Here to Help

Does it sometimes feel as though everyone has cancer?  No, just me?  I hope it's just me who feels that way... but I think we would be hard-pressed to deny that prevalence of the disease is on the rise and widespread. 

Sometimes I get wrapped up thinking of the WHY behind this: Preservatives in food?  Pesticides in the environment?  Radiation from technological devices?  More developed detection methods?  Not more disease, but rather more talking about it?  Emotional toxicity?  Stress, stress, STRESS?

Most of the time, though, I just try to find more time to pray and to support those in my life who are battling cancer, along with their families.  My friend Staci lost her fight with squamous cell skin cancer in April.  Beloved wife and mother and adored church leader Teri died from ovarian cancer shortly thereafter.  Taylor, whose story I followed on CaringBridge for years, recently died after weathering three different kinds of cancer.

At any given time, my CaringBridge site list contains upwards of three dozen patients.  Most of those have cancer.  This week, we will celebrate my FIL's birthday.  He died at way too young an age of esophageal cancer.  I can think of three friends-- vital presences in the lives of people I love-- who have been diagnosed with cancer in the past few weeks.  It's so much.

I'm not exactly sure where I was going with this.  I will continue to try to update the list of prayer requests.  I also ask you to pray for those who wish to not be listed, and especially for families left behind when someone they love dearly dies of cancer.  If you know someone who is suffering, I urge you to run to them.  I know it's uncomfortable, not fun, HARD... but it's oh-so-important.  We are all in this together.

As I'm typing, I am reminded of a story I never shared (from my non-blogging period.)  A few years ago, I had reason to spend some time at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.  It is a world-class medical facility.  I have had a number of family members and friends receive treatment there, as well as friends and family members who have worked there.  During this visit, we spent considerable time on the Oncology and Hematology floor of the Gonda Building.  It was a scary and sad place.  Our last stop was at the main lab area.  If you've never been there, I'll try to describe it:  Imagine the lab at your local clinic; then, multiply the area by 1,000, the bodies of patients by 200, and the bodies of technicians and nurses by 100.  I don't know... I'm guessing... but it's huge, and it's busy, and-- oh, I forgot-- it's in the basement.

The space is massive and, at least on this day, quite full.  Everywhere I looked, there were people in wheelchairs, with ports hooked up to IVs, with bandages, on oxygen, weeping.  My overwhelming first thought was, There's so much suffering.  It was heartbreaking. 

Then, I looked again.  Beside nearly every one of those patients was a support person, a family member, a friend.  They were holding hands, rubbing backs, steadying arms, sharing magazines, sharing coffee, sharing laughs.  I was overwhelmed with this thought: There's so much love.  It was heart-healing.

We must be with one another in our suffering.  It is how we survive, how we thrive.  All of us.  I am always telling my children, "We are here to help one another."  I saw it no place more strikingly than at Mayo.

Dolls

I am sitting in the basement right now, in my makeshift bedroom, relocated by a home renovation run amok and awry. (But that is for a different post-- an entire book, really.)  Overhead, I hear clicking and stepping and stomping.  Amanda and Elisabeth have recently been cast in the high school's musical "Guys and Dolls" and much practice is required.

Amanda, a senior, will play the role of Adelaide; Elisabeth, a sophomore, is one of just four Hot Box Dancers.  In a down moment, Libby may snark, "All I ever do is play backup to Amanda," but I think she knows what a significant part she plays in the production, as well.  She is concerned that she is the one with the least dance training and experience, by far.  Hence, there is stomping and stepping and clicking overhead.

In some circles, it's a debate as old as time.  I don't find it particularly interesting to discuss athletics versus the arts, because I do altruistically believe there is room for all, plenty of places at the table.  I also don't have to engage much, because none of our children has shown too much talent or interest in sports, and they have all gravitated more toward the performing arts.  Showtunes are sung here ALL THE TIME.  Yet, I do feel compelled to mention, for those who are not familiar with the process: This rehearsing for a musical is serious, demanding, time-consuming stuff.  Getting into the show in the first place is an extremely competitive process-- many audition, few are cast.  That brings its own set of confusing emotions and awkward encounters.  Libby said, "Mom, I feel like I can't even talk about the musical, because I'll hurt the feelings of any one of my friends who didn't get in."  Then, there are the two- to three-hour daily rehearsals after school.  Many of the children-- ours included-- also take private voice, dance or acting lessons.  And they practice on their own.  Oh, how they practice on their own!  Cue the tapping on the ceiling!

