Cancer...

... is from hell. Plain and simple.

This time of year makes me think of my dad. He really was a spring kind of guy. He worked with farmers almost his entire life, so spring meant being busy and he loved busy. He loved to be outdoors but didn't love the cold, so when spring began, it was as if something in him was bursting to be out...perhaps it was being trapped in a very small house with a wife and three kids that made him love spring even more.


Dad had lots of "isms"... things he would subtly pass to his kids. I didn't realize I'd taken them in until he was gone. He would say that sunsets were sure pretty but sunrise was better because you had to earn a sunrise. And, "Don't talk and cry at the same time." He was a crazy fast runner, especially considering he would run with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He could fix almost anything, a trait he passed on to his son. He adored my sister, his first born... thought my brother, quite simply, could do anything... and could draw me into a debate about nothing quicker than anyone. We all got his wicked sense of humor, thankfully. He was more than his ending. That's what I need most for you to see.


My dad's cancer diagnosis came April 19. He loved irony, so the fact that a death sentence was delivered in the season of new life wasn't lost on him. It's crazy how one day he's him and the next he has colon cancer of the liver. And everything is nothing. I've heard people say that when something like this happens, time stands still. For me, it didn't. It was as if someone pulled the days of his life out from under me like a rug. I was forever facing backward at that day, before the diagnosis. To that simple few hours before we knew we would lose him.


I spent several weeks, in my head, fighting the inevitable. This isn't happening... It's DAD, he's going to be o.k. But, like walking up the down escalator, eventually your strength and resolve falter and you are stuck with the facts. He's dying. No cure. Treatment to potentially prolong his life 2-6 months, but he'll spend that time in bed or in the bathroom. Surgery... removal of the GODDAMNED tumor that started it, but images of a liver covered in dark spots... I'm sorry. No hope. No chance. Eventually, hoping is harder than the acceptance. It doesn't happen all at once, it just slowly leaks out. And when it becomes too hard, you have to let go. You want it to be over. He wants it to be over. Then when you realize what that truly means, you are so sorry you even thought it for a second.


During the time from April to September he was dying. To this very moment I've called it the time he was sick. But the heartbreaking fact is, he was dying. He was funny and silly and angry and bossy. He would frequently say, "let's get the show on the road", because he knew he didn't have time to waste. The morphine would make him hallucinate and then he'd realize that's what was happening and find it infinitely amusing. There were days when he wouldn't say much. I know he was inside himself preparing to leave. Wrapping his mind around the thought that every day could be THE day. I know he was scared. I know he was worried about his wife and kids. I know he wanted it all to just stop.


My dad was in Vietnam. For real Vietnam. Kill or be killed. Here he was... 50 years old and it was just be killed. Defenseless. He was alone in his dying, as we are in our births. As we all are at our deaths. As those who love him stood around helpless and very much alone in his death. He would say, "I get to be dead. You have to live through the hurt. Mine's easier."


During the months he was {gulp} dying, there were many beautiful moments of absolute clarity where Dad's voice and mind and heart bore through all other things and found a way to tell us he loved us. You can feel that kind of love. I'm writing this and I can feel it now. There are funny things that happening during that time. There are heartbreaking things and horrible things. There are things that are so beautiful I can't look directly at them. Those are my things. I can't give them to you even here, even now, because I'm afraid it would somehow make them smaller in my head and soul. I believe in a soul, because I can feel mine when I think of that time in our lives.


The kind of love you form with those closest to you when you have a sick family member is as hard as diamonds. It's ferocious and mad love. My mom, Grandma, Aunts, Uncles and dear, dear friends who were with me if only in spirit are forces to be reckoned with within my very being now. Mostly, my brother and my sister and I have melded into a mass of what was my dad. My brother's voice and face and patience... my sister's stubbornness and memory, my humor and spunk are all him. I'm thankful to him for giving that to us and to my siblings for holding onto those things.


When he died, I remember feeling like everything that was inside me was suddenly on the surface. My eyelids felt wrong-side out. My throat felt like it started just behind my teeth. My hands and feet felt as if they weren’t my own. Doing and walking and moving without my willing them to. The filter between my mouth and brain dissolved, often leaving well-meaning folks who had tried to offer solace speechless as I told them to PLEASE, PLEASE just don’t say anything else, because you aren’t helping me.  Those things have mostly righted themselves.  Except maybe the filter.  Even still, my sense of normal is off.  When you lose part of your 'true north'... say a parent or a partner... you never really are fully back to center.


