THEY CALL HIM LOVE

This has been an especially rainy year.

I remember my first year back in Galveston, the rain and violent thunderstorms coming in like a lion. I was living downtown in a loft, single, running around with my girls, wading through flooded Galveston streets and drinking beer under storefronts, just watching the black clouds roll in and huddling together.

I maybe haven't noticed the lack thereof until now. Poignant storms.

I have sat many times in the past year on my bare hardwood floors, at the back door, chain smoking and gazing up at the awning over our french doors, watching the rain pour off the edge...

But not ever alone, until tonight.

"Sleeping to dream without you, and I'm so damn tired of having to live without you."

So says stupid Jason Mraz.

I have to keep my self insulated - covered up in the people who believe, have faith, support, no matter what the consequence, no matter what the outcome.

Because these are the people God has put in my path to lift.

The others, I ignore.

Before we left for San Antonio, MJ and I had a run and decided our fate for Friday night: behave ourselves, or join the mob celebrating our friend's 40th birthday party. We played it safe, deciding to compromise and (1) get smoothies for dinner (GOOD!) and then (2) polish off the night with a bottle of wine at Mosquito Cafe (BAD!).

We argued that night at the tiny table, about moving to Austin and the never-ending battle of Galveston vs. Austin.

It's not that I have anything against Austin - I can't even begin to describe the amazing options that this city offers for us, for our babies, for our careers and for our relationship. But if you've read this blog for ANY period of time, you know the ridiculous concrete tie I have to my island.

MJ looked at me through our wine glasses and said

"Let's leave this alone"

...and I agreed.

Heartbreak warfare indeed.

It's a battle with many weapons, too many tactics.

The reason I wanted to leave it alone? Instead of welcome it full on, like usual?

Because later on that night, as we had our state of the union before sleep, I told him that I trusted him to make decisions for us; I told him that I knew he would never lead us to a place that would end in failure, that would make me unhappy. He knows me like the back of his hand, he knows my heart and soul, and I trusted him - FULLY TRUSTED him to take us wherever he felt would be best.

All of us.

......................

Mj did not have a good day today.

And as I watched the rain come down in sheets across our backyard, drain off our back roof, I know that he will continue to lead us. I don't doubt him.

I am learning to abhorr words like "progression" and "protocol" and "assessment" - because I know that he is human, he is a man. He also happens to be my soul mate.

Tell me what you want - but he looks at me and I trust him with my life. I know he will still take us wherever he thinks is best for us.

He stood up last night and tried to walk...and when he straightened himself, he looked me dead in the eye and spoke to me. I have no idea what those words were but I know, deep in my heart, that he is telling me to not worry; that we can tackle anything together and we don't have to make decisions right now.

And that's verbatim.

EDIT

T: "Why would you brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack?"

Me: "I'm not sure - I mean, it wouldn't taste good or do anything for your breath."

T: "And why would we kick boys to the curb unless they looked LIKE Mick Jagger?"

Me: "Exactly - we would kick them to the curb IF they looked like Mick Jagger. Ew."

T: "We need to rewrite this song."

Me: "Agreed."

SHOWOFF

MJ did a little showing off for me last night, trying to show me he could walk.

It was one of the best gifts I've ever gotten.

He stood up with me and Edwin, I had ahold of his hands. He straightened up and looked at me in the eyes. He was trying so hard to talk.

There are a million things I can imagine he was saying to me - and all I wanted to tell him was "thank you."

IV-INSKY

Sooooo... One of my big questions for MJ's physicians when we arrived was their policy on minors - essentially, can IV visit MJ.

And the answer?

OH HELLS YES.

So on Sunday, IV came to TIRR. He had just woken up from napping on the drive so he was really clingy to me.

I brought him in to see MJ - for the first time since mid-November. We sat on MJ's bed, all close together so we could share some time together, our little family. Together again.

I have NEVER, EVER seen so much joy on MJ's face - his eyes were glued to IV's every move. IV kept touching him, trying to give him fives and fist-bumps, picking at the tape on MJ's elbows and talking up a storm. He sized MJ up, and you could tell he was a little confused as to why MJ wasn't picking him up, tossing him around and hanging him upside down by one foot.

Every time IV would talk or babble or cry (he didn't want to be put down or go to BB or Yoyo) the smile on MJ's face would get bigger.

