when it counts...

usually every july i post a little tribute to my dad... last years being the most famous... 

this year i was having trouble getting started when i happened across the journal i kept while he was sick and after he passed away.  as i read it i was instantly transported back into a memory that had catapulted to the front of my brain shortly after he was gone... i thought i'd pass along the story that was so typical of my dad.  funny how i had forgotten about this until i reread it.  glad i wrote it down to remember... and re-remember- again.

may 5, 2010

was taking a shower the other day when the most random memory came upon me.

i was 16, interviewing for a job at the Gap (swoon).  i didn't have a car yet so my dad had driven me there and patiently waited in the mall on a bench. (ironically, it was at the Old Buckingham Mall... which i live 1 block away from now)  i wore a black baby doll dress with yellow sunflowers that i had borrowed from a friend and it was my very first job interview... 

and a weird interview at that.

it was a group interview... totally nerve wracking.

they even made me assemble an outfit, to my horror.

i guess i hadn't realized you actually had to be fashionable to work there.   

before the interview was even over i knew i wouldn't get the job...  and it was a teenager's dream job. 

by the time i left the store my heart was broken into a million pubescent pieces.

i walked out of the storefront and straight into my daddy's arms... a ball of tears.  it was like he knew i would be exiting the store in tears and he needed to have his arms open just for me. he was my harbor and i just soaked up his love as i cried about my impending rejection.

then (i think) he took me for ice cream...

that or i've inserted it into my memories because it seems the sort of thing he would do.

it is one of the happiest of my sad memories because even though he spent a lifetime on the road as a truck driver away from us, it seems to me he was always there when it really mattered... 

and i can't picture a better person to console me in that moment than him.

ramblings of a pierceless wonder...

you guys...

i lost my crap the other morning..

and not just a little.

lost.it.

as in, stomped off to my room, threw myself down on our bed and howled until i could howl no more.

kjaer and i used to call these sorts of days D-days (daddy days) after my dad died.  it was a code word to tell him it was basically pointless to try and make me happy... because i just needed to be sad and have myself a good cry and move through the day with puffy eyes.

that's what the other day was... a D-day.

if you asked me why... which is probably what you're wondering... i'm not sure that i could even tell you.  i mean... i know the incident that set the whole emotional downslide into motion, but it's really a cacophony of thoughts that have been running through my mama brain for weeks now.

that morning, the minor straw that broke the camels back was that i was sitting in our beautiful sunroom trying to wake myself up after a lo-o-o-o-ng night.  i can't really describe why the night was so terrible... but it was.  it was one of those nights where you are sure you probably got some rest in there, but it came in increments of 30 minutes here, 20 minutes there.  henley, who is usually an awesome sleeper, was moaning and groaning the way a baby would if they could toss and turn.  i had pulled her into bed with me around midnight and after two hours of (refusing to get out of bed) trying to snuggle and nurse her into submission... i finally gave in and went into the nursery, changed her diaper and nursed her in the chair.  she was dead asleep in less than 5 minutes.  when i went back to my room i put her in her rock and play... because even though i love having her in my bed, it was 3 AM and i had hardly slept at all.  the minute... i kid you not... my head touched the pillow leif started wailing for me from his little mattress on the floor.  kjaer was sleepily trying to get up and get to him... but i was up so i decided to be a martyr i suppose.  pooooooor meeeeee, i'm a mama and evrrrrrrry bodyyyyy neeeeeeeds meeeeee.  after throwing a mini fit into my pillow...i went and laid with him on his mattress and promptly fell into a restless sleep until 5.  when i woke up i tiptoed back to my bed... exhausted and ready to soak up a handful of hours of good sleep.  about 20 minutes later henley was ready to eat again.  so i pulled her back into bed and fell asleep nursing her.  i then i had weird dreams about my daddy... whose anniversary of his death is this week.

 so... i could feel i was fragile that morning already.  kjaer was playing with leif in the kitchen and i had taken henley with me outside in the backyard to let trooper out.  as i was out there i just sunk with henley into the grass... it was like i just needed to feel the earth beneath my feet, the grass between my toes... something to ground me.  henley seemed perfectly happy sitting in the grass and so we sat... avoiding the clamor that comes with a two year old boy who has just had his whopping 12 hours of sleep.  then i got up and moved into our beautiful sunroom... soaking up some sunshine and trying to absorb my dreams from the night before.  i just wanted to idle there for awhile.  sink into my surroundings and enjoy this place i call home.