I say all that for this... cancer is a bitch. Be vigilant. Take care of yourself. Get the tests that can save your life, no matter how uncomfortable or embarrassing they are. Walk, run, give, help and support in whatever way you can. However, keep in mind this ‘cause’ has very real people in it. People who are more than a diagnosis… more than their fight… more than cancer.  They are Kelly and Lisa... John and David... you or me.


And for you, you know who you are, who are going through your own personal hell caused by cancer, squeeze tight until you have to let go. When you need to open your hands, you'll know, because it will feel more right than wrong. I promise you will see pinholes of beauty even in the midst of all this. Hold onto those, because they are, impossibly yet perfectly, shining through the hell.

Stuck in the middle...

with her makes the middle just right.

Today Delaney is 12!  D is a middle child, as am I. Now, in a blended family, everyone seems to be a middle child. Delaney isn't the oldest of either family, or the youngest. Nor is she the oldest or youngest girl on either side. She's squarely, wonderfully a middle child. And she makes it look good. Being in the middle means you're never too far ahead or too far behind. You're also never alone.

Delaney is at the age where everything about her seems to be changing. She's grown so much in the past year, she's almost as tall as I am. She's, of course, beautiful and funny and bright. When she was little, she was our big headed baby. She was plump and soft and quick to laugh. When she was two, she'd wake in the middle of the night and make rooster noises... "doodle doooo!". The first word she said with us, besides the normal "dada" "mama" was "Stacie", her aunt's name. The girl could empty an entire cabinet in seconds. She was under and over and on all the time.

She's an animal lover and has always been somewhat fearless. She will try any food, but prefers spaghetti to most things. She will absolutely do anything for you. She's the kid that, if you ask her to find something, will look until it's found. If you need her to do something, you can ask her and there's no argument or whining. She will just do it. She thinks ahead about what she can do to help and how she can make things easier for us. At age 12, "thoughtful" isn't a word you usually associate with girls, but our girl just is.

Delaney is part tom-boy, part cheerleader. She splashes through mud puddles and loves to compete.  She has started to worry about whether this goes with that. She's starting to be less pony-tail and more "Shannon will you do my hair?"  However, she's still basically a jeans and t-shirt girl.

She will be the one making up games for the little kids or telling stories or leading an adventure through the backyard. She's patient beyond her years with her little brothers and sister.  She somehow seems to know everything that is going on at all times. I tease that she's either going to be a lawyer or a gossip columnist. She forgets nothing, but holds nothing against you. She's forgiving and a peacemaker. She's kind and can make friends quickly. She's slightly jealous and somewhat nosey. She's cuddly and loving. She's a hugger and an eye-roller. When she sets her mouth a certain way, you know something is up. The good thing is, she doesn't keep secrets well and you'll know quickly what that something is.

Delaney doesn't disappoint. You always can count on her to act a certain way and do certain things. That's refreshing and terrifying all at once. When she's headed for trouble, you can't stop her. The flip side of that is, when she's doing the right things, you can't stop that either. She's is daring and brave and funny and silly and trying and striving. She's is exactly what a 12 year old girl should be. A lot of sugar and just enough spice.

One more year until we slap the word 'teen' on her. I believe that as she approaches those years, Delaney's big soft heart, her easy-going attitude and her kindness will make those years not quite heaven or hell... perhaps she'll be somewhere in the middle.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I do...
but don't get excited, I love monkeys, too.

Now for something...

... fresh!

Landon David Huber

Son of Shannon & Randy (Goob)

Brother to Maddy, Delaney, Gavin & Sydnee

Grandson of Jeanne & Jim Ordner and

Rena (& Duane) Clark and the late David Huber

Born:  March 17, 2010 at 2:22 a.m.

7 lbs, 3 ozs; 21" long

Gavin, Landon & Sydnee

Delaney & Landon                                                                          

Maddy & Landon

Landon David

I'm sure you can understand why I'll save the hell for next time.

Five year old...

nieces are tiny bits of glee.

My lovely, bright, precious niece, Sydnee Lynn is five today.  As she told me, "It's a WHOLE HAND years old!"  I think of Syd as the 'Junior Mint' of my nieces/nephew.  Sweet with a little minty bite.  I have absolutely crazy love for this girl.

