Parent Training

Being a grown up is completely overrated. Once upon a time, my life was my own. I pretty much spent my time thinking, doing and being whatever I wanted. Then I became a grown-up, and by that I mean homeowner, tax payer, wife and mother.

As an eight year old, all I wanted was to decide for myself when I would go to bed. I hated nothing more than hearing my friends outside playing on those long, summer nights while my mother enforced our rigid eight o'clock bedtime. Currently, I am thinking about upping the kids' bed time to 7:30 because by 7:00 I need a nap. By 9:00, I have fallen asleep on the couch. Around 11:30 my husband usually tells me to go to bed. This always makes me mad. Doesn't he know I am a grown-up. I will decide when my bedtime is.

As an eighteen year old I realized just how much the government was taking from my paychecks. Taxes have been lame ever since.

By the age of 28, I thought I had done my share of dating and living on my own. I was ready to be a wife and mother. I started with wife hood. At first, it was weird making life decisions with someone else's input. Then I became a mother. My kids dictate everything now. Don't be fooled parents are not in charge. 2 and 3 year olds are in charge. They decide when we eat, sleep and even go to the bathroom.

Speaking of bathrooms, currently we are in the midst of potty training. I fully believe it should be called parent training. In the past week, I have learned to drop anything and everything when Rex indicates, either verbally or with his 'I gotta go' dance, that he needs to use the bathroom. I have decided that often times he fakes like he has to go just for entertainment sake. He likes seeing what he can get me to stop doing at a moments notice, including using the bathroom myself.

In addition to helping him up on the potty forty to fifty times a day, he has trained me not to yell about wet spots on the carpet or poopy SpongeBob underwear. This is parent training at its finest.

Originally, my plan was to send Rex to the first grade still wearing a diaper. I figured he would come home one day completely embarrassed, and tell me that all the other kids were wearing under-roos and he was ready to join them. I would tell him to quit wetting his pants and the whole process would take about five minutes. This plan is no joke and I had every intention of following it. Then my mother intervened.

We were talking on the phone early one morning when Rex walked in carrying a clean diaper. He informed me that he was stinky and needed his diaper changed. My mother could not believe what she was hearing and insisted that he was ready to be potty trained. He might have been ready, but I was not. I figured my mom lived three hours away, and couldn't force me to do anything. The next day she showed up at my house with a box of pull-ups and about twenty pairs of Elmo and Buzz Light Year underwear.

Rex was as excited as I was about this potty business. He was furious about not having a diaper. We put his little underwear on and he ran around the house screaming at the top of his lungs. in the meantime, Olive came wandering in with a pair of his underwear pulled on over the top of her diaper. As my mom and I debated whether I should train both of the kids at the same time, Rex came running in completely naked and carrying a diaper. I asked him where his underwear were but he refused to talk. A search around the entire house, and I could not find his underwear anywhere.

By seven that night, both Rex and I were exhausted from a day of crying our eyes out and wetting our pants. Olive was still wearing Rex's underwear, which only made Rex even more upset every time he saw her. That night as I got the kids ready for bed, we both gave a sigh of relief when I strapped his diaper on under his pajamas. As I tucked Rex into bed, I found his missing underwear. They were wadded up and shoved under his blankets at the foot of his bed.

In a little over a week, Rex has gotten very good at using the potty. I have decided that maybe Olive can be potty trained before the first grade as well. With my change in attitude and Rex's potty time achievements, I would even go as far as to say that the potty/parent training has been a success.

The HUGE Miracle Only 2mm Big

If the collar looks like it is on wrong...it's because it is. Her Dad was in charge of getting her ready for bed.


Even Olive knows her dad has screwed up.


For those of you keeping track, the calendar has rolled over four times since Olive's last trip down to Primary Children Medical Center. Every 3-4 months, Olive's brain stem and spinal cord are scanned to monitor and measure the growth and stability of her tumor. Each time Richard and I head down to SLC, I am overcome with dread. Never, have we left with great news. All but once, has the scan showed that Olive was in need of immediate tumor removal surgery. This past October, we received the best news of the entire year, when they told us that chemo had stabilized her tumor and it had not grown. That had been the best news until now....

