My Daddy...

I've been in sort of a daze lately. I guess it's probably actually a sort of depression because I've been floating around a little detached from everything. And when I feel this way the first thing that goes, is my writing... so forgive me, little blog, for having left you barren for so long.

The truth is, this holiday season was a repeated left hook to my jaw. Wait. Maybe a right hook. Which one is worse? Okay, it was that one.

Why the melodramatics? I'll tell you...

On November 19th, my dad injured his back carrying groceries, and in the following weeks, through MRIs, tests, and constant agony, they discovered he had some tumors in his spine. Naturally this development was startling and led to biopsies and more tests to try to discover their cause.

We had all planned to spend Christmas together at my sister, Meradith's, house, but with my dad unable to travel, we all trudged up to snowy Idaho to await the news with my parents. And finally, New Year's Day came... and we got the results.

We all sat around, clenching our teeth and gripping onto each other as my dad returned home from his appointment, gathered us together and delivered the crushing blow... at the ripe age of 59, it was cancer. And not just any cancer... a real sonoffabeech systemic cancer called multiple myeloma. One that is both aggressive and even worse, incurable.

I can't really describe the devastation. The strange rattling of your entire life and reality in the blink of an eye. I was a total basketcase. For days. Literally. Walking around like a zombie and sortof avoiding being alone with my dad. Mostly because I knew NOT EVEN ONE, itty-bitty thought that didn't revolve around the monster lurking inside of him was capable of entering my mind. Regular conversation was absolutely out of the question. And, wouldn't you know, you get a little sick of being a debbie-downer and ugly-face crying in peoples' faces after a while. And so, instead, I did a lot of bug-eyed staring, followed by fleeing the room and flying-squirelling onto my air mattress in the basement. Inevitably I'd get it together long enough to reemerge into the general population, strutting around like nothing had happened... but then I'd hear my dad talk or hear one of my babies call for "Papa!" or notice the dirty bowl he'd used to eat the oatmeal I'd made him that morning and off I'd go, screeching around the nearest corner.

Literally never felt so emotionally inept in all my life.

Need a break from the sad crap? Here's a couple pictures to lighten the mood. But don't you go gettin' too comfortable feelin' happy... cause in a minute I'm plannin' on bringin' you right back down! Right back down ta Chinatown!

My dad, Mera's Isla and baby Eve. Right before I took a flying leap over that banister to escape to my air-mattress.

And one more with my mama. Aren't we cute when we're all cry-swollen and foggy? The answer is yes. 

This was the start of my second round of right hooks to the face--my tiny family becoming repeatedly, deathly ill for more than a month. It's like the sickness gods sniffed out our sadness-induced weakness and picked us off like sickly baby wildebeests.

Alright, back to business. Since my dad's diagnosis on New Year's Day, he has completed 5 weeks of chemo therapy and has undergone four separate "vertebrae cementing" procedures. His particular kind of cancer weakens the bones so the vertebrae in his spine are the consistency of chalk, resulting in continual, tiny fractures in his back. His last "cementing" relieved a great deal of his pain, finally, and while the chemo wipes him out, we are anxiously awaiting tests that will reveal if it is doing any good in staving off this wretched disease.

The good news is, my dad has really ruffled up his feathers in preparation for this fight. He's basically Mohammed Ali. Pretty sure he'd be shadow boxing around the living room and shouting, "Bring it on!" type insults at his reflection in the mirror if he could. And my mom is the strongest and most watchful and attentive care-giver in the world, so he's in the best, most capable hands imaginable.

I am hopeful and continually aware of that great plan ever being weaved by our tender and loving Heavenly Father. I am also aware that cancer research is constantly progressing and perhaps, in time, they'll be able to nudge this one off the incurable pile.

Until then, we'll be praying and fighting. And would love your prayers as well.

Thanks for reading.

A Very Big Day...

"She's so, so cute. And not only cute, but like, she never causes any problems with the other kids, and just plays her own little independent games and has the best little personality!"

That's what your nursery teacher just said to me about you at our play date to the park this morning. And she's right. On all accounts. You make your mama so proud, and burst with joy! And today I'm feeling especially tender and mopey about you because it is a most excellent and special occasion--today is your birthday!

Baby Eve "Tiny Tuna" Sophia Palmer, Happy Birthday! You are two years old today... which is a big milestone for all toddlers... and all mamas of toddlers. What you don't know, is this is the year you'll become a full fledged little human...

I plan to tell you all about yourself in this post, and I hope someday you'll get to read it. And you should know, while I fully intend to gush about you for the most part, I also plan to talk a little shiz... just so you have a point of reference when you have your own high-spirited little munchkins. And also because it's good for mommies to talk a little shiz about their most treasured little jewels once in a while.

