sand castle

This year I have been learning about the process of writing a book. It's thrilling and taxing all in the same key stroke. It's another job I am not getting paid for (not yet anyway), but I couldn't be happier spending time on something I always wanted to do. Learning to do it right is the trick. Everyone has a story to tell, it just needs to be told the right way.

It feels somewhat like building something. I imagine a sand castle being built on the beach. A few buckets tipped over make a simple start, but it's really just the beginning of what can become amazing with more work and details. Sand gets reshaped and scraped off the dome. Other designs and molds are added to make it a more interesting castle that gets transformed through the process of adding and taking away many little granules of sand. It takes a lot of time and stepping back to look it over and adjust as the creator's eye sees fit.

I think of a sand castle when I spend several hours writing and worry not all of it will be of use. Will this part fit and read the way I want it to? Or did I just waste 3 hours of my time? Much like the sand castle creator, I have to step back and consider what stays and what goes. The process of writing will have to involve the shaving off of work, but will propel my thoughts and work into a more finalized version of my story. None of it is wasted. One can't know if something works or not until one tries it out. It's all part of the work that goes into building something great.

I also think of it like creating a puzzle from scratch. I have an idea of what I want that final image to be, but the writing process for my book is like creating each single puzzle piece. It all has to fit together well to make a magnificent image in the end. So along the way, some puzzle pieces (or paragraphs) may not work after all once I craft them and look at he piece as a whole. Being okay with that, in addition to patience, is a challenge. It seems to be a necessary evil of the trade. I have been warned by experts that it's not going to be perfect at the first go.

Tumor. Lovin'.

Several months ago when we found out Mike had a tumor people started playing violins outside our front door. There was an overwhelming amount of unspoken pity for our family, rightfully so. I mean... brain tumor. Just typing is make my stomach twirl in knots. As time went on and information came into play our little family settled in for the process, ate all those yummy treats and meals we got while appreciating the concern and love offered us.

When we walked into church and sat down for the first time after his surgery, I realized we were THAT family. You know the one. Where people watch you walk in and they have horror behind their eyes at the thought of being in your shoes. Then they quietly bow their heads and begin silently praying to God- thanksgiving that it's not their problem to face. I've done it before, I admit it. I caught the eye of a friend across the chapel who tossed me a knowing half grin as if to say 'I wish it wasn't you guys. I'm so sorry.' We wished the same, but nothing can ever be wished away; it turns out.

I did think our family would have at least a decade's break from hardship. The grief of accepting and struggle to learn of my oldest having High Functioning Autism about broken us in half. The same year we were adjusting to life with our third child I was hit hard with severe post partum depression (plus) while Mike (all the while) was traveling for work on weekdays. I thought we had our fill of climbs uphill, both ways, barefoot  in the snow. Nope. Apparently not.

Even still, today I want to tell everyone we're okay. I want to show up to church and hand out fliers. Sign language it to the masses during the opening hymn. Assure and comfort every wrinkled forehead that asks about his brain. You see, as weeks went on he had adrenal failure and we found out most of his pituitary gland was removed with the tumor, it still turns out alright. He will always take hormone supplements and testosterone injections, but it could be worse. I mean, to tell you the honest truth right now I don't think either of us have been happier or closer with one another. Sure, it's mostly due to the fact that Mike now sees me through thick testosterone-colored glasses and can't keep his eyes (or hands) off me. We liken it to the mind of a 16 year old boy seeing porn for the first time. His thrill for me is nonstop and the attention is as if I have become a celebrity overnight.

It also helps that I put on some healthy weight gain by eating my way through the stress. Some of this gain happened to spill generously into the boulder holder area. I like to consider that another of the Lord's tender mercies. Each morning when I get dressed I offer up a wink of thanks. We can now plan on something else to spend his annual bonus on instead of a plastic surgeon!

So don't feel bad for The Fullers. We really ARE doing okay. Better than before, actually. We're kind of like a coupla blissful newlyweds, really. And if you happen to see scratch marks on either of us don't be alarmed. We didn't get a cat,  it's just his synthetic testosterone bringing us closer together.

3rd Grade Liz

When I was in 3rd grade I had my very first head-over-heels crush. His name was, well, to protect his privacy I will call him Arnold. I religiously watched the t.v. show The Wonder Years and this boy was a spitting image of Fred Savage.  Naturally, I determined in my third grade mind that he was going to be my husband. I have no idea if that's a normal thought for little girls, but it was as real to me as the skin on my body that selecting a husband was important work and claiming my own before any other girl could seemed to be an important 3rd grade priority. 

I made it known to everyone that I liked him. I would stare at him all during class and wait for his attention. Somehow I was born with a great deal of self-confidence. Probably about 60% more than I should have, but I know no other way to go about my life than to pretend I am awesome. Sometimes it has led to situations that are not ideal, like in this post, but it's also served me well when my skills weren't as strong as my reality in job interviews. So, I just go with it as much as possible. It never once occurred to me that this boy, Arnold, would not like me back. The chance mistakenly never entered my mind. When he didn't write notes back, I assumed he was awe struck by me and speechless. Or maybe he had horrible handwriting? When I finagled his phone number from a friend and called him, it never occurred to me he was choosing to not call me back. I just figured he wasn't allowed to use the phone. Or maybe he  never got my daily messages?

One day we all arrived to our 3rd grade class to find the desks were moved. We all entered the room eagerly to see where our newly assigned seats were, but were instructed to gather around the snack table first. The teacher brought muffins to class so we could be more comfortable with the change. No one really ate the muffins for some reason, but I thought they tasted good and had several. I also  finished 3 of my friends'.  After the snack, we went to find our desks. They were connected in a way to make a giant  U shape so we could all face the teacher in the front of the room.  GUESS who sat directly across from me? Arnold. I KNOW. I know. It was just as exciting as it was to open my Guess watch on Christmas morning.

I did everything I could all day, everyday to get this boy's attention. How my teacher never pulled me aside to teach me a little about grace is beyond me. One day I came up with a clever idea to make absolutely certain he was aware of my affection. I figured it would at least get me a phone call. While the teacher was blathering on about something and all the other children were taking notes and watching her, I was secretly writing on the bottom of my pink high-top Pro-Wing shoes with permanent marker. As soon as it was time to take out our books, I leaned back in my chair and kicked my feet up on my desk like a boss. On the bottom of one shoe in large print read: I  LOVE   and on the other shoe read: ARNOLD.

I kept my feet up on the desk until he noticed. He immediately blushed and a huge smile flashed across his face. My tummy swarmed with happy wiggles.  Though he tried to hold it in, his laughter at the sheer unexpectedness of my display got him chuckling. I knew I had won him over. Big time. No other girl could have thoughts of such a brave thing. For sure he wants to marry me, I thought.

Well, his giggling led to my nervous giggling. My friends were amazed I would do such a thing. And then a curious thing happened that would redden even the most outgoing of spirits. While balancing my bum on the fiberglass seat of my orange chair, a loud fart reverberated off the seat and shot into the air.

FRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRT!

It was so loud and high-pitched, there was no hiding it. Nor the source. I quickly pulled my legs off the desk (mostly to avoid more farts- I would have left my feet up there all day to amuse my dear Arnold if it pleased him). I began to sweat from the hysterical laughter that the class (and I) commenced in. No one had to ask 'who was it' because of the way the classroom desks were arranged.  The girl setting to my left was horrified on my behalf and whispered in pity, "Liz, it was all those bran muffins you ate. Don't eat anymore!" I paused my laughing to ask, "What's bran?" The girl on my right couldn't even laugh she felt so bad for me and seemed like she was in pain at all the attention I had drawn to her side of the room. "I would die if that was me," she was bent over hiding, pretended to be looking for something in her desk until the class settled.

