Private Party - You Must Be THIS Tall or Shorter to Attend

This is Thomas' birthday cake for Birthday #2. It's dinosaurs. With volcanoes. And smoke. And primordial ooze. And grass. And brown things that are probably dirt or mud, but looked all the world like dino-doo. :)




Thomas eating HIS cake. Please note the use of a fork. And, interestingly enough, I'm not accustomed to the concept of eating a cake top => down, but... it works. And considering it was buttercream icing, I can see credit for his method.



So let me get this straight... I get cake, AND icing... AND dino toys?! This IS a cool event. And we do this EVERY year? Nice deal.

(The dinos even made roaring noises when you pressed a switch or moved their mouths...)





Once upon a time, long before I was born (according to Daddy, when Marmee was a little girl), the dinosaurs ruled the Earth. One day, the amount of cake was small, and the two great beasts of the forest came together to do battle. Only one would win. Only one would get cake. This was the great battle of all time...

Or, as Thomas would say, "Roar! Roar! Roar!"



(Wish you were here, Leesh. You would have loved this. Think he had a good birthday, though, Sweetheart. And... I know you were here... just differently. * )

Bittersweet

Today is T's SECOND birthday! Yes, our little boy has reached two years old.

When I look at my sweet, adorable little boy, it amazes me how far he's come already. There is a small part of me that will always remember his beginning. He had a very rough start. For us, it was frightening. I recall driving back and forth between hospitals and trying to care for the rest of our family, too. Being scared he wouldn't make it. The joy of first being able to touch him, to hold him. How I instantly loved him. And how happy I was when I was able to see this:



And there's this:

What a kiss!

Sigh.

Tomorrow marks three months since E passed away. T's birthday was one of the milestones we thought we'd make (we were aiming for her birthday - 02 May). Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

Three months. It seems a long time ago. And it was yesterday.

In a fabulous bit of timing, I was able to pick up most of the pictures from the frame shop today. Nice present. These are the pictures that were used at the viewing, so framed, they're quite large. The framer did a fantastic job. The one of E in her wedding gown is gorgeous - impeccable work. And the one of us by the waterfall in Hawai'i came out very well. She balanced the matte colors, frame designs, and the colors in the photos to maximize their stunning images.

I miss her.

I miss that she's not here to help eat T's cake. I miss that we didn't make it to his Birthday. While I know she is watching, and can see what's happening, and how far he's come... I'd love to have the conversation with her. While we remininsce about his life so far, and we dream about what's to come.

I ache for her.

And I'm happy she no longer suffers. And I look forward to when the children are old enough to appreciate her story.

For now, I hold our children. And when it's time to sleep, it's always, "A Kiss from Daddy... a Kiss from Mommy... And remember, Mommy and Daddy Love you."

Two years since T's birth, and three months since E's death. And yet, they're both full of life, in their own ways. T, the growing boy. And E living on, in M, T, and in my Heart.

The Military Child

I first saw this over on WizBang Blog, and I would like to share this with all of you.

I CAN imagine what this would have been like. I believe that most any of us who've been over there have dreamed of our reunions, and what they'll be like.

This isn't a bad way to do it.

(Highly recommend a tissue...)




The son's sobs tear at me... wow.

While I'm at it, April is the Month of the Military Child. Of all the sacrifices that our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Coasties, and yes, even Marines make, they pale in comparison to the sacrifices of those left behind. And our children make sacrifices they don't even know they're making at the time. Likely, the effects of those sacrifices will shape them and resound throughout their lifetimes.

Wow... Oh Wow. For Vietnam Veterans

Please, take a few minutes... turn down the radio/tv, and take a minute to see this video. It's very well done.

Government Living

There are those who seem to wish that the government would enter more and more of our lives.


Somehow, life will be better if the evil, money-grubbing corporations got out of our way, stopped keeping us down ("The Man!"), and we were treated equally by our beloved government agency of choice. Why... the honeypot would flow freely with the delights.

Uh huh.

Enlist. And you'll be introduced to life with the government in every corner of your life.

I'll give you a slice that made my day oh so perky today.

I get a call from the "Child Development Center" (same letters as Community Day Care) that T was suspected of having Pink Eye. This is one of their things that gets you sent home. I had an hour to come and get him.

Once I got him, he would not be readmitted until 1) A Doctor cleared him or 2) he had been taking medication for at least 24 hours.

So, after alerting work that I was basically gone for the day, I went and picked T up.

He looked fine and was in good spirits.

As it was nearly noon, I knew we needed to go ahead and go to the Doctor as soon as possible so the clock on the medicine could start as soon as possible.

I even called ahead. The Pediatric clinic said they couldn't see him; I'd have to take him to the Urgent Care Clinic. I was not allowed to take him to any other facilities (even though this area is crowded with military bases and medical facilities).

