In Memory

I learned this week that a high school classmate passed away. The funeral was this morning in Colorado. I sit here now, hours after he was laid to rest, collecting the thoughts and feelings that have been swirling in my mind and heart all week.

It's always a shock when someone so young is lost; we can't fathom how something so terrible could happen. Jon was a person full of life, living his dream, and on the cusp of starting a new chapter with a new love and family.

We were friends back in the day. The past 20 years I'd not seen him much, but had reconnected the past several years on Facebook, like so many classmates have. Sharing of photos and a few chats here and there have been my main connection to him in our adult lives. His posts reflected positivity; his photos full of his adventures in the mountains he loved. He was a person I truly enjoyed keeping in touch with, and admired for his obvious love of people and community as well as his dedication to fulfilling a dream and living life to the fullest.  Jon touched many lives, which has become apparent by the outpouring of grief and compassion by our high school community in the wake of his death. He had a warm smile (given readily), a love of the outdoors, good looks, intelligence, an appreciation of music and the arts,  a goofy sense of humor, and a gift for making people feel comfortable. His light will be greatly missed in this world.

This week I've turned to my memories to get me through. As I reminisced, I realized that I have some very singular memories of Jon that are frequently brought to mind as I go about my days. These memories are his legacy in my life. Here are two of my very favorites...

This is an unlikely pleasant memory, but one I cherish. Jon and I were part of a contingent of high school juniors and seniors who went on a Close-Up trip to Washington, D.C. for a week. The trip there was my first plane ride. Needless to say, my stomach did not agree with the flight. Jon was sitting next to me, and as I repeatedly hit the barf bag, he was appropriately concerned while simultaneously cracking jokes. It's such an encapsulation of who he was as a person, and it makes me smile every time. The whole trip itself is also a source of good memories.

My absolute favorite memory of Jon happened the summer before our sophomore year of high school, just before school started. I was at a sleepover with a bunch of girls, and Jon and our friend Jason came by. I was feeling down about a recent breakup and they stuck me in the back of a minivan (I think Jason was driving, but not sure), and we drove around for a bit. I was sitting in the backseat in my ESLEEP pajamas (remember those baseball jersey/boxer sets?), listening to those two loveable idiots screeching out the words to The Police's "Roxanne" and completely cracking up. It is a memory I recall every time I hear that song, and plenty of other times in between. I had so much fun with those two during our high school years.

I saw Jon a few times during college, but hadn't seen him much since then. As I think about his passing I lament that I didn't have the opportunity to know him better as an adult. I feel profound sadness for this loss but I know so many others close to him are grieving so deeply.  The only thing we have left are memories, but damn if they aren't some good ones. He had that effect on people. I wish it was something he had seen in himself, that would have turned him from the terrible, heartbreaking decision he made.

Jon's inscription in my junior yearbook reminds me that he always had this dream of living out West, and he worked hard to make it come true.

I only wish we'd had more time, and that I had been able to see him there, if only for a visit.

I hope you have found peace, friend. We are still working on it.

Dude, Where's My Car?

Today I lost my car.

On Wednesday afternoon I parked my car in a ramp at the airport and headed to Dallas. I neglected to grab one of those little reminder papers, thinking I would surely remember where I had parked. I looked back as I entered the elevator and made a mental picture of the floor number and the parking aisle.

After an uneventful flight home, I was looking forward to being able to go home mid-afternoon and relax a little bit before picking up Lucy. I headed to the Gold Ramp, which required me to take the tram. I didn't take the tram the day I left, but didn't think much of it because I came in on a different airline than the one I flew on the way out. I was pretty sure it was the Gold Ramp, because something in my head was noting that it was a ramp in which I usually don't park, and I usually park in Green.

Once I arrived at the Gold Ramp, I tried the 4th level because I remembered being just above the skyway, which is on the 3rd floor.

Car was not there, and something didn't seem right. I stopped to think, and realized the rows didn't line up right. I remembered parking in a row which drove away from the entrance door, and was offset just to the right. These rows were set up the opposite, so I was definitely in the wrong ramp.

