Author: Monica Marcelis Fochtman, PhD, CPRW, CCTC

Executive Career Consultant | Speaker | Author

Self-preservation!

#ReverbBroads2012 prompt from June 7
List 8 reasons it’s okay to lie.
Katrina

1. If it preserves my personal parenting sanity. Example: Oldest is playing with whistle that sounds like a high-pitched train horn AND it lights up. I say, “that is an outside toy.” What I really mean is, “for the love of all that is good and holy get that thing away from me or I am going to lose it!” BTW, still trying to find the person who decided that said whistle was a good idea.

2. If it buys me decision-making time. Example: Boys are fighting. I only heard half the story. Child one approaches me and whines (we all know how I feel about whining!). I re-direct him to sibling. “Talk to him about it!” Truth: I have no idea what happened, or what to do about it.

3. If it keeps my children from worrying. Example: one Christmas, our little family of 4 was almost stranded in a flash blizzard on the Ohio turnpike. We were driving along just fine. The snow falling was actually quite pretty. We had to slow down, but nothing too drastic. Then, bam! Wind whipping, snow swirling everywhere, no cell phone signal, can’t see the car in front of you, white-knuckle driving. We pulled off at the next exit, which thankfully had some motels, one of which had a room and all you can eat breakfast! Boys half sleeping/half awake, in jammies and winter coats in the backseat asking, “Why are we pulling over, Daddy?” Answer: “We’re really tired and it is dark, so we are going to sleep here tonight.” Truth? “I am absolutely terrified that we are going to end up in a snow bank, so we’re getting out of here!” See? Why make them worry?

4. If it keeps my children safe from strangers, danger, or fear. Nuff said.

5. If it prolongs my children’s innocence. Our oldest is 6.5 years old. He turned 6.5  yesterday. When you are that little, that extra half is a big deal! Pretty soon he will no longer believe in Santa, the tooth fairy, etc. etc. The day of discovery is coming like a freight train and it makes me sad. As soon as he figures it out, little brother (now 4) will inevitably learn the truth,too. That’s what older brothers do, right? I remember my older brother showing me the stash in my mother’s shower. Why rob them of the innocence? Why steal the mystery, the anticipation? They will figure it out soon enough.

6. If my answer (the lie) saves me from entering into the Mommy Wars, again. In my experience, when other mothers ask questions about breastfeeding, naps, sleep training, solid foods, school, summer vacations, sports, blah blah…..they don’t really want my real opinion. I know I don’t when I ask. They want my support. So I give it. “Yes! Totally normal!” “Oooh, great idea!” They want to be reassured that they are not totally crazy (not totally, just partially like the rest of us) and that they are doing right by their children (They are. We all are.) Lying? Yep. Deceitful with intention to harm? Never.

7. If my answer helps me save face with colleagues and supervisors. Example: “Yes, I read that message. My response is in my email draft folder!” Truth: make short-hand note to self on meeting agenda, scurry back to office, find said note, decipher it’s meaning, read aforementioned email message, reply all with smiley face at end. Wipe sweat from brow. This answer is very un-professional and very un-student affairs-like. But I don’t care (lie).

8. I can’t possibly think of another reason. Actually, this is true. I am drawing a complete blank. I am sure that I will come up with more after I publish this post and read all of the other witty, insightful, and honest Broads’ stuff!

Summer “recipes”

#ReverbBroads prompt from June 6
Share a recipe or meal that is a summertime favorite. (Bonus: Pick someone else’s recipe or meal and make it, then blog about your results later on this month).
Amy

I don’t cook. I can. I know how. I kept myself alive for quite some time! Go me! I just don’t enjoy it. I am the baker in our house. Need a special occasion plate of brownies, chocolate chip cookie bars, or pineapple stuffing? I’m your girl. In our house, my husband is the chef. He plans all meals, does all the grocery shopping, and then executes. I clean up after. And, we both think that we got the best part of the deal!

