My Year of Three's (One Month Down)

It's been one month of my year of three's.
That's 33 if you weren't sure.
My lucky number 3 year.
So... um... well...

There was near death, followed by a miraculous recovery.
My uncle has been moved out of ICU and is doing amazing.
I credit amazing doctor's and nurses (yes JD... that would be you) at the hospital.
A strong family rallying behind him.
And maybe a little help from above.

There was death.
Deaths to be specific.
Funerals and wakes for two people much too young to have left us.

There was way too much travel across the country.
Vegas to Tampa and back.
Vegas to Buffalo and back.
Both last minute.
All but one flight was alone. Which I'm not used to since I travel everywhere with Kevin and Michael. It was lonely. And it gave me all together too much time to think.

There was extreme exhaustion from jet lag and time zones.

There was also incredibly amazing news.
News that we'd waited for, for a long time.

And I concluded that although my year of three's appeared to start off as not the greatest year... that everything will be allright.
And that life is about ups and downs, good and bad, life and death.
And it's what you learn from it and make of it that really matters.
And while life threw me a couple bad hands for a few weeks...
It dealt me a royal in the end.

1st Week of 2nd Grade... Complete.

Well we survived week one of 2nd grade.

Michael was more than a little nervous the first day, whining the whole way to school that he was sure that he wasn't going to have any friends in his class this year.

Of course when we found his class, the first person he sees is his best friend Jake from kindergarten.

Michael was relieved and suddenly seemed ready for 2nd grade.

As for his teacher... well... I really don't know.

She doesn't seem very big on any sort of communication with parents.

I introduced myself on day one and that was it. Not one word the rest of the week.

Michael tells me he's been out of trouble, not having to write his name on the board once. Jake confirmed this. So I'm assuming things are fine.

It's just difficult going from a teacher who was such an amazing communicator to one that seems to have no desire whatsoever to tell me how Michael's doing.

I'm sure everything's going to be fine.

Michael is a changed student after a year with his first grade teacher.

Here's some photos from the big day!

Walking to school.

He was so nervous on the way.


He was even nervous once we got in.

Okay! I can do this! I'm all good Mom!

Dear Cancer,

Dear Cancer,
Fuck you.
You homewrecking, evil, piece of shit.
How dare you rip happy families apart.
You probably enjoy this anger.
Of course you choose only the best to infect with your poisonous fingers.
You just wait... the medical community will beat you.
And I will celebrate when they do.
And I will continue to fight you.

And we will win.
Because no one deserves to endure the agony and pain and suffering that you cause.
No more children without father's.
No more wives without husbands.
No more mother's burying their youngest sons.

And because I refuse to allow you to ruin one more minute of my precious life... you may think this over.

Rise up this mornin'
Smiled with the rising sun.
Three little birds,
Pitched by my doorstep.
Singin' sweet songs,
Of melodies pure and true.
Sayin' this is my message to you.
Don't worry.
About a thing.
Cause every little thing,
is gonna be allright.

It's Hard to Move Forward From This.

I'm still not recovered from last weekend.

I feel numb, blank, void of emotion.

Parent's should NEVER have to bury their children.

Wives should not be widows at 32.

Children should not lose their father at 3.

There is a logical order to how we should go.

This was out of order.

Terribly out of order.

Life is too short.

Heading Home.

I'm sick of traveling.
My back hurts.
My neck hurts.
My heart hurts.
Yesterday was a tough day to be from our tiny little town in WNY.
We lost two classmates and friends, too soon.
Which is heartbreaking and devastating and makes me question why.
But we're heading home tonight.
I'll only be able to be there from Friday morning to Sunday morning.
I'll be rushing back to send Michael off to his first day of second grade.

I think in situation's like this... we go home less to say goodbye to those we've lost and more to celebrate the life they lived.
To remember the never ending smile on his face.
To be reminded that although their time here was short...
It changed every one of our lives in one way or another.

They will be missed.
:o(

I Quit.

This shouldn't be this hard.
I shouldn't be overcome with an urge so strong that I'm suddenly covered in sweat.
I should be stronger than this.
Yep... it's true.

I'm quitting smoking.

