just perfect

Today we went to the zoo for Ruby's field trip. It was an absolute perfect day to visit the zoo. The weather was beautiful - a bit chilly - but still sunny and pleasant. The kids were well behaved. The animals were as bizarre, and amazing, and intriguing as usual. I exchanged heartfelt conversation with a dear friend. And the kids slept the entire way home - allowing me the opportunity to reflect...and contemplate...and take it all in.

Perfect I tell you. Just perfect.

waiting...

The other day we stopped off at John's work to pick him up for lunch, and ended up waiting 30 minutes before he finally came out. While we were just sitting there, and to appease the doldrums of waiting, I snapped this picture of myself with my phone. I guess I wanted to see what my 'bored' face looked like.



After messing around with my phone for far too long, changing Asher's poopy diaper, and easing the kids' hunger pangs (by shoving candy in their mouths)...I surprisingly, still had time to do some pondering. While we waited, my wandering mind got to thinking about how much of my life is spent just waiting. Waiting in line at the grocery store, waiting on hold with the Dr's office...or the cell phone company...or whomever, waiting for John to get home from work, waiting for the weekend, waiting for test results, waiting for my children's obnoxious phases to end, waiting for summer to come, waiting for the next vacation, waiting for the sun to rise...waiting for this, waiting for that.

And then I really got to thinking about the world we live in...how fast-paced it has become, how instantly we need to be gratified, how restless and sometimes even annoyed we become when confronted with even the slightest delay. But isn't it good to have to wait for things? I think so. It teaches us patience. It teaches us self-restraint. It teaches us to really love and appreciate - all the more - that which we have waited for once it finally becomes ours. I think the most important thing to remember, is to not become stagnant while we wait. We should never stop going, and doing, and moving, and loving...we should never stop living.

I got a letter a couple of months back from a dear sweet sister in my ward. The same week our ward fasted for me, they also fasted for her. Her cancer had progressed to the point where she was bed-ridden and extremely ill. A few days after the fast, I received this letter from her, and would like to share just a portion of it which has had a profound impact on my life:
Being ill has taught me how precious living is; the greatest miracle of all, and is ours to enjoy every day.

A couple of weeks after I received this beautiful letter, dear sweet Jackie passed away. Even though I immediately wrote her back, I doubt she realized the lesson she taught me before she was taken from this earth. While she lay in bed, possibly 'waiting' to die, she mustered up every ounce of energy she possessed to write me a note, admonishing the enjoyment and amplification of life. Imagine that...serving to the very end. She reminded me, indirectly, of something I have always known but seem to forget on a daily basis...it's that amidst the delays, it's important to keep on living, and loving, and serving; and that before we know it, the vexatious waiting will be over. The last thing I want to do is wish and wait my life away.

So while I 'wait' for John to get home from work, rather than killing time on the internet, taking pointless self-portraits of myself, or mindlessly watching as the second hand circles it's way around the clock; I think I'll grab my kids...we have some laughing, loving, and living to do.

i take it back

So maybe I'm not really loving Ruby's artwork after all. Tonight she handed me this, and in her own words said, it's a picture of you, mommy, with a beautiful mustache...a Hitler mustache no less.

Ruby, grow up.

drawings

I just love Ruby's artwork. I think I'll be sad the day she actually starts drawing bodies. I kind of like how, from her perspective, everybody's arms and legs protrude from their heads. Actually, I just noticed that some of us don't even have arms at all, but at least we have ears and beautiful earrings...

Ruby, please don't ever grow up.

the new bed

that she hates, and absolutely refuses to sleep in...

is at least good for something.

There had to be a reason we paid $300 for a twin size mattress.

I mean the more expensive the mattress, the higher one should be able to jump, right?

i still love you

I tell you, this little sweetheart can make you feel like a million bucks. Tonight she overheard me complaining to John (like I do quite often) about how large I feel. He (like he always does) assured me that I'm not, and Ruby said it's ok mom, I still love you. It's good to know that even if I was as large as our house, Ruby would still love me.

An hour or two later, I was going through the whole bed time routine with her. She told me that she hated her new bed and only liked mom and dad's bed. I told her that she was breaking my heart because her daddy and I put a lot into that bed, setting it up and making it real special just for her. Then she said mommy, even though I sometimes break your heart...I still love you.

Guess where she's sleeping tonight?

Am I the world's biggest softy or what?

a child's prayer...

I love hearing Ruby pray. We call on her to pray over most our meals...simply because we can't wait to hear what she'll come up with. What I love the most is how she'll just go off on a tangent and start talking about her hopes and dreams...in the middle of blessing the food.

This was Ruby's prayer over breakfast this morning...

Dear Heavenly Father,

Please bless my mommy, and my daddy, and my little baby brother.

Please bless my mommy, and my daddy, and my little baby brother. (No, I did not make a mistake here...she asked Him to bless everyone in her family - twice. Something which she does quite often. I think it's her way of putting emphasis on the things she desires most.)

Please bless my doggy, too...and my balloon.

And Heavenly Father, bless Santa, and his elves, and his reindeer.

Do you remember that Santa brought me presents, and his elves gave me candy?

And I'm so sorry we didn't have a fire and a chimly.

And I really wish we had a fire and a chimly.

James (her cousin) has a fire and a chimly.

Maybe we can buy a fire and a chimly at Costco, because I saw one there yesterday.

And Heavenly Father, please bless the food....

