There is no such thing as a routine mammogram when your sister had breast cancer

Ten years ago this month, my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer.

We had no family history. She did not have a lump. And they only found it because she is ridiculously, brilliantly diligent: she never skips an annual exam of anything, and when they told her she should have annual mammograms and ultrasounds "just to be safe" due to the density of her breasts, she did so. The mammogram didn't catch it, but the ultrasound did. It was small and stage 1. The type of cancer she had was the most aggressive kind, and it is very possible that if she had skipped a year...because ya' know, we don't really have that in our family...she may not be around right now.

Yes. Happy ending. 

She's happy and healthy and all is well.

I won't say she "beat" cancer, because I've always felt that to say that about those who survived is to imply that those who didn't, didn't fight hard enough. Cancer is a bitch. And sometimes, no matter what you do or what you believe or how much of a great attitude you have, cancer wins. 

So, yes, we are some of the lucky ones.

That's not to say she didn't fight. She fought like a bad ass. She not only listened to her doctors' recommendations, she challenged them, went beyond them, did what was right for her, and did it all with a sense of humor. (After each of her multiple surgeries, she would swing her drains around like a pin up girl with a feather boa and drawl: "Look, Lizy, aren't I sexy?").

At the time, I don't think I processed it all too much. Some of it might have been self-preservation (read: denial). Some of it might have been that I was in the throes of raising two little boys. I look back and often wonder: "Good God, how did we all make it through that? How did she make it through all that?" We all know--or can imagine--how hard the war with cancer is, but the details...the everyday, the private horrors...It is amazing how we, as humans, can put our "big girl pants" on and do what's gotta be done.

My sister has some physical scars from her duel with the big C, but I'm pretty sure all of us have some emotional ones. She says her cancer changed her life. She's proud and relieved to say that she's "one of those" who feels she is better off because of it. I suspect we all are. I don't think any of us take much for granted (most days), but every May when I walk into that dark room in my paper robe, I have to remind myself to breathe. I never, ever miss my annual appointment. I don't even allow it to run "a little late." I feel like that's one small way I can pay homage to my beautiful, brave sister. 

So, ladies. Don't miss that appointment. Don't skip it. Don't put it off. Because you're probably fine. But you owe it to yourself and all those who have fought the fight to put on that damn paper gown, walk into that room, and breathe.

***********************************************************************************

In honor of breast cancer awareness month and my sister, here are a couple of posts I wrote back then. 

My Sister Has Breast Cancer (or Time to Put on Your Big Girl Pants)- I wrote this one while sitting in the waiting room when she was having her double mastectomy on November 3, 2012

My Sister HAD Breast Cancer (or: Time to Pop Open the Sangria) - I wrote this one after celebrating her last clean scan on February 3, 2016.

The Last Stop: Destin, FL

Our last stop on the road trip was Destin Beach, Florida where it was just playing on the beach all day, every day. There were no giant bounce pillows or organized campground activities or a pool with slides or other kids to run around with (a la OBX), so instead there was a lot of family time and a lot of "Whattaya wanna play now?" Here is evidence (and my favorite shot!) of some of the silliness that ensued during our free time: 

"Look at what we can do with our hair, Mommy!"

The first time we camped in Henderson Beach, Destin was in 2012 during that first "long"short trip. I had been completely amazed by it: no mosquitoes, a gorgeous campsite that was super clean and private and spacious, a beach with water so clear and sand so white that it looked straight out of a postcard. I referred to it as the "Marriott of Campgrounds."

And we loved it this time, too, for the same reasons. Not to mention that we were exhausted from the last few weeks and all the activities, so a few days of consecutive "just beach" days were very appealing. However, believe it or not, we chose to leave a couple of days earlier than planned. We had all been missing home (even when you're "glamping" in your own RV, some comforts and joys of home can't be matched), and...brace yourselves...here's a sentence I never thought I'd say...ready...? 

I just could not face one more day of hot sun and alcohol. 

I know.

But it's true. 

By this point of the trip, Hubby and I were getting to the point where we were actually craving acai bowls, water, and vegetables. (You know life's good when you almost have too much vacation time.)

Plus, I think after so many years of traveling and camping, I've come to realize that although I'm happiest on any beach, some beaches make me happier than others. The bliss and connection I felt in Hatteras in Outer Banks was missing. If OBX was all Roxy and Quicksilver, Destin is all Lily Pulitzer and LL Bean. Nice...but not our thing. 

We spent the days walking on the beach, slathering on layers and layers of SPF, playing in the sand, body surfing, being silly, going crabbing, playing family ladder toss tournaments, stand up paddle boarding, boogie boarding, drinking, and eating. 

That's Kai's head sticking up out of the sand...LOL

Poor Hubby...we called him the Family Mule the whole trip.
Here he is carrying my SUP the nearly half a mile walk from the beach back to our campsite!

