Taking a dump.

Mom got here last Wednesday and I don’t think we’ve stopped for one minute. I told her about the many organization projects we’d been planning to do around the house and she was on it. We started with the basement storage room, switching out outgrown girl clothes and moved on to re-arranging the living room, bean’s room and then cleaning out and re-organizing the office. Then it was time to buy organizers and bins. Then build them all. We squeezed in time for wine and a pedi. But it’s mostly been all work and no play. I’m sure she’ll be so happy for that plane to take off tomorrow that she’ll cry with joy.

Friends came by with meals and I barely said hi to one of them. I’ve been in heads-down-git-er-dun mode. And since most of these clean out and organize projects have been bandied about for about a decade, I figured I should act while the acting was good. So there. Light a cancer fire under me and I’ll finally put the jiggle in it.

By the time we got to the office my mom said, “You know. I’m shocked. I’ve always thought you were so organized.” I had that woman fooled. (We still had receipts from 1995 lying around.) I am so ashamed.

But with this new leaf and clean freak streak comes a silver lining. The hubby, who has been feeling like total crap on a pancake, is happy. He almost teared up with relief when he saw the new spacious office. And the cleaned off kitchen shelf. And the new-and-improved liquor cabinet with actual room to see what we have (and don’t have).

Life in a small house calls for mandatory organization. And I’d clearly lost my mind. Something about hauling five loads of recyclables to CHARM made my load lighten and my head clear. On drive number 2, I suddenly thought, “Screw cancer. We can totally take it. And send it to Ecocycle with the #2 plastics.” (Did I mention that I live in Boulder?)

Then today when we had to sadly take about three bags of un-recyclable shit to the actual dump, I realized that I never wanted to go there again. That place REEKS. And I thought that I had to walk into the building to put my stuff on the enormous teeming pile. About to hurl, I turn to a man in a pick up and say, “Where do you drop this stuff?” He said, “Right there.” And gestured at my feet. “Oh. I haven’t ever done this before.” And he says, “You’re lucky.” But what I think he meant was, “You’re such a white girl.”

I still have one more load for Savers and approximately two closets, two sets of cabinets and one CD rack to go through. But I already feel like I can breathe. It was a cathartic process. Getting rid of shit. Especially since the hubby spent the whole time getting rid of his too.

The worst part of his recovery is the enormous amount of time he has to spend in the bathroom. Tonight he said, “I stand up and I have to poop.” Every outing is dictated by proximity to a restroom. So for people who the highlight of any given weekend is a bike ride to the farmer’s market —we’re talking BIG LIFE CHANGE.

It’s a good thing the house feels de-stressed by being de-stuffed. We both took a huge sigh tonight during dinner just thinking of all of that shit that has moved on to the great beyond. And then the hubby had to leave the table to hit the shitter and get rid of a bit more.

I guess you could say we were working in parallels. I had to clean out because he is.

The hardest part is watching how weak he gets with so little effort. He’s itching to get back in the kitchen. Get his hands on the girls. Jump on the trampoline with no pants on. And. He just can’t. Having mom here has been a great diversion though. The days have flown and he gets to be on the periphery watching our new life take shape. One where we now have room to roam in our not-so-big house. But watching him turn gray because he has been at the table too long after dinner makes my stomach take a big roll (just like it did when I was facing that huge pile of lord-knows-what at the dump). I worry, worry, worry.

Today we got a call to set up the PET scan and it jarred me back to reality. Mom leaves tomorrow and we meet with the oncologist next week. We’ll have the first stretch alone with no family here since before surgery. And our lives are so different that they are almost unrecognizable. But. We still have each other. We still laugh. And we still know the value of a good, old fashioned dump. (When we need it most.)

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Turpentine. Brandi Carlile. And just when we believe we could be great. Reality it permeates. And conquers from within again.

PS: Thank you isn’t enough for the fact that we’ve not cooked our own meal in almost a month. And for the fact that our families dropped everything to come to Colorado and deal with our shit. Literally. You all make us humbled with gratitude, love and strength every single day.