oh, the weather outside

So our apartment is flanked by tall, beautiful trees. However, the development planner must have momentarily lost a marble when he decided planting said trees right next to the buildings was an awesome idea. Because when there is a wind/rain storm (and we're at the base of a canyon, so we catch more wind than we prefer), our apartment (on the top level, right where the branches are) gets beat to pieces. It's as though the trees are bound and determined to dismantle the building by sunrise, and they'll do it by force! Sunday night was one of those storms. It was loud and obnoxious and little sleep was had. (Except Annabelle - she slept through the whole thing? Weird?) (By the way, why do these wind storms occur only during my sleeping hours and not during the hours when I could at least be accomplishing something? I'm just saying.)

However, when we woke up and opened our window to this (the view from our bedroom window):

I couldn't make myself be mad anymore. Because you see, although much of this state starts to cringe and cry when the weather turns cold, I start doing a happy dance. Not only do I love cold weather (including snow, although I'm sure I'll be sick of it by April), but I also love the way the world appears in the cold. It isn't dead and gray to me. It's frozen and quiet and beautiful. If we're being honest, I love every season except summer, which I really believe could be discarded in favor of extending one of the others, and winter is no exception. The nip in the air holds the promise of the upcoming holidays and all the magic and love and good cheer that accompanies those days. Last night, we got some snow that stuck. The temperatures took a serious dip, and we woke up to this:

And so, even though I am currently in the market for a chainsaw (Oh that's weird, the tree outside my window lost all its branches? Don't know what happened...), I'm happy as a clam to see summer fade into this wonderful chilly fall.

P.S. I'm also more than happy to herald the tights season. Oh man do I love a little Midge in tights.

 {She's totally rocking out right here, if anyone was wondering. In heels no less.}

 {Still doesn't like to tip her cup - reclining is just so much easier.}

 {She's trying to "wear" a tiny tiny flip flop eraser.}

 And remember this little little Midge in tights? Oh man.

Happy Tights Season, Ya'll. :)

communique

So before Annabelle could use words to communicate, I thought I'd teach her a little sign language. (I took four years of ASL in college, although I am way less than fluent.) I started with the sign for "please." One day when she was sitting on my lap, I repeated the sign a few times, and bam. She was saying please every other second. The first few months of please were brutal - you see, her vigorous signing was so stinking cute, we couldn't say no to anything. She got everything she wanted with the mere wiggle of the sign. After that, we decided we were being totally taken advantage of and decided to stunt her learning development. We didn't teach her anymore signs. Of course, she didn't care and started using words.

Especially in the last few weeks, she's been gobbling words up like they're candy (and she does say "can!" for candy or "choc!" for chocolate). I say something, my little parrot spits it right back out. When something fell down from my closet, I said, "Oh, shoot!" (I'm really not a curser) and for the rest of the day my little parrot said, "Oh shoot! Oh shoot!" except hers sounded a little more like the curse. When she got concerned about the sound of the lawnmower outside our apartment complex, I took her out to show her what was making the noise and told her it was a lawnmower. For the next hour while they mowed, I heard, "Mawnmower? Mawnmower!" She routinely requests a "high bibe!" or "bow" (bones) or a "hea bup" (head bump) or a "lub" (love) and sometimes even a "kibb" (kiss). She knows how to ask for "wat" (water) or a "bott" (bottle - which means both bottle and milk), and when a loud vehicle passes the apartment, she announces "Ruck! Ruck!" (truck). She loves all "ah-mulls" (animals), and I think my favorite aunt's name is "Coke!" (Courtney), although she does a really good "Whit-KNEE" (emphasis on the second syllable).

She loves her "wome" (glowworm) and points out witches (witch!!) and pumpkins (punk!) wherever we go. She likes eating "gurt" (yogurt) and "nugs" (nuggets). She loves hiding things in her "pock," and one day requested an "ink" (earring) by pointing back and forth from her ear to mine. When she knows we're getting ready to go somewhere or she just wants to leave, she asks, "Shop?! Shop?!" which is to say, "Are we leaving?" more than it means she wants to actually purchase something. When her Uncle Jeremy's dog, Shadow, was visiting, she quickly picked up his name and we now routinely hear, "Shadow! NO NO! Sha-dough!" (even though he's nowhere to be seen). She lets me know when things are "haw" (hot) or "weh" (wet), and particularly loves "ray!!!" (rain). When she sees football on the TV (any team), she shouts with double fist pumps, "GO OOTS!" (I realize that as a Cougar, I should probably correct this, but it's way too cute.) And when she knows she's done something pleasing, she proclaims, "Goo grrr!" (good girl).

