Just Look

Two completely different five year olds

"How do you tell them apart?"

If I hadn't been running after a two year old who was Hell bent on throwing herself in front of a car in the preschool drop-off line, I'd have given another mom my craziest crazy eyes.

Surely, she had to be kidding.

It cannot be that difficult to distinguish my children from each other.

It is, in fact, so easy that all three of my children have ready-made answers to this question, for whenever they hear somebody ask.

"How do you tell them apart?"

If I had the time, I would TELL each person who asked this.

I'd say SI is two full inches taller, that she has blue eyes and dark brown hair, that she has pale eyebrows and an elegant neck. That she looks dainty and elfish with her rounded lips and ears that stick out a bit from her head.

I'd say DD has olive skin, and hair only a few shades darker when the sun has tanned and highlighted all summer. That she has a squared smile and small, perfectly even teeth, that her eyes are green and her nose both rounded and cleft. That she has no earlobes, and her much longer curls are so thick and kinky as to be obviously "ethnic."

I'd say SI has loose, soft curls, and cheekbones for miles. And that DD has the Hapsburg chin dark and, heavy eyebrows.

I'd say SI has a little beauty mark on her forehead, and DD has one on her cheekbone that Marilyn Monroe would KILL for. That SI's feet are a whole size and a half larger than DD's, and that she chews her fingernails but DD doesn't.

I could catalogue each feature, and tell you which of the many branches of their family tree provided it, and that there are almost no commonalities.

They are both five year old girls with curly brown hair, but the similarities begin and end there.

SI, with the same lips as M's sister, my great-grandfather's ears, my mother's hair, my wonky little toes.

DD, with my younger sister's smile, my father's eyebrows, my older sister's hair, M's dimple.

How do I tell them apart?

It can't just be that I'm their mother. That I've seen them on all but about twelve of their roughly 2,000 days on this earth. It can't just be that I have some sort of superpower that enables me to see them as individuals, as unique from each other in every way.

I have always worried for them, my twins, who will be lumped together as a unit no matter what they do, because they are twins.

I have always worried that their identities will be so caught up in what people expect of them as twins that they are afraid to find out who they are alone.

I would ask anyone who asks me, "How do I tell them apart?" "Have you seen them?"

Look at each of their features. Just look. Even bundled up in their coats- one in all pinks and the other with bold blue and yellow stripes- with nothing to work from but their eyes and noses and the strands of hair that work their way out from under their hoods. And find one- a single one- that is the same from child to child.

Listen to them speak. DD's wet "j" and "ch" sounds, her overly pronounced vowels that sound British in their accent, with words like "school" lengthened to two syllables.

SI's muddled vowels, and her intense sarcasm as she answers statements of the obvious with, "Are you KIDDING me?!"

Listen to their laughs, DD's open and wild shrieks, SI's hysterical giggles and guffaws.

Even if their faces were identical. Even if they matched from the tops of their curls to the crescents of their toenails, I could still tell them apart.

Because they are not the same people.

They are unique and fascinating, they have separate interests and likes and dislikes, and they express themselves in their own ways.

They are not, in any way, the same. Not in the way they eat their dinner, not in the way they kiss me goodnight.

If I were blind I could tell them apart.

If I were deaf I could tell them apart.

If I were given no indication but the feel of their hand in mine, I would know who's hand I was holding.

They are twins, but that does not mean they are the same. That doesn't even mean they are a pair. They are siblings with the same birthday, but being twins does not and should not eclipse their identity.

Strangers ask me how to tell them apart, as though being twins makes them a completed set. As though there must be an answer to the question because there must be some problem distinguishing their individual identities in the first place.

"How do you tell them apart?"

"Just ask them," I sometimes say.

They know how to answer.

"I'm SI," SI says.

"And I'm DD!" DD replies.

"That is my sister SI, and that is my sister DD," RH adds, as though to settle the matter.

That should be enough for anyone.

My Two Biggest Favorite Miniature People

My birthday girls

I can't believe it, but my twins have been five years old for a whole twenty one days.

And because I'm a mother, and this blog is not only a place for me to talk about sex positive parenting or cancer or feminism or crafting or holidays... I'm going to tell you about the children who made me a mother, and the incredible people they've become since the five years and twenty one days ago, when they made me into the woman I am now.

