Frankenstein Unveiled

Just thought I'd post pictures of the Frankenstein look I've adopted, too bad it's not Halloween. The skin cancer was only 2 or 3 millimeters across -- why in the world did they need to cut me from lip to nose? Luckily, the stitches come out tomorrow.

Regret

I know what I would do over if I could relive High School. Well okay, that's laughable. I would redo almost everything about High School if I could, but here is the first thing. I would NOT regularly frequent tanning beds, no matter how sleeveless the cheerleading uniform or how white my fair skin!  Here is why:

Note: I was feeling as lovely as I looked when I took this gorgeous self-portrait today while the family played at the lake. I look like my lip has been sewn shut.

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I had my fifth skin cancer removed today, from my upper lip. I had my first removed 12 years ago and have had others through the years, but this was the most painful and involved. Since it's on my lip and was possibly a nodular basel cell carcinoma they did a deeper incision to make sure they got it all and then a tricky cutting above and below the spot to pull the sides together and stitch them for minimal scarring. Along with tricky cutting comes a dozen or so stitches, a big fat lip and a very LARGE bandage. Lovely. Painful. Lots of regrets.

Mercy

I recently wrote a paper for my class that was inspired by a quote from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice. It is somewhat soul baring, but that never seems to stop me, so here it is in all its psychological and emotional nakedness. 

Mercy

I stand on my yoga mat, eyes closed, soaking in the luscious warmth of the early morning sun on my back and listening to the soothing sounds of ocean and piano and flute wafting lightly from my ipod speakers. I hold the warrior pose and feel calm, content -- until a cold spray of water from the hose douses the fire of my inner peace. Gid, the two year-old fireman/assassin has found me and targeted me for a soaking. I turn off the hose, retake my position on the wet mat and close my eyes, intent on finding my inner nirvana once again. Who am I kidding? Gid is now screaming and crying at my knees, taking my name in vain over and over. “Mommy, Mommy!” I ignore him. I will have this time for me. The alarm on my cell phone goes off – time to pick up Curtis. I open my eyes. Eli has now been soaked by the two year-old and has stripped down to his underwear. Gid is in his usual uniform: Huggies--size five.

I turn off the ocean, piano and flute. No time to dress the kids, I throw the Littles in the car in their sundry states of undress. We pick up Curty, 10 minutes late, again. Back home I stumble past one, two, three baskets of laundry on my way in through the laundry room. Just in time I remember, “Don’t inhale or you’ll smell the load of darks that’s been washed three times and is still mildewing in the washer.” I try to make a mental note to reboot the abandoned wash and transfer it, but my mental notepad has run out and I don’t where to find a replacement.

I head to my bedroom and trip on the Monopoly game whose contents are now cavorting with toy kitchen utensils and a hundred children’s videos at the top of the stairs. They’ve been waiting patiently to be taken down and put away, but have finally rebelled and thrown themselves at my feet hoping to get my attention.

In the car I made the mistake of telling Gid that later we’d be going to Wal-mart to get Otter Pops. Of course I meant after I change out of my yoga clothes, get dressed, brush my teeth, throw my hair in a ponytail and find clothes for everyone else. Discovering we are NOT at Wal-mart he follows me into my room, on the verge of losing his mind again. He is mindlessly crying, “Pop, pop, pop” until I want to scream. I’m trying to get dressed before he loses it, but he can’t seem to understand that my getting dressed is the only obstacle to his Otter Pop ecstasy. If he would just let me do it quickly he would get his pop sooner.

So I stop. I kneel down. I talk gently to him, hug him, hold him for a minute trying to explain, but when I put him down it starts all over again. I will lose it soon, I know it. My brain is frazzled and I can’t think. Will my life consist of carrying Gid around every day from Sesame Street to Letterman to keep him from having another terrible two year-old tantrum? I can’t even imagine a life that allows me to clean, cook, do laundry, home school, teach 15 year-old girls at church, read books, write papers, study the scriptures, be a loving wife, take care of the garden and do yoga in the sun by the pool all with this cherubic barnacle on my hip. Two years of this has left my bucket empty.

Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Attivan, Valium, Concerta. Psychiatrists think they have answers, but they somehow make things worse in the end. Feeling crazy is not helping. I watched my mom go “crazy” in her pre-menopausal 40’s and I don’t want to go there. I want to forget myself. My neighbor is sick and I want to do something sweet to let her know I’m thinking of her, but I don’t. I see others needs but I can’t get past my own. I do pray for them. I pray a lot, long and hard. It is my comfort and my one sense of power. Time to pray again.

I’m finally dressed and as I walk through the kitchen I stop and see the wildflowers on my table. Last week a friend brought them by for no reason. Some of them droop sadly over the crumb-covered cloth, but the petite spray of purple somethings still stand perkily in the vase to remind me of her thoughtfulness.

I turn and notice the two, sunny yellow lemons in my untidy fruit bowl. These were delivered by the neighbor who heard I was sick and brought me lemons and a box of herbal tea. Then out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of a Chinese take-out box dressed up in pink brocade and silver, sitting askew on top of my fridge. The contents: bubble bath, a candle and chocolate. The sender: another loving lady from church. She left these with my husband yesterday accompanied by a note that said she had been thinking about me.

Apparently someone is sending a message out to the universe. Is it me? I thought I was doing well at keeping my secrets. Is it the Lord? More likely. I’m pricked with guilt. I have done nothing to deserve these tender acts of mercy but oh, how they have touched my soul.

“The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”
William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, lines 182-185.

I am blessed. Today it is my turn to take. Someday I will give.

I'm slackin' but look what my family is saying...

I have been too addicted to Facebook this week to blog. Isn't that sad? (Actually, I was finishing a book for my class and writing a paper on The Merchant of Venice, so I wasn't totally slacking, just mostly.) Lucky for you (heh heh) my family was bloggin' this week, so I'm linking to them.

My hubby, Reynold(Ren) wrote a very important expose on his blog this week, you really need to check it out. (I should have linked there yesterday, to have been timely on the matter, but that's just the way it's going for me right now.)

My daughter Hannah also blogged this week and it is a perfect example of the quintessential teenage blog post. You just have to read it. Read the last two posts on her blog Laughing out Loud and tell her what you think of her life.

Maybe next week I'll blog or maybe not, since it's spring break!!!! I guess we'll have to see how it goes.

Afterward to the Bike Riding Tale

He did it. Eli biked all the way around the block, starting on his own and with no stops, fulfilling his end of a bargain that earned him a new Slip'n'Slide. He would have done it two tries before, but the first time Curtis somewhat disgustedly reported, "He got distracted by the Nerf Reactor on Ryder's grass and had to stop!" And the second time he got distracted by trying to yell backwards at Gideon who was following him, got off balance and stopped again. But the THIRD time we told him to FOCUS and he made it!

That afternoon, as an overcast sky brought lower temperatures and small gusts of wind, we started to set up his new Slip'n'Slide. As fate would have it, the 90 degree weather we had three days ago was unseasonably warm and the 70's we have now are more normal for this time of year. I gently suggested it might be too cold. Eli's response, "It feels hot to me Mom!" I couldn't talk him out of it. I turned on the hose and saw him behold the water cascading in artistic arches over the ribbon of yellow plastic with an ecstatic smile on his face. After a few minutes I asked him, "Aren't you going to try it out?" Silence. Finally, "It looks pretty wet." "It's supposed to be wet," I encouraged. "Go get your swim suit on and try it out!"

I left it at that and went in the house to find his suit. With suit on I sent him out again. The next time I went to check on him, he was standing alone on the grass, wet and shivering. I asked him to show me how it worked. He executed a tentative tippy toe run toward it, then flung his body forward and stopped in the spray, jumping out as fast as he could. He looked at me and proclaimed, "I don't like Slip'n'Slides mom."