so i'm sitting there... and leif comes running over delighted to see me.  he's in his santa claus jammies, eating a bowl filled to the brim with strawberries.  his blue eyes are sparkling and he has the silliest shock of bed head in his beautiful red curls.  he keeps climbing up into my lap and down, pushing and poking at my sack of potatoes that i loathingly call my body right now.  i don't mind so much... he's so happy and sweet and kind.  the whole time i'm thinking... 

damn, that kid is one amazing masterpiece.

and then he cracked my phone.

the back story is that my phone has been broken a few times.  we have some service plan that replaces it absolutely free... so i shouldn't really care...  except that the employees of best buy mobile are starting to treat me like i'm doing it on purpose.  i hate it.  i hate it when people assume the worst about me because i am not THAT person.  and then they always replace my phone with a refurbished phone with more problems... and it usually takes 3-4 refurbished phones until i can get one that acts like a good phone should.  so i'm sure it looks to them... on paper... like i've had my phone replaced a gajillion times over the past two years... when really it's been my fault (or leif's) about 4 of those times.

so... leif picks up my phone... which i had purposely moved out of eyesight 5 minutes earlier so it wouldn't be tempting for him...  but somehow he spotted it, picked it up and it slipped from his hands.

i didn't curse... though i wanted to.

i just sat there.

and then i became leif's jungle gym again.  he's crawling and poking and prodding and he won't leave me alone.  only now it isn't cute.  it was then that the cork popped off... i couldn't handle it anymore.  i moved leif aside and ran off to my room like a school girl and threw a big crying fit in my bed.

so i'm sobbing on my bed... telling myself that i just need a good cry.  but as i'm crying, the intensity with which i'm doing so is ramping up.  i feel like i mentally floated above my body and looked down on myself and saw the craziness unfolding there... and i starting flipping through all of the things that are making me upset... because i knew a phone that could easily be replaced couldn't matter this much.

first of all... we have been battling a diaper rash with henley for almost 3 months now.  finally... FINALLY... we figured out that she has super sensitive skin and can't even wear the plastic covers that go over her cloth diapers (and disposables have the same effect). so now i have to switch over to wool and fleece covers... which are much more involved than the little plastic covers that we have come to love.  and wool is expensive... so it's like we're having to make another small financial investment right before i have to send two children into part time daycare and we're already cinching up our belts.  it's a learning process and i just want it to be simple like cloth diapering has been with leif.

and speaking of those two kids going into daycare... one of them REFUSES a bottle.  she is the easiest baby i have ever met... except with this one crux.  everyone is telling me not to stress... but our daycare provider keeps nervously asking me if henley is taking the bottle yet... like EVERY time i see her (we still bring leif once a week in the summer) and it makes my blood pressure jump.  i feel so... pressured.

i don't like pressure.

and then yesterday (*Sigh*) i remembered that i hadn't put my tongue ring back in from my visit to the dentists office last week.  i was feeling particularly self conscious... looking like a ragamuffin.   and not the cute kind... like all of my girlfriends with the cute yoga pants and tank tops and doo-rags.  no... as in giant maternity shirts fresh with spit up stains and water from lanolizing some wool covers, unshaven legs, crazy hair and glasses.  so i decided to put my tongue ring back in that i had discreetly tucked into my wallet when they took x-rays at the dentist because i thought it would make me feel a little bit like my old self.  it was the only piercing of my many at the dentist's office that i thought, "oh, i'll just do it when i get home."  well... by the time i had remembered, the hole was closed.  i tried to go from underneath and above.  i thought about just ramming it through the new skin.  and then i could feel my daddy laughing at me from up above... because i had promised my parents years ago that when i got married i would take it out for my wedding day and never put it back in.  then my daddy died (around the time i got engaged).  as my wedding drew closer my mom reminded me about "that stupid tongue ring" and my promise.  i told her i didn't recall making such a promise and laughingly reminded her that she couldn't prove that i had because the only other witness was dead.  

she didn't think i was very funny.

but now here i sat... not one shred of me feeling attractive... and this stupid tongue ring... which must've had signified my beauty and youth was being rejected by my tongue. (who's laughing now, right?)