DD blowing out her candles

DD is maybe the sweetest, kindest child I've ever known. She's so intensely loving and helpful with her little sister, and she's so ridiculously obedient. A dozen times a day, I find myself barking quick orders, like, "Wash your hands," or "Put on your shoes," or "Please put your dishes in the sink."

She answers quietly, without pause and without bitterness or frustrations. "Yes, mommy." And every time it makes me feel guilty. Like I've somehow cowed her and intimidated her, because as an adult I would never accept authority like that. But she is so eager to please. She is so determined to earn praise. She seems to ascribe to the philosophy, "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar," and oozes honey with every gorgeous smile.

At five years old, her favorite color is Fuchsia, like Fancy Nancy. Her favorite princess is Rapunzel. Her favorite movie is Despicable Me. And her favorite pony is Rainbow Dash. She loves to dance, and wants to play the guitar.

During the year she was four, she drew me a picture every day at school. It was usually of her, sometimes of me, and sometimes of both of us together. On every picture she wrote, "I love you mommy, love DD." This year she and SI are in separate classrooms, and while once in a great while I get a picture, most days she puts tremendous effort into making cards to give SI at the end of the day.

I wonder about taking her to a modeling agency. She is so profoundly beautiful, and so photogenic, and adores being dressed up for pictures. She would be a wonderful model, and I ask myself why I don't just go for it. But I also fear what that sort of appearance based attention might do, in the long run, and how it would feel for her and her twin to excel so strongly at such different things in such a noticeable way. And as much as I want her to have fun and find success, I want even more for her to grow up without resentment and regret in her relationship with her sisters.

DD has the patience of a saint. Yes, she's still five, so she does get cranky and impatient. But 99% of the time... she has the most patience of anyone in the house. When the children spent five hours working on a single project, it was DD who rallied the troops, kept herself and her sisters focused, and completed her box without help. During nap time, for three hours every day, she lays in nearly perfect quiet in her bed. RH sleeps, usually SI sleeps... but DD quietly plays in her bed, having silent conversations with her dolls and her ponies, flipping through picture books and listening to the quiet of the house, until SI or RH wake up and she rises with them.

She has exponentially more patience than me, and she is quicker to forgive. She reminds me so much of M in these ways that I feel beneath the task of raising her.

She is thoughtful, and remarkable, and I adore her.

SI blowing out her candles

SI is so smart it scares me. Truly. I was a smart kid, and I come from a long line of very smart people. I know smart when I see it. I know genius when I see it. And I don't know that I've ever seen anything quite like SI.

My father was a child prodigy, and it made much of his childhood miserable. So he made a point when his children were born NOT to push us into academia. Not to push us into intellectual freakishness. Part of me resents him for that, what might I have accomplished if I'd been pushed to my potential? The part of me that fears for SI understands so deeply- I don't want to hurt her by causing a rift between her and her peers, and especially her twin sister.

SI came up to me on Sunday night with a nonfiction book about bats. It's a third grade educational book, filled with photographs but also dry information.

She stood in the hallway and read it to me. I watched her, at first amazed at her ability to collect sight reading words so quickly, at the vast number of words she knows not phonetically, but on sight. Only then I saw her stumble and sound them out. She was really reading. And the only word she truly struggled with (mind you, reading aloud at a conversational pace), was "weight."

I gave her the word and she paused, confused. I saw in her eyes she thought I said "wait," and the word made no sense. But she reread the sentence, and understood. Not "wait," "weight." Then she read me the rest of the book.

Before she ran down the hall, I called out to her. "How many kinds of bats are there in the United States?"
"About thirty four!"
"And where is the United States?"
"Silly mommy! We're IN the United States!"

And then she got into her pajamas and used three quarters of a tube of toothpaste to brush her teeth.

She is so funny. She loves bad jokes. She laughs from her belly so hard it makes the walls shake. She gives the gentlest, softest, most confident hugs I've ever had. While DD wraps her arms around you as though she would squeeze the love right out, SI places her arms until they're just resting against you, and lets them lie, breathing softly and smiling her special little smile.

