all creatures great and small...

"The Lord, in His wisdom,

gave us three things to make life bearable;

humor, hope and dogs.

But the greatest was dogs."

-Robyn Davidson 

we almost lost our sweet lucy in the fall of 2021.  as i reread this post i realized that this miracle was too good to NOT share so i'm posting it years later.  

it happened as most emergencies do... at the worst possible time for an emergency to happen and as an accident.  but we also found that God works miracles, not just for us, but those furry companions He's gifted us with.  

one monday night in september of 2021 we had rolled into the 7:00 PM witching hour... in our household it means we've embarked on the final push with our kids for the night.  they are usually on each others last nerve or done listening to us.  our patience is on its last leg.  we work really hard to get through from 7:00-7:45... reminding henley a million times to put her pajamas on and brush her teeth, keeping ophelia moving along and from distracting henley, and keeping leif from making the girls mad so that it all doesn't come crumbling apart.  all of this while doing dinner dishes, cleaning the kitchen up and packing lunches for the next day.  i always feel the deep partnership with kjaer during this hour.  we are tired, we are weary... and yet he links arms with me and we encourage each other on to show up and remain calm for the last chaotic hour of the night.   

so it was during this nightly routine we were standing in the kitchen working, calling to the girls to get out of the bathtub and chatting with leif that we saw lucy run by the window with something weird sticking out of her mouth.  i figured she must've caught a squirrel or had a toy... i'm thankful kjaer was more attentive.  i heard him say, "what is in lucy's mouth?" and he went outside.

i knew something was dreadfully wrong when leif's face went pale and he said, "i was trying to catch a raccoon but i think i just caught a lucy."

have you met my little leif?  he is a budding outdoorsman.  he loves fishing and setting traps for crayfish.  a couple of afternoons a week that fall we would walk by the fields at school (henley would rollerskate and i would walk some laps to get some steps in) so that leif could dive through the tall grass and catch garter snakes.  he is always concocting clever traps to catch animals.  usually i know he's in a trap-making mood when i find my recycling bin tipped over and him sifting through containers and bottles to find the exact thing he needs.  

... or just the can tipped over, recycling scattered about and no sign of children anywhere.

the problem with this amazing, unbridled curiosity and passion is he doesn't often think of repercussions.  for example, this particular day he had snuck into his tackle box (which we've already talked to him many times about) and had found a small barbed fish hook.  he then shoved it into the center of a chomps beef stick he had leftover from his hike the day before.  this was attached to fishing line with a red bobber on the end and meticulously buried in sand so that only the beef stick was showing.  leif was thinking of his fish hook like he knows it works with fishing.  it snags the fish in the cheek... he catches it... unhooks it... and sets it free.  he wasn't thinking about how a mammal's body is designed differently than a fish, or what would happen if he actually caught a mean old rotten raccoon or the ramifications if our sweet dog swallowed the hook.  

kjaer came walking in with fishing line and a red bobber... i was still registering what was happening but kjaer knew.  he has spent countless times unhooking fishing hooks from tree limbs and putting tackle boxes in timeout because they were meant for only fishing trips.  

he knew what had happened before i did.  

initially there was that anger that parents have... the "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE TALKED ABOUT THIS?!?" anger.  it stems from fear... right?  like this time, someone might actually be hurt because of being disobedient.  it's not just about another broken fishing pole or snapped line.  lucy's life was at risk.  

we started looking for the hook outside... telling leif we needed to know every single detail.  that his honesty was important.  leif felt terrible... he knew this was due to his choices and you could tell he wished so badly he could take them back.  we slowly trudged through the backyard with flashlights in hand... and we couldn't find any trace of the bait... which meant we couldn't locate the hook.  

meanwhile, lucy, in her ever persistent drive to catch a beam of light, chased our flashlight rays as we scoured the backyard for that hook.  

that freaking, barbed hook.

she was acting totally normal.  i wanted to believe she had miraculously missed it.  but deep down i knew better... leif is REALLY good at baiting hooks.  

we finished putting the kids to bed while lucy did her normal lucy things... laying by our feet during our chapter book, hopping up on henleys bed while we said goodnight to the girls, trotting down to leif's room and sprawling herself across his floor while we said goodnight to him. 

usually when i walk out of leif's room, i always rub her belly... even though she's going to immediately follow me upstairs to continue her nighttime routine next to my feet.  this night was no different.  i stopped down to give her one of her many nightly belly rubs and heard leif say sheepishly, "i hope lucy doesn't die because of me."

all i could respond with was, "me too, buddy.  me too."  

we had prayed together in leif's room... that lucy would be ok.  but i felt an impending dread.  our night was just getting started.

kjaer and i did a second flashlight round in the backyard, lucy quick at our heals to catch the beams of light.  not a single trace.  

we sat on the couch as lucy plopped herself in her second to last spot before her bedtime.  she sprawled out across our area rug in front of our large glass doors and snoozed while we conversed over tea.  only this time it wasn't about the school day or our normal night time banter.  this time it was about what the right thing to do was.  

i texted my sister in law... a vet.  i was trying to play it cool... but she knew right away this wasn't some hum drum thing.  she called me immediately and gave me the wisest counsel i could have ever asked for.  

it's a terrible thing to say money was one of the first things that popped into my mind.  like... this is going to be an emergency visit to an emergency vet.  those vets are not cheap.  maybe we can try the ol' wait and see approach.  she snapped me out of that place when she said the best thing to do was get an xray... that it would cost around $400 but then we would know either way.  we'd either walk away knowing for sure she hadn't swallowed the hook (and not having to worry all week) or we'd learn how bad the damage was.  the good thing was, she reminded me, that fishhooks are metal... so it would definitely show up on an xray.

then we had a stare down.  kjaer and i.  who was going?   because, you know, it's never convenient on a work night to go to the emergency room.  

kjaer went... bless his sweet soul.  he takes such good care of us and i think he knew i was about to lose my ever loving mind.  during that time i was in such a fragile place anyway.  i was tackling working full time for the first time in eight years and a newly diagnosed autoimmune disease left me exhausted and he knew it.  i love that man.  

i also reminded him that i'm the spender in the relationship so i would probably spend our life savings to save our pooch.  he'd be more diplomatic and not put us in the poor house.  

he came home within a half an hour.  they had a two hour wait just to get an xray so he had to leave her there and was able to come home.  he stayed up and waited for the phone call while i slept.  we had already decided he shouldn't work the next morning... so he busied himself writing sub plans.  around midnight we got the call.  the fishhook was lodged deep down in her esophagus.  they'd have to do an endoscopy.  kjaer gave them the go ahead and crawled into bed with me, whispering that she was going under anesthesia and hopefully they'd scope it out.  there was also some sleepy conversation about what it was going to cost us... and it was NOT cheap.  but it was still under our threshhold.  

around 3 AM the phone rang.  

the doctor doing the endoscopy called to say she had been trying for 3 hours and it hadn't budged.  she began asking us if we would consider surgery...  an endeavor that would cost over $10,000.  i sat on the other side of the the conversation, trying to pick up scraps from kjaer's steady voice.  my heart fell when he repeated that number back... "$10,000?"  i knew... we were going to have to put her down because that number on top of what we were already paying was astronomical.  had i been working full time for the past 8 years maybe we wouldn't have blinked... but i had just started the month prior, and we had just started to have some considerable breathing room financially.  but not enough to make that an easy check to write.   he hung up the phone and told me that the dr. was going to try for a couple more hours, but that we needed to start thinking of other options... like surgery or putting her down.  i began to weep over our dog.  

