Eric's Fan Club

I love Sundays. That's the day Eric cooks. He loves to cook and I love when he cooks. I really wish he'd come home from work every night and cook, but no such luck. Still, I'll take my Sundays. Yesterday he made fresh crab and avocado melts for dinner, along with homemade key lime pie. Not to mention the Belgian waffles with strawberries and fresh whipped cream for breakfast. Wow, I'm salivating just remembering yesterday. It was funny, though. When Eric was boiling the crab, Portia came in asking what that stinky smell was. On the opposite end of the spectrum, there were Tigger and Jillyboo hanging with Eric in the kitchen--his biggest fans, besides me. And Bianca.

A story I've told more than five times

This is a blog topic from my theme-blog group. Most of you may already have heard this story (hence the reason I'm telling it) but even so, I still think it's a remarkable story:

The story I'm going to share is the one when I found out I had cancer. It was only a month after I had Bianca, my first child. As the weight started coming off, I noticed my belly was lopsided. Especially when I laid down. My doctor felt it and agreed there was a problem--was it a surgical sponge she'd forgotten to remove after the c-section? We did an ultrasound, then a CT scan, and they told me first it was a dermoid, then a benign tumor. It wasn't until two weeks after the surgery (and they removed my "football" sized tumor) did we find out it was malignant, a cancer called liposarcoma. What makes it so strange is that this is a cancer usually found in elderly men.

The really interesting part of this story is when I was having my surgery, it was right after Christmas. So my mom and dad, and sister with her 5-year-old son Collin came out to SLC to visit and watch my newborn baby. The night before my surgery, my sister Betsy said she wanted to feel my tumor. I laid down (as that was the easiest way to feel it) and guided her hand to the protrusion. She didn't make much of a reaction then, but several days later, after I was released from the hospital, she asked if I would do something for her. She wanted me to feel her little boy's tummy. When I did, I freaked out because it felt exactly like my tumor did. I told her to go to the ER right away, but they left the next day and went when they returned to St. Louis. The doctors brushed off Betsy, saying it was backed up poop and told her to give him an enema. A couple days later, the doctors still wouldn't listen to her. Finally, she demanded an x-ray and sure enough, there it was: a basketball-sized tumor in a five-year-old's tummy. A Wilm's Tumor. It was a grade four cancer. He had a huge surgery, weeks of chemo after that and I think radiation too.

He made it through. So did I. My doctor had said there was a 90 percent chance my cancer would return, but almost ten years later and it hasn't. I wonder sometimes if I was the tool Heavenly Father used to save my nephew. Maybe, maybe not, but at least my cancer doesn't seem so futile if I think of it that way.

My favorite piece of furniture, my cedar chest

I had written about it on my college application essay, about all the things it contained—my personal history, my life, really--all housed inside that wooden box. I can’t remember why I had asked for said piece of furniture, but it was my very first piece of furniture I ever owned and it’s still my favorite piece to this day.

My mom and dad gave it to me for Christmas one year. I was teenager and had loads of diaries and journals and photos that needed a dark home where they wouldn’t be so exposed. My parents got it at an antique shop. I adore its daisies and etched fans. I adore the scratches on its wooden veneer because it has a life and a history. Its history began long before I existed, but now it contains my history. It's me in a box.

I was just thinking the other day that I need to get Bianca a cedar chest of her own, somewhere she can store all her little stories, pictures, and musical compositions. All the things that are her. Maybe I’ll make it a tradition, like getting your ears pierced at age 10. Maybe my girls will get cedar chests when they turn nine. Now, to find the perfect one. . .

Portia wants an audience

I caught Portia dancing for this audience this morning and thought I'd share:

Step Rock Run

Bianca's been training for the mile race. After she and I stopped running together, she said she was still running laps at school and she said she ran a mile at least every day. I recently learned that her school was doing a "Run to Disneyland" project where they had to track the amount they were running after math in the afternoons, and she was really running a mile every day. I found out on Thursday night when she and I ran a mile together to make sure she was ready for the Step Rock Run, which is the race Herriman City does every year. Bianca ran it last year and got a silver medal. Well, Bianca was definitely ready. I had a hard time keeping up with her, and I run four miles every other morning.

So Saturday morning, we got up and went to the park where the race starts. It's always a little terrifying for me because the 5K and 10K start at the same time, so I always worry my little girl is going to get trampled. I asked her if she wanted me to run with her, but she wanted to do it on her own. Thankfully, Bianca noticed a friend of hers who was also racing in the mile and they stood together to start.



I headed back to the finish line so I could be at the end when Bianca finished. I was so proud of her when I saw her coming around the corner. The rest was downhill from there and I yelled for her to sprint, if she wanted. She wanted.



Her time was a little over eight minutes, which was half a minute improvement from last year. She got second in the women's category and got another silver medal. I am so proud of her!

In light of Father's Day yesterday

I'm not sure what my problem was this year. I always start running in the spring. But this year, I waited and waited and waited. Maybe it was the weather that was unseasonably cold or maybe it was my laziness--probably both. It wasn't until Bianca said she wanted to go running that I finally said yes. Then we started running together in the morning, the two of us, but I found myself always correcting her (relax your hands, breath in your nose, stop whining--why can't I just leave her alone?) and I realized I can't run with her. So I politely told her she should focus on getting ready in the mornings instead of running. I hope I don't regret this in the long run because I think exercise is so important--especially developing habits as children. But really, I'm a solo runner. I prefer it that way. Then I'm not feeling so much pressure to either keep up or slow down to run with a buddy; I can set my own pace. Plus, I hate talking while running (just ask my poor sister who loves to discuss all of life while running).

But there is one thing I do say while I'm running. Every time I pass another runner or biker or walker. It's "Morning." My dad used to say it when we would run together. He'd say it to every person who went by whether it was the first time or the twelfth. Some people are friendly back, some not. But I don't let it bother me; I'm too busy breathing in and out, in and out, willing my tired legs to just keep going. It's one small way I can keep the spirit of my father alive, keep him running, keep a running buddy by my side without having to worry about slowing anyone down.

Meet Jillyboo

Jillyboo is our new cat. We got her on Friday at the Humane Society adoption center at Petco. She's part Siamese and part Himalayan and she has light blue eyes. She's really a sweet, docile little cat who will sit in your lap for an hour. She also likes to be carted around in a basket. She hid the first couple days, but is starting to get used to us (although Portia is still not allowed to hold her after I caught her swinging the poor kitty by the head).


One of our favorite things is when Jillyboo hides under the dishwasher. I swear she thinks we can't see her, but we've started calling it our "furry-pawed" dishwasher.



I'm so glad to have a cat in the house again and so are the girls. But I don't know about Tigger. Here they are, about as close as I've seen them to each other.