I worry about her. I worry what will happen when she's in real school. When the teachers are trying to get students to learn words like "cat," "farm," and "bunny." SI stumbles over words like "neighborhood" and "mischievous." But only once. She only ever seems to stumble once.

She is manipulative, sneaky, and strong willed. She won't accept no for an answer, and will go behind my back if she knows it's the answer she'll get. She panics over little things like her shoe's velcro being too loose. Her favorite color is gold, and she doesn't really have a favorite princess. But her favorite pony is Rarity.

She's five years old, and she's incredible.



Now- prepare for the birthday party photo spam.

The girls chose a Butterfly theme for their party.

The children got to make their own butterfly wings to take home. This did not go EXACTLY according to plan.

Grandma and I made butterfly cookies. This was my first experiment with Royal Icing, and I think it went well!

RH thought she was sneaky, eating all the cookies she wanted.

We served hot "butterfly noodles" (farfalle) with either cheese sauce, marinara, or pesto. So everyone got a warm lunch.

Instead of a cake, we made three kinds of mini cupcakes and arranged them into a butterfly. They're chocolate, strawberry
(with vanilla flavored orange icing), and a gluten free vanilla. So all the kids could hopefully have some cake.

Last of all, the piñata. SI went first.

DD followed. There was much thwacking. The pull strings didn't work, so we had to beat the butterfly to death.
You know, birthday party stuff!

As much fun as all the children had, the most fun was of course had by DD, SI, and RH. Who are continuing to enjoy their birthday nearly a month past its end.

I can't believe I've been a mommy for more than five years.

It's been an amazing half a decade. It's been an amazing life. I'm so happy and stunned and proud- I feel lucky every day, no matter how difficult it may be, that I get to be their mommy.

Today I have Four Year Olds

The birthday girls- DD in dots, SI in signs

It's been quite a week.

Last Monday, I took Poppa to a baseball game for his birthday. We watched the Pirates clinch the post-season, and it was AMAZING.

Me n' Poppa

Then LaLa came over for another birthday, and to celebrate my big girls' big day a few days early.

Another Birthday!

And then Grandma and Grandpa came to town for the party. A Care Bears party, as requested. I managed to dig up Care Bear hats and plates.

Little girls and parties are awesome.

I'd been slowly collecting lots of vintage Care Bears on ebay for months. So instead of gift bags, I had the kids do a rainbow treasure hunt.

Everyone got a different color

...and followed their streamer to find their treasure!

And the treasure? Big stuffed bears for everyone.

We even had a Birthday Care Bear Parade!

I think they were a hit.

Everyone loved their bears. :)

Also, as per request, we had "Rainbow cake with rainbows on it and Care Bears and Wish Bear and Bedtime Bear and TWO rainbow roses!"

The recipe:

That cake took me an entire freakin' day of "baking" with two nearly-four-year-olds and a basically-a-toddler. But in the end?

Worth it.

The next day M and I put together their present.

Yeah, a bunk bed. And now we're working on rearranging RH's room so that all three girls will share the green room.

And then yesterday was the girls' party at school with cupcakes. And also the present extravaganza with Grandmommy and Poppa at home. And then I barely managed to keep my eyes open to watch the Pirates CRUSH the Reds in their first post-season game they've won since the last year Poppa and I sort of went to a ball game together (we took my friend JS), and I passed out on top of the covers in all my clothes.

Seriously, when I woke up in the morning M was relieved. He'd woken up a few times in the night to make sure I was still breathing. My sweet husband.

And I really can't wrap my head around the idea that my children are four years old. And suddenly, my relationship with them has changed. I can't explain how it happened, but something yesterday- on their birthday- fundamentally changed me.

Maybe it was standing in their room while they napped. NAPPED. At the same time. At four years old. I looked at their faces, SI's pale eyelids, DD still limbs, flopped gracefully over her stuffed dragon...

I am so grateful for this time. They are everything I ever wanted. Everything. And when I look at their faces, I can still see the babies that slept on me in the rocking chair in the dark hours of the night as I sang lullaby after lullaby.

I see them, erupted into these... children.

They were flower girls a month ago- did I mention that?

Children that I suddenly trust more.

So much more that I am ashamed with myself for not seeing how big they are, how mature they are, how competent they are, sooner.

