As I was writing the entry below about the recent infusion, A and I looked like dualing laptops at the dining table.  We laughed as she played this game over and over and over singing and singing random songs at the top of her lungs.  Her eyes were aglaze.   “I can’t get out of this!”  You know the feeling you get when you play whatever game is your favorite and just cannot stop telling the darn machine to start another game and you say something like “ok after this one I’ll do my work.”  It’s funny to see such an intelligent and at this point motivated young woman mush out sometimes. 

She reached over and grabbed my hot cup of tea for a sip as she looked at me with loving eyes.  As her lips touched the cup, I told her it was called “smoothe move tea”.  She gave the cup back unsipped.  B tells a story about when he was in school and some kids kept stealing lunches.  So the victim brought chocolate chip cookies in with ex-lax in place of the chocolate.  I just could not let her take a sip of that tea, but it reminded me of this funny story of B’s.

I have a really hard time concentrating when there is noise.  Sometimes I want music, but if it’s too “bumpy” I just cannot wrap my brain around what I am trying to do.  Most of the time if I’m reading, working or writing, I need silence to be able to focus.  My daughter, on the other hand, has to have her phone right next to her computer which is playing music and/or videos, a video chat session going and her homework in front of her to get the job done.  Have I mentioned she’s a straight A student who, when she entered high school struck a deal with us by saying “If you don’t ask me about my homework, I’ll get it done.” ?  So it’s now been about 50 minutes since B and E left for their activity, and the singing has NOT stopped.  In fact she has ended video chat with a friend because she just wants to keep on singing and doesn’t want anyone to see her like this…except me, of course.  Before B left I kept looking at him and he knew exactly what was going on for me.  This is what choosing my battles is about.  I could wreck this experience by being cranky about not being able to concentrate, but I’m having too much fun to do that. 

For A to say “are you writing about me and my singing?” and to suggest that an entry get devoted exclusively to her, is remarkable.  She does not like to talk about breast cancer, and usually does not want me to talk about her to others.  At the same time, she is sympathetic most of the time, sensitive to my needs and tolerant of, though not always liking, what is going on. She helps me see when I am being irrational or too sensitive about things.  She is a good mirror for me. 

How strange it must be for teenagers to deal with their mom’s breast cancer.  At a time when their own  bodies are weirding out and doing amazing and beautiful things, their mom’s body is being ravaged by something out of her control.  Their parents are dealing with a very real and intimate bunch of complex issues.  Dad may be scared or at least feeling powerless.  Every day they are reminded.  For months and months treatment is in the middle of the room.  Mom’s body looks and feels different.  They are cheerleaders as Mom’s hair grows back.  They are unconditional in their loving acceptance of this person who doesn’t look anything like she used to, and who is not able to keep up the way she could last winter.  I do not know how families deal with a dad’s breast cancer.  I’m sure it has its own story.

If there are things to be grateful for in this pile of dung, one would be that A is 15 and not 5.  She has a life, she has interests, she has some maturity, and she is incredibly independent and creative.  Oh, I’m sure if she was 5 there would be gratitude as well.  I am just so glad she was the little spirit in line next when B and I, well, you know.  I’m so glad she was born into our family.