I am sharing three of our family’s favorite snacks. Caveat: We have virtually no white flour, sugar, or processed foods in our house. We eat very simple things (organic and local wherever possible and affordable) and have one sugary treat a week. Happy “cooking!”

Real popcorn– Buy jar of whole kernels and some popcorn cooking oil. We use generic equivalent of Redenbacher’s. Heat 1/4 cup oil in saucepan & place one kernel inside. Cover partially. When kernel pops, put more kernels in pan, covering bottom. Cover pan. Move pan vigorously over heat to avoid burning kernels and to make sure all of them pop.We use a pan that has a clear lid so you can see the popcorn going. When done popping, coat popcorn with coarse sea salt. Sea salt tastes way better than regular table salt. Best enjoyed with beer! Our summer favorite is Oberon by Bells’ Brewery. (Pre-packaged microwave popcorn is full of chemicals.)

Fire-pit roasted apples– We have no grass in our backyard, so it’s the perfect spot for a home-made fire-pit! Need 4 large apples. We use organic Granny Smith or Gala apples. Core the apple. Stuff core with butter, cinnamon, and organic agave nectar (low glycemic index sugar substitute). Wrap tightly with non-stick aluminum foil. Place directly in fire-pit. Cook for approximately 15 minutes, turning often. Note: Granny Smiths take longer & need to be turned frequently. Remove from fire. Let sit for a few minutes. Unwrap apple and then place in bowl. It’s apple pie without the sugar and the crust! For real foodies: Serve with vanilla ice cream!

This is the agave nectar that we use. This bottle lasts our family of 4 about 4 weeks. A little goes a LONG way.

Yogurt Parfaits– Plain, non-fat yogurt, Smucker’s spreadable fruit (way less sugar than regular jelly and tastes better!), fresh fruit slices, and granola. Mix the yogurt with a little agave nectar. You can also add vanilla and/or cinnamon to taste. Layer a glass with yogurt, then about 2 tablespoons of spreadable fruit, sliced fruit (strawberries, bananas, and raspberries work great), and granola. Layer until glass is about 3/4 full. End with granola. Garnish with a strawberry and sprig of mint. (Yogurt, while it has some good calcium, is also full of processed sugar. Read the label. Some yogurt has as many grams of sugar as a candy bar! Yikes!)

Happy snacking!

 

No whining allowed

#ReverbBroads2012 Prompt Day #5: Come up with a new Constitutional Amendment (yep, I am breaking the “rules” and skipping around! Thanks, Brenda!)

I hereby decree that the next amendment to the Constitution of these amazing United States should be: If you whine about it, volunteer to change it

Definition of whining: to complain about in a feeble or petulant way.

That pretty much covers it. We all whine. We all vent our frustrations. It is human. We see an injustice or something doesn’t go our way at work and we shout from the Facebook, blog, Twitter rooftops: “Hey, I was wronged! ” Or, we don’t like the way an event or program has been planned and we chime in with snarky comments after everything has been done. We have all been there. Heck, sometimes we have even been that person. The angry staff member or committee member who did not jump on board when the opportunity for involvement was offered at the outset, suddenly sweeps in at the last minute to offer advice, with a smirk and barely veiled disdain. “Well, I wouldn’t have done it that way.” Then, crosses his/her arms and continues to pout until the meeting is over. Yep, pretty petulant.

I know myself quite well. I have a big mouth. I whine. I vent. A lot. Sometimes it can take me a few days (okay, with some stuff it is weeks!) to pull myself out of my self-indulgent slump. But, I always do. After I am done whining, I move into action mode. I open my big mouth and I volunteer myself to help. I speak up with suggested improvements and changes. This is how I came to be an RA, Orientation Leader, writer for the student newspaper, AmeriCorps volunteer, student affairs professional, committee member, conference planing committee member, MBTI certified, non-profit volunteer, bald Momma….

And therein lies my suggested amendment. If you whine about it, volunteer to change it.

Don’t like the music program at your kids’ school? Volunteer to be on the curriculum committee or PTO.

Wish you had a more flexible schedule? Talk to your supervisor.