This past Thursday, as I was sitting in the very same chair in the very same waiting room where I first heard of the news of my baby's tumor, I felt has if I had spent a lifetime in that chair. Yet I felt as unprepared for whatever news they were going to give me has I had over a year and a half ago.

The Doctor called my name. I couldn't get up. the doctor came over and told me he needed to discuss the results of the scan with me. I held my breath. He asked my if I had a followup appointment with our neurosurgeon and my heart stopped. Then he said, "It appears that the tumor is shrinking." For a moment the world stopped spinning and time stood still. This was news we had been told we might never receive.

I had drawn the attention of all the other waiting parents in the room. All eyes were on me watching this miracle unfold there in that same terrible waiting room where this whole thing had started. The same type of parents who some 18 months ago looked away as they heard the news of my baby's tumor at the same time I did. The parents who last time were secretly glad that the news was mine and not theirs. The parents who wanted to comfort me, but didn't know how, or knew that there was no comfort they could offer. This time the parents all came to hug and congratulate me. To join in the celebration I was having. Everyone knew this was a miracle.

When we meet with Dr. Brockmeyer he too was stunned by the results. Olive's tumor which at one time was over several inches long had been reduced to 8mm through the course of surgery. Although relatively tiny, this group of small cells still posed a huge risk. They have the potential to rapidly divide and grow if not destroyed. Her scan shows that since October, her tumor has shrunk by 2mm. Only about 1/12 of an inch, but it is smaller. We are headed the right direction if only 2mm at a time. Inch by 1/12 of an inch Olive is going to kick cancer's butt.

Other good news included a hearing test that came back normal. Worried that her chemo drugs could be causing hearing loss, Olive's hearing has to be monitored as well. Things sound great. In addition, her collar is doing a great job at keeping her spinal cord well aligned. With missing vertebrate, the weight of Olive's head could cause curvature of her neck and spine. All looks good.

God is answering our prayers. Thank you for your constant faith. Even when my faith might waver,and I am too tired to pray. I know that God is still listening to all of your prayers, and I am strengthened to know that.

On a side note my Mom and I decided to fly out to Colorado with my kids and visit my sister. We are spending a week in Pueblo and having a great time. The kids love cousin Ruby and have had fun having sleepovers every night for a week. Getting back to real life will be a bummer. For now I say, "Let them eat cake."

Wait...Did You Smell That?

As a teenager, I hated babysitting. I really did. I didn't do a whole lot of it, and when I did, frankly, it just wasn't worth the money. I was the fourth of five children, and my little sister is just two years younger than I am. As a result, I came into motherhood with very limited experience around children. To compensate for my lack of exposure to wee ones, I became addicted to parenting books. I read all the advice these books had to offer. I took most of it to heart, and put some of it into practice. However, no where in all the books and magazines I have read, did anyone ever make mention of, or give warning to all the smells of motherhood.

A few days ago, I found myself watching an episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe. For those of you who don't know, this show follows the host, Mike, around the country filming him doing various filthy and stinky jobs. At the end of the episode Mike than makes a pitch to the viewing audience to send in suggestions for future episodes. As a mother of two small toddlers, I wondered... how has Mike never done an episode on childcare? This has to be one of the dirtiest, stinkiest jobs on the planet.

There is no need to even discuss the obvious sources of foul odors that little children can produce. It is the unexpected sources of stink that each new parent quickly discovers. One of the worst offenders: neglected and lost bottles or sippy cups of milk. Egads, the thought alone makes me shiver. The smell of curdled milk is unmistakable. Once you have been exposed, you instantly know the scent once it hits your nostrils. The other day I detected a faint odor of bad milk in my house. I knew I had to find the offending cup before the situation became worse. I crawled around my entire house on my hands and knees looking for the wayward bottle. I looked under beds, in the couch cushions, in all the toy boxes. I searched under chairs and tables, I threw back the cover of each child's bed. Despite all my efforts I could not find the milk.

