it stuck. 

And, then you will drive them to school and you will drop them off and take a picture from behind. 

The same one you’ve taken every years for five years and had no idea what five years would do to you.  Or for you.  Or for them.  And while the other mothers are sad, you are happy because you made it one more time.  

And, finally...

On school:

I’ve determined that overall it is good.  It stimulates brain cells and gives purpose to their day.  Ours happens to be public and excellent which is a bonus.  They are learning to respect authority, make friends, and face challenges both mentally and socially.  We get to brush up on history and learn math party tricks.  It’s not easy but neither is life and school is the first bubbled in taste of the real world.  We’ve spent over three weeks into homework and for heaven’s sakes, NEW MATH.  Instead of adding, there are charts to move things to the right and left and triangles under numbers to make equations.  I was hoping the kids would bond over math and not Minecraft but whatever.  I’m grateful for the kind teacher in Maine who YouTubed her homework sheets.  She deserves a handwritten thank-you or a Christmas ham.  We’ll eventually learn it together or they’ll teach me which is what they do anyway.  They teach me over and over how to be better at who I am so they can be better at who they are. 

As parents school lets us see if what we’ve put out there is going to float - if all this home training that is all a big guessing game is going to work.  It’s all experimental learning.  Do we push them harder?  Do we go to bat for them or sit back and watch?  Do we give them a pass and show some grace or let the punishment fit the crime?  There are so many people with opinions these days that it’s confusing.  Everything about raising these kids is confusing, even what groceries to buy.  I assume taco shells are of the devil since there were none at the organic grocery store.  You can read any category of parenting advice on the internet, like the article on "helping girls embrace failure."  It's hard for me to imagine that a child has enough life experience to fail at something.  I’m guilty of reading the articles and sipping on a drink of the Kool-Aid.  After all, I confirmed that I am an introvert and then just yesterday, that I probably have ADD. Thank you, Facebook.  

In the fifteen minutes before I go to work every morning and after they are off to school, I make their beds and pray for them.  I look at their rooms and see little reflections of themselves - sports, dolls, legos, crafts.  I pray that their teachers and friends see them for who I do.  I see my sensitive, funny boy that wants to be liked but also wants to please and has probably dealt with more real life than a lot of his friends.  I see my free-spirited, spunky little girl, who is happy with who she and wants everyone else to be happy too.  I want them to “have courage and be kind” like the fairy godmother says.  I want them to make wise choices and discern when they did not, to be kind to people, and have the courage to stand up for themselves and for others who can't.  I’ve resolved to stand in the gap as an encourager but I know is the hardest place to be when they will encounter mean kids, defeat, and discouragement. As for the parenting, I’m thinking Proverbs might be the best option with the “train up a child in the way they should go” and Matthew with “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  Or my mother’s voice which I hear over and over saying, “Just do the best you can.”  She had a pretty good handle on what our best was, and unfortunately for them, so do I.

So, now that summer’s closing in and we are trading in our rash guards for football jerseys, our Hawaiian Tropic for pullovers, and our afternoons swimming for kitchen tables of homework and taxis to practices, and parent meetings, it’s a good time to reflect on questions in life like:  

Are you smarter than a fifth grader? 

Who decided on "joggers" and high-waisted jeans as a clothing option?

What is a Whip and a Nae Nae?
What would Elvis think of iPads?

It’s also a good time to give thanks summer memories that will turn into laughs later, for new floors, yellow vans, and people like Carlos and Daniel that joined us for the summer adventure and for Selma who helped clean it up, 
for thin Oreos so you can eat a lot of them and feel like it only one, 
for coffee, 
and of course, 

BEDTIME.  

KJ

Always take home the class pet.  It will be more fun than you think.We kept the lizard alive.

"it was a blast."