Warning: This blog contains graphic descriptions of Jeff's death and his physical dying process. Proceed accordingly.
One year ago tonight, I told Jeff "Goodbye." I'll always remember. I don't know why I felt compelled to pour my heart out and sob at his bedside that night, but I did. Literature on the "stages of dying" littered the hospice where Jeff spent his last days. They gently suggested that the dying know when it's "time to go." Likewise, those close to the dying know when it's time to say "Goodbye" and, so saying "Goodbye" wasn't a conscious choice that I made, but something I did instinctively.
Jeff was lying in his hospice bed in a hospital gown--the head of the bed was slightly raised and he was propped-up on a pillow. He had been in this position most of the day to receive his final visitors and despite having been lucid and alert for the better part of the night before and early morning had slipped into a deep sleep for the rest of the day and evening which was just as well. Whenever he was awake he was in terrible pain from gout that was affecting his left ankle due to uric acid build up from his body systems shutting down. His hair had gotten longer than he usually would have let it grow because he had been in the hospice for a month. He needed a haircut and I wish I would have had someone cut his hair before he died so that he would have been buried with the short, handsome hair cut I remember him having. No one knows--not even Jeff--that when I shaved his head after he had brain surgery, I saved some of his hair. As a side note, I also saved his leg brace and whole brain radiation mask. He was indignant about it at the time and thought it was weird I wanted to save them, but the leg brace is a perfect mold of his left leg and the mask is a perfect mold of his face--I saved them for no other reason than to keep some minor semblance of him.
On that last night, I pulled a chair up to the side of Jeff's hospital bed. We had started our marriage side-by-side and now it would end side-by-side. I was wearing a pink velour sweat suit with a maroon pinstripe down the side of the pants and a maroon long-sleeved T-shirt to match. At one point, he faintly and briefly opened his eyes and I remember being somewhat disappointed in the fact that this was what he saw me wearing for the last time and that this might be the image he would have of me through all eternity. However, Jeff had 20/600 vision (yes, you read that correctly!), so I'm sure I was nothing but a pink blur to him if he could see anything at all.
I sat next to him and cried and talked for nearly an hour. He didn't move or so much as blink the entire time. I wondered if he had heard anything I said. But, as I was getting ready to leave, I stood up and leaned over him and said, "I'm going to kiss you now" and he puckered up his lips to meet mine. I was relieved to know that he had heard and understood me. And I recall in that moment that I kissed him, how the smell of medicine overwhelmed me. He smelled like poison (probably because he was filled with it between the cancer and all the drugs simultaneously competing to kill it and numb it). As I walked out the door, I looked back at him--just in case it was the last time I saw him. And it was.
The next morning, on September 25th the nanny had just arrived and we were in the middle of our usual morning chaos. The kids were just beginning to file into the mud room on their way out to the car to go to school when the house phone rang. I answered it and the voice on the other end said, "Mrs. Dodd?" I said, "yes?" and she said, "it appears he has passed." She didn't tell me who she was or where she was calling from or who "he" was. We both understood. I said, "thank you, we'll be right there." It was 7:45 a.m.
I turned to the kids who were milling in and out of the kitchen and said, "that was the nurse calling. Daddy died." I don't think anyone said anything--they all intuitively got in the minivan while the nanny scooped up baby-Finn. Aubrey, Regan, Jack and I went to the Hospice. As we approached the room, the door was mostly shut and an ornament of glass and a pressed/dried flower hung on the door (the Hospice's "notice" that the person in the room is dead). Jeff was lying flat in the bed. The Hospice staff had arranged a tray of cookies and drinks for us. He was still tethered to his catheter and pain pump.
I walked eagerly into the room while the kids entered with trepidation and gravitated toward a couch along the wall of the room. I approached him from the same side I sat at the night before and laid my top half over his top half and cried. His chest was still warm and it seemed unreal that it did not rise and fall as it did when he was breathing. His eyes were almost completely closed, yet very slightly open. His jaw was lax and his mouth was partially open. I intermittently hugged him and cried and laid over him and cried--simultaneously distraught and fascinated by how visibly death descends upon a body. I comforted the kids. They refused to touch him.
While we spent time with Jeff, the Hospice continued to make phone calls to notify family. I don't recall who I called personally and who the Hospice called, but at some point, our priest, Father Charlie arrived. After praying over the body, he generously took the kids back home while I stayed to pack Jeff's things and wait for the body to be removed.
Our dear friend, Tony, came to be with me at the Hospice. He had also sat with me in the waiting room 13 months earlier when Jeff had emergency brain surgery. This time, he brought me some plastic boxes for packing. I started in the bathroom. At first, I started packing toiletries like Jeff's deodorant and travel toothbrush before I realized these things would never be used again. Instead, I threw them away--thinking Jeff would be far more impressed with my efficiency than my sentimentality.
Meanwhile, nurses and doctors came and went. I asked how Jeff had changed positions--he had been sitting up the night before and was now lying flat. She explained that he died sitting up, but they have to immediately lie people flat or the rigor mortis will make it difficult to lie them flat later for their funerals, so the nurses had laid him flat as soon as he died. A doctor came in and took his pulse and pronounced him dead and completed some paperwork.
When the room was quiet and we were alone, I inspected his body. The backs of his ears and palms of his hands and back of his neck turned splotchy and purple (a condition I would later learn is called "lividity" due to the blood in the body settling and no longer circulating). His arms and hands were stiff. As I hugged him, his body felt unnatural and unresponsive.
It was a nice, sunny day.
It was approximately 10:30 a.m. when the funeral director arrived to remove the body. They arrived with a navy-blue bag unzipped and open on a gurney. They were dressed in suits and the two of them (one by his head and one by his feet) lifted him by lifting the corners of the bed sheet he was lying on. It surprised me that when they picked him up--sheet, pillow, catheter, everything--went into the bag. They started to zip up the bag and just as the zipper got to his chest, I stopped them and kissed him one last time on the forehead. They then zipped the bag over his head and placed a quilt over the bag. Then, they wheeled him out and that was the last time I ever laid eyes on him.
I finished packing his things and went straight home. The scene was remarkably normal and upbeat. Both of our nannies were now at the house and the kids were busy and playing, as usual. There were already flowers on the kitchen table from the Murphys next door. The next couple of hours were a blur, but at 1:00 p.m. or so, I went to the funeral home with my friend, Robin, to arrange the funeral. Later that day, I met again with Father Charlie to do the same thing. And by evening, family started to arrive from out of town.
And earlier that day, I posted Jeff's final blog. Self-aware and eloquent, it was probably the single most meaningful and important thing he ever wrote--except maybe for the private letters he wrote to me and the kids before he died. I have tried to continue the blog in an effort to chronicle our life after his death and as a means of lending hope and guidance to other young widows. I think it has served it's purpose.
As you are well-aware, I have been winding down the blog with fewer and more infrequent postings because I thought the one-year mark is a good stopping point. All the anniversaries and highlights and memorable occasions a year brings have been met face-to-face and I don't know what more to say about them in the second year or the third . . .
Also, I feel like it is time to close this chapter of our lives and move on. We are no longer mourning. Our lives will never be the same, but we have found ways to keep living and be happy. Jeff's death has given us so much--people have come into our lives we would have had no opportunity to know but for his death; my children have developed enviable resilience and independence. Of course, it's been a lot of hard work. It is sometimes paralyzing to raise four children alone and I am constantly aware of the sacrifices we all make in order to fill the hole Jeff left in our lives. I must work harder. The kids must do more to help me and each other. Yet--our "new" life is surprisingly happy and relaxed.
So, tomorrow begins a new year and we will embrace it not as a day to ruminate on the unfairness of life and all its misfortunes, but as a day to celebrate our successes and the progress we've made in the past year. Just as a baby learns to crawl and then walk--each milestone is celebrated as progress toward a better existence and not lamented as indicators of an infanthood left behind. We will mark the day respectfully--I'm sure we will visit the cemetery and share our memories of Jeff and we will all be a little sadder, but we'll be OK.
This blog has been one of Jeff's enduring gifts to me. He started when he first learned his cancer had returned and I continued it after his death. It has served as my unique brand of personal therapy, but has also provided glimmers of affection and understanding through all the thoughtful comments you have left. My relationships with many of you have become more meaningful because of our communications through the blog, and without a doubt, I will miss your Comments the most. Nonetheless, I have to see if I can get along without it and I hereby declare a "normal" friendship with all of you--which will necessarily require nurturing through traditional means such as e-mails, phone calls, and direct contact.
However, I reserve the right to resurrect the blog at any time and without notice. In fact, it is likely I will still post here from time to time just because it is such a convenient forum for far away family and friends. But, if so, I may elect to rename the blog and revise the format so that it no longer focuses on our tragedy, but instead emphasizes the comfortable and beautiful normalcy into which we have settled.
So, thank you for walking this path with us and for all of your contributions along the way. As I type this, it is now 11:59 p.m. on September 24th. Ooops--now it's midnight and officially September 25th. So, I'm going to stop typing and keep living and loving and smiling . . . .
The End.
Kelly
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
We're Baaack!
Yes . . . I'm still here. Sorry. There's been an unprecedented lag-time between posts and I really have no good excuse (as usual) except for vacation and the general demands of life.
First, the kids and I (and our nanny, Lauren) went on vacation last week. We had a great time, and I was especially grateful that Lauren was along. Without her, I would have been tethered to Finn with no opportunity to really do anything with the big kids. Having Lauren with us made all the difference in the world and allowed me to actually enjoy our vacation.
The kids will be taking another vacation in a couple of weeks: Aubrey is going "Up North" with her friend and her friend's family on their annual trip to Northern Wisconsin. Meanwhile, Regan, Jack, and Finn will be going to Jeff's first cousin's wedding in Minnesota with Jeff's parents. They will get to see their grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and will have a blast, I'm sure. I'll be home alone working and performing with the band.
Meanwhile, I've been busy unpacking and doing laundry and catching up on messages and bills, etc. "Little Daddy" survived our absence. However, we are now babysitting a friend's crayfish for the next 10 days while they are on vacation.
There have been lots of changes for me at home and at work over the past couple of weeks. One notable example is Aubrey's hair. Aubrey used to have medium-brown hair--very wavy and pretty. She usually straightens it. She recently got it cut above her shoulders and layered. But, then she dyed it dark brown and got platinum blonde highlights. It is super cool and I'm only slightly jealous.
Oh--I almost forgot: Jack's baseball team WON the Championship! It was very exciting. I didn't realize I had left everybody hanging on that point until my friend, Scott, called this week and mentioned that I never said on the blog whether Jack won or not. So . . . yes, he won and he got two more trophies. He's accumulating quite a collection to go with his coveted Pinewood Derby trophy. And as an aside to Scott--I trust you made it safely to Egypt and are already exploring your new home!
In other news, I recently learned that some of Jeff's high school classmates have organized a memorial Fun Run as a way to raise money for the endowed scholarship in Jeff's name at Lincoln Pius X high school. When I have more details I will post a flyer on the blog, but it sounds like it is shaping up to be quite an event.
Finally, tonight, Finn heard a song by Coldplay and insisted that he saw Daddy in the CD player and although he kept saying "Daddy scary" and kept pointing to the CD player and wanting up and completely clinging to me and burying his little face, he also wanted to listen to that Coldplay song over and over again, each time saying "Daddy, Daddy . . ." Weird.
Earlier today, Regan said, "I wonder if Finn remembers Dad." At that moment, Finn was looking at our wedding album and pointed to Jeff in a picture on the front and said, "Daddy." So, I am confident he can at least still identify him and knows who he is. If you ask Finn, "do you miss Daddy?" he'll get a sweet sad look and nod his head "yes." I don't know if he really knows what he is saying or what we are asking, but I like to think he does . . .
Well, I'm sorry this is short and unfulfilling, but I'm totally exhausted and start a new week at work tomorrow and still have lots to do tonight. I'll try to get back into a more consistent pattern of updating. Until next time . . . thanks for reading. Please stay in touch!
Kelly et al.
First, the kids and I (and our nanny, Lauren) went on vacation last week. We had a great time, and I was especially grateful that Lauren was along. Without her, I would have been tethered to Finn with no opportunity to really do anything with the big kids. Having Lauren with us made all the difference in the world and allowed me to actually enjoy our vacation.
The kids will be taking another vacation in a couple of weeks: Aubrey is going "Up North" with her friend and her friend's family on their annual trip to Northern Wisconsin. Meanwhile, Regan, Jack, and Finn will be going to Jeff's first cousin's wedding in Minnesota with Jeff's parents. They will get to see their grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and will have a blast, I'm sure. I'll be home alone working and performing with the band.
Meanwhile, I've been busy unpacking and doing laundry and catching up on messages and bills, etc. "Little Daddy" survived our absence. However, we are now babysitting a friend's crayfish for the next 10 days while they are on vacation.
There have been lots of changes for me at home and at work over the past couple of weeks. One notable example is Aubrey's hair. Aubrey used to have medium-brown hair--very wavy and pretty. She usually straightens it. She recently got it cut above her shoulders and layered. But, then she dyed it dark brown and got platinum blonde highlights. It is super cool and I'm only slightly jealous.
Oh--I almost forgot: Jack's baseball team WON the Championship! It was very exciting. I didn't realize I had left everybody hanging on that point until my friend, Scott, called this week and mentioned that I never said on the blog whether Jack won or not. So . . . yes, he won and he got two more trophies. He's accumulating quite a collection to go with his coveted Pinewood Derby trophy. And as an aside to Scott--I trust you made it safely to Egypt and are already exploring your new home!
In other news, I recently learned that some of Jeff's high school classmates have organized a memorial Fun Run as a way to raise money for the endowed scholarship in Jeff's name at Lincoln Pius X high school. When I have more details I will post a flyer on the blog, but it sounds like it is shaping up to be quite an event.
Finally, tonight, Finn heard a song by Coldplay and insisted that he saw Daddy in the CD player and although he kept saying "Daddy scary" and kept pointing to the CD player and wanting up and completely clinging to me and burying his little face, he also wanted to listen to that Coldplay song over and over again, each time saying "Daddy, Daddy . . ." Weird.
Earlier today, Regan said, "I wonder if Finn remembers Dad." At that moment, Finn was looking at our wedding album and pointed to Jeff in a picture on the front and said, "Daddy." So, I am confident he can at least still identify him and knows who he is. If you ask Finn, "do you miss Daddy?" he'll get a sweet sad look and nod his head "yes." I don't know if he really knows what he is saying or what we are asking, but I like to think he does . . .
Well, I'm sorry this is short and unfulfilling, but I'm totally exhausted and start a new week at work tomorrow and still have lots to do tonight. I'll try to get back into a more consistent pattern of updating. Until next time . . . thanks for reading. Please stay in touch!
Kelly et al.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Bunch of Nothing
Sheesh! I can't believe it's been so long since my last post. I don't even know where the time has gone--mostly work and band and baseball, I guess.
Jack's team is still in the little league tournament. If they win their next game, they will play for the Championship. The Murphy boys were admiring Jack's team tonight as "the best team in the league" which is particularly flattering because the Murphy boys know baseball. I mean . . . they REALLY know baseball, so I'm glad that Jack has had the chance to play on such a great team and have the whole experience. He's not a bad little hitter, either.
Since July 2nd, I've had 5 band shows and one band practice. Whew! The weekends have been totally packed, but the shows have been fun and well-attended. The rest of my time has been consumed by work which is, thankfully, busy.
I don't have anymore band shows until August, so I'm glad things will slow down considerably for the next couple of weeks. I'm soooo tired.
One highlight of the past week was that Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret, came to visit along with Jeff's first cousin, Katrina. We ordered in and had a fun dinner at home with the kids. Mary Margaret made Pina Coladas!
Otherwise, there are really no recent highlights to report. Finn still has his mohawk. "Little Daddy" is still alive. And the kids have all been busy with sleepovers and play dates and birthday parties and bike rides. Summer will be over so soon.
I am still weeks behind on e-mails and bills and appointments and phone calls and laundry. Ugh!
But, I'm sure next time Pina Coladas will not be the highlight of my blog entry. I feel some good stuff coming on . . .
Until then, take care and thanks as always for continuing to care!
Kelly et al.
(P.S. The nanny brought the kids to see one of my outdoor shows. Finn wanted his Mommy so I held him while I sang a song. A funnier picture would have been of his expression as the nanny took him back from me so I could finish the show . . . "Moooommmmmyyyyy!!!!!").
Jack's team is still in the little league tournament. If they win their next game, they will play for the Championship. The Murphy boys were admiring Jack's team tonight as "the best team in the league" which is particularly flattering because the Murphy boys know baseball. I mean . . . they REALLY know baseball, so I'm glad that Jack has had the chance to play on such a great team and have the whole experience. He's not a bad little hitter, either.
Since July 2nd, I've had 5 band shows and one band practice. Whew! The weekends have been totally packed, but the shows have been fun and well-attended. The rest of my time has been consumed by work which is, thankfully, busy.
I don't have anymore band shows until August, so I'm glad things will slow down considerably for the next couple of weeks. I'm soooo tired.
One highlight of the past week was that Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret, came to visit along with Jeff's first cousin, Katrina. We ordered in and had a fun dinner at home with the kids. Mary Margaret made Pina Coladas!
