My lovely little sister took some fabulous photos after our terrific temple day.11.25.2010
Woolners on Film 2010
My lovely little sister took some fabulous photos after our terrific temple day.
11.21.2010
Halloween Couture Fashion Show Gala Bizare Event Extravaganza
I finally got my hands on Chad's computer with all our pictures. So, let's start with a little Halloween shall we? I know you've been dying to see the costumes. Hold on to your candy buckets, here we go . . .
Below we have Sam. Sam is sporting a Leonardo creation complete with mask, turtle shell, jumpsuit and sword. Sam does all his own pose work. His mother would like to note that this is the first store bought costume she has ever purchased in her 32 years, but give her a break, she's had a lot of surgeries. She may have to Ninja you if you complain.
Below we have Sam. Sam is sporting a Leonardo creation complete with mask, turtle shell, jumpsuit and sword. Sam does all his own pose work. His mother would like to note that this is the first store bought costume she has ever purchased in her 32 years, but give her a break, she's had a lot of surgeries. She may have to Ninja you if you complain.
Next we have Noelle. Noelle is 2.5 years old and adores the color pink. She insisted this year she would be a pink mouse. Noelle is stylish in her pink mousy turtleneck, comfy pink sweats, pink headband ears, and sparkling pink princess slippers. Of course, no pink mouse outfit is complete without the pink jump rope tail accessory. Noelle also does all her own poses.
Trunked
The trunk-or-treat. Surprisingly, Noelle is my brave one. Sam held back and would wait for Noelle to approach the trunks first. We did go trick-or-treating on Sunday (gasp!), but we only have video for that. Yes, I am of the mind-set that we are dressing up and going out together as a family, the kids are happy, the neighbors are doing neighborly things by passing out candy, it promotes a good community "spirit", no one is worshiping satan or doing paganistic rituals, so let them eat cake--or starburst.Pumpkin Up the Jam
This is the Jack-o-Lantern face the kids both collaborated on. The pictures are grainy, but I love their expressions . . .
Sam looks like he's Marky Mark here to move you, and Noelle is obviously scared or gassy.
The pumpkin is now speaking to Sam and Noelle is surprised scared this time or belching.11.13.2010
Part 4: Come What May & Love It
This is my last day in quarantine. I wish I could pass on some great words of wisdom, but I'm not sure what I have to say is all that wise. So I will defer to someone else for whose wisdom I am very thankful (it is the season of thanksgiving, after all). For the past several months, I have tried to live my life based on the principles of this talk by the Apostle Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, who passed away in 2008. Below is a short 3-4 minute video clip of his talk. Watch it. I thank God for the experiences of this year. I am trying to love it all, the good as well as the less than good.
"These experiences, while often difficult to bear at the time, are precisely the kind of experiences that stretch our understanding, build our character, and increase our compassion for others." --Elder Wirthlin
"These experiences, while often difficult to bear at the time, are precisely the kind of experiences that stretch our understanding, build our character, and increase our compassion for others." --Elder Wirthlin
11.12.2010
We're Taking Sexy Back
A couple weeks ago, as I was dropping Sam off for preschool, I reminded him to say goodbye to his sisters. He gave Noelle a hug and she said this...
"Goodbye, sexy."
