A reintroduction!

It's been almost 4 months (!!!!) since I've had a chance to write, and over two years since I've gotten a chance to write about things I used to like to write about (you know, life BTM- before brain tumor).  I've missed writing about fluff...silly parenting anecdotes, personal challenges, and "normal" daily life things.  The last two years have been a trip, to say the least.  It's been a "process."  It's kind of felt like a lot of shoes dropping...every time we'd get back to standing, something would make our knees buckle or fall over altogether.  In the mean time, I took a much necessary hiatus from writing.  While writing is usually the thing that helps me most, rehashing the negative felt counterproductive.  Instead of writing about the past, I needed to learn to live again in the present.  I had to...for myself...for my kids...for any one of us to have happiness, I had to stop looking over my shoulder.  It hasn't been an easy process-little set backs can send me spiraling, but for the most part, we're doing pretty great.  And last week, out of nowhere, the urge to write resurfaced...except I didn't want to rehash any of the crappy stuff.  I wanted to write about life again...parenting struggles, recipes, home decor, weight problems, clothes...you name it!  I can't say I'll never write about the serious again...after all, I can't control life...but I think for a while,  I'll stick to the daily living part ;)

The blog page will be under construction for a little while...I haven't updated my banner since before Ben was born, and since he started preschool last week, I think it needs a new look! See ya soon!!

Weird Dreams and Silver Linings

So I had this dream last night...my in-laws, Kenny and I took the kids to Disney World for a long weekend.  The kids stayed with Kenny's parent's in their room, and he and I got up before the sun to go to the park early.  We rode the monorail, and I remember looking at the empty pools, lake sides, and benches around the seemingly deserted resorts.  When we arrived at the park, it was apparent it was going to start raining soon.  I remember thinking we should have brought ponchos, because we were only getting to be there for a couple of days, so rain wasn't going to keep us from the magic of Disney World.  Then, the sunrise got dark.  The wind picked up.  I overheard a park worker saying that since the sky was so dark they were going to have fireworks.  Making lemonade out of lemons, I suppose.  The fireworks began and I started taking pictures, thinking I would show the kids when they got to the park.  Just then my in-laws arrived.  The kids were still asleep with Aunt Alyssa, and I thought, oh good, they're getting some extra sleep so they can have energy to last the day at the park! It was around this time that I woke up.

Anyone who knows me, personally, knows we've had a crazy year so far.  Almost two years after being diagnosed, it finally sank in that Kenny's brain tumor isn't something that's going to go away.  Being so focused on surgery, recovery, and the aftermath, we never let ourselves get too far ahead.  This last MRI, while still terrific, gave us a heavy dose of reality.  The radiologist thought she might have seen ("thought" and "might" being the operative words), some subtle growth (the neurologist, however, says he compared MRI's as far back as December of 2012, and he sees no change...I believe the word he used of the radiologist's report was "dubious").  He said to us, as nonchalantly as though he were telling us it might rain today, that it's always a possibility, with there still being 10% of the tumor being left in, that it will continue to grow.  It's not cancerous, and would need to grow a lot more for it to cause any more problems.  That's why we do the MRI's. In his words "We might have to deal with again sometime in the future, but that time is not now."  Those are all things they've told us all along...just things we never let ourselves think about.  A few hours, a serious conversation, and a couple of drinks later,  Kenny and I digested this information and realized we still got it good.  He's still healthy.  It's still not really growing.  And this thing isn't going to be the thing that takes him when he's 95 and sipping ensure out of a whisky tumbler.

We had a lot of hopes pinned onto 2014.  The smallest (and biggest) of all, would be for it to be a quiet one.  Well we know how these things go...we don't get a choice if/when things happen.  It's been a doozy so far.  Aside from the above, it's been a whirlwind.  It's no shock that, after years of resisting doing so, I finally caved and started taking anxiety meds.  Best.Decision.Ever.  While it would have been lovely to "power through" (yet again), it was seriously shaking my ability to function properly.  Hand wringing, pacing, obsessively checking myself for lumps, bumps, and skin lesions, I knew it was time.  I still have moments...our plate is a little full at the moment, but overall, I'm able to think much more clearly.  I'm able to feel confident that the people we love are in good hands, and will be okay.  I'm able to get up each day and keep my kids' lives intact.  I can't say it will always be that way, but every day that I can do that feels like a big check mark in the "win" column for me.

