Tag Archives: family

New Cars Symbolizing Death

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We bought a car yesterday. A nice car. A car that I’d never buy. It’s a 2012 Jetta Sportwagen diesel. Jess and I would never buy this car. But we just did.

We buy junkers. We buy used Hyundai Accents, we buy old Chevy minivans with 100,000 miles on them, we buy cheap older cars. That’s just what we do.

But things have changed. Our old minivan is done. At 200,000+ miles the AC doesn’t work, the windows don’t roll down, one sliding door is permanently shut (because it’ll randomly open on its own while driving on the freeway!), the gas gauge doesn’t work, the brake lights do not work, the cruise control does not work, it needs new brakes and tires, and-oh did I mention-it’s got some engine and transmission work that needs to be done. So we knew we needed something soon. We also knew that when/if I die Jess would cash purchase a new car with her life insurance money. But I’m not dead yet…

So to make a short story shorter, in the end we realized that now was the time for me to be able to care for my wife by purchasing a car together that she was going to have to purchase on her own–to buy her “my husband is gone, I don’t want to worry about cars right now or for the immediate future, I just want to care for my children and recover” car. That “car” has good gas mileage (we hope to keep her monthly overhead costs low if/when I pass), it’s got to have space for children and their bikes/toys/camping trips/etc., it’s got to be a good quality car that’ll last her ’till our kids are in high school, and it’s got to be a newer car that won’t be breaking down often and thus demanding more of her time. She doesn’t care about bells, whistles, shiny things–just those practical things. That’s the car that we realized we must buy now. This week. Today. Ok, as it turns out, yesterday.

There’s just one problem…

I’m not dead!

That life insurance money is not there to fork over in cash for her ‘ideal’ car! How do you buy a car that you can only afford if you die? To be honest we don’t quite have the answer to that question. I won’t go into details regarding the deal we got on the car (though we got a good one thanks to an important connection) and I’ll honestly say that we’re still figuring out what it looks like to be able to afford it–but what I will say is that buying this car is messing me up. It’s messing Jess up. (and this is where I really want this blog to land)

Purchasing this car feels symbolic. It’s the beginning of a new life: a new life for a single mother who has lost her husband and has a new set of needs that demands a new type of car. It’s symbolic of me being gone and of her being alone. I almost feel like by purchasing this car I have given up on living! ‘Cause lets be honest, I’m not sure we can afford this car unless I die! I had better fork over that cash at some point during the life of this loan. Ha. When all was said and done at the dealership and we both had a moment to reflect we found ourselves honestly sad. What had we done? It wasn’t buyers remorse. No, it was the symbolism. We had just taken our first giant and tangible step forward into a post-Ryan world…and…well…it’s weird. I should probably have a better word than “weird” as a descriptor here. I’m sure real writers would use better words but at this moment it feels right. It just feels weird. It doesn’t feel bad because I know that at its core this is a moment where I was able to care for my wife in a very real way: I just freed her of having to do this whole experience on her own (and oh what an experience it was at the dealership!!). No, there was something beautiful about this stepping out together–but it was is very hard and very…weird. It feels weird to drive such a nice car–we don’t drive cars like this. It feels weird not drive a minivan anymore–we love minivans. It feels weird to call it my wife’s car–it’s always been “us”. It feels weird.

It is weird to continually try to figure out what it looks like to live in the tension of reality as it is and reality as we hope it to be. I hope that we end up having to restructure our loan because I miraculously don’t die. I hope that reality as it appears is not reality as it turns out. I hope to live and I know that God can bring this about. but. But. BUT I feel invited to step out in faith, to let go of any semblance of control by being ok with death. By being ok with preparing my wife for my death. By being ok with purchasing a car in preparation of my death. I don’t like it. It’s weird. It makes me sad. It worries me. I hate death. Death sucks. Death is the ultimate enemy. Buying new cars sucks. Car dealerships are enemies sidekicks. But (and there have been a lot of “buts” in this post haven’t there?!) my faith is in Jesus–not in healing, not in an easy life, not in a life that I expect but instead in the story he chooses to tell in and through me. If a new Jetta Sportwagen tdi is a part of that story…cool. Weird, but cool.

So…all that is to say…my wife got a new car yesterday.

