Monday, December 2, 2013

Why I Love Prickly Upper Lip Kisses

     December is here!  In some cases this means that Movember or No Shave November is over.  I not only endured  several prickly kisses from my husband during this past month, I relished them.  However, I know that wasn't the case with a lot of my other friends.  Hairy lips were heckled and harangued all over the place!  My advice to ladies: Let it grow! 

     The Movember movement is relatively new, having its beginning around 2006.  It was founded in Australia by some gentlemen who began it in fun but ended up funding a movement to bring awareness to men's health.  Women's cancers, especially breast cancer have found increasing awareness and public education.  Men's cancers not as much.

     Why is this important to me?  Some of you know of my husband's battle with testicular cancer in 2006.  At the time of his diagnosis he was 27 years old.  We sat in the urologist's office completely unaware.  Our newborn son sat in his carrier sleeping peacefully.  We were there for test results which we expected to be something insignificant.  Instead we hear Allen's doctor bellow down the hallway "Does he know he has cancer?"  We turned toward one another in horror, half hoping he was yelling about another patient.  But no, he brusquely banged his way into the room plopped his 300 plus pound frame on top of his desk so his feet were swinging ridiculously back and forth and announced unceremoniously, "Mr. Tanner you have cancer". 

     So that's how life changed.  When you hear people say "in an instant" you can't fully comprehend what it means until you've had one of those "in an instant" moments. It was like we had stepped into a nightmare.

     We held hands tightly as this buffoon continued to earn first place for worst doctor of the year.  "It's good you have a child because you'll never have anymore.  We have you scheduled for surgery in 45 minutes.  We've already pre-registered you so you'll just need to head over to the hospital and take your registration form."

     After we returned home from the surgery I had an intense desire to find out what I could about this life altering disease. So my research ensued.
    
 Countless young men had fallen victim to this cancer that both of us had never heard of.  Not only that, the highest percentage of these young men were teenagers.  Baby faced boys who had not even graduated high school.  And their lives were snuffed out before they had a chance to figure out what was really wrong with them.  Testicular cancer is more common in young men with the majority of the victims falling between the ages of 15-40.  But no one was talking about this cancer to young men.  Most doctors weren't encouraging these young guys to check themselves.  The misconception was that they were too young to be affected by this disease. 

     I found an online forum for victims, survivors, and loved ones of individuals with testicular cancer and read it voraciously.  There were moms on this forum that had lost their young sons to this disease.  The stories were so similar and usually had a phrase similar to "he was too embarrassed to get it checked out." 

    Testicular cancer is highly curable if found early enough. But embarrassment has proven to be the nemesis of cure.  I had a horrible time getting Allen to the doctor when he began experiencing symptoms.  I know it's not a comfortable thing to talk about.  I know it's not a comfortable thing to have yourself subjected to intimate examination.

     Breast cancer awareness is everywhere with a tiny pink mascot heralding it's movement.  My mother was a victim of breast cancer and this awareness movement holds a big place in my heart.  Can we get that much awareness for men's cancers? 

     So having my husband growing a ridiculous moustache in November doesn't make me balk one  bit.  You grow that thing baby!  More than just No Shave November, this is a movement whose time has come.  Check yourself, guys.  Educate your young men. Learn what's normal and what's not.   Read more about Movember the movement.  Read more about  men's cancers. If I was more technologically inclined I'd post a link to the Ted talk from the Movember founder.  But you'll just have to google it for yourself.    

     For the reader who may not know the rest of our story: Allen has been in remission for six years.  His tumor was a stage 2C seminoma.  And as for that rude doctor and his proclamation that we would never be able to have any more children, he  may still just be surprised.  According to a fertility specialist, Allen is completely capable of having more children!  That's totally a God thing and worthy of its very own dedicated post.

 
     Yes, it's December and the moustaches are gone.  Be thankful for the healthy men in your life.  Ridiculous facial hair and all.

     


      

  

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Again

Lately I have been consumed by those ephemeral entities of stuff and things.  They are thieving little punks and consequently have stolen months away from me. 

 And there is damage.  I stopped blogging.  I stopped running.  I gained weight.  I stopped painting.  I stopped journaling.  I fell into a season of doubt that lasted too long.   My confidence has been slashed.  My motivation is bleeding out. 

But here I am.  The bootstraps are pulled up.  The buttercup will buck up. 

I had to just start again.  I put on the extra layers and loaded my playlist with Hollaback Girl and some Paramour and went out in the cold dark and started walking.  Five minutes, fingers numbing, running, running.  Two days into the routine.  This is good.  Yep, this is good.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

You Win Some, You Lose Some

      
       There are some days in this ministry that leave me feeling defeated, depleted, and altogether battered.  Today was one of those days.