Which brings me back to my dream.  One of the side effects of the medicine is "weird" dreams.  What I'm finding, however, is that my dreams are much more indicative of how I'm feeling.  A few nights ago, I dreamt I had a "knock down, drag out" fight with an old friend who disappeared after my kids were born.  Never even reached out when she knew everything was going on with Kenny, or when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I've been mad about it for years.  While the fight will never happen in real life, I did get some bizarre closure by having it out in my REM cycle.  And last night...I think that my dreams were saying that even my subconscious can see a silver lining.  That my kids are young enough to not totally understand what's going on, that Kenny and I are in this together, and that sometimes life gets dark and cloudy, but you can still see some beautiful fireworks.

Random Bummer of the Day

I know I've mentioned once or twice (or a MILLION times) that my favorite movie ever is Just One of the Guys.  I love, and I mean LOVE LOVE LOVE that movie.  I've always loved the fashion in the movie, even when it wasn't cool (so say, 1990 until last year).  It dawned on me today that the clothes in the movie could certainly pass for cool outfits today (side note: am I totally dating myself by saying the words "cool outfit?").  There is this one scene where the main character (Terry) wears this amazing white leather outfit...I was nuts about from the first time I saw it.  It was so girly, and when I was little, had this "wow" factor I couldn't explain.  Of course, by the time I was actually old enough to wear such an outfit, I would have been laughed out of my baggy Jenko jean, Simple/Van sneaker wearing high school.  Not to mention I was super overweight so I would probably have looked like a stuffed sausage, but that's neither here nor there.  And now...now that its 2014 and pretty much ANYthing goes fashion wise...I'm too old and too flabby (post two pregnancies) to pull off this adorable getup.  There you have it- my random bummer of the day.  ::Sigh::

Hello, 2014!

New Year's Eve was no different than any other night in our house.  We didn't put on hats or blow horns.  We didn't stay up late or watch the ball drop.  But whether or not we acknowledged it, while we were off in dream land, 11:59 pm became 12:00 am, and 2013 handed her torch to a newborn 2014.  We might sound like New Years scrooges to some people.  I mean, isn't it always fun to stay up late, sip champagne (or apple cider) and dress up?  Well, yeah, it is; and many other years I've done just that, but this year just felt different.

The end of 2012 was a cathartic and symbolic experience.  Kenny was a couple of months post op from his neurosurgery, we'd just moved home from his parent's house a few weeks before, and exhausted from the year we'd had, we still had no clue what the year to come had in store.  Those first months of 2013 were hard.  Really hard.  They are a blur of worry to me.  By Spring we were coming out of the fog and packing our bags for Disney World.  When I say that week was just what the doctor ordered, it's an understatement (in fact, Kenny's neurologist at Sloan told him to go ahead and get scared and sick on throw up rides!).  As hokey as it sounds, that place really is magical.  One week recharged us.  It reminded us how to laugh, how to enjoy watching our kids play, and that life needed begin moving forward again.  Not long after we got home, we made the HUGE (if not insanely impulsive) decision to put our house on the market.  