Happy Mother’s Day Jessica

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How in the world am I to write this blog? Yesterday I slogged through telling my mom how much I loved her. That was hard (and rewarding). But to attempt to capture today my love for my wife–for the mother of my children–kill me now. There are not enough words, I don’t have enough words, there aren’t enough tissues to catch my tears as I sit beside her in bed attempting to write.

The problem, and at some point this might be considered unhealthy, is that there’s no me without her. Our lives, our identities, our stories are completely enmeshed. We literally only have a few stories that are not shared. Our lives have and will continue to be done together in every sense of the word until we’re forced apart. What’s clearly so hard is that we genuinely never thought that we’d be forced apart. Not like this. Not this early.

Anyway, I realize that I wrote this blog (the blog that I’m fighting against writing all over again right now, the blog that attempts yet again to tell her how amazing and wonderful and loved she is…) a little over a week ago too, so today instead of re-writing that blog I will focus on why my wife is quite possibly the most amazing parent you’ll ever run into. No joke. No hyperbole. She really is that amazing.

Jess truly, above all else, values people. She values children. She values them as human beings, as people with dignity, with inherent worth, and as creatures filled with life and significance. This alone sets her far above the rest of us. To Jess children are not things to be controlled, they are beautiful short people needing to be empowered and listened to. Jess spends much of her time cultivating an environment in our home where our kids feel safe and loved, where they know that their feelings are valid, and where they are confident in exploring new ideas. Rather than seeking control Jessica invites our children to look for answers and to explore ideas that they’re intrigued by. She’s always encouraging and inviting them into new experiences…and it’s a beautiful thing.

One defining thing about my wife, something that not only defines her as a mom but as a human being is that she makes every moment special and unique. If she makes pancakes they’re going to be in shape of dinosaurs. If the sets the table there will be little notes to say why our kids are special. If she’s showering while the kids eat she’ll place all their food on special trays and setup a mini-picnic upstairs. If we go on road trips she works tirelessly to think of games, activities, and little gifts that’ll make the time go by. If she does something she’s going to transform it into something special and specifically tailored to the person(s) she’s caring for. ‘Cause the thing is: Jess notices everything. With her nothing is wasted. No moment is left behind because she’s always attentive to what is happening, to how this moment can be a blessing to her children, to her husband, or to another. She remembers what you love, she remembers what you said about this that or the other, she remembers how special something made you feel and she’ll remember it next time so as to bless you with it. She’s always remembering her children and how to love them more fully. Jones and India’s feelings, thoughts, opinions, reactions, etc. are never wasted or forgotten. They are stored up and dwelt on, they are remembered and built on, and they are used to care for them in whatever ways are available as time moves on. As a person who does not pay good attention to much, I view this as a nearly miraculous gift!

Jess fills Christmas stockings better than any person i’ve ever seen. Enough said.

Jess knows and loves children’s books. Our kids have hundreds and hundreds thanks to her…which I should say is directly correlated to our children having a love of books…thanks to her.

My children have always eaten healthy thanks to her.

My kids have feeling journals thanks to her. How cool is that?

Jess makes my kids awesome treats: gluten free chocolate chip cookies that are to die for are at the top of the list.

While Jess’ forte is in creating special moments, the last year especially has been filled with monotony. Care-taking is not a job that leaves much space for uniqueness and creativity. And, again, while I am attempting to not make this blog about how amazing Jess is towards me, it is hard not to pause here to say that the way she has stepped up to care for me in my sickness has been nothing short of perfect. She has carried our family. She has stepped into the boring and not-so-exciting duties of taking care of a sick dad and showing compassion for emotionally exhausted children. Because the reality is that our children are not the same today that they were a year and a half ago (understatement of the year right?). Behaviorally they have regressed, emotionally they’re more volatile, India is back in pull ups, Jones is no longer able to regulate (there are some special needs here I’m referring to), and Jess is the one who tirelessly works to love us all through this. In the midst of my sickness Jess has worked countless hours figuring out Jones’ health care (he’s on separate insurance than the rest of us), she was the one who made sure our kids were in play therapy, she’s the one who takes Jones to his occupational therapy, she’s the one who makes sure they’re still seeing a dentist, she’s the one who has had to maneuver through our kids’ newly discovered fruit allergy (not sure I can communicate how big of a ‘maneuver’ this is/was), she’s the one who is making sure that ALL of us are having our practical needs met. It is too much for one mom to carry…and yet she does it gracefully and without ever (ever!) complaining about it.

