I don’t know how it happened so quickly. One moment, we’re in the hospital trying to figure out WTF to do with an infant, the next moment, we’re celebrating his 4th birthday.

Everyone says “It goes by so fast!” and it gets annoying because, when they are screaming at you multiple times a day, it does not feel “fast” at all. It feel slow, and it feels hard, and I know they’re trying to warn you that one day they will be FOUR, but there is just no way to prepare yourself.

He’s such a fun kid. He is smart, and funny, and he loves to read and explore. Actually, his very favorite thing is to tell other people how to explore. This kid is management material, I tell you. He loves being a super hero and using his imagination. For his birthday, we got him a box full of random crap from the scrap exchange. If I couldn’t figure out what to do with it, it went in the bag. Old PVC (I cleaned it!) science pipettes, plastic beakers, shoe laces… seriously. Random crap.

As he was exploring it, he pulled each piece out and said “YESSSSSS” because that’s just where his brain is right now. It is so very fun to watch. It reminds me that we need to have more wonder in our every day lives. I’m sure there was a time in my world where a shoelace could have been a million things… it makes me kind of sad to think my brain can no longer conjure such miracles. (also, pats self and husband on back for awesome and cheap birthday present.)

(Should also mention I also got him a giant, and very loud talking dinotrux because my parenting decisions aren’t always perfect.)

I also said goodbye to all of the baby stuff in our attic, which was profoundly difficult. Since we don’t know what the future holds, and it’s not safe to have a baby for at least 2 years, I was harboring a lot of sadness about not being able to have another baby, but also some guilt for keeping all of the stuff – the swings, and toys, and boxes and boxes of clothes – that could be used by someone else. Or, selfishly, could not be up there reminding me that I’m probably never going to use it again.

My dear friend Joye and her husband came to take it away and find it new homes. And they stayed and visited so I didn’t have time to mope, and they made short work of it, and they are wonderful. She told me to stop thanking her, but it feels really good to have it out of the attic, and she stayed with me because she knew it was what I needed, so I am going to keep thanking her.

I saved a few boxes of clothes for whatever reason, and the nicer (read: not plastic) stuff like the crib because I think that may one day find another home in our family. But I feel a lot better knowing that someone who will benefit from it will have their pick of cute baby things soon.

It still makes me sad – Conor growing up, and not having fresh baby smells on the horizon – but our little family is just right the way it is. (Also, C sleeps from like 7 PM to 7 AM and can use the bathroom by himself, so there’s also this “YES WE MADE IT” thing that is happening. So don’t stress over me being a bit weepy at times. Mostly it’s all “Let’s read awesome books and slay monsters in the back yard!” because 4 is FUN.)

The Tumble Gym party was a big hit. Lots of giggles.

Spiderman showed up for Conor’s party – thanks Rick and Lindsay! C’s mind was BLOWN.

Donuts instead of cupcakes. I am ok with that (especially since Granna brought cupcakes over the next day.)

These pictures were from his party at the Tumble Gym. There was Spiderman and Rise donuts. It was AWESOME.

I get that question a lot. And it’s kind of amazing – the emphasis is universal.

“But, how are you doing?”

I totally understand this impulse. And, for the record, I don’t want you to stop asking me. But this question, for me, is really hard to answer.

Because the answer is nearly always, “Totally shitty, how are you?” and, let’s face it, that’s so crazy rude, and I’m a polite southern lady who still says “ma’am” entirely too much, so there is no way I would say that to you.

So I usually go with something like, “We’re hanging in there,” or “We’re doing OK.” But I know that’s not what you really want to hear.

Everyone has been great about making sure that I’m not left out on a ledge with all this. I have a ready supply of baby sitters and food and massage and brunch dates and even went to a hockey game this weekend, but really, that whole cancer thing is always there. It comes up in conversation, as it should. When I’m at a massage or even at a movie, it’s still back there nagging.

Sometimes the loop in my head is just, “Cancer. Sucks. Tired. Lots to do. Don’t forget to buy more protein powder,” and sometimes it’s darker. And, even when I’m having a good time, there’s still a fair amount of guilt there – guilt that I’m out having a good time while P is sick at home, or C is out having fun with his grandparents when I should be “making memories.” It’s always there. Nagging. Irritating really. My brain is not great at shutting off. (a side note, I tried meditating for a while – IT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA – I SHOULD NEVER BE ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS)

The reason people ask that question is because they know that being a caregiver is really hard. I mean, have you ever tried to complain about something stupid to a cancer patient? (it feels crappy.) So you forge ahead and keep a good face, and try really hard to stay level.

The only thing that’s more universal than the italicized “you” is the look I get when I tell people that I tap dance.

A couple of years ago, I decided that, because this is America and you can pay anyone to do anything, I would find somewhere to learn how to tap dance. So on Monday nights, I hike it up to the North Carolina Dance Institute (doesn’t it sound so, I don’t know, official?) and I spend an hour with a room full of bouncy and thin 16-year olds and I, Sarah Mann Willcox, tap dance.