"This is our family, Michael. It feels good doesn't it?" I asked.

Together again - just another step forward, another foothold on this mountain we are climbing each day.

IV and MJ: Swine Flu Mondays

GENTLEST HAMMER

I don't even know where to start.

Just when I thought life couldn't possibly get any bigger, any bolder and more significant - BOOM.

The past three days took place.

MJ was transferred to TIRR on Friday - I shaved him, we put REAL clothes on him, his nurses drugged him (ha!) and we loaded up on the Galveston EMS transfer.

I'll be honest; SHADY is a word that comes to mind in describing the EMTs. Made me wish the nurses had drugged me as well. There was a lot of texting and DRIVING AN AMBULANCE going on and people, that's just WRONG!

The staff of TIRR welcomed us with open arms - and when I think about how to describe TIRR to you, the words "confident" and "happy" come to mind. Everyone who comes into contact with MJ is confident in him, proud to have him, excited about his potential.

It was a rough start for MJ - I stayed with him Friday night and it was honestly the longest night of my life.

The good: MJ has an awesome care tech named Edwin. Edwin annouced that it was time for MJ to "get a shower."

MJ hasn't had a shower since the night before we ran the marathon.

So we moved MJ over to TIRR's "shower bed" and rolled him into the oversized bathroom in his suite - Edwin and I scrubbed MJ from head to toe, shampoo and scalp massage, got all the tape residue off him, and washed him down - pure heaven for MJ! Edwin explained that he will get showers every other day - what a life, considering his past two months of sponge baths and "towlettes."

The bad: that night, MJ was visibly upset, I'm certain a combination of fear and confusion about where he was. The net bed was pretty ridiculous in appearance too - he kept looking at it with an honest-to-God "WTF?!" expression. I tried to reassure him about where he was and what was going on...but my heart just broke into a million pieces for him because I cannot imagine how frustrated and concerned he was.

Saturday was a mixture of techs and therapists measuring and testing MJ's flexion,
attending to his medical needs and doing their inital lab work and rounds. It was another long day...and for some reason is blurry in my mind right now as I write.

Sunday, the stone turned.

MJ's therapists started to work with him, performing assessments and taking him to the gym, the place I'm sure will be MJ's most favorite part of TIRR. They worked on streching his tight muscles, freeing up his hips and shoulders which have suffered from two months of lying in bed. This is all very hard for him - physically, because his muscles have atrophied, but mentally, because he doesn't trust the people touching him to not hurt him. He resists and pulls away - which is completely fair, considering all that's transpired.

His PTs left their notes in his room yesterday and I nosed through them:

"Resists to stretching shoulders...watch out, he has a hell of a hook!"

Nice MJ, nice.

He has been fitted with a specialized wheelchair and the goal is for him to sit up as much as he can tolerate; the bed is BAD, except for at night and sleeping. MJ was able to sit up and focus on our friends and family for a pretty long period of time, which was awesome and so reassuring for his guys.

Last night, everyone had left and it was just me and MJ.

There are a lot of times when I think MJ is swimming around in his brain up there...and there isn't a single one of us who could venture a guess about what he is thinking, what thoughts and emotions are rolling around.

He was lying on his side and he looked at me - huge brown eyes. I smiled at him and he smiled back and mouthed something to me.

And that moment brought me right back to being grounded, to thinking about our future and kids and weddings and all the things that people in love should be thinking about.

Game changer, friends, this place is a game changer.

IF I HAD A BUG LIKE THAT, I'D MAKE A COAT OUT OF HIM

During conversations with TIRR about MJ's care, his mom was pretty insistent about knowing how they would keep him from falling out of bed - MJ is pretty agile, and knows exactly where the "exits" are on the hospital bed. He requires a full time sitter to watch him and make sure he doesn't make an escape and injure himself.

The TIRR representatives explained that MJ will have some sort of net contraption over him to keep him contained, but where he can still see and feel some freedom.

I was talking to Todd M. yesterday and told him that I can't keep this image of MJ on safari out of my head...his face peeking out of a net with a khaki safari hat on.

"Like Brian Fellows...Biron Fellows" texted Todd.

Because sometimes you have to find the lighthearted moments in all of this:

Brian Fellows - Safari Planet

Why's that snake keep talkin' about my mama?

