I have no snare in my headphones.

I can’t believe the transformation our lives have undertaken. Who knew that something so simple as having a hubby and daddy back in participation mode would change things so drastically. He’s seriously B-A-C-K. In full form. Back to pretty much who he was before this whole vortex sucked us straight into it’s screaming maw. (Which was sometime around the end of May. Post-Mima dying and I’d probably just landed at DIA after almost three weeks in SC cleaning out 40 or 50 years worth of memories. Burying one of the most beloved people in my life and trying to save a few mementos of my childhood.)

That was just about the time that our little friend, Mr. Anal Fissure, decided to say hello. A small tap on the ass, if you will. A quick, “HELLLLOOOOO!!! Are you paying attention? It may be dark in here, but I am NOT ALONE. And I need you to know about my little friend, EFFIN CANCER.” (Or something like that. If asses talked and all.)

Yes, yes. It’s been AN EFFIN GREAT YEAR.

But the important thing to mention is this: we are currently in the honeymoon phase. Chemo may have kicked our feet straight out from under us last week, but this week it’s like a new life force has taken hold. He has energy. He speaks. He laughs. He sings with the girls. He cracks jokes. He rips me a new asshole (okay, so that part doesn’t really qualify for honeymoon phasing). He’s like the guy I once knew before he was shitting up a storm and practically in tears over the tear. That guy.

And I missed him. So much.

So we’ve been savoring. Trying to stretch every great moment into flat-out momentous. Because we know what’s coming again next week. We even had one of the biggest arguments of our relationship to date, just to prove we are ALIVE AND KICKING.

It’s all really amazing. Truly. Even the fight. Pent up anger and frustration at this whole effin situation doesn’t even begin to describe it. So we talked and realized that it’s not each other that we’re pissed at. IT’S THE EFFIN CANCER.

The EFFIN CANCER came in like the stinkin’ wind from Greeley and whipped us straight into a frenzy.

But not this week. We got up the other day and took the girls out to breakfast before school. Tardy slip be damned. We had Sunday dinner at the Boulder ChopHouse because the hubby was craving mashed potatoes. And, yes, we got to celebrate our anniversary at the most favorite restaurant in the world. And they treated us like royalty.

And today I blew off work (again) and took bean down to buy a light bulb for her disco ball and some silly bandz. She wanted to take the tag-along, so I had to ride the hubby’s bike because it has the hitch on it. And off teetering we go. Hit the first big intersection and start to cross just as a car comes whipping around the corner full tilt. I try to stop and lose my balance, throwing us both to the ground and under the bike. No biggie. Just remove child and bike from the intersection, and hop back on. Try not to kill us and get to the hardware store. Find the lightbulb and batteries, go to check out, and no credit card. It must’ve flown out of my pocket during the crash. So we re-trace steps. No card. Return home, call to have the card cancelled. And try again.

A blip. A day. A life lived in fast-forward. Pause. Rewind. Play.

So that’s the cycle. Get kicked square in the ass by some shitty chemicals for a few days. Dust off, get up and get out and live. Then repeat.

We have a plan now. Hubby will camp out in bed. I’ll line up help so I don’t have to leave him alone. And we will DO IT. Then, before we know it, that big hairy cancer monster will be beaten into submission and we’ll flick it off of our sleeve like the annoying little piece of lint it’s morphed into.

But, first, we’ve got a few days of life to live. Catch you on the flip side.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Dirt Off My Shoulder. Jay-Z. Got some, dirt on my shoulder, could you brush it off for me?