Happy Birthday Hudson!

Well our baby is turning 4 and while that in some ways seems shocking to me, I also know that he has lived a whole lot of life in 4 short years and every minute of it has been an adventure.  To celebrate our little Mr.Fat Cheeks, I decided to compile a list of Hudson-isms that really capture his spirit while sometimes simultaneously striking fear into the hearts of his parents.

1. Hold on, I gotta call somebody.
Seeing Hudson talk on his imaginary phone to someone is both adorable and slightly worrisome because nine times out of ten he is talking to Jayden the Red Power Ranger and his calls usually end with him giving Hudson some kind of mission that entails a battle to the imaginary death.  During these battles any one of us could be collateral damage so we find it best to steer clear whenever he is taking a meeting on the phone.

2. They's got tigers in there?
Ah tigers, Hudson's kryptonite.  Whenever we want him to rethink a decision to venture into an unknown place we just casually mention that we heard there might be tigers.  It puts an immediate stop to whatever plan he was concocting.  It might not terminate it indefinitely but it at least slows his roll.  There is visible brainstorming in which he weighs the pros and cons of what seemed like a fun idea versus the chance of running into a tiger, his apparent nemesis.  For example, he and his brother wanted to ride the kiddy haunted house at the state fair.  I did not.  I told Hudson he would probably be scared. He replied, "Why?  They's got tigers in there?"  Yes, yes they do.

3.  I do this myself.
Hudson "do everything" himself, whether he is actually capable or not.  Lack of confidence is not one of Hudson's problems.  Lack of actual skill to back up that confidence is another matter.  Hudson is the best runner, swimmer, dancer and ninja in the whole entire world.  Why in that aforementioned world would he ever need assistance?  There is a certain little swagger that accompanies Hudson Hill.  Emphasis on the little.  He is tiny but that personality enters a room about five minutes before that little body.

4.  I got an idea!
I wish I had a picture of Hudson's face as he says this particular phrase but it is always so fleeting.  There are always raised eyebrows along with a single index finger in the air pointing to what I imagine is a single illuminated light bulb. Hudson gets an idea about 20 times a day and those ideas are most likely dangerous but seem like boatloads of fun.  For example, the day he got an idea to ride the garage door all the way to the top and then dangled like a tiny doll while laughing like a mad man.  Or the day he got an idea to cut his own hair.  Or the day he got that same idea and cut his hair again (see #5 on the list).  Hudson is definitely an idea man and his ideas are generally hilarious.  Well 70% hilarious and 30% heart stopping.

5. Mom!  I need the scissors (pronounce see-zors)!
Enough said.

6. Where's my Connor?
Hudson is a fantastic little brother and adores his big brother.  He wants to do everything like Connor, but with an added twist of his own.  He misses his brother when they are watching TV in separate rooms and over the last six months has shown so much compassion towards Connor.  Connor only has to mention that he doesn't feel good and Hudson will race over to grab his diabetes bag.  He pretends to wear Connor's pump (which he firmly believes connects to his belly button) and always uses a really low voice when emulating his big brother. "Look mom, I'm Connor.  I so big and I gots all my medicines." Hud is our comic relief and we can't imagine not having him around to booty dance for us when Connor has a sad day.

7.  I'll be right back.
This particular Hudsonism could mean that he is simply headed back to the toy box, or it could mean that he is headed to Neverland.  To be honest, it's usually Neverland (Peter Pan's Neverland, not Michael Jackson's).  Hudson spends a large part of his day in another world.  He doesn't think that he's a hero because there is no thinking about it. He IS Peter Pan or Spiderman or Captain America or anyone else who seems ready to save the day.  He is constantly on the look out for bad guys or damsels in distress, preferably both.  He has this fantasy of fighting a bad guy in order to "gets myself a girl," who he will then "kiss with my mustache." Not his lips just his mustache.  That is going to be one lucky lady.