there comes a moment where you face how much you love something.  no one is immune to this... at some point you will be forced to reckon with losing someone you love and you will find that your love runs for them deeper than you anticipated.  

lucy had quietly wriggled her way into my heart.  sadly, it took me a little longer to connect to lucy than the rest of the family members because she was the dog we got to replace trooper... my original amazing fur baby.  but i sat there grieved.  i realized that she has become my companion and friend... that she dances happily when she sees me, gets up early in the morning during my quiet time for her neck scratches, lays precisely under or next to wherever i'm seated so that the tops of my feet rest on her strong and sturdy back.  she guards our house, loves our kids, heckles our chickens and has never done anything to warrant an early death over something so ridiculous.  

and then the realization came crashing down on me.  if this dr. couldn't get the hook out, we would have to put her down... and leif would forever carry the weight of lucy dying because of his poor choice.  this thought was to great to bear.  i sat in the dark and clasped hands with kjaer and we prayed outloud while i wept.  i can't remember what exactly we said... but the gist was "we know you love animals too because you made them.  please let her miraculously cough this hook like the big fish coughed up jonah.  she doesn't deserve this, Lord.  we need a miracle.  please don't let leif have to carry this burden for the rest of his life."  we pleaded.  i knew the odds were against lucy and us.... but i know too that God has shown up for me in the darkest pits of my life.  so if He could meet me there... He could meet us here too.  even if she was just a dog.  

i couldn't go back to sleep now.  my heart was full of worry.  this is how a mama gets when one of her tribe goes down.  the worry is greater than the need to sleep.  i immediately called in for work and began emailing my teachers i support.  my world was stopping for the day as we held our breath.  

by 6 am kjaer got the call that the doctor had still been unsuccessful.  they were going to wake lucy up and have another dr. try again later in the day.  she promised that they wouldn't charge us for two endoscopies but asked us again to consider the surgery.  

it felt a little like living in a nightmare.

i busied myself until it was time to wake the kids up.  i broke the news to them.  lucy wasn't here because we had decided to take her to the hospital to see if she had swallowed the hook.  leif maintained his composure but his questions told me he was full of guilt and shame.  he knew it was on him and it broke my ever loving heart every time he said it.  i didn't want it to be because of him.  i wanted desperately to rescue him from the pain, to make it not hurt, to erase the shame and the guilt.  henley's eyes welled with tears as she sobbed i don't want another dog mom.  apparently she takes after her mama and jumps to the worst case scenario.  we told them the best thing to do that day was go to school... that if something terrible was going to happen we would come and get them.  and we reminded them to pray and give their fear to God... He loves Lucy too.  He handcrafted that beautiful, brindle coat, her cold black nose and her crookity ear everyone adores. 

kjaer and i drove the kids to school and dodi (bless her) took ophelia to pre-k.   we came back home and settled in for the phone call from the next doctor.  we drank coffee, made banana pancakes and bacon and sat on our patio.  we kept praying and noticing how much we missed our lucy-lou rolling around in the grass and basking in the sun.  i kept thinking about how i just couldn't picture life without her... everything felt so bleak.   my heart didn't know how it could suffer the loss of her and the grief of our children.

around 9 AM the second dr. called.  again... i pieced things together while kjaer talked with her.  she had previously practiced in galveston, tx...  where she had removed tons of fish hooks.  in fact, she had never NOT gotten a fish hook out of a dog.  

(MIRACULOUS!!!)

my heart started jumping.  it couldn't be!

she warned kjaer, this fish hook was different and more difficult than ones she had seen before.  so she didn't want to get our hopes up.  she asked again about surgery.  kjaer told her we wouldn't be doing the surgery.  she asked, "because of the money?"  he answered back yes... and also that we were worried if the recovery would be brutal.  i connected it to my dad's almost-surgery back while he was fighting for his life from cancer.  doctors had often talked about doing an esophageal surgery with him, boasting promises of extended life/normal life.  my mother, being a nurse with over 40 years of experience (at the time... she just retired 52 years to the day of her first day!), said this was often not the case.  the quality of life would have been terrible if he had done it and most patients suffered for the rest of their lives.  i equated lucy's surgery to this... would we be doing something that would possibly just make her life worse to be selfish and keep her with us?  the doctor assured us that, no, she would have a 2 week recovery but they anticipated a full return to normal life.  but we knew it would still be foolish to spend $10000 on a surgery.  

she replied back, "we have a private donation that we think you qualify for that would cover all of the costs of surgery."

(SAY WHAT?!?)

she said they had a private donor who had given a lump sum of money under the strict guidelines that it must be for a family who couldn't spend the money on the surgery, with a healthy dog who had a good prognosis.

you guys... i know it isn't like lucy spit the hook up... but THAT was pretty miraculous.  God had covered ALL of the bases.  He had sent a doctor who has removed fish hooks regularly... she JUST HAPPENED to be the doctor on duty that day.  and then a private donor who would pay for the surgery if she couldn't. 

i wept again.

when prayers are answered so blatantly, you just can't help yourself.  

she hung up after clarifying with kjaer that she would confirm with the donor we were the right fit and that lucy's 2nd endoscopy would begin at 2:00PM.  

we were both so relieved we could hardly see straight.  we went to bed exhausted but hopeful and slept the day away. 

when we woke up, we went to pick the kids up from their various places.  kjaer went to get leif and henley and i went to get ophelia.  kjaer had called to tell me that they were putting lucy under while we were driving.  the slow motion minutes ticked by as we tried to do our 'normal" routine.  twenty minutes later kjaer called, with cheers and shouts of leif and henley in the background, because the doctor had successfully removed the hook with the endoscopy.

bringing lucy home was epically wonderful and miraculous... and we all knew it.  we buried our faces in her fur, scratched her belly and gave her, what leif calls, too many extra kisses.  she was home... she'd still be here with us.

you guys... i have experienced grace and peace on the deepest pits of my life because of God. time and time again i've cried out in fear, in pain, or just out of sheer exhaustion and He has showed up.  sometimes like a lover's whisper in my ear, like the bible describes in the original Hebrew when elijah was in a cave (I Kings 19:9).  sometimes louder than the roar of the fire i'm standing in (daniel 3:21-27). He is a God full of grace because He is the author of grace Himself. 

as Anne LaMott once said, "God: what a nut!"

so the next time you find yourself desperate and weeping... whether over a family member with cancer, the loss of a job, a marriage that's falling apart, or even a pet who might not make it...  whatever it might be.  "Cast all of your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you." (I Peter 5:7). He may be a nut for giving us His recklessly beautiful grace... but only because He's a nut about you.  He made you, you are His and what you think and feel matters to Him.  

The verse that we have walked by
daily for the last year on our way
out the door.

i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...

i was inspired by another blog to do this... i thought it was so perfectly funny and refreshing to read another woman airing out her "top 5 quirks" of the year.  immediately i thought, i should do that.  and although i have many... oh-so-many things that make me quirky... i will name the top 5 i've noticed in myself this year.  in other words, they've probably existed in me for a long time... but i'm only now beginning to dust off the surface of my very crazy self.

i hope you feel inspired to do so as well.