Often times, she'll ask Heavenly Father to bless Jesus. That's probably my favorite thing to hear. I also love how she still prays that He'll bless mom's hand to get better (from my surgery). She is just so thoughtful and loving...and wants to tell Heavenly Father everything...and I mean everything. But isn't that what our Heavenly Father wants? For us tell him everything...our hopes and dreams, as well as our sorrows and disappointments? He's our loving Father, and even though he knows us even better than we know ourselves, and even though he already knows our hopes and dreams...sorrows and disappointments, I'm sure (just like any father and mother would), he just wants to hear it come from us.

Imagine how much better our relationship with our Heavenly Father would be if we prayed with such honesty, such sincerity, and such faith...if we really shared what was on our minds and in our hearts - like little children do. I'm grateful for my little Ruby, who is constantly teaching me important lessons of faith, charity, and love. It's no wonder the Savior taught us to"...become as a little child or ye can in nowise inherit the kingdom of God." 3 Nephi 11:37-38

cancer free...

This picture was taken about 5 days or so after I had surgery to remove the melanoma from my hand. It's kind of a weird picture that I took using the webcam. In fact, when John saw it, he said what is that, your knee? So in case anyone else is having a hard time making sense of this picture, it's actually my hand - just held up super close to the camera. I don't even understand how he got a leg and a knee out of this?...plus he of all people should know that I am so not capable of pulling off such impressive acrobatic feats.

So anyway, when I first found out that I had malignant melanoma, I was scared, sure - but I also remember kneeling down immediately and thanking my Heavenly Father for prompting me to get in to the doctor when I did. He blessed me in that moment with an overwhelming sense of peace...along with the assurance that everything would turn out ok. Nothing beats the satisfaction of knowing that your life is in bigger hands...even in the Lord's perfect, loving, healing hands.

My dermatologist's office gave me the name and number of a Mohs surgeon to call for an appointment. I have to admit that it was a bit disheartening to hear that I would have to wait 6 weeks for surgery. Even though I had received that strong assurance that everything would be alright, I sometimes couldn't stop the fear from setting in. I'm ashamed to admit that there were days in which I couldn't even see the point in living anymore. All kinds of scenarios entertained my thoughts....bad, ugly scenarios. Of course most of them centered around me not being able to beat the disease and leaving my children motherless, and my dear husband a young widower. Some days those thoughts (which I now totally recognize as coming from the adversary) got the better of me, and for a day or two at a time, I stopped being a mom and a wife altogether. I remember one day, just lying on the couch in the kids' playroom- staring blankly at a wall - while they entertained themselves...for hours and hours. I had to come to the realization that no matter what I was going through, or what the future held, I was still their mother...that I was still living and breathing; and that as long as that air was still filling my lungs, and as long as my heart was still pumping blood - I had a right, even a responsibility to be those kids' mom. So fortunately, I snapped out of the whole woe is me mindset, and returned to living, and loving, and enjoying life to it's fullest. Sure, in that 6 weeks leading up to my surgery, there were still days of uncertainty, maybe a little bit of fear...anxiety for sure. But most of all I was just anxious to be rid of such an intrusive disease. I hated the thought and feeling that something so horrific - even the very culprit of my own mother's death - was invading my body...albeit just a part of my body. It made me mad more than anything.

I was at home one Sunday afternoon with sick kids...it was a couple of weeks before my scheduled surgery, and I was starting to get anxious for John to walk in the door (seeing how it was already a good 45 minutes after the completion of our block of Sunday meetings). Finally, after about an hour, he greeted me in the family room - puffy eyed and splotchy faced. Through his tears he opened up to me about a lot of his feelings, along with some of his fears - feelings and fears which evidently had been plaguing him for weeks. I have to admit, I was pretty shocked. Not shocked that he was actually worried about me, or that he, too, was concerned and unsure about our future, as well as the outcome of my diagnosis; but maybe just a little shocked that he was just now opening up about it and sharing such raw emotion with me. John's not a big crier...at least not in front of me. It wasn't until a couple of years after we lost our baby boy, Isaac, that he shared with me how during that time he would wait til I had fallen asleep in my hospital bed -when it was dark and everyone had gone home for the night - to cry. And because he had to be strong and hold the tears back all day long, he almost couldn't stop the flood gates at night...and some nights, he told me, he would cry until the sun came up. I married such a tender man...he just doesn't very often wear his heart of his sleeve like I do. So anyway, he came home from church that afternoon, and was really, really upset. He told me that he was afraid, and that he didn't want to lose me, and that he didn't know what he would do it I was taken away from him. He explained to me that the reason he was so late getting home from church was because he was sharing some of these same feelings with our relief society president, and that afterwards our Bishop pulled him into his office and asked John what his thoughts were about holding a ward fast in my behalf. John was very touched...completely on board in fact, but warned the Bishop that he didn't think I would be too keen on the idea.

Sure enough, when John shared all of this with me, I was pretty reluctant to the suggestion. Not because I don't have faith in the power of fasting and prayer, because I do...especially when whole bodies of people come together and join their faith in one common purpose. I have literally seen miracles happen that way. So it wasn't because of any doubt on my part, or a lack of faith...it was quite simply, because of my own pride and embarrassment, because of the undue attention, and mostly because - even though I had been worried, and my family had been worried - I just didn't feel like this was a serious enough matter to bother the church members with. Living in Arizona, I'm sure that many of them had experienced exactly what I was going through, even worse, and we had never done a ward fast for them. After putting much thought into it, I finally concluded that I needed to let go of my pride. The Lord taught me through his Holy Spirit, that not only would this fast benefit me and my family, but that it would strengthen the faith of the ward members. That it would be good for them to come together, to unite their faith, and to witness the miracles of the Lord.

Not having my family close by, I - now more than ever - feel like I have a huge support group in my ward family - a giant family of members who have embraced me, loved me, and treated me like their own daughter or sister. That ward fast was the best thing that could have ever happened.

