It Was Different This Time

by Troy Foster

Unfortunately, we have had the experience of being with the Henry through many hospital stays.  They are never easy – not the build up and the desperate attempts to do everything we can to avoid having to go.  Not the handoff of the other three kids, and reassurance to them that Henry will be fine.  And not watching the poking and prodding, or seeing the other sick kids that are there.  Or seeing the helpless looks on the parents’ faces as they walk back and forth, sitting, waiting for what is to come next.

In fact, we have been lucky enough to have a proactive approach in his care that most are not afforded.  We know about this rare disease, we know how Henry reacts, and we know what won’t work (for the most part).  Because of its rarity, oftentimes we know more about mitochondrial disease than many.

Though it has never been pleasant – and far from it – it has always been emotionally manageable.  This time was different.

And to be honest, I’m not sure why.  It started off the same.  Henry has pneumonia, doctor has prescribed antibiotic, we are religious about his breathing treatments, liquids, and getting him rest.  Last night, there were some complications (not out of the norm) – so I talked to the doctor and we tried something else.  Worked fine until Henry woke up vomiting in the middle of the night.  Again, not something that we haven’t faced before, but enough to know that we need help.

When I got to the Emergency Room, we were rushed ahead of everyone and Henry was given a breathing treatment and some liquids.  Routine.  Then, we were visited by 4 doctors, each with increasing tenure and expertise.  When Henry’s fever spiked to 103, I had to explain that Tylenol is contraindicated for mitochondrial patients and he needed something different; they obliged.  Henry patiently answered their questions – through his labored breathing – and we watched TV shows and I brushed his cheek with the back of my hand until he drifted off.  All standard.

Things then went a little further south than they have before.  Henry was in respiratory distress, his blood pressure and heart rate skyrocketed, he needed oxygen to maintain saturation, and his fever was unmanageable.  And, little Henry was unresponsive.  Not for a long time – but for long enough to make the experience different.

And then the most horrific thought crossed my mind.  What is different is that reality reared its ugly head for the first time on this journey.  None of the other experiences were standard at all.  They just didn’t hit me the same way this one has.  For me, with all of the other experiences, it seemed that several things would have to go wrong before we faced losing Henry.  Today, many of them did – and quickly.

So though the wind has been knocked out of me a bit (ironic metaphor, I know), this just seems to emphasize how important enjoying every day with our loved ones is - just like Henry was doing with his siblings and cousins just a few days ago (above).  Always was, and always has been. Today was just a big reminder for me.  Small piece of advice:  just take my word for it – don’t wait on your own reminder.

The Skateboard

by Troy Foster

I’ve been thinking a lot about a skateboard for the last couple of weeks.  Trust me, I’m not a skateboard guy, never have been, and don’t plan to pick up this new hobby.  Though some of you would have fun watching that unfold.

No, my newfound interest in this board with wheels comes from Henry’s obsession.  Like most parents, we began waiting it out.  Wait for him to lose interest – or even forget about it.  Straight from Parenting 101 when a 5-year old asks for a skateboard, right? 

He was relentless.  Henry described the colors, how it would feel smooth at first but rough after awhile, the skateboard’s shape, what the wheels looked like, and the decals that he’d put on his ride.  With a description so vivid, you can’t help but visualize his skateboard – and just know that you are seeing the same thing he imagines.

Parenting 101 in full effect had us relaying a lot of empty “what a great imagination,” “maybe Santa Claus will bring it one year,” or “that’ll be nice when you’re older,” etc.

Then, Henry started talking about what it would feel like when he rode the skateboard.  His anticipated excitement of going fast or up, down, and around was unremarkable.  But the look on his face as he described it, the pure joy, bright eyes and wide smile, and his giggle – left me speechless.  Then, I noticed that I was smiling along with Henry.

