Category: People I know

Taking Yesterday for Granted

by CrazyUsFamily / My Three Cents / People I know / Travel / Travel Tips10 Comments on Taking Yesterday for Granted

or shall I say, “I didn’t know a good thing when I had it.”

At this spot in time I think/hope I can be more objective when I look back at online communication’s early days. I think we all can. The facts are these: I really started blogging in 2002 when everything in Internet Land was crazy, the Dot Boom had gone bust. Venture Capitalists were no longer throwing millions at fleeting thoughts.  There was no Facebook; Google was around, but only used by nerds at that point, and a Twitter was something your heart did when it was in love.

On occasion I have mentioned that my very first blog actually began in 1998. Oh wait, technically it was 1997 when I wrote my first web piece on OS News (Dave’s technology website that still exists today). See, I worked at an early-stage startup and internet is what I did. Some sort of personal website only seemed a natural fit. It was my wedding blog. Dave had this fantastic idea to put all of our wedding information and special love thoughts online. I honestly doubted if anyone besides the handful of internet junkies would actually use the site. If they did, we promised that all of the information was there and that this online information would make things easier by streamlining our wedding agenda.

Thirteen years later, I can now tell you that I was correct. A handful of people did look at our wedding blog and most of the feedback we received went something like this: [insert a Midwestern Pre-school teacher voice here] “Oh geez, that is really, um [confused pause] sweet? Aren’t you concerned that just anyone (probably a pervert) could look at your website and show up at your wedding?” Not really, and really what Dave and I thought was, “well, if some random person finds our website, then the more the merrier [even a pervert, wink, wink].”

Fast forward a few years to 2002. Once again my lovely husband had the brilliant blogging idea. We had recently purchased at VW Eurovan Camper. Dave, the boys and I were going to spend a year on the road and Dave figured a blog would be the perfect way to let our family know where we were and at least when we made our post we would also let them know that we were still alive. I like how he thinks. We hit the road and occasionally posted from exotic locals such as Calgary, Alberta, Canada and Western Nevada.

Then one day, one of the many times we were back in Utah staying in a friend’s condo, all of our stuff in storage and feeling a little displaced with two delightful small children, I started writing. I began to use my blog as more or less my daily therapist. Each new day I had somewhere to go to let it all out.

It was great. It was new. It was my everyday outlet. My only rule is that before I published anything online that my husband and technical writing editor extraodinaire was required (begged) to edit each and every post. I had pressed send on too many hastily-crafted, barely-literate emails in my time (and paid the price in embarrassment) to have my dangling modifiers hung out to dry to the world. No. I would do my best to make sure my pieces were edited in hopes of only the very few would even notice my comma splice or homonym conundrum.

With grateful links to my website and word of mouth, momentum starting building and more than just my sisters and my mother-in-law were reading my website. I really did not understand the gift I was given. I had found a sweet spot that everyone but me seemed to know was there. Self doubt in full swing, I denied the fact that I was hitting my stride at the just the right time! Instead, I let myself get spooked. I let other people’s perceptions fill my head. I am not a jealous person, for instance. However when other people told me I was jealous, I listened and worked extra hard to prove I was not jealous. No, I was just silly. Silly for letting my head get filled with such nonsense. Instead of minding my own business and focusing on the thing I love to do, which is write, I let my head get filled with gossip, harsh criticism and insecurity.

I lost my momentum, walked away and stopped believing in myself.   I did not know how good I had it and  have had to forgive the past me for not seeing the gift I had been given.

It has taken me a lifetime to discover that I need to believe in myself. Back when I was writing full time, as much as I LOVED telling my stories I do not think I ever thought or believed I deserved a space in this world, let alone the internet world.

