Postus Ephemerus

Well, Facebook finally stopped carrying my blog feed since I haven't posted in 30 days, and VM called me on the carpet for falling off the blogging-map. Best get back on, I suppose.

The truth is I haven't felt like writing much of late. No particular reason for my ennui (10 points for using "ennui" in a sentence!), but the drive just can't seem to rise to the top of the work/home life/laundry pile. As life returns more "to normal", it seems that there's much to do! Then the holidays come and bring with them tidings of good cheer -- not to mention inches of snow, bitter cold and ice-covered roads.

So I add my seeming lack of commitment to regular online story-sharing to the Vampdaddy Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda List of 2008. In the meantime, my guilt is softened by the other reason behind my absence: Vampboy has exploded into the almost-4 year old with boundless energy (so much so that we actually wondered if his seizure medication was sending him off the hyper-active deep-end). As New England has been gripped with power outages over the past few weeks due to an ice storm, VB has monitored closely the status of the "wire guys", endlessly making predictions of when various buildings will get their lights back. It's like watching commentators during a sports half-time show -- or at least that's what I'm told, as "sports" and "half-time" aren't really part of my daily vocabulary. Our time together is filled with long, drawn-out answers to "how was school today" -- and the question posed back; "How was work today, Daddy?" It seems as though my energy is focused on continuing the momentum of the new normal where normal becomes the operative word.

A few weeks ago I attended the funeral of a 4 year-old cancer patient. H didn't have the same cancer as VB, but struggled just as long (longer, in fact) and just as hard, until finally her little body couldn't take any more. The service was an intense experience -- both embracing the joy and celebration that comes with childhood, and reaching into the unimaginable grief and anger at a child's life cut short. For VM and I, there was the added layer of staring into the possible future for ourselves. All in all, it was not an experience I'd recommend.

However, I was struck by something that H's mom said in her comments to those in attendance. As she talked about H's energy, spunk and tenacity, she noted the choice that lies before all of us who fight hardship -- be it cancer, care giving, loss. The choice to decide for ourselves how we will greet and manage each day. "We choose who we will be," she said.

I guess over the past month and a half I've tried to choose to embrace with gratitude the opportunity we've been given; one more day with our son, one more day to live in the world without fear or anxiety of what yesterday has caused or what tomorrow might bring. One more day to enjoy as if it was like any we experienced B.C.

I know it's safe to say that I haven't made this choice every day in the last year. Instead I've sometimes chosen to allow my anger and frustration get the best of me, or let my lack of sleep or lack of quiet "me time" turn me into a bear. While working through these states is all part of the recovery from our experience, it can be so easy to let it take over.

Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda.....

But no matter -- today is a new day. I'll probably continue to lay low on the blogosphere through the end of the year, as I try to take some things off of the aforementioned list (getting back into yoga, filing a year's worth of bills and receipts, finally getting around to the financial plan, re-organizing the CD collection). In the meantime, I wish you and yours a happy and healthy holiday season, from a dad who's getting happier and a son who remains healthy.

Happy Holidays,
VD.

VB with "Grandma B" and a ornament containing a picture taken while VB was in treatment. 2008

VB 5, C 0

Once again the machines whirl, the heart stops, and the anxiety of everyday life (something about an election?) takes a back seat to questions of life or death.

Today the answer is LIFE, as VB flies through another MRI with a "Free of Disease" scan. This one marks a milestone of sorts, as VB is now over 2 years from diagnosis with no sign of recurrence. While in the end this particular form of cancer doesn't allow for taking solace in such benchmarks, it feels worth noting.

Of course, there is another major event happening today, and as I type the ending is unknown. Regardless of the outcome, I will sleep tonight and dream of a future that almost wasn't but now....is.

The 2008 Vampdaddy Halloween Post

Ah...Darkness descends, the Conquerer Worm turns in his coccoon, and the Goths get extra Gothey -- it's Halloween! I share with you now the true face of horror -- this year with multi-media...


Puppies! BWAHAHAHAAA!


Yes, here's VB in all his homemade canine glory. VM certainly outdid herself on this one -- replete with dog bone collar and wagging tail, VB was the cutest among the local trick-or-treat set.


Puppies and Natalie Portman! BWAHAHAHAHA

Never has impending Armageddon been so cute.

See more Natalie Portman videos at Funny or Die

No Puppies -- but bad 80's Vampire Euro-Disco Music! BWAHAHAHAHA!

This group apparently also has songs about aliens and Yeti. Truly Frightening.




As with my past posts on All-Hallows Eve, I'll share with you an interesting trivia fact: The actor to have played Dracula more often than any other was Christopher Lee.

Bwahaha.

When Staying in Bed is the Better Solution

Today I walked into a wall. It happened while I was escorting someone through my office lobby and into a conference room. Of course, this particular location has a 10-foot tall sculpture of the state hanging on it, which I assessed is made of metal after listening to it clunk against the wall, loud enough for everyone in the building to hear. Granted, this was better that what immediately went through my head: the proud monument to our community crashing onto the floor, maiming someone in the Communications Department.

The person I was meeting with was quite gracious as I peeled myself off the wall and suggested we start with some coffee, as I was clearly in need of a caffeine fix. Let's just say the subsequent coffee-clutch did not improve the rest of the day. While I avoided hitting other structures or further damaging the region, this was definitely a day that ends with a sense that the world would be better off if I stayed at a safe distance.

I'd type more, but I fear my propensity for run-on sentences would somehow set the fish tank on fire. 

The Difference a Year Makes

Before.



After.

Walk-a, Walk-a

Yep, my feet hurt.

Yep, it was worth it.

Song to the Siren

It starts innocently enough -- you raise your child to be friendly and outgoing -- to develop bonds to others, while remembering always that you in your role as parent are the best thing since sliced bread. You revel in every hug, every kiss, every "I love you Daddy", with the wild abandon of a cat diving into a pool of catnip.

Then, just when you think you've mastered the parent/child bond, she comes along.

She, with the long flowing hair and sultry voice.

She with the size zero waste, the purple clam-shell bra, and long, slender fins.

I speak, of course, of Ariel.



Yes, after indoctrinating Vampboy into movie-watching with this undersea harpie and her collection of exotically-gilled friends, VM and I have watched our son descend from an independent little guy into a hopelessly obsessed boy, pining for the aquatic love that dare not speak its name.

After viewing the movie three times, it was time to break out the soundtrack. After listening to that about 1,000 times ("Poor Unfortunate Souls", indeed) it was time to buy the tie-in book -- which VB would take to bed and look through until his tired eyes closed and his sleepy arms dropped the book onto his face. In our continuing negotiations about the goal of moving beyond pull-ups into "big boy underwear", the only way we've made any progress is to assure him that we will supply "Little Mermaid underwear" -- even though that means VM will be putting her artistic talents to drawing her on toddler boy tighty-whiteys.

We tried to let him watch "Finding Nemo", but it only reminded him of other characters under the sea he'd rather spend time with. He did sit through "Cars", but he only seems to care about Lighting McQueen being on his pull-ups. I guess you can't fight toddler love.

Somewhere Walt Disney is laughing in his cryogenic storage tank, counting off one more convert to be added to the growing drone army that will be unleashed when the alien invasion arrives. (Note: This reminds me -- I'll have to explain my "Disney conspiracy" another day.)