THAT'S CRAZY!

YOU CAN BE MAD IN THE MORNING

There is a lot on the horizon for MJ this week - we are hopeful for a transfer to TIRR, and I'm looking forward to spending my entire weekend with him, regardless of our location.

Last night I popped in for a visit before my Humane Society Exec meeting. I only had 30 minutes to spend - but MJ had other plans. He was super clingy to me - which I find amusing because he has NEVER been clingy to me before in his life...unless he's had too much to drink in public and then all the rules about PDA go out the window.

He has figured out how to swing his arms up and catch me by the shoulders.

It sounds crazy as I write it. He is so consciously capable of so much, yet he can't walk or talk or control his movement for much of the time.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a Lifetime network movie.

So, he swings his arms up and hooks me - behind the neck with one hand, and the other on my opposite shoulder. And he doesn't let go.

We watched more "IV Tub Time: Take 18" - which brought a smile to his face. He sipped water out of a straw (!) and we talked about his big day. His day nurse, Justin, told me they stood him up three times, he ate pudding and drank apple juice and water and ate ice chips - the FIRST FOOD AND DRINK he's that hasn't passed through a tube of some sort in his nose or belly.

I bet it was the best damn pudding he's ever had.

I digress.

So, it was time to leave and the clingy-ness began. I delayed my exit by 15 more minutes...and finally kissed him goodbye. He seemed sad. It broke my heart to leave.

Fast forward to this morning: I get a phone call from his mom telling me that as soon as I left, MJ threw a royal fit, requiring 4 people to hold him down and keep him in bed.

They can tell me whatever they want. That maybe I should sneak out, that I shouldn't tell him I'm leaving...

It's not going to make a difference. You can't fool him.

There is something between our hearts and souls that binds us. We know when we're apart. We know when we're together. It's the reason he sleeps soundly when I'm there and it's the reason my heart is peaceful when I'm with him.

And for the moment, I'm going to bask in the fact that he wants me to stay by his side. For an independent boy, that's a humble thing to ask.

GREEN ROVER

MJ loooooooves his range rover.

Now, it's not the uber-cool brand spanking new $80,000 range rover - it's a 2001, green machine. And it fits him sooooo well.

He took such good care of it and we have so many fun memories of taking it to the beach, the ranch, all over town, loading it up with so many coolers of hop-skip-and-go-naked it would make your head spin!

We talked about the future and cars...and decided we would always keep the rover. It is just a good, solid vehicle, the kind of car IV could drive and keep up so many years from now.

The poor rover has been sitting lonely in front of the house for the past two months...his tires are flat and I tried to start him but he just was too tired.

I asked MJ yesterday if I could keep the rover up, drive it to work a few days a week, keep it cleaned up and ready for him.

He obliged.

So B came over yesterday and rescued him for me! Filled up the tires, jump started him and got him running. Gave me firm instructions about premium gasoline only and - YAY! I loaded up this morning and drove the rover to work.

When I climbed in (note, Land Rovers are not designed for shorties), I had a good laugh: York peppermint patty wrappers, water bottles, an extremely overdue library book on stock trading and a tennis racquet. Silversun Pickups in the CD player.

ALL MJ.

I made a mental checklist on the way to work to order new windshield wiper blades, take it to the car wash and for an oil change, have my dad look at the tires as well, possibly order new ones. And the dents in the hood need to be fixed (loooooong story, no need to bring up old ish).

Takin' care of business, just like MJ would expect.

NUMBER 1 - WITH A BULLET

Running is not evil.

Running did not hurt MJ.

In a roundabout way it did, but running is not exactly the one to blame...a set of circumstances, really, really crappy circumstances that all built up like a tower of blocks contributed to his condition and then everything crashed down as he finished the Rock N Roll.

I really dislike hearing people say that "running is bad" or "running caused this" - because running is a big part of our lives. It remains a big part of mine and I firmly believe it will be a big part of MJ's again someday. We loved running together - and competing against one another, though MJ will always be faster than me (but not Meghan - man, MJ, she smoked you in the RNR).

We decided to run the Friday before the marathon, a "short" 6 mile run from my house to Float Bar on the Seawall and back. We wanted to be quick - a good tempo run - which meant it would be hard for me to keep up with MJ.