This morning I talked with the director at preschool about splitting them up. Sitting in their classroom and watching them interact with the other little kids, I saw that maybe it's not just me holding onto their littleness, maybe it's them. Maybe we're all holding onto what was comfortable, what we'd come to know.

But what we have now is a family full of growing children. A toddler who might not toddle but can practically have a conversation.

And sometimes supporting them means pushing them a little outside their comfort zone.

...

Speaking of being pushed outside of my comfort zone, today is the day that the first Blogger Idol challenge goes live at noon. The first challenge was... writing your own eulogy.

If you're wondering why this post wasn't funny, I used up all my humor energy writing that one. So go read it for a few belly laughs!

And hey- you can play along!

So read my eulogy! And vote for me! YOUR VOTES MATTER. If you don't vote, I don't get to win- AND I WANT TO WIN!!!!

So read 'em! And vote! AND VOTE FOR ME!!!!

Well, That Took A Turn

No ifs, ands, or butts.

DD and RH gobbled their eggs as fast as I could dish them out. SI picked at her, soaking up as much maple syrup as possible with her pancakes.

I grinned at my children. "Good job, DD! You're eating so much!"

"I am a egg eating machine!"

"You ate so many eggs!" SI piped up. "You have a chubby butt!"

DD looked around, as though she could see her butt from a seated position by glancing over elbow. "I do? Mommy, do I have a chubby butt? Like RH?"

Crap. Body image. Why do I have to keep calling the baby "chubby butt?" Shit shit shit shit shit...

"Um, yeah, you do. And that's great! You have a perfect butt!"

"My butt is chubby?"

"What about MY butt?" SI pushed back from the table, and hoisted her skirt up over her underwear.

"You also have a perfect butt, sweetie."

"Is it chubby?"

"I don't know! But there are lots of perfect kinds of butt! Chubby butts, and flat butts, and heart shaped butts..."

"Heart shaped?" DD perked up immediately- she is very aware that there is no more perfect shape than a heart. Particularly if it's pink.

"Yup. Like upside down hearts.

"That's silly!" she giggled.

"It is."

"What about balloon butts?" SI asked.

"Yes, there are balloon butts. Daddy has a balloon butt!"

They both laughed.

"And daddy's butt is perfect," I added.

"What about butts with heads?" SI asked, grinning mischievously.

"Yes, there are definitely butts with heads." I refrained from naming names.

"What about butts with arms?" she asked again.

"I don't think I've ever seen a butt with arms..."

"I have!" DD jumped in. "I've seen a butt with a hand on it!"

"Well..."

"A butt with a hand!" SI laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.

"Who has a butt with a hand?" I asked.

"Aunt Genocide!"

"She does?"

"YES!" they both dissolved into giggles again.

"Who's hand is on Aunt Genocide's butt? Is it her hand or somebody else's?"

"Somebody else's." DD said seriously.

SI nodded. "It's daddy's hand."

"Daddy's hand is on Aunt Genocide's butt? I think I need to have a talk with daddy."

"Why?"

"Because it's not okay to put your hands on people's butt."

They both froze, staring at me.

"Why?"

"Um... people are private, and they don't like it when other people touch their bottoms."

"But I like touching butts," said SI.

"I know you like touching your butt, but-"

"RH likes touching HER bottom!" DD yelled across the table.

"Yes, and that's okay. But it's only ever okay to touch somebody else's bottom if you ask first."

They looked at me like I was crazy. I had to admit they were onto something.

"If you want to touch somebody's bottom, you have to ask first. Say, 'Can I touch your butt?' And if they say yes, then you can touch their butt."

They nodded solemnly.

"And nobody can touch your butt unless they ask you first. Unless," I added quickly, "unless they're helping you wipe your bottom after you went to the potty. Then they don't have to ask permission, because they're already doing you a favor."

"Okay, mommy."

"Let's watch Sesame Street, okay?"

"Yay! Sesame Street!"

----

Somebody please tell me I'm not the only one having these ridiculous conversations with my three year olds?

Telling Stories

DD and SI ran up to me yesterday, all dressed up.

"Mommy! I'm Princess Leia!" SI announced. "I'm being chased by a MEAN bunny!"

