“It’s not Dad-Dad-Dad. It’s Dad-Ethan-Dad-Ethan. You gotta share and take turns. That’s the rules.”

Last night as I was driving home from work I passed by a cancer center which is located on the campus of the hospital that shares the same street as we do. It doesn’t seem like very long ago that my cousin, Stephanie, spent many Monday’s there receiving chemotherapy. If you’ve never been inside a chemo treatment room, it feels like death. Seeing all these balding people looking weak, scared and fragile sitting in recliners with IV’s hooked up to the port in their chest or arm.

Visiting her on treatment days was difficult. I always had this sinking feeling where my heart felt like it was falling. A wave of numbness comes over you and suddenly you feel guilty walking past these people who are fighting for their lives when your biggest problem is deciding where to eat lunch that day. But we did visit her. She would ask us to come because sitting there for hours on end while toxins are poured into your body leaves your mind to wander and the distraction was welcome.

There are good memories from being with her and my aunt; playing cards to pass the time, picking up Olive Garden to eat lunch with her, and my mom bringing her the biggest chocolate bar I’ve ever seen and Stephanie finding it hilarious.

And with the good come the bad; remembering what she looked like with no hair, how her skin would turn red and react to the chemo, and watching her rest her eyes and praying it wouldn’t be forever.

As I drove by tonight the building was lit up and so was the treatment room where we spent several Monday’s. In the shadows I could see the metal IV poles lingering, all waiting for patients to be hooked up to them the next day.

I wonder how many of the cancer patients that have sat in that same recliner are alive today. In some ways the recliner mimics an electric chair. So many people know what is coming. And for those who do make it, they live in fear for the rest of their lives of what might return.

It was 2 years ago today that Stephanie left this Earth for a more peaceful place where she could be healed. A large pink ribbon is hanging from the brick exterior of the cancer center building. It just happens to sit directly above the window of the room we sat with Stephanie in.

My heart is heavy tonight.

There are moments (sometimes far and few between) that I know Ethan is my son. Moments that I know beyond a doubt he wasn’t switched in the hospital nursery and that we indeed brought home the right little baby. There are also moments that I question where he could possibly have learned that behavior and I try to attribute it to my husband or in-laws. Thank goodness there are more moments like today’s.

This afternoon Ethan and I sat in the parking lot while my mom ran an errand. In the car we had Parker (our new little puppy). With the nice weather outside, we left the windows rolled down, which soon proved to be a mistake. Three different ladies came by and started petting Parker and making comments like, “What a cute little puppy he is.”

This angers Ethan to no end. He is quick to point out that a) It’s MY puppy and b) It’s a girl dog. (I love his possessive nature and need to be right.)

Around the time the 4th complete stranger is reaching inside our vehicle and putting their hands all over the dog, my mom finally makes it back to the car. As the stranger started to walk off, Ethan yells out, “Start the car and let’s go!”

Now I realize this may not be funny to you, but to me it is just proof that he is my boy. He expressed exactly what I was thinking. Let’s get the hell away from all these crazies! Only he said it out loud.

I almost had a car accident this morning. Don’t worry, I didn’t. My 4.5 year old son just stunned me and in the midst of trying not to choke on my own saliva, I ran the car up on the curb. It was a well-timed distraction to the conversation, but it didn’t really work.

We’re driving to pre-k and I’m asking Ethan what words start with the letter of the week “U”. Umbrella, uncle, unicorn…and then he asks me this totally random question out of left field. I’m stunned by his inquisitive nature almost daily. Just this weekend he wanted to know if there was a person inside the Easter Bunny (like a costume) who visited our house. He didn’t question whether or not the Easter Bunny in theory was real, just whether or not the person inside the costume was.

He’s apparently been brewing this around in his little head for a while because Aunt Flo isn’t visiting right now. But more importantly I’m picturing him asking his teachers this question and them deciding not to nominate me for parent-of-the-year (because I was really in the running!).

Ethan: Mom, do all girls have that string in their pee-pee?

Me: [Choke on spit, cough, swerve car off sidewalk] Ugh?

Ethan: Whoa, you ran off the road Mom! Do all girls have that string in the pee-pee?

Me: [Play it cool] What string hon?

Ethan: You know, that white one that hangs out of your pee-pee. I seen it when you go to the bathroom.

Me: [Mental note, time to start closing the bathroom door] Oh, I’m sure it was just a piece of toilet paper. So what else starts with the letter U?

This year I gave up Starbucks for Lent. I realize not all religions celebrate this season and not many people choose to “give up” something. For many years I didn’t see the point. How did my giving up something have anything to do with God?

The trick as a kid was to find something I could either sneak when no one was looking or something I wouldn’t miss too much. Most kids were giving up either candy or soft-drinks. In college I once gave up cussing, which lasted all of about 1 day. Our neighbor gave up drinking beer a few years ago, which is his favorite past-time. Although his Lent season was only Monday - Thursday, leaving the weekends open.

Over the past few years I’ve reflected more on the reason we’re asked to surrender something close to us. I’ve tried to think of the things I’m most thankful for and then thought about how my life would be different if I didn’t have them. Finally, I realized that maybe the idea of Lent and giving something up isn’t even about me.

If you look up the word “sacrifice” it is defined as:
to surrender or give up, for the sake of something else

This Lent I choose to surrender my addiction with Starbucks. I don’t even like coffee, but I am in love with their white chocolate mocha. At over $4 a cup, it is a ridiculous purchase. Not to mention loaded with calories.

Besides sacrificing my “want” I also decided to put that $4 in an envelope each time I drove by Starbucks and was tempted to stop. At the end of Lent I will donate that money to a local food pantry. Not only am I giving something up, but I’m giving something back.

I don’t think Lent has to be a religious experience for everyone. Sometimes it can remind you of the difference between wants & needs, that it isn’t always about you and how much you have to be thankful for. You can’t tell me Jesus wouldn’t have loved some Starbucks now and then!

A new media campaign could make a comeback for WWJD - What Would Jesus Drink?