Don’t like the lack of female representation on a university committee? Get on the committee.

Frustrated with your Congressperson? Write a letter. Make a phone call. Take your cause to the web. Twitter is quite powerful.

Do not be a petulant child who chimes in from the cheap seats after the fact. Whining is not helpful to the cause. It creates unnecessary drama, is disrespectful of the people who have actually devoted their time and talents to the cause, and it hurts morale. Whining is inevitably about the whiner. Usually the whiner is hurt, or angry, or unhappy with themselves about something. Don’t engage it. Push back and encourage involvement.

Just. do. something. Anything.

But no whining!

Tarantulas, Sharks, Monkeys, and….Relapse

#ReverbBroads2012 Prompt for Day 2: What gives you nightmares?

In general, I am not afraid of spiders. I don’t like them, but I am also not the type to stand on top of the toilet seat or dining room table while some man comes in to rescue me from a daddy long legs. I just wad up a bunch of TP and attack it. Then, flush it away and moving on. However, tarantulas are in an entirely different category. Just the thought of one gives me goosebumps and makes me feel nauseous (nauseated?). I lived in the desert in AZ for a year and the entire time I was there I was irrationally afraid that a tarantula would make its way into our house. I think most of this fear stems from that episode of The Brady Bunch, when they all go to Hawaii, and a tarantula ends up on Peter’s face. Anyone who grew up in the late 70s/early 80s knows exactly what I am talking about. Creepy! I think it’s the hair. On the tarantula, not Peter 😉

I grew up in NJ. Our vacation every summer was two weeks at “the shore.” (For those uninformed, this is the real Jersey Shore, not that trashy MTV show that ruined it for all of us Jerseyans and forever tainted the rest of the world.) I have also seen the movie Jaws. So, there you go. Pretty natural fear of sharks. Although I am an excellent swimmer, I never ventured too far out into the ocean. Why risk it? Interesting side note, my husband is obsessed with the Discovery Channel’s “Shark Week.” Stays up until 2 or 3am because he.cannot.turn.away. Then he has nightmares for a week and I get to hear all about them. And then I have nightmares.

I think monkeys are creepy. I love chimpanzees and find gorillas fascinating. But monkeys creep me out. I think it is the annoying oooohhhh-ahhhhhh sound they make. Ugh. Cannot stand it. You know that scene in Toy Story 3 when they tape up the monkey so they can escape from day care? Sets my teeth on edge. Blah! I have to cover my ears when we watch it.

I hesitate to write this next part. I am trying hard to have less cancer and more hope in my life. I am trying not to make every single post about our family’s journey with childhood cancer. But, me being the rule-follower that I am, I feel I must really answer the question.

What gives me nightmares?

That my son’s cancer will relapse and he will die.

Our older son is a cancer survivor. This is a miracle. He is a miracle. He is a fighter. He is a survivor. He was stage 4, with a very aggressive diagnosis (Rhabdomyosarcoma).

It is hard to release these words to the universe. As if somehow saying them out loud might make them true. Silly. Irrational. Even saying that makes me sound crazy. I know this. But once your life has been touched by cancer, everything takes on new meaning, both good and bad. And, you don’t go back to your old life or your old self, because neither of them exist. While my son is two years off treatment and has been cancer free since October 2009, the fear of relapse is an absolute terror that I keep at bay every day. It is a dark shadow that creeps into my room and my dreams at night. When I kiss him goodnight, my heart stops. I bury my face deep into his neck and I inhale. I am trying to memorize his smell. I rub my hand all over his head, which thankfully now has hair. I put my hand over his heart and try to match its rhythm to my own. I kiss his cheek, rub his back. And I thank God that I have been given another day with him.

At night, I have dreams of him running across fields of sunflowers, flying kites on the beach with his brother and grandpa, swimming in the ocean with my mom, going to college, getting married. I have nightmares that all of this will be stolen from us.

I am not sure what to say next. There is no Hollywood ending to this movie. There is no bow to wrap this package. It is my life. I choose to fully live it. Nightmares and all.