"I'm a bunny!" DD added, tugging on my skirt. "I have a magic bell I can WING AN WING AN WING!"

"I see..." I lied.

"When I wing my bell, Pwincess Leia needs to wun away!"

She rang the bell, and SI screamed and galloped down the hall.

"Now I have to go catch a pwincess!" DD shouted, delighted with herself, and ran off after her sister.

I returned to my manuscript, snickering.

------

As you might have noticed, I haven't been around much.

I am, as you probably guessed, hard at work on my book.

Therefore, I would like to open the floor to you,

Do you have a story to tell? Do you want me to tell your story?

If either apply, let me know. I'll be hosting a series of stories from you, my lovely readers, and from other writers from around the web.

Maybe we can all find a little bit of inspiration in each other.

You didn't think I would leave you without a picture of my daughters doing
another adorable and imaginative thing, did you?

Testing Toys

SI and DD investigating their new car toys

Recently, I had the very cool opportunity to play test a few new toys. SeatPets, and Tummy Stuffers. (This is pretty much the best perk of being a mommy blogger.)

After watching the promotional material that came with the offer, I was guessing that the kids would have a pretty strong preference for one over the other, so we were fortunate to get TWO SeatPets just in the nick of time to test them out under rather intense circumstances.

The SeatPets arrived in the mail on Friday afternoon.

We installed them into the car, loaded the trunk, and went to sleep.

By 7am the next day, we were off to Michigan for a wedding- a four and a half hour drive. We partied until 11:30pm, local time, and then loaded BACK into the car and drove to Chicago again.

When it works, it's great.

It was a wild 24 hours, and over a third of it was in the car.

The kids play-tested the crap out of their SeatPets.

And I can tell you, with absolute certainty, the benefits and flaws of these toys.

On the one hand, they're incredibly soft and cuddly. They fit easily onto the seat belts, and provide a pillow and pockets for other toys. This is all true, and it's all accurate, and fundamentally, it works.

Until it doesn't.

You see, the SeatPets attach with velcro, but only one side of the velcro. That means that it's pretty easy
to tear the SeatPets off, which I imagine you want to do in the event of an emergency or something. However, it also means that the kid on the driver's side of the car is kind of in trouble.

The act of resting their head on the SeatPet breaks the connection of the velcro, meaning the SeatPet just... well... falls off. One ONE side of the car. Which means if you have kids on BOTH sides of the car, you have one happy, sleepy, snuggly, somewhat gloat-y kid, and one screaming, crying, wailing, disappointed kid who can't figure out why their awesome pink pillow kitty cat car toy doesn't want to snuggle with her.

...which has the opposite effect of what you had hoped on the peacefulness and tranquility of your car ride.

There are a few design flaws in the toy that make it very much a passenger-side-only device. The zipper pocket is inaccessible on the driver's side orientation. But the front pockets are pretty much universal (although small enough that I'm not quite sure what we were supposed to keep in there).

Peacefulness is instantly restored with a box of chocolate moo juice

However, with a little bit of playing around, the kids discovered a wild array of other uses for the
SeatPets.

They velcro straps along the back turn them into very sturdy, tall puppets, which provided a TON of entertainment.

And, of course, they enabled the children to have pillow fights, while in belted into their seats, from across the car.

They play tested the crap out of those SeatPets

The SeatPets do (or can) come with straps, so you can turn them into kiddie messenger bags. THIS is a huge hit with the kids. I have no idea why- the zipper pocket is basically large enough for my wallet, but not much else. And I don't trust the kids with my wallet.

This brings me to toy #2, the Tummy Stuffer.

I thought this was pretty silly. It's not really a toy, it's a household storage device, disguised as a toy. There are dozens of that sort of thing, and let's face it, I've never seen a kid actually playing with any of them.

I thought, wow, this is a goofy thing. And then I thought... but yes, my kids live in a den of clutter and filth. This might help. I'll just give the Tummy Stuffer the benefit of the doubt, and see what happens.

And so I stood in their room, and looked around for what to stuff into the tummy stuffers.

Books? No, that's a terrible idea.

The felt pictures for their felt farm wall thing? No, you need to really see what you're looking for when you go looking for it.

