Grandpa Paulson

Fifteen years ago today my grandpa Paulson passed away quite suddenly. He died in a hospital room, early in the morning, in Regions Hospital in St. Paul because his heart failed him at the age of 72. The day before he was at home and wasn't feeling well. An ambulance was called, then a helicopter and he was flown about 60 miles to the Twin Cities. Surgery was performed that night, and he lived through that, which the surgeons weren't even sure that he would.  His loved ones gathered at the hospital and then he left us to go to Heaven. We were all a bit shell-shocked and he was mourned by so many.

It was 1997 and I had graduated college just a few months before. My sister, Laurie, and I were living in a tiny one-bedroom efficiency apartment in St. Paul. I was working part-time retail, looking my first full-time job, and my sister was in her last year of college at the U of M. The day that Grandpa was flown to the Twin Cities our mom called us late in the afternoon to tell us what was going on. She said the family was gathering at the hospital. We discussed about going since the hospital was only a few miles from where we lived, but Laurie said she did not want to see Grandpa unconscious, hooked up to machines, lying in a hospital bed. It was the complete opposite of everything about his personality - talkative, jovial, a booming bass voice. So instead we went out for dinner at the Green Mill where we solemnly ate. It would be years before I would eat again at the Green Mill because thinking about that night would make me feel so sad for so long.

The next morning I was up early for my shift at Pier 1 Imports. Laurie was up, getting ready for a class. It was pouring rain outside. It was before 8:00 and the phone rang in our apartment and I knew right away. Grandpa had died. Why else would anyone else call so early? Laurie answered the phone and all she said was, "He did?" and both of us started bawling immediately. She hung up and she didn't even have to tell me. It was too early for me to call into work, since I was meeting my manager at the store to open. So, I had to drive to the store, where I waited in the parking lot for her to come and unlock the door. I met her at the front door (still pouring rain) and she unlocked the door. I wasn't even all the way in the door yet when I burst out bawling, "My grandpa died this morning." She actually made me stay at the store until someone could come in to replace me on the day shift. I was only out on the sales floor for a few minutes before my replacement showed up. Which was a good thing because I couldn't hold it together for more than a few minutes at a time.

I drove back to Clear Lake that day by myself. I think Laurie had a class she had to go to, so we didn't drive back together. I remember stopping for gas and crying the whole time I stood at the pump. I got to Mom and Dad's house and no one was home. They weren't home from the hospital yet. I turned on the TV and wouldn't you know, it was the day of Princess Diana's funeral. Coverage of her death was all that was on TV. I couldn't escape death that day. That was also the same day Mother Theresa died.

A couple of days later we had his visitation and then the next day the funeral. It was estimated that between the two, around 900 people came to say goodbye to Grandpa. Both places were PACKED. Grandpa worked at a small-town post office for years so he knew a lot of people. He had also lived in the same area his entire life, raised 9 kids in the school system where he grew up, and supported High School athletics for years and years. He knew EVERYONE. And when Grandpa was around, you knew he was there - he made his presence known. He was no wallflower, that's for sure!

One of my favorite things about my childhood was that I attended the same church as Grandpa and Grandma Paulson. We usually sat in the pew behind my grandparents, right up in the front (about row 4) on the right side. Grandpa had a very deep voice and when he sang, it rang out nice and low. I loved hearing my grandpa sing. But he never sang up front or in the church choir. Except once. Toward the end of his life, our pastor, Ed Schupbach, talked him into singing a song at church in a quartet. During his funeral as the family came into the church, it was played over the sound system. He was the bass in the quartet. :)

Grandpa also had a head of thick, white hair. He was very easy to find in a crowd. His trademark wardrobe item was a cardigan sweater, never buttoned, just thrown over whatever shirt he was wearing. I never realized how often he wore one until we gathered photos for his funeral. He was wearing a cardigan in almost every one! He had a blue one he wore quite often.

Grandpa LOVED high school sports. He rarely missed a football game, a wrestling match, or a basketball game. He was one of my biggest supporters when I played basketball - he came to my games all the way from Jr. High through my Senior year. One of my favorite stories about Grandpa was when he got kicked out of one of my sister, Michelle's, seventh grade basketball game. Seventh grade! You don't even pay to get into those! One of the refs was a local man and Grandpa was disagreeing with many of his calls. Remember when I said Grandpa had a booming bass voice? That often played into him watching basketball games. He was one of the few people I could hear yelling during my games when I was on the court. He would often sit right behind the scorer's table so he could yell at the ref when they came over to call the foul. One of his favorite lines to yell was, "Shake your head, Stripes! Your eyeballs are stuck!" So anyway, during one of Michelle's games the ref warned him, "Mel, if you don't stop yelling at me, I'm going to ask you to leave." He didn't stop. He was asked to leave. Only Grandpa.

He was one of Clear Lake Wrestling's biggest supporters. He took me to many weekend tournaments before I had my driver's license. I remember once in Somerset it was just the two of us that went and I sat by him the entire day. I didn't get a whole lot of one-on-one time with my Grandpa since he had around 30 grand kids by the time he passed away and he had nine of his own children. (He always joked that one of his favorite Bible passages was in Psalm 127: Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.) But that day I did get one-on-one time with Grandpa and I'll always remember it.

Besides his low, loud voice, and his white hair, and his cardigan sweaters, the most memorable thing about my grandpa was that he always, always, always had a roll of Lifesavers in his pocket. At any moment, on any day, I could ask, "Grandpa can I have a Lifesaver?" and he would always give me one. Peppermint. Always.

The other thing my grandpa loved to eat was cheese. He would sit at the kitchen table and slice cheese with a knife. Grandma and Grandpa always got the cheese that was wrapped in wax. Grandpa would peel away the wax, hold the knife in one hand, slice off a hunk, hold the cheese to the knife with his thumb and then hold out the cheese (still on the knife) to us. Us grand kids were like little vultures around him when the cheese came out.