8.  I need my soups!
This particular saying ties in with #7.  Hudson is never fully dressed for the day without a costume or suit  (or as he says it, soup).  These suits can be real or imaginary, he isn't picky.  Currently in my car, I am carrying both a pirate and peter pan hat, tall boots, three swords and an astronaut suit.  We are a couple of clowns and an elephant short of a traveling circus  These suits make Hud feel awesome and out of all the memories I have of my boys being weird, one I desperately hope I can still remember at age 80 will be Hudson putting on his imaginary suits, armpit length gloves included.  Another would have to be when as part of a consequence, I required Hudson to take off his imaginary suit while he was in time out.  Hilarious and effective.

9. That's my favwite!
Here's the thing with Hud, everything is his favorite.  Everything.  This particular saying can apply to anything from the salad bar at Cici's to a t-shirt he has known all of 2 seconds.  I love this enthusiasm.  He feels exuberant joy over the most mundane things and I think that is wonderful.  I don't get it, but I think it's wonderful.  It's hard for me to imagine walking around the world and at every new/old/cool/weird thing I see proclaiming, "That's my favorite!"  If you ask Hudson what his favorite color is he will say, "Red. Blue. Red. Yellow. All of them!" and then laugh hysterically.  

10. Close your eyes, Mom!
My favorite of all Hudson sayings because I know that whatever situation I open my eyes to, it will always include a sweet little boy wearing a giant smile.

Happy Birthday Hudson!

The R.M.S. Connor

Last month Connor's school had a book fair and he wanted to spend some of his birthday money there.  Fine with me, and after some serious thought the decided $10 was a good amount  (the kid is stinking rich) and I told him he could spend it on whatever he wanted.  Over the years I have witnessed many a school book fair and figured my child, like so many before him, would succumb to the siren song of novelty erasers, giant pencils and other various cheap artifacts that seem to physically cry out to students at these events.

So I was surprised when he arrived home with the most depressing book ever written plus 82 cents in change.  Screw the 100 dollar bill shaped erasers, we were now the proud owners of "Heroes of the Titanic."  He was giddy with excitement and couldn't wait to shower, get in pajamas and cuddle up to read about the greatest maritime tragedy of all time.  Every night we took turns reading about a different hero plus tons of random and apparently intriguing facts about the Titanic.  But here's the deal, I am a person that doesn't even like to watch the news before falling asleep because it could potentially be too sad, so it was a real downer to fall asleep with thoughts of under used lifeboats rowing away from screaming passengers trying desperately to stay afloat in icy waters.  There.  See what I mean?  Depressing.

I have never been so happy to finish a book, but in typical Connor fashion the obsession was only beginning.  Bring on the research!  "Mommy, the Titanic had 20,000 glasses on board.  We only have 17 glasses."  or "Mommy, where are our au gratin dishes?  I want to see if they look like the Titanic's."  I had to break the news that not only were ours dissimilar, they didn't even actually exist.  I mean really, what if my children went around boasting that they ate out of au gratin dishes?  How pretentious.  I draw the line at individual souffle cups because those are clearly a necessity once a year when they get used to hold Easter egg dye.

All of this interest culminated last week, as most things do at our house, with a two man show.  Connor decided that he and his brother would be reenacting the heroic story of Jack Phillips and Harold Bride, the two telegraph operators on the R.M.S. Titanic.  (Ever wonder what R.M.S. stands for?  Well, guess what?  I now possess this knowledge! The Titanic was a Royal Mail Ship and guess what else, there were heroes in the mail room too!) But back to the show, Connor, as director, assigned parts.  He was going to be Harold Bride the young operator who had always dreamed of life as a wireless operator and Hudson would be Jack Phillips, Harold's boss, mentor and friend.  As we do not actually own a telegraph machine it was decided that messages would be written on paper and then physically thrown across the room to symbolize the passing of messages across the Atlantic.  Connor told his brother that their ship was going to hit an iceberg and it was their job to write "help notes" to send/throw across the ocean so other ships would know to come get them.  So far, so good.  Hudson began writing "his letter" (a capital H) all over the paper.  Side note:  Hudson is exceptionally good at writing the letter H.

