Thank God.

Cassidy pulled through surgery beautifully. The tumor is non-cancerous and she won't need chemo or radiation. Sounds like she'll have quite a bit of physical therapy for a little while, but she's out of ICU and is doing great. We're so thankful that what could have been horribly traumatic to her, her family, and those who care about her, has ended up being the best outcome of such a scary diagnosis.

Many are now saying, "Thank God." Well, yes, it's just an expression to some, but to many of them, that's how they feel. I don't understand it. It really bothers me actually. Y'all know I'm not sure where I fall on the whole God thing, but I do refuse to believe that there is a God that CHOOSES who suffers and who doesn't. I don't believe that our role in prayer is to ask for things, and I don't believe that God responds to some prayers to end/prevent suffering and ignores millions of others. I don't believe there's a God that would intervene in the life of one child and leave others tortured by abuse, starvation, neglect, and fear. I don't believe that he blesses some and condemns others to a life of struggling, suffering, or death. What I do believe is that the love that surrounds a person fortifies them. I believe that for whatever cause, Cassidy's body produced a tumor, that a skilled surgeon removed it, that trained PTs and her hard work will help her body improve, and that the love she feels from her family and friends will give her strength to get through the bad parts and revel in the good.

I believe that we are not puppets, that we have free will, and that we must play with the hand we're dealt in the best way we know how. Some times, that means leaning on others for support, sometimes that means using our own power.

And of course I sighed, "Thank god," when I heard that the tumor wasn't malignant. But what I'm thinking now is, "Go get 'em Cass."

There are no words.

A good friend of mine took her 3-year-old daughter, Cassidy, to the hospital yesterday because her pediatrician was concerned that Cassidy had meningitis. The CT scan reveiled a peach-size brain tumor that has probably been growing for years. I can only imagine the fear and sadness of such a diagnosis. The pain of its grip as it squeezes you tighter and tighter with the realization of what's to come. It changes your life forever; it changes who you are.

Cassidy is an angelic looking little girl—pale skin, long wavy blond hair, and sparkling eyes. She's bright and funny, articulate and caring. She and her sister, Sterling, spent much of their summer at our house with Hawthorne and Ainsley. They all developed a sibling-like relationship. You know, comfortable with screaming at each other and then walking to the other room to all play a game of princess. I have an attachment to her that makes me want to protect her from the IVs, tests, surgery, and recovery that she faces. And I don't even want to think about the treatments she may face beyond that. She is both strong and fragile. Independent but in need of rescuing.

We all fear for our children from the moment we know of their conception. We fear the fragility of life. We worry about the fragility of identity. We are relieved when they are born without major complications. Thankful when they have made it through the SIDS window and stayed on track in their growth. We are reassured when they make friends at school and keep up with the lessons. But we don't know what the next day will bring any of us. And for that, there are no words.

Still no howls.

Gumbo is doing well. I've taken him for two walks today, which I think he is unfortunately paying the price for right now. He wants to go, go, go, but his body just isn't ready for all that going yet. He does a good job of putting some weight on the hurt leg when he's walking slowly, but when he wants to pick up the pace a little, he just picks up that foot and works with the three good ones. He's eating well, and is as lovey dovey as ever, but he is missing his spunk. There are no games of him throwing his stuffed animals in the air and jumping to catch them and shake them around. There's no harassing the cats. And, there are no howls. I miss the howls. As loud and obnoxious as they were, they were a nice welcome home, and on occasion, even a nice welcome back from the bathroom. He is a quiet Gumbo, but thankfully, he doesn't seem like a resigned Gumbo. The weirdest part is that he likes everyone now, well, almost. He barked at one of the painters today. Maybe he's as tired of them as I am.

The house is looking good though. Crown molding went up in the kids' bedrooms today. Looks fantastic. I want to just hang out in their rooms all the time. It makes me look forward to remodeling the other side of the house next year. I'm ready for *my room* to have crown molding. We'll wait to recover from sticker shock before pursuing any more remodeling plans though.

Speaking of... that sticker shock has put an end to my shopping, and I'm having withdrawal pains. I'm not even kidding. I even tried shopping on-line and putting things in the "cart" but not buying them. Didn't work. I'm craving Nars blush and Estee Lauder lip liner. I want a new pair of jeans, some warm sweaters, a deep purple purse, and brown leopard/snake print flats. And everything is on sale! AACK!

I'll just keep reminding myself how cute those bedrooms look, how much I love the stained wooden doors, and how peaceful the huge new sea turtle mirror is. Hmmm. Not working. Isn't that just a big ol' surprise to all of you.

Revolution.

You know how people usually revolt against their government just as things start getting better. It's as if they realize the possibilities at that point, and it is then that they push for everything. I'm there. I'm about to revolt against all my subcontractors. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I just want to get out of the damn tunnel already! The hope is that we'll be done tomorrow, but I'm thinking the rain is going to push that until Monday. Oh, we're just so, so close. Plumber, baseboard guy, and painters tomorrow. Then I'm guessing painters back on Monday, but maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised. (Who am I kidding.)

In other news...

Gumbo is home and is being quite the trooper for someone who was hit by a car four days ago. It's going to be a long recovery for him, which means lots of hands-on care for us, but we're just glad to have him back.