I went in for my surgery two weeks later. It was early morning, December 16, 2009. I wasn't scared. I didn't feel nervous. Actually the word excited probably best describes the way that I felt as John drove me to the surgical center. Excited may be a weird word to use in reference to surgery...but I think I felt that way mostly because I knew that at the end of the day, this whole nightmare would be over.

The surgery was performed under a local anesthetic, which means I was awake and alert for the whole thing, which means - because it was on my hand (and not my face or some other inconspicuous body part) - I was privileged (or ill-fated...depending on how you look at it) to watch the whole thing.

Mohs surgery is performed in 4 steps, and sometimes several stages are necessary (repeating each step) in removing all the cancer. First, they remove all the visible cancerous tissue, along with a small section of surrounding tissue. Then, they map the tissue by freezing and cutting it into microscopic pieces and shooting a dye through it. By staining the tissue, the pathologist is then able to study the sections on slides under a microscope, and determine where the cancer is traveling...if it is. This process if repeated until no further cancer is found.

For me, the actual surgery lasted only about 15 minutes, but we had to wait over 3 hours in the waiting room while they processed the slides. Fortunately for us, only one stage was required and I was pronounced "cancer free". After all those weeks of anticipating...of worrying and wondering, of praying and fasting, of crying, and almost even throwing in the towel...those two words were like sweet music to my ears. I felt relieved, and liberated, like I had just subdued the enemy...because I had. Cancer is my enemy...it's my big huge fat archenemy. It took the life of my very best friend - my mom. We all know and love someone who has fallen prey to this merciless disease. It seems to have no boundaries. So hearing the words "you're cancer free!", made me feel like I had overcome a lot...like I had accomplished something great. Of course I would feel very ungrateful if I didn't recognize my Heavenly Father's hand in all of this. Like I said earlier, it is so comforting to know that someone who really knows us, someone who is so much bigger and greater than we are, has us tucked safely in the palm of His hand.

And I'm especially grateful He's allowed me to stick around for awhile.

focabulary...

I might just be biased because she's my girl, but I've always been impressed with Ruby's vocabulary. She started speaking pretty early; and when she spoke, it was always easy to understand her. She has surprised me over the last year or two by adding new words, big words (relatively speaking) to her repertoire. Words like - absolutely, positively, fantastic, and wonderful - are some of my all-time favorites. I don't know, I guess they're not really big words, just words that aren't heard often from most 2 and 3 year olds. I think she picks up a lot of her vocabulary from her favorite cartoon show Charlie and Lola. It's about two little brittish kids (brother and sister), who have the most irresistible little english accents. It's enchanting to watch these two interact, and to hear some of the things that they say...especially Lola - she's hilarious. I know for a fact that it was at the hand of Lola that Ruby started opining everything to be her favorite and her best. "Mom," she'll say to me "this chocolate bar is my favorite and my best" or "mom, this book is my favorite and my best". She's also been known to combine words making her own special Ruby words. Fantastical is probably my favorite. She uses this one a lot. Back in October, after I had finished sewing my Wendy costume for Halloween, I held it up for Ruby to look at. I'll never forget her reply "Oh mom, (in the most drah-ma-tic little voice) it looks so fantastical and pretty"! She has used this one several times since. To her, something might be wonderful and fantastical, or absolutely fantastic, or positively wonderful...I simply love the combinations she comes up with.
I think she does a fairly good job of putting her sentences together and using her words in the right context, however there are several words that she just hasn't mastered yet. Here are a few:

fantastical (once again, my favorite and my best..ha)
gorilla bar for granola bar
alligator for elevator
tummy egg for tummy ache (This one is particularly funny because of how literally she understands it. She thinks that if you eat too much, rather than feeling those uncomfortable stomach pains from overeating (or a tummy ache), your stomach will actually take on the shape of a giant egg from all that excess food. You know- a tummy egg...duh!)
nakeup for makeup
net's go for let's go
nast night for last night
bunton for button
accinent for accident
valentime's day (I think it's funny that for as much as she uses the 'n' sound in words that don't have an 'n', she actually substitutes the 'n' for an 'm' in this one.)
oar for our
borilla for umbrella
colthd for cold
lose for use
olthd for old
yestuhday (refers to anything in the past, be it a day or a year)
hanatizer for hand sanitizer

Sometimes John will try to correct her when she uses some of the above words or phrases. I always stop him. I find it so endearing, so redolent of right here and right now, so characteristic of her age and her youth...which we all know will not last forever. Before we know it, she will make those corrections on her own. Of course, when that happens, I know we will just long for the days when she wanted to push all the buntons on the alligator, and when we ate so many gorilla bars that we got tummy eggs, and then headed back to oar house to escape from the colthd. Yes, before we know it - these days, these experiences - will be tomorrow's (and next year's) nast nights; and be thought of, referred to, and talked about as "the good olthd days" of yestuhday.

On a different note, Ruby has finally mastered writing her name. In fact, she leaves her little mark (one which she cannot blame on Asher) on just about everything. A couple of days ago she wrote her name on a pink balloon and gave it to me as a memento. I am her biggest fan, so it was quite an honor to recieve a personal autograph.

do you ever?

Do you ever have one of those days where you don't feel like doing a thing...except maybe curling up in your bed and sleeping the whole day away? The rain seems to do that to me. And today it hasn't appeared to let up...for even a second.
The kids and I set up a little table in the middle of the kitchen floor to eat our lunch. Now before you go thinking oh, she's such a fun mom, I need to confess that the kitchen table was covered with junk and I didn't have the desire, nor the energy, to clear it off so that we could eat. Luckily the kids weren't cognizant of that fact, and so they still think I'm the greatest mom on the planet. Now that they're both tucked away in their beds for a (let's hope) really long nap, I think I'll go and do the same.