Socks? Come on, they have a drawer for that. And two drawers sitting empty already for when RH moves into their room in the fall.

So I left the room and immediately spotted it.

The freakin' shoes.

My kids have inherited my love of shoes. Oh, how I love shoes. And oh, how they do as well. Which means they've got about a million shoes, half of which are "inside" shoes, or "princess" shoes, and the rest of which are "outside" shoes. now, they know where their shoes go... but I could really take care of an enormous eyesore.

And so, I called the children.

"DD! SI! Look what I have! A monkey who EATS SHOES!!!!!"

They've been utterly delighted for days, feeding the monkey all the shoes he can eat. They know he only wants to eat inside and princess shoes, or he'll get a tummy ache.

And so, much to my surprise, the shoe-eating monkey has become a part of their everyday play. And I have no complaints.

This monkey is full of princess shoes.

So my final review?

If you've got one kid, and they sit on the passenger side of the car, the SeatPet is awesome. If you have two... well... you might want to DIY yourself some snaps or something a little sturdier to keep it on the seat.

And if you have kids who think that animals eating their footwear is hilarious, go for the Tummy Stuffer. It's actually way cuter and more fun than it looks.

Thinking About Tomorrow

Me and my favorite girls

Today, my little RH is seven months old.

I know, I've been a terrible blogger.  You all hardly know anything about her.

RH- 7 months

You don't know about how she laughs, trilling and purring and puffing.  A friend of mine started calling her "Helga Hufflepuff."  It's accurate.  And adorable.

You don't know about how she's finally realized the benefit of tummy time, how she wriggles around like she's maybe actually thinking about crawling, how she rolls around the room to get to contraband items, how when she arches her back and whines her big sisters will roll her over so she doesn't have to.

She's a wonderful little person.  She loves to grab my (or daddy's) face in fistfuls, pull me close to her, and plant big, open mouthed kisses all over me.  How her gums are filled with little teeth getting ready to just bust through.

She's amazing.  I feel like I'm really relishing these baby moments more now than when DD and SI were so small.  Maybe because there were two of them to distract me from each other, maybe because now I truly know how fleeting they are.  Hell, this time next year RH will be walking and talking.  Potty training.

DD- 3 1/4 years

And my big girls... my big, big, big, big girls.  I don't know how it happened.  Suddenly they're on the verge of wearing 5t clothing.  Suddenly they have all of these vocal opinions, and make jokes, and have bad dreams and need hugs.  Sometimes they even read.  They are dedicated big sisters, reading to RH, giving her toys, playing with her... they're her favorite people in the world.

DD told me today that her favorite word is "idea."  I like that.  She told me that shortly before she had a meltdown about not wanting to eat a sandwich, and then ten minutes later walked up to me and gave me a giant hug and said, "I'm sorry."

She's FINALLY mastered the potty.  Yeah, sometimes she still poos in her pull-ups after her nap, but last weekend she woke up, got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and pooed in the potty without even bothering to wake me or M up.  She's so competent.

SI sings.  Like, she really almost sort of actually sings.  Look:



I taught her nothing.  She just loves to sing along with Annie.

She gives so many hugs, so freely.  Her laugh is infectious.  She learns so quickly- she's constantly working on her speech.  You may notice in the video- she doesn't make a lot of sounds properly.  But she tries so hard, and with a little help the changes happen quickly.  You'd never know that two months ago the "k" sound was completely beyond her repertoire.

They both love to sing.  And they have excellent taste.



I can have conversations with these people.  They're self-centered, fairly superficial conversations... but still.  They tell me stories.  They tell me about their likes and dislikes, their plans, their ideas.  SI likes to tell me about how she'll get bigger and bigger and bigger and then do something to be like me.  It melts my heart.

And so, I have been thinking a lot about the future.  Not just because it's so hard to imagine RH becoming a child the size of DD and SI- not just because I have no idea how it happened the first time. Not just because they've reached a growth rate differential that means I actually have to consider parceling out their clothes into DD's and SI's, and figuring out how one does hand-me-downs to twins without new clothes feeling preferential...

M had his every-six-months MRI again on Monday.

Such an awesome daddy.