It was probably one of the best runs of my life. We just sped along, up 11th Street to the Seawall...on our return, we kicked it up using the downhill grade to broadway as an accelerator, laughing and joking with one another, talking about the race. MJ was complaining about all his indiscretions at a friend's bachelor party the previous weekend, worried it would affect his run.

And I thought to myself:

"Honey, you should just run with me and be slow, not worry about times and your corral, just enjoy it."

But the words never came out.

Why? Because I know my MJ.

I know his competitive drive, I know the look he would have given me had I DARE suggested that he slow down to my pace. Lord, do I know that boy like the back of my hand.

So, while MJ is out of running commission for the time being, I get to call the shots - and he "runs" with me in 2010, like it or not.

Resolute: every month, one competitive race, building up to running the full marathon in San Antonio again this November. Half for me, and half for MJ.

Number One with a bullet: Chiliquest 5K

In 40 degree cold ass, WET RAINY weather, Tiff and I bundled IV up like an eskimo, covered him with 3 blankets and took off, running his bowling ball butt down the Seawall. And while our time wasn't exactly competitive (by our standards - but sub-30, nonetheless), we had a blast, we did it together and I thought about MJ the entire time...when I got tired, I thought about him, about how he never quit. Neither will we!



I have worn more burnt orange in the past three months than I ever care to. Thanks Mike, this had better mean an extra karat in that ring.



IV carb loaded with some Red Bull shots and goldfish.



FYI: How Tiff and Liz prepare for a run. Not kidding. Whew.

Up next: Tiff and I have our choice of the Mardi Gras Beach run or the BSA run(Booty Shakers of America...or Boy Scouts, whatevs). Stay tuned!

THE SET OF OUR SOUL

"The Winds of Fate" - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

One ship drives east and another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
'Tis the set of the sails,
And not the gales,
That tell us the way to go.
Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate;
As we voyage along through life,
'Tis the set of a soul
That decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife.

My Grace sent me this poem on a note recently (we're bringing back the art of letter writing, old-school style, with stamps and everything).

I journaled today that sometimes I feel like a ship set sail on November 15th. And I had a choice: run along side on the dock and leap onboard as it set out to sea, off to adventure and storms and waves and the winds...or stay safely on the dock, and watch it drift away out of sight. Blow kisses and wave.

My choice is not deserving of accolades, because there is no right or wrong. I understand the magnitude of both. There are many, many important things on the shore, many priorities to be weighed and scaled. But there are many evenings that I lie down and review the day in my head and think...

"Am I crazy? Because THIS? ALL THIS? This is CRAZY."

And the result is that deep down I realize I jumped onboard long before November 15th.

DRUNK, HIGH OR SAVED

I was blessed with a gift when this journey began: and her name is Yvonne.

During our tenure at Christus Santa Rosa ICU in San Antonio, my friend Le offered her parent's home up to me.

"Stay with them! They are less than three miles from the hospital, they have a guest house!" she insisted.

After a few harrowing nights in the Holiday Inn Tropicana, resulting in Pappa Yale calling maintenance for me to get hot water about 40 times, I just couldn't handle it anymore. It was lonely...and cold showers, let's not even.

So I considered Le's offer. In retrospect, it was one of those things you, um, probably offer and don't really mean...and then someone takes you up on! I kid! I kid! But really...

So I called Yvonne.

And she took me in.

Yvonne and Lew - they would leave me a key, I would come home at 8 PM (after shift change, once I knew MJ was in good hands) and my bed would be turned down, a space heather in the bathroom to keep it toasty, soup or snacks set out for me...they babied me. Because, whether I wanted to admit it or not, I needed it.

The first night I came home to them, Yvonne offered me food.

"I had a protein bar earlier, I'm sorry I'm not really hungry..." I replied.

"Oh LORD Lew, she eats like Levonne! I'll get some cheese..." she responded with a flip of her hand.

I would fall asleep to the sound of Yvonne practicing the responsorial psalm for upcoming Sunday's mass...and then wake up at 3 AM and head to the ICU to start my day with MJ.

For 8 weeks, this was our life together.

Yvonne is a spirit - she has this way about her, flitting around with this loftiness, this energy and enthusiasm and care and kindness. And she pretty much adpoted me (and MJ) without a second thought.