With what fictional character (book, movie, TV, etc.) do you most identify? Why?

I am again trying to dip my toe into this blogging world. I have joined a group of smart, funny, sassy, and all around amazing women who are from various parts of the country and in various states of negotiating career/motherhood/womanhood. It is called Reverb Broads (#reverbbroads2012). Each day in June there will be a new blog prompt to which you respond and then share. I joined because I figured it would force me to physically sit down and write each day. I joined to connect with other women and other moms. I joined because I am hoping to get out of this little “who am I am and what do I want from my life?” funk.

I will confess that lately I have fallen into the perfectionist trap. Not sure where it is coming from or what it is about, but there it is again. So, I have tended to do nothing rather than risk writing, saying, or doing something that isn’t 100% awesome. No pressure there, Monica! My husband commented, “You do A level work or nothing at all. Sometimes, B’s are okay.” He is so right…..

But, I saw the first prompt, “With what fictional character do you most identify and why?” and I am already behind. Here it is the morning of June 2 and I am just now writing for the June 1st prompt…

I love this question. I have loved the creative and original responses that the other participants have posted. This question also sent me in to a complete tailspin. Here is why: 1. I have been through a lot of stuff the last two years (son’s diagnosis & treatment, finishing PhD, betrayal of me & my family by a friend, unemployment, new job, commuting, shaved my head, different new job, no more commute, sons in school……blah blah blah) and truthfully, I have no idea who I am, let alone what fictional character I am most like. 2. I have always struggled with definitives and absolutes like “most, always, never.” For me, these words do not exist.

Then, I started to read other people’s posts and saw that they had chosen more than one character and that many of these other writers are also trying to figure it out. So, safety in numbers. That being said, here we go. I think I am most like:

Carol Seaver from Growing Pains– smart, sometimes annoyed by those around her because she feels misunderstood, pretty in an unconventional way, trying to be noticed but not noticed at the same time. I even had the same red-rimmed glasses that covered half my face.

Monica Geller from Friends– Organized (though I am not nearly as anal), loyal, sibling, loves tradition, competitive, rough exterior but really mushy in the middle. And, not going to lie, it was awesome having a lead female character with the same name.

Leslie Knope from Parks & Rec– persistent (she never lets things go), pushes those around her to be better because she knows they can be, advocates for those who have no voice, believes that systems can help people, belongs to something bigger than herself, risk-taker. And, Amy Poehler (real person, I know), is a Boston College graduate (like me) so I am automatically drawn to any character she does.

Miranda Bailey from Grey’s Anatomy– a mother, strong, fierce, sassy, straight-shooter with good intentions, loyal, motivated, confident, gets stronger the harder the situation.

Whew! I did it! Now, on to day 2. Maybe I will get that one done before day 3!

Letter to Congressman Mike Rogers, Michigan Eighth Congressional District

Hon. Mike Rogers

U.S. House of Representatives

133 Cannon House Office Building

Washington, DC 20515

February 2, 2012

Dear Representative Rogers,

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Monica Marcelis Fochtman and I am a constituent of yours in Michigan’s Eighth Congressional District. My husband and I and our two young children live in Okemos. I am writing to you today because I want to introduce you to my son, Luke. Luke is six years old. He is thriving in kindergarten- already reading at a first grade level. He loves to draw and play with Legos. He is a kind friend and generous older brother. He knows how to love and he expresses it freely. Luke is also a miracle. Luke is a cancer survivor.

On December 12, 2008 Luke was diagnosed with Stage Four Embryonal Rhabdomyosarcoma (ERMS) at just three years old. Luke’s original tumor was 7 cm long and there were also multiple metastases in each of his lungs. The world as we knew it stopped. At the time, my husband and I did not really understand that children could even get cancer. Quickly and without warning, we were thrust into a world that no child or parent should ever experience. Luke endured 70 weeks of chemotherapy treatments, six (6) weeks of radiation treatments (each one requiring that Luke be fully sedated so that he would lay still), and multiple infections and setbacks due to his compromised immune system.

