Loving and Look Outing

"Be kind and loving," is a phrase my kids hear ten thousand times a day. It's a constant reminder when patience runs short, siblings interfere, and selfishness rears it's ugly head. They aren't quite old enough to be annoyed by my repetition, but I know that's coming all too soon. 

"Love her and look out for her," is just a more specific version of the first message. "God's given you two jobs regarding your sister; love her and look out for her." She hears the same thing in regards to her brother. Being a sibling can be rough at times, I remember all too well! Cricket is never hesitant to tell me that he doesn't WANT to love her and look out for her for whatever reason, but he knows that it doesn't matter one bit if he wants to or not. He knows that is the expectation, the responsibility given to him by God.

We talk constantly about what that means, how to do it, and what to do when he has failed. 

"Which is more important, your sister or your Legos?" 

"My hands are busy right now and I hear Buttercup crying, why don't you go see if you can help her?" 

"She is upset because of ___, what can we do to make that easier for her?"

"Are you listening and respecting her words?"

And all the same in opposite genders for her ears. 

I love my job, and I wouldn't trade it for anything, but when the 19th round of "Which is more important, your sister or your (insert object they are currently battling over)," is occurring before 10am, it's easy to throw in the towel.  This job is a lot like a scratched up cd. Right in the middle of your favorite song it skips over and over, repeating the same three words 26 times, and then, just when you are ready to give up and skip to the next track, miraculously and without explanation, it continues on to the rest of the song, and you dance and sing along as though you weren't seconds from pulling out your hair. 

3 and a half years of the "kind and loving" schpeal, nearly two years of the "love her and look out for her" stuff, and finally, finally I saw fruit! That sweet, luscious fruit that hangs so heavy on the branch. 

They were playing together under our kitchen table.  I needed to vacuum, and told them that if they had a problem they needed to physically come to me, because I wouldn't be able to hear their words over the vacuum. 

I went about my task, and was nearing completion when I needed to stop to relocate the cord. I could see what they were doing, but I heard him say, "Uh oh, you better go ask Momma for help...wait, maybe I can help you." 

And I held my breath and tiptoed around the corner to peek. He reassembled the object she was working with, looked right up at me, and said, "Momma, that's loving and look outing for her, right?" 

So simple. One tiny little sentence. And I could've just shouted from the roof tops! "YES!!! You DO get it! You understand! GOD IS IN YOUR HEART!" I could've kissed him and cheered and tossed him in the sky, I was so happy. 

"Yeah, Buddy, that's loving her and looking out for her. God's heart is so happy when you do that! You did a great job." 

So, instead of bursting at my seams then, I just keep letting it leak out a few tears at a time whenever I reflect on that moment! 

God is so good. This work he has set before us as mothers is hard because it matters. It matters so very much. Keep on fighting the good fight, mommas. Keep teaching, and leading, and correcting, and guiding, and praying, and repeating it ten thousand times a day, because when they finally bear the fruit that glorifies their maker, your heart will just sing with joy! 

Watch me.

I ran a little bit before becoming a momma. A mile or two a couple of times a week, as many as 5 miles if I was seriously ticked off.  After Cricket was born I did the Couch to 5k program, but mostly found it to be annoying.

I'd been thinking for quite a while about starting again, and our new pup was just the partner I needed to get me going. I started with one mile runs with her, and one day decided to double it and see what happened. I was pleasantly surprised. It was easy. I was hooked. 

After another week or so of pondering, and trying to talk myself out of it, I decided to fess up to Snuggs. 

"Baby, I need to tell you something. I've had it on my mind for a while...like, a year. You're going to think I'm certifiably insane.... (Insert his encouragement to just 'out with it already') I am going to run a half marathon." 

And he said, "That's a really good goal." Which is Snuggs for "Ain't never gonna happen, but I don't wanna be a discourager." 

And just in case I needed an extra bit of motivation, he hit me where it counts. Tell me I can't. Go ahead, I dare ya! Buttercup's tenacity is undoubtedly inherited directly from her momma.  

I knew I could. I already had an incredible role model in Stacey. I knew it was possible, even enjoyable. I mean, she runs flipping MARATHONS. She's basically a celebrity! 