The boy never called me. I continued to crush on him the following year, but lost interest in him shortly after.
We crossed paths in a college course and he told me I looked like Liv Tyler! How awesome of a compliment was that? She is WAY hotter than Winnie any day!

To his day, I haven't since touched a bran muffin.  

won't stop

I keep asking him to, but this one. He just won't stop being so dang cute.

Fun! With Shingles!

Over the weekend I decided I was completely o.v.e.r. the seemingly eternal cold that had me sneezing and sniffling for well over a week. Pressure in my head was building and a strange burning sensation had developed under my right eye. Urgent Care deemed it a sinus infection (plausible) and cellulitis (celluwhat?). Prescriptions in hand, I felt so glad to have an answer to the strange heat radiating from below my eye. Intense weariness had plagued me during the week and through the course of the day the burning under my eye began to spread down my face. Before dinner time I was packing my ipad to head over to the emergency room. My chief concern was the increased pressure and pain that developed around my right eye. My face was half puffy, red, burning, and curiously itchy.

I was home by midnight freshly unplugged from the iv fluids with antibiotics that flooded my veins and a positive CT Scan showing slight swelling in the tissue around my eye. The pressure in my face remained and it was not the best sleep that ever was. In the morning I got in with my general practitioner. At this time my symptoms had gotten worse. Bumps had sprouted throughout the entire right side of my head from my hairline on back. Within 5 minutes she slapped a 'shingles' diagnosis on my hot mess of issues.

That's right, my friends. 35 years old with shingles. If Mike ever leaves me, it's going to be my tagline at eHarmony. And you know, it's a funny one. I think it would work! You can use it if you want to.

I just need to take a moment to document the kind of pain this illness delivered. If it needed a yelp rating it would be five stars in the pain category. I was rolling around on the bed, holding that hot, burning side of my face with my eyeball pounding out of its socket groaning to Mike, "I need an epidural. I can't handle this any more". Only, this time I wasn't in labor. So he just sat there watching me with pity and calculating the number of hours until he could collect more Ibuprofen. It was the kind of pain that induced a converted (non-pure blooded) Mormon like myself to exhale the eff word subconsciously. Because no other word or sound could adequately emit the level of pain that was happening.

It was the sort of pain that left me considering the quickest way to rid of it in most illogical ways. It spread down into my mouth, wrapped around my jaw and crawled across to the front of my teeth. I was partially convinced all of the teeth on the right side of my mouth were rotted and needing root canals. I kept flossing and brushing my teeth, looking for any evidence of malice. You see, it turns out this shingles of mine on my face and head would not cross mid-line. The left half of my face looked and felt completely normal. Thank goodness, because dreaming of  pulling 14 teeth to alleviate the pain instead of my entire mouth was plenty to consider. At one point, the thought of removing half of my jaw would be a great solution. Sure, there would be blood and pain, but it would scab over and end. The shingles had a radiating, unstoppable, writhing pain that needed to be cut immediately from my body.

In sum, if you want to know what shingles feels like, have someone smack you repeatedly with a cast iron skillet to the side of your face. Ensure fierce contact with eye socket and jaw for full effect. Then, pour bleach over half the face and burn gingerly with cigarettes on the eyelid, side of the nose, etc. Additionally, ram several long, thick needles into the eye and tap the temple with a small hammer, but use great force. After all that, I won't bother to tell you about the itchy bumps in my hair. Those were nothing compared to all the rest.

I am super duper over the moon that I have not developed black scabs on my face like one doctor advised may or may not happen. Go ahead, Google image that bad boy. It looks like the freaking plague and somehow I didn't get that. High five to the Illness Fairy for sparing me that nasty detail.

Thanks to modern medicine I am feeling a lot better and still have all my teeth and both sides of my jaw!

Runaway Stroller

When I first met Lindsey Johnson we were both living in New York and attending a Father's Day picnic at a mutual friend's home. I was new to the area of Westchester and my lovely memory has no idea where she was living right before being planted in the same town as me. The name of the town is Tuckahoe, which a hilarious friend later suggested might as well be called Slapab*tch.

I remember being struck with two things:
1) her amazing hair
2) that she was a New York Nanny and moved there all alone to try it out!

I was immediately impressed with her story of what I consider heroic bravery to take on such an adventure and completely alone. Fate had it that she would meet her husband, Fred, in New York and he turned out to be even more quirky than I initially imagined. He was highly educated, well dressed, and a young, official librarian. Mike and I had found a perfect friend match with Lindsey and Fred- they were delightfully different and we wanted to know more and more about them. The men geeked out on talk about history and war while us girls eventually began to talk of our swelling baby bumps.

Before they were born, we decided our kids would have an arranged marriage. Getting that amazing hair of hers into my posterity's eventual gene pool thrilled me. Side by side we stumbled into the joys and bumps that accompanied the newness of motherhood.  Our friendship filled the gaps in my heart where my husband was working hard at a full time job and night school getting his MBA while I fumbled into parenthood muchly solo. We could laugh and cry together about our kids' diaper blowouts, getting puked on in public, and the first time our babies were screaming their heads off in line at the grocery store check-out. These were all new experiences to us that were strangely funny when we could share them with one another. Experiences that truthfully were flat-out gross and unwanted, but we eventually learned were par for the course as young moms in the trenches of raising kids.

Not only was she funny, smart, brave, laughed at my jokes, could relate to my motherhood snags, but the girl could cook and bake. I will never forget when she invited me over for lunch. She made this amazing tortilla soup and then busted out the most amazing variety of cookies (homemade- all of it!) that have ever entered my mouth. I didn't know what it meant to be a foodie, but I had just landed in friend jack-pot y'all. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GOOD THIS WOMAN'S FOOD IS! ps. When she invited me to see Willy Wonka and we both snuck in 10 pounds of candy each, I knew we were a match made in heaven.

She made me feel so normal at a time in my life when I felt very much lost. We have so many great memories. Some are of learning how to take care of our new babies on the go (The Met!) and others of meeting up for a slice of pizza with our laundry quarters just to escape cabin fever on a wintery day.

Aside from my short-lived career and baby boy, her friendship was the best gift New York gave me. To put it simply, it sucked when we decided to move away.

I have learned and been so inspired by her near and far. It's been such a treat to see her many talents explode on the internet with her photography skills, writing ability, intelligence, cooking and baking perfections, and great sense of humor. I love my family and all of my friends, but I would say if I had to be stuck on an island with one person, she would be one of the people at the top of my list. Mike's name would be above hers, but mostly because I like to have nookie with him. I wish I could be sitting next to her hearing her laugh at that line. She has the best laugh.

Today is Lindsey's birthday! As I picked up the phone to call her my throat choked and tears welled in my eyes for the friend I miss so much. I wasn't expecting to get emotional over a phone call, but I think it says a lot about the kind of friendship we got to have.

I have several close, best friends here in Arizona that took me some time to find. I think they are all special and I adore them all equally for different reasons. But nothing ever mends the tears left in your heart when you have to move away from a best friend.

You can find her amazing food blog here.
She is also a regular contributor on Design Mom here.

Of Stake and Steak



Instead of the trip we had planned for Barcelona, just the two of us, we are home getting Mike's brain tumor(s) evicted. This was the week we would have been exploring a little bit of Paris and a lot of that town in Spain we have heard so much about. The oddest thing is I haven't thought much about it until our kind friends felt bad for us and sent us delicious cheese. It's one of many acts of kindness our family has received during the past several weeks. Barcelona isn't going anywhere. We will see it one day. This just wasn't our time for it.