1.) i'm sure every mother has their thing that they obsess over with their child.  for some it's body temperature... which i don't really care about, as my mother likes to point out every time she sees her grandson and thinks he's freezing to death (even though he's just fine to me).  for others it's a sleep schedule... and leif has forced me to throw my hands up in the air on this one.  i've spent the last 20 months of his life trying to figure him out and finally gave in because he is not like all of your perfectly sleep trained children (read... he is STUBBORN)  he fights sleep and i'm tired of fighting him to conform so i gave up.  as long as he takes a nap at some point and goes to bed before 9 (but preferably 8) i'm happy.  tonight i had him in bed by 8... he finally went to sleep at 9:30.

see?

i. give. up.

nope.  for me it's something else... choking... on food more specifically.

the child will be starving to death and i'm over at his plate sawing his food into tiny pieces because lord help us all if i have to perform the heimlich on him.  if he were to choke, i'd probably run around in circles asking myself if he qualifies for the infant method or the adult method.  it's so bad, that when others give him chunks of food, i break them into smaller pieces when they're not looking because i'm just sure they are the obstruction his little throat has been waiting for.

it doesn't help that a couple of times, when i've tried to relax about it, he's choked.  for instance, the other night he was in the bathtub and i was chewing on crushed ice from a cup (a pregnancy craving, i guess).  he likes ice too.  this evening in particular he was asking for pieces of ice and then watching what happened when they hit the water.  at first i was giving him tiny pieces, in case he stuck them in his mouth.  but after several pieces going straight into the bathwater i loosened the reigns.

bad move.

when he asked for another piece i gave him a larger piece so that it would last longer in the bathtub.  what did that child do, you ask?  plopped it straight into his mouth.

breath monica, i told myself, he's almost 2 years old, he chews on ice all the time.  

he's fine.  

you. need. to. chill.  

so i sat back and pseudo-relaxed while my little man sat there happily bathing and sucking on ice.  and then he gagged on it... the dirty rat.  just when i start to let go of my obsession he sucked me back in.

of course, he cleared it himself just fine and didn't even hardly wince.  i, on the other hand, was getting ready to pull out my iPhone and start searching for how-to videos on clearing ice from your toddlers throat.

he'll probably be the only kid in elementary school whose sandwich will fit in a tiny container instead of a ziplock bag because i will have cut it for him into small, bite size pieces.  not really... i mean, i actually let him eat a 1/2 of a sandwich this week without cutting it up.  i stood their in the kitchen admiring the mastery of his whole sandwich-eating-ability and patting myself on the back for being such a great mother.  he's so brilliant, i thought to myself.

but i'll still probably puree his raw vegetables.

just kidding... or am i?  :)

2.) my kitchen has to be clean when i go to bed.  i repeat... i can not go to sleep unless the kitchen is immaculate... well, that may be too strong of a word now that i have a child.  but even still, the dishes must be loaded (the correct way) into the dishwasher, hand washed items must be cleaned and on the drying rack, crumbs wiped off of the counters and tables and i would prefer that all of the days work, receipts, papers, etc. are tucked away.  i don't care whether you tuck them down your pants or put them where they belong... i just don't want to see them. (although this is why i have so many little baskets all over the place because my husband is the king of receipts and papers that i cannot get rid of).  i want the illusion of cleanliness.  it helps me to feel in control and able to handle what you throw at me.

the minute my kitchen gets "undone" i feel my soul start to itch and scratch.  i'm pretty sure my left eye twitches and i probably start giving the look to kjaer when i see him set things on the counter.  in fact, my high-metabolism man often eats an evening snack before going to bed and i just cannot understand how that certain dish can't make it into the dishwasher.  he sets it on the counter above the dishwasher... not in it.  when i see this, nearly every night, my blood boileth over.  i've tried to just quietly put it away or mention it in passing... but it's clearly not a quirk of his that he sees as very important because he just handsomely smiles at me and shrugs while he says i was going to take care of it later.  (i hate that word... later... blech).  and he probably has every intention of doing it later... but later has a different meaning to kjaer than it does to me.  later might mean tomorrow morning or three days from now.  but me... i want it done NOW (another quirk that will probably not make the top 5 cut).  

the kitchen is my domain. i am its ruler.  and it must be respected by all who enter.

3.)  number two reminds me of another thing that is quirky.  my house could have dust an inch thick on its furniture, floors that haven't been vacuumed in 2 weeks, laundry piles the size of everest... but if my kitchen and living room floors are swept i feel so. much. better.

i remember after i had leif one of my biggest frustrations was my house felt like it was falling apart.  i felt totally responsible for keeping it clean to my old standards (i think because i was home and not working).  these standards have sooo-ho-ho changed since b.b. (before baby) but i could not figure out how to balance cleaning with a brand new baby (and the increase leif brought in laundry, changing the sheets nearly every day because of my crazy milk supply, and just functioning in general!)  

one time, my mother in law had taken me to a doctors appointment (because i still couldn't drive).  when i got home i was a wreck.  i went to the bathroom and bled on our white bathroom rug and then i had to nurse leif, which at the time was like asking me to lead the entire nation in a prayer meeting.  i was very stressed out, sitting in the nursery trying to figure out how i could accomplish one thing that would make me feel better since everything else was a fiery disaster.   my mother in law had been kind enough to clean the blood off of the rug for me and she came in and asked if there was anything else she could do for me before she left. 

i couldn't help myself.  deep down i heard all of the wisdom of new-mothers-past whispering in my ears; when people ask what they can do for you, be honest and tell them what would help.

and yes, you guessed it...  i asked her to sweep my floors. 

i just knew if they were cleaner, i would feel better. 

and seriously, i could have kissed her feet for sweeping them. (still could)

she turned my whole day around with a broom and a dust pan.

i'm still so grateful for that kind gesture of hers.  she'll probably never understand what that meant to my fragile little self on that day.  

4.) strangely, in spite of kind gestures like that... i have a very hard time accepting help in any form from people.  some of this has to do with my control issues.  when leif was born people were helping by folding my towels and putting them away, folding his diapers and putting them away... just little jobs they thought i would appreciate.

and i really tried to appreciate them.

really... i did.

but nobody folds my towels and puts them away the way i do.  and only a handful of people know how to fold the diapers and stack them the way i like.  so, if you are kind enough to do these things for me, i'll appreciate your gesture... but i can only live a day or two before refolding and restacking these two items.  but don't worry too much, because i'll feel guilty the whole time.  i can feel my husband's eyes boring into the back of my neck as i busily refold things and i can hear him thinking they are just towels and diapers, woman!  let it go.  but i know he is very particular about other things like the exact cup he drinks from for each beverage he consumes, water spots on the bathroom sink and how to hang his clothes... so he can't be too hard on me.

the other reason i can't accept help is because i feel like i need to be independent all of the time.  i think this is a trait i've picked up on from my mom, because my dad travelled for work most of my life so she was responsible for everything.  just the other day i was getting stuff ready for my thirty-one mailing, working on washing and drying diapers, cleaning the kitchen (duh) and getting ready to leave for a lunch date with a dear friend of mine.  i already felt like a champ because i had asked for help (gasp) by seeing if kjaer could return something to costco he was unhappy with and pick up a few items there.  but i wanted to handle the rest... i was going to go to kinkos to run copies for my mailing, pick up more laundry soap (we have to buy a special kind for our diapers) and go to lunch.  kjaer very kindly took my copy and asked me how many copies he could make for me while i was out to lunch and i practically snatched it from his hands exclaiming i can do it, you don't have to. kjaer kind of stood there shell-shocked because he was just trying to be nice, after all, and here i was not letting him be nice to me.  i could tell from the look on his handsome brow that he couldn't understand why i wouldn't just accept his kind gesture and just let him help me out.

and then i found myself back peddling... copies are no big deal, i'll be going right by the kinkos store on the way home, blah, blah, blah.  but the whole time i was b.s.-ing i was thinking, what the heck is wrong with you?  you always complain how overwhelmed you are and here this man is trying to let you have an enjoyable afternoon with your friend while he shows his love for you by doing errands for you and watching leif.  

it's a sickness, i suppose.  very unhealthy.  

i definitely need to improve upon this before baby k2 arrives, because i'll need more help than ever and kjaer is my teammate.  

when i asked kjaer the other night about my quirks (because i was thinking about this blog) and i mentioned this one... he whole-heartedly agreed.  the speed in which his agreement came almost validated how bad i really must be.  

i'm working on it, people... really.