That darn rain.

how do i look?

Tonight after spending a good chunk of the evening in front of the mirror, Ruby turned to me and asked, "How do I look, mom?". I couldn't help but laugh. She had two hair clips in her hair, one fastened to her neckline, and somehow she had managed to dangle a set of nail clippers to the fabric of her gown. And she was as proud as punch.

crush...

I loved spending the day with Ruby as we prepared for her preschool Valentine's Day party. We had the best time making sugar cookies topped with pink frosting and valentine nonpareils. Ruby's job was to deluge the sprinkles as I finished frosting each cookie. Of course, the best part was when we got to sample them.

I loved watching her as she decorated her valentine's box which I had wrapped beforehand in brown paper. I gave her an assortment of pink, red, and purple paper, a heart-shaped paper punch, and the glue gun. It was her first time using the glue gun, and I loved being witness to her excitement as she squirted huge globs of glue, and then stuck scraps of paper and cut-out hearts on each side and top of the box. We tied a big pink ribbon around the entire box, and then tied a bow at the top. It was a masterpiece.

Then it was on to the actual valentine's cards. She took pride in writing her name on each and every valentine. I don't think she even noticed that I went back through them all and rewrote her name (in parenthesis) next to each illegible chicken scratched "Ruby".

I thought it was cute that more than once throughout the day, she asked me about Kerry's valentine. Kerry is one of the boys in her class. She wanted to know which valentine card was for Kerry. And then she asked me if I thought Kerry would like her valentine, and then it was "mom, do you think Kerry likes purple? Or should we change his to green?"
Now, I don't claim to be an expert in the love department; but in my experience, one wouldn't worry and fret this much over a valentine...unless they had some kind of feelings for the recipient of said valentine. I asked Ruby if she had a crush on Kerry.
"What?" she asked, a bit embarrassed.
"Well, I mean, do you like Kerry? Do you think he's cute?"
"No mom! I don't! I like Bennett, I think he's cute, and I have a crush on him not Kerry".

Now normally I would think it was all good and fun...but the fact that Bennett happens to be her cousin, poses a bit of a problem. Not to mention the fact that cousin Bennett seems to have a bit of a crush on Ruby's best friend, Ava, as a hand-written "I love you" adorned the valentine card that he gave her. Sounds like a juicy love triangle if you ask me.

Later Ruby told me that she had a crush on Dix-d (our dog), so I'm taking it she may be a bit confused as to the precise meaning of the word. And pretty much in the same sentence she told me that she doesn't like boys at all, that she only likes girls. So I'm thinking we don't have anything to worry about...at least for a few more years (let's hope).

"puh bah"

Our sweet little Asher, bless his heart...still doesn't say much. Every once in a while he'll utter "mom"...and once in a real great while he'll mutter "dad"; but really that's about the extent of his vocabulary. One can only imagine my surprise, when after I rewarded his good behavior with puff ball, he exclaimed "puh bah". It's become his new (and pretty much only) favorite word. Sometimes I'll just let him add a puff ball to his jar for no reason at all...other than the fact that my heart melts every time I hear that high pitched little voice beam "puh ball". It seriously has to be one of the sweetest things I have ever heard.

Who would have thought this little nut could make me so happy?

making progress...

About 6 months ago (after learning that Ruby's friend, Ava - who is just 5 months older than she is, was beginning to read) I started feeling like a really bad mom. Up to that point, Im embarrassed to admit, I had never sat her down and worked with her on learning the letters of the alphabet, let alone the sounds associated with each letter. Our occasional singing of the ABC's was about the extent of her academic acuteness. I decided that is was high time we get busy, and do our best to make up for lost time. The first time I sat down with her was a complete joke. We started with the letter "A". I drew an "A", and next to it I drew an apple. See Ruby, this is an "A". An "A" sounds like this: a a a apple. I remember repeating it over and over again, and then having her say it back to me. We spent a good 10-15 minutes on the letter "A" before moving on to "B". Then I did the same thing. Ruby this is a "B" (with a banana sketched next to it). "B" sounds like this: b b b banana. After I was convinced that she had learned everything there was to know about the letter "B", I went back to "A". Okay, now Ruby, what letter is this, do you remember? "Ummm", she hesitated, 'R'? Like a a a banana?" Oh dear, I thought. But the thought also came to me, as I excused her to return to her princesses and baby dolls, that she simply wasn't ready...and that she didn't need to be either. Since then, I haven't forced the issue. I'll sit her down occasionally to see if she's picked up on anything at preschool, if anything that she's been taught has actually penetrated. Each time we sit down together, however, I find myself as frustrated as I was during our very first endeavor. I guess I just figured that because she's almost 4, and because she's been in preschool for almost 6 months now, she would be a bit more advanced than she actually is. A few weeks ago, I decided to come up with some ways to teach her the letters that would be fun and easier for her to learn. For example for "B", I said "okay, picture a bee buzzing around and coming up to the letter "B"...he gets excited when he sees the two holes in the letter "B" because he can fly in the top hole, and out the bottom one." For "O" I opened my mouth in an "O" shape, and just repeated "oh, oh, oh" over and over again.For "P" I said, "Look Ruby, the letter 'P' has an opening in the top that looks like a little potty...it should be easy for you to remember that, because you "pee" in the potty". I probably taught her 6 or 7 letters that night, which surprisingly, she still remembers. She is constantly on the lookout for familiar letters, and isn't ashamed to blurt one out as soon as she recognizes it. We were at the store the other day, and she excitedly exclaimed "look mom, you can go pee in the potty, that's a "P"! or "mom, the bee flies in the top hole and out the bottom, I see a "B"!A couple of weeks ago, she asked me if I could teach her how to write her name. She still isn't able to do it without my help; but she'll watch intently as I draw each letter, and then does a brilliant job of copying me...which makes me burst with pride because we are finally making some progress.

puff balls...

