Jeff's Daily Update

Something I Believe In

2010-06-11T09:33:00.005-05:00

Hi All, (and by "all" I am probably only talking to myself and my step-mom and the occasional straggler who is routed to this blog in a misguided search for melanoma information . . .)

Today I have a new post. Actually, it comes from Aubrey. To the left is a speech that Aubrey wrote for school. (Click on the image to enlarge it). The assignment was to give a speech about something she believes in. So, this is what she said.

I thought it was definitely "blog-worthy." It's been nearly two years since Jeff died and there have been many blog-worthy events . . . I promise to do a Big Fat Update soon. Until then, take care and Believe in Sunscreen!!

The End

2009-09-24T22:20:00.005-05:00

Warning: This blog contains graphic descriptions of Jeff's death and his physical dying process. Proceed accordingly.

One year ago tonight, I told Jeff "Goodbye." I'll always remember. I don't know why I felt compelled to pour my heart out and sob at his bedside that night, but I did. Literature on the "stages of dying" littered the hospice where Jeff spent his last days. They gently suggested that the dying know when it's "time to go." Likewise, those close to the dying know when it's time to say "Goodbye" and, so saying "Goodbye" wasn't a conscious choice that I made, but something I did instinctively.

Jeff was lying in his hospice bed in a hospital gown--the head of the bed was slightly raised and he was propped-up on a pillow. He had been in this position most of the day to receive his final visitors and despite having been lucid and alert for the better part of the night before and early morning had slipped into a deep sleep for the rest of the day and evening which was just as well. Whenever he was awake he was in terrible pain from gout that was affecting his left ankle due to uric acid build up from his body systems shutting down. His hair had gotten longer than he usually would have let it grow because he had been in the hospice for a month. He needed a haircut and I wish I would have had someone cut his hair before he died so that he would have been buried with the short, handsome hair cut I remember him having. No one knows--not even Jeff--that when I shaved his head after he had brain surgery, I saved some of his hair. As a side note, I also saved his leg brace and whole brain radiation mask. He was indignant about it at the time and thought it was weird I wanted to save them, but the leg brace is a perfect mold of his left leg and the mask is a perfect mold of his face--I saved them for no other reason than to keep some minor semblance of him.

On that last night, I pulled a chair up to the side of Jeff's hospital bed. We had started our marriage side-by-side and now it would end side-by-side. I was wearing a pink velour sweat suit with a maroon pinstripe down the side of the pants and a maroon long-sleeved T-shirt to match. At one point, he faintly and briefly opened his eyes and I remember being somewhat disappointed in the fact that this was what he saw me wearing for the last time and that this might be the image he would have of me through all eternity. However, Jeff had 20/600 vision (yes, you read that correctly!), so I'm sure I was nothing but a pink blur to him if he could see anything at all.

I sat next to him and cried and talked for nearly an hour. He didn't move or so much as blink the entire time. I wondered if he had heard anything I said. But, as I was getting ready to leave, I stood up and leaned over him and said, "I'm going to kiss you now" and he puckered up his lips to meet mine. I was relieved to know that he had heard and understood me. And I recall in that moment that I kissed him, how the smell of medicine overwhelmed me. He smelled like poison (probably because he was filled with it between the cancer and all the drugs simultaneously competing to kill it and numb it). As I walked out the door, I looked back at him--just in case it was the last time I saw him. And it was.

The next morning, on September 25th the nanny had just arrived and we were in the middle of our usual morning chaos. The kids were just beginning to file into the mud room on their way out to the car to go to school when the house phone rang. I answered it and the voice on the other end said, "Mrs. Dodd?" I said, "yes?" and she said, "it appears he has passed." She didn't tell me who she was or where she was calling from or who "he" was. We both understood. I said, "thank you, we'll be right there." It was 7:45 a.m.

I turned to the kids who were milling in and out of the kitchen and said, "that was the nurse calling. Daddy died." I don't think anyone said anything--they all intuitively got in the minivan while the nanny scooped up baby-Finn. Aubrey, Regan, Jack and I went to the Hospice. As we approached the room, the door was mostly shut and an ornament of glass and a pressed/dried flower hung on the door (the Hospice's "notice" that the person in the room is dead). Jeff was lying flat in the bed. The Hospice staff had arranged a tray of cookies and drinks for us. He was still tethered to his catheter and pain pump.

I walked eagerly into the room while the kids entered with trepidation and gravitated toward a couch along the wall of the room. I approached him from the same side I sat at the night before and laid my top half over his top half and cried. His chest was still warm and it seemed unreal that it did not rise and fall as it did when he was breathing. His eyes were almost completely closed, yet very slightly open. His jaw was lax and his mouth was partially open. I intermittently hugged him and cried and laid over him and cried--simultaneously distraught and fascinated by how visibly death descends upon a body. I comforted the kids. They refused to touch him.

While we spent time with Jeff, the Hospice continued to make phone calls to notify family. I don't recall who I called personally and who the Hospice called, but at some point, our priest, Father Charlie arrived. After praying over the body, he generously took the kids back home while I stayed to pack Jeff's things and wait for the body to be removed.

Our dear friend, Tony, came to be with me at the Hospice. He had also sat with me in the waiting room 13 months earlier when Jeff had emergency brain surgery. This time, he brought me some plastic boxes for packing. I started in the bathroom. At first, I started packing toiletries like Jeff's deodorant and travel toothbrush before I realized these things would never be used again. Instead, I threw them away--thinking Jeff would be far more impressed with my efficiency than my sentimentality.

Meanwhile, nurses and doctors came and went. I asked how Jeff had changed positions--he had been sitting up the night before and was now lying flat. She explained that he died sitting up, but they have to immediately lie people flat or the rigor mortis will make it difficult to lie them flat later for their funerals, so the nurses had laid him flat as soon as he died. A doctor came in and took his pulse and pronounced him dead and completed some paperwork.

When the room was quiet and we were alone, I inspected his body. The backs of his ears and palms of his hands and back of his neck turned splotchy and purple (a condition I would later learn is called "lividity" due to the blood in the body settling and no longer circulating). His arms and hands were stiff. As I hugged him, his body felt unnatural and unresponsive.

It was a nice, sunny day.

It was approximately 10:30 a.m. when the funeral director arrived to remove the body. They arrived with a navy-blue bag unzipped and open on a gurney. They were dressed in suits and the two of them (one by his head and one by his feet) lifted him by lifting the corners of the bed sheet he was lying on. It surprised me that when they picked him up--sheet, pillow, catheter, everything--went into the bag. They started to zip up the bag and just as the zipper got to his chest, I stopped them and kissed him one last time on the forehead. They then zipped the bag over his head and placed a quilt over the bag. Then, they wheeled him out and that was the last time I ever laid eyes on him.

I finished packing his things and went straight home. The scene was remarkably normal and upbeat. Both of our nannies were now at the house and the kids were busy and playing, as usual. There were already flowers on the kitchen table from the Murphys next door. The next couple of hours were a blur, but at 1:00 p.m. or so, I went to the funeral home with my friend, Robin, to arrange the funeral. Later that day, I met again with Father Charlie to do the same thing. And by evening, family started to arrive from out of town.

And earlier that day, I posted Jeff's final blog. Self-aware and eloquent, it was probably the single most meaningful and important thing he ever wrote--except maybe for the private letters he wrote to me and the kids before he died. I have tried to continue the blog in an effort to chronicle our life after his death and as a means of lending hope and guidance to other young widows. I think it has served it's purpose.

As you are well-aware, I have been winding down the blog with fewer and more infrequent postings because I thought the one-year mark is a good stopping point. All the anniversaries and highlights and memorable occasions a year brings have been met face-to-face and I don't know what more to say about them in the second year or the third . . .

Also, I feel like it is time to close this chapter of our lives and move on. We are no longer mourning. Our lives will never be the same, but we have found ways to keep living and be happy. Jeff's death has given us so much--people have come into our lives we would have had no opportunity to know but for his death; my children have developed enviable resilience and independence. Of course, it's been a lot of hard work. It is sometimes paralyzing to raise four children alone and I am constantly aware of the sacrifices we all make in order to fill the hole Jeff left in our lives. I must work harder. The kids must do more to help me and each other. Yet--our "new" life is surprisingly happy and relaxed.

So, tomorrow begins a new year and we will embrace it not as a day to ruminate on the unfairness of life and all its misfortunes, but as a day to celebrate our successes and the progress we've made in the past year. Just as a baby learns to crawl and then walk--each milestone is celebrated as progress toward a better existence and not lamented as indicators of an infanthood left behind. We will mark the day respectfully--I'm sure we will visit the cemetery and share our memories of Jeff and we will all be a little sadder, but we'll be OK.

This blog has been one of Jeff's enduring gifts to me. He started when he first learned his cancer had returned and I continued it after his death. It has served as my unique brand of personal therapy, but has also provided glimmers of affection and understanding through all the thoughtful comments you have left. My relationships with many of you have become more meaningful because of our communications through the blog, and without a doubt, I will miss your Comments the most. Nonetheless, I have to see if I can get along without it and I hereby declare a "normal" friendship with all of you--which will necessarily require nurturing through traditional means such as e-mails, phone calls, and direct contact.

However, I reserve the right to resurrect the blog at any time and without notice. In fact, it is likely I will still post here from time to time just because it is such a convenient forum for far away family and friends. But, if so, I may elect to rename the blog and revise the format so that it no longer focuses on our tragedy, but instead emphasizes the comfortable and beautiful normalcy into which we have settled.

So, thank you for walking this path with us and for all of your contributions along the way. As I type this, it is now 11:59 p.m. on September 24th. Ooops--now it's midnight and officially September 25th. So, I'm going to stop typing and keep living and loving and smiling . . . .

The End.

Kelly

We're Baaack!

2009-08-02T21:48:00.003-05:00

Yes . . . I'm still here. Sorry. There's been an unprecedented lag-time between posts and I really have no good excuse (as usual) except for vacation and the general demands of life.

First, the kids and I (and our nanny, Lauren) went on vacation last week. We had a great time, and I was especially grateful that Lauren was along. Without her, I would have been tethered to Finn with no opportunity to really do anything with the big kids. Having Lauren with us made all the difference in the world and allowed me to actually enjoy our vacation.

The kids will be taking another vacation in a couple of weeks: Aubrey is going "Up North" with her friend and her friend's family on their annual trip to Northern Wisconsin. Meanwhile, Regan, Jack, and Finn will be going to Jeff's first cousin's wedding in Minnesota with Jeff's parents. They will get to see their grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and will have a blast, I'm sure. I'll be home alone working and performing with the band.

Meanwhile, I've been busy unpacking and doing laundry and catching up on messages and bills, etc. "Little Daddy" survived our absence. However, we are now babysitting a friend's crayfish for the next 10 days while they are on vacation.

There have been lots of changes for me at home and at work over the past couple of weeks. One notable example is Aubrey's hair. Aubrey used to have medium-brown hair--very wavy and pretty. She usually straightens it. She recently got it cut above her shoulders and layered. But, then she dyed it dark brown and got platinum blonde highlights. It is super cool and I'm only slightly jealous.

Oh--I almost forgot: Jack's baseball team WON the Championship! It was very exciting. I didn't realize I had left everybody hanging on that point until my friend, Scott, called this week and mentioned that I never said on the blog whether Jack won or not. So . . . yes, he won and he got two more trophies. He's accumulating quite a collection to go with his coveted Pinewood Derby trophy. And as an aside to Scott--I trust you made it safely to Egypt and are already exploring your new home!

In other news, I recently learned that some of Jeff's high school classmates have organized a memorial Fun Run as a way to raise money for the endowed scholarship in Jeff's name at Lincoln Pius X high school. When I have more details I will post a flyer on the blog, but it sounds like it is shaping up to be quite an event.

Finally, tonight, Finn heard a song by Coldplay and insisted that he saw Daddy in the CD player and although he kept saying "Daddy scary" and kept pointing to the CD player and wanting up and completely clinging to me and burying his little face, he also wanted to listen to that Coldplay song over and over again, each time saying "Daddy, Daddy . . ." Weird.

Earlier today, Regan said, "I wonder if Finn remembers Dad." At that moment, Finn was looking at our wedding album and pointed to Jeff in a picture on the front and said, "Daddy." So, I am confident he can at least still identify him and knows who he is. If you ask Finn, "do you miss Daddy?" he'll get a sweet sad look and nod his head "yes." I don't know if he really knows what he is saying or what we are asking, but I like to think he does . . .

Well, I'm sorry this is short and unfulfilling, but I'm totally exhausted and start a new week at work tomorrow and still have lots to do tonight. I'll try to get back into a more consistent pattern of updating. Until next time . . . thanks for reading. Please stay in touch!

Kelly et al.

Bunch of Nothing

2009-07-15T21:40:00.003-05:00

Sheesh! I can't believe it's been so long since my last post. I don't even know where the time has gone--mostly work and band and baseball, I guess.

Jack's team is still in the little league tournament. If they win their next game, they will play for the Championship. The Murphy boys were admiring Jack's team tonight as "the best team in the league" which is particularly flattering because the Murphy boys know baseball. I mean . . . they REALLY know baseball, so I'm glad that Jack has had the chance to play on such a great team and have the whole experience. He's not a bad little hitter, either.

Since July 2nd, I've had 5 band shows and one band practice. Whew! The weekends have been totally packed, but the shows have been fun and well-attended. The rest of my time has been consumed by work which is, thankfully, busy.

I don't have anymore band shows until August, so I'm glad things will slow down considerably for the next couple of weeks. I'm soooo tired.

One highlight of the past week was that Jeff's sister, Mary Margaret, came to visit along with Jeff's first cousin, Katrina. We ordered in and had a fun dinner at home with the kids. Mary Margaret made Pina Coladas!

Otherwise, there are really no recent highlights to report. Finn still has his mohawk. "Little Daddy" is still alive. And the kids have all been busy with sleepovers and play dates and birthday parties and bike rides. Summer will be over so soon.

I am still weeks behind on e-mails and bills and appointments and phone calls and laundry. Ugh!

But, I'm sure next time Pina Coladas will not be the highlight of my blog entry. I feel some good stuff coming on . . .

Until then, take care and thanks as always for continuing to care!

Kelly et al.

(P.S. The nanny brought the kids to see one of my outdoor shows. Finn wanted his Mommy so I held him while I sang a song. A funnier picture would have been of his expression as the nanny took him back from me so I could finish the show . . . "Moooommmmmyyyyy!!!!!").

Excuses Excuses . . .(Updated)

2009-07-05T20:03:00.005-05:00

I must begin with an apology. I have been busy beyond all belief and there are more than a few of you out there who are waiting for me to return your calls, respond to your e-mails, and RSVP to baby showers and weddings that have already come and gone (Sorry!). If it makes you feel any better, please know that I also just opened mail this week postmarked June 16th (I haven't even made it to the July mail yet) and that I have not yet gone through the kids' end-of-the-year folders full of everything they brought home on the last day of school. So, I'm running about 3-4 weeks behind to say the least. It seems so basic to open a bill or reply to an e-mail, but, for some reason, the smallest of tasks seem to be the most insurmountable right now. Don't even ask about my laundry. To make a long story short-I bought a half-dozen new bath towels today.

The good news is that most of what is keeping me busy is fun. Since my last post, some of the highlights include:

1. Jack's baseball games. His team is 9 and 1 and is considered one of the best teams in the entire league. His tournament starts this Thursday and I wouldn't be surprised if his team wins the whole thing!

2. The twins' 2nd birthday party. Jeff and I are the proud Godparents of twin girls who are six weeks younger than Finn. We attended their birthday party and enjoyed watching the little ones have all kinds of fun.

3. Lolo's 21st birthday party. One of our Super-Nannies turned 21 this past week. She invited me to her birthday party which consisted of tailgating and a Brewers' game. Out of the 30-or-so people in attendance, I was one of only 3 who was over the age of 30. I note that Lauren has a conspicuous dearth of middle-aged, single, male friends. I should have known that a 21 year-old's birthday party would not yield good results. Note to self: start hanging around the supper club and drinking more Sloe Gin. Oh well. The party was still fun.

4. Summerfest! America's largest outdoor music festival takes place in Milwaukee every summer and the Rabid Aardvarks were, again, invited to play on the Miller Stage on July 2nd. My law firm made the occasion an official "firm outing" so I was excited to perform for my coworkers and, of course, all my other friends who came (especially Mike & Regan, and Jeff!). Based upon how everything else is going, the rest of you should be getting your notice of the appearance and invitation to attend in approximately 3-4 weeks. (Ugh!)

5. Fireworks! My law firm is located in downtown Milwaukee just a couple of blocks from the shore of Lake Michigan. Every year, they open the top floor of the building so that employees and their families can have a front-row view of the city's main fireworks display. (They launch the fireworks off a barge in the harbor). I took Regan and Jack to the fireworks show. Because the building is so tall, the fireworks explode at eye-level only a couple of blocks away, so the show is really spectacular. The kids loved it. (Aubrey stayed home to watch Finn who cannot be trusted for obvious reasons on the top of a building).

6. Fourth of July! We celebrated the 4th of July, first, by going to my friend Mike's birthday party. He lives on a lake just west of Milwaukee, so the kids wore their swimming suits and Jack took his fishing pole and (I discovered later) a livewell full of leaches he planned to use as bait. (He's hard core). The kids ate and played and went on boat-rides around the lake. Aubrey even found a group of teenagers to attach herself to and my other friends who were in attendance were very generous in helping me with Finn so I could variously eat and keep an eye on everyone else. Finn was particularly impressed with the family's dog who he was very interested in so long as the dog remained more than 10 feet away. As soon as the dog showed the slightest sign of reciprocity or hinted at coming nearer, Finn would try to climb my leg like a lumberjack climbing a tree.

7. We were also excited to have family in town for the 4th of July. Jeff's first cousins and a friend came to Milwaukee for a mini-vacation to go to Summerfest and on the Booze Cruise ( a boat-tour of Milwaukee's breweries--isn't this a great city?). So, Aubrey and her cousin, Andrea, went to the Wauwatosa fireworks display while her cousin, John, and his friend came to my Rabid Aardvarks show in downtown Milwaukee. It was quite an event--I don't think we've ever had people crowd the stage like they did last night. And we did THREE encores. At the end of the night a drunk 25 year-old asked me to marry him. When I told him he was too young for me, he asked my age. I told him I was pushing 37. He sobered up almost immediately. When he admitted he was 25, I suggested that instead of marrying him, why don't I just babysit him and then have coffee with his mother?

8. Which brings us to today--We went to mass with the cousins and then to the cemetery to visit Jeff's grave. Then, Aubrey and her cousin, Andrea, went on a walk and got ice cream while Regan and Jack went on a fun bike ride with my friend Kevin. Meanwhile, Finn and I cleaned the kitchen and played outside.

And, of course, mixed in with all the above is the usual going to work, playing with friends, baseball camp, baseball games, band practice, etc. etc. and my minor attempts to keep the house stocked with food and diapers and in just enough order/cleanliness that we don't inadvertently incubate an army of wolf spiders.

So, that's the quick and dirty on this week. I'm sure I've forgotten something and I will try harder to motivate myself to connect with those of you who have reached out to us in both small ways (e-mails) and large ways (major life-event invitations). Until then, don't hesitate to check-in and thanks, as always, for reading. It makes all the difference in the world.

Kelly

UPDATE: I forgot to mention that July 2nd marked the 16th anniversary of the day Jeff asked me to marry him. July 2nd also happens to be Jeff's grandpa's birthday (Happy Birthday, Grandpa Pat) and his uncle's anniversary in the priesthood (Happy Anniversary, Bishop Tom!). Jeff bought an elaborate picnic basket with "real" plates, glasses, and silverware and fancy linens. He also arranged an assortment of sausages and cheese, fruit and wine and took me on a picnic at Holmes Lake in Lincoln Nebraska. After we ate, he read to me from a book of love poems (it wasn't as corny as it sounds . . .) and at the end of Shakespeare's 18th Sonnet, he pulled out a ring box and asked me to marry him. I accepted--we celebrated and then went home to his parents' house to announce the Big News. We were married the following May. It's strange to think that now I am the only person in the world who can tell that story and who remembers any details of it first-hand. And it's sad that I no longer recall what we talked about or any other surrounding details. Accordingly, I thought I should make an attempt to preserve what little I DO recall about the occasion for our kids' sake and before my budding senility deprives me any further!

I'm done taking Finn to restaurants.

2009-06-24T22:03:00.005-05:00

Well, I'm pleased to announce that our new un-pet (as my Mom informs me) has survived long enough to merit a name. He/she (it's hard to tell . . .) shall henceforth be known as "Little Daddy." I don't know the etymology of the name--just that Regan picked it and confidently informed me of it when I asked if she had named the crayfish yet. So, "Little Daddy" it is.

In other news, I am closing the joint major credit cards Jeff and I shared in favor of one singular credit card in my name. I haven't applied for a credit card on my own since 1992. It is surprisingly difficult to transfer a joint card to a surviving spouse--it actually has to go through an "Estate Department" and all kinds of ridiculous bureaucracy. It's a lot easier to just close the account and open a new one. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before now to take care of this. I've already transferred all of our other financial accounts into my name. Oh well. I'm sure I'll discover more unfinished business, but in the meantime, our joint credit cards will be the next memento of Jeff to disappear forever.

Oh--I almost forgot: Finn got a rockin' mohawk today. Jack has traditionally had a mohawk in the summer, but opted out this year. Although, when I saw it (our nanny, Jenny, did the styling) I was surprised by how much Finn looks like Jeff did when he was going through whole brain radiation and he lost all of his hair except for a strip along the top that looked like a subtle mohawk. It was uncanny and I was a little taken aback. And it's hard to tell in pictures, but Terri--in person Finn looks A LOT like Jake (his first-cousin).

Right now Finn is in bed and shaking the crib rail so hard that it has fallen down and I've had to rig it so it will stay up despite his unbridled aggression. He has been completely bi-polar tonight--alternately sweet and naughty. Tonight was a rarity because I didn't have band practice, all the kids were home, and none of them had any games or play dates, so we decided to go out to dinner. Aubrey chose the Chancery in the village of Wauwatosa as our destination du jour. Once there, we were seated only one table over from the table where almost three years earlier we had sat with the kids during a special dinner to announce that I was pregnant with Finn. The kids' memories were sharp as they all recalled where each of them sat and who said what to whom. Jeff had said to the kids, "Mom and I have an announcement to make. What is the best thing that could ever happen to our family?" Regan said, "we get more popcorn?!" (the restaurant provides complementary popcorn). Jeff said, "No." And one of the kids said, "We're moving to a mansion?" at which point, Jeff decided to fill them in and said "No--we're going to have a baby!" They all squealed with excitement and Regan recalled that she tried to talk about the news in a loud but nonchalant way so that the waitress and other people around us would overhear her and think "Wow, they are going to get a new baby!"

I then noted that we never would have guessed at that time that Dad had almost exactly two years to live. (Way to ruin the mood, Mom!) So, it was a poignant dinner and the kids were very well-behaved with the exception of Finn. He started out so well. Normally, he resists sitting in a high chair in favor of wandering around the tables and crawling on and off my lap. But, tonight, he sat right down in his highchair and started coloring on the Kids' Menu. I should note, as an aside, that I was almost embarrassed to be seen in public with him. He had been swimming in the baby pool all day, so he smelled like a swamp. His new mohawk was askew from being crumpled under his sun hat all day. His clothes didn't match (red shirt, bright blue pants, green socks) and he insisted on wearing a pair of oversized women's sunglasses (ala Jackie O') throughout the meal. He looked absolutely ridiculous. As the hostess showed us to our table, we were seated near a table of eight older women who were clearly having some kind of meeting or regularly scheduled gathering. I thought they would call social services for sure, but they laughed at Finn and said how cute he was.

He sat like an angel until the food arrived. Then, on cue, he climbed out of the high chair and started assaulting me--climbing on and off me; laying in my lap; giving me kisses; slapping my face; kicking Aubrey. He was completely obnoxious to the point that I couldn't even eat (it took both hands and what little strength I had to keep him within a 3 square-feet radius of me). There were several times I felt like crying I was so exhausted and hungry and frustrated. Finally, Aubrey finished her food and took him out to the car to wait for the rest of us. Meanwhile, Regan and Jack entertained themselves by taking indulgent trips to the bathroom and I ate alone in the wake of the disaster the kids left (Aubrey accidentally spilled an entire glass of water--it went partially into my food and partially everywhere else) and we ate with the aftermath strewn across the table.

