Betsy Jo Photography Blog

The first day of school is always a big deal at our house– Maybe more on the part of the mother than the 3 children, but nonetheless I love making a yearly tradition of its culmination. I’m not sure why it is that I love to make it meaningful– maybe a combination of things– like knowing how loved I felt when my Mom did little things like send a note in my lunchbox, and maybe because I hate to see them get on that school bus again. And maybe, well, maybe because their world has been a little upside down of late.

Oh, summer, why do you leave us too soon every year? And why must these three children of ours with their grins and twinkling eyes grow older so quickly, anyway? Joel started Intermediate school this year– which means leaving for school an hour earlier than last year, and entering the 5th grade. I’m still trying to figure out when and how that happened so soon…  Connor and Nora are beginning 2nd grade, which would make more sense if that number were a typo. Alas, it is not.

So it was this morning, that although I am not as full of energy or able to decorate as I’d like, we still tried to make it special. Well, Paul did the heavy lifting, and I did the planning. I used whatever we had– even decorations from my surprise 30th birthday party (thanks, sisters!), and lovely flowers from friends, and we surprised the kids with new plates to make it look a little spiffy. Thank you, Paul, for humoring me and doing the hanging, taping, and setting. Because having had surgery or healing or diagnosis or not, I decided these three kids should still have a mother who wants to start the year with a little pep amidst it all.

(This morning was the first time I picked up the camera in quite some time. It felt good– even if it seemed much heavier than I ever remember.  –I apologize for the quality of the images– who knew it was so dark early in the morning?)

Yes, I took the image on the right while standing inside the house. Because one thing I know is this: 5th grade boys don’t need their mothers embarrassing them with a huge black camera in hand…

This little boy is an early riser, and always gets quietly excited for the first day-

His twin sister, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. Let’s just say this photo was taken after some tears, and a call to Grandma, and a call from a friend. And then, all was well:

<–Yes, they are twins. Less than a minute apart. I promise. Really. I know. I was there.

~

And so it begins- a new routine, and some alone time for a certain mother. Which, I’m finding, is not such a bad thing.

*Adorable food face plates can be found here and here, for girls.  And the chalkboard markers? One of my favorite things. From here.

Happy First Day!

Sometimes we feel the knot in our chest loosen a little. It’s no longer as stifling as it once felt. And we find permission to dream again.

That’s where we are now. Thankful. Breathing again. Knowing that the worst has passed. The lessons we’re learning haven’t been easy ones, but they are enriching, and character-building. And, honestly, good for us. Thank you for caring, for praying. Thank you for smiling with us as we exhale, smiling with us as we feel relief. Being glad alongside us to know that treatment is done. Praying for us as I continue to heal. It matters to us.

This is what I know- what I’ve learned:

-We have a beautiful life. I knew it all along, but sometimes, it takes a dark, scary place to remind us, to view the colors more clearly.

-We are loved.

-God is good. He cares in the dark hours.

-I have wonderful, wonderful friends. Of family and of faith.

-My clients and blog readers are kind. And patient. And care about us.

-My children are loved, and have been cared for in ways above any expectation.

-Grandparents are irreplaceable. My children have 8 living grandparents. 4 grands, 4 greats. They have no idea how fortunate they are. Thank you, Mom and Dad R. and Mom and Dad H. You’re the next-best-thing to parents, as far as the kids are concerned. Well, scratch that. Probably better. I’m told it’s ‘like vacation’ at your house. Which is so good.

-Sisters are important. Sisters-in-law, too. Caring. Helping. Lightening the load. Babysitting. Calling. Knowing. Listening. Understanding. Little did I know how wrong I was when I was young- wishing then that I was an only child. I had no idea. I cannot imagine life without my four sisters. I love all of you to bits. (P.S. Brothers-in-law? Pretty spiffy, too.)

-Friends are lifesavers. Friends who strengthen our faith, who do the school shopping, and drop off groceries, and bring meals, and send flowers, and leave notes and write cards and listen to our tears, and leave a kind message, and take the kids and shop for our vacation, and mow the lawn, and give to us in ways that leave us speechless. Who do so many other things beyond what I could list. I’m wishing we had the right words.  Thank you.

-Paul. He’s quiet and unassuming, and so kind. I have to say it. I don’t know where I’d be without him. When the storms come, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with that man. He’s the steady shelter I need. The opposite of me in so many ways– which is why he’s so easy to get along with…  Thank you, Paul. I love you.

-The Cape was one of the best things that could have happened in the midst of all this. We got away. And enjoyed each other, relaxing, laughing, playing in the sand and surf, enjoying time with friends, worrying a little, but soaking in every precious little drop of life we could during those six days. Looking back at the photos and little video clips has been so good for me over the past weeks, and has given an escape for my weakened body and weary brain. Cape Cod. There’s no place like it. The sand, the wind, the beauty of the surf. The light on the dunes at evening, and the sound of beautiful silence in North Truro. The night sky, where the stars are shown in a beauty like I’ve never seen elsewhere. It’s our spot, our escape. And when this all happened, there was no other place I wanted to be but there. I couldn’t agree more with Thoreau, as he said in the last sentence of his book, ‘Cape Cod’- speaking of its endless shore:  “A man may stand there and put all America behind him.”   -It’s true.

Which brings me to this:  my sanity when I was waiting, and now my enjoyment while I heal. The Cape, as seen through the eyes of our family:

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Hope is the easy part. It comes quickly, springing up. An anchor for the soul. The waiting? The healing? Is not easy. Nor natural, nor quick. But it’s full of lessons. A whirlwind of lessons– and results and news. Confusing news. Mixed news. Bad news. Good news. Mediocre news. No news. And, if I’m going to be transparent, maybe a whirlwind of tears on my part through all of it. So now, while words like ‘tests’ and ‘results’ and ‘medications’ and ‘diagnosis’ and ‘disease’ and ‘we’ll have to wait and see’ bring anxiety, a word like ‘hope’ helps us breathe. And, as ever, breathing is a good thing.

And though I hardly trust myself to write in any coherent form right now, I knew it was time to say just this:

While we are waiting, and while I heal, we thank you. Yes, you, who are reading these words right now. Because I have a feeling– no, it’s more than a feeling;  I know- that in some way you have cared, or thought, or done, or written, or prayed, or listened. And it is for all those reasons that while we wait, and that while we wish we had the answers right now, we just have to say thank you. For waiting. For caring. For praying.

And for hoping, right alongside us.

~

“Dum spiro, spero.”

-Cicero, from the Latin