Growing up I believed in my beautiful thin and tall sisters. When I was way to young to be listening to such music, I believed in my rock star sister, who taught me about David Bowie and Alice Cooper. I believed in my awesome brother who all the girls loved. I believed in my other brother who always had the lead in the school play. I believed in my sweet mom, who everyone loves. I believed in my dad and I do not even know him. What I do know is every time I saw him he had a fridge stocked with special drinks, like V-8, and always a brand new fantastic car. (The Firebird — yes, the one with the bird on the hood — and Porsche were my favorites. ) He did not pay much child support or have anything to do with me, but with those expensive drinks and fancy new cars he must have been doing something right. I believed in him. I really did. Everyone in my family, my very big family, was completely awesome, just not me. Seriously, that is what I believed. And somehow my beliefs followed me into adulthood. Each and every time I feel some success, I feel someone deserves it more than me. Jealous? No. I will freaking die on a sword for you so you can succeed. I will cheer you all the way to Victory! I will scream the loudest for you. It is easier. Believing in myself, well, that has been more difficult.

Stopping and catching my breath has been good. Somehow, deciding to be present for my two amazing boys and incredible husband helped me see.  Go figure.  Sure, I know I walked away from opportunity. My momentum was moving forward and going somewhere fast. I honestly do not know where blog of yesterday would have taken me. I do know it was going somewhere and I do not take that for granted.

What I have now is today. My guess is that no longer are my readers many. The few of you that have found me or remain I am grateful for. If more come my way, all the better.  Life is moving and while it moves forward my hope is that I carve out a space once again. This time, however, I promise to notice that it is there.

Stevens-Johnson Syndrome: Beginning to Process

by CrazyUsArchives / Family / Health / mommy blogs / People I know / Stevens Johnson Syndrome22 Comments on Stevens-Johnson Syndrome: Beginning to Process

(and there is a long way to go)

I have so much to say and I want to say it. There is just not enough information about this terrible disease. I need to share our story.

Indulgent is what I feel. My Brandi Carlisle Pandora Station is on. The song, “You belong to me,” plays in the background. I hear the words:

Oh I’ll be so alone without you
Maybe you’ll be lonesome too

Fly the ocean
In a silver plane
See the jungle
When it’s wet with rain
Just remember till
You’re home again
You belong to me.

Years ago my friend Katie died way to young of Leukemia. She was much younger than me. I often visited her in the hospital and became close to her and her family. When Kyle was in the hospital I felt Katie everywhere, especially in the hospital playroom. Right now I am in the middle of responding to an email from Katie’s mom.

As I try to respond, my throat tightens and tears fill my eyes. I feel indulgent and self-consumed as the sweet, sappy music plays. I feel weepy and breathless as my fingers click away.

I have to stop and write before this moment leaves.

. . . It was one of the many long hospital days. Gratefully, as they often did, one Kyle’s very best friends and his mother,  came to spend time with us. His best friend was still recovering from a brain injury. Kyle’s friend empathetically had this uncanny ability to comfort Kyle in ways I simply could not. My mom was at the hospital that day and we all made our way to the hospital playroom. Kyle was walking with his mobile IV station, tubes and IVs attached. As I talked to my friend, Kyle and his friend built model airplanes. As we sat, I looked around at all the sick children, some dying and some about to go home. I was completely deer-in-headlights overwhelmed. I watched Kyle and his friend, Kyle’s face so swollen from steroids, wearing a tan baseball cap. Somehow when he wore this one tan baseball cap, given to him by another friend, Kyle’s face seemed to look even more swollen, his lips more bloody and sore, his eyes more profoundly injured. He looked to me like a Cancer patient. My thoughts went right to Katie and coincidentally so did my mom’s. I remember the many times visiting Katie when she came to Minnesota for Cancer Treatment, her face swollen from steroids, her sweet and hopeful enthusiasm. I told my friend about Katie and that she had died of cancer. I choked up and forced my feelings down. I was completely caught off guard with emotion. Maybe it was because my heart was wide open. Maybe it was because there really is something beyond this life. I am not sure. What I do know is what I felt next was a gift. I felt Katie, as if she were alive and sitting right next to me, hanging out and helping me let my guard down, something that has not been easy to do.