So, next time I see a single mother at a restaurant with her kids--I will not shoot her an evil stare. I will not avoid her gaze for fear I'll be swallowed by the plea for help and understanding in her eyes. I will just anonymously and without fanfare call the waitress over and discreetly offer to pay her bill. Because I know firsthand that she probably doesn't want to be there in the first place (it is much easier and cheaper to say home), but she thought it would be something nice and out of the ordinary to do with her kids. Besides, it's the closest thing she'll ever have to a "date" and she got home too late from work to entertain any reasonable likelihood of feeding her kids before 7:30 p.m., so she convinced herself (despite past experiences full of contraindications) that it won't be that bad and the kids will be good this time. She also thought it would be a good way to have a captive audience and a meaningful opportunity to talk to her kids about all the things she misses out on everyday like baseball camp and swimming in the baby pool and sleep-overs and the new Transformers movie. But, instead she didn't get to talk about any of those things because her baby freaked out and big kids lost interest. And then the baby dropped part of her food on the floor and her two middle kids begged for various bites and portions of her food (because it looked way more exotic and expensive than their grilled cheese sandwiches), and before she realized the bargain she had made (under duress of the baby acting like a complete nut and the uncomfortable pangs of hunger and lightheadedness) she had allowed her children to sample most of her food, so she simply packed up the rest and brought it home and someone (not her) will get to eat it tomorrow. And it only adds insult to injury that she then has to pay $40.00 (plus a $10 tip as a tacit apology to the waitress, because she was once a waitress too and knows just how much they hate waiting on families with a bunch of kids, and especially ones with babies that drop a bunch of food on the floor and kids that spill drinks . . .)--and, anyway, she shouldn't have to then pay $50.00 for the whole experience. Oh, and before I pay her bill for her, I will send her a Pina Colada.

So, how was your day?

Love, Kelly

My life this week: Colognes and Crayfish

2009-06-18T20:53:00.002-05:00

So, what's new with the Dodd Squad? Nothing. But I can probably make it sound like "something." So, here it goes . . .

Jack's baseball season is in full swing. He's missed at least two games due to the flu and was inclined to miss another game this morning due to an unrelenting leg cramp, but I made him fight it/walk it off and he played a big game at Helfaer (pronounced "hell-fire"--cool, huh?) Field this morning. Helfaer Field is a little league "stadium" in the parking lot of Miller Park (where the Brewers play). It's pretty cool. Jack was especially impressed by the announcers who called the game and introduced the players as they were up to bat. He also got a RBI, so he was excited. Afterwards, they had a big cook out with burgers and brats (Jack's favorite). The nannies took lots of pictures, so I'll try to post some after they send them to me. Unfortunately, the game was at 9:00 a.m., so I was at work and had to miss it.

The other big news at our house is . . . We got a pet! But don't get too excited (Gretchen). It's only a crayfish. Regan's class raised a handful of crayfish and her teacher held a minor lottery to determine which five lucky students would get to bring one home at the end of the school year. Regan was one of the winners! She was soooo excited. The crayfish looks like a mini-lobster and even shows some personality. Good thing I don't like seafood because there is something about it that makes it look kind of yummy. I almost don't trust myself around it knowing that it is edible.

Finn is absolutely fascinated by it and loves to rest his little chin on the counter and watch it hide in its castle. It has quite a little pad--water, fluorescent rocks, and a groovy tie-dyed castle to match, all housed in a converted fish tank (RIP "Twinkle Toes"). I don't think the crayfish has a name. I'm sure it will acquire one eventually--a condition-precedent being sustained survival. In other words--we'll give it a name if it lives longer than a week.

[Twice since I've been typing this, I've heard noises out by my garage that sound like someone dragging something along my driveway. Both times, I've gotten up to investigate and can see nothing suspicious. I figure it is either the neighborhood raccoon scuttling around my downspout, or it is a drug-crazed murderer breaking into my house. So, now I'm trying to decide if I should (a) ignore it and keep typing, (b) go stare at my garage/driveway until I hear it again, or (c) put on my ninja suit and kick some A-double-dollar-signs. OK, I've made my decision: I'm going to keep typing. The edible unnamed crayfish will protect me. After all, it has a very menacing stare and its likely tastiness could be an underestimated distraction.]

You'll be pleased to know my love life is improving: Lately, People magazine has had more cologne ads than usual. I also just received their annual "Hottest Summer Bachelors" issue. However, these bachelors are no fun to look at--most of them are under 30 which is way too young for me. They just make me want to listen to Fall Out Boy and drop them off at the mall.

[I just discovered where that sound is coming from: it's thunder! Now, it's getting really loud and scary. I love it. I absolutely LOVE raging thunderstorms. Yes! Yes! Yes! I am so excited. Don't laugh--please afford me whatever small pleasures I can find].

Well, I'm afraid I have very little to complain about this week, so I'll keep it short. But before I go--a few announcements:

Congratulations on your wedding this weekend, Martha! We wish we could be there!

And Happy Father's Day to all the Dads out there and especially to my Dad, Rick, and also to Gary, Jim, John, Grandpa Johnnie, Grandpa Pat, Tony, "Step-Dad, Mark," and Uncle Mike (who will really be taking one for the team on Sunday!).

Finally, on Father's Day, especially, please remember my Jeff and Jackie's husband, Bill, who died of Melanoma this week leaving her widowed with a three-year old son. Jackie, on Father's Day I will raise my Alien head in a toast to you (and to Jenni and to Irene and to all the other Moms who now have to also be Dads . . . sigh).

Much Love,
Kelly

Yes! I Finally Graduated Kindergarten!!

2009-06-13T22:56:00.007-05:00

Hey everybody (:

It's been a while since I've posted a blog, so I thought I would write one now since I'm done with school and homework and everything!
Okay, so... where to start? I guess I'll start by saying I'm very happy it's summer and, for those of you who don't already know, I graduated junior high. It's not that big of a deal, but it was kind of cool because I got to wear a dress and I got gifts and what not, haha!

There was a promotion ceremony at school on Friday, so my grandparents (Mary and Gary :) ) came to that with my mom. (The picture on the top left is after the ceremony outside of my school with a few good friends.)Then I spent the rest of Friday at promotion parties with my friends! It was a great way to start my summer :D

Today the graduation festivities continued! I spent all morning cleaning my room-it was a disaster-but spent my evening at my best friend's graduation party. It was a family party but she invited me and our other best friends and we had a blast! Ironically enough, the party's theme was us going into highschool, but we might as well have been graduating kindergarten since the party consisted of drawing a chalk mural on the driveway that said "Freshman '09," playing an epic game of hide and seek, and of course, having a water fight! It was an incredibly fun even though it probably just sounds silly to all of you, haha :P

So yep... that's pretty much all that has happened to me lately. In other news, I'm pretty sure everyone in our household is back to being in good health, which is good. Plus, my dad's parents have been here for the past week, so that has been extremely fun to have them around :) By the way, I forgot to mention it earlier, but the second picture (the one on top) is just me and my best friend, Rose, in Spanish class on the last day of school before out promotion ceremony. Anyway, I should go because even though it's summer now, I do still have some things to do before I go to sleep and it's already 11:45 and I'm tired! So goodnight, love you all!

--Aubrey Kate

An Update . . . At Last

2009-06-07T10:13:00.011-05:00

Tuesday, June 9th, is the 20th anniversary of the day I met Jeff. (It is also my Dad's birthday--Happy Birthday, Dad! And you're welcome, Terri, Jim, and John, for the gentle reminder! Ha!).

Jeff and I had both been selected by our respective high schools to attend an exclusive 4-day long leadership conference at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska. It was called the Hugh O'Brien Youth Leadership Foundation and was originated by actor, Hugh O'Brien, who most famously played Wyatt Earp. There was a dance on the last night of the conference and I remember going up to a group of three guys who were standing near the pop (remember, this is Nebraska--there is no "soda") machines and saying indiscriminately, "do any of you want to dance?"

Jeff was standing in the middle of the three and stepped forward and said, "sure." I still have a mental picture of his name tag etched in my memory. It read "Jeff Dodd" and underneath his name, "Lincoln Pius X." I had never heard of Lincoln Pius X high school, so I asked him about it. As we danced and talked, the clouds broke apart, the sun appeared and the angels sang. We danced the rest of the night together and spent the entire evening comparing our uncanny similarities (which, in hindsight seem very superficial, but at the time seemed to be clear and convincing indicators we were meant to be together): We both liked U2; we were both the oldest child in our families; we both had two (minor) car accidents on the same day-neither of which were our fault.

So, we liked each other right away and remained constant pen pals (we lived 280 miles apart) for the next 3 years--despite my incessant scheming to become his girlfriend--and never officially dated until we were in college.

It's interesting to think about the ways in which people influence each other and the roles they play (sometimes unwittingly) in others' lives. Early on, I revered Hugh O'Brien for his role as accidental matchmaker. I thought often and with gratitude about how I would have never met Jeff if Hugh O'Brien hadn't found success as an actor and if he hadn't been inspired to create his foundation, etc. etc. I even wrote Hugh a letter early in our marriage to tell him our story and to let him know the role he played in bringing Aubrey Kate into the world.

Ironically, I later became friends with Hugh as I was part of a movement to resurrect his leadership organization here in Wisconsin. He would call me at home or at work and would usually try to trick the receptionist into announcing that "Wyatt Earp" or "Gene Autry" was on the phone. She fell for it every time. And each time, I knew it was Hugh being funny. I felt such a debt to Hugh for the impact he had had on my life and I attributed having my husband and children to him--at least a little bit. I have pictures of Jeff and I and the kids with Hugh on a trip he made to Wisconsin. I used to think, "Wow. If it weren't for Hugh O'Brien none of this would have ever happened to me." However, it cuts both ways, because I can now say "If it weren't for Hugh O'Brien none of this would have ever happened to me."

Of course, I would never wish to go back in time or to take it all back. I would never wish for an alternate universe of no Jeff and no kids. But, sometimes I can't help but think of things like that. And speaking of universes: Confidential to the Universe/Fate/Karma/Whateveryoucallit: Making my car-stereo play "At Last" as I was pulling into the cemetery to visit my dead husband was very uncool. You owe me. Big Time!

For those of you who haven't heard the song "At Last" by Etta James, it is one of the most romantic love songs of all time. Here are the lyrics, which you will agree are singularly inappropriate for setting the mood as you stand over your dead husband:

At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Oh, yeah, at last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clovers
The night I looked at you
I found a dream that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to rest my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known
Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine
At last

So that really topped off my week. As you know, I have been nursing general feelings of discouragement and ennui. Earlier this week, when I was lamenting my loneliness, a well-meaning friend recommended that I take a more aggressive approach to dating. So, I got all dressed up and went to the two tried-and-true places I can really be myself and shine, but, alas there were no attractive single men in my dishwasher or laundry basket. Ha!

In other news this week, Jack came down with the flu (again). This time, the poor guy had it bad. He missed three days of school, baseball practice, and a baseball game. I did my best to catch it, but came up empty handed. So, I'm getting dangerously low on my excuses for avoiding the laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, bill-paying, and any number of lesser chores I uncomfortably feel staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

Meanwhile, Finn has decided that, for now, his penchant for cleanliness can take a backseat to his new obsession: opulent comfort. Diaper changes used to be all-business around here. I was the sole arbiter of the time and location and he was merely along for the ride. Now, HE tells ME when he wants his diaper changed and sets the stage for a spa-like/entertainment experience. Princess Finn must now lay his head on a fuzzy pillow (that says "Cutie" on it, by the way). He places it strategically on the floor where he has an unobstructed view of our woods ("TREES!!!") and then while I "do the honors" he requires my participation in a game of Peek-a-Boo. When we are done, we ceremoniously use the anti-bacterial gel and return to our labors refreshed and reawakened. And when I say "refreshed and reawakened" what I actually mean is "slightly annoyed by the fact diaper-changes now take twice as long because of all the preparation and repositioning Finn practices in order to make things "just right" before he will surrender to the task at hand."

Also this week--the kids will finally get out of school on June 12th. On that same day, Aubrey will graduate from 8th grade. I really can't believe that I am old enough to have a child in high school. That is, until I look in the mirror.

And finally:

Thank you, Scott, for calling this week. Hearing from you made my day.

Thank you, Mike, for your lunch-hour therapy.

Thanks for checking in, Garth--I have nearly completed my Magnum Opus for you, now I just need to craft a nifty cover circa 1989!

Thank you, Tracy in CA, for befriending me. You will live to regret it. That is my solemn vow. And I will pit my kid against your kid any day when it comes to embarrassing their mother with their impressive Sir Mix A lot repertoire. I am not proud of this (publicly). (Secretly, I'm a little bit proud).

And last but not least: Anne--Thank you for filling my window boxes and for planting around Jeff's grave. I will do my best to nurture the flowers so that all your hard work doesn't go to waste. This last statement should in no way reassure you. The last time I did my "best" at gardening, a bunch of Special Olympians gave me a hug. Just sayin' . . .

Love to you all,
Kelly

P.S. (June 8, 2009): This just in . . . Finn is officially working toward becoming a first-rate Front Man. We had a Dance Party last night and for the first time, he pretended to sing into an imaginary microphone. Even better--he did it while standing on a living room chair as his makeshift "stage." (I was so proud!) Then he closed the show with the usual grand finale: breakdancing to "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira. I wish I had a video camera--it was quite a spectacle.

Oh, and I forgot a very important "Thank You" to Annie and Dave for bringing Tristan over to play with Finn. It was great having you around for the evening and I look forward to next time!

Untitled

2009-06-01T22:31:00.003-05:00

I'm back. Sorry it's been a while since my last post. I've hit a rough patch and don't know what to say that won't offend you, alienate you, or bore you. In sum, I'm discouraged. I'm lonely. I'm tired. And, I'm achy. I could go on for days about all the gory details and although I'm sure it would be very exciting and entertaining for all of you--I've already told all of it to just about everyone who will listen and the worst of it is: not many people do. At least not without hijacking the conversation and telling me all about their own problems. Oh well. I know I am a terrible listener--the worst, as a matter of fact. So, I really can't complain. I should work harder to listen to others. I wonder how many times people reached out to me for help and I wasn't paying attention? I wonder how many times I blew someone off or gave them the impression I didn't care when they were trying to share something important? I wonder how often people just needed my attention? I hate to think of what I missed out on and all the opportunities I lost.

So, I'll spare you anymore of my whining and self-pity and give you the low-down on what the kids have been up to. Jack is playing baseball and is on a really great team with lots of parent involvement and a good coach, so he has been doing really well and is having lots of fun. Regan is also playing soccer and has enjoyed playing with her friends on the team. Jack has his end-of-the-year Boy Scout picnic tomorrow night and Aubrey has her year-end Chorus Concert--sounds like they have some tricks up their sleeves, so it should be a fun show! Finn told me he loved me tonight for the first time--by himself and without being prompted. That's a good note to end on, so I think I'll keep it short tonight.

Peace,
Kelly

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

2009-05-25T21:17:00.007-05:00

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.

May 21st

2009-05-20T21:48:00.004-05:00

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

Weekend Extravaganza!

2009-05-17T21:24:00.006-05:00

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).

Mother's Day Recap

2009-05-12T21:15:00.003-05:00

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

Biologically Programmed . . .

2009-05-06T22:13:00.007-05:00

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

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

2009-05-04T22:05:00.004-05:00

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

The Month of May

2009-05-01T10:51:00.004-05:00

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

Open Letter to My Fellow Widows:

2009-04-30T20:01:00.006-05:00

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

Get Ready for Some Whining . . .

2009-04-28T22:00:00.004-05:00

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

Updated Post . . .

2009-04-26T22:58:00.006-05:00

(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

My Day So Far . . .

2009-04-25T22:14:00.003-05:00

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

Champion Jack!

2009-04-23T21:35:00.004-05:00

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

Finnicky

2009-04-20T21:15:00.009-05:00

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

. . . And then the dysentery took Momma home to Jesus.

2009-04-18T21:15:00.009-05:00

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

Easter Re-cap

2009-04-12T22:10:00.002-05:00

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

My Annual April 10th Post

2009-04-10T22:02:00.003-05:00

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

April 7th: Now and Then

2009-04-07T18:45:00.007-05:00

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

"The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get . . ."

2009-04-04T11:55:00.005-05:00

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

Old Friends

2009-03-28T14:24:00.002-05:00

This is a topic that has weighed heavy on my mind lately, so I hope you’ll indulge me as I work though it in writing. Here goes nothin’ . . .

Jeff had a lot of friends. What’s more–he was particularly adept not just at making friends, but at keeping them. Jeff had lifelong friends from elementary school, high school, college and beyond–some of whom he contacted regularly and others just from time to time, but all of them, without exception, were good friends–meaning they were responsive and genuinely cared about him and could fall into easy conversation regardless of the time lapse between contacts. Throughout the years, Jeff’s friends evolved into "our" friends as "his" friends benevolently adopted me, or at least accepted me, as part of their friendship with Jeff. It never really occurred to me that his death would change all that.

After Jeff died, I made a calculated effort to remain friends with "his" friends and mostly for one reason: these people know things about Jeff that I do not. They know him from a perspective and in a context that I do not. They have shared experiences with Jeff that I did not share. So, they are the exclusive keepers of very valuable information about my children’s father that may be either instructive, comforting, confirming, or otherwise useful to them someday. I figured, that if I remained friends with Jeff’s friends, I would preserve that nexus between my children and their father that I could not otherwise preserve or even simulate, and that by fostering these friendships, Jeff’s friends might be willing to someday share stories about Jeff with my kids without it seeming unnatural or contrived.

Well, let’s just say I think I may be wrong about that. Despite my efforts to remain connected to "Jeff’s" friends, I have had only isolated and temporary success, at best. I have sent e-mails and cards, blog comments, Myspace messages, and phone calls to 8 or 9 targeted individuals. Responses come slowly, if at all, and when they do, they generally do not invite further discourse. Two individuals have responded only to say they are too busy to respond but that they are glad the kids and I are doing well . . .

I don’t mean to complain--I know people are busy. Believe me–I have four kids and two jobs (if you count the band) and three household employees and vehicles and a yard and house to maintain and . . . I get it. I just took for granted how far out on the periphery of Jeff’s inner circle I am now that he is gone. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, I didn’t have personal relationships with any of these people but for the fact I was Jeff’s wife, so it probably seems either desperate or creepy for me to pester them now that we have no common denominator. But, it makes me sad because I feel like if these friendships die on the vine, my kids will have lost a meaningful connection to their father.

And, I have to admit–I’m sad for me, too. Jeff’s friends, as a class, are some of the neatest and most interesting people I’ve ever known. It would flatter me immeasurably to think they would choose me as a friend independent of Jeff simply because I genuinely like them as individuals and like talking to them and being around them–they are smart, funny, and of unfailing good character. Who couldn’t stand to have a few friends like that?

Well, the point of this blog isn’t to bemoan the fact I have no friends of my own (I do–Hi, Liz!), but I felt it worth making the foregoing observations to put what follows in the proper context . . .

I was getting discouraged by my unsuccessful attempts to convert "Jeff’s" friends to "my" friends when I received an e-mail this week out of the blue from one of my former sorority sisters. (Editor’s Note: Yes, I was in a sorority in college-- Delta Delta Delta. For those of you who are surprised, I’ll tell you I was also a high school cheerleader and a finalist in the Miss Nebraska Pageant. . . there, my public humiliation is complete!) Anyway, my sorority sister, Michelle, had recently had her will prepared by Andrew who is an attorney in Omaha and a college friend of mine. Andrew learned Michelle was a Tri-Delt and mentioned to Michelle that he knew a Tri-Delt once and as they chatted they realized it was me that they knew in common.

Michelle gathered enough information from Andrew to find me on-line and e-mailed me. Since last Tuesday, Michelle has connected me with nearly a dozen of my former college friends. Today, I e-mailed two of my very best college friends and roommates after losing touch with them for nearly 15 years. I’m desperate to hear back from them, and hope news of Jeff’s death (they both knew him and were even involved in our wedding) will not make responding too uncomfortable or awkward. (I’m beginning to appreciate that death does that sometimes).

So, the happy ending is that just as I was starting to feel sorry for myself for losing "Jeff’s" friends, "my" friends found me. I think it is more than a coincidence and I marvel that they would miraculously re-enter my life just when I needed them most. So, this blog is for them and in thanks that they reached out to me despite the fact we haven’t talked in 15 years and despite the fact they are busy and despite not knowing the terrible news I would introduce and despite any other excuse they might have that would easily justify simply remembering me vaguely and passing me by. Thank you, thank you, thank you–it means more than you can possibly know.

So, that’s all. Until next time. . .
Kelly

6 Months

2009-03-25T20:51:00.006-05:00

Hi everybody! It's Aubrey today =]] Sorry there hasn't been a blog for a while. I would say the reason is because we're super busy and have much more important things to do than blog, but that's not really true because it is as boring as ever here =P Anyway, today is the 6 month anniversary of my dad dying. When my mom first pointed that out to me I kind of waved it off, but then I realized how much has changed in these short 6 months, and it sort of surprised me. So, since it will be more interesting than simply listing how things have changed, I'll tell you everything that my family did today, and then I'll tell you how this day probably would have gone down 6 months ago, if my dad's death had never occurred.

Today, 3/25/2009:

7-7:45 Everybody wakes up and gets ready for the day. The nanny, Jenny, made all of us kids and my mom breakfast and lunch and then as usual we all left for school and work.

8-3:30 I'm not really sure what everybody else does at this time of the day, I'm at school soaking in what little knowledge I get there =P

3:30 All the kids were home by this time. I had a friend over and ate some popcorn and animal crackers. The little kids played outside and watched t.v. while the nanny, Lauren made us all pasta for dinner. =]

5:40 My friend left and my mom came home. We all just sort of lounged around and did whatever we pleased for a while. Mom visited with the nanny and played with Finn while they helped Regan with a school project.

Later, (im not sure what time) my mom went to target with Regan and loaded up on food and diapers. haha. Then she came home and we all listened to music (tonight's choice: Lady Gaga) and ate special snacks that Mom and Regan picked at Target. Finn wore red beads and danced to "Poker Face" while Regan helped prepare the snack because she loves to cook and we had little cakes that you mix and bake in the microwave. Now it's 9:14 pm and the kids are all asleep, my mom is relaxing down stairs and I'm sitting in my room typing this blog and listening to music.

All in all it was a pretty fun day =]]

Here's what would have happened 6 months ago had our lives taken a different direction:

6:30-7:30 Everybody wakes up and gets ready for school, work, etc. by themselves.

7:45 We all leave for school and my dad stays home with Finn and works and cleans up around the house and what not.

8-3:30 Okay, this part hasn't changed, I still sit at school all day!

3:30 The kids all come home and we eat a banana for a snack. Then we do our homework, read, and go outside or do chores (I know this is what would have happened because this was our exact routine for as long as I can remember and it was hardly ever broken. haha)

6-7 My mom comes home and we all sit down to a dinner that my dad cooked together.

7-8:30 My mom and dad talked about their days with eachother and us kids do.... something....wow, I can't even remember how we used to spend our nights....

9:00 Everybody is in bed by this time.

And that's how the day went. We were on a very strict schedule.

So you can see it's very different now! Also, before our house was ALWAYS spotless. It was like nobody lived here.... now it's kinda messy--at least my Dad would think so. But it's messy in a home-y way =]] Except on Monday's it's always clean! (much thanks to our housekeepers Jean Marie and Sarah!!!)

Yep.... that's all I can think of to write about, and Scrubs is on now, which I watch religiously, so byeeee!!!

Love, Aubrey

St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-17T22:19:00.003-05:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day! As I write this, the day is almost over. Nonetheless, I wanted to take advantage of the occasion to celebrate a few of Jeff's favorite Irish things. (Jeff was Irish by heritage and took both great pride and comfort in that fact). In no particular order, here are some of the reasons Jeff liked Ireland and all things Irish:

1. Notre Dame. Jeff graduated from Notre Dame in 1995 and made some of his best friends there. Aubrey was born while he was a student there. She was baptized in the Log Cabin chapel on campus on the same day he graduated (which also happened to be Jeff's birthday and our anniversary). It was a busy day to say the least. Two of Aubrey's three Godfathers are Notre Dame friends (her third Godfather--she has no Godmothers--is from Nebraska).