Two and a half months of scrubbing, vacuuming, and running around like a loon, and the house we'd spent 6 years calling home officially belonged to someone else.  We'd spent most of that time looking at homes up in Cranford- about 20 minutes away.  We scoured high and low, and found nothing that felt like home to us.  Giving our area one more chance, we found our house.  We visited it two days in a row, and bid on day 3.  While it's only been 3 months, it feels like a lifetime ago.  Our new house still has a lot of work to be done, but it feels like it's ours even without it.  It was vacant for a year before we bought it (it was damaged during Sandy, and was fixed by a "flipper"), and sometimes I like to think it was just waiting for us to stroll through it's doors.  The neighborhood is better than we could have imagined.  Little things we didn't appreciate when we bought the house- like that it's a decent sized development, but there's only one street that enters/exits (and we are all the way in the very quiet back end).  We had no way of knowing that we'd be literally surrounded by homes filled with kids the same ages as our kids, or that there is an HOA that hosts all sorts of family parties throughout the year.

 I'll be honest- I've had a lot of "I miss our old house" moments.  We'd spent so much time, money and effort into updating that house and making it our own.  I still miss the open kitchen, the fireplace, and little nuances that made it home- like the water stain on the kitchen island.  I spent hours of my life trying to scrub out that damn circle, and when I finally accepted defeat, it became one of those little things that made our house our home.  I realize it's going to take time for things like that to happen in a new space...places don't feel like home overnight, or sometimes even in a few months.  But on a spring like winter day a few weeks ago, when my kids got to ride bikes around the neighborhood and got to play with the neighbors on their "playground" in the back yard, all without having to set foot in the car, I knew we'd made the right decision.  With every ding in the wall my kids make with their scooter, or with every new memory we make, the house will feel like home.  So on New Year's eve, after having "a year"- it seemed only fitting that we got one of the best nights of rest we'd probably had in all of 2013.  Our kids were both asleep by 7:30.  I'm pretty sure we were both out by 9:30, and I woke up at 11:53.  I thought about turning on the TV to watch the world ring in 2014- but knowing my kids were snuggled up tight and the husband was resting well next to me was all the celebration I needed.  So instead I rolled over and woke up in a new year.

 I have no clue what the year will bring, but unlike previous years, I'm making no attempts at guessing.  My only goals for the year are balance and acceptance.  Acceptance of who I am, what my limits are, and what my relationships are.  I'm never going to change anyone else, I can only change myself or who I surround myself with.  To accept that, some days, I'm not going to be a perfect mom, or even a great one; but that some days I'm going to be tired, and Tangled will be on "replay," and some days I will throw a cheeseburger at them instead of making them an assortment of lean meat and vegetables.  To accept that some people are just not going to like me, but that is no reason to not be who I am- pretending otherwise hasn't made them like me any more or less.   I want my life to feel balanced.  I have a tendency to throw myself full throttle into one direction; but this year I'd love to make sure I make time for everything...a little bit of work, a little bit of play, some time for the things I enjoy (like writing and exercising), to see friends that I miss terribly, and for the hubs and I to catch up.  Not very exciting as far as resolutions go, but if you ask me, I've had plenty of excitement to go around.  I'm ready for some zen.  Happy New Year!  I hope everyone achieves whatever their hearts desire in 2014.

Day 365

A day that used to feel so far off has arrived.  Day 365.  The Earth has orbited the sun one more time, and while a lot has changed, a lot has stayed the same.

Newborn photo session,  2 hours before the seizure on 8/2

A year ago yesterday, I woke up and had a blissful morning.  I still look back at those first 8.5 days of Ben's life as the most blissful week I'd ever experienced.  He was a terrific little monkey...eating and sleeping- no muss, no fuss.  Cam was starting to warm up to her little brother, and basked in her new found title of "big sister."  Of course, I don't need to rehash what happened later that day. There were so many unknowns that first night, so many terrifying "what ifs."  Looking back on that day, and the subsequent months, it feels like I'm outside looking in- kind of like watching a Lifetime movie.  Very surreal to say the least.