I have long applauded young performers.  When Todd and I were very involved with Saints On Stage, the musical theater program we helped found at the kids' Catholic primary school, I often remarked, "Even if a child does this just one time, just once-- the courage required to take the stage and perform will carry that youngster into so much future success, with such a feeling of accomplishment."  Mostly, I want my kids to do what they love... but this is especially nice, since their dad and I love seeing them shine.

What's more, this won't be Libby and Amanda's first production of "Guys and Dolls."  Yes, they've seen it numerous times, put on by various troupes in different venues; but, they've also previously acted in "Guys and Dolls."  Saints On Stage chose the junior version for its annual musical production in 2013.  Click here for a highlight reel Todd put together from that show.

A Collection of Friends

I got distracted today, scrolling through old blog posts, remembering my babies and the way life used to be.  I was reading through a section that was B.M. (Before Madeline) where Amanda was in kindergarten, Elisabeth was in preschool, and Benjamin was a toddler.  I was particularly struck by this entry: https://krinkeland.blogspot.com/2008/04/tale-of-two-rock-piles.html.  I will remind you that now Amanda is a senior and Libby is a sophomore.  They both have their friends-- many of the same friends-- but their personalities and preferences have not changed.

This is a photo of Libby and Amanda (front row, right) with a group of their friends from the theater department before the homecoming dance.  The girls were each invited to join several groups of friends for photos and dancing, but both chose this place and these people.

Therapist Share

I discovered something wonderful: Godson Tad's new physical therapist is Margaret.  Ben's Margaret!  OK, maybe this shouldn't be a headline in the real, big, bad world, but it sure is in mine.  (Disclaimer: Her legal name is not "Ben's Margaret" but that is always who she will be to our family.)

For the uninitiated among us, Krinkeland's only boy, our 13-year-old son Benjamin, has some unique physical characteristics that are-- and have always been-- "just Ben."  When Ben was an infant and toddler, the way his body moved (or didn't move) was often cause for concern.  While pediatricians and geneticists and neurologists and endocrinologists and cardiologists and gastroenterologists and all their fellows and all their nurses and all their lab techs looked for answers... well, I just tried to make it my mission to make sure Benjamin had all the resources and all the opportunities to be the best Ben he could be.  We still don't have answers (and we've stopped looking) but he definitely is the best Ben.

Benjamin was very late to roll over and much later to sit up.  He never crawled.  He took his first steps at a later age, and was slow to develop related motor skills, such as running, jumping, hopping and climbing stairs.  Because of this, he received early childhood special education services.  Different people came to our home to work with Benjamin on developing these skills.  It was a lot of work, for them and for me and especially for Ben.

Today, Benjamin is the manager of the seventh grade football team.  OK, OK, he says assistant coach-- whatever.  Last weekend, he was invited to celebrate a friend's birthday party at Valleyfair and Ben rode on rollercoasters.  He's in Red Cross Level 5 swim lessons.  Ben went to basketball camp and sleep away church camp this past summer.  BENJAMIN IS AMAZING.

I give some of the credit for this amazingness to Margaret.  Margaret is a physical therapist.  I found this photo of her in a 2008 session with Ben:

Benjamin long ago graduated from Margaret, and Margaret went on to different clients and different positions.  We didn't keep in regular contact.  But the world is so small.

Yesterday, I took Madeline to her piano lesson at my sister's house, and, as my sister handed me Thaddeus, she mentioned he was tired after working with "his new physical therapist Margaret."  I thought the name was a coincidence, but that's all I thought at first.  Then, I saw her name signed at the bottom of an evaluation form!

