Taco Bell/Head Painting

For those of you who don't know... Taco Bell is my meal of choice on the night before I start chemo.

Every round, I've had Taco Bell as my final meal before going in to get back on the juice.

So, tonight, it made the most sense to have Taco Bell, chips and ice cream for dinner at the Woods' house. With Kirk's family. And some head painting. ... Because I am, pretty much, the coolest cancer patient around.

Call it a blank slate, a bald pallete. Whatever you want.

We call it a good time. From youngest to oldest:

Kirk

Russell

Hazel

Monson

Maggie and Hazy

Dad's getting in on the action (and Cili's taking up permanent residence... watch for her in, pretty much, every single picture from here on out through the night... girl got seriously addicted to painting my bald head!)

Dad, me, Hazel, Maggie and Sally

Jo and Kirk, taking turns

Jo takes her head painting VERY seriously! 

(Whereas, I, clearly... do not. I got mocked tonight for my need to smile for EVERY picture. Who doesn't smile when they know their picture is being taken, is what I want to know?!)

Roomie, being hilarious. ... Or, uhm... ruling. (Whatever.)

Cili

Mag

Sally

Judy

Brett

Brett and Kirk both having some good times.

Another one of C and me

I can't believe we didn't get a shot of the other side of my head! (Because, I'm telling you, it was pretty sweet. Complete with a bucket of Blue Bell ice cream, courtesy of Russelbear, and other smiley face, since Jo and Kirk were, apparently, painting the exact same thing at the exact same time.)

It was a good night. I'm full of tacos and Sun Chips and rocky road ice cream. I'm so grateful that Jo and Dean totally let me invite my family over to their house whenever I want, and I love that there's an activity that all of the kids (both those who are actually young, and those who are young at heart) can get into.

The painting of the head is something I sort of stumbled across last spring when Hazel (jokingly, or maybe not...) asked if she could paint my head like an Easter Egg. (I love kids and their crazy imaginations.) Whatever it takes to make the kids okay with the baldness... it's the greatest equalizer ever. Cili, in particular, has always had a hard time with my baldness. (Sally, too. But it's hard for C on a different level.) But tonight, she was the one person who could not get enough of painting the fuzzy head. Two words: Worth it.

Whatever I can do to make the cancer, and the baldness, more fun. Not just for me, but for everyone else in my life.

Up on the housetop reindeer pause

This is probably my earliest specific-to-Christmas memory...

We were in Provo for Christmas, visiting my mom's parents. I was upstairs (a rare occurrence, let me tell you!) with Grammy. We were in the front room. She was in her chair (the dark blue swivel rocker, for those of you who'd remember such things) and I was standing in front of her and we were singing Christmas songs.

She asked if I knew Up on the Housetop. I didn't. So, she offered to teach it to me.

She sang it through once so I could hear it before she started to teach me the words.



Two things I remember: she snapped her fingers with the "click, click, click", and I giggled at the thought of reindeer having paws.

When she finished the song, I told her the song was silly, because reindeer have hooves, not paws. She smiled her beautiful, happy, smile and told me that "pause" was a different word than "paws", and that it meant to stand still or wait for a minute.

I think of her every time I hear this song. I see her smile, and I hear her fingers snapping with the clicks, and I am grateful for a memory of singing with my grammy who was smart enough to slow down and take a minute to explain the difference in two words that sounded exactly alike to her precocious (that's the nicest word I can think of to describe myself) granddaughter.

Pictured below, Me. December 25, 1978.

(Don't worry that I had just turned four, two months before this picture was taken, and I'm as tall as the organ I'm standing in front of. ... I did stop growing. Eventually.)

The Christmas I learned that pause and paws are two different words.

Marching through time

Please forgive the title. It is a TERRIBLE pun. (My dad would be so proud.)

This morning, I thought it would be fun to go back through this week/weekend in the last five years. (This is one of the joys of having kept this blog since 2008. When my aged mind can't remember something clearly, all I have to do is go back through ye olde blog and BAM! There it is. ... Assuming the thing I'm looking for is a piece of ridiculousness that would have been chronicled here.)

Anyhoo... Like I said, I thought it would be fun to go back through this week and see what I was doing, when.

And I was right. It WAS fun.

So, I'm going to make it easy for you to do it, too.

March 2009: In which I write about how grateful I was for the "opportunity" to make significantly less money than I had in previous years. ... No, but really. I really was so grateful. I still am, actually.