        In my own ministry there are more good days than bad days.  There are some incredibly joyous days that take my breath away when I contemplate the ways and wonders of my incredible, matchless God.

      And then there are days like today.
       
     These days start inauspiciously enough.  Calm. Peaceful. Thankful. I say a prayer.  "What a beautiful Sunday, Lord.  I'm so blessed to be in your presence.  Help me to inspire others to be excited about your Word. And Lord...

     Everything commences to blow up in my face.   A huge, spiritual warfare begins to take place within the walls of our church.  Some don't even notice.  I'm wielding a heavy sword, entrenched in combat. The casualties are great on our side. 

     I leave that building knowing that I just lost a hard fought battle.  I feel wounded.  Then I am reminded that this is just a battle.  It's a tiny little scrimmage.  I know the Overcomer.  I know the Death Conqueror. 

   Just a hint...He wins! 

Sunday, May 19, 2013

I Hope He Never Outgrows Snuggles


      It is the season of graduations.  Pre-school, high school, and college graduates are honored and celebrated.  Even my dear old dad is off celebrating the 50th anniversary of his high school graduation this weekend.  And yes, my little guy will be graduating to the second grade.
    
      Because I'm a sappy mommy, I spend way too much time reflecting on how much my son has grown and changed in the past few months since first grade began.  He has lost and regrown his two front teeth which has changed his face considerably.  Another tooth came out last night which adds another dimension of change to his sweet little face.
The beginning of first grade


     When he reads to me out loud I find myself staring at this morphed face.  My little baby is in those cheeks.  Those sparkly eyes are my tiny boy's.  He thinks I'm listening intently when actually I'm devising a plan that will allow him to be just like this forever. 

Late Spring - First Grade
   First grade will be over in just three weeks.  Then he'll be seven.  These days are flying way too fast and it makes my head and my heart spin.  How do I hold on this precious time?  

    I don't know that there is an answer to that.  I'll keep writing down things he said and did.  I'll keep taking pictures of the ordinary and every day, not just the special events. I'll share posts on Facebook about silly or funny things that involve him.  And mainly I'll just keep praising God for this beautiful blessing and gift and let my heart continue to melt from all the love I hold for this child. 

     And right now I'm going upstairs to help him get to sleep.  It's past ten on a school night and he's still up.  He's nonchalantly walked downstairs for a drink of water five times.  He's gotten up to tell me about something funny that happened at baseball practice.  He's gotten up to tell me about something funny that happened at school last week.  He's gotten up to tell me that his dad said he was going to give away a Hot Wheel if he got up one more time.  I'm not going to fuss.  I'm not going to insist he go to sleep right now.  I'm going to kiss him on the forehead once and on his cheek twice.  Then I'm going to snuggle with my boy until he falls asleep.  After all, he is almost seven and by then he may not want to snuggle anymore.
      

Sunday, May 12, 2013

I am not a "what", I am a "yes ma'am!"

     I can't help but think of my mom today.  I am so very blessed to have the mother that I did.  So many memories both hilarious and heartbreaking course through my heart and mind today. 
    
     In an attempt to celebrate my own mother I just want to share some thoughts.  There is no organization to these thoughts as my memories of her are so great that there is no way I could ever share even the best with you.  So you'll have to settle for some highlights. 

Camp Hoblitzelle
     My mother was a consummate lady. If she stood to her full height she reached almost 5 foot 1.  Her stature did not stop her from commanding a household of four children.  In her ministry in The Salvation Army, she served with my father as the Divisional Youth Secretary for the great and powerful Texas division.  During those five summers she was mother to countless children and teenagers.  At the beginning of this appointment she was raising three children aged six and under as well as a hormonal teenager.  Yet somehow, she kept it all together.  Three near drownings, a broken arm, and severe head trauma which led to a three day coma (yes, that is what's wrong with me) kept her busy during those years.

     The title of my post was a saying that I often heard from her.  As a young child it often puzzled me to hear her say this.  "I am not a what, I am a yes ma'am!"  This was her automatic response when any of her children answered with "what".  It was interchangeable with "huh" as well.  She wasn't a huh, either.


    As a young adult I witnessed my short mother take a crack rock out of woman's hand and stare down the drug dealer who gave it to her.  She was not afraid to stand up for those she loved.

 One thing I am very certain of is that she loved me.  This is a great gift.  Not just the fact that she loved me but that I know  without a doubt she loved me.  She loved me so very much.  I once asked her what her thoughts were on the day I was born.  She told me that all she could think about was how much hair I had and what a beautiful hairline I had.  Really?  My hairline?  Not my dimples or my blue eyes or my adorable button nose but my hairline. 

     She would often call me her little spitfire.  It was not derogatory.  She often told me she loved my strong sense of justice but wished I could channel it into something healthy and effective. 