Whaaaaaaat?! Where on earth? Do I say sexy often? I'm sure I do. Where did I learn sexy from? Oh no, not Justin Timberlake. My frequent usage of "sexy" stems from a time when little J.T. was just learning his ABCs. Yes, my friends, waaaaaay back in the 1980s. You see, I have a grandma. She died several years ago. Grandma B was her name. She was my father's mother. From what I understand, she was a barmaid once, bowled, a heavy smoker before my dad made her quit, had the saddest sack of a friend named, of all names, "Happy" (no, really), gambled (that was religion to my dad's family), and had family ties to the mafia. You getting a good picture in your head? Anyway, my grandma was a kind grandma, came over every Saturday and bought us McDonald's. We could count on her for the presents we really wanted for Christmas and we could also count on her for some genuine good laughs--totally unintentional on her part, of course. She was often gassy, spoke frequently of "the arthritis" that she had, and yes, oh yes, she said the word "sexy" ALL THE TIME. In fact, is was often said twice for emphasis, "Sexy, sexy". To my young sister and I, this was a word that was not only uncomfortable for us to hear, but also extremely hilarious. Nobody used the word sexy back then. It was almost forbidden (like the lambada). Therefore, we used the word sexy all the time too. We described milk as being sexy. I went on to work in the advertising world where I frequently said, "Make it sexy" and that was referring to spreadsheets. When I speak to adoptive couples about their profiles, I plead for them to "Sex it up" (meaning, dye your hair, wear trendy clothes, get a tan = look nice). So, when Justin Timberlake was referring to bringing sexy back, he was talking about us. And J.T., we're taking it back again--Noelle has spoken and the tradition carries on. Sexy, sexy.
"Goodbye, sexy."
Whaaaaaaat?! Where on earth? Do I say sexy often? I'm sure I do. Where did I learn sexy from? Oh no, not Justin Timberlake. My frequent usage of "sexy" stems from a time when little J.T. was just learning his ABCs. Yes, my friends, waaaaaay back in the 1980s. You see, I have a grandma. She died several years ago. Grandma B was her name. She was my father's mother. From what I understand, she was a barmaid once, bowled, a heavy smoker before my dad made her quit, had the saddest sack of a friend named, of all names, "Happy" (no, really), gambled (that was religion to my dad's family), and had family ties to the mafia. You getting a good picture in your head? Anyway, my grandma was a kind grandma, came over every Saturday and bought us McDonald's. We could count on her for the presents we really wanted for Christmas and we could also count on her for some genuine good laughs--totally unintentional on her part, of course. She was often gassy, spoke frequently of "the arthritis" that she had, and yes, oh yes, she said the word "sexy" ALL THE TIME. In fact, is was often said twice for emphasis, "Sexy, sexy". To my young sister and I, this was a word that was not only uncomfortable for us to hear, but also extremely hilarious. Nobody used the word sexy back then. It was almost forbidden (like the lambada). Therefore, we used the word sexy all the time too. We described milk as being sexy. I went on to work in the advertising world where I frequently said, "Make it sexy" and that was referring to spreadsheets. When I speak to adoptive couples about their profiles, I plead for them to "Sex it up" (meaning, dye your hair, wear trendy clothes, get a tan = look nice). So, when Justin Timberlake was referring to bringing sexy back, he was talking about us. And J.T., we're taking it back again--Noelle has spoken and the tradition carries on. Sexy, sexy.
What I Got
I have two recent pictures that don't need conversion that I can actually blog. So, here you go . . .
This is a little taste of what I've been doing in my quarantine. I painted this, free-hand, for Sam's polka dot room.
And here is my baby (whose snuggles I miss) and how she has to sleep. Either a blanket, soft toy, or hair has to be on her face before she can doze off to dream land. And, before you have a panic attack, I make sure everything is cleared away from breathing passages so she doesn't suffocate herself.
This is a little taste of what I've been doing in my quarantine. I painted this, free-hand, for Sam's polka dot room.
