Welcome to the world of crazy

This is me in my kitchen with my mom, preparing Thanksgiving dinner. I just love aprons ... and getting to cook with my mom ... and my Kitchen Aid mixer.

This is me in my kitchen with my mom, preparing Thanksgiving dinner. I just love aprons … and getting to cook with my mom … and my Kitchen Aid mixer.

I’m a 29-year-old woman sitting at a computer wanting so badly to write and knowing that I am supposed to share some kind of story, but I have no idea what to say. I worked as a reporter for years, before moving into the fascinating world of marketing. Going back to my reporter roots, I now realize most of what I wrote was assigned. This is not an assignment, nor do I have a deadline.

I’m staring at my computer monitor, hitting the backspace button repeatedly thinking that the last word I typed was somehow out of place. My friend, Katie, says I should just try stream of consciousness writing, so I’ll try that. And I’ll try to write from the heart. It worked for the surrealists, the stream of consciousness part, that is. Maybe it will work for me. They were kind of crazy, though, but wouldn’t it have been so wonderful to be a part of their world in the early part of the 20th century? Oh, to spend a day with Dali or Magritte. I wonder if they ever bumped into Ernest Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald. His wife was nuts.
Anyway, it’s late. I’m sipping iced tea (without the ice), staring at my pilot’s log book, which is leaning on my soap-making book (I have aspirations of becoming both a pilot and soap-maker). I’m staring at a stack of “explanation of benefit” reports that arrived in the mail today.
This is the cyst doctors discovered in Connor's brain. Yes, it's really that big. When I walked in the room and saw it, I nearly passed out.

This is the cyst doctors discovered in Connor’s brain. Yes, it’s really that big. When I walked in the room and saw it, I nearly passed out.

In the last two weeks my whole world has been turned upside down. You see, doctors discovered very recently that my five-year-old son, Connor, has a baseball-sized cyst in the right hemisphere of his brain. It’s not life-threatening. It’s not pushing on any brain because, well, he doesn’t have brain matter there. It’s weird but true. He’s also having seizures — not the kind that leave you convulsing on the floor drooling out of your mouth. But it’s scary. Those are most likely being caused by scar tissue from a previous surgery to evacuate an intracranial hemorrhage when he was just days old. Now, he’s on medication that would make a Catholic priest think he’s demon possessed. He’s not. Don’t worry.

Connor still functions like a normal kid, except he has limited use of his left hand. He knew the identities of every superhero before he could count to 10. But, he’s also not normal. He can tell you whose face archaeologists believe is on the Sphinx, draw the Japanese flag, recite Luke 2:8-14 in its entirety and dance like Michael Jackson. I should really start a YouTube channel for this kid. Our kitchen serves as his stage, and he uses my whisk as a microphone.
I should probably fill you in on my husband, David. He prefers to be called David, not Dave. Oh, the id. Freud does say it’s so important. Anyway, David is an attorney, attempting to help people in, what we realize more each day, is a very broken world. I love that he helps people. He views his work more as a public service or ministry. Hopefully, he’s the exception to every lawyer joke. We met because I thought I wanted to be an attorney, and he was in law school and we both got an internship at the same prosecutor’s office. Thank goodness for the internship. I learned that “Law and Order,” though it’s accurate, is only the highlight reel in the legal world. I figured I would just marry an attorney instead. After hearing all his stories, I don’t have to watch “Law and Order” anymore.
Our photographer friend took this snapshot of David, Connor and me at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Mich. I'm glad Connor wasn't really driving.

Our photographer friend took this snapshot of David, Connor and me at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Mich. I’m glad Connor wasn’t really driving.

I’ll go ahead and add a few blogs and columns I’ve written in the past, so that you can get a better understanding of my world. This isn’t all about me. I’m sharing my stories in hopes that you’ll feel you’re not alone in your journey. Perhaps my stories — and they’re all true — will make you feel more normal. Maybe you’ll cry. Maybe you’ll make fun of me. I don’t care. As long as you realize you’re not alone and that Jesus loves you, I’ve done my job to “live a life worthy of the calling I’ve received.”

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