She's always been very independent.  When she was a baby, she wanted to be put down to sleep.  No holding her tiny swaddled cuteness after rocking her.  She would stretch and squirm until you put her down.  Now, she is always lovey (unless she's busy lining up her stuffed animals) and hugs and smooches at random moments.  She declares her love for you whenever and wherever the mood strikes her.

She's demanding and stubborn and kind and brilliant.  She will hear a word, love that word, and use it or forms of it religiously until she fancies another word.  Last year at a family Xmas party the word was 'seriously'.  There was a monster upstairs, seriously.  She was serious, she saw it with her own two eyes.  No one should go upstairs, seriously.  Maybe Joel could seriously scare it away.  Lately it is 'actual' or 'actually'.  I went on a bear hunt at her preschool, but I needn't worry, since she assured me there were "No actual bears."

She will ask you to do something or give her something and then say, "Pleeease, I'll be your very best friend."  How do you fight THAT?  Most of the time what she wants is chocolate.  She has taken the first step and admitted her addiction, "I'm a chocoholic, seriously."  When she was being potty trained, her rewards were part of a Hershey's bar or M & Ms.  Or as she called them, "Mershey's" and "NimNims".  The girl would live on cereal and chocolate, if you'd let her.  (And sometimes at Aunt Lisa's, she gets to.)

One of my favorite Sydnee quirks is her 'piles'.  We went on vacation to Alabama, and Syd brought three or four small backpacks of stuffed animals, small rubber zoo animals and various other itty bitty things she loves.  Most of the things were not allowed to come out of the backpacks.  The few things she did take out were piled on a side table, and NO ONE was to touch them.  Her big sister, Maddy, would take an item out of the pile and Sydnee would immediately notice it.  "Maddy, do NOT mess with my PILES!!!"  Sydnee believes her things belong inside other things.  When they are out, they are often lined up.  It's not unusual to walk into her house and see a line of small horses on the dining room floor.  If you do happen to see them, don't touch them, she will KNOW and be very, very sad.

Sydnee is sunshine and joy.  She is fizzy and feisty.  She is beautifully frustrating and precociously compassionate.  She is big sparkly eyes and a pouty lip.  She is an overwhelming rush of affection.  She is a wild child, hands on her hips, worm-loving, 'but I just NEED to tell you something' ball of ridiculous.  She is never a dull moment.  As her 'Crampa' says, she's a dandy.

In a few weeks, Sydnee will no longer be the baby of her family.  She's getting a new little brother.  I'm just hoping she doesn't put him in one of her piles.  I'm serious.  She just might actually do that.  And we might have to leave him there, otherwise, we'd catch all kinds of hell from a spunky five year old.

Sydnee & Aunt Lisa

Having an Xmas Party...

... in February sure relieves a hell of a lot of stress.

This past weekend was our fifth annual Cousins' Christmas Party.  Yes, nearly two months after Xmas, it was on.  Busy schedules, trips to foreign lands and massages being offered in men's restrooms forced us to put it off until now.  Let me tell you, Xmas in February is BRILLIANT.  Less busy, less stress, more time to find the perfect under $10 white-trash gift.

Let me explain the attendees first. I realize you all haven't met the cast of characters, even though I believe they should all be world famous. This set of cousins is from my mother's side of the family. They are 'Haggard' grandkids. If you are a Haggard grandkid and weren't invited it's because you've BEEN invited and unable to attend more than twice (you snooze you loose - although begging for an invite would get you one) or you didn't spend at least part of your childhood in the good old Jasper County.


I am traumatized by the fact that I was oldest cousin at this thing.  My sister is usually the oldest, but couldn't attend.  She doesn't know it, but she and I are in a big fight now, because I WAS THE OLDEST.

The attendees were: My brother Randy (Goob), his wife Shannon and kids: Maddy (15), Delaney (11), Gavin (7) and Sydnee (almost 5) and Landon who is still cooking until mid-March; my cousin Danny and his kids: Andrew (8) and Grace (5); Mandy (Danny's sister) and her husband Joel; Matt (Danny/Mandy's brother) and his girlfriend Jenn; cousin Addie and her beau Tim; cousin Aaron (Addie's brother) and his girl Amanda; and cousin Alison (Addie/Aaron's sister) and her betrothed, Rod.  Confusing enough for you?