2. The Ireland Program at St. Mary's/Maynooth. Jeff lived in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland for a year as part of a study abroad program through St. Mary's College in South Bend, Indiana. It was one of his most formative experiences and, again, some of his best friends emerged from it. Some of my favorite pictures of Jeff are from this period in his life. Jeff did not like to smile for photos, yet nearly all of the pictures from his Ireland experience are candid shots showing a broad and genuine smile. He was so happy throughout that year of his life. It could have been because he was usually holding a pint of Smithwicks.

3. Siobhan. Pronounced "Sh'vonn" (the Gaelic name for "Joan"). This is the name Jeff wanted to give his first-born daughter. I objected because in America the name is a phonetic nightmare. I also rejected his alternative suggestions: Roisin (pronounced "Roe-sheen") and Naimh (pronounced "Neeve"). Hence, his first-born daughter was named Aubrey Kate.

4. Fr. Liam Barr. He was Jeff's favorite Irishman by a mile. Or by a kilometer as they would likely measure it in Ireland. He was Jeff's high school Superintendant, a dear family friend of the entire Dodd-Olmsted clan, and the priest that married us (or one of three priests that married us, anyway). He even attended Aubrey's baptism and Jeff's graduation from Notre Dame. If you see him, ask him to tell you the story about how he got tickets to the graduation. It will only fortify your opinion that the Irish are the world's best story tellers--and that Fr. Barr is blessed with more than his fair share of the 'Luck 0' the Irish.'

5. Bewleys Tea. Jeff became addicted to tea when he lived in Ireland and drank a full pot of it nearly every day of his life after that. He loved Bewleys and we actually had to import it to satisfy his addiction until we discovered a quaint English shop that carried it here in Milwaukee (and Hobnobs too!! Ya know--the good ones with milk chocolate on them). We thought it was quite magnanimous of them to carry Irish tea being English and all . . .

So, those are just a few of the reasons Jeff loved Ireland and although I am not Irish, I have attempted to keep the day for the kids' sake. So, today, the Leprechauns came. They turned the toilet water and the milk green and laced all the kitchen cabinets together with green ribbon. The kids got a kick out of it--even Finn (who just for today shall be known as either Fionn Padraig or Finn MacCool).

Thanks again for reading.

Slainte Mhath!
Kelly

36 years, 4 months, and 4 days . . .

2009-03-15T14:01:00.006-05:00

That's precisely how old Jeff was when he died. And it's precisely how old I am today. So, if I live to see tomorrow, I will have officially outlived Jeff. It's amazing to believe that, for him, everything ended today.

I've thought about what I would do if today were my last day on Earth. I'm sure I wouldn't spend it doing laundry and cleaning the house and grocery shopping which is how I spent today. But, confidence in the future has made me lazy and unrepentant. In other words, I'm pretty sure I'll live to see tomorrow, so I don't feel like worrying about it.

I do know that I've been more generous, both in my words and actions, since Jeff's death. I've had occasion to tell certain friends and family that I love them and I've been fortunate to be able to give money to causes and people who are important to me. I do these things knowing that life is short and with hope that if my last day sneaks up on me unexpectedly, I'll have no regrets.

It has been nearly six months since Jeff's death, and in some ways, I feel like tomorrow starts a new life for me. Tomorrow I start a life of days Jeff never saw or counted; of things he never knew or experienced; of people he never met and places he never visited. Despite the constancy of our routine and surroundings, much has changed since his death that he will never know: Finn's new haircut; Jack's new bike; our nanny, Jenny (whom he never actually met); my blue hair (don't worry--it's removable and for Rabid Aardvark shows only). He also does not know that the permanent settings on the thermostat have been changed, or that we frequently rearrange the living room furniture to accommodate a sharp increase in "Dance Parties" that we have held since his death (both of which would have been nearly unforgiveable transgressions if he were alive . . .). He won't see Aubrey in the middle school play, he won't see the Rabid Aardvarks pack several hundred people into a show . . . these are the things that happened after his last day.

So, after 36 years, 4 months and 4 days the rest of us continue to hurtle through time and space and to fill the distance between us and Jeff with living and life and experiences. Nonetheless, despite all that changes, much has stayed the same: I still have all the sympathy cards from the funeral in a box in the living room; Jeff's deoderant and toothbrush and medications are still in the medicine cabinet; his voice still greets callers on our answering machine. Now, these things are more a symptom of my own laziness than any commentary about my unwillingness to "let go." In fact, I have gotten rid of a lot and have organized and stored the rest, but it's a big job and I've had to prioritize it among the million other things I do each week and cleaning out the remnants in the medicine cabinet is hard to justify . . .

The kids are more sentimental, however. Jack brought home a picture of his family that he had drawn in school this week. Included with a likeness of me and the kids, was a picture of Jeff with his cane--just as though he were alive and with us. And they were eager to go to the cemetery today and talked with anticipation about when the head stone would arrive (remember--it was a special order, uncommonly big, and comprised of more than one piece, so even though I approved the final design in December, it might not be here until later this spring). Life truly goes on . . .

So, with that said, I'll fill you in on the latest "goings on" at my house: Many of you have asked about the big Rabid Aardvarks show. It was a lot of fun and very well-attended. Thanks especially to Mike and Katie and their entourage; to George and Mary; Cindy, Jason, LuAnn, Susan, and the other friends I've surely forgotten. I wish I had more time to talk to each of you at the show. Thanks also to my nanny who gives up her weekends to work third-shift so I can even be in the band because without her it truly wouldn't be possible.

In other news, the kids got to play outside most of the day today because it was finally warmer than 50 degrees. Regan took the neighbor's dog for a walk. Jack played with the Murphy boys. Aubrey pushed Finn on the swing and I, well, I did housework. No fun for me.

Oh, and I'll tell you a cute story just for fun: While Aubrey was outside with Finn, he got his hands dirty. As is his custom--he freaked out and insisted on immediately going inside to clean them off. As Aubrey was wiping them with a wet-wipe, he saw the dirt and mud transferred onto the wet-wipe and he actually, physically, gagged. Literally. It was hilarous. At the same time, I felt sorry for him. He is just so disgusted by dirt.

Finally, Regan announced that she wants to change her name this week. I don't know what she wants to change it to--she has a couple of ideas, but I gave her information about the procedure and told her she can do it when she's an adult as long as she pays for it. I also informed her of the cost and she informed me that she is saving her money accordingly. I have found that being agreeable to such things takes all the fun out of it and the idea is usually quickly abandoned. I told Aubrey the same thing several years ago when she wanted a tattoo--she can get one when she's an adult if she pays. Except that I gave her a further incentive: I said, "I will even pay for it if you let me decide what the tattoo is and where it goes." The thought of ending up with something like this was enough to curtail her tattoo dreams:

I'll offer Regan the same deal: "I'll even pay for your name change as long as I get to pick the new name." Again, I have found that taking ownership of your kids' stupid ideas makes them wholly unpalatable. (Mwah-ha-ha! (That's my evil laugh)).

Until next time . . .

Kelly

Ode to My Nannies . . .

2009-03-10T21:58:00.004-05:00

Happy Festival of Life in the Cracks Day! (It's a real holiday. If you don't believe me--look it up: http://library.thinkquest.org/2886/INDEX.HTM Please note we just missed National Crown Roast of Pork Day on March 7th--Dang!) Anyway, I don't even know what "Life in the Cracks" is, but sounds like a reason to celebrate to me. Woohoo!

And while I'm celebrating, I want to declare this day my own personal "Nanny Appreciation Day," as well. As most of you know, I have two nannies who job-share. They work simultaneously for me and for our next door neighbors watching both families' children (seven in all!). One works the morning shift and one works the afternoon shift. They split the "band" shift (one taking practices and one taking shows). It works very well. However, what you probably don't know is that while I've been keeping this blog to inform and entertain you--the nannies have been keeping a daily record of their own. Each day they enter the day's events in the "Nanny Notebook" so that they can inform the parents and each other of what happened during their respective shifts. It started out as a practical tool, however, it has evolved into mad-cap hilarity. So, just for fun, and for the first time ever, I am going to publicize some of my favorite entries with hope that you will appreciate how hard they work for us and how much they love our kids:

February 24th:

"Kids went down for a nap by noon. Finn was not happy about it but it could have been because I had just picked his nose trying to get what looked like a small planet consuming his left nostril which apparently included a river, as well, that runs south toward the mouth."

March 3rd:

"Finn had a HUGE diaper before bed. I think huge is an understatement. It was like a sick clown smashed a pumpkin pie in his pants. What a twisted clown!"

March 4th:

"Mac has accepted a position at the water company. All I am getting today is water works for no reason. Finn's diaper looked like an exploded fruit cake with still chunks of something. I did not go in for further investigation."

March 10th:

"Mac and his mighty flashlight have found people and a farm located up my nose with lots of chickens and cows and horses. As well, he likes to inform me of EVERYTHING Finn is doing: 'Finn is sitting down; Finn is shaking his milk; Finn is drinking his milk; Finn is wiping the floor; Finn is eating a peach; Finn is talking . . . it was quite hilarious at first. Not so much after the 50th informative statement."

So, this is just a small sample of the narrative that greets me everyday when I come home from work. But, even better than the narrative are the fun conversations I have with the nannies after their shifts end. They are so sweet to stay and chat and ask about my day and share what is going on in their lives. They really have become part of the family and I don't know what I would do without them. I know that this meager blog entry does not possibly do them the justice they deserve. I would love to tell you all about both of them but don't want to trade the peaceful existence they live during their non-working hours for the celebrity status they would surely attain if I told you everything about their many accomplishments, winning personalities, and general good characters. Suffice it to say they are perfectly matched to our family and they are just one more reason I am sure God exists.

And while I'm in a celebratory mood and lauding the people who help me most--I must say "Happy Birthday" to Liz. Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag!

So, thanks, as always for reading and I hope you'll celebrate everyday like a holiday--even if it is just "National Brandied Fruit Day" (Oct. 20th) or "Richter Scale Day" (April 26th).

And, Murphys be warned: August 8th shall be celebrated with gusto!!

With Love,
Kelly

A Note From Aubrey Kate: my birthday happens to fall on "Look Up At the Sky Day" so make sure you all mark your calendars!!!
and the nanny's are totallyyy part of the family =]] i honestly don't remember life without them at all....

Just for Fun

2009-03-08T22:16:00.002-05:00

The time changed today. This means the clocks in my house that I didn't reset last time are now correct again. (There are only two such clocks in my house, by the way). This also means that I got home from last night's Rabid Aardvarks show at 3:45 a.m. instead of 2:45 a.m. (Yikes!). However, thanks to my nanny, Lauren, and my post-show massage, I feel very good today and was able to plow through several loads of laundry, run kids to and from their playdates, and clean the house (Aubrey and Regan both had friends sleep over last night . . .). Nonetheless, I have a feeling tomorrow morning will be rough . . .

Our week has been uneventful, so I'll summarize the major highlights and spare you the rest. We've all recovered from our various aliments. Jack has been missing Jeff more than usual. Regan has distributed all her Girl Scout Cookies. Aubrey got a new cell phone. Finn has learned his colors (he now chooses to call things not by their names, but by their colors. For example, he used to call macaroni "roni." Now, he calls it "yellow."). I finally acquiesced and got a Facebook page to appease my band. I really haven't gotten into those networking sites and expect I will neglect my Facebook page as much as I neglect the Myspace page I got when I first joined the band three years ago (and which I haven't changed or updated since . . .). I have appointed Aubrey to be my official Facebook page administrator and have vested her with the authority to post pictures, updates, etc. at her convenience.

And speaking of my band, we have a big show coming up this Friday, March 13th. We'll be playing at Bub's Irish Pub in Germantown, Wisconsin (another Milwaukee suburb). We'll be celebrating some birthdays for one of the band members and a couple of our SuperFans. There will even be free beer and food (as long as it lasts . . .). So, if you are reasonably close and have nothing better to do Friday night--and even if you are not reasonably close and have other very important things to do--I recommend you come to the show. It will be one for the record books. For details and directions, you can visit our web site: www.rabidaardvarks.com

And now, if you'll excuse me:
Confidential to Target Corp.--Since when do your stores close at 9:00 p.m.? For some of us (oh say, for example, rock star-widow-moms with a high-wired toddler), the night has barely begun at 9:00 p.m. As a result of your discrimination against us ("us" being, for example, people who don't need a lot of sleep and who have no one to talk to and nothing to do after their kids go to bed and who soothe their boredom with late-night shopping trips), I will either have to ration the remaining six diapers in the house until the next opportunity arises to patronize your store OR buy ridiculously overpriced diapers from Pick-n-Save. Given that I just greased Finn's bowels with an overdose of Velveeta Shells & Cheese, I think the rationing option may be impractical. However, I am similarly disinclined to be held hostage to grocery store diaper-prices. After all, I am a woman of principle. Do you understand my dilemma, Target? Do you? Sunday nights should be no exception--I beg you, please stay open until 10 or 11 p.m. And, Pick-n-Save, I see you looking all smug over there because you stay open past 9:00 p.m. on Sunday nights, but you, too, are irksome: you used to be open 24 hours. I suggest you revert to that habit. Otherwise, I will be forced to forsake you both for the Speedway up the street. At least they can offer me a 50 cent hot dog that has been slow-cooked under a light bulb all day and a 64 ounce Dr. Pepper to go with my Slim Jims and $13.99 6-pack of Little Swimmers (because that's the only kind of diaper they sell . . . ). Late night knows no loyalty!!!

That's all.
Kelly

House of Pain

2009-03-02T22:10:00.003-06:00

Well, I finally got sick. After Jeff died (and even before) I wondered what I would do if I got sick. Who would take care of the kids? Who would take care of me? How would anything get done around the house? Now I know . . .

First, I have to forewarn you that my illness was entirely minor and survivable. However, that will not prevent me from exploiting it for your entertainment. So, here we go:

Over the past couple of weeks, the kids have all had varying degrees of one illness or another: Aubrey had a three-day long fever of nearly 104 degrees; Regan complained of a sore throat; Jack had a stuffy nose and felt worn out; and Finn developed a very angry-looking rash on only one half of his body. If you recall, during Jeff's illness, I obtained what I like to call my "internet medical degree" by virtue of incessantly studying webMD, the American Cancer Society web site, various Yahoo message boards, (you get the picture . . .). So, given my vast--yet famously ill-informed--expertise, I variously diagnosed the kids with (among other things) meningitis, shingles, and lymphoma.

Now, before you think I've seriously gone off the deep end, I'd like to defend my hypochondria. Jeff found an otherwise unremarkable and entirely asymptomatic lump smaller than a pea on his chest. However, that little bump heralded a widely metastasized and extremely aggressive cancer that killed him less than two years later. So, forgive me if I get a little excited about a rash or high fever.

Now, while the kids recovered from what I can only legitimately assume was a cold or flu, I was suddenly overcome with severe and unrelenting pain on Wednesday. It was so bad that I stayed home from work and slept all day. I returned to work on Thursday--still suffering from widespread body aches and a headache. By Thursday night it hurt so bad I couldn't sleep and considered taking myself to the emergency room. I was convinced that a "normal" cold or flu could not possibly produce such pain and I was becoming increasingly tempted to diagnose myself with cancer or some similarly heinous pain-producer.

[Now, as an aside and in an attempt to put my pain in the proper perspective, I have to inform you that I have an uncommonly high pain threshold. (My threshold for discomfort is proportionately low, but that's another story--I've often thought it would be easier for me to walk a mile with a nail in my foot than to walk around the block with a rock in my shoe . . .) But anyway--to illustrate my pain tolerance I'll share a quick anecdote. When I was pregnant with Aubrey I was five days overdue and was looking for any excuse to have the baby. I had been experiencing mild pinchy cramps throughout the day, but my OB-gyn had assured me there would be no mistaking "real" labor pains. So, I went about my day and by the middle of the night, they were strong enough that I suggested to Jeff we should go the hospital just to see if I was in the early stages of labor. We almost didn't take my bag because I was confident I would be checked and sent home to wait. When we arrived at the hospital I was dilated to 9 cm!! They didn't even stand me up. They just wheeled me into the delivery room and told me to push. So, having a high pain tolerance is not necessarily a good thing (I would have had Aubrey in our living room if I'd waited any longer)].

So--the pain I had this week was intense. I was taking a ton of ibuprofen (it did nothing), I slept as much as I could (it didn't help) and was beginning to get frustrated. I missed most of work on Friday; I laid in bed all day on Saturday and then just as mysteriously as it began--it ceased. I woke up Sunday and felt fine. Now in the meantime, while I was lying in bed and sleeping, the kids were running the house. It was like a scene from Lord of the Flies, but they tried hard to help me. Regan and Jack entertained Finn and all of them pitched in to help make lunches and clean up. Thank God for Aubrey--she really took one for the team. She at least made sure everyone was fed and put to bed at a reasonable time. I took her shopping on Sunday for a new spring jacket as a "Thank You" for all her help.

So, what's the point of all this--probably nothing as far as you're concerned. But to me--it will be nice to re-read this blog in the future and be reminded that my kids are very independent and resilient and best of all--I will be reminded that even when I can't take care of them--they will take care of each other.

Nighty Night!
Kelly

P.S. The other big news at our house this week is that Jack lost another tooth! (One of the top, front teeth, so he now has a very distinguished smile). The bad news is that the tooth fairy either forgot to come for two whole nights (which you'll agree is unlikely) or was sidelined by the Fairy Flu and couldn't make her scheduled rounds on time (entirely plausible). Needless to say, when she did come, she paid a premium for that tooth. All's well that ends well.

Snowball

2009-02-24T21:23:00.004-06:00

Every other year or so our church has a father-daughter dance called the "Snowball." As soon as Regan got her invitation this year, she wanted to call Jeff's dad ("Grandpa Gary") to go with her. He happily obliged and here is a picture from the Big Event. We made a big production of it: A couple of weeks before the ball, I took Regan to dinner at "Firefly" which is one of our favorite fancy restaurants. (For those of you who came to the funeral, it was the same restaurant where we gathered for lunch after the burial). After dinner, we went shopping for a new dress and shoes. She settled on the one in the picture which looks absolutely adorable. (Note how cute her short haircut is!) Regan had a lot of fun and I'm so glad Gary was able to go with her.

The only other excitng news around here is that I got a new coffee maker over the weekend and they are installing a new microwave tomorrow. (Yay! I'm back in business)

Well, it's been a long week--and it's only Tuesday, so I'm going to keep this short and go to bed early for once. By the way --the time listed below (noting the exact hour and minute when these posts are uploaded) are entirely inaccurate and always have been. I don't know why--there seems to be no correlation whatsoever between the actual time and the time posted below. So, just for fun--I'll confirm that I'm posting this at precisely 10:04 p.m. CST (We'll see what gets reported below . . .)

Thanks as always for your interest and for staying connected. I appreciate it so much!

Kelly

If it ain't broke don't fix it--and if it is broke . . .

2009-02-19T21:27:00.005-06:00

After Jeff died, a friend gave me a book written by a widow for fellow widows about the practical aspects of widowhood and how to adjust to this unfortunate lifestyle. A chapter on home maintenance and repair warned me that within a year of my husband's death, at least three major appliances would require substantial repairs or replacement. Apparently, it's the Widows' Law and there's no use trying to avoid it. The book advised that one could replace the word "appliance" with any major home component such as "roof" and the law would still hold true.

I thought this was pure superstition when I read it. Now, I'm a believer. Here is a partial list of all the things that have gone wrong on the home maintenance front just since January 1st of this year:

1. My basement was ruined in a natural flood which required me to replace the entire basement carpet and undertake flood remediation consisting of treating the cement floor with an antimicrobial.

2. Jeff's laptop computer (that I use as a home computer), was infiltrated by a particularly nasty virus which necessitated 7 back-up disks, installation of a new antivirus program, installation of a new battery, and comprehensive diagnostic and repair work to all affected systems. The total cost was almost more than the cost of a new computer. However, (and this is a BIG however, in my opinion) all of Jeff's writings are saved on the hard-drive of this computer. And not just the articles he wrote professionally, but all of his creative writings consisting of dozens of completed and partial stories, poems, essays, screenplays, etc. He willed these writings to the kids and because I have not printed them--salvaging the computer at any cost was my only option! As an interesting side note--I read another widow's blog and she mentioned coming across a bunch of old e-mails that her husband had sent her before he died. Out of curiosity, I looked though my various e-mail accounts and was surprised and disheartened to find I only saved THREE e-mails from Jeff--total. THREE. I honestly can't believe that despite his illness and prognosis I only saw fit to save three e-mails from him. And they weren't even particularly personal or meaningful. Two of them were messages he forwarded from other people who had sent him treatment options he wanted me to research. I guess I'm just not much of a pack-rat. But, THREE?? What the hell was I thinking?

3. My microwave suddenly stopped working due to a broken magnetron. We have a built-in unit of specific dimensions. I finally found a suitable replacement, but it cannot be installed until next WEDNESDAY. Ugh!

4. My humidifier likewise stopped working. One day it was fine. Now it's not.

5. I had an unexplained flat tire that was unable to be fixed and had to be replaced.

6. And last, but not least: Finn broke my coffee pot! I have a very reliable Black and Decker coffee maker that has loyally served me for years. The coffee pot broke several years ago and was nearly impossible to replace because it is an odd size (10 cups instead of 12) and is "shorter" than most coffee pots and is even different than most Black and Decker models. We finally found one on the internet. Now, I am having no such luck, so I will likely have to replace my entire coffee maker. In the meantime, I am making coffee like a hobo: I put a funnel in the coffee cup and then place a coffee filter in the funnel with enough coffee in it for one cup. Then I pour hot water over the coffee which filters through the funnel. It works great, but I can only make one cup at a time. This creates a minor inconvenience in my house because (brace yourselves for this confession . . .) I let my kids drink coffee. That is why Finn broke the coffee pot. He was trying to pour himself more coffee because I've created a little monster ever since I first let him drink it as a baby. Now, before you call social services on me--allow me to explain. Everyone in my family drinks coffee without exception. We were introduced to it as small children when it was initially served laden with sugar and cream. Since then, we have each developed our own unique "recipes" or preferences, but I remain very true to the original. For my kids, I allow them to fill the cup half full of coffee (it is a small cup) and they then add sugar and fill the rest with milk, so it is cool enough to drink. They don't get refills. Except for Finn who apparently tried to breach this rule--hence the broken coffee pot. As another side note--when the kids try to order coffee in restaurants I act appropriately appalled and protest within ear-shot of the waitress and anyone who looks offended: "You don't drink coffee! Who let's you drink coffee? That's terrible. What kind of mother would let her kids do that? Why, I would NEVER." They then roll their eyes at my feigned disgust and order chocolate milk. And just because Jeff is dead, doesn't mean he can't share some of the blame--he taught them all to drink hot tea as babies too. He would make up pot of tea Irish-style and let them drink it with milk. So, we mutually corrupted them.

There are many other maintenance-related issues that require attention (e.g. the inconsistent garage door opener; the muddled surround sound on the basement T.V.; the broken hinge on the china cabinet door; the loose faucet handle; the loose kitchen tile; the broken stair moulding; etc.) but these are very minor and Jeff--who was very diligent and attentive regarding home maintenance--left me strict instructions to hire professionals to address them. Under no circumstances am I to allow anyone to "jerryrig" house repairs (his words). However, I have already broken this rule by asking Jeff's Dad to do a couple of small projects. (Jeff trusted no one to care for the house--except maybe his friend, Dale).