And then, I was horrified.  The path I had been on was to let Henry wait to experience something every kid should.  An activity that his feeding tube, pump in his backpack always on his back, his muscle weakness, and breathing issues would all caution against.  As would the fact that those things are expensive and we’re not made of money.  Surely, Parenting 101 would say “no way.”

We were quickly reminded that we’re on a different path.  Later, when he’s older, Santa’s visit two years from now – all speak of a future that might not be.  A time that Henry’s disease may rob him (and us) of.  So, as we have with other things, we look to enjoying and experiencing the things that we can.  Even if not age appropriate, the most financially responsible, or other things that Parenting 101 would instruct.  Though his disease may limit what he’ll experience, and us with him, we won’t let norms or practicalities stop his smile.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Santa will be toting a skateboard for Henry this year.  I know that friends of ours – other parents brought together because they face similar challenges/tragedies – would do the same thing.  That is especially true of our dear friends that have already had to say goodbye to their little ones.  (I was just listening to a song by Taylor Swift www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiX7fA9da6A – dedicated to one of these little boys – Ronan; I know that he – and his parents – wouldn’t think twice about this odd dilemma.)  The skateboard it is! 

By the way, I dare you to listen to that song and NOT cry.  Impossible.

To help children with terminal or life-threatening illnesses, please visit www.henryshope.org.  

The Bizarre Blessing

by Troy Foster

We were talking on the phone – both headed home from work (which seems to be good, quiet, quality time together) – when we realized it.  Our words were horrifying.  Things that you shouldn’t hear parents say about their child.  And we were saying those things, and not bothered – in fact, encouraged by our talk.  We were reminded that we are living in a bizarro world of sorts with perspectives that have changed forever.  Nothing that we wanted, but a blessing that we appreciate.

“Henry told the nurse that he couldn’t walk.  He was too tired,” Kristen reported.

“Well, good news – the insurance company called about the wheelchair and it’s been ordered – so, Henry will be happy,” I replied.

“Perfect!  I’m glad that he will tell us when he needs something, and he is excited about the wheelchair,” Kristen continued.

I agreed.  And then realized how odd the conversation would appear to an outsider.  Parents pleased that their 5 year-old would talk to them about his weakness, that his energy deteriorated to the point of needing a wheelchair, and celebrating its arrival. 

But, that’s where we are.  And it’s okay.  Mainly because Henry is okay with it.  In our world, as bizarre as it might seem, Henry helps us focus on the fun he’ll have on the ride there and at the destination (especially when it’s the playground or soccer field).  We have learned that worrying about how he gets there – by foot or by chair – is a waste of precious time.  Time that Henry has taught us to laugh with, smile at, and experience each other.

We may be on a bizarre journey, but know that we are blessed each step of the way (or turn of the wheel).

For more inspirational stories about Henry, read Three Candles (www.threecandlesbook.com) – a book that captures the gift of his perspective.  Proceeds of book sales go to Henry's Hope (www.henryshope.org).

Childhood Cancer, Special Needs, and the Shining Star – Hope

By Troy Foster

Life is crazy.  And the world is quite small.  Since moving back home – across the country – we have discovered that Lily is in the same class with a little girl that is the daughter of Kristen’s high school friend.  One of the kindergarten teachers, familiar with Henry’s Hope (and his little face), also happens to be a high school classmate of mine.  Those tidbits came as a comfort; our kids were among friends and people that cared about them and us.

That comfort remains, but has been jolted by a couple of layers.  The little girl, Emma, has a brain tumor.  That, for me, seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.  It was maddening.  I was furious, enraged, deeply saddened, overwhelmed, and exhausted.  For me, showing the anger is not easy; before, I would bury it completely, dive deep into work or other things that I could “control” – and we all know that it comes out in some way eventually.  Now, having worked for years on this, I can cope with the feelings and deal with them head on.  Much healthier, but unpleasant nonetheless.