I have packages of adorable thank you cards to complete sitting on my desk. I have great intentions of filling them out, but always feel overwhelmed by the volume of names that comes to my mind when I think of all the support we have been offered by friends, family, neighbors, and people from church. While Mike was in the hospital and during early days home my kids were driven to school, grandparents spent the night or tended to my kids, my house got cleaned by friends, treats were dropped off, meals were brought in, flowers were left on our counter, prayers were offered, our names were placed in the temple prayer roll, emails were sent to us, and calls of concern came in. I am certain there are more acts of kindness I may be forgetting.

It reminds me of a tree we have in our front yard. When it was newly planted, it needed stakes placed in the ground around it so it could sustain the strong winds that may come. Large, wooden rods were driven into the ground to surround the tree. Wires connected to the wooden stakes wrapped around the trunk of the tree. They remained until the tree was able to weather wind unsupported. We felt supported much like that tree in our front yard that required some help for a bit of time. When something difficult happens in a family, the love and kindness people offer really does keep you strong. Those people were like the stakes next to the tree while the winds came and it was as if their actions whispered to us: We are here to catch you and hold you up. We will not let you fall.

I am also reminded of Amelia Bedelia's adorable book series where she is a character who takes directions literally. When Amelia is asked to stake the beans, she ties steak to them. This is a symbol of the joy we have had as a family enjoying the silly things our kids say and do. Mike and I don't normally have the luxury of enjoying our children together on weekdays as my husband travels for a living. He was home for a total of 6 additional weeks and during that time had a lot of pain and healing to do. He also had the opportunity to spend solid bonding time with each of our children. We have had the pleasure of quality family time that sewed our hearts together in ways we never experienced before.

It's been worrisome, this tumor situation, to say the least. However, we have also felt The Lord's hand with the kindness of others like angels on earth surrounding our family. The love in our home has grown exponentially with all the time we have been able to spend together. I hope to remember the things we have learned and always have our stakes ready for another family that might need them.

The Middle Child

 Middle Boy and I

In our family, our middle child is between a princess baby girl and his unique older brother on the spectrum. He's got it a little different than a family of typical kiddos as a Middle Child. Not better or worse, just different.

I think about each of my children often and speak regularly with my husband about their needs, strengths, areas of struggle. We identify together ways to make them feel special and have one on one time with each of when we can. I give him tips through the week if one of the kids is having an especially hard time so I can prepare him for what's coming once he is back from being away. He comes home filled with energy and ideas for how to spend quality time with each of them. This has taken time for us to get this right. It's not a perfect system, but it's working in a way that we both feel pretty good about.

Tonight I stayed up a little later with my middle guy. We lay together on the trampoline looking up into the night sky. The stars were twinkling brightly and the crisp air was just right; no need for a blanket. With our shoulders pressed together and holding his strong, soft-skin hand in mine we talked about our favorite stars. It was nice to slow down and enjoy his company. I took great pleasure in the peace and quiet of the still evening as we were surround with fresh air and softly chirping crickets. We talked about this great place we live on earth and about how far away those stars are. We laughed together as we though of a silly moment we shared with his dad over the weekend. He told how much he loved building awesome Lego spaceships with him. It was good moment to explain a little how his dad isn't always home every night because of the career he has, but that he is a really good dad. We agreed that we both missed him. I just watched our middle child smile as his eyes searched the sky while he was thinking about how much he loves being with his dad. It was a beautiful thing to see.



Joy and Beauty

I recently had the privilege to visit my friend who has breast cancer. She is in the starting phase of rigorous chemotherapy sessions on a regular basis. My mind has trouble wrapping itself around the idea that a) my sweet friend who is the kindest soul in the world would have this trial b)someone I actually know has breast cancer c)she is so young to have something so terrible to face, isn't this an older ladies' issue?

Of course, cancer (as with many trials such as tumors, etc.) knows no discrimination.

As we arrived at her home I was struck by her beauty. They say pregnant women glow, I have not seen that very often. My friend with breast cancer, she was glowing a beauty I want to try to explain. She was in the midst of a good week, not as tired as the past two. It's my understanding when chemo hits her, it hits hard and she gets very tired. On this day when I arrived she was so happy. Her hat hid some of it initially, but once she took it off her shaved head was revealed. She worried it would scare my children. It did not.

When I looked at my friend and her long, curling eye lashes it was as if they stretched for miles. Her skin tones blended evenly from her face to the rest of her head,  a natural blend no tanning effort could try to replicate. Some of her soft stubble was growing back, which looked to me like the kind of fresh life you see in the spring when the buds of flowers make their appearance on stark branches. She was comfortable with her perfectly shaped bald head. She was confident in it. She was smiling. As she moved about her kitchen I couldn't help but notice the grace of her long neck. She was like a gorgous swan. She was truly grateful, most of all, for the small amount of energy she had to attend to simple tasks such as preparing salad and playing hide and seek with the little children buzzing around. She was eating up life with each moment with a kind of joy I rarely appreciate with such minute tasks. She spoke of the bounding happiness that accompanied a great day in contrast to the slow, sleepy days when the medicine killing her cancer slows her down. She spoke of the true understanding gleaned in the thought only through knowing hard times will we appreciate the good. Her words were more eloquent than this, but the way she said it zapped in me a little glimmer of her beauty that was truly radiating from within, as well.

A heavy sadness filled me, despite her beauty and energy; when we sat for dinner. I queried her on the long road ahead. It is paved with hard medical procedures that will be far more challenging to overcome than shaving her hair off and weariness. It seemed unfair to sit with my hair in a bun and no appointments of my own to face. I could not lift her burdens or lighten a single one of them in ways I wished I could. I can only love her, learn from her, and appreciate life more sweetly.

heart.breaker.

photo from the archives (circa 2007)

I picked the kids up as usual at parent pick-up. I anticipated a happy report of boys that tried hard all day at making good choices. We planned cupcakes for snack, we planned to make them while Z was at chess practice. That's not how it all went down, after all.

Z got into the car without much responding when I asked about his day. He quietly asked to skip chess today. This is not unusual, but I noticed there was something about his demeanor that was different. As I pulled around to another drop-off for chess I noticed his heart beating fast when I looked at his chest. I asked him if he was okay and after several efforts to mumble and hold in his feelings, he finally said, "I'm feeling blue. I hate Autism. Why do I have to have it? Why does it have to be ME?'

I have never been in a physical fight with anyone. No one has ever hurt me with a kick of a boot, but I am telling you that moment was like The Hulk kicked me in the sternum it hurt so bad. I knew one day it would come, but there's no preparing for it. It's one thing to have my own grief to overcome,  but his new understanding of this and his grief  seemed at the moment an almost unbearable pain.

He dove his head into his hands and began to cry. I tried to find the breath that was knocked out from within me so I could help him through this. I reminded myself the need to let him be in this moment. Let him be mad about it like I was when I learned about it just 3 years ago. Just be with him where he is. Don't try to fix it or push away the feelings. Just sit with him and let him feel it. Let whatever kind of time it takes to sort out and communicate his feelings. Listen. Empathize. Then help him move on. These thoughts were placed into my mind as I rested a hand on his back and rolled away from the school. There would be no chess practice today, but BY GOLLY THERE WILL BE CUPCAKES!