Although some great advances have been made in the area of childhood cancer research, it is not enough. In the last two decades, there have only been two new chemotherapy drugs developed for use specifically in children. The chemotherapy agents that were used to treat Luke were developed over 20 years ago and they were developed for use in adults. At one point during Luke’s treatment, his immune system was so beat-down from the cumulative effect of all the chemotherapy, that his oncologists began adjusting his doses and only gave him 75% strength. My son deserved better than 20 year old drugs. All childhood cancer warriors deserve the best medicine that this country has to offer.

I know that you are currently considering language to be included in the reauthorization of the Pediatric Research Equity Act (PREA). On behalf of my son, Luke, the thousands of other children like him, and the thousands of children who did not make it, I am writing to ask that you vote yes for the language changes suggested by Dr. Peter Adamson, Chair of the Children’s Oncology Group (COG) and by your fellow Congressman, Michael T. McCaul. For your convenience, I have attached documents from both of them which outline the suggested changes.

I had the privilege of meeting both Dr. Adamson and Congressman McCaul while my family and I were in Washington, D.C. this past September for a St. Baldrick’s Foundation head-shaving event (www.stbaldricks.org). At Union Station on September 21, 45 other cancer mothers and I (46 Mommas Shave for the Brave, http://www.46mommas.com) shaved our heads as a sign of solidarity with our children and to raise money and awareness for the kids. We also participated in visits to the Hill and the Childhood Cancer Summit, organized by COG and the Congressional Childhood Cancer Caucus.

As a result of our cancer journey, I know that Luke is one of the lucky ones. For his particular diagnosis, the five year survival rate is approximately 35%. Luke survived. Too many children diagnosed with cancer do not. Cancer is the number one disease killer of children, claiming more children than AIDS, cystic fibrosis, asthma, and genetic anomalies combined.

All children deserve a chance. The only way this chance will be given to them is if more pediatric-specific research is done. The only way that will happen is if you and other members of Congress fight for our children. I hope you will consider my request. Thank you for your time and service to our state.

Best regards,

Monica Marcelis Fochtman, Ph.D.

This picture was taken in July 2009. Luke was 3.5 years old. He was recovering from a 104.8 degree fever. Notice that the chemotherapy caused him to lose his hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes.

Our miracle. This picture was taken on Luke’s first day of pre-school at St. Thomas Aquinas in East Lansing, MI. Fall 2010.

What you do speaks so loudly, that I cannot here what you say

This is the post that I submitted to the Women in Student Affairs (WISA) blog.

Growing up, my mother used to say this all the time. Like most children, I rolled my eyes and walked away. Now, I am the mother. I am also a wife; PhD; advocate for childhood cancer awareness, funding, and research; an academic specialist/advisor at an amazing Big Ten University; and a mid-career, higher education professional who is still trying to figure out who and what she wants to be when she grows up. In these roles that I negotiate, people are watching how I behave and paying less attention to what I say. On a cognitive level, I know this. In parenting and in student affairs, we lovingly refer to this as “the fish bowl effect.” We live in a glass bowl where our words, actions, and mistakes occur out in the open for all of the world to see and to judge.

It is one thing to know that people are watching me and it is quite another to let that knowledge influence my choices. My two young sons are watching everything I do. Every choice I make, whether intentionally or unintentionally, sends them a message about the choices and sacrifices I am willing to make for them and our family. My choices also show them how much I value myself and my own well-being.

I finished my doctoral studies in August 2010 and immediately began searching for “the next step” position. I had the credentials, the requisite years of experience, and the desire to be a mid-level, mid-career professional. I applied for many, many positions. On the recommendation of some colleagues, I applied for and was offered a Director-level position at a small, Catholic school. I bought some new professional clothes. With my degree in hand and self-righteous assuredness, off I went to my next step. I had made it!

I worked hard. I met some wonderful colleagues. I got to teach a first-year seminar course. I was a voting member of six or seven different university committees. I managed a quarter of a million dollar operating budget and I supervised five professional staff. On paper, it is the next step position.