My mentor/best guy friend, Big D, lets me borrow his home, since we are too many for my place.  His house is big enough for whomever wants to stay over, enough bathrooms (5!) for no waiting and the little kids can run around and play without involving the adults.  Except for Sydnee telling us that she was confused because Grace had stolen her imaginary boyfriend. 

As is tradition, we eat a lot, drink a little and then proceed to the gift exchange and game portion of the evening.  The gift exchange is played as 'dirty santa' where each person draws a number and picks a gift in order.  Anyone after you has the right to steal your gift.  All gifts must either cost less than $10 if purchased new, or they can be some old crap lying about your house you think someone else would just LOVE to have.  Gifts this year ranged from an old DVD recorder with unmatching remote, to a leg humping dog (he made his third appearance this year) to truck stop 'accessories'.  The most popular gifts were brought by first time attendee Jenn, a minature garden pirate and by Maddy, lovely pink lawn flamingos.  I have a feeling we may see those gifts again next year.

After the white elephant gift exchange (white TRASH - as Dan calls it), we move onto the much anticipated game.  My family takes this stuff seriously, especially the boys.  I usually run the game (control freak that I am), and we play boys against girls.  These aren't your traditional board games or video games. These games are created specifically for this group in order to produce the maximum amount of shouting, "they always get the easy ones" or "I call shenanigans".  The more yelling and bitching, the better, in our opinion.  The drama makes it more fun.  No one is truly disgruntled; it's all in good fun.

Games in years past have included a scavenger hunt, a form of Pictionary, an indoor relay race, Name That Tune using my personal iPod. This year we did a combination of Haggard Pictionary and Name That Tune.  Team members drew a ball out of a bag: pink ball = pictionary, blue ball = name a tune.  And no, the innuendo and snickering about the balls never got old.  This year the girls won!  The boys believe it is a tainted win, not for any particular reason except they lost.  That's reason enough for the boys.

Awards were given for an MVP for each team, Jenn for the girls and Dan for the boys.  Awards were also given for best drawing that led to a correct guess.  Joel won for his version of "Octomom" - it involved an octopus and well...babies entering the world by the natural route.  Rodney won for his drawing of what was supposed to be Michael Jackson.  I honestly did not see Michael anywhere in the drawing...no one glove, no red jacket...just little boys.  (Sorry Jill and Keri).  No worries folks, the little ones were in another room and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have been able to tell what this bad art was.  We did have a round for Grace and Syd.  (Gav and Andrew were uninterested in what we were doing.) Sydnee's version of a square was fantastic, even though her word was 'triangle'.  Grace can draw a mean circle and does a wonderful job of making a lower case 'a'. 

For the second year in a row, there were a couple vicious games of musical chairs.  I fancy myself a non-competitive person, but I knocked little Grace out of a chair and tried to cheat to beat my niece, Maddy.  As is the case, cheaters never win, so Maddy went on to victory. 

I love this party.  I love being under the same roof as these cousins with whom I've played house and tractors.  Who played in Grandma's sandbox inside an old tractor tire.  With whom we rolled our eyes as teenagers during family meals.  Whom we've cheered for and worried after and cried with and fought with.  I love the new people we've added; the spouses and significant others and the next generation of cousins.  I love the screaming and yelling during the game.  (It seriously doesn't make me think you don't like the game, the opposite is true - I know you are loving it!)  I love the shocking gifts from the quiet cousins, like the candy pasties with tassels from Aaron and how sweet, precious Addie stole the humping dog during the gift exchange.  I love how Mandy throws her head back to laugh.  I love that Danny is always loveable, calm Danny and how Matt tells us to stop hating and bitching.  I love that Alison can still make us shake our head and remember how YOUNG 22 really is.  I love that Shannon is so much part of the family it's like she never wasn't there.  I love that Randy has found his psycho competitive soulmate in Joel.  We're all getting to know Tim and Rodney and Jenn and Amanda and hoping they all stick around.  I think everyone else loves it too. I especially love that we've chosen to stay close as a family, even though we don't all still live in J.C.

For those of you who aren't a Haggard Grandkid, play a game of chairs with kids and grown-ups.  You'll be surprised at how you laugh yourself silly.  Just don't shove a 5 year old off a chair.  I'm pretty sure that's punishable by hell.  Or at least merciless teasing by folks you love.