And on an unrelated note--I have a funny, but poignant, anecdote. I received an interesting piece of mail from a woman I used to work with (and who I believed was aware of my circumstances based upon e-mails and cards she previously sent me). It was a heartfelt letter about how she and her husband had just returned from a Marriage Encounter weekend and that she thought Jeff and I were such a great couple we would really benefit from a Marriage Encounter experience etc. etc. Included with her letter was a gift certificate for Jeff and I to attend a retreat. Good thing I'm not the sensitive type or that might have really ruined my day. Instead, I returned the gift certificate with a note of thanks and news of Jeff's death. I don't mind mentioning it here because she obviously doesn't read the blog--but I share the story in thanks to the rest of you who have been very sensitive to my situation and who have politely addressed mail to me (and not to Jeff) and who have discreetly modified your records to reflect our loss (e.g. the kids' schools immediately started sending things to me alone and no longer list Jeff as a parent or contact--sad, but accurate and necessary).

Well--this post has gotten far too long and boring. Even for me. So, I'll spare you anymore and bid you good night! I'm sure I'll have more exciting news next time . . .

Warm Regards,
Kelly

The Big Day Arrives!

2009-02-14T21:51:00.010-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day! Thanks to many friends and family my Valentine's Day was spectacular ! The kids made me some very cool, super huge tissue paper flowers. They also made me a poster-board sized card and they gave me a big heart-shaped box of candy. I got them a special breakfast (Cinnabons and bacon) and gave them each their own pint of special ice cream. (Hey, they like food.) I also let Jack and Regan have playdates with their friends (another big treat). Aubrey was supposed to go out of town with a friend, but was sick and unable to go, so she stayed home--poor baby. I also got a picture via e-mail of my friend Katie's brand new baby (which I know only coincidentally arrived on Valentine's Day, but it was a perfect present, nonetheless), and last but not least, I received a DOZEN ROSES from my friends Marc and Mike. It made my day!

Other than that, I spent the day doing laundry. Which reminds me . . . Finn appropriately spent his Valentine's Day with the love of his life--the vacuum.

This picture is from Christmas morning, just so you can see his vacuum (and his apron that declares the world's biggest understatement: "I [heart] cleaning!") However, he actually spent this morning vacuuming and he kept himself busy the entire time I ate breakfast (another gift!) by using his spray bottle and paper towels to clean off the shelves in the lower portion of our pantry. (It's a disease I tell ya!).

So, all in all we had a great day. It was really very pleasant. It may interest you to know that for our last Valentine's Day together (exactly one year ago today), Jeff gave me and each of the kids a CD filled with songs that he selected for their lyrics and meaning. He made an insert explaining why he chose each song and what they meant to him or what he hoped they would mean to us. Because it's Valentine's Day, and it's a good time to listen to them, I'll list them here. If you're motivated, I'm sure you can find them on-line:

1. La La Love You--The Pixies
2. Let It Be Me--Indigo Girls
3. Spin--Lifehouse
4. The Way I Am--Ingrid Michaelson
5. Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own--U2
6. Umbrella--Rihanna
7. You're My Best Friend--Queen
8. For Your Babies--Simply Red
9. Beautiful Boy--John Lennon
10. Father and Daughter--Paul Simon
11. Sing Your Life--Morrissey
12. Friends--Led Zeppelin
13. Sweetest Smile--Luce
14. Move Along--All American Rejects
15. What a Wonderful World--Louis Armstrong

So, there you have it--Jeff's Valentine Soundtrack. Maybe you'll find some gems of your own on the list that you can send to a loved one. Jack and Finn are partial to number 9, and I suspect number 10 is 90 percent of the reason Regan wants a Golden Retriever (you'll have to listen to find out why . . . just be ready to bawl your eyes out).

But, this year, there was no sorrow. There were no tears. And thanks to so many of you, we kept the day well. Thank you, thank you, again for checking in.

And another, not-so-private 'Thank You' to Marc and Mike. Wow!

Love,
Kelly

More Pointless Banter . . .

2009-02-12T08:53:00.004-06:00

OK. This is getting ridiculous. Even bin Laden is conspiring against me on Valentine's Day:

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/30892

At least I have my friend, Mike. He and his daughters came over for dinner last night and in an act of international diplomacy, he gave me a small heart-shaped box of Valentine's chocolates. It was very sweet of him and I appreciate the sentiment. Way to take one for the team, Mikey! You all have him to thank for alleviating my holiday bitterness which would have otherwise inspired me to send you some very sad and desperate pleas for recognition and affection. Good thing I'm easy to please. A little chocolate goes a long way! . . .

Confidential to Scott F: Apparently they do not celebrate Valentine's Day in the Arab world, so you better make this one count! :-)

Confidential to Terri: I so regret any favoritism I showed toward John and his baby by giving them more "air time" on the blog. I in no way intended to slight you or your sweet little baby, Bennet, who I'm proud to announce was born on December 29th, 2008. I'm embarrassed and concerned that you felt compelled to mention it in a "comment" to my most recent post. Please accept my sincere apologies and all my love!

Confidential to Everyone Else: My sister is a big whiner and is the baby of the family, in case you can't tell. Because she was born last, she feels like the universe unfairly jilted her out of all the rights and privileges that came with being born 5 or 7 years earlier like the rest of us. She extends destiny's obvious favoritism toward me and Jim and John to everyone and everything else and struggles daily to right the injustices unfairly thrust upon her--such as mentioning John's baby with more specificity than hers. If you see her, give her a hug--she obviously needs it. (Tee hee!!)

Kelly

Birthdays, Emergency Contacts, and More Birthdays!

2009-02-09T17:23:00.000-06:00

First things first: I have two new babies to announce. Despite my recommendation in last Friday’s blog, my new baby nephew was born February 7th—only one day after his father’s and uncle’s shared birthday. I thought it was very polite of him to avoid February 6th. My friend’s baby, however, made no such accommodation and was born on February 6th, making it very convenient for me to remember now that he’ll share that birthday with my brothers. (I have very few details other than an excited phone call from the proud Dad with promises of a more comprehensive update. I, too, am being economical with the facts because I haven’t gotten my friend’s permission to announce the birth here). I didn’t ask my brother’s permission either, for that matter, but because I am Supreme Ruler and Queen Boss of my siblings I authorize the announcement and that’s good enough for me: Henry Daniel Archuletta was born Saturday evening, weighing 6 pounds 5 ounces. He reportedly looks exactly like The Pum (that’s what we call his big sister, Ella). I’m relieved to hear everyone is happy and healthy.

So, while everyone else has been busy giving birth, I’ve been busy making new friends. Those of you who know me well, know that most of my friends are men. I attribute this phenomenon to several conditions: (1) I developed a “guy” sense of humor and communication style due to repeated exposure to my brothers throughout my formative years; (2) I am in a male-dominated profession and nearly all of my superiors and colleagues with whom I work directly are men; and (3) I can eat whatever I want and never gain weight—a trait that makes me universally unpopular with women. Nonetheless, I decided that I should try to diversify my friendships and have made a concerted effort to attract female friends. This week I hosted a dinner party for all the lady lawyers at work; I went to dinner with my friend, Barbara; and had wine and a nice chat with a fellow widow and new friend, Irene. I am making progress!

In fact, Irene and I had a conversation that we decided was blog-worthy and I promised I would share it here. We thought that “unwidowed” people don’t likely think about something as mundane as an Emergency Contact. But from the perspective of someone who feels isolated and like a little bit of an imposition to friends and family already (who are relied upon for everything from babysitting to jar-opening)—it’s a Big Deal. Unfortunately, for me, my family is too far away to be of practical help; my friends are too peripheral (they have their own spouses and kids to attend to first and foremost; and many are, likewise, too far away); and my children are too young. As a result, my Emergency Contact—the person who will get “the call” if anything bad happens to me—is my paralegal. Don’t get me wrong—my paralegal is wonderful. I do not mean to dilute her importance. But, it just sounds funny to say it out loud.

So, before I sound like too big of a loser, I’ll end where I began: with Happy Birthdays! And this one is for Garth. Cheers to you on your 38th!

Kelly

Birthdays and Unbirthdays

2009-02-06T10:26:00.002-06:00

Sorry, it’s been so long since I updated. The week has really gotten away from me. Aubrey told me she was going to post an update, but she is still in a euphoric trance after I bought her 4 Fall Out Boy/Metro Station tickets this week and has not snapped out of it. Yes—I bought Aubrey her coveted tickets as a birthday present. Her birthday is April 12th and the concert is May 16th, but we’ll make it work. Despite everyone’s gentle persuasion, I could not subject myself to the extortion necessary to see my beloved Killers. I bought Morrissey tickets instead. Woohoo! I invited my brother to go with me. It will be a lot of fun, except that my brother is extremely good-looking and could possibly distract Morrissey from making his marriage proposal to me. Oh well. His loss . . .

Speaking of my brothers—today is their birthday. Happy Birthday Jim and John!! (They are identical twins—that’s why they have the same birthday). If I had to guess, I would say that Jim is celebrating by wearing sweat pants, and John is celebrating by going to class. Believe it or not, I actually remember when they were born. I was a little over 2 years old and no children were allowed to visit the hospital. My grandma snuck me in to see them and to see my mom who was missing me. I still remember being picked up under my arms and, with feet dangling, looking at them through a thick glass window with a fine-wire grid pattern on it. And it was then that I realized . . . I now had somebody to Lord over!! And not just one baby but TWO! My reign lasted for the whole six days they were in the hospital because as soon as they came home I realized there were two of them and one of me. I was no match and I’ve been trying to reclaim my mommy and my rightful place as Supreme Ruler and Queen Boss of the family ever since. (I think I’m making some headway . . .)

For my brother John’s birthday—I hope he gets a new baby. His wife is due to have their second child any minute. It would be too perfect if she were to give birth today. After all, John already shares his birthday with Jim, so it’s not like it would steal his thunder or anything. As a gentle reminder, Jeff shared his birthday with our anniversary. His untimely death has negated both events and left May 21st a conspicuously uneventful day on our calendar. I am considering having an “Unbirthday Party” ala Alice in Wonderland to commemorate the day. We will dress up like the characters in the book—Aubrey can play Alice, I will play the Queen of Hearts (of course), Finn will play the Cheshire Cat and Regan and Jack can fight over any number of peripheral but equally delightful and important characters. We will have a Mad Hatter’s tea party (Jeff LOVED tea), complete with mismatched tea service and we will follow the Mad Hatter’s party agenda. That is, we will randomly change seats, challenge each other with riddles that have no answer, and make spontaneous personal remarks. We will close the party with a rousing rendition of “A Very Merry Unbirthday” and voila—a new tradition will be born. So save the date.

In the meantime, Valentine’s Day looms . . . I trust you will all celebrate it well this year. Thanks as always for checking in. I love knowing you all are there.

Until next time,
Kelly

Must Love Coconut

2009-01-28T20:39:00.004-06:00

Valentine's Day is coming. I didn't realize it until this past weekend when I noticed an advertisement in a store window. I LOVE Valentine's Day. It is one of my all-time favorite holidays and it goes without saying that it is going to be decidedly less festive this year for the obvious reason that it is the first year in 19 years that I will have no one to celebrate with. I know, I know . . . I have my kids, but it's not the same.

I walked past a vast Valentine's card display in the store today and stopped out of habit to look at the cards before I thought, "why am I reading these?" As I started to feel sorry for myself for being robbed of one of my favorite holidays, I saw among all the cards marked "to husband" and "to wife" and "from Sweetheart" and "from Mother" a card that said: "from Cat." It was then and there that I realized things could be a lot worse . . . and instead of feeling sorry for myself, I started feeling sorry for whoever bought or received that card. Hopefully, that special brand of desperation is a long way off for me.

In the meantime, I was complaining to my sister about how Valentine's Day is going to be no fun this year and she suggested that I should just stop complaining and go on eHarmony or something and find a Valentine. And then, as if to prove the absurdity of her own idea, she e-mailed me a "personal ad" that she wrote about me. I thought about reprinting the text of it here, but some things are better left to the imagination. However, it was truly hilarious, noting, for example, my peculiar love of coconut, my "big, gigantic, clown eyes," the suggestion that any neat-freak reading the ad should move along because that role is already filled by none other than Finn Patrick; that I hate letting my bare feet touch the ground; that I have a uniquely absurd sense of humor; the list went on and on. And to think--these are only my good qualities!

Now despite her ad, I like to think I have many redeeming characteristics. For example, I can do a David Lee Roth-style high kick like nobody's business. Of course, due to my advanced age it usually requires multiple attempts and ibuprofin. And don't forget--I'm a divorce lawyer. I'm sure this career ranks very high on the list of desireable job choices for a potential partner. Ha! Of course, I'm kidding and my sister sent me the "ad" all in fun to cheer me up. (Which it did considerably). But, you'll never find me on eHarmony. Especially because I have already chosen my next husband: Morrissey. He's playing a concert in Milwaukee on April 3rd. I always thought it would be great to see him in concert and now I have my big chance. Rumor has it, he, um, doesn't like girls, but no matter-- I think I have what it takes to swing him in the other direction. Ha!

My other future husbands, the Killers, were too expensive for my tastes. They are also playing in Milwaukee at the end of April and I tried to get tickets to their concert for Aubrey's birthday. The venue sold out in only a couple of hours, so I called a ticket broker. They claimed to have only four tickets left--for $114.00 EACH. I've been listening to their music so much lately that I had almost brainwashed myself into buying them, but fortunately I was brought back to reality by a radio ad announcing that Billy Joel and Elton John will be playing a joint-show in Madison in May and the tickets are only $55.00. So if Billy Joel and Elton John TOGETHER can only command $55.00, then there's no freaking way I'm paying $114.00 to see the Killers. OK. Actually I might. In a moment of weakness, I might actually go for it. I will try to fight it, I promise. I will do my best to resist it, but it's going to be hard because those sexy Mormon boys know how to ROCK!

So, now Aubrey has her heart set on seeing Fall Out Boy with Metro Station-- who are coming to town in May. I'm not nearly as excited about seeing them. In fact, I'm not excited at all. Likewise, she won't go see Morrissey with me because he's "old." Oh well.

So, that's my mindless and boring update. In other news, I taught Regan the difference between a "hippie" and a "hobo" tonight. Don't ask. Just know that these are the kinds of conversations that make having kids totally worth it.

Nighty-night!
Kelly

a note from aubrey: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give in and get those Killers tickets mommy!!!!!

The Weekend Update

2009-01-25T21:02:00.006-06:00

First, let me say I'm tired so this is going to be short. However, I do have some newsworthy updates, so I wanted to make sure I posted them tonight.

The biggest news of the weekend is that Regan cut her hair and donated it to Locks of Love. She's been growing it for ages and she had to have a ponytail at least 10 inches long before she could donate it. She achieved her goal quite some time ago, but didn't want her hair to be too short after she cut it, so she grew it out beyond the 10-inch requirement. She now has a very cute chin-length bob, but is still indignant about how short it is. She has complained incessantly for the past two days saying that (a) she looks like a boy; (b) she looks like Willy Wonka (the Johnny Depp version); and (c) she still looks like a boy. I told her I didn't know why she was so upset-- it could always be worse . . . she could look like the Gene Wilder version of Willy Wonka. She didn't think I was very funny. So, I tried to reassure her that it isn't so much that she looks like a boy, but that Johnny Depp looks like a girl. She was, again, unmoved. In all seriousness, her haircut is super cute and I will try to post a picture of it here so you can all comment and tell her the same thing because obviously I have no credibility with her.

Regan still plays basketball and had a game on Saturday morning immediately after her haircut. She's energetic and aggressive on the court, so it's fun to watch her. Unfortunately, I spend most of her games either in the girls' locker room or out in the hallway with Finn because he tries to exercise dominion over any basketball within a 10-mile radius of him (you should see him try to pick up two regulation-size basketballs at the same time). He also has no respect for the boundaries of the court; the authority of referees; or the momentum of a herd of 60-pound 9 year-olds.

And while I'm still somewhat on the subject of Regan, I should let you know that she has started asking me to adopt a baby. Shortly after Jeff died, she came to the stark realization that we would never have another baby and she was bothered by it. So, she has now decided that adoption is a viable solution. She really started putting the screws to me yesterday--wanting me to commit to it; wanting to know how much it costs and what the process is; wanting to know how long it would take, etc. Now one of two things has happened here: either she's lost her flippin' mind, or she has become a very shrewd negotiator. She probably figures that by asking for a baby, I will now happily acquiesce to a dog. It's the ole' bait and switch--she comes at me for a dog and I am steadfast in my refusal, but when she comes at me for a baby, she knows that a dog is going to sound better and better. So, I think I've got her figured out . . .

Aubrey, however, isn't taking any chances. She told me that I better not go around adopting anyone because I have four wonderful kids "and that should be enough . . . anymore is just one more person for me to babysit." I reminded her of all the times I have thanked her personally for babysitting and that my gratitude should be ample reward for her labors and, besides, Regan had already promised to take care of it so Aubrey wouldn't have to, but she didn't appreciate my flair for sarcastic humor. So, I reminded her, it could always be worse . . . she could look like the Gene Wilder version of Willy Wonka.

We rounded out the weekend with a Pizza Party at our friend's house after he took Aubrey and Regan bowling. Jack did not want to go and chose, instead, to take his shirt off and watch Nickelodean. (???) Meanwhile, Finn commandeered our friend's rocking horse and spent the afternoon alternately riding it and defending it from his two baby friends who were also trying to ride it. He was finally distracted by (what else?) . . . a basketball.

Well, it's late and I'm tired--I was out late last night and have a busy day at work tomorrow. Last night, my band played another show. We had a nice crowd and I was very grateful to the many friends who came out just to watch me perform. Thank you, thank you! It really was so nice to see all of you there!

Until next time,
Kelly

finally something more exciting than nothing!!

2009-01-21T20:59:00.007-06:00

Hey everybody :) It's Aubrey once more. My mom would write this post but she is too busy watching the movie "Beerfest" to focus on blogging. Yes, "Beerfest." Apparently, her friends and my uncle Jim say it's a really funny movie, but personally I think that's just her excuse for really wanting to watch it. So anyway, let me tell you a short, sweet summary of tonight's events while my mom watches her movie :P
Tonight, my mother surprised us by taking us to Chuck-E-Cheese for dinner! It was Finn's first time there and before we even got inside he was pointing at the windows, smiling, and saying "yay!" It was absolutely ADORABLE!! As soon as we got inside he ran to a ride and started climbing on before we even had a chance to take his coat off. Throughout the night he managed to go through 15 Chuck-E-Cheese Tokens and went on a bunch of free "baby" rides. And of course his favorite game was the one with the basketballs. He stole a ball from it and refused to set it down for the beginning of the night. So while some poor kid got jypped out of points in the game because he had one too few balls, Finn had the time of his life :D but I don't think anybody noticed he had one of the balls, so it was okay ;) By the end of the night we had eaten one large pizza, a bunch of cokes, a couple of salads and of course Jack and Regan left with prizes galore. I think everybody would say that it was a wonderful evening!
Alright, that's all and I have to get going, but I'll talk more later!
love,
aubrey kate

Editor's Note: I, Kelly, just finished watching my movie. For the record, I don't even like beer. I'm high on life! . . . but, the movie was pretty funny.

Another Boring Post

2009-01-20T21:49:00.002-06:00

January's been a slow month for news at our house. However, things are starting to get a little more exciting: after a four-month hiatus, I returned to the stage with the Rabid Aardvarks this past weekend. We played to a packed crowd at a venue in Brookfield, Wisconsin (a neighboring suburb). It was a lot of fun. I didn't realize how much I missed it.

Meanwhile, I've been very busy at work and the kids are enjoying school and their many activities. This past week, Aubrey attended high school orientation and received her registration materials. (I can't believe that I will have a high-schooler next year!) In other news, it appears that Finn is left-handed! He now consistently eats and throws (and hits and punches . . .) with his left hand. He still loves to clean. In fact, earlier this week, he was in the middle of a meltdown (the Terrible Twos are arriving right on schedule . . .) and he got the bottle of 409 and sprayed the front of the refrigerator and wiped it clean until he calmed down. It cracked me up that he knew how to soothe himself (even if his modus operandi is a little unorthodox).

Regan has been occupied with constant playdates recently. She had two sleep-overs and a separate play date this past weekend. She is currently selling Girl Scout cookies to raise money for Girl Scout camp this summer. Jack is in Boy Scouts and plays constantly with the neighbor boys. He has learned to read and can now read almost anything. He has adopted Aubrey and Regan's nightly habit of reading until he falls asleep. Finn has also become interested in books recently and can actually say the word "book." Finn has acquired another peculiar habit: he likes to take his clothes off every evening after dinner. You know when Finn starts stripping down to his diaper that it's time to get the party started!

As for me, all is well. I've been very happy and at peace and surrounded by friends who help me in every possible way. I love my job and my coworkers. My kids are happy and healthy and thriving. I really couldn't ask for more. I'm eager for all the new and exciting opportunities the new year will bring for us and will continue to report here as it all unfolds.

So, hopefully, I'll have something juicy to write about soon. In the meantime, you'll just have to settle for my mindless little missives about nothing and be reassured that no news is good news.

Until next time. . .
Kelly

it's aubrey!!

2009-01-12T20:55:00.002-06:00

hey everybody !
this blog may end up being really random, but i felt like writing one, so i'm just going to keep typing and see what happens :-)
first of all, cheerleading is over for me (for this year atleast...) and the musical should be starting soon. if im correct, auditions start in february--YAYY! but for now i'm just taking a break from extracurriculars. i might re-start guitar lessons soon though, which would be fun :-D
i guess other than that i haven't been doing that much lately. this weekend i went to the mall with some friends and next weekend i will probably go see a movie with my 2 best friends... (at the mall.... AGAIN) but who knows. my plans change a lot :-P
as far as school goes, i have a project due soon for history and a couple algebra exams coming up, but nothing very exciting.
alright, well, Scrubs will be on soon, so i gotta go!
love you all!
aubrey kate
p.s. i know, i lead such a riveting life. it must be so thrilling to read about all the huge and exciting things that happen to me on a regualr basis!! jk :P lol!

2009-01-11T21:03:00.004-06:00

I'll say right up front, that I have nothing interesting to report. So, unless you're in the mood for some mindless ramblings, I recommend you keep moving and check again later. But, if you're a glutton for punishment, settle in . . .

Today is the two year anniversary of the day we found out just how bad Jeff's cancer was. Unfortunately, I am like Rain Man when it comes to remembering dates--birthdays, anniversaries, etc.--even those of obscure friends or people linked to me only through a few random degrees of separation (my nanny's little sister; the oldest daughter of my college friend; etc.). Likewise, I cannot forget the significant dates of Jeff's illness: his diagnosis, his brain surgery, the day he entered hospice, etc.

My own birthday is November 11th (11/11). Therefore, "eleven" has always been my lucky number. "Eleven" has served me well and has cropped up in uncanny ways from time to time, so I held out hope that January 11th was a lucky day for a diagnosis. I thought that maybe Eleven would come through and instead of hearing that Jeff had Stage IV melanoma that had metastasized to his liver and kidneys and various other places, we would be told that but for the two little subcutaneous bumps he had found, his scans were clear-the tumors could be removed and he'd be back on the road to good health. Of course, this was before I had obtained my internet medical degree and while I was too naive to know that the little subcutaneous bumps, in and of themselves, were Stage IV melanoma and that any appreciable survival of Stage IV melanoma was almost unprecedented.

When the doctor gave Jeff the news--he started with the "good news"--"It isn't in your brain"--but did not soft sell the bad news--"it is in your liver and kidney." Jeff's first question was whether an organ transplant was an option. At that point the doctor made sure our expectations were realistic. He said, "the cancer is incurable and inoperable."

Jeff did not ask for a prognosis. (He never wanted to be assigned an expiration date and only hesitantly asked for one at the very end, right before he entered hospice when the doctors told us there was nothing more to do and that his time was "very short.") However, I learned that the median life expectancy of people with Jeff's diagnosis and sites of metastases was approximately 5-7 months. Which meant he was statistically scheduled to die right around the time Finn was due to be born in May, 2007. I began to think of all the possibilities--I was pregnant with Jeff's son, who was due to be born the day after Jeff's own birthday. I thought, for sure, Jeff would die before then only for the poetic irony that I would then deliver his son on his birthday (which was also our wedding anniversary), all in some ethereal and cosmic illustration of the circle of life. Ugh!

During Jeff's first cycle of biochemo in Houston he commented on how he felt too good to be so sick and marveled at how he could have such a severe and unrelenting cancer with no symptoms or side effects whatsoever. It chilled me when he said it, but then he said, "I figure I have at least a year or two left." Sadly, he was precisely accurate: He lived only 20 months after that.