Grandpa really enjoyed being a grandpa. He would tease a lot and laugh. He never held babies; he said he felt like he would drop them. But once those babies were older, he liked to try and make them laugh.

My very favorite thing about Grandpa Paulson was his faith. It was near torture when I was a little kid, but before EVERY meal at his house, we would all sit at the table and Grandpa would put on his reading glasses and read the devotional from "Our Daily Bread", as well as the scripture that went along with that day's reading. He always had his big Bible (I think it was black) and the little "Our Daily Bread" booklet at the table. When I was small, it was hard to sit still that long...we were constantly getting "sushed" if we tried to talk or whisper. And we had to sit still for 10 whole minutes while Grandpa read and then prayed. But it was a big part of how he ran his household and even though I can't remember one specific devotion or what he read from the Bible, I remember sitting and listening to him read God's word. What a legacy to pass down.

I really miss my Grandpa. It was so jarring to lose someone so full of life because his body failed him. A couple of weeks before he was called Home, we had a 25th anniversary party for my parents with our extended families. It was one of the last conversations I had with Grandpa. We were in my parents' kitchen and he told me two different things. Well, he probably told me a lot of things - he was never at a loss for words...that man could talk anyone's ear off - but I remember two things. One, he told me he was trying to eat smaller portions because his doctor told him he needed to lose weight and he had lost several pounds already. Two, he told me how proud he was of each of his kids and how much he loved each son-in-law and daughter-in-law and how his kids had married well. He really did love his family.

The last time I saw my Grandpa was on Labor Day weekend, just a few days before he died. We had a family get-together at our cabin at the lake. I snapped a photo that day of my grandpa standing behind my grandma, who was seated in a chair, and he's leaning over her shoulder, with a big smile on his face. That's how I remember him best. A loving, robust, fuller-than-life 72-year-old man who loved his family and loved Jesus more than anything else.

I know that Grandpa is loving Heaven, worshipping his Savior with gusto. I long to reunite with him and tell him everything that happened after he left us. I know he would've loved my husband - he would've gotten a big kick out of Chip. And I know he would've loved a lot of my cousin's spouses. He never saw one grandchild get married. He knew only one great-grandchild - Jordan. He now has, I don't know, around 25 or more. I was the only grandchild he saw graduate from college. Many more have achieved that since 1997. And he had one grandchild he never met - Lucas (who just started 2nd grade this week). If Lucas would've been a girl, he would've been named Melanie and been called Mel for short (to be named after Grandpa - because you can't name a girl Melvin). I consider myself very blessed to be 38 and still have three grandparents living. But I sure do miss the one that I lost.

I love and miss you, Grandpa. I can't believe you've been gone for 15 years. We all miss you.

With my grandparents at my college graduation ceremony - May 1997. Four months before Grandpa Paulson went to Heaven. I love that he wore a suit for my special day. :)

8 years of joy

Eight years ago today my life changed when I became an auntie for the first time. Today is Noah's eighth birthday!

Bowling!

I've always felt a special bond with Noah since he was just a tiny baby. Part of it may be that he's the one who made me an auntie. But I think a bigger part of it is that he's the oldest, like me, and I know and understand that role in a family.

At the cabin together

Noah, you are growing into such a kind and funny kid. You have a sense of humor like I do and will laugh at the TV all the time. You don't hold back that joy! I know your mom gets a kick out of it when she knows you're watching TV in an empty room and you're just giggling away.

Awwwww, yeah! Catching air on our vacation to South Dakota.

You are also one of the most affectionate kids I've ever known. You are very generous with the words, "I love you," and you say it often to your family members. You also use it as a way to smooth things over. You know when an adult is getting upset or frustrated so you will declare their love for them in an effort to lift their spirits. You also LOVE to give hugs and will give those freely at all times.

One of my ring bearers!

You are an excellent big brother in that you are trustworthy and responsible and like to play with your brothers and sister. You have a lot of traits that are common to the oldest - responsible, you follow the rules, you want to know that plan. These are all things I can relate to as well, buddy!

Enjoying ice cream at the lake

It has been a joy to watch you grow and learn new things and develop skills in so many areas. You are really good at just about anything you try and you do REALLY well in school. Math and reading are a breeze for your smart little brain. We are all excited to see where your potential brings you over your lifetime. Be kind to others, listen to your parents, and love Jesus and you will go places, Noah!

My special buddy

Your auntie Melis sure does love you! Happy Birthday, kiddo!

Olivia

Tap, tap, tap. Is thing on? Is anybody still out there? I took an unplanned hiatus from blogging - I just didn't feel like it since April. But now I come roaring back because I MUST write a blog dedicated to the firecracker of our family - my niece, Olivia!

Just a few days old -  chillin' at her house

Livvy, you are three years old today! How wonderful! You are at such a fun stage right now. You have so many things to tell me that require my immediate attention. You often come running up to me immediately when you see me to tell me some very important news like you got a new pair of shoes, or that you are playing Power Rangers, or that one of your brothers got a time out for hitting another brother. You like to share information so much that you'll even share information with someone, just for the sake of sharing information! Example: last week I was at your house and my shoes were by the door. Your brothers had a neighborhood friend over to play. When their friend's dad came to get him, you greeted him at the front door and stood there for a couple of minutes and then picked up my shoes and thrust them toward this stranger and said, "These are my auntie's SHOES!" He was not impressed. But you were excited to share this with him! I just burst out laughing.

Your favorite face to make. You call this "finger face."

You are also in the "remember" phase. You often like to ask me if I remember things that just happened a couple of days ago. It's your way of processing what's going on around you as you begin to grasp the concept of time. You will say things like, "Remember when I pet Roscoe and he said, 'Meow! Meow!'?" You also "remember" things from several months ago, but I think you remember us talking about it more than the actual event. A few months ago you were standing by me and I accidentally scratched you on your nose a little bit with my ring. You have often said since then, "Remember when you scratched me with your ring on my nose?" But I doubt you actually remember that happening - you just like to talk about it. Same with my wedding day. Every time your mom drives by the church you like to point out that that's where I got married and you sprinkled flowers. But I doubt you actually remember that day since you had just turned 2.