Otherwise, there are really no recent highlights to report. Finn still has his mohawk. "Little Daddy" is still alive. And the kids have all been busy with sleepovers and play dates and birthday parties and bike rides. Summer will be over so soon.
I am still weeks behind on e-mails and bills and appointments and phone calls and laundry. Ugh!
But, I'm sure next time Pina Coladas will not be the highlight of my blog entry. I feel some good stuff coming on . . .
Until then, take care and thanks as always for continuing to care!
Kelly et al.
(P.S. The nanny brought the kids to see one of my outdoor shows. Finn wanted his Mommy so I held him while I sang a song. A funnier picture would have been of his expression as the nanny took him back from me so I could finish the show . . . "Moooommmmmyyyyy!!!!!").
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Excuses Excuses . . .(Updated)
I must begin with an apology. I have been busy beyond all belief and there are more than a few of you out there who are waiting for me to return your calls, respond to your e-mails, and RSVP to baby showers and weddings that have already come and gone (Sorry!). If it makes you feel any better, please know that I also just opened mail this week postmarked June 16th (I haven't even made it to the July mail yet) and that I have not yet gone through the kids' end-of-the-year folders full of everything they brought home on the last day of school. So, I'm running about 3-4 weeks behind to say the least. It seems so basic to open a bill or reply to an e-mail, but, for some reason, the smallest of tasks seem to be the most insurmountable right now. Don't even ask about my laundry. To make a long story short-I bought a half-dozen new bath towels today.
The good news is that most of what is keeping me busy is fun. Since my last post, some of the highlights include:
1. Jack's baseball games. His team is 9 and 1 and is considered one of the best teams in the entire league. His tournament starts this Thursday and I wouldn't be surprised if his team wins the whole thing!
2. The twins' 2nd birthday party. Jeff and I are the proud Godparents of twin girls who are six weeks younger than Finn. We attended their birthday party and enjoyed watching the little ones have all kinds of fun.
3. Lolo's 21st birthday party. One of our Super-Nannies turned 21 this past week. She invited me to her birthday party which consisted of tailgating and a Brewers' game. Out of the 30-or-so people in attendance, I was one of only 3 who was over the age of 30. I note that Lauren has a conspicuous dearth of middle-aged, single, male friends. I should have known that a 21 year-old's birthday party would not yield good results. Note to self: start hanging around the supper club and drinking more Sloe Gin. Oh well. The party was still fun.
4. Summerfest! America's largest outdoor music festival takes place in Milwaukee every summer and the Rabid Aardvarks were, again, invited to play on the Miller Stage on July 2nd. My law firm made the occasion an official "firm outing" so I was excited to perform for my coworkers and, of course, all my other friends who came (especially Mike & Regan, and Jeff!). Based upon how everything else is going, the rest of you should be getting your notice of the appearance and invitation to attend in approximately 3-4 weeks. (Ugh!)
5. Fireworks! My law firm is located in downtown Milwaukee just a couple of blocks from the shore of Lake Michigan. Every year, they open the top floor of the building so that employees and their families can have a front-row view of the city's main fireworks display. (They launch the fireworks off a barge in the harbor). I took Regan and Jack to the fireworks show. Because the building is so tall, the fireworks explode at eye-level only a couple of blocks away, so the show is really spectacular. The kids loved it. (Aubrey stayed home to watch Finn who cannot be trusted for obvious reasons on the top of a building).
6. Fourth of July! We celebrated the 4th of July, first, by going to my friend Mike's birthday party. He lives on a lake just west of Milwaukee, so the kids wore their swimming suits and Jack took his fishing pole and (I discovered later) a livewell full of leaches he planned to use as bait. (He's hard core). The kids ate and played and went on boat-rides around the lake. Aubrey even found a group of teenagers to attach herself to and my other friends who were in attendance were very generous in helping me with Finn so I could variously eat and keep an eye on everyone else. Finn was particularly impressed with the family's dog who he was very interested in so long as the dog remained more than 10 feet away. As soon as the dog showed the slightest sign of reciprocity or hinted at coming nearer, Finn would try to climb my leg like a lumberjack climbing a tree.
7. We were also excited to have family in town for the 4th of July. Jeff's first cousins and a friend came to Milwaukee for a mini-vacation to go to Summerfest and on the Booze Cruise ( a boat-tour of Milwaukee's breweries--isn't this a great city?). So, Aubrey and her cousin, Andrea, went to the Wauwatosa fireworks display while her cousin, John, and his friend came to my Rabid Aardvarks show in downtown Milwaukee. It was quite an event--I don't think we've ever had people crowd the stage like they did last night. And we did THREE encores. At the end of the night a drunk 25 year-old asked me to marry him. When I told him he was too young for me, he asked my age. I told him I was pushing 37. He sobered up almost immediately. When he admitted he was 25, I suggested that instead of marrying him, why don't I just babysit him and then have coffee with his mother?
8. Which brings us to today--We went to mass with the cousins and then to the cemetery to visit Jeff's grave. Then, Aubrey and her cousin, Andrea, went on a walk and got ice cream while Regan and Jack went on a fun bike ride with my friend Kevin. Meanwhile, Finn and I cleaned the kitchen and played outside.
And, of course, mixed in with all the above is the usual going to work, playing with friends, baseball camp, baseball games, band practice, etc. etc. and my minor attempts to keep the house stocked with food and diapers and in just enough order/cleanliness that we don't inadvertently incubate an army of wolf spiders.
So, that's the quick and dirty on this week. I'm sure I've forgotten something and I will try harder to motivate myself to connect with those of you who have reached out to us in both small ways (e-mails) and large ways (major life-event invitations). Until then, don't hesitate to check-in and thanks, as always, for reading. It makes all the difference in the world.
Kelly
UPDATE: I forgot to mention that July 2nd marked the 16th anniversary of the day Jeff asked me to marry him. July 2nd also happens to be Jeff's grandpa's birthday (Happy Birthday, Grandpa Pat) and his uncle's anniversary in the priesthood (Happy Anniversary, Bishop Tom!). Jeff bought an elaborate picnic basket with "real" plates, glasses, and silverware and fancy linens. He also arranged an assortment of sausages and cheese, fruit and wine and took me on a picnic at Holmes Lake in Lincoln Nebraska. After we ate, he read to me from a book of love poems (it wasn't as corny as it sounds . . .) and at the end of Shakespeare's 18th Sonnet, he pulled out a ring box and asked me to marry him. I accepted--we celebrated and then went home to his parents' house to announce the Big News. We were married the following May. It's strange to think that now I am the only person in the world who can tell that story and who remembers any details of it first-hand. And it's sad that I no longer recall what we talked about or any other surrounding details. Accordingly, I thought I should make an attempt to preserve what little I DO recall about the occasion for our kids' sake and before my budding senility deprives me any further!
The good news is that most of what is keeping me busy is fun. Since my last post, some of the highlights include:
1. Jack's baseball games. His team is 9 and 1 and is considered one of the best teams in the entire league. His tournament starts this Thursday and I wouldn't be surprised if his team wins the whole thing!
2. The twins' 2nd birthday party. Jeff and I are the proud Godparents of twin girls who are six weeks younger than Finn. We attended their birthday party and enjoyed watching the little ones have all kinds of fun.
3. Lolo's 21st birthday party. One of our Super-Nannies turned 21 this past week. She invited me to her birthday party which consisted of tailgating and a Brewers' game. Out of the 30-or-so people in attendance, I was one of only 3 who was over the age of 30. I note that Lauren has a conspicuous dearth of middle-aged, single, male friends. I should have known that a 21 year-old's birthday party would not yield good results. Note to self: start hanging around the supper club and drinking more Sloe Gin. Oh well. The party was still fun.
4. Summerfest! America's largest outdoor music festival takes place in Milwaukee every summer and the Rabid Aardvarks were, again, invited to play on the Miller Stage on July 2nd. My law firm made the occasion an official "firm outing" so I was excited to perform for my coworkers and, of course, all my other friends who came (especially Mike & Regan, and Jeff!). Based upon how everything else is going, the rest of you should be getting your notice of the appearance and invitation to attend in approximately 3-4 weeks. (Ugh!)
5. Fireworks! My law firm is located in downtown Milwaukee just a couple of blocks from the shore of Lake Michigan. Every year, they open the top floor of the building so that employees and their families can have a front-row view of the city's main fireworks display. (They launch the fireworks off a barge in the harbor). I took Regan and Jack to the fireworks show. Because the building is so tall, the fireworks explode at eye-level only a couple of blocks away, so the show is really spectacular. The kids loved it. (Aubrey stayed home to watch Finn who cannot be trusted for obvious reasons on the top of a building).
6. Fourth of July! We celebrated the 4th of July, first, by going to my friend Mike's birthday party. He lives on a lake just west of Milwaukee, so the kids wore their swimming suits and Jack took his fishing pole and (I discovered later) a livewell full of leaches he planned to use as bait. (He's hard core). The kids ate and played and went on boat-rides around the lake. Aubrey even found a group of teenagers to attach herself to and my other friends who were in attendance were very generous in helping me with Finn so I could variously eat and keep an eye on everyone else. Finn was particularly impressed with the family's dog who he was very interested in so long as the dog remained more than 10 feet away. As soon as the dog showed the slightest sign of reciprocity or hinted at coming nearer, Finn would try to climb my leg like a lumberjack climbing a tree.
7. We were also excited to have family in town for the 4th of July. Jeff's first cousins and a friend came to Milwaukee for a mini-vacation to go to Summerfest and on the Booze Cruise ( a boat-tour of Milwaukee's breweries--isn't this a great city?). So, Aubrey and her cousin, Andrea, went to the Wauwatosa fireworks display while her cousin, John, and his friend came to my Rabid Aardvarks show in downtown Milwaukee. It was quite an event--I don't think we've ever had people crowd the stage like they did last night. And we did THREE encores. At the end of the night a drunk 25 year-old asked me to marry him. When I told him he was too young for me, he asked my age. I told him I was pushing 37. He sobered up almost immediately. When he admitted he was 25, I suggested that instead of marrying him, why don't I just babysit him and then have coffee with his mother?
8. Which brings us to today--We went to mass with the cousins and then to the cemetery to visit Jeff's grave. Then, Aubrey and her cousin, Andrea, went on a walk and got ice cream while Regan and Jack went on a fun bike ride with my friend Kevin. Meanwhile, Finn and I cleaned the kitchen and played outside.
And, of course, mixed in with all the above is the usual going to work, playing with friends, baseball camp, baseball games, band practice, etc. etc. and my minor attempts to keep the house stocked with food and diapers and in just enough order/cleanliness that we don't inadvertently incubate an army of wolf spiders.
So, that's the quick and dirty on this week. I'm sure I've forgotten something and I will try harder to motivate myself to connect with those of you who have reached out to us in both small ways (e-mails) and large ways (major life-event invitations). Until then, don't hesitate to check-in and thanks, as always, for reading. It makes all the difference in the world.
Kelly
UPDATE: I forgot to mention that July 2nd marked the 16th anniversary of the day Jeff asked me to marry him. July 2nd also happens to be Jeff's grandpa's birthday (Happy Birthday, Grandpa Pat) and his uncle's anniversary in the priesthood (Happy Anniversary, Bishop Tom!). Jeff bought an elaborate picnic basket with "real" plates, glasses, and silverware and fancy linens. He also arranged an assortment of sausages and cheese, fruit and wine and took me on a picnic at Holmes Lake in Lincoln Nebraska. After we ate, he read to me from a book of love poems (it wasn't as corny as it sounds . . .) and at the end of Shakespeare's 18th Sonnet, he pulled out a ring box and asked me to marry him. I accepted--we celebrated and then went home to his parents' house to announce the Big News. We were married the following May. It's strange to think that now I am the only person in the world who can tell that story and who remembers any details of it first-hand. And it's sad that I no longer recall what we talked about or any other surrounding details. Accordingly, I thought I should make an attempt to preserve what little I DO recall about the occasion for our kids' sake and before my budding senility deprives me any further!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I'm done taking Finn to restaurants.
Well, I'm pleased to announce that our new un-pet (as my Mom informs me) has survived long enough to merit a name. He/she (it's hard to tell . . .) shall henceforth be known as "Little Daddy." I don't know the etymology of the name--just that Regan picked it and confidently informed me of it when I asked if she had named the crayfish yet. So, "Little Daddy" it is.
In other news, I am closing the joint major credit cards Jeff and I shared in favor of one singular credit card in my name. I haven't applied for a credit card on my own since 1992. It is surprisingly difficult to transfer a joint card to a surviving spouse--it actually has to go through an "Estate Department" and all kinds of ridiculous bureaucracy. It's a lot easier to just close the account and open a new one. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before now to take care of this. I've already transferred all of our other financial accounts into my name. Oh well. I'm sure I'll discover more unfinished business, but in the meantime, our joint credit cards will be the next memento of Jeff to disappear forever.
Oh--I almost forgot: Finn got a rockin' mohawk today. Jack has traditionally had a mohawk in the summer, but opted out this year. Although, when I saw it (our nanny, Jenny, did the styling) I was surprised by how much Finn looks like Jeff did when he was going through whole brain radiation and he lost all of his hair except for a strip along the top that looked like a subtle mohawk. It was uncanny and I was a little taken aback. And it's hard to tell in pictures, but Terri--in person Finn looks A LOT like Jake (his first-cousin).
Right now Finn is in bed and shaking the crib rail so hard that it has fallen down and I've had to rig it so it will stay up despite his unbridled aggression. He has been completely bi-polar tonight--alternately sweet and naughty. Tonight was a rarity because I didn't have band practice, all the kids were home, and none of them had any games or play dates, so we decided to go out to dinner. Aubrey chose the Chancery in the village of Wauwatosa as our destination du jour. Once there, we were seated only one table over from the table where almost three years earlier we had sat with the kids during a special dinner to announce that I was pregnant with Finn. The kids' memories were sharp as they all recalled where each of them sat and who said what to whom. Jeff had said to the kids, "Mom and I have an announcement to make. What is the best thing that could ever happen to our family?" Regan said, "we get more popcorn?!" (the restaurant provides complementary popcorn). Jeff said, "No." And one of the kids said, "We're moving to a mansion?" at which point, Jeff decided to fill them in and said "No--we're going to have a baby!" They all squealed with excitement and Regan recalled that she tried to talk about the news in a loud but nonchalant way so that the waitress and other people around us would overhear her and think "Wow, they are going to get a new baby!"
I then noted that we never would have guessed at that time that Dad had almost exactly two years to live. (Way to ruin the mood, Mom!) So, it was a poignant dinner and the kids were very well-behaved with the exception of Finn. He started out so well. Normally, he resists sitting in a high chair in favor of wandering around the tables and crawling on and off my lap. But, tonight, he sat right down in his highchair and started coloring on the Kids' Menu. I should note, as an aside, that I was almost embarrassed to be seen in public with him. He had been swimming in the baby pool all day, so he smelled like a swamp. His new mohawk was askew from being crumpled under his sun hat all day. His clothes didn't match (red shirt, bright blue pants, green socks) and he insisted on wearing a pair of oversized women's sunglasses (ala Jackie O') throughout the meal. He looked absolutely ridiculous. As the hostess showed us to our table, we were seated near a table of eight older women who were clearly having some kind of meeting or regularly scheduled gathering. I thought they would call social services for sure, but they laughed at Finn and said how cute he was.
He sat like an angel until the food arrived. Then, on cue, he climbed out of the high chair and started assaulting me--climbing on and off me; laying in my lap; giving me kisses; slapping my face; kicking Aubrey. He was completely obnoxious to the point that I couldn't even eat (it took both hands and what little strength I had to keep him within a 3 square-feet radius of me). There were several times I felt like crying I was so exhausted and hungry and frustrated. Finally, Aubrey finished her food and took him out to the car to wait for the rest of us. Meanwhile, Regan and Jack entertained themselves by taking indulgent trips to the bathroom and I ate alone in the wake of the disaster the kids left (Aubrey accidentally spilled an entire glass of water--it went partially into my food and partially everywhere else) and we ate with the aftermath strewn across the table.
So, next time I see a single mother at a restaurant with her kids--I will not shoot her an evil stare. I will not avoid her gaze for fear I'll be swallowed by the plea for help and understanding in her eyes. I will just anonymously and without fanfare call the waitress over and discreetly offer to pay her bill. Because I know firsthand that she probably doesn't want to be there in the first place (it is much easier and cheaper to say home), but she thought it would be something nice and out of the ordinary to do with her kids. Besides, it's the closest thing she'll ever have to a "date" and she got home too late from work to entertain any reasonable likelihood of feeding her kids before 7:30 p.m., so she convinced herself (despite past experiences full of contraindications) that it won't be that bad and the kids will be good this time. She also thought it would be a good way to have a captive audience and a meaningful opportunity to talk to her kids about all the things she misses out on everyday like baseball camp and swimming in the baby pool and sleep-overs and the new Transformers movie. But, instead she didn't get to talk about any of those things because her baby freaked out and big kids lost interest. And then the baby dropped part of her food on the floor and her two middle kids begged for various bites and portions of her food (because it looked way more exotic and expensive than their grilled cheese sandwiches), and before she realized the bargain she had made (under duress of the baby acting like a complete nut and the uncomfortable pangs of hunger and lightheadedness) she had allowed her children to sample most of her food, so she simply packed up the rest and brought it home and someone (not her) will get to eat it tomorrow. And it only adds insult to injury that she then has to pay $40.00 (plus a $10 tip as a tacit apology to the waitress, because she was once a waitress too and knows just how much they hate waiting on families with a bunch of kids, and especially ones with babies that drop a bunch of food on the floor and kids that spill drinks . . .)--and, anyway, she shouldn't have to then pay $50.00 for the whole experience. Oh, and before I pay her bill for her, I will send her a Pina Colada.