When I tell folks this I usually get a, “wait, you tap dance? That is so cool! I wish I could tap dance!” and I am here to tell you that for $160 per quarter and a pretty solid hit to your ego, you too could be watching “Singing in the Rain” and thinking to yourself, “I CAN DO THREE OF THOSE STEPS!” (They are maxi ford, irishes, and step shuffle hop cross – there are some others, too, but they are so fast I can’t identify them.)

I am not good at tap dancing. But I love it. I have to record everything on my phone and go home and practice. This is where I gain a strategic advantage. I may not be as springy or pick things up as quickly as the youths, but I am willing and able to practice. Every so often, I shuffle into my laundry room (how I long to tap around our hard wood floors, but it it is strictly forbidden), strap on my shoes, and tap dance, because, well I can.

And tapping is the only hour in any given week that I’m not thinking about cancer.

And it’s because my brain is SO FULL trying to keep up and not fall on my face that I literally have no brain cells left to worry. To say that it is freeing is something of an understatement.

Everyone, Preston, my in laws, parents, sister, everyone bends over backwards so I don’t miss tap class. When I get all, “Maybe I should stay here…” P practically throws me out the door.

Our homework this week is to watch “Singing in the Rain” – lots of the girls in class haven’t seen it. I have, but I think I’ll watch it anyways.

Because, really, life is just better when there is dancing.

Good morning! I hope you’re all staying warm. We have had several good snow days – Conor has LOVED playing in the snow/ice. He’s been sledding and playing until his cheeks are bright red.

Preston is getting his chemo right now, and reports that his labs are all “really solid.” This is such a wonderful thing to hear. He’s been rocking the protein, taking his multi-vitamins religiously, and working really hard to follow instructions. And it seems to be helping. He also got a little lecture for gaining weight – which really, is OK by me! I’m so glad he’s not losing any more weight.

The big number that I want to report is his CEA – it’s the one indicator that sounded the alarm when all of this began. It was at a 4 and is now down to 1.9! Seems insignificant, but mentally, it isn’t since it is one of the few things they can look at to say that the Chemo is doing its job. We still won’t know for sure until after the scans at the end of this month, but this is a much-needed piece of good news. It makes the awfulness of the drugs feel worth it. It’s really hard for P to be feeling back to his old self and then go get medicine that makes him feel like crap for 5 days…

Just had to share!

Peace out. Good riddance. And all of that.

The holidays were (mostly) pretty darn lovely. We were all spoiled rotten (especially Conor – it will take weeks to fully deprogram him from expecting new toys and candy every day… since his Bday is coming up, it will be March before he’s normal again…)

We even had a few minutes to take some decent family photos (thanks, Brandy!) We realized when Ashely set up the Go Fund Me campaign that we didn’t have good pictures of the three of us! Let that be a lesson for you – you never know when you’re going to need to have shiny family pictures for crappy reasons, so go out and get some! Ha.

Christmas morning was magical for Conor this year. Santa was generous (it seems that retail therapy is something that has helped him get through the Fall…) and he is at a special age. We watched loads of holiday movies and broke all of the bedtime/naptime/eating rules. It was great.

Preston completed round 4 of chemo last week. He was feeling pretty darn good before then. But those 5 days – they are a doozy for everyone. He feels terrible, I get all lonely and weepy, and Conor gets to hang with grandparents a lot (Ok, so maybe it works out in his favor a bit.) We are really lucky to have people around so that he can be shielded (sort of) from the tough chemo days.

P is still a major trooper. His attitude is incredible, and it keeps the rest of us in line. That’s not to say we don’t all have bad mental health days, but on the whole, we’re plugging along and feeling optimistic. He will have scans at the end of this month to (hopefully) view some very shrunk tumors. Then maybe surgery.

For all of you who have helped out in the last few weeks, I’ll keep saying it – thank you. We are blessed to know many generous people and very good cooks.

Some days it feels like we’ve been doing this dance forever. We’ve settled into a routine that is more or less feeling normal. But really, it’s only been two months since his first surgery, and less than three since we first heard the words “colon cancer.”

I’m not big on resolutions for New Years – and especially now – setting unrealistic expectations for myself seems, well, pretty darn stupid. But, I do have some things I want to try to do every day, or whenever I can:

1. Get outside. Talk to the trees. Take a walk. Breathe.
2. Continue to crochet for others. Cancer patients? Friends and family? Who needs a hat? It makes me feel good to create warm, fuzzy things, and crocheting is a bit like meditation for me.
3. Forgive myself and others. Let’s face it, my emotions are, well, a bit on edge. And I am easily annoyed by people who say stupid things to us about cancer (like when the nurse at my doctor’s office went on and on about her brother-in-law’s slow and painful death from colon cancer… WHY.) But this is hard all around, which means we need even more grace than usual.
4. Spend time with people I love. More lunches. More coffees. More phone dates. I’m coming for you, people.

So, here’s to 2017 and the health, healing, and love it’s going to bring.