you wouldn't think it would matter after 15 years... but apparently i had a lot of identity tied up in it.

suddenly all of my sex appeal... or what i had left of it after having children... was left on the counter in the bathroom and my emotions were plummeting.  so i did what any depressed and unsexy mom would do.

i went grocery shopping looking like a total wreck.

i mean, i figured i already felt like crap... let's just get this shiz over with.

and then i'm catching my reflection in the dairy cases and thinking, so it's come to this, has it?

here's the thing, people.  it's not really about a phone breaking, or a tongue ring that won't go through it's hole.  it's about me feeling so unlike myself that i cling to these tangible things that i perceive as "attractive" or "cool" about me.  my iPhone isn't fat or greasy... it's sleek and stylish.  my tongue ring doesn't have lumps and bumps where it shouldn't... it is young, hip and sexy.  i don't have to worry about putting them on diets or squeezing them into too small clothes.  they don't have to wear clothes that are wayyyyy to big for them either.  they are perfect, unchanging, tiny little objects that i've staked my value on because i've forgotten who i thought i was... or as leif so sweetly proclaims i "got-for" who i was.

i've read the inspiring blogs and articles my mommy friends post to facebook... hell, i repost them too.  the ones where the mommy's are proud of their tiger striped stretch marks, their soft bellies and cellulite.  i've even been moved by some... the other day i put up a picture of myself on facebook of me at the zoo with my kids... even though when i looked at it i could feel my insides churn at the sight of myself. i've been inspired to wear a swimsuit and not miss out on making memories with my children this summer... except all i have right now is a damn, old lady looking, maternity suit that i feel like crap in.

if i only had money... yes, money would fix all of this.  money and being skinny.  

and probably wine... lots of wine.

but here's the truth.  here's the revelation i'm having.  yes i want to be the mama who doesn't care what others think and embraces who she becomes.  i will be that mama... just not today.  today this mama also needs to grieve what she's lost.  i've lost my athletic body... it's somewhere under these giant nursing boobs and post-partum belly.  and even though i've been watching what i eat and have started running again... the boobs and belly are still there.  my loving husband... who knows me all too well... likes to remind me that i just grew a tiny miracle and it'll all come back with time.  he strokes my hair and tells me i'm lovely and not to worry and i want to clench my fists and stammer through gritted teeth BUT I WANT TO FEEL SEXY AGAIN, RIGHT NOW!!!!  

even more unfair than losing my image of who i was... is that i lost my daddy and our (greatest accomplishments) babies will never know their opa on this side of heaven.  well... i say they'll never know... but leif seems to have some sort of spiritual connection with him.  he tells me when we pull up to oma's house "opa is here" or when my mom was watching the kiddos so i could nap when henley was born he looked up from his toys and quietly said, "opa went bye-bye." just yesterday (this probably is also contributing to my emotional train wreck) he pointed to a picture in a book we were reading and said, "that's an opa."  and wouldn't you know it... it looked just like him... bald head, happy grin and plaid shirt... even though leif has maybe seen 2 pictures of my dad in his life.

my dad was the original safe harbor before i fell in love... the OG.  if I had D-days like this before he was gone, i would crawl up into his lap and he would anchor me.  he was the earth beneath my feet and the grass in between my toes.  he may have thought i was crazy or a bit nutty, but i was also his daughter... one of his masterpieces too.  so that softened the insanity surrounding me, i'm sure, and allowed him to let me take shelter under his wings for a speck of time while i recovered without too much scrutinizing.

now i have a husband, who my daddy passed his mantle onto rather dramatically, and he is also trying to figure out this parent thing.  he's waking up next to this hormonal, puffy woman who goes all sorts of batty when her tongue ring hole closes and her iPhone cracks.  he probably doesn't recognize me in all of this either... but he does a fabulous job of holding down the fort while i take a D-day to sort through the emotional mess that is me.  he's my harbor... where i dock my little boat and wait out the storm.  but i'm also his harbor... so that makes it a different type of relationship than what my dad and i had.  we have to take turns losing our crap and picking up each others broken pieces... and i think we do a damn good job at it if i say so myself.

but i haven't fully gotten to the revelation yet, have i?