Waiting for our table at the local restaurant...a wait time of an hour did not seem that long when I had beer and beach!

Night time crabbing

It feels like forever-ago that we took that first summer road trip in our first RV. That had felt like such a daring adventure. And now here we are, all these years later...the boys are so much bigger, the trips are so much longer, and the adventures are so much more daring. We are already planning our next summer road trip...this time to the national parks and the Grand Canyon. As much as I joked above about having too much vacation time, don't get me wrong: Hubby and I do not take these days for granted. We're lucky; we know. We've worked at this life, though. We've made changes and sacrifices and every day we work at setting up our lives so we can go on these trips, have these experiences. It is our hope that these days help bond the boys to each other (and to us) even more...that they look back on their childhoods and remember these days...and even more importantly, that those memories help shape them into men who value family, each other, nature, and adventures, because after all..."Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."

Then...

...and now

Bringing the Aloha home

I lived on the North Shore of Oahu for a month.

It was a little old house with peeling paint and musty-smelling cabinets, but it was clean and kinda charming and right on the sand. Every night, I fell asleep to the sounds of the ocean through the open windows.  Occasionally, if I got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, I'd see it right outside the living room. Even in the dark, I could see the reflection of the waves slowly rolling over the shallow reef that sheltered the house's shore line.

The house sat on a quiet little street--Crozier Street--a one lane road with 15 mph speed limit signs and homes that ranged from 1940's shacks originally owned by the sugar mill workers to mini-mansions that had obviously been built in the last decade.  Plumeria trees were everywhere---their blossoms mostly white, but some perfect shades of  yellows, oranges, and pinks, like mini replicas of the sunsets behind the house. Every morning, right before dawn, a million birds would chirp and sing and make quite a fuss in the giant tree outside the bedroom.

I had a stand up paddle board--a big, ugly, blue one that sat in "my" backyard and weighed a ton and I took out almost every morning.  The house's name, Hale Honu, means Turtle House, and everyday dozens of sea turtles would swim along our shoreline. Sometimes the curious, less timid ones would turn towards my board, peeking their heads out for a breath, the noise reminding me of the sudden gaspy breaths my boys would make as babies when coming up for air during their dreaded swimming lessons. 

My boys...they played on the grassy lawn, on the sand: They built forts out of beach chairs, towels, clothespins and driftwood sticks. They dug deep holes in the sand "because it's just fun, Mommy." They chased crabs and green geckos and snorkeled with turtles and fish. They ran down the beach and found the sandiest shore entry and flipped over and over in neon blue and green inner tubes. I never worried about them.

When we went into town (Haleiwa), we ate surfer breakfast burritos with the locals. We spent 10 hours in a tattoo parlor with a pothead surfer with PTSD  who never failed to smile and had more character than most people we've met. 

We decided that poke is our new favorite food and who the hell would have thought that a SPAM sushi roll would be so good?!?

We never once saw local kids side by side, heads down, fiddling with their phones. Instead, they were always playing--surfing, jumping off cliffs and bridges into the ocean, using fast food trays for body surfing (yes, for real), skating, eating, laughing, shouting, "talking story." 

On the North Shore, the beautiful women are strong and athletic with messy hair and chapstick. Everyone is a bit weathered--by the sun, the salt water, the pounding waves. 

You could see it and feel it--the local Hawaiians--they are proud and possessive of their culture and their island. Their priorities are simple: ohana (family) and nature.

It is a simpler way of living. 

And we loved it.

I was shocked--and incredibly relieved--to realize about two-thirds of the way through the trip that I actually wanted to come back home.

After three previous visits to Hawaii, and dreaming about and planning this trip for almost a decade, I had been pretty sure I was going to be bitter about returning to Florida. I was sure I'd come home begrudgingly, fantasizing about when and how we'd be able to finally move to Hawaii.

But I'm not.

In fact, I feel that although I'm sure I'm not "done" with Hawaii, it is not where I want to live.

For now, anyways.

'Cause here's the thing, I think, that I have figured out:

The key to a happy life is traveling...adventure...seeing new places, but creating a home life that is so joyous that you always want to return to it. 

During this trip, I realized that blaming or crediting where I live for my children's interests or our family's values is a cop out.

It falls on me.

It's up to me to bring home from this trip what I believe in.

It's up to me to raise my kids to value Ohana and Mother Nature and a slower, simpler existence. 

I already have the ocean, and the palm trees, and the flip-flop lifestyle.

I have to make the effort every day.

I can bring home what I love the most about Hawaii.

Our family...we can make our own culture (and hopefully, that poke dish, too). 

I spent a month living on the North Shore of Oahu, and I will never be the same.

