"have the day you'll have"
(caroline and me)


the above is a great quote from the very sweet movie, "the odd life of timothy green".

amongst its many relevant themes, the one that jumped out and stuck with me is just how fucking difficult it is to be a parent.

the movie begins with an idea that is all too depressing, in and of itself, that being when a committed set of adults decide they are ready to be parents but nature doesn't allow it to happen. there are many, many stories of parents that aren't physically capable of making a child.  no matter how many marvels of modern medicine hoops they jump through, it just doesn't happen. sarah has a graduate school friend who went through countless mechanical and unromantic measures and years of disappointments and miscarriages before finally having a child. it's one of life's little quirks that isn't quite fair and, yet, happens anyway.

so the movie begins with a couple stating their case to an unidentified adoption agency on why they are fit to be adoptive parents. they tell the story of timothy green, the titular little boy the universe gives the couple for a very short period of time who, in a very disney way, changes their lives forever.

some of the funnier parts of the film are the parents coming to terms with the fact that they have no idea what they are doing. as with most comedy, the funny is found in the truth of the matter.

we took caroline to see "...timothy green" on her 5th birthday. throughout the hour and a half, i found myself nodding and laughing several times when the movie reminded me of an equivalent parenting situation that i completely botched.

when it comes right down to it, i suppose i botch more than i get right.

society, culture and the like is such a funny and fickle headache when it comes to defining how parents should behave in and around their children. the books, television shows, and movies articulate to us an understood list of unwritten rules that can and should be followed.

don't be mean to your children.

don't spank your children.

don't fight in front of your children.

always encourage your children.

if your child is upset, give that child some ice cream.

if you are out of ice cream, find a fucking cookie. stat.

take your children out to eat with you. nothing will ever go wrong.

if your child won't sit in their seat for the hour you are trying to enjoy mexican, don't yell at them. just ask them nicely to sit back in their seat. 

if they then throw beans at your face, make a happy face and kiss them on the forehead. then, and only then, will they know they are loved.

if your child doesn't want to do something, let them not do it, especially in public. better to let them get away with that shit and not cause a scene than for the parent to look like an asshole.

and so on. and so on. what sucks is the parent isn't given a copy of the rulebook. we have to figure it out as we go along.

what doubly sucks is that the child seems to have the unwritten rulebook hardwired into their mother-scratching brains at birth so they know every button to push at just the right time to drive their parents batshit crazy.

seriously, if i had a nickel for every time i gritted my teeth in public only to unleash holy hell on the girls once i got back in the privacy of my car, i'd have enough money to bail my ass out of jail if a police officer ever caught me in that very act.

a couple weeks ago, i was trying and failing to call a buddy on the phone when the girls started attacking each other as we were leaving the church. i did everything i could to shoot lasers out of my eyes (targeting their throats), unleashed a few "motherfucks" and finally caught my breath long enough to see that my buddy had likely been on the phone the whole time. son. of. a bitch. my secret was out. i am a terrible dad. a father knows shit. my buddy was going to out me at church, on facebook and i'd never be the same again. he comforted me by saying, "it's okay, dude. one of mine just ran over my toe with a wheelbarrow. i was lucky enough to miss when i tried to kick her."

deep breath.

how does all of this relate to caroline?

well, in a way, it doesn't, and. in a way, it all does. hannah, caroline, and someday june have the unwritten rules and i don't.

not a day goes by that i don't have to govern my rage and remind myself that i love them unconditionally.

but not a day goes by that i don't understand how i couldn't live without them.

caroline, man. that girl is my girl. she doesn't want to talk to anybody she doesn't have to. she barely makes eye contact with most people, because, like her daddy, it drains her energy at double-speed to put on a social show.

when we took her to the movie, as she is wont to do, she fell asleep with about twenty minutes left to go (thankfully, missing the sad part of the show) and got all pissed at us when she woke up that we "let" her fall asleep.

she started kindergarten last week and today is her first day that she'll stay to 3 o'clock like all the other big kids she now joins. every day last week she came home wasted, and last week she got out at 12. i can only imagine what a little demon she'll be this afternoon.

she's a daddy's girl, though. hannah has her daddy moments, but i'd like to think that caroline would save me first from the figurative burning building. (no offense, sarah. hannah would save you and you'd be carrying june.)

over the past weekend, when i was suffering pretty badly from my chemo feet, hannah played the role of mom, constantly bringing me my crutches or soft shoes, asking me if she could do anything to help (she's my girl, too).