This one was a little different.  Before you start worrying, you should know M is fine.  Not just in the "just fine" way I meant when he was going through treatment, but in the truly moment to moment way that people mean it in general.  There are no changes.  At least, not to him.

For the first time since July of 2007, M has a new neuro-oncologist.  His old doctor, the one with the silly name, is gone.  Moved on to greener pastures.  So we got to start from scratch with a new doctor.

She's charming and sweet and competent, all you could ask in a bedside manner and attitude and human being in general, but also eminently practical.  And that meant none of the sugar coating that Dr. Grimm used to have.  None of the old friends, constant optimism, we're-all-in-this-together-ness.  You can't go into a meeting with somebody who has inoperable masses in their brain with that kind of attitude.  You have to go in with caution.  And that is what the new doctor did.

She sat us down and talked to us, straight off the bat, about when.  Not if, when.  As far as she's concerned, that's a foregone conclusion.  It's not *if* M's cancer comes back, it's not *if* there's new growth, new contrasting areas on his MRIs.  It's when.

This is my happy place I go when things seem bad.

And in the thirty seconds it took for that icicle of a thought to slide down my spine, settle in my stomach, and imprint itself permanently and horribly inside of my ears forever, she moved on to all the good news.  The good news that Dr. Grimm never would have thought to tell us.

In the beginning, when M was getting ready to start radiation and chemotherapy and his experimental protocol, the doctors told us about what we would do if the treatment failed.  What the options would be if there was a recurrence.

A second round of radiation was off the table.  Unless M survived "a really, really long time."

We'd have to dig deeper, find more aggressive, more harmful treatments.  But there would be options.

Now?  Apparently, that "really, really long time" was incredibly relative.  So relative that M has doubled it.

The who SuperMommy family, partying down.

It's been so long, a paltry five and a half years is so long, that when there is a recurrence we can do exactly what we did the first time.  Do exactly what we know worked for M.

It's been so long that so much more is known about M's cancer that we can be confident there's no genetic element, that the children won't need any kind of extra screening.  (Not that it will stop me.)

When we cross that bridge, we'll cross at full strength, as though the first time had never happened.

But we won't.  It won't really be like that.  Because we'll be older, because I don't know if I still have the unfailing optimism and conviction that I did when I was 23 and newly engaged and fundamentally certain that M was going to be just fine.  Because on top of being M's rock and dedicated helpmeet and nurse and advocate and everything else he might need, I'll have another three people who need me for more than everything, who need me to help them cope with this sort of illness in their father.

When is scaring the everliving shit out of me.

And I know what when means.  It means inevitably, it doesn't mean tomorrow.  It means down the road, somewhere.

We did this on purpose.

But we can't know when when is.  And we knew that the first time we got pregnant.  We had babies when we did so that when M got sick again, they would have had the most years possible with him.  That when he inevitably passed away, they would have meaningful memories.  They would know who he was, and how much he loved them.

And so, in a way, I really was prepared for that talk.  I really was prepared to hear it out loud, that all those fears we had addressed were still real.  That they hadn't just faded into memory.  That we were still living with them.

The new doctor didn't say, "tomorrow."  She didn't say, "next year," or "in ten years," or "in fifty years."  She knows exactly what we know.

Nothing.

None of us have a clue what kind of timeline M has.  Nobody does.  People haven't been surviving brain cancer long enough to know what survival rates look like.  What recurrence rates look like.  M is already so far out on the bell curve that there's no way to know whether or not he's just plain off of it.

Here's to another day.

But I suppose we're ready now.  We're reminded that M isn't free from his diagnosis, he's still living with it every day.  We're reminded that we're doing this together, this family building, baby having, life experiencing thing, and we're doing it on purpose.  We're doing it because we want to milk every last drop of joy that we possibly can from our lives.

I'm going to go hug my children and make a keugle.  Because M and I love keugle, and I love hugging my children.  I'm going to eat Cherry Garcia for dessert with M, right out of the carton, and we're going to watch Community and the Daily Show.  And I might cry a little and pass it off as hormones, but I'll bury my face in his furry, furry chest, and feel overwhelmed with gratitude that I have my life for another day.  For another six months.  Until his next MRI comes and I go through it over again.