You know that life is back to its normal routine when you are hounded again and again to please clean the aquatic frogs’ water tank. It really isn’t a priority of mine, so I find it easy to let it slide. Finally, our eldest child left a post-it note in the kitchen yesterday that was a clear reminder. It read, “FROGS: Do or (they) Die.” I finally decided to carry their small tank down to the laundry room and I placed it in the utility sink while a jug of spring water (that I brought in from the garage) warmed up to room temperature. Ridiculous . . . spring water for frogs, room temperature, yucky green stuff growing on the sides of the tank, etc.

After Skipper and Muscle Man sat in the sink all day long, our eldest asked if I had cleaned their tank. No I hadn’t, but I was determined to finally get it over with. I donned the long, pink rubber gloves, got the frog net down from the shelf, and poured a cup of temperature-appropriate spring water into our biggest coffee mug. Scooping the frogs out of their tank always makes me nervous. One has hopped out before and I did not prove to be a bold lover of amphibians – instead I quickly thought of ways to contain, without touching it. Thankfully, Jonathan was nearby to retrieve it.

Sure enough, yesterday as I scooped Muscle Man from the tank, and I tried to rapidly flip the net over to dump him into the large mug, he made a run (leap) for it. He went right onto the recessed drain grate. Oh, no. I was predictably afraid to touch him and Jonathan was not home to help. I’m pretty positive if I had asked the girls, they would have only screamed and our 4-year-old boy would have probably been happy to grab it, but he’d probably kill Muscle Man at the same time with his chubby toddler hands.

As I said, “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no,” in disbelief, our middle child appeared in the doorway to witness Muscle Man’s whereabouts. He’s an aquatic frog and we were pretty sure the clock was ticking on his ability to survive outside the water.

There wasn’t any way he could squeeze into the drain, right? The holes were tiny and he’s pretty plump. Oh, no. He began eyeing (according to my interpretation of frog body language) the tiny holes and was looking like he might try to contort his body to go down the drain. We watched in horror. I declared I was going to get a knife. That upset Elizabeth. I didn’t have time to explain that it would be a plastic, disposable knife to try and wedge him out. As I returned to save Muscle Man, he squished himself down flat and disappeared into the depths.

Oh. No. Elizabeth was upset, but quickly tried to say it was okay. Then we headed upstairs to tell our faithful frog keeper that the cleaning of the tank had failed miserably. The reaction was much worse than I would have expected. I was helpless. I couldn’t believe the distress, and our little boy kept trying to understand what in the world was going on by asking all sorts of non-stop questions. I’m pretty sure our eldest then turned to texting/email/instagram or something to declare the tragedy because the iPad appeared almost immediately.

I heard Jonathan opening the garage door. I ran downstairs to offset any fear that he might begin to have as he entered our house that was full of crying, confusion and chaos. As the man of the house, he went directly to the sink to fix the problem. In the meanwhile, he and I tried to keep the kids’ expectation realistic and told them that the frog might very well make it to river and could live a very happy life there. ( I was pretty sure he’d get strained at the water treatment plant, but I really didn’t know, so we might as well be optimistic).

Jonathan cleared out the cabinet under the sink, considerately placed towels under the pipe, and proceeded to unscrew the u-shaped tube. Once it was opened he turned the tube upside down, and there he was – Muscle Man was alive!!! It was time to stop the wailing, the mass communication, and the confused 4-year-old questions of the frog’s fate, etc. He’d been rescued and was reunited with Skipper. I ran to the kids and told them, very relieved (and growing tired), “Muscle Man is back from the dead! Your dad is a hero!”

That’s what happens in our house. There isn’t much time to recuperate, meditate and ponder here, but maybe that’s a good thing. It means less time to worry about the future. We are forced to live in the moment. I’m trying to be thankful to have these crazy moments.

Despite the hysteria of last night, we did have a relaxing Thanksgiving break. The kids were out of school for a week, and we ventured 500 miles north to spend the holiday with Jonathan’s parents. It was the strongest I had felt since all of this medical stuff started – I actually felt a little like myself. We had a couple dustings of snow, Jonathan’s mom cooked delicious homemade meals, we had good nights’ sleep, watched some movies and even went around the table and said all the stuff we are thankful for – and there is so so much. Our awareness of our blessings is even more pronounced this year. It is a blessing in itself just to be here for another holiday season.

I still continue to struggle with side effects of my treatments and numerous medications. The ever-dripping eye, occasional aches in my forehead, the missing eyebrows, eyelashes, receded hairline . . ., and the new numbness/pain in my hands and forearms – hopefully temporary. Please pray for me to have patience with these things, and for them to resolve. Please also pray for our continued physical refreshing and mental/emotional recovery. And of course, that the cancer stays away for good.