Resentment

I'm beginning to resent the guy who sits on our living room couch. The one with the sick body, who wears dorky felt slippers instead of his stylish suede shoes
and sighs, moans and coughs without interruption. The one with the scarred body who frightens me when he exits the shower or changes his clothes. The trembling guy with the puffy face who just sits and sits, and makes me uncomfortable in my own home.

'That' guy is the man I love. Deeply love. And honestly admitting to him that I feel seriously uptight about his illness was something I could only do because I love him so much: the man that is hidden underneath the side effects of his crazy range of medication. Of course my Kenji is still there - somewhere - but the disguise of chronic illness unfortunately often takes over.

With the boys in school, we are dealing with a strange and confrontational gap. He cannot leave and I cannot breathe. I cannot spend euros on a daily basis on coffee around the corner and he cannot make himself disappear. We are bound together by circumstances - and by marriage.
"In Sickness and in Health" isn't some hollow phrase that obligates you to clench your teeth when days are hard, it is the truth. And the truth is oh so easy when you're facing the one you love.

Side by side

I pull a grey hair. People have told me that the past year is showing - no need
to tell me to my face, the mirror screams it to me every single day. So I age and perhaps a lot faster than I wanted to. It's just the way it is. And just the way it is, makes me sad.
I walk around with a clump of sadness in my chest. In my rib cage houses a keen-edged mass that hurts when I inhale and exhale. Actual physical pain.

My child free hours I spend working with the intention to update my company website. Except no matter where I search in Windows Explorer, the directory 'website' is gone. Gone! I freak out - but in minutes Kenji has pulled an external hard drive from a storage box, connects it to my laptop and restores the missing files. Instead of being grateful I freak out even harder; all of a sudden this is the ultimate sign that I really cannot live without him. Where would I be without my knight?

We work side by side, like the old days. And because Kenji has no job to go to, no potential clients to focus on and no writing assignments to keep his mind off things, we grieve side by side. Like the new days.

Today's picture originates from the updated homepage of Karmijn kunstadvies. Like I wrote on Linkedin: I'm back, so bring on the words!

Little dog

Instead of a little boy I unintentionally took a little dog into down. Strange, why hadn't I noticed the comparison between my toddler and a puppy before? He has puppy eyes, that's for sure. Except today he also proved to possess some less cute puppy features.

Little Brother's toddler hormones are raging. So in store #1 he lies down flat on
his back and wiggles with his bottom, searching for a tiger between the clothing racks. Crawls over shelves and messes up piles of clothing with swaying arms. I'm more than willing to opt for the easy way out and return home a.s.a.p., but Little Brother insists on going to store #2.

Next to the lunch boxes and glassware I hear the feared words: "I. Have. Pee.", followed by a little pool between Little Brother's legs. Not just a wet pair of jeans, no an actual pool of pee in a store - something unique. Heading for the exit, Little Brother manages to break a couple of wine glasses with one sweep of his arm. I should have payed more attention to his wagging tail...

I humbly apologize for anyone who sat in a slightly wet spot in an Amsterdam tram or stepped in pee on the sidewalk. Because Little Brother was nowhere near done and decided to mark his territory once more near our building. If a leash would solve the problem, I'd instantly buy one for every day of the week!

Weekly checkup

From their beds I hear the boys playing with their stuffed animals. "I'm going to the hóspital. I'm i-hill!", yells Little Brother. Big Brother isn't so keen on this kind of play: "No. No, the animals aren't ill." However Little Brother is determined:
"Oh yes they are!"

At breakfast the subject still hasn't left Little Brother's mind. "Is that a grown-up cough papa?" he worriedly asks when Kenji is coughing his lungs out. I lean over to him and say that he doesn't need to pay that much attention to papa. "Oh yes I have to".

We were warned by the hematologist that the weekly checkups for the duration of at least a full year would be a nerve-wrecking battle. Perhaps an even harder one than the chemo treatments or the transplantation itself with its weeks of hospitalization.
The doctor most definitely knew what he was talking about. It's Tuesday again and before even mentioning it, the boys have sensed our tension about today's hospital visit. Kenji's body is giving signals that he's not walking away that easily this time and we are indeed worried. If only - here we go again - the boys weren't gifted with such strong antennas.

Mirror Monday #43

Business as usual - except it was only the first day of our new Monday routine. Drop Big Brother off at primary school, drop Little Brother off at preschool, ride home and switch on the computer. Prepare myself a cappuccino and start writing. Not blogging, writing.
While working on describing and clarifying a series of contemporary paintings, I forgot e-ve-ry-thing around me. The part where Kenji has cancer. The part where I'm a mother. It was just me and my laptop. Hi-yah!

This 'obligated focusing' did me a world of good. Not to mention a singing Big Brother, happiness himself.

Rise and shine

In the darkness of early morning the truth always hits the hardest. The dim bedroom won't cover up the harsh reality of our lives: the moment I hear Kenji breathing next to me, I ask how he's doing. The milliseconds before he answers, fear creeps in. What is his answer going to be today?

I know he won't tell me something bad unless it's really bad. I know he is determined to be as brave as possible. I know he'll bite his tongue before complaining.

