flip flops...

Whenever my life gets stressful I find it best to absorb myself in crafty crap. Here is my latest endeavor, for the parade in Nevada on Saturday that our family will be in.

Now everyone will have beautiful tootsies!

Life's tough. We're not going to make it out alive

The past few months for me have been interesting to say the least. I have been dealing with postpartum depression for five month since Paisley was born. I have been trying to adjust to my post-pregnancy body, to little avail. I love my kids and I wouldn't trade them for any one of these stretch marks...but I have struggled with my identity in a big way since my body has changed so much in the last 4 years. ( I know three kids will do that)

I have been stretched pretty thin helping some of my friends and family, in addition to my everyday responsibilities. It's frusterating to me because people assume that because I am a stay at home mom that I must have tons of free time. They don't understand when I have to tell them "No, I'm sorry I can't do that." It's full of misconceptions, the life of a SAHM.

Anyway, I have been spending a large amount of time with my cousin,Whitney, and helping her watch her son Hunter these last few weeks. I volunteered to watch Hunter for her when I could, to help her get through a rough personal setback in her life. She is a single mom, and listening to her struggles makes me feel so grateful for my husband. I feel so fortunate to have met him so early in my life. I know that Dan and I have one of those extraordinary kind of loves and I never stop thanking God for sending him to me. Somehow he was able to look past all the chaos and love me, and that was nothing short of a miracle.

My aunt, Whitney's mom, died a few years ago. It wasn't really a family secret but we didn't talk about it much, that she was terribly addicted to drugs. I hardly saw her growing up but I remember her being young, thin, and tan. She was so full of life. It was a far cry from how she looked in the hospice; to young to be dying. One of my only childhood memories is of her teaching me how to cartwheel in the grass outside her house. I took Brighton to see her in the hospice a few times before she died...she regretted her life. It was so painful to see. But she taught me more then how to cartwheel. She taught me that life is a gift, and you only get to live it once. So, change what you can change and accept what you can't. <-----this lesson has sat dormant in me for the last few years but there are so many things about myself that I would love to change. And it is within my power to do so. I am going to devote some entries in here about finding more fulfillment in my life; accepting the things I can't change and changing the things I can.
Although, I'm not sure I can still cartwheel I'm thinking I might give it a try.

Don't touch my child!!!

Today is a perfect example of "don't be mean to me or I'll blog about you". I have had a stomach bug for a couple days and in an effort to recover completely I stayed home to rest. I got a few things done and I lounged around with Paisley and watched a black and white movie on TCM called 'Room For One More' with Carey Grant. It was a nice and peaceful and I was feeling much better.

Until...

My husband came home and told me that my Brighton was being very helpful at church and was helping set up for our potluck after our services, when she side stepped herself quickly out of the way of some oncoming adults. ( in short what we have taught her to do) One of them picked up my child and scolded her for 'running' in the church....While my husband was standing right there.

I would never dream of yelling at someone's child while their parent was right there. Especially to go as far as pick up a sensitive four year old that you don't know, and scold her. Ridiculous. You do NOT put your hands on someone's child. YOU DO NOT PUT YOUR HANDS ON MY CHILD IN ANGER, EVER. And Brighton did nothing wrong but move out of her way and her father was right there. We correct our own children when they need to be corrected.

I have corrected children when their parents weren't around as I would expect others to do to my children. I have talked to other kids when they were in danger or endangering myself or my kids...but never when their parents are right there.

Grrrrrrr

Paisley

Paisley is now 5 months old! As unexpected as our little P.J. was we now can't imagine our lives without her. She is probably the happiest baby I have ever seen. The best word to describe her is 'Jovial'. She loves her daddy, like all the girls, and tolerates me most of the time. She has the most darling laugh. At five months her favorite things are nursing, rough housing with daddy, and playing peek a boo or patty cake with Brighton. Fairon loves to sing her itsy bitsy spider or rock.a.bye baby, much to her joy. She loves to play with my hair and put her little baby fingers in my mouth.
I love to watch her sleep, and listen to her breath and watch her little chest rise up and down. She smells like that perfect baby smell, and sometimes it's so bitter sweet because she is growing so fast. She is our baby and probably the last one, so I fight off the urge everyday to keep her from growing up. She just learned to sit up by herself and she says "Hi" when she coos, swear to goodness. She looks like both of her sisters which is so funny because Brighton and Fairon don't look much alike. She is heaven sent, we believe very literally, to us and Daniel and I couldn't be more grateful for our littlest surprise.

Our very blessed girl...

Guess who turned four?!?!? Brighton J. that's who! I can not believe Daniel and I are parents of a four year old! (and two other little beauties, for that matter.)In the recent past we have had LARGE gatherings for our children's birthdays and while they were fun, we realized that we were missing out on the celebrating. (And footing the bill for a venue and meal for 50+ guests was getting ludicrous.) Mostly, we realized that we were basically carrying on a birthday tradition of our extended families, that doesn't fit the mold of OUR family.

So, Daniel and I decided to scale way back and let Brighton plan the activities, for her day. (genius, eh?) Her requests: we go to the splash pad, to the movies, and out to eat at Applebees. It turned out to be a great idea because her birthday was more meaningful and we were able to afford to get her the things she really wanted. The intimate family gathering helped us to remember that it wasn't just a special day for Brighton, but for us as well. A true celebration filled with gratitude to the Lord for allowing us to care for such a sweet little soul.
Brighton at four is: Smart and sassy.
She loves all things *Rapunzel* which mostly consists of a lot of hair brushing followed by everyone in the vicinity 'witnessing' how long her hair is when it is
A. Wet
B. Just brushed &
C. When she tips her head waaaaay back.


