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 has also served me very well 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.