Stacey led some of my training when I started teaching for Head Start. Our friendship happened in my favorite way: no effort required. Not to say we haven't put in effort to maintain it, but it was cake to start it! She's enough like me that I knew I'd really like her in the first five minutes of meeting her. She's just enough ahead of me in child rearing to be able to assure me that the toddler crazies will pass. She loves Jesus. Plus, her husband is a firefighter. And, while you can find plenty of stupid blue vs red line crap if you look for it, to me it just meant that she understood what it means to pray for your husband's safety with all of your being, and everything else that goes along with loving a man dedicated to service...including that stuff about listening to the scanner and eating ice cream alone on Valentine's Day ;) 

Point being, I didn't even realize Stacey's running had been inspiring to me. She's not a bragger. It's her thing that she does for her, and that's hard as a mom, and so respectable. But she loves it, and it's good for her in more ways than one, and she always just keeps going.  Mostly, I thought she was cool mixed with a strong dose of insane...and then I decided to join her type of insanity. So, she was naturally the first person to whom I turned.

Three weeks in, I was setting up my stuff on a Thursday night to prepare for Friday morning's run. 

He said, "What's tomorrow look like?" 

And I started with, "I'm getting up at 6:30 and running 6 miles, and then..." 

And I stopped. That look on his face. That look that said, "You are perhaps the coolest person ever." And he said, "Baby, that's amazing. Good job."

And I felt like a million bucks! 

And then, the next morning, when I got home from my run, he admitted that he was doubtful at first, but that he had been wrong. He said he believed I could do it. He said he was impressed and proud. 

I'll tell you, I'm doing it for me, but having him on my team is an absolutely amazing feeling. 

6 miles still hurts, but 3 miles feels like cake, and that's amazing to me.  I have lots of work and many hours to log before I get my 13.1, but those hours are proving to be the cheapest form of therapy available. 

When I run, I get to be alone, and that's a treat for a mom of small kids. Don't get me wrong, I love them to the moon and back, but it's amazing to remember that my body actually is just that, MINE! When I run, I get time with God. Time to pray, time to listen, time to depend fully on Him when I can't go on, but He pulls me through.  I get to feel good about my body and my health.  I get to be amazed at myself for doing what I thought I couldn't. 

I LOVE when my body overcomes my mind. THAT is my favorite part of this kind of training versus Couch to 5k. It's not about avoiding pain by doing little by little. It's about knowing it's going to hurt and doing it anyway.  It's about actually hurting, hearing your brain tell you to stop, thinking you can't move another step, and then proving yourself wrong. There's something so liberating for me in telling my mind to f-off, and I'm positive this new skill will serve me well in other areas...(I miiiiight be an over thinker who needs to just stop.) 

It's about getting all whiny around mile 4, then remembering that I delivered a 9lb 4oz baby with no medication and that hurt WAY worse than running ever will, and finishing the 6 miles as planned. It's about knowing I can do hard things, and do them well. It's about not having the breath to talk, and somehow screaming out at the top of my lungs, hands raised high, "I lay me down. I'm not my own. I belong to You alone," and feeling that truth with every cell in my body.

And yes, part of it is about coming in the door red and drenched in sweat, and having the love of my life tell me that I'm amazing. That's sort of the icing on the cake! It's good to be loved! 

Don't Knock

I hate this post, but I have to do it. I've put it off for long enough. I just went back and made some updates to my introduction, and it became clear that I just need to bite the bullet and type it out. 

We are not adopting.  Not now, anyway. 

Turns out that the state doesn't actually care that Snuggs' tumor is benign.  We've been "invited to reapply" after a year with a clear diagnosis. Best case scenario we can get a "clear diagnosis" in February of 2015. Then, if we maintain that through February of 2016, we can start all over again.  That means that we could conceivably be eligible to receive a child sometime around January 2017. 

In January 2017, Cricket will be almost six, and Buttercup will be a new four.  They are currently 3 and a half and almost 2.  I have no idea what that will be like or what our family situation will look like at that point.  A lot can change in that kind of time, especially with young kids. 

We are not hearing this as a "no," but rather as a "wait." Although, we have agreed that we have no timeline in mind right now, and no idea what our process will look like when the time comes. 

What we know is this: 

God doesn't just "unset" a fire in your heart. We still ache daily for the adoption we were praying so heavily over.  We still have hearts wide open for "the baby God has for is that we don't know yet." 

It still hurts. Conversations about the adoption and the changes the tumor brought still cause tension, tears, and strife. 

As such, we've decided that the door isn't closed, but we just aren't going to knock on it until we feel called to do so, again. 