*****

Pictures can never do this beautiful place justice, but here are a few highlights of the magical month we spent in Hawaii:

"Our" little house on the beach

The view from the backyard when you looked west

My daily morning coffee....I have never been so good about getting up in the morning

The boys snorkeling in "our backyard" with the Honu

Calling this house "Turtle House" is not an exaggeration!

Poke: our new favorite food in the whole world

We were lucky enough to meet 3 Pearl Harbor survivors and one witness when we visited.

This vet showed us how he could still make his hula girl tattoo dance on his forearm.

One of my favorite hikes: 5 miles along the coast to Kaena Point.
And right along the midway point?
"Hidden Beach"...all to ourselves! Those three teeny figures? That's us!

This is a happy man right here...

Hawaiian beer...locally grown papaya and pineapple...and a fresh plumeria lei.
This is a happy girl...

The size of this waterfall could not be captured on film...totally worth the hike it took to get there!

We took a dip in many (freezing) waterfall pools...

With views and dips like this, it was easy to stay motivated on hikes...

For some reason, we ended up jumping a lot on this trip...
That's little Kai doing his cannonball in a waterfall pool along a hike on the Hana Highway.

We did the back road of the famous Hana Highway...it is hard to capture the adventure in a picture.
As if we needed a sign to "caution" us to "drive slow."
Those are clouds. Along the road. The road that turns. The road that is lined with small rocks that supposedly prevent you from falling straight down the mountain. And the road...well, it's barely a road at all. It's more like dirt. With some asphalt thrown in in patches. I was sure if we didn't fall off the cliff, the rental car would fall apart from the vibrations. 

The vastness and solitude of the views were worth the white-knuckling drive.

Ziplining...the last line was over 1200 feet long and got speeds of up to 40+ mph!
(I was the only one who screamed on that one.)

More jumping: one of Hubby's notorious back flips off the famous Waimea Bay big rock...
waaaaay higher from up top then it looked from down there.

Ben's dive (that was perfect until right at the end...landed on his back, poor thing)

One of the many sunset-like plumerias that inspired my new ink.
My tattoo only took about 2 of the 10 hours spent here.
Hubby's Polynesian quarter sleeve took the other 8 (split into two different days).

SUPing by Rainbow Bridge (built in 1921) in Haleiwa

SUPing behind the house...I called it the Mommy Snorkeling Tour:
 one kid hanging on to the leash in the back while the other looked for turtles and
manta rays from the top.

We took a quick trip mid-month to Maui for a few days.

The one typical touristy thing we could not pass up: a luau.

Black Sand Beach on Maui

Sunsets in the backyard were almost always perfection.

One of my favorite things: watching the boys playing, digging,
building "forts" in the sand at sunset.

Hiking bamboo forests

Told ya...we jumped. A lot.
...off of the historic Haleiwa bridge...

...and "the groin" in Waikiki with the local kids.

Haleakala in Maui...the highest (and ridiculously coldest) point. We watched the sunset OVER the clouds up there. Pictures can not do it justice.

My whole world...on top of the world

Mommy Blog Turned (Temporarily) Into Travel Blog

So I started this blog in an attempt to contain the chaos and panic of new motherhood. After I (sorta) got a handle on that, this blog morphed into a mishmash of my own musings about everything from Sex and the City to writing to the dilemma that can be bangs. The kids, however, always made a regular appearance, of course. Now, for a little while, it's going to be a bit of a Travel Blog.

We are nearly packed up and ready to go away for a major portion of our summer: 6 weeks, maybe even more, if we aren't sick of each other by then.

The Four of Us.

Just us for 42 days in our 31 foot long Class C motorhome (Honu, as we affectionately call it). We will be traveling up the East Coast into Canada...our longest and farthest trip yet.

And, to be quite honest, I am incredibly amazed by the number of people who have asked me (one of them actually begged, and she isn't even a relative!) to post updates as we go. So I'm going to use this as a sort of travel journal (wi-fi permitting).

We have been planning this trip for exactly a year, and adventures like this are one of the many reasons we made our Big Move last year. Now, we are nearly completely packed, the house sitters are set up, and anything and everything that turns on, runs, or moves in the RV has been lubed, serviced, and tuned up.

Here's the itinerary:
~Savannah, Georgia
~Outer Banks, North Carolina
~Washington DC
~New York City
~Cape Cod, Massachusetts
~Portland, Bar Harbor, & Acadia, Maine
~Mt. Washington, New Hampshire
~Niagara Falls, Canada`
~Charlottsville, Virginia
~Charlotte, North Carolina

We are so ready...

Their reaction last year when we surprised them with the purchase of our "5th family member."

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all."