"Wait," Connor interrupted, "I haven't told you the surprise yet!"  At the word surprise, Hudson dropped his marker, hopped to his feet and covered his eyes with his hands, clearly expecting some kind of gift to appear.  Connor sighed and pulled his hands down.  "No Hudson, it's just words.  A word surprise.  Listen to me, we are both going to work really hard sending our messages but only one of us gets to stay alive."  insert dramatic pause " And it's going to be me."  Hudson studied his brother's face for a minute and then said, "I be dead?"  "Yes, Hudson, we both make it to the lifeboat but when the Carpathia picks us up you are already dead.  You just didn't make it. But don't don't be sad, you saved lives!  You sent messages until the very last minute!  You are a hero!"  Hudson, now warming up to the idea of his heroic demise shouted, "Oh yeah baby!  I be Supa-hero and then I get dead!"

And there you go.  Cue the music (inexplicably "Route 66" from the Cars soundtrack) and this show was underway.  I have to say it was one of their better performances.  Hudson only broke character twice, once to do his infamous booty dance (which looks exactly like it sounds) and the second time at his death scene when he chose to spice things up by eating an imaginary poisoned apple a la Snow White and then collapsing on the floor.  End scene.

And that folks, is how history comes to life.

An Aggressive Zoom.

Last month two semi devastating things happened to me. I turned 30 and my driver's license expired.  Really, I was fine with 30, but the driver's license broke my heart.  Unfortunately I wasn't able to renew it online which meant that I had to give up the best picture of all time.  Seriously, the photo on my license was probably one of the best pictures of me ever taken, which was kind of a shame that it was wasted on a little card that people rarely saw. but I loved it.  Oh, how I loved it.  I was a 23 year old newlywed, tan and skinny.  Now, well let's just say things look quite a bit different.  I had to come to grips with giving up this photo and let's face it, people were starting to question if it was really me whenever they asked for ID and frankly that is embarrassing.

So I hit the DMV determined to make the best of this new picture situation.  I actually brought a hairbrush and make up with me and spruced myself up in the parking lot, which in retrospect now seems sad.  I also wore the exact same shirt from my 2004 picture.  Yes, you read that right, I have and still regularly wear this one fantastic black sweater.  I've actually owned it since I was a sophomore in college and love it like a child.  Bottom line: I spent more time planning this one excursion to the DMV than I spent planning the birth of one Hudson Hill.  I was ready.

I got to the counter (A female clerk!  A good omen!) filled out my paperwork and then it was picture time.  I told the nice lady the whole story and how nervous I was about the new photo.  She stared at me for a second and then told me to stand in front of the blue screen.  Now, knowing that in terms of picture taking (and maybe just life in general) the farther one stands away from me the better, I backed myself so far against that screen that I literally pushed into a man seated at a desk behind the screen taking his commercial license exam.  I should have felt bad especially since I had already overheard that he was on his last attempt at this test after two previous failures, but I didn't have time to dwell, that lady was ready to click! One slight head tilt, smiley eyes and a millisecond later we were done.  I rushed back over to the counter and asked if I could see the picture.  She kindly agreed and turned the monitor to me.  I about fainted. It was the most hideous photo I have ever seen.  I don't know if you know this about me but I suffer from a debilitating disease called Fat Face.  It is kind of the long lost 3rd cousin twice removed of unfortunate diseases and no one is hosting a celebrity filled telethon to raise money for it's eradication, but trust me, it's real and it's tragic.  To rub even more salt in the wound the clerk then created a split screen of my last photo and my new one for comparison.  Even she said, "Yeah, that's just not great."  At least we were on the same page.

I took a deep breath and went into damage control. I told the lady, "Okay, I think this is fixable.  I feel like the camera was zoomed a little aggressively.  See on my last photo, it is shot from the collarbone up.  The new one starts at my double chin and that is never a good place to begin a photo. You can't see any of my sweater.  Also I'm thinking I should have pushed either one of both sides of my hair behind my ear. What do you think?"  I then demonstrated both a one, then two sided hair tuck.  She was quiet for a minute and then said, "I think both looks better.  You see more of your face."  Okay, now we were in business.  I moved back in front of the blue screen and said, "Thanks so much!  Remember the farther away the better."  She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Oh, there's no retakes.  It's a done deal."

