Your chaos is my normal.

A quick phone call to my mom always puts the perceived chaos of our home life into perspective. And it's not necessarily anything that she says, except.. that it kind of is.

"What do you have going on this weekend?" she cautiously asks. Without a second thought I rattle off the various schedules of each of the inhabitants of our household. With six kids and my ability to go tangential on her, this can take some time.

In the background three kids are playing some form of tag, running up and down the stairs; one is advancing her solo drum career on Rock Band; one is watching Dr. Strangelove on the downstairs TV, surround sound blaring; and one is following me from room to room, attempting to draw my attention to her with her squawky why-are-you-running-away-from-me, borderline-whiny voice. Eventually she is sucked into the play of the older kids, and I slip out the front door for some privacy.

I finish the cataloging of our monkeys' planned weekend activities, which is followed by a pregnant pause.

"Mom? Are you...still there?"

"I'm here. Wow. That's... wow. You have a lot on your plate."

It's at this point in the conversation that I am at a complete loss for words. My mom is not being judgmental nor negative in any way. But her stunned demeanor always throws me.

The truth is, I don't feel like I have a lot on my plate. I don't feel like we live in chaos, or in an atypical situation, mostly because it's US. It IS our situation. It seems entirely normal, regular, life as usual to me. It is THIS thought that makes me pause.

Am I supposed to be overwhelmed?

Am I supposed to feel exhausted? Crazed? Hanging on by a thread?

Is it wrong that I am doing okay?

*breathe* I tell myself.
*be calm*
*There's nothing wrong feeling good about your life.*

And this is where I do the big *forehead slap.*

When one is busy living life, one's life is-- by it's very definition-- ONE'S OWN life. Normalcy is entirely subjective.

In my mother's world, normal was living with and caring for my 90 year-old grandmother, until my mother was recently diagnosed with cancer. And now, normalcy for my mom includes quiet, sweatpants, baldness and chemo.

Nausea and the constant white-cell battle she wages is exhausting and frightening to me. But chemo is the hors' deouvre that fills her plate. Like it or no, it composes her reality, and defines what is and is not normal in her world.

By contrast, normalcy in our home is defined by the many people and pets that live there: everybody has an issue, an agenda, a need or desire and they want it all solved, directed, attended to NOW, just like at work, at school, or at any other home in the world.

I suppose, yes, we do have a lot on our huge plate. But we also have much bigger appetites.

chaos | humor | cancer