5) i'm terrified of antiperspirant and microwaves.  this has only developed in the last couple of years, i'm pretty sure because i witnessed the horrific cancer death of my father.  as i've walked away from that experience, much stronger and wiser in many ways... i've also walked away with several fears.  the biggest one being that i will get... or someone i love will (again) get... cancer.  if somebody i love has a weird sore or something weird going on (like when trooper was sick this summer) i go into crazy-cancer mode.  (just ask kjaer about the time he found me laying on troopers dog bed with him crying because i was sure he was dying of cancer... maybe i'll save that for another blog).

of course, i do the only logical thing... i blame it on antiperspirants and microwaves... even though there are sooooo many factors at stake (and clearly trooper doesn't wear deodorant... although his food IS by the microwave).  actually, i have to say i've always been a little teensy bit jumpy around microwaves.  that probably started back in the day of disney afternoons with my brothers after school.  we'd make snacks and watch tailspin and gummy bears while waiting for my aunt to come home to watch us.  one day i got the bright idea to microwave chocolate chips on a mound of peanut butter covered in tin foil.  apparently no one informed me about metal in microwaves.  well, a spark was thrown and i turned off the microwave faster than... well, i don't know... but fast enough that everyone and everything was ok.  when i called my mom at work to tell her of said spark, she quickly schooled me on microwave safety and probably breathed an audible sigh of relief that her daughter didn't burn down her house with her other more well behaved children inside.  

so ever since then i haven't trusted those things.  

when leif was born, my microwave conspiracy theory heightened.  every morning when i made my oatmeal before work, i would press start and take leif into another room... or at least scooch his high chair AWAY from that side of the room.  i'm particularly scared of kjaer's microwave i inherited through marriage, as it has the tendency to scorch something if you cook it the recommended way.  i have to cook it at reduced power (80%) for everything.  

i knew my aversion to microwaves had gone too far when i casually brought up said fear to my dear martha after dragging leif's high chair across the floor to nuke my coffee before leaving for work.  (see? we even say "nuke"... shouldn't that tell us all something?)  she kind of giggled at me.  then i proceeded to tell her i never prepared any of leif's food in the microwave.  i could tell she knew i was on board the crazy train when she asked if i prepared food for myself in the microwave and i responded... "well... yes..."  we both sort of laughed and i told her that in THIS particular case, it was better off left as "if i don't know about it, i won't care."  thereby giving her full reign of the microwave.  as long as we both understood that i didn't want to know because i knew i'd go a little crazy thinking about my little dudes brains getting "nuked".  

this is around the same time my armpits began to get sore in the lymph node region.  i'd sigh and toss and turn at night worrying that i had cancer of the armpits because of my deodorant. i'd google cancer findings on antiperspirant and scare the crap out of myself every time i'd read something else about it.  i'd rub my armpits and exclaim i had cancer to kjaer every day.  i couldn't understand why, when i went to buy kjaer's deodorant, HE could get it without antiperspirant and still smell like a dream by the end of the day... but the ENTIRE aisle of women's deodorant was antiperspirant ONLY.  i mean... i guess that just lends itself to the whole pressure of society on how perfect women have to be because they AREN'T EVEN ALLOWED TO PERSPIRE!  we started shopping for deodorant's without aluminum at health food stores, trying to find one that left me feeling as fresh as possible.  all i have to say about this endeavor is although my friends and family never said anything about my smell... i still felt not-so-fresh.  so i'd cheat and use my secret lavender which was chock full of aluminum and then spend all day worrying that i'd have cancer.  it was and is a vicious cycle.  

now that i work part time i wear my antiperspirant on days that i work and on days that i don't i use the crappy deodorant that doesn't work nearly as good as my husbands (don't ask me why) because usually on those days it's just him, leif and the people i run into at the grocery store who have to see me... and i don't know about you but they don't hug me when i pay for my groceries, so i'm ok with not smelling like a goddess on those days.  i still worry about my three days of using (sometimes 4), but figure that less exposure is better than 24/7 exposure.  

6.)  i have a terrible aversion to any sort of light after i've gone to bed.  i learned this after living with my dear husband... who wakes up in the middle of the night, goes out to the kitchen, turns on a light,  eats a bowl of cereal, comes back to bed and is back asleep in no time.  he does the same thing when he goes to the bathroom.  i mean, we're talking direct exposure to light, people!!  

i just can't even make sense of him!

i'd be laying in our dark room and the light in the kitchen would go on... i'd practically arch my back like a pissed off cat and hiss.  if light even touches my irises, i'm doomed.  i'm awake.  

for this reason alone, i mentally map out every environment i sleep in so that i can find my way to the bathroom, use said bathroom, and return back to bed without touching a single switch.  in some places (like my home) i've even done part of my bathroom trek with my eyes closed because of a nightlight or kitchen light that i thought was too offensive.  when leif was a newborn i could change his diaper in the dark or by light of a cell phone.  only on very rare occasions would i reach around the doorway into another room to turn that light on and close the door almost all of the way so that i could have a sliver of light to see with...  although, i would have fallen asleep standing up in broad daylight during those days as i was so exhausted.  don't know what i was so worried about.  it must be that it isn't even the falling back asleep factor, which sometimes plays a big part.  it's also just the sight of light when it's SUPPOSED to be dark.  it's just bad for business.  

i'm so bad that before leif was born, when kjaer would be going into our closet to get clothes early in the morning for himself he'd have to say "LIGHTS" and i would cover my head with a pillow until i heard the switch go off.  (he's up about an hour before me).  even now that kjaer and i have been living together for several years, he's so good at getting up and getting what he needs in the dark, shutting the door behind him and then turning the bathroom light on.  i still can manage to lay there, bothered by the light coming from under the doorway.  

the weirdest part about this is that i was terrified of the dark as a little girl.  in fact, i had to sleep with the hall light on until i was in the 8th grade.  is that even normal?  i always figured that most kids got over that fear earlier than i did.  

