My little man is trying on Mommy’s newest scarf — an early birthday present from three of her friends — from the beaubeau — I lurve these scarves!
He does his homework:
and he likes his dog Callie (and wearing his mom’s new flip flops!):
Sometimes he really doesn’t like having his picture taken though (or he’s mad at me for some other reason!):
See? We’re just a typical family. Well, in some ways we are. In other ways, not at all.
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If this were a musical (thankfully it’s not because I can’t sing very well), at this point I’d probably break into Carly Simon’s I Haven’t Got Time For The Pain
Of course, she didn’t have time for the pain because she was falling in love; I don’t have time for (some) kinds of pain because I’m busy fighting for my life.
Maybe it’s more that I just haven’t got time, period. Or I don’t know how much time I have.
But looking into the face of your own mortality will surely put things in perspective like nothing else . . . on a good day. On a bad day, the slightest thing will set you off. That’s one of the contradictions of cancer. Or maybe just one of the side effects of steroids. There are still so many things I don’t know. One thing looking into the face of your own mortality does not do is make you wise. Too bad for me.
But I digress . . . .
I read posts that PBC (pre-breast-cancer) or even at the beginning of this cancer journey when I was in denial and wanted to pretend that Things Were The Same would have resulted in me getting all worked up or at least warranted a snarky comment or two, but I’m either just too tired now or I can’t find it in me to do so. Or I don’t see the need.
Have I lost my touch? My snark? Am I really seeing things in their proper perspective or am I just too darn tired to even write out comments these days?
Heck if I know.
I just look at my family, and I just can’t fight the fights over this family we’ve formed. Gosh, Frank and I adopted Nate six years ago. We started the adoption process eight years ago. Of course we’ve grown and evolved in those six-to-eight years.
I love my family. Though I may not know them, I love Nate’s other family. They are a large part of what make Nate Nate. How could I not love them?
I love them all, and want to love them all — both families — love them for many years . . .
without measure.