What. The. Crap.

I felt like I was in the twilight zone.  Had we not just had a lengthy conversation about what I could have done to make that picture better?  A conversation she willingly participated in?  And for what?  Nothing!  I signed off on the worst picture I have ever taken and then was forced to pay for it (that really hurt).  I left feeling demoralized and discouraged and added the DMV to the list of places where a piece of my soul has died (it's now #2 behind Chuck E. Cheese in case you are wondering). Matt tried to encourage me by saying that it would probably look better on the actual license.
Well guess what?  It doesn't.

So I tucked that little friend behind my old license and plan on showing it only under threat of arrest.

The Hair Apparent

As most of you probably know, in January, Hudson cut his own hair.  Not just a little bit, a lot.  Right in the front.  Actually, if you want the specifics, he removed his double cowlick down to the scalp.  He thought it looked awesome.  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth those were in fact his exact words, "Oh my gosh.  I looks so awesome."

The hair massacre of 2012

You might be wondering what kind of parent leaves her child unattended with scissors and to that I say, "This kind of parent and you have obviously not met this child."  He is always on the lookout for "fun" and even though we try our darndest to keep sharp objects out of his reach, he has a special gift for finding them out.  So after the great hair massacre I was faced with the dilemma of fixing his handiwork.  This was tough and we got a lot of suggestions the most common being buzzing it all off.  This wasn't going to work for me.  I have spent over three years cultivating one of the the strangest heads of hair you could ever imagine and finally got it long enough and trained enough to lay flat.  No way was I starting over on that hot mess.  I decided that I could just wait it out.  After all, when he ran around outside and the wind blew, you could hardly tell that he was missing at least 1/8 of his hair.  Plus he's super cute, so that has to count for something.

We lasted almost four whole weeks and it started to feel like we were living that old adage, watched pots never boil.  Apparently watched hair never flipping grows.  So the day after Valentines I decided to take him in and see what could be done.  We went to our usual place and while Connor was getting his straw toupee trimmed, Hudson took a seat in the adjoining chair.  His conversation with the stylist went like this.  "Hi Hudson, did you cut your own hair?"  "I did.  I do so good."  "Well it looks interesting, can I trim it up for you?"  long pause for a moment of quiet reflection "I trim it now.  You give me scissors?"
Oh good grief, I felt like it was time for me to step in before he batted his eyelashes and she handed over the scissors.  This might be the right time to mention how my three year old pronounces the word scissors.  If I have to make a comparison, I would say he sounds exactly like the Taco Bell chihuaha.  See-zors.  As in, "You give me see-zors?" There, I wanted you to have that visual, now back to the salon.  I could tell that this poor girl was feeling stressed even though I tried to be very upfront in my expectations.  I wasn't looking for a miracle, I just wanted some blending.  She got to work and it hadn't been five minutes of snipping when she stopped and announced, "I don't think I can do this.  It is just too short in that one spot."  Again, being the laid back and no-pressure parent that I am, I reminded her that we just wanted her to try her best and frankly the last person that cut it was a three year old, so really our standards were pretty low.  After a couple of more minutes she brought in a couple of more ladies to consult.  So at this point Hudson is lapping up the attention with a spoon while three women fawn over him and rub his head.  They decide that maybe cutting it dry would help, so out came the blow dryer.  This entertained the crap out of Hudson.  Once dry, the analysis continued along with a few tentative snips of the scissors.  No wait, it definitely needed to be wet again.  Snip....snip.  It was taking forever and frankly by now Connor and I were over it.

I think you can tell by her hand that she is worried.  Hudson on the other hand, not so much.