7.)  sometimes, when i run by myself... i count.  it's hard to explain and it's been such a long while since i've actually been able to run long enough to get into a rhythm (sigh)... but it's like i count my steps and breathing and how they synch up together.  it sounds, if i remember correctly, a little like one-un-un, two-oo-oo, three-ee-ee, one-un-un, two-oo-oo, three-ee-ee.  don't ask me to explain anymore... it gives me a rhythm, keeps my feet moving and my mind off of the work i'm doing.

well... there you have it.  my quirks.  those things you probably wouldn't know unless you were a fly on the wall. and yes, i realize that i originally wanted to tell you 5 but then the 6th and 7th ones sort of just jumped onto the page.  i can count, i just can't stop blabbering on about myself!   

but now i'm curious.

 i know we all have these little things others might find odd... so let me hear yours... if you dare. 

a miraculous gift...

can we just talk about how incredible God is?

some of you personally know this God i'm talking about, some of you are talking with him but aren't ready to commit.  others... well, you just don't know if there is one.

i'm here to tell you that this God of mine... He blows my mind.

since my dad's passing in 2009, summer has always been an emotional landmine for me.  it's when my dad's journey went from being scary to a downright nightmare.  so i often find myself rehashing some of the fond and not so fond memories of june and july.  this summer was no different. as may turned to june i found myself going down that wormhole again, reliving parts of my dad's journey that can bring me to tears, even 4 years later.  the treatment, the pain, the help or lack of help from healthcare professionals, the grief...

it wasn't until a few weeks ago that i remembered something else about my dad's stoic journey and a new path in my life began to take shape in front of me.  i've remembered it periodically over the past four years... but it finally sank in this summer, and has left me with a peace that surpasses all understanding.

so let's start at the beginning, shall we?

after the initial diagnosis and shockwave, there was a lot of mind-numbing waiting before the treatment.  it was terrible to live in such a state... not really knowing how bad it was, feeling as if each passing day without treatment the cancer was going to grow stronger.  it was an awful limbo to be stuck inside of.  during that time, my dad went for a PET scan to see where the cancer was in his body.  he had to drive himself because we were all working at the time (and he was completely "normal" as it was during the beginning of everything).  so we sent him off in his little black truck and awaited to hear what a PET scan was like.

after work i called my dad, as i always did, to see how everything went.  i only remember two parts of our conversation.  #1 - he had to drink a chalky substance so that the PET scan could pick up the cancer.  #2 - he had to wait for it to settle into his body and so he sat in the waiting room.  the thing is, as he was sitting in the waiting room, he saw a lot of very young people with their whole lives ahead of them sitting there too.  he said he couldn't help but wonder what their diagnosis was or the fear they were all living in.

and here is where my dad got all stoic on us.  he said, "i've lived a good life, i've seen my kids grow up, i couldn't ask for anything better... so on the way out to my truck, i prayed that if God was going to give me a miracle, that he'd go ahead and give it to a younger person with a family and their whole lives ahead of them."

i remember getting very upset with him and selfishly scolding him.  i said, "DAD, DON'T say that!"

i know how God takes us seriously when we talk to Him... and i was petrified that my dad meant it and that God would just go ahead and do what He does best... listen.

i remember that my dad very gently told me that he loved us and he loved his life... but that there were many others who needed his miracle and he knew that it was right to ask God to pass him over for the sake of another.

i got a teensy bit hysterical on him.

i know how God is, you see.  so, i cried.

the next several months were full of our ups and downs.  my dad started treatment, which he went through with flying colors.  he won over the hearts of the radiation girls... i have videos he made them take with his flip camera so we could all see what his treatment was like.  i know they liked him because i went with him one day.  they let me come back and watch the machine on tv screens outside of his radiation room.

after his month of radiation and chemo, we waited to see if he was a good candidate for surgery.  during that time, my dad had some increasing pain in his back... which was strange because his cancer was in his esophagus.  we would rub his back with this giant sharper image massager and he'd go for walks.  he drank maalox like it was going out of style. it seemed worse in the evening.  i tried to push that request that he made to God from my mind... and focus on the good.  the doctors didn't see anything in his back, and the cancer in his esophagus had responded to the treatment well, so we had a glimmering moment of hope.

but his back pain just was too excruciating and deep down we all knew something wasn't right.  it would come in waves and while it was happening, you stood by quietly wishing you could help, praying for a miracle... feeling totally inept and powerless.  but when it subsided he seemed more like himself and we could go back to those feelings of hope.

the thing was, that the waves of pain increased until there was a week where it seemed constant. the pain got so unbearable (or the mental distress of not knowing when it would end) that one afternoon my dad called my youngest brother and asked him to remove all of the guns from the house.  i think we all got a reality check then... even though the dr.'s were claiming that so far things looked good... we knew something was wrong.

finally, one afternoon in early june, my mom took my dad to the emergency room at st. lukes where they ran test after test.  it was agonizing.  after a couple of days waiting in the dark again, they found that his cancer had metastasized and wrapped around his spinal cord, causing him unbearable pain.

we didn't know, but we were on a final countdown with my dad to send him home.

the doctors told us he could live another 6 months to a year... he made it 6 more weeks.

this time of my dad's journey is always hard to talk or write about.  out of all of the members of my family, my mom and i probably talk about it the most.  sometimes our eyes tear up.  sometimes we smile.  because of the pain medication, my dad wasn't himself at most times... but sometimes we had the pleasure of seeing his old self again.  for those of you who knew him, you knew he had the ability to light up the room and make anyone laugh.  kjaer and i still giggle about when he got up to go to the bathroom and he playfully looked over his shoulder as he wrapped his hospital gown against him and told us not to look at his "peaches."  there was also the time i had sat through a dinner with kjaer's family and thought about nothing else except that i wanted to be with my dad.  kjaer and his mom could sense my desperation, i think, so they offered to stop by the hospital on the way home.  i was so glad to see my dad, i climbed right into the hospital bed with him and snuggled up under the nook in his arm.  later that week, when my mom was having a hard time, he gently patted the bed and said, "if monica can find a way, you can." and she climbed into the hospital bed with him.

the weeks in the hospital can only be described as numbing with a terrible side of helplessness.  i wanted to be there 24 hours a day, watching over him.  but when i was there, i'd realize there was nothing i could really do but sit and feel useless.  it was brutal.  sickness and death have a way of making you feel that way.  it reminds us that we aren't really in control.  no matter how many nights i slept next to my dad's bedside, death was coming and i couldn't stop it.  i couldn't make his pain go away either... the only thing i could do was make sure he wasn't alone.

one thing that i can say is that through it all, i had an indescribable peace.  even though it felt like i was living someone else's terrible nightmare, i knew God had a plan.

my dad did too.

during my dad's stay in the hospital, we learned of another family down the hall; a woman my age that had just been diagnosed with leukemia.  it was a rapid growing kind.  she had a daughter barely over the age of 1.  i knew she was exactly the kind of person my dad was talking about months prior.  a young woman who may not get the opportunity to see her baby grow up.  my mom spoke briefly with her husband in the patient lounge, and mom came back to dad's room carrying her story on her heart.  though we were consumed with worry about my dad, it was a great reminder that we were not alone in this world as we lifted her up in our prayers too.

i have to admit... i wondered if at that moment my dad's request flashed through his head... because it went through mine.  but the scariness of uncertainty pushed it to the back as my dad fought to stay with us.

i remember after my dad passed away, telling God that i wished i could meet whoever got his miracle while on this earth.  i'm not sure if i told God that out of innocent wonder, or if i was demanding some sort of explanation. when i expressed this request to my mom, she said we may never know until we get to heaven.

i knew she was right.

some of you might think it a bit presumptuous to believe that my dad even had a miracle stored up for him.  i suppose only God knows.  over the next 4 years i've often found myself wondering if God meant to take my dad home all along, or if my dad really did bless the life of another with a miracle that had his name on it.

so as june began again, and the flood of memories came pushing past the walls I unconsciously built, i sat down to write a depressing post about cancer and all of the woes it brought us.  about halfway through this tedious and dark post, a friend of mine since grade school, Whitney, posted a celebratory comment on facebook about how she couldn't believe 4 years had gone by since she had first been diagnosed with leukemia and how blessed she was to be here living such a wonderful life.  