By this time, confidence in my memory was shot and I had no idea which of the other 3 ramps contained my car. I settled in to do a little detective work, using my phone to look at an aerial view and remembering how I drove into the ramp area. That didn't help; not enough detail. My phone was dangerously low on battery and no outlet in sight, so I was hoping it would hold out long enough for me to figure something out. All the while I was semi-frantically searching, I heard the same intercom announcement, over and over again:

Welcome to Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. You have parked in the [insert color] Ramp. Please take a ticket. It will help you remember where you parked your car.

I'm paraphrasing, but I'm pretty sure I got that last line right. The voice was mocking me.

Finally,I found a layout of the parking ramps on the airport website and figured out that along with Gold, the Red Ramp was set up the same. Two down, two to go. Blue and Green.

I got back on the tram to go back to where I started. Since I was convinced I had parked "differently" than I usually do (i.e. not Green), I tried Blue. Multiple levels of Blue. I definitely got my exercise, as I knew I had parked towards the end of the row on the right. So each level, I pulled my suitcase and carried my computer bag down the row. At one point, I finally thought to pull out my car keys and push the alarm button. Eureka, I heard it! But it sounded like it was coming from the adjacent ramp.

The Green Ramp.

Where I always park.

So, over to the Green Ramp. I was positive I had parked one level above the skyway, because I had a picture in my mind of looking down at the skyway from my level. So I tried Level 4 first. Walked all the way down the row. Nope. Pushed the alarm button. Closer! Must be one floor up. Nope!

Thank goodness the ramp is only 7 levels, the 7th being the roof which I knew wasn't right. I couldn't tell where that damn alarm was coming from. At one point,  I couldn't get it to turn off, so the alarm was blasting and by that time, I would have fully welcomed a security car swinging by to give me a lift. No such luck. I even asked another guy in the parking ramp where he thought the horn was coming from. He didn't know.

In desperation, I tried Level 3, the same level as the skyway.

There was the Ford Fusion, parked exactly where I didn't think it would be.

I must be losing my mind. Lesson: grab the damn paper. Or at least take a picture of it.

Bang, Bang

Isn't she cute? But what made us decide to give her BANGS?!

It wasn't really by choice. It was a small force of nature called Lucy Laabs.

She cut her own hair. Quite short. In the front. Sigh.

You may recall this happened last summer, but we were lucky enough that it didn't really affect her coiffe too much. This time, it was on my watch. She was happily crafting lastnight; kind of doing her own thing. We were in the same room. She climbed up on the couch and promptly fell asleep. I carried her to her bed, and didn't notice a thing until this morning.

She had no explanation, and I found the scissors and hair under her desk.

I was fretting over it as we dressed for church, and Husband was telling me it was bothering me more than it bothered Lucy. Well, of course. There is one piece, right in the middle, that she cut very close to the scalp. We're talking buzz cut territory. I was quite wrapped up in what I was going to do to try and make it look better.

We got to church and at the start of the service, this prayer:

God of forgiving grace,
We are not always patient to wait for your words and your actions in our lives.
We whine and complain and we try to control those things which are out of our control...

I chuckled to myself.

There was nothing I could do about it but take her to a stylist and see about options. Turns out, the only option was bangs. This will allow the short pieces to grow out while somewhat covering them up.

It's cute, but it's going to take some getting used to. Lucy has already said she wants her hair off her forehead... which I guess is a good physical reminder of why she shouldn't do this again.

Because certainly, I don't want to test the theory of "third time is a charm."

Happy Friday the 13th

Lastnight Lucy and I were happily wrapping gifts on the livingroom floor while listening to Christmas music. Brandon had just gotten home and was sitting in the kitchen, about 3 bites into his late meal. In the midst of our unassuming festiveness, came the ring of the doorbell. I wondered who on earth would be stopping by this time of night (just a shade before 8PM - and yes, it makes me feel old to say that).

I opened up the door to a young man saying, "Your car is on fire."

I looked toward the driveway, where Brandon and Husband's cars were parked.

Indeed, he was right. A small flame was visible from underneath Brandon's car.