August 2/3- middle of the night- took this to show Kenny at the hospital

A year ago today, I woke up in the same house, but a different life. For the short term, that meant living with Kenny's family to help with the kids (10 days postpartum in this situation was just an added stressor), and learning a new vocabulary.  In the long term, it meant learning to accept the fact that things weren't going to go back to the way they were. At first, I felt so desperate to go back in time; feeling that weighed down for the rest of my life felt like a prison sentence.  For months post op, I would ask Kenny constantly if he felt okay, if he got enough sleep, if he remembered to take his medicine, etc.  But somehow, over time, I grew more comfortable.  I'm not sure if that is the right word, but these days the only thing I ask is if he's remembered his medicine in situations where he might forget (like if he goes out after work).

August 3, reunited with the babies 

This morning I woke up in the same house I did a year ago.  Ben isn't a little newbie anymore.  He's a walking, talking little boy.  He screams when I change his diaper (because it requires being still for 35 seconds), he plays peek-a-boo with himself and anyone else who'll join in, he says "uh oh" when he purposely drops his food on the floor for the dog, he says "bye bye" and blows kisses when you leave, and smiles with pride whenever he accomplishes something (even if its something you don't want, like climbing 2-3 stairs before you can get to him).  I spend a lot of my day saying "no no!" and redirecting him...over and over and over again.  Just like any of my other mom friends would be doing.  Like the first 3 months of his life weren't a total blur of everything that starts with the word "neuro."  In some respects, I feel great that things are mostly so normal.  In others, I feel a lot of guilt that Ben's first year was spent trying to get there.  It took me a long time to get back on track after we moved home.  In hindsight, I wasn't ready to be on my own just yet; but feeling clouded by everything that had happened, I think I just didn't have the tools to communicate that.  In the end, though- or in the "year after"- we count ourselves lucky.  It could have been worse. A lot worse.

Night before surgery, post pre-op MRI

As for Kenny, he's doing GREAT.  It's been 10 months to the day since surgery, and you'd never know it other than the scar that remains.  His last two MRI's came back clean (other than the little bit of tumor they had to leave in), and since it's now been a year since his first and only grand mal seizure (knock wood!), he can resume driving- a freedom he's missed very much.  We have put our house on the market; AND are in attorney review on the home we hope to raise our kids in.  A year ago I would have told you we were contemplating a ranch- since stairs + seizures usually don't go hand in hand.  But with a year free, we kind of went full throttle in the opposite direction- the house we are buying not only has stairs...it's a split level...with 5 levels.  As my therapist says, "Feel the fear, and do it anyway."  It's not easy for me to do that, but when I repeat that to myself and take a deep breath, I can usually switch gears from fearful to hopeful.

It's been a crazy journey, this year.  I have to say, one of the weirdest things about it, is that when I look at my kids, I realize that they have no clue what went on.  I have the distinct memories of running to the phone to call 911, in what felt like slow motion.  I remember the look on Kenny's face when he came out of the seizure.  The look on his parents' faces when the doctor first uttered the word "tumor."  The beaming smile on the neurosurgeon's face when she emerged from surgery. That horrible feeling in the pit of our stomachs when we realized he couldn't speak for days after the surgery. And the pride on Kenny's face when he was finally able to answer all of the one word questions they asked him for his neuro exams at Sloan.  I'll never forget any of it.  But my kids...they'll never really know.  The irony of it all being that they were our motivation.  When Kenny was in the hospital we constantly showed him pictures and videos of them.  Ben, then only 2 months, started smiling like crazy all of a sudden; like a little ray of sunshine.  Cam soaked in the city life and loved every second. Her infectious giggle keeping us all afloat.

Cam's Thanksgiving celebration at school, 7-8 weeks post op

 Nowadays, my day looks like anyone else's.  Kenny works from home a few days a week, but I generally wrangle the kids Monday through Friday.  He works. I mother.  I feed my kids. I dress my kids. I wrestle with the tantrums. I chase the walker who thinks the steps are his next conquest in life.  I take my daughter to swim lessons, I rock my son to sleep.  I clean my house, I run my errands, I take my kids on play dates. Nothing about anything I do day to day seems out of the norm anymore.  At this time, fingers crossed God willing and knock on wood, you'd never know that a year ago was a horse of a different color.