it is this... sometimes we all need a D-day.  a day where all that gets accomplished is having a good cry, making the bed and then watching a movie.  a day where we stand with mouths agape as we stare at the scary role of parenthood and wonder if we'll ever survive.

but a D-day is also something else.  it is defined as an important day for an operation to begin.  it's a day to pull yourself up by the bootstraps (in my case, after laying in a puddle for a bit of time) and take on the role that's been gifted to you.  a day to accept your challenge and strategically move on.

so for me... this means i need to accept that i'm not as hip and skinny as i once was (or thought i was).  accept that my daddy's physical presence is gone from this world.  accept that being a mother is stinking h.a.r.d. and trying to be a good one and a rockin' wife can often leave me feeling like a waste of space by the end of the day.

the operative word in all of this is acceptance... of who i am and what i'm becoming.  acceptance of the woman who stands in front of the mirror at the end of the day with no tongue ring, a chubby mama belly and a gap between my two front teeth when i smile.  because that woman can conquer mountains.  that woman does the best she can every single day by the grace of God.  and though there are failures, and tears (and childish temper tantrums that involve wailing on my part), and hiccups... it is ultimately the operation at hand... and nobody said it'd be perfect.

so i tell myself it's ok to fall into a mess of tears and sobs every once in awhile.  but after i've exhausted those frustrations, it'll be time to lace up those boots and get a move on girl. 

 throw your arms around those who love you, lean in and press on.  

and one day i'll look back on this challenging season of my life and see it for all of the splendor it really was... the chunk of time where i got to know and love myself for the beautiful mess i am... and embraced it.

leif's badge of honor...

my dear baby boy,

daddy and I have been talking to you about this for weeks... but you just look at us nonchalantly and go about your business of being our baby.  so, i'm writing a letter (that you can't even read yet) to tell you that...

you are going to love being a big brother.  

you have no idea how excited daddy and i are for you.  i mean, we're excited to welcome a new little love into our lives that we haven't met yet... obviously.  but we are also so excited for you and your new role...

big brother.

your daddy and i are both the oldest siblings in our families and it's a role that we have carried with distinguished pride over the course of our lives. i know your daddy loves nothing more than spending time with your uncle keir and uncle keian.  his fondest memories always have your uncles in them and to this day he is so proud of them and who they have become.

and i don't remember my life before my brothers.  some of my earliest memories consist of when they were born. they are foggy, but they are there.  i remember oma and opa saying that uncle keith had hair as red as a fire engine when he was born.  and i remember opa waking me up one early morning in june and asking me what i thought of the name "grant" for your uncle grant.  but i don't remember life before those two boys.  

as we grew up together, they were my partners in crime.  i always felt a sense of responsibility when they were with me.  perhaps it was because i felt like i needed to help take care of them because they were littler.  but they were also my best playmates.  the neighborhood kids... they could be a little questionable.  my brothers didn't know cuss words or other bad stuff my parents didn't want us to talk about... so they were always safe and fun to be around.

most of my favorite memories with them took place in our backyard or our basement... our two main stomping grounds.  we would play "leaf war" and build crazy forts out of old cardboard boxes and junk your opa and oma were OK with us using.  we would run around and throw leaves at each other like it was going out of style.  your uncle keith would wear some camouflage pants just like an army guy with this light blue summer camp shirt.  he didn't really match, but none of us cared.  he was, like, the real deal.  we'd put on epic christian rock concerts, too.  we'd perch on top of an old door in the basement that we had unsteadily balanced on something.  uncle keith would be the lights and sound tech person with an old garage lamp your opa had and a boombox.  i can't remember what uncle grant's job was... i probably forced him to assist your uncle keith.  i would prance around the "stage" singing my heart out as amy grant... ultra cool christian rock singer.  i always made your uncle keith pretend he was michael w. smith and uncle grant i forced to be steven curtis chapman.

looking back, i suppose i could be a little bossy sometimes...

perhaps it comes with the territory...

although i don't think your daddy was that way with your uncle keian and uncle keir.