I am now so, so excited for Tad and for Ellen.  Margaret will be tough and tender and she will help Tad be the best Tad he can be.  I couldn't resist dropping Margaret a line after I connected all the dots.  Her response was so sweet:

"I made the connection when I read the eval and saw the names of Tad's siblings.  I recalled Ben had cousins with those names and what are the odds that there would be two families with those names?  In an email reply I got from Ellen, she had a link to her blog... she blogs!  Also a clue mom could be your sister.  Then I did the visit and met Ellen and she looks just like you!  So with those three things I knew Tad and Ben were cousins.  I just could not say anything because of confidentiality, but that cat is out of the bag now!"

It so happens another of Tad's therapists is a personal friend of mine.  (She never worked with Ben.)  That friend and I were recently volunteering together at an event, and decided to just stand in a corner and talk about how cute Tad is.  We even compared photos on our phones!  I thank God daily in my prayers for Margaret, Ben's Pam, Mrs. A. and all the people who've helped teach, support and love on my boy... and now on my nephew!  It is all so, so good.

The Writing Why

Why did I stop writing on the blog?

I don’t have a good answer for that. It’s not that I don’t have an answer... I actually have a lot of answers... it’s just that it’s not one answer and it’s not easy for me to articulate. It was kind of the confluence of a bunch of factors that led me to stop posting. I do feel compelled for some reason to state, however, that it was a conscious decision to stop writing. It didn’t happen by accident; I didn’t just forget for, like, a year or two. And I certainly didn’t run out of material. 

Part of the rationale was plain logistics. I started this blog as a way to share the daily goings-on in Krinkeland with grandparents and with a traveling daddy. Well, in more recent years, all the living grandparents have moved within 10 miles of us, and Dad is no longer traveling much for work; when he does, the kids all have their own ways to communicate with him directly.

Then, it was more that I decided I didn’t want to share so much. I wasn’t embarrassed or adversely affected by past sharing... though it may seem I have no filter, I use a firm set of personal guidelines regarding what I choose to share... I guess I no longer wanted to share much information or entertainment about Krinkeland in general. I basically changed my approach to the world as a need-to-know basis. And no one needed to know. I’m sorry if that sounds selfish. It’s pretty much my philosophy on life: We all should spend less time talking (reading, writing) and more time doing. Honestly, I don’t spend as much time talking to other people, either. I’m more interested in listening.

Why did I start writing on the blog again?

I don’t have a solid answer for that one, either. We just have a lot going on... and it’s good to have a record. I have had some themes running through my mind on a loop, and those probably need to eventually be shared. Plus, I need to keep practicing my craft. A writer must write.

Amen.

Royalty

Our oldest daughter Amanda, 17, was recently nominated to the high school homecoming court.  As she attends a large public high school of well more than 2,000 students, and as neither her father nor I ever held a position of royalty at school or otherwise, this title was not one I even considered in the mayhem of her senior year.  Naturally, we were proud of her-- selected as one of eight from among her 500+ classmates.  The coronation event, combined with all the other homecoming activities, made for an especially exciting week.

Amanda was not crowned homecoming queen.  No matter-- it had not in any way been established as an expectation, and we practiced saying, "It was an honor just to be nominated."  I'm being a bit snarky, but, truly, I think Amanda felt pleased to be named among this select group.  A girl she has known for years (they once played on the same basketball team) is this year's queen, and the boy with whom Amanda was paired for the coronation ceremony was crowned king.  It so happens King Kyle has Down syndrome, and his winning the title was seen as a huge win for inclusion at this large, public high school.  I may or may not have comments on that particular issue someday; in the meantime, here is a link to a local television news story, and, of course, we are thrilled for Kyle and Alana.

When the ceremony was over, and all were crowded around the stage to take photos, Madeline slowly got to her feet and sighed, "I'm so glad Amanda didn't win."  When I masked all expression but curiously asked why she would say that, Maddy replied, "I just meant that takes the pressure off me to be up there."  Sweet girl-- all my sweet, sweet girls-- you are not expected to be queen.  That is not something to which you should aspire.  It does not matter.  No one really cares.  It certainly is not a measure of your intelligence, your wit, your beauty, your goodness.  You have already received your title: Child of God.  You are His and you are mine.