I’ve got to stop. Again, like I said yesterday about my own mother, I could write on and on. I have been blessed to have two (three if you count my daughter) beautiful women in my life who far exceed a persons normal expectation for love and care. And I could literally write paragraph after paragraph ’till my tears (yes, the ones that are still flowing) dried up.

Above all Jess makes people feel loved…and it’s because she’s truly a person filled with love. Jess is one of the most capable people I know. She can do anything she puts her mind to (I really mean that). It terrifies me to think of leaving her behind, to think of her being a single mom, to think of her without me–but it’s not in any way, shape, or form because I think she can’t handle it. No, I’ve got no question that like everything else she touches, she will invite God’s love, grace, and imagination into her parenting as a single mom of our two amazing children. The reason it terrifies me is just because I know how hard it is going to be…and I know how hard she is already working…and I just want her to receive some rest. She deserves a rest. In every way Jess is capable, in every way Jess is built to succeed and to be a conduit of love and compassion for children who are in crisis and suffering. But does it have to be so?! Like I said in the beginning: Jess is my partner. There is no me without her, there is no her without me, our children only know an us…and until the us is just her I will continue to celebrate the gift God has given me of doing life and parenthood with the most beautiful, gracious, loving, compassionate, creative, memory-making, generous, hard-working mother I’ve ever seen. One day she’ll have to do it without me–and when she does she’ll do it beautifully (as she does in every avenue of life)–but until then she’s stuck with me!

I love you Jess and I feel guilty for being blessed beyond all others to walk this path with you. Jones and India are the luckiest children to have such an amazing mom. Please don’t ever ever forget it. You are incredibly special.

Love you Mom…

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I don’t care if it’s cliche, I love my mama. This morning my sister and I will take her out for breakfast in North Portland to my new favorite place (it’ll be her favorite too i’m sure). Normally Mother’s Day is a whirlwind of activity, church gatherings to plan, the mother of my children to care for, my mother to care for, my grandma to care for, my wife’s mother to care for, etc. Lots of planning and figuring out and all that jazz. This year we’ve just returned from being with most of those moms in Disneyland and we’re choosing simplicity above all else. So in a few hours I’ll go on a quiet date, just the three of us–dad was uninvited. Tomorrow I’ll be at home where there will be a quiet meal around the table with my wife, me, and our kids (don’t worry, my wife won’t be cooking). Quiet. Simple. But together.

But don’t let the simplicity of all this fool you. My wife is the most amazing mom I’ve ever seen in action and my mom is the most perfect mom I could have ever wanted or needed. Today is my mom’s day, so let me share a bit about her with you.

I grew up in a very safe home. I don’t mean safe from guns and violence (though those are both completely true) but I always felt loved. Always. There was never ever a doubt that my mom cared for me, wanted the best for me, and would do anything to meet my needs along the way (which I should clarify means not meeting every want of course). I remember her as a mom who was willing to do what it took to engage her children, to invite us into learning and to free play. The simple fact alone that she was involved enough in our schooling to know that it was best for us to be pulled out and to be home-schooled at a time when it was literally on the edge of being illegal (am I right?). My mom was a pioneer in many senses of the word–not only did she occasionally dress up like a pioneer (Tara do you have those pictures?) and have us do the same but I’m realizing that I think it’s her fault that as I’ve grown older I’ve been drawn to the life of a guinea pig in many ways. Exploring new ideas and questioning the status quo is something that I’m realizing I learned from her–what a gift!

My mom was always attentive–to the point that she stressed and worried constantly about being inattentive. As the youngest child of a youth minister’s kid I got dragged around to every youth group event for all of my life…and yet I was never ever forgotten or ignored. I had a special and unique birthday party during literally every Summer youth group mission trip. I remember a season when my mom chose not to go to youth group activities and instead the two of us would go to McDonalds together on dates, spending time together away from the crowds. She worked hard to make sure her children felt special and cared for, unique, and above all loved. What more can a child ask for?