Daniel and I take great pride in raising home grown girls. Girls who have manners, who are kind and smart, who believe in God, have compassion for others, can see the beauty in the world, and can laugh.

Our sweet Brighton girl has raised our every expectation.

She is a girly girl, who loves to get dirty, make art in every form, and dance all over creation. She loves music and has a beautiful singing voice.

She loves the American Flag...don't ask us why, but it makes us proud.

She is fiercely loyal like her father, and loves to make people laugh like her mother.
We could not be prouder to call her our daughter.

....Bullet Hole?

This week waiting on my test results has been agonizing. My mind has drifted to the worst case scenario countless times. Every time my phone rings I run to it, and everyone time I answer it someone is asking me if I got my results back. When I see some of my friends, they give me that look and hug me and say 'hang in there'. Which I really appreciated the first hundred times and now I'm like.....jeez stop treating me like I have cancer! (lol! too soon?)
It has been nearly impossible to get a person with a PHD on the phone, and this morning the receptionist informed me they have no idea where my biopsy results were. So, further instilling confidence that I'm putting my life in the hands of capable people. But they finally called this afternoon and my diagnosis is....*pause for dramatic effect*....

Basal Cell Carcinoma

Which sounds way scary, but in fact it is the most common form of all cancers. Mostly basal cell carcinomas occur on places that receive a lot of sun, but my tumor occurred on my upper inner thigh. Which is partially the reason the doctors were certain it was malignant melanoma, thankfully they were wrong. My cancer grows at a slow rate and can be treated without radiation. But because of the color and depth, and location of my tumor, they have decided to remove it and excise the area around it, the first week of August. The doctor assures me it will look something like a large bullet wound when it heals. Sweet, I guess. This produces cure rates of around 90%. Then, I will have to have regularly bi yearly visits to the dermatologist for the rest of life, because I'm at higher risk for it reoccurring . Basal cell carcinoma rarely metastasizes and rarely is fatal.
Which given what I was lead to believe last week...is a total relief.

My husband and I really just want to thank everyone for the support this last week, and prayers. We feel really grateful to have so many wonderful friends and family members.

Sexy Cancer.

I have had a mark on my leg seemingly since birth, a birth mark if you will. How can something I've had with me my entire life be bad? ....And other thoughts like this have prevented me from getting it looked at, even when it turned black and grew 2x's it's size last year. At my last OBGYN appointment the doctor made me PROMISE emphatically to get it checked out.

I call for an appointment. They can get me in tomorrow. It's too soon. That is too real. I schedule an appointment for a month later. Yesterday.

I brought the kids with me. People with three kids in the waiting room don't get told they have cancer. There is a special needs child in the reception area. About fifteen. He is crying and hitting himself. My kids are scared of him...but I can't think of anything to say. I know how he feels.

I get called in. She asks me about my kids and my pregnancy and then I show her my mark. And she goes and gets someone in a white coat. The white coated person goes and gets someone in scrubs...and he goes and gets someone else in scrubs and...words like scrape, blade, injection, malignant melanoma... biopsy.

I'm trying not to pass out. They cut into my leg. I can't feel it and I'm not watching. Then words the doctors shouldn't use....but they say it because it's an honest reaction. *gasping* "Uh oh", "This doesn't look good", types of words. So, I looked. It's dark black underneath my skin. About the size of a dime. They take pictures and get me a glass of water. They tell me three different results of what this could be. I don't want any of them. But two I can live with. One I can't, maybe literally. It's skin cancer.

They give me a large band aid to go over the wound. And I think...
You just told me I have cancer and I get a glass of water and a band aid?
I can hear that boy in the next room, kicking his wheel chair and screaming. I don't feel so good myself. The doctor says, "don't lose sleep over this, we are sending your sample to a specialized lab and we will call you back in a couple of days." And I say "ok." but I'm thinking....
Is a 'couple' two...or three days....does that count the weekend.... wait...'specialized' lab? Oh my...Jesus....did she just tell me I had skin cancer?

So, I went home and I changed my band aid into a bigger one, because a small band aid shouldn't cover cancer. Then I got this crazy notion that if I can get pretty enough, and look sexy enough this will all go away. So I got in the shower and scrubbed my body. I shaved my legs and painted my nails and did my makeup and put on a dress. Sexy people DO NOT get cancer.
I left the band aid on the entire time, not because the wound isn't supposed to get wet, but because when I look at the unholy black spot on my leg...words like 'Malignant and Melanoma and Cancer' soar into my brain and I forget how to breath. How can one of the whitest women on the planet who has never tanned a day in her life get skin cancer? I'm not a smoker or a drinker, I exercise, I watch what I eat. That's not fair.

So, I am here waiting on my test results. I wasn't sure I wanted anyone to know, but pretending things are normal is not my style. I also did research, which was a terrible idea.

There are two treatments, the first, in layman's terms, for the less aggressive kind of cancer is to determine how far it's spread and cut it out. <---that is what we are hoping for. Doctor said it's about a 60% chance we will be able to do that. The second treatment is unthinkable, so I'm not going to think about it.

There. It's in type. I have skin cancer. But I look good.