At the roller rink!

You are also in the "watch me" phase. You are constantly telling me to watch you do something. You will say, "Hey Melissa, watch my trick." And then you'll proceed to run in circles. Or do a somersault. Or run and jump off  the couch. I either praise you or tell you that's not allowed. :)

Eating ice cream on the deck at Grandma and Grandpa's cabin

You are also developing an imagination. Last week we sat together in a chair and it was the first time I ever played Barbies with you. Our Barbies sang and danced, and then needed to sit down to rest. They also were driving pretend cars. Basically I would do and say something with my Barbie and you would repeat it. But you really like to pretend things. Sometimes you're a singer, sometimes you're a ninja guy, sometimes you're a dancer.

There was face painting at your brothers' birthday party. Out of all of the things to choose from, you insisted on a shark

One of your favorite things to do right now is to sing. "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" are two of your favorites. "Wheels on the Bus," "Happy Birthday," "Jingle Bells," and "He's Got the Whole World In His Hands" are also part of your repertoire when you get on a singing streak. You also like to make up a lot of your own songs. And, you are a big fan of the Beach Boys.

Wearing Uncle Chip's hat at your brothers' baseball game

Olivia, I can't tell you how many times I have said to your mom, "I am so glad you had her." You totally round out your family and complete the LaBlanc six. You hold your own with your brothers. Even though they are getting bigger, you are too. So many times you can push them away or slug them when they are smothering you with attention and are up in your personal space. They constantly hover around you and sometimes you reach your limit. Often times I encourage you to tackle them and sit on them. You aren't really hurting them because you're too small, but you're holding your own. :)

I sure do love you, you little punky pistol!

My Grandma Aune

Recently we celebrated my Grandma Aune's 80th birthday. She is my mom's mom and she's been a big part of my life. She was born in a farmhouse in North Dakota and she has a twin sister. My grandma was born second, so no one knew she existed until her sister had been born and then her mother was told there was one more in there! Surprise! (I think that's the way the story goes...if not, I'm sure I'll be corrected.)

I grew up just a few miles from my grandma. So when I was a kid, we went over to her house pretty much every Saturday. Her home was my second home. And even though I spent a lot of time there, there were always special things about her house that fascinated me. One was that she had a big coffee can full of marbles. I loved those marbles. We really didn't do anything with them, other than take them out and look at them. We may have rolled them around a bit, but we never played any games with them. I of course had a few favorite marbles that I always look through first, digging through the can, and putting them in a group over to the side.

The other space in her house that I loved was her and Grandpa's dresser. There was one drawer that I was allowed to occasionally explore. It had various trinkets and treasures, but my favorite item in there was a hairbrush shaped like a guitar. Plus, that dresser had a certain smell...cedar, I think.

One of my favorite things about my grandma is that she always liked to play with us. I remember many games of "pick up sticks" on her kitchen floor with her. She always kept me very honest while playing and would call me out if I moved a stick while trying to remove one from the pile. I got pretty good at that game. She also taught me how to play Chinese Checkers. We played a lot of games of that. Now we currently play dominoes at many family gatherings. She dominates at dominoes. :)

Grandma has always had a heart for kids. She has volunteered for years and years teaching little ones Sunday School at her church. And she LOVES babies...especially her grand-kids and great grand-kids. If there's a baby in the room, chances are that it's in Grandma's arms. When they get a bit older, she will hold them and bounce them and make cooing noises to get them to smile. She loves those babies, indeed.

My grandma has always been a big support to me throughout my life and has been there for many major milestones & events - high school basketball games (she LOVES basketball and still goes to local high school games), my high school graduation, band concerts, my college Christmas concert, college graduation, many birthdays (she still celebrates with me every year, even though I'm pushing 40), my wedding showers, and of course my wedding, sitting front and center.

One of my other favorite things about my grandma is her sense of humor. My sisters and I just love it when she starts to laugh really hard and she can hardly talk or breath. She laughs so hard she cries. And we all laugh that she is laughing so hard. It quickly turns into a vicious cycle. It's one of my favorite things.

I grew up loving staying over night at my grandma's house. My grandma is a very "put together" lady. She always looks nice. So it was always a bit jarring to see her in the morning before she had put her makeup on, standing in the kitchen in her housecoat. I loved when she would make me eggs for breakfast. She fries a really good egg. I call them "Grandma eggs." She likes when I stay over even now, as an adult. The last time I spent the night, I asked her to show me how she makes her fried eggs. I know now the secret that makes them taste SO GOOD! In fact I made one at my mom's one weekend and my sister saw it and said, "That looks like an egg made by Grandma!" Success. :)

My grandma has given me some very meaningful gifts over the years. You know, the kind of stuff you would grab first in the event of a house fire. When I turned 12, she gave me a bracelet that my grandpa gave her right before they got married. A couple of years ago she gave me a small glass doll that she got from HER grandmother on her fourth birthday (1936!) It's wearing a small cloth diaper and its arms and legs move. It's very fragile. I can't believe she still had it to give it away. It sits in a small wooden cradle she found, on my dresser. And most recently she gave me a soft-cover Red Riding Hood book that she got from her elementary school teacher. That's tucked away in a safe place so the light doesn't damage it.

I am MORE than thankful that I have had my grandma in my life for so long, and that we've shared so many memories together. I'm grateful for our relationship and bond. It will never be replaced!

When ninjas attack!

Have I ever told you about the time I was caught in the middle of a ninja attack? No? Oh, well, let me tell you. You see, a few months ago I was walking down the street, doing some Christmas shopping, shopping bags in both hands. I was walking down the sidewalk of an outdoor shopping center, humming along to the Christmas music being piped up and down the street, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a ninja jumped down from an overhang over the door of GAP and landed silently right in front of me. I gasped in surprise...because ninjas are nothing if not surprising. But even with his mask on, I could tell his eyes were fixed on something behind me. So I spun around. Sure enough, another ninja had landed behind me. Suddenly they materialized - six ninjas - all around me. It was three against three and I was caught in the middle. Before I knew it throwing stars were whizzing all around me. Despite my efforts to get out of there by shrieking and running, I was grazed in the shoulder by a throwing star. It slashed right through my winter coat as it whizzed by. Here is the photographic evidence of being caught in the middle of a ninja attack.