The kids have a new hobby. Normally I would be thrilled with them sharing a hobby. Good sibling bonding. But this hobby is to gang up on Mommy about driving too fast.
"Mommy," Ainsley says, "the speed limit is 4-5."
"Yeah Mom," Hawthorne adds, "that's 45, and you're going 60. That's too fast."
"Yes, Mom," Ainsley's turn again, "You need to be safe."
"Oh y'all know I'm being safe. Mommy is a very good driver. I would never do something dangerous with y'all in the car."
This same conversation, or one very similar to it, now occurs almost every time they're in the car with me. Oh the horror! Where did they even learn about the speed limit?! Damn school safety week. They should be talking about how very, very bad it is to stand up in grocery store carts (so listen to your mother) not the importance of following the speed limit!

I'm hosting a garage sale this weekend though there is absolutely no evidence of that right now. Usually this happens because I seem to believe that my superhuman ability is to slow down time so that I can accomplish tasks that in real life take three times longer than I think they're going to. This time it's because I've decided in advance that what gets done, gets done. If I manage to clear a few things out of my living room, playroom, and numerous overstuffed closets, I'll consider the event a success. Pretty displays or not. The friends helping me with it will be shocked when they see my lack of effort and organization. Or will they? They didn't know me before I had children! I'm pretty sure I'm not the organized go-getter I once was. I can hardly remember that person actually.

And totally unrelated... please spread this info around the world:
"Hays" is plural.
"Hay's" is possessive. Or is that "Hays'"
Anyway, we aren't the "Hay's." That's the point.

Gumbo update.

Our little Gumbo had several hours of surgery today, but seems to have come out the other side OK. He's spending the night at the vet tonight and tomorrow, and won't be defending our yard from the neighborhood dogs anytime soon. I imagine he'll enjoy being spoiled for a while though. I bought him a new "sleepy toy" today. Granted his sleepy toys usually end up losing body parts, but he loves them none the less. His new one is a nice soft and cuddly rhino. He'll love it. Can't wait to hear his howls of happiness again.

Turtles. Turtles. Turtles.

Carter and I have a tradition of traveling on Thanksgiving weekend. Because we're not close enough to family to get to them for the short holiday, we always go on a little adventure close to home. In Washington, we'd head to the other side of the state, Montana, or Oregon. This year, we went to Jekyll Island, home of the Georgia Sea Turtle Center. We enjoyed a relaxing stay at the Jekyll Island Club, a historic building that looks like a castle. We had wonderfully prepared meals in the old dining room, which had soaring pillars and warming fires. In our room, we dosed by the fire lit for us by the hotel staff. We explored cottage shops and Christmas-light-lit paths. Our favorite thing, though, was the sea turtles. We fell in love with them all, and "adopted" one named Simone. She has three-flippers and loves to crunch on crabs now that she has been weaned off of tube feeding. We look forward to tracking her through the ocean when she's well enough to head out to sea. We also made a stop at the beach on the Atlantic side, only to find that we have been so spoiled by the gorgeous beaches of the Emerald Coast that we have a hard time finding the beauty in other sea sides. We returned home with plans to visit again someday and with a car full of the stuff from the sea turtle gift shop: a necklace, two t-shirts, a picture frame, a drinking glass, a nightlight, a book, a canvas shopping bag, and two stuffed sea turtle "sleepy toys." I think my kids have caught on to my love of having things to commemorate moments!

Gumbo wants to see the world.

This morning's events will haunt us for a long time to come. Gumbo was hit by a car. Early this morning, he bolted around Carter's legs and out the back door, sprinting across the street and down the sidewalk. I imagine he was headed to Murphy's (his golden retriever wrestling buddy's) house. Carter took off after him and caught him at the corner a block away. As he walked in the door carrying Gumbo, we looked at each other and said, "What the hell was that?!"

When we first brought Gumbo home from the shelter he tried this stunt a couple times, but was slow enough for one of us to tackle him before he got to the street. Since then, he's always calmly walked out the door and then dropped to the ground the second we called his name. Not this morning. He seemed to believe that if he could do it once, he could do it again, and maybe this time, he could get enough of a head start. Hawthorne opened the door, Gumbo bolted out of it at a full sprint and hit the street just as a car sped by our driveway. Carter and I were right behind him after he ran out the door. We didn't see the car hit him. We did hear the howls for help coming from the other side of the street, and it is the memory of that sound that makes my stomach lurch and my eyes fill with tears.

Carter tenderly scooped him up as I ran between the house and car trying to figure out who would take him to the emergency vet and what we would do with the kids, grabbing keys, a credit card, and a phone, seeming to believe that if my feet were moving, something was being done. Ultimately, I ended up behind the wheel with Gumbo in the passenger seat, and Carter was left at home, worried that he may lose his wife and his dog in a car accident. I drove quickly with one hand on the wheel and the other on Gumbo's chest, singing "Amazing Grace" and "Black Bird" in a very shaky voice, hoping that just my voice would comfort Gumbo, make him hold on.

As we paced in the exam room, Carter and I were quiet, each thinking about similar trips with our first dog, Lupe, and our second dog, Kizzy. We thought about how glad we were that we weren't in an emergency room panicked over the injuries of one of our children. We thought about how much we invest in the animals in our lives and how their innocence and dependence can make us angry at a world full of people who don't do the things they should.

Gumbo was treated for shock, given pain medicine, and x-rayed. He has a dislocated hip and a fractured pelvis. This evening, they'll put him out and try to get his hip back in place. Tomorrow morning, we'll take him to our vet to determine what to do next. And for years, we'll remember the day our dog was hit by a person who never stopped and we'll shutter at the memory of his howls that called for help.