And here is my baby (whose snuggles I miss) and how she has to sleep. Either a blanket, soft toy, or hair has to be on her face before she can doze off to dream land. And, before you have a panic attack, I make sure everything is cleared away from breathing passages so she doesn't suffocate herself.Part 3: Living In My Own Private Idaho
Are you getting sick of these long, verbose posts yet? Don't you love my exciting life trapped in my room? It has me on the edge of MY seat, so you must all be riveted. I would post pictures, but my camera images were on RAW, my conversion software is not on this computer, and Photoshop is also not working for some reason. Maybe I killed it with radiation. Sorry, no pictures. I'll keep trying though. So, I vomited last night. Over and over and over again. I was pretty angered by it. I wasn't even nauseous. Apparently, the radiation is slowly working its way from my ears, to my jaw and had neatly lodged itself somewhere in the vicinity of my gag reflex. Basically, it felt like an impossibly hard lump right where I gag, of all places. I could not for the life of me cough it out or swallow it down. It just stayed there like an impenetrable fortress until I started to barf. And I have a stomach of steel, my friends. Now, the said lump has moved a LITTLE farther down. It's still annoyingly there, but at least it's not gagging me into a puke festival. This may be a disgusting shift of topic, but suddenly, I am craving orange chicken. Preferably, from Sunny Hans, but since that is several hundred miles away, I guess Panda Express will have to do. Oh, and Pha Ga from Pho Van and Tom Kha from VeiThai. OK, all my Portland/Gresham friends, go to those places. Enjoy the tasty goodness that our oriental neighbors have lovingly prepared. It will blow your mind. So, I know what my super power is now. I can KILL YOU and I don't even have to do anything but be less than 6 feet from you. My body will destroy your thyroid and then you will die. Impressed? Never fear, I am a good super hero and by Sunday, my power to kill will have dissolved into nothingness. Until then, stay far away from me.
11.11.2010
Part 2: Living In My Own Private Idaho
It's been over 24 hours now since the pill. I have a runny/stuffy nose and significant jaw pain. It was hard to eat soft bread this morning, but the butter on it was divinity. I missed butter. Last night I could finally eat "regular" food and I'd been craving a McDonald's cheeseburger. Yes, that's right, a tiny, smooshed slab of greasy meat, melted cheese product, maybe a pickle or two, ketchup and a processed, white flour bun (all things I could not have on my diet). Chad brought me one home after work and I savored every last morsel. I was glad I had that last night since today my sense of taste isn't 100% and it hurts to chew. Nausea last night was pretty intense (it was not burger related, I promise) and I did everything in my power to prevent the puking I was told may happen. I did not want to have to clean up nuked puke. I was successful. The hardest part of being locked away is hearing my kids cry. Sam had the hardest time yesterday. He cried all evening and left me little gifts under the door. I skyped them when Chad came home and that seemed to help. Noelle was fine yesterday but today she is crying over everything. It is hard to hear. They made me get well cards today with flowers on them. I love them. And sweet little Ruby I hear often. She is my mama's girl and it is contrary to everything I know not to go to her, hold her and kiss her. I just have to sit here . . . in my room. I watch period films to pass the time. I have a paint project and a tiny hole in the wall where the towel rack once was that I need to patch. I keep busy. I worked out. I tried not to sweat too much since that is also highly radioactive. It helped my jaw to work out. I appreciate all your comments here and on facebook. They are some of my only connection to the outside world. You are wonderful friends and family. I am so lucky and blessed. God has been so good to me.
11.10.2010
Part 1: Living In My Own Private Idaho
I am currently radiating--in a Spiderman/Madame Curie type way. For the next few days, as I hide out in my room and let the radiation wear off, I will be blogging. It may not be interesting (just letting you know up front). There also may be a lot of whining as I discover, first-hand, the world of nuking, complete isolation, and whatever else there is to discover from this thyroid cancer experience. Hold on to your hats, I have no where else to go, so I will write.