And then today, I felt Katie as I wrote her mom. Sweet Katie is one of the many unexpected gifts in this whole crazy mess. Each and every time I have thought about her since Kyle became ill, I am completely overcome. I don’t think anyone has any idea until now that this happens. Somehow Katie has been one of the only things that can propel me passed my stoic and frightened exterior. My heart opens wide and somehow I am able to allow those raw feelings and memories of me helplessly watching Kyle suffer surface.

For months I have been scared, confused and completely out of my depth. The indicator of how serious this has all been is that I am holding my usually unguarded feelings tight and close.

Today, and thanks for me finally taking the time to respond to my email, my heart is open once again. For how long, I do not know. I will take the moment and let myself remember. And now with some distance I am beginning to look back and see how absolutely horrifying this experience was. The moments are opening up and revealing themselves to me and I am grateful. These moments have patiently waited to show themselves and I am sure they will continue to do so.

In the safety and silence of my home, I can now see Kyle attached to his mobile IV standing in the hospital hallway, wearing sunglasses and screaming, I mean screaming at the top of his lungs,

“MOM, MOM, MOM, IT HURTS SO MUCH,” followed by, “MOM YOU ARE WALKING TOO SLOW,” immediately followed by a, “I CANNOT BREATHE! MOM, DO YOU HEAR ME? I CANNOT BREATHE! MOM!”

In a state of shock I stood there, in a random hospital hallway, burned out, watching my boy, helpless, his face, his eyes, falling off from the inside, feeding tube inserted down his nose, IV attached in his arm and irritating the hell out of him. And then the gentle Med Tech touching Kyle’s arm, softly pleading,

“Kyle, Kyle you need to be quiet.” With Kyle responding even louder than before, “I CAN’T! I CAN’T! I DO NOT UNDERSTAND! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! MOMMMMMMM, HELP ME!”
She gently continued, “Kyle, you have to. You are scaring the other patients.”

We made our way across the floor to the hospital patio. Kyle screamed, spit and continued to flip out. We grabbed a box of Kleenex from the Coffee Cart Lady. Thank goodness for those boxes of Kleenexes. They were everywhere. He tried spitting on the floor. He spit outside. He did not stop spitting. He was mad and he spit. The blood and tissue he spit were so gross. They looked akin to Zombie-Flesh. At that moment I could not see how absolutely bad it was. I could not anticipate the months he would suffer; the months he would continue to lose massive amounts off skin tissue. I could not. What I could see. What I could see in that moment was that Kyle was out of his room. It had been almost two weeks since he had been out of his room. That walk, as brief and crazy as it was, was the first time Kyle had moved, had left his bed, the complete darkness and silence of his room.

And in that moment, that is what I could see.

Women Who Snub

by CrazyUsArchives / Family / Health / People I know / Travel7 Comments on Women Who Snub
FDR Memorial

Snubbed.

And by the way,

Ouch!

For me, and I am assuming most women, feeling snubbed is one of the most immediately painful reactions we ladies can have. As my husband beautifully stated, snubbing is one of the most effective ways a woman has to punish another woman. The deep sting and simultaneous hurt of someone else purposefully invalidating and rejecting us is a pain like no other.

 

To be snubbed can actually be a gift. It was for me.

Namaste.
Peace.
Huzzah!

 

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Alcatraz Prison, San Francisco, California

by CrazyUsFamily / People I know / Travel / Travel Tips / Travel With Teens8 Comments on Alcatraz Prison, San Francisco, California

Fifty-nine dollars and a fifteen minute boat ride is all it took for me to gain access to The Rock.  Dave had meetings that day so my girlfriend and I went the day before and bought our tickets. We got up early, walked to Market Street and caught the Street Car. As we rode a long we began chatting with a young couple sitting in the seats in front of us. They were going to Alcatraz too.  We sat there watching them tend to their beautiful baby girl when my friend and I commented to each other, “Remember how easy it was having a little baby?”  We looked up at the couple and said, “Enjoy this time. Cherish it. We know you are not sleeping.  That being said, you can take her anywhere and she won’t talk back. She won’t fight with her brother. She is just a baby.  With those big blue eyes and shock of bright red hair, She is so beautiful.”