After another ten minutes she turned to me and said, "So, do you want to keep the sideburns?"  For some reason I found this question hilarious and started laughing like a lunatic. I told her if it was possible to transplant the sideburns to his forehead then please by all means go for it, if not then I consider sideburns to be the very least of our problems.  On it went, this never ending haircut.  She kept muttering to herself and I could tell we were slowly breaking her spirit.  We seem to have a natural talent for spirit breaking and sometimes it truly doesn't feel like a complete day unless we have made someone question their life's calling.

Finally!  She finished/gave up and whirled him around along with the disclaimer, "I am so sorry this is the best we can do, but I think it looks ok?"  Hmm, I thought ok was a pretty generous adjective to describe what was happening on top of that little angel's head.  Was it worse? No. Was it better?  Absolutely not.  It was just a whole different kind of bad.  Now instead of a big chunk of hair missing, I had just paid $16 (plus tip) for my preschooler to sport a five-head.  You know a forehead that is so gigantic it has to be called a five-head?

The five-head

So we are back to waiting for tiny blonde hairs to grow.  I am not that great at patience and it certainly doesn't help that every time I look at his hair this is what I see.....

  It's uncanny, right?

One Boy: Extra Sweet

I was looking through Connor's note drawer, the place he keeps his beloved lists and journal pages and found this one sitting on top.  "Two weeks of Diabetes."  Those four words pretty much say it all.  As if I could forget any of the days, minutes or seconds that have passed since we got the news, and as you can probably tell from the note, Connor hasn't either.

To say life at our house has changed would be an understatement.  Even though I have lived with Type 1 Diabetes for almost 15 years, Connor's diagnosis at the age of 5 hit us like a physical blow.  Yes, I know there are way worse things in the scary world of childhood illness and yes, we know that it is a completely manageable disease, but it still hurt like a punch in the face.  Even though the symptoms were classic and we could not think of any other reasonable explanation and in my heart I knew what the doctor would say before we even stepped into that exam room, I cannot express to you how desperately Matt and I wanted this to be a fluke thing, a virus, a random infection but not diabetes.  I think it is a innate feeling in parents everywhere to want better for your own children than you had.  I don't talk about my diabetes a lot, in fact as little as possible because it is something I live with every day and I don't ever want to burden anyone else with it or have people feel like they need to feel sorry for me, because they don't.  I just never wanted this life for either of my boys.  Don't get me wrong, I have a great life, but there is never a single day where I don't think about diabetes and it's impact on my life.  No matter how hard I work at it or how easy I make it look, it is still a burden, some days more than others and now my baby is shouldering that same burden but on a much smaller and bonier set of shoulders.  In a way, I feel like Connor got cheated.  I got fifteen years to be a carefree, sometimes stupid kid without a lot of worry in my life.  Connor got five and that doesn't seem like enough.

Connor, in his usual fashion, has really impressed us over the last two weeks.  He has been so incredibly brave and understanding beyond his years.  Four days after his diagnosis he was doing all of his own finger sticks and giving himself his five daily injections, which completely blew our minds.  He came downstairs one morning and announced that he would be giving all his own shots from now on. Why?  "Because I'm a man, Mommy."  As happy as we were for his independent streak to come out, it was another tiny crack in my heart, because he isn't a man, he is a little boy doing grown up things.  After giving both his morning shots in his legs, he looked up at us and said, "I knew it.  It hurts way worse when you and Daddy give them to me."  Ouch.  Literally.

We are slowly getting out of survival mode and moving towards a new normal.  Connor is back at school, a place where he finds immeasurable joy, and most of our days have been happy.  He is becoming pals with the school nurse and he told me yesterday that she is working with him to teach him everything he already knows.  "Mommy, I let her tell me even though I know how to do it all, because it makes her happy to show me."  That's my boy!  We are carefully navigating the sometimes stormy emotional waters of a five year old diabetic and though those sad or mad (or "smad" as my preteen husband has named them)  moments have been blessedly few so far,  they have served as reminders for his dad and I that no matter how mature he is or how ridiculously high his IQ, in that freakishly tall body still beats the heart of a five year old who wants answers and explanations that don't exist.   Man, that hurts.  But the good news is that it hurt a tiny bit less today than yesterday.