Later I saw Curtis braving the frigid temperatures to try out the marvel of watery fun. I'm pretty sure Curtis was the one who told Eli that Slip 'n' Slides were awesome! He thoroughly enjoyed all three minutes that he played on it, then he was undone by the chattering and grabbed his towel.

As I reflect on this little slice of Eli's life, I am satisfied that the means justified the ends. Now Eli wakes up at 7 a.m. fully ready to jump on his bike and ride. He's a little speed demon and getting lots of wholesome fresh air and exercise. That is worth the price of a Slip'n'Slide every time.

Go Speedracer!

Eli is an anomaly in this family. We've often expressed concern that he wasn't quite as quick on the uptake as some of our other children. I suppose that still remains to be seen because who knows what the next few years will reveal. The strange thing about him is that when it comes to physical adventures and abilities, this kid rocks! For a long time he was a real daredevil. He's gotten a little less so upon entering his whineyhood. But he took to riding a trike with ease compared to his older brothers and sisters. Recently he got disgusted with his three-wheeled scooter and moved on to his older brothers' razor scooters. I didn't think it would last, but next thing I know, he's coasting down the sidewalk!  When I saw a neighbor's four year-old daughter riding a two wheeler, I hatched a plan to set a new record for youngest bike rider in the family (not a hard record to break -- I think Zach was six, the bubbies were 6 1/2 and Curtis was 7!) When I told Eli about Sophie, the two wheeled bike riding genius girl, he started begging Ren to take off his training wheels. Two days later, (and a little bribe to keep up the incentive), he's riding like a crazy man! He just has to figure out how to get started on his own, but he worked on that for a LONG time today and will have it tomorrow, for sure. When he can start on his own and ride all the way around the block, I promised him I'd go buy a slip'n'slide (it has to be now before the water in the hose comes out scalding hot!) I took some pics of his accomplishments and Ren did a video. He may not be the sharpest crayon in the Byers Box when it comes to things like logic and cause and effect, but he can whoop all those other Byers boys when it comes to pure athletic talent. Good for you Eli!


It's a good thing Curtis was around so he could show Eli the advanced tricks. Curtis is now the pro after being a bike rider for four whole months!

Here's Curtis performing his spectacular, "Flying Dead Man!" I'm going to have a Circus on my hands when he and Eli get done with their adventures!


Here's the video:

Spring/Summer is Here!&*%*@%@!!!

Cody experiencing Arizona freezing water torture

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I can't believe I'm hearing about everyone's snow and record lows. It's just not right. We hit 91 degrees today and the kids decided it was time to swim. I use the term swim loosely of course, especially where Gid is concerned. He was the instigator ("Schwim, Schwim!") and so I got him all dressed in his swimsuit and new swim vest (so when he fell in he would bob up and down long enough for me to fish him out.) I did NOT put on a bathing suit -- I really don't like swimming unless it is HOT (and 91 degrees isn't that hot, unfortunately) and the water isn't frigid (probably around 70?) I was worried about the absence of a swim diaper in Gid's swim ensemble, but needlessly so. Swim for Gid means: fill a bucket of water from the side, dump it, run around to the deep end, find an old rubber snake, throw it in the water, grab a handful of rocks from the landscaping and run away from mom really fast and throw them in, grab the pool pole, nearly decapitate your brother while angling it into the pool, repeat. He had a blast. Me, not so much. Curty did a little floating on a pool tube. Cody took 15 minutes to slowly submerge then declared himself finished. Jonah followed suit, never submerged and left. I finally gathered up Gid to leave (after cleaning up every tiny thing that could possibly be thrown into the pool) when Eli showed up. Argh. So we started over. Someday I vow I will have a relaxing time lounging by the pool. Someday far, far, FAR into the future.

I took some pics with my cellphone to try to capture the moment. Pics from my cellphone are mediocre at best, but what the hey. As far as I was concerned the moment was mediocre at best.

Eli during his five minutes of fun

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Gid bent over the side to throw the Pirate Rubber Duckie into the deep end (8 feet)

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Curty kicking around on the tube -- I think he actually had fun, good for him!