So when he wakes up and mentions a headache it turns out to be a case of pretty serious hypoglycemia. Pain in his joints can be temporarily relieved with a painkiller but will have to be monitored, since longterm Prednisone use can cause arthritis. And a seemingly simple "just tired" has to be translated into extreme fatigue - otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned it.

Every morning I try to interpret the "humpf"-s and "nothing"-s. Calculate the level of that day's safety. Take a deep breath and rise and shine - because that is what I'm here for.

Balance

"Ei, ei, ei, en we zijn zo blij, want Bliksem die is jarig en dat vieren wij!"
[a Dutch birthday song, something like: "We're so happy because Lightning McQueen is having his birthday and we're celebrating!"]

Big Brother sings and hums non-stop.
Big Brother sprinkles smiles wherever he goes.
Big Brother plays to the fullest and won't let himself be disturbed by anything.
Big Brother has the softest look in his big brown eyes.
Big Brother is on top of the world when out of the blue he masters the act of blowing on a paper whistle.
Big Brother has given me more hugs and kisses in the past three days than in the past three years.
Big Brother voluntarily shares his final birthday gift of the day (a set of two books) with Little Brother.

Big Brother's happiness moves us to tears. Neither Kenji nor I have seen him this well balanced since he was a baby. Four must be a magical age.

Moon or Sun

Take your pick:

Last night after hanging the garlands, I tried to act normal. Tried to pretend everything was O.K. while deep inside my grief was boiling over. Forgotten was the part where I considered myself lucky that Kenji could at least watch me decorating the room, I wanted him to be his old self again and stand on the
stupid ladder instead of me. Kenji made it to Big Brother's fourth birthday, but would he make it to his fifth as well? The night before the celebrations - both Big Brother's and the eleventh anniversary of our first kiss in Florence - our hearts bled and we filled the trash can with tissues.

Big Brother screamed of joy when he opened the living room door and saw the garlands. He adored the Cars-wrapping paper and the huge Bruder truck that was hidden inside even more. He decided to skip breakfast and start playing immediately, but I managed to lure him to the kitchen table with a warm croissant. In the fridge a bottle of champagne is waiting to be popped. Yesterday Kenji went into town all by himself and bought champagne like before, which alters ordinary champagne bubbles into extraordinary sparks of magic. To top it off I landed my first billable hour in a long, long time.

"Three things cannot be long hidden, the sun, the moon, and the truth" - Buddha

Bye bye preschool!

Primary school was the first thing on his mind when Big Brother opened his eyes. His last day in preschool suddenly wasn't appealing anymore, all that mattered to him was primary school ánd fast. At the schoolyard, Big Brother tried to persuade me: why not take the left turn and enter the real school? Nope my friend, one more day to the right, the door of preschool.

The good thing was that Big Brother could treat to fire truck cupcakes. Not to mention the farewell gifts, that I made fire truck shaped too. Today's pictures show a smiling Big Brother, who was wearing his birthday hat, and a little cupcake muncher by his side - Little Brother of course. When I came to pick up the boys, children were running down the hallway with their paper fire trucks making "taa-tuu" sounds. How perfect.

How to:
I measured a Smarties box and used this template as a start. Then I found a fire truck image, inserted the line "Bye everybody!", copied the image and flipped it, and inserted "Taa-tuu Big Brother is 4". I printed the fire trucks on sturdy red paper and cut out both images. Each pair was glued to a Smarties box. The ladder was made of brown paper and I cut it a little longer, so that I could fold the end a bit slanting and shove it into the back of the box. When carefully opened, the trucks can still 'drive' after eating the candy.

Taste of primary school

With a trembling lip Big Brother confessed how he was scared of the "big boys"
at his new school. He has been looking up at tough ten-year-olds for ages yet
at the doorstep of primary school, he suddenly got cold feet.
Fortunately, his teacher happens to be a groovy fellow who put us at ease in a split second. Big Brother sat on my lap in the circle and learned the rules of keeping quiet, putting up your finger and listening well. The day of the week. Folding squares and counting to 16 at the same time. The current weather condition. The theme of the month and the tasks of the day. By then I assumed that half an hour sufficed to turn Big Brother into a six-year-old already.

I watched him play on the schoolyard, his face beaming with joy. "Mama, I'm playing so well!" Big Brother's eyes showed deep gratitude, for bringing him to a place where he could run like a madman and play in the sandbox - rain or shine. I knew I could walk away without a problem and I did.

According to Big Brother, the best part of the morning had been the new collection of classroom cars. If it were up to him, he would have skipped the whole circle-sitting-quiet-part and played without interruption. According to his teacher, all went really fine. And according to me? I'm sniffling with pride. To let a child stand on his own legs and witness how he has developed such a deep-rooted connection to be able to feel safe immediately, is the greatest blessing.
As if I haven't been blessed enough, Big Brother hasn't stopped singing since he came home. And Kenji called me the best mom in the world. Amen to that.

Self-imposed schedules

"Why can’t I just be the mom, and not the taskmaster, the lecturer, the appointments manager, the critic, the cynic, and the know-it-all? What is more important to show [..] than love? What is there always time for?"