    
      Perhaps one day I will write more about my mother and the many stories that I have.  But for now I am only emotionally able to just give little snapshots.  The loss of her is so raw at times.  Today is just one of those days.

     If your mother is living, answer her with a  "yes m'aam", pose for a picture with her, kiss her on the cheek, squeeze her real tight, eat your vegetables and tell her you actually like them, splurge and buy the nicer flowers, but most importantly tell her how very much you love her.   
      

    

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Oh, The Things I've Done To Impress Boys or How I Became A Gamer

  
     Over the years I have accumulated an obscene amount of journals.  In my wisdom I have removed them from the book shelf where they can be mistaken by a visitor or family member as available reading material.  I assure you they are not!

     In my wisdom I have begun to place them in my cedar chest.  That cedar chest is locked.  I have swallowed the key.  The content in these journals is all at once hilarious and heartbreaking.  The journals ridiculously reveal the awkward insecurities of a gawky preteen, the manic depressive angst of a teenager, the poetic ramblings of a young woman on a journey of self discovery, and oh yeah, boys.  Boys I thought were cute.  Boys I thought were annoying.  Boys who asked me out.  Boys who I wished would ask me out.  Boys who smelled bad.  Boys - the very reason these beauties will be locked up until I am departed from this earth. 

One of my old journals


 
      In case you're wondering, I was always a very good girl.  Let's just get that out of the way right now.  I was also very silly.  I did a lot of things knowing full well that they were incredibly stupid and pointless.  I did them because I wanted to get some boy's attention.  And I'm sure I got the attention of some boys but not the kind I wanted.

     I have done some embarrassingly silly things to impress boys.  I have eaten mushrooms (which I hate passionately!) and pretended to like them.  I got my brother to try and teach me how to skateboard. It was a failed attempt.  I faked having a British accent. I pretended to be bulimic in order to get sympathy.  At the time I had no idea what bulimia was but had heard that it was on the rise amongst young girls.
    
      I had my dear friend Christie (who by all accounts was the girl I wished I looked like in high school) show me how to apply make-up and help me pick out a dress to wear to the movies. We were going on a double date. My very first date ever .Not being someone who wore dresses or make-up at the time I found that I scratched my face all evening and tugged at the hem of the dress while simultaneously slouching to prevent my dress from riding up too far.  I'm sure that was really attractive.

    I bought a very athletic outfit to give the impression that I was "sporty" and into playing sports. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. I did try-out for high school basketball and soccer during this time.  I still have scars.
 
I'm least proud of the fact that more than once I pretended to be not so bright.  I even purposefully failed a test once. 

     The wonderful man that I married can attest to my bad attempts at impressing boys from his own experience with me.  When we first began dating, he owned a Z-28 Camaro that had T-tops.  He had extra stereo speakers and other contraptions that caused the car to play rap and bass music excessively loud. So loud, in fact, that it rattled every window within a 3 mile radius. I couldn't stand music like that or guys that had those obnoxiously loud cars.  Until I met him. 

     There was one evening when were driving around in his car that I got the itch to impress him.  He had a friend in the car and I do believe that my husband was trying to impress me by driving reckless and fast. It worked.  Not only did it work, it was contagious.  Armed with my youthful exuberance and ignorance and infected by his charming smile and inspired by teen movies from the 90's, I stood  up in the front passenger seat of the car with head, arms, and torso jutting out of the T-tops.  With  my hair wildly flapping in the wind, I raised my arms above my head while he sped along the dark road. Being the southern girl that I am I let out the biggest, loudest, best rebel yell I could wretch from my throat.  And if my dad ever reads this: yes, absolutely, of course I was wearing my seatbelt for the entire duration of this car ride.

     Recently, I have begun to try to impress another young man that is not my husband.  He is incredibly handsome and has a disarming smile.  He is smart and witty and perfect.  He has beautifully unique gray eyes and he's about 50 inches tall.  I've known him for six years and I have spent every day since our first meeting trying to get his attention.  His name is Zane.



    Like many six year old boys, my son Zane is into video games.  I do not like them.  I never have.  I'm not wired that way.  But all of sudden, things are changing.  I possess a vocabulary that has previously been foreign to me.  My Internet search history consists of looking up cheat codes and secret levels. I get excited if I find a Skylander at Target that we do not have yet.  Worst of all, I have beaten both Skylanders games.  It only took me two days.  I have beaten a couple different versions of Mario Bros.  And now, I am excitedly looking forward to purchasing Luigi's Mansion.  And beating it. I do like Luigi best.

 

 


     Is he impressed?  I don't know.  I like to think so.  After all, when he's stuck on a level who does come to for help?  Yep.  Me.  I hope he always comes to me for help. So for now I'll gladly be really into whatever he likes.