I am SO grateful for the way my professional life took a turn in 2008. When the bank closed, I needed a job. Any job. Soon. And I found one. (Who's unemployed for less than two weeks? ... Only me. ... I'm still amazed at how quickly and effortlessly that job landed in my lap.) It was my original intention to go back into banking as soon as I could get something permanent. I thought about working for the FDIC, and even interviewed to work on a team that would have been traveling around the country. )How awesome would that have been?!) But something kept me at a call center.

Hello, that "something" would be the Lord. That company had the best corporate benefit package I've ever seen. Their insurance was FABULOUS. I paid $500 out of pocket the year I had my first surgery. That was my surgery, the week in the hospital, 6 weeks of radiation, and countless surgical followups. Seriously. $500. ... I may have been bringing home less, but what I saved in spending on medical costs made up for it.

And my work schedule was such a blessing, too. The first two years I was there, I worked a 3x12 schedule. That's right. I worked 12 hour shifts, 3 days a week. As in, I had a 4 day weekend. Every week. Which gave me time with friends and family that I wouldn't have had otherwise. I was able to spend time with the people that I love the most, and I treasure memories made during those years.

That job was such a blessing. I mean, really.

March 2010: In which I write about having spent the night before at Myra's, watching TV and eating cupcakes.

Ahhhh... Those TV-watching nights at My's house were good times. As I recall, that was the spring that Ken was traveling internationally, so Myra and I would gather for snacks and television with our (okay, my) TV boyfriends (Castle, Dr. Jack and Sayid). Riley was a baby, and she'd stay up late with us, laughing and being silly.

Those were the days of the book club that is no more, the Halloween parties in the Johnsons' backyard, late night conversations about oh... everything we could think of, and weekly recipe shares.

March 2011: In which I write about having gone wig shopping with Cousin Julie, and post pics of myself as a platinum blond.

It was the weekend before #2 came out, and Julie had made her (sometimes) annual pilgrimage to Arizona to enjoy the warm winter weather and some quality cousin bonding time with her cousin who had cancer.

We laughed and we cried, ate too much and slept too little, partied with friends and spent down time by the pool that weekend. And we went wig shopping, because Dr. W had told me there was a real chance I'd have to do chemo after the second surgery and I wanted to make DANG SURE I knew what I wanted, so I could send someone else to the store to pick me up some hair if that was the case.

The Genova Girl is still my favorite, btw. Just in case anyone ever needs to know...

March 2012: In which I write about March of 2011, suppository and all.

True story.

(The post right before this was Jo's birthday surprise of going to see Straight No Chaser - who I love. But this post made me feel more, so this is the link I'm sharing. If you'd rather read about good times than hard times, please feel free to pull up March 22, 2012.)

It's funny to me, how well I still remember that day in the hospital. Out of all the surgeries and hospital stays I've had, that day was probably my hardest day. (That I remember, anyway. Rumor has it that the first day after my last surgery was a DOOZY. Hallucinations and all manner of crazy. ... Poor Judy.) Having just read that post, I'm struck that I didn't think to mention that pretty much every vein in my right arm had been blown, so one of the techs had to bring in an ultrasound machine to find a vein for my IV.

That's right. They had to do an ultrasound to find a good vein. ... No wonder I get a lot of grief from phlebotomists - even now - over the scar tissue in my right arm.

Anyway, that day was hard. So hard, that a year later I was writing a blog post about it. (And three years later, am again referencing it.) But what I learned in that hard day is that the people in my life matter more than the stuff in my life. Even when the stuff is really hard stuff.

That day was hard. It was hard from the get go. That shower was brutal - for so many reasons. The suppository experience was NOT AWESOME. Popping yet another IV wasn't super fun. (I had so many IV's pop in that hospital stay, though, that it wasn't surprising. I swear to you, I looked like I had track marks when I was released.) ... But the thing that made me cry - nay, sob - was knowing that I had a friend in a different hospital, for a very different reason. And the thing that brought me comfort was that Jo and Roomie came - and didn't leave, even though it was ugly.

People matter. A lot. More than anything else. ... And I'm so grateful for the people in my life.

March 2013: In which I write about singing/crying through a hymn in church.

We sang The Lord is My Shepherd last Sunday, and I actually made it through the entire song without dissolving into a puddle of tears. ... I was pretty proud of me. (There's a first for everything, right?)

Which brings us to this week in March, 2014: I had some sleepovers with Jo's kids so she and Dean could go to Denver for her nephew's wedding.

Here are the takeaways from having spent two nights and two days with five children and one puppy:

Watch where you step. Puppy poop is much harder to clean up if you step in it (barefoot) and then track it through the entire family room.