I believe Karen Maezen Miller struck gold when she wrote her astonishing post "The child is not the child". In my cramped attempt to maintain as much regularity as possible for the boys, I often get caught up with time - the exact opposite of what I'm trying to achieve. Separating the day into manageable portions (from breakfast till fruit snack, from fruit snack to lunch and so on) worked excellently ever since Big Brother was a baby and way into Little Brother's toddlerhood as well. Yet while my mental state is still dealing with plastic sippy cups and mashed bananas, my boys effortlessly drink a proper glass of water and eat their banana straight from the peel.

Letting go of the clock, of my self-imposed schedule, felt like taking a huge leap into the unknown. I sensed such a reluctance to make any changes in my daily rhythm that I wondered who was the actual one in need of a sippy cup...

With Maezen's words in mind "A mother who loves without measure, without schedule and without hurry.",
I decided to jump. Today at 11.30 my boys ate half a croissant each in the botanical garden - not a defined snack moment whatsoever - and had lunch at 13.15, which is way later than the fixed time of noon. Leaning over my plate I mumbled to Big Brother and Little Brother: "I'm mega happy". Right then and there I knew I'd struck my own little nugget of gold.

"When we realize that our child is not the child, then we begin to practice parenthood."

Mirror Monday #42

Quite a few pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place. After the tangle of old habits it dawned me that only one thing is truly relevant. Love. To be surrounded by love and to love, free of judgement and constraints.

The gentle way forgiveness has found its way into my heart, is something I'm deeply grateful for.

This Monday I'm showing you peace.

The one with the scissors

Big Brother is angry. An awful lot. And he himself is the one who's hindered most by his behavior. I suspect the transition from preschool to primary school is eating him - especially since he has no clue what this whole school thing is that everybody's talking about. It even got to the point where he confessed to me that he didn't want to turn four and wanted to stay toddler forever.

Maybe it was his first real shirt he was wearing. Or the after effect of yesterday's party. In any case, Big Brother had a smile on his face the entire day. He gave his all in playing and freely got his groove back. When he spotted Annemiek, he was over the moon and gave her a disarming smile. The smile grew even bigger when she presented the boys a box with magnificent Giotto clay: clay modelling is Big Brother's favorite craft nowadays.
And just when I thought I couldn't see him happier, Big Brother complimented Kenji on his risotto: "It's so good I want you to make it again soon, O.K.?" He was the first to finish his plate and with his face beaming with excitement, he asked for seconds - something he has néver done before. As a bedtime story he picked "the one with the scissors", meaning the Matisse-like page in Nijntje at the museum and hinted that visiting a museum soon wouldn't be a bad idea either. Music to ears of his parents of course.

Big Brother couldn't be readier to turn four.

Rewriting history

For the second year in a row, Kenji cannot join the birthday party of the girl with the cutest curls in the world. She turns three and Big Brother and Little Brother don't want to miss it for the world! So for the second time Kenji's sister steps in. Apparently new traditions are created in the shortest amount of time, because entering a room full of people with the female 'replacement papa' doesn't raise any eyebrows.

On our way home, the boys won't stop talking about the delicious cake with pink flowers and butterflies. My mind goes back to a year ago. When we returned from the same party and found Kenji in the bathroom, with a life threatening nosebleed. The ER where two huge male nurses took turns in trying to stop the bleeding. The blood stains on Kenji's clothes and the paper towels that I kept refreshing, against better judgement. It was by far one of the scariest days of 2011.

I hesitate to turn the key. As if something devastating is waiting behind the front door again. The contrast couldn't be bigger: Kenji has done some grocery shopping, bought arborio rice for more risotto to come, and in the mail are two fab coloring books by Mon Petit Art, a gift from dear Kris. The boys cannot believe their luck, urge us to sit down with them and immediately the crayons are brought out. Kenji and I hold hands over the kitchen table and cannot believe our luck either. Somehow it feels like rewriting history.

For sick papas only

Little Brother picks up right where we left off yesterday. Cancer talk and ditto tears for breakfast.

"What is papa doing? Is he getting his medicines?" Kenji is in the bathroom, giving himself his insulin shot. We are as open as possible to the boys when it comes to the visible effects of cancer - shaving Kenji's head in the living room and a daily saucer with pills at the breakfast table - yet we draw the line at syringes in all sorts or shapes. Little Brother continues: "When I grow up and am a papa, I want medicines too!" Big Brother tries to tell him that medicines are for sick papas only and that he'll become a healthy papa when he's big. Little Brother's eyes are flooding with tears.

"Papa needs his medicines to get stronger. And he is already a bit stronger because he can bike on the indoor bike. And then he goes to the doctor. And the doctor is véry sweet and he is going to make papa nice again. And then... he is healthy!" Little Brother smiles triumphantly at Kenji, who is by now joining us for breakfast.
The look Kenji and I are exchanging isn't one of triumph, but one of deep sadness: obviously we know better than to think like a two-and-a-half year old. Nevertheless Little Brother's line of thought is extremely appealing to papa and mama too.