So, off to the UCC we went. Checked in. From experience, I noted the time. Quarter after twelve.

Meanwhile, it should be noted that T has not had his nap, and I have minimal entertainment supplies.

He's seen... triaged... very quickly. Then, we return to waiting. There are signs reminding us not to leave without checking out (and risking missing our call). So, we sit. And walk around the clinic. And sit.

We've used up all of our easy games within about the first 15 minutes. I can't let him crawl around on the floor, run wild, or anything else... There's a Soldier leaning over his chair, a spit/vomit bucket on the floor. They change it from time to time as he fills it.

So, I hold him tight. Surprise, he's not wild about this.

We go through various screaming tantrums - during which I like to make sure I'm sitting right by the front desk. I figure if they'd like the screaming to stop, they'll speed things up a bit.

Any one want to wager how long we waited in the "Urgent" Care Clinic?

Noooo, longer than that.

Three hours and forty-five minutes.

3:45 with a child who didn't want to be there, had no nap (though he eventually dozed in my arms), and was also hungry.

And, he did not have Pink Eye. The doctor pronounced him a "very healthy little boy".

Duh.

I knew that, and I didn't have to spend a semester of medical school waiting in the UCC!



The Eventual Care Clinic, aka the Overflow from All Other Clinics Clinic, is horrible. And, I have no choice on whether I can take T (or M) (or me) there when we need to see a doctor.

Effect? Well, I had zero productivity, plus someone filled in for me, plus the doctor could have seen someone else, plus T has a powerful set of lungs on him, so there may be some toddler-induced hearing loss for some folks.

And he doesn't have Pink Eye. I now have a Doctor's note to that effect, so he can return to school.

Oh goodie.

And people wonder why I cringe when I see the CDC is calling.

Very Strange

(Warning: This may be a bit grotesque for some.)







(Edit: There is no picture here... I added this blank space so that anyone who's squeamish doesn't have to read it. 30 March 2007)







Anyway.

Woke up this morning to a rather gruesome discovery. My bed looked like a murder scene. Truly... pillows, sheets, mattress cover were soaked in blood. Soaked through in places.

And not a bit on me.

Not a scratch.

Can NOT figure it out.

Strange, eh?


(Edit: Not allergic to anything. No nosebleed. Not a drop of blood on me. No nicks, no scratches, and the cats were outside all night. Very weird.)

Last Known Picture

While getting the pictures of Thomas, I came across something I didn't know I had. What very well must be the last known picture of Ellicia taken when she was alive. It's timestamped 0940, 27 December. (That's about 30 hours before she died, for those who don't do math.) My mom had arrived, and we were opening those presents.

Ellicia is modelling a new purse that her crazy husband thought might make a great hat, too (tee hee).

I look at the picture and still... just never saw it coming. Should have, I suppose.

Neat feeling? Realizing I'd still not do anything different.

Student Driver

Got home tonight, and usual routine... get the kids in, get the mail, start dinner, blah, blah, blah. Yay.

Well, Thomas was feeling fussy, and since we weren't in any particular hurry, I decided not to fight it. Told him he could bring himself in when he was ready. Meanwhile, I carried a few loads into the house.

Came out, and Thomas was no longer in his seat. I looked around... no Thomas. Hmmm... where'd he go?!

Then, I looked. Thomas decided he wasn't ready to go in yet. In fact, he apparently wanted to go cruising for babes.

He was having a BALL!!! Played with the lights (they chime since the key was out, so the battery wouldn't run down)... the horn... made Vroom, vroom noises (sort of), fiddling with the radio... he can even open and close the big driver door by himself (that has it's own fear). Was even trying to buckle up for safety.

Luckily for him, this van comes with adjustable pedals... though, I don't think they adjust quite that far.

Sorry about the quality of the pictures... I was wishing my camera had finished charging, but didn't want to miss the chance. Realized my cellphone takes pictures. Don't worry, my camera makes lousy phone calls.

So, now... mothers... lock up your daughters... he's going to be cruising around soon!

New License Plates

My new license plates arrived. Finally. They've been wandering around the Southeastern United States for nearly two months.

They are Virginia's Breast Cancer plates, with a portion of the license plate tax donated to Virginia Breast Cancer Foundation.

Amazingly enough, no one had the particular combination of letters...

And so, now on the van...

Elizabeth Edwards

My Heart goes out to her and the Edwards family. Mrs. Edwards has not only just been given her death sentence, but she had to receive it in front of the whole world.

I will never, ever, forget the day that Ellicia and I received our news that the cancer we thought we'd beaten was back... and it was going to kill her.

