I was standing on a stair looking at him directly in the eye. We had reached the end of our parenting knowledge in a torrential cancer storm, each wanting to guide the children in different directions. We both felt strongly that we were in the right and tensions had built enough that we could not continue to quietly each have different values. It was time to argue. The tone was firm, and I felt a disproportionate urgency. It was as if was my last buoy of companionship was leaving me. But I couldn't let the issue go. 

Every mom I know has a Target story. One where things went so wrong, she thought she might have to switch to a Target down the road. Mine was in the spring of 2005.

We had just returned from an international move. I had Abbie in the Baby Bjorn (2mos), Clara (14mos) in the front of the cart, and Stephen (almost 3) in the back. (Yes, I know. It’s crazy to have three children under three. No, I don’t advise it. Yes, they get along and once we got out of the preschool years it was actually pretty fun.)

One of the hardest things about helping people in crisis is that they are helpless to help you help them. In big and small crises, I have felt as if my brain is overloaded. I became forgetful. Simple things became very difficult. Every thought and action I took was reactionary – there was no ability to plan beyond the moment. We become hyper-focused on urgent, immediate concerns. It works great for a few days. After a few months, however, it gets REALLY old. 

I tell you this because it’s hard to be polite when you’re holding on for dear life. It’s hard to answer the question “what can I do?” because the answer is “you can make cancer disappear.” The sole purpose for your friend’s current battle is for her to battle – everything else becomes secondary. Please don’t be frustrated when your friend or their family member simply can’t answer your questions, can’t return phone calls, can’t find a gracious way to say ‘no thank you.’ It’s not personal. It’s stress.

So mentally put a “handle with care” label on your friends, who are hurting. You may even want to slick your back so that things will roll a little easier. God’s grace will help you serve them as best you can.

Two years ago I stood in the oncology ward and surveyed the path. I didn’t like what I saw in front of us. Signs on doors “no entry without a mask,” kids walking attached to IV poles, teens with weary looks and puffy steroid faces, parents so remarkably numb.

“This road, Lord?”

Writing a journal update on CaringBridge seemed impossible. I handed the computer to Brian. “You write it.”

At the party we hosted after the service a friend asked me, “how does it feel to watch your kids get baptized?” I found myself without a descriptor. It was a new feeling and the words were elusive.  

Words like joyful, happy, relief, wonder …. they touch the borders but aren’t complete.  

So I’ve ruminated on that morning, reliving it and letting the tears come again, trying to find a word that sums it up. Rather than a word, a picture seems to capture it.  

One of the things I put into place as soon as my kids could read, were chore cards. I needed something that would provide a basic agreement between the two of us to what meant “clean” or “complete” and I needed something that was nag-proof. Nothing sucks up relationship currency like nagging, and I’m a strategic planner with the relational bucks.

I made up chore cards for each room in the house. After ten years I can say that I still have the same cards and they have stood the test of time.

It didn’t take long for my kids to discover that there is a great big worldwide web. By first grade, the words google, mine craft, and youtube were in their vocabulary. By the third grade, they wanted access like I had wanted a cabbage patch doll. And they wanted it now.  

As technology changes at lightning speed, it took me a while to get my bearings. How would we navigate this new territory? It was way past monitoring screen time.  

It was our little wink and nod to each other, a way to gently say “don’t let them get to you, we are already outnumbered.” When one kid slammed a door and another let out a shriek to wake the neighbors, I’d pull out my music app, hit play, and “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by The Rolling Stones would drift up the stairs. Or if a child was in a battle of wills with us and the winner was as-yet-declared, Brian would turn on “Keep on Pushin” by The Impressions.

With music and song, I feel like the kid standing outside the playground sometimes watching others play and laugh. I want to open the gate and run in!