"Another week to survive."

That is what the acupuncturist said as I was leaving today.  "Nice job today.  Another week to survive."  I think she meant "you made it through another week," but obviously it hit me in a different way.  Yet it aligned with what I have been thinking about this week.

I know I said normalcy or status quo is the goal...but what I really mean is that I want to maintain the routine as much as possible.  I realized that about myself in the last few years: I do not do well with a schedule, but I crave (NEED) routine. I do everything in the same order every morning and every night, for myself and the kids.  But I rarely do it at the same time every day.  Suddenly, my routine has all these extra steps.  I have to take extra medication.  My morning and evening routine requires special mouthwash and always brushing and rinsing after eating.  I have to put my hair in a braid at bedtime, and add a serum to my eyebrows and lashes every night in hopes of keeping them.  I am keeping up with my new routine, but things feel far from normal.

The fact is, I am looking at my life through a new lens.  Everything that mattered before feels magnified.  As I type messages to people, I find myself thinking: what if this becomes a message that someone will look back on some day with nostalgia?  I don’t mean to dramatize it and I'm not going to die from stage 1B cancer.  And obviously we hope that all of the curative measures we are taking now will prevent recurrence for forever. But now that I know my body knows how to grow cancer, I can’t help but be more self-aware of my own mortality and what I want this life to be.

So this week, while I am feeling more like myself, I feel compelled to enjoy every moment.  This last few days have been the epitome of creating ordinary moments.  I woke up Sunday morning and had the urge to take the kids miniature golfing for the first time.  I got online and found that there was indeed a course within 15 minutes from us, and we did it.


I loved watching my husband help our kids with their form and then I enjoyed doing it myself.  I loved that we went late in the day, so the sun set on our game and the kids were gleeful that we were playing outside in the dark.  I felt pride when Jay stepped into the batting cage and James immediately wanted in - our calm, risk adverse, rule following child put on his own helmet, grabbed a bat, and stood outside the cage shouting "let. me. in!" until he got a turn.  And I held my breath, after shouting "don't let him get concussed!" and I audibly gasped in the video I was taking, as the first ball whizzed towards his head.  But he was amazing!  He was actually connecting with the balls and it was tremendous for a 6 year old with zero experience.

I didn't mind that the bugs were out and I didn't focus on the fact that a million other sweaty hands had touched the same golf club I was using... because everything felt like it should in the moment.

On Monday, I woke up and decided I was going to bake with the kids after work.  I made sure we had all the ingredients, dusted off my doughnut pans and new stand mixer (thanks mom!), and we went to work. I even whipped up some chocolate frosting in addition to a cinnamon sugar mixture, and gave the kids sprinkles to decorate.  It was magical.  Even more magical: the same calm, risk-adverse kid is also our picky allergy kid AND HE TASTED THE BATTER AND ATE SOME DOUGHNUT.  This doesn't feel like a big deal, but it is HUGE.

These are the moments that are giving me joy.  I mean, I have always felt joy in the small moments, hence my blog title.  But these moments just feel suddenly more special.  And that is what I want to be my new normal.

p.s. my bone scan was clear!!!!!