You see, we had heard this news – a child with a brain tumor – before.  A friend that I used to work with years ago, had a son – who is famously referred to as Rock Star Ronan.  That beautiful boy lost his battle with cancer at 4.  In following his mom’s blog, that family’s experiences were horrific, almost unbearable, unfair, and overwhelming.  They had gone down a path that we followed them on; we had experienced many similar ordeals and have no idea what they went through in losing Ronan.  But, we will. 

That fact is overwhelming.  So to try to better cope, I took great advice from my therapist and stopped following the blogs that seemed foretelling.  I stopped working directly with Henry’s Hope families, as their stories were too raw for me; our organization would help, but it wasn’t something that I could personally do.  These new coping mechanisms worked well.  And then, another little girl.  Another family who is courageous, but even on the outside you can see their fear, desperation, exhaustion.

So, I took another piece of therapeutic advice.  Distanced myself from those circumstances.  Before, I would not let myself do that – thinking I was being selfish, too self-centered, etc.  But in truth, diving in to help never resulted in a positive outcome for anyone.  And, I was useless to all. 

So, distancing seemed to work.  I was coping.  I was healthy – sleeping, no anxiety attacks, no deep depression, no burying myself in work.  All healthier means of coping.

And then . . . .

My kids challenged me even further!

Lily, being Lily, has befriended Emma and talks fondly about her.  She doesn’t say anything about Emma being sick; she knows all about it, but she talks about her favorite color, what she likes to play, what she thinks is funny.  Far more important things than the things that I’d be angry about or try to help with.  You see, the help that I would always try to provide was in an effort to “fix” things, cure the disease, make the illness more tolerable, search for alternative treatments – all things that I am not equipped to do and that were failures before I even started.

Lily, and the wise children that I see (most are more wise than I), wants to help by just being there.  In being Emma’s friend.  Laughing.  Playing.  Treating her like the kid that she is.  And she’s successful every time.

Lily and Henry recently joined a club that meets after school.  The club partners with Phoenix Children’s Hospital and does things for kids that are sick in the hospital.  Fun things.  Things that recognize that they are kids; not see them as sick.  I’m so proud of Lily and Henry for seeing what’s important.

And Luke Took it Even Further

A couple of weeks ago, I realized that the coping tools that I’ve learned (and continue to) have been put in place just in time.  Because, as a parent (though newly learned), I’m going to have to teach some of these skills to our kids.

Luke and I were having some fun time, and he told me that he loved his school.  When I asked why, he started to cry and told me “Because they have a whole room for the special kids.”  He was referring to the special needs kids.  Then, he said something too familiar for comfort.  Wiping away the tears, he said “Daddy, I want to figure out how to make them fine.  How to cure them.”  I saw myself in him.  The raw emotion that he had was difficult; so, he shut it off – put it away and hatched a plan to make it all better.  He was going to make it so that the overwhelming sadness would go away – because he was going to “cure” all of the special needs kids.  Just like I thought that I could cure him and his little brother.  Because if I thought that was true (even remotely), I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality.

“Luke, they don’t need cured,” I said.  “And we can’t do it even if we wanted to.”  He looked up at me – surprised.  Unbeknownst to me, I had already taught him that we should take affirmative steps to overcome bad things to avoid feeling them at all.  “We can’t,” I repeated.  His shock turned back into sadness, and tears rolled down his face.  I hugged him, and joined him in crying.

“It’s ok to be sad and to cry,” I told him.  Something that I had just discovered in the last few years.  And then, I took a play out of Lily’s playbook!  “We can play with those kids though, help them have fun,” I said.  As he wiped away his tears and took a deep breath, he said “Making them smile is good, right?”

Yes Luke, it is the best.  The very best medicine anyone could want.  I learned it relatively late in life.  But on the hard days – when Henry has a hard time walking, when Luke wonders aloud whether he could die from mitochondrial disease – I treasure each and every smile given to me.

For more inspiring stories, please check out Three Candles – a book about Henry and Henry’s Hope.  (www.henryshope.org or www.threecandlesbook.com).

