The dinner table is a funny thing. As a kid, I remember our table being about manners, being polite and having decorum. Clearly I grew up with all sisters. Now, my dinner table is never short of loud farts and burps. Some battles are not worth fighting. Even still, many of our families infamous memories came from the dinner table. My younger sister is notorious for the salt pile, not on her plate (tsk, tsk said Ms. Manners), that she would dredge her steamed broccoli in to make it edible. When in doubt, always use more salt. Sometimes after dinner my dad would read from The Children’s Book of Virtue. Inevitably, my mom would ask me to repeat the last line or words. Just to make sure I was paying attention. Of course I was listening because I figured out my mom would ask me, not any of my other sisters to repeat something. And I’m no dummy. Post-dinner was primetime outdoor playing hours. So I sat, in my pig tails, clothes dirty from playing outside, focusing with all my might. I knew if I didn’t want my mother’s wrath and an early bath time, I better pay attention. Besides, I always did like a good story. I remember reciting Psalm 23 at the dinner table to get my ears pierced and I remember being unexplainably nervous. I was worried too many mistakes and I wouldn’t earn my pierced ears. I also remember my mom recording me getting my ears pierced with our gigantic video camera that could fit a full-sized vhs tape. That video camera had to weigh at least twenty pounds. I remember our families late lunch on Sunday because my dad was preaching or at the church. We would have a “nicer” meal on Sunday and then no one would cook Sunday night. We would all fend for ourselves. Aka, cereal for dinner. Easter or Christmas would mostly entail a roast with onion slices held by toothpicks and homemade mashed potatoes and gravy. But everything was homemade. This was the 80s, we were poor and my mom is from the Southside of Chicago. And spaghetti. We always ate spaghetti. Or rotini. Or vermicelli. Any and all types of noodles. It’s a cheap and easy dinner for a large family. But lots of good memories, birthday cakes, Sunday dinners at the table. And I think this is why I try to emphasize family dinners. For me, the dinner table was a sense of unity and relative calm in the house. Not surprisingly, lately in my life, I want more family dinners. The calm is needed. The connection is needed. And even with my tween boy, my overly dramatic 10-year-old and my baby child, sometimes good conversation happens and laughter happens and I will look across the table at Chris feeling full, both physically and emotionally. This is the family we have created and life is amazing. It’s a good, gentle and humble reminder of what really matters in life. 

A quick little update: tomorrow is another treatment day and I’m just feeling a little more tired. It might be because of summer break with kids home, swim meets at night, therapies during the day and work throughout the week; it might be the hormonal changes in my body that are effecting my sleep; it might be the chemotherapy; or it might be all the above. Hopeful a good nights rest will have me feeling ready physically. Mentally, I’m ready. I don’t look forward to feeling like crap but I think of the chemotherapy punching these cancer cells out of my body. Bye, Felicia. So round 3, here we come.