Scar from Christmas ninja attack!

Oh, alright. You got me. You're too smart to fool. I wasn't really caught in a ninja attack. My scar is not from being grazed by a throwing star. It's from having skin cancer removed. Not even remotely as interesting as my made up story, but here's the REAL story of my scar.

Quite some time ago (a couple of years ago?) I had a mysterious red spot a little smaller than the size of a dime show up on my shoulder. I didn't ever really hurt. It itched some times, but it never changed shape, size, or color. So I just lived with it. Until I got engaged. I did not want this red circle showing up in all of my photos of me in my wedding dress. So a couple of weeks before the wedding I finally went to the doctor about it to see if I could get some sort of cream or something to make it disappear. The doctor had to scrape some of the skin away to send it to the lab (which made the spot way more red and showed up even MORE in the photos...the opposite of what I was trying to achieve). She didn't know what in the world it was. She gave me a prescription cream and told me if it didn't go away in a couple of weeks I would have to come back in to get a biopsy.

Well, the wedding came and went and our new life started. And that stinkin' little spot didn't change one bit. I kind of put off going back for a biopsy, until I knew that if I waited much longer my doctor was going to yell at me (not really) for not getting back in. So, I finally made an appointment in December. I went in and my doctor kind of took a "punch" of my shoulder, threw whatever she got into a vile, put a couple of stitches in, slapped a band-aid on it and told me she'd let me know what the lab found.

It was a Tuesday night. My husband and I had just left his brother's house after having our weekly pizza night with his family. I was just pulling out of their neighborhood when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number but it had the local area code, so I answered it. It was my doctor. She was calling me from her home. "Melissa, I just got the lab results back from your biopsy. Unfortunately, it is skin cancer. But the good news is that it is basal-cell carcinoma which is the most common form of skin cancer and is easiest to treat." I took a deep breath and said, "Okay, what do we do?" (At this point my husband, although sitting right next to me, had no idea who was on the phone or what we were talking about.) She said, "We have to cut it out of the skin. And once we cut it out, it's gone. It won't come back, it won't spread. Basically if you have to get skin cancer, this is the best kind to get." I told her I had an appointment the next morning for her to take out the couple of stitches from the biopsy. She told me we could do the procedure right there in the clinic, at my current appointment time. I hung up and tried to say to my husband, "That was my doctor. I have skin cancer," without crying. I did not succeed.

When we got home we got on our phones to call our families. I called my sister's house but she wasn't there, so I spoke with my brother-in-law and told him what was going on. He said he would tell her to call me when she got home. When she called me, I assumed that her husband told her what was going on. After I said hello, I said in my very best Eeyore voice I could muster, "I have skin cancer." She yelled, "What?" Then I started giggling. "Jer didn't tell you?" She said, "No! What's going on?" "Oh," I said. "That spot on my shoulder? I found out tonight it's skin cancer." I giggled some more as I said it. "Why are you laughing?" she asked. "I don't know. Because that's how I deal with stuff. I giggle even when I don't know why I'm giggling." She should know by now that it's just a natural reflex for me and I've done it our entire lives. I can't help it. So, just our family and a few close friends that I texted knew what was going on. We just put out a few calls for prayer and kept it mostly to ourselves.

That night I didn't sleep very well. I couldn't stop crying. Not the hysterical, "My life is over," kind of crying. Just frequent, "I'm scared and I don't like this...what's going to happen?" kind of weeping. My poor husband. His wife of three months was having a hard time dealing and he had to lay next to a sniveling, wet mess.

The next morning my husband and I went in to get my skin cancer removed. It was December twenty-first. It took the doctor about an hour to numb me up with some shots, remove three different areas of skin, and stitch me up. There were two not-so-fun moments during the whole ordeal. The first was the four shots I had to get in my shoulder, around the area, to numb me up. Now, needles themselves...never really bothered me. But the ph balance of what she used caused it to really sting as it entered my blood stream. It felt like one really long bee sting. Four times.

The second not-so-fun moment was when she was actually cutting the cancer out with her snipping shears (not a medical term...my term). It was on my shoulder, which means it was next to my ear. It sounded awful. I cringed and told her the sound was disturbing. So to cover up the sound, my doctor started singing a Christmas carol. She better stick to doctoring people because an American Idol she is not.

I ended up getting two layers of stitches. Seven of them up on top. She gave me a prescription for pain meds. I headed to work and my husband headed to the pharmacy for me. That night I got home from work, changed the dressing on my shoulder, changed clothes (nothing I could pull over my head because I had very limited range of motion) and we headed out to have dinner with friends. Dinner went well...I didn't even tell them what happened earlier in the day...and we headed back home. I was bleeding quite a bit so I needed to change the dressing again before I went to bed. And that's when I noticed it. I could see only five stitches and the top of my wound was open. Great. Now what do we do? After a little discussing and being on hold for a long time with the ER, we decided to go into the ER. I knew I wouldn't sleep well with an open wound and I wanted that sucker closed up so the scaring would be a minimum.(Joke was on me!)

After just about an hour in the ER, I was sent home with just butterfly strips over my missing stitches. (They had come out when I had changed the dressing...stuff was sticking to that gauze. Gross.) The ER doc assured me the strips would hold and I didn't need new stitches. I was not a very happy camper at this stage of the game. And it was nearing midnight after a very long day.

Christmas came and went and the only thing I had to worry about was telling people not to touch my left side when they hugged me. Lots of hugging was going on...we saw a lot of family.