The Beverly Hillbillies Meets Gilligan’s Island – Foster Style

By Troy Foster

This Father’s Day is different than any other for me.  I’m not spending it with Kristen and the kids.  Instead, I’m all the way across the country – getting our new home ready for their arrival!  That’s right, the Foster clan is going back to Arizona – Scottsdale, that is.  A lot has happened since my last update.  So, having a little spare time while missing my family on this Father’s Day, sit right back and you’ll hear our tale.  A tale of a fateful trip.” 

The Perfect Storm

I haven’t written for some time.  Not that you would have or should have noticed, but selfishly, my blog serves not only as a way to update and share our journey, but is primarily therapeutic for me.  For the last few months, however, our ship has been a bit lost at sea.  Some of those things, I’ve had no desire to write about or even share.  But, our close friends and family have been so amazingly supportive, and if you’re reading this – you’re one of those people – that I thought it was about time to tell you what has happened – and in a relatively short time.

Nothing.  And at the same time, so much.  It’s a lot like these old TV shows.  When Jed was going out shooting that morning, he had no idea that he’d be packing up and heading to Beverly in short order.  Neither did the tour boat of strangers think that they would be close friends – almost like family – when they stepped on board that ship.  I’m not suggesting that we have struck it rich (we haven’t) – nor am I saying that our journey stranded us on a deserted island.  Far from it.  But, we have been lost at sea; we have met and befriended amazing people on our journey; and we are heading out west – “the place we ought to be.”

Travels Well Worth Taking

It’s hard to believe that we moved out to Indiana almost three years ago.  At the time, we had struggled with Henry’s illness, still didn’t have a definitive diagnosis, and were certain (after doctors here told us) that we needed to leave to find answers.  So, we did. 

While there, as you all know well, we spent an inordinate amount of time at various hospitals – not just for Henry – but also for Luke.  We learned a lot.  A lot that we never really wanted to know.  Things that no parent would.  Henry and Luke both have Complex 1 mitochondrial disease, and it’s degenerative.  The kids’ team was tremendous – in educating us about this horrible and unforgiving disease, in helping us obtain resources in our battles against it, and in reassuring us as parents that we were doing all that we could – all that anyone could when faced with this.  Loving our kids and each other, and sharing our hearts with them every day – enjoying each minute – was the best treatment.  The only treatment for a disease that takes your life – but not your heart and soul.

The doctors were also so gracious in telling us one of the most important things that we will ever learn about this condition:  there are no concrete answers.  They told us that they didn’t know many things.  Given our journey, that uncertainty – though a little disconcerting – was refreshingly honest.  At Henry’s last appointment in Cincinnati, the doctor repeated a message that he had probably said a dozen times – though this was the first that I heard it.  “There is nothing more we can do.”  Hearing that is jarring, and seems ridiculous.  They are doctors; specialists that we moved across the country to be near.  Of course they can do something.  So, I challenged him.  “What do you mean?  He’s only 4 ½ (which he’s almost 5 – but I’m stuck with only half-year ages like all kids that pay attention).”

Dr. Franciosi, who is the second doctor that we moved close to that is now moving away this summer, folded his hands and tilted his head slightly.  Henry was engrossed in the video that they had put on.  Dr. Franciosi smiled warmly, which was nothing unique but felt different that day.  He said that they would watch Henry (and Luke), test them twice a year to see if any of their major systems was deteriorating, and treat any system issue as it arose.  He mentioned that Henry might, at some point, need to have an open line to receive his nutrition.  But, aside from the monitoring and treatment of any issue that comes up (which they have no idea what or when those might occur), there is nothing that they can do.  Nothing.  So harsh.  Final.  Unfair.  (For those of you that know us really well, this has just spurred us on to look at other avenues – look at what other hospitals are doing and light fires under organizations with the brainpower and manpower to change that answer.  But, not at Henry’s expense.)  Because Henry is tired.