As much as I absolutely love and adore my little Ruby girl, there are definitely things about her that I could live without - and that's putting it nicely. Something that I have very little tolerance for, is her seeming inability to obey. I feel like I have to ask her repeatedly to do the simplest of things, or to stop doing the most obnoxious things; but no matter how or how many times I have to ask...my requests seem to go in one ear and out the other - or maybe not even in either ear at all. I have tried to threaten her, (and believe me, I do not offer up empty threats...we have left many a playgroup, birthday party, and family-get-together early because of her lack of obedience), I have tried to bribe her, I have asked her in my kindest voice, and sadly (at times)have even resorted to raising my voice...but still she continues to do what she wants, how she wants, and for long as she wants - paying no regard to that fact that I am her mother, and therefore should always do whatever I say...haha (laughing to myself) who am I kidding?

I was starting to feel at a complete loss, until my sister-in-law, Amy, shared the simplest (but very effective) little incentive program with me. After hearing how much her boys have loved it, I decided to give it a try. I told Ruby all about the plan, and together we went to the store to pick out some colored pom poms (which she calls "puff balls"), along with a couple of different size jars. We got home and transfered all the puff balls from the packaging into the largest of the jars, and then decorated the two smaller jars - one for her, and one for Asher. I carefully explained the rules to her, which were very simple..."Every time that you are obedient and do what mommy asks, the first time I ask, you can earn a puff ball for your jar. As soon as you jar is full to the top, we can go to the store and pick out a really neat present. However, If I have to ask you more than once, or if you whine and complain about doing what I have asked, then you will not earn a puff ball." She was thrilled about our new little program, as was I, and neither of us could wait to get started. It took a few days for her to really catch on (didn't realize there would be a learning curve attached to our new incentive program), but after about a week of working together, I am happy to say that it is really working. I can get her to do things that I never thought possible, and for once, she jumps up almost immediately at the onset of my bidding...exclaiming "yay, I get a puff ball" as she rushes off to complete the task. I usually just laugh...so maybe she complies for the wrong reason, but I'm hoping it's at least getting her into the habit of obeying what I say, and understanding the importance of listing and following through. If I have to get her a present here and there along the way (while she's young and still understanding the importance of these basic principles), I have no problem doing so.

Yesterday she removed her belt at her aunt Lori's house and we couldn't find it anywhere. She was having a hard time exercising her newly acquired obedience skills, so out of desperation, I said "Ruby, listen, if you help mom look for your belt, and we actually find it, I will give you THREE puff balls!" The two of us were alone upstairs searching fruitlessly, when I suggested that we offer up a prayer to Heavenly Father, asking that He help us find it, or to at least help her remember where she was when she took it off. (Prayer is another principle that we have been working on with her. I was trying to help her understand that nothing is too small or trivial for the Lord...and that if we exert our faith, and if it's in accordance with His will, He will grant unto us that which we desire.) I asked Ruby if she would exhibit her faith and offer the prayer. Together we kneeled and she humbly began "Dear Heavenly Father, please bless Heavenly father to find my belt so that I can win THREE puff balls, and fill up my jar, and get a really neat present from all the sacks in the top of mommy's closet..."

I'm telling you, there's never a dull moment with regard to Ruby and her puff balls.

meticulously mismatched...

*this post has been in my drafts for over two weeks now...what is wrong with me???


Ruby loves to pick out her own outfits and get dressed all by herself. Generally she does a decent job on her own...sometimes though, we end up digging through her drawers together, switching and swapping until we can finally agree upon something. A tweak here or there is usually all that's ever needed to keep her from looking like we just picked her up from the orphanage. This morning, however, I almost couldn't believe my eyes...in fact, a double take was definitely in order when she proudly burst out of her room wearing a colorful striped turtleneck with a short-sleeved butterfly print jacket layered over the top, paired with some kitty cat printed leggings, a checkered skirt, and plaid shoes. When she matter-of-factly declared that she was all ready for school, I almost as quickly marched her back into her bedroom...but...the more I studied her, the more I fell in love with the whole picture; and for some strange reason, I refrained from opposing. I imagined her looking through her drawers and meticulously mulling over each article of clothing. I imagined her thought process as she paired and layered each element of her mismatched ensemble. I imagined the smile forming on her face as she slipped into each individual article of clothing, and then carefully layered one on top of another...and another...and another. As I played it all out in my mind, and then was witness to the larger-than-life smile painted across her spirited little face, I decided to just smile too, and then proudly sent her off to school...

this here blog...