Make sure the six year old is wearing shoes before you let her get in the car to go to the park, esp if you know you're going to have to park across the street and walk half a block before you get to said park.

While you're making sure the six year old is wearing shoes, maybe check the three year old for pants. Otherwise, you're going to have both a shoe-less wonder and a kid wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties out in public.

Don't buy the little kids Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers at Wendy's. Kids are gross and actually like the cheapie burgers at McD's. Save money. And, more importantly, save the bacon for people who'll actually appreciate it.

When having a Frozen party with multiple females under the age of 10, make sure you bring your own stash of bobby pins. Doing "princess hair" is a must, and sock buns and ponies need a little bit of help to stay fancy while girls are jumping around, singing "Let it Go" at the top of their lungs, waving their arms about like THEY have actual powers and can command the winds and sky.

No, but really... it was a great weekend. I am exhausted, and my body and my spirit are at war (walking around a park, pushing kids on swings and pulling a crying three year old off a stack of rocks - all sans binder - did me in), but it was a great weekend. The older kids are getting to be so much fun. (We stayed up late, watching PG 13 movies after the little girls went to bed.) And the little girls are adorable, even if they are exhausting.

Five years. (Actually, the blog has been going for almost six years. So, please allow me to rephrase.)

Five months of March.

All awesome. ... For different reasons. But awesome, nonetheless.

There have been hard times, fun times and silly times. But they've all be good times.

What was amazing to me, as I walked through the posts in the last five Marches, is that the overriding theme is that of gratitude. Gratitude for the people in my life, for the time I have had with them, for the memories I have been able to make with them.

Life is good. I am blessed.

Cue the music...

It's a small, small world.

Tonight, I opened one of the happiest/most fun emails of my life. (And I'm here to tell you, I've had some rockin' awesome emails in my time.)

My friend Jen forwarded me an email that her son, Zane, sent home from the mission field. I won't repost the whole thing, but would you check out this middle paragraph:

     So I was talking with my Bishop while helping somebody move and when it came up that I was from Snowflake he said he knew somebody from Snowflake a long time ago back in College at BYU. His friend ended up being none other then THE Laurie Evans!!! He told me stories of going to Denny's with her and he said that it was one of his favorite things to do in College. I could see how fun that would be with Laurie. So next time you talk to Laurie let her know that I am in Bishop Matthew Woll's ward.

Matt Woll.

Holy moly.

The memories are flooding in. ... And the water looks very much like this:

(photo courtesy of Amy's FB vault of pics - LtoR, Brent, Jared, Matt and Larry)

Matt was in my ward for, like, three years. He was the EQ Pres when I was in my first (and second) RS presidencies. I'm pretty sure that every other member of both presidencies I served with had a crush on the man - and who could blame them, would you look at him? (Julie and I were roommates at the time and we mourned, on a fairly regular basis, that none of the sets of brothers in our ward were tall enough for the two of us.) Matt's apartment, and his brother Craig's apartment, (they were next door to each other) were regulars at Sunday dinners, Christmas in July parties, movie nights, etc.

So many memories. So many good times. So many great people, living in a very small, tight-knit church community.

The BYU 3rd ward was life-changing, on so very many levels. I'm tickled pink that Matt Woll would not only remember who I am, but be able to tell stories to Elder Owens about the good times we used to have together.

I tell you what, I've been blessed - my whole life - with truly amazing people for friends. And this man, who is now a bishop on the other side of the country, working with one of my best AZ friends' sons, has always been one of my favorites. 

This game called life is such an amazing journey, isn't it? I love it when I get to actually, literally, see the ties that bind us to each other.

It is a small (and totally awesome) world. I love it!

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...

It's a funny thing, Christmas in July. It doesn't seem to matter that it's technically five months too soon, or that it's WAY too hot outside, whenever I celebrate Christmas, it feels like Christmas! Maybe it's the sugar rush (I ate fudge for breakfast - true story), but I'm telling you... I'm pretty much in love with everything in my life right now. Ahhhh... The power of sugar cookies and Bing Crosby. This is why I do Christmas in July. This happy little sugar buzz, combined with memories of parties with my cousins and roommates. The music, the food, the movies = Joy.

October 19

I woke up at 3:17 this morning. Why I woke up, I am not sure. ... Maybe I tried to roll over. Maybe it was just a natural stirring. Maybe there was a dog barking. I don't know. I have no memory of what woke me up in the first place. But I can tell you, for certain, why I have been unable to fall back asleep.