Keenly aware of the two happy children chattering away in the back of the car, I whispered to Z that it would be best to talk about this at home in private. I wanted to be sure he had my full attention. Once we got home, he could sit on my bed and I would be in to talk about it with him in a moment. He did not resist the notion and did as I suggested. This meant a lot to me and the kind of relationship I have always hoped to have with each of my children. I hope they tell me what they feel; I want to be their safe place to talk about things. He was doing just that.  What a wonderful, fabulous moment to be home to share with him. A hard one, but important and precious.

I got the television arranged for the two littles and found him laying on the bed with swollen eyes and sad face fixed on the ceiling. I nestled in next to him and just held his hand. He didn't have a lot to say and nothing specific seemed to have happened today. I felt an inspired wisp of words come to me that were genuine and strong. I told him of the important things that will come of his life despite Autism and that it will not get in the way of him having a happy, full life. Yes, some things may be harder, but many things will be easier and give him opportunity. We said a prayer together and both wiped away some tears.

Then it was time to get a snack- popcorn was his choice and some cartoons helped ease his mood further away from the blue zone. I suspect it will return when he least expects it. I hope he remembers the importance of who he is and how amazing he is. But if he doesn't, that's okay, too. I know his parents will always do their best to remind him any time he needs it and even when he doesn't.

By the end of the day the blues had been fully chased away thanks to a play date at the park with a new friend, hooray for XBOX Kinect, a loving brother, and hot dogs.

conversation

One of the early tricks we learned when our son was first taking speech therapy years ago was the need to practice conversation. I had not thought of it much before learning about Autism, but it's a common challenge for these kiddos. While he was little he was not responsive to many of my questions, but I just thought he was shy. Honestly, I didn't know why he was so quiet. I didn't know why he didn't respond when I said his name or why eye contact was always a challenge. He was my first, I had no idea until a Speech Therapist came along that these were concerns.

We know a lot more now. One little game that's easy is conversation ball (or catch). The rule is someone starts a topic and the person that gets the ball next has to ask a question or make a comment ON TOPIC.

Isn't it fascinating that this isn't automatic for some unique minds? I often have to remind myself there are things I take for granted like conversation skills that just developed naturally while it takes extra time and strategy for others to learn. This is what it looks like:


Me: Oh, I LOVE Christmas! It's such a fun holiday!

Q: What is your favorite thing about Christmas?
or
Comment: I like Christmas, too.

With someone else's topic of choice (if it's not video games) this is where we are. And it's a beautiful thing! What used to be silence or "okay" after attempted converation is starting to look like a really short and adorable game of verbal ping pong! There also used to be off-topic answers, so we would say or hold up a cheeseburger card and say WHOPPER! as a silly way to remind someone they were off topic.

Next week we will be working on changing the topic gracefully.

sleepy tigers

While trying to offer our minds healthy distraction from the worry and information overload of the past several weeks, we have turned to Pandora any moment possible. His fave station created is M83 and mine has been Her Space Holiday.

I decided this tiny little love song quickly became ours as we fumbled through this experience together. I have not yet listened to a single song by Her Space Holiday without giving it a happy thumbs up.

crammed in my cranium

I made my way through the heavy doors right behind the nurse. She was taking me to see Mike as he recovered in the ICU unit at Barrow's hospital. I counted the shiny floor tiles with each step I took. We passed several patients with tubes coming from either a mouth or a neck. Each person we passed looked worse off than the prior. What would my husband look like? How would he be feeling? What can I possibly do to help him? 

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Above is a sample image of where a pituitary tumor it located when it grows in someone's head (that's not Mike btw). His was about the size of a golf ball and nodules have grown from it extending into other sections of his brain. Some of those nodules still remain. It will be determined in 3 months what will be done about them.

The procedure he just had is called transsphenoidal surgery. Fat is grafted from the abdomen and used to close back up the sinus cavity from the brain cavity. There are samples on You Tube that demonstrate how the surgery works.

****

I slowly pulled the thin curtain that hung between my concerned being and his lifeless body as it lay on the hospital bed. He no longer had a breathing tube coming from his throat, but his mouth was shaped in an O as if it was still in place. An oxygen mask hung from his neck loosely and the soft mist helping him breath was beautiful. His pillow had greenish/ yellowish stains on it as if someone left an otter pop there to melt. Only it was no color I could identify among the usual otter pop characters, nor could I place what portion of the body created this color of stain near his head. There was a spot of blood protruding from his forehead. His eyes were closed and incredibly swollen. A large rectangle of gauze was taped across his nose. It was saturated with blood that was draining out of his head through his nose. While a logical occurence for this type of surgery, it was easily one of the most disturbing images I have witnessed in my life.

What did they do to you? was the question that kept running through my mind.  I asked the nurse if all the things I saw were normal for a patient like this. His whole face was swollen as though 73 more layers of skin had been added below the top layer. His left shoulder was exposed, so I put my hand on it gently. I just stood there with my hand on his shoulder looking at his puffy eyes feeling incredibly helpless and concerned for how this was going to feel once he woke up.

With his eyes closed he stirred and tried to sit up. I spoke softly, 'It's okay, rest. You are all done." He asked what was all done. I replied, "The surgery, you are done!"

He immediately asked, "Did  they get it all?" With puffy lids still resting heavily over his eyes, he was able to ask an intelligent, logical question sixty minutes after brain surgery. I bet he would have been able to manage quantum physics if we tried. Such an over-achiever, this one, even with trauma.

"We don't know until tomorrow's MRI. You did great! Just rest." I kept my hand on his shoulder. Any time he groaned of his head hurting and feeling nauseous the nurse quickly fed his IV with fluids to comfort each. He told me my touch felt good on his shoulder and asked me to keep it there. He was out of surgery, I would have spun to the moon and back if he asked me to.

As he slept I cleaned the blood off his fingers and forehead. I requested his gauze be changed. I asked the nurse about the forehead. She said it was where they had to screw his head in place so it wouldn't move during surgery. A millimeter of movement in surgery could cause a lot of problems. No one told us about that part. The image of a screw going into his head sent shivers through my arms. She assured me it would only leave a little dot and heal well. Compared to the whole procedure he endured,  I am not sure why I cared so much about that little detail. I supposed because it was most visible.


Mike, I dedicate this Frank Black video to you my love.

A post about love.

 I just wish I could shrink myself into a tiny ninja fighting amoeba and get rid of that tumor for him. It would be like this video. Only I would sneak in through his nose with my swords to get to that pituitary gland instead of going into a building through a door. Otherwise, it's just like it.


Brandon Flowers - Crossfire

image of a tender mercy

This is an image of what a Tender Mercy of The Lord actually looks like. We often find it a challenge to capture with a camera, those tender mercies.

This is the leg injury resulting from the Saturday fall (toss?) off (over?) the dirt bike. A small price to pay (in addition to the stiff neck) to gain access to important health information he needed to know about in his brain.

He still has no idea what scraped his leg or how he fell.

Also, someone has requested I include a comment about no one in the family falling from a dirt bike incident since July.

That's all for today, folks!

Mike's Story: vol. 3 Tender Mercies

I have often marveled at some of my friends who have written or talked about trials with the words 'blessing' or 'tender mercies' plugged in. I wondered if it was like putting on a fake smile. My heart would feel broken for another's situation, but I certainly never saw the  silver lining.

It's not always easy to see The Lord's hand in our lives. There is a lot of 'noise' in the world that makes it easy to overlook it.

Mike came home Saturday from dirt biking completely confused about how he could have fallen. The terrain was flat sand, a section of the course he is the most comfortable with where he never falls. There were no trees or branches that he could recall seeing. He truly had no idea how it happened. All of a sudden his bike was laying sideways on the ground and he was no longer on it. The inside of his leg was cut and he felt nauseous from the impact of the fall.