I've often thought about how glad I am that Jeff didn't ask for a prognosis any sooner than he did. Jeff was a very compliant patient. He followed his doctors' orders to the letter and did everything he could, and then some, to follow their advice. Because Jeff was, by nature, always regimented and obedient I was concerned that if he was ever given a specific prognosis, he would not want to disappoint his doctors and would dutifully fulfill it.

In fact, when the doctors told Jeff on September 1, 2008 that his time was "very short," it was only then that Jeff asked "how long is 'very short?'" The doctor replied "a few weeks to a few months." Jeff lived for three weeks and three days after that.

So, what does all this mean and what have I learned in the two years since January 11, 2007? Not much--except that I think I'm done with "lucky."

P.S. And please don't think after reading this that I placed all my hope in some hokey superstition about the number eleven or that I ever thought for a even a second that "eleven" could do what God could not . It's just a slow night, so I'm having to find material where I can . . .

Much love,
Kelly

New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-07T22:36:00.003-06:00

I recently asked the kids if they had made any New Year's Resolutions. Everyone except Aubrey looked confused. I explained to the little ones that a New Year's Resolution is kind of like a promise you make to yourself to either do something good for yourself or for others or to reach some goal that you set, etc. They were instantly inspired and I have to say that I'm pretty impressed with what they came up with. So, here is a list of their New Year's Resolutions:

Regan: Make good friends; Help the planet ("by keeping things clean and stuff"); Get a good education; Help around the house; Help friends; Help the poor.

Jack: Hug my Mom more; Do my homework; Eat healthy; Love my family.

Aubrey: Go to bed earlier.

Finn: Stop smoking and lose weight. (Oh wait--Aubrey just told me that's not actually what he said. Turns out he said "snowman." Hey--it's an honest mistake. He's kind of hard to understand when he talks . . .).

As for me, I operate on a fiscal year, so my New Year's Resolutions aren't due until July 1.

In other news, I single-handedly removed a dead squirrel from my driveway today. These are the kind of things you forget you'll have to do when you're widowed--until you actually have to do them. And no--I did not run over it. It fell out of a tree and died on impact. (Seriously).

Well, that's all I've got for tonight. (Better luck next time!) Until then, take care and stay tuned.

Kelly

We're Baaack

2009-01-05T22:06:00.002-06:00

After a long hiatus, I am FINALLY updating the blog. Unfortunately, I don't have time to write a proper account of all the happenings since Christmas, so I'll give you the highlights and spare you the details until I have more time to elaborate . . .

The kids and I had a wonderful Christmas at home. Santa was very generous with the toys and electronics and less generous with the live animals. Hence, we remain dogless. I cooked Christmas dinner [insert joke here] and made a ribeye roast and all the fixings. I even made a birthday cake for my friend, Tony (and for Baby Jesus, of course . . .). Yes--I can actually pull-out some domestic and culinary skills when the occasion requires it.

Two days after Christmas my basement flooded. We had been buried under snow and suffered frigid temperatures for most of the week preceding Christmas and then, inexplicably, in one day we were stricken with warm weather and rain (which melted all the snow right into my basement). This was easily the most impressive flood we've had in our basement. Therefore, I'm going to commemorate the occasion with new carpet and several thousand dollars worth of uninsured flood mitigation. Happy New Year to me!

While my basement was busy drying, I decided to take the kids to Nebraska for a few days. (This is the main reason there have been no recent blog entries--I don't like advertising the fact that my house is unoccupied on the internet . . .). We visited my sister and her family and their new baby, Bennet, who was born on December 29th. Aubrey and Regan have been appointed to be his Godmothers and are beside themselves with excitement.

We also visited several friends and one of Jeff's brothers in Lincoln. I was so happy to see friends that I haven't seen in so long and it was neat to see my kids and their kids playing together.

The kids behaved like perfect angels in the car--even Finn. I was so so proud of them. I like to think that traveling will get easier as Finn gets older. However, it looks like a convenience store exploded in my minivan there are so many candy wrappers and spilled sodas, and McDonald's cups, so, needless to say the van is getting detailed tomorrow. Maybe I'll have them put some flames on the doors while they're at it because I'm a Cool Mom.

It was, bar none, one of the best trips I've had to Nebraska and I'm so glad that when we had the chance, we took the opportunity to visit people that we don't see very often. Unfortunately, due to the constraints of school and work we won't likely take another trip any time soon. Which means you'll see more frequent blog updates! Yay!

Sorry, this is short, but I have more laundry to do and bills to pay and other "mom" things to do--poor Aubrey is sick and I really need to go check on her. Even though she's big, she's still my baby too. (I think I hear all her friends gagging right now . . .) Sorry, Aubrey. I didn't mean to embarrass you.

Until next time, take care and Happy New Year!

Kelly & Kids

Dear Santa . . .

2008-12-22T21:51:00.003-06:00

My little hometown newspaper, the Keith County News, has an annual tradition of printing unedited letters to Santa from the town's elementary school children. My brother, John, wrote one of the most original, hilarious, and self-aware letters ever printed. It even ran with its own special headline--if my Mom still has the text (I know she cut it out of the paper and saved it for years), she should post it in a "Comment" to this blog for all to see. If nothing else, at least I will be entertained by sugar-plum memories of Chewbacca dolls and how my brothers converted my very stylish wooden-heeled clogs (hey, it was 1980) into weapons.

So, in honor of my hometown tradition, and in lieu of a mass-mailed Christmas card, I will print here for your reading enjoyment, my children's own unedited Letters to Santa (*all spelling, capitalization, and punctuation is preserved exactly as written in the original) :

From Jack:

"Jack's Christmas"

NiNteNDo D.S.
sKate BoaRD.
Bike.
GuitaR.
I poD.
a LeGo Set.

(The list is illustrated with a big star).

From Regan:

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year I want a wii, xbox 36, N-tendo DS, cellphone, I-pod, puppy (docsin), money, and last but not least Honey-crisp appels. and I have been a very nice girl this year.

Love, Regan <3 =)

From Aubrey:

Dear Santa,
Please define "nice." Personally, I think I've been plenty nice, but people say you're very opinionated.
Anyway, if you do think I've made the "nice-list" here are the things I'd like:
1) a new cell phone plan that includes unlimited texting
2) more of my favorite DKNY perfume, Red Delicious
3) lots of pairs of new colored skinny jeans (i can never get enough)
4) gift cards (iTunes, target, Delia's, Barnes & Noble, where-ever!)
5) figure skates
I would also really appreciate it if you could send me a couple of your elves to be my personal servants.
Thanks!
-Aubrey Kate

P.S. I know your secret!! I think we both know that if I don't make the "nice list", I won't be the only one who knows it any more

(Editor's Note: Ahhh. She's learning her mother's flair for bitter humor. It's the gift that keeps on giving . . .)

Of course, poor Finn is too little to write his own list, but he was trying to earn some extra Brownie Points today by wearing a red sequin Santa hat around the house. He has also assigned himself the job of making sure the Christmas lights are always on--he becomes quite annoyed if they are not. And, he keeps trying to clean-up the fake "hay" in our Nativity Scene. (This kid is afflicted, I tell you . . .).

So, Merry Christmas to all. I'll post again after Santa comes. Until then take care (and Happy Birthday, Tony!).

Love,
Kelly and Kids

Not-so-deep philosophizing

2008-12-21T20:43:00.004-06:00

Many of you may not know that I taught high-school Spanish for two years before ultimately going to law school. I speak Spanish fairly well and have visited Spain, Mexico, Costa Rica, and various other Spanish-speaking countries. Nonetheless, I don't feel like my vocabulary has ever really progressed beyond what I taught my students. Despite what I learned in college and abroad, I have the same proficiency in Spanish as a high school senior.

I realized this weekend that my general intellect may follow the same trajectory, and, without Jeff's positive influence, may have reached the outer limits of its capacity. In other words, I think I'm as smart as I'm going to get and, without Jeff, I'm probably going to only get stupider. I realized this when I started reading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis for the third time and thought: What's the point? Who is going to discuss it with me? The Screwtape Letters is one of my all-time favorite books and a very easy read. Every time I read it I discover new perspectives and feel like I learn something about myself and others. Therefore, I can only assume that others would find it similarly rich and meaningful. I have attempted, without success, to persuade various friends to read "The Screwtape Letters." As a result, I have not been able to simulate the animated and thought-provoking discussions Jeff and I used to have about literature and philosophy and any number of peripheral issues. And, so I have resigned myself to the singular and lonely enjoyment of this book.

It's a little bit ironic: several years ago for Christmas, I got Jeff what I thought was a very clever gift. I bought several well-known and widely read "masterpieces" and a gift certificate to a "matching" restaurant to each. For example, I got him "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu and a gift certificate to Cheng Hwa (a Chinese restaurant); "The Communist Manifesto" by Karl Marx and a gift certificate to Cubanitas (a Cuban restaurant); "Introduction to Christianity" by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (now known as Pope Benedict XVI) and a gift certificate to The Gasthaus (a German Restaurant); and "Utopia" by Sir Thomas More and a gift certificate to the George Watts Tea Room (because More was English and the English like tea. OK, I know that one was kind of a stretch, but I couldn't find an "English" restaurant in Milwaukee). So, anyway, I got Jeff all these books with the idea that we would read them together and once we had both finished a book, we would go to the restaurant and have dinner while we discussed it. Great idea, huh? Except that he dutifully read every book and I only read "The Art of War." That's right--we only made it as far as the Chinese restaurant.

So, while I am sitting here lamenting my lack of a conversation partner, I trust I am only experiencing balance in the universe--what some people call "karma." Just as Jeff had no one to talk to about the books he read, and no one to discuss his insights or to challenge his thoughts and perceptions--now, neither do I. And maybe I'm too hopeful (or maybe to stubborn), but I don't sense my loneliness in this regard as punishment or retribution. This sense of abandonment (which may be too strong a word, but my vocabulary is already starting to suffer . . .) may be, in fact, the "sign" I've been waiting for all along.

You may recall that shortly after Jeff's death, I wished for a "sign"or the smallest intimation that we would be OK without him. Since then, there has been only nothingness. But, I've come to believe that these moments of "nothingness" provide the best opportunity for Jeff to be present. It is difficult and discouraging to believe in the eternity of a soul when every trace of that soul has vanished. But wouldn't his lingering "presence" or the constant sense of him be a much more painful reminder of the time and distance between us and would it not pose an even greater impediment to the "moving on" that inevitably must occur? When a mother wants her child to walk, she must take away her hand. If Jeff wants me to know that I will be OK without him, he must withdraw so that I can attribute nothing to his intercessions or support and will be left to truly walk alone. In other words, the best way for him to let me know that I'll be OK without him-- is to allow me to be OK without him.

And so it is. I am grateful for the lesson and only hope that my life's education is not stalled. For over 14 years, my nightly banter with Jeff contributed so much to the formation of my conscience and values and priorities, that only time will tell if they will grow in their depth and breadth without his influence. In the meantime, I still have all of you to talk to :-)

Sweet Dreams!
Kelly

Whirlwind!

2008-12-13T21:25:00.003-06:00

Sheesh! Has it already been a week since my last post? I think this is the longest I've ever gone between posts-so I apologize (although, on second thought, I haven't exactly heard anyone complaining . . .).

We've all been extremely busy this week with work and school and life in general. I helped one of my partners with a trial that spanned three days this week. We got an excellent result (that is, we "won" if there is such a thing as "winning" in divorce court), but it was very labor intensive and usurped most of my evenings and all of my work week. Other highlights of the week included Christmas Concerts at both the middle school and elementary school; my first office Christmas Party at my new firm; a birthday party for Aubrey; a sleep over for Regan; Regan's first big win of the basketball season (she even made two baskets and one free-throw--Way to go, Regan!). It's been as busy as can be and the weekend is only half-over . . .

In other news, Finn is really getting into Christmas. His first order of business when he wakes up--after eating--is turning on the lights on the Christmas tree. He has also discovered snowmen and points them out whenever he sees one. He can almost say "snowman"--his attempts are very cute and quite intelligible. Finn's other big news this week is that he now brushes his own teeth and likes "practicing" on the Big Boy Potty. He mostly just sits on it with his clothes on, but he sits on it naked before his bath and makes sound effects even though nothing's happening yet. He's very proud of himself.

As for Regan, her big news is not just limited to her success on the basketball court. She was specially invited by our neighbors to help them pick-up their new PUPPY. The neighbors' children are grown, so they have said that they would like our kids to help acclimate the puppy to children. My kids are absolutely beside themselves with excitement. They have been begging for a dog incessantly ever since Jeff died. They have even gone over my head to the Big Man, himself--no, not God, and, no--not Jeff: They have taken their case to Santa. But, now that the neighbors have a new puppy, "Santa" can wait at least one more year . . . (whew!).

In the meantime, I want to thank you for reaching out to us with all the Christmas cards you are sending and the deliveries of treats, etc. I wish I had the time and energy to reciprocate, but I think I'll take a raincheck on sending Christmas cards this year and post something to the blog, instead. I know--it is lazy and impersonal and a wholly inadequate response to the outpouring of love and good tidings you send to all of us, so I hope you will be forgiving and keep us on your mailing lists.

Well, given that this week was a blur, I don't know what else to write about so I won't ramble on. I can't promise you'll be so lucky next time. Until then . . .

Kelly

It Takes A Village

2008-12-07T22:53:00.003-06:00

As much as it pains me to quote Hilary Clinton, I think she may have been onto something when she said, “it takes a village to raise a child.” I’m learning that it takes a village to do a couple of other things too; namely, set up a Christmas tree. Now, I’ve always considered myself very capable and resourceful and I like to believe that a woman can do anything a man can do. Let’s just say after this weekend-- I’m kind of over all that.

Once in a while I dream up an innocuous-sounding little scheme (see, for example, the October blog about my Sunday morning ritual . . .). It seems easy enough. No big deal. I thought getting a Christmas tree would be such an event. I thought wrong.

The good news is that I didn’t suffer alone—I had coerced other unsuspecting do-gooders into my web of disaster, and they endured their own not-so-vicarious humiliation and defeat. So, I will dedicate this blog to my weekend folly: getting a Christmas tree.

I suspected I had some limitations in carrying out my plan: limited experience, limited interest, and severely limited physical strength (you will recall that my physique has been favorably compared to that of Olive Oil or an orphan from Mogadishu). Knowing that I would need reinforcements for the job, I called in my most trusted tree-getter, Tony. Tony can do anything. Really. He once traveled all the way from one shore of Ireland to the other to visit a friend without knowing so much as the friend’s last name or address—and was able to find him. This is just one example of Tony’s mojo. Getting a tree should be like taking candy from a baby. (Editor’s note: Taking candy from a baby is a lot harder than it looks. Finn and his Kit Kat do not part easily . . .).

Tony very generously agreed to help me even though he had a very small window of opportunity between major trips. (He had arrived from New York only moments before helping me and would be leaving for Madison only moments after). So, bear in mind this was no small inconvenience on his part. We went to Home Depot to collect the tree and after making him model ten or twelve of them for my discriminating eye—“Tony, turn the flat side out,” “shake the snow off of this one,” etc.—I finally selected a Scotch Pine. In the check-out line, the Home Depot staff offered to saw off part of the stump and place the tree in some netting. I accepted their offer. This was my first mis-step. Tony wisely asked me “how big is your tree stand” and, pointing to the tree trunk said “will it fit that trunk.” I eyeballed it and confidently said, “Oh yeahhh. Our stand is big. It will totally fit.” It was upon this confident declaration that we did not have the Home Depot lady saw off an ominous knot on the side of the trunk.

We wrestled the tree on to the top of my minivan and headed home. Once there, it occurred to me that I should actually find the tree stand. So, again, citing my inexperience, disinterest, and any other excuse I could think of – I sent Aubrey into the attic (hey, she’s smaller and shorter than me and can fit up there better than I can). She dutifully retrieved not only the tree stand, but also a half-dozen boxes and Rubbermaid tubs full of Christmas decorations. This was shaping up to be good. So, I set up the tree stand, Tony popped in the tree and the trunk was just a sliver too big to fit into it. Ugh! Tony started trying to twist the tree into it like a pencil sharpener, but that stupid big ugly knot was not having any of it.

Tony suggested I get a saw. I went to the basement and inspected every one of a dozen drawers full of electrical tape, sand paper, and nails before finally finding a dainty little princess saw that would probably only cut through marshmallows and rainbows. I brought it to Tony anyway. We both tried to use the saw until I remembered that we had some plastic knives from Noodles and Company that were a lot more menacing. I also then remembered that we had a “real” saw in the shed. So, I bravely went out into the ankle deep snow and 20-degree chill (anyone who knows me, knows that is VERY brave of me) and unsuccessfully tried to jab every key on three different key rings into the Masterlock on the flimsy metal doors. Frustrated, I retreated to the house and did what I usually do when I can’t figure something out—ask Aubrey. “Aubrey, where is the key to the shed.” She, of course, knew exactly which key it was even though I outwardly doubted her (“I’ve already tried that one”) and, of course she was right. But, the lock was frozen, so I again came into the house and had to report to Tony (who had been holding the tree up the entire time) that I couldn’t access the lifesaving “good saw” because of my character flaws and tender little digits (my fingers were freezing!). He valiantly recommended that he would give it a try.

A few minutes later he emerged with the saw and struggled with the safety cover on the blade only long enough to ponder whether he might not saw a finger off trying to pry off the safety cover. (Oh, the irony!) He then sawed and sawed and sawed (this part goes on for quite a while because the “good saw” was only a marginal upgrade over the flimsy girly saw we used earlier). I “helped” by holding the tree down with my foot and complaining incessantly about (a) the cold, (b) the low-performance saw, and (c) the stupid tree (which was clearly to blame for all of my problems). Tony, as patient and good-natured as ever, finally relieved the tree of the offending knot and we triumphantly headed into the house to show that tree who was boss. As Tony tried to fit it into the tree stand, I was maneuvering around the tree to access a better vantage point by which I could guide him, because he was blinded by the girth of the tree and by the swell of happiness he was feeling at being able to help me. As I was coming around the side of the tree I ran HARD into the corner of our window sill (which protrudes about six inches from the wall) and fell to my knees in pain all while prognosticating the horrible bruise I would have later in very unladylike vocabulary. (Editor’s note: it was worse than a bruise. The window sill took a chunk of skin out of my hip that was a red, bloody mess when I finally looked at it. The lump in its wake is now turning all purply and green. Sexy!).

To add insult to injury—the tree still refused to sit in the stand. The tree was, even yet, too wide and knotted (though ever so slightly) that it would not go into the stand despite Tony’s twisting and sawing. At this point, I conceded defeat and released Tony from his sentence. He headed off to Madison and we parked the tree in the front yard until I could find another unsuspecting victim to help me. I didn’t have to wait long. Another friend, Dale, always chivalrous and kind, stumbled upon my dilemma when he was picking up Regan for a basketball game. He offered to come back and “zip that knot right off of there—no problem.” And so he did. He sawed the bottom off, hauled it in the house, set it up in the tree stand, and even spun it around to reveal its “good” side.

At the end of the day, I reflected on all the times throughout the process that I would have given up. I wondered how women who don’t have help ever do something like that themselves. And although it is an unromantic sentiment, I missed having Jeff here to do it as he always did and so I wouldn’t have to. There are so many things now that I have to do myself and, worse yet, that I can’t do myself. It can be a sad and defeating realization. Yes, cancer took my husband. It took my tree-getter, my tree-sawer, my lock-picker, and my attic-crawler. It, of course, took much much more than that. But, it gave me a lot too. It has given me friends who will do what I cannot and if that’s all I get for Christmas, it’s enough.

Generic Update

2008-12-03T22:08:00.003-06:00

As usual, I have no update worth reporting, so I'll merely fill space with some holiday notes: The kids and I officially begin our holiday season this coming weekend, marked by the annual Kinderconzert at Tosa West high school. The Kinderconzert is a fundraising event for the Tosa West orchestra. The kids get to visit Santa, experiment with real violins and other instruments, make crafts, eat snacks, and watch the orchestra perform a short concert featuring all the fun, traditional Christmas songs. We've gone every year since moving to Wauwatosa over eleven years ago. After the Kinderconzert, we buy, set up, and decorate our Christmas tree. It will be a lot of fun and the kids are looking forward to it.

This is also the time of year I begin watching the library of Christmas movies we've acquired over the past 15 years. I jumped in with both feet this past weekend and tortured myself by watching "Love, Actually" while I wrapped some of the kids' Christmas presents. "Love, Actually" is an intelligent and charming (but R-rated) movie that weaves together various interrelated story lines--each illustrating a different kind of love: the love between spouses, the love between friends, the love between a parent and child, etc. If you give any credibility to my endorsement, then I recommend you only watch it with someone you love--or with someone you want to make fall in love with you by the end of the movie. It has that effect . . .

Jeff's favorite Christmas movie (and perhaps also his favorite movie of all-time) was It's a Wonderful Life. I look forward to watching it for its obvious analogies . . .

Well, it's very late and I'm tired, but I wanted to post something--anything. So, I'm sorry this is short and indiscriminate. I'll try to come up with something really noteworthy for next time! Until then . . .

Goodnight,
Kelly

Giving Thanks

2008-11-28T20:46:00.005-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving! It's been two months since Jeff died. Sometimes it feels like forever ago and almost like he was never here to begin with. Other times, it seems like he never left. Jeff missed Thanksgiving last year, too. He was too sick to participate. He was so nauseated and fatigued that he was sleeping approximately 20 hours per day--knocked down by proliferating tumors and the after-effects of whole brain radiation. His neuro-oncologist prescribed a drug for him called Provigil--normally used to help narcoleptics stay alert--and it perked him up almost instantly, or enough so that he was able to enjoy Christmas and, shortly thereafter, start the anti-CTLA clinical trial.

And as each momentous occasion passed--Thanksgiving, Christmas, Birthdays, etc.--we tacitly understood it would be the last. Even so, we did nothing out of the ordinary to commemorate the occasions. There were no grandiose gestures or over-the-top celebrations. Likewise, there were no tears. Surprisingly--no videos. Few pictures. I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't remember how we celebrated our last anniversary (or if we celebrated at all). I can only recall one of the gifts Jeff gave me for our last Christmas--a $10 bottle of perfume that he got for free with a $10 off coupon (he was very pleased with his thriftiness). I'm sure he gave me more than that, but that's all I can remember. My last Valentine's Day and Mother's Day are completely forgotten.

I tell you this, though, not because it makes me sad or because I regret that we didn't preserve these historical occasions, but for precisely the opposite reason: Jeff lived everyday like it was a holiday. He was no different any other day of the year than he was on Christmas or his birthday or on Father's Day. Despite his illness and despite knowing, almost for certain, that he would soon die, he treated his last holidays as he did all the others. Jeff had absolutely no regrets and was, I believe, so comfortable in his knowledge that the kids and I would always love him and remember him that he didn't feel he needed to make desperate attempts to memorialize the "last" everything. I can only assume that most of us, given the same death sentence as Jeff, would panic and try desperately to immortalize ourselves or would, at the very least, find something worth changing about our daily routines: we would stop going to work; stop worrying about how much we spend at restaurants; we would fulfill all of our ambitious pledges to jump out of airplanes, visit France, or swim with Dolphins. I know it was a great comfort to Jeff that he found nothing so compelling as waking up to the same exact life he had created for himself before cancer as existed after his diagnosis. He changed nothing. Regretted nothing. That's the way I want to go.

That's not to say it was easy for him. In Hospice, Jeff said again how grateful he was that we took a family vacation to Atlanta and the Great Smoky Mountains the summer before he was diagnosed. He said he wished we had spent more time taking trips like that as a family--just him and I and the kids. He had planned Mount Rushmore as our next great destination and said, "I hate knowing I'll never see things like Mount Rushmore again." But that was the extent of his wistfulness. He was otherwise very resigned to his fate and did not attempt to deny or resist it.