I finished this post over a week ago, but for some reason, never got around to publishing it. In fact, there are countless pictures and events, thoughts and feelings, mishaps and blessings, musings and ramblings...all of which I have had every intention of posting - but haven't. I don't really know why. I'm not sure if was the hustle and bustle of the holidays that made it seem nearly impossible to blog? I know there were times I just didn't feel like getting on the computer. There were also times I would sit down, only to find that my creative juices had failed me. And then the more time that passed, the less and less motivated I became to trying to play catch up. I don't know, maybe I just needed a break from it all for a while. Regardless of the reason, I have missed my good old blog. I have missed being able to have a place where I can just be me. A place where I can share whatever. A place where I can vent. A place to opine and muse. Even a place to praise and express gratitude. It's my own place where I can brag about my kids if I want to, or my nearly perfect, angel husband. I enjoy being able to put it all out there for anyone to read...but really and truly, when it comes down to it, this is all just for me and my family. My blog is my journal. When these post are long forgotten by my readers - I can just imagine Ruby and Asher - in their teens, or with their children - going back through the archives, or flipping through the volumes of blog books chronicled by year. I can imagine them reading about the day they cut their first little tooth, or their very first birthday, their interactions with each other, funny things that they said, and heartwarming things that they did. I would give anything for my own mother's "blog" - just something, anything - that might take me back to my perfect childhood. I think that's what disturbs me the most about my recent respite from blogging...it's knowing that in a few months time, possibly a year or two, maybe more - the events and happenings of the past couple of months, will most likely evanesce from my memory...maybe even fade completely. That's why right here and now, I'm recommitting myself to my blog...my journal. I'll do my best to recap some of the highlights from the past month or two, as well as resolve to never again allow such a significant lapse between entries. And really, not that any of you care all that much whether or not I blog, or for that matter, the frequency of my posts...but I care because it's my life, and it's about my family...and because, possibly - in our not so distant future - this here blog, will be a very important link to our past.

*Well after all of that, I think I'll save my original post - which now has nothing at all to do with this post - for another day and time. It just doesn't quite fit anymore.

my race...

Until Run from the Sun, I had never run a race in my life. I am not a runner, or any type of athlete for that matter. I have friends who run, and I have always applauded them. I admire them for their physical endurance and mental strength, for their ability to withstand the elements and forge through unrelenting obstacles...for the amount of time expended in pursuing such a sport. I myself enjoy exercising and staying in shape. When I work out, I give it my all - most days pushing myself to complete exhaustion. However, although I exercise 5-6 days a week, my work-out sessions rarely exceed 20-30 minutes. I feel like I’ve always lacked the strength and stamina necessary to train for, and participate in, any type of endurance sport. Running long distances has always been challenging for me...and by long distances, I mean anything over a mile or two.

I share all of this personal background for a reason. It was shock - just as much to me as to anyone - that when my friend casually announced she would be running a half marathon in just over a week, I blurted out “I want to run it too!” Wow, where did that come from? Did I really just say that? The girl who has never run more than 5 miles at one time, and who has only done that 2 or 3 times in her life? What makes me think that I could run a half marathon, when I haven’t even taken the time to prepare myself physically (or mentally) for such an undertaking? I hadn’t even trained! Despite all signs pointing to the fact that I had no business running this race, something inside me vexed “Do It”, and the more I fought that inner voice, the more determined I became to run that race.

Annette, my friend – who, by the way, has run several marathons, and who, (like most runners) actually trains and conditions for these races - told me that she would take me out on Saturday (just a week before the race) to pace me. She assured me that if I could run the 8 miles – no problem, that I would be able to run the 13 - with very few problems. Of course, I had my doubts. The night before our big run, I’m sure I slept less than 3 hours, I was so nervous. Surprisingly, I did ok. I was able to keep up with my proficient runner friend (barely), and felt like I even had some energy to spare. I decided to wait to register, at least through the weekend, to see how my body was going to recover from something so foreign. When Monday morning rolled around, and I didn’t have so much as a single sore joint or muscle, I knew that I was destined to run this race. Ever since I had heard about it, I had felt compelled, for some strange reason, to give it a shot; and now, just moments away from registering, I knew that there was no turning back. Now, what was that website Annette had told me about? Let’s see if I can remember the name of that race? Was it Run in the Sun? Or perhaps it was Run with the sun? No. The Sun Run? The Valley of the Sun? No. Ah ha, here it is… that sounds right - Run from the Sun, November 14th 2009. After clicking on the link, I arrived to the Run from the Sun’s homepage. Prior to this moment, I was not aware of the fact that its sole purpose was to raise skin cancer awareness. And that’s when it all started to unfold. You see, for the past week and a half, I had been anticipating a call from my dermatologist. For some time I had felt some incertitude with regard to a strange mole on my left hand, and had finally decided it was time to confront the issue. The mole was removed and sent in for a biopsy, and here I was, 11 days later, still wondering and anxiously awaiting the results. I did not find it a mere coincidence that I had, from the moment I heard about this race (without knowing beforehand of its cause), felt an inner drive to take part in it. My commitment to its objective suddenly became more compelling that the race itself, and I frantically searched for the “sign me up” button. I was happy to pay $75.00 for a cause that had just become so personal…so applicable to me and my current situation. Whether I actually had skin cancer or not, there was no doubt that in the last week I had thought more about that possibility than ever before. The prospect of actually having it, heightened my awareness of the disease, motivated me to make some changes with regard to sun exposure, and to be quite honest...down right terrified me.

Not more than an hour had passed since I had registered for the race, when I received that long awaited phone call. When I saw my doctor’s name stretched out across the caller ID display, I knew the moment of truth had finally arrived. A concerned voice on the other line reluctantly informed me that I did, in fact, have malignant melanoma. “Thank Heavens”, she assured me, “that you came in when you did. Because your melanoma is in the earliest stages, you can expect a high cure rate”. After giving further instruction, she left me alone…all alone to sustain the whirlwind going on in my head. Talk about impeccable timing. Now more than ever - I felt impelled to run this race…My Race.

The morning of the race had finally arrived, and although I felt physically inadequate for the task at hand, mentally I had never felt more prepared and excited for anything. It felt wonderful to be able to run for a cause - a cause which I had just recently become privy to. It’s hard for me to fully describe, or even attempt to explain, what happened to my mind and body while I ran that race. It’s almost as if I had an out of body experience, like something (or someone) greater than I, was pushing me - sometimes even carrying me - along that course. I felt like I was lifted to new heights, like I could take on the world, like there was nothing I couldn’t accomplish, like anything I put my heart and mind to - could be mine. I felt like by running that race, I was beating my cancer. Like each pound of my shoe to the pavement, was just another pound to the disease which had so inadmissibly invaded my body.