Our Little Buddy, and His Family

Henry has always been a trooper.  I’m pretty sure that he will remain the strongest person that I have or ever will meet.  But, he is tired.  Not too long ago, he was always on the go.  Recently, though there are exceptions, he’d rather be at home.  When we visited Kristen’s parents, he was always fired up about going on the morning walk and heading to AJ’s.  Now, he’d rather stay in.  When he’s out, he’ll have his fun, but is not shy about telling us that it’s time to go home.  He’s tired of Henry’s Hope events and book signings – both would light him up just several months ago.  And when we’re home, Henry will now tell us to take him to bed – where he falls asleep next to us as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Henry is tuckered out, and he has every right to be.  So, our pace is changing.  Our focus, which has always been on our daily enrichment as a family, remains there – but seems even more important.  Spending time with friends and family seems to have a greater urgency – that we’d rather not admit to ourselves, or even say aloud.  But it is a reality. 

And to that end, there are a couple of other factors.  Kristen’s dad, Art, has another awful disease – Parkinson’s.  Henry and Art have always had a uniquely close relationship.  They have their own language, it would seem.  And they truly worship one another. 

Henry’s Uncle David is another shining light in his life.  He and his wife currently live in Tucson, but are often up to the Valley.  And, just as they adore Uncle David, the kids all have a special place in their hearts for their Aunt Lolo, Uncle Todd, and the Johansen cousins.  They live a day’s drive away from Arizona.  Before moving to Indiana, we saw them pretty regularly.  And, it would seem that being with family is not something that we can do later.

One other item that I rarely let myself think about (quite selfishly), is how tired my beautiful bride is too.  I’d give anything not to see that.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m tired too – I just avoid looking in the mirror.  But this amazing wife and mother gets up every day, puts her smile and game face on, goes out to tackle the world – all the while torn up inside.  Having the support network of her family, and seeing the kids spent time with them, might change things a little and give her some comfort – like I think it will me. 

Strangers Turned Family

While leaving now is certainly the right thing to do, it certainly tears at our heartstrings too.  While in our little town of rural Indiana, we found something that we didn’t expect – a community that has opened its arms to us and treated us like members of their own families, teachers that know and love our kids (and us), friends that have given so much of themselves that we’ll never be able to thank them enough.  We cannot say goodbye; we won’t.  Just see you later, and know that you have a place to visit us in Scottsdale!  

No Mansion, Not a Millionaire, But Do Have  a Pool

Yes, we still have to work.  But this is how I think we are guided on certain paths (or hit over the head in some cases).  After the doctors that we moved near moved, and after the conversation at the last appointment, and after seeing Henry tired, and after seeing Kristen grow miserable in her professional work – I have been given an amazing opportunity.  A client that I had worked with for almost twelve years had an executive position open up in house, and of course, it’s in Phoenix.  Meanwhile, Kristen is still in the practice, but actively looking to serve her home State of Arizona and its children; and she’s getting more than her share of nibbles.  It is all coming together nicely.

So this week has been about getting the house ready, and it’s almost there.  Kristen is on the other end of things getting our current house ready for the moving truck and for sale.  I head to Indiana on Thursday – where we will celebrate Henry’s 5^th birthday on Friday.  Then, I’ll fly back with two of our kids to Arizona one week from today.  And Kristen, accompanied by Kiki, our trusted friend and truly part of our family whether she likes it or not, will drive out with the other half of our clan.

We are sad to be saying “see you later” to our wonderful New Pal friends and can’t thank you enough for giving us the love and friendship that you have and will continue to.  But we are extremely excited to be going to get the best – maybe the only real medicine – that Henry, Luke, and our whole family needs – to be home.  And to be with our family.

Dedication:  This post is dedicated to Mylee Eaton, and her tremendously brave and loving family.  Mylee’s mom and I have been friends through the horrible disease called mito.  Mylee had many symptoms similar to Henry’s; but like Henry, she would light up a room.  A few weeks ago, Mylee took a turn for the worse.  And this morning, she passed away.  She was surrounded by her family and loved ones, and am certain that she is without pain now.  Please keep Mylee, and the Eatons, in your thoughts and prayers.  And go hug those that you love.  Do it again tomorrow, and the next day too.