I could see the look on the husband’s face. I could see him thinking, “Are you kidding me ladies, ladies with those big, capable boys. Did you see me haul the giant stroller onto the streetcar?  Do you see the sweat dripping down my face? Easy? Not sure about that.  Your boys can walk on the bus, find a seat and sit down without any help.”

As we talked to this couple all I could think is how much the wife looked like my DC friend, Heather’s sister.  I wanted to ask her. I knew Heather’s sister lives in the Bay Area and also has a new baby. I kept thinking to myself how cool it would be if it were her.   As I was studying this woman’s face and thinking about this possible connection, my friend asked where the couple was from. “Phoenix,” the woman responded and suddenly I had to let got of this imagined connection.

The boys were eager to get going and we were almost to the Pier.

And that is when they said it:

“I think all the tickets are sold out for the day. We bought ours online. We bought our tickets last night.”

Moments later as we stood in this Alcatraz Tours Ticket Line with our squirrely boys, we learned that the couple with the beautiful, easy baby girl were indeed correct. Tickets were gone for the day.

We re-grouped and bought tickets for the next morning.

Twenty-four hours later we followed the same routine.  Dave accompanied us on his way to his meetings.  First stop was the hotel lobby where the boys had their daily dose of complementary hot chocolate.  Then Starbucks on O’Farrell for breakfast, oatmeal. As we made our way, we did the daily check, making sure we had enough change for bus fare. Meeting our friends by the Gap on Market and waiting for the Street Car.  Back on the Street Car, riding along, I looked up at just the perfect moment to see the San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmer’s Market.  There it was, a sign for “Donna’s Tamales.” Glee is what I felt and I smiled as the warm memories flooded in.

Mid-February 2008 found Dave, the boys and I at Hapuna Beach on the Big Island of Hawaii.  After purchasing three Boogie boards from the local Kona Costco, two yellow and one blue, we made our way on the black volcanic rock-covered, dry desert landscape drive to our favorite beach, spending many of our Big Island days riding the Hapuna Waves.  I don’t think I have ever spent that much time in the Ocean.  While riding the waves Kyle and Eli met another boy.  As often happens on sunny beach vacations, my boys and this boy became fast holiday friends making sand castles, catching the biggest boogie board waves and collecting amazing beach artifacts as they ran all over the beach. Soon the Aunties of Kyle and Eli’s new friend were saving a place at the beach for us each day.  We got to know them too and feel blessed because of it.  One of these women was Donna of Donna’s Tamales. The other was Shirley.

I looked up at just the right second and saw the sign, “Donna’s Tamales.”  I insisted that after we were done at Alcatraz we must return. Knowing my girlfriend is a big foodie, I knew this would not be a hard sell. It wasn’t.

The line for Alcatraz Tours was long and windy. Naively, and as we were also toward the back of the line, I wondered how they were going to get all of us on the boat.  Sitting on the boat I realized my perspective was inaccurate and that they indeed had room for many, many more.  Even though we could see “The Rock” clearly from the San Francisco Shoreline, I also assumed the boat ride would be much longer. Barely enough time to sit and take a few pictures, I heard the Captain or whomever’s job it was to do this, announce, “We will be docking momentarily. Be prepared to leave the boat.”

The weather was unusually warm. I stripped layers of clothing off and tied a sweater around my waist and stuffed the boy’s sweatshirts in Dave’s newly-acquired tradeshow swag backpack.