That is what it looked like on the outside. On the inside, I was tired. All the time. I was spending three hours a day in my car. On a bad day in the snow, it was more like five hours. I was not exercising, ever. I never ate breakfast with my boys. I missed almost every event at their school. I missed my husband and my children. I had severely underestimated the physical, emotional, and financial toll that commuting would take on me and my family.

Worst of all, I wasn’t being true to myself because I wasn’t bringing everything I could to each of my roles. I was not living with integrity. I said to myself and to anyone who would listen that my family was most important. But, my life was not letting me be with them. When I walked in the door at 530pm every night, one of my sons would not speak to me because he suddenly realized that I wasn’t there before and he was mad. I am sure it felt like I was never there. It felt that way to me, too. Yet, every chance I got, I was touting myself as an example of someone who was successfully negotiating mid-career, family, and personal interests/passions. I was openly advocating for working mothers and mid-career professionals, “Look, I am doing it! So can you!”

Integrity is defined as: 1) adherence to moral and ethical principles, soundness of moral character, honesty; 2) the state of being whole, entire, or undiminished; and 3) a sound, unimpaired, perfect condition. I was not living a life of integrity. I was not being honest with myself or my employer. I was certainly not in a state of being whole, and I was not in perfect condition.

In November, I accepted a position at a university ten minutes from my house. I let go of my Director-level position. I gave up my seat at the Alice Manicur Symposium; hopefully another mid-level, mid-career professional was able to go and get from it all that she could. I no longer commute. I exercise at lunch now. The other day I helped a young woman with her resume and I introduced her to Twitter. These things do not make me a hero. But, they are little things that I am doing to re-align my words and my actions.

I eat breakfast with my boys every morning. Some days, I take my children to school. I am re-connecting with other working moms. When I get home, both of my boys greet me at the door and we go play, because I can. I have the time and mental energy to blog and tweet and volunteer with childhood cancer organizations about which I am passionate. I made choices that work for me and I am doing the best I can to actively live in to those choices. I am happier than I have been in almost two years.

Who is watching you? Your supervisees. Your supervisor. Your children. Your partner. Maybe a new professional is watching you and wondering if the student affairs “lifestyle” is really something s/he wants. Maybe it is a mid-career professional who is deciding between taking the leap to the “next position” and leaving the profession altogether. What are your choices telling others about who and what you value? Are you living with integrity?

Life is indeed a trade-off, a constant negotiation of roles, responsibilities, and choices. Turns out, my mother was right. What people do speaks volumes about who they are and who they value. I need to parent, lead, and work with integrity. There are two very important people watching me.

Bio
-Monica Marcelis Fochtman, Ph.D. is an academic specialist at Michigan State University. She is married with two young children. She also volunteers with the St. Baldrick’s Foundation, raising money and awareness for childhood cancer research.

Connect with Monica on Twitter: at @monicamfochtman or email mfochtman@hc.msu.edu

Grief changes all the rules

Thanks everyone for your words and for taking the time to read my blog and respond to my #11 and #12 things….(post from January 5)

As a person of faith, I actually believe that when people die, they do go to a better place and that their earthly suffering ends. Especially, the kid cancer warriors. They endure so much, for so long. I absolutely believe that they are in “a better place” after they die. I believe that the kiddos are finally free. Free from their suffering, free to run, and play, and jump and laugh. I believe that in Heaven, our children are beautiful and pure again. But, I would never say that to a grieving parent because that is what I believe, not necessarily what they believe or want to hear.

Some parents I know also believe as I do and it is okay to share these dreams and visions with them. I have done so with a few other Mommas and I have treasured those conversations and always will. It is important, though, to remember that others do not believe that their children are in a better place. This is their right as the grieving parent. The world of childhood cancer has taught me that comforting a friend is about them and what they need, not about what I need or believe. Being a friend is about doing and saying things to make my friend feel better. It’s not about me.