To volunteer or donate to Henry's Hope, go to www.henryshope.org; to purchase Three Candles, go to www.threecandlesbook.com. 

Holy Mother! I Mean Happy Mother’s Day

By Troy Foster

Mother’s Day hits this year at the perfect time.  I know it’s the same Sunday in May – but this year – the timing has been key.  You see, my wife – mother of our four – has been gone for the whole week and returns tomorrow.  And though nothing out of the ordinary happened in the Foster Family this week, it gave me (and the kids) a renewed appreciation for Kristen on this Mother’s Day!

Missed Buses, Lost Kids, Naked Nocturnal Baby (With Waterworks), Car Accidents, Naked Barbies, Lollipop Dinners, and Seatbelts/Clothes/Baths/Names Optional

Three things.  First, I said nothing out of the ordinary happened.  That doesn’t mean that this wasn’t a highly entertaining week – especially for those on the outside looking in.  Second, you must realize that I could not write this until now – the day before Kristen returns home – for fear that she might cut her trip short.  Third, despite the heading and the words that follow, I think I did a pretty good job. 

Starting on that last point, please understand that there are few things that I’m confident about.  One, however, is that I’m a decent father.  Kids are safe (mostly), loved, and love life.  So, as we started the week, I thought this was going to be a piece of cake; I’ve done it before.  Not the first time Kristen has gone out of town.  This week was different.

The Transition

Whenever Kristen leaves (whether it is to the grocery store or out of state), all of the kids want to know “when is Mommy coming home?”  They don’t listen to the answer.  Their question isn’t a question – but more of a demand.  So, that never gets old. 

Henry is the most persistent.  “But I need to cuddle with Mommy before I go to sleep.”  He starts diplomatically, “I want you both, Daddy, but need Mommy.”  And as he grows more and more tired, his raw feelings are revealed “I don’t want you; I want Mommy.”  This, I knew from the very beginning.  But as soon as his sweet explanations turn terse, I know that he will soon fall asleep.  Before he does, like clockwork, he turns to me, puts his hand on the side of my face, rubs it softly, kisses me and says “I love you.  But I still want Mommy.”

Get Out the Vote:  Day 2

I love election days.  Always have.  So, I thought I’d share my enthusiasm with the kids.  They were not interested.  In the voting booth, Luke criticized my choices – pretty loudly.  “You think he is the best person for President?  Really?  Is he the one that left his dog on the roof or that wants to build houses on the moon?  Or is he the one that doesn’t believe in evolution?  Will you still pick him over President Obama?  Are you picking him so that President Obama will win?  I thought this didn’t even matter?”  And then, “I’m hungry.”

As I hurried to get the too-young-for-civic-duty-excitement kids to the car, my way-too-big shorts fell all the way to the ground in one fell swoop.  And as I took another step, I fell down – almost landing on Henry.  Right in front of the poll workers – you know where every candidate has someone there to represent them.  Most were nice and pretend not to see, turned and smiled.  The kids, however, were less gracious.  I got their chortling butts to the car pronto, one hand tightly gripping the side of the shorts.

Who Are These Kids?:  Day 3

Literally – not just their behavior – their names.  Who are they?  It happens to all parents, but my fatigue led to me to not only forget which one was which, but had me calling our kids by their friends’ and our dogs’ names.  At one point, I gave up “Chinese daughter, please go get your sick brother’s shoes and tell me if your African brother is still awake.”  Close enough, right?   (I didn’t really say it, but was very, very close.)

Another difference is that the kids have treated me differently than they do their mom.  After I’ve said “no” five times, they usually don’t ask again.  Something changed this week.  They were relentless.  I don’t remember doing it, but I must have given in at some point – the proverbial blood in the water the kids needed to spot their victim and attack!