One particularly hard night, I came home and we sat down with a bottle of wine.

And she told me a story.

Yvonne said:

"Native Americans believe that there is a sharp stone in your belly.

When life, when nature, when emotions turn...so does the stone.

It pokes you. You clutch at it.

You choose: pay attention to the stone, or ignore.

Because the stone, it is persistent and will continue to turn...and it wears. It will wear so much that it becomes smooth.

And then your stone, your sharp stone, it is of no use."

Intuition, my friends. It is a mighty thing.

MJ, my love, the stone is turning.

And I know better than to ignore it.

MJ + IV

Sigh. IV.

Where do I start? The child is a maniac. Interestingly enough, just like MJ.

When I met MJ, I was very upfront about this priority in my life named IV. That I would not tolerate a revolving door of people into and out of his life...therefore, MJ would not be a part of IV's life until I knew for sure that we weren't a fling.

I was also careful to explain that I wasn't your typical, run-of-the-mill single 30 year old: I had baggage, lovely, amazing and precious baggage named IV and that I don't really "go out." So if MJ wanted to have a date with me, it would have to be "staying in."

Luckily, this man majored in the "staying in" concept, and brought a "going out" night indoors - he brought music, wine and all the ingredients to cook me an amazing dinner. Our first date - dinner at my house, the first of many meals we would cook together and share.

With IV safe and sound in bed upstairs.

Our relationship was in high speed from the start - so it wasn't long before MJ met IV and, wow, did two worlds collide.

MJ was enamoured with IV - and believe me, the feeling was mutual. MJ took him everywhere: golf cart rides going waaaay too fast (for mama's concern) with little mits hanging on to the steering wheel, to the beach, crawling through the shallow water with sand covering every inch of his body. He was constantly in the kitchen with MJ, sampling and trying everything MJ concocted from avocado to feta to asparagus. I owe my child's non-discriminatory palate to MJ, no doubt.

They had "boys night" whenever I had meetings or work to do - and "boys night" usually involved popsicles, ice cream and mac and cheese...with a side of football or baseball, side by side in stadium chairs. Special nights would mean "Yo Yo" (Yale, MJ's Daddy) was in the mix - which meant Bob Marley and lots of lounging at the tiki bar, watching the sunsets and BBQ-ing.

They just fit - they had this connection, this understanding, about MJ pushing him to explore, to step just a little bit outside of his comfort zone, to be adventurous...and IV teaching him patience and a little bit about stubborness and independence.

You could never "tell" MJ anything; he would "figure it out" on HIS. OWN.

Sound familiar? A little like a certain toddler who roams my house and insists on feeding HIMSELF out of the goldfish bag. DARE YOU SUGGEST HANDING HIM A FEW? PISH POSH.

When MJ and IV met, IV was still technically a baby - he ate a bottle before bedtime, I would rock him and he would finish and then curl up on my chest and fall asleep. It was the sweetest of times, something branded on my soul that I will never forget. The smell of clean baby hair, soft breathing in and out, feeling his little heart beat on my chest.

The first time MJ put him to bed, he came out with a grin on his face.

"That's really, really awesome" he remarked.

And rarely did I ever put IV to bed again - it became a MJ job. A ritual for them. They would take a bath together, MJ filling the tub up to a ridiculous level, right under IV's chin so that he resembled a scuba diver, MJ teaching him to blow bubbles and put his face in the water.

"I'm teaching him a healthy respect for the ocean" MJ would tell me (I'm still rolling my eyes as I write that).

"But he's 14 months old" I would respond.

Then they would put on jammies, brush hair and teeth and IV was off to bed.

......

IV can't go to the hospital to see MJ, because of H1N1...no one under 12 is allowed in the hospital doors at UTMB. And this absolutely sucks, it sucks like there is nothing else in the world that is this sucky. It breaks my heart.

Because when I showed MJ a video of IV at bathtime tonight, his face lit up and he cracked a smile from ear to ear and watched this baby, this child he taught to swim and blow bubbles, splash around and love him some bathtime.

MJ, you taught him this.

This is because of you, it is your mark on him.

And I know that your spirit and his are connected - he is with you every single step of this journey.

WE CANNOT TARRY HERE...