It is funny to me (not ha-ha funny, but ironic funny, I guess) that I am writing a post about believing one thing and saying another. I usually preach about “meaning what you say and saying what you mean.” This philosophy often gets me in trouble (see previous posts about my big mouth). However, I believe that grief changes everything and everyone and in those cases, the old adages about honesty no loner apply. Grief cuts away part of your soul and it never goes back completely. I know this. I must honor this in others as well.

The 11th and 12th things I will never do

11. I will never say to another momcologist, grieving parent, or friend, “Well, at least (insert name of loved one here) is no longer suffering. S/he is in a better place.” Again, these words are patronizing and insulting to the person hearing them. Not everyone believes in an afterlife where a person’s physical and spiritual selves are reunited and restored. Not everyone believes in God or Heaven. A statement like this assumes that the person you are speaking with believes what you believe and that they might find some comfort in these words. Maybe. But probably not. It is my experience that people who say such things do not know what else to say, or have no personal experience from which to speak.

12. I will never use this forum (or Facebook or Twitter) to complain about my children. It makes me sad when I see these posts (too often, if you ask me). If you have time to post on Facebook about your child’s behavior, then you have time to get off Facebook and address it. Children are a blessing to be cherished. Children are the greatest gift and legacy that we can leave on this world. I want my children to look back on my words and be proud and maybe even a little inspired (if I am lucky). All that I do and say should lift them up, not tear them down.

10 things I will (probably) never do

Happy New Year everyone! As I continue to slowly dip my toe in the water of blogging, I am cheating and using some prompts from other people. There is a website called http://reverbbroads.blogspot.com/ where they posted a list of writing prompts for every day in December. As you can tell, I am very behind! Actually, most of the prompts felt too much like homework. And since I am done with my PhD, homework is no longer part of my life! Whew! However, the prompt for December 6 was intriguing to me and I continued to come back to it as I thought about what to write for the New Year. So, here it is, my list of “10 things I would never do.”

1. Never say never. The world of childhood cancer taught me that the world of absolutes does not exist. And, I have already done things that I never thought I would: shaved my head, connected with other momcologists in deep and profound ways, started a blog….

2. Go skydiving. I am afraid of heights and if I ever had that kind of disposable income, I am not going to waste it jumping out of some plane praying that my chute will open.

3. Never buy another Volkswagen. EVER.

4. Spend five years with an unreliable car that I hate. Not worth the emotional and physical stress.

5. Take a job where I have to commute more than 30 minutes one way. From December 2010 to November 2011, I drove 126 miles each day to get to work. Great position (I was a Director), great people, great students. But, the toll it took on me, my health, my family, my car, and my wallet were very taxing. Still recovering.

6. I will never go another year without some sort of regular exercise routine. See number 5.

7. Go back to school for a degree. There is a reason the PhD is called “terminal.” Happy to be a student for fun, but for grades, no way!

8. I will never say to another momcologist, grieving parent, or friend, “I can’t imagine how you feel.” Or, “I don’t know how you do it.” These words, to me, are patronizing. They put distance between the person saying them and the person receiving them. It is as if the person saying them is really saying, “Thank God you are experiencing that and not me or my kid.” I didn’t choose to have a son with cancer. We were drafted. Our choice was to fight like hell and win.

9. I will never say to another momcologist, grieving parent, or friend, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” BS. I am a person of deep faith. I believe in God. I believe that God died for me and for my sins. But, I do not and never will, believe that God causes children to suffer or that God gives us our sufferings to teach us a lesson. The universe is random (more on this in a future post) and bad things happen to good people. And, there are in fact many people out there who have “more than they can handle.” This is why we must pay it forward and help where we can.

10. I will never not have a big mouth and strong opinions. This is my curse. I say what I think. Sometimes, I do it in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am getting better at apologizing for those times. This is also my gift. I will spend the rest of my life using my big mouth and my strong opinions to fight and advocate for children with cancer, increasing awareness and raising money for pediatric-specific research. Awareness=funding=research=cures.