New Year's Eve in Small Town Canada.
We've packed a punch into each of our days together.
Games.
Walks.
Outdoor play.
Swimming.
Ice skating.
Great memories.
Great memories.
We do have a whole lotta personality.
And I say round,
because I think they played all of about 7 minutes.
And then,
off to the rink.
I love small town Canada.
Who am I kidding?
I just love CANADA.
Lenny and Sarah selfie.
O Canada, our home and native land!
My ankles hurt just looking at this next one.
But he's improved greatly over the last few times he's had the chance to skate.
There was a lot of this going on.
Sometimes on purpose.
Other times,
not.
Sometimes on purpose.
Other times,
not.
Lenny boy gettin' his groove on.
He actually spent most of the time
tying skates,
fixing skates,
re-tying skates.
You know,
all those dad-type things.
tying skates,
fixing skates,
re-tying skates.
You know,
all those dad-type things.
Did I mention anything about personality?
New Year's Eve party at the rink,
complete with hats.
They did have noise makers,
but there was no way I was grabbing six of those.
Absolutely.NO.way.
complete with hats.
They did have noise makers,
but there was no way I was grabbing six of those.
Absolutely.NO.way.
If I was a bettin' gal,
I'd say they get their personality from their Gobbie.
I'd say they get their personality from their Gobbie.
She's so darn cute, yes?
And then,
Maddie made me stay up until midnight to watch the ball drop.
I begged her to let me go to bed.
She refused.
So we watched.
And said, "Happy New Year."
And went to bed.
I think I'm losing my groove.
Nothing appealing - at all - about staying up until midnight.
So, here's to 2017.
For us, I feel like we're walking into
a great big heap of unknowns.
And that's a wee little bit unsettling.
And surreal.
There's part of me that has been frustrated
with Canada's healthcare system.
Yes, it's free.
But nothing happens quickly up here.
Two weeks since the diagnosis.
Still no oncology appointment set.
I know, I know,
it was the Christmas holidays.
But this isn't a tummy ache we're dealing with.
And I feel like time is not on our side.
But then,
I had this thought earlier today.
Maybe, just maybe,
this two weeks of
knowing yet not really knowing
has been a gift from God.
It's like we've been shielded,
to a certain degree,
from what lies ahead and
from the depth of what's really going on inside Dad's body.
It's like the information is floating up above our heads,
sort of in theory and all.
And yet our heads don't have any real knowledge
as to the fullness of Dad's diagnosis.
Truthfully, we don't know anything yet.
Like we don't know how much of his liver has cancer in it.
We don't know what treatment will entail.
We don't know how sick he might get
or the pain he might feel.
We just don't know much yet.
So while we've had pockets of sadness,
there's been a bit of being able to put it on the
back shelf for a chunk of time,
because we're plan-less.
I don't know. Does that make sense?
I think once we know the plan,
and have all the information, it's going to become all-consuming,
just because of the nature of the diagnosis.
So today,
I decided to take it as a gift.
Instead of a frustration.
God's good to give us this extra time
of being together.
Dad's not in pain.
He's able to sit with us as we hang out in the living room.
He's done a few short outings with us.
We'll all have fantastic memories of a fun and
happy vacation.
What a good, good gift.
"Whatever is good and perfect is a gift
coming down to us from God our Father..."
James 1:7
And then,
Maddie made me stay up until midnight to watch the ball drop.
I begged her to let me go to bed.
She refused.
So we watched.
And said, "Happy New Year."
And went to bed.
I think I'm losing my groove.
Nothing appealing - at all - about staying up until midnight.
So, here's to 2017.
For us, I feel like we're walking into
a great big heap of unknowns.
And that's a wee little bit unsettling.
And surreal.
There's part of me that has been frustrated
with Canada's healthcare system.
Yes, it's free.
But nothing happens quickly up here.
Two weeks since the diagnosis.
Still no oncology appointment set.
I know, I know,
it was the Christmas holidays.
But this isn't a tummy ache we're dealing with.
And I feel like time is not on our side.
But then,
I had this thought earlier today.
Maybe, just maybe,
this two weeks of
knowing yet not really knowing
has been a gift from God.
It's like we've been shielded,
to a certain degree,
from what lies ahead and
from the depth of what's really going on inside Dad's body.
It's like the information is floating up above our heads,
sort of in theory and all.
And yet our heads don't have any real knowledge
as to the fullness of Dad's diagnosis.
Truthfully, we don't know anything yet.
Like we don't know how much of his liver has cancer in it.
We don't know what treatment will entail.
We don't know how sick he might get
or the pain he might feel.
We just don't know much yet.
So while we've had pockets of sadness,
there's been a bit of being able to put it on the
back shelf for a chunk of time,
because we're plan-less.
I don't know. Does that make sense?
I think once we know the plan,
and have all the information, it's going to become all-consuming,
just because of the nature of the diagnosis.
So today,
I decided to take it as a gift.
Instead of a frustration.
God's good to give us this extra time
of being together.
Dad's not in pain.
He's able to sit with us as we hang out in the living room.
He's done a few short outings with us.
We'll all have fantastic memories of a fun and
happy vacation.
What a good, good gift.
"Whatever is good and perfect is a gift
coming down to us from God our Father..."
James 1:7