The only "explanation" I can come up with is that the entire process was an exercise in obedience. God said, "Hey you, love orphans. Go now, and do it." And we looked at each other with wide, terrified eyes, and we obeyed. People thought we were crazy for even considering adoption. Our wild Buttercup meant that I hadn't slept more than 3 hours in about a year when we "made the decision."  But, like I said, God doesn't "unset" a fire in the heart.  

I mean, if we are being real, the whole process started because I was trying to find a way to grow a love for the homeless in our community, and guide my husband to so the same.  I was going in ready to stir in the soup kitchen, and came out ready to file adoption paperwork. That's pretty crazy, really. But we felt called, and we obeyed. 

Also, in the name of full disclosure, let me tell you that I am working to resolve some serious bitterness in my heart about this whole mess. In a sentence, it is this: "He wears Kevlar every day because he could be shot at any given second, and they won't let us love a baby because he has a benign tumor." 

It makes me mad. It doesn't seem right, just, or good. I hate it. I hate a system that says that this health "problem" (which, for the record, his health has been vastly improved by finding and treating it) is spelled t.u.m.o.r. and that raises a red flag in a state system, and that red flag puts up a two year pause, and that two year pause means that some little one is not receiving the love that we were so ready to give.

And, in the name of full disclosure, "I'm working on it," means that I'm praying for God to soften my heart towards a mess of injustices, because a hard heart won't do anyone any good. 

That is all. Man, it sucks. 

One Small Step

I remember it like it was yesterday. This time last year I read an online newspaper article about a local family whose daughter had Prader Willi Syndrome.  "Hmm," I thought, "never heard of it, but that sounds tricky...I bet that's hard for her parents. I wonder if she can understand what she's dealing with at such a young age. That name sounds familiar. Hmm." Although I thought about that article and that family off and on for several months, it wasn't in any sort of deep way. More like, "Wait, is it Prader Willi or Willi Prader? Maybe it was named after a guy name William." And "Lillian, that's a name I considered for my future kids when I was younger. I wonder if they call her Lily." 

They do call her Lily. Here's how I know: 

I came home every Friday for weeks telling Snuggs about Sarah and how awesome she was, how much I was enjoying learning from her. I so admired the way she seemed to be leading by example in a way that wasn't at all intimidating. Humility and grace oozed from her as she guided me ever so gently to allow God to push me past my comfort level. I started that Bible study with my own completely different agenda, and through the grace of God, the leading of the Spirit, and Sarah there holding my hand, I came out of it ready to make a radical change for God's kingdom. Granted, that didn't end up the way I thought it would either, but you know what they say about telling God your plans! I'm positive He gets a good  chuckle out of me! 

At the same time, Cricket was coming home daily telling me about Eric. He loved playing with Eric, talking to Eric, eating snack with Eric. And about halfway through the semester I saw Eric and his mom at pickup. His mom was Sarah. "How cool is that! Cricket loves this kid with the awesome, on fire for God momma! Way to pick 'em, son!" 

Through various avenues, we got to know Eric and his mom a little better over the course of the year, growing to like them ever more. They are good people, just really deep down Godly people. The kind you can't help but love. 

I was starting to gather tidbits here and there that had me wondering about Sarah's daughter. Comments in Bible study about challenges at home, comments at preschool pickup about therapy schedules, but I certainly hadn't put it together yet. 

Then it happened, one day I was early for pickup and I couldn't help but grin as I watched a sweet little girl bounce meanderingly down the hallway. She rounded the corner with some sweet giggles, which faded quickly as she saw an unfamiliar face. I saw Sarah coming behind her and was filled with excitement to get to know more of this sweet family. 

They sat on the floor across the hallway, and I realized quickly that this wasn't going to be a traditional get to know you! The little girl was uncertain and hesitant, but the sweetness glowing from her eyes was as thick as the honeysuckle in July. She leaned in to her momma, barely glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I waved and smiled. I strained my ear in an attempt to hear the conversation between mother and child. I only heard enough to catch the girl's name. Lily. 

I didn't put it all together right away. Then I got an email from Sarah regarding something about Bible study, and I realized that her last name sounded strangely familiar. Then, I googled, I mean...what else does a befuddled momma do? Finally, I put it all together. My first thought, "How awesome is our God? That faith, that so true you can see to her core faith. He made Sarah perfectly for that little girl. He placed Lily perfectly in Sarah's care. I guess maybe He knows what He's doing with me as a mom, too, then!" (I was in a pretty rough place with Buttercup at this point.) 

And several months later, here's where we find ourselves:

Over the summer Cricket went to Eric's birthday party and held hands with Lily a large percentage of the time. The party was at a bounce house facility. You know, climbing, jumping, sliding. Not exactly hand holding activities. He may be a little smitten.  He's audibly pondered making her his wife someday...