And while every day it seems new words are tumbling out of her mouth, until recently we weren't able to get her to use her mouth to say please. It was confusing to her and she'd just wiggle the please, followed by the appropriate "Tank ewe." Until a few days ago. Now, not only does she do the irresistible wiggled please sign, but she also smiles and very sweetly says, "Peas?"

Dang. It. Kid is going to get away with murder.

post op rewind

So remember when I mentioned that the bump on my thyroid was benign? What I didn't mention is that when they do that initial test in the operating room, it's only 95% accurate. There's a small margin of error, so small that you generally just go with the diagnosis, although they do continue to test and disect the removed portion.

Today I went in for a check up with the endocrinologist. The main reason for the visit was to check my hormone levels (after removing half the thyroid, sometimes the other half thinks it wants to work or overwork) and adjust if necessary. When she walked in, she said with big eyes, "Did you see your pathology report?!" I told her that I was told it was benign, but that's it. She's all, "Oh, check this out. You'll never believe this." She then proceeds to read that in the middle of the removed portion of my thyroid, they discovered a "trabecular neoplasm," which is to say in terms we can digest without the aid of a few Tums, there was a small cancerous tumor in my thyroid. Had it been left alone, it would've grown and taken over the thyroid (and theoretically, it could also further spread, although very unlikely).

SERIOUSLY?

Because I have Hashimoto's, nodules on the thyroid are pretty common, and my chances for having cancer were less than five percent. Less than five percent. If I'd just had a biopsy done, it would've been missed entirely and would've continued to grow.

I feel incredibly blessed. And lucky. And I want to kiss my nurse practitioner for following her gut. And then my endocrinologist for supporting me in removing the thing instead of just poking it.

On the bright side, my hormone levels look great. I will take hormonal supplements and be monitored for the rest of all time, and the right side of my thyroid will be specifically monitored for any growths (in hindsight, of course, we wish the whole thing was just removed, and had the surgeon known at the time, he would've removed it all). But for all intents and purposes: I am "cured," but will always be considered a "potential cancer risk."

I am one of the lucky ones, who had cancer and then didn't all in the span of ten seconds. I don't really have any words tonight, to say how grateful and lucky I feel. I just want to hug and squeeze every person within my grasp. Simply because I can.

knocking on wood

I haven't much to say, except

I think it's really finally here.

(Knock on wood.)

That season I've been 

praising for a month now.

Fall.

And so the pictures of the child 

with pumpkins can begin.

Because what kid doesn't look

adorable surrounded by pumpkins?

making it official

So he did graduate, and he did take and pass the bar, but none of this was official until he was sworn in to the Utah Bar Association. It was a grand event with hundreds of clerks-about-to-turn-lawyers and their many, many family members there to support them. And while it's just a simple swearing in, a raising of the hand, a repeated oath, even Jess said he felt different when it was all said and done.

What impressed me most about the ceremony was how the judges and others who spoke emphasized most the need for them to be just and true, to do good in the world. I think sometimes lawyers get a bad rap, but I think plenty more do plenty good. And I hope Jess is one of those lawyers.

And so it's official. He's a lawyer.

Congrats Daddy.

tis the season (to eat)

Confession: I really dislike Halloween. It's dark and evil and it makes it perfectly acceptable to glorify blood and gore and deception. Of course, I do love the food that often accompanies the holiday, and I refuse to completely turn my back on a perfectly good excuse to eat. First up: Pumpkin Cream Cheese Muffins. 

These come courtesy of my favorite recipe blog. They take a little more time than the regular muffin (I generally keep my prep materials to a bowl and a spoon, so this is way beyond for me), but they are more worth it than you can ever imagine. As an added bonus, you'll get to enjoy the cinnamony smell of Christmas while they bake.