So thanks to everyone for all the sweet messages and prayers, we have been more flaky than usual in responding, but we saw and appreciated all of them.  And thanks to our friends that didn't look horrified when we showed up places looking like hobos and spontaneously started crying.  I am proud to say that I only cried in front of 3 out of 4 of my bosses.  That 4th one was a major test in willpower and I made it!

And for those of you that might be worried that this major life change might have squeezed some of the weirdness out of our oldest child, I saved this last story especially for you.   So the last step in insulin injecting that Connor isn't doing by himself is actually putting the insulin in the syringe, but he has been dying to do it.  He walked up before dinner last night and said, "Mommy, I really want to do this all by myself, can I please put the Maxima in the needle?"   I paused, thought for a second and said, "Can you put the what in the needle?"  He stared at me like I had lost my mind and said, "The Maxima. That is what I started calling the insulin.  So can I do it or what? Me and Hector are starving!"  I glanced over at Hector/Hudson and he gave me a dirty look and said, "Where the maxima?  I so hungry!"  Oh that crazy Carlos, why go weird solo when you can drag your brother along for the ride?

Long live the Maxima!

Dear Connor, From Santa

Dear Connor,
I just want to start out by saying you have been a really good boy this year.  Really.  Frankly, I've been impressed.  However, I have some bad news.  You know that toy at the top of your Christmas list?  The one whose commercial you have memorized and talked about for months?  Right, that one.  Well, here's the thing.  Santa would love to put that present under the tree for you big guy, but I just can't in good conscience do it.  That particular item has a one star review on Amazon and frankly, Connor, that is not an easy thing for Santa to overlook. Some of the reviews include such gems as, "the worst made piece of crap I have ever spent money on,"  or "is it possible to give negative stars because I think this junk deserves negative stars." and those are the ones safe for children's ears.  See my problem?  There was even some speculation on the lead content of it's paint and Santa just can't have the shadow of a product recall hanging over his head.

I know you are going to feel disappointed, but think about how you would feel if you saw that bright shiny, obnoxiously marketed box under the tree and ripped into it ready to play with your dream toy, when all of a sudden it breaks because it truly is an over priced piece of poorly made crap-ola that won't even survive the day.  The emotional roller coaster throwing you from the highest high to the lowest low will be almost more than you can take. Trust Santa, this is for the best.  Wait, Santa understands that hypothetical disappointment is a hard thing for a five year old to visualize, even a super smart one like you, so let me take you back to a memory from Christmas Past.  Remember last year, when Santa brought you and your brother that wicked awesome remote control airplane?  Your family was so excited to try it out and Connor, it was truly glorious.  Glorious for those few short hours until your daddy flew it onto your neighbor's second story roof never to be seen again.  That, son, was disappointment and it felt horrible.  Santa desperately wants to shield you from ever having that feeling on December 25th again.

Still think you want to risk it, maybe you're thinking that those 103 negative reviews were all just flukes?  Let's visit another memory.  Two years ago, Santa delivered a tiny, yet quite pricey mini helicopter that sadly met it's fate minutes after you awoke, when your dad kamikazed it into the tile floor.  It just wasn't built to withstand your daddy's sad aviation skills and that's when Santa decided to start checking the online reviews.  Again, Connor, that was disappointment and we just can't have a repeat of that this Christmas.

Thanks for being so understanding, Sport.  Santa never wants to let good kids down, but I think in the long run you will see that I did you a favor here.  Feel free to select a new favorite toy to put at the top of your list and I will see what I can do.  In the meantime, I will be finishing up my article titled, "The Louder the Commercial, the Crappier the Toy."  Look for it in your stocking.

Love,
The Big Guy in Red.

