Deep Throat and Donuts

We had donuts for breakfast this morning.

This is a sure sign that my dad is visiting because my dad ALWAYS gets donuts his first morning in our house. It is tradition. I would say this is because he is an early riser, but he would say it is because he is a poor sleeper.

He tries to fool the kids by saying that he is going to get milk. This is a plausible excuse because I am frequently out of milk. We drink a lot of milk at our house, gallons and gallons a week. But my daughter, Kellie, was not fooled. "He's going to get milk and donuts....and lemon cake." (The lemon cake is a new addition - only in Utah from the Day's Market by our house). She was right.

My kids get up early when my dad is here. The same children who I have to drag from bed in the morning and who will readily sleep 'til 10 or later if allowed are up at 6:00am so they can laugh with my dad.

My dad has a deep, booming laugh. Deep like the depths of the ocean and booming like a fog horn. When he laughs, it penetrates you, vibrates your chest, and you just have to laugh with him. Today, he and Kellie and Jenna were vibrating the whole house. It was awesome.

So this morning, in the dim light, my kids gathered around my dad to eat donuts and laugh.

I'm glad.

He's Got Game

I watched my son's basketball game last night.

This is a frequent activity for me in the winter and I must admit, I love it. I really get into the games, cheering on the boys and moaning about the refs. Plus, my son, Josh, is a good player. Awesome really. He can jump so high he looks like he's flying and his hands are quick so he's good for some steals every game. My husband and I are already mourning the day he puts on that uniform for the last time. Sometimes I watch Josh in awe and think, "How does he do that?"

Last night was an important game. We wanted a win. I was so nervous that my hands were cold and shaking, my pits were sweaty, and my stomach was churning....and I wasn't even playing. I found that sitting on my hands helped.

The first part of the game wasn't going well for us. The other team could shoot three's. I hate that. Josh is his team's leading scorer, but the other team had assigned him his own personal player to dog him up and down the court, so he wasn't scoring much. I hate that, too.

Halfway through the second quarter, Josh went up for a loose ball and dislocated the little finger on his right hand. I'm talking a 90 degree bend at the middle joint. Being the clever lad that he is, he popped it back into place, signaled the coach for a sub, and went into shock. His face was the color of a cloudy sky and he was about to pass out. He laid down on the bench and I thought, "He's out." But after a minute, he looked at the scoreboard, saw that the other team was working us over, and said, "Tape it up. I need to go back in."

I watched then as my son played the entire rest of the game with this injury, scoring 13 points, 2 steals, numerous rebounds, and a couple assists. His team needed him to lead, so he led. Once again, I watched him in awe and thought, "How does he do that?"

So, here's to my son, the young man who, when I mentioned that he probably wouldn't be going to practice today, asked sincerely, "Why not?"

"Well, your finger," I said. "It's got to be huge."

"Ahh, I'll just tape it up. It'll be fine."

Josh, you've got game.

The finger this morning

Cancer and roller coasters

My mom has cancer.

This is not new information. It's been almost a year since she discovered that the coughing and fatigue and finally shortness of breath weren't a virus, but lung cancer. Advanced lung cancer. In my 58-year-old mother who has never smoked a day in her life (or even lived with a smoker).

The last year has been like, well, like riding a roller coaster, which has some good points, like when the coaster first takes off and you're climbing that big hill and the anticipation is building, but then you get motion sick on the way down, and when the coaster goes upside-down your head feels like it's going to explode.

In the last few months, I have come to think of my mom as "living with cancer," rather than "dying from cancer." According to the doctors, she cannot be cured (although I pray for healing every day), but she's not on her way out either.

She's in limbo. Being in limbo does have some perks. Like I can still call and talk to her on the phone about my kids' basketball games and she can go to Hawaii for her anniversary and if church is really boring, she can say she doesn't feel well and head home.

Being in limbo also stinks. Like when the pet scan shows--maybe--new growths in her neck and back and hip, but the dr.'s not sure so she has three MRI's, but no idea when results will come and you wonder, "Is this it?"

In limbo, you live in the moment. That is a good lesson, I think. Because life, like the roller coaster, lifts you up and down and sometimes makes you want to throw up, but it's worth it, for the moments when you feel like you're flying.

I am grateful for limbo...and roller coasters...and my mom, who is living with cancer.

An Elitist

Yesterday, someone called me an elitist.

I sent an email inviting friends to an open house at the school my kids attend. I really love this school and I wanted folks to visit. I wasn't pushy - honest - I just said, "If you're curious about private schools, come check it out."

Someone emailed me back and said, "Sorry, I am not an elitist."

Inferring that I am. Me. An elitist. Because my kids go to private school.

"Private school" is a bad word(s) in Utah. I think we have the lowest percentage of students attending private schools of any state in the U.S. (3%). You'd think with so many folks here wanting to get into BYU (a private school) that people would be a little more open to the idea...nope.

I went to public school as a kid and didn't really think too much about other options (I'm not even sure there were any). And when I had my own kids, I sent them off to the local public school along with the rest of the neighborhood. But some things bugged me, and after spending a couple of years trying to fix them, I decided to explore my options.

I found Meridian School.

It is really a great school, and I'm always a little confused that others don't see it. But, to each his own, and I try to respect that we all have the right to spend our hard-earned dollars on the things that are most important to us, be it cars, homes, vacations, sports, dancing lessons, music, or education.

I just wish others would allow me the same right, and maybe even attempt to see that I'm not trying to better than you, I'm just trying to have my kids be the best they can be.

So I replied to my email antagonist (I admit in a not-so-friendly way) and got this back, "Oh, yes, YOUR children deserve more."

My response: "Yes, my children DO deserve more...and so do yours."

My kids on the first day of school.