We sat in the car and openly bawled, both of us. It was the day they told us about how it'd spread, and there were all the tumors in her brain, and in her lungs. And we'd done enough research to know... that when it comes back, and it spreads like that, it's just a matter of how long, but the outcome is not going to change.

Mrs. Edwards has been told it's in her bones. That's the surest form to kill you. She has probably been given a time frame... maybe a couple of years, but... it came back, and it came back to her bones. Has it spread elsewhere - maybe somewhere not yet detected? She may not have so long.

And she's going to fight. Good for her, but I'm sure she's also learning how fighting the first time reduces your weapons to fight with the second time.

She's learned she's not going to grow old with John (Do you know his middle name?). Should he succeed in his quest for the Presidency, she'll either be too sick or no longer around. She's not going to see her children grow up. She won't see her daughters walk down the aisle, graduate, grandchildren...

It's Stage IV... metastatic... terminal.

One of the biggest challenges with that news is to have hope, still. And to balance hope with reality. To face what's coming.

I am surprised, to be sure, that Mr. Edwards has not suspended his campaign. I won't make it a politcal comment, but I will say that if it were me (wait, it was), he should spend every second with his family. Mrs. Edwards is going to get weaker. It's in her bones. Everything is going to be harder, even looking in the mirror and being reminded that it's not going to get better.

Taking care of the children.

Helping her dress.

Helping her use the bathroom.

Bathing.

Holding her hand.

Planning for the future and for the lack of it.

Talking.

Sharing.

Being scared together.

Fighting together.

Hoping, praying... begging together.



Mr. and Mrs. Edwards... my Heart goes to you. There are no magic words, no super advice here. What you're facing together is the hardest thing you'll ever face, and hopefully, you're strong enough to help each other through it.

Mr. Edwards... John. Hold your wife. Love her. Leave her with no doubt of your love for her. It's ok to be scared. Terrified. Angry... hell, flat out PISSED OFF that the cancer came back! Research, ask your doctors, ask more doctors... as long as you can, don't give up hope.

Prepare for what's coming, though. Be honest with each other.

Mrs. Edwards - you're going through one of the greatest tragedies, publicly. (We know what that's like, even if our stage was just a tad bit smaller.) You're going to need and will likely have more courage than most of us can ever conjure. You'll go through each day, trying to make it a normal day, wanting to treasure each moment with your children, with John.

Each new weakness, each cough, every time something gets harder to do... it will be a slap in the face, a reminder that Death is coming. For you.

Sooner than we ever planned.

Don't give up the hope... keep fighting... Draw strength from John, and be amazed that he's drawing strength from your courage.

Write to your children. Take pictures. Do anything special you've always wanted to do. Do it now.


We always realized that one of the scariest things was to know that there was a clock counting down, the sands pouring through the glass, and we couldn't see what was left.


I'm sorry. I wish you luck. I wish you strength, courage, and Love.

Availed Myself of a Babysitter

I took myself to dinner tonight. Break from the kids, if nothing else.

Babysitter came over (young college student - just turned 21!). I changed to something simple, and left...

Went to Red Lobster. Why not? Good food, steak and shrimp...

Brought along a book for company. (The Fair Tax Book by Neal Boortz and Congressman John Linder, if you must know... good read - finished it).

Was seated at a small, single booth.

Felt very lonely.

No conversation... though, I must say, there were quite a few times when I would pause, look up, across the table, and I could just "see" Ellicia sitting there smiling back, with her head cocked just so... eyes twinkling.

Quiet dinner...


(Well, almost... there were a couple of cell phones (why is it that the more obnoxious and loud the ringtone is, the deeper and under more archaeologic layers the cell phone is in the purse?)... some loud families (hey, *I* was paying for a babysitter... support your local young adult!)... and the guy behind me couldn't sit still, shifting the booth constantly... but, I didn't really care... just enjoyed my dinner, my book, and from time to time, stared across the table.)

Good dinner.

All the Mommies Say, "Awwww...."

I was relaxing, fighting off the sleep monster. I could tell he was nearby. His heavy growl sounding like the sawing of hundreds of logs. He was coming for me.

And then, I thought I heard a cry. Yes, sounds like another nightmare from the kids. While I hate that they have nightmares (shouldn't I be the only one?), it does give me a chance to be SuperDad... to feel like I'm doing something. To calm them, reassure them, chase the frightening monster away... to tell them it's ok, and Mommy and Daddy still love them (it's ALWAYS "Mommy and Daddy Love You" at nighttime).

I go in to their room which, due to the lateness of the hour and the unconsciousness of the inhabitants, for once does not look like a mini-warzone. M is asleep. Soundly. It wasn't her.

T. I go over there, and he's still, but I can tell he's somewhat awake. Deep breathing, but flickering of eyelids. I kneel down, caress him, stroke his forehead and cheek. My right forearm is next to him, allowing me to balance as I lean towards him (he's on the far side of his bed).

