This picture is another chapter in the Yearbook Years. Remember when my oldest was tearing it up on the football field and I was all ‘I love this time of life for my kids when they can do anything and be everything and try it all’? Well, the project Drew was working on at the time culminated in a three-night event (and one matinee) that was the most delightful production of The King and I I’ve ever seen. This is Drew and our friend Haleigh, and I did their eyeliner myself, thank you very much. Drew is even showing you the pose they had to take through most of the play.
I love the story behind The King and I. It’s one of the most fascinating on the planet I think. A simple woman, but a very brave one, travels with only her small son to Siam to teach English (and some English ways) to the king’s children and even to the king himself. Of course, the beautiful thing is that she learns from them as well, making it a wonderful story of compassion and empathy triumphing cultural barriers. I love it, and I was so proud Drew was a part of it and so happy the day he gave me a hug and said, “Thank you for signing me up for this, Mom.”
I heart the Yearbook Years.
Now, in health news, I feel I was in a magic show and the magician sawed me in half. For real. Like he didn’t know it was supposed to be an illusion. Only I went into the box pretty sure it was just an illusion which makes the sawed-in-half feeling sort of unsettling now. And on top of all that pain I’ve been all fine and happy and carried by some unexplainable peace (I’ve heard prayer can do that), but today it was pretty much just the sawed-in-half feeling and the exhaustion and the wondering if maybe I’ll never feel put-together-again again.
Fortunately, this is the lowest I’ve been, and I think I have it in hand now. I spoke to Mom on the phone, I read Felicity’s post about looking for wonder, I talked Michael into taking me out of the house for a bit tonight ;), and I wrote to you about the Yearbook Years. So now I’m pretty sure this day isn’t the end of my story, and I’m very glad about that.
And now I have to share one more thing. It’s very sad and heart-wrenching. And it’s pretty crazy that it would happen today when I was feeling my worst. It started this morning when Jake asked me as he sat beside me in his coat and backpack, “Are you going to get better or are you going to die?” And I’m pretty sure I would have lost it if I hadn’t been so very tired. The tiredness kept me from being too very dramatic and instead I was able to answer very confidently that I was definitely going to get better. But then while watching Ice Age this afternoon he cried because he doesn’t “like it when mommies die.”
And the only reason I can take that awfulness is because I know that even if I die of this disease someday, I’m not going to die of it now. But that didn’t make it any easier to realize that whether he likes it or not Jake has faced the idea that it can happen. And I can’t even begin to tell you how very grateful I will be to get to the Yearbook Years with him. I’m planning on it. I’m determined. And suddenly the chemo haircut seems like a very small price to pay.