So here I am. In my room. The door is shut and locked and I am sucking on a hard cinnamon candy. Why? Because the radiation gets stuck in your salivary glands and I am trying very hard to prevent the swelling and general tenderness and soreness that they say will come from swallowing a nuclear iodine pill. It is heavenly sucking on this tiny bit of cinnamon goodness. I haven't had a candy in almost 3 weeks, I have lost 4lbs and missed Halloween completely. Oh Snickers, don't be sad. I still love you. In the past few months I have had two biopsies (one in my neck people). Two surgeries. About a bazillion blood draws, some in my wrists because my poor arm veins had been beaten and battered to death. Twelve thousand doctors appointments (ENT, Oncologist, Endocrinologist, Urologist, add more "ologists" to this list). A restrictive diet that was so terrible I actually resorted to smelling food and it was as satisfying as I could get to eating the real deal. And two shots in the bum that induced extreme fatigue, chills, fits of crying and nausea. When I finally walked into the hospital today the woman who checks in hundreds of people each day (her name is Gerry) looked up and knew me. I sat in the waiting room and the nuke med guy came out to get some paperwork and, although I had seen him for less than 30 seconds 3 days ago and there were about 30 other people waiting too, he knew me, by name. I don't know how people with way scarier forms of cancer do it. Yesterday, I was ready to completely give up (mind you, the Thyrogen shot probably had a little to do with that). I was scared out of my mind to take this radiation pill. It's nuclear. Don't they blow up whole countries with this stuff? I am going to swallow it and let it lodge in my throat for a few days? Once blood results were in, I walked into a tiny room with some cabinets, a sink and small chair. It was actually the size of a closet. I was instructed, once I took the pill, no more chit chat with the nuke med guy (I should have probably learned his name), but go straight to the car. The pill (which I was expecting to be metallic and large and glowing) was placed in a cup. It looked like any old aspirin pill. I popped it in my mouth and downed a cup of water and just like that, I became radioactive. Nuke med guy checked my mouth to make sure I actually swallowed it (am I going to take it home, manipulate it and then use it as a threatening device for total world domination?). I gave him the "aye aye captain" salute and went to my car. My ears got really hot and even now there is a tinge of metallic taste in my throat and mouth with some mild soreness. But other than that, I feel normal. I tried to get some spider webbing to eject out of my hands and wrists, but nothing yet.
So here I am. In my room. The door is shut and locked and I am sucking on a hard cinnamon candy. Why? Because the radiation gets stuck in your salivary glands and I am trying very hard to prevent the swelling and general tenderness and soreness that they say will come from swallowing a nuclear iodine pill. It is heavenly sucking on this tiny bit of cinnamon goodness. I haven't had a candy in almost 3 weeks, I have lost 4lbs and missed Halloween completely. Oh Snickers, don't be sad. I still love you. In the past few months I have had two biopsies (one in my neck people). Two surgeries. About a bazillion blood draws, some in my wrists because my poor arm veins had been beaten and battered to death. Twelve thousand doctors appointments (ENT, Oncologist, Endocrinologist, Urologist, add more "ologists" to this list). A restrictive diet that was so terrible I actually resorted to smelling food and it was as satisfying as I could get to eating the real deal. And two shots in the bum that induced extreme fatigue, chills, fits of crying and nausea. When I finally walked into the hospital today the woman who checks in hundreds of people each day (her name is Gerry) looked up and knew me. I sat in the waiting room and the nuke med guy came out to get some paperwork and, although I had seen him for less than 30 seconds 3 days ago and there were about 30 other people waiting too, he knew me, by name. I don't know how people with way scarier forms of cancer do it. Yesterday, I was ready to completely give up (mind you, the Thyrogen shot probably had a little to do with that). I was scared out of my mind to take this radiation pill. It's nuclear. Don't they blow up whole countries with this stuff? I am going to swallow it and let it lodge in my throat for a few days? Once blood results were in, I walked into a tiny room with some cabinets, a sink and small chair. It was actually the size of a closet. I was instructed, once I took the pill, no more chit chat with the nuke med guy (I should have probably learned his name), but go straight to the car. The pill (which I was expecting to be metallic and large and glowing) was placed in a cup. It looked like any old aspirin pill. I popped it in my mouth and downed a cup of water and just like that, I became radioactive. Nuke med guy checked my mouth to make sure I actually swallowed it (am I going to take it home, manipulate it and then use it as a threatening device for total world domination?). I gave him the "aye aye captain" salute and went to my car. My ears got really hot and even now there is a tinge of metallic taste in my throat and mouth with some mild soreness. But other than that, I feel normal. I tried to get some spider webbing to eject out of my hands and wrists, but nothing yet.
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