as we got older, the boys stayed playmates and i grew into a role of the "older sister."  i'd watch your uncles when we got home from school... making after school snacks for them like graham crackers and frosting or spoons of peanut butter with chocolate chips scattered on top.  we'd watch "disney afternoon" and sometimes i would start dinner for them... macaroni and cheese and hamburger helper were my specialties.  your oma always said i did a great job of caring for them, and i've always felt a great sense of pride in this.  your opa travelled over the road for weeks at a time and oma worked evenings... so often i was the one caring for them until our aunt marlene came when she was done with work.  i always look back on those afternoons with fondness.  we had so much fun watching cartoons together and playing in the living room.  we lived in our own little bubble and we were completely happy there.

when middle and high school came, i was more concerned about myself than my brothers i suppose.  i think it comes as a price with that age.  of course i always loved them dearly, but i was more concerned about making friends outside of my family.  and so i did.  but i never stopped loving that role i had.  i would drive them to and from school in my car that backfired every time i shifted from 2nd gear into 3rd and i'd listen to non-Christian radio... which was a no-no.  i can't remember if they ever told on me.  but they remembered that i wasn't following house rules... they just reminded me of it the other day.

when college came, they'd sometimes drive up to ft. collins to see me.  i wish i had spent more time with them during that time of my life.  they were growing up into young men and i was off doing my own thing.  i think i was often ashamed because i was rebellious at the time.  i didn't want them to figure me out for the phony i was.  i probably would have spent more time with them if my heart had been in the right place with God.  but i'm sure this is also pretty typical of most sibling relationships during this phase of life and i think they forgave me a long time ago for being absent so much.

after college i did something that most people don't do these days... i bought a condo with your uncle keith and we lived together.  to be honest, he was the best roommate a gal could've asked for... no girl drama... well, except for mine.  during that time he and i became friends.  by now he towered over me by at least a foot.  he'd joke and call me his "little" sister.  uncle grant and i became closer too.  he developed the same passion for music that i had and we'd trade mixed cd's and talk music all of the time.  something was shifting in our relationship.  i was no longer "the boss" (which i think i always secretly thought i was).  i was becoming their friend.  we were all young adults trying to figure out life together.  during this time we started a decade long tradition of sunday dinners at your oma and opa's house.  i'd find myself still helping oma with dinner and dishes, like when we were kids, while the boys and your opa would sit out back on the deck or watch tv.  we'd laugh over ice cream smothered with magic shell and talk hours after the table had been cleared.  not many families do that any more and i was so blessed to have that island of time where we were just "us" again.

after your opa died, it was incredible to watch the shift in your uncles.  suddenly i felt like they were the older siblings... like twin older brothers or something.  they took care of your oma and her house. they made sure that when a snowflake hit her driveway that she was shoveled out.  and they also made sure to mow her lawn for her every few weeks.  they did this on top of their careers and responsibilities.  they had both met your aunties and were beginning to take the next step in their lives, but they never failed to step up as the men of the house for your oma.  i've never been more proud.  it was probably during this period of life where i realized a greater shift in our relationship too.  i realized that my brothers took pride in taking care of me.  they checked in on me constantly always made sure i was well cared for.  it was like they were my big brothers.

to this day i take such great pride in watching your uncles as they grow older.  it's so cool to watch who they have become, what they choose to do with their careers and welcome your aunties and cousins that they love so much into the family.  even though we don't meet for sunday dinners as often as we used to, when we do it's lovely to see the loyal, kind and compassionate men that they have become.  sometimes, after they leave, i just sit around thinking about how cool they have become and how blessed i am to be their "little" big sister.

leif, what i'm trying to say is that you will never imagine the blessing that this new brother or sister with be in your life.  but one day, 33 years from now, you will look back over your childhood and young adulthood and realize that one of the most important relationships in your life was born in February of 2014.  there will be times you get annoyed with him or her.  there will be times they get you in trouble or say something that will make you angry.  there will be arguments over new toys in the house or who gets mommy or daddy's attention.  there will even be times you have to sacrifice something cool just so your little brother or sister can have it because they're younger.  but those little things are far outweighed by the playtimes after school, the long hours spent in your rooms building forts and living in imaginary worlds, vacations, and spending time with me and daddy.

i just know that you are going to be an amazing big brother.  you will be determined, loyal, protective, opinionated and perhaps a little bossy... a trait you inherited from your mama.  but you will love him or her with passion and you will find he or she will become one of your lifelong best friends.

so congratulations, my little one.  you are a big brother... and daddy and i know you are going to a fabulous one, at that.

love,
mama

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.