One week later I had an appointment to get my stitches (or what was left) out. At this point, the way this was all supposed to go down, was that this cancer would cause me to go to the doctor twice. Once to get it removed, once to get my stitches out. End of story. Except...not. A couple of days before my appointment to get the stitches out, my doctor called. "I have some not so great news. The lab reports came back and they're saying that I didn't get all of the cancer." "What does that mean?" I asked. "It means I have to remove more skin." I was waiting for the "April Fools!" but seeing how it was the end of December and not April first, she didn't say that. "Okay, so is it better to wait until I'm all healed up or is it better to do it right away again?" She said to get it done as soon as possible. I told her I had an appointment with her later that week. So we decided to do round two then. My doctor apologized and said she was so certain she got it all. She couldn't understand how she had missed any and she wasn't understanding the lab results...she was going to have to call them because she couldn't tell if she didn't go deep enough or wide enough. She said she would understand if I wanted another doctor to do the procedure. I told her that no, she knew the history and we had come this far. I was sticking with her.

It was at this point that I fell apart. I was so mad. I had a major meltdown because I was so rattled by the whole experience. I told my husband that I felt I was failing as a wife, that I wasn't sure why I felt like I was letting everyone down so much lately. I felt like I couldn't do anything right and I was so unreasonably upset by things that had nothing to do with my health. Later, looking back, I realized that Satan was using my weakness of fear and attacking it full-on. I hadn't been diligent in reading my Bible on a regular basis for a few weeks and my spiritual armor was down. I was easily susceptible to believing Satan's lies. I mean, the wheels fell off. I have never felt or acted like that before. I could not pull myself together. Again, my poor husband. He had to put up with a lot those few days. I was so mad at everything - mad at my doctor, mad at the lab, mad that I felt I could never wear a sleeveless shirt again, mad at the sun for causing this whole spiral, mad that I was mad.

A few days later we went in for round two. It was January second and this time I had the day off. We went through the whole thing again...the numbing shots, the cutting, the bandaging. This time I got twelve stitches on my shoulder. I'll spare you the details. I also got a small spot removed off of my back that the doctor had found when giving me a once over. That required only two stitches. After the final carving was finished, we went out to eat at Applebees, but the rest of the day I was wiped out. We went over to his parents' house that night to watch the Badgers play in the Rosebowl. My parents were there too. I slept through most of the evening in a chair. The next several days I wore the exact same zip-up hoodie to work because I could barely move my arm. I wanted to sleep on my left side in the worst way but that was a long way off.

Over a week later I went back in for the FINAL TIME. Oh my word.
What was supposed to be this:
1. get the cancer removed
2. go back in to get stitches removed & have less than an inch scar
-turned into this:
1. get cancer removed
2. go to the ER
3. go to get stitches removed so MORE of my shoulder can be carved up a second time (and basically doubling the size of my scar)
4. go back in to get the stitches removed & have an inch and a half scar

I was finally on step number 4. And it was then that my doctor told me the second set of lab results came back. You know, the ones we had to do because the lab said she didn't get it all the first time. Well, surprise, surprise, the second set of labs came back as "no cancer - scar tissue only was detected." My doc said, "I KNEW I got it all the first time. Those (insert word here that rhymes with dastberds)."

So, the second "carving" (as I like to call it) was completely unnecessary. When the dust settled, the entire ordeal from start to finish cost $6487.90. At least from what I can tell from all of the paperwork. I'm still fighting the second lab bill since they screwed up.

And it looks like it's the pale life for me. Heavy sunscreen and lots of shade for the rest of my life. Sun exposure is a big risk for me now and I'm not going through all of that rig-a-rah-mole again! Occasionally my shoulder still hurts and it itches A LOT. But I'm fine now.

I leave you with some fun facts about basal-cell carcinoma. Because knowledge is half the battle in preventing, people!

Basal-cell cancer is the most common skin cancer. It is much more common in fair-skinned individuals (raising hand).

Statistically, approximately 3 out of 10 Caucasians may develop a basal-cell cancer within their lifetime.

In 80 percent of all cases, basal-cell cancers are found on the head and neck.

Six months of being Mrs. Meyer

Six months ago today was the greatest day of my life (so far). I married the most wonderful man I've ever met. It still astonishes me that he chose me as his wife. In honor of six months of marriage, here is my list of my six favorite things about being married to Chip.

Presenting Mr. & Mrs. Meyer

1. Although the wait was long, the payoff was huge. I spent a long time waiting for God to unfold His plan for me. During that long, long, long, long waiting time, I did not just sit at home - I went out and lived life, with the full confidence and faith that eventually God would connect me to my husband. Because of that faith, I refused to compromise my standards. I went a couple of long stretches of time not only being single, but I went a long time without even one date. I once had a friend ask me, "Don't you want to go out on a date, just for the sake of going out with a guy, no matter who it is?" I told her it was quite the opposite. The longer I had to wait on God, the more my standards were raised. If I had to wait to date someone, when it finally happened, it was going to be a quality person. Not just any shmoe would do. As difficult and lonely as those single years were, Chip was definitely worth the wait. Those years gave me time to work on the woman I've become today, to work on domestic skills, to pray for my future husband...to see all that come to fruition causes me to absolutely love being a wife.