as i read it a light bulb went off.  the story of the woman in the hospital came back to me... as did my dad's humble request to God.  i filled kjaer in on the backstory and asked him if he thought it would be totally inappropriate of me to write her years later and ask if she was staying at St. Lukes for her treatment.  kjaer and i talked about it and we decided it would be ok.  i kept saying to kjaer...  "if she writes me back and says yes... she's the one."  

so i sent a very brief email via facebook and got a response 5 minutes later.

it was her... she was the woman down the hall from us.  the one we prayed for.  

i sat at my computer and cried.  not because i was sad.  but i was so floored with the awesomeness of God.  not only did he grant my outlandish wish to meet the person who my dad gave his miracle to, but it was a childhood friend of mine as well.  i sat and cried out of joy because my dad's pain and suffering wasn't for nothing.  God had a plan and a purpose.  

whitney and i met a couple of weeks later to catch up (since we hadn't really spoken in over 15 years) and tell our stories.  i went to see her thinking i wouldn't say anything about my dad's prayer request from the parking lot, just because i didn't think it was very appropriate to say, "hey!  i think my dad gave his miracle to you!"  but as the night was wrapping up it came out of my mouth so naturally (i'm thinking God wanted me to say it) and whitney confirmed what i had been thinking all along.  we found ourselves overwhelmed by the goodness of God because she is a living, breathing, walking miracle... 

some could say that whitney's story and mine aren't really this entwined.  that my dad was probably destined to die from the first day he was diagnosed and she was destined to live.  but whitney and i think something bigger might be going on here... and we are amazed to the point of speechlessness by the God we serve.

after i met with whitney i came home to kjaer knowing that God had blessed me beyond what i deserve.  he had taken my broken heart, where i had begged for there to be some purpose for all of the pain four years ago, and had mended it with a miracle beyond all reason. and as the anniversary of my daddy's homecoming rolls by this year, i find myself not only thankful for the life my daddy lived but for the miracle that is whitney.   

and i know beyond a doubt that on july 5, 2009, when Jesus came to collect my daddy's spirit from his broken body next to my mom in that quiet hospice room... my dad sat up excitedly to meet him. and as Jesus extended his hand towards him to take him home... he lovingly threw an arm over his shoulder he said something to my dad like, "well done, my good and faithful servant.  well done."

running (on empty)

so... it's been approximately 14 months since my last run.  it was a tearful day when i hung up my mizuno's and sobbed to my husband (who kept nodding and smiling because i was an emotional pregnant woman) that I JUST COULDN'T DO IT ANYMORE!  

not because i didn't want to... but because i simply couldn't.

i know some of you girls who somehow kept running through your pregnancies.  you amaze me.  if i had golden crowns and scepters, i'd give you one of each.  because this girl could absolutely not trot one mile further.  

it was quite a strange revelation for me.  i mean, i'd been running for 5 years of my life.  i'd completed three 1/2 marathons, a handful of 10K's and countless 5K's in very respectable form... but the minute Leif sprang into existence, my body sold me out.  it decided HE was more important... i guess it was right.  it only took me the entire first trimester to figure out it wasn't about ME anymore. 

sometimes i don't catch on too quickly. 

i think my last run was 4 miles... i can't remember.  i just remember that it was a sunday and i was so dog tired from trying to continue my running regiment that i slept the afternoon away and woke up with the sorest thighs i'd ever had in my life.  

while this might be normal for someone who doesn't run, to someone who ran these distances weekly for 5 years, it seemed a little strange.  i decided i could no longer go at that pace anymore. 

 hence... the quitting. 

well... maybe a nicer way to say it was... the pausing.  

so...

i resorted to lifting weights and dreaming about running.  during my pregnancy i'd have these amazing dreams about running.  i'd wake up refreshed and excited... and then i'd wistfully remember that it would probably be quite awhile before running was like that for me again.  

then leif was born and i had two handsome guys in my life.  but time flew out the window and i'd find myself thinking... will i ever get to go back?  it was a very scary thought because running has been my outlet for years.  i had started running in 2006 to get in shape for my trip to Israel and challenge myself physically... but then it became more than that.  i completed my first half marathon in 2008 with my dad, mom and handsome man cheering wildly for me at the finish line.  

little did i know that 9 months later my dad would be diagnosed with cancer and my life would seemingly spin into uncertainty.  during this time running kept me grounded.  it was my place to talk to (and scream at) God.  i remember in June, when we found out that my dad's cancer had metastasized, i went out for a run right before a rainstorm.  i was so upset i could hardly see straight.  i started jogging down my typical path and got about 300 feet away from the trailhead when the rain and thunder started.   i was so pissed off... not so much about the storm but about the fact that my dad was going to die.  then i started crying.  

and it wasn't a pretty cry... it was definitely an ugly cry.  

but i didn't care.  i threw my fists up and God and screamed... i was angry.  i wanted to know WHY.  WHY was i going to lose my dad?  i sobbed "why" over and over and turned around.  i sprinted home with feet that could have broken through concrete.  when i got back to the trailhead i just continued screaming why and sobbing.  i think it was an adult temper tantrum in the presence of God.  

it was OK, though... God totally understood.

and when i got home... i had cried it all out and had physically exhausted myself.  the shortest run of my life had become a pivotal moment to vent to God face to face... who had it all under control.  there was the real, vulnerable me... standing in front of God like a frightened child.  and He was there... His heart breaking right alongside of me.... filling me up with peace and mercy.

after my dad passed away, running became a place to pray for strength and to focus myself on the joys and beauty of life and the blessings i had.  it became a routine i needed to help me move forward... out of the pain and heartache. 

seasons passed and i began to heal... and though i'll never be the same... i hope i can say that i've become a better person because of what i went through.  i know it was only because of grace and mercy that i pressed forward... and God used running as a way to stitch me back together...

step by step.

so you see what it's important to me... right?
you see why i was devastated when i realized that i couldn't do it?

this month leif coltrane turned 7 months old!  SEVEN MONTHS!!!  i can't even believe how fast he's grown.  he's amazing... so smiley and giggly.  he raises one eyebrow at me just like his dad and has such a calm soul.  i love that kid...  just love him.

it also just so happens to be my favorite time of year to run.  i love the smell of fall leaves and the crisp autumn air.  i love afternoon highs in the 60's.  since i'm still breastfeeding leif there was just no way i could run before work like i used to.  i already get up at 5 to feed leif and get to work by 7:15 (OK, OK... i'm always 5 minutes late... 7:20).  running would mean a 4 AM wake up call... and i'm already tired as it is.  

but cool afternoons are great for me.  i can come home, feed leif and then leave for a run.  so about a month ago when the weather was just right (overcast, the air heavy with the smell of leaves) i decided

it.

was.

time.

since i had basically done nothing but work, laundry and take care of a baby for the past 6 months, i started from scratch, the way i first began running 6 years ago.  i have a book with a run/walk plan.  it's all based on intervals.  the first run is: run 1 min., walk 2 min., 12 times.  essentially, you increase the running time and decrease the walking intervals over a 12 week period until you are running a solid 60 minutes.  my running partner, B, and i always run intervals.  it's just that we'd do a 5 or 10 minute interval, walk 1 minute and do it again.  so that's my goal.  

the first week of runs were brilliant.  i came home happy, crunching leaves all the way.  i'd come trotting up to my house, rays of sunshine oozing out of my pores.  i'd kiss kjaer and leif and exclaim, "it's like i'm super-mom!!!" and hop in the shower feeling like a champ.  

