I am considered "pretty young to have a bunion". Did you hear that? Young. To. Have. A. Bunion. I say TOO young. Grumble gripe hiss growl snarl. I am stuck between pain and denial. NO bunion. Go away already.
(I prefer bare feet to my loose sneakers but I so wanted to wear my dressy boots to Broadway in NY -- waah! I'm afraid wearing them a couple times may have caused this nasty pain in my foot. . . .)
Until a few years ago, my husband had no recollection of losing anyone close to him. My husband’s mother died of cancer before his 3rd birthday and all he has of her are stories, pictures and a precious scrapbook her family made him a few years ago.
His family is a tangled web; there is a distinct line between is father’s family and his mother’s family. Since his mother was not around, his father’s family was the core of his existence. They helped raise him and his sister. And they also fed him full – with stories of his mother’s family. Stories he later learned were not so accurate. Just two years ago, both of his grandparents on his father’s side died, a few months apart. That was the first taste of death to truly touch my husband’s heart.
When we got married, we ventured into new territory. That time in our lives not only marked the beginning of our life together, but also an unexpected opening into the family he scarcely knew. For nine years now, he has had the chance to love the grandparents he once believed did not care for him, and nurture a relationship with the aunt, uncle, and cousins he had once heard such scandalous things about; he has learned the truths behind the lies, unveiled so many disillusionments. There is to this day disapproval from his father et al. But no more can it dissuade him from these people he has learned to love so much. Instead, they took him as an adult and loved him, plain and simple; no conditions, no demands. In these nine years, I have grown to love them as well. His grandfather, Poppa, in particular has burrowed into my heart; mine died when I was 14.
Shortly before Thanksgiving, Poppa was diagnosed with lung cancer. He has beaten previous cancer and outlived more heart attacks than anyone would believe; in his typical way, he takes this latest news with style and grace, knowing he has had far more years than any doctor could have predicted. He still swears his heart will be the death of him; indeed, he had another heart attack Christmas Eve, but, still he lives.
Barely two weeks after his lung cancer was discovered his wife (Giddy) was diagnosed with cancer as well: the same cancer to take their daughter’s life; my mother-in-law. It is a rare type of stomach cancer.
There is a very real and painful possibility that neither of them will survive the year. In addition, all immediate family has been ordered to have tests run related to the stomach cancer. My husband's mother was in her mid-twenties when she died. His grandmother is in her seventies. The cancer is eerily the same in location and size. I must confess I am inwardly battling the possible outcome of my my husband's test. There are things that specifically concern me with him. Yesterday, he received his referral for the specialist and scheduled his consult; it makes my heart race.
The week of Thanksgiving:
2 children sick with almost a week's worth of fever and misery
The week after Thanksgiving:
2 children worn out from being sick
1 child still feverish, flu and strep tests positive
This past week:
1 child with double ear infection, bad cough, wheezing, no school
Today:
1 child with fever (not the one sick all week)
1 mommy with no time for self-care found in urgent care clinic, sore throat and sinus infection (no fever, no strep...thank you Lord!)
Next two and a half weeks:
no school
Next month:
1 mommy turns 31
1 husband leaves country for almost 3 weeks
And after that:
1 mommy invited to New York with one of her oldest friends for a long weekend, no children
It cannot come soon enough.
ta ta for now...feverish child has crawled into my lap, even now still full of her usual mischief!
Today marks a noticable first in my life.
I realize I am not alone--it happened to my husband this year (though I find it incredibly attractive on him), and it's long since happened to many of my friends. But for me, I had yet to decide how I would feel about "my first"--perhaps not unlike a young girl awaiting her first period...little does she know what she is truly waiting for. Now my wait is over. And I was quite honestly startled this morning to discover my first gray hair.
I have very, very dark hair. As a child, other kids mistakenly thought it to be black. And while it's not quite that dark, it is a definite deep brunette. Perhaps the years have lightened it just a fraction (particularly in summer), but the artificial highlights of several years ago have long since vanished, so I am certain of what I saw. And about five years earlier than I expected, I guess!
I didn't think it would be such a big deal; I've admired my husband's and been fascinated by my friends' and wondered about my own. My father was showing distinct gray by my age and my mother is noticably frosted on top (though she colored it for years, and still does on occasion); even my baby brother has begun to see gray on his own head (not heavily, yet, I guess, since I haven't seen it; then again, his hair is much lighter than my own). But this is right at the hairline in the midst of a cowlick--no holding back or hiding! And a very shiny gray she is, against my ever-dark locks I unabashedly take pride in (pride comes before the fall, no?). She is short still, growing in no doubt from one of the many handfuls of hair my daughter has innocently yanked from my scalp while seeking comfort from mommy's long tresses. Like my dad's headful of silver, this tiny lady is not wiry, but soft, one thing I am thankful for. Wait. No, I'm not. I have very fine hair that could stand a little body for once. Shoot. Ah well, maybe she'll grow gracefully on me.
I'm guessing that when people see this, my youthful look will be a thing of the past; no longer will anyone be surprised that I'm really 30 (31 next month, though, so I guess it's to be expected) or that I'm old enough to have two kids. But, I really hope it doesn't grow too fast...my husband's gray at his temples gets more noticable with each hair cut--a fact I am adoring. There's just nothing adorable about my random gray at the top of my forehead, you know? Unless I just say I'm being sprinkled with pixie dust.
Yeah, that I like. Pixie dust. Bring on neverland, baby!