My mom is a learner. She’s always learning. I have vivid memories of her Bibles over the years–as a matter of fact I could sit here and tell you about each one, about their color, their type, and even the type of binding that they had. They were always tattered and well used. With any book (especially the Bible) she’s a terrible highlighter. If something isn’t starred, underlined, or highlighted it must be pretty boring–’cause everything else is covered! For most of my memory my mom would be awake before us, reading the story of God, highlighting, and journaling through it. She doesn’t just take in information but she’s constantly seeking integration–what does this have to do with my life, how can I be a better lover of people, etc.? She’s always been a learner and it is something that I’ve not only carried with me into adulthood but crave to pass onto my children. I love that about her.

I could write so much more! I could write about waking up each morning to the sound of oatmeal bowls hitting the table. I could write about memorizing scripture together in the mornings. I could write about defining family road trips to Yellowstone, Canada, and Californian. I could write about her stranding me in the Yosemite river. I could write about the sacrifice and gift of homeschooling and what that meant for our family. I could write about her love of snow and the fun we’d all have anticipating its coming. I could write about her bravery in entering into counseling and paving the way for her family to do the same. I could write about how she’s cared for my wife as a daughter and what that has meant for me as a son. I could write about partnering with my mom in church planting and what it’s like to become friends with your parents. I could write…so so much more! But at this point it’s gotten to that awkward moment where my wife is beginning to wake next to me and the tears that are streaming down my face will make for a strange waking!

Mom I hope you know beyond everything else that I love you and I’m so grateful that you were the person who raised me, Jen, and Tara. What more could we ask for than to know beyond everything else that we are and were loved children, and that we are and were cared for, that you will and would do anything for us? Time and time again you’ve proved all this to be true. Thank you. I love you.

Life has not been what we expected or anticipated in more ways than just the ridiculousness of the last year. “Surprising” and “ridiculous” might just be the words to define our lives in general, let alone this last year. The journey we’ve all been on has sucked in many ways and I’m tempted to end this note of appreciation and gratitude with an expletive or two…and I think that you’d agree and get it…I think that of all people you’d see that as a fitting end to this post! You’d get it ’cause it’d be absolutely ridiculous for this to be my last Mother’s Day to tell you that I love you. It’s just not right. So…just in case…just in case I get another year or seventeen, I’ll leave this blog post polished up and decent! I love you so much mom and I want to tell you thank you for your gift of taking care of me, my sisters, my wife, and my kids. Thank you for your example as a woman of God, as a learner, as a pioneer, and as a lover of people.

See you in a few hours for breakfast.

How to Create Dying Memories

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So you’re dying and you want to make every moment count, you want to create amazing memories over your potential last few months, you want to cross things off yours or your families bucket-ish list, you want every single moment to be special and memorable. So you go to Disneyland…or at least we did are.

First off let me say that we’re having an amazing time. But secondly, and this is where I’d like to dwell, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Disney isn’t the problem–it’s as backwards to what we believe in as ever and as amazing and fun an experience as ever. The problem is that no matter how much fun you want to have, no matter how many amazing things there are to do, no matter how many people (surprisingly and in painfully gracious ways) give generously to allow you to do whatever your heart desires…you’re still dying of cancer. And we all know it. I know it. My wife knows it. And my children know it. We are not necessarily talking about it, but it’s there like a dark cloud. In fact, there have been a few moments when my wife and I realize that we seriously only found out and told my kids that I’m dying just a couple of days ago! It literally JUST happened. What this translates into is that my son Jones’ anxieties are at record levels (if you know him and the fact that he has an anxiety disorder you understand what this means), Jess and I are emotional messes, and India can’t function unless she’s sitting on my lap (on my wheelchair). The intensity is painfully thick…painfully.

So what do you do? How do you live in the tension between reality and ideals? Here’s what our meager attempt to allow this trip to be what it needs to be while at the same time trying to make it an epic experience in and of itself is turning out to look like:

  • No pressure. None. If we don’t hit up every ride, if we don’t hit up the best rides, if we miss out on something “important” we’re trying to remember that it. does. not. matter. Not one bit. The point is to be together. Translation: headed into day three we’ve done all of one ride in California Adventure, we haven’t seen any shows, and haven’t hit up three of the ‘big’ mountains yet. It kills Jess and I (who happen to be professionals when it comes to sucking the marrow out of DL)
  • Pretend that money doesn’t matter. We’re not excessive here (I’m not sure we’re physically able to practice this one considering it goes against every bone in our bodies!), but part of the freedom we’re trying to give ourselves and our kids is that they/we can order what we want for dinner. That might be normal for you, but rarely in my whole life have I ordered whatever I want. You share, you buy the smaller version, etc. Stuff doesn’t bring happiness and doesn’t healthily fill a void, but it is fun sometimes! So we’re letting the kids buy a few extra souvenirs, an extra churro here or there, we’re letting them buy those expensive balloons that we know will still be deflated by the morning regardless of cool factor and cost, etc. Translation: we’ve spent more than expected and I’ve eaten well. But lets not lie here, no matter how much you’re willing to spend…a grumpy emotional kid with texture sensitivities and high anxiety will not like anything you buy for dinner! One direction that we’ve chosen to take is to spend a bit more money on memory-type souvenirs such as artwork and photography…and I don’t regret any of this one bit.
  • Pay attention. Probably more than anything it’s this one that matters. The kids need attention, they want it, they deserve it, and as witnessed through their occasional outbursts they demand it. When it comes down to it they could care less about the rides or the food; what they want is our presence, they want to know that even though dad might be leaving he is still here right now. Translation: cell phones haven’t been out much. My legs are raw and have scratches all over them from kids sitting on my lap. Jess and I are fighting being grumpy because while the kids need attention we want distraction more than anything else! 
  • Be Gentle. This is where the rubber meets the road. Stress, intensity, Disney, death, sleepiness, and anxiety amongst other things leads to a context where we’re each needing more gentleness and grace from each other more than ever and yet are feeling less equipped to dole it out than ever before. If this trip is going to work (and it is) it’s got to be on the back of a gentle and kind spirit toward each other. Translation: I’m failing here painfully! Or at the very least I’ll have segments at different points of each day where I come to the awareness that I’ve failed miserably. Jess and I are working together, however, on gently reminding each other of our own intensity and lack of gracefulness in our responses to others (namely the two little ones we brought with us).
  • Be flexible…but remember to eat. Flexibility has been a huge importance…but what we learned today was that it can’t come at the expense of taking care of ours and the kids’ actual needs. There have been times that we’ve all been having such a good time that we forgot to eat a meal…which is fine unless your emotional rope is already a twisted, knotted, and tangled mess. Flexibility has allowed us to make it this far; flexibility coupled with proper self care will get us home in one piece. Translation: I think I already made this one.
Don’t be fooled, though, this trip has been magical thus far. No joke. Staying at the Grand California Hotel has been one of the most amazing travel experiences of my life. No joke. My kids love it and would often prefer to hang out on the hotel’s premises instead of going to the theme parks. When we showed up on the first day and greeted my children by name at the door only to quickly give India a signed photograph from a handful of Disney princesses she not only beamed and giggled like a school girl but then turned to Jess and said in the most whispered and sacred voice that can’t be captured via blogging “…mommy…” it was if it was all she could say. Beautiful. Watching Jones go through Grizzly River Rapids with his incredible schemes for never getting wet (that at this point have worked 100% of the time) is so funny and so ‘Jones’. Jess and I keep looking at each other and wondering how we were able to go on this type of trip. We feel incredibly lucky blessed.
I guess what I’m trying to capture here is that I think the collection of ‘last moments’ that we’ll be experiencing over the next 3-6 months (though I’m eager to be completely off in these projections! I’m looking forward to being made a fool when 35 years down the line I’ve got to pay all of you back who are/have helped to make this trip happen) will not be defined based on context, money spent, food eaten, or any other externals. Don’t get me wrong, they are incredibly important. They are, they are very important, hence the reason we’ve got a growing list of places that we would like to go to over the next few moments. But that simply provides a memorable context, they DO NOT define it. It’s the raw knees from kids sitting on them, it’s in the moments of grace and gentleness, it’s in the conversations that happen, the games that are played together, the laughing and crying that happens together, and the “ordinary moments” that will in the end create the extraordinary moments that we are all craving.
Translation: I’m making all this up and I can only say that I think this is what I think. This is my first attempt at all this (my first attempt at having 3-6 months to live). I’m hoping that this is just a trial run and that I’ll get another shot at this later (I’m shooting for having 3-6 months to live in 30 plus years). But until all that’s made clear I’ll just keep trying and keep typing along the way.
Thanks for reading.

Talking to the kids about death

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Lets get the good news out of the way: brain scans are good and clear.