The smell grew stronger and seemed to come form the area of the kitchen/living room. I searched again and still no luck. I asked Rex and Olive where they had put their cups. Rex looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said the fridge. I can tell you this much. This milk was not in the fridge. The smell grew slightly worse. By day five, I could no longer smell the milk. Once out of sight (or smell) it quickly became forgotten.

Yesterday, I decided to clean up my kitchen and the kids play area in our dining room. Over in the corner is the kids play food, grocery cart and kitchen set. On a whim, I decided to open all the doors and cupboards of their little kitchen. I opened the door to the little fridge and inside was a stray sippy cup. Right where Rex had told me it was. When I picked up the cup it actually felt heavy. I gave it a little shake and it was completely solid. Curious to the contents, I decided to look inside. The lid wouldn't even budge. The rotten, molded milk had cemented the cap onto the cup. I hesitated to try a little harder. Maybe a new form of cancer curing penicillin lay inside the cup. As I was debating, Olive wondered by and from her wafted an all to familiar and offending smell. The cure for cancer would have to wait. My kid's diaper was working over time and this was one smell that doesn't get better with time. As for Dirty Jobs; Mike Rowe, I challenge you to the dirtiest of all jobs...parenthood. You are welcome here anytime.

09-09-09

An ultrasond showing a teeny, tiny, gummy-bear sized baby.


Look! I have a bun in the oven.


After three pregnancy tests, I was convinced that I might be pregnant.

Rex and Olive dress up and dance for joy.

With each test I take, the big, blue, plus sign seems more and more undeniable. It has been confirmed. For me, kissing can result in pregnancy. According to the ultrasound, our new bundle of joy is due to arrive on 09-09-09. This pregnancy occurred in record time. 12 days after deciding to start trying for another kid, we were pregnant. For the record, we didn't even find time for each other more than a couple times. So, it is almost unbelievable. I almost feel cheated. We didn't get to try for very long. With Rex, we were pregnant in 17 days, and with Olive, I was on birth control when I got pregnant. Richard and I don't even dare wash our underwear together unless we are sure we are ready for more kids. I guess we are ready. If the baby is a boy, chances are his name will be Ike Earl Ashcraft. If it is a girl, I love the name Lola, and Richard likes Tess, so her name will probably be Ivy Camille Ashcraft.

As for Olive,her white blood counts have been horribly low all month and her bone marrow is struggling to recover. She was scheduled for chemo last Friday, but her counts were short by 520. Yesterday, my birthday plans included a day with my daughter at the cancer clinic. We arrived shortly after 8:30, by 10:15 we were home again. Olive's white blood counts are 60 cells too low. We are hoping she will be eligible by Wednesday. What does all this delay mean? Medically, I am not sure. Olive will probably have to start receiving daily injections to stimulate her bone marrow. For me, it means we won't be done with chemo until after the new baby arrives. Not ideal, but what can you do.

As for Rex, he doesn't want a baby brother, or a new girl baby. I hate to break it to him, but there is no turning back now, boy or girl, a new baby is coming.

32 and counting

32 years ago, I showed up at my own birthday party completely naked. My life hasn't been the same since.

The Anniversary that Almost Was.

Once upon a time I was single, so was Richard. We have been together awhile now, so sometimes I have to remind myself that once upon a time there was no "we", just a "me". Once we finally decided we liked each other, we had our first date around the beginning of April. On May 5th, I went to LA to meet his family. By June 2nd we were engaged. Then we got off the fast track, and stayed engaged for seven months. Seven months in normal life is really not that long. However, for two Mormon kids trying to get themselves married in the temple, it might as well have been seven years. December 21st, a Thursday, my favorite day of the week. My sister and I had plans to get married on the same day. Somewhere along the way she dumped her fiancee, I kept mine. The winter wedding was beautiful. Now four years, 2 kids, one house, two apartments, several credit cards, three cars and a couple of dogs later we decide to celebrate the day of our blessed union...the anniversary.