First off, this is what you look like on this very day:

                  You keep yelling, "Ima buful butterfly!" You are beautiful. And smart. And already funny. Not in an, "I'm a chubby toddler so I make people laugh when I fall over," kind of way, but like really funny. Like, I think you're being sarcastic with me sometimes. You do your mama proud.

You should know that one of your favorite things in this life is ABC gum. You can't get enough of it. If I'm chewing gum, I know it is only a matter of time before you spot that tell-tale movement of my jaw from across the room with your eagle eyes and come bounding over to pry my mouth open. I've tried to ward off these attacks in the past and it generally ends with my face getting all scratched up and one or both of my eyes being blackened. But I forgive you.

I imagine, if anyone were able to take a picture from inside my mouth when this is happening, it would look a like this:

And don't think I haven't spotted you pillaging your dad's ABC gum, either. Because I have.

Every morning at breakfast I ask you if you want a banana, and every time, you respond, "Ina nana, ooowaaaay!" (I want a banana! Hooray!) And then when you get it you immediately say, "Ina monkey oo oo ahh ahh!" before stuffing it down your gullet.

You are obsessed with your pillow. You wallow around with it on the ground all day, smashing it against your face like it's trying to suffocate you. You also drag it up into my lap, hold it close and pet it like Mr. Bigglesworth, saying, "it's a niiiiice pillow." You pronounce pillow, pallow.

Whenever I try to take you away from anything you are interested in, you yell every sentence you know in rapid-fire protest, "hey! Get back here! Don't touch it! It's mine! No, no no! No way, mommy! Sowy mommy! It's my turn! Be careful! Thankyeew, mommy!" You just hope one of them will have the desired effect. 

You are a carnivore. Your favorite foods are tilapia, salmon, meatballs, pulled pork, rotisserie chicken... and bananas.

Your favorite shows are Little Einsteins, Bubble Guppies, Team Umizoomi, Little Bill, Strawberry Shortcake, and Max and Ruby. That's a lot of shows... 

You LOVE to color and do puzzles and every time you sit down to draw, you shout at me, "I want a circle!" And you make me draw a circle, square, triangle, oval, octagon, diamond, heart and star, in order, and shout the name and, "I twy it!" in delight after each one.

You ask for mighty mini popsicles no less than 800 times a day. You're always so bright-eyed and hopeful when you ask, "Ina paw-sicle stick?" And when I tell you no, you do a devastated flying squirrel into your pillow--every time. Like this:

You are a delight to all strangers. Every person we pass in the grocery store gets an enthusiastic (and always unexpected), "Hey there!" and a big wave from you from your perch in the front of the cart. And people, without fail, come screeching to a halt to have a little conversation with you. This lengthens our grocery outings considerably...

You have piffy, unruly bed head at all times.

You still look like this dinosaur:

...but with piffy, unruly bedhead.

Every time we pick Leah up from school you yell, "Weeeeeee-uhhhh!!" and spaz around her classroom for a while. Then she runs towards you with open arms, lifts you up, and gives you a good spin. This sends every adult in the room into pieces, even though they see it every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Whenever I buckle you into your carseat you yell "beep-belts safe!" (Seat belts, safe!)

You are the best little sister. Whenever you "accidentally" swat Leah in the face, you are instantly overcome with swatter's remorse, and will continue to say, "I sowy, Wee-uh," and "Is ok, Wee-uh?" until she says, "It's ok, Eve. I forgive you," and gives you a hug. This happens no less than 75 times a day. You are also an easy trader and compromiser in the Roman Coliseum of the toddler toy world.

You should know that your sister, Leah, LOVES you. She is a beater, but she beats you out of love. She delights in making you laugh and in giving you hugs and discovering activities that you can do together---like jumping off the couch into a pile of cushions in your undies.

This video pretty much sums up your relationship.

You have a raspy voice and are very polite. You always say, please, thank you and you're welcome, yes please and no thank you, even to strangers. Adults who meet you are always commenting on your excellent manners.

You still sleep with me, and you still nurse to sleep, and even though I feel a bit claustro at times, the thought of this changing soon always gives me a grapefruit-sized lump in my throat.

You throw tantrums... you've got a high stamina for crying... still lingering from your colic days. But you're tantrums end abruptly, and always with you sticking out your bottom lip, sniffling and saying to me, "mommy, I cwying," by way of apologizing.

You follow me around all day with your arms stretched up towards me saying, "hep yew?" Which means, "help you?" which means, "help me?" which really means, "pick me up." You sometimes shorten it to just, "hep?"

