It's been a roller coaster week. After many, many trips to the vet we have received the worst diagnosis possible for our wonderful 10 year old Fred. Cancer. He's losing weight like crazy, down to about 9 lbs or less from his starting point of 16 (he's a Maine Coon and they are big, muscular kitties) and still losing. At this point, there is nothing we can do but give him a lot of love and attention, making him as comfortable as possible and hopefully having him through the holidays. He's the greatest kitty and we are having a hard time imagining our family without him.
In the midst of all the vet visits, we are busy getting ready for the holidays. We are happy that Erica is able to swap hours with someone at her two jobs so she can come home for Thanksgiving. It won't be much time - she'll arrive at about midnight on Wednesday and have to head back after dinner on Thursday - but we will take what we can get and be happy that we'll have some fun time together. We'll have enough time to play some wild rounds of Tripoly or Uno Attack with the holiday music blaring.
Kevin's high school band program has kept us hopping and, happily, their efforts have paid off for them in a big way. This last Saturday they competed at the State level against 32 other high schools. They took 2nd place in their division (seven schools), but took the High Music Award for the entire event. Woohoo!!!!! I think it teaches the kids how much they can accomplish as a team and with practice. They are back at it today (on a school holiday) as they prepare for another field show competition in two weeks.
This all has me thinking about how much my parents missed. I remember Christmas as a child. We hung stockings one year. One. Mom suggested we wedge the edge of one of our knee-high socks in the top drawer of the buffet in the dining room. It was all very unceremonious. I recall there were a few goodies in it (I still remember the plastic flute and the Fred Flintsone toy where I pushed up on the bottom of it and he flopped around with his elasticized limbs), but she didn't think it was worth the effort to continue the practice. We never had Christmas stockings again.
As a family, we watch "A Christmas Story" every year while we decorate our tree. I think about the scene where the kids are opening presents and the dad had acquired the beloved BB gun for his son, hidden it away until last, and watched him open the gift and lose his mind from happiness. Hmmm. I wonder what that would have been like? I think about the Christmas programs in which I participated in school, including a solo in 8th grade, none of which were attended by my parents. I remember my best friend Michelle sharing her dad with me at the Father Daughter Girl Scout banquet, and how I felt so embarrassed that my father was the only one missing. He wasn't there simply because he wasn't interested and didn't care.
I have been to every single one of my children's performances at daycare and school. When I was hired at the hospital, I made sure that they understood that I HAD to be at every school event and would get back to the office as quickly as possible, but it wasn't an option. They were great and always accommodating. I sat through the same Christmas program year after year for my daughter and went because I wanted to be there and loved watching her, not out of a sense of obligation. I have attended every single field show for my son in marching band and he's happy to have me there. That's the best reason. I appreciate my children more, I think, because of how little my parents appreciated me. I watch them and wonder if my parents ever realized how much they missed, how much fun they could have had, or how much their neglect would cause me heartache for my entire life.
In the meantime, I relish the holidays, the fun we have together, and the fact that my children really want to be home with us for the holidays. Even with bad news like Fred's diagnosis, we can focus on the fact that we will be together and make sure that Fred has an extra special Christmas stocking this year.
