She wanted a band aid

Tycen was carrying a decently heavy box of books this morning against my warnings. He dropped it (of course) and ended up with a scrape. It didn't really necessitate a band aid, but he ended up with one anyway. With kids, as many of you know, one tiny speck of blood = band aid.

So, Tanis is jealous. She asks for a band aid. I tell her no. What does she do? She approaches the offending box, picks it up and proceeds to drop it on her foot.

Oh, that girl.

Here's to a new beginning

I am promising to write more, both in my blog and on my novels. I have had a topic in my mind a lot lately. It was and is haunting me. I've decided to turn it into my next novel. I'm excited about writing again. The wait is growing shorter, dear fans. That means all three or four of you.

I'm published

Okay, totally NOT what you're thinking. Gotcha.

But, I did start writing articles for Associated Content. They publish online, but also sell to print publications.

Check out my articles at http://www.associatedcontent.com/allisonwoodworth

Let me know what you think. There are only a few posted as of today, but there will be more soon.

Victory lap

A child with a physical disability is a taxing thing on an entire family. For months, Tycen was confined to a wheelchair. Later, he graduated to a walker before finally walking on his own seven months later. We were some of the lucky ones. There are children in wheelchairs their entire life. Tanis and Roman were forced to take a backseat to their brother's needs and demands for the better part of a year. Eric and I waited on him hand and foot, emerging with bad backs and a permanent Motrin 800 prescription from lifting sixty pounds of child for those long months.

Tycen still has trouble walking, getting use to his new legs. He had learned to walk on legs that were two different lengths and now, he's forced to relearn everything about how to walk. Still, we have many reasons to celebrate.

Tomorrow, we, as a family, are walking in a 5k. Family members and friends will join us to celebrate the fact that Tycen is going to walk as far as he can unassisted. We have raised well over $200 for neurofibromatosis research. I am so proud of everyone who has chosen to share this milestone with us. But, most of all, I am proud of my firstborn.

Tycen, you've come so far. We know you have a long road to go. But this is your time to shine. It's your victory lap.

A letter to myself

You, at the cookie bag,

Step away from the cookies. Why did you even bake them? Idiot.

Remember what you looked like fifty five pounds ago? It wasn't that long ago that you squeezed your big ol' belly into a size 16 when you should have been wearing an eighteen.

I don't care if you did use I Can't Believe it's Not Butter and Splenda, cookies will never be health food.

Me

Once upon a time, writing seemed glamorous

I call myself a writer even though I have yet to be published. Writing is what I do. My brain spits out page upon page of a tale without even really thinking about it. My hands can't keep up sometimes, flying over a page and cramping at the breakneck speed my mind demands. I weave tales full of emotion, drama, heartbreak and hardships, and of course, love. It all seemed fairly glamorous when I decided I was made to write. There would be book tours, bestsellers, and fans. There still may be, even though it may be a long shot.

Then, reality hits. For me, it popped up like a huge whitehead on my nose, unsightly and painful. It was about six months ago that I realized even if my stories were good stuff, which I still believe they are, it takes a lot more than talent to get to where every writer wants to be. Mostly it's manufactured luck.

Writing is an endless chore of polishing rough drafts, submitting to agents to be turned down, yet again, and polishing all over again. It just wears on you after awhile. I'm about burnt out. I need a shot in the arm of something good. Anyone offering?

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I guess the title of this post is a bit misleading. I remember back when the next day could bring anything, how life could take a 180 in 24 hours. It was back in the days of ramen noodles and a new apartment every year. The next day could be euphoric or devastating, but usually it was different than the one before. Sure there were always classes and whatever part time job I was working, but I always had a good eight hours in which my life would twist and turn in ways that never could have been expected. I might wake up at four in the morning on a strange couch, or maybe it was ten and I was sleeping in after a big party at my place. Maybe I would make a new friend in a class, or piss off a friend I already had. Maybe I would change my major. That happened more than once or twice. Big changes, little changes, they happened every day. One day, I even woke up in some strange dude's house wondering what exactly I was doing there and what he told me his last name was. Less than two years later, I knew that last name because it was mine.

That's when the pieces were set up for my anti-changing life phase. Every day, it's the same. Wake up at 6 or 7. Change a diaper. Grab some breakfast for the kids. Get Tycen dressed. Check the computer. Play with Tan and Rome, maybe get them dressed. Make lunch. Check the computer again. Play more. Make supper. Eat. Clean up. Go to bed. I try to change up the schedule. I try to get out and do things, but it's still the same. We stay home and play or we go out and play. Does it make a difference?