You can almost count to twenty and you know most of your numbers. You count forwards and backwards. Because of this, I hear you counting down from three several times a day, which means you are preparing to leap, from whatever platform you have climbed onto, into my arms... whether or not I'm paying attention. More often than not, this results in you slamming into my side, or the back of my head, and dropping to the floor in a crumpled little heap. This whole charade gives me constant anxiety.

At bed time, you yell, "Nigh-nigh, Wee-uh! Nigh-nigh, Daddy!' and "I wuv you, Wee-uh! I wuv you, Daddy!" the entire way up the stairs. This assures every member of our family ends the day feeling extra smitten and in love with you.

And that's exactly how I'm feeling about you right now. Almost all of the time, in fact. Except when you start getting unruly in the grocery store (always by about the time we reach the dairy section), and in the middle of the night when you become a demanding, out-of-control, tyrant. But other than that, you can bet your mama has a moon-sized crush on you.

Oh, Baby Eve! If there is one thing I've learned in the two years that you've been mine here on earth, it's that you were mine long before then. You're my dream girl, my little monkey, and everything I can be proud of in this life. I love you more than I can ever say. Ever, ever.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my teeny, tiny, Tuna!

Here's what we did for your big day:

We took a little jaunt to the Oakland zoo. And this treacherous little lillypad crossing nearly took the life of you and your sister... because while your sweet daddy was carrying you across, you started doing the bucking bronco and you all started flailing and slipping and spazzing around. It was a real nail-biter for all those spectating. And a real treat for your mother. 

You especially loved these elephants. 

A little birthday cupcake to kick off the festivities. You ate it medieval times style... 

And your sweet sissy, Leah Mae after her first of several "overcome with jealous rage because it's not MY birthday" meltdowns. You should know, lest you ever feel you need a little edge on your big sister, that today was the worst day of her life. She's only four, after all. 

 Out for PIZZA!

You were through having your picture taken by this point. 

 But you were not through hoovering pizza. You ate 3 slices. 

And of course, we opened some good birthday loot when we got home.

You'll notice Leah Mae got a plasma car as well on your special day... and while I don't make a point of giving siblings presents on birthdays, I knew you two would only be happy riding together. And I was right. 

Cutest bleeping present opener around...

And we ended the night with some delicious birthday chocolate cream pie.

You should know, the party doesn't end here. We're not quite finished celebrating the glorious day of your birth. But that'll have to wait for the next post... because it hasn't happened yet. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Nowhere To Go From Here But Down...

Every  now and then you plan a relatively impromptu trip to Utah to be with family in time of need... and after your husband drives you there into the wee hours of the night, and a day later flies back to San Francisco to work for the week, he'll fly back on the weekend to drive you home. And when you see him, sometimes you'll realize you're not quite ready to go and you'll look at him like this:

... and he'll pat you lovingly on the head, and book himself another flight back to San Francisco for work. And then he'll fly back to Utah the next weekend, to, again, pick your sorry carcass up and drive you home. But this will only happen to you if you have a most excellent and selfless husband. And I do.

And so, my 5 day trip to Utah turned into 16 days. And it was glorious, indeed.

But before I tell you about it, allow me to share a few cute pictures of our family outing to the Oakland temple the day before we left...

The truth is, I don't have much to say about out temple outing because both of our angelic looking little rugrats up there were lunatics that day... and so we snapped a few pictures, shed a few tears, and hightailed it out of there. So that's all. But my family sure looks cute and happy for social media purposes, and that, my friends, is all that matters.

One of our first days in Utah, one of our very best compadres, Matt, happened to be in town at the same time with his munchkin, Jude. And we celebrated by consuming an inexcusable amount of peanut m&ms, and  by observing a moment of silence for his missing wife, Mimi and their other son, Josh. And by "missing" I mean missing  from this get-together. Not like, milk carton missing. Mimi--I love you and miss you and nearly couldn't enjoy Matt's company without you there sitting on my lap. Not his lap. MY lap.

Forgive me for looking 600lbs in this photo--it was the camera angle and the clothes I was wearing and the weather that day, all making me look fat.

My life-long best friend ShaLyse "Shayer" Walker and I have a tough time getting together these days. And this one itty-bitty, baby fern of a picture is all we have to show for it.

But those 20 minutes we spent, holding each other like this in Nordstrom... no talking, just holding... were the best 20 minutes of my life.

I post this picture simply to document that Baby Eve is a prayer nazi and walks around like this pretty much all day long, shouting "Amen! Amen!" and judging everyone who isn't praying. She's a real zealot. She was judging Sam, in particular, in this picture.

The rest of her time is spent dressed as a saloon girl, entertaining the locals...