So, how was your day?
Love, Kelly
In other news, I am closing the joint major credit cards Jeff and I shared in favor of one singular credit card in my name. I haven't applied for a credit card on my own since 1992. It is surprisingly difficult to transfer a joint card to a surviving spouse--it actually has to go through an "Estate Department" and all kinds of ridiculous bureaucracy. It's a lot easier to just close the account and open a new one. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before now to take care of this. I've already transferred all of our other financial accounts into my name. Oh well. I'm sure I'll discover more unfinished business, but in the meantime, our joint credit cards will be the next memento of Jeff to disappear forever.
Oh--I almost forgot: Finn got a rockin' mohawk today. Jack has traditionally had a mohawk in the summer, but opted out this year. Although, when I saw it (our nanny, Jenny, did the styling) I was surprised by how much Finn looks like Jeff did when he was going through whole brain radiation and he lost all of his hair except for a strip along the top that looked like a subtle mohawk. It was uncanny and I was a little taken aback. And it's hard to tell in pictures, but Terri--in person Finn looks A LOT like Jake (his first-cousin).
Right now Finn is in bed and shaking the crib rail so hard that it has fallen down and I've had to rig it so it will stay up despite his unbridled aggression. He has been completely bi-polar tonight--alternately sweet and naughty. Tonight was a rarity because I didn't have band practice, all the kids were home, and none of them had any games or play dates, so we decided to go out to dinner. Aubrey chose the Chancery in the village of Wauwatosa as our destination du jour. Once there, we were seated only one table over from the table where almost three years earlier we had sat with the kids during a special dinner to announce that I was pregnant with Finn. The kids' memories were sharp as they all recalled where each of them sat and who said what to whom. Jeff had said to the kids, "Mom and I have an announcement to make. What is the best thing that could ever happen to our family?" Regan said, "we get more popcorn?!" (the restaurant provides complementary popcorn). Jeff said, "No." And one of the kids said, "We're moving to a mansion?" at which point, Jeff decided to fill them in and said "No--we're going to have a baby!" They all squealed with excitement and Regan recalled that she tried to talk about the news in a loud but nonchalant way so that the waitress and other people around us would overhear her and think "Wow, they are going to get a new baby!"
I then noted that we never would have guessed at that time that Dad had almost exactly two years to live. (Way to ruin the mood, Mom!) So, it was a poignant dinner and the kids were very well-behaved with the exception of Finn. He started out so well. Normally, he resists sitting in a high chair in favor of wandering around the tables and crawling on and off my lap. But, tonight, he sat right down in his highchair and started coloring on the Kids' Menu. I should note, as an aside, that I was almost embarrassed to be seen in public with him. He had been swimming in the baby pool all day, so he smelled like a swamp. His new mohawk was askew from being crumpled under his sun hat all day. His clothes didn't match (red shirt, bright blue pants, green socks) and he insisted on wearing a pair of oversized women's sunglasses (ala Jackie O') throughout the meal. He looked absolutely ridiculous. As the hostess showed us to our table, we were seated near a table of eight older women who were clearly having some kind of meeting or regularly scheduled gathering. I thought they would call social services for sure, but they laughed at Finn and said how cute he was.
He sat like an angel until the food arrived. Then, on cue, he climbed out of the high chair and started assaulting me--climbing on and off me; laying in my lap; giving me kisses; slapping my face; kicking Aubrey. He was completely obnoxious to the point that I couldn't even eat (it took both hands and what little strength I had to keep him within a 3 square-feet radius of me). There were several times I felt like crying I was so exhausted and hungry and frustrated. Finally, Aubrey finished her food and took him out to the car to wait for the rest of us. Meanwhile, Regan and Jack entertained themselves by taking indulgent trips to the bathroom and I ate alone in the wake of the disaster the kids left (Aubrey accidentally spilled an entire glass of water--it went partially into my food and partially everywhere else) and we ate with the aftermath strewn across the table.
So, next time I see a single mother at a restaurant with her kids--I will not shoot her an evil stare. I will not avoid her gaze for fear I'll be swallowed by the plea for help and understanding in her eyes. I will just anonymously and without fanfare call the waitress over and discreetly offer to pay her bill. Because I know firsthand that she probably doesn't want to be there in the first place (it is much easier and cheaper to say home), but she thought it would be something nice and out of the ordinary to do with her kids. Besides, it's the closest thing she'll ever have to a "date" and she got home too late from work to entertain any reasonable likelihood of feeding her kids before 7:30 p.m., so she convinced herself (despite past experiences full of contraindications) that it won't be that bad and the kids will be good this time. She also thought it would be a good way to have a captive audience and a meaningful opportunity to talk to her kids about all the things she misses out on everyday like baseball camp and swimming in the baby pool and sleep-overs and the new Transformers movie. But, instead she didn't get to talk about any of those things because her baby freaked out and big kids lost interest. And then the baby dropped part of her food on the floor and her two middle kids begged for various bites and portions of her food (because it looked way more exotic and expensive than their grilled cheese sandwiches), and before she realized the bargain she had made (under duress of the baby acting like a complete nut and the uncomfortable pangs of hunger and lightheadedness) she had allowed her children to sample most of her food, so she simply packed up the rest and brought it home and someone (not her) will get to eat it tomorrow. And it only adds insult to injury that she then has to pay $40.00 (plus a $10 tip as a tacit apology to the waitress, because she was once a waitress too and knows just how much they hate waiting on families with a bunch of kids, and especially ones with babies that drop a bunch of food on the floor and kids that spill drinks . . .)--and, anyway, she shouldn't have to then pay $50.00 for the whole experience. Oh, and before I pay her bill for her, I will send her a Pina Colada.
So, how was your day?
Love, Kelly
Thursday, June 18, 2009
My life this week: Colognes and Crayfish
So, what's new with the Dodd Squad? Nothing. But I can probably make it sound like "something." So, here it goes . . .
Jack's baseball season is in full swing. He's missed at least two games due to the flu and was inclined to miss another game this morning due to an unrelenting leg cramp, but I made him fight it/walk it off and he played a big game at Helfaer (pronounced "hell-fire"--cool, huh?) Field this morning. Helfaer Field is a little league "stadium" in the parking lot of Miller Park (where the Brewers play). It's pretty cool. Jack was especially impressed by the announcers who called the game and introduced the players as they were up to bat. He also got a RBI, so he was excited. Afterwards, they had a big cook out with burgers and brats (Jack's favorite). The nannies took lots of pictures, so I'll try to post some after they send them to me. Unfortunately, the game was at 9:00 a.m., so I was at work and had to miss it.
The other big news at our house is . . . We got a pet! But don't get too excited (Gretchen). It's only a crayfish. Regan's class raised a handful of crayfish and her teacher held a minor lottery to determine which five lucky students would get to bring one home at the end of the school year. Regan was one of the winners! She was soooo excited. The crayfish looks like a mini-lobster and even shows some personality. Good thing I don't like seafood because there is something about it that makes it look kind of yummy. I almost don't trust myself around it knowing that it is edible.
Finn is absolutely fascinated by it and loves to rest his little chin on the counter and watch it hide in its castle. It has quite a little pad--water, fluorescent rocks, and a groovy tie-dyed castle to match, all housed in a converted fish tank (RIP "Twinkle Toes"). I don't think the crayfish has a name. I'm sure it will acquire one eventually--a condition-precedent being sustained survival. In other words--we'll give it a name if it lives longer than a week.
[Twice since I've been typing this, I've heard noises out by my garage that sound like someone dragging something along my driveway. Both times, I've gotten up to investigate and can see nothing suspicious. I figure it is either the neighborhood raccoon scuttling around my downspout, or it is a drug-crazed murderer breaking into my house. So, now I'm trying to decide if I should (a) ignore it and keep typing, (b) go stare at my garage/driveway until I hear it again, or (c) put on my ninja suit and kick some A-double-dollar-signs. OK, I've made my decision: I'm going to keep typing. The edible unnamed crayfish will protect me. After all, it has a very menacing stare and its likely tastiness could be an underestimated distraction.]
You'll be pleased to know my love life is improving: Lately, People magazine has had more cologne ads than usual. I also just received their annual "Hottest Summer Bachelors" issue. However, these bachelors are no fun to look at--most of them are under 30 which is way too young for me. They just make me want to listen to Fall Out Boy and drop them off at the mall.
[I just discovered where that sound is coming from: it's thunder! Now, it's getting really loud and scary. I love it. I absolutely LOVE raging thunderstorms. Yes! Yes! Yes! I am so excited. Don't laugh--please afford me whatever small pleasures I can find].
Well, I'm afraid I have very little to complain about this week, so I'll keep it short. But before I go--a few announcements:
Congratulations on your wedding this weekend, Martha! We wish we could be there!
And Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there and especially to my Dad, Rick, and also to Gary, Jim, John, Grandpa Johnnie, Grandpa Pat, Tony, "Step-Dad, Mark," and Uncle Mike (who will really be taking one for the team on Sunday!).
Finally, on Father's Day, especially, please remember my Jeff and Jackie's husband, Bill, who died of Melanoma this week leaving her widowed with a three-year old son. Jackie, on Father's Day I will raise my Alien head in a toast to you (and to Jenni and to Irene and to all the other Moms who now have to also be Dads . . . sigh).
Much Love,
Kelly
Jack's baseball season is in full swing. He's missed at least two games due to the flu and was inclined to miss another game this morning due to an unrelenting leg cramp, but I made him fight it/walk it off and he played a big game at Helfaer (pronounced "hell-fire"--cool, huh?) Field this morning. Helfaer Field is a little league "stadium" in the parking lot of Miller Park (where the Brewers play). It's pretty cool. Jack was especially impressed by the announcers who called the game and introduced the players as they were up to bat. He also got a RBI, so he was excited. Afterwards, they had a big cook out with burgers and brats (Jack's favorite). The nannies took lots of pictures, so I'll try to post some after they send them to me. Unfortunately, the game was at 9:00 a.m., so I was at work and had to miss it.
The other big news at our house is . . . We got a pet! But don't get too excited (Gretchen). It's only a crayfish. Regan's class raised a handful of crayfish and her teacher held a minor lottery to determine which five lucky students would get to bring one home at the end of the school year. Regan was one of the winners! She was soooo excited. The crayfish looks like a mini-lobster and even shows some personality. Good thing I don't like seafood because there is something about it that makes it look kind of yummy. I almost don't trust myself around it knowing that it is edible.
Finn is absolutely fascinated by it and loves to rest his little chin on the counter and watch it hide in its castle. It has quite a little pad--water, fluorescent rocks, and a groovy tie-dyed castle to match, all housed in a converted fish tank (RIP "Twinkle Toes"). I don't think the crayfish has a name. I'm sure it will acquire one eventually--a condition-precedent being sustained survival. In other words--we'll give it a name if it lives longer than a week.
[Twice since I've been typing this, I've heard noises out by my garage that sound like someone dragging something along my driveway. Both times, I've gotten up to investigate and can see nothing suspicious. I figure it is either the neighborhood raccoon scuttling around my downspout, or it is a drug-crazed murderer breaking into my house. So, now I'm trying to decide if I should (a) ignore it and keep typing, (b) go stare at my garage/driveway until I hear it again, or (c) put on my ninja suit and kick some A-double-dollar-signs. OK, I've made my decision: I'm going to keep typing. The edible unnamed crayfish will protect me. After all, it has a very menacing stare and its likely tastiness could be an underestimated distraction.]
You'll be pleased to know my love life is improving: Lately, People magazine has had more cologne ads than usual. I also just received their annual "Hottest Summer Bachelors" issue. However, these bachelors are no fun to look at--most of them are under 30 which is way too young for me. They just make me want to listen to Fall Out Boy and drop them off at the mall.
[I just discovered where that sound is coming from: it's thunder! Now, it's getting really loud and scary. I love it. I absolutely LOVE raging thunderstorms. Yes! Yes! Yes! I am so excited. Don't laugh--please afford me whatever small pleasures I can find].
Well, I'm afraid I have very little to complain about this week, so I'll keep it short. But before I go--a few announcements:
Congratulations on your wedding this weekend, Martha! We wish we could be there!
And Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there and especially to my Dad, Rick, and also to Gary, Jim, John, Grandpa Johnnie, Grandpa Pat, Tony, "Step-Dad, Mark," and Uncle Mike (who will really be taking one for the team on Sunday!).
Finally, on Father's Day, especially, please remember my Jeff and Jackie's husband, Bill, who died of Melanoma this week leaving her widowed with a three-year old son. Jackie, on Father's Day I will raise my Alien head in a toast to you (and to Jenni and to Irene and to all the other Moms who now have to also be Dads . . . sigh).
Much Love,
Kelly
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Yes! I Finally Graduated Kindergarten!!
Hey everybody (:
It's been a while since I've posted a blog, so I thought I would write one now since I'm done with school and homework and everything!
Okay, so... where to start? I guess I'll start by saying I'm very happy it's summer and, for those of you who don't already know, I graduated junior high. It's not that big of a deal, but it was kind of cool because I got to wear a dress and I got gifts and what not, haha!
Okay, so... where to start? I guess I'll start by saying I'm very happy it's summer and, for those of you who don't already know, I graduated junior high. It's not that big of a deal, but it was kind of cool because I got to wear a dress and I got gifts and what not, haha!
There was a promotion ceremony at school on Friday, so my grandparents (Mary and Gary :) ) came to that with my mom. (The picture on the top left is after the ceremony outside of my school with a few good friends.)Then I spent the rest of Friday at promotion parties with my friends! It was a great way to start my summer :D
Today the graduation festivities continued! I spent all morning cleaning my room-it was a disaster-but spent my evening at my best friend's graduation party. It was a family party but she invited me and our other best friends and we had a blast! Ironically enough, the party's theme was us going into highschool, but we might as well have been graduating kindergarten since the party consisted of drawing a chalk mural on the driveway that said "Freshman '09," playing an epic game of hide and seek, and of course, having a water fight! It was an incredibly fun even though it probably just sounds silly to all of you, haha :P
So yep... that's pretty much all that has happened to me lately. In other news, I'm pretty sure everyone in our household is back to being in good health, which is good. Plus, my dad's parents have been here for the past week, so that has been extremely fun to have them around :) By the way, I forgot to mention it earlier, but the second picture (the one on top) is just me and my best friend, Rose, in Spanish class on the last day of school before out promotion ceremony. Anyway, I should go because even though it's summer now, I do still have some things to do before I go to sleep and it's already 11:45 and I'm tired! So goodnight, love you all!
--Aubrey Kate
Sunday, June 7, 2009
An Update . . . At Last
Tuesday, June 9th, is the 20th anniversary of the day I met Jeff. (It is also my Dad's birthday--Happy Birthday, Dad! And you're welcome, Terri, Jim, and John, for the gentle reminder! Ha!).
Jeff and I had both been selected by our respective high schools to attend an exclusive 4-day long leadership conference at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska. It was called the Hugh O'Brien Youth Leadership Foundation and was originated by actor, Hugh O'Brien, who most famously played Wyatt Earp. There was a dance on the last night of the conference and I remember going up to a group of three guys who were standing near the pop (remember, this is Nebraska--there is no "soda") machines and saying indiscriminately, "do any of you want to dance?"
Jeff was standing in the middle of the three and stepped forward and said, "sure." I still have a mental picture of his name tag etched in my memory. It read "Jeff Dodd" and underneath his name, "Lincoln Pius X." I had never heard of Lincoln Pius X high school, so I asked him about it. As we danced and talked, the clouds broke apart, the sun appeared and the angels sang. We danced the rest of the night together and spent the entire evening comparing our uncanny similarities (which, in hindsight seem very superficial, but at the time seemed to be clear and convincing indicators we were meant to be together): We both liked U2; we were both the oldest child in our families; we both had two (minor) car accidents on the same day-neither of which were our fault.
So, we liked each other right away and remained constant pen pals (we lived 280 miles apart) for the next 3 years--despite my incessant scheming to become his girlfriend--and never officially dated until we were in college.
It's interesting to think about the ways in which people influence each other and the roles they play (sometimes unwittingly) in others' lives. Early on, I revered Hugh O'Brien for his role as accidental matchmaker. I thought often and with gratitude about how I would have never met Jeff if Hugh O'Brien hadn't found success as an actor and if he hadn't been inspired to create his foundation, etc. etc. I even wrote Hugh a letter early in our marriage to tell him our story and to let him know the role he played in bringing Aubrey Kate into the world.
Ironically, I later became friends with Hugh as I was part of a movement to resurrect his leadership organization here in Wisconsin. He would call me at home or at work and would usually try to trick the receptionist into announcing that "Wyatt Earp" or "Gene Autry" was on the phone. She fell for it every time. And each time, I knew it was Hugh being funny. I felt such a debt to Hugh for the impact he had had on my life and I attributed having my husband and children to him--at least a little bit. I have pictures of Jeff and I and the kids with Hugh on a trip he made to Wisconsin. I used to think, "Wow. If it weren't for Hugh O'Brien none of this would have ever happened to me." However, it cuts both ways, because I can now say "If it weren't for Hugh O'Brien none of this would have ever happened to me."