I thanked this neighborhood saint and summoned Husband, who ran out to move his car while I called 9-1-1. The boys went out and stood at the end of the driveway, while Lucy and I stood in the front window. It had been about 5 minutes (i.e. FOREVER) and the police were there, but no fire truck. The fire was quite large by this time, and things started popping. I called again, and they assured they were on their way and said Lucy and I should exit the house, just in case. We could smell the burning rubber downstairs as we went out the back door with Buddy. Trudging through the snow, we made it to the front to see the car pretty engulfed. The fire truck came up just as we approached the curb, and Buddy answered with his best howls. Lucy was upset, I was stressed and felt so bad for the big kid; he's had a string of bad luck with cars and life in general, and I knew he could not afford this setback on many levels. I won't elaborate, but this is his 4th car in about 2.5 years. Enough said.

Lucy and I went to stand in the neighbor's driveway, and I noticed a vehicle parked there, with a guy leaning out of his window recording the events on his cell phone. I approached him and asked him if he didn't think it was a bit weird that he was recording everything. He did not think so, and apparently also didn't appreciate me suggesting otherwise. While I stood there in the cold trying to calm my frantic, crying 4-year-old, he continued to make comments (and record). I had a few words for him myself (clean ones, mind the children...) but my most effective barb was to stand directly in front of his camera shot. He eventually left, but not without a last jab. I found out a bit later this was the same guy who had earlier pulled IN our driveway to ask if they could help, as the firetruck was screaming down the street to our house. Husband basically said thanks, but get the hell out of the way. Apparently they sought refuge in the neighbor's driveway (they weren't home), where they could still get a good view.

I appreciate people's concern, I really do. Several people came out to ask if they could help, and I realize there is some level of allure and excitement that people might want to observe, maybe snap a photo or two. But why take a video? What are you going to use it for? And if the owner of the property asks you to stop, why wouldn't you? It just doesn't sit right with me.

Lots of water and chemicals and a saw to the hood later (that's a pretty painful sound to hear, by the way), the fire was out and the car was completely totaled. It was a relatively inexpensive car to begin with, so the loss was not covered by insurance and the local Cars for Kids got a donation. Now we search for a different car. Again.

It wasn't until one of the firemen mentioned it, that we realized it was Friday the 13th. I'd say we're good for a few years' worth of bad luck, don't you think?

Everybody Needs Mom

I will preface this post by saying that last week was a long week. I was really looking forward to the weekend to catch up on laundry, Christmas shopping, and oh yeah - SLEEP.

What I neglected to mention in my last post was that Saturday morning, Husband woke up with a sore throat and feeling generally crummy, so he skipped out on the Christmas activities. So Lucy and I had a busy morning as chronicled, after which I ran her up to my sister-in-law's house to spend a few hours while I attended an important event with Brandon. Both Husband and I were supposed to go, but he still wasn't feeling well enough.

After spending the time with Brandon, I went back to pick up Lucy, and on returning to my car realized I had a voice mail. The message was from an Emergency Room nurse telling me my husband was there, but not telling me why. 

So...I dropped Lucy off at home with Brandon, and headed to the hospital to find Husband. A couple of hours later he was released, diagnosed with a bad case of strep and some other complications for which they gave him four different prescriptions. I had run back home to get Lucy and Brandon in the meantime, so Brandon drove Husband and his car home, while Lucy and I went to the pharmacy to pick up the meds. Turns out, the Target pharmacy closes at 6PM on Saturdays, and it was 6:30. Everywhere else was closed. We picked up a few other things and headed home, exhausted. 

Sunday morning was moving along pretty regularly. Lucy and I attended church and Sunday school, and then hustled home so I could finally go pick up Husband's prescriptions. The pharmacy opened at 9AM, but we had to be to church by then, because our family was scheduled to light the Advent candles. This involves one person reading a passage while the other lights the candles (and the kids observe). So, absent my husband, I had to read and then the light the candles, causing a moment of awkward silence with all congregational eyes on me and my daughter. 