We stepped off the boat. I looked up to my right and starting snapping away. It has been years since I have felt this inspired. The landscape. The words. Everything about this moment entranced me and I wanted it captured. The Large Red Spray Painted letters read, “INDIANS WELCOME,” (in reference to the 1969 occupation of Alcatraz Island by 79 Native Americans), on the sign that also stated in big black bold type face, “United States Penitentiary, ALCATRAZ ISLAND 12 ACRES, 1 ½  MILES TO TRANSPORT DOCK,  ONLY GOVERNMENT BOATS PERMITTED, OTHERS MUST KEEP OFF 200 YARDS, NO ONE ALLOWED ASHORE WITHOUT A PASS.”  I could not believe I was standing there. I could not believe I was reading these words, not on a television or movie screen, in person and it was not a dream.

As we walked on further, we were met by our Jersey-Chicago styled ex-cop-ex-army guy. He talked like my Chicago Irish Cop grandfather. I could envision our Chicago-Cop-Accented guide eagerly and loudly calling as I disembarked, “Hey Bam Bam,” just like my grandpa used to do.   At age four, maybe even five or six, I always thought it was super cool that my grandpa gave me this special name.   I looked forward to our visits and positively could not wait to hear those words: BAM BAM!  As I got older wiser, or maybe just a little insecure, I realized that my grandpa was comparing me to the Flinstone’s “boy” baby and the comparison was made because I was so rough and tumble. Girly girl I was not.

AS we walked off the boat, instead of hearing my “special” name (I seriously half expected it), our guide immediately began weaving the off-the-beaten-path tales of the Alcatraz Prisoners and prepping us for the tour. We were also given the option of touring the island on our own.  After hearing him speak, yet knowing I usually only take a guided tour if absolutely required, I did not hesitate when my friend asked, “What do you think about taking the tour?”  “Absolutely!” I responded.

Before starting the tour we were encouraged to buy the $1.00 Alcatraz Pamphlet and use the restrooms.   We chose the restrooms. The caffeine had caught up to my bladder and all I could think about is the closest place to release.  I scanned the fastest route, grabbed my boys and raced over.  As I jammed the old family bathroom door lock shut, I sliced my index finger wide open.  The blood was gushing, would not stop and I was elated that I had inadvertently cut my finger on the Alcatraz bathroom door. I made my way to the ranger station for a Band-Aid while the boys looked among the masses for our friends.

Our guide was speaking just to the left from where I stood.  Several people were gathered around. Kyle looked at me with an “I can’t find them” face, while Eli stated, “Mom, we cannot find them!” I looked and there were our friends, perched right next to our tall guide.  I really do wish you could hear his voice as he told about Inmate #210, Joseph Bowers or Alvin “Creepy Karpis” Karpowicz or Arthur “Doc” Barker.   I was hooked and then promptly wondered to myself, “Why don’t I usually take the tours?” Boring! Because they are usually so mind numbingly boring. Not this time. Not on this island.

See, I was a tour guide once. I tried to make the tours interesting. Ultimately I think all I did was spew out phrases, tons of factoids that I had to remember word for word. Not our guide. Maybe it was The Rock. Maybe it was the subject matter and then I listened for a moment to the young, long-haired tour guide behind us. Yes, because our most awesome guide was so loquacious, the next tour caught up to our tour.   The tour behind us, I listened and yes, it was boring.  Our guide added things, and I do not know if they were exactly true, and I did not even care if they were.  He kept me engaged.  Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it was because he reminded me of my Chicago Cop Grandpa. I think it was his stories, stories about this amazing place where I never thought I would be.

The tour ended.  I pulled out my camera and snapped away as we moved through the rest of the Island on our own.  The prison cells were so clean, so small and so desperate. Looking at the tiny prison cells I imagined the claustrophobic feeling and understood the need to escape.  The boys broke free from the line of people waiting to check out headphones and tape recorders for the recorded portion of the tour.  With their escape, we dodged the boring-taped tour bullet.  I did one of those once, the USS Something or Other. Never again!

They went off, up some stairs and out a door and back down another set of stairs. We were walking in the prison yard. It was lonely, stark and beautiful.  The boys played and asked about what prisoners did. “They would most certainly have a basketball.”  I snapped and captured and snapped some more. The fog was settling low and the sun was shining appropriately through.  Breathtaking light.