Of course, I would never wish to go back in time or to take it all back. I would never wish for an alternate universe of no Jeff and no kids. But, sometimes I can't help but think of things like that. And speaking of universes: Confidential to the Universe/Fate/Karma/Whateveryoucallit: Making my car-stereo play "At Last" as I was pulling into the cemetery to visit my dead husband was very uncool. You owe me. Big Time!
For those of you who haven't heard the song "At Last" by Etta James, it is one of the most romantic love songs of all time. Here are the lyrics, which you will agree are singularly inappropriate for setting the mood as you stand over your dead husband:
At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Oh, yeah, at last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clovers
The night I looked at you
I found a dream that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to rest my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known
Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine
At last
So that really topped off my week. As you know, I have been nursing general feelings of discouragement and ennui. Earlier this week, when I was lamenting my loneliness, a well-meaning friend recommended that I take a more aggressive approach to dating. So, I got all dressed up and went to the two tried-and-true places I can really be myself and shine, but, alas there were no attractive single men in my dishwasher or laundry basket. Ha!
In other news this week, Jack came down with the flu (again). This time, the poor guy had it bad. He missed three days of school, baseball practice, and a baseball game. I did my best to catch it, but came up empty handed. So, I'm getting dangerously low on my excuses for avoiding the laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, bill-paying, and any number of lesser chores I uncomfortably feel staring at me out of the corner of my eye.
Meanwhile, Finn has decided that, for now, his penchant for cleanliness can take a backseat to his new obsession: opulent comfort. Diaper changes used to be all-business around here. I was the sole arbiter of the time and location and he was merely along for the ride. Now, HE tells ME when he wants his diaper changed and sets the stage for a spa-like/entertainment experience. Princess Finn must now lay his head on a fuzzy pillow (that says "Cutie" on it, by the way). He places it strategically on the floor where he has an unobstructed view of our woods ("TREES!!!") and then while I "do the honors" he requires my participation in a game of Peek-a-Boo. When we are done, we ceremoniously use the anti-bacterial gel and return to our labors refreshed and reawakened. And when I say "refreshed and reawakened" what I actually mean is "slightly annoyed by the fact diaper-changes now take twice as long because of all the preparation and repositioning Finn practices in order to make things "just right" before he will surrender to the task at hand."
Also this week--the kids will finally get out of school on June 12th. On that same day, Aubrey will graduate from 8th grade. I really can't believe that I am old enough to have a child in high school. That is, until I look in the mirror.
And finally:
Thank you, Scott, for calling this week. Hearing from you made my day.
Thank you, Mike, for your lunch-hour therapy.
Thanks for checking in, Garth--I have nearly completed my Magnum Opus for you, now I just need to craft a nifty cover circa 1989!
Thank you, Tracy in CA, for befriending me. You will live to regret it. That is my solemn vow. And I will pit my kid against your kid any day when it comes to embarrassing their mother with their impressive Sir Mix A lot repertoire. I am not proud of this (publicly). (Secretly, I'm a little bit proud).
And last but not least: Anne--Thank you for filling my window boxes and for planting around Jeff's grave. I will do my best to nurture the flowers so that all your hard work doesn't go to waste. This last statement should in no way reassure you. The last time I did my "best" at gardening, a bunch of Special Olympians gave me a hug. Just sayin' . . .
Love to you all,
Kelly
P.S. (June 8, 2009): This just in . . . Finn is officially working toward becoming a first-rate Front Man. We had a Dance Party last night and for the first time, he pretended to sing into an imaginary microphone. Even better--he did it while standing on a living room chair as his makeshift "stage." (I was so proud!) Then he closed the show with the usual grand finale: breakdancing to "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira. I wish I had a video camera--it was quite a spectacle.
Oh, and I forgot a very important "Thank You" to Annie and Dave for bringing Tristan over to play with Finn. It was great having you around for the evening and I look forward to next time!
Jeff and I had both been selected by our respective high schools to attend an exclusive 4-day long leadership conference at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska. It was called the Hugh O'Brien Youth Leadership Foundation and was originated by actor, Hugh O'Brien, who most famously played Wyatt Earp. There was a dance on the last night of the conference and I remember going up to a group of three guys who were standing near the pop (remember, this is Nebraska--there is no "soda") machines and saying indiscriminately, "do any of you want to dance?"
Jeff was standing in the middle of the three and stepped forward and said, "sure." I still have a mental picture of his name tag etched in my memory. It read "Jeff Dodd" and underneath his name, "Lincoln Pius X." I had never heard of Lincoln Pius X high school, so I asked him about it. As we danced and talked, the clouds broke apart, the sun appeared and the angels sang. We danced the rest of the night together and spent the entire evening comparing our uncanny similarities (which, in hindsight seem very superficial, but at the time seemed to be clear and convincing indicators we were meant to be together): We both liked U2; we were both the oldest child in our families; we both had two (minor) car accidents on the same day-neither of which were our fault.
So, we liked each other right away and remained constant pen pals (we lived 280 miles apart) for the next 3 years--despite my incessant scheming to become his girlfriend--and never officially dated until we were in college.
It's interesting to think about the ways in which people influence each other and the roles they play (sometimes unwittingly) in others' lives. Early on, I revered Hugh O'Brien for his role as accidental matchmaker. I thought often and with gratitude about how I would have never met Jeff if Hugh O'Brien hadn't found success as an actor and if he hadn't been inspired to create his foundation, etc. etc. I even wrote Hugh a letter early in our marriage to tell him our story and to let him know the role he played in bringing Aubrey Kate into the world.
Ironically, I later became friends with Hugh as I was part of a movement to resurrect his leadership organization here in Wisconsin. He would call me at home or at work and would usually try to trick the receptionist into announcing that "Wyatt Earp" or "Gene Autry" was on the phone. She fell for it every time. And each time, I knew it was Hugh being funny. I felt such a debt to Hugh for the impact he had had on my life and I attributed having my husband and children to him--at least a little bit. I have pictures of Jeff and I and the kids with Hugh on a trip he made to Wisconsin. I used to think, "Wow. If it weren't for Hugh O'Brien none of this would have ever happened to me." However, it cuts both ways, because I can now say "If it weren't for Hugh O'Brien none of this would have ever happened to me."
Of course, I would never wish to go back in time or to take it all back. I would never wish for an alternate universe of no Jeff and no kids. But, sometimes I can't help but think of things like that. And speaking of universes: Confidential to the Universe/Fate/Karma/Whateveryoucallit: Making my car-stereo play "At Last" as I was pulling into the cemetery to visit my dead husband was very uncool. You owe me. Big Time!
For those of you who haven't heard the song "At Last" by Etta James, it is one of the most romantic love songs of all time. Here are the lyrics, which you will agree are singularly inappropriate for setting the mood as you stand over your dead husband:
At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Oh, yeah, at last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clovers
The night I looked at you
I found a dream that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to rest my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known
Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine
At last
So that really topped off my week. As you know, I have been nursing general feelings of discouragement and ennui. Earlier this week, when I was lamenting my loneliness, a well-meaning friend recommended that I take a more aggressive approach to dating. So, I got all dressed up and went to the two tried-and-true places I can really be myself and shine, but, alas there were no attractive single men in my dishwasher or laundry basket. Ha!
In other news this week, Jack came down with the flu (again). This time, the poor guy had it bad. He missed three days of school, baseball practice, and a baseball game. I did my best to catch it, but came up empty handed. So, I'm getting dangerously low on my excuses for avoiding the laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, bill-paying, and any number of lesser chores I uncomfortably feel staring at me out of the corner of my eye.
Meanwhile, Finn has decided that, for now, his penchant for cleanliness can take a backseat to his new obsession: opulent comfort. Diaper changes used to be all-business around here. I was the sole arbiter of the time and location and he was merely along for the ride. Now, HE tells ME when he wants his diaper changed and sets the stage for a spa-like/entertainment experience. Princess Finn must now lay his head on a fuzzy pillow (that says "Cutie" on it, by the way). He places it strategically on the floor where he has an unobstructed view of our woods ("TREES!!!") and then while I "do the honors" he requires my participation in a game of Peek-a-Boo. When we are done, we ceremoniously use the anti-bacterial gel and return to our labors refreshed and reawakened. And when I say "refreshed and reawakened" what I actually mean is "slightly annoyed by the fact diaper-changes now take twice as long because of all the preparation and repositioning Finn practices in order to make things "just right" before he will surrender to the task at hand."
Also this week--the kids will finally get out of school on June 12th. On that same day, Aubrey will graduate from 8th grade. I really can't believe that I am old enough to have a child in high school. That is, until I look in the mirror.
And finally:
Thank you, Scott, for calling this week. Hearing from you made my day.
Thank you, Mike, for your lunch-hour therapy.
Thanks for checking in, Garth--I have nearly completed my Magnum Opus for you, now I just need to craft a nifty cover circa 1989!
Thank you, Tracy in CA, for befriending me. You will live to regret it. That is my solemn vow. And I will pit my kid against your kid any day when it comes to embarrassing their mother with their impressive Sir Mix A lot repertoire. I am not proud of this (publicly). (Secretly, I'm a little bit proud).
And last but not least: Anne--Thank you for filling my window boxes and for planting around Jeff's grave. I will do my best to nurture the flowers so that all your hard work doesn't go to waste. This last statement should in no way reassure you. The last time I did my "best" at gardening, a bunch of Special Olympians gave me a hug. Just sayin' . . .
Love to you all,
Kelly
P.S. (June 8, 2009): This just in . . . Finn is officially working toward becoming a first-rate Front Man. We had a Dance Party last night and for the first time, he pretended to sing into an imaginary microphone. Even better--he did it while standing on a living room chair as his makeshift "stage." (I was so proud!) Then he closed the show with the usual grand finale: breakdancing to "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira. I wish I had a video camera--it was quite a spectacle.
Oh, and I forgot a very important "Thank You" to Annie and Dave for bringing Tristan over to play with Finn. It was great having you around for the evening and I look forward to next time!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Untitled
I'm back. Sorry it's been a while since my last post. I've hit a rough patch and don't know what to say that won't offend you, alienate you, or bore you. In sum, I'm discouraged. I'm lonely. I'm tired. And, I'm achy. I could go on for days about all the gory details and although I'm sure it would be very exciting and entertaining for all of you--I've already told all of it to just about everyone who will listen and the worst of it is: not many people do. At least not without hijacking the conversation and telling me all about their own problems. Oh well. I know I am a terrible listener--the worst, as a matter of fact. So, I really can't complain. I should work harder to listen to others. I wonder how many times people reached out to me for help and I wasn't paying attention? I wonder how many times I blew someone off or gave them the impression I didn't care when they were trying to share something important? I wonder how often people just needed my attention? I hate to think of what I missed out on and all the opportunities I lost.
So, I'll spare you anymore of my whining and self-pity and give you the low-down on what the kids have been up to. Jack is playing baseball and is on a really great team with lots of parent involvement and a good coach, so he has been doing really well and is having lots of fun. Regan is also playing soccer and has enjoyed playing with her friends on the team. Jack has his end-of-the-year Boy Scout picnic tomorrow night and Aubrey has her year-end Chorus Concert--sounds like they have some tricks up their sleeves, so it should be a fun show! Finn told me he loved me tonight for the first time--by himself and without being prompted. That's a good note to end on, so I think I'll keep it short tonight.
Peace,
Kelly
So, I'll spare you anymore of my whining and self-pity and give you the low-down on what the kids have been up to. Jack is playing baseball and is on a really great team with lots of parent involvement and a good coach, so he has been doing really well and is having lots of fun. Regan is also playing soccer and has enjoyed playing with her friends on the team. Jack has his end-of-the-year Boy Scout picnic tomorrow night and Aubrey has her year-end Chorus Concert--sounds like they have some tricks up their sleeves, so it should be a fun show! Finn told me he loved me tonight for the first time--by himself and without being prompted. That's a good note to end on, so I think I'll keep it short tonight.
Peace,
Kelly
Monday, May 25, 2009
"Memorial Day Weekend: 4-inch heels, the Box, and a Gorilla-Dog"
Well, I survived May 21st. Thank you to those of you who e-mailed or called. I welcomed every good thought and sentiment, but I'm glad it's over. The highlight of my day was lunch with my paralegal/emergency contact/work-wife, Liz. She bought me a bottle of Malibu Rum for the occasion. (She knows me so well!). The other highlight was band practice. It's hard to feel bad when Annie and I are "choreographing" our big show-stopping numbers. (Side note to Annie: Those 4-inch heels I wore on Saturday kicked my A-double-dollarsigns. I'm afraid I'm losing my mojo. I'm STILL sore and I didn't even wear them all the way through the first set. I think I'll wear them to work tomorrow just to show'em who's boss!).
OK--continuing the weekend recap: Friday night, my sister, Terri, and her family arrived from Nebraska. She and her husband have three little boys ages 6, 4, and 5 months. So, needless to say, Jack and Regan have been in Heaven. Jack has been running wild with his cousins, Jake and Nolan, and Regan has been fawning over 5 month-old Bennet. Terri and her husband, Ben, came to part of my Rabid Aardvarks show on Saturday night. They are the first and only members of my family to see me perform with the band. They claim to have liked it. But, please recall that my sister is deaf in one ear . . .
Before the show, my sister mentioned that she was excited to do some new things this weekend and to "step outside the box." I said, "does that mean you'll get up on stage and sing with me?" She recoiled and said, "that would be like stepping outside my box, climbing into another box, and then stepping outside that box. So--No!!" Terri sings at least as well as I do, and she went to comedy school at Second City in Chicago, so it surprises me she doesn't like to perform. Oh well, even though she and my brothers are absolutely hilarious and can easily single me out as the least funny member of the family, I am the biggest ham by a long shot. Not one of them holds a candle to my complete and utter lack of all discretion, shame, and sense of propriety. I think I was born outside the box.
Sunday was rough because I was so worn out from the show and my pain-inducing high heels. I don't remember Sunday, so I'm going to skip to today. Oh wait--I just remembered why I blocked out Sunday: the ill-fated picnic!
We did do something "fun" on Sunday. Or that was the idea, anyway. I thought it would be a good idea to take my out-of-town guests to the lakefront for a picnic so the kids could run around and the adults could converse. As usual--my best laid plans went awry. Despite my general malaise and sleep deprivation, I made a delightful feast of turkey/avocado/bacon wraps, homemade pasta salad (my secret recipe), cookies, etc. for a late afternoon picnic. After everything was made and packed and after all the Frisbees, strollers, diaper bags, and children were loaded into the car, we arrived at the lakefront to find the annual kite exhibition in full-swing (Yay!) and thirty mile-an-hour winds coupled with a temperature of 56 degrees (Boo Hiss!). What kind of idiot doesn't look outside the freaking window before hauling everyone and everything across town for a "picnic?" Apparently, the kind of idiot that was born outside the box.
Once we got there, we unloaded long enough to realize it was all a terrible mistake. We went ahead and ate our food in record time-- Each calorie we consumed, we immediately burned-off trying to shiver ourselves warm. It was a totally wasted meal. We huddled together and downed our uncomfortably cold wraps while we talked with anticipation about how warm it would be once we got back in the car. Finn ignored the food and pushed his own stroller around in an effort to keep warm--all the while numb to the steady stream of snot frozen to his upper lip. He did provide a momentary distraction from our suffering though when he fled in horror from a huge black dog on a leash that came past our picnic site. As he ran in an arc inside an invisible 20-foot perimeter around the dog, he was wild-eyed and yelling, "Mommy! Monkey! Monkeeeeey!" Then, as if to simultaneously lend emphasis and clarify, he said, "Oooh, oooh, Ah, ah ah" (which is his best imitation of a "monkey" sound and one that he makes when we read a gorilla book he has). He was plainly convinced that the dog was a gorilla, and from his perspective, it wasn't a bad guess. This dog was a mammoth--with a big face and long black fur. Poor Finn. Imagine--one minute, you're mindlessly pushing your stroller with a snotty nose, and the next minute you are confronted by a gorilla. I would have screamed for my mommy too!
Today, brought more fun--the kids played in the yard and we grilled out for Memorial Day. We all visited Jeff's grave and then took the kids swimming. Finn was in rare form--swimming, racing, chasing, and having a royal blast. We then had pizza for dinner and I was once again reminded that Finn is undeniably the son of Jeff Dodd. Jeff loved pizza. Valentino's pizza in particular, but Pizza Hut was a viable substitute. When Finn heard us talking about ordering pizza, he chimed in and lobbied: "Pizza!! Pizza!!" When we picked-up the pizza, he begged to eat it in the car. I told him "no," but that he had clearly inherited "Daddy's pizza gene" and he sweetly repeated, "Daddy-pizza- gene." Then he washed down a big piece of pizza with apoo joose and was ready for bed.
Jack also has recently adopted one of Jeff's dominant traits. Jack has apparently inherited Jeff's "whistling gene." Jeff used to whistle all the time--while he washed dishes, while he worked in the yard--I don't even think he realized how often he did it. And, now, Jack has the same habit. The first time I really took notice, it caught me off guard. I thought, "Ah Ha! My sign has arrived at last! . . . Oh, wait. It's just Jack. Jack???" And, sure enough--little Jack can whistle like a pro! It's sweet and I love hearing it.