Late last fall, Levi's started a campaign that completely captured me - I (heart) good advertising, esepcially advertising that only a select audience will actually pay attention to. This commercial is so dark and spooky, it draws you in and sort of scares you a little...like something serious might happen and you should pay attention, but beware!

MJ liked it too - the first time we saw the commercial, we took stabs at the author of this prose.

"Woody Guthrie" - my hypothesis (which I still think is a decent guess)

"Robert Frost" - MJ's answer (which is also pretty decent)

The correct answer? Walt Whitman.

Have you your sharp edged axes?

We must bear the brunt of danger.

WINDING WHEEL

Friday night I decided I was going to have a slumber party with MJ.

I haven't stayed the night with him since we were in ICU in San Antonio and now that I am full time mama again, it hasn't been possible. But this weekend I was free to pack my bags, load up on snacks, water, wine (thanks to my LeDogg and Steph V. for that idea) and blankets and head to the hospital.

Yes I had wine in the hospital. Priorities, people...

The hospital is a much different place at night.

The lights are lowered.

It's quiet.

Even with the constant hum of activity and machines, somehow the hospital turns the volume down a notch.

MJ was pretty riled up from about 10 - 11 PM. He wants to lie on his stomach so badly. I'm sure his back is killing him from 8 weeks of lying flat but unfortunately the PEG tube and his trach don't appreciate the movement and direct rubbing. So we try to let him move and turn on his side, but he just can't lie on his tummy.

Nursing. What a science. I have observed so much in the past 2 months - how to change sheets (it's like magic), how to bathe and shave someone, how to flush IV lines, how to crush medicine and administer it through a feeding tube. Things that I didn't necessarily want to learn how to do, but nonetheless I think stretching your mind and intellect is always a good thing.

I've learned that doctors round early on weekdays and late on weekends. I've learned the names and effects of dozens upon dozens of medications. Keppra, Klonapin, Heparin, Methodone, Propfol...bleh.

Tiffany and I are officially removing the word "agitation" from our vocabulary.

The last night I slept in a bed with MJ was November 14th - in the Bonnin's guest room in San Antonio. We had a spagetti dinner with Pat and Meghan, made a pit stop at HEB to buy breakfast for the next day (bananas, golden raisins and carefully selected Odwallas) and then turned in. We were excited and jittery and nervous - we forced ourselves to fall asleep because we knew it would be an early morning. Curled up together, ready to tackle this challenge we trained hard for.

So as I settled in with MJ this Friday night in the oversized chair next to his bed, it interestingly enough felt...cozy. I haven't been able to get that close to him in 2 months. We held hands and I talked to him until I fell asleep, a trait that drives him crazy but that I do regardless.

I also wake him up in the morning with my talking.

I like to talk. Haven't you noticed?

We slept from 11 PM to 4 AM before he woke again - the nurses only came in once at 2 AM to check his vitals...I barely remember them through bleary, sleepy eyes.

We sat and talked more. About IV, about the Longhorns, about Erin and Clay's baby, about jobs and the cold weather and running.

Time flew until 6 AM...and 6 AM signals a change in the hospital.

The "roosters" crow at 6 AM; the lights come on and the volume turns back up, hustle and bustle, shift changes, rounds, medicine, tucking, checking, turning.

It all begins again.

I became more aware of something this weekend.

Routine bothers me. Routine feels like a lack of forward progress to me. I want to be going, doing, moving, shaking. Changing. If I'm not changing, then I feel like I'm missing out on something, not living up to potential, not fulfilling.

But there is also something beautiful, something to be cherished about the routine.

And MJ taught me that from the beginning of our relationship.

I never wanted anything but him. I never wished for anything outside of what we were doing, what we were living, creating, making happen. There was no greener grass. Everything I dreamed of was right next to me.

How incredible is that? I am humbled that we are given the opportunity to experience that. Because, dare I say, not everyone is blessed with the awareness to experience it - I certainly didn't think I would ever be.

A pattern, a rhythm, a cadence to life should be appreciated. It makes the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months. And if I was told 2 months ago where I would be today, well, I wouldn't have believed you.

Which will make the place we are 2 months from now completly amazing and unbelievable as well.

I am a girl of conviction.

Let's revisit on March 11, 2010.