Best Sisters

They blew in the front door following a student council work day and tandem voice lessons, both claiming to be near starvation but without much time to sit down and eat.  The senior bounded up the stairs and the sophomore trailed, saying to her sister's back, "I'm having so much fun with you.  I'm so glad we're in high school together.  The only thing I wish is we were closer-- only one grade apart-- so we could have more time together."  The older sister agreed.  She agreed.  Then, they gathered their beauty essentials and pretty dresses and sparkly shoes and headed off to a mutual friend's house to get ready for the homecoming dance.  Of the places they were invited, and amongst the groups with whom they could have taken photos, they both chose the same place.  The girls are most comfortable within the same group of friends, together.

I tell you-- when Amanda was just eight months old and I got pregnant again, I spent a lot of time worrying about how close in age the babies would be.  I was concerned about my health and the new baby's health.  I worried about Amanda losing her babyhood too soon and not being old enough to understand.  I didn't think I'd have the time or energy or limbs for two babies.  Yet, while I could never previously have imagined myself the mom of girls, I now desperately wanted Amanda to have a sister.

Naturally, as the pregnancy progressed, I became more excited and more anxious about having babies so close in age.  Now, it seems I know all kinds of families with such spreads, even lots of twins and "Irish twins."  It's all good!  But, at the time, I felt as though I was the only mom to experience such a thing.  About a month before my due date, Todd and Amanda and I went on a little family trip.  We visited northern Minnesota, touring the Iron Range and then down along the North Shore to Duluth.  I was nearly panicked, wanting to soak up this precious time with our barely-toddler before she had to share my lap.  We got a lot of looks and a lot of questions-- Todd in the pool splashing around with Amanda while the beached whale dangled fingers and toes in from the edge.  "Wow, another one!"  "Those kiddos will be close!"  "Is that one yours, too?"

Once back home, in those dog days of summer, I had but one hope: for the baby to not come early.  (It's hilarious, in retrospect, because babies do not come out of me, like, at all.  Eviction notices must be served.  But I couldn't say that definitively during pregnancy number two.)  There was plenty of swelling and generalized misery, along with a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions.  In fact, with this second baby, I would end up being in early labor for days on end, but that's a separate story.  It was important to me that I make it close to my mid-September due date, that this baby not be born before Labor Day or any of the days right around it, because I wanted there to be no question about when this baby would start school.

For reasons I can no longer really articulate or explain, it really, really mattered to me that the children be two years apart in school.  This would feel even more important after Elisabeth was born and we did indeed have sisters.  I had it in my head that it would just be better for both girls if there was a little space, some separation, room for them to grow and develop separately, not right on top of one another.  I didn't want them to feel pressured-- to be in the same classes, to compete for the same spot on a team, to audition for the same roles, to be interested in the same boys.  (Yikes!)

I did it!  We did it!  I made it through the first week in September.  Sure, I was having contractions every five minutes for, like, a week-- really-- but it wasn't until my doctor visit on September 9 that the man said I was dilated to 5 cm, and, even though the contractions still didn't seem that productive, he wasn't about to send me home in that state.  So, I was off to the birth center that evening, where the same doctor assured me there were still plenty of hours for the baby to be born on 9-9-03.  (Amanda's birth date is 3-3-02, so I liked 9-9 in keeping with the theme.)  Stubborn, strong, incredible "My Bebe Libilith" did not make her entrance until a good eight hours into 9-10-03, but, that, too, is a story for a different post.  Really, there already is a post on that.  We made it; we had our girls; we had sisters, for the Class of 2020 and the Class of 2022.  Perfect.

It is even more perfect, because they want to be together more.  I've used the phrase "best of friends, worst of enemies" more times than I care to admit, but they really do love one another.  They really do like one another.  They are tolerant of each other's differences and attentive to each other's needs.  They are best sisters.  They are so lucky.  I am the luckiest.

Happy Start to Amanda's Senior Year!

Happy Homecoming Week!

Happy Upcoming Musical "Guys and Dolls" with Amanda as Adelaide and Libby as Hot Box Dancer!