He rolls over, grabs my arm, and cuddles in tight. I'd move, but my melting heart is having trouble pumping enough blood. I kiss him, stroke his cheek some more, and massage his spine... he smiles, flickers his eyes, and his breathing gets deeper. I remind him that Mommy and Daddy love him... more smile...squeeze and pull closer on the arm.

I take his bear, Friend, and move it closer... Dads are great, but... Friend is Friend. He grabs Friend, albeit with a strong chokehold, and rolls over. I re-tuck him in... smile to E, and leave.

Such a good boy. I think I'll go ahead and buy him his first car now.

Made Me Smile

As a general rule, I've tended to avoid posting about the kids. All sorts of various reasons, and it has worked (for the most part) up until now.

Of course, half the family now being gone, I can either post about me or... um... maybe share some of what the kids are doing.

Well, tonight, Thomas got me to smiling. He was helping me cook, in his own special way - mostly being underfoot. He was having such a good time, I didn't want to fuss at him for being in the kitchen.

Being the curious little boy that he is, he likes to check out the cabinets, drawers, and last night... the dispensers on the fridge. He tapped the water dispenser, and would you believe? It works!

Made a nice puddle on the floor. Thomas looks at me, points down, and says, "Uh oh." Stares at it. And before I can do anything (or say anything), he scurries away. I'm curious, and dinner isn't doing anything, so I watch what he's up to. He goes into the dining room, climbs up on the chairs, reaches for the roll of paper towels I keep there, rips off one sheet (clean tear, too), brings it back, wipes up the water, and puts the wet towel into the trash can.

Wow. I was so proud of him. Such a good little boy! And so clean minded... and wanting to help.

Precious.

I smiled. And told Ellicia... Sure she's proud.

Army Strong

Does anyone know where I can get downloads of the Army Strong theme? I find it so moving and motivating.

The Tick Tock of Time

It's arrived. Our Grandfather clock. I am... ecstatic and sad at the same time.

Ellicia and I had always wanted a really nice souvenir of our time in Germany. Something more than the standard postcard or beer stein.

Luckily for us, the Black Forest region of Deutschland is renown for it's clock making. Much like the Swiss, I suppose.

We found a family that has been in the clock making business for hundreds of years. I remember visiting their home and seeing clocks older than America, and still ticking.

I also remember visiting their showroom. They had a barn/garage type building in their backyard. The showroom was on the second floor. Narrow stairs. And Ellicia was determined to get up there. And she did!

We spent the next hour and some shopping around. We picked out all of the details that we thought would help summarize our time, and ended up with quite a few details of the Schloss Neuschwanstein.

The clock is handmade, to custom specifications. It's expensive, and in fact, more than we ever thought we'd spend on a souvenir. But, we also knew we'd likely never be back to Germany. Besides, all we needed to do was make a small downpayment (to secure the order), and then over the next years, we could pay whenever we liked - no interest or nonsense. And the clock would be made when the money was final.

That was right before we left.

When Ellicia passed away, I felt a very strong desire to no longer wait for the clock. Years didn't seem to be a right timeframe. So, I dashed the full balance off to him (thank you, Ellicia, for the life insurance). It had to clear customs and of course there were freight charges (all told, another 50% of the original value), and then there was bickering between the shipper and the customs agent on who was to hire the truck to bring it to the house (took 6 weeks, till finally I had enough and told them to just hire the $!@ truck).

It came. Truck delivered it as far as the driveway. It was a huge crate. 500+ pounds. So, I enticed some nice neighbors to help carry it in. I did some crate breaking -- after unscrewing 49 long screws... yes, I counted them. We hauled it in. Stood it up. And then, as we all know from the wee hours before Christmas morning...

Some Assembly Required

Had hang the weights, the pendulum, set the time, and calibrate the workings.

And now, it chimes. It can do three different tunes, and even has a Night option. It's beautiful.

And once it was all set up, I stopped, and sat down in front of it... and just started talking to Ellicia. Told her how nice it looked, and what a good job she did in helping to pick out the details. How beautiful it sounds when it chimes. And the details and the workmanship. Very impressed.

It's the last piece to arrive from Germany. There's nothing more to arrive. And it's the last thing we truly picked out together. What was only to be a memento of our time in Germany has become more a memento of our time.

Blocked

It's been four weeks since I've written.

It's not for lack of material, nor desire. I have had plenty I've wanted to write down. Sadly, every time I sit and try to peck it out... I become stuck.

Nothing comes out.

And so, it's been silent here for a month.

I'm hoping the blockage will come to an end... soon.

Until then, I suppose I'll up my blogging fiber intake.