The conference workshops are tomorrow. I get to speak tomorrow. ... And I'm so flipping excited that I can hardly stand myself.

Also, I'm oddly hungry for it being the middle of the night.

But beyond the hunger, I am awake because my mind is literally racing with things I want to say tomorrow. Last night, I got my yellow pad of paper out and started making some actual notes (yeah, 36 hours before speaking - when I've had almost two months to prepare - this is how I roll), and I have been swimming in memories all night long. As I made a timeline of important events in the last two+ years, I have been so grateful that I have written so much of it down. I'm so grateful that I have a written record of what has happened, how I have felt, what my body has been through...

I had forgotten, until I read it last night, that I couldn't eat grapes when I was doing radiation. They made me violently ill. The only fruit/vegetable I could keep in me while I was doing treatments were carrots, and I could eat four baby carrots a day. Any more than four, and I would be sick, but I could eat four of them. They were the only "sweet" thing I ate for almost two months. ... I can't believe I'd forgotten that.

As I read what I had written in the summer of 2010, I was amazed at the visceral memories that came back to me. I have had to relearn to walk three times now, but it has never been as difficult to find my balance as it was after that first surgery. There are still tasks that are hard on my weak little body, but opening my silverware drawer doesn't make me wince anymore.

In the spring of 2011, I was so hopeful that Tumor #2 would be the end of the Cancer Madness. I remember the day that Dr. W told me I would probably have to do chemo. ... I also remember the day that he told me that I wouldn't have to do it, and why; that day was a game changer.

This time last year, my life was shifting in a big way and I took that for a sign that my health issues were behind me, and I was off to a brighter, healthier (and less medically expensive) future.

And thus we see why we are told not to be sign seekers.

On New Year's Eve of 2010, I wrote that I had known more love that year than I had ever known before. I wrote, for the first time, about what I like to call the George Bailey Effect, and how amazed I had been, and how grateful I was, for the dozens of people who had come out of the woodwork to let me know they remembered me, and cared about what was happening in my life.

Those dozens of people in 2010 have multiplied and morphed into hundreds of people in 2012. I have been astonished at the number of people who have reached out to me. Many of them are friends from my past, some of them are the friends of my friends, and a few have been perfect strangers who found my blog through a search, and then took the time and spent the energy to find me in real life.

What I have learned is this: Life is - love is - cumulative.

The relationships that I spent years cultivating have blessed my life in ways that I never dreamed they would, in ways that I could not have imagined I would need them to. Friends from my childhood and young adult years have come back to me. Both my immediate and extended family have been there for me, physically emotionally and spiritually. The love I have sent out into the world has come back to me, tenfold.

Having had to live in this body in the last two years has taught me a lot of things: the value of high powered pain pills and stool softeners, not to take anything (or anyone) for granted, to enjoy life as much as I possibly can on every single day that I've been given. (I may or may not mention the stool softeners tomorrow. Only time will tell.)

I am so looking forward to speaking to the experience that the cancer has been. It has been difficult, sometimes horrifically so. But the payout - the life experience, the service that has been rendered and the love that I have been shown - has offset the pain and hardship. I wouldn't go so far as to say "I would do it all again", but I can say, for certain, that I am grateful for the experience, because it has changed me.

Where were you on May 22, 1992?

I was graduating from High School.

This is a picture of Diana and me that was taken that night, just after we'd run out onto the high school football field and tossed our caps into the air. It's amazing to me, how clear some memories can be, even after all these years.

Those of you who've been around a while may remember some of the stories I've told about Di and the good times we had when we were in High School. This picture of us on graduation night says it all, I think. She was giddy with anticipation for the next chapter of life, I was feeling all sentimental and torn between being excited for what was to come and not wanting to let go of the last 4 years. (Listen folks, Change and I have never been best friends. I deal, I cope, I adjust... but I never walk right into Change with my arms wide open. Ever.) Thus, she's super cheery, and I'm all teary-eyed. (What can I say? I'm a crier. It's the Ball blood in me.)

I was 17 years old when I graduated from High School, and I realized today that 17 years have gone by since then. It's amazing to me that it's been a whole lifetime. (A short lifetime maybe, but a lifetime nonetheless.) And I wouldn't change a thing. My life may not be what I thought it would be, lo' those many years ago, but it's one heck of a grand life, and I wouldn't trade a thing (or a person) in it for the world. Well... except that I sure would love to get a hold of Diana again. Now that we have a few more years of experience under our belts, I bet we could get away with even more than we used to back in the day. (And we used to get away with quite a lot, let me tell you.)