Snuggs and I stopped by their house briefly a few weeks ago and Lily spoke more words to me than I'd ever heard her say previously. She kindly informed me that she was ready for me to leave, but that Snuggs was going to stay with her. Isn't that ALWAYS the way! ;)

Cricket is in absolute agony that Eric isn't in his class this year. He is coping by creating an artistic rendering of Eric's family farm every. single. day. Three weeks of preschool and counting...  There are variations, "The cows on Eric's farm." "A party at Eric's farm." "The hayride at Eric's farm." 

Lily's family is in the midst of a yearly fundraiser for Prader Willi research.  I suggested to Snuggs that I was feeling called to contribute. We discussed an amount, and I sent him the information. About a week later he informed me that he had doubled our discussed amount, because God is moving in my husband's heart <3

Previously, our only discussion with Cricket regarding Lily's differences was in response to his concern that she "Doesn't talk too good." We talked with him about how God creates each of us with different strengths and weaknesses. He remembered that Lily was really good at climbing! (I laughed, remembering Sarah telling me how Lily loves the sensation of falling just like Buttercup!) He went on to note that she is so kind! 

But, after making our donation, we felt that it was important to discuss a bit further with our son. It amazes me that these "difficult" conversations always take the same pattern. I go in confident that it will be easy, that I can handle it. Midway through my second sentence I become stricken with how innocent and inexperienced he is, how he has absolutely no way to conceive of the harsh realities of this world. I become completely terrified about how to prepare him, how to fill him in, how to break it to him that the world isn't all bubbles and twirly slides. Then, he responds with such a beautiful simplicity that I am completely renewed. I realize that I don't have to teach him the whole story today, and that the little part he is ready for is totally manageable. Finally, he concludes the conversation with some solid, completely convincing statement about how he's simply going to do something about it. And my heart just oozes with love for this kid, with his heart of gold, that God gave to ME! 

So, it went like this:

Me: "You remember how you noticed that sometimes it's hard to understand Lily's words? How we talked about how her strengths are different from yours? Well, Lily's body works a little bit differently, and there are some doctors that are working hard to try to help Lily's body and other kids like her. Do you understand?" 

Cricket: "Yeah, momma, I love Lily. She's a great climber. Is she ok?"

Me: "Yeah, buddy. She's ok! But her momma and daddy are asking some of their friends to give some money to the doctors to try to help Lily's body work even better. And Momma and Daddy decided that we did want to help, so we gave some of our money to help the doctors learn more about helping her body." 

Cricket: "Well, I have money to help, too!"

Me: "Yeah, buddy, I wanted to ask you about that...

And he ended up emptying his "Give" jar, which had 13 weeks worth of earnings in it. 

Cricket: "I wanna give it ALL to Lily!" 

I'm not sure yet, where this story goes. I don't think we've learned all of the lessons from it yet. 

I know that one year ago, when I read that article, I had no idea how our paths would cross. 

I know that Cricket loves "exceptional" Lily just the same way he loves her "typical" brother, but that in noticing her differences, he is providing us with an opportunity to pave the pathways for how he views differences for the rest of his life. Dear God, that's a terrifyingly huge responsibility. 

I know that we are doing our very best to teach him to love, love, love like Jesus.  That we are making every effort to validate his noticing that differences exist, and to normalize that for him.  

I know that I've been taught about Christian giving, and about not letting the left hand know what the right hand does and such, and I know that the rules are totally different when you are working to raise Godly kids. That somehow, I need to explain the deeds of my right hand to my growing kids behind the back of my left hand...or something like that. 

I took a video of Cricket explaining his $3.90 donation and sent it to Sarah. I don't know if she shared it with Lily. I don't know if that's the right thing, because I'm not in their shoes. I sent it in spite of feeling a bit nervous. But I sent it anyway, because regardless of the ways it could conceivably be misconstrued, I know that God honors a humble heart, and there's not much sweeter than my son dumping out his "Give" jar just because he loves her daughter, and that sweet girl deserves to feel that love!  

Graduation Sunday

This past Sunday marked a time of celebration in our congregation.  The high school graduates of 2014 stood before us as we prayed over them. They led worship, played instruments and sang their hearts out. 

I was completely taken aback. I didn't expect to have an emotional reaction to such a thing, but I was in tears. For the first time in my life, I looked at high school seniors and saw babies, more precisely MY babies. 