And so, this Thanksgiving, though it may seem a strange thing to be thankful for, I am thankful for Jeff's death. I don't mean that I am glad that he died--I could never feel that way. But I am glad for how he died. I am happy that he died secure in his relationships with me and the kids; I am thankful that his illness allowed him to confirm, both to himself and to our family, what a happy life he had. I am thankful for all the time that he had to prepare himself and us for his death; I'm thankful for the guidance he has given me and for sharing the last wishes I am to carry out on his behalf; and I'm especially thankful for all the friends Jeff has given me--in life and in death, some of whom I would have never met and others who might have never had an opportunity to show us the extent of their love for and commitment to our family if he hadn't died.

So, although I hear a lot about how the holidays are hard after a death and can be particularly depressing, I have to disagree. The holidays certainly condense opportunities to illustrate how often I'm alone: I will shop for the kids' presents alone; I will not be bringing a guest to the Christmas Party at work; etc. But, I am certainly not lonely. So far, my Thanksgiving weekend has included a movie night and drinks with some of my favorite friends; Thanksgiving dinner among other favorite friends; a call from the Archbishop; wreath-hanging with another friend; bowling with the kids (don't even get me started on all the fun they've had in the past two days: a bonfire party; games with friends; bowling; ice skating; and a slumber party--and it's only Friday night . . .). We have more fun coming up--a get together for dinner tomorrow night; lunch with neighbors on Sunday. It's hard to feel bad when we're having so much fun.

And I know Jeff would not want us to feel bad. I received a lovely gift today--Jeff's uncle sent me all the cards and letters that people sent to him in sympathy of Jeff's death. It was quite an impressive stack of papers--from priests and nuns and parishioners and deacons and friends and strangers. But, what stood out to me was the common theme that emerged in their expressions of sympathy and personal remarks: Death is to be celebrated. I'm sure that wherever Jeff is now, he would find it amusing (if not irritating) that we should be so morose about his death. I'm sure that now, more than ever, Jeff would be pleased if we could celebrate--not only the holidays, but everyday, just as he did.

With Thanks!
Kelly

on a happier note....

2008-11-23T22:06:00.003-06:00

hey everybody it's aubrey :) i thought i'd save my mom some time and energy by putting up a blog for her, so here it is. first of all, we'd like to say thanks to Brendan and Meaghen Gardiner (and of course Grace and Clare) for coming up and visiting with us for the weekend. we all had a great time! other than that, nothing very eventful has happened lately. school is going good for regan, jack, and i (we all had excellent report cards!) and i'm assuming work is okay for my mom...

anyway, if anyone cares to know what's going on with me, it's nothing very exciting. i went to the play "Little Shop of Horrors" with some of my good friends on Saturday night. it was done by the players at East Highschool here in Wauwatosa, and their shows are always AMAZING because they really put a lot of work into them, but i think they really outdid themselves this time. all my friends and i were very impressed, so i just thought i'd share that with all of you. otherwise i've just been hanging out with my friends and family.

by the way, i have some really hot gossip for all of you.... finn sadly dumped the swiffer and found a new love-the dust pan and broom! see, we have this tiny little hand broom and dust pan and when he saw it, it was like love at first sight. now he sweeps everything he sees even if it's not dirty!! he also made it his own little personal chore to help with the laundry. when we switch the laundry to the dryer, we have to hand the wet clothes to him first so that he can shove them into the dryer. it's pretty cute the way he just has to clean everything!! also, my mom got out the vacuum the other day (i know, it's crazy, i never thought i'd type that) and finn insisted on vacuuming for her and wouldn't let her do any of it. he's a little obsessive compulsive when it comes to cleaning, but that's okay.

one last thing before i go: i would just like to give a shoutout to regan because tonight she single-handedly took all the pictures that were on the bulletin boards at the visitation and put them into a leather photo album given to us by her school. so yeah, props to regan :D
i gotta go now (i have a big, long 2 day week ahead of me because of Thanksgiving week-lol!)

Bye!
love,
aubrey

Tragedy Times Two

2008-11-20T08:49:00.002-06:00

I'm so sorry to report that tragedy has struck again: Jeff's first cousin, Travis Olmsted, died of sarcoma (a soft tissue cancer) at approximately 4 a.m. on Tuesday, November 18th. He was 27 years old. Travis's dad and Jeff's mom are brother and sister. So, that means that Jeff's grandparents have lost two grandsons in two months; his aunts and uncles have lost two nephews in two months; his cousins have lost another cousin, etc. So, once again, Bishop Tom will eulogize a nephew and the family will gather as they did for Jeff less than two months ago. It's all so unspeakably sad.

Travis's mom, Rosalie, gave me her permission to mention Travis on the blog and I thank her very much for that. Travis was diagnosed with cancer 5 1/2 years ago and Aubrey still remembers going to visit him in the hospital with her grandma. Travis was the youngest of four kids and, happily, lived long enough to see his big brother, Rob, get married at the end of October. Ironically, he died on Rob's birthday--Rob was one of Jeff's favorite cousins. They were close in age and both liked sports. Rob was a groomsman at our wedding and had come to visit us a couple of times in Wisconsin.

I found a local flower shop on the internet in Travis's hometown of Beattie, Kansas (which has a population of approximately 275 people). Of course, the flower shop owner knew everything about Travis and even knew who I was. She is apparently very fond of Travis's parents and grandparents and talked to me like we were old friends--telling me about Rob's recent wedding and all the details of the upcoming visitation and funeral. She even trusted me to send her a check for the flowers I ordered because she doesn't take credit cards. It was a real testament to her admiration for Travis's family and a sweet reminder of my own small hometown where I'm sure the local florist would do the same.

And, speaking of my small hometown, I just received a blast from the past when my old friend Chandra left me a blog comment. Chandra, when you mentioned Chi and Jodi and Lyndell, it made me think of all our band trips and high school plays and speech meets . . . those were the days!

Well, that's all for now. I hope to have better news next time. Until then . . .

Love, Kelly

Key Lime Birthday

2008-11-17T22:00:00.004-06:00

So, I've decided to extend my birthday into a birthmonth. I celebrated on November 11th and have continued the celebration. I had my lovely party; friends have taken me to lunch or dinner or have stopped by to visit nearly every day since then and the invitations (not to mention the cards and well-wishes) continue . . .

However, this past weekend was the culmination of our Second Annual Birthday Getaway in my honor. Jeff started the tradition last year when he took me and the kids to Illinois Beach Resort for a couple of days. The highlight of that weekend was when he and the kids sang a very sweet rendition of a love song that they wrote themselves especially for me--all accompanied by Aubrey on guitar. It was AWESOME!

This year, we continued the tradition by going to Key Lime Cove Resort in Gurnee, Illinois. It bills itself as a cruise ship on land and it nearly lives up to the claim! The only things missing were the sunshine and 80 degree weather. The kids had a blast swimming at the expansive waterpark. Even Finn took a few turns on the baby waterslide. We ate room service (another big treat) and watched non-stop Spongebob Squarepants on Nickolodean (a considerably smaller treat, in my estimation) for two days straight.

It was hard to come back to reality and Wisconsin's winter weather--we had our first winter storm today. It wasn't much of a storm, but left enough ice on the roads to cause my 20 minute commute home from work to stretch into an hour and forty minutes. Ugh!

Otherwise, I have no new news so I'll keep this short. It's late and I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Thanks as always for checking in. Until next time . . .

Sweet Dreams!
Kelly

Mr. Good Housekeeping

2008-11-12T21:49:00.007-06:00

Well, this 29th birthday was one of my best yet! The kids and nannies pulled-off a surprise birthday party for me--complete with a homemade birthday cake! There were approximately 20 guests, food, drinks, and even a miniature Dance Party! It was truly a fun evening and I can't thank them enough for all the thought and hard work they put into it!

In other news, I was cleaning up some old computer files and came across the drafts of two entries I had written for a World's Greatest Husband contest in Good Housekeeping magazine. I had written them a year apart for the same contest. Both times, I failed to finish them or mail them off. Maybe the publishers of Good Housekeeping will read them and give Jeff the award posthumously! Jeff never read the entries or even knew that I had conspired to enter him in the contest, but they do a nice job of illustrating a mere fraction of the contributions he made to our household:

Draft Entry--2005 (this was originally in a two-column format, but the blog will not accept the formatting, so I have put what originally appeared in the second column in red font).

Two hundred and fifty words is wholly inadequate to express why my husband was born to be “Mr. Good Housekeeping.” I hope the statistics will speak for themselves:

His Typical Day /My Typical Day
7:00 a.m. Wake up 3 kids for school
Sleep
7:15 a.m. Make kids’ lunches for school
7:25 a.m. Give our middle daughter one last
Chance to wake up and get dressed
OR ELSE!
7:30 a.m. Make kids’ breakfast
7:45 a.m. Pack and check backpacks
7:55 a.m. Clean up breakfast while reminding
Middle daughter she is going to be
Late if she doesn’t hurry up. Load
And start the dishwasher.
8:00 a.m. Car pool our kids and three of the
Neighbor kids to school
8:15 a.m. Go to the grocery store with our
4 year-old son. Drive the “race car”
Shopping cart.
Wake up. Get ready for work.
9:00 a.m. Unpack groceries. Plan dinner.
Play games or puzzles with our son.
Go to work.
10:00 a.m. Write magazine articles. Earn a living.
Interrupt writing to explain to our son
That he can’t give himself a tatoo with
A ball point pen. Write articles. Tell our
Son to not stand on the back of the couch.
Stare at computer. Write more articles.
Scrub ball point tatoo off of son.
Noon: Make lunch for son. Eat together. With
Chop sticks (because per our son “that’s
how ninjas do it.”). Clean up. Read son
a book. Unload the dishwasher. Immed-
iately begin reloading it with lunch dishes.
Eat lunch with law partner.
1:00 p.m. Write magazine articles. Hope our son
Takes a nap.
2:50 p.m. Get son ready. Pick up our daughters
And neighbor kids from school.
3:15 p.m. Fix kids a snack. Make oldest daughter
Do homework and practice her guitar.
3:30 p.m. Write articles. Suggest oldest daughter
Practice guitar for more than five minutes,
Send her to practice some more. Try to
Write and simultaneously negotiate a
Fight between middle daughter and son.
Write. Write.Write.
Eat a muffin.
5:30 p.m. Check homework. Start making dinner.
(Often consisting of homemade bread and
Spaghetti sauce made from scratch!).
6:30 p.m. Eat Dinner (prepare kids’ plates)
Listen to me whine about my job. Agree
That I should have been a rock star.
Come home; eat dinner; complain about work.
7:00 p.m. Clean up dinner. Vacuum. Load dish
Washer. Wipe down kitchen surfaces.
Throw in a load of laundry.
7:30 p.m. Attend meeting as board member
Of school PTA.
Play with kids; give kids baths.
9:00 p.m. Return home. Fold Laundry. Throw In another load.
Kiss sleeping kids.
Put kids to bed.
9:30 p.m. Give me a back rub while I read Read magazine.
10:00 p.m. Go to Bed

Draft Entry--2006

I am a divorce lawyer. My husband is a successful freelance writer, treasurer of the PTA, President of his college alumni association, a high school religious education teacher, and work-at-home father to 3 elementary school children. Even though he juggles play dates with publication deadlines, he understands that my job is wrought with high demands and few rewards. To allow me the flexibility to serve my clients and, more importantly, to ensure that when I am home I am available to enjoy him and our children, he has undertaken virtually all of our household management. What’s more, he has taken on this disproportionate burden without complaint, without resentment, and with only fleeting moments of regret that are instantly resolved as soon as I try to do something “helpful” like sort the laundry, which (if I’m interpreting his gasps and facial contortions correctly) causes an irreversible imbalance in the universe—or irritable bowel syndrome (I’m not quite sure which). Of course, I always counsel my clients to avoid vesting one spouse with responsibility for all of the household chores because it fosters feelings of guilt and resentment. But now I am convinced that if something feels this right it just can’t be wrong! So in celebration of my emancipation from the unholy bonds of housework, I nominate my husband as Mr. Good Housekeeping 2006 and offer the following comparative list of our respective chores to illustrate his worthiness:

HIM: Wakes kids; gets them ready for school; makes their lunches; feeds them breakfast; picks the kids up from school; cooks dinner 7 nights a week (he bakes his own bread AND makes homemade pizza!); cleans up after dinner; does dishes; loads and unloads dishwasher; sorts the laundry; washes the laundry (“make sure you shake out the clothes before you put them in the dryer!”); folds the laundry; recycles; vacuums the floors, floorboards, carpets, blinds and walls (yes, I have it from a reliable source—our 10 year old daughter—that he actually vacuums the walls); he takes out the trash; cleans the windows (inside and out); and does every other conceivable household chore not listed here (not to mention he also does ALL of the home maintenance and yardwork . . .)

ME: Dust and polish wood. (He hates to dust). Watch the Style Network.

________________________

Geez! No wonder I'm so exhausted all the time:. It's hard work delegating everything Jeff did to the nannies, the cleaning lady, and the lawn service. And just think, after all that delegating I still have to eat a muffin and watch the Style Network! Will my toils never end? :-)

Come back soon!
Kelly

Happy Birthday to Me

2008-11-11T11:17:00.003-06:00

Well, it's that time of year again when I turn 29 (thankfully, I don't look a day over 45). Ha! Actually, I am turning 36 today and Princess Kelly will be taking the day off from blogging to be fawned over and doted upon.

However, I am pleased to have a guest blogger filling in for me today. Allow me to introduce Colin Hutt, one of our dearest friends who wrote the following about Jeff:

Jeff's List of 11 Favorite Books

My last conversation with Jeff was at the hospice. In a blog post a few weeks before, Jeff mentioned that Les Miserables was one of his favorite books. Being a big fan of Victor Hugo, too, I wanted to find out what else was on his list. We talked about books and authors and deeper meanings for nearly two hours. It wasn't easy for him to talk, but his passion for literature was clear. So for any other "bookies" out there who also wondered what was on Jeff's list, here you go. The list is in the order he brought them up and a few of his comments are noted in parentheses:

1. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
2. Emma - Jane Austen
3. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo (he likes the book best; the musical was great; he heard the 1998 movie version was good except it completely changed the meaning of the ending by having Javier kill himself)
4. Lord of the Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien (A funny note on this one: Jeff said "Lord of the Rings" and for some reason I thought he was talking about "Lord of the Flies," which led to both of us being very confused for about 10 minutes.)
5. Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis
6. The Screwtape Letters - C.S. Lewis (Jeff said he planned to give a copy of this book to any young man who wants to marry one of his daughters; he would give the suitor a weekend to read it and if he didn't like the book, Jeff would "seriously consider" not letting him marry his daughter.)
7. Surprised by Joy - C.S. Lewis ("experiences of joy are proof that God exists")
8. Miracles - C.S. Lewis ("the great imagination of God")
9. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
10. Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare
11. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

Happy reading and thinking of Jeff.

Editor's Note: In his will, Jeff left all of his books, including The Screwtape Letters, to Aubrey. I had no idea Jeff was plotting to use this book (which is also one of my all-time favorites) to derail her tender romances. Oh well. My girls are not allowed to date until they're married anyway.

Untitled

2008-11-08T22:08:00.003-06:00

I'm sorry it's been a week since my last update, but I really have no news worth sharing and certainly nothing that could justify displacing the adorable picture of Yoda. Nonetheless, I thought I should check-in and reassure everyone that we are all doing well: no news is, indeed, good news.

However, I don't want to waste your time, so I'll share some observations from the week that you may find entertaining:

Now, you may or may not know that Jeff was a bit fastidious. Actually, he was a lot fastidious. And that may be too charitable a characterization because when I say "fastidious" I mean "obsessive-compulsive about cleaning things." (I say it with love). I am beginning to believe this trait is the product of nature and not nurture; one attributable to genetics and not environment. Here are my elements of proof: If you have spent any appreciable amount of time with Finn, you know that he loves to use the Swiffer. Some babies need a pacifier; some need a bottle; some need to cuddle their mommies; but, when Finn is in a bad mood, he can be instantly distracted and soothed by pushing the Swiffer around the kitchen. He also likes to vacuum and sweep. He is offended by is own runny nose and wants to wipe it himself with a Kleenex (which he then dutifully and instinctively throws away in the trash). He is also very diligent in disposing of anything else he finds on the floor that his sixth sense of "clean" tells him should not be there: wrappers, pieces of paper, etc. He picks them up, shows them to me as if to emphasize "you missed one" and throws them away. He played for 30 minutes today with a bottle of hand-sanitizer--and actually used it the correct way, alternately pumping it into his hands and rubbing them together until they were so clean he could have performed surgery. But the real eye-opener came when Finn and I were in the living room having a "dance party" yesterday.

Now, "Dance Party" probably deserves a blog entry of its own, but I'll reserve full-disclosure for another day and give you the abridged version tonight: the kids and I turn on music and dance until we are tired and out of breath. It usually lasts at least an hour or two and is non-stop fun. (The music changes all the time, but these days we have been listening to what some may consider "classic rock": .38 Special, REO Speedwagon, the Pretenders, etc.) While Regan and Jack were getting "dressed" (sometimes "Dance Party" requires costume changes . . .) Finn and I were warming up to some Beatles. I had a glass of water sitting on the coffee table and he had a sippy cup full of water. And then, as if guided by Jeff's heavenly hand, Finn walked over to the end table, took out a coaster, and put his sippy cup on the coaster. I said out-loud to him, "well, aren't you Daddy's boy?" He was very proud of himself. Meanwhile, I'm ashamed to admit I was negligently using a library book as a "coaster" for my glass of water. And I know he has never witnessed me use a Swiffer--nor has anyone. That kind of sighting is right up there with unicorns, leprechauns, and the Loch Ness Monster.

So, the long and short of it is: I know he doesn't get it from me. And even though I used to sometimes get annoyed at Jeff's fastidiousness, it was somehow both sweet and reassuring to see it come through so loud and clear in Finn. It was a neat reminder of all the ways Jeff will reveal himself through our children in the many years to come.

Until next time, take care and thanks for reading!

Kelly

Happy Halloween!

2008-11-01T13:24:00.005-05:00

Tony declared last night to be the “best Halloween ever” and I have to agree it was a pretty good time! Between the Murphys, the Popanzes, the Marklins, the Kenneys, and the Dodd Squad, we had quite a formidable group of trick-or-treaters. There was a devil, a jester, and a menagerie of animals: a kitty, a puppy, a lion, a cow (complete with udders) and even a baby dinosaur. Indiana Jones made an appearance and we had two ninjas in tow. Finally, we had Yoda (the younger, nimbler, light-saber wielding Yoda) who definitely had the Force—I’ve never seen so much candy. My kids will be in a Kit Kat coma until Christmas!

It was a lovely night—cool, but comfortable and the little ones held up well. After charming the neighborhood out of about 20 pounds of chocolate, skittles, and suckers, we came back to our house for chili, beer and wine. (Although one of our neighbors got the party started early by handing out candy to the kids and glasses of beer or wine to the adults to enjoy as we wound our way through the neighbordhood. Suh-weet!).

In other news, Jeff’s parents are visiting this weekend. Jeff’s mom has been helping with the kids while they are off school for Fall Break and Gary arrived in town today to spend some time with Jack and Finn doing “boy” things. (They are on a hike through the woods at the moment). Tomorrow is the annual memorial mass at our parish. Once a year they host a mass and breakfast to honor and remember all the people whose funerals were held at St. Jude’s in the prior year. So, the kids and I and Jeff’s parents will go to the mass and breakfast and then to the cemetery (assuming I remember to set my clocks back tonight . . .)

So, our streak of great weekends continues. The Force is truly with us.

Love, Kelly

Very Quick Update . . .

2008-10-30T22:22:00.001-05:00

Well, I finally got my drink--a whiskey sour to be exact. My friend Di invited me out to dinner, so we went to Maxie’s Southern Comfort on a gift card (Thanks, Jill!) and had a perfectly pleasant evening. Jeff’s mom is visiting through the weekend and she generously babysat the kids so I could go out. Aubrey and Regan were at a volleyball game while Jack and Finn enjoyed one-on-one time with Grandma. The kids’ fall break is off to a roaring good start.

Tomorrow will bring even more excitement: Halloween! We’re having friends and neighbors over for dinner and trick-or-treating. I can’t wait. All the kids have really great costumes this year. I’ll post another update—complete with pictures—after tomorrow’s festivities. Until then, thanks as always for continuing to check in. I appreciate knowing you’re there.

Kelly

My Mr. Miyagi Moment

2008-10-25T21:16:00.004-05:00

I can't let the day end without acknowledging that Jeff died exactly one month ago today. I'm starting to appreciate just how much this is gonna suck.

I finally had my "Mr. Miyagi moment" tonight after I worked myself up into a sufficiently potent (and pathetic) mood of self-pity. First, I have to say that self-pity is hard for me to come by. My natural disposition is just stoic enough that I generally feel sorry for no one--and this includes myself. I mean, young parents die of cancer all the time. It is not an uncommon tragedy. And I dare say most of them leave their families in far worse positions than Jeff left us. We are fortunate to have enough food and money and medicine; I have a good job and nannies and a cleaning lady and more offers of help than I could ever accept. I have friends and neighbors who are extraordinarily rare in their generosity and overall helpfulness; my children are well-adjusted and happy; we are healthy; my kids will continue to live in the same house and go to the same school and have the same friends and teachers and bikes and bedrooms and backyard that they had before cancer ever invaded their lives.

And even when cancer came, it struggled for 21 months in the inhospitable atmosphere Jeff created for it and although it claimed his left leg and, ultimately, his life, it never claimed his wits or his pleasantness. Jeff was "Jeff" until the end. There was never a moment when he did not recognize us; never an instance of unconscious aggression; no scary memories of seizures. So, as terrible as it is and has been-- cancer and treatment and Jeff's death and the month that has followed have all been very humane considering the possibilities of what it could have been like, and what could have happened to us; and after considering what does happen to other young families who do not have all the blessings and good fortune and fairy dust that we apparently have. So, (before you wonder where I'm going with all this), these are just a few of the reasons why I find it hard to feel sorry for myself.

However, tonight was an exception. Today two of my dearest friends--married with kids-- mentioned that tonight was "date night" for them. The idea of a "date night" with my husband only emphasized how unmarried I am and how no night is "date night" for me. How there is no one to get dressed up for. Nothing to get excited about. Nothing to talk about and no one to listen. No one to point out the things on the menu that I might like. No one who'll pick-up the tab and pay with our money then drive us home to our house in our car. These thoughts especially stung because I spent "date night" crying through a dinner I ate at our kitchen table alone.

Aubrey had to babysit one of Regan's friends tonight and Regan was invited to come along. A friend brought dinner over, but by the time it arrived and we were done visiting (and by the time I got everything and everyone to the table), it was time for the girls to leave. They took their plates with them and Jack finished his dinner while I fed Finn. Only then, could I, myself, eat and by then Jack was in the basement watching a movie and Finn was playing on the floor. I was so exhausted and sad that I just started to sob. It concerned Finn enough that he came over and crawled in my lap and gave me a sweet baby hug. As I sat there eating and crying, it made me think of a scene from the move Karate Kid (which was one of Jeff's favorites, by the way). In it, Daniel quietly watches Mr. Miyagi mourn his dead wife on the anniversary of her death. Mr. Miyagi gazes at her candlelit picture as he sobs to her in Japanese--all while completely drunk.

Likewise, on the anniversary of Jeff's death (albeit the one-month anniversary) I indulged in my self-pitying ritual while I ate and cried and I had no excuse as good as utter drunkenness.

Hasn't anyone the decency to offer me a drink?

Kelly

cheerleading+Chanel+classic horror movies + dances= aubrey's life!