OH REALLY?

Oh UH-UH.

For the first time since, oh, 2003, I cursed the weather. Repeatedly. With ferocity.

Seriously.

When I lived in the Ama-skrilla, 20 degree mornings were a part of life for, you know, like 8 MONTHS OUT OF THE YEAR.

Hence the reason I moved back to the G.

Because the bitching for 8 months? Apparently no one enjoys that, least of all ME.

But THIS. THIS IS UNREASONABLE.

IV and I hunkered down under the covers and watched not ONE, but TWO episodes of Sesame, learning all about the word "habitat" and laughing at the skit where a bird real estate agent tries to sell Big Bird on living in various condo locations, including the rainforest and a swamp.

I made a quick dash to the shower, agreeing that, yes, it would suck, but that I have to face Tiff tonight and she would probably appreciate me not stinking and / or not having funky hair.

I looked for an outfit that would accomodate many, many layers. One that would compliment *Uggs.

*YES, I KNOW. They are so circa-2002-when-I-wore-them-to-Paris but people, DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES.

Done.

I stuffed IV into jeans, undershirt, overshirt, puffy jacket and beanie cap.

We let Eli out for an approximate 2 second pee.

And then we made a mad dash for the car.

All I'm saying is that if I could explain to you the look on this child's face when that cold, wet, north wind smacked him in the face...

Well, let's just say that I am a little less worried about him moving away to the midwest now.

YOU CAN SHOOT ME STRAIGHT...STRAIGHT TO THE HEART BECAUSE YOU ALREADY HAVE IT

I don't dream.

People will say "oh yes you do" and perhaps, perhaps that's true.

Perhaps it's just that I don't recall my dreams.

All I know is that I have a fondness for opening the sunroof of my car when it's really cold out and feeling that little tiny blast of cold...being able to stick my little fingers out of the top and feel the sharp contrast next to my warm body, heated by the air in the car. The balance, the contrast of the two temperatures, reminding me that there is something distinct on the other side.

And last night I dreamt that I was doing just that.

And Michael was next to me.

I don't know what that means.

But I'm sure it means something special to a person who doesn't dream.

THIS GUY

I'm going to have to have more wine and less coffee to tell the tale of meeting my MJ but I will tell you this:

I'm feeling all romantic and sweet this morning.

And sassy in my Italian dotty scarf.

I am not kidding you: from the second I met MJ, I thought I had landed the most handsome man in the world (the girls who all grew up with him are snorting with laughter right now).

For someone who has a pretty decent self esteem, I always thought MJ was the better looking person of our pairing.

And I did NOT like that one bit.

EXCEPT that HE felt like I was the better looking one.

So that made it OK.

When I got to the hospital this morning, MJ's nurses were washing his hair (with this CRAZY COOL shower cap that has SHAMPOO IN IT and I swear I'm going to nab some before we blow this place). He was so fresh and so clean-clean and I reminded him about how handsome he is - still, to this very second.

It's completely unfair. If it were ME in the hopsital for 8 weeks, I would look like a truck hit me. Actually, I think I sport that look most mornings.

But THIS GUY. He looks amazing. Really.

A close friend asked me the other day "so, um, when are you like completely losing it and doing all your crying and whatnot?" - I had to laugh. I keep it together pretty well.

But when the baby is tucked away in bed and the house gets quiet, my heart and my thoughts close in around me. Last night Elise departed from "IV Watch 2010" and left on a silly romantic comedy on TBS...a silly romantic comedy with Patrick Dempsey.

I've always thought MJ looked like Patrick Dempsey - which he hates, of course.

So I watched the final 10 minutes of the movie, where the girl leaves the boy she's NOT supposed to be with and finds the boy she's REALLY supposed to be with and they say smart, witty things. And then they kiss.

And so yesterday? That's when I did all my crying.

Can you see it?

AS SEEN ON MJ

MJ has never exactly had "pretty" feet - sorry honey, but I gotta be honest.

Let's just say 7 weeks in ICU hasn't helped in the foot department. His feet are kinda peel-y. Not all THAT bad, just peel-y.

I polled my girls: what do you do for funky, peel-y feet?

Lotion is not working.

I cannot ped-egg him - something about UTMB considering it a "surgical instrument."

Loofah? Bag balm? Parafin wax?