Then, after Sunday School which I taught, back to home to drop Lucy off, and left again for the Target pharmacy. When I returned, she was sleeping and had been doing so for about an hour. I took the opportunity to do a little work (in hindsight, I should have napped!) since I had intended to go in that afternoon with Lucy in tow, but had already decided against it because of the weather. At around 3:30, Lucy finally woke up. I didn't think too much of the 3+ hour nap, as we'd had a busy day on Saturday. But as she was eating a snack, she complained her throat hurt. I grabbed a flashlight and took a look...and it didn't look good. 

Target Clinic was closing at 4PM, but I found a CVS Minute Clinic that was open until 5:30. We slipped and slid through the snow and slush to get there at 4:30PM, only to find the kiosk outside of the doors housing a nurse practitioner AND a doctor indicated they weren't letting any other patients sign in. There were three people ahead of us, and they didn't think they could get done with those by closing time. By this time I was getting pretty frustrated.

ALL I NEEDED WAS A THROAT SWAB AND A PRESCRIPTION.

My remaining (more expensive) option was Urgent Care at our usual clinic, which was open until 5:00. Luckily it was nearby, but I was cutting it close by arriving at 4:55. It was not too busy, and they were very accommodating. We got in to see a nurse pretty quickly, and then the doctor to confirm indeed, Lucy had strep. I was offered the usual course of antibiotics, or a one-time penicillin shot. Since I wasn't sure if I could actually get anywhere to pick up meds, the shot appealed to me...but certainly not to Lucy. As suspected, she freaked. I had to bribe her with a shake and a stuffed animal. After the shot, we had to wait 20 more minutes to make sure she didn't have a reaction to the penicillin. 

You got all that? We're now at about 6:20 on Sunday night. Thankfully, Husband had ordered pizza for supper so we didn't have to think about what to cook. I got the little one showered and to bed, and tried to make up some of the lost work hours I knew I needed to get in to not make Monday horrible. Which means nothing got done around this house that needed to get done.

Newsflash, Monday (today) was still horrible. I didn't get home until after 9PM and tomorrow I have a night meeting, and Wednesday night an event...

Everybody needs Mom, and Mom is TIRED. 

The irony? It was the annual Ladies' Spa Weekend at Grandview Lodge this weekend. For many reasons, I opted not to go this year. For many of those same reasons, this year I probably needed it the most.

If I can just make it to the end of the week, then perhaps I will get to sleep. Mmmm, sleeeeeeep....and PLEASE, don't let me or anyone else get sick!

An Unexpected Easter Surprise

After all of the Easter travel and festivities this weekend, we were looking forward to a quiet SUnday evening at home. This was not meant to be.

Brandon was over and we had just finished eating pizza, and were hanging out downstairs. Lucy was, per typical, traveling between the upstairs and downstairs, dragging various toys and Easter gifts here and there. Just before 8:00 that evening, I heard a call from upstairs – “MOMMY!”

Husband actually went to check on her, but then called me. “She won’t talk to me, she’s just hiding on the couch.” I went up and based on the slightly guilty-looking face, I thought she’d had an accident. He went back downstairs, probably thinking along the same lines. But no. “Mommy,” Lucy said, “I swallowed my money.”

Her money. She had a fistful of coins from an Easter egg and was supposed to be bringing them upstairs to put in her piggy bank. “How many?” I asked calmly. She stuck up one finger. I spotted some coins on the coffee table, and I put them in my hand. “Which one was it?” She pointed. At that point, a little composure was lost. I called down, “She swallowed a quarter!” A quarter. We tried calling a nurse line, but were put on hold and it said I was the third in line. Lucy was saying her throat hurt, so we decided to just take her to the ER.

So we headed to Methodist Hospital and waited almost an hour to get in, and waited a bit more for an x-ray, which showed it was indeed a quarter, and it was stuck in her esophagus. After more waiting, the doctor came in and said it couldn’t stay there, and we had two options: 1) stick a tube down her throat there in the ER, which would be very uncomfortable but quick, in hopes of pushing the coin into her stomach, where it could safely move through the rest of her system. If #1 didn’t work or we didn’t think she would tolerate it, then #2 would be putting her under anesthesia and performing a scope to remove the coin. This option involved a transfer to Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis, because they didn’t feel comfortable doing the procedure on children at Methodist.