For a brief period during the race, we were blessed with a beautiful burst of rain. It felt refreshing and liberating. As great heavenly drops fell and splashed my face, neck, arms, and legs, I couldn’t help but ponder upon its significance. Rain symbolizes purity and cleansing, renewal and rebirth…a fresh start. To me, our race day rainfall was symbolic of my body being cleansed of its ailment. This sudden realization made me smile until I laughed out loud, and then it made me cry.

It was beyond amazing to have the support of my sweet husband and two children. They far exceeded my expectations by being at every single water station and cheering me on as I passed by. Often times my daughter was the one holding the water cup out for me, a sight which repeatedly melted my heart. After receiving that kind of moral support and encouragement from my beloved family, I couldn’t help but stop (on more than one occasion) and thank each of them with a kiss. I was not concerned with my time, I only wanted to finish the race; and seeing my precious loved ones all along the way, gave me the bursts of energy I needed to keep pushing through.



Nothing felt better than crossing that finish line and knowing that I had accomplished the impossible. I am not a runner, but I ran. For 13 miles I ran. I ran that race with my whole heart and with my whole soul. For me, this was so much more than just a race. It was a life changing experience. For me it represented everything that I had admired about my runner friends…the physical endurance and mental strength, the ability to withstand the elements and forge through unrelenting obstacles. And isn’t that what life is really all about? Forging through our obstacles? Weathering the elements? It’s about exerting physical, mental, and oftentimes emotional strength to be able to continue forward. It’s placing one foot in front of the other, until triumphantly, we cross that finish line.
Everything about my race – the pounding of the pavement, the rain on my face, the very fact that my family was there every step of the way – symbolized to me, my brush with cancer, my flight against it, and my own personal battle with it. And just as I crossed that finish line conquering…so will I claim victory over this intrusive malignant disease.



*Note: A Few days after the event, the race director sent an email to all the race participants, requesting that we each submit our "race day story". The commitee was to review each entry, and then pick the best 10. The prize? Free registration for next year's race! This blog post was what I submitted as my official "race day story"...and guess who will be running next year's race for free?!!! I was so excited!

the encounter...

is so vivid in my memory, it could have been yesterday. It was a hot day. The sun, which shone directly overhead was bright, and it's rays were intense. It was - by my definition - the perfect day for a suntan. Lying out in the back yard was precisely what I was doing when I heard a solemn "hi sweetheart". Startled by the interrupted silence, I bolted upright and did my best - notwithstanding the blaring sun - to focus on my father's face. He wore a sad look, and in his eyes - I sensed disappointment. I don't remember his exact words, but I will never forget his plea "You know," he commenced, “as a child, I remember literally begging my parents to quit smoking. I knew that if they didn't stop, it would lead to their death. Now, as I watch you bake yourself in the sun, I feel like that same helpless child, but this time it's not my parents, but my own daughter whom I beseech. I can't bear the thought of losing you to something that could have been prevented".
I could only imagine his pain, having lost his father at the age of 25, his mother when he was 35 (both due to a lifetime of smoking), and then just 5 years later, losing the love of his life, his soul mate...to cancer. I can only imagine his heartache, the utter letdown he must have experienced, as he walked back inside - defeated and unaccompanied - while I, in an attempt to even out my tan, rolled over to my stomach.