Even his sweet nurse from ICU, Sherri, came down with suggestions ("let's put warm lotion and ziploc bags on his feet for 30 minutes!")

Then yesterday, Kel says to me: "YOU NEED TO TRY HEEL-TASTIC!

Apparently her hairdresser's husband's feet were SO BAD they would TEAR THEIR SHEETS.

Now, that's bad. We aren't even CLOSE TO SHEET TEARING with MJ.

So I went to Walgreens. And I went to the "As Seen on TV" aisle (only Walgreens, along side the "Bump Its" and "Snuggies").

And MJ received a bonus birthday gift: "Heel-Tastic!"

I promise to let everyone know the outcome...and perhaps I'll start an "As Seen on MJ" segment to the blog!

READY TO BE GRATEFUL?

Imagining It
by Kate Barnes

At eighteen, in Paris,
I just woke up out of a dream
just before dawn, and stepped through the long window
from my cold room with its red silk walls.
Shivering a little in my dressing gown,
I leaned on the balustrade
and, look, overnight a light snow had fallen;
no car had driven over it yet, it lay in the street
as white, as innocent, as snow on the open fields.
Then something approached with a calm rhythm
of hoof-beats made softer by the snow, the sound
of a quiet heart. It was a heaped-up wood cart
pulled by a gray horse who walked along slowly,
head down, while the driver
sat at the back of one shaft and hunched over
to light his cigarette.

From above, I saw clearly
the lit match in the old man's cupped hands, its glow
on his long jaw, the small well of flame
between his living palms like the flare
of the soul in his body. He went on
down the street, and the sky went on
growing lighter, and I saw how he left
his dark tracks behind him on the whiteness
of the snow, just the lines of the two wheels,
slightly wavering, and the dints of the horse's hooves
between them, a writing in an undiscovered
language, something whose meaning
we feel sure we know, and still can't quite
translate.

When I stepped inside again,
I stopped thinking about love for a minute — I thought about it
almost all the time then — and thought instead
about being alive for a while in a world
with cobblestones, new snow, and the unconscious
poem printed by hooves on the maiden street.

Of course I was not yet ready to be grateful.

SONG OF SONGS

Thank you Miss Haynes, for catching my eye today and reminding me about the strength and passion that lies within us when we embrace our faith and tilt our heads up to catch God's grace:

Song of Songs 8:6

Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

And because you're all wondering about the title of the previous post:

Sigur Ros - Við spilum endalaust - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

IT'S IN ICELANDIC...IT'S VERY SWEET, VERY PRETTY

2010 - MJ brought it in like a lion.

I called the ICU at midnight on New Years Eve and asked his nurse to tell him "Happy New Year" - she offered to hold the phone up for him and so I was able to tell him myself! What a way to start off the year. The nurse said he recognized my voice.

And then proceeded to pull his PIC line out.

Apparently MJ's resolution for 2010 is "get the F out of ICU" - because he did it!

On new years day, he was transferred to a regular floor room. No more constant monitoring, leads or blood pressure cuff. No more constant bells and machines, bustle of nurses in and out all the time. A little more peace and quiet.

We were waiting for the transfer team and I asked MJ if he would like to look at some pictures of IV. So I whipped out the iPhone and showed him this:



Instantly, there was a joy and contentment that spread across that boy's face like a fire...he lit up and smiled SO. BIG. He looked at me and then looked back at IV's little chubby face and I could just SEE the happiness in his eyes.

What a way to start off the year. An incredible gift.

MJ is responding more and more each day. He smiles when he hears my voice and when his eyes search around and land on mine, he is happy, he calms. He also gets sad, frustrated, angry and upset when the going gets tough. All I can do is reassure him and talk to him. The ups and downs of any recovery I am sure.

And today? Today MJ turned 32 years old.

32 years ago this precious man was born into the world. 32 years later he would be with me, my soul mate on this crazy journey, this bumpy road with so many twists and turns. Isn't it a blessing to have one another?



I put posters that IV and I made up in his room and promised to find some birthday cake flavored chapstick for him - and although it certainly doesn't have the calories or fun indulgence, we both know that it's the little things that mean the most.

Chapstick.

Homemade posters and cards.

A smile on New Years Day.

May your days be as blessed as ours!