 A heating pad on his neck and ibuprofen helped ease the pain. The rest of the day he carried on like usual.

The next morning his neck felt horribly wrong and he worried he had hurt something serious.
After Urgent Care sent him away he almost came home instead of going to the ER. He didn't think it was that big of a deal, but he went anyway. I am so, so glad he followed that path.

Today his neck doesn't hurt at all.

We have no way of knowing when or how his tumor would have been discovered if this fall didn't happen. We don't know a lot about what happens if a tumor this size in the location it is in goes untreated. I am so pleased we won't be finding out. I feel very protected as a family.

All I know is thank goodness he fell on Saturday, because this is simply the time for it to be taken care of. And that, my friends, is what I believe some would call a tender mercy of the Lord.

*****

I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.

The Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.

[That is from an inspiring talk by Elder David A. Bednar. You can read the whole thing here.]

Mike's Story: Volume 2

Mike requested I get some food on the way over to the hospital for him. El Pollo Loco was the only thing that came to mind that would be quick and somewhat wholesome. I knew my stomach was doing somersaults, so I couldn't imagine what his tummy was feeling.

I was on a mission for chicken, rice, and Diet Coke. While ordering the food it seemed the options were endless. Every time I answered, more questions came. White or dark meat? Green or red salsa? Hot or mild? Corn or flour tortilla? Pinto or black beans? One or two napkins? Will you be having flan? Would you like to upgrade your meal? Would that be medium or large? Boxers or briefs?  IT NEVER SEEMED TO END. I could have plucked my own chicken, had it cooked and chopped up myself for the amount of time it took to get out of there.

Julie and I arrived in the ER waiting room to find Mike in a Vicodin haze still a bit shocked with the news of his brain intruder. His parents and brother were there, so she offered to step out unless I needed her. I will always appreciate her instincts to be by my side and make sure I was not alone in supporting Mike. I hope to follow her example for someone else one day.

****

There was a lot of waiting and nervous chatter among us. We found a private room in a hallway where Nick gave Mike a priesthood blessing. It was comforting and provided peace and hope. I think of that blessing often, especially when I feel fear.

Mike eventually got his own little triage room with a curtain. Two of his sisters arrived and he began to look like a VIP with all those chairs pulled up around his bed. He relayed what little information he had to all of us and we tried our best to make him laugh and talk about anything. I don't think I said much, actually, but somehow conversations were going among us and that was wonderful. It helped pass the time and push away scary thoughts. Soon enough Mike was wheeled away for his MRI and a very L O N G hour after that the Dr. came back with results. Everyone was guided to the waiting room except Mike and I.

He told us it is a large tumor in the pituitary gland, that they are usually not cancerous, and that it's about an inch and a half. It is located where the optic nerves cross. He said it is not a life-threatening tumor, but it is large and he will need to work with a neurosurgeon early this week to discuss next steps. He explained it has been growing for years and had nothing at all to do with Mike's dirt bike accident. That point was important for Mike to emphasize often. That man loves his dirt bike.   

We both felt some relief that he would not be rushing off to immediate surgery. He was eager to go home if he could. He asked me to tell the family in the waiting room. They came back in and admitted they had listened by the curtain to hear the news before going to the waiting room. I love them for that! They came back experts on the topic with all they were able to google in those few minutes and offered us more insight.

We are hoping to get him in with the neurosurgeon in the next couple days.

To be continued.....

Mike's Story Volume 1

Saturday afternoon Mike had a spill on his dirt bike. Nothing seemed serious about it. A lengthy cut ran along the inside of a thigh, a small scrape on the other leg's knee, and a headache. He returned to the car and insisted his friends continue their fun while he rested and waited for them. While somewhat shaken, nothing felt out of sorts.


The following morning he awoke with a tight neck. While gargling mouthwash he was not able to tip his head back at all. Concern grew and he told me he was going to Urgent Care. He said it was probably nothing, but would be back soon. I tended to the kids and made some phone calls to prepare for my afternoon church meeting.


After an hour I texted him to see if he had seen the doctor. His simple reply was 'yes' followed with 'will be home soon'. Another hour later I texted him again and asked what was going on. He immediately called me back. I did not like the sound of his voice. He spoke in a slow, forced calmness that breathed a kind of worry louder than a voice could try to shout.

He explained there was no injury as a result of the dirt bike fall. Then he paused. A long pause. He told me I needed to sit down and he didn't know how to tell me this. Sylvia was playing on the computer. I sat on the tan couch near her, the one the Andersons gave us when we lived in California. This is where I would sit to hear knews I was scared to hear. These scenes happen in movies. It's never supposed to happen in real life.


 "They found something," he said. "In my brain. A mass. It's either a aneurysm or a tumor. If it's an aneurysm I have to have surgery today." Once he started talking it all came out at once like rapid fire shots driving into the middle of my stomach. With a tight throat and a keen awareness of the little children within earshot, I somehow moved my body into another room with privacy while my mind digested the information. It took all my will to not beam my body into the air and fly over rooftops to get to him and hold his hand. Luckily for our children I cannot fly, so they were not left in the emotional dust of the situation.


Eff. EFF. In the privacy of our master bedroom, that place where all our magic happens, I was off the phone and swearing quietly to myself. Not the ideal poster child of coping. My mobile was dead; I plugged it into the first outlet my eyes found: next to my drum kit. I cast a texting net to 3 friends at once. Hunched down next to my snare drum and under the hi-hat I answered as Julie called. Through tears and panic I spat out the words "Mike has an aneurysm or tumor" and she said she was on her way. Then I called my mom and gave her the brief rundown through a mouth that felt at though it were talking through quicksand. I cut her short right after she said she could come.


I took a deep breath and gathered the children into the living room. We turned off the television and I kindly (without the eff word! yay!) told them we had a medical emergency to talk about. We knelt together and somehow I had my wits about me to explain the situation in simple words with peace. It was important to me that I took this moment to teach them how to ask for peace, so we did. Mike was on speaker phone while we prayed. Sylvia told him she was worried about Daddy. Then she told him she had a bloody nose she had earlier with so much excitement you would have thought Mickey Mouse visited our home! Evan asked if dad would have to have his head cut open. That's when we eneded the call and soon help arrived at my door.

Alicia and Dave took the kids for us so I could drive to the hospital (not fly, sadly). Julie arrived at the same time and jumped in to ride in the car with me. My mom was on her way for the long shift with the kids. Dawn was already on stand-by and started collecting chocolate for me. I am so, so, so glad for my amazing friends and mom.

To be continued.....

worry with a side of music

I worry about my children when they are not with me. Most parents do. It's more intense for me with my oldest because of the way he struggles at times. I worry he is not understood. I worry about how he is feeling and doing. I worry about making the best decisions on his behalf. Making those decisions when he is apart from me for so many hours a day concerns me. It brings me a great deal of worry, actually.

Sometimes it comes in forms of stress. Or sadness. And I find myself so busy tending to the needs of my family and home it's hard to have a good cry. It just won't come, the tears feel blocked.

But this video always resonates with my concerns and it allows my tears to freely run. 

It's difficult to explain why. What a song/ video means to another could be interpreted differently. We all bring to an experience our own internal connections, understanding of our own lives. To me, I watch this boy grown who sings of the struggles he has had and his mom's role loving him along the way. It reminds me of my oldest and while I don't expect him to have the same troubles, things are just going to be different for him than they are going to be for typical children. That's how I relate to this video, I have a boy I love that's different. It's a treasure to be a mom to any child, but to a unique one takes a lot more. More than I imagined I could find within.