Now let me start by saying, I hate winter. Right down to my very core. I struggle to find any redeeming value in the months of December through February. Thank heavens for Christmas or I would put myself into an induced three month coma every year. It is interesting to note, that in the months of the calendar that I hate the most, I celebrate Christmas, my anniversary and my birthday. Boo. I promise to never bring a baby into the world during the cold, gray of winter. Babies should be greeted by springtime and sunshine. Anyway, I digress. Knowing what I know now, I would have made Richard wait another 7 months and gotten married in July. We didn't wait. So each year, on the shortest day of the year, or as Richard likes to remind me, the longest night of the year, we celebrate the day we married.

Trying to be a good sport, I planned a wonderful, snow filled getaway to Sun Valley for just the two of us. Our plans included a day of tubing down a snowy hill, followed by a horse drawn sleigh ride to a cabin in the woods where we would have dinner. It was the perfectly planned winter wonderland anniversary, and the forecast predicted a ton of snow that day. My parents took my kids, and Richard and I made our way to Sun Valley. The following morning, We bundled up in all our snow gear and headed over to the mountain to rent our tubes and towing tickets. Upon arrival, we were told that they hadn't received enough snow yet. Only the ski hills, where they were pumping out homemade snow, were open. Richard looked at me with pleading eyes. But I held firm. There is no way I will ever go skiing. I have been before, and I would rather wax off my eyebrows then go again. With our plans for the afternoon foiled, I told Richard that we could still look forward to our evening plans. We wandered in and out of the shops all afternoon wearing our snow pants and mittens as we browsed the overpriced merchandise that makes Sun Valley the place that it is. At three thirty that afternoon, I received the phone call. Our sleigh ride had been canceled, due to lack of snow. We immediately went back to the hotel and checked out before being charged for another night.

That night, as we ate dinner in Pocatello with my parents and kids, we kissed over a piece of pizza and wished each other a happy anniversary. The next day it took Richard over 6 and 1/2 hours to make the normally three hour drive form Pocatello to Boise. The reason for all the delay. The weather forecast from two days earlier. That night there was so much snowfall that most of the highways were shut down. I hate winter. Happy Anniversary Richard. I love you.

Its Official

It's official, I am the world's worst blogger. I just read my last post where I vowed to write something completely uncancer related within 24 hours. At last count, that was over two weeks ago. It is the same reason I have never been a good journal keeper. When the going gets good, and somewhat interesting...I find myself to busy to want to stop and write it all down. Here are my feeble attempts to catch up, and give myself some peace of mind.

Peace of mind. It is at the top of my current list. It is written in black ink and is immediately followed by the word blog. I always have a list. I love everything about them. I make new ones everyday, and can often be found carrying around up to three or four lists at a time. Grocery lists, things to tell my mom lists, Christmas lists, books to read lists, and of course, the beloved To Do lists. They are my favorite. I love the satisfaction of being able to cross tasks off one by one as I complete them. I have even been known to go back to my list and write in a job I have just finished. One that wasn't even on the list, just so I can cross it off.

So currently, it is 4:15 am and I can't sleep. the ugly side to lists, is that they can haunt you. Things left uncrossed off the list loom large in the middle of the night as you think about the stuff you still need to do. 'Write on my Blog' has now been moved to its seventh, and for now final list. I am going to cross off peace of mind as well, and hopefully I can get to sleep. In the meantime, I have a new list: Christmas, my anniversary, Amy Barlow, Brandon, the ice skating rink, surprise gift baskets. Yes, it's the things I plan to blog about list. And the lists go on.

P.S. as an interesting side note. I took typing in the seventh grade, at Franklin Jr. High on a manual typewriter. Sitting nest to me the whole semester was one of the largest crushes of my lifetime, Mario Cunningham. As a result, my typing suffered greatly. I am the world's worst typer. Before spell check, this blog entry had 25 misspelled words. That is pathetic, especially because I was looking at my hands the whole time. Dear Mrs. Lusk, my typing teacher, if you are out there, I am sorry.