In other news, this weekend--Regan went to Girl Scout camp on Saturday night and spent the night in cabins in the woods on a lake with her troop. She had a great time. Jack will get his "official" baseball uniform tomorrow. He is sooo excited. Aubrey has been enjoying all the middle school "lasts:" the last Pius Dance; the last ACAL; etc. So, it's been a full weekend, but lots of fun. In addition to everything else we did, I'm exhausted from the constant undercurrent of laundry, dishes, and general picking-up that goes with 4 kids and 5 guests, so I'm going to call it a night! Thanks for checking in. Come back soon!
[And a very special "Congratulations" to Katie and Kevin! Wow, Kevin--my hat's off to you. You pulled off an amazing proposal! We wish you both the best of luck!]
Kelly et al.
OK--continuing the weekend recap: Friday night, my sister, Terri, and her family arrived from Nebraska. She and her husband have three little boys ages 6, 4, and 5 months. So, needless to say, Jack and Regan have been in Heaven. Jack has been running wild with his cousins, Jake and Nolan, and Regan has been fawning over 5 month-old Bennet. Terri and her husband, Ben, came to part of my Rabid Aardvarks show on Saturday night. They are the first and only members of my family to see me perform with the band. They claim to have liked it. But, please recall that my sister is deaf in one ear . . .
Before the show, my sister mentioned that she was excited to do some new things this weekend and to "step outside the box." I said, "does that mean you'll get up on stage and sing with me?" She recoiled and said, "that would be like stepping outside my box, climbing into another box, and then stepping outside that box. So--No!!" Terri sings at least as well as I do, and she went to comedy school at Second City in Chicago, so it surprises me she doesn't like to perform. Oh well, even though she and my brothers are absolutely hilarious and can easily single me out as the least funny member of the family, I am the biggest ham by a long shot. Not one of them holds a candle to my complete and utter lack of all discretion, shame, and sense of propriety. I think I was born outside the box.
Sunday was rough because I was so worn out from the show and my pain-inducing high heels. I don't remember Sunday, so I'm going to skip to today. Oh wait--I just remembered why I blocked out Sunday: the ill-fated picnic!
We did do something "fun" on Sunday. Or that was the idea, anyway. I thought it would be a good idea to take my out-of-town guests to the lakefront for a picnic so the kids could run around and the adults could converse. As usual--my best laid plans went awry. Despite my general malaise and sleep deprivation, I made a delightful feast of turkey/avocado/bacon wraps, homemade pasta salad (my secret recipe), cookies, etc. for a late afternoon picnic. After everything was made and packed and after all the Frisbees, strollers, diaper bags, and children were loaded into the car, we arrived at the lakefront to find the annual kite exhibition in full-swing (Yay!) and thirty mile-an-hour winds coupled with a temperature of 56 degrees (Boo Hiss!). What kind of idiot doesn't look outside the freaking window before hauling everyone and everything across town for a "picnic?" Apparently, the kind of idiot that was born outside the box.
Once we got there, we unloaded long enough to realize it was all a terrible mistake. We went ahead and ate our food in record time-- Each calorie we consumed, we immediately burned-off trying to shiver ourselves warm. It was a totally wasted meal. We huddled together and downed our uncomfortably cold wraps while we talked with anticipation about how warm it would be once we got back in the car. Finn ignored the food and pushed his own stroller around in an effort to keep warm--all the while numb to the steady stream of snot frozen to his upper lip. He did provide a momentary distraction from our suffering though when he fled in horror from a huge black dog on a leash that came past our picnic site. As he ran in an arc inside an invisible 20-foot perimeter around the dog, he was wild-eyed and yelling, "Mommy! Monkey! Monkeeeeey!" Then, as if to simultaneously lend emphasis and clarify, he said, "Oooh, oooh, Ah, ah ah" (which is his best imitation of a "monkey" sound and one that he makes when we read a gorilla book he has). He was plainly convinced that the dog was a gorilla, and from his perspective, it wasn't a bad guess. This dog was a mammoth--with a big face and long black fur. Poor Finn. Imagine--one minute, you're mindlessly pushing your stroller with a snotty nose, and the next minute you are confronted by a gorilla. I would have screamed for my mommy too!
Today, brought more fun--the kids played in the yard and we grilled out for Memorial Day. We all visited Jeff's grave and then took the kids swimming. Finn was in rare form--swimming, racing, chasing, and having a royal blast. We then had pizza for dinner and I was once again reminded that Finn is undeniably the son of Jeff Dodd. Jeff loved pizza. Valentino's pizza in particular, but Pizza Hut was a viable substitute. When Finn heard us talking about ordering pizza, he chimed in and lobbied: "Pizza!! Pizza!!" When we picked-up the pizza, he begged to eat it in the car. I told him "no," but that he had clearly inherited "Daddy's pizza gene" and he sweetly repeated, "Daddy-pizza- gene." Then he washed down a big piece of pizza with apoo joose and was ready for bed.
Jack also has recently adopted one of Jeff's dominant traits. Jack has apparently inherited Jeff's "whistling gene." Jeff used to whistle all the time--while he washed dishes, while he worked in the yard--I don't even think he realized how often he did it. And, now, Jack has the same habit. The first time I really took notice, it caught me off guard. I thought, "Ah Ha! My sign has arrived at last! . . . Oh, wait. It's just Jack. Jack???" And, sure enough--little Jack can whistle like a pro! It's sweet and I love hearing it.
In other news, this weekend--Regan went to Girl Scout camp on Saturday night and spent the night in cabins in the woods on a lake with her troop. She had a great time. Jack will get his "official" baseball uniform tomorrow. He is sooo excited. Aubrey has been enjoying all the middle school "lasts:" the last Pius Dance; the last ACAL; etc. So, it's been a full weekend, but lots of fun. In addition to everything else we did, I'm exhausted from the constant undercurrent of laundry, dishes, and general picking-up that goes with 4 kids and 5 guests, so I'm going to call it a night! Thanks for checking in. Come back soon!
[And a very special "Congratulations" to Katie and Kevin! Wow, Kevin--my hat's off to you. You pulled off an amazing proposal! We wish you both the best of luck!]
Kelly et al.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
May 21st
Tomorrow, May 21st, is Jeff's birthday. He would have been 37. It also would have been our 15th wedding anniversary.
For Jeff's last birthday, his parents were in town visiting. Aubrey made him some of her famous oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies instead of a birthday cake (his special request), and we watched the American Idol finale. His main birthday gift was a basketball hoop that we installed next to the driveway a month or two before his actual birthday. I don't remember if we got him anything else. I don't remember celebrating our last anniversary at all.
Jeff was typically very good about anniversaries (especially when you consider that it eclipsed his birthday). For our 10th anniversary, Jeff surprised me with an anniversary ring with 10 diamonds and surprised me further by secretly bringing my mom, grandma, brother, sister (and her family) all to Milwaukee to visit. We went out to dinner at Mo's Steakhouse and had a once-in-a-lifetime feast and spared no expense. I like to think he would have done something equally fantastic for our 15th. I hope he would have taken me on a trip--just the two of us. I haven't had a "real" vacation since he died (unless you count the ill-fated trip to Nebraska that ended in a puking extravaganza), but I really can't afford to take any time off from work. So, instead I imagine he would have planned something very memorable and over-the-top. I always liked the idea of a big anniversary party--with my friends and his friends and our friends. With our families and kids. I wasn't patient enough to wait until our 20th anniversary and had secretly hoped to have such a party on our 15th. But, after Jeff got sick, I stopped thinking about the future, and I'm glad now that I'm out of that habit.
My parents were married for just over 12 years, and when Jeff and I passed that milestone in mid-2006, I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment. As we passed the 12-year mark, I joked with Jeff that I had never experienced an intact family past that point, so I would be on a new learning curve. It is the single hardest and saddest realization of my life, thus far, to know my children might now be able to say the same thing to their husbands and wives someday. Little did I know when I said it that Jeff and I would not make it much past that 12-year mark, and today--on what should have been our 15th anniversary--I would be back on familiar ground.
So, I don't know what tomorrow will bring. Today, I've been wistful and weepy. I dread tomorrow and, at the same time, I'm excited for it to come (I guess old habits die hard). Mostly, I worry that the hours will tick by without fanfare or acknowledgement. I know there will be no more cards or flowers, and even though I'm sad to miss the occasion, I can let go of my anniversary easy enough. It's worse to think that Jeff's birthday will disappear into the rear view mirror and that he will no longer be celebrated. I know that chief among Jeff's fears was that he would be forgotten. I now share that fear, too.
One of my high school friends, named Travis, died six years ago. Like Jeff, he was handsome and engaging and universally well-liked. A few of my other high school friends have been busy this week planning the annual golf tournament that is held in his honor--the proceeds of which go toward funding a scholarship in Travis' name. When I heard that so many people in my class were still dedicated to keeping Travis front-of-mind and who were still sacrificing time and money to honor him SIX YEARS after he died, I was . . .well, oddly, I was jealous.
Earlier this week I called Jeff's high school. I knew that shortly after Jeff died, a couple of his classmates had established a Jeff Dodd Memorial Scholarship, and because it is nearing the end of the school year, I was curious who won his scholarship and how much the school awarded in Jeff's name. The foundation office at his high school informed me that once the balance in his scholarship fund reaches $10,000 it will generate an annual scholarship of five percent ($500). Until it reaches that benchmark, it cannot fund a scholarship and no money will be awarded. I asked more questions and they were very kind and generous in giving me answers. But, to date, Jeff's scholarship only has $1,200 in it. I supplemented that with a donation in memory of Jeff's birthday and our anniversary, but we're still not even at the half-way mark.
So, I was disheartened to hear that without significant contributions, Jeff's scholarship may never even generate an award--and I'm afraid time and distance from Jeff's death will only make it less likely people will contribute. In other words, I think people were most likely to donate while both his life and his death and the stories of both were fresh in people's minds. Now, I worry that this attempt to memorialize him will die on the vine. So, I was jealous to hear that people were still turning out to give money for Travis (which even I, myself, have done in the past), and that Jeff's memorial is stalled.
So, my desire to memorialize him well has been reinvigorated and I hope that tomorrow, in particular, will bring clarity and that the best ways for me to honor him will begin to come into focus. I'll see how well I do at work tomorrow and how long I last. If it's too much, I'm sure I'll think of ways to comfort myself. I already have one fun distraction planned. I was lamenting to Liz that I don't have an anniversary this year and she reminded me that this month marks eight years that she and I have worked together. So, we are going out to lunch tomorrow for our own "anniversary." Liz, you better start planning the big party now for our 15th! Ha!
I'll report back soon to let you know how it goes. Until then, take care and thanks as always for checking in.
Love,
Kelly
For Jeff's last birthday, his parents were in town visiting. Aubrey made him some of her famous oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies instead of a birthday cake (his special request), and we watched the American Idol finale. His main birthday gift was a basketball hoop that we installed next to the driveway a month or two before his actual birthday. I don't remember if we got him anything else. I don't remember celebrating our last anniversary at all.
Jeff was typically very good about anniversaries (especially when you consider that it eclipsed his birthday). For our 10th anniversary, Jeff surprised me with an anniversary ring with 10 diamonds and surprised me further by secretly bringing my mom, grandma, brother, sister (and her family) all to Milwaukee to visit. We went out to dinner at Mo's Steakhouse and had a once-in-a-lifetime feast and spared no expense. I like to think he would have done something equally fantastic for our 15th. I hope he would have taken me on a trip--just the two of us. I haven't had a "real" vacation since he died (unless you count the ill-fated trip to Nebraska that ended in a puking extravaganza), but I really can't afford to take any time off from work. So, instead I imagine he would have planned something very memorable and over-the-top. I always liked the idea of a big anniversary party--with my friends and his friends and our friends. With our families and kids. I wasn't patient enough to wait until our 20th anniversary and had secretly hoped to have such a party on our 15th. But, after Jeff got sick, I stopped thinking about the future, and I'm glad now that I'm out of that habit.
My parents were married for just over 12 years, and when Jeff and I passed that milestone in mid-2006, I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment. As we passed the 12-year mark, I joked with Jeff that I had never experienced an intact family past that point, so I would be on a new learning curve. It is the single hardest and saddest realization of my life, thus far, to know my children might now be able to say the same thing to their husbands and wives someday. Little did I know when I said it that Jeff and I would not make it much past that 12-year mark, and today--on what should have been our 15th anniversary--I would be back on familiar ground.
So, I don't know what tomorrow will bring. Today, I've been wistful and weepy. I dread tomorrow and, at the same time, I'm excited for it to come (I guess old habits die hard). Mostly, I worry that the hours will tick by without fanfare or acknowledgement. I know there will be no more cards or flowers, and even though I'm sad to miss the occasion, I can let go of my anniversary easy enough. It's worse to think that Jeff's birthday will disappear into the rear view mirror and that he will no longer be celebrated. I know that chief among Jeff's fears was that he would be forgotten. I now share that fear, too.
One of my high school friends, named Travis, died six years ago. Like Jeff, he was handsome and engaging and universally well-liked. A few of my other high school friends have been busy this week planning the annual golf tournament that is held in his honor--the proceeds of which go toward funding a scholarship in Travis' name. When I heard that so many people in my class were still dedicated to keeping Travis front-of-mind and who were still sacrificing time and money to honor him SIX YEARS after he died, I was . . .well, oddly, I was jealous.
Earlier this week I called Jeff's high school. I knew that shortly after Jeff died, a couple of his classmates had established a Jeff Dodd Memorial Scholarship, and because it is nearing the end of the school year, I was curious who won his scholarship and how much the school awarded in Jeff's name. The foundation office at his high school informed me that once the balance in his scholarship fund reaches $10,000 it will generate an annual scholarship of five percent ($500). Until it reaches that benchmark, it cannot fund a scholarship and no money will be awarded. I asked more questions and they were very kind and generous in giving me answers. But, to date, Jeff's scholarship only has $1,200 in it. I supplemented that with a donation in memory of Jeff's birthday and our anniversary, but we're still not even at the half-way mark.
So, I was disheartened to hear that without significant contributions, Jeff's scholarship may never even generate an award--and I'm afraid time and distance from Jeff's death will only make it less likely people will contribute. In other words, I think people were most likely to donate while both his life and his death and the stories of both were fresh in people's minds. Now, I worry that this attempt to memorialize him will die on the vine. So, I was jealous to hear that people were still turning out to give money for Travis (which even I, myself, have done in the past), and that Jeff's memorial is stalled.
So, my desire to memorialize him well has been reinvigorated and I hope that tomorrow, in particular, will bring clarity and that the best ways for me to honor him will begin to come into focus. I'll see how well I do at work tomorrow and how long I last. If it's too much, I'm sure I'll think of ways to comfort myself. I already have one fun distraction planned. I was lamenting to Liz that I don't have an anniversary this year and she reminded me that this month marks eight years that she and I have worked together. So, we are going out to lunch tomorrow for our own "anniversary." Liz, you better start planning the big party now for our 15th! Ha!
I'll report back soon to let you know how it goes. Until then, take care and thanks as always for checking in.
Love,
Kelly
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Weekend Extravaganza!
Whew! What a weekend! It just about killed me, but it was totally worth it.
It started Friday with Finny-Pum's 2nd birthday. I'll post a picture as soon as Michelle sends some to me (my camera batteries were dead . . .). Jeff's family came up to visit for the weekend, and as soon as they arrived, Jack whisked Jeff's dad off to his baseball practice. When they returned, Finn opened his presents and enjoyed pizza and Superman cupcakes. He got all kinds of fun presents: toy food for his kitchen; various balls; pajamas; clothes; a baby "Laptop Computer;" a robot-dog; and a new Swiffer mop. Then, as if on cue, he contracted the "Terrible Twos" and decided not to go to bed until 12:30 a.m. I didn't want him to have to cry himself to sleep on his birthday, so I allowed him to sleep in my bed. Big Mistake. He whimpered and kicked and tossed and turned all night until he decided to "wake up" for good at 6 a.m. In defense of my own need for sleep, I tried to position him away from me. (Didn't work). I tried to sneak him back into his own bed. (Didn't work). I tried to engineer a pillow-wall between us as a buffer zone between me and the bony little toes that kept digging into my back. (Didn't work). It was a miserable night, but at least he got to sleep in Mommy's bed on his birthday and I think that was his best present of all! I managed to pacify him until 7 a.m. when he finally got out of bed and tugged on my hand to attempt to pull me out of my bed and onto my feet so he could place his breakfast order: waffles, sausage, and strawberries. I complied. Thus began Day Two of our weekend extravaganza.
Saturday morning we all watched Regan's soccer game--she admitted she was a little nervous about having an audience (Jeff's parents, sister, and baby nephew were at the game), but she played great, as usual. Jeff's other sister and brother-in-law arrived on Saturday afternoon and Aubrey immediately commenced her pre-concert preparations with Jeff's sisters at Mayfair Mall. Aubrey bought a cool new outfit to wear and got her hair cut short. It is super adorable! Meanwhile, Jeff's dad took Jack to the cemetery to visit Daddy and to practice baseball at a nearby ball park. He later took Regan and Jack swimming while Jeff's mom watched "the babies" (Finn and Michelle's son, Bo, who is eight months old). I went and got a big fat massage because I was still completely exhausted and in pain from the lack of sleep I got the night before.