Madelynn Alexis

Maddy and Sydnee

Fifteen years ago today my brother's first child, Madelynn, was born. Since becoming an aunt on September 24, 1994, I've been lucky enough to add Delaney, Gavin and Sydnee to the list of magical children who call me Aunt Lisa. In March, 2010, I will get to add another Baby Huber to that list.

Since I cannot begin to express my gratitude for being an aunt, and since it is Mad's birthday, I'm going to tell you about her.

First, she's obviously beautiful. She was since birth. She was born with a pert little nose, adorable elf ears, and very little hair. The nose is still pert, the head has caught up to the ears, and luckily, at age two, she finally grew some hair.

What's not so obvious is the size of her heart. She is the big sister who is adored by her siblings. She is a total daddy's girl who will honestly say that her dad is her best friend (Goob, a dad, who would have thought?!). She's a girly-girl who can also be pretty crude and gross when she feels like it. With the encouragement of her step-mom, Shannon, she has discovered her love of art. She wants to be a fashion designer/stylist or a therapist who helps divorced kids. I know this girl can be anything she wants.

She loves the city and the ocean. However, as she told me in Alabama when I was talking about the moss hanging from the trees, "They're just trees, we have them in Illinois. I'm not really into nature, you know." She has a smart mouth and a quick wit. Sometimes it seems like her favorite phrase is, "What? Huh? I don't get it?" She thinks science is interesting, parts of history are tolerable, math can be dealt with, but writing is a nightmare.

She's a horrifically picky eater: nothing red, very few vegetables, nothing can touch anything else on the plate, no bread unless it's grilled... She loves fruit, grilled foods, all things potato, pizza - as long as she can't see the sauce, and Phish Food ice cream.

Of course, she is a typical teenage girl with all the catty, silly trappings of that. She's not perfect. We neither want nor expect her to be. She's going to make mistakes. I can't believe how hard it is to stand back and watch her falter, but that's what builds character. In her mistakes, she will learn how to navigate life and figure out who she is. I pity the boy who breaks her heart.

She used to clop down the hall in my too-big high heels and play dress up with my clothes. Now she's taller than I and wears the same shoe size. I miss my little Maddy whom I could hold in my lap... I miss hearing, "do it adin" when I tickled her. I miss her little giggle.

Oh, but I do love this Maddy. She's strong and brave and smart and funny. I can't imagine who she will be in the next 15 years. I want it to go slowly. I want her to stay silly, gross, dingy, catty, marvelous teenage Maddy for as long as possible, because I know I'm going to miss that Maddy when she moves on to the next stage of growing up.

A BIG thanks to the wonderful Aunts in my life, especially to Ruby and Pam who showed me how it was done. An ENORMOUS thanks to Mad, Dee, Gav, Syd and Baby-to-Be for making me a better person. To Randy and Shannon - thanks for having all the babies and keep it up!

I hope I'm a good aunt. I hope Maddy knows how proud I am of her. I hope she knows how much I love her. I hope she feels I'm always here for her. I guess that's the best thing about kids, they are just filled with hope and it spills over to the grown-ups.

Big Sister, Maddy (age 11) with Gavin (3), Sydnee (8 mos.) and Delaney (7)

The First Fresh Hell

The first circle of hell I wish to discuss is how 'high maintenance' (hm) has become some sort of religion. It's not necessarily people doing the hm behaviors, it's their incessant need to let everyone know about it. People are mani - pedi - waxing - tanning - highlighting - shopping proselytizers. I get it; I really, really do. I love a good pedicure. I cover my grays as often as possible (Thanks, Shan!). I get how lovely it is to have someone do something for you that you have neither the time nor skill to do for yourself. I also understand how important that is to all the Mothers/Wives. They are busy and stressed and selfless. They deserve the love. So do the single girls, for various reasons and motivations, I don't need to discuss here and now. But WHY must we tell everyone about it?

The constant discussion of pampering oneself smacks of elitism. First, one must have the money to do these things. Secondly, sometimes more preciously, one must have the time. These folks want everyone else to know they are keeping up with the Hiltons and doing these oh-so-fabulous sounding things.

I'm all for the 'pampering' (ugh! that word...pamper is what you put on a baby's bottom). I'm just fed up with talking talking talking about the pampering. Dare I say, BRAGGING about it.

Woo hooo... someone scraped the gunk from under your toenails. Thanks for sharing. But you can stop now...please.