Thanksgiving

For the last couple of years I have written a Thanksgiving post about all the blessings in my life, namely the three loves of my life. While I am still thankful for those particular blessings, this year I wanted to dedicate my Thanksgiving post to another child that has taken up a big piece of my heart. A couple of years ago, I decided to submit my name into a pool for home bound teachers in our school district.  When Matt was sick in high school, he had a home bound teacher that really made an impact on him.  We still talk about her to this day and I thought if there was a need, I might be able to help someone in the same way.  After submitting my name, I didn't hear anything back and pretty much forgot about it.  Over a year later, I was contacted by a school to work with a third grader named Chenee.  There are a million things to know about Chenee, the least of which is that she has leukemia.  
When I first started visiting her at home, I didn't really know what to expect.  I had never been around an eight year old with cancer before, so I was worried that it might be sad or scary.  I was nervous.  But walking into the Cayco home was like walking into a beam of sunlight.  Being around Chenee and her family is like seeing the physical embodiment of joy walking around in human form.  She has a mom and dad, an older brother and a spunky little grandma they call Momma Lola. Her parents work night and day to keep their family afloat and take care of their little girl. I worked with Chenee four days a week until the end of school with the hopes that she would be able to start back with her classmates in August.  In the time that I taught Chenee, we sometimes worked at home, sometimes in the hospital and never once did I see her with less than a mega watt smile on her face.  Even though I knew in my heart she was sick, I knew she was hurting and I knew she was tired, she and her whole family always seemed happy.  They tell me that they know there is a higher plan for Chenee and they have faith and peace in that plan.  In short, they are amazing.

As a bonus to my visits, they always treat me like royalty.  I have never stepped foot in their home or hospital room without being treated to a home cooked meal plus had left overs to take home to my boys. I have been introduced to a variety of Filipino foods and Chenee is a crack shot baker. They are incredibly gracious and humble and are so grateful for the help I give their child that it makes me want to cry every time I think about it.  Frankly, I'm not that great of a teacher :)  Sometimes we just talk.  I have most definitely given her some questionable math instruction over the past couple of years and we are currently starting a science fair project that is already walking a very fine line between genius and disaster.

Chenee did start back to school at the beginning of fourth grade and I never thought I would be so happy to be out of a job.  Unfortunately, she needed me again a few months into the school year.  That is pretty much how our time together has gone since 3rd grade, she goes to school when she is able and when she isn't, she gets me.  She is now a 5th grader and I got the call earlier this month that it was time for me to head back to the Cayco household.  It had been a couple of months since I had seen Chenee in person and when Momma Lola opened the door she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness Melissa, you have gotten so big!"  What a welcome, right?  I had to laugh when Chenee explained that she was pretty sure she meant that I had gotten taller, although I know for a fact I have been this exact height since the 7th grade. Nothing like having your Filipino grandma call you out for weight gain!  Nonetheless, they keep stuffing my fat face with delicious food and I just can't say no.

So, our work continues and even though it sounds cliche, I know that I am learning as much as Chenee, and not just about 5th grade math.  I am learning what grace under pressure looks like.  I am learning about finding joy even though you are facing terrifying odds and I am learning about peace that passes understanding every single afternoon that I sit at her kitchen table.  Chenee can't get better without a bone marrow transplant and right now, a match has not been found.  I have never heard her parents bemoan this fact, they are just resolute in their belief that they only need one person and that person is out there for Chenee.  This week during our last visit before Thanksgiving, I asked what they were going to do for the holiday.  This family is always having a party and I love it.  Chenee thought for a minute and said that they were going to have a special celebration this Thanksgiving because two years ago on Thanksgiving they were in the hospital hearing that their only daughter was being diagnosed with leukemia.  She gave me one of her giant smiles and said, "This Thanksgiving we are celebrating two good years."

So this year, I am thankful for two good years with Chenee and praying for her to have ninety more.

I am including a link to a piece from the local news about Chenee's search for a bone marrow match and encourage you to get on the bone marrow registry.  Share this with anyone you can so we can get the word out about this little girl's fight.  All she needs is one person.  
http://www.wfaa.com/home/related/Wanted-Bone-marrow-match-for-10-year-old-Filipino-girl-130564078.html