2008-10-23T20:28:00.008-05:00

hey everybody!! it's aubrey! i was just posting a blog because i was pretty bored and i thought you might all want to know what i've been doing lately. the title of this blog pretty much sums up what's going on with me right now, but i'll give you details ;) let's start from the beginning.....

as you can see from the photo on the left i've been cheerleading! if you don't already know (even though you probably do) i made cheerleading captain a while back, and our first game is on Tuesday, November 4th. all of the new cheerleaders are really psyched up for it and i'm excited too! the other captain and i have really whipped the new girls into shape and now they are totally ready for the first game. they also all have really good atitudes which is awesome :)) anyway, cheerleading is taking up a lot of my time and energy, but it's super fun so it's worth it.

when im not cheerleading, i'm getting ready for halloween (hence, the jack-o-lantern in the top right). incase you can't tell, the jack-o-lantern has the Chanel symbol carved in it. i couldn't think of a face to make, so i made a designer label, which i think is really cute and i don't care if you think it's stupid or not :) this halloween i'm going trick-or-treating with my best friends and then we're getting scary movies. i don't really like trick-or-treating because i think it's cold, it gets boring after, like, 20 minutes, and it takes WAY too much effort to put together a halloween costume. but it's nearly impossible for me not to have fun when i'm with my best friends! also the trick-or-treating will be completely worth it at the end of the night when we're on a huge sugar high getting scared to death by classic horror movies. speaking of horror movies, incase you actually care which ones we're getting, we will be watching "The Changeling" "Hide and Seek" and something else but i forgot what. (we might not get "hide and seek" though because we don't want to be scared to take showers, lol!)

well, other than that i haven't been doing much lately... there's a dance at my school tomorrow so i'm going to that. but other than that nothing excited has happened lately or will happen in the near future that i know of. gotta go! love you all :D

aubrey kate

Weekend Report

2008-10-19T21:35:00.005-05:00

Wow! What a weekend. I dare say it's one of the best weekends we've had in a while. On Saturday morning, Regan played soccer (her team won!) and our dear friend, Tony, came to watch her play. Afterwards, Tony's wife and twin daughters (who are Finn's age) met up with us at our house. The kids played in a big leaf pile in our yard and we all had lunch before heading off to the Pumpkin Farm! Yay! Although this pumpkin farm had a bit of a twist--instead of offering the usual hay rack rides to a pumpkin patch, it was also a petting zoo.

Now, as an aside, when I think of "petting zoo" I think of goats, rabbits, maybe even a pony; so, I was a little taken aback when I saw the big Siberian Tiger in what looked like a tricked-out dog kennel. Oh well, at least they left three-inches of jagged chain link at the top of the 10-ft high fence surrounding the tiger so that if it flew into a rabid frenzy and climbed the chain link (which I imagine a TIGER could easily do) it would at least suffer some slightly uncomfortable belly scratches before it devoured anyone. I'm sure the prospect of a completely superficial scratch will make it think twice before it tries to jump the fence and eat the turkeys and chickens that smugly strut (uncaged) on the dirt path directly in front of it constantly. That poor tiger has to watch all manner of delicious foul and goats and pigs and toddlers walk around in front of it--its gonna snap someday. Hear me now, believe me later.

Needless to say, the kids and I largely avoided the tiger and, instead, entertained ourselves with a more innocuous brand of feline: wittle bitty kitties! The petting zoo featured an attraction no kid can resist--a large pen of irresistible newborn kittens. Every kid there, without exception, begged to take one home (my kids included), and I wondered to myself how many kittens the business loses to theft each day. These kittens were very young--their eyes were open but they were still nursing. I know this because the mama cats were in the pen feeding them and kids were pulling them straight off their mothers and I wondered how these poor things ever get enough milk to survive. There is a sign encouraging patrons to gently handle the kitties, and kids were swarming them and grabbing them from the pen and each other with such uncivilized desperation that even I started feeling competitive when all these other kitten-grubbing little kids were bobbing for kitties and my kids were coming up for breath empty-handed. But my kids hung in there and eventually all three of them held some kittens. Jack was particularly careful and doting. Finn was panicked and disgusted by them--he wouldn't even pet one.

After we left the pumpkin farm, we were honored to attend a tree-planting at the kids' elementary school in Jeff's memory. Regan's Girl Scout Troop decided to plant a tree at their school as a living memorial to Jeff and yesterday was the big "planting." All the Girl Scouts were there; many parents stayed to help; other friends just came to support us and to honor Jeff. It was very touching. The girls were very dedicated to the task and the parents that helped made it both fun and educational. I was very impressed.

We kept things going today and went to mass and then to the cemetery. The kids took turns watering the sod on Jeff's grave. This afternoon we went to our nanny Lauren's house and carved pumpkins with her dad, sister, brother, cousin, and friend. We provided the pumpkins; Lauren's Dad provided the hospitality and one of the best meals I've ever eaten in my entire life. That only sounds like hyperbole, but if anything it is an understatement. This man can cook! It was a wonderful, wonderful evening. One of highlights of the night was that Jack and Regan met their new idol: Lauren's big brother, Brian. Brian is super cool and was a very patient playmate. (I think I owe him a beer). The kids said all the way home how much fun they had and what a great night it was. I'm sure that will be small consolation to Lauren's Dad when he realizes the magnitude of the disaster we left in his wake. (I think I owe him a 12-pack; and possibly some legal damages). Somehow the pumpkins seem like an insultingly inequitable exchange!

But, I'm happy to know that this weekend my kids played hard and had fun. The best part now is that they'll sleep well tonight and, if they're lucky, they'll have dreams of artful Jack-o-Lanterns and kitty-whisker kisses.

With love and appreciation to all the friends who treat us like family,
Kelly

Mass and Memorials

2008-10-16T17:04:00.005-05:00

Hi All. I just wanted to let you know that a Memorial Mass was held for Jeff today at 7:30 a.m. at the Pius X High School Chapel in Lincoln, Nebraska. I don't know if they planned it this way--but the mass was held almost three weeks to the minute since Jeff died. Father Jim Meysenburg, Superintendent of Pius, and Monsignor Liam Barr, Pastor of St. Joseph Catholic Church presided over the mass. Monsignor Barr is a long-time family friend of Jeff's and is one of the priests that married us and that also concelebrated at his funeral. But, his greatest contribution to Jeff's life was that he unwittingly played match-maker in Jeff's love affair with Irish tea when Monsignor Barr's mother taught Jeff how to make a perfect pot of Bewley's in the true Irish tradition!

Now, back to the business at hand: Over 60 of Jeff’s classmates, past teachers, and family attended the memorial and breakfast reception this morning. Fresh fruit, coffee cake and breads were served; lots of memories were shared; and I hear that stories from the blog were shared too. Thanks to everyone who planned and executed the event and an even bigger Thanks to everyone who attended to honor Jeff.

In other news, I am beginning to get a handle on the magnitude of the memorials people gave in response to Jeff's last wishes. I will be forwarding your generous donations to St. Jude the Apostle Parish, the Wilson PTSA, and the Notre Dame Club of Milwaukee next week. In the meantime, I am most astounded at the memorials donated to our family and designated for the benefit of our children--in all, nearly $4,000.

Before Jeff died, he said that he was "afraid someone might try to set up a scholarship fund for the kids" as a result of his death. This may strike you as odd given that most parents would HOPE someone would establish an educational fund for their children's benefit. But, not Jeff. He was strongly opinionated and felt that because he had to always work as a teenager and pay not only for college but for his own high school tuition and for all of his other personal expenses (gas, dates, entertainment, etc.) that our children should, likewise, pay their own way through college via summer jobs, work study opportunities, scholarships and student loans. Jeff's rationale was that anything you earn yourself, you will truly appreciate. Anything given to you for nothing will be taken for granted.

This is where our opinions diverged. I, too, have had a job since I was fourteen years old--more often than not, I had more than one job at a time. However, this was not imposed upon me by my parents as a means of fostering responsibility or maturity. It was not intended as an example for my younger siblings or as goodly use of talents to benefit my character and my community. For me, hard work was something else.

I was raised by a single mother who, throughout most of my childhood, worked as a waitress. I only dreamed that someone would throw me a bone so I wouldn't have to work so hard. I saw my mother work, and work, and work, and work with no reward other than bad knees and discounted meals from her employer. I saw my two brothers suffer through six years in the Marine Corps because it was the best way for them to get money for college. I was a smart and talented kid: I got good grades, I was a asset to my employers, I was a responsible and popular babysitter. But, I'm 35 years old and I'm still paying off student loans. I think this is the essence of where Jeff and I had different perspectives on hard-work and paying your own way: he saw it as a virtue and I saw it as an inescapable, sometimes painful, necessity.

In fact, one of the saddest realizations for me during Jeff's illness was that I was going to be a single mother and not because it meant I would have to work hard for the rest of my life, but because I knew that my kids would now have to work hard too--and not the virtuous character-building hard work that Jeff had envisioned for them, but rather the kind that makes you tired--the kind that makes you also work hard against bitterness and jealousy.

But, even Jeff, at the end of his life, began to understand my perspective. One of the greatest gifts of his illness was the empathy he developed. He said that although he achieved everything he had on his own, he felt that he did it at the expense of getting to know Michael and Michelle (his youngest siblings) better. He said that when he wasn't at school or a related activity, he was working and as a result, he feels like he lost out on a lot with Michael and Michelle.

And, so, what I'm getting at here through all this long-winded family history and disclosure is that I've decided to divide the $4,000 in family memorials among our four children to be used for their educations. I don't know if Jeff would approve of this decision, but Jeff was analytical and logical and objective, so here is my argument: If our children are able to earn even $8.00 per hour as high school students, and work approximately 15 hours per week while still engaged in school and activities, then $1,000 will amount to nearly two months of gross wages. This will give them some latitude in the employment they pursue (for half of one summer, anyway) and may even give them the opportunity to spend two months volunteering--which is an absolute condition precedent nowadays to getting scholarships and university acceptance letters. It will relieve their burdens ever so slightly, yet hopefully be something that will give them some breathing room if they ever feel overwhelmed by the piling-on of educational costs or the expense of "just one more thing" (like several application fees to various colleges). And, Jeff can be reassured, $1,000 per child is not enough to spare any one of them the necessity of hard work, summer jobs, scholarship applications, and student loans. And, in my opinion, it's not getting "something for nothing" that they, therefore, won't appreciate. Their father died. They will "earn" that money every time they give Finn a bath or fold a basket of laundry or rake the leaves because Jeff is not here to help me with those things.

So, I like to think Jeff would agree with my executive decision. If not, I hope he'll let me know . . .I'm still waiting for my "sign."

Love, Kelly

No News

2008-10-14T22:22:00.005-05:00

I really have nothing new to report: I just thought I should post something as a strategy to maintain interest.

I went back to work this week--and no sooner did I arrive at the office than I was summoned to jury duty. God definitely has a sense of humor. So, I spent most of my first day back on the job at the courthouse with 40 other Milwaukee County citizens undergoing voir dire (a fancy lawyer word for "jury selection.") Fortunately, I was not selected for the five-day-long trial that will usurp the rest of the week. Whew!

Today, was much better. Work was good. After work was even better. Tonight the kids and I went with one of our nannies to watch her little sister's high school Varsity volleyball game. It was a lot of fun. The kids were very well-behaved (meaning nobody ran onto the court) and I got to visit with other adults. It was a relaxed, fun, all-around pleasant evening.

Finally, I have selected Jeff's (our) headstone (we have side-by-side plots and a joint headstone). It will take two to four months to deliver but it will be worth the wait. I think it may very well be the nicest headstone in the cemetery. The kids all helped choose it and approved the final decision. It will be nice to finally have a monument to landscape and decorate. Believe it or not, some of Jeff's "neighbors" have Halloween decorations on their graves. I don't know why, but it strikes me as ironic.

Speaking of Halloween, the kids are gearing up--Jack and Finn have their costumes already. Regan is still finalizing hers. We've put up some decorations and might try to carve pumpkins this weekend.

So, that's the Big News around here. And after two years like we've just had: no news is good news.

Love, Kelly

Sunday Ritual: Take Two!

2008-10-12T21:12:00.003-05:00

I've received a couple of phone calls today inquiring whether today's "ritual" was any better than last week's. I hope no one thought I was too disappointed or sensitive about last week's antics: quite the opposite. I was trying to illustrate just how quickly things return to "normal" and to make light of how sometimes, as parents, we have to just roll with the punches.

Nonetheless, this week's "ritual" was better. First, Finn woke up at 8:00 a.m. instead of 7:00 a.m. Suh-weet! Life always seems better after an extra hour of sleep. I fed him a banana to tide him over while Jack and Regan helped me make Monkey Bread. (It only has four ingredients and is so mindless that even I can manage it). So, we feasted at home on Monkey Bread and sausage. While we ate, I casually mentioned that, "Oh yeah, by the way, this is Dad's memory breakfast for this week, so what memories do you want to share of him?" Regan was only marginally annoyed that we weren't going to a "real" restaurant, but was quick to share her memory. Jack and Aubrey chimed in, too, and then Regan asked "what do you miss about Dad, Mom?"

I said that "what I miss most is not having him here to talk to." Regan said, "well, you'll always have us to talk to." Which was a sweet sentiment, but, understandably naive. The kids cannot substitute for Jeff--I cannot speak to them as friends or confidants. They cannot soothe the realization that from this point in my life, every tragedy that befalls me will find me alone and undefended. They cannot help me rationalize the resentment I feel when I consider that no man who was obligated to take care of me for the rest of my life ever stuck around to finish the job. No--I must save these conversations for the good and patient friends who have stayed on the phone with me past midnight and, perhaps, for any unwitting pedestrian who has the ill-fate of standing within earshot of me.

Of course, I am kidding. I have not had to turn to strangers for help or a listening ear thanks to all of you who so generously continue to support me and my kids. But this weekend has been particularly trying--and for no other reason than I'm tired. I'm absolutely physically exhausted. And I've realized that no matter how many sincere and well-meaning people say, "I will do anything you need, Kelly"--they simply cannot. They cannot be at my dinner table, half-way through a meal, when Finn has decided he is DONE and I am still trying to eat (usually while standing) and wipe whatever bare minimum of yogurt from his hair and face and hands will allow him to be picked up and attended to and still allow me to finish eating. They cannot rescue me when I'm getting slapped and kicked and cried-on and snotted-on (Finn still has a cold) in church and take a turn in the hallway telling Finn "no no" a thousand times as he terrorizes the drinking fountains and Holy Water fonts. They cannot, while I am taking MY turn in the hallway, take the burden off of a grieving 13 year old who now must enforce the "rules" ("be quiet, Jack; kneel up, Regan") for children who are--more often than not--orphaned at mass. And I know that having Jeff would not necessarily mitigate these scenarios--in fact, he had been unable to physically lift Finn for quite a while and had slowly abdicated his role as our household's primary parent throughout the summer. But, it was still nice to have someone who could share a knowing glance or who would at least try his hand at distraction or who would give my eyes and ears a moment's rest. Because when you have two parents in the house, one parent can at least assume the other parent is occupying the children if they are too quiet or nowhere to be seen. Now, I have no such satisfaction. Instead, anything and everything that happens, happens on my watch. There is no changing of the guards or leaving my post. It makes me tired.

But, before I submit to my pity party, I think you should know this: (1) I am a Big Baby because I am uncommonly privileged to have two world-class nannies who take-one-for-the-team five days a week. They--and the kids' schools/teachers--do most of my weekday parenting for me, so any sob-story you get from me is pure hyperbole; and (2) this weekend held many highlights that far surpass any sadness or frustration implied above. First, I--singlehandedly--put sod on Jeff's grave. It looks so much better. Jeff would be astounded to know I did it myself (sod is freakin' heavy!) and he would likely be full of criticism about the end result, but it looks better than it did, so I'm happy and proud that I actually accomplished something on my "to do" list (and, uh, speaking of my "to do" list: writing the thank you notes is slowly making its way up the list. Baby steps.). Also, the kids had a fun weekend with their friends and anytime they can play with friends and have a sense of freedom and "normalcy" it's a good weekend. I smiled outloud when I had all my kids and the Murphy boys in my van (on a quick outing to Dairy Queen and the park) when they started singing along with a CD Abe brought along. They all belted out "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I loved it. It couldn't have been more fitting, either . . .

As for the rest of the day: I talked to my sister; my Dad called to check on me; friends brought us food; they had donuts at church (!!!); I finished three loads of laundry; AND I even snuck in a nap while Finn was sleeping. So, all in all, it was a very good day.

I'll update again soon. Until then . . .

Kelly

Eerie

2008-10-09T21:57:00.003-05:00

"Jeff,

This is bound to be the dreariest, most sorrowful day of my life. My happiness, my spirit, my everything left when you did. Tears are spilling down my cheeks and all I can think about is how much I need you right now . . .

And so today, I begin waiting. Perhaps I will learn some patience. it's like you said, in so many words--'I'm sure there is some good to come of out of this.' . . . You are priceless to me, Jeff, and now that you are away from me, the memory of your presence is my most valuable possession and until you return to me, I will relive every moment I've ever shared with you--I will feel every touch, hear every word and read every letter all a thousand times because each thing I do will bring me one second closer to having you back with me. I feel so hollow, so lost and so far from the world. I will always love you--you are all I think about, you're all I see and feel and there's not enough words in the world to describe the pain of missing you."

I wrote these exact words in a letter to Jeff on September 26th, 1992--the day AFTER he left for Ireland to study abroad for a year. So, that means he left for Ireland on September 25th, 1992. It's eerie to think that 16 years later--to the day--he would depart again and that I could have written that same letter to him today as I did so many years ago.

On a side note, "eerie" is maybe a little too close for comfort to the Gaelic (Irish) word for Ireland: Eire.

Jeff and I wrote literally hundreds of letters to each other from the time we met on my Dad's birthday (June 9th) in 1989 until we were married on Jeff's birthday (May 21st) in 1994. Jeff put several of the "better" letters in a scrapbook and gave it to me for Christmas several years ago. I was going though it tonight and found the letter quoted above.

I was puzzled as to why Jeff chose September 25th to die. I sensed that he thought he would be dead by September 25th, but I did not understand the significance of that date. In the weeks preceding his death, he had had several visitors offer to visit shortly thereafter (September 25th, October 3rd, etc.) and each time he told them to come sooner--he was afraid the 25th would be too late. As September 25th approached it appeared he was wrong--he had not yet shown evidence of the "active stages of dying" and despite profound and difuse liver tumors he had shown no signs of jaundice or other complications of liver disease whatsoever. He was mentally sharp and was not in a coma. In fact, on the night of the 24th, the hospice nurse told me that his lungs were clear, his heartbeat was strong and that with young people, "their strong hearts can keep them going for a while." So, I was surprised the end came so soon--but not surprised it came on September 25th. Now it seems clear: that is Jeff's preferred day for special departures.

'til next time . . .
Kelly

Rituals and Remembering

2008-10-06T21:56:00.004-05:00

Welcome back. Shortly after Jeff died (and maybe even before), the kids and I decided that we would create a new family ritual: every Sunday we would go to breakfast and tell our stories and memories of Daddy; we would go to mass, and then go visit him at the cemetery. This past Sunday was our first opportunity to implement our ritual. Let's just say it looked better on paper than it did in action.

First, Finn had been up since 7:00 a.m. and needed to be fed almost immediately (as usual). His little tummy is hungry when he wakes up and he is very impatient! So, Finn feasted on Eggo Waffles and, since he had already had breakfast, was likely going to be an unwilling participant in the second breakfast I was plotting for him. I waited until Jack and Regan were awake and I barely pacified them until 9:00 a.m. when I decided it was time to wake up Aubrey (she had been out late at a friend's house the night before). So, we got a late start and didn't leave the house until 9:30 a.m. My vision of all of us joyfully springing out of bed simultaneously, dressed and ready to go at 7:00 a.m. was beginning to seem a little ill-conceived.

Then I got another bad idea: I let the kids negotiate with me to determine the breakfast restaurant. So, due to the regulations of democracy, we ended up holding Jeff's first memorial breakfast at McDonald's. (Note to self: No more governing by consensus). I have nothing against McDonald's, by the way. In fact, I love the Bacon, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit meal, but I had envisioned four very well-mannered and well-dressed children enjoying a manicured buffet and a view of Lake Michigan.

Instead, this is what I got: at McDonald's, Jack and Regan fought with each other, Aubrey couldn't choke down her breakfast burrito because it was laced with salsa, and Finn had a temper tantrum because he wanted Jack's pancakes (note that two whole hours had elapsed since he had been fed. He has the appetite of a Hobbit). Although, to clarify--Finn didn't really want the pancakes. He just wanted to practice eating them with a Big Boy Fork. So, when he wasn't making a total mess of himself, he was screaming in frustration at the uncooperative fork. He labored for approximately 20 minutes under the mistaken belief that throwing his head back, twisting backwards in the highchair, and covering his face in snot and tears was the secret combination that would unlock the mysteries of the fork.

Old ladies, (who were clearly regulars and who clearly make Sundays special at McDonald's) were looking at me with either exasperation or pity--I'm not sure which. I'm pretty sure it was exasperation, but I'm going to pretend it was pity. So, as soon as was reasonably possible, I announced breakfast was over--Regan finished her pancakes and sausage in the car on the way to the cemetery.

At the cemetery, the kids were only slightly disturbed by Jeff's grave. His grave is still very raw and fresh--just a pile of dirt littered with clods and sticks. They said, "it looks like he could reach up out of it." And I have to admit, they are right. So, I am going to transplant some grass/sod from our yard onto the grave. Jeff would love that and the kids will enjoy visiting more. So, after making their morbid observation, they (with the exception of Aubrey), chased each other around the cemetery. Then we loaded up and headed off to mass.

Mass brought it's own fun and excitement: First, I don't think I've enjoyed an entire mass start-to-finish since 1995, so I shouldn't be surprised, but Finn was as boisterous and obnoxious as he could be. So, after I settled the kids into our regular pew, I ushered Finn into the hallway. While we were out there, we met another parent with his one-year old daughter--she was also too energetic for church. We were chatting and loitering near a statue of Jesus when Finn looked at the statue and said, "Da da." He tried to climb up to it (it was on a ledge and the statue itself was 3 or 4 feet tall) and he started waving to it and blowing it kisses and calling it "Da da." It was truly adorable and completely heartbreaking. The man I was visiting with said, "well, he must sure like his father if Jesus reminds him of him." I said, "his father died last week and he just misses him and looks for him everywhere he goes." The man looked like he was going to throw up and said, "Oh, I'm sorry." Then, he scooped up his daughter and took her over to the opposite side of the vestibule and didn't talk to us anymore.

Now, I'm aware that I create a certain awkwardness for everyone I encounter--anyone who knows of my situation and meets me must grapple with whether or not to say something; whether to acknowledge "It" and, if so, what to say, etc. but I had never had anyone literally run away scared. The good news is that Finn was undeterred. He continues to search for Jeff and was delighted tonight to find him in a picture in our home office. He picked up the picture and pointed to Jeff's face and said "Da da." I clapped for him and told him how smart he was to find Daddy in the picture. He carried the picture around for a while before trying to take it out of the frame--proclaiming "Da da" intermittently and applauding himself. Again, it was both adorable and unbearably sad.

But, I am comforted to know that God is "father of the fatherless" (Psalm 68:5) and will be my co-parent going forward. On a side note, I am less comforted to hear that God is "judge of the widows" (Psalm 68:5), because if you read the "Rules for Widows" (1 Timothy 5:3-16) in the First Letter to Timothy, it sounds like young widows are not held in particularly high esteem. So, I shall endeavor every day to deserve Jeff's station in Heaven.

Well, it's late and I'm tired, so I must sign off for now. Thanks for reading! Until next time, take care.

Kelly

A Quick Update

2008-10-04T20:42:00.004-05:00

Jeff's hometown newspaper, The Lincoln Journal Star, ran a short article about him and his blog today. You can access the article on-line via the following link:

http://www.journalstar.com/articles/2008/10/04/news/local/doc48e6b7642bf9d009654031.txt#blogcomments

In the meantime, I have learned that there will be a memorial mass for Jeff in Lincoln, Nebraska on Thursday, October 16th at 7:30 a.m. at the Pius X Chapel with a light breakfast to follow. One of Jeff's high school classmates asked me to pass this information along. Please RSVP to her at schrollfamily@gmail.com if you plan to attend so they can estimate a head count.

In other news, all is well on the home front. The kids are happy and thriving--I'm sure in no small part due to the fact we continue to be surrounded by loving and compassionate friends. I've been fortunate to have deep and meaningful conversations with several friends and family members--my fear of having no one to talk to seems laughable! It's been a very good weekend and I am so grateful that I've been able to eat and sleep and that I have not succumbed to sorrow or fear--both of which seem to have grown bored with me and have meandered off to annoy someone else. I'll gladly take the reprieve.

Please check back soon.