Ken and I would both like to thank anyone and everyone who were there for us, reached out to us, said a prayer for us, or even just thought of us and wished us well every so often.  Having the support of so many made such an impact, I really can't even express it.  Thank you, thank you, thank you- from the bottom of our hearts, for lifting us up, and helping us get back to being that smiley little family you see below.

Ben's 1st birthday, 7/24/13

These hips don't lie...

When I was in middle school, I started to notice that my previously childlike frame was growing more...buxom.  I seemingly had boobs overnight (I was even accused of stuffing my bra...loudly...in the middle of the cafeteria...ugh), and then I noticed my jeans getting tighter even though my tummy wasn't getting any bigger.  Nope, my hips were starting to show my Italian heritage.  I remember lamenting about it in 8th grade in the locker room one day after gym class.  I looked around at all the other 8th graders who all still seemed to be so...narrow.  Me = hourglass.  Most other girls = rulers.  A classmate of mine told me I had a fabulous figure (if you know who you are, and you remember this conversation, my almost 32 year old self now appreciates the comment even if 12 year old me didn't).  I don't think I realized until that moment that I had a figure.  I was 12 or 13. I still had braces.  I still would rather do almost anything than make out with a boy. Don't get me wrong, I liked boys (a lot of boys- you might even say I was "boy crazy"), but I had zero interest in doing anything other than holding hands (I may or may not have gotten dumped a few times over my "prudish" ways- I gotta say, I regret nothing).  

Over the years, I've struggled with my weight.  I got depressed in high school and put on a lot of weight. I fell in love my senior year (with my now husband) and lost a ton.  I gained back some in college when we spent 5 nights a week drinking and ordering fried chicken and pizza.  I've fluctuated all over the place through the years.  One thing has always remained, whether I was a size 2 or a size 12- and that's those big hips.  When I was younger I had no appreciation for them.  I saw nothing sexy about them.  I banged (and still bang) them into corners almost constantly. For one thing, it's hard to dress them; especially nowadays when my upper body is SO teeny tiny (I'm now a pear shape, I suppose- with a super tiny upper body and those same big hips with a little bit of mommy belly thrown in).  I can never find pants that fit exactly right on those hips without a gap the size of Texas on the back side.  

Then yesterday, as I balanced a full laundry basket on one hip and my 20+ lb son on the other, I realized these hips are damn useful.  Not only am I able to balance lots of extra weight on them when I'm doing a million things around the house, having such big hips helped allow for really quick, uncomplicated childbirths.  My Cami girl was a 6.5 hour labor, 3 pushes; and, well, Benny flew into the world after a 2.5 hour labor and one push (I'm not even really sure you could say that I pushed...is it called pushing when they are pretty damn adamant about joining the world that fast??).  And the pants? Well, when I DO find pairs that fit correctly, those hips fill 'em out pretty nice.  I'm not sure if Cami girl will inherit these Italian hips of mine, but if she does, I hope she can come to appreciate them the way that I have as an adult.  And...to the girl who mentioned my figure in middle school- thanks again :)

I'm not so broken, after all.

So, there's this pile of pants that had been sitting in our bedroom closet since the beginning of July.  They were my "iron pile" of Kenny's work pants that I'd been meaning to get to- but at the end of my pregnancy, putting on flip flops felt like an Olympic event, so on my feet ironing for even 10 minutes wasn't happening.  I had planned to iron them many times...before Kenny went back to work from paternity leave (we all know what happened next), then maybe one of the days when I wasn't living here I thought I'd just do it, or maybe before he returned to work after the brain surgery...but I just didn't.  I couldn't.  That damn pile of pants was the weirdest of small hurdles for me.  They stared at me from my closet for months.  The last shred of things I was supposed to do before everything started.  One day, last week- on my second cup of coffee when I have my ultimate energy buzz- I finally did it.  I couldn't stand the thought of peering into that closet one more night before bed and seeing that pile of pants.  I dropped Cam off at school, grabbed the ironing board and the pile, and quickly zoomed through the 7 or so pairs.  As soon as I was done, I carried them right upstairs and placed them in the closet with the rest of his clothes, where they belonged.  I know it sounds stupid (and if not stupid, definitely odd) that it was so hard for me to finally iron those pants- and I honestly have no clue exactly why it was - but I was so excited it was done that I texted my best friend about it.  Yes...I texted her that I ironed pants.  That sounds boring even to me, but it felt great.