While conversing with my doc about the brain scans we went ahead and asked her a few more pointed questions…and essentially here’s where we’re at.

My time is short. The moment that Jess and I have talked about in theory is now on us where we’ve got to live as if I only have a few months left…because unless some drastic healing happens (which is ALWAYS possible) I only have a few months left.

It hurts to think about.

Even more painful, however, was to talk with our children about it today. We all sat on the bed, the same bed that we sat on nine months ago when we told them that I had cancer, and told my children straight up that their daddy was dying. Mom, dad, and India sobbed. Jones attempted to understand it. India simply said “daddy I don’t want you to go” and then she curled up in Jess’ lap and cried with us for about twenty minutes. Jones’s first response was to yell “No!” with quite a bit of emotion only to be followed up with a really interesting and clear decision to not be emotional about the matter. He wanted to talk about heaven, about cremation, and about my new cancer treatment. He drew pictures of me being buried, of me ascending to heaven, of my new home in heaven, etc. He wanted to know if he could bury me with some of his Legos; he had lots of random (and funny) thoughts. Eventually he and India transitioned into caretaker mode. They picked every flower that they could to give to me, they created a prayer space in our backyard to pray for me, and they did sweet things like getting me water and snacks. Jones even offered to take over Grassroots Conspiracy for me (he also suggested that Jess remarry). Here are some quotes from along the way:

  • “Dad, do you want your scull and dead body to be burned up or buried?”- Jones
  • “Just about an hour ago I was cursing cancer. I was saying things like ‘stupid cancer, I hate cancer’ these were the words I was using to curse cancer…But what if I said ‘you stupid fuck cancer?’ I mean, i wouldn’t say that ’cause it’s bad because it’s combining two bad words ‘fuck’ and ‘stupid’…but, you know, it’s just how I feel.” -Jones
  • “Which graveyard is daddy going to be buried in?” -Jones
  • “Dad, have you made out a last will and testament yet? Because I’m wondering who you’re giving your Nook to. Because…I like to read…and it kind of fits me.” -Jones
  • “I’m going to miss you dad when you’re in heaven.” -India
  • (after drawing a picture of me in heaven with God she then drew a picture of me with a penis…and then said…) “Well I sure knew that would cheer you up! I think myself so cute and cheerful!” – India

The rhythm that this cancer seems to have owned both before and after surgery, before and after radiation, daily chemo, and now monthly stronger chemo is to have a month or so of rapid growth followed by three or so months of inactivity and stability. If this pattern continues then we can anticipate that we’ve got about three to four months of stability where we’re at and come August there will be a period of new tumor growth. The major problem now is that there’s very little space for my tumor to grow anymore! There’s very little left in my central nervous system to be taken over by cancer besides my brain and the continued strangulation of my spinal cord. So new growth essentially implies death or complete paralysis.*

There’s still hope, there’s always hope. The next set of drugs that we’ll most likely try isn’t some bottom of the line last ditch effort–it’s a good option that has a decent success rate. Additionally we’re continuing our constant work with an amazing naturopath, dietary stuff, and all that jazz. There’s always hope.

But (and yes, there is a but). But it has come to that time where we have got to adjust our life to the new reality (always hoping that this reality is not what comes to pass). When you’ve only got six months to live what do you do? Who do you spend time with? How do you spend your money? How does one leave a legacy behind? What things do I need to stop doing? What things do I need to start doing? Ahh, so many questions! And, honestly, all I can think about is how few memories I have of when I was four years old. Will my daughter even remember me? The need to both create memories and to spend time chronicling stories and thoughts via letters, videos, etc. seems to be of the utmost importance.

Anyway, at this point I can see that I’m rambling. I obviously have so many thoughts that I’m  trying to understand and I’m using you as a way to process through them. Thank you for that gift.

Again, there’s no good end to this blog. It is what it is. I do not grieve for myself–I have full confidence that I’m off to bigger and better things with the man upstairs. But I grieve painfully for and with my family. This sucks. And while we all knew that this would/could be a part of our story…I don’t think we could have ever imagined what it actually feels like to be here in this moment…and it…well…it’s no good. Keep my family in your thoughts and prayers.

 

* Much of this paragraph comes from Jess and my assessment. The doctor’s simple response was that time was very short and as an extension of that she adamantly said that we needed to move our family Disneyland trip up from June to…as soon as possible.