You know what got me thinking about this? It's silly. I dyed my hair last night. No big deal, I dye my hair every few months. This time, I picked up a box that promised my hair would be at least three shades lighter without the red that brunettes are often bestowed from lightening products. I have no red, but I also see no difference. Even in a box of hair coloring, something designed to change, I still can't find it.

My next project

I am brainstorming for my next writing project. The premise is autobiographical. I want to tell Tycen's story, and my story by default. I would love to raise awareness of NF and weave a tale of the hardship that can befall a family because of it. I guess it won't be too much weaving to do, since it's already written in my permanent memories. For those of you who are unfamiliar with our journey so far, I might as well bring you up to speed.

Tycen has Neurofibromatosis Type 1. It is one of the most common genetic diseases in the population. It is a dominant disorder, but well over half of all cases are a mutation, like Tycen's. Tycen was born with strange, light brown birthmarks. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be, I had watched a discovery health program of NF and knew right away that my 2 month old baby had NF. It took the doctors a little longer to diagnose it.

We didn't learn until Tycen was 18 months old that his legs were two different lengths. Bone disorders are one of the more common NF complications. We had noticed him walking strangely and assumed it was the fatty foot he had. It turned out that the fatty foot was actually a tumor and that the walking problems were because his legs were almost an inch different in length.

By the time Tycen was 4, we knew that he had to have his legs evened out. The difference had grown to almost two inches. Last summer, Tycen had surgery to implant a bone stretching device to lengthen his shorter leg. It was broken and every day, four times a day, we turned a screw to pull the break apart a quarter milimeter at a time.

The surgery was last July and Tycen is just now walking unassisted again. He lived in a wheelchair for three months, went to a walker, and then back to a wheelchair, and then the walker again, and now he is finally free, even if his steps are still timid. We have spent many nights on hospital pull out couches, Eric and I. Tan and Roman have had a lot of grandparent time. There was a strain put on all of us that sometimes felt like it was too much.

We're not done. Tycen's legs continue to grow at different lengths. He now has two tumors, one of which will be removed and we pray the other doesn't get that big. Tycen will have several small, disfiguring tumors when he gets older. For now, we hope they are going to show up on just his trunk, which is what it looks like at this point.

Tycen also has Asperger's Syndrome, which is on the autism spectrum. It is essentially a social autism. He is extremely high functioning, learning to read and progress to a second grade level before kindergarten and completing math at a higher level than that. Autistic disorders are also very common in NF.

That's where we are now, in a holding patttern, as families most often are with NF. We wait for the next thing to pop up. There are worse, much worse, manifestations of NF, but we choose not to face those until we have to and pray that we don't.

The day after hangover

I am suffering from a hangover. I wish it was one of the alcohol induced variety. This one is much worse. No, this is a crushed hopes hangover.

First, I got to watch Verlander blow an entire game in an inning. It was the first inning, no less! Even home runs from Granderson and Inge couldn't rally the troops.

Then, I get to watch the Spartans forget how to play defense...and offense.

I don't feel much like blogging today.

It's a hell of a hangover.

SNOW??? On opening day???

It's only to be expected, after all, this is Michigan. It's April 6th and it's snowing. And why not? Mother nature has a sense of humor after all. Today is the first day of spring, at least as it matters to me. The crack of the bat is supposed to open the skies and bring the sunshine down upon the upper Midwest. We should be soaking in the sun and the RBIs. Instead, the Tigers are opening the season in a dome, and the sounds of the game are muted before they can reach the skies above.

The White Sox have already pushed off opening day until tomorrow, if then. If the Tigers were home, no game would be played in Detroit, either. There will be baseball in Toronto, but what kind of a game will it be? Baseball is not meant to be played inside. Did Ted Williams ever hit perfect under a roof? Did Ty Cobb ever slide into third, spikes first inside? Did Cy Young or Bob Feller ever pitch a killer game in a dome? No, uh-uh and absolutely not. Baseball was born and evolved in the daylight under the blue skies of spring and summer.

So, here I am, left with a lackluster opening day. The snow is on the ground in Detroit. The boys will suit up and I will watch my beloved Maggs and the rest of the boys take out the Blue Jays and their pitcher, Halliday. It will happen. I will be sitting on my bed, game tuned in. I will watch my boys start off the season. In a dome. And one thought will invade my every thought. At least I'm not a White Sox fan.