~Helen Keller

Open Houses Suck

As soon as he left to take down the Open House signs, I went into my bathroom, opened the cabinet under the sink, and took out the toothbrush holder that had been hiding under there. I went around our 4/2, 2-car garage, corner-lot-with-pool home and blew out all the candles that had been lit earlier in the day in an attempt to make the house look more Zen and appealing. I didn't really blow. I huffed and puffed violently with great indignation. Everything that we had put away when we "staged" the Open House came back out: the toys, the books, my contact lens solution.

I hate Open Houses.

I hate and resent that I have to pretend I don't really live in my home, have toys and books and bags scattered around, where we live, where we spend our time, where my children are growing up, and my husband and I are fighting growing old.

I have done these before: these Saturdays and Sundays with the curtains all opened and the ceiling fans whirring and the candles lit. Where everything is "just so" and you pretend you live in this house like this, make it seem that it can be someone else's, but hide everything that actually makes it look lived in, real.

We want to downsize. We want to sell this great big dream house we bought and gutted and made to exactly our specifications. We want something smaller. Simpler. A few years ago when we took every penny we had (and several more that we didn't), nothing but granite counters would do. Now, when we go house shopping all we care about is a big back yard with space for a pool and storage for a new RV. Formica counter tops? No problem. No garage? We'll buy a storage shed. I am well aware that, most likely, I will give up my walk in closet with the tiny chandelier and wall of shoes. (If you are anywhere near a size 6 1/2, you might want to be real nice to me over the coming weeks.)

We want less house and more life.

Our children do not need an entire room filled with toys (what we call a playroom is really just an excuse for excess).
My husband does not need 5 bikes, 10-year-old racing trophies, and rappelling gear he's used twice.
I do not need 7 giant boxes of Christmas tree collectible ornaments.

What we all do need, however, is money for college and retirement.
A newer RV that does not require prayer each time we turn on the generator.
The ability to plan a trip and go on it without having to constantly swat away that nagging sense of guilt.

So we are taking a leap of faith. We are selling a too-big house we love and seeing where we end up. We are gambling on the research we've done (okay, really, Hubby has done and I have sat by him on the sofa and blogged and occasionally nodded and agreed whenever he'd show me something that served as further evidence) that we will be able to end up somewhere cheaper and smaller and possibly closer to the beach (Bonus! Bonus!), with a yard big enough to have what we have here.

Every time someone loves the house, I am hopeful they will make an offer. We will be able to jump in the pool (the metaphorical one, this time) without this prolonged waiting and worrying that we are making the right decision. Let's go already! Let's sell! Let's get out of here! Let's live with my parents for a while until we get our bearings. No more time to debate.

Push me in the fucking pool already.

So I will continue to hide my pictures and my toothbrush. But each time, I will resent it. I will be pissed off at the people who come in and smile politely and nod. I will resist the urge to yell at them: "Don't you see? Don't you see how great this house is? Don't you see how much soul and heart it has in addition to the goddamned square footage?"

And then, I remember...oh yeah, it's not the house that has the soul and heart. It's the four of us. And we plan on packing that shit up and taking it with us...wherever we go.

A "Quiet" Sunday Morning

The sunlight creeps into the bedroom and I panic momentarily: did we oversleep?

But then, no, I realize, it's Sunday.

Not a workday.

Deep sigh of relief and contentment.

I settle back into sleep.

A while later, I hear the whispers that are happening clear across the house (still love the baby monitor even though there are no babies here): little brother is asking big brother if he is awake.

He is. now.

More muffled whispers about playing and breakfast and sleep and TV.

I stumble out of bed, turn the monitor down, get back under the covers, and once again, settle back into sleep.

Eventually, I am awakened again by plastic cereal bowls being placed on counter tops way too loudly....package rustling sounds followed by clinking into the plastic bowls.

They have found the Froot Loops.

The frig is opened and slammed. The silverware drawer is open and shut (loudly).

More "whispers."

I see the clock and realize the yoga class I had half-planned on taking has already started. Slight guilt and regret threaten, but they are quickly shushed with the reminder that lazy mornings rarely happen in this house. I suspect that such a morning probably has more Om value than the actual class.

I finally come out of hiding and turn on the coffee maker.

I am greeted by two moppy-headed boys in superhero underwear.

They have lost interest in the colorful circles of sugar and have moved onto guitars, of course, because it's Sunday morning.

I start to discourage, to warn them that Daddy is still in bed, the covers halfway covering his body, the pillow completely over his head. But then the littlest one actually starts to serenade me: "You are my sunshine" and "Twinkle Twinkle Star."

He wins, and instead, I send him into the bedroom to sing and play for Daddy.

Now the big one thinks it's the perfect time for a pirate sword. He jumps into our bed, straddling Daddy, sword in hand.

And this is it when you have boys: a blond little one wearing glasses and shrieking lullabies with a guitar, a brown-haired not-so-little one with round eyes threatening with foam swords.

Good morning.