So, while Aubrey and her friend and Jeff's sisters went to see Fall Out Boy at the Rave, I went to my Rabid Aardvarks show and the little kids stayed with Grandpa and Grandma and watched movies and ate snacks. Aubrey's concert ended at 11:30 p.m.--while I wasn't even half-way through my second set. Ugh! I got home just after 2:30 a.m. and was in bed by 3:00 a.m. Thank God for Jeff's mom who watched Finn for me, so I didn't have to wake up until 9:00 a.m.!
On Sunday morning, Aubrey, Regan, Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret and her husband, Bryan, all ran in the 5th annual Block Melanoma 5k fundraiser for Melanoma research. I had previously registered Aubrey, but when Regan announced that she, too, wanted to run I was skeptical. I didn't think she could run a mile without stopping--let alone almost three miles. I mentioned to Jeff's mom that I hoped someone would "run" with her so that if she got too tired or discouraged she wouldn't be alone and lost on the course (which meandered through the Milwaukee County Zoo grounds). However, when they announced the start of the race, Regan didn't wait for the runners (adults and children alike) to move off the line. She took off like a flash, weaving in and out of those who were pacing themselves, and soon she was so far ahead on the course that she was out of view to Mary Margaret and Bryan who had tried to keep her in their sights. She ran the entire race in 32 minutes!! What's more--she finished approximately 15 minutes ahead of Mary Margaret and Bryan--both of whom went to college on track scholarships at DePaul University in Chicago. (Mary Margaret gave me her permission to publicly humiliate her in this regard and to let all of you know that a nine year-old smoked her at a 5k). Regan patiently and responsibly waited at the finish line for the rest of the Dodd Squad to catch up. I was so proud of her and admitted that I wasn't sure she would finish the race and not be intimidated by the mass of runners and the sheer distance. I also admitted I would never underestimate her again.
At 2 p.m., we then went to a memorial service hosted by the nurses' association that staffs Jeff's hospice. It was a very nice ceremony--except for the fact that I missed most of it because I was supervising Finn in the lobby. We then celebrated Jeff's Unbirthday with dinner at the Chancery Restaurant. I had grandiose plans to have a "real" Unbirthday party (ala the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland), but did not have time to pull it off and since this was the best weekend to do it (Jeff's birthday is May 21st), we decided to have a dinner in his honor. We talked about some of Jeff's favorite phrases and idiosyncrasies, and recalled memories of him--Aubrey talked about their shared love of popcorn; Michelle recalled that Jeff liked to say "Very good" as a conversation filler, and Mary fondly suggested that Jeff would never have allowed such a dinner without a coupon. (Too true!) Finn had a big fit, but only performed one spread-eagle-face-plant while crying. To make up for the conservative quantity of his physical expressions, he strategically threw himself down in the middle of the walkway where every server in the restaurant has to go when they are coming in and out of the kitchen (with very full trays of food). Well done, Finn!
Every minute was jam-packed, but it was great to dedicate half the weekend to the kids (Finn's birthday, Regan's soccer, Jack's baseball, and Aubrey's concert) and to dedicate the other half to Jeff. But, now, I am completely and utterly spent. It's only 9: 57 p.m., but I'm going to bed. I can't stay awake another minute!
Nighty night!
Kelly
P.S. The first picture above is of Aubrey's friend, Ann, Aubrey, and Jeff's sister, Michelle at the Fall Out Boy concert. The second picture is of the Dodd Squad that ran in the Block Melanoma 5k (Regan, Aubrey, Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret, and her husband, Bryan).
It started Friday with Finny-Pum's 2nd birthday. I'll post a picture as soon as Michelle sends some to me (my camera batteries were dead . . .). Jeff's family came up to visit for the weekend, and as soon as they arrived, Jack whisked Jeff's dad off to his baseball practice. When they returned, Finn opened his presents and enjoyed pizza and Superman cupcakes. He got all kinds of fun presents: toy food for his kitchen; various balls; pajamas; clothes; a baby "Laptop Computer;" a robot-dog; and a new Swiffer mop. Then, as if on cue, he contracted the "Terrible Twos" and decided not to go to bed until 12:30 a.m. I didn't want him to have to cry himself to sleep on his birthday, so I allowed him to sleep in my bed. Big Mistake. He whimpered and kicked and tossed and turned all night until he decided to "wake up" for good at 6 a.m. In defense of my own need for sleep, I tried to position him away from me. (Didn't work). I tried to sneak him back into his own bed. (Didn't work). I tried to engineer a pillow-wall between us as a buffer zone between me and the bony little toes that kept digging into my back. (Didn't work). It was a miserable night, but at least he got to sleep in Mommy's bed on his birthday and I think that was his best present of all! I managed to pacify him until 7 a.m. when he finally got out of bed and tugged on my hand to attempt to pull me out of my bed and onto my feet so he could place his breakfast order: waffles, sausage, and strawberries. I complied. Thus began Day Two of our weekend extravaganza.
Saturday morning we all watched Regan's soccer game--she admitted she was a little nervous about having an audience (Jeff's parents, sister, and baby nephew were at the game), but she played great, as usual. Jeff's other sister and brother-in-law arrived on Saturday afternoon and Aubrey immediately commenced her pre-concert preparations with Jeff's sisters at Mayfair Mall. Aubrey bought a cool new outfit to wear and got her hair cut short. It is super adorable! Meanwhile, Jeff's dad took Jack to the cemetery to visit Daddy and to practice baseball at a nearby ball park. He later took Regan and Jack swimming while Jeff's mom watched "the babies" (Finn and Michelle's son, Bo, who is eight months old). I went and got a big fat massage because I was still completely exhausted and in pain from the lack of sleep I got the night before.
So, while Aubrey and her friend and Jeff's sisters went to see Fall Out Boy at the Rave, I went to my Rabid Aardvarks show and the little kids stayed with Grandpa and Grandma and watched movies and ate snacks. Aubrey's concert ended at 11:30 p.m.--while I wasn't even half-way through my second set. Ugh! I got home just after 2:30 a.m. and was in bed by 3:00 a.m. Thank God for Jeff's mom who watched Finn for me, so I didn't have to wake up until 9:00 a.m.!
On Sunday morning, Aubrey, Regan, Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret and her husband, Bryan, all ran in the 5th annual Block Melanoma 5k fundraiser for Melanoma research. I had previously registered Aubrey, but when Regan announced that she, too, wanted to run I was skeptical. I didn't think she could run a mile without stopping--let alone almost three miles. I mentioned to Jeff's mom that I hoped someone would "run" with her so that if she got too tired or discouraged she wouldn't be alone and lost on the course (which meandered through the Milwaukee County Zoo grounds). However, when they announced the start of the race, Regan didn't wait for the runners (adults and children alike) to move off the line. She took off like a flash, weaving in and out of those who were pacing themselves, and soon she was so far ahead on the course that she was out of view to Mary Margaret and Bryan who had tried to keep her in their sights. She ran the entire race in 32 minutes!! What's more--she finished approximately 15 minutes ahead of Mary Margaret and Bryan--both of whom went to college on track scholarships at DePaul University in Chicago. (Mary Margaret gave me her permission to publicly humiliate her in this regard and to let all of you know that a nine year-old smoked her at a 5k). Regan patiently and responsibly waited at the finish line for the rest of the Dodd Squad to catch up. I was so proud of her and admitted that I wasn't sure she would finish the race and not be intimidated by the mass of runners and the sheer distance. I also admitted I would never underestimate her again.
At 2 p.m., we then went to a memorial service hosted by the nurses' association that staffs Jeff's hospice. It was a very nice ceremony--except for the fact that I missed most of it because I was supervising Finn in the lobby. We then celebrated Jeff's Unbirthday with dinner at the Chancery Restaurant. I had grandiose plans to have a "real" Unbirthday party (ala the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland), but did not have time to pull it off and since this was the best weekend to do it (Jeff's birthday is May 21st), we decided to have a dinner in his honor. We talked about some of Jeff's favorite phrases and idiosyncrasies, and recalled memories of him--Aubrey talked about their shared love of popcorn; Michelle recalled that Jeff liked to say "Very good" as a conversation filler, and Mary fondly suggested that Jeff would never have allowed such a dinner without a coupon. (Too true!) Finn had a big fit, but only performed one spread-eagle-face-plant while crying. To make up for the conservative quantity of his physical expressions, he strategically threw himself down in the middle of the walkway where every server in the restaurant has to go when they are coming in and out of the kitchen (with very full trays of food). Well done, Finn!
Every minute was jam-packed, but it was great to dedicate half the weekend to the kids (Finn's birthday, Regan's soccer, Jack's baseball, and Aubrey's concert) and to dedicate the other half to Jeff. But, now, I am completely and utterly spent. It's only 9: 57 p.m., but I'm going to bed. I can't stay awake another minute!
Nighty night!
Kelly
P.S. The first picture above is of Aubrey's friend, Ann, Aubrey, and Jeff's sister, Michelle at the Fall Out Boy concert. The second picture is of the Dodd Squad that ran in the Block Melanoma 5k (Regan, Aubrey, Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret, and her husband, Bryan).
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mother's Day Recap
Hi All:
Long time, no blog. Feels like weeks since my last post. Here's a quick update:
Mother's Day was very nice. This was my first Mother's Day without Jeff and I can tell already that Mother's Day probably won't be a big deal from here on out. It's not as much fun when I have to orchestrate my own "surprises." But, that's OK. Really--everyday is Mother's Day now. I get to decide everyday what I want to do with the kids (or for myself) without any discussion or interference. Nonetheless, I like the old way better.
The kids were on top of things though and marked the occasion. Regan helped with Finn in the morning so I could sleep-in (until 8:00 a.m.). She also made me a picture frame at school. Jack drew me a picture and Finn took a nap (his gift to me whether he knew it or not). Aubrey babysat the little kids so I could take a nap, too, which was the only Mother's Day gift I wanted. We also went to church and had lunch with our friends, Tony and CeeCee and their twin girls (who are exactly six weeks younger than Finn). Thank you, CeeCee, for sharing your family with me on Mother's Day when you could have easily justified keeping them all to yourself. And thank you, both, for the flowers and card. It made it feel like Mother's Day which was especially nice this year. To round out the evening, we had a special dinner from Mo's Irish Pub and watched a movie that the girls picked out. Jack and Finn spent the duration of the movie wrestling and laughing on the floor in front of the T. V.
So, all in all, it was a great day. I have absolutely no complaints. And for that, I was crowned "Mother of the Year" (tee hee):
http://news.cnnbcvideo.com/?nid=cInLYC8bDM8qzYpI1bJXOjM2NzA4NTc-&referred_by=16112030-y6aH Hcx
(Thanks for the laugh, Jill. I needed it this week!)
Finally, on Mother's Day, Jack asked "when is Children's Day?" I said, "there isn't one." He said, "then when is Brother Day?" Again, I said, "there isn't one." So, I decided that from now on Mother's Day will be a day for this Mother to celebrate her children and for me let them know how much I appreciate them and love them. After all, when every day is Mother's Day, it only seems fair that one day a year be set aside for the kids. They deserve it waayy more than I do. Believe me.
In the meantime, we're gearing up for a big weekend. We have, among other things, Finn's Birthday, Regan's soccer game, Aubrey's Fall Out Boy concert, my Rabid Aardvarks Show, a 5k run to raise money for Melanoma research, and a memorial service hosted by Jeff's hospice. So, check back soon. I promise a thorough report. Until then . . .
Take care!
Kelly
Long time, no blog. Feels like weeks since my last post. Here's a quick update:
Mother's Day was very nice. This was my first Mother's Day without Jeff and I can tell already that Mother's Day probably won't be a big deal from here on out. It's not as much fun when I have to orchestrate my own "surprises." But, that's OK. Really--everyday is Mother's Day now. I get to decide everyday what I want to do with the kids (or for myself) without any discussion or interference. Nonetheless, I like the old way better.
The kids were on top of things though and marked the occasion. Regan helped with Finn in the morning so I could sleep-in (until 8:00 a.m.). She also made me a picture frame at school. Jack drew me a picture and Finn took a nap (his gift to me whether he knew it or not). Aubrey babysat the little kids so I could take a nap, too, which was the only Mother's Day gift I wanted. We also went to church and had lunch with our friends, Tony and CeeCee and their twin girls (who are exactly six weeks younger than Finn). Thank you, CeeCee, for sharing your family with me on Mother's Day when you could have easily justified keeping them all to yourself. And thank you, both, for the flowers and card. It made it feel like Mother's Day which was especially nice this year. To round out the evening, we had a special dinner from Mo's Irish Pub and watched a movie that the girls picked out. Jack and Finn spent the duration of the movie wrestling and laughing on the floor in front of the T. V.
So, all in all, it was a great day. I have absolutely no complaints. And for that, I was crowned "Mother of the Year" (tee hee):
http://news.cnnbcvideo.com/?nid=cInLYC8bDM8qzYpI1bJXOjM2NzA4NTc-&referred_by=16112030-y6aH Hcx
(Thanks for the laugh, Jill. I needed it this week!)
Finally, on Mother's Day, Jack asked "when is Children's Day?" I said, "there isn't one." He said, "then when is Brother Day?" Again, I said, "there isn't one." So, I decided that from now on Mother's Day will be a day for this Mother to celebrate her children and for me let them know how much I appreciate them and love them. After all, when every day is Mother's Day, it only seems fair that one day a year be set aside for the kids. They deserve it waayy more than I do. Believe me.
In the meantime, we're gearing up for a big weekend. We have, among other things, Finn's Birthday, Regan's soccer game, Aubrey's Fall Out Boy concert, my Rabid Aardvarks Show, a 5k run to raise money for Melanoma research, and a memorial service hosted by Jeff's hospice. So, check back soon. I promise a thorough report. Until then . . .
Take care!
Kelly
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Biologically Programmed . . .
As usual, I was racing around trying to get Jack and Regan to their respective sports practices when I vaguely recalled someone telling me we were out of peanut butter. And lunch meat. And bread. And milk. And apoo joose. So, between dropping them off I had 20 minutes to kill. Always an opportunist, I decided to go for it. As we approached the grocery store, Regan asked if she could go in with me to "help." For a moment, time stood still as I recalled my last trip to the grocery store with Regan . . .
Not long ago, I took Regan grocery shopping with me and at the end of the check-out line she gasped in horror when the bill totaled $108.00. She had been in charge of following the grocery list I had written for her and she immediately began comparing the list to what was actually in the cart. She said, "there are only 15 things on the list and you bought 30 things!!!" I explained that if I put "Kleenex" on the list and buy 4 boxes of Kleenex, that is not an unlawful departure from my shopping list. I explained to her, for example, that "orange juice" was on the list and that we bought two jugs of orange juice--again, this is not a transgression.
She was undeterred. She looked at the check-out clerk and said, "$108.00??? My mom just spent over one-hundred dollars!" Then as we were maneuvering our cart toward the car she said, "if you ever go on a date, I'm going to have to have a little talk with him about how much money you spend at the grocery store." I rolled my eyes and told her to get over it, but, here--I'll save her the trouble: If you are my future husband and you happen to be reading this, be warned: I once spent $108.00 at the grocery store. And here's another word of warning to my future husband: I have an over-reactive kid hell-bent on histrionics. And, oh yeah, she had head lice last week. Still interested?
As anyone who is widowed with four kids will tell you--escaping from the grocery store for a mere $108 feels like thievery. (Mike, am I right or am I right?) Even more so when one of your kids is still in diapers (assuming he's not in the mood to go Commando) and more so yet when that same kid goes through more than his fair share of paper towels due to his peculiar habit of polishing all non-porous kitchen surfaces.
So, after reliving this flash-back, I decided to let Regan "help" me anyway. This time she was very well behaved and even helped bag the groceries. But, I'm sure I haven't heard the last of her reprimands.
Because, here is another fun-fact about Regan: She's a Prohibitionist. She has a throat-clutching primordial aversion to the idea of anyone drinking alcohol--especially me. We went to a friend's party in January with a mixed crowd of adults and children, and Regan wondered what there was to drink. I gave her a run-down of options and she said, "well, what are you drinking?" And I said, nonchalantly, "Rum and coke." Her eyes got wide and she immediately sputtered "You're drinking alcohol??" I said, "yeah?" She said, "Mom. You could get drunk! Don't get drunk. Stop drinking alcohol." She started to quiz me about how many drinks I had had; whether I was going to drive home; etc. She meant business and I'm sure anyone within ear-shot immediately assumed I'm an alcoholic and that my poor innocent child was--yet again--having to coax me onto the wagon. In actuality, this was the first time I had ever been on the receiving end of her wrath and I was somewhat taken aback. Despite my rock-star lifestyle, I am a very conservative drinker and I know for certain none of my children have seen me drunk or anything close to it so I don't know where this reaction came from, but I have since learned this is just her natural response to anything she finds distasteful or offensive (like a $108 grocery bill). I had to suffer the same reprimand last night before band practice.
I had some left over Corona in the fridge after having had friends over a couple of weeks ago. I don't drink beer and so it was merely taking up space in my refrigerator. I decided that since yesterday was Cinco de Mayo, I should take the beer to band practice last night and distribute it to the guys in celebration of the occasion. As I was pulling out of the driveway, I realized I forgot to grab the beer. Regan was playing in the yard, so I yelled to her to "go grab the beer out of the refrigerator so I can take it to Kevin's." She came back with one bottle of Corona in her hand. I said, "No. I need all the bottles." She said, "Why? are you going to drink it? I thought you just wanted one for Kevin." And then she was off to the races: "Don't drink it Mom. Don't drink alcohol! Are you going to drive with it in your car?" And as she brought the remainder of the six-pack to the car she opened the passenger-side door and discreetly placed it on the floorboard and even tried to lay it flat to further obscure it from view. I told her, "Regan. It's fine. It's left-overs that I'm taking to the guys. I'm not going to drink it and since the bottles aren't open I can drive with it in the car." So, Regan will likely enjoy a nice long career in law enforcement. But she's not going to be very popular in college.
Now a few side notes:
Confidential to the people in the next booth at Denny's tonight: from the looks on your faces I can only assume you have never seen a two year-old simultaneously defeat the laws of physics and break the sound barrier, so Congratulations on being there as Finn made history. And on a related note, I sincerely apologize for all you endured.
Confidential to Everyone Else: To make a long story short, the kids' sports practices were cancelled tonight shortly after they started due to lightening and rain so we decided to go out to dinner for fun. However, that fun was anything but when Finn started acting like he was possessed by a rabid monkey (one apparently trained as a Hollywood stuntman, no less). His bi-polar mood swings and screeching and writhing were so ungodly it made me want to call a priest. Aubrey pretty much summed up the situation when she said, "Good thing you're biologically programmed to love him and feed him." Because only a mother could simultaneously feel so hot and defeated with frustration and exhaustion (and embarrassment) that she is nearly in tears and also feel love and forgiveness when the source of her frustration/exhaustion tries to make her laugh by being silly as he drinks orange juice from a cup designed to look like an alien's head.
Confidential to my Mom: After dinner, we went to Target to get a birthday present for Jack's friends' upcoming birthday party. Finn's mood prevailed, so the kids hurriedly picked out your Mother's Day card while I tried to unglue Finn from his face-down, spread-eagle, crying stance in the dead-center of the main aisle. (Jim, I see now why that is a successful defensive move in Wrestling . . .minus the crying, of course). I hope they picked something appropriate. If not, I'll just send you one of the cards you are sending me. :-)
With Love to All,
Kelly
Not long ago, I took Regan grocery shopping with me and at the end of the check-out line she gasped in horror when the bill totaled $108.00. She had been in charge of following the grocery list I had written for her and she immediately began comparing the list to what was actually in the cart. She said, "there are only 15 things on the list and you bought 30 things!!!" I explained that if I put "Kleenex" on the list and buy 4 boxes of Kleenex, that is not an unlawful departure from my shopping list. I explained to her, for example, that "orange juice" was on the list and that we bought two jugs of orange juice--again, this is not a transgression.
She was undeterred. She looked at the check-out clerk and said, "$108.00??? My mom just spent over one-hundred dollars!" Then as we were maneuvering our cart toward the car she said, "if you ever go on a date, I'm going to have to have a little talk with him about how much money you spend at the grocery store." I rolled my eyes and told her to get over it, but, here--I'll save her the trouble: If you are my future husband and you happen to be reading this, be warned: I once spent $108.00 at the grocery store. And here's another word of warning to my future husband: I have an over-reactive kid hell-bent on histrionics. And, oh yeah, she had head lice last week. Still interested?
As anyone who is widowed with four kids will tell you--escaping from the grocery store for a mere $108 feels like thievery. (Mike, am I right or am I right?) Even more so when one of your kids is still in diapers (assuming he's not in the mood to go Commando) and more so yet when that same kid goes through more than his fair share of paper towels due to his peculiar habit of polishing all non-porous kitchen surfaces.
So, after reliving this flash-back, I decided to let Regan "help" me anyway. This time she was very well behaved and even helped bag the groceries. But, I'm sure I haven't heard the last of her reprimands.
Because, here is another fun-fact about Regan: She's a Prohibitionist. She has a throat-clutching primordial aversion to the idea of anyone drinking alcohol--especially me. We went to a friend's party in January with a mixed crowd of adults and children, and Regan wondered what there was to drink. I gave her a run-down of options and she said, "well, what are you drinking?" And I said, nonchalantly, "Rum and coke." Her eyes got wide and she immediately sputtered "You're drinking alcohol??" I said, "yeah?" She said, "Mom. You could get drunk! Don't get drunk. Stop drinking alcohol." She started to quiz me about how many drinks I had had; whether I was going to drive home; etc. She meant business and I'm sure anyone within ear-shot immediately assumed I'm an alcoholic and that my poor innocent child was--yet again--having to coax me onto the wagon. In actuality, this was the first time I had ever been on the receiving end of her wrath and I was somewhat taken aback. Despite my rock-star lifestyle, I am a very conservative drinker and I know for certain none of my children have seen me drunk or anything close to it so I don't know where this reaction came from, but I have since learned this is just her natural response to anything she finds distasteful or offensive (like a $108 grocery bill). I had to suffer the same reprimand last night before band practice.
I had some left over Corona in the fridge after having had friends over a couple of weeks ago. I don't drink beer and so it was merely taking up space in my refrigerator. I decided that since yesterday was Cinco de Mayo, I should take the beer to band practice last night and distribute it to the guys in celebration of the occasion. As I was pulling out of the driveway, I realized I forgot to grab the beer. Regan was playing in the yard, so I yelled to her to "go grab the beer out of the refrigerator so I can take it to Kevin's." She came back with one bottle of Corona in her hand. I said, "No. I need all the bottles." She said, "Why? are you going to drink it? I thought you just wanted one for Kevin." And then she was off to the races: "Don't drink it Mom. Don't drink alcohol! Are you going to drive with it in your car?" And as she brought the remainder of the six-pack to the car she opened the passenger-side door and discreetly placed it on the floorboard and even tried to lay it flat to further obscure it from view. I told her, "Regan. It's fine. It's left-overs that I'm taking to the guys. I'm not going to drink it and since the bottles aren't open I can drive with it in the car." So, Regan will likely enjoy a nice long career in law enforcement. But she's not going to be very popular in college.
Now a few side notes:
Confidential to the people in the next booth at Denny's tonight: from the looks on your faces I can only assume you have never seen a two year-old simultaneously defeat the laws of physics and break the sound barrier, so Congratulations on being there as Finn made history. And on a related note, I sincerely apologize for all you endured.
Confidential to Everyone Else: To make a long story short, the kids' sports practices were cancelled tonight shortly after they started due to lightening and rain so we decided to go out to dinner for fun. However, that fun was anything but when Finn started acting like he was possessed by a rabid monkey (one apparently trained as a Hollywood stuntman, no less). His bi-polar mood swings and screeching and writhing were so ungodly it made me want to call a priest. Aubrey pretty much summed up the situation when she said, "Good thing you're biologically programmed to love him and feed him." Because only a mother could simultaneously feel so hot and defeated with frustration and exhaustion (and embarrassment) that she is nearly in tears and also feel love and forgiveness when the source of her frustration/exhaustion tries to make her laugh by being silly as he drinks orange juice from a cup designed to look like an alien's head.
Confidential to my Mom: After dinner, we went to Target to get a birthday present for Jack's friends' upcoming birthday party. Finn's mood prevailed, so the kids hurriedly picked out your Mother's Day card while I tried to unglue Finn from his face-down, spread-eagle, crying stance in the dead-center of the main aisle. (Jim, I see now why that is a successful defensive move in Wrestling . . .minus the crying, of course). I hope they picked something appropriate. If not, I'll just send you one of the cards you are sending me. :-)
With Love to All,
Kelly
Monday, May 4, 2009
One more boring post--then, FIESTA!!! (Happy Cinco de Mayo)
OK--so, this will be the end of all my heady philosophizing . . . at least for the time being, but my sister initiated a conversation with me worth mentioning, so I hope you can stand one more semi-serious topic. Then, I'll go back to the mad-cap hilarity. I promise.
Terri was talking to me about all the parallels between life and death and somehow we merged onto the topic of prayer and I realized how differently I now pray since Jeff died. But, first a little background: I get a massage every two weeks (when I have a Rabid Aardvarks show the night before, otherwise I skip it). I started this habit when Jeff became too sick to give me backrubs. I was usually sore and tired the day after a show (Hey, the Magic doesn't bring itself and it's hard work to Rock It from 9:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. every weekend!), so Jeff would generously give me a back rub, or foot massage, etc. I have always felt like human touch is important and am naturally affectionate to my kids and friends. Jeff commented once that my easy and frequent displays of affection are what taught him how to be affectionate to our children. And I recall studies on the importance of touch where monkeys raised by impersonal wire forms intended to look like "mothers" fared worse than monkeys raised by equally inanimate but soft and cuddly "mothers." A massage is certainly no substitute for a husband's affection, but I believe it provides important psychological and physiological benefits and since I now have no husband, well . . . that's as good as it gets for now.
Anyway, while Jeff was alive I spent the entire hour-long massage in prayer. I actually looked forward to the quiet opportunity to bombard God with my incessant petitions. During each hour, I prayed constantly: I asked God to heal Jeff; to save him; to cure him; to let him live; to spare my children; to help me; to comfort us; to give us all safety, good health, peace, and happiness. I mean--I really went to town.
Then, I had a massage this past weekend, and I realized that my prayers had changed. I don't know how or when the evolution took place, but I noted one hallmark characteristic of my "new" prayers: I quit asking for things. And as I talked to my sister, I understood why.
I trust God knows what I need and that he will give it to me regardless of what I ask for. Just because I've asked for things and haven't gotten them doesn't mean that my prayers went unheard or unfulfilled. I tend to think it means God has something better for me than I could have ever sought for myself.
Here is (what else?) another analogy to illustrate my point. Shortly before Jeff was diagnosed with cancer, Aubrey and I were shopping at the mall for his Christmas gift when Aubrey zeroed in on a pair of leggings/tights that she absolutely HAD to have. (Maybe I've told you this story before, and if I have then you can take an intermission and skip to the end . . .). At first, she asked nicely, "Mom, can I pleeeeaaasseee have the tights?" I said, "No." So, then she tried to bargain with me and said, "What if I keep my room clean for a whole month? Then can I get them?" Again, I said, "No." So, she resorted to reasoning with me: "But I babysit the little kids all the time and I don't even get paid for it and the tights are only six dollars which isn't even very much considering all I do to help." But I was firm and said, "No. I'm not getting you those tights." She continued to beg. I continued to resist. By the end of the conversation, she was crying and telling me how mean and unfair I was and that I didn't understand, etc.
However, the reason I was so unmoved--and what I could not explain to Aubrey at the time--is that I had already bought her the tights for Christmas and they were wrapped up and hidden in our basement storage room. I knew she coveted those tights. I had paid attention when she pointed them out in magazines and in stores on prior occasions. I knew how much she wanted them and I knew that if I told her in the middle of her incessant begging that I had already bought the tights it would have ruined one of her best Christmas gifts--which in some ways, she would later admit, was made even better by the fact of our conversation. And when she opened the tights on Christmas morning, she immediately understood and said, "So THAT'S why you wouldn't buy them for me that day at the store!" And she learned that when I say "No" to her, she can trust it is for a very good reason and that even if she doesn't understand the reason at the time--it will all be worth it.
And so, I've begged God. I tried to ask nicely. I tried to bargain and reason. And there were times it would have been easy to turn on Him and tell Him how mean and unfair He was and how He just doesn't understand. But, He understands much better than I do, and I have a feeling that everything I need will be given to me--and on much better terms than I would have gotten if I had pestered and begged. And, so I've stopped asking for things because I trust God knows what I want, but more importantly, he knows what I need and will give it to me regardless. And it adds the element of excitement (or some might say, it takes away the element of control . . .), but, in my opinion, the best gifts aren't the ones you've begged for. For me, when people ask me what I want for Christmas or my birthday, it is a lot more fun to let them surprise me with a gift they have specially selected based upon the fun things they know about me than to ask for something specific, because then it isn't much of a gift at all--it's more like giving a gift to myself and they are merely the conduit.
And too, if God takes a paternalistic approach, I can guarantee that any parent is more likely to do favors for a grateful and obedient child than one who only comes to a parent when they want something and when they whine for it relentlessly. I know I am far more likely to be accommodating and forgiving when my children have helped without complaining than I am when they have insisted on negotiating an incentive. I am far more tolerant and patient when they have accepted my refusals or explanations than when they have been stubborn and defiant. Maybe God isn't so different. Maybe he just wants us to trust Him and let Him give us exactly what we need. So, maybe the only prayer worth saying is "Thy will be done." Period.
I know it sounds crazy for me to say things like this because I've had my fair share of disappointment and tragedy in my short 36 years and, therefore, can cite no proof in favor of my belief that God will give me everything I need. I just know that He will. And He is.
The end.
Kelly
Terri was talking to me about all the parallels between life and death and somehow we merged onto the topic of prayer and I realized how differently I now pray since Jeff died. But, first a little background: I get a massage every two weeks (when I have a Rabid Aardvarks show the night before, otherwise I skip it). I started this habit when Jeff became too sick to give me backrubs. I was usually sore and tired the day after a show (Hey, the Magic doesn't bring itself and it's hard work to Rock It from 9:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. every weekend!), so Jeff would generously give me a back rub, or foot massage, etc. I have always felt like human touch is important and am naturally affectionate to my kids and friends. Jeff commented once that my easy and frequent displays of affection are what taught him how to be affectionate to our children. And I recall studies on the importance of touch where monkeys raised by impersonal wire forms intended to look like "mothers" fared worse than monkeys raised by equally inanimate but soft and cuddly "mothers." A massage is certainly no substitute for a husband's affection, but I believe it provides important psychological and physiological benefits and since I now have no husband, well . . . that's as good as it gets for now.
Anyway, while Jeff was alive I spent the entire hour-long massage in prayer. I actually looked forward to the quiet opportunity to bombard God with my incessant petitions. During each hour, I prayed constantly: I asked God to heal Jeff; to save him; to cure him; to let him live; to spare my children; to help me; to comfort us; to give us all safety, good health, peace, and happiness. I mean--I really went to town.
Then, I had a massage this past weekend, and I realized that my prayers had changed. I don't know how or when the evolution took place, but I noted one hallmark characteristic of my "new" prayers: I quit asking for things. And as I talked to my sister, I understood why.
I trust God knows what I need and that he will give it to me regardless of what I ask for. Just because I've asked for things and haven't gotten them doesn't mean that my prayers went unheard or unfulfilled. I tend to think it means God has something better for me than I could have ever sought for myself.
Here is (what else?) another analogy to illustrate my point. Shortly before Jeff was diagnosed with cancer, Aubrey and I were shopping at the mall for his Christmas gift when Aubrey zeroed in on a pair of leggings/tights that she absolutely HAD to have. (Maybe I've told you this story before, and if I have then you can take an intermission and skip to the end . . .). At first, she asked nicely, "Mom, can I pleeeeaaasseee have the tights?" I said, "No." So, then she tried to bargain with me and said, "What if I keep my room clean for a whole month? Then can I get them?" Again, I said, "No." So, she resorted to reasoning with me: "But I babysit the little kids all the time and I don't even get paid for it and the tights are only six dollars which isn't even very much considering all I do to help." But I was firm and said, "No. I'm not getting you those tights." She continued to beg. I continued to resist. By the end of the conversation, she was crying and telling me how mean and unfair I was and that I didn't understand, etc.
However, the reason I was so unmoved--and what I could not explain to Aubrey at the time--is that I had already bought her the tights for Christmas and they were wrapped up and hidden in our basement storage room. I knew she coveted those tights. I had paid attention when she pointed them out in magazines and in stores on prior occasions. I knew how much she wanted them and I knew that if I told her in the middle of her incessant begging that I had already bought the tights it would have ruined one of her best Christmas gifts--which in some ways, she would later admit, was made even better by the fact of our conversation. And when she opened the tights on Christmas morning, she immediately understood and said, "So THAT'S why you wouldn't buy them for me that day at the store!" And she learned that when I say "No" to her, she can trust it is for a very good reason and that even if she doesn't understand the reason at the time--it will all be worth it.
And so, I've begged God. I tried to ask nicely. I tried to bargain and reason. And there were times it would have been easy to turn on Him and tell Him how mean and unfair He was and how He just doesn't understand. But, He understands much better than I do, and I have a feeling that everything I need will be given to me--and on much better terms than I would have gotten if I had pestered and begged. And, so I've stopped asking for things because I trust God knows what I want, but more importantly, he knows what I need and will give it to me regardless. And it adds the element of excitement (or some might say, it takes away the element of control . . .), but, in my opinion, the best gifts aren't the ones you've begged for. For me, when people ask me what I want for Christmas or my birthday, it is a lot more fun to let them surprise me with a gift they have specially selected based upon the fun things they know about me than to ask for something specific, because then it isn't much of a gift at all--it's more like giving a gift to myself and they are merely the conduit.
And too, if God takes a paternalistic approach, I can guarantee that any parent is more likely to do favors for a grateful and obedient child than one who only comes to a parent when they want something and when they whine for it relentlessly. I know I am far more likely to be accommodating and forgiving when my children have helped without complaining than I am when they have insisted on negotiating an incentive. I am far more tolerant and patient when they have accepted my refusals or explanations than when they have been stubborn and defiant. Maybe God isn't so different. Maybe he just wants us to trust Him and let Him give us exactly what we need. So, maybe the only prayer worth saying is "Thy will be done." Period.
I know it sounds crazy for me to say things like this because I've had my fair share of disappointment and tragedy in my short 36 years and, therefore, can cite no proof in favor of my belief that God will give me everything I need. I just know that He will. And He is.
The end.
Kelly
Friday, May 1, 2009
The Month of May
OK, now that the head-lice epidemic at my house is akin to a Biblical pestilence, I received a notice from the school informing me that Pink-eye is going around Jack's class and to take all manner of precaution. I hope the fact that it is "Fungal Infection Awareness Month" (http://library.thinkquest.org/2886/may.htm) is not indicative of what's to come . . . I feel like the freaking Egyptians in the Old Testament! Ugh!
But, aside from being "Fungal Infection Awareness Month" I wanted to be sure to let you know that today is the first day of Melanoma Awareness Month. It only seems fitting, if not ironic, that so many holidays pertinent to Jeff occur this month and that this month has been set aside to educate others about Melanoma.
This month we will celebrate:
May 15th--Finn's 2nd birthday
May 17th--The Annual Memorial Service at Jeff's Hospice and the annual Melanoma Awareness 5k run/3k walk at the Milwaukee County Zoo. I'm going to see if Aubrey wants to run in it (she's a natural and gifted distance runner). If so, I'll see if Mary Margaret and Bryan want to run with her (heads-up, MM and Bryan!).
May 21st--Jeff's Birthday. This would have also been our 15th wedding anniversary. (Sigh . . .)
May 25th--Memorial Day. This will be a new "holiday" for us this year now that we have someone to memorialize.
So, that's our month at a glance. I hope you'll keep reading to see how it all unfolds.
Until next time,
Kelly
But, aside from being "Fungal Infection Awareness Month" I wanted to be sure to let you know that today is the first day of Melanoma Awareness Month. It only seems fitting, if not ironic, that so many holidays pertinent to Jeff occur this month and that this month has been set aside to educate others about Melanoma.
This month we will celebrate:
May 15th--Finn's 2nd birthday
May 17th--The Annual Memorial Service at Jeff's Hospice and the annual Melanoma Awareness 5k run/3k walk at the Milwaukee County Zoo. I'm going to see if Aubrey wants to run in it (she's a natural and gifted distance runner). If so, I'll see if Mary Margaret and Bryan want to run with her (heads-up, MM and Bryan!).
May 21st--Jeff's Birthday. This would have also been our 15th wedding anniversary. (Sigh . . .)
May 25th--Memorial Day. This will be a new "holiday" for us this year now that we have someone to memorialize.
So, that's our month at a glance. I hope you'll keep reading to see how it all unfolds.
Until next time,
Kelly
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Open Letter to My Fellow Widows:
Well, here we are ladies: Young, pretty, rich, and single. (Ok--I'll speak for myself, I'm maybe two out of three--young and single). Either way, it's not a bad place to be, huh? Except that it is. It's terrible and we never thought in a million years that we would be here. Like this. This way.
I have read your blogs and your e-mails and your postings to various cancer-related chat rooms, and I know that you have wondered "why?" Why did this happen to me? Why did this happen to my children? What did I do to deserve this? And, when will I ever get a break? The short answers are: Because; because; nothing; and you won't. But, here are my own long answers to those questions if you'll indulge me. You can take'em or leave'em--they're just my thoughts. Or more accurately, they are the thoughts God has given me that help make things a little easier to bear. If they can be of any similar service to you, I am privileged to share them. I continued this blog after Jeff's death for two reasons: (1) my own personal entertainment (a perfectly suitable form of therapy, in my opinion); and (2) as an informational and educational tool for others who are similarly situated. So, I've decided tonight to momentarily suspend number one in favor of number two. Here goes nothin' . . .
For some reason, I've never asked "why?" Mostly because there is no answer that could satisfy me. No answer could justify my suffering and my children's suffering. Nothing could appease me. But, after thinking about it, I realized, the reason I don't ask why is because although I trust there IS an answer, I'm convinced it is not an answer I can understand. It is easy in our circumstances to feel abandoned by God and to feel punished or betrayed. However, I think that maybe our circumstances are akin to "inoculations."
(Lame Analogy Alert: Now is a good time to go get a cup of coffee if you don't like long-winded, confusing, and picturesque analogies). But, again, I can't resist: When you took your first child to a pediatrician for shots, she was happy or sleeping. You handed her over to a stranger and as she recoiled and grabbed at you for reassurance and comfort, you actually helped the stranger hold her down. As she looked at you, crying in confusion and fear--kicking and fighting to get away--you were all the while talking with the enemy and smiling. Then came the pain that you plainly collaborated with the enemy to inflict--a searing shot (and maybe even two or three) that, from her perspective, served no legitimate purpose whatsoever aside from undermining her trust in you and fostering her sense of loneliness and betrayal. However, from the perspective of a parent who has a much broader spectrum of experience and knowledge that cannot possibly be explained to an infant--you were committing a necessary and perhaps life-saving act of love. Would the baby be convinced of this in a million years?--of course not, because she cannot see and reason from the parent's vantage point.
I believe our experience is much the same. Our tragedies reared their ugly heads unexpectedly while we were happy and sleeping. As we turned to God for comfort, he apparently handed us over to evil or allowed evil to commandeer us and while we were begging for help and deliverance, he sat by silently and watched--maybe even coordinating or controlling our circumstances to our detriment. But, I trust it may not be that simple. Like the baby--although logically it appears God has abandoned us or betrayed us or sat idly by--perhaps he has allowed this tragedy into our lives as a necessary and maybe even life-saving act of love. Do I really believe this? Well, actually, I do--because for me to try to understand God's ways is like an ant trying to understand physics (or an infant trying to understand Medicine) and I trust that God's experience and knowledge is so far superior to mine that the answer, even if offered, would be unintelligible. So, I trust that the answer--whatever it is--is just and good and perfect and if I understood it, I wouldn't want it any other way. So, instead of asking God, "Why did you do this to me?" I think we should ask him, if anything, "Why did you do this for me?" Because, like everything we have, this tragedy is a gift and I ultimately believe it is intended to help us, or maybe to help us help others.
Would our husbands agree? I'm certain mine wouldn't. I had, in fact, insulted him once by suggesting that there may be some good to come of all this. He could not fathom that any good whatsoever could come from his death, and, perhaps I would feel the same way if I were him. I hope I never have the opportunity to know for sure. But, I have seen the phenomena of good arising from tragedy first-hand. When I was eleven years old, my parents got divorced. My mother raised four of us--two boys and two girls--alone. (Sound familiar?) I'm sure, at the time, my mother asked "why" many times. But, maybe the answer came 25 years later when I could look to her tragedy as an example and take comfort in knowing that not only had I been through something like this before, but I had a mentor in her in how to single-handedly raise two boys and two girls. I can't count the times I have been comforted to know two things from this early experience: (1) that my children and I can still be healthy and happy under extreme circumstances and (2) if my mom could raise four kids as a waitress in Ogallala Nebraska, then I could certainly do it with a law degree in Milwaukee. My parents' divorce was one of the most formative experiences of my life and prepared me in myriad ways for Jeff's last illness and death, and so I have seen first-hand how Good can reveal itself in unlikely ways and how we can mine it from the most unforgiving and unfruitful soil.
But, that doesn't make it easy by any stretch. And although I haven't asked "why," I have asked, "When will I get a break?" The short and long answer is the same: I won't. So, I've stopped expecting one. Tonight, while Finn was in the bathtub, I noticed we had run out of toilet paper. I ran downstairs to get a new roll. By the time I came back upstairs (all of 30 seconds later) he had already gotten out of the tub and removed the inside bowl from the potty chair and was happily rinsing himself and drinking from it in the tub. I didn't know what else to do but laugh. It was awful and for a fleeting moment I mentally berated myself for putting him in a situation where this could happen and I assumed that I must be the world's most negligent mother, etc. But, then I realized--a squeaky clean toddler with an attentive mother on the edge of the tub and a pristine roll of toilet paper nearby is normal for other people, but not for me. Not anymore. That expectation is unreasonable. Instead, I have to expect that Finn will drink out of the potty chair when my back is turned--as it inevitably will be because I have three other children and a household and myself to take care of--and I no longer have the luxury of a husband who is capable and present and willing to share the burden. So, now--I don't get a break; Finn drinks out of the potty chair; my kids get lice; we run out of toilet paper and that is "normal." It is normal for you now, too. Get over it, or get under it, as I like to say . . .
But, whatever you do--don't despair. I know how unfair and painful it is to be thrust into a life of self-sacrifice and chastity cold turkey. I know how excruciating it is to see a husband kiss his wife gently on the forehead as they wait in line with their daughter at Noodles and Company or to witness a father pushing his toddler in the "car" cart at the grocery store and to know that neither you nor your children will enjoy such experiences. I know the physical and emotional ache that accompanies such realizations. And I know what it is like to position the pillows and blankets just right so that you can't see the empty side of the bed as you fall asleep and so that something is touching your back and preventing the cool breeze of nothingness from keeping you awake. I'm sure it is easy in such circumstances to despair. It is hard to smile and say "Well, at least God loves me!" God's love isn't like a husband's love and when you realize that, despair is real easy to come by. But, beware, because I think despair is the worst sin of all.
When Judas betrayed Jesus, it wasn't the betrayal that was his greatest sin (in my opinion), but the despair that caused him to take his own life because in doing so, he prevented God from forgiving him and he lost all opportunity to forgive himself and to be forgiven by others. Similarly, we cannot let despair lead us to self-pity and hopelessness. Just as an inoculation fortifies a baby against known diseases, our tragedies should fortify us against despair. It seems counterintuitive, but I am convinced we are stronger and more prepared to meet it than we were before. So, it is my hope for us that our circumstances can be a gift to each other and to others-- and I like to think that by sharing what I have been given--whether it is the gift of humor and writing through this blog, or the gift of ill-conceived medical analogies, that for my grateful acceptance and sharing of them--and for my unquestioning acceptance of God's will and love (no matter how painful that love may be to accept)--I will someday lead an army in Heaven. And so will you.
Love, Kelly
I have read your blogs and your e-mails and your postings to various cancer-related chat rooms, and I know that you have wondered "why?" Why did this happen to me? Why did this happen to my children? What did I do to deserve this? And, when will I ever get a break? The short answers are: Because; because; nothing; and you won't. But, here are my own long answers to those questions if you'll indulge me. You can take'em or leave'em--they're just my thoughts. Or more accurately, they are the thoughts God has given me that help make things a little easier to bear. If they can be of any similar service to you, I am privileged to share them. I continued this blog after Jeff's death for two reasons: (1) my own personal entertainment (a perfectly suitable form of therapy, in my opinion); and (2) as an informational and educational tool for others who are similarly situated. So, I've decided tonight to momentarily suspend number one in favor of number two. Here goes nothin' . . .
For some reason, I've never asked "why?" Mostly because there is no answer that could satisfy me. No answer could justify my suffering and my children's suffering. Nothing could appease me. But, after thinking about it, I realized, the reason I don't ask why is because although I trust there IS an answer, I'm convinced it is not an answer I can understand. It is easy in our circumstances to feel abandoned by God and to feel punished or betrayed. However, I think that maybe our circumstances are akin to "inoculations."
(Lame Analogy Alert: Now is a good time to go get a cup of coffee if you don't like long-winded, confusing, and picturesque analogies). But, again, I can't resist: When you took your first child to a pediatrician for shots, she was happy or sleeping. You handed her over to a stranger and as she recoiled and grabbed at you for reassurance and comfort, you actually helped the stranger hold her down. As she looked at you, crying in confusion and fear--kicking and fighting to get away--you were all the while talking with the enemy and smiling. Then came the pain that you plainly collaborated with the enemy to inflict--a searing shot (and maybe even two or three) that, from her perspective, served no legitimate purpose whatsoever aside from undermining her trust in you and fostering her sense of loneliness and betrayal. However, from the perspective of a parent who has a much broader spectrum of experience and knowledge that cannot possibly be explained to an infant--you were committing a necessary and perhaps life-saving act of love. Would the baby be convinced of this in a million years?--of course not, because she cannot see and reason from the parent's vantage point.
I believe our experience is much the same. Our tragedies reared their ugly heads unexpectedly while we were happy and sleeping. As we turned to God for comfort, he apparently handed us over to evil or allowed evil to commandeer us and while we were begging for help and deliverance, he sat by silently and watched--maybe even coordinating or controlling our circumstances to our detriment. But, I trust it may not be that simple. Like the baby--although logically it appears God has abandoned us or betrayed us or sat idly by--perhaps he has allowed this tragedy into our lives as a necessary and maybe even life-saving act of love. Do I really believe this? Well, actually, I do--because for me to try to understand God's ways is like an ant trying to understand physics (or an infant trying to understand Medicine) and I trust that God's experience and knowledge is so far superior to mine that the answer, even if offered, would be unintelligible. So, I trust that the answer--whatever it is--is just and good and perfect and if I understood it, I wouldn't want it any other way. So, instead of asking God, "Why did you do this to me?" I think we should ask him, if anything, "Why did you do this for me?" Because, like everything we have, this tragedy is a gift and I ultimately believe it is intended to help us, or maybe to help us help others.
Would our husbands agree? I'm certain mine wouldn't. I had, in fact, insulted him once by suggesting that there may be some good to come of all this. He could not fathom that any good whatsoever could come from his death, and, perhaps I would feel the same way if I were him. I hope I never have the opportunity to know for sure. But, I have seen the phenomena of good arising from tragedy first-hand. When I was eleven years old, my parents got divorced. My mother raised four of us--two boys and two girls--alone. (Sound familiar?) I'm sure, at the time, my mother asked "why" many times. But, maybe the answer came 25 years later when I could look to her tragedy as an example and take comfort in knowing that not only had I been through something like this before, but I had a mentor in her in how to single-handedly raise two boys and two girls. I can't count the times I have been comforted to know two things from this early experience: (1) that my children and I can still be healthy and happy under extreme circumstances and (2) if my mom could raise four kids as a waitress in Ogallala Nebraska, then I could certainly do it with a law degree in Milwaukee. My parents' divorce was one of the most formative experiences of my life and prepared me in myriad ways for Jeff's last illness and death, and so I have seen first-hand how Good can reveal itself in unlikely ways and how we can mine it from the most unforgiving and unfruitful soil.
But, that doesn't make it easy by any stretch. And although I haven't asked "why," I have asked, "When will I get a break?" The short and long answer is the same: I won't. So, I've stopped expecting one. Tonight, while Finn was in the bathtub, I noticed we had run out of toilet paper. I ran downstairs to get a new roll. By the time I came back upstairs (all of 30 seconds later) he had already gotten out of the tub and removed the inside bowl from the potty chair and was happily rinsing himself and drinking from it in the tub. I didn't know what else to do but laugh. It was awful and for a fleeting moment I mentally berated myself for putting him in a situation where this could happen and I assumed that I must be the world's most negligent mother, etc. But, then I realized--a squeaky clean toddler with an attentive mother on the edge of the tub and a pristine roll of toilet paper nearby is normal for other people, but not for me. Not anymore. That expectation is unreasonable. Instead, I have to expect that Finn will drink out of the potty chair when my back is turned--as it inevitably will be because I have three other children and a household and myself to take care of--and I no longer have the luxury of a husband who is capable and present and willing to share the burden. So, now--I don't get a break; Finn drinks out of the potty chair; my kids get lice; we run out of toilet paper and that is "normal." It is normal for you now, too. Get over it, or get under it, as I like to say . . .
But, whatever you do--don't despair. I know how unfair and painful it is to be thrust into a life of self-sacrifice and chastity cold turkey. I know how excruciating it is to see a husband kiss his wife gently on the forehead as they wait in line with their daughter at Noodles and Company or to witness a father pushing his toddler in the "car" cart at the grocery store and to know that neither you nor your children will enjoy such experiences. I know the physical and emotional ache that accompanies such realizations. And I know what it is like to position the pillows and blankets just right so that you can't see the empty side of the bed as you fall asleep and so that something is touching your back and preventing the cool breeze of nothingness from keeping you awake. I'm sure it is easy in such circumstances to despair. It is hard to smile and say "Well, at least God loves me!" God's love isn't like a husband's love and when you realize that, despair is real easy to come by. But, beware, because I think despair is the worst sin of all.
When Judas betrayed Jesus, it wasn't the betrayal that was his greatest sin (in my opinion), but the despair that caused him to take his own life because in doing so, he prevented God from forgiving him and he lost all opportunity to forgive himself and to be forgiven by others. Similarly, we cannot let despair lead us to self-pity and hopelessness. Just as an inoculation fortifies a baby against known diseases, our tragedies should fortify us against despair. It seems counterintuitive, but I am convinced we are stronger and more prepared to meet it than we were before. So, it is my hope for us that our circumstances can be a gift to each other and to others-- and I like to think that by sharing what I have been given--whether it is the gift of humor and writing through this blog, or the gift of ill-conceived medical analogies, that for my grateful acceptance and sharing of them--and for my unquestioning acceptance of God's will and love (no matter how painful that love may be to accept)--I will someday lead an army in Heaven. And so will you.
Love, Kelly
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