Chip's 36th b-day

2. A new name! And a new family to come along with that name! I am so proud to be a Meyer. And I have wonderful in-laws.

Attending a wedding 2 weeks after ours

3. I remember one Sunday very specifically about nine years ago. I went to church, by myself, and the pastor was doing a series on marriage. I hated those sermon series when they would do that, because it sooooo didn't apply to me. Marriages are very important and a lot of people need help navigating them, I totally get that. So, I find it very appropriate, of course, for the church to address a lot of topics about marriage. But what the church does not do is address singleness much. Singleness is rarely celebrated in the church body. Because singles are usually the minority. Anyway, at this particular point in time, I was a bit low over being single (still). So, there I sat. Listening to a sermon on marriage. Sitting by myself, with an empty chair on each side. Sitting in the row ahead of me was a family. A mom, a dad. A preteen daughter. An elementary aged son. And a preschool boy, who sat on his sister's lap. A beautiful family. And at one point, the dad put his arm around the mom. He was wearing a watch and a short sleeve shirt. And seeing that watch, such a "manly" object, move to show affection to the wife, just struck me. I sat there, tears rolling down my face. I wanted an arm with a watch around the wrist, to wrap around me. It was a moment I'll never forget. And now that I'm married, I appreciate so much the small tokens around the house that show that I live with a man. Chip's wedding ring on his night stand, his electric razor plugged into the power strip on my side of the bed as he charges it before he packs and leaves on a work trip, his plastic Wisconsin Badger cup that sits on the bookshelf next to his spot on the couch - always filled with water for him to sip as he watches TV, a pair of men's boots by the door from the house to the garage. My husband is a very tidy person. So he doesn't leave much of a trail behind him wherever he goes. But having these few items around the house often make me smile because it makes me appreciate the fact that I now have an arm with a watch around the wrist to be wrapped around me. And it reminds me that God is faithful.



First Christmas as Mr. & Mrs.


4. The kind of texts you only get when you live with the one you love. Things like, "Can you pick up some milk at the store today?" "Turn the crockpot on at 9 am." "Don't feed the cat when you get home...I already fed him." "I'll be home around 6:00." "I sent out Valentine's cards to all the nieces and nephews." After years of living alone, it's so awesome to have someone to "do" life with. Even the mundane things. Whenever I send or receive one of these texts, it reminds me that I am serving my husband and I am married to someone who equally serves me. And, we make a good team! We can get a lot done between the two of us!

Flowers on our 1 month anniversary

5. Laughs, laughs, and more laughs. No one keeps me laughing like my husband. He is one funny guy, most of his humor comes off the cuff. One of my favorite laughs came a few weeks ago. My winter coat was really grungy with dirty cuffs and collar. I had told Chip I was going to get it dry cleaned once the weather warmed up. We were in the grocery store on an unusually warm day in January and I knew if I went out without my coat, I wouldn't be a popsicle by the time I got to the car. As we were walking by the service desk at the grocery store, it hit me that it would be the perfect time to drop off my coat. I stopped and said, "I'm going to leave my coat to be dry cleaned right now," and proceeded to take it off quickly, fill out the slip, and drop it in the bag. Chip looked at me and said, "I'm glad you didn't decide your pants needed dry cleaning!" I laughed all the way to the car.

Our verson of "American Gothic" on our wedding day

6. The different ways he lets me know he loves me. Whether it's in words or actions, I appreciate the fact that this man chose me and loves me. He is a wonderful husband and I adore being his wife. Not that there hasn't been a learning curve in living together...we are two quirky people...we see things in different ways...we don't always understand one another...but even with a little bit of natural conflict, I still have loved every day of being his wife.

My heart was captured...twice in one day

Even though it was many years ago, I remember it so clearly. I was working at my office at Interim HealthCare in St. Paul. My sister had an ultrasound that day and her hubby went along to the appointment. I was sitting at my desk when she called. For whatever reason, when I answered the phone, I stood up and was leaning against my desk. I shared an office with my co-worker, Gretchen, and our desks were right next to one another. So we could always hear every word of one another's phone conversations. I remember my sister saying, "Well, there's a reason I'm so big already. We're having twins." I responded with, "Gretchen! My sister is having twins!" And I immediately got choked up. TWINS! Two for the price of one. Oh, man.

While my sister was pregnant, they found out it was two boys. My sister grew. And grew. And grew. I couldn't believe how much her stomach stretched. It looked like she had swallowed a beach ball. She looked uncomfortable all the time but she never had to go on bed rest. Which was good because she had a 19-month old to tend to.

And then, they were here. My sister went in for a scheduled c-section. My mom stayed at their house with their toddler. I waited and waited for the phone call to come while I was at work. I got nothing done that day. Then finally, around 11:00 the call came. My mom said I had two new nephews, born around 10 am. Quitting time couldn't come fast enough that day. I went straight to the hospital after work to see my healthy nephews. For twins, they were not scrawny. My sister had 13 pounds of baby in her!

And now, those two little guys turn six-years-old today. I know there have been many challenging days for their parents in the last six years, but no one would trade these boys for anything. They wrestle, are loud, demand a lot of care, yell at one another, and don't always follow directions at home. But they are also so loving to their little sister, watch out for one another, laugh together, play together, and have captured the hearts of so many. This auntie included.

Sam, you are loud. You always have been. I remember holding you on my shoulder as an infant and you cried so loud I thought my ear was going to start ringing. You have quite the set of lungs. And even though you are sometimes loud, you can also be quite tender. You are your mom's biggest helper, always willing to pitch in. Sometimes you think you run the show and things have to be done your way. But that's just you being a kid with leadership abilities that haven't matured yet. You are going to be quite the leader some day. One of my favorite things is when you cut loose and get silly. You love to laugh and have a good time. You can also put on quite the scowl and we have said, "He is such a crank," more than one time. You are cranky sometimes. It's like an old man lives inside of your little boy body. When you were a toddler you would say, "Sometimes I'm Good Sammy and sometimes I'm Bad Sammy." You do well at school and are so smart. You are inquisitive, ask good questions, try and understand everything going on around you and are very sharp when it comes to figuring out what's going on around you. I love when you sing, I love when you are willing to snuggle, and I love that you never call me by my full name. Just "Melis." Every time.

Jack, you are a one-of-a-kind kid. The first day you were brought home from the hospital I noticed a little bump on your earlobe that's still there to this day. I love it that I noticed it first...probably because I studied you and your brother quite a bit when you were new babies. You have always been so laid back. Quite different from your twin. When you were a baby, the back of your head was flat, so you had to wear a special helmet to shape your head. You didn't mind that thing one bit. You were just as happy as could be. You are the kid who is everyone's friend. You are very good at making friends, and tend to seek out kids who may have a harder time making friends. You like to have a good time. And ever since you were a baby, you were kind of in your own world. In la-la land, just having fun as you learned about life. You are the kid who hates kisses and refuses to give or receive them. If someone sneaks a kiss on you without your permission you are so proud to say, "I wiped it off!" You also do well in school and a lot of classmates are naturally drawn to you. I love when you joke around with me, I love when you give me big hugs, and I love all of the questions you ask.