Head Count:  Day 4

A big day, and failure.  Actually, a success in that the kids are all still alive.

The older two had swim lessons right after school.  So, I had arranged to pick them up – along with Henry – at the school and go from there.  Easy, right?  No.

The school forgot and put Henry on the bus.  Because he was sobbing, the bus aide called me and I was able to get him off the bus; he was still sobbing when I got there.  And then I saw Luke in the hallway.  Seemed like it was getting way too easy.  So, I grabbed him.  Two out of three. 

I was feeling so good that I didn’t want to be rude and go get Lily from heading to get picked up and cut in front of the long line of parents; so, Luke, Henry, and I went to the van and got in the line.  Only to see Lily marched out front with the Principal and her teacher.  As they looked around, I got out of line – nearly hitting a suburban that didn’t see me coming.  As I pulled up, Lily had vanished.  We got out of the car to find out that they put her on the bus home.  But, seeing me, they called the bus and it had pulled over and was waiting on me.

Things were going to pot fast.  We got in the car, and the kids were loving it.  A little too much.  Then, as I was backing up, I realized that they were giggling because – not only had I forgotten to buckle Henry in (that happens) – but I had forgotten to shut his door.  So, I opened my door, jumped out, and quickly realized – too late – that the car was still in reverse.  I chased it back, jumped in the car, and slammed on the breaks – stopping the van (with kids in tow) just inches from the parked cars in the school parking lot.  In front of – everyone.  The kids cheered me on, and Luke told me that he was glad that I was exercising because I had to move fast.

We got Lily, got them changed to swimsuits and went in.  It wasn’t until we sat down that I looked up and saw that Henry had brought in a naked Barbie.  He played with her – for a little while – and then I was relegated to holding naked Barbie.

More Nakedness and Car Trouble:  Day 5

After easily going to bed, I woke up in the middle of the night to Eli’s naked butt bouncing up and down on my head.  As I became more alert, I saw our happy and chipper 2-year old boy swinging his diaper over his head as he bounced up and down.  And then I felt the wet.  He had peed all over the bed.  Nice.  Very nice.

After a not-so-restful night, I got up and was ready for round two!  I was ahead of schedule and ready to put some stuff into our van.  But it was locked, and the keys were locked inside.  Luke then told me the whole horrific sequence of events.  He took the keys, unlocked the car, our dogs went inside and pushed the lock button on the keys, and they all got out and shut the door.  Right!  Anyway, Kristen has the spare set of keys in Arizona. 

And no time to waste.  She for the last couple of days, we have been driving around in our Jeep – Wrangler.  The four kids and I fit snuggly.  It was really interesting when we had one of Luke’s friends over for the evening.  Six of us pushed it.  We’re excited to go pick Kristen up at the airport and show her how well we fit inside.  (Yes, I thought of getting another key made.  But the registration, insurance card, and other things that they want are in the van. Of course.  So, it just seemed easier to wait.  If we didn’t, there’d be a whole new entry about our adventures at the dealership – I guarantee it.)

Home Stretch

The week started somewhat regimented.  I had the kids get their clothes out the night before, homework gathered, papers signed, etc.  As I write this, I have no idea whether the boys have underwear on – and socks – please, we are all wearing sandals so it had better stay nice.  I still make them brush their teeth, but if Kristen wasn’t coming home tomorrow, I’m not sure how long that would last.

And I think that I was appreciative before, but this week has made me appreciate so much more how Kristen and I are a parenting team.  We can hardly wait to celebrate a “mother” of a week with Mother’s Day this Sunday.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you moms and moms-to-be!  Cherish your time with your kids, your parenting teammate, and with yourself!

For more inspiring stories about Henry, buy Three Candles today.  Available online via Amazon or at www.threecandlesbook.com.  Proceeds to benefit Henry’s Hope at www.henryshope.org.