caroline wasn't having any of that shit. she had better things to worry about. her new american girl doll. her party that was happening sunday. hers was a "you don't have to go home, daddy, but you gotta get the hell out of here" attitude. i barely saw her all weekend as i was propping up my feet or sleeping off the chemo hangover.

it's a different kind of motivation, but one that i need just as much as hannah's loving soul. together, they know the unwritten rules, and they know how to piss me off, but they, both, are pushing me to keep on keeping on. seeing there's gain to the pain. seeing the end through the means.

it would be lazy to say that caroline "shouldn't" be five. shouldn't be going to kindergarten. shouldn't be so big. the sentiment would imply that time was going by too fast, and, as i've said before, my time doesn't go fast anymore.

caroline should be five. she should be big. and she is going to motor through kindergarten and the bus and the lunch lines and new friends and all of it just as easily as her big sister.

she'll keep attacking hannah (and eventually june), she'll keep rolling her eyes at us. she'll keep yelling and pitching her caroline fits.  she'll keep getting out of her seat and shaking her naked booty and not getting in the shower and hating to brush her teeth.

she'll do it all because, i think, deep down, she can see it in our eyes that we are okay with it. and i think she can feel that we love her. and we'll keep her safe. even if we don't own a gun.

sure, we'll yell some. and tough love some. and not always have ice cream (or a cookie) on hand to ease her pain. we may not even always be her best friend (even though it breaks my heart to think that), but we'll always have her back.

happy birthday, caroline lilla. please don't kick hannah again.

i'm a blogger in the same way i'm a runner...


...which is to say, i am not much of either.

i wonder, once the girls come to this place and start to take it all in, if the massive lapses in posts in 2012 will be every bit or more haunting than anything they read before.

after the move and after starting therapy, it's been hard to motivate myself to do much of anything other than swim, enjoy the house, enjoy the family, enjoy a few of my friends, and put whatever is left into my job.

starting cycle three this week, this much is clear. chemo sucks, man. no other way to slice it.

i've tried to use and emphasize perspective during my whiny moments, but it doesn't help a whole lot outside of those brief periods. "it could be worse". sure, man. it could. i have a friend at church that has it worse. his cancer is worse. his treatment is worse. i get it. and i hate it, more than anything, for him.

but he's not me. and i'm not him.

i get it, but i can't actually get it, and i so i have to come back to me.

my fucking feet are peeling, man. what the fuck is up with that? i put pictures of them up on facebook over the weekend, and my brother in law texted me and told me that i looked like i had run a marathon barefooted.

he also told me to keep my feet off camera, which i thought was funny. i've gotten a lot of "i've never seen feet on facebook" feedback. my thought has been, yeah, well, i have never had cancer that led to treatment that led to this kind of pain that led to my foot skin ripping away from the rest of my body. it's a selfish thought. it was a selfish act. i told someone the other day that i put them up in a dark moment. i wanted folks to see what cancer and treatment was doing to me. people tell me all the time that they are thinking about me and praying for me, and i know those comments are genuine. in my dark moments, though, i think, "no you aren't. it sounds good to say, but you don't know even know what you're praying for." i put the pictures up so people could see and know what they were praying for, so people could see what cancer and treatment was doing to me, so they could understand that when i see them and smile at church and at work and on the street, it's an act. that i am hurting. and tired. and angry. and sad. that i am selfish and wish that it was 2008 again, when none of this shit had happened yet, experiencing the blissful ignorance away from what was to come.

it's hard line to balance. i haven't figured out how to do it yet. i can't go around being miserable all the time. every time someone asks me "how are you doing?", i can't say, "shitty. you?" even if that's how i feel. i want to. i want to tell the whole world to stop asking. i want to accuse them of not really caring. of never calling. of never emailing. even if they do all of those things.

it's one of the reasons i haven't come here much this year. as much as no one else wants to hear me whine, i don't want to actively hear it either. i'd rather take the "if someone is on chemo and never complains about it, are they really on chemo?" approach. if i don't talk about it. if i don't write about it, it doesn't feel so bad. i can pretend my way through the day, and i can get to the next one.

it's ridiculous and disheartening that june has been barely mentioned on this, the girls' blog. there hasn't been the first "june and me" post and i haven't talked about the other girls in months.

i can't get away from myself, and i can't get away from chemo as much as i want to.

and so, i guess i have to keep wanting to and hope the want eventually outweighs the excuses. the want to talk about what a beautiful and perfect little baby june has been. the want to think about and process both of my older girls riding the same bus to the (relatively) same school. the want to longform-ish talk about stupid chick-fil-a and stupid guns and stupid politics and stupid "my" obama is going to destroy "your" romney in november and stupid football.

i'll keep wanting.