It started with a mole on my left hand. I don't remember always having the mole, and if I did, I had never noticed it before...something was definitely different about it now. It wasn't very big, but it did have varying colors, and an irregular border...two definite warning signs. For probably a year, I have been meaning to get in to get it checked out. However, for one reason or another, the days, weeks and months passed by without a doctor's visit...and not even so much as an appointment in the foreseeable future. It was one of those things that always nagged at me, much like hearing my father's words of warning; but also, like my father's words, the nagging never led to action...until recently. It was about two months ago. I was in the shower, and completely out of the blue, I received a prompting so strong it scared me. I felt impressed to put everything else in my life on hold (trying to get pregnant, etc), and focus on the one thing that was starting me in the face. My mole. I felt strongly that if I didn't act quickly, it would be too late. Without hesitation, I made an appointment to see the dermatologist. I was afraid of what might happen if I didn't. I had to wait 6 weeks for my appointment, but felt at peace knowing that I had finally - rather than ignore the issue - taken some action. I felt like the ball was out of my court, and all I could do now, was wait. The day finally arrived, and after taking one glance at my mole, the doctor informed me that it would indeed need to be sent in for a biopsy. The mole was removed, and I was on my way...feeling relived, but at the same time slightly uneasy. I had secretly hoped that after looking it over, he would have said something to the effect of, "Well, I'm glad you came in, you never can be too careful...but this mole is perfectly normal. We'll see you again in a year and a half." He did tell me that he was very glad that I came in, but the way it was conveyed, the seriousness in his tone, left me walking away feeling nervous and uneasy. It took over a week and a half to get the results back from the lab. It was hard to concentrate on much else during the 11 days of waiting, but the day finally came. When I saw the doctor's name and number on my caller id, my heart skipped a beat. My shaky hand reluctantly yet anxiously, reached for the receiver, and in a quiver I said "hello?”
"Hello, is this Nicole"?
"Yes, it is".
“Nicole, this is _________ from Dr.__________'s office. I'm just calling to let you know that we did receive the pathology report from your biopsy, and it is in fact, malignant melanoma."
I really didn't hear much after the word melanoma wait isn't that the deadliest form of skin cancer? From the bits and pieces I did catch, I was able to formulate that the melanoma was detected in one of it's earliest stages, and to expect a high cure rate. The nurse gave me the number to a Mohs' surgeon, and told me to wait two days to call for an appointment.
Although I pretty much expected that result, I guess I wasn't really prepared to actually hear that I have cancer - the very culprit (in a different form) that took my own mother away from me. To know that such a vicious disease had invaded my body, or even just a part of my body, was a horribly unpleasant feeling.
Amidst the letdown, a feeling of peace ambushed me. I hung up the phone and burst into tears...but these were not tears of fear, or defeat, they were not tears of hopelessness or despair...they were tears of gratitude, tears of love and appreciation for my Heavenly Father. A Father who despite my weaknesses, despite my disobedience and lack of cognizance to his pleas and warnings, sent me something so powerful, that I for one could not ignore. I fell to my knees and thanked Him for His love. I thanked Him for his warning. I thanked Him for not giving up on me. I don't feel like it's my time to go. I feel like He still has work for me to accomplish on this earth. I like to think that, at least for the time being, He needs me here, not there. Maybe I have lives to touch; perhaps there are people who will touch me. My children need me, my husband needs me, and even more importantly, I need them. I'm grateful that I finally listened, that I stopped ignoring, that I took action, and that because the cancer is in it's earliest stages, it's very hopeful that I will be cured...completely.
My thoughts drift back to that hot summer day, in the back yard with my father. Although I don't remember the exact words he spoke, I can still hear the supplication in his voice...the desperation in his eyes.
I often wonder why I didn't listen to him that day. Oh I heard what he said. His words reached my heart, they moved me alright...so much in fact, that I've never forgotten that encounter. But why wasn’t I moved to action? I can't count the number of times I've laid out in the sun since that day...always my father's desperate words ringing in my ears. I wonder why we sometimes have to be so stubborn. Do we really think we know what's best for us? When those who are older, and wiser, and who have much more experience, are trying to warn us of danger up ahead...why do we choose to disregard their warning pleas? Do we somtimes think we are the exception? Do we think it can't or won't ever happen to us? Do we think that we're stronger than that? Or that we will continue to be protected and watched over, when we continue to make unwise choices? When we hear of other's sad stories...the tragedies that could have so easily been prevented...why isn't that enough? Why do we insist on finding out for ourselves...the hard way? Why are we so often wrapped up in the now, that we fail to contemplate the lasting effects...how might this - my choice, my action now - affect my family, myself, and my future?

This whole experience has truly humbled me to the dust. It's sad that it took a giant scare for me to finally change my attitude about the sun. You will no longer find me spending hours lying out by the pool, or in the back yard. No more telling my husband that I have sunscreen on, when really it's suntan oil with a sun protection factor of 6. This experience has caused me to take a step back, to reevaluate my life and my priorities. Having a tan is not more important than being a mom, and a wife, and a daughter, and a sister. It is not more important than being able to live and to breathe. Nothing is worth sacrificing the precious gift of life that I've been given...the opportunities to grow, and learn, and laugh, and love.
My hope now, is that I still have time to make a change…that the Lord will give me the second chance that I’ve been hoping and wishing for...that my story might bless someone else, and maybe even inspire another life or two.

If perhaps this is the case, it would make it all worthwhile.

pete and the whole pan bunch...

We seriously had the best Halloween ever. I thought for sure we'd be jinxed with bad weather (turns out this week's cold spell was short lived...we were lucky to enjoy 80 degree temperatures for the day) or the swine flu (Asher's been over it for at least a week, and how blessed the rest of us were/are, to have avoided catching it from him)...seeing how we've been planning, talking about, and envisioning this day for, well...only about 365 days. We came up with our plan months and months ago. We started thrift shopping for costume pieces back in July, and I officially started sewing and putting everything together in August. I finally put the final touches on my Wendy costume the first weekend in October...and that was the very last costume. So, needless to say, we were getting pretty excited as the weeks and days of Halloween approached us. I love that it fell on a Saturday this year. It was nice to have John home to help me put everything together, and get everyone dressed and ready. Ruby, of course, took the whole thing very seriously. As we were getting ready, I would tell her to do something, and she would reply, "yes, Wendy". And then if I slipped and accidentally called her Ruby, she would correct me with, "Ummm, my name is Tinkerbell!" We were a little too excited, and ended up being all ready by 3:00. No worries though, the night was young...we had places to go and people to see. First stop, the home of our dear friends, George and Ruby. We always love spending time with them. We adore them, and our kids adore them...and I like to think that they adore us, too. They had some fun little goodies and gifts for our kids, and we enjoyed visiting with them and taking pictures of them with our kids. Next stop, Aunt Julie's. Ruby was in heaven as aunt Julie beautified and adorned her face with green eyeshadow, lots and lots of glitter, and glue on earrings. She was the prettiest Tinkerbell I have ever seen.
We then had a great time in the company of many of our friends and community members at the annual trunk-or-treat party. It's my favorite thing to walk around and see every one's costumes...and of course, to show off ours as well. We ate some yummy chili, mingled with our friends, played some carnival type games, and got lots (but not too much) candy. The night wouldn't have been complete without stopping in to see Grandpa Jerry and Cheryl. They've recently re-landscaped their backyard...which was nothing short of neverland itself. After walking along the bridge to the tiki hut and looking for fish in the pond, we were off to make the final stop of the night...Aunt Lori's! It's tradition every year to end up at Aunt Lori and Uncle Joe's house. It's fun to get all the cousins together, take some pictures, and just be able to unwind. By the end of the night, I was completely exhausted...but somehow still managed to lie awake conceiving, envisioning, and fantasizing over our costumes for next year...

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