At the edge of the yard there was a small exit. At the exit there was a set of steep stairs. We walked down and I snapped pictures of the birds perched on the out building, with fog, ships and water all floating mystically in the background.

Then it hit me. I was standing next these broken old buildings, surrounded by thousands of birds, with the foggy, dark shadowed San Francisco backdrop off in the distance. At that moment I felt like I was hiding in some crazy Post Apocalyptic movie. It was beautiful and I was inspired. I had not been this inspired in I do not know how long. All the broken concrete on the rocky beach, the vivid and occasional flower growing through the destruction, the Prison Buildings behind me, surrounded by the beautiful landscape, the fog, the darkness in the distance and the sun shining through. I could not stop taking it in. I was more interested in photographing the scenery than my own kids. That just does not happen.

Our time was nearly up, we made our way back to the ship as I snapped and tried not to miss a thing.  Even the restroom sign was cool.

Back on land, we hopped another streetcar, rode along and got off at the Ferry Pier Farmer’s Market.  I could not make way fast enough. We headed directly for “Donna’s Tamales.” The boys and I stood in line and then I saw her. It was Shirley! “I nervously thought, “Is this stupid? Will she recognize us? The boys are so big.” We moved closer to the front of the line. Between the second she looked up and smiled until the moment she uttered the word, “hello,” she had indeed recognized us. Her long grey hair pulled in a ponytail and she could not believe it was us. Words flowed out of her mouth,  “What happened to you guys? We waited and waited and never heard from you. It is you!”

“Time and life got in the way. I saw your sign this morning and knew it was meant to be.”  I quickly told her about tickets selling out the day before and how we had to come back this day and how I had looked out the window at just the right moment to see the sign. It was all meant to be.

“Can I buy you guys lunch?”  Shirley offered.   The boys and I ordered three amazing tamales, one goat cheese with red pepper and two traditional.  They were the best tamales we ever had and I am not just saying that because we know the owners.  Shirley and I talked a minute more and made plans to keep in touch.

The boys and I walked away met up with our friends.  Fruit and vegetables beyond our wildest dreams of goodness were before us. We tasted grapes, peaches, candy, nuts and some sort of Apricot-Plum hybrid fruit. I am sure it was organic [wink, wink]. And then we made our way to the Gelato Sorbetto store. I mention this now because as far as memories go, the Coconut Sorbet I had was and still is one of my very best and most delicious memories. We were hot. The boys were hot. The cold coconut flavored sorbet with giant coconut flakes mixed in was an experience I did not want to end. So much did I not want the flavor to end that I talked Dave into taking the bus back down to the Pier for some more Coconut Goodness that very evening.

A perfect day, it was a perfect day.  My eyes and my heart were big and I was open.

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I can’t stop thinking about your Young Women’s Commemorative Plate that was purchased for you from the D.I.

by CrazyUsmommy blogs / People I know / Travel4 Comments on I can’t stop thinking about your Young Women’s Commemorative Plate that was purchased for you from the D.I.
Me and the Lovely Julie
Me and the Lovely Julie

Sunday morning I woke up before the alarm. It was supposed to go off at 4:30 AM. After only three hours of sleepI was awake at 4:10 AM. After a long weekend of Blogher-ing, I had to get ready for my flight that was leaving San Jose at 6:24 AM. Quietly (so as not to wake anyone) I tried to focus on my face so I could actually see and hopefully wash it. Deliriously I put my clothes on. Then, I triple-checked, hugged my two hotel Blogher-hotel-mates, and was one my way. I made it to the airport. Then I promptly met my favorite Blogher attendee at the airport, got on my plane and flew home.

Julie and I visiting in the SLC
Julie and I visiting in the SLC

Then by 11:45 PM that Sunday evening, and by some wonderful twist of fate, I found myself hanging out with my new friends Julie, from the NYC, Pete, um, and his wife and my new best friend, Robin.