And frankly... I am not happy about it, am not enjoying it, am considering jumping off a bridge, am wondering why I ever started this, am wondering if I'll ever be able to stop.
Originally I was going to try to stop with the assistance of Wellbutrin/Zyban. But I heard it makes you loopy and not "all there" and I realized I'm a walking "loopy and not all there" type of girl already and I certainly don't need any help in that arena.
So basically I'm weaning off...
Normally, I smoke about a pack a day. (I know it's awful!!) That's 20 cigarettes.
Yesterday, on day one of "I don't want to be a smoker, it's not even that cool!" week I smoked 9 cigarettes. Already big progress I think...
My plan is to cut it down by one cigarette each day.
Today, I can't smoke more than 8 cigarettes, tomorrow - 7, and so on.
It's miserable and no one should have to go through this.
But I will succeed.

So You Think You Can Dance?

Did I mention that my son is a mad, crazy, obsessive dancing machine?
He love all things music and dancing and secretly thinks he's the next Michael Jackson.
Typically he'll sing as well when he's at home (most recently singing Thriller at the top of his lungs and even including the high pitched "uh's" between verses.)
Yeah... I just read that and it doesn't really do it justice.
I'll see if I can get that on video.

Speaking of video's...
This is a quick one of Michael at a wedding.
Two things you should know about this video...
1. He did not stop dancing for 4 hours straight.
2. The pants and shirt he was wearing had to be permanently retired after this event based on the non-stop breakdancing.

Enjoy!

I'm Done Complaining About the Las Vegas Heat

I have spent all summer bitching uncontrollably about the heat in Las Vegas.

Once the temperature peaks 105 degrees I complain non-stop until October.

I intentionally get up really early so that I can sit outside and enjoy the hour or two of 85 degree temps.

I despise getting into my car in the afternoon. It takes 10 minutes to cool it off. (Actually I often compare this to a Buffalo winter... having to warm your car up for 15 minutes before you can drive it.)

But then I arrived in Florida. In the midst of summer.

When I stepped outside of the airport, I actually questioned whether I was underwater.

I couldn't breathe quite right, like I had to work with each breath because I was concerned I was inhaling large amounts of H2O.

I was immediately covered in sweat, having to wipe my forehead with my shirt sleeve.

My glasses were fogged over.

My hair started to frizz.

I pulled out my phone and looked up the weather.

90 degrees and 84% humidity.

What???

How can anyone survive in this environment?

The humidity is almost unbearable.

Trying to straighten my hair was impossible.

And the sweat... it never stopped.

Which is a problem when you have your eyebrows drawn on because you suffer from trichotrillomania. (Yes that's a real disorder. Yes I pull out my eyebrows. Yes I would love to be able to stop.)

I actually had to go out and buy an extra deodorant to keep in my purse.

See, we always joke about Vegas and it's dry heat.

But dry heat is a beautiful thing.

Because no matter how hot it is, with the lack of humidity in the air, you rarely find yourself covered in sweat.

Yes it feels like a blowdryer is constantly blowing on you.

Yes 115 degrees is unbearable no matter what the humidity level.

But when I got off the plane after arriving in Vegas, I was overcome with relief when I felt the warm, dry air.

It was 108 when I arrived. With about 2% humidity.

And I felt at home. And comfortable. And grateful.

As much as I'd like to deny it or change it, after 14 years here... I am a desert girl through and through.

MIracles.

When I boarded the plane... I didn't know if I'd make it.
By the time I arrived in Tampa, the doctors were "cautiously optimistic".
Still they reminded us that things were minute to minute.

But my uncle is a man with a will to live.
He's a man willing to fight to live, no matter how painful, frightening or overwhelming.
Every time the doctors would come out we'd get little, tiny miracles of improvement.

They explained how the human body knows to do everything in it's power to protect the brain, the heart and the lungs.
It will shut down everything else (from organs to extremities) to protect those 3 vital things.

Again, my mind wanders to my strange thoughts and I virtually punch myself for that last visit to the smoking area outside. I'm intentionally weakening one of the 3 most important organs in my body.

But he started to improve.
We were reminded by doctor after doctor that this is a marathon, not a sprint. It will take time.

It's gut wrenching to watch how different family members react to this.
Some stop talking all together.
Some see it with doomsday eyes, waiting for the bad news that surely must come.
Some refuse to relinquish their optimism, celebrating every little victory as if it was an Olympic gold medal.
All of us are suddenly more aware of our own mortality, and how precious life really is.