the next week my running time increased to 2 minutes which added another mile and a half onto my journey.  this first big increase happened to take place on a very warm (80 degree) afternoon.  about halfway through i was sucking air and thinking WHY the HELL do i like this?

it was a dark, dark moment for me.  

i think my dog was thinking the same thing too.  by the end of it he was trotting very slowly behind me and i was practically pulling him home.  

it was a tad bit disheartening.  

the following week we were struck down with the stomach flu... and now we have some nasty virus.  so... needless to say, although i've been getting out the door... it isn't at the rate i imagined it would be.  i get a run in here or there, but increasing my intervals seems pointless because every time i get a week under my belt, we get knocked down with some illness and i can't run for the next week.

the problem is... i want to be in killer shape NOW.  i don't want to do all of the hard work it takes to get there.  i just want to snap my fingers, lose my last 15 pounds and be a runner again.  i want to lace up my shoes, start my garmin and run off into an oblivion without wondering how many more seconds until i can walk again?  

but that isn't how it works, is it?  it's the showing up every day, the sweat, the tears that define us... and not just in running... in life.  if we had our way and life came so simply... we'd all be walking around with heads as big as the moon and hearts the size of peas.  life was designed to mold and shape us through patience, perseverance and yes... humility.   (and trust me, chubby mommy thighs rubbing together and sucking air after running for 90 seconds is currently keeping me humble).   these are the things that make or break us... and i want it to make me so that each day i'm more refined and gracious than the last.

so... even though my tank seems as if it's out of gas.  even though i run two minutes (and stare at my watch for the last minute of every 2 minute interval whilst i wheeze away)... i'm going to keep on trucking.  in doing so i hope to find a part of my old self and pieces of myself i've never known before... all the while,  staying grateful, focused and grounded.  

well... that's my prayer, at least.

father-daughter dance...

it's that time of year again... summer is full of birthdays, weddings, BBQ's and happiness.  but for my family there is a day that feels a little more like it belongs in the middle of a bitter cold winter. 

july 5th.  the day we lost my dad.

i've prayed, since that day, that i would be graceful after having my heart blown apart.  i've watched others in my life who've experienced their own turmoil.  it has either left them angry and disillusioned or they've walked away as if they had been refined by the fire into something more beautiful.  i wanted the latter for myself... i figured if i could do my best to remain reflective that i could choose to be graceful.

besides, being angry doesn't work very well for me.  i'm not a very good angry person.

so as the anniversary rolls around again this year, three years later, i find myself suddenly flooded with memories of him.  and i have to choose to be as graceful as i can since i've found it best to go ahead and let myself remember them... because for me, feeling is better than stuffing my emotions down and not dealing with them. 

my dad was a truck driver and on the road most of my life.  he'd come home on weekends but often we'd go two or three weeks without seeing him.  however, not one day went by without me knowing how much my dad missed me and loved me.  he called every night just to hear our voices.  as the years went by and we got older, he started finding more local jobs.  by the time i was in college he was home every weekend. no matter what his job situation was... whether over the road for weeks at a time, or his brief two year stint as a stay at home dad doing carpentry work on the side... he loved his family with great passion and conviction.

so as you can imagine, when my dad was home, we soaked it up.  my family was never much for doing activities out and about together.  our time was mostly spent at home in each others company.  i'm still very much that way.  i'd prefer to have friends over for dinner and a great conversation rather than "go out".  we'd spend time helping my dad wash his truck, watch movies together and play in the backyard... which was like his own little oasis.  my dad had a knack for creating spaces all over our house... but i say this tongue in cheek because some of his spaces are either a little strange or a little unsafe.  one time i came home from college and my house was covered with wood... like the kind you build a 6 foot fence with.  while i was busy dying of embarrassment, my dad claimed that he had made our home look like a cabin and that nobody else had a house like ours. he was quite proud of this feat.

well... i guess he was right... nobody did.

the first time i brought kjaer to my parents house i was just "dropping by" because we were out and about.  i had gotten used to the cabin thing so i was no longer embarrassed by it.  at least i could shrug it off with a giggle.  but we pulled up and my wooden house had been stained orange.  i swear it looked like an enormous dorito.  my dad had decided it was time to re-do the stain and apparently it was a little orange-er than he expected... so he just went with it.

i wanted to crawl under my dashboard and die.  

"here, handsome guy that i have a terribly huge crush on... here is my parents bright orange house."

my dad did many of these "renovations" to our house... putting up decks that weren't to code, building a pond in our backyard with a waterfall that ran on a sump pump, spackling our ceiling and then using a vacuum cleaner to blow sparkles up so that our ceiling would look "cool".  the list goes on.  and trust me, if it showed on the outside of our house... there was always that one neighbor who turned him in to the city of aurora for code violations.  we don't know exactly who it was that had it out for my dad... but we had some good guesses.  of course, now that he's gone you kind of appreciate these cooky little things he did... like the window in the fence so that the breeze would come through to the makeshift hammock he built.  everything had a purpose.  he was king of his little cooky castle... and we were his loving and loyal subjects

my dad had a sense of humor too.  in high school, i had three neighborhood friends who were more like sisters.  one sweet girl came to my house one day and my dad greeted her with a huge grin.  he then proceeded to open his mouth as wide as he could and let his dentures fall down from the top row of his teeth.  she screamed, "MR. TODACK!" and ran out the front door.  he just laughed and laughed.  of course... this became his new favorite game with her... chasing my friend around with his dentures falling out of his mouth.

ahhhh...  a day in the life of the todack's.  and some of you wonder why i'm so strange!

some dear friends of ours got married a couple of weekends ago and that got me thinking about weddings.  i LOVED our wedding.  it was so us.  but there was one thing that i had always dreamed we'd have that we didn't.

dancing. 

my dad LOVED to dance.  he was that kind of dad who had you stand on his feet while he waltzed around the dance floor.  i've spent many a family wedding on top of his dress shoes, giggling and spinning with my sweet daddoo.  even later, when i was in my 20's, my dad couldn't resist and he'd pull me out to the dance floor.  no matter how shy, awkward or bashful i was, he'd ignore it and dance with his daughter.  after kjaer and i got engaged... one of my first wedding plan decisions was to NOT have dancing.  i knew kjaer would agree with that anyway... he hates dancing.  plus, a 6'4" man might look a little funny dancing with a 5'3" woman.  but selfishly, the decision was for me.  the thought of having a dance floor without my dad to dance with me was just too painful to bare.

and by the way,  i don't regret that it was missing.  i think the dance floor would have emphasized the already gaping wound that my family bore so courageously on one of the happiest days of my life.  in fact... i remember my mom looking at kjaer's family laughing and smiling and having a great time at our wedding and asking me why we weren't acting like that.  my mom and i were posing for pictures at the time and she was probably feeling a little naked without her partner in crime.  i said, "because daddy's not here... he's the missing piece that makes our family whole." 

back to dancing...

i was reflecting on this "missing" piece from my wedding... when i suddenly remembered that i HAD my wedding father daughter dance with my dad.  it was just a year earlier than expected.  it was a couple of days after kjaer had asked me to marry him.  as most of you know, my father was thrilled.  he was in a hospice care center by now.  the medication they had him on made it impossible for him to talk.  you couldn't understand a word he'd be saying... which i'm sure was terribly frustrating for him when he had a clear mind.  i had come to bring my family some dinner.  we hated leaving him alone there... so we went in shifts.