After Sam left, I went to stay with Mera in Provo for the rest of the first week. And what generally happens is we get drunk off each other's love and change into our nighties and refuse to shower and then take lots of photos of the chaos that ensues. Meradith is a particularly mean drunk...

We are also prone to hold flexibility contests... the clear winner is me. Though, she gets points for her, "I still look cute and care-free even with my leg popped up above my head" face.

And feats of strength...

Again, I win.

And you're welcome for that photo right there.

But Meradith walked away champion after she ran up and down the stairs like this:

Which has given me nightmares for days.

Bone chilling.

While their mothers were out back, competing against each other in "The Lumberjack Games," these four little angels were snuggled up together, watching a show and being adorable and awesome in general.

Occasionally we do shower and go to the park...

One glorious autumn afternoon we headed off to an excellent little pumpkin patch on Geneva road. I can't remember the name, but if you live in Utah and want to go, text me and I'll find out. Or just google it. But make sure to tell me so I get that warm "credit" feeling for giving you such a good idea. Anyway, here are Lucy, Scarlett and Leah getting towed around by Uncle Jason... 

And me and Mera and baby Isla amongst the general splendor. I may or may not have had to crop my enormous butt out of this picture... and Meradith's exceedingly cute butt was lost in the crossfire... for which I apologize.

Cute Marme and Daddy. You'll notice my dad's shriveled up little T-Rex arm... he severely injured his shoulder in a freak heliskiing accident. Or, he fell down the steps in his garage. I can't remember which one it was. Poor Daddy :(

Magical...

Just look at um'. Not a care in the world at the pumpkin patch. You'd never even know about the T-Rex arm.... Except you'll notice my mom's wee little fingers gripping the side of the board... seems she doesn't quite understand the concept of these face cut-out thingys.

These two cousins have been a match made in heaven from birth. Yuv them.

Delectable group. I had left to pick up Sam from the airport at this point, which is why I'm not in the front, doing the splits.

Mera took this little photo of Leah and it captures her perfectly--she literally dances and sings through life, everywhere she goes. I luff her so much.

Meradith's canned goods sure are hilarious! Actually, this is the most g-rated of a series of photos Sam and I staged as a little surprise for Mera when she opened her pantry. An early Christmas present, really. She was elated!

The Thanksgiving Point Farm is heaven on earth for my little ones.

Look at that beautiful sissy of mine on the wagon ride. And Leah and Lucy trying their best to smile with the sun blasting in their faces. What good girls. 

Leah's an old pony-riding pro at this point.

Eve as well. She expressed her delight by literally shaking the fence and scream crying the whole time we were in line, and then yelling "Yee-hah!" for the duration of the ride, and then scream crying in devastation again when her turn was over. She's a passionate women, folks.

Thanks to my dear mama and sweet sissy, Sam and I were able to escape to Park City for a day sans kiddos. And it was heaven. Heaven on earth. Have you been to PC in the fall? It's nearly completely deserted (my favorite thing) and the weather and scenery is complete perfection. Highly recommended.

We spent the morning walking around and heckled the US Olympic Ski team while they practiced. Then we rode the zip line at Utah Olympic Park. Self portrait riding the ski lift to the top.

. 

And this high quality photo of Sammy saying a little prayer before lift off.

We ate lunch at Stein Ericksen Lodge--holy shiz, it was delicious.

 And spent the afternoon skiing...

It was the best day. 

I'm kicking myself for not taking any pictures of our last night in Utah, because it was most excellent... wait, I did take one picture... of these two pies I made.

If you like cream cheese, chopped up symphony chocolate bars, pecans, coconut and sweetened condensed milk all mixed up and baked in a little tin of heaven than these pies are for you! So good. So, so good. Rub left-overs all over your body good. 

And we shared them with our friends, Megan and Terrance, and their boy, Channing, who hailed all the way from Alaska, which made them even better. And we caught up (7 years worth!) and laughed the night away and it was a real love fest all around. Looking back on it, if I had to pick the real high point of the night, it would have been when my step-MIL tried to pawn some of Sam's grandma's 5-year-old insulin off on Megan (who is a type I diabetic) so that she could have some pie... 

After M&T and Co left, Sam's BFF (Sam loves when I refer to his friends as his BFF) Eric, and his lovely girlfriend Aubrey (who we were meeting for the first time) joined us for a night cap. Which led to more laughing and love-festing and pie eating. And it was good. And we were satisfied. 

And there you have it, folks. All of my dreams coming true in one little blog post. How am I supposed to recover? How can I move on from this most heavenly of Utah visits? I'd say consuming nearly a whole family-sized bag of sun chips for breakfast this morning was a good start. 

Muah!