We skeptically elected Option 1, and waited another 45 minutes for the doctor to come back and tell us he didn’t have the right size tube and we’d have to go to Children’s anyway. Then another very frustrating 45 minutes to get all the paperwork for discharge and transfer. Meanwhile, Lucy was generally OK, but every once in a while would get really agitated and cry, “it hurts!” In one way we were relieved because it seemed the ER doctor was uncomfortable and inexperienced in doing the procedure in the first place, but we were also frustrated at having been there so long with no solution.

So, with already over 3 hours under our belts at Methodist, we were headed to another ER. At Children’s we had to wait again, explain everything again (tell me what is the point of a transfer?!) and then finally got back to where somebody could help us. We saw the actual doctor pretty quickly, and got in for another x-ray to determine if the offending coin had moved. No such luck. So we were back to Option 1. They explained everything to us, and we felt we were in very capable hands. So we waited a bit longer until they were all ready to go. This was taken about 12:45AM:

The doctor came back in with an EMT who was there to gently “bear hug” our Lucy and hold her down while the dirty work took place. Then they stuck about 20-25 inches of a rubber hose down our girl’s esophagus, with only a little spray anesthetic to numb things in the back of her throat. She had to be awake to basically gag repeatedly and get the hose down. It was not pleasant for any of us, trust me. It was quick, but we weren’t sure if it worked because Lucy threw up a little bit, and the doctor couldn’t get the hose down as far as she thought she should for fear of tearing her esophagus by forcing against the constricting. Only another x-ray could tell, but after the initial shock wore off we could tell Lucy felt better, so we were hopeful. Sure enough, the next x-ray revealed the coin had moved to her stomach. WHEW! It was 2:00AM and we could finally go home!

We’re all a little tired today, but Lucy is good. She slept in this morning but did go to school a little later and is eating, drinking, and playing just fine. It’s likely the sewer system will be $0.25 richer within the next couple of days, but we’ll go have another x-ray in a week or so just to be sure.

There have been plenty of quips about only giving dollar bills in the Easter eggs next year, and we’ve had a few conversations about only putting food and beverages in our mouth from now on. After her first x-ray, the tech gave her a little stuffed bunny. She decided to name him “Quarter” to commemorate the experience. This will certainly be one of those “remember that Easter when…” or “Lucy’s first ER visit was…” stories.

For posterity, here's Lucy's take on the evening.

Violet’s Great Toilet Adventure

Lucy has a favorite stuffed animal, which is a dog named Violet. She is programmed to say Lucy’s name and sing songs about her favorite food, color, and animal. Lucy is always in range of her blankey and Violet, and can often be heard shouting “Bi-let!” when she is out of sight. Bottom line, Violet is essential to the security of our 20-month-old, particularly at bedtime.

So a week or so ago I was getting Lucy ready for bed and she announces, “potty,” which means she wants to go sit on the toilet. She doesn’t do anything mind you, except sit there, perhaps grunt, and drop toilet paper in there and call it good. I am generally supportive of this practice and am poised to celebrate profusely if and when she actually manages a single drop of pee. Right now she doesn’t have her own potty chair, so I have to hold her on the big toilet so she doesn’t fall in.

Remember that last line - that’s important.

So we finish with the faux peeing, get clean PJs on, and then I let her play for a couple of minutes while I tend to something in our bedroom. Those couple of minutes go by and she runs in the bedroom with a big smile on her face, and throws her hands up in the air. She looks very proud of herself.

Her hands are wet.

Did I shut the bathroom door when we were done in there?

$#!+.

I started toward the door and she beat me to it, running down the hall and into the bathroom, where she proudly points to Violet, who is laying on the floor next to the toilet.

Also wet.

At which point I say, “Oh no, Lucy, VIOLET!!” which proceeds to freak her out, because now she has gone from being so proud of her peeing stuffed puppy, to thinking that something is wrong with her. She starts to cry.

I gave her calm assurances and hugs, and assessed the situation. I was afraid of total Violet saturation, but obviously Lucy had been holding her over the toilet (just like Mommy does for her), because only one of Violet’s paws and a little bit of her tail were wet. I proceeded to decontaminate the pooch to the best of my ability, then stripped Lucy down, soaped and hosed her off, and put on new PJs.

