Balloons and Pee

photo(1)Today both my boys peed in their pants, and Andy swallowed a balloon.  Oh.  And it has been raining for approximately 2 million hours.  Today I had normal mommy woes.  Pee, panicked call to the pediatrician, laundry, picking up the toys that seem to multiply every time I turn my head, and cleaning up some newly discovered yellow sludge behind my toilet bowl.  I was the fun mom.  “Water balloons in the rain? . . . Sure! Why not?”  And the not so fun mom.  “Can you guys please play together for at least, I don’t know, five seconds without yelling at, or hitting each other?”  My energy tank is still on low.  So I was also this mom: “Why don’t you guys play Ipad in the office?” (I needed to sneak in some Netflix time).

This sounds like a pretty normal day right? It sure beats my posts about the anchor of chemo, or the lion’s teeth of surgery.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still got a long way to go.  The aftermath of cancer is now like a leash.  Just when I think I’m free to run, skip, or gallop, I am quickly yanked back.  Slow down, girl.

When I have a quiet moment.  Which is pretty much only when I am peeing.  I can’t help but think of what a crazy ride this has been.

I want to write about Race for the Cure.  But I’m not quite ready.  There is so much to say.  It was an unbelievable day.  All the thoughts, and memories are sloshing around in my brain.  Swirling around in such vivid colors.  It’s all too raw to write about now.  But I will soon.  If I can.

I want to write about the dread I feel about going back to the cancer center every three weeks for my infusion of herceptin, and the fear I feel about the next leg of this triathlon.  But tonight I just want to write about pee, and swallowed balloons, and the piles of laundry that won’t fold themselves, and normalcy that makes me shake my head in frustration, and at the same time catch my breath in utter gratitude.

My boys bounce around me, and build block towers, and Lego trains.  They play me in board games, and ask me for snacks at least 100 times a day.  They kiss me, and crawl between my legs.  They throw spaghetti noodles on the wall, and wipe boogers on their bed rails.  They cocoon me in normalcy.  And I have enough energy to see it all.

It’s been raining in St. Louis for days now.  My basement smells like a wet towel (which makes sense because there are wet towels down there).  If the sun doesn’t come out soon I might swallow a balloon and pee my pants too.

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