anyways... kjaer and i came that day to bring qdoba.  we were all laughing and talking.  my dad was just sitting there quietly.  i don't remember how it came up... but i started singing a country song my dad had written and recorded in a Tennessee studio during his younger days.  (he would have been a great country singer).  i could tell by his eyebrows that he was quite impressed that i remembered each lyric... as i did my best to fake a southern drawl.  suddenly, my dad waved me over to him.  i walked over to him and he motioned to help him up.  i didn't quite know what was happening... with my dad you just obey. 

and then he wrapped his arms around me and started swaying and humming to me. 

we were dancing.

for the life of me, i wish i could remember what he was humming. 

all i know, is i got my father-daughter dance.  i kept my head over his shoulder so he wouldn't see my tears.  he and i knew, as did every other person in that room, that he wouldn't share that dance with me at my wedding.  so this was it... and we both rocked back and forth in a moment suspended in time.

the depths of my dads love for us still baffles me.  i'm sitting here looking at my sleeping son and thinking about how every day i love him more and more.  some days i feel like my heart is going to explode because it grows so rapidly.  then, i'm reminded that there was a time when i was my daddy's baby girl and his love for me was brand new.  imagine his love compounding upon itself, the way mine and kjaer's has been growing for leif,  for 30 years and you have how much my dad loved me.  he loved me so much that, in spite of the fact he was dying, he stood up and gave me my father daughter dance.  he knew i'd be missing him on that big day... so he brought the dance floor from our future wedding to the present as a gift from him to me.

anniversaries of deaths are a little like the anniversaries of celebrations too.  i remember that when kjaer and i were first dating i had little anniversaries in my head about every little thing.  in fact, the night we first kissed was the eve of christmas eve in 2004.  i'm sure i drove him crazy with this anniversary... but heck, i like to celebrate things. 

so i could sit here this july 5th and mope.  i could think about the pain of those last few weeks and the tragedies that happened to my dad and subsequently, me and my family.  those things are still so close to the surface that they can bring me to tears just thinking of them.  but i'd rather think of the other stuff.  the other 29 and a half years of happy memories that i have about my dad...  of orange wooden houses, crazy dentures, cool evenings by his pond, singing at the dinner table, 3 week trips with my family jam packed in his semi truck, and the way he danced with me... not just on that hot july day... but the way he danced with me throughout my life.

memories like that make it a little easier to try and be graceful.

the last supper(s)...

was sitting in the living room of a very dear friend and some of her girlfriends the other weekend, talking babies, of course.  no one can be within a 10 foot radius of me right now without talking about babies.  it's probably the large belly that proudly protrudes from my frame, which is barely recognizable at this point. so don't worry... i don't blame anyone...

regardless, each woman was telling me her tales of glory and woe on being a mother, cheering me on and encouraging me.  i sat there with my glass of ice water (no mimosa's for me!) and took mental notes from these wise ladies.  in my book... they are already heroes.  they are doing what i imagine i'll be doing in a few short weeks (t-minus 3 1/2 weeks) with gusto, and doing it brilliantly.  they've made it through the newborn phase and have successfully reared children above the age of one.  some of them have even raised TWO of them. 

Lord, have mercy.

one girl recounted her 64 hour labor process (PLEASE GOD NO!) while another talked about how her babies practically shot out of her.  they laughed and talked and smiled and boasted about their children and their husbands.  it was very inspiring.

one girlfriend of mine talked about how she was 10 days late before finally being induced.  she smiled and said, "my husband and i kept having 'last suppers' together."  we all chuckled...

and then i realized that's exactly what kjaer and i have been doing. 

well...

i've been the instigator and he has been my partner in crime... if only to avoid the wrath of a hungry pregnant woman.  but also because his wife moans about every three or four days that we need to enjoy this now before our lives totally change!!!

the other night my handsome man took me to maggiano's for a little gnocchi dish that we split.  the food was superb, but the date was divine.  i had forgotten, in the midst of our growing excitement/stress how i love to date my husband.  we sat and talked and cuddled and smiled.  it was absolutely perfect, except that we were both too full to have a little desert.  oh well, there will be other times... just not in the next couple of months i'm sure.

for lunch we visited the five star establishment of mcdonald's, which has been frequented about once a month since i started incubating a little hungry creature in the depths of my gut.  we probably visited for the last time in quite awhile, because after baby k is born, i will have to cut this monthly endeavor out of my diet.  but this is another one of those "lasts," so we went.   this time kjaer set our tray down at a booth and while he was up getting extra pickles for his burger, i slyly moved the tray to another table because i found I COULD NO LONGER FIT IN THE BOOTH.  ok... while this is a slight exaggeration, i knew the moment had come where i can no longer force myself to sit in a booth because my belly almost touches the table and it's so uncomfortable.  it was definitely a first in my lifetime... but i had to look at it from the bright side.  at least the reason i couldn't fit in the booth WASN'T because i eat too much mcdonalds.

this next weekend i'm looking forward to another incredible meal at the melting pot with one of our favorite couples.  i started to get really nervous that they were going to seat us in a booth... as in, my heart started to palpitate.  i finally called them and laughingly asked that they seat us at a table that had at least one chair.  the hostess on the other end of the phone wished me congratulations and told me they could accommodate me (and my belly) and they'd see me on friday night.

it's funny how anticipating huge life changes can cause you to go out and do some "lasts."  in reality, it's quite the dramatic overkill.  i mean, will kjaer and i frequent nice restaurants in our future?  of course!  it just feels like everything as we know it is over.  

of course, my whining has surrounded alone time with kjaer and fancy restaurants (yes, i know mcdonalds is not fancy... it's just a guilty pleasure).  now i find myself, in my spare time, making lists of places i would like to visit before our little one comes.  who knows if it'll happen, but this is the time to try.  (actually, i should have done this earlier in our pregnancy when i could still fit comfortably in a romantic, cozy booth).  

but the truth is, we will do this again.  

the reality is that lives go on... whether it is because of new life or death.  looking back to 3 years ago, when my dad passed away from cancer, i remember thinking life would never be the same.  i thought surely i would take my last breath because of the heartache.  i was sure it was the last time i was ever going to be happy.  the last time our family was whole and complete.  but those lasts weren't true.  first of all, in spite of the sorrow, i kept breathing... one day at a time.  though there is a definite hole that only my daddy can fit into, my life has been full of happiness since his passing.  and my immediate family has doubled in size with two new wonderful sister-in-laws, and five nieces and nephews! (not to mention my bliss in having a wonderful husband and pip squeak on the way). so, even though my family doesn't look the same as it did three years ago, it reflects the joy that my small family of five enjoyed before my daddy left us.  (daddy would've been so proud!)  on top of that, i've been accepted into kjaer's family... which brings more love and happiness from all angles.  

the only lasts that were permanent, were the moments spent with my sweet daddoo before he died.  and they're not really permanent.  i plan on seeing him again one day... i'll just have to wait a little longer than i would for, say, a really fancy dinner at my favorite restaurant. 

but for now... i think that even though i know these aren't really my last suppers, i'll keep milking it for all it's worth.  sometimes we just need to acknowledge those feelings of last-ness even though we know to our cores that last = we'll just have to wait awhile.  

as the clock keeps ticking, kjaer and i get more excited/nervous/anxious to meet our little one.  people throw around the ol', "enjoy your _____ while it lasts!" and we find ourselves getting annoyed... probably because we're hyper aware of the change that is about to occur and we don't need it spelled out for us.  but i think also because we know in our guts that this isn't the end of all things.

it's just the beginning.

and i can raise a glass (filled to the brim with a shirley temple) to that.