Of course, Violet was not excused from her nighttime duties just because she was wet. Oh, no. The three of us read books like always, and Violet went to bed with Lucy. Her lullaby-playing paw was activated, and all was right with the world again.


Somehow, though...I have a feeling this will not be the last of Violet's adventures. Or mine, for that matter. :)

Morning Glory

Every weekday morning the little one and I get ready together, as Husband has to leave about 45 minutes ahead of when Lucy can be dropped off at daycare. So I dress her right away on the first diaper change, then we sit on the couch together for a few minutes while she eats breakfast and I check the weather. After that she plays on her own, either in our bedroom with me, or traveling between her room and our room, with me checking on her periodically. Around 7AM there is typically another diaper change. About 90% of the time there is a special delivery made just a few minutes before we need to head out the door. It is just part of her regular morning routine. For this reason, I sometimes let her run around in her shirt and just a diaper to start out with, as I know another change is coming.

So one day last week, I was in the bathroom adjacent to our room drying my hair. Lucy was coming in and out, as she usually does, toddling around in her t-shirt and diaper. I would greet her each time. About 30 seconds after the last greeting I felt a little tug on my leg, so I turned off the dryer and looked down.

There was my daughter, standing there with a naked poopy butt, and holding a poopy diaper in her hand.

This was a first.

It could have a been a lot worse, i.e. the poo was contained and she hadn’t sat on or rubbed up against anything (that I could find). So I lifted her up, suspending her at the appropriate length and angle so as to not contaminate my own clothing, and cleaned her up.

Just another day in the life.

This is a First (and Hopefully the Last)

Tonight after dinner I was getting ready to bathe Lucy. I still do it in the kitchen sink, because I find that the tub is frankly a pain in the butt, so I'm prolonging it as long as possible. Plus, being somewhat confined is not a bad thing for a wiggly one-year-old.

I stripped her down right in the livingroom, diaper and all. Let me just tell you, this kid loves to be naked. It's like suddenly she's really, truly free...like that flowy dress she had on all afternoon was just too confining, and she's got to let loose. Does she run around the room? No.

She giggles.

It is the funniest thing, and tonight was no exception. She stood there in the corner, looking at me, giggling uncontrollably, waving her arms in the air and bouncing up and down. It was a riot, and we all got the giggles. She wouldn't come out from the corner behind the chair, so Husband and Brandon couldn't see her, only I could from my spot sitting on the floor. She would stop, be silent for a moment, look at me with that glint in her eye, then start giggling again.

This was repeated a few times. As I watched her I giggled and waited with anticipation for that peal of laughter after she "teased" me by staring me down. But then I saw it. In that moment of silence, there it was. It cannot be mistaken for anything else.

It was The Poop Face.

No sooner did I spring into action than she delivered the prize, laid the egg, whatever you want to call it. Right there on the carpet. I was gagging and giggling at the same time. Gaggling.

The episode was brief, and could have been a lot worse, but the final salt in the wound came in the form of Husband's "I told you so." Because you see, almost immediately after I had stripped her down moments before, she tooted (it's that whole letting loose thing I guess). Husband commented that pooping in the bath would be better than pooping on the carpet.

Touche.

Posts Pending...

It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks, people. Over the past 10 days I have been in 3 states. Last week I was in Oakland, the armpit of California, for three days for work. I got there via Denver, and I can count that as a state because I spent unexpected quality time in the airport, and dammit, I earned it. I was home for 2.5 days and then Husband and I took off for a much-needed vacation to Las Vegas. We got back late lastnight and I was back to work today. We are home for 2 days and then off to my fourth state, Iowa, for our nephew's baptism. I have much to catch up on, but I can't make any promises on when that will happen. I've got work to do and a baby I was missin' that needs some huggin' and kissin'. That baby is also almost 9 months old, which is another post that needs to be written. Oh, and that baby starts "regular" daycare on Monday. So as you can see, there's nothing going on around here at all.

Stay tuned. I promise there's some good stuff coming.