And here's a sneak peek of a Halloween costume to come:

I figure that if I have to dress my kid up, I might as well make it a good excuse to buy pink cowboy boots (!).

post op part deux

1. I'm pretty sure that when they removed half my thyroid, they inserted an extra stomach to make up for the loss. I'm completely starving. I had really good goals of not eating extra calories while being banned from the bike, but so far, I can't stop reaching my hand into the bag of Great Value Fudge Mint cookies (seriously, so good - like Girl Scouts Thin Mints, but not expensive).

2. When I woke up from my surgery, the anesthesia took a while to wear off. It made me nauseated and tired and totally nonsensical. I had a blood pressure cuff on one arm that randomly pumped my arm to monitor my borderline blood pressure, plus these boot-like devices on my legs that pumped back and forth, back and forth (pretty sure they prevent clotting, although the nurse just said they'd "massage" my legs during surgery - sure, as though I got a bonus massage just "for buying now!"), plus the IV pumping fluids into me. And I swear that Jess was telling me about Nerf guns (he and his brothers are in the midst of some serious Nerf wars) and house hunting and do I want some soup? And all I could say was something about being a robot (with all those contraptions on me). He was kind to not question my sanity at that moment in time.

3. I called the doctor today because I could've sworn that in my loopy post surgery world, he said something about seeing him on Tuesday. Turns out, he said something about seeing him on Tuesday if I was having any trouble. Turns out, he doesn't need to see my neck for a couple of weeks.

4. Also, turns out I can shower, despite what I thought I heard -something about not getting my neck wet and certain death and infection if a drop of water neared my incision. Seriously.

5. When I got home from the hospital, Belle was initially so excited to see Mom. Then she saw my neck. And she only wanted Grandma - I think she was a little nervous about it, but mostly she seemed ultra concerned. She's grown accustomed to the bandage by now and only occasionally points to my neck and my IV mark on my hand intermittently, saying, "Owie?"

post op

I am more than happy to report that surgery was a grand success. Dr. Davis (my hero for the week) removed the left side of my thyroid and handed it over to the pathologist (I really wish I could've been awake to see this hand off. Do they put it on a plate? In a jar? On a skewer? I'm just sayin'...), who delivered the verdict we'd all been praying for: benign. He then stitched me up (had it been bad news, he would've removed everything right then and there), and I woke up to a nurse saying I'd be discharged that afternoon. The news that I could go home was perhaps as wonderful to me as the benign news, as I really wanted to go home to my baby, groggy or not. However, I'm pretty sure the Little Miss didn't even notice my absence as she had a grandma entertaining her and spoiling her to bits from the second I left. 

Recovery has been a cinch as well. I have almost full mobility of my neck, I can lift and kiss and play with my girl (with the assistance of Lortab), and although I have to put off my 5:45 a.m. workouts for a week or so (what a shame), I couldn't feel more blessed than I do today. I'm healthy. I'm home. And the people I love were waiting for me.

Life is good.

snip snip

Tomorrow's the big day. My neck's getting a snip, the bump of unexplainable origin will be removed, and I'll be homebound. For like a week or so. Turns out we use our necks for lots of stuff. Like looking at things. And such.

And while there's some stress about the surgery and what might come of it, I'm more worried about how I'm going to handle a day without my Belle. Man I'm going to miss that mug.

Wish me and my goiter luck.

P.S. Would it be inappropriate to ask the surgeon if he might suck a little of my double chin out while he's got my neck open anyhow? Just a thought.

temporary permanence

So we moved into this apartment as a "temporary" thing. But after looking at 30+ properties, I'm not sure how temporary it's going to be. I've decided it's time to at least put away the bubble wrapped shelves and frames and TV that have been parked in the front room, "because we're just going to be moving them out anyhow." My only hesitation in moving this stuff and organizing our little holding cell "for the time being" is the Midge (Jess' name for Belle - isn't it cute?) has gotten quite accustomed to her very own obstacle courses and climbing walls. However, I'm hoping that by admitting defeat, karma will return the favor and find us the perfect house that both of us can agree on, a feat something along the lines of me giving up chocolate, pretty much impossible.