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
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Get Ready for Some Whining . . .
I mean, Come ON!!!! First, I have to single-handedly cart three puking kids and one irate toddler across four states. Then, my car battery dies. Then, my kids and I get caught outside in a wicked rain storm. Then they misspell a word on Jeff's long awaited headstone, and, now . . . HEAD LICE! Who am I? Job???
Yes, you read that correctly. Today, one of my kids (who shall remain nameless because she doesn't want the rest of the third grade to know she has head lice) came down with a world class, first-rate case of it. Another third-grader's mother called to let me know that head lice was traveling like wildfire through the third grade. (The same exact thing happened last year but we fortuitously avoided it). This year we weren't so lucky. After I spoke with the other mom on the phone I said to [my daughter], "head lice is going around your class, so don't wear anyone else's coat or hug your friends or anything like that because it's easy to catch, blah blah blah." To which she replied "I already have head lice." I said, "what makes you think that?" And she said, "I saw a bug crawling in my hair."
Keep in mind that at this point, Regan, Jack, Finn and I were crammed uncomfortably into the Alero (our little silver car) because the van didn't have any car seats in it and (as usual) we were running late to get to Family Night at Aubrey's play (she is in the middle school's production of "The King and I"). I had arrived home from work around 5:30 p.m. and couldn't remember what time the play was supposed to start, so I called Aubrey. She didn't answer her phone, so I left her a voicemail message. By the time I got home and changed clothes and turned on the computer to check the start-time of the play, it was 5:45 p.m. So, of course, I discovered the play started at 6:00 p.m. (and it's a 10 minute drive). None of us had eaten dinner. I was starving, the kids were starving, but it was going to be our only opportunity to see the play and I didn't want to miss Aubrey's performance. So, I made each of us a quick and sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat in the car on the way over. It was as I was making the sandwiches that my friend (the third grader's mom) called to tell me about the lice outbreak. It was in the car on the way to the play that Regan made her announcement that she was already seriously afflicted. So, given that I was already rushed, late, starving, and exhausted (I was up until 1:00 a.m. the night before), I was in no mood to receive such news.
When we got to the play and got out of the car, I immediately checked Regan's hair and she was absolutely and undeniably infested. Big Time. So, after the play, I dropped everyone off at home while I ran to the drugstore to stock-up on lice shampoo and this nifty lice-killer spray. I then drove through McDonald's to supplement my children's peanut butter and jelly dinners. To add insult to injury--I ordered a Big Mac and discovered when I got home they gave me a Quarter Pounder with cheese instead-on TWO bottom buns (no "top" bun in sight). And the cheese wasn't even melted. Ugh! Fortunately, I only had time to eat half of it before Finn commandeered my coke and fries and Regan needed to have her hair washed (it was after 9:00 p.m. at this point . . .) and I still hadn't even thought about having to wash and clean the beds, the couch, the pillows, her coat, etc. As I was trying to simultaneously scarf down my food, feed Finn, and maintain some semblance of composure, I said to no one in particular "Why can I NOT get a break?" to which Jack replied, "Shouldn't you ask, 'Why can ALL OF US not get a break?'" I had to agree with him. Poor Jack had been ignored all night while we watched Aubrey's play and tended to Regan's crisis. Regan was feeling rejected and embarrassed because no one would sit next to her at dinner. Finn was eating dinner in his bath towel with wet hair. Aubrey was still in her play make-up and had given Finn a bath for me while I ran to get the lice shampoo and accidental Quarter Pounder. None of us had had a particularly good day.
Now, it is after 11:00 p.m. and I'm in the middle of a long night of laundry. The kids are in bed and I have time to reflect and really . . . it's not so bad. I mean, Job lost his farm, his house, all of his ten children, his reputation, etc. So, my daughter has lice and my baby has a diaper rash and my seven-year old got ignored most of the night? All of it seems so petty and minor. And I know some people look to me as an example of how much worse things could always be for them, but I want everyone to know that despite my elaborations on the blog, my misfortunes really aren't misfortunes at all (with the exception of Jeff's death of course). I only make a big deal out of them because I have to handle them entirely on my own. At least when Jeff was alive I had someone to commiserate with. Now, I bear the full brunt of these experiences all by myself.
Maybe it wouldn't be so different if Jeff were alive (he would have NEVER undertaken the unsavory lice mitigation task. I can attest to the fact that the shampoo and subsequent combing of nits is particularly nasty), but he would have given Jack attention and read him a book while I did the shampooing. He would have rocked Finn and sang him lullabies while I washed and sprayed down the bedding. He would have told Aubrey what a great job she did in the play--because at least one of us would have actually seen all of it. (As it was, I spent most of it in the hallway chasing a sweaty and red-cheeked toddler). He would have given Finn a bath so Aubrey could relax after a 12-hour day at school instead of going straight to work helping with the little kids. It is physically exhausting and emotionally draining for me, for Aubrey--and for all of us, really. And it takes some very hearty and resilient self-esteem to keep going: it's very easy to feel like a negligent parent; an expendable employee; a marginal friend; and a general incompetent when I am constantly reminded of the things I can't do well (get someplace on time; feed children dinner; jump-start a battery, kill lice). I wish I had some happiness and excitement to motivate me. It is much easier to do it all with an undercurrent of joy and anticipation to push you along. Oh well. I trust things will get better and even if they don't--they will have to get a WHOLE lot worse before any of my complaining will be justified. Besides, tomorrow is a new day (National Shrimp Scampi Day, to be exact).
In the meantime, I woke up today with a sore throat and cough. I hope it's that Swine Virus. I could use a three-day quarantine. :-)
Kelly
Yes, you read that correctly. Today, one of my kids (who shall remain nameless because she doesn't want the rest of the third grade to know she has head lice) came down with a world class, first-rate case of it. Another third-grader's mother called to let me know that head lice was traveling like wildfire through the third grade. (The same exact thing happened last year but we fortuitously avoided it). This year we weren't so lucky. After I spoke with the other mom on the phone I said to [my daughter], "head lice is going around your class, so don't wear anyone else's coat or hug your friends or anything like that because it's easy to catch, blah blah blah." To which she replied "I already have head lice." I said, "what makes you think that?" And she said, "I saw a bug crawling in my hair."
Keep in mind that at this point, Regan, Jack, Finn and I were crammed uncomfortably into the Alero (our little silver car) because the van didn't have any car seats in it and (as usual) we were running late to get to Family Night at Aubrey's play (she is in the middle school's production of "The King and I"). I had arrived home from work around 5:30 p.m. and couldn't remember what time the play was supposed to start, so I called Aubrey. She didn't answer her phone, so I left her a voicemail message. By the time I got home and changed clothes and turned on the computer to check the start-time of the play, it was 5:45 p.m. So, of course, I discovered the play started at 6:00 p.m. (and it's a 10 minute drive). None of us had eaten dinner. I was starving, the kids were starving, but it was going to be our only opportunity to see the play and I didn't want to miss Aubrey's performance. So, I made each of us a quick and sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat in the car on the way over. It was as I was making the sandwiches that my friend (the third grader's mom) called to tell me about the lice outbreak. It was in the car on the way to the play that Regan made her announcement that she was already seriously afflicted. So, given that I was already rushed, late, starving, and exhausted (I was up until 1:00 a.m. the night before), I was in no mood to receive such news.
When we got to the play and got out of the car, I immediately checked Regan's hair and she was absolutely and undeniably infested. Big Time. So, after the play, I dropped everyone off at home while I ran to the drugstore to stock-up on lice shampoo and this nifty lice-killer spray. I then drove through McDonald's to supplement my children's peanut butter and jelly dinners. To add insult to injury--I ordered a Big Mac and discovered when I got home they gave me a Quarter Pounder with cheese instead-on TWO bottom buns (no "top" bun in sight). And the cheese wasn't even melted. Ugh! Fortunately, I only had time to eat half of it before Finn commandeered my coke and fries and Regan needed to have her hair washed (it was after 9:00 p.m. at this point . . .) and I still hadn't even thought about having to wash and clean the beds, the couch, the pillows, her coat, etc. As I was trying to simultaneously scarf down my food, feed Finn, and maintain some semblance of composure, I said to no one in particular "Why can I NOT get a break?" to which Jack replied, "Shouldn't you ask, 'Why can ALL OF US not get a break?'" I had to agree with him. Poor Jack had been ignored all night while we watched Aubrey's play and tended to Regan's crisis. Regan was feeling rejected and embarrassed because no one would sit next to her at dinner. Finn was eating dinner in his bath towel with wet hair. Aubrey was still in her play make-up and had given Finn a bath for me while I ran to get the lice shampoo and accidental Quarter Pounder. None of us had had a particularly good day.
Now, it is after 11:00 p.m. and I'm in the middle of a long night of laundry. The kids are in bed and I have time to reflect and really . . . it's not so bad. I mean, Job lost his farm, his house, all of his ten children, his reputation, etc. So, my daughter has lice and my baby has a diaper rash and my seven-year old got ignored most of the night? All of it seems so petty and minor. And I know some people look to me as an example of how much worse things could always be for them, but I want everyone to know that despite my elaborations on the blog, my misfortunes really aren't misfortunes at all (with the exception of Jeff's death of course). I only make a big deal out of them because I have to handle them entirely on my own. At least when Jeff was alive I had someone to commiserate with. Now, I bear the full brunt of these experiences all by myself.
Maybe it wouldn't be so different if Jeff were alive (he would have NEVER undertaken the unsavory lice mitigation task. I can attest to the fact that the shampoo and subsequent combing of nits is particularly nasty), but he would have given Jack attention and read him a book while I did the shampooing. He would have rocked Finn and sang him lullabies while I washed and sprayed down the bedding. He would have told Aubrey what a great job she did in the play--because at least one of us would have actually seen all of it. (As it was, I spent most of it in the hallway chasing a sweaty and red-cheeked toddler). He would have given Finn a bath so Aubrey could relax after a 12-hour day at school instead of going straight to work helping with the little kids. It is physically exhausting and emotionally draining for me, for Aubrey--and for all of us, really. And it takes some very hearty and resilient self-esteem to keep going: it's very easy to feel like a negligent parent; an expendable employee; a marginal friend; and a general incompetent when I am constantly reminded of the things I can't do well (get someplace on time; feed children dinner; jump-start a battery, kill lice). I wish I had some happiness and excitement to motivate me. It is much easier to do it all with an undercurrent of joy and anticipation to push you along. Oh well. I trust things will get better and even if they don't--they will have to get a WHOLE lot worse before any of my complaining will be justified. Besides, tomorrow is a new day (National Shrimp Scampi Day, to be exact).
In the meantime, I woke up today with a sore throat and cough. I hope it's that Swine Virus. I could use a three-day quarantine. :-)
Kelly
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Updated Post . . .
(Editor's Note: After I originally posted this, people asked me if it is creepy for me to see my name on a headstone. My answer: Not at all. The kids have seen it, too and none of them seem to be bothered by it. Regan asked where all of them (the kids) will be buried and I told them that if any of them die before me, they can have my spot next to Daddy (True). I decided to be buried next to Jeff as a convenience to our kids and to future family genealogists so that we can be easily found and visited. However, the kids also know that if I would have the good fortune to get remarried, that they are welcome to cremate me and bury half of me with Jeff and half with my new husband. After all, I think it would be kind of funny/ironic if after working as a divorce lawyer, I ended up being divided in two. )
Original Post:
As promised, here are pictures of Jeff's headstone. The pictures really don't to it justice. It is made of black granite that is so sleek and shiny it looks like a mirror (as you can see from the back view where Aubrey's reflection is plainly visible). Unfortunately, it is hard to see the detail on the angel, but it is very nicely done. My only complaint is a misspelling in the inscription on the back: it should have the word "men" instead of the word "man." Oh well--can't change it now. I shouldn't have told you--only the die hard Shakespeare scholars in the audience would know otherwise.
The inscription on the back are the last two lines of Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII. Jeff read this poem out loud to me during an elaborate picnic at Holmes Lake in Lincoln, Nebraska on July 2, 1993 and then asked me to marry him. However, I included it as his epitaph not so much for its sentimental value as a love poem, but because it is descriptive of how a writer immortalizes himself through his writings. Jeff always aspired to achieve greatness as a writer--and even if he only did it through this blog, then I think his efforts are worth remembering.
I plan to get a hanging basket for his Shepherd's hook--and a new chime (he's on his third one now--they don't last long for some reason . . .). I can even plant flowers around it, so maybe I'll use the same ones we use to fill all the flower boxes on our windows at home.
I can't believe I'm 36 years old and writing about this. It makes me sad. I feel like crying.
Love,
Kelly
Saturday, April 25, 2009
My Day So Far . . .
Here are just a few of the highlights:
1. Aubrey was at play practice and the rest of us were in a mad dash out of the house trying to make it to Regan's soccer game on time--I had already transferred Finn's car seat to the van; I had loaded it with all the necessary supplies (lawn chairs, umbrellas, Finn's baby bag of diapers, wipes, apoo joose, and snacks). I had finally wrestled Finn into his car seat and convincingly threatened Regan and Jack to stop fighting over the "good seat" (you parents out there know what I'm talking about . . . every vehicle has one). I turned the key and the car winced and sputtered. Nothing. The engine wouldn't turn over. I tried and tried. We jumped out and re-loaded the other car in record time and headed for the game. I have AAA (a very worthwhile investment for me--especially since Jeff died) but thought I would wait to call until we got back from the game.
2. At the game, I was still choking down a donut and coffee and let the boys out to play on a playground about 50 yards from the car. Regan ran to the field and Jack led Finn to the jungle gym and slides. I could see everyone from my vantage point in the car but was afraid my donut would not survive if I tried to carry it AND twenty pounds of lawn chairs, umbrellas, my purse (easily 10 pounds on its own) and Finn's bag etc. After fewer than 5 minutes of blissful solitude, the sky erupted and a huge thunderstorm unleashed its fury upon us. I instinctively threw the last morsel of my donut onto the open seat next to me and darted into the rain to rescue poor Jack who was simultaneously trying to run and carry Finn Vietnam-style back to the car. I ran the boys back to the car and noticed Regan standing with her teammates in the middle of the field huddled under various umbrellas. The one we brought was conspicuously not among them. Where was our umbrella? I dug through the car and couldn't find it anywhere. I would later discover it on the driveway back home--sacrificed to the quick-change between cars after the van wouldn't start.
The game was cancelled, so we all drove home soaking wet with only three wimpy Subway napkins in the glove compartment to share between us--we sopped up as much as we could with the napkins and air-dried the rest of the way home. On the way, I decided to stop off at the cemetery to show the kids Jeff's finished headstone (of course, we were not going to get out). I'll try to post a picture of it here for everyone to see. It really is pretty neat. But, the kids were in no mood to be impressed so we hurried home and changed. By the way--I should note that my sister was jealous that I got rained on because it sounded "exciting." She said that her life is decidedly less engaging and that "excitement" for her consists of trying to decipher sounds around her house, "Ben--I think I hear the wind. Is that the wind?" Oh well. We can't all live glamorous lives.
3. Once home, I was emboldened and inexplicably decided to jump-start my own car battery. I know AAA does it all the time, but my cars were already parked side-by-side, hood-by-hood in the garage--how hard could it be? So, I opted to rely on the first Yahoo article to pop up after searching for "how to use jumper cables." Why ask the pros when you can leave things to chance? The article advised me to "connect one end of the red jumper cable to the positive terminal of the dead battery first" and to then "connect one end of the black jumper cable to the negative terminal of the good battery." This was already getting confusing. Then later, the article instructed me to "disconnect the jumper cables in the reverse order they were connected." At this point, I decided someone was just trying to mess with me. However, I reconsidered my initial decision to jump-start my own car battery after the e-How article I was relying on for guidance warned that "You have to be ready to prevent a possible explosion and serious injuries to yourself or others." Well, I wasn't ready for that, so I called AAA. Also, the article had the word "chassis" in it and I don't know what one of those is (I habitually blame all automotive problems on the "dubilator" which is my own made-up catch-all word for any car part--real or imagined--that is causing me problems). And before you get too smug about my idiocy, I will remind you there are likely plenty of things that I know that YOU don't--like the capital city of Gabon or how to say "ice cream cone" in Finnish (Ok--Anni, I'll give you that one).
So, in the end, Triple-A saved the day while I made tacos. And, at that point, I knew I was back on track. Aubrey went to a friend's party, Regan had a friend spend the night, and I had Tony and CeeCee and the twins over for dinner. It is now 11:12 p.m. Things are starting to look up.
Until next time . . . Thanks for reading!
Kelly
1. Aubrey was at play practice and the rest of us were in a mad dash out of the house trying to make it to Regan's soccer game on time--I had already transferred Finn's car seat to the van; I had loaded it with all the necessary supplies (lawn chairs, umbrellas, Finn's baby bag of diapers, wipes, apoo joose, and snacks). I had finally wrestled Finn into his car seat and convincingly threatened Regan and Jack to stop fighting over the "good seat" (you parents out there know what I'm talking about . . . every vehicle has one). I turned the key and the car winced and sputtered. Nothing. The engine wouldn't turn over. I tried and tried. We jumped out and re-loaded the other car in record time and headed for the game. I have AAA (a very worthwhile investment for me--especially since Jeff died) but thought I would wait to call until we got back from the game.
2. At the game, I was still choking down a donut and coffee and let the boys out to play on a playground about 50 yards from the car. Regan ran to the field and Jack led Finn to the jungle gym and slides. I could see everyone from my vantage point in the car but was afraid my donut would not survive if I tried to carry it AND twenty pounds of lawn chairs, umbrellas, my purse (easily 10 pounds on its own) and Finn's bag etc. After fewer than 5 minutes of blissful solitude, the sky erupted and a huge thunderstorm unleashed its fury upon us. I instinctively threw the last morsel of my donut onto the open seat next to me and darted into the rain to rescue poor Jack who was simultaneously trying to run and carry Finn Vietnam-style back to the car. I ran the boys back to the car and noticed Regan standing with her teammates in the middle of the field huddled under various umbrellas. The one we brought was conspicuously not among them. Where was our umbrella? I dug through the car and couldn't find it anywhere. I would later discover it on the driveway back home--sacrificed to the quick-change between cars after the van wouldn't start.
The game was cancelled, so we all drove home soaking wet with only three wimpy Subway napkins in the glove compartment to share between us--we sopped up as much as we could with the napkins and air-dried the rest of the way home. On the way, I decided to stop off at the cemetery to show the kids Jeff's finished headstone (of course, we were not going to get out). I'll try to post a picture of it here for everyone to see. It really is pretty neat. But, the kids were in no mood to be impressed so we hurried home and changed. By the way--I should note that my sister was jealous that I got rained on because it sounded "exciting." She said that her life is decidedly less engaging and that "excitement" for her consists of trying to decipher sounds around her house, "Ben--I think I hear the wind. Is that the wind?" Oh well. We can't all live glamorous lives.
3. Once home, I was emboldened and inexplicably decided to jump-start my own car battery. I know AAA does it all the time, but my cars were already parked side-by-side, hood-by-hood in the garage--how hard could it be? So, I opted to rely on the first Yahoo article to pop up after searching for "how to use jumper cables." Why ask the pros when you can leave things to chance? The article advised me to "connect one end of the red jumper cable to the positive terminal of the dead battery first" and to then "connect one end of the black jumper cable to the negative terminal of the good battery." This was already getting confusing. Then later, the article instructed me to "disconnect the jumper cables in the reverse order they were connected." At this point, I decided someone was just trying to mess with me. However, I reconsidered my initial decision to jump-start my own car battery after the e-How article I was relying on for guidance warned that "You have to be ready to prevent a possible explosion and serious injuries to yourself or others." Well, I wasn't ready for that, so I called AAA. Also, the article had the word "chassis" in it and I don't know what one of those is (I habitually blame all automotive problems on the "dubilator" which is my own made-up catch-all word for any car part--real or imagined--that is causing me problems). And before you get too smug about my idiocy, I will remind you there are likely plenty of things that I know that YOU don't--like the capital city of Gabon or how to say "ice cream cone" in Finnish (Ok--Anni, I'll give you that one).
So, in the end, Triple-A saved the day while I made tacos. And, at that point, I knew I was back on track. Aubrey went to a friend's party, Regan had a friend spend the night, and I had Tony and CeeCee and the twins over for dinner. It is now 11:12 p.m. Things are starting to look up.
Until next time . . . Thanks for reading!
Kelly
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Champion Jack!
YYYEEEESSSS!!!!! I am so excited! Our very own Jack Dodd won FIRST PLACE in the Boy Scouts Pinewood Derby tonight! His little car went the equivalent of 201.6 miles per hour! He was over the moon with happiness. He has been working on his car with the help of our next door neighbor, Mark, and Mark's sons, Abe and Ben (who are Regan's and Jack's ages respectively). As an aside, Mark's family and my family share a nanny, a snowblower, sometimes a minivan, and all manner of tupperware, glassware, sippy-cups and toys. Our kids behave like siblings, so it is not so surprising that Jack sometimes refers to Mark and his wife, Jennifer, as his "stepdad" and "stepmom." Mark has embraced the role and treats Jack as well as he treats his own sons--which I know is something easier said than done.
So, Mark worked with all three boys to sand and carve and paint and level their cars and he must have the magic touch because not only did Jack win first prize, but Abe won third and Ben won fourth--out of about thirty kids. Mark felt particularly vindicated because he was actually disqualified from racing in the Pinewood Derby when he was in Boy Scouts due to a minor technical infraction of the design specifications. He was completely dejected and hoped that as he helped our sons he wouldn't taint them with this curse. Well, talk about your comebacks! All three boys placed in the Top Five!
Thank God for Mark because if it had been up to me, Jack would have been racing an unpainted, unsanded square block with no wheels--my woodworking prowess is non-existent. But, Mark knew all the rules and knew that the winning car would require a simple design that kept all the weight in the back. Well, his formula worked like a dream and Jack was the unlikely beneficiary of Mark's benevolence and skill.
When they announced Jack's name he couldn't stop smiling and even I teared up. I was amazed that as a mother (and one who contributed nothing to the effort) it would mean that much to me, but all I could think of was how much Jack needed an emotional boost and how happy this would make him. Jack has had a hard time missing Jeff recently, and something like this will give him something happy to dwell on for a change. I recently showed Jack a picture of Jeff's old pinewood derby race car--painted blue with a white racing stripe--sitting on top of a blue ribbon. Jack was impressed, but was even more impressed when he won his own trophy. All night, he was hoping just to win a trophy--he never imagined he would win First Place! The trophy is big and ornate and he spent most of the evening polishing it and protecting it from admirers. However, he generously told us we could touch his hand or the cloth he used to buff the trophy in lieu of touching the actual trophy itself. It is now prominently displayed on his bookshelf headboard in his bedroom. I know he will sleep well tonight and I know that I witnessed him make a happy memory that will be with him for the rest of his life
Sweet Dreams my Beautiful Boy, you deserve them!
Kelly
So, Mark worked with all three boys to sand and carve and paint and level their cars and he must have the magic touch because not only did Jack win first prize, but Abe won third and Ben won fourth--out of about thirty kids. Mark felt particularly vindicated because he was actually disqualified from racing in the Pinewood Derby when he was in Boy Scouts due to a minor technical infraction of the design specifications. He was completely dejected and hoped that as he helped our sons he wouldn't taint them with this curse. Well, talk about your comebacks! All three boys placed in the Top Five!
Thank God for Mark because if it had been up to me, Jack would have been racing an unpainted, unsanded square block with no wheels--my woodworking prowess is non-existent. But, Mark knew all the rules and knew that the winning car would require a simple design that kept all the weight in the back. Well, his formula worked like a dream and Jack was the unlikely beneficiary of Mark's benevolence and skill.
When they announced Jack's name he couldn't stop smiling and even I teared up. I was amazed that as a mother (and one who contributed nothing to the effort) it would mean that much to me, but all I could think of was how much Jack needed an emotional boost and how happy this would make him. Jack has had a hard time missing Jeff recently, and something like this will give him something happy to dwell on for a change. I recently showed Jack a picture of Jeff's old pinewood derby race car--painted blue with a white racing stripe--sitting on top of a blue ribbon. Jack was impressed, but was even more impressed when he won his own trophy. All night, he was hoping just to win a trophy--he never imagined he would win First Place! The trophy is big and ornate and he spent most of the evening polishing it and protecting it from admirers. However, he generously told us we could touch his hand or the cloth he used to buff the trophy in lieu of touching the actual trophy itself. It is now prominently displayed on his bookshelf headboard in his bedroom. I know he will sleep well tonight and I know that I witnessed him make a happy memory that will be with him for the rest of his life
Sweet Dreams my Beautiful Boy, you deserve them!
Kelly
Monday, April 20, 2009
Finnicky
Ta da! Here are some pictures from the kids' trip to Branson. Everyone has recovered from the flu and, so far, Finn and I have evaded it altogether. Here's keeping our fingers crossed . . . These pictures are from Jeff's sister, Michelle, and prominently feature her 7 month-old son, Bo. As you can tell, the kids couldn't get enough of him. Finn has even affectionately named his naked baby doll, "Bo" or at least that's what he calls it. I don't know if he's doing it to honor his little cousin or if he just thinks all bald boy babies are called a "Bo." Finn has developed a couple of other peculiar habits worth noting. I mention them only on the off-chance they are symptomatic of a raging but obscure mental illness that you can help me diagnose. I respect the power of collective knowledge!
Finn has a meltdown every time I remove a sweater, sweatshirt, or other second top layer. I first noticed this during our Dance Parties. During the second act (this week featuring Mika and the Killers) I usually get hot and try to take off whatever outer layer of clothing I happen to be sporting. He FREAKS! He becomes suddenly incensed and insists that I put it back on. I learned the hard way what will happen if I don't. At the hotel in Lincoln on Friday night, I was wearing a leopard-print (or maybe giraffe? --it's hard to tell) cardigan. I took it off to go to bed--but was still wearing a tank top. Finn went ballistic. He went to my suitcase and manually extracted it no fewer than three times in an attempt to get me to put it back on. When I resisted--he tried to escape the hotel room--frantically turning the deadbolt on the door and hanging on the doorknob. What the????
He does the same thing when I try to take off my Ugg slippers. My nannies got me a very nice pair of Ugg slippers for Christmas. I have worn them to a shred because my house is full of hardwood and granite floors and I hate letting my bare feet touch the floor (symptomatic of my own raging mental illness, I'm sure . . .). But, once again, Ugg slippers are not appropriate Dance Party footwear (one of our routines involves a full cross-the-room slide). If I try to take them off, he stops whatever he is doing and forcibly tries to return them to my feet. I don't understand why he takes such offense.
I don't think I'm THAT unattractive that my sleeveless arms or sock-covered feet or even my bare arms and bare feet would justify Finn's complete mortification. I dare say I look waaayyy better in a bikini than he does. I even asked Aubrey (who is sensitive not only to trends but to abnormal/embarrassing parental behavior) if she saw anything wrong with my arms or feet. She said "No" but the look on her face makes me think she might not have heard the question and that she maybe thinks I asked her to try some deep-fried octopus. Oh well. I guess I'll have to rely on my own judgment.
In the meantime, Finn has also taken offense at certain music selections. Usually, he is always game for a dance party. He is the first one on the floor shaking his little booty. But whenever he hears "White and Nerdy" by "Wierd Al" Yankovick or "Grace Kelly" by Mika he drops his toys and runs and jumps into my arms and buries his little face in my neck and refuses to look until the song is over. For some reason, those songs scare him. It cracks me up, but at the same time I feel sorry for him. Everyone should enjoy the singular pleasure of "White and Nerdy"-even Finn, poor baby!
Finally, he did one other thing recently that surprised me--but I know exactly why he did it and I approve of it wholeheartedly. A couple of nights ago I made Finn some popcorn. Usually, he picks it up piece by piece and feeds it to himself out of a bowl. However, this time, he brought the full bowl to his mouth and used his tongue to pick-up a piece (kind of like a frog or lizard catching a fly . . .) and ate half the bowl this way. Truth be known, that was Jeff's signature way of eating popcorn. Jeff used his tongue to eat popcorn twice as often as he used his hands. I doubt Finn remembers Jeff eating popcorn this way--just like I doubt Finn recalls Jeff using coasters or cleaning the kitchen--yet Finn has demonstrated these identical tendencies. Very neat to see.
Well, it's getting late and I have to prepare a presentation for work tomorrow (and I still have to clean the kitchen and switch-over the laundry and write some checks--a typical day in the life). So, until next time, enjoy the pictures and thanks again for checking in. (The pictures from top to bottom are (1) Aubrey and Regan teaching Bo how to play Nintendo DS; (2) Finn looking like Grandma's Little Angel; and (3) Jack slacking on the job--either that, or Bo's top half is considerably heavier than his bottom half).
Kelly
Saturday, April 18, 2009
. . . And then the dysentery took Momma home to Jesus.
Remember that ancient computer game called "The Oregon Trail" that we played in elementary school? I think I just lived it: Pa is dead; Ma is dangerously low on supplies; and the young'uns are all sick. These were the hard cold facts of my 1,000 mile trip to Nebraska and back. The plan was simple enough--the kids would visit Jeff's parents for the week while I stayed behind to work and Spring Clean. I would meet up in Lincoln with Jeff's parents and the kids on Friday and I would then take the kids to Hastings, Nebraska to attend my baby nephew's baptism (Aubrey and Regan had starring roles as his Godmothers). We would then return to Milwaukee. Well, man plans; God laughs. Here's how the plan unfolded . . .
It started out well enough. The kids left Monday with Jeff's parents. They drove all day to Branson, Missouri and spent two full days of fun and excitement seeing and doing everything Branson has to offer. The Chinese Acrobats were a big hit with Jack. Regan liked Silver Dollar City and Aubrey liked the huge outlet mall. Meanwhile, I was in Milwaukee working late and doing all the things I can never seem to get done with the kids around: washing and organizing all their winter outerwear; cleaning out the closets and delivering several bags of donated items to Goodwill; etc. Then at midnight on Wednesday, Jack called. He had started throwing up around 10 pm and hadn't stopped. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to the hospital. He was miserable. I thought it might be a combination of nerves/anxiety (he was anxious about going on the trip to begin with) and all the excitement of the roller coasters, entertainment, and funnel cakes coupled with the usual exhaustion that accompanies a 10-hour car ride. He threw up all the next morning, but then things subsided mid-day and he rode to Lincoln on Friday without incident. However, after meeting up with me at Jeff's brother's house in Lincoln, he threw up again. He looked pale and glassy-eyed. I still wasn't convinced it was the flu and thought maybe another long car ride had agitated him.
We stayed in a hotel in Lincoln Friday night intending to go to Hastings on Saturday morning. Finn has been working diligently on his comedy routine and was intent on doing his nightly 9:00 p.m. performance. He raced and chased and acted silly and played until it was time for lights out--but then he got nervous and clingy and would only be reasonably quiet if he was laying directly on top of me. Now, for those of you who don't know--For reasons science cannot yet explain, a sleeping toddler radiates the heat of a thousand Suns. So, Finn was laying on me like a 10-inch thick, 98-degree, 30-pound heat blanket. He was apparently almost as uncomfortable as I was because he spent most of the night maneuvering into different positions on and across my chest, mid-section, back, legs--whatever was exposed to his assault. He occasionally yelped in frustration at his discomfort but woke up twice to chat happily with no one in particular. Meanwhile, Jack was also in the bed with us and I was constantly on high-alert for another puking episode. I was sure that every little wince or moan was heralding more projectile vomiting and I wondered which part of me would be at Ground Zero when it hit. So, I was sandwiched between Finn and Jack in a queen bed all night with one or both of them treating my various body parts as a pinball to be batted back to the other one. I am confident you have gotten more sleep reading this blog entry than I got all night last night. Ugh!
But then, at 6:30 a.m. Regan started throwing up. All over herself. All over the bed. I was impressed by Aubrey's ninja-fast reflexes as she flew out of a blissful slumber and into full gross-out mode. I helped Regan (and the bed) get cleaned up while Aubrey built a nest of sleeping bags on the side of our bed because there was no way she was going to subject herself to the slightest chance of getting puked-on by Regan. After that, Regan rested comfortably. Me, not so much. I was still in the middle of the Finn-Jack sandwich. At one point Finn fell out of the bed onto Aubrey. He decided to loiter down there for a short visit before pulling himself back onto me. It was approximately 7:00 a.m. at this point which is Finn's usual wake-up time, so he started asking for "apoo joose" (apple juice) and a "snack" all of which I interpreted to mean "breakfast." So, I told him to go back to sleep. To my amazement--he did!
When everyone woke up again at 8:00 a.m., Regan threw up on cue and I made an executive decision to abort the mission and to return home to Milwaukee immediately. At this point, I was sure It (whatever "It" was) was contagious and had a short incubation period (I figure I've got about 8 minutes to finish this blog before "It" hits me). I also knew I did not want to get stranded indefinitely in Hastings while we succumbed to the illness in turn, nor did I want to go hole-up in another hotel room 2 hours away only to miss the baptism anyway. And finally, my kids (in their present state) would not have been able to even see their cousins in Hastings because my 6 year old nephew has a rare autoimmune disorder that makes even pedestrian viruses life-threatening, so he cannot even risk being exposed to something as menacing as my kids were experiencing. So, I called my sister and told her we were not coming. She was actually glad--she didn't want her son (or her other kids, for that matter) getting sick and she knew we wouldn't have any fun and would likely miss the baptism altogether. She was very understanding and encouraged my decision to head home.
So, we loaded up the wagon and hit the trail. The kids slept for the first two hours of the trip and Regan only got sick a couple more times. We were to Des Moines by lunchtime, but no one wanted to eat. Not even Finn. He just wanted to lighten the mood and entertain everyone by "spanking" his toy baby doll and telling us it was "stinky" and laughing hysterically at himself. (Editor's Note: Finn has never been spanked in his life--even though he has on occasion endeavored to deserve it. He was only spanking the doll for comic relief). This game didn't last long though and as I watched the minutes tick by, he cried and screamed for one hour and fifty minutes solid. He simply wanted out of his car seat (he had ridden over 1,200 miles already this week and had about 350 more to go).
Shortly after we crossed the Illinois border, Finn was at his wits end--he had intermittently cried and fitfully slept for nearly three hours. (Amateur--I can cry and fitfully sleep for at least five hours when the conditions are just right . . .) I decided he needed to get out "for real" to walk around but it was still raining (oh yeah--we drove the ENTIRE trip--every square minute of it in the rain), so we could not go to a park or playground. The only suitable option in Dixon, Illinois was a Super Walmart. So, we piled out of the car and then Aubrey _______. (She threw up, but Aubrey wouldn't let me write that she "threw up" because it offends her delicate sensibilities. :P ) We went inside to clean her up and as we approached the automatic doors I caught a glimpse of our reflections. We looked like we had escaped either a circus act or a mental health facility. All except for me, of course, because I can really rock a pair of hand-me-down yoga pants and brown leather clogs. (Tee hee) Finn looked the funniest--he had on a pair of pajamas with various stains down the front and a pair of camouflage rubber rain boots that are a size too big (but he LOVES them and wants to wear them everywhere). Aubrey was also conspicuous with the big bowl of vomit and napkins she carried in with her. I was afraid a greeter was going to try to stick a pink "Walmart" sticker on it and usher us to the return counter.
I let Finn run around the aisles while Regan and Jack shopped for the treat I had promised them for being so good. Aubrey rested in the car. Luckily for everyone, Finn chose as his treat a little Hannah Montana keychain piano that plays "The Best of Both Worlds" really loudly. It was the gift that kept on giving . . . it gave Aubrey a pounding headache anyway. We finally wound our way back to Milwaukee around 7:00 p.m. this evening. As I type this, the little kids are finally in bed--no one else has gotten sick, yet--and Aubrey is resting and putting a damper on my special brand of hilarity which would have given you far more detail and entertainment value than she will rightly allow. At least one of us has a sense of propriety.
So, all's well that ends well on the Oregon Trail--or at least on I-80. And it could have been much much worse. It could have been dysentery instead of the flu.
Happy Trails!
Kelly
It started out well enough. The kids left Monday with Jeff's parents. They drove all day to Branson, Missouri and spent two full days of fun and excitement seeing and doing everything Branson has to offer. The Chinese Acrobats were a big hit with Jack. Regan liked Silver Dollar City and Aubrey liked the huge outlet mall. Meanwhile, I was in Milwaukee working late and doing all the things I can never seem to get done with the kids around: washing and organizing all their winter outerwear; cleaning out the closets and delivering several bags of donated items to Goodwill; etc. Then at midnight on Wednesday, Jack called. He had started throwing up around 10 pm and hadn't stopped. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to the hospital. He was miserable. I thought it might be a combination of nerves/anxiety (he was anxious about going on the trip to begin with) and all the excitement of the roller coasters, entertainment, and funnel cakes coupled with the usual exhaustion that accompanies a 10-hour car ride. He threw up all the next morning, but then things subsided mid-day and he rode to Lincoln on Friday without incident. However, after meeting up with me at Jeff's brother's house in Lincoln, he threw up again. He looked pale and glassy-eyed. I still wasn't convinced it was the flu and thought maybe another long car ride had agitated him.
We stayed in a hotel in Lincoln Friday night intending to go to Hastings on Saturday morning. Finn has been working diligently on his comedy routine and was intent on doing his nightly 9:00 p.m. performance. He raced and chased and acted silly and played until it was time for lights out--but then he got nervous and clingy and would only be reasonably quiet if he was laying directly on top of me. Now, for those of you who don't know--For reasons science cannot yet explain, a sleeping toddler radiates the heat of a thousand Suns. So, Finn was laying on me like a 10-inch thick, 98-degree, 30-pound heat blanket. He was apparently almost as uncomfortable as I was because he spent most of the night maneuvering into different positions on and across my chest, mid-section, back, legs--whatever was exposed to his assault. He occasionally yelped in frustration at his discomfort but woke up twice to chat happily with no one in particular. Meanwhile, Jack was also in the bed with us and I was constantly on high-alert for another puking episode. I was sure that every little wince or moan was heralding more projectile vomiting and I wondered which part of me would be at Ground Zero when it hit. So, I was sandwiched between Finn and Jack in a queen bed all night with one or both of them treating my various body parts as a pinball to be batted back to the other one. I am confident you have gotten more sleep reading this blog entry than I got all night last night. Ugh!
But then, at 6:30 a.m. Regan started throwing up. All over herself. All over the bed. I was impressed by Aubrey's ninja-fast reflexes as she flew out of a blissful slumber and into full gross-out mode. I helped Regan (and the bed) get cleaned up while Aubrey built a nest of sleeping bags on the side of our bed because there was no way she was going to subject herself to the slightest chance of getting puked-on by Regan. After that, Regan rested comfortably. Me, not so much. I was still in the middle of the Finn-Jack sandwich. At one point Finn fell out of the bed onto Aubrey. He decided to loiter down there for a short visit before pulling himself back onto me. It was approximately 7:00 a.m. at this point which is Finn's usual wake-up time, so he started asking for "apoo joose" (apple juice) and a "snack" all of which I interpreted to mean "breakfast." So, I told him to go back to sleep. To my amazement--he did!
When everyone woke up again at 8:00 a.m., Regan threw up on cue and I made an executive decision to abort the mission and to return home to Milwaukee immediately. At this point, I was sure It (whatever "It" was) was contagious and had a short incubation period (I figure I've got about 8 minutes to finish this blog before "It" hits me). I also knew I did not want to get stranded indefinitely in Hastings while we succumbed to the illness in turn, nor did I want to go hole-up in another hotel room 2 hours away only to miss the baptism anyway. And finally, my kids (in their present state) would not have been able to even see their cousins in Hastings because my 6 year old nephew has a rare autoimmune disorder that makes even pedestrian viruses life-threatening, so he cannot even risk being exposed to something as menacing as my kids were experiencing. So, I called my sister and told her we were not coming. She was actually glad--she didn't want her son (or her other kids, for that matter) getting sick and she knew we wouldn't have any fun and would likely miss the baptism altogether. She was very understanding and encouraged my decision to head home.
So, we loaded up the wagon and hit the trail. The kids slept for the first two hours of the trip and Regan only got sick a couple more times. We were to Des Moines by lunchtime, but no one wanted to eat. Not even Finn. He just wanted to lighten the mood and entertain everyone by "spanking" his toy baby doll and telling us it was "stinky" and laughing hysterically at himself. (Editor's Note: Finn has never been spanked in his life--even though he has on occasion endeavored to deserve it. He was only spanking the doll for comic relief). This game didn't last long though and as I watched the minutes tick by, he cried and screamed for one hour and fifty minutes solid. He simply wanted out of his car seat (he had ridden over 1,200 miles already this week and had about 350 more to go).
Shortly after we crossed the Illinois border, Finn was at his wits end--he had intermittently cried and fitfully slept for nearly three hours. (Amateur--I can cry and fitfully sleep for at least five hours when the conditions are just right . . .) I decided he needed to get out "for real" to walk around but it was still raining (oh yeah--we drove the ENTIRE trip--every square minute of it in the rain), so we could not go to a park or playground. The only suitable option in Dixon, Illinois was a Super Walmart. So, we piled out of the car and then Aubrey _______. (She threw up, but Aubrey wouldn't let me write that she "threw up" because it offends her delicate sensibilities. :P ) We went inside to clean her up and as we approached the automatic doors I caught a glimpse of our reflections. We looked like we had escaped either a circus act or a mental health facility. All except for me, of course, because I can really rock a pair of hand-me-down yoga pants and brown leather clogs. (Tee hee) Finn looked the funniest--he had on a pair of pajamas with various stains down the front and a pair of camouflage rubber rain boots that are a size too big (but he LOVES them and wants to wear them everywhere). Aubrey was also conspicuous with the big bowl of vomit and napkins she carried in with her. I was afraid a greeter was going to try to stick a pink "Walmart" sticker on it and usher us to the return counter.
I let Finn run around the aisles while Regan and Jack shopped for the treat I had promised them for being so good. Aubrey rested in the car. Luckily for everyone, Finn chose as his treat a little Hannah Montana keychain piano that plays "The Best of Both Worlds" really loudly. It was the gift that kept on giving . . . it gave Aubrey a pounding headache anyway. We finally wound our way back to Milwaukee around 7:00 p.m. this evening. As I type this, the little kids are finally in bed--no one else has gotten sick, yet--and Aubrey is resting and putting a damper on my special brand of hilarity which would have given you far more detail and entertainment value than she will rightly allow. At least one of us has a sense of propriety.
So, all's well that ends well on the Oregon Trail--or at least on I-80. And it could have been much much worse. It could have been dysentery instead of the flu.
Happy Trails!
Kelly
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Easter Re-cap
Happy Easter! Wow. Where do I start? It was quite an eventful day.
It started with a visit from the Easter Bunny, of course. The kids woke up to find their baskets full of candy and goodies. They weren't particularly interested in hunting for Easter Eggs hidden throughout the house (yes--the house; it was only 42 degrees this morning so it wasn't warm enough to go outside). Most of the eggs remained hidden until early afternoon when I remembered that eggs need to be refrigerated--especially if they are going to be consumed. So, I "found" them and brushed aside the notion that they were now tainted with salmonella. I decided to take my chances and turned them into deviled eggs and egg salad anyway.
Everyone ate miniature Milky Ways and Sweet-Tarts for breakfast. Then we got ready for church. Finn had the cutest little Easter outfit to wear but freaked out when I tried to put it on him. He wanted to wear his cowboy pajamas. I broke a sweat trying to wrestle his "nice" outfit onto him--it was like trying to dress an angry octopus. We made it to church just in time to sit in the very front row--which, as you likely know, means we didn't make it "in time" at all. Finn made it all the way to the Gospel (a personal best) before he started screaming. I left the kids in the watchful care of the priest and cantors while I took Finn into the hallway. There, he found a ball. Not a little candy-machine bouncy ball or a soft noiseless baby ball but a big obnoxious kick-ball with flames. He wanted to kick it up and down the hallway. I tried to stop him at first, but then I felt the atom-bomb-style aftershock of 800 people turning their heads in unison to see what had just made that deafening and reverberating shriek. So, I gave in as a courtesy to my fellow mass-goers and let Finn play with the ball in the hallway. This "fun" lasted until he decided he wanted to bring it out of the hall and into the church. I defended the invisible boundary between the hall and the church until communion was over and then we made our way out as I held Finn kicking and screaming and throwing his head back and doing the "wet noodle" (a strategy where he goes limp and sticks his arms straight up--making him long and slippery . . .).
After church, we went to the cemetery to visit Jeff's grave. The kids got him a Happy Easter balloon that we affixed to the shepherd's hook that holds his chimes. I was happy to see that part of his headstone has arrived--the base section. Hopefully, the rest isn't far behind. Aubrey said "Wow--it came on my birthday!" I'm glad she was happy about it.
For lunch, I made "Grandpa Johnny" ham (a traditional family recipe) and corn and mashed potatoes and biscuits and the kids and I ate in the dining room at the "fancy" table--even Finn. Then Jeff's parents and sister and brother-in-law arrived. Jeff's parents are taking the kids back to Branson with them tomorrow for most of the week. I will meet them later in Lincoln, Nebraska before I take the kids on to Hastings, Nebraska to visit my sister. She is having her new baby baptized and Aubrey and Regan are his Godmothers. The kids are very excited to go to Branson. Jack has had some trepidation, and has been very clingy to me lately, but has resigned himself to be brave and I think he'll have fun in spite of himself. I'm glad to see Finn being so affectionate to Jeff's mom and dad. He is especially fond of Jeff's dad, Gary, and hangs close to him, so I think he'll have an easy time. I'm sure it will be harder on me than on any of the kids. This will be the first time I've been alone since Jeff died and although the thought of a clean quiet house is enticing, I'm a little anxious about the quiet and the stillness and the boredom. On the other hand, I have so much to do at work and at home that I'm worried I won't have any downtime even though this is one of the few times I'll be able to enjoy it!
The other Big News is that today was Aubrey's 14th birthday! It's amazing to think that fourteen years ago I became a mother for the first time. I could not have imagined then that Jeff would not live to see this day. I wonder how often he thought about days like this as he was dying? He never lamented the loss of such occasions to me, but I can't help but think he considered the events he would never see. Nonetheless, I think Aubrey had a good day today. She opened presents and got a zillion phone and Facebook messages from her friends. Because she is the Birthday Girl, she got to choose our dinner menu. She chose steak, mashed potatoes, and "real" green beans (sauteed in butter and garlic). So, in her honor, we went all out and had Ribeyes, T-Bones, and Porterhouses. Jeff's dad and brother-in-law fired up the grill while Jeff's sister and I made the potatoes and green beans. Aubrey made and decorated her own birthday cake--a creative three-tiered masterpiece. Finn ate most of it himself. He had no fewer than three pieces and was quite indignant about demanding that Aubrey should hurry-up and blow out her candles so he could get down to business.
Now the kids are sleeping and resting-up for their Big Day on the road tomorrow. I will miss all of them so much. I will miss the way Finn's hands smell like Clorox wipes and how he always tells me "NO!" when I start singing. I will miss Jack's sweet hugs and long-winded narratives. I will miss Regan's happy personality and nightly attempts to negotiate her way out of having to take a shower. And I will miss Aubrey's companionship and sense of humor.
So, until next time . . .take care. I'll check in later this week and let you know how it's going.
Oh, and here's a translation of today's blog for my Mom and Sister since my semantic jujitsu has apparently stunned them into stupidity: "I like Easter Eggs. We eat candy. We go to church. My baby is naughty (pronounced: naw-dee, I know the whole "gh" in the middle there might trip you up). I like ham. Finn likes cake. It is Aubrey's birthday. She likes fancy meat from a cow. My kids go bye-bye. I am sad." And if you don't understand all that, I have another word you WILL understand. Well, it's not really a word--it's more like a gesture . . . (Ha ha hahahaha!) Happy Easter!
Kelly
It started with a visit from the Easter Bunny, of course. The kids woke up to find their baskets full of candy and goodies. They weren't particularly interested in hunting for Easter Eggs hidden throughout the house (yes--the house; it was only 42 degrees this morning so it wasn't warm enough to go outside). Most of the eggs remained hidden until early afternoon when I remembered that eggs need to be refrigerated--especially if they are going to be consumed. So, I "found" them and brushed aside the notion that they were now tainted with salmonella. I decided to take my chances and turned them into deviled eggs and egg salad anyway.
Everyone ate miniature Milky Ways and Sweet-Tarts for breakfast. Then we got ready for church. Finn had the cutest little Easter outfit to wear but freaked out when I tried to put it on him. He wanted to wear his cowboy pajamas. I broke a sweat trying to wrestle his "nice" outfit onto him--it was like trying to dress an angry octopus. We made it to church just in time to sit in the very front row--which, as you likely know, means we didn't make it "in time" at all. Finn made it all the way to the Gospel (a personal best) before he started screaming. I left the kids in the watchful care of the priest and cantors while I took Finn into the hallway. There, he found a ball. Not a little candy-machine bouncy ball or a soft noiseless baby ball but a big obnoxious kick-ball with flames. He wanted to kick it up and down the hallway. I tried to stop him at first, but then I felt the atom-bomb-style aftershock of 800 people turning their heads in unison to see what had just made that deafening and reverberating shriek. So, I gave in as a courtesy to my fellow mass-goers and let Finn play with the ball in the hallway. This "fun" lasted until he decided he wanted to bring it out of the hall and into the church. I defended the invisible boundary between the hall and the church until communion was over and then we made our way out as I held Finn kicking and screaming and throwing his head back and doing the "wet noodle" (a strategy where he goes limp and sticks his arms straight up--making him long and slippery . . .).
After church, we went to the cemetery to visit Jeff's grave. The kids got him a Happy Easter balloon that we affixed to the shepherd's hook that holds his chimes. I was happy to see that part of his headstone has arrived--the base section. Hopefully, the rest isn't far behind. Aubrey said "Wow--it came on my birthday!" I'm glad she was happy about it.
For lunch, I made "Grandpa Johnny" ham (a traditional family recipe) and corn and mashed potatoes and biscuits and the kids and I ate in the dining room at the "fancy" table--even Finn. Then Jeff's parents and sister and brother-in-law arrived. Jeff's parents are taking the kids back to Branson with them tomorrow for most of the week. I will meet them later in Lincoln, Nebraska before I take the kids on to Hastings, Nebraska to visit my sister. She is having her new baby baptized and Aubrey and Regan are his Godmothers. The kids are very excited to go to Branson. Jack has had some trepidation, and has been very clingy to me lately, but has resigned himself to be brave and I think he'll have fun in spite of himself. I'm glad to see Finn being so affectionate to Jeff's mom and dad. He is especially fond of Jeff's dad, Gary, and hangs close to him, so I think he'll have an easy time. I'm sure it will be harder on me than on any of the kids. This will be the first time I've been alone since Jeff died and although the thought of a clean quiet house is enticing, I'm a little anxious about the quiet and the stillness and the boredom. On the other hand, I have so much to do at work and at home that I'm worried I won't have any downtime even though this is one of the few times I'll be able to enjoy it!
The other Big News is that today was Aubrey's 14th birthday! It's amazing to think that fourteen years ago I became a mother for the first time. I could not have imagined then that Jeff would not live to see this day. I wonder how often he thought about days like this as he was dying? He never lamented the loss of such occasions to me, but I can't help but think he considered the events he would never see. Nonetheless, I think Aubrey had a good day today. She opened presents and got a zillion phone and Facebook messages from her friends. Because she is the Birthday Girl, she got to choose our dinner menu. She chose steak, mashed potatoes, and "real" green beans (sauteed in butter and garlic). So, in her honor, we went all out and had Ribeyes, T-Bones, and Porterhouses. Jeff's dad and brother-in-law fired up the grill while Jeff's sister and I made the potatoes and green beans. Aubrey made and decorated her own birthday cake--a creative three-tiered masterpiece. Finn ate most of it himself. He had no fewer than three pieces and was quite indignant about demanding that Aubrey should hurry-up and blow out her candles so he could get down to business.
Now the kids are sleeping and resting-up for their Big Day on the road tomorrow. I will miss all of them so much. I will miss the way Finn's hands smell like Clorox wipes and how he always tells me "NO!" when I start singing. I will miss Jack's sweet hugs and long-winded narratives. I will miss Regan's happy personality and nightly attempts to negotiate her way out of having to take a shower. And I will miss Aubrey's companionship and sense of humor.
So, until next time . . .take care. I'll check in later this week and let you know how it's going.
Oh, and here's a translation of today's blog for my Mom and Sister since my semantic jujitsu has apparently stunned them into stupidity: "I like Easter Eggs. We eat candy. We go to church. My baby is naughty (pronounced: naw-dee, I know the whole "gh" in the middle there might trip you up). I like ham. Finn likes cake. It is Aubrey's birthday. She likes fancy meat from a cow. My kids go bye-bye. I am sad." And if you don't understand all that, I have another word you WILL understand. Well, it's not really a word--it's more like a gesture . . . (Ha ha hahahaha!) Happy Easter!
Kelly
Friday, April 10, 2009
My Annual April 10th Post
I've posted a blog on April 10th for the past two years, so I hated to break with tradition even though I really don't have anything to say. You'll note that has never stopped me before . . .
There is nothing particularly special about April 10th, but for whatever reason, I posted a blog each year on that day. Today is Good Friday and I worked like mad. I don't even know where the day went--every minute was filled to bursting. I even took a call on my cell phone in the bathroom today. I haven't gone to the bathroom or taken a shower at home without an audience since 1995--why should work be sacred? To those of you who are "too busy" to be friends with me, I say your sense of modesty is too refined. You can call me from the bathroom--I won't be offended. :-)
The kids were off school today for Good Friday and had a fun day with my friend, Mike, who took them to a movie while Finn took a nap. Thank you, Mike, for giving Lolo a break. And double-Thank You for the love and attention you give to my kids. My friend, Steve, and his family came over after dinner. It was a lot of fun to just get together and visit. Steve and his wife are a lovely couple and very well-suited to each other. I like them both so much, yet there is something uniquely awkward about being friends with a couple when you're single. There exists an almost imperceptible incongruity--something vague yet tangible that reminds me things are never quite right.
Jack has been having a hard time lately. He misses his Dad terribly and only knows how to express it through fits of crying and irrational anger. For example, yesterday he had a complete and utter meltdown because the string broke on a mask he made at school (even though it was easily fixed by simply tying it back together). I talked to him about it and he admitted he was upset and missing Jeff and that it really wasn't about the mask. He hugged me while he sobbed for his Dad and I felt so sorry for him.
Now, it's late. The kids are in bed and I'm the only one awake. It's kind of boring. I think I'll go to bed too. Don't be jealous of my rock star lifestyle.
Kelly
There is nothing particularly special about April 10th, but for whatever reason, I posted a blog each year on that day. Today is Good Friday and I worked like mad. I don't even know where the day went--every minute was filled to bursting. I even took a call on my cell phone in the bathroom today. I haven't gone to the bathroom or taken a shower at home without an audience since 1995--why should work be sacred? To those of you who are "too busy" to be friends with me, I say your sense of modesty is too refined. You can call me from the bathroom--I won't be offended. :-)
The kids were off school today for Good Friday and had a fun day with my friend, Mike, who took them to a movie while Finn took a nap. Thank you, Mike, for giving Lolo a break. And double-Thank You for the love and attention you give to my kids. My friend, Steve, and his family came over after dinner. It was a lot of fun to just get together and visit. Steve and his wife are a lovely couple and very well-suited to each other. I like them both so much, yet there is something uniquely awkward about being friends with a couple when you're single. There exists an almost imperceptible incongruity--something vague yet tangible that reminds me things are never quite right.
Jack has been having a hard time lately. He misses his Dad terribly and only knows how to express it through fits of crying and irrational anger. For example, yesterday he had a complete and utter meltdown because the string broke on a mask he made at school (even though it was easily fixed by simply tying it back together). I talked to him about it and he admitted he was upset and missing Jeff and that it really wasn't about the mask. He hugged me while he sobbed for his Dad and I felt so sorry for him.
Now, it's late. The kids are in bed and I'm the only one awake. It's kind of boring. I think I'll go to bed too. Don't be jealous of my rock star lifestyle.
Kelly
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
April 7th: Now and Then
Well, I survived my wild weekend with my brother. And for those of you that are concerned with my apparent outing of Brad's secret hobby, rest assured you will not be similarly exposed. Brad was aware that we were posting a blog about him and even dictated some of the facts over the phone to my brother while we typed. So, I don't want anyone to stop being friends with us for fear we will launch a similar blog airing all of your idiosyncrasies. And even if we do--consider it a gesture of love and acceptance! As Kerry pointed out in her comment, it takes true grit to hang with the Archulettas, but once you're in--you're in and there is no escaping us as I'm sure Garth, Naro, Candie/Katie, Brad, and several others will tell you. Your best defense is to be completely boring and unfunny so we have nothing to report. (Although, that might only inspire us to make things up, so nevermind . . . )
And on an unrelated note, please don't think that I actually stalk Morrissey. I was only trying to be funny. The only thing I really stalk is this blog--I check it constantly hoping for comments from the outside world. I used to check my cell phone equally as often until I realized it was an exercise in futility that only fortified my suspicion that I'm not as cool as I think I am. Since February 13th, 2009 I have had only FOUR incoming calls on my personal cell phone. I actually counted them in a game of oneupmanship with a friend of mine over who was the bigger social reject. I'm chagrined to report that I was the clear winner. Oh well. At least I can win at something! :-)
Otherwise, I have no new updates. All is well on the home-front. The kids are gearing up for Spring Break and are excited that they will get to spend most of it in Branson, Missouri with Jeff's parents. I trust the weather in Branson will be a nice change of pace for the kids. It continues to be consistently in the 40s most of the time here. We are also gearing up for Easter/Aubrey's Birthday. This year Aubrey's birthday falls on Easter Sunday--I think her first birthday was on Easter and it hasn't been on Easter again since then. I think that instead of a birthday cake I'll just put 14 candles in the ham I'm going to make. (Just kidding!) I hope it's nice enough that the kids can have an Easter egg hunt outside. I think Finn would totally love it.
Today is April 7th and it's amazing to think that 14 years ago, this was Aubrey's due date--and because I didn't give birth that day it was consequently one of the longest days of my life! On April 7th, 1995, Jeff and I had been married for almost 11 months; we lived in married student housing on the periphery of the Notre Dame campus in South Bend, Indiana; I worked at a jewelry store in the mall on Grape Avenue; and I was looking forward to moving back to Lincoln in a month after Jeff's graduation. On April 7, 1995 Jeff already had the cancer that would later kill him but we didn't know it yet. His melanoma is visible in pictures from this time period (his cancer first manifested as a mole on his right jaw line), but was not actually diagnosed until Aubrey was eight months old.
In April 1995, I had only recently met Tony, Brendan, Meaghen, Katie, and M.C.--all of whom would become as good of friends to me as they were to Jeff; three of whom would become Godparents to various future children of ours; and all of whom visited Jeff in his final days. In April 1995, Jeff would often ride his bike or walk to class from our apartment. He had a work-study job at the Notre Dame Library. His co-workers threw us a baby shower and so did his roommates in "The Suite." To Jeff's Suitemates: It may surprise you to know that three of our four children enjoyed the Graco baby stroller you gave to us. It was and still is the best stroller we ever had even though we finally had to replace it when Finn came along because it couldn't withstand anymore wear and tear. And Brendan and Meaghen: All FOUR of our kids used the battery-powered bouncy chair you gave to us. Katie and M.C.--the gift you gave us the night you first babysat Aubrey shall remain our little secret, but the thought of it (and photographic evidence) is the gift that keeps on giving. Ha!
During that first year of marriage, Jeff studied a lot. We both worked a lot. But, we entertained ourselves by renting movies at a place that only rented vintage movies. It was half way to Niles on the main road by our house. I would later drive Aubrey there in the middle of the night when she was colicky and inconsolable. The video store was my turn-around point. In those days, Jeff and I watched a lot of Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart. We would make "Hobo Dinners" (crumbled hamburger, diced carrots and potatoes, sliced onion, and a piece of bacon seasoned with butter and salt and pepper all baked in a tinfoil packet) and then eat them on a cookie tray while we sat on our hide-a-bed couch that we would pull out like a bed while we watched the movie. That couch was the single-most uncomfortable piece of furniture ever created--as Tony's aunt and uncle can attest to. I remember we bought it from the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop for $50.00.
So, when Aubrey was born, our apartment was so small we didn't have room for a crib. We had an "efficiency" apartment consisting of one bedroom, one bathroom, and a combined kitchen/dining room/living room. So, Aubrey slept in either her changing table or her car seat. As an aside, Regan--who had not only a crib, but an entire bedroom of her own--slept in a car seat until she had almost outgrown the car seat and nearly avoided sleeping in a crib entirely--but that's another story. Aubrey--I don't want to hear any complaints about how you don't like your room or your bed. You can always go back to the changing table. Ha!
Well, I won't waste any more time reminiscing. It's late and I should go to bed. I just thought that April 7th was worth commemorating--and not just because it is "No Housework Day" (See my link to bizarre holidays below in the "Ode to My Nannies" post . . .).
Love, Kelly
And on an unrelated note, please don't think that I actually stalk Morrissey. I was only trying to be funny. The only thing I really stalk is this blog--I check it constantly hoping for comments from the outside world. I used to check my cell phone equally as often until I realized it was an exercise in futility that only fortified my suspicion that I'm not as cool as I think I am. Since February 13th, 2009 I have had only FOUR incoming calls on my personal cell phone. I actually counted them in a game of oneupmanship with a friend of mine over who was the bigger social reject. I'm chagrined to report that I was the clear winner. Oh well. At least I can win at something! :-)
Otherwise, I have no new updates. All is well on the home-front. The kids are gearing up for Spring Break and are excited that they will get to spend most of it in Branson, Missouri with Jeff's parents. I trust the weather in Branson will be a nice change of pace for the kids. It continues to be consistently in the 40s most of the time here. We are also gearing up for Easter/Aubrey's Birthday. This year Aubrey's birthday falls on Easter Sunday--I think her first birthday was on Easter and it hasn't been on Easter again since then. I think that instead of a birthday cake I'll just put 14 candles in the ham I'm going to make. (Just kidding!) I hope it's nice enough that the kids can have an Easter egg hunt outside. I think Finn would totally love it.
Today is April 7th and it's amazing to think that 14 years ago, this was Aubrey's due date--and because I didn't give birth that day it was consequently one of the longest days of my life! On April 7th, 1995, Jeff and I had been married for almost 11 months; we lived in married student housing on the periphery of the Notre Dame campus in South Bend, Indiana; I worked at a jewelry store in the mall on Grape Avenue; and I was looking forward to moving back to Lincoln in a month after Jeff's graduation. On April 7, 1995 Jeff already had the cancer that would later kill him but we didn't know it yet. His melanoma is visible in pictures from this time period (his cancer first manifested as a mole on his right jaw line), but was not actually diagnosed until Aubrey was eight months old.
In April 1995, I had only recently met Tony, Brendan, Meaghen, Katie, and M.C.--all of whom would become as good of friends to me as they were to Jeff; three of whom would become Godparents to various future children of ours; and all of whom visited Jeff in his final days. In April 1995, Jeff would often ride his bike or walk to class from our apartment. He had a work-study job at the Notre Dame Library. His co-workers threw us a baby shower and so did his roommates in "The Suite." To Jeff's Suitemates: It may surprise you to know that three of our four children enjoyed the Graco baby stroller you gave to us. It was and still is the best stroller we ever had even though we finally had to replace it when Finn came along because it couldn't withstand anymore wear and tear. And Brendan and Meaghen: All FOUR of our kids used the battery-powered bouncy chair you gave to us. Katie and M.C.--the gift you gave us the night you first babysat Aubrey shall remain our little secret, but the thought of it (and photographic evidence) is the gift that keeps on giving. Ha!
During that first year of marriage, Jeff studied a lot. We both worked a lot. But, we entertained ourselves by renting movies at a place that only rented vintage movies. It was half way to Niles on the main road by our house. I would later drive Aubrey there in the middle of the night when she was colicky and inconsolable. The video store was my turn-around point. In those days, Jeff and I watched a lot of Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart. We would make "Hobo Dinners" (crumbled hamburger, diced carrots and potatoes, sliced onion, and a piece of bacon seasoned with butter and salt and pepper all baked in a tinfoil packet) and then eat them on a cookie tray while we sat on our hide-a-bed couch that we would pull out like a bed while we watched the movie. That couch was the single-most uncomfortable piece of furniture ever created--as Tony's aunt and uncle can attest to. I remember we bought it from the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop for $50.00.
So, when Aubrey was born, our apartment was so small we didn't have room for a crib. We had an "efficiency" apartment consisting of one bedroom, one bathroom, and a combined kitchen/dining room/living room. So, Aubrey slept in either her changing table or her car seat. As an aside, Regan--who had not only a crib, but an entire bedroom of her own--slept in a car seat until she had almost outgrown the car seat and nearly avoided sleeping in a crib entirely--but that's another story. Aubrey--I don't want to hear any complaints about how you don't like your room or your bed. You can always go back to the changing table. Ha!
Well, I won't waste any more time reminiscing. It's late and I should go to bed. I just thought that April 7th was worth commemorating--and not just because it is "No Housework Day" (See my link to bizarre holidays below in the "Ode to My Nannies" post . . .).
Love, Kelly
Saturday, April 4, 2009
"The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get . . ."
My brother, Jim, and I went to the Morrissey concert last night. Jim wore his pink mesh tank top and head-band. OK. That's a lie. That's what I wanted him to wear because I thought it would be funny. I told him to wear that, or a glittered off-the-shoulder camouflage sweatshirt, but he "forgot his at home." (Likely story . . .). Here is Jim's review of the concert experience:
"The concert was good, but it was awkward because I felt a little bit like I was cheating on Adam Ant."
For those of you who don't know, my brother Jim has had a major man-crush on Adam Ant for years. He won't die happy until Adam serenades him with "Goody Two Shoes." Given Adam's conspicuous decline in popularity since 1984, I suspect Jim could easily convince him to fulfill Jim's plan to have him perform a private concert at Jim's church. I know that sounds like an unorthodox arrangement, but Jim has had to be creative due to the requirements of the restraining order . . .
I, on the other hand, only have eyes for Morrissey. Unfortunately, he only had eyes for the people in the first three rows of the concert and didn't seek me out ten rows back like I thought he would. Nonetheless, I know that when he started the concert with "This Charming Man," it was a secret acknowledgement intended just for me. You can see Morrissey sing to me (and a few hundred other people) on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeyEYv-kglc This link shows Morrissey opening the show with one of my all-time favorite songs and the video nearly simulates the view we saw--we were just a little further stage-left.
(Aside to Morrissey: We both know why you came to Milwaukee--to ask for my hand in marriage. But I understand--pulling me on stage for such a matter in front of all your adoring fans would have been too public and I respect that you are a very private man. The fact that your tour was called the "Tour of Refusal" is, I trust, a coy implication to me that you are playing hard to get. Just remember, "the more you ignore me, the closer I get." I WILL be celebrating your 50th birthday on May 22nd of this year; I WILL be baking you a cake; and I WILL be hosting your birthday party whether you attend it or not --just like I do every year. Your favorite is still Angelfood, I hope? Also, I will send you an E-vite for the party, my Silver Fox--look for it every hour on the hour. Finally, I like the cigar-smoking, half-naked Sailor you prominently featured as your stage back-drop. Is he single? Just kidding. No, but really--is he?)
In other news, Jim has entertained me non-stop with his stories. My personal favorite (so far) stars one of Jim's best friends from the Marine Corp. So as not to embarrass him, I won't use Brad Olson's name (tee hee). Jim and Brad became instant friends almost 15 years ago when they were both in the same artillery battery in the Marines. They have the same sense of humor, the same interests, and similar personalities. I met Brad more than 11 years ago at Jim's wedding. He lives in the Chicago area. He has cooked Thai food for me and stayed at my house. He has played with my kids and is one of Jim's friends for life. Jim reports that Brad is one of the few people on Earth, Jim would trust to watch his own son, Ashton. One thing Jim and Brad do not have in common is their size. Jim is a lean 5'8" and 140 pounds. Brad is a hulking 6'5" and 250 pounds with no body fat. I have never seen Brad do the splits or even touch his toes (this observation becomes relevant later in the story).
Recently Brad had some time off from work, so Jim asked Brad if he would be able to visit him in Alabama. "No" was the reply. Brad was off work because he was undergoing knee surgery due to a recent injury. Originally, the injury was thought to be break-dance related, but it was later learned that Brad was able to perform flares, windmills, and headspins without incident. Rather, Brad injured himself using a pair of Jumping Stilts after breakdancing. For those of you who don't know what jumping stilts are, search for them on youtube and you'll quickly find out. In sum, they are stilts that fasten to your legs; they do not come off if you fall. They make you about two feet taller, claim to give you SuperHuman Powers (you can run 20 mph and jump 6 feet in the air!) and they make you waayyyy more susceptible to the unforgiving laws of physics. Especially if you are already 6'5" and 250 lbs.
So, to make a long story not so long, Brad was running, jumping, and having a good ole' time on his stilts, until he crashed and hurt himself badly. He reports that he was using the stilts correctly: "I was wearing my helmet and everything, but I didn't think I needed the knee pads." By the way, Brad says that if you know any one who wants some jumping stilts, he doesn't need them anymore.
For me, the best part of the story--and the part that made me laugh out loud and that will continue to make me laugh out loud every time I hear it--is NOT the part about the stilts, but the part about the breakdancing. It would be a lot more respectable if it were still 1985 or if Brad was not a 34 year-old retired Marine . But something about a Thai-cooking, kid-sitting guy with the physique of a pro-wrestler doing the "worm" cracks me UP! What's more, is that reportedly Brad was not drunk; he did not lose a bet; he was not raising money for a worthy cause; he did not even have an audience (unless you count his brother); and had no other excuse that would legitimize his unlikely pursuit. No--He was breakdancing for real and for the love of his art.
This is just one story that kept me laughing this weekend (and probably the only one fit for publication). So, thanks for staying with me as I shared it. It takes a special kind of commitment to make it through my posts sometimes. Cheers!
Kelly
"The concert was good, but it was awkward because I felt a little bit like I was cheating on Adam Ant."
For those of you who don't know, my brother Jim has had a major man-crush on Adam Ant for years. He won't die happy until Adam serenades him with "Goody Two Shoes." Given Adam's conspicuous decline in popularity since 1984, I suspect Jim could easily convince him to fulfill Jim's plan to have him perform a private concert at Jim's church. I know that sounds like an unorthodox arrangement, but Jim has had to be creative due to the requirements of the restraining order . . .
I, on the other hand, only have eyes for Morrissey. Unfortunately, he only had eyes for the people in the first three rows of the concert and didn't seek me out ten rows back like I thought he would. Nonetheless, I know that when he started the concert with "This Charming Man," it was a secret acknowledgement intended just for me. You can see Morrissey sing to me (and a few hundred other people) on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeyEYv-kglc This link shows Morrissey opening the show with one of my all-time favorite songs and the video nearly simulates the view we saw--we were just a little further stage-left.
(Aside to Morrissey: We both know why you came to Milwaukee--to ask for my hand in marriage. But I understand--pulling me on stage for such a matter in front of all your adoring fans would have been too public and I respect that you are a very private man. The fact that your tour was called the "Tour of Refusal" is, I trust, a coy implication to me that you are playing hard to get. Just remember, "the more you ignore me, the closer I get." I WILL be celebrating your 50th birthday on May 22nd of this year; I WILL be baking you a cake; and I WILL be hosting your birthday party whether you attend it or not --just like I do every year. Your favorite is still Angelfood, I hope? Also, I will send you an E-vite for the party, my Silver Fox--look for it every hour on the hour. Finally, I like the cigar-smoking, half-naked Sailor you prominently featured as your stage back-drop. Is he single? Just kidding. No, but really--is he?)
In other news, Jim has entertained me non-stop with his stories. My personal favorite (so far) stars one of Jim's best friends from the Marine Corp. So as not to embarrass him, I won't use Brad Olson's name (tee hee). Jim and Brad became instant friends almost 15 years ago when they were both in the same artillery battery in the Marines. They have the same sense of humor, the same interests, and similar personalities. I met Brad more than 11 years ago at Jim's wedding. He lives in the Chicago area. He has cooked Thai food for me and stayed at my house. He has played with my kids and is one of Jim's friends for life. Jim reports that Brad is one of the few people on Earth, Jim would trust to watch his own son, Ashton. One thing Jim and Brad do not have in common is their size. Jim is a lean 5'8" and 140 pounds. Brad is a hulking 6'5" and 250 pounds with no body fat. I have never seen Brad do the splits or even touch his toes (this observation becomes relevant later in the story).
Recently Brad had some time off from work, so Jim asked Brad if he would be able to visit him in Alabama. "No" was the reply. Brad was off work because he was undergoing knee surgery due to a recent injury. Originally, the injury was thought to be break-dance related, but it was later learned that Brad was able to perform flares, windmills, and headspins without incident. Rather, Brad injured himself using a pair of Jumping Stilts after breakdancing. For those of you who don't know what jumping stilts are, search for them on youtube and you'll quickly find out. In sum, they are stilts that fasten to your legs; they do not come off if you fall. They make you about two feet taller, claim to give you SuperHuman Powers (you can run 20 mph and jump 6 feet in the air!) and they make you waayyyy more susceptible to the unforgiving laws of physics. Especially if you are already 6'5" and 250 lbs.
So, to make a long story not so long, Brad was running, jumping, and having a good ole' time on his stilts, until he crashed and hurt himself badly. He reports that he was using the stilts correctly: "I was wearing my helmet and everything, but I didn't think I needed the knee pads." By the way, Brad says that if you know any one who wants some jumping stilts, he doesn't need them anymore.
For me, the best part of the story--and the part that made me laugh out loud and that will continue to make me laugh out loud every time I hear it--is NOT the part about the stilts, but the part about the breakdancing. It would be a lot more respectable if it were still 1985 or if Brad was not a 34 year-old retired Marine . But something about a Thai-cooking, kid-sitting guy with the physique of a pro-wrestler doing the "worm" cracks me UP! What's more, is that reportedly Brad was not drunk; he did not lose a bet; he was not raising money for a worthy cause; he did not even have an audience (unless you count his brother); and had no other excuse that would legitimize his unlikely pursuit. No--He was breakdancing for real and for the love of his art.
This is just one story that kept me laughing this weekend (and probably the only one fit for publication). So, thanks for staying with me as I shared it. It takes a special kind of commitment to make it through my posts sometimes. Cheers!
Kelly
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