It has been quite the treat to have a front row seat to see you boys grow into the kindgergartners that you are now. I know that I will turn around and you will be graduating high school. Just thinking about the men you will become causes me to get a little teary-eyed because I'm already so proud of both of you.

I love you, Sam and Jack! Happy Birthday to my special boys!


"Hmmm...what's for lunch?" One day I found Jack like this.



Jack as a toddler



The day Jack got his training wheels removed



With Jack on his 2nd birthday

Sammy used to play in this Cozy Coupe all the time. In fact, they had to get 2 because he was so insistent this car was his only. He called it his "Tozy Toop."

Sammy's spag face

Kisses from my Sammy

Sammy, four-years-old. Sleep-over at my house.

Bundled up together at the Amery Fall Festival. 2010

Sam at the apple orchard

Silly face with Jack. Four-years-old

The twins as toddlers. Someday they will hate me for this photo.

Moo cow

Growing up in rural Wisconsin I've had more than my fair share of time spent around cows. Dairy farms dotted the landscape around my hometown and a lot of my friends grew up on family farms. My dad even ran a farm for a while through his farm machinery dealership. But no farm experience can top my run in with The Cow. Ironically enough I wasn't on a farm when I met The Cow. I was, unfortunately, in a car with my friend, Sarah. And we were seventeen.

My friend, Sarah, had a mother who was an EMT. Her mom had seen a lot of car accidents, so Sarah was the most cautious driver of all my teenage friends because she had heard the results of reckless driving firsthand. Sarah's car didn't budge until everyone was buckled in. No exceptions. Sarah never sped. It was as though her car was incapable of getting over the fifty-five mph mark. That red dash was magical in that the speedometer needle couldn't break its barrier. So when riding with Sarah, one felt very safe.

One Spring evening, just as dusk was beginning to make an appearance, Sarah and I were on a back country road, headed to the next town over to get some ice cream at the Dairy Queen. We were coming from a classmate's birthday party and we were having a great time...laughing, talking, and enjoying the freedom of being able to go for ice cream on a whim. The sky was clear, the weather was warm and our windows were down.We came up over a hill, Sarah doing the usual fifty-five. At the bottom of the small hill a rather large Holstein appeared out of nowhere. Now, I realize that cows aren't the sleekest or fastest moving creatures. It's not like they're deer. Let's just call a spade a spade. But this cow had incredible leaping abilities. I have suspicion that it was related to the one that went over the moon. It jumped out from behind some overgrown brush that was growing right at the side of the road. I braced myself by extending my arms and grabbing onto the dashboard and I think I yelled, "Cow!" What happened next seems like it was in slow motion, like in the movies.

Sarah hit the brake but didn't stand on it like I would have. It seemed like we slowed down very gradually, as if she were approaching a far off stop sign. It felt like we were taking forever to stop. I could have done my nails or watched an episode of "Growing Pains" in the time it took to slow down. I remember thinking, "Hurry up and slow down! Hurry up and slow down!" We were probably going about 15 mph when we came into contact with The Cow. If I had been driving, there would have been rubber on the road and we would have been completely stopped before we got to The Cow. But I wasn't driving.

We pretty much clipped The Cow's legs out from under her, on my side of the car. The Cow slid on her side going across the hood, her face right in front of the windshield. This part was all in slow motion as well. I swear I locked eyes with that cow. She was looking at me out of the corner of one eye and it followed me as she slid by. She was scared. Fear was in her big, brown eye. The only thing I could think was, "This cow is coming right through the windshield and it's going to be on my lap. It's going to be heavy and it's going to hurt me." That's what went through my mind in that split second. I did not want a heavy and wounded (possibly dead) animal anywhere near me. I didn't care how much free beef I might get out of the deal.

The Cow slid off Sarah's side of the car. The old girl landed on her side with a spectacular thud and then clumsily got up in a hurry as though she were a college student walking on an icy sidewalk and quickly stood - hoping no one saw her go down. The Cow was a bit dazed and staggered a bit. But she quickly recovered and kind of trotted up into the yard across the road to join the rest of the herd that had escaped the same pasture. It was getting dark and the yard light had just flickered on. It was illuminating several cows standing around in the yard.

Sarah and I just looked at each other in awe. In a matter of seconds we had gone from driving with the windows down and the radio cranked and the two of us talking loudly to complete silence. The car had killed. Sarah turned the key and nothing happened. Panic showed up for a split second and Sarah tried again. No dice. Then Sarah remembered the car wasn't in park. It had killed while in drive. She put the gear into park and tried again. The car started up and panic scampered away. We sat there, idling in the car, in the middle of the road, at the bottom of a hill, while it was getting dark. Not the smartest thing we've ever done but we didn't exactly have our wits about us yet. Going forward had not occurred to us yet. We were still stunned. I think the first thing Sarah said was, "I need to call my dad." I suggested we drive to my grandparents' house who lived in the town we were headed to. But Sarah wanted to go to her ex-boyfriend's house. She had dated him a while ago but I think she was wanting to see him again. What better excuse to show up at his house than to use his phone? She put the car in drive and insisted we go to his house.

It just so happened that the ex-boyfriend was having a party that night with a live band in the garage and everything. There were cars and kids all over the place. I didn't know any of them. I really don't think I could have been more embarrassed. I felt like without us saying a word, everyone could see the story on our faces...we had just hit The Cow and needed help. We were not there to party, but rather to be rescued by Sarah's dad.

Sarah's dad called the cops from his house to report the incident, then he drove over to the town we were in and we followed him home in Sarah's car. Almost an hour after the impact we finally got to Sarah's house. When her mom asked, "Girls, what happened?" we both burst into tears. Talk about a delayed reaction! Sarah's mom asked, "Why are you crying?" "We don't know!" we wailed.