Me and the super awesome, Robin
Me and the super awesome, Robin

I think the most fabulous part of all is when I was finally able to meet Julie face-to-face. We met over the internet. Then magically Sunday afternoon found ourselves sitting in my living room. How crazy is that? Crazy cool, that is! Oh internet, you are opening such a completely different and most interesting world to me. Sitting with Julie seemed so natural. It does not hurt that Julie knows many of my friends. Months ago, when she and I discovered how connected we really are, all barriers delightfully (I hope) melted away. In the flesh, Julie is better than I could have ever imagined. And hey, considering this was an online meet, you and I both know that better-than-expected is a very big deal.

Partying with the Ashdowns at the Pleasure Palace
Partying with the Ashdowns at the Pleasure Palace

Then Julie did what good people do. She generously welcomed me into her amazing world (invited me to a really cool party). I remain in a state of wonderment. Alas, all I can think about these great people I have just met is:

Me and Pete. And Pete doing what politicians do: kissing babies. It's his own :)
Me and Pete. And Pete doing what politicians do: kissing babies. It’s his own 🙂

Where have you been all my life?

And then like that, the clock struck twelve and we were dragging our crazed and screaming children out of the Ashdown compound.

Thank you Julie (even though you actually live far far away), you and your gorgeous rockstar friends, make me feel close.

 

 

 

 

 

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In Anarctica (where Phil lives) it is already my birthday

by CrazyUsArchives / People I know55 Comments on In Anarctica (where Phil lives) it is already my birthday
Phil & I. We like Birthdays!
Phil & I. We like Birthdays!

Before I get started I just want to say,

. . . Happy Birthday Big Al and Happy Birthday Jen (Phil’s sister-in-law and my good friend). I know you don’t know each other, but I am glad that you are both a part of my life.

—

Phil & I. We like Birthdays!

Moments ago Phil called me. Yes, the very same Phil, who presently lives in Antarctica.

“Happy Birthday Beth.”

“Phil?”

“Yep. It’s me, and Beth, it’s your birthday. You see, down here in the Southern Hemisphere it is already April 24th and I thought having forty-eight hours to celebrate would be much better than having twenty-four.”

“You are absolutely right about that, Phil. We have been celebrating all weekend long. In fact, we took the boys to REI yesterday afternoon to buy them new summer shoes. When they noticed the flip flops, I said, ‘let’s buy them both because, hey, it’s my birthday.’ And I even encouraged Dave to buy the goofy Panama hat. Why? Because it is my birthday. It’s that one time of year when I try not to over-analyze every detail (like purchases).”

Even though I feel slightly lame announcing that tomorrow is my birthday, I had to tell you. Why? (Hey, and, what’s wrong with a little birthday love solicitation? [wink]) But really, I had to tell you because I had to express how grateful I am that Phil took the day off from his grueling schedule as supply guy at the McMurdo base so he could call me on my “real” birthday. (He told me if he took tomorrow off, my birthday would already be over — even here and he didn’t want me to feel anxious that I was forgotten.) — And moreover, how many times can I say that someone called me from the Southern Part of our planet just to wish me a happy birthday? Pretty cool, huh?

I told Phil that I thought this all might be a dream seeing as how I am concussing today. You see, I bumped my head by running head first into a piece of steel playground equipment Friday evening while chasing Eli through the park. (Thank you to the dolly-holding, sweet, little girl who rubbed my arm and asked if I was ok while Eli ran to get Dave). My head has been pounding all weekend and today we had it confirmed. All my wild emotions (yes, even more wild than my usual wild emotions), this horrible headache, wearing my sunglasses at night, my blurred vision and slurred speech are not just in my head. Get it? In my head. Seems I have a serious concussion. (There is a better name for it, but because I have a little dain bramage right now I can’t remember it. Wait. Maybe it was a Level III Concussion . . .)

So Phil, thank you! You made my day! Better yet, you made me feel loved; something I totally need on a day when I am feeling so out of my mind.

(Brenda [my big sister] thank you for calling too. I am so glad you and your fire alarm caught the basement fire before your house burned down. We love you!)

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