Research shows how important it is for these kiddos to get what they need so later in life they don't struggle with depression. It's a heavy load to try to be the depression blocker for another person. Hope I'm doing it right.

From Edinburgh

I enjoy this band muchly. They are called We Were Promised Jetpacks. Below is their vid for the song "Keeping Warm".

It's always hard to place exactly what I like about a band. Often I will hear other band syles or influences blended within, but in this case I'm pleased to say it sounds entirely unique to me.  And pretty.

The Cool Thing About Autism

I have a child with High Functioning Autism. He won't laugh if he doesn't think something is funny, even if everyone else is laughing. There are times I explain things to him so he doesn't feel left out or confused, but he will not pretend. That's the cool thing about Autism. Although social norms the rest of us mostly pick up without training or therapies do not come natural to him, he is completely genuine. I enjoy it and find that refreshing.

Since understanding more about what he is learning to do with his Speech Pathologist, I have come to watch social interactions more closely. Often people will engage in conversation and a lot of acting is going on. I do it and I see other people do it. We are so concerned with other peoples' feelings we often pretend to care or be interested in what other says when, in fact, if we are completely honest with ourselves, it might be a terribly boring conversation. But! Because many of us have naturally developed empathy, the people we socialize with in our lives play the same game of pretending and acting. The more I care about a person, the greater genuine interest I may have in what they say. There are also times we are just being a good friend. Do my friends really care about my new vase? Probably not. But they care about me, so they may play along.

Take a week to consider the conversations you participate in. Tally up your own rating scale of how interesting they are. You may find a different ending, but you may also begin to notice a lot of the social ego stroking we do for the sake of kindness.

My son is basically taking social acting lessons. He is learning to play games where to learns to take turns responding and initiating conversations about various topics. He would prefer to only discuss things he is interested in and ignore any other topic another brings up, even with people he cares deeply about. It's the way he is wired. The way he operates actually makes more sense and is true to his own nature. He isn't trying to be rude when he doesn't ask you questions about your vacation. He just truly isn't curious about it and doesn't have a sense of wonder about a trip someone else took that has no relation to him. He is, however, learning because that's how we make friends and keep them. That's how our social world spins and he does want to be part of it. Often you will hear him respond with 'okay' after you say something to him. He learned this in speech as a way to acknowledge to the speaker that he heard them. He used to say nothing. He is working on expanding 'okay' to a comment or question in addition to eye contact.

He is working hard and implementing a lot of learned skills I take for granted and never stop to think about. I am amazed at how far he has come in the past few years. He has become so much more a part of the family's world instead of his own. A lot of that is because of the therapy he receives in addition to our family knowledge gained and understanding of how his mind operates.

early years

I'm only 35. I have been learning how to be a mother for a mere 8 years and some change. I have learned some, but have some ways to go and a lot of experiences ahead of me in my chosen field.

This week I have been listening carefully to my insides. I have been fully aware of what I can and cannot add to my list of things To Do. I skipped that meal to a neighbor with a new baby. My level of stress was climbing due to priorites entering my responsibilities for the week. I felt a desire, but double checked myself before I over-filled my calendar. I will place that thoughtful activity to another week that allows for it and will choose to not feel guilty about it.

I have been mindful of calmly expressing emotions to Mike in a nice way as much as possible. I've been kindly aware of the bigger picture more than usual and timing and approach to explaining my needs in a healthy and productive way that has allowed myself to be understood. In turn, I have been more easily comforted (and willingly) to his voice and embraces.

Whatever feels hard and unfair is not Syria right now.

We are all little, tiny, small parts of the giant world that will continue to spin even if something is challenging. If it goes well or not.

My prayers led me, also, to comfort and confidence in decision making. Not perfection, which is understandable and okay.

I like how I decided I would try so hard to imagine a pretty bubble of safety over our home to protect, as best as I can, my family from my stress. I want to make ways for it to be managed without using the wrong kind of voice or words. I enjoyed taking more moments to turn towards building legos with Evan, watching princess movies with Sylvia, and listening to Zane tell me about his video games or the  latest Harry Potter book he is reading.

There is peace in my home, this is what matters the most to me. It's not always a constant, but it's constantly a goal for us. And that feels really good right now.

Evany Evan

This afternoon I had the opportunity to meet with a woman who guided me through some IEP related materials. In speaking with her and learning of her experiences and compassion for how frustrating the process can be, I asked about the daughter she spoke of. Sadly, her daughter of 15 years young just passed away during the summer.

It's unfortunate for all the lost energy and time that goes into preparing piles of paperwork and evaluations for the sake of advocating well for a child in a family that already has more than enough hardship and / or struggle to manage.  Warm tears filled my eyes as I realized how petty my frustrations are and how little they really matter when you are facing a woman who no longer has the opportunity to advocate for and snuggle up with her child.

*****

In the morning Evan is the first one awake at around 6:30am. He is my alarm clock; he is never late. He comes into my room quietly, then stands directly next to my head and asks in a loud voice if he can snuggle with me. I am always impressed with his patience in waiting for me to wake and offer an answer before he climbs in.

Once I say 'of course' he climbs in and we pull the covers up together. Next he does one of three things:

A) Falls back asleep. This very rarely happens.
B) Reports the time to me from the digital alarm clock every.single.time the minute changes. "Mom, it's 6:51. Now it's 6:52. Mom, did you know it's 6:53 now? You wake up at 7 O'clock, right? Oh, mom, it's 6:54 now!"  I smile to myself as I await each minute's update.

OR

C) Hits his little sister who is almost always sleeping on the other side of my body. Often I am impaled during the exchange which may or may not be on accident. Wait, this isn't what a snuggle is! 

This morning he chose option A, so we got in some cozy snuggle time. I thought of how much I appreciated that time with him later in the afternoon as I wiped my tears from my eyes; trying to block out the unimaginable pain my new friend must have for her loss. I want to remember today and appreciate more often the moments we are not rushing, watch their smiles longer, and look into their eyes more often when they tell me stories.   

Kindness

I listened to a lesson about kindness on Sunday. The past several weeks I have been lacking in the kindness overflow I am pretty natural at offering most I come into contact with. At times, it feels like a blessing and a curse to enjoy compassion and kindness so much. Over the years I felt uplifted for caring so much about many people, perfect strangers in some instances. Their burdens added to my own with equal level of concern is too heavy and has caused me to pull back and block out to some degree. I have to train myself to not overly care because it brings on anxiety for me.

I believe this is the first year in my life I have decided it's okay for me to not be overly concerned for every single person I meet. I used to want to fix any and every problem I could, be it offering kind words or taking action to mend someone else's conflict. I used to think it was my duty to welcome every single new person that moved into my neighborhood or ward and bring them cookies and check on them often to make sure they were doing okay. Feeling happy and included. The thing is not all of this effort and emotion is necessarily appreciated. It also took away from the focus of my daily responsibilities within my own life, family, and close friends. It was too much.

This was not covered in the lesson. Caring too much. I suppose it's not a common issue. I do appreciate the self-reflection brought on by the topic and certainly find it always joyful to do and say kind things to others. Some people need it more than others do. It's usually clear to see those that have an abundance in that department. That's always a nice thing to identify- prioritizing kindness when you only have so much to give. Inspiration helps guide this.

I love giving strangers or new friends genuine compliments and acts of service. I find them the most caught off guard, more appreciative, and least likely to feel the obligatory need to reciprocate. I love that most about kindness, the act without expecting anything back. It is one of the best feelings.

It's like tossing stars into the sky.