I thought about blogging about it immediately when it was done.  But not really knowing the relevance of the unironed pants, it pretty much seemed like I was going to blog about my wifely to do list.  Not exactly riveting- not to mention, I really had it in my head that I was done (at least for now) blogging about my tough times. I wanted to go back to fluff.  I wanted to write about getting in shape and my cute kids and leave the tough stuff at the back door.  Then yesterday, at the gym, I was in the middle of a serious workout, and a song came on my iPod that I've been avoiding for months.  I was obsessed with it at the end of my pregnancy, and it reminds me of this amazingly perfect day we had at the beach about 36 hours before Ben was born.  It was seriously a perfect day.  80 degrees at the beach, family (and extended family), happy toddler playing in the sand, long stroll along the water with the husband, little man wiggling in my tummy- movie quality beach day.  It was the perfect send off to our trio becoming a quad.  During the whole ordeal, I often thought of that day, and wished if I could be anywhere in my life, it'd be that day.  Hearing the start of that song in my iPod usually triggers a "stabbing in the heart" effect, which is usually what prompts me to quickly change the song...but yesterday, on the rowing machine (at full resistance, thank you very much), I didn't change it.  I thought of that day and it didn't hurt (as much).  And then I realized, I'm not as irretrievably broken as I thought.  

I'll back up.  I know I mentioned that I was having a hard time.  But seriously, I was having a hard time.  I felt sad (like cry in the car every time I'm alone sad), and anxious, and was only compounded by me feeling terrible that I couldn't feel happy that everything (at least mostly) turned out okay.  I felt like I was a broken person.  I tried to cut myself slack, it'd only been a few months and I was still adjusting to everything and processing everything that had happened (because when you're in it, you certainly can't process it), but it felt endless.  But then the pants...and then the song...and then I realized I haven't cried in almost two weeks.  I realized I was feeling better...still cautious...still nervous...but better.  I'm healing (YAY!).  It might be slower than I'd like, but considering that 6 weeks ago I felt like a broken person who might never feel totally happy again, the epiphany gave me boat loads of hope.  If I could give myself a big fat hug, I would. 

And back to that workout (it hurts so good, today!)...it's part of a personal challenge to get healthy and look/feel well by my birthday.  I didn't really publicize it- not because I don't intend to follow through, but for some reason it feels intensely personal this time.  I'm not doing it because I have a major milestone or because I have a dress I want to look good in (like last time), but because I just want to feel my best.  I'm on a mission to be the best me I can be.  One thing I realized through this process was that I sacrificed a lot of who I am over the years- for a lot of reasons, but mostly, because I felt ashamed.  I can't say why. I just did.  I didn't like myself, and I assumed no one else liked me either.  By my mid-twenties, I think I was a pretty well balanced version of myself...some of the quirk without all the drama (and more selective of my friends).  I wasn't "all the way" there though.  I still felt embarrassed about some parts of myself...like the fact that even though I was pretty good at my job and I did like it, most of my talents and passions were creative.  Growing up I'd wanted to act, but wanted so much to be "like everyone else" and lacking the confidence to just be myself, I never went for it.  It's true...you regret more what you didn't do than what you did.  I regret that I never even tried.  Now, at 31, that ship has sailed, but I'm done being embarrassed of who I am.  I figure to be the best role model for my kids, I need to be the best Megan first.  It's not going to be a "thing" that I write about every week, but I'm sure I'll mention it sometimes.  In the mean time, I hope to keep the healing coming.  Wish us luck!