Later we found out that we were the third car to hit a cow in that area in the past few months. The farmer had trouble keeping his fence mended. The Cow was okay and unbelievably the only damage to Sarah's car were streaks of manure across the white hood from the manure-caked-sliding hooves. Not a dent or a scratch.

And we never did get our Dairy Queen ice cream that night. But did we ever get a story. It didn't take long for our adventure to spread around school and we got a lot of laughs out of telling it. And twenty years later, it still comes up from time to time.

Moo cow.

And the circle widens...

Let's talk about friends. No, not the TV show; although, I could write a fairly long post about that, since I've seen every episode of the 10 season run many, many, many, many times. Many. But, that's for another day.

Today I want to talk about friends in my life. Both old and new.

I've never really had trouble making friends, or ever had a lack of quality friendships. Thankfully. Seriously...I have thanked God for this fact more than once. I have had the blessing of having some solid, quality friendships over my lifetime. Heck, I'm still friends with my very first friend, Joey. She's six months younger than me and we grew up on the same country road. That is one strong bond right there.

Some of the "Monson" girls at one of my bridal showers

Of course friends have come and gone as I have moved from my hometown, attended a couple of colleges, changed jobs, and switched churches over the past three decades. You can't keep every friendship you cultivate as you keep meeting more and more people. It would be emotionally exhausting. You really only need a handful of best friends. But I still have solid friendships from every single one of those areas of my life with one exception: my three years at UW-Eau Claire. It was a very dark time, friend-making wise. I walked away with only three semi-solid friendships from my time there and I rarely have any contact with any of them. I think I didn't make many friends during my last three years of college because there was no way I could top my experience at my first college. I had spent my first two years of college in a super-nova blast of friendship cultivating. I started school at a private Christian college (Go, Eagles!) and in the two years there, developed relationships with fellow Christ followers that are still in tact today! Boy, a common love for Jesus is like cement when creating a new friendship. It's some strong stuff.

Sarah, me, & Melody in my dorm room on my 19th birthday

Some of my favorite friendships are those where we may not be close now, but were great friends in the past. Then life changed, as it always does, and some distance (actual miles) were put in between us. And even though some time has passed since we had some face-to-face time, when we see one another, it's the most heart-warming thing. We pick up as though we just saw each other last week. That just happened to me recently. What IS that? How does that work? It happens to me time and time again. Man, I guess the bonds you make with a good friend can withstand just about any amount of time! Particularly when the foundation of your friendship is Christ.

My Eaglebrook Church singles Bible Study group doing our "jazz hands" pose

This mysterious phenomenon of reconnecting with old friends leads me to think of a couple of the girls I had as friends in elementary and Jr. High and then they moved away. I bet if I saw them tomorrow, we would chat as though there was no twenty-some-year gap between now and when we last saw each other as friends. That span of time would just evaporate into nothing as we talked and laughed together. In fact, that happened to me. I reconnected a couple of years ago with a friend that moved away in 1987. 1987! We are all grown up...our lives have taken different paths...we are different from who we were in 1987 (thankfully!). And yet...instant re-connection. What a miracle. Truly. A miracle! Oh, the bonds of girlfriends can be so STRONG!

With some friends from Reeve Church (the church I grew up in) at a Twins game

And then there are new friends. How this works truly amazes me. I got married five months ago. I have known my husband for less than two years. Which means that we were both thirty-somethings with well-established circles of friends. Working our two separate circles into one another's lives could prove to be a tricky thing. Will he like my friends? Will I like his? Well, I'm happy to report a big sigh of relief on this one. My husband is good at friendships. Really good at them. He's loyal, works at maintaining them, and is sort of the glue that keeps certain circles of his friends stickin' together. He has a lot of friends. This could have been a potential relationship land-mine. But no worries. As our relationship has grown, so has my circle of very new friends. He has some quality people in his life. As he says, "I stopped hanging out with jerks a long time ago." And it has brought me such delight to get to know these friends. I marvel at how some of these have become almost insta-friendships with very little effort! I am clicking with so many of them. I even told him my ranking of my favorites (which will be kept between the two of us). I am so excited to see where these new friendships take me and the role they will play in my life. It's such a blessing to meet someone, spend some time chatting, and feel like they are an old friend that I'm picking up with...instead of the reality of it...getting to know them from scratch. I sincerely do not take this for granted. It has not been this way for me in the past. I was in a relationship a long time ago and he had a tight-knit circle of friends. I had trouble connecting with many of them. In fact, there was ONE person that I felt it was easy to be around and I could be myself. One. The rest...I had a hard time relating to them...coming up with things to talk about...being myself as we spent time together. It all felt very forced. Not so with my husband's friends.

A gaggle of my husband's co-workers (current & former) at our reception

My former pastor used to say that friendships are sort of like an archery target. You have a lot of people in the outer ring. People who are acquaintances. Those you occasionally spend time with and enjoy being with. My outer ring has exploded since I've been married. It's bursting at the seams! What joy! The next ring are your close friends. The ones you invest time in on a fairly regular basis. He said most people have 8-10 friends in this ring of the target. This ring has grown for me as well and I would say it is far above 8-10. There are already 4 or 5 friends I have made through my husband's circle that I would place in this ring. It's easy to tell them things, to be a little vulnerable with them, to trust that mysterious connection. Then there's the inner-ring. Your "3 am friends." The people you could call in the middle of the night or in an emotional emergency...the friends you rely on the most. The ones you go to time and time again and say, "Pray for me." Supposedly you need only 2 or 3 people in this ring because any more than that and it becomes emotionally over-bearing. It takes time invested in these friends and your time can only be spread around so much. My inner ring is a little more crowded than 2 or 3. But that's okay because I can handle that.

On vacation in Canada with my husband's old friends and my new friends, Molly & Jay

Hey, old friends: "A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words." -Unknown

Hey, new friends: "Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."- Anais Nin