Interview

I was briefly part of a 3 piece band several years ago. I took a real interview from a successful band and answered the questions myself below. Just because.

You formed the band right after what had to be the worst week ever for you. Why did you start a band?
I wasn’t having a bad week, actually. But I was a bored housewife. It was always on my bucket list to learn the drums, so I took lessons. I found myself needing accountability and a reason to learn songs. Learning to keep time with other musicians seemed like an important thing to learn as a drummer. Essentially, I joined a band; not started one. The idea scared and excited me, so I tried it.


So where did you find your band?
Craig’s List East Bay: musicians wanted. I had already auditioned for one band and met some nice guys that were ready to record, so I was obviously too new for them. Then I met up with Nigel and Jason at a rehearsal studio in Oakland. Thankfully, no one murdered me so that worked out in my favor. They invited me back and we worked on cover songs every week on Thursdays 7-10pm.

How did you get him to change his mind?
Um. Hrmm.I have no idea what you are talking about.

What made you pick up instruments? How old were you?
It was a dream of mine. I had been reading a book about how to live your dreams. It is called Live What You Love: Notes From an Unusual Life by Bob and Melinda Blanchard.  I knew I would eventually have another child in the coming year or two, so it was my small window of time to learn something new for a little while. It seemed like the right season in my life for it and happened to know someone who was a drummer in a band that played often in NYC. He was willing to teach me once a week.  I believe I was 28 or 29.

What band would you dread being compared to?
I guess to answer this I should think of a band I would never want to emulate and that would be The Spin Doctors. Or any sort of heavy metal.

What do you love most about LA?
Oh, I don’t love LA. However, I did love Nor*Cal. One could go in any direction any time of year and see something amazing. Outdoor life is a year-round lifestyle. I often joked while living there that if you didn't beleive in God spend some time in the east bay around spring.

What was the worst show you ever played?
We never played live. But there was a rehearsal where we played a song by The Cure and I totally missed my cue into the song and Nigel and Jason just kept repeating their chords over and over looking at me in a really confusing way. Once I pulled out of my daydream and realized it we all laughed. Some other times I dropped a stick in the middle of a song. So, that was lame.

What is the weirdest thing you ever saw at a show?
Me. I went to a Nine Inch Nails show in my 30’s and I was so out of place! I was the only one not wearing black from head to toe. I had on a hot pink skate T-shirt.

They probably weren't listening to the lyrics only the violins.
I don’t recall violins at the concert.

If you could change one thing about the music industry what would it be?
Place myself in it.

I heard you used to work at Filter Magazine. Is that true?
No. I never worked there.

Do you have any musical guilty pleasures?
Yes. I sort of have a crush on some hip hop songs that I have heard at the gym. It’s nothing I could listen to on a regular basis, but am starting to get the songs stuck in my head and crave them.

If you could meet someone dead or alive who would it be?
John Candy.

Why?
He’s a hilarious actor. I am pretty sure we be good friends. We could make each other laugh. AND I love food, so we would be really good friends. Eating and laughing together. I often wonder if I get to meet him in heaven and hang out.

Finally what is your favorite breakfast?
I am so glad you asked! A hearty biscuits and gravy rocks my world. Eggs Benedict is also tops.

appreciation

Oakland, California temple

This weekend I spent a small amount of time helping a photographer organize and download photos of a stake youth activity for church. I sat back and watched live (in addition to viewing photos) of the grand events executed beautifully. I saw over 300 youth having a blast! I saw them interacting with one another in games and laughing and smiling. It could have been a stadium of kids in the year 1950, that's how wholesome the engagement of fun was. Of course, the computer / card reader on the table in front of me reminded me it was 2012. The same collection of youth leaders gave talks or cheered on the teenagers that carried them through girl's camp in the summer. Everywhere I looked were adults contributing their time and talents for the sake of these kids. No rewards would be given to them, no paycheck, little to no recognition whatsoever.

I thought of how sweetly I would have enjoyed such activities in my own youth and wondered if these kids had any idea how very lucky they each are. For the many hours of work and hearts of love that make such things happen and if they have any clue how different it could be without. I then thought of my own children and how I hope I get to be part of this when it's their time to be a teen. I secretly wished for such inspired and devoted leaders to support them while being hopeful for a little part behind the scenes or in the midst of it all helping it all happen.

**

That day in 1998 when I prayed on my knees to know if I should join this religion, it was my future children I was thinking of. It was of great concern to me that the one-day family I would have would be raised the way God wanted me to. When I knew it was right, when I knew it was correct, and when I knew from the core of myself- that very place where my heart beats and my soul rests- I would lead my family in the way of The Mormon Gospel, I had no idea how many amazing experiences would accompany that decision. Not just for me, but for my whole family.

In the past decade plus I have watched kind people teach my children on Sundays and bring us meals on a hard week. I have seen the testimonies of Christ's love blossom in my children from another's shared story or simple songs learned in the nursery program about building houses upon rocks. I have been woven into every single Mormon community I have lived in regardless of what my personality is like and regardless of my personal interests (or flaws). I have been given so many opportunities to help other people by bringing them food on a hard week, teaching their children, and participate in behind-the-scenes or up-front efforts to organize activities for hundreds of people/ kids simply for the purpose of helping them strengthen their relationships with and through Christ.

I am always amazed and sincerely humbled at each and every single event to see the dozens upon dozens of parents who show up to lead an activity or event in support of the group of children (or teens or adults). Often we don't know the hours that went into planning the activity, the stress associated with it, the number of phone calls made, time it took to collect and prepare the food, dishes in the sink sitting that mothers skipped to turn their attention (for a time) to The Lord's work.

Taking a moment to watch it in action sprouts love blossoms in my bones.

The Grrl

Some time ago I wrote of my trepidation about having a girl. We had two boys and as far as I was concerned boys were the only thing we knew how to make in our family. This idea was just fine with me. It went along with my dreams of having a half pipe in the back yard and going to monster truck rallies and burping the alphabet.

I never had a vision of pink when I thought of being a mother. Not ever. Not once. No little girls allowed.

The truth is I have a hard time relating to other females in general. Always have. My interests, hobbies, humor, and music all seem to be amiss in the girl world. So, with every sonogram I kept looking closely for something to finally appear between those little baby legs of his. Hers. His?! But they never did. And I was scared. I worried I would totally suck as a mom of a girl.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I was so wrong, I love learning the ways of my wrongness. I enjoy seeing her personality blossoming (sparkling, really) in every direction. I love to take what I know of her now and imagine it in adult terms. I am eager to see her kick ass and take names later while gracefully spreading joy throughout all the land.

This little girl of mine is both sugar and spice while chewing on puppy dog tails an crushing snails. She is kind and sassy and tough.

Her favorite thing to wear is a dress. The thing is, she is three. And if something is out of her reach she doesn't cry about it. She doesn't bother anyone for assistance or create complex toy bin stacks to reach the object of her affection. She does not handle the situation the way I have observed a dozen kids deal with it. If she wants a dress far out of her grasp, she will pull on the dress until the hanger breaks. Then she will put it on and tralalalala through the house feeding her baby doll gingerly with a plastic bottle. She may pick up a sword along the way and chop her brothers' arms off while forcefully water-bending her parents across the house Avatar style. Immediately after we are all invited to her tea party in the living room. It's just the way she rolls. And no one's going to stop her.

Nothing seems to get in her way. I like that about her. She is fiesty. Loving. Motherly.

Every day I am mesmerized by her beauty and charisma. And by her complete ability to hang with the dudes successfully while maintaining Princess caliber.