Love, Kelly

Untitled

2008-10-02T21:47:00.004-05:00

It seems melodramatic to say that I've survived one week without the love of my life--especially when other wives send their husbands to war with no promise of a return or even a phone call for months or years on end. Indeed, if at any point during Jeff's illness God had said to me, "Kelly, I will cure him. He will live forever in complete comfort and happiness, but in return, you have to promise to never see him or hear from him again" I would have quickly and without hesitation agreed to the bargain. The fact that Jeff is dead really doesn't change the terms all that much--I merely need to uphold my end of the deal. So, now I must wait for "forever" to come so that I can see him again.

The trouble is that forever can be a very long time. I used to never feel like I had enough time to do anything--I rushed from task to task and place to place under the constant pressure of too little time. Now, all I have is time. Now, there is nothing BUT time. For Jeff, "forever" was only 36 years, 4 months and 4 days. I think of all the times I prayed for a long healthy life and now I think, "be careful what you wish for--you just might get it." And of course, I want to live a long and healthy life--especially for my children--but I long to see Jeff's blue eyes again and to hear his voice and I worry that my memories of these things will either distort or diminish over time and that, eventually, I will only remember the Jeff that I created and not the one that was.

I know I will never forget Jeff. The kids will never forget him. And it's clear from the amazing turn-out at his visitation and funeral that others will remember him fondly and often. I know it sounds crazy, (I'm convinced that grief breeds insanity), but I would love a little reciprocation--just a little sign from Jeff that he remembers me too. I thought that death would bring more mystery and emotion. I thought that I would have a dream or hear a song or see a cardinal in the yard (Jeff loved watching them from our back porch) or some other glimmer of other-worldly communication unmistakeably intended for me. Instead, I am astounded by the nothingness of death. There are no signs. No sense of his presence. No shadows or flickers in the corner of my eye. There is, quite simply, nothing.

Even stranger, is that this does not upset me. Today, no one has cancer. Today, I am no one's wife. Today we are a party of five instead of a family of six. I have pondered these facts with an uncharacteristic ambivalence. I love Jeff and always will, but he is dead and as much as it pains me to say it, I will be fine without him. I have to be. And my kids have to be. So we are going back to school and back to work and will continue to live as the living do. Furthermore, I believe that if Heaven is all that we are told it is and someone in Heaven can only experience blissful moments, then the more we cry and lament and beat our chests in grief, the more we separate ourselves from Jeff because he cannot share in our agony. However, by living joyfully and by laughing and smiling we draw him nearer to us. So, I am choosing to grieve happily and to mourn consciously in joy and with the expectation that it is helpful to Jeff and, therefore, to all of us.

In the meantime, I am tethered to this world and the human emotions within it, so I still cry and feel sorry that Jeff had to suffer and die so soon and I make room for him and his memory in our "new" life without him. I have visited his grave twice each day since he was buried. He does not yet have a headstone (they take two or three months to deliver) and in the meantime, his grave is unmarked, so I bought a "shepherd's hook" (for hanging baskets in a garden) and placed it at the corner of his grave with a special wind chime hanging on it. Jeff loved wind chimes (which is not something he widely publicized), and would always shop for one as a souvenir when we went on vacation. Unfortunately, he never found one that had a sound/tone that he liked. So, I don't know if he'll like the sound of the one I gave him, but it is beautiful to look at--very eye-catching--and will at least make enough noise to herald the fact that he is buried beneath it.

Well, this is a long and rambling post, but now that I have no one to talk to at night, you will likely see more where this came from. Sad, but true.

Until next time, thanks for continuing to support us and pray for all of us. I am slowly making headway opening all the cards and memorials and have been overwhelmed by people's generosity and kindness. Our house is filled to bursting with flowers and food and it is such a comfort--not to mention a flattering reminder of what a wonderful father I chose for my children and that you all chose as your friend. May God Bless him and Keep him.

Kelly

Jeff's Obituary

2008-09-28T16:51:00.002-05:00

For those of you who do not have access to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, I thought you might like to read Jeff's obituary as it ran in today's Sunday edition:

DODD, JEFFREY NEAL

Jeff Dodd, age 36, died on Thursday, September 25th 2008 from metastatic melanoma, a deadly form of skin cancer. He has promised to always be with his wife, Kelly, his daughters, Aubrey (age 13), and Regan (age 9), and his sons, Jack (age 7) and Finn (age 16 months).

Jeff was grateful for the life he lived. In time, he lived in Lincoln, Nebraska, Maynooth, Ireland, and South Bend, Indiana before settling in Wauwatosa. For eleven years he was a work-at-home Dad and freelance writer. His passion was creative writing and he completed many poems and a screenplay with hope of one day being a published novelist. His other passion was home maintenance and remodeling which extended even to his own home—parts of which he designed, built, and maintained with his own hands.

When he found out that he had an inoperable and incurable form of cancer, he felt no regret nor did he feel a need to make drastic changes in his life. He was grateful for the opportunity to take his children to school, eat lunch with them, and play with them everyday. He instilled them with values and morals and influenced their personalities.

Jeff is survived by his parents, Mary and Gary Dodd, and four siblings, Patrick Dodd, Mary Margaret Clay, Michael Dodd, and Michelle Wait, and a large extended family consisting of far too many relatives and friends to possibly mention within the limitations of this small column. Most importantly, Jeff is survived by his best friend and wife, Kelly, who will love him and honor him all the days of her life. His personal strength, obedience, and trustworthiness lives in his daughter, Aubrey. His persistence, commitment to his convictions, and directness continues through his daughter, Regan. His beautiful face, inherent goodness, and love of God lives on in his son, Jack. And his lovely sparkle, playfulness and sense of humor shine in abundance in his son, Finn.

Visitation on Monday, September, 29, 2008, at the Funeral Home from 4 p.m. until the time of Rosary Service at 7 p.m. A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated on Tuesday, September 30 at St. Jude the Apostle Catholic Church, 800 Glenview Drive, Wauwatosa at 10 a.m. Burial to follow at Wauwatosa Cemetery.

Many people and causes were important to Jeff. Among them are the communities at Perry Court, Wilson Elementary School, St. Jude the Apostle Parish, and the Notre Dame Alumni Association of Milwaukee. Jeff gave selflessly to each of these organizations, serving in leadership roles and collecting friends who would generously comfort and support him throughout his last illness. He wishes to continue to support them through his death and asks that if you wish to make a memorial, you make it to either St. Jude the Apostle Parish, the Wilson Elementary School PTSA, or the LaTour/Dodd Scholarship of the Notre Dame Alumni Club of Milwaukee.

Funeral Arrangements

2008-09-26T13:13:00.002-05:00

We will celebrate Jeff's life at a visitation on Monday, September 29th from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. at Schmidt Bartelt Funeral Home, 10121 W. North Avenue, Wauwatosa (414-774-5010) with a rosary to follow starting at 7:00 p.m. A funeral mass will be held on Tuesday, September 30th at 10:00 a.m. at St. Jude the Apostle Parish, 734 Glenview Avenue, Wauwatosa. We will immediately proceed to the Wauwatosa Cemetery, (on 76th street behind Longfellow middle school). After internment, will will likely serve a light lunch (details will be announced as they become available).

Please spread the word. It's shaping up to be one for the record books!

In the meantime, thanks for all of your calls, flowers, cards, visits, etc. It has made all of this so much easier to bear.

THANK YOU!

(And if you're just tuning in . . . make sure to read Jeff's Final Blog below. I hate to displace it with a funeral notice).

Everytime a Bell Rings . . .

2008-09-25T10:30:00.003-05:00

Our angel got his wings this morning at 7:45 a.m. The end was peaceful and so quick that it was unexpected. It appears that his surge of energy on Monday was a final "Hurrah" before another rapid decline. He spent Tuesday and Wednesday knocked-out on Atavan and pain medication in response to a lot of pain he was having in his left ankle (of all places?). He never really awoke and slipped away peacefully in his sleep. I stayed with him until his warmth left him and until he became stiff. Even in death the human body is amazing. I was so glad the kids and I were able to be with him and to say our final goodbyes. The kids have been incredibly resilient and I am so grateful to have such competent, caring, people around them right now who know exactly how to handle the situation and who aren't afraid to be part of all of this.

I'm sorry if you have not received a personal phone call regarding the news. I am preoccupied making arrangements. Jeff drafted a final blog before he died and he asked that I post it upon his death.

So, here are his parting thoughts and words.

(P.S. I, Kelly, will continue to post here to let everyone know about funeral arrangements, etc. and will also use this blog to communicate about the aftermath of Jeff's death--about how I and the kids are doing etc. So, I hope you'll keep reading).

MY FINAL BLOG

Hi! The fact that you are reading this means I have died. I asked Kelly to post this after my death. She did not read it beforehand so its content is as fresh to her and the kids as it is to you. I weighed carefully whether I wanted to post a final blog like this. On one hand, a “letter from the dead” seems a bit morbid. But ultimately I decided that I wanted to share some thoughts that provided comfort to me in the end. I hope that they give you some insight into how I viewed my battle with melanoma and my approaching death.

Where’s The Justice?
Before this happened, I had never questioned why things happened. To me, the answer seemed clear: they happened because there were causes. A tsunami wipes out a village because an earthquake shakes the ocean floor. A plane filled with business travelers crashes into an office tower because a mob of cowardly terrorists chose that flight for their suicide mission. The innocent bystanders don’t deserve to die, and certainly they (and their friends and relatives) deserve great compassion for the circumstances in which they find themselves. But God didn’t make those things happen. People or nature did.

Then this happened to me.

And of course I questioned why it happened, looked for justice in the situation. I felt like I had led a healthy life, had made wise and careful decisions about how I conducted myself, had done plenty of praying, and was an asset to my community. So why would I get stuck with a diagnosis like this? When there were so many people who had abused themselves in one way or other, who had made bad and dangerous decisions, who ignored God completely, and who were not assets to their communities—and yet these people were living to ripe old ages—why was I the one who had to face the prospect of an early death? If God was a God of justice, where was the justice in this?

And then, as I pondered the situation for the umpteenth time, it dawned on me that this was justice. The facts are that I have fair skin and I was sunburned many times as a kid. One time, when I was 19, the burn was so bad I ended up with painful blisters on my face, shoulders, arms, legs, and feet. And I remember the exact thought that struck me as I looked at myself in the mirror and realized the extent of that particular sunburn: “I probably just killed myself with skin cancer.” It was obviouds then; I know now as I knew then that I have this cancer because of my own actions. I may be blameless for those actions, at least to the extent that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t use sunscreen in those days; few people did. But the outcome could not be called unjust. It was simply the inevitable consequence of my actions.

Opportunities
I spent a lot of time begging God for healing during those first several months after my diagnosis. I prayed almost constantly that he would perform a miracle and rid my body of the melanoma. I also spent a lot of time wondering—for the first time in my life—whether there really was a God, whether there really was an afterlife, and whether there was any value to prayer. I hadn’t given much thought to these subjects in the past, but they suddenly seemed very important now that I faced the possibility of dying. The lessons I learned in religion class looked quite feeble when I viewed them next to the apparently iron-clad proofs that scientists and atheists made for a wholly material world.

They looked feebler still after the melanoma metastasized to my brain and I underwent brain surgery, lost the use of my leg, and spent a month laying in a bed in the hospital. This rather dramatic sequence of events might have seemed to be an emphatic answer to my questions. See, these might say, this is what will happen. Not because of God but because there is no God. The universe began with a disinterested bang, and it’s been operating in a disinterested cause-and-effect ever since. Prayers are irrelevant.

It would have been difficult for me to dispute this argument, except for a strange event that happened six days before my craniotomy. It was a Monday afternoon, and I had jogged three laps around the Hart Park track in Wauwatosa. Those were the first three laps I had run on a track since high school. I had given up running for more than 15 years because it wasn’t fun for me anymore. But that particular Monday, as I walked past the track, the thought struck me that it might be fun to run again. And it was. Seeing once again the lane markings, feeling the spongy recycled-tire surface under my feet, striding past the grandstands, it all made me remember why I had enjoyed running as a boy and motivated me to want to do it again. Moreover, it renewed my desire to beat this cancer. The fact that I couldn’t extend my left leg when I got home seemed irrelevant.

It wasn’t. That was actually the first symptom of a swelling brain tumor. The following Saturday morning, I underwent a craniotomy.

During the following weeks, it became increasingly more apparent that the surgery had left me with a permanent disability and I would never run again. Surprisingly, I was not particularly angry about this new development. I was grateful that the doctor had been able to remove the lesion. I was grateful that I was close to home and could have lots of visitors. And I was grateful because I had run those laps around the track. Some people might call it a coincidence. From my perspective, however, it was as if God had given me the opportunity to run—and I had chosen to take advantage of the opportunity through my free will—because He knew I would never have that opportunity again.

I began to think of some of the other “opportunities” that had presented themselves in the past year. I had pulled my bike out of the shed for the first time in seven years and taken several rides with each of the kids. Coincidence or opportunity? In the days immediately prior to my diagnosis, I had completed the last task in our home renovation. Coincidence or opportunity? We had taken our first big family vacation the summer before my diagnosis, and the Christmas that preceded my diagnosis—by a mere eight days!—was undoubtedly the best Christmas we had celebrated as a family. Even if I had gone into complete remission, we couldn’t have had another vacation or Christmas like those, so carefree and hopeful with no worries about the future. Coincidence or opportunity?

And then there was Finn. Kelly and I were not expecting to have any more children. Jack was five years old, and we were starting to get comfortable with the notion that God had given us all the children we were meant to have. Then Kelly found out she was pregnant. It took us by surprise, and we wondered to ourselves why God would give us this baby at this time. The timing seemed even worse after my diagnosis. But then Finn was born, and God’s answer was clear. If ever a family needed something to celebrate it was us at that time. Here was a special person that we could love and, equally importantly, who could love us at a time when we needed it most. Coincidence or opportunity?

I am an objective person by nature. I think logically and believe firmly in rational thought. I considered all of these situations carefully and, while admitting that some of them might be coincidences, cannot accept that so many seemingly random events would coincide in such a way by pure chance. Assuming there is a God—and I am convinced that there is for several reasons, not the least of which are Thomas Aquinas’ Five Proofs—and assuming that He interacts with His creation, then these kind of “opportunities” seem to me like the most probable way He would do so. These opportunities respect the gift of free will and provide comfort without interfering with the forces of nature. Miracles, by their very nature, are not common. And I really do not think we would want them to be any other way.

For some reason, my recognition of these “opportunities” seemed to quell any doubts I had about prayer, Heaven, and God. I think this feeling of acceptance—you might call it Faith—is probably also an answer to a prayer.

You Have To Die
But enough philosophizing. The real issue, at least in many people’s minds (including my own), was whether the treatments would work or not. In other words, was I going to live or die?

As you might expect, I have found that contemplating my own death has been both sad and worrisome. Questions arise that have no answers: Who will give away my daughters at their weddings? Who will take my sons to their first Notre Dame games? Who will comfort Kelly when she is feeling lonely or overwhelmed? Will Kelly be able to make it as a single working mom? Will the kids have problems coping without their father? Most of these questions, I decided, are not worth worrying about. Anything can happen in life, and I don’t know what the future holds for my family. What I do know is that Kelly is an amazingly strong woman and my children are incredibly resilient human beings. They will handle whatever comes along the same way they always have: with hope and with courage and with prayer.

One question, however, I could not dismiss so easily: what is the purpose of all this? It seemed like there should be a moral to the story, but I could not find one. I don’t see how it benefits my wife and kids in any way to be stripped of their husband and father at such a young age. I don’t think my disease and death have advanced the scientific understanding of melanoma. I considered so many reasons why my death would have a purpose, but ultimately none of them satisfied me. Of course, you often find answers where you least expect them.

Last summer, Kelly and I rented “Stranger Than Fiction.” I had looked forward to seeing this movie ever since my friend Marc Schulte had recommended it during his visit to see me in Houston. I had expected to enjoy the film, in no small part because of Marc’s recommendation. But I had not expected it to speak so directly to my situation. The movie, which stars Will Ferrell, Dustin Hoffman, and Emma Thompson, involves a man named Harold (Ferrell) who begins to hear a voice in his head. He soon discovers that this voice is actually the voice of an author (Thompson) who has a reputation for killing off her main characters. Afraid that his end is near, Harold asks a college literature professor (Hoffman) to persuade the author to let his character live. The professor succeeds in talking to the author and getting a copy of the work in progress. He then—in what to me was the most important scene in the film—meets with Harold to discuss the situation. Here’s how it goes:

Professor Hilbert stands near a window, looking out at the street below.
Harold enters the room.

Harold
Professor Hilbert?

Professor Hilbert
Hi Harold.

Harold
Hi.

Professor Hilbert
You look tired.

Harold
No. No, just calm.

Professor Hilbert
Harold, I’m sorry. You have to die.

Harold
What?

Professor Hilbert
It’s her masterpiece. It’s possibly the most important novel in her already stunning career, and it’s absolutely no good unless you die at the end. I’ve been over it again and again, and I know, I know how hard this is for you to hear.

Harold
You’re asking me to knowingly face my death?

Professor Hilbert
Yes.

Harold
Really?

Professor Hilbert
Yes.

Harold
I thought you’d, I thought you’d find something.

Professor Hilbert
I’m sorry Harold.

Harold
Can’t we just try to see if she can change it?

Professor Hilbert
No.

Harold
No?

Professor Hilbert
Harold, in the grand scheme it wouldn’t matter.

Harold
Yes it would.

Professor Hilbert
No.

Harold
I could change. I could quit my job. I could go away with Anna. I could be someone else.

Professor Hilbert
Harold, listen to me.

Harold
I can’t die right now. It’s just really bad timing.

Professor Hilbert
No one wants to die, Harold, but unfortunately we do. Harold. Harold, listen to me. Harold, you will die, some day, some time. Heart failure at the bank. Choke on a mint. Some long, drawn-out disease you contracted on vacation. You will die. You will absolutely die. Even if you avoid this death, another will find you. And I guarantee that it won’t be nearly as poetic or meaningful as what she’s written. I’m sorry, but it’s, it’s the nature of all tragedies, Harold. The hero dies, but the story lives on forever.

This scene seemed to sum up so much of how I felt about my experience with melanoma and at the same time it provided great comfort. Like Harold, I was sad about what was happening; I didn’t want to die. But, as Professor Hilbert explains, each of us has a story. And each story has a particular way it is meant to end. We may not understand the why, but at some point to some one it all makes beautiful sense.

Prayers Answered.
So this is my story. And I’ve been privileged to have so many of you as a part of it. I am so grateful, not just in what you have done for me since I received my diagnosis but—far more importantly to me—in what you have done and continue to do for Kelly and the kids. I have been blessed to be surrounded by friends, relatives, and neighbors who genuinely care about my family and have proven they will do whatever they can to see that my children thrive and Kelly has the support she needs.

It is my fervent belief that, in spite of my death, prayers have been answered. The answers may have come in a way—or at a time—we didn’t expect, but sure enough they came. And they will continue to come. So keep praying for me and for each other. I’ll be praying for all of you.

Bye!
Jeff

Day to Day

2008-09-22T09:40:00.002-05:00

Kelly here, again. After sleeping for most of the day yesterday (from noon until midnight) without so much as changing positions, Jeff awoke at midnight and announced he was starving and wanted to eat. He turned on the T.V., ate some pudding and visited with me and the nurses. He told me he was no longer in pain--he wasn't even using the self-administered pain pump--and he slept easy through the night, even asking me to crawl in bed next to him at 4: 30 a.m. which I happily obliged.

This morning, he is conversant and alert. He ate a normal breakfast, has talked on the phone, and watched T.V. We have visited for most of the morning.

So, it appears that the weekend of lethargy and pain was cured by a marathon nap and a few more milligrams of Dilaudid.

Jeff requests that if you are planning to visit you bring some vanilla ice cream and a prayer for the whole family. He reminds you that he needs to keep conversations to a minimum, but otherwise is feeling quite well.

Kelly

An Eventful Update (of the no good kind)

2008-09-21T15:58:00.002-05:00

Hi Everybody. I am sorry to report that Jeff has taken another downward turn. The Hospice staff called me away from 9:00 a.m. mass this morning to let me know that Jeff was having considerable pain and that they were going to install a "PCA" (which is a self-administered pain pump). They also informed me that he appears to be weaker and that his overall condition has declined.

He battled pain and discomfort for most of last week and was also suffering from shortness of breath. In response, the Hospice team increased his pain medication to effectively combat both symptoms. Jeff had a ton of visitors on Friday, and his brother and father came to visit over the weekend and actually stayed with Jeff in the hospice. Rumor has it, Jeff even attempted to eat a Big Mac and french fries (which would have been his first solid food in three weeks). So, right now it's hard to tell how much of his lethargy and sleepiness is due to the stress of a busy weekend and how much is due to the disease simply running its course.

For now, he is comfortably resting and his pain seems to be largely under control. I remain watchful and hopeful. I will udpate you again soon.

Take care!
Kelly

An Uneventful Update (which are the best kind, these days)

2008-09-18T09:48:00.003-05:00

Despite the best intentions, Jeff has not felt strong enough to write a new post so, again, I am doing the honors.

Yesterday, they increased Jeff's oxycontin (sp?) because he had doubled the dose of Dilaudid for break-through pain the day before. The doctor said that instead of continuing to up the break-through pain meds, he would increase the baseline meds to give Jeff more consistent and more effective pain control. Therefore, he should require less mediation for the breakthrough pain. The downside of upping his oxycontin is that it makes him extremely tired and groggy. The doctor said this should only last a couple of days while Jeff's body adjusts to the new "baseline."

So, visits were short yesterday because Jeff was too tired to participate. I took Regan to see him for a one-on-one visit and after about 15 minutes she came to find me in the playroom with Jack and Finn. I said, "are you done visiting already??" and she said, "yeah, because Dad fell asleep." Later when we got home, she told me that she was sad he fell asleep and that she didn't really get to visit with him because "it's just one more day that I don't get to be with him." I felt so sorry for her. But, overall, the kids continue to do well and talk openly and honestly about their concerns. Except for Finn--Finn continues to express his anxiety by being extremely clingy at bed time. He cried solid from 8:30 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. last night before finally giving into exhaustion. At first, he was consoled if I held him or laid with him. But after a while, even that didn't work. He flopped around on the bed, rearranging himself and his pillow and his baby octopus that he sleeps with. He was angry and uncomfortable and finally cried himself to sleep around 3:00 a.m. I felt like doing the same thing, but didn't have the energy or an octopus.

My friend Barbara is going to take one for the team tonight. She's going to spend the night at our house with the kids so that I can spend the night at the hospice with Jeff. (Colleen, you are going to get your turn too as soon as I get around to returning your phone call, so consider this fair warning! Ha!). Jeff has been very lonely at night and had repeatedly asked me to stay with him at the hospice, so I am happy that we have finally made arrangements to make it possible. Nightime is when we had our best conversations--after the kids were in bed and we could finally connect about the day's events. I don't think Jeff will have much energy for talking, but that won't stop me from yammering on about work (they have been wonderful to me!); Aubrey (she just found out she is one of the Captains of the Cheerleading Squad!); Regan (her coach took me aside to tell me that Regan is "AWESOME" at soccer and to thank us for putting her on the team); Jack (the informational meeting about Cub Scouts is tonight); and Finn (the naughty, naughty monkey who won't go to bed!).

I will also spend part of the evening reading your blog comments to him. (Jim--don't let me down. Jeff loves your stories and thought your bitter tirade about Hardee's was particularly uplifting!) Keep 'em coming. And if any of the rest of you have funny stories to tell--don't hold back. Now's the time to let 'em rip (George--behave.) Jeff has said several times that although he appreciates everyone's encouragement and positive thoughts, he especially loves the lighthearted comments that do nothing more than distract him and make him laugh.

In the meantime, I'll try to be better about posting updates, now that I know Jeff will likely have me be his scribe until he's more alert and energetic. Until then, take care as always.

And--thanks to everyone who has visited, brought us treats, fed us dinner, run errands for us, etc. Thanks also to the friends, family members, and even strangers who have provided a listening ear and unlicensed therapy to me and my kids! The list of names would be too long to print here, but each one of you has been an angel to us. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can't say it enough!

Kelly et al.