Through Her Eyes

Zoë and I just finished painting our garden fence. It’s absolutely beautiful and it was a shame really we couldn’t toast to the completion of this epic event by opening a couple of beer. That day will come though. It’s fun to have a tween daughter who is getting savvier by the minute, with her eyes wide open and her mind clicking and churning away.

Whenever I get stuck on a task, she usually has a way to get me going again with either a pencil, hairpin or pocket knife. And even though we still cannot agree on the conjugation of ‘venir’ (in either French or Spanish) nor the war of succession, our mornings together are a lot of fun and usually, by the time we go pick up Julian or walk Freddie, we have made peace and moved beyond irregular verbs and the reign of Edward IV.

On our walks over to the Kindergarden, the trail leads us through fields and along a narrow path through the woods. The early morning light never fails to surprise us, the way it threads its way through tree tops to settle on brambles and bluebells. Usually Zoë is the first to notice, and her enthusiasm about the little wonders that surround us fill me with
pride and happiness.

Although I had always thought that raising a daughter would be not only a privilege, but also a true bonding experience, I have come to learn that it is all that and more.

It is a chance to see the world. Again.

Life with a Smile

There is something to be said about taking things down a couple of notches, unwinding the coil a bit, and stepping back. I am trying to get to that point and although
still a few light years away from the perfect ‘omm’-state, I can report that life is beginning to look up.

J. is doing well with her last attempt at chemo and for the time being, nobody is mentioning books entitled “My Life without ME.” More and more, I have started to listen and relax. The initial outbreak of frantic problem-solving activism has given way to a more restful mind set. Life is never in our hands, not completely anyway. And although I have no flying idea in whose hands it is ultimately cradled, I am fine with the certainty that neither I nor anyone else have the ultimate say in matters of life, luck, happiness, and health. All we can do, whether as parents, doctors, policy makers, big time money makers and fellow human beings is to give it a good try.

It takes a long time to become a MENSCH. But everyday, we should try anew. It’s worthwhile. An aware and at the same time humble human - no more and no less.

Finding Ella

Julian has spent the four and one half years of his sweet life in the company of strong, compassionate women - he has been fortunate. And after I explained to him again that even if Matt would grow very old (something like 42), I would still not marry him, Julian, the little chap decided to look elsewhere. And he found Ella (4).

Julian: When I am a grown man I am going to have a house and children and I will merry you, Ella.
Ella (gulp!): Oh, well, uh...I guess girls don't have too much of a say in this...uh. But how will you find me?
Julian: I will be looking for you.
Ella: Hm. Okay, well, then maybe look at the school cantina...or maybe a pub.
Julian: I can do that. But you will have to raise your hand so I can see you.

Good News on a different Front

Finally, teachers across England are waking up. What took them so long to reclaim their classrooms? However, changing a system is always difficult when you are part of it, stuck in it so to say. I am glad we never opted in!! Anyway, here is what's going on, and I am proud of them for speaking up!



"Primary school heads will press ahead with a boycott of Sats tests for 10- and 11-year-olds next month, Britain’s biggest teaching unions confirmed today, potentially throwing league tables and assessment regimes into chaos.

The National Union of Teachers (NUT) and the National Association of Head Teachers (NAHT) confirmed after a meeting of their executives that their members would take industrial action and would not adminster national tests in maths and English.

The decision means the next government is heading for a clash with headteachers, who will be boycotting the tests on the first day of a new administration.

The tests are due to be sat by 600,000 children in their last year of primary school between May 10 and May 13.

Last Friday, headteachers in England voted overwhelmingly to boycott the tests.

The unions said Sats in their current form 'disrupt the learning process for children in Year 6 (aged 10 and 11), and are misused to compile meaningless league tables which only serve to humiliate and demean children, their teachers and their communities'. They said they supported a system of assessment that “highlights what children can do rather than focussing on failure”.

Christine Blower, general secretary of the NUT, said: 'Not only are we boycotting Sats, but we are saying to schools that this is finally the opportunity to do the exciting things you always really wanted to be doing in the classroom. We can make sure Sats week is a really brilliant week, a creative week, which is what we would want every single week of the year to be.'"

In To-do Mode

After my friend was diagnosed with cancer last year, I tried to be there for her and her son as much as I could. Together with her parents, who flew in from Japan, and her other friends, I tried to turn the summer into a series of happy diversions for the little guy while his mom went through chemo and radiation.

And although she seemed tired and overwhelmed at times, she never let on, just how serious her situation was. And all of us, I think, gladly believed her. We wanted to hold on to our delusional state as long as possible, and she was generous.

I don’t know how she did it. Now that I know the type of cancer and the stage, I am a wreck.

About six weeks ago, we had a couple of long conversations just before she had to undergo major surgery and shortly after. While we sat at her dining room table, we talked about options for treatment and I promised to dig around in recent publications and on the internet. I signed her up for the MayoClinic cancer newsletter and found a clinic near her hospital that complements the therapy with holistic treatments.

On our more realistic days, I began looking for a box to fill with objects, letters, and smells that will remind her son of her, and she ordered the book “My life without Me.” Together, we have tried to grasp the incomprehensible by managing it in a to-do format. Everything is a project, and for every problem, there is a solution.

Except there isn’t.

She has started the next round of chemotherapy, a very aggressive 41/2 month program that will leave her body weak and bald. Not a good, but alas a last chance.

Shortly before Christmas, a few weeks after her second scan which came back negative, we had toasted to her recovery.

...

J. has gone away over Easter. She is spending a few days on the sea. Tom's family will be there. I don't know whether they will talk. His mom is wonderful, but everyone is in shock. And then there is Ricky. He must not know. Life must go on. Eggs must be found and relished. He does, of course, know something. But that knowledge is feathery. Obscure and shapeless like coins at the bottom of a fountain.

I will be doing some research this coming week. I have got some ideas for treatments from preliminary research. Thanks also to you all who gave me pointers. I will be sorting through them with J. once she gets back. Her oncologist wants her to go for a second round of chemo. Five months. A last chance maybe.