And he continued to improve.

And on the day I left, he began to breathe on his own.
Because miracles do happen.
And when you value life and love life, anything is possible.

And I promised myself, on the long flight back to the West Coast, that I will value life. I'll value it every minute. I'll love it and appreciate it and fight for it. Because when faced with a situation like my uncle was faced with, you have 2 choices. You fight to live or you give up. And to fight you have to have something to fight for.

When my husband and my son ran to greet me at the airport and smothered my with their arms and their kisses, I knew it.
I have everything to fight for.

That Little Thing Called Life

I left my house at 4am.
I flew all day.
We went straight from the airport to the hospital. 
It's scary pressing the button for the intensive care unit floor. 
That's just not a floor anyone wants to visit.
My brother took me back. 
His room is at the very end of the hall.
The walk seems so long... 
The anxiety increases with each step, with every room I pass.
We arrive outside his room and the nurse begins to explain how he is, what they're doing for him.
He tells us that if he can hear us, its in a dreamlike state. 
I find this funny because as he's talking to me, I feel like I'm hearing him in a dream like state.
Its hard to see him like this.
So many tubes.
So many bags surround him.
A machine carefully breathes every breath for him.
Life literally holding on by a machine.
For some reason I wonder what would happen if the power went out? 
I wonder if the hospital has considered this?
A pretty stupid thought.
A pray silently by his side.
And I return to my family keeping vigil in the waiting room.
He'd be so happy to have all of us together.
And we wait.

Prayers Needed

I have an incredible uncle.
He is known to millions of others as their Bishop.
He is amazing and peaceful and all things good about the world.

And because God often works in very mysterious ways, he is holding on for dear life to his own life tonight.
I'm leaving his name out of this because this hasn't hit the news yet and I'm not posting it to break news... I'm posting it because I'm scared and devastated and hurting.
I'm hurting because I am 3000 miles away.
I'm hurting because the first flight I could get to Florida doesn't get me in until 4pm tomorrow.
I'm hurting because it's hard for me to fathom that a man who has devoted his life to helping others and doing so much good for the world could possibly not make it through the night.
I'm praying the doctor's are wrong.
I'm praying that God will pull him through this.
Because he's too young to go.
And he's got too much left to do.

I'm flying out first thing tomorrow.
I'm believing that being surrounded by your family truly gives strength to someone who needs strength so badly.

Reunions like this are never good.
But my family is strong.
We will all be together tomorrow.
We'll pray together.
We'll give him strength.
Family is everything.

Backwards Motion

Do you ever feel like you've suddenly just gone backwards?
With out any warning, you feel like you've moved back on years of progress.
Like all your hard work and extra hours and valuable time and energy and effort were wasted?
The kind of day when you wonder why it's worth it to always give so much when someone who does so little winds up rewarded in the end.
I had one of those days yesterday.

The kind of day that makes you want to curl up in the fetal position and sleep til it's over.
The kind of day where you wonder if all that you do really doesn't matter in the end... it's not even noticed.

Michael's has almost no relationship with his father at this point.
He left years ago and moved to a different state, seeing Michael once or twice a year, and that's me being generous.
His father hasn't had to go through multiple doctor's appointments in a week, multiple visits and calls to a teacher in a day, hours spent desperately trying to get him to finish his homework, his dinner or cleaning his room.
His father has missed the tears, the laughter, the hard times and the amazing times.
He's missed the desperation when I can't find a babysitter for a Saturday that my husband and I both have to work. He's missed the desperation when I don't have enough money to pay for all of Michael's prescriptions. He's missed the all out violent tantrums when Michael's medication is not just right.
He's missed the joy of losing a tooth, meeting a new friend and riding a bike without training wheels for the first time. He's missed the joy of finally getting good grades. He's missed that laugh that comes from the bottom of his stomach and overwhelms me with it's cuteness. He's missed the look on his face when he scored his first goal in soccer and the elation on his first shut out as a goalie.
He's missed getting him up every morning and reading books to him every night.
He's missed everything.
If you ask me, he doesn't know his son at all.
Me? I've been there for every second of it. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly. I put everything I have into raising this child. I've made sacrifices without any regrets.

So it hurts, desperately, when Michael looks at me, so innocently, and tells me "Mom, