Monday, May 25, 2009

"Memorial Day Weekend: 4-inch heels, the Box, and a Gorilla-Dog"

Well, I survived May 21st. Thank you to those of you who e-mailed or called. I welcomed every good thought and sentiment, but I'm glad it's over. The highlight of my day was lunch with my paralegal/emergency contact/work-wife, Liz. She bought me a bottle of Malibu Rum for the occasion. (She knows me so well!). The other highlight was band practice. It's hard to feel bad when Annie and I are "choreographing" our big show-stopping numbers. (Side note to Annie: Those 4-inch heels I wore on Saturday kicked my A-double-dollarsigns. I'm afraid I'm losing my mojo. I'm STILL sore and I didn't even wear them all the way through the first set. I think I'll wear them to work tomorrow just to show'em who's boss!).

OK--continuing the weekend recap: Friday night, my sister, Terri, and her family arrived from Nebraska. She and her husband have three little boys ages 6, 4, and 5 months. So, needless to say, Jack and Regan have been in Heaven. Jack has been running wild with his cousins, Jake and Nolan, and Regan has been fawning over 5 month-old Bennet. Terri and her husband, Ben, came to part of my Rabid Aardvarks show on Saturday night. They are the first and only members of my family to see me perform with the band. They claim to have liked it. But, please recall that my sister is deaf in one ear . . .

Before the show, my sister mentioned that she was excited to do some new things this weekend and to "step outside the box." I said, "does that mean you'll get up on stage and sing with me?" She recoiled and said, "that would be like stepping outside my box, climbing into another box, and then stepping outside that box. So--No!!" Terri sings at least as well as I do, and she went to comedy school at Second City in Chicago, so it surprises me she doesn't like to perform. Oh well, even though she and my brothers are absolutely hilarious and can easily single me out as the least funny member of the family, I am the biggest ham by a long shot. Not one of them holds a candle to my complete and utter lack of all discretion, shame, and sense of propriety. I think I was born outside the box.

Sunday was rough because I was so worn out from the show and my pain-inducing high heels. I don't remember Sunday, so I'm going to skip to today. Oh wait--I just remembered why I blocked out Sunday: the ill-fated picnic!

We did do something "fun" on Sunday. Or that was the idea, anyway. I thought it would be a good idea to take my out-of-town guests to the lakefront for a picnic so the kids could run around and the adults could converse. As usual--my best laid plans went awry. Despite my general malaise and sleep deprivation, I made a delightful feast of turkey/avocado/bacon wraps, homemade pasta salad (my secret recipe), cookies, etc. for a late afternoon picnic. After everything was made and packed and after all the Frisbees, strollers, diaper bags, and children were loaded into the car, we arrived at the lakefront to find the annual kite exhibition in full-swing (Yay!) and thirty mile-an-hour winds coupled with a temperature of 56 degrees (Boo Hiss!). What kind of idiot doesn't look outside the freaking window before hauling everyone and everything across town for a "picnic?" Apparently, the kind of idiot that was born outside the box.

Once we got there, we unloaded long enough to realize it was all a terrible mistake. We went ahead and ate our food in record time-- Each calorie we consumed, we immediately burned-off trying to shiver ourselves warm. It was a totally wasted meal. We huddled together and downed our uncomfortably cold wraps while we talked with anticipation about how warm it would be once we got back in the car. Finn ignored the food and pushed his own stroller around in an effort to keep warm--all the while numb to the steady stream of snot frozen to his upper lip. He did provide a momentary distraction from our suffering though when he fled in horror from a huge black dog on a leash that came past our picnic site. As he ran in an arc inside an invisible 20-foot perimeter around the dog, he was wild-eyed and yelling, "Mommy! Monkey! Monkeeeeey!" Then, as if to simultaneously lend emphasis and clarify, he said, "Oooh, oooh, Ah, ah ah" (which is his best imitation of a "monkey" sound and one that he makes when we read a gorilla book he has). He was plainly convinced that the dog was a gorilla, and from his perspective, it wasn't a bad guess. This dog was a mammoth--with a big face and long black fur. Poor Finn. Imagine--one minute, you're mindlessly pushing your stroller with a snotty nose, and the next minute you are confronted by a gorilla. I would have screamed for my mommy too!

Today, brought more fun--the kids played in the yard and we grilled out for Memorial Day. We all visited Jeff's grave and then took the kids swimming. Finn was in rare form--swimming, racing, chasing, and having a royal blast. We then had pizza for dinner and I was once again reminded that Finn is undeniably the son of Jeff Dodd. Jeff loved pizza. Valentino's pizza in particular, but Pizza Hut was a viable substitute. When Finn heard us talking about ordering pizza, he chimed in and lobbied: "Pizza!! Pizza!!" When we picked-up the pizza, he begged to eat it in the car. I told him "no," but that he had clearly inherited "Daddy's pizza gene" and he sweetly repeated, "Daddy-pizza- gene." Then he washed down a big piece of pizza with apoo joose and was ready for bed.

Jack also has recently adopted one of Jeff's dominant traits. Jack has apparently inherited Jeff's "whistling gene." Jeff used to whistle all the time--while he washed dishes, while he worked in the yard--I don't even think he realized how often he did it. And, now, Jack has the same habit. The first time I really took notice, it caught me off guard. I thought, "Ah Ha! My sign has arrived at last! . . . Oh, wait. It's just Jack. Jack???" And, sure enough--little Jack can whistle like a pro! It's sweet and I love hearing it.

In other news, this weekend--Regan went to Girl Scout camp on Saturday night and spent the night in cabins in the woods on a lake with her troop. She had a great time. Jack will get his "official" baseball uniform tomorrow. He is sooo excited. Aubrey has been enjoying all the middle school "lasts:" the last Pius Dance; the last ACAL; etc. So, it's been a full weekend, but lots of fun. In addition to everything else we did, I'm exhausted from the constant undercurrent of laundry, dishes, and general picking-up that goes with 4 kids and 5 guests, so I'm going to call it a night! Thanks for checking in. Come back soon!

[And a very special "Congratulations" to Katie and Kevin! Wow, Kevin--my hat's off to you. You pulled off an amazing proposal! We wish you both the best of luck!]

Kelly et al.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

May 21st

Tomorrow, May 21st, is Jeff's birthday. He would have been 37. It also would have been our 15th wedding anniversary.

For Jeff's last birthday, his parents were in town visiting. Aubrey made him some of her famous oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies instead of a birthday cake (his special request), and we watched the American Idol finale. His main birthday gift was a basketball hoop that we installed next to the driveway a month or two before his actual birthday. I don't remember if we got him anything else. I don't remember celebrating our last anniversary at all.

Jeff was typically very good about anniversaries (especially when you consider that it eclipsed his birthday). For our 10th anniversary, Jeff surprised me with an anniversary ring with 10 diamonds and surprised me further by secretly bringing my mom, grandma, brother, sister (and her family) all to Milwaukee to visit. We went out to dinner at Mo's Steakhouse and had a once-in-a-lifetime feast and spared no expense. I like to think he would have done something equally fantastic for our 15th. I hope he would have taken me on a trip--just the two of us. I haven't had a "real" vacation since he died (unless you count the ill-fated trip to Nebraska that ended in a puking extravaganza), but I really can't afford to take any time off from work. So, instead I imagine he would have planned something very memorable and over-the-top. I always liked the idea of a big anniversary party--with my friends and his friends and our friends. With our families and kids. I wasn't patient enough to wait until our 20th anniversary and had secretly hoped to have such a party on our 15th. But, after Jeff got sick, I stopped thinking about the future, and I'm glad now that I'm out of that habit.

My parents were married for just over 12 years, and when Jeff and I passed that milestone in mid-2006, I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment. As we passed the 12-year mark, I joked with Jeff that I had never experienced an intact family past that point, so I would be on a new learning curve. It is the single hardest and saddest realization of my life, thus far, to know my children might now be able to say the same thing to their husbands and wives someday. Little did I know when I said it that Jeff and I would not make it much past that 12-year mark, and today--on what should have been our 15th anniversary--I would be back on familiar ground.

So, I don't know what tomorrow will bring. Today, I've been wistful and weepy. I dread tomorrow and, at the same time, I'm excited for it to come (I guess old habits die hard). Mostly, I worry that the hours will tick by without fanfare or acknowledgement. I know there will be no more cards or flowers, and even though I'm sad to miss the occasion, I can let go of my anniversary easy enough. It's worse to think that Jeff's birthday will disappear into the rear view mirror and that he will no longer be celebrated. I know that chief among Jeff's fears was that he would be forgotten. I now share that fear, too.

One of my high school friends, named Travis, died six years ago. Like Jeff, he was handsome and engaging and universally well-liked. A few of my other high school friends have been busy this week planning the annual golf tournament that is held in his honor--the proceeds of which go toward funding a scholarship in Travis' name. When I heard that so many people in my class were still dedicated to keeping Travis front-of-mind and who were still sacrificing time and money to honor him SIX YEARS after he died, I was . . .well, oddly, I was jealous.

Earlier this week I called Jeff's high school. I knew that shortly after Jeff died, a couple of his classmates had established a Jeff Dodd Memorial Scholarship, and because it is nearing the end of the school year, I was curious who won his scholarship and how much the school awarded in Jeff's name. The foundation office at his high school informed me that once the balance in his scholarship fund reaches $10,000 it will generate an annual scholarship of five percent ($500). Until it reaches that benchmark, it cannot fund a scholarship and no money will be awarded. I asked more questions and they were very kind and generous in giving me answers. But, to date, Jeff's scholarship only has $1,200 in it. I supplemented that with a donation in memory of Jeff's birthday and our anniversary, but we're still not even at the half-way mark.

So, I was disheartened to hear that without significant contributions, Jeff's scholarship may never even generate an award--and I'm afraid time and distance from Jeff's death will only make it less likely people will contribute. In other words, I think people were most likely to donate while both his life and his death and the stories of both were fresh in people's minds. Now, I worry that this attempt to memorialize him will die on the vine. So, I was jealous to hear that people were still turning out to give money for Travis (which even I, myself, have done in the past), and that Jeff's memorial is stalled.

So, my desire to memorialize him well has been reinvigorated and I hope that tomorrow, in particular, will bring clarity and that the best ways for me to honor him will begin to come into focus. I'll see how well I do at work tomorrow and how long I last. If it's too much, I'm sure I'll think of ways to comfort myself. I already have one fun distraction planned. I was lamenting to Liz that I don't have an anniversary this year and she reminded me that this month marks eight years that she and I have worked together. So, we are going out to lunch tomorrow for our own "anniversary." Liz, you better start planning the big party now for our 15th! Ha!

I'll report back soon to let you know how it goes. Until then, take care and thanks as always for checking in.

Love,
Kelly

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Weekend Extravaganza!




Whew! What a weekend! It just about killed me, but it was totally worth it.

It started Friday with Finny-Pum's 2nd birthday. I'll post a picture as soon as Michelle sends some to me (my camera batteries were dead . . .). Jeff's family came up to visit for the weekend, and as soon as they arrived, Jack whisked Jeff's dad off to his baseball practice. When they returned, Finn opened his presents and enjoyed pizza and Superman cupcakes. He got all kinds of fun presents: toy food for his kitchen; various balls; pajamas; clothes; a baby "Laptop Computer;" a robot-dog; and a new Swiffer mop. Then, as if on cue, he contracted the "Terrible Twos" and decided not to go to bed until 12:30 a.m. I didn't want him to have to cry himself to sleep on his birthday, so I allowed him to sleep in my bed. Big Mistake. He whimpered and kicked and tossed and turned all night until he decided to "wake up" for good at 6 a.m. In defense of my own need for sleep, I tried to position him away from me. (Didn't work). I tried to sneak him back into his own bed. (Didn't work). I tried to engineer a pillow-wall between us as a buffer zone between me and the bony little toes that kept digging into my back. (Didn't work). It was a miserable night, but at least he got to sleep in Mommy's bed on his birthday and I think that was his best present of all! I managed to pacify him until 7 a.m. when he finally got out of bed and tugged on my hand to attempt to pull me out of my bed and onto my feet so he could place his breakfast order: waffles, sausage, and strawberries. I complied. Thus began Day Two of our weekend extravaganza.

Saturday morning we all watched Regan's soccer game--she admitted she was a little nervous about having an audience (Jeff's parents, sister, and baby nephew were at the game), but she played great, as usual. Jeff's other sister and brother-in-law arrived on Saturday afternoon and Aubrey immediately commenced her pre-concert preparations with Jeff's sisters at Mayfair Mall. Aubrey bought a cool new outfit to wear and got her hair cut short. It is super adorable! Meanwhile, Jeff's dad took Jack to the cemetery to visit Daddy and to practice baseball at a nearby ball park. He later took Regan and Jack swimming while Jeff's mom watched "the babies" (Finn and Michelle's son, Bo, who is eight months old). I went and got a big fat massage because I was still completely exhausted and in pain from the lack of sleep I got the night before.

So, while Aubrey and her friend and Jeff's sisters went to see Fall Out Boy at the Rave, I went to my Rabid Aardvarks show and the little kids stayed with Grandpa and Grandma and watched movies and ate snacks. Aubrey's concert ended at 11:30 p.m.--while I wasn't even half-way through my second set. Ugh! I got home just after 2:30 a.m. and was in bed by 3:00 a.m. Thank God for Jeff's mom who watched Finn for me, so I didn't have to wake up until 9:00 a.m.!
On Sunday morning, Aubrey, Regan, Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret and her husband, Bryan, all ran in the 5th annual Block Melanoma 5k fundraiser for Melanoma research. I had previously registered Aubrey, but when Regan announced that she, too, wanted to run I was skeptical. I didn't think she could run a mile without stopping--let alone almost three miles. I mentioned to Jeff's mom that I hoped someone would "run" with her so that if she got too tired or discouraged she wouldn't be alone and lost on the course (which meandered through the Milwaukee County Zoo grounds). However, when they announced the start of the race, Regan didn't wait for the runners (adults and children alike) to move off the line. She took off like a flash, weaving in and out of those who were pacing themselves, and soon she was so far ahead on the course that she was out of view to Mary Margaret and Bryan who had tried to keep her in their sights. She ran the entire race in 32 minutes!! What's more--she finished approximately 15 minutes ahead of Mary Margaret and Bryan--both of whom went to college on track scholarships at DePaul University in Chicago. (Mary Margaret gave me her permission to publicly humiliate her in this regard and to let all of you know that a nine year-old smoked her at a 5k). Regan patiently and responsibly waited at the finish line for the rest of the Dodd Squad to catch up. I was so proud of her and admitted that I wasn't sure she would finish the race and not be intimidated by the mass of runners and the sheer distance. I also admitted I would never underestimate her again.

At 2 p.m., we then went to a memorial service hosted by the nurses' association that staffs Jeff's hospice. It was a very nice ceremony--except for the fact that I missed most of it because I was supervising Finn in the lobby. We then celebrated Jeff's Unbirthday with dinner at the Chancery Restaurant. I had grandiose plans to have a "real" Unbirthday party (ala the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland), but did not have time to pull it off and since this was the best weekend to do it (Jeff's birthday is May 21st), we decided to have a dinner in his honor. We talked about some of Jeff's favorite phrases and idiosyncrasies, and recalled memories of him--Aubrey talked about their shared love of popcorn; Michelle recalled that Jeff liked to say "Very good" as a conversation filler, and Mary fondly suggested that Jeff would never have allowed such a dinner without a coupon. (Too true!) Finn had a big fit, but only performed one spread-eagle-face-plant while crying. To make up for the conservative quantity of his physical expressions, he strategically threw himself down in the middle of the walkway where every server in the restaurant has to go when they are coming in and out of the kitchen (with very full trays of food). Well done, Finn!

Every minute was jam-packed, but it was great to dedicate half the weekend to the kids (Finn's birthday, Regan's soccer, Jack's baseball, and Aubrey's concert) and to dedicate the other half to Jeff. But, now, I am completely and utterly spent. It's only 9: 57 p.m., but I'm going to bed. I can't stay awake another minute!

Nighty night!
Kelly

P.S. The first picture above is of Aubrey's friend, Ann, Aubrey, and Jeff's sister, Michelle at the Fall Out Boy concert. The second picture is of the Dodd Squad that ran in the Block Melanoma 5k (Regan, Aubrey, Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret, and her husband, Bryan).

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Mother's Day Recap

Hi All:

Long time, no blog. Feels like weeks since my last post. Here's a quick update:

Mother's Day was very nice. This was my first Mother's Day without Jeff and I can tell already that Mother's Day probably won't be a big deal from here on out. It's not as much fun when I have to orchestrate my own "surprises." But, that's OK. Really--everyday is Mother's Day now. I get to decide everyday what I want to do with the kids (or for myself) without any discussion or interference. Nonetheless, I like the old way better.

The kids were on top of things though and marked the occasion. Regan helped with Finn in the morning so I could sleep-in (until 8:00 a.m.). She also made me a picture frame at school. Jack drew me a picture and Finn took a nap (his gift to me whether he knew it or not). Aubrey babysat the little kids so I could take a nap, too, which was the only Mother's Day gift I wanted. We also went to church and had lunch with our friends, Tony and CeeCee and their twin girls (who are exactly six weeks younger than Finn). Thank you, CeeCee, for sharing your family with me on Mother's Day when you could have easily justified keeping them all to yourself. And thank you, both, for the flowers and card. It made it feel like Mother's Day which was especially nice this year. To round out the evening, we had a special dinner from Mo's Irish Pub and watched a movie that the girls picked out. Jack and Finn spent the duration of the movie wrestling and laughing on the floor in front of the T. V.

So, all in all, it was a great day. I have absolutely no complaints. And for that, I was crowned "Mother of the Year" (tee hee):

http://news.cnnbcvideo.com/?nid=cInLYC8bDM8qzYpI1bJXOjM2NzA4NTc-&referred_by=16112030-y6aH Hcx

(Thanks for the laugh, Jill. I needed it this week!)

Finally, on Mother's Day, Jack asked "when is Children's Day?" I said, "there isn't one." He said, "then when is Brother Day?" Again, I said, "there isn't one." So, I decided that from now on Mother's Day will be a day for this Mother to celebrate her children and for me let them know how much I appreciate them and love them. After all, when every day is Mother's Day, it only seems fair that one day a year be set aside for the kids. They deserve it waayy more than I do. Believe me.

In the meantime, we're gearing up for a big weekend. We have, among other things, Finn's Birthday, Regan's soccer game, Aubrey's Fall Out Boy concert, my Rabid Aardvarks Show, a 5k run to raise money for Melanoma research, and a memorial service hosted by Jeff's hospice. So, check back soon. I promise a thorough report. Until then . . .

Take care!
Kelly

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Biologically Programmed . . .

As usual, I was racing around trying to get Jack and Regan to their respective sports practices when I vaguely recalled someone telling me we were out of peanut butter. And lunch meat. And bread. And milk. And apoo joose. So, between dropping them off I had 20 minutes to kill. Always an opportunist, I decided to go for it. As we approached the grocery store, Regan asked if she could go in with me to "help." For a moment, time stood still as I recalled my last trip to the grocery store with Regan . . .

Not long ago, I took Regan grocery shopping with me and at the end of the check-out line she gasped in horror when the bill totaled $108.00. She had been in charge of following the grocery list I had written for her and she immediately began comparing the list to what was actually in the cart. She said, "there are only 15 things on the list and you bought 30 things!!!" I explained that if I put "Kleenex" on the list and buy 4 boxes of Kleenex, that is not an unlawful departure from my shopping list. I explained to her, for example, that "orange juice" was on the list and that we bought two jugs of orange juice--again, this is not a transgression.

She was undeterred. She looked at the check-out clerk and said, "$108.00??? My mom just spent over one-hundred dollars!" Then as we were maneuvering our cart toward the car she said, "if you ever go on a date, I'm going to have to have a little talk with him about how much money you spend at the grocery store." I rolled my eyes and told her to get over it, but, here--I'll save her the trouble: If you are my future husband and you happen to be reading this, be warned: I once spent $108.00 at the grocery store. And here's another word of warning to my future husband: I have an over-reactive kid hell-bent on histrionics. And, oh yeah, she had head lice last week. Still interested?

As anyone who is widowed with four kids will tell you--escaping from the grocery store for a mere $108 feels like thievery. (Mike, am I right or am I right?) Even more so when one of your kids is still in diapers (assuming he's not in the mood to go Commando) and more so yet when that same kid goes through more than his fair share of paper towels due to his peculiar habit of polishing all non-porous kitchen surfaces.

So, after reliving this flash-back, I decided to let Regan "help" me anyway. This time she was very well behaved and even helped bag the groceries. But, I'm sure I haven't heard the last of her reprimands.

Because, here is another fun-fact about Regan: She's a Prohibitionist. She has a throat-clutching primordial aversion to the idea of anyone drinking alcohol--especially me. We went to a friend's party in January with a mixed crowd of adults and children, and Regan wondered what there was to drink. I gave her a run-down of options and she said, "well, what are you drinking?" And I said, nonchalantly, "Rum and coke." Her eyes got wide and she immediately sputtered "You're drinking alcohol??" I said, "yeah?" She said, "Mom. You could get drunk! Don't get drunk. Stop drinking alcohol." She started to quiz me about how many drinks I had had; whether I was going to drive home; etc. She meant business and I'm sure anyone within ear-shot immediately assumed I'm an alcoholic and that my poor innocent child was--yet again--having to coax me onto the wagon. In actuality, this was the first time I had ever been on the receiving end of her wrath and I was somewhat taken aback. Despite my rock-star lifestyle, I am a very conservative drinker and I know for certain none of my children have seen me drunk or anything close to it so I don't know where this reaction came from, but I have since learned this is just her natural response to anything she finds distasteful or offensive (like a $108 grocery bill). I had to suffer the same reprimand last night before band practice.

I had some left over Corona in the fridge after having had friends over a couple of weeks ago. I don't drink beer and so it was merely taking up space in my refrigerator. I decided that since yesterday was Cinco de Mayo, I should take the beer to band practice last night and distribute it to the guys in celebration of the occasion. As I was pulling out of the driveway, I realized I forgot to grab the beer. Regan was playing in the yard, so I yelled to her to "go grab the beer out of the refrigerator so I can take it to Kevin's." She came back with one bottle of Corona in her hand. I said, "No. I need all the bottles." She said, "Why? are you going to drink it? I thought you just wanted one for Kevin." And then she was off to the races: "Don't drink it Mom. Don't drink alcohol! Are you going to drive with it in your car?" And as she brought the remainder of the six-pack to the car she opened the passenger-side door and discreetly placed it on the floorboard and even tried to lay it flat to further obscure it from view. I told her, "Regan. It's fine. It's left-overs that I'm taking to the guys. I'm not going to drink it and since the bottles aren't open I can drive with it in the car." So, Regan will likely enjoy a nice long career in law enforcement. But she's not going to be very popular in college.

Now a few side notes:

Confidential to the people in the next booth at Denny's tonight: from the looks on your faces I can only assume you have never seen a two year-old simultaneously defeat the laws of physics and break the sound barrier, so Congratulations on being there as Finn made history. And on a related note, I sincerely apologize for all you endured.

Confidential to Everyone Else: To make a long story short, the kids' sports practices were cancelled tonight shortly after they started due to lightening and rain so we decided to go out to dinner for fun. However, that fun was anything but when Finn started acting like he was possessed by a rabid monkey (one apparently trained as a Hollywood stuntman, no less). His bi-polar mood swings and screeching and writhing were so ungodly it made me want to call a priest. Aubrey pretty much summed up the situation when she said, "Good thing you're biologically programmed to love him and feed him." Because only a mother could simultaneously feel so hot and defeated with frustration and exhaustion (and embarrassment) that she is nearly in tears and also feel love and forgiveness when the source of her frustration/exhaustion tries to make her laugh by being silly as he drinks orange juice from a cup designed to look like an alien's head.

Confidential to my Mom: After dinner, we went to Target to get a birthday present for Jack's friends' upcoming birthday party. Finn's mood prevailed, so the kids hurriedly picked out your Mother's Day card while I tried to unglue Finn from his face-down, spread-eagle, crying stance in the dead-center of the main aisle. (Jim, I see now why that is a successful defensive move in Wrestling . . .minus the crying, of course). I hope they picked something appropriate. If not, I'll just send you one of the cards you are sending me. :-)

With Love to All,
Kelly

Monday, May 4, 2009

One more boring post--then, FIESTA!!! (Happy Cinco de Mayo)

OK--so, this will be the end of all my heady philosophizing . . . at least for the time being, but my sister initiated a conversation with me worth mentioning, so I hope you can stand one more semi-serious topic. Then, I'll go back to the mad-cap hilarity. I promise.

Terri was talking to me about all the parallels between life and death and somehow we merged onto the topic of prayer and I realized how differently I now pray since Jeff died. But, first a little background: I get a massage every two weeks (when I have a Rabid Aardvarks show the night before, otherwise I skip it). I started this habit when Jeff became too sick to give me backrubs. I was usually sore and tired the day after a show (Hey, the Magic doesn't bring itself and it's hard work to Rock It from 9:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. every weekend!), so Jeff would generously give me a back rub, or foot massage, etc. I have always felt like human touch is important and am naturally affectionate to my kids and friends. Jeff commented once that my easy and frequent displays of affection are what taught him how to be affectionate to our children. And I recall studies on the importance of touch where monkeys raised by impersonal wire forms intended to look like "mothers" fared worse than monkeys raised by equally inanimate but soft and cuddly "mothers." A massage is certainly no substitute for a husband's affection, but I believe it provides important psychological and physiological benefits and since I now have no husband, well . . . that's as good as it gets for now.

Anyway, while Jeff was alive I spent the entire hour-long massage in prayer. I actually looked forward to the quiet opportunity to bombard God with my incessant petitions. During each hour, I prayed constantly: I asked God to heal Jeff; to save him; to cure him; to let him live; to spare my children; to help me; to comfort us; to give us all safety, good health, peace, and happiness. I mean--I really went to town.

Then, I had a massage this past weekend, and I realized that my prayers had changed. I don't know how or when the evolution took place, but I noted one hallmark characteristic of my "new" prayers: I quit asking for things. And as I talked to my sister, I understood why.

I trust God knows what I need and that he will give it to me regardless of what I ask for. Just because I've asked for things and haven't gotten them doesn't mean that my prayers went unheard or unfulfilled. I tend to think it means God has something better for me than I could have ever sought for myself.

Here is (what else?) another analogy to illustrate my point. Shortly before Jeff was diagnosed with cancer, Aubrey and I were shopping at the mall for his Christmas gift when Aubrey zeroed in on a pair of leggings/tights that she absolutely HAD to have. (Maybe I've told you this story before, and if I have then you can take an intermission and skip to the end . . .). At first, she asked nicely, "Mom, can I pleeeeaaasseee have the tights?" I said, "No." So, then she tried to bargain with me and said, "What if I keep my room clean for a whole month? Then can I get them?" Again, I said, "No." So, she resorted to reasoning with me: "But I babysit the little kids all the time and I don't even get paid for it and the tights are only six dollars which isn't even very much considering all I do to help." But I was firm and said, "No. I'm not getting you those tights." She continued to beg. I continued to resist. By the end of the conversation, she was crying and telling me how mean and unfair I was and that I didn't understand, etc.

However, the reason I was so unmoved--and what I could not explain to Aubrey at the time--is that I had already bought her the tights for Christmas and they were wrapped up and hidden in our basement storage room. I knew she coveted those tights. I had paid attention when she pointed them out in magazines and in stores on prior occasions. I knew how much she wanted them and I knew that if I told her in the middle of her incessant begging that I had already bought the tights it would have ruined one of her best Christmas gifts--which in some ways, she would later admit, was made even better by the fact of our conversation. And when she opened the tights on Christmas morning, she immediately understood and said, "So THAT'S why you wouldn't buy them for me that day at the store!" And she learned that when I say "No" to her, she can trust it is for a very good reason and that even if she doesn't understand the reason at the time--it will all be worth it.

And so, I've begged God. I tried to ask nicely. I tried to bargain and reason. And there were times it would have been easy to turn on Him and tell Him how mean and unfair He was and how He just doesn't understand. But, He understands much better than I do, and I have a feeling that everything I need will be given to me--and on much better terms than I would have gotten if I had pestered and begged. And, so I've stopped asking for things because I trust God knows what I want, but more importantly, he knows what I need and will give it to me regardless. And it adds the element of excitement (or some might say, it takes away the element of control . . .), but, in my opinion, the best gifts aren't the ones you've begged for. For me, when people ask me what I want for Christmas or my birthday, it is a lot more fun to let them surprise me with a gift they have specially selected based upon the fun things they know about me than to ask for something specific, because then it isn't much of a gift at all--it's more like giving a gift to myself and they are merely the conduit.

And too, if God takes a paternalistic approach, I can guarantee that any parent is more likely to do favors for a grateful and obedient child than one who only comes to a parent when they want something and when they whine for it relentlessly. I know I am far more likely to be accommodating and forgiving when my children have helped without complaining than I am when they have insisted on negotiating an incentive. I am far more tolerant and patient when they have accepted my refusals or explanations than when they have been stubborn and defiant. Maybe God isn't so different. Maybe he just wants us to trust Him and let Him give us exactly what we need. So, maybe the only prayer worth saying is "Thy will be done." Period.

I know it sounds crazy for me to say things like this because I've had my fair share of disappointment and tragedy in my short 36 years and, therefore, can cite no proof in favor of my belief that God will give me everything I need. I just know that He will. And He is.

The end.
Kelly

Friday, May 1, 2009

The Month of May

OK, now that the head-lice epidemic at my house is akin to a Biblical pestilence, I received a notice from the school informing me that Pink-eye is going around Jack's class and to take all manner of precaution. I hope the fact that it is "Fungal Infection Awareness Month" (http://library.thinkquest.org/2886/may.htm) is not indicative of what's to come . . . I feel like the freaking Egyptians in the Old Testament! Ugh!

But, aside from being "Fungal Infection Awareness Month" I wanted to be sure to let you know that today is the first day of Melanoma Awareness Month. It only seems fitting, if not ironic, that so many holidays pertinent to Jeff occur this month and that this month has been set aside to educate others about Melanoma.

This month we will celebrate:

May 15th--Finn's 2nd birthday

May 17th--The Annual Memorial Service at Jeff's Hospice and the annual Melanoma Awareness 5k run/3k walk at the Milwaukee County Zoo. I'm going to see if Aubrey wants to run in it (she's a natural and gifted distance runner). If so, I'll see if Mary Margaret and Bryan want to run with her (heads-up, MM and Bryan!).

May 21st--Jeff's Birthday. This would have also been our 15th wedding anniversary. (Sigh . . .)

May 25th--Memorial Day. This will be a new "holiday" for us this year now that we have someone to memorialize.

So, that's our month at a glance. I hope you'll keep reading to see how it all unfolds.

Until next time,
Kelly