Gender makes no difference in motherhood. It really is all the same- each child comes with his or her own personality and you approach them according to that.

p.s. To avoid the brag book essence, I must add that she also has common three year old meltdowns, temper tantrums, and issues with sharing. It's taken having three kids, but I am getting better at weeding out typical kid behavior and personality.

fixing

Last week I began the long process of fixing 3 seperate things.

1) a vintage chair I found on Craig's List

2) my bursa problem in my shoulder (PT)

3) my uneven skin pigmentation on my face (Obagi Nu Derm)

All three things require a lifting of the old for replacement of new. None are a quick fix. All are making me mindful of how I spend my time (and hide from the sun).

I followed my heart's reaction when I saw the chair and knew it was what I wanted to sit on while I worked on creating my own writing corner in our home.

I followed my pain (reluctantly) to get my shoulder checked out, which will be saving me from serious problems later if I do not properly work and heal it.

I followed my vanity and finally started the skin care process to rid my uneven skin tones. I now try to dodge the sun as much as possible and pretend I am a vampire. I hear I will soon look like I got a winter ski sunburn as the old layers peel away bringing newer skin to the surface. It feels somewhat like a science experiment happening on my face. It's curious and exciting at the same time.

My chair, my shoulder, and my face are my current hobbies. It seems I enjoy a juggling act of interests as opposed to only wanting one at a time. I appreciate the order and planning required, albeit small, to help me activate and sharpen such skills I traditionally bomb at.

fluid

Bursitis has struck my left shoulder. I know when it happened. I was using a green kettle bell for tricept extensions. And several other repetative movements that were too much for shoulders that had taken a couple weeks off. Working with a PT is annoying. It's boring and too easy. It feels like a waste of time, but it's a necessary evil to get back to where I need to be physically.

I still attend the group personal training class. When there are excercizes I cannot do, I spend that time working on my core (ie. holding a plank or sit-ups). Today's workout, however, was filled with movements that were intensely focused on arms. I could not do about half of the 50 minute workout. The desire to work hard when you cannot is an interesting feeling I am not used to.

It was frustrating. I have done all of these exercizes hundreds of times over the past year. I felt so unjustly mad at myself I wanted to throw my kettle bells across the room. I wanted to kick over my 4-high step. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull hair. So I left. In the middle of my favorite class. I just left. I didn't know what else to do. I got in my car and wanted to cry like a big baby at the fury brewing my insides.

But then I thought of someone.

I though of the amazing woman I see at the gym without arms. Not a single arm. This heroic woman will never be able to do tricept extensions. I don't even know how she gets dressed and gets herself to the gym to begin with. But she is there. And she's not pissed. She's rocking her own kind of workout and looking awesome. I hope I find the courage one day and find the right words to express to her what an inspiration she is to me. So many people in the world find various excuses to not workout (myself- at times- included). She has NO ARMS and she's figuring it out.

I think my shoulder problem just got a little smaller and my attitude a lot brighter.

Cherish One Another

Once a year The Mormon Church holds what is called Relief Society General Broadcast. Despite my joining the church back in 1998, today was my first time attending one.

It's not that I though I was too cool to attend in the past. And it's not that I had too busy a schedule to be bothered. I just simply never wrote it down. A distracted mind can only maintain so much short term information. This year I was determined to go and made sure to write it down on 4 places. I even got a sitter, dressed in church attire, and arrived on time to eat salad with the other women in the stake.

Not that these things are challenging, it's just that making an effort to be purposeful in my spiritual strengthening only takes planning. It's never as much work as I imagine, but it does take a conscious effort.

*****

I know (and hope) tomorrow women all over the world will be quoting some of the fine words spoken tonight. I personally found President Henry B. Eyring's talk to be most inspiring to me. It was about serving others. He said there are three things we need to do for one another 1) care  2) teach and be taught 3) sit together with God

He talked of an inspired visiting teaching companion that followed her inspiration to visit his daughter just as she was unexpectedly bleeding heavily in the middle of a pregnancy at home with her husband away at work.

He spoke of the love we have for others by helping them, by serving others.

There was a time I would wake each morning and ask my Heavenly Father in my prayers who needed my help. I would ask him to guide me through the day and I would listen for my thoughts and have the desire to be of need to someone else. I remember a simple morning years ago. I vacuumed the carpet as my oldest, then only a little boy, watched cartoons as the phone rang. It was a sister in my ward who was going to be put on bed rest and she needed help with her toddler. I had great concern for her and her growing baby in her tummy. I was glad to be given a chance to help someone. Each Tuesday for several weeks I took care of her little boy until she relocated to live near her family in another state. Several women in the ward, actually, jumped at the chance to help any way they could. Every place I have lived the women in the wards offer the same network of support no matter the differnce they each hold inside and out. It's a beautiful thing.

Tonight I thought about how easily the heart's burdens seem to lift when I am asking The Lord each morning and asking how I can help His children while listening for The Spirit. I am grateful I attended the live streaming of the conference tonight and for the inspiration gleaned.

The Green One

Sylvia was excited to wear her favorite shirt: the green one. When I helped her dress this morning I smiled at the nicely folded shirts she put away with her father over the weekend. I felt the warmth of his kiss he gifted me before he left this morning and was reminded of it often throughout the day. He is such a good man.


I walked the boys into school this morning just as the bell rang. I held a brief pause in my stride to watch as Evan confidently marched down his kindergarden hallway. He did so without a look back at me for reassurance. How did he get to be such an independent boy? It seems he fights it often pushing away my hugs while asking me to play cars any chance he can. I love watching him grow up, but it pulls a lot on my heart at the same time. His time at home with me went by far too quickly.

I spoke briefly with Zane's teacher at the door while he unloaded his backpack at his desk. I felt a sense of gratitude for her and have so much appreciation regarding our budding rapport. Especially at a time when the child I leave in her care all day is having a harder than usual time of things. I always hope my interactions add value and do not drive the teacher away from future interaction with me.

My mom spoiled me dearly today with household cleaning and child caring. My favorite part of the day was hearing her laugh so hard at the kids bouncing on the trampoline, knocking into one another in a gentle fashion.

The kids were earth bending and water bending like Avatar characters as we settled for family scripture. Zane read while Mike listened on the phone. They are all tucked into their beds and my creativity for writing is already sleeping.

It was a good day starting the week off right.

It would not be me.

After those planes crashed and the dust settled, the following days were rather fuzzy. No one seemed to be driving or working, but restaurants in Brooklyn were full. Unsure of what to do with my time and all those mixed up feelings, Mike suggested I photograph downtown Manhattan.

I had just taken a course at the art school F.I.T. in photography and he knew it was something I enjoyed. He suggested it as a way for  me to get my mind off the heavy and on to something of interest. I thought of the gray-brown soot I had just wiped from our window sill and how it made my lunch revisit my throat. I thought of the dusting of cars that lined our block. I thought of how there was not an inch of space where I could look to allowe for a break from the constant sickness I felt in my stomach for what had just happened. Although it was an important part of our history, which I knew at the time, I could not find any desire or ability to take a photo of any of it. I knew some would and could, but it would not be me.

***

I am finding the same feelings when it comes to writing about hard spots of time in my life as I work on my memoir. My writing voice tapers off and my words turn into mechanical jargon without feeling or emotion. It becomes a manual of the past unstead of a piece of writing.

I don't enjoy writing about hard things just as I don't enjoy photographing evidence of tragedy. I admire the people who can do either.

So for now I will skip the harder pieces and revisit them when the surrounding parts are in place. It's just not coming together as easily as I thought. It's a good way to grow as a writer and test my bravery.