Firstly, when did I get so old? 

Secondly, my kids are going to be in this "graduating" position waaaay too soon. I know it. I don't fear it, or dread it, but it just makes me ache. It makes me ache for all of the things I won't remember, things I haven't had the time or foresight to write down. It makes me ache for the things I will remember. For the way his baby knuckles had their own little dimples. For the way she uses a possessive apostrophe when she calls out "MY'S!"

But third, and most significantly, it hit me just how quickly they change from being mostly mine to mostly their own. It is shocking, beautiful, and completely heart wrenching. 

It was the young man in the trio that did me in. He was tall and strong, well on his way to manhood, but his face was still that sweet baby round. Maybe it was because my little guy already loves to sing to his Lord, but when that kid on stage opened his mouth, I was expecting to hear a baby's voice. Squeaky, a little off key, and a bit behind the tempo. But that's, of course,  not what I heard. 

And I was absolutely done for. 

The tears streamed. 

Here was this kid, maybe 18 (close anyway) pouring his heart out and LEADING the congregation in musical worship. If the next 15 go anywhere near the speed of these first three years, that could be my sweet son in about half the blink of an eye. My son, tall and strong. My son, with a man's voice. My son, leading others in worship. My son, my little round faced three year old baby. 

Lord, help me. Help me point them to you every single time. Help me to be fully present. Help me to soak in these moments with full appreciation, and help me to be ready to let them fly. 

Let's Be Honest

I don't know where to go from here. How do I follow the post about my husband's tumor? How do I explain that everything I intended to blog about just a few months ago is completely different now. I've been putting off posting because I feel so stuck. I feel like there are a million things that "need to be addressed" regarding our situation. But I don't have the explanations, the clarity of mind, or even the energy to do so appropriately. 

So, I will leave it at this: 

I am still a Christian LEOW Momma on a budget. Where I go next with this blog is just a shot in the dark. Don't hold your breath.

He's not pregnant.

So, when you start a new blog, the way to get followers is to post regularly and predictably, so I've been told.  I guess it's a good thing I wasn't banking on growing a huge following.  I've been gone for a while, and I'd like to fill you in.

To "make a long story short" I'll summarize the back story by just saying that Snuggs had been having some minor, but curious and concerning health issues that were sort of stacking up over our five years together.  We tried to get answers from our general care provider, but were pretty much shut down.  Our main concerns began with inexplicable weight gain and inability to lose any weight at all, despite significant lifestyle changes.  When he asked for a blood workup to check thyroid and metabolic hormones, our former care provider suggested he download a fitness app onto his smartphone.  Notice, I said former care provider.

After the first visit with our new care provider, Snuggs was sent for blood work.  The results that came back were concerning to our doctor, and she needed some follow up information from additional blood work before she could be certain what was going on.  A few days later she called Snuggs in to go over the results.  Due to some scheduling conflicts, it just didn't work for me to go with him.

When he came home, he set the lab results on the counter and told me that he had to run to the restroom, but would be right back to talk to me about what the doctor had said.  I picked up the papers and started reading through them.  I have absolutely zero medical background, but I have birthed two babies and worked as a birth doula for nearly a dozen families.  So, I was shocked to see lab results that made it look like my husband was pregnant, I'm talking third trimester hormone levels.  The more I read, the more I laughed.  I was puzzled, and half expecting him to come around the corner and tell me when he was due.  I had several really bizarre thoughts running through my head regarding the pending adoption, my "pregnant" husband, and just how strange God's sense of humor is.

When he came back in the room I was chuckling.  It wasn't full on laughter, because I was nervous, but mostly I was expecting him to say something relatively insignificant and strange enough to be a bit comical.  I asked him, "Are you going to tell me you're pregnant?" and he looked at me like I was seventy-five types of stupid.

"No.  I'm not pregnant.  But I'm glad you seem to be taking this well so far.  Come here."

And he stood me in front of him around the corner of our kitchen where Cricket, watching a show on the tablet around the corner wouldn't see me.  (Thankfully Buttercup was napping.)

He put his hands on my shoulders.  And I held my breath, because I could just barely sense something "off" in my steady as stone cop.

"Babe, the doctor is pretty sure I have a brain tumor."

And then

 I

couldn't

breathe.








Well, I could breathe in, but not out.

So I inhaled these short, stuck feeling breaths,

and I buried my head in his chest, and I held on for dear life.

I squeaked the tiniest squeaks as I wrestled to keep the pain contained enough that I wouldn't terrify my son.

And this repeated in my mind over and over:

"GOD, I LOVE HIM.  I NEED HIM.  I NEEEEEEED HIM"

Snuggs said, "Do you want me to finish?"

I shook my head no, and he let me stay buried in his chest a while longer.  Then he pulled me back enough to be able to see my face, looked at me, and said, "She says it's probably benign."

...like that was supposed to bring me some big relief...

I walked out the door to the garage and vomited.

He told me he didn't know what to do.

"You ask the God who made every cell in your body to heal you completely.  You beg Him.  And after you are done with that, you do it again, and again, and again, with everything you have." I said.

Then Snuggs went to the back yard and started "raking leaves," which was really just moving around some stray foliage at the back end of our yard because he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

I got on the phone, immediately.  I called my Christian Momma Mentor and cried, and she prayed with me right there on the phone.  I called my girlfriends.  I told them, through tears, that I had no idea what we were dealing with, but that I knew that every minute without people praying for him was time wasted.  I snorted, and sobbed, and I'm sure I said stupid things that I don't even begin to remember.

And after I had called every single believing friend I have, I went to find my husband, still "raking leaves." And I held him, and I told him it was going to be alright.  I didn't know how, but that it would all be okay, because it just HAD to be okay.

We decided we had to "do something" to get our minds off of the tumor as much as possible.  We knew that otherwise we would just sit around staring at each other and crying while trying to take care of our kids.  We went to the local bounce house fun zone thingy, and had a lot of laughs with our kids.  We were there for a couple of hours, and it was good.

My dad was already scheduled to come that evening because of a meeting we had scheduled regarding the adoption.  Except, instead we went for an MRI of Snuggs' head.

If you've never had or sat in on an MRI, whoa.  They are LOUD.  Even with high intensity earplugs they are LOUD.  We went through the motions and the stuffed my hulking husband into this tiny tube and started looking at his brain.  He was nervous about the procedure, physically uncomfortable, and scared out of his mind about what they would find.  I had no idea that he could see me.  I bowed my head low and prayed.  I asked God for a miracle.  I asked Him to remove the tumor from Snuggs' brain such that when they reviewed the images from the beginning of the MRI compared to the end of the MRI that they would be in disbelief because the tumor had vanished.  I cried.  I looked around at all of the random stupid crap in the room.  I squirmed in my uncomfortable chair.  I cried again.  I prayed some more.  I had NO IDEA he could see me.

He told me afterwards that the only thing that kept him from panicking was that there was a teeny mirror inside and he could just see me from the shoulders up.  I told him, jokingly, that it was a good thing I hadn't been picking my nose.  But I felt regret.  Had I known he could see me I would've been performing for him, sort of.  I would've been doing what I thought he needed.  I would've been looking in his direction consistently, faking a look of peace and confidence, I don't know...NOT doing what I had been doing.  But, I guess the reality of the matter is that in seeing what he did see instead of what I would've performed for him, he got the truth.  The raw, deep love, unmasked emotion, pleading for God to change this for us, and I guess there's got to be beauty in that...somewhere.

We were told that we would hear from our doctor the next morning.

We went home and waited.

We waited.  The minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace.  We prayed.  We called more friends and begged for them to join us in prayer.  Noon came and passed.  We called the office several times and got no answer.  Snuggs WENT TO FREAKING WORK.  He couldn't stand waiting and just sitting around thinking about it, so he left me to do that on my own.  What a butthead.

As office hours approached an end, I called again several times, and again received no answer.

I could've punched the doctor in the face.  I was livid, scared, hurt, protective, out of my ever loving mind.

The next day they called with the report that it was, in fact, just what they thought it would be.

Lots of reading, several appointments, and one neurologist later, we have this to say:

Somehow, having a brain tumor can really be "not that big of a deal."

Of all of the brain tumors to have, this is the one you want.  It's not even an *actual* BRAIN tumor, but rather a pituitary tumor.  Chances are that IF we even need to treat the tumor itself, that will be done with medication.

In the mean time, we are treating the hormone imbalances caused by the tumor, and slowing down the pace of life quite a bit.

The slowing down is partially to compensate for Snuggs' lethargy, but mostly because this sort of thing really makes you re-evaluate and spend time on what actually matters.


For us, right now, Dave Ramsey doesn't actually matter.  What matters is tickle fights, and family walks, and date night, and building awesome train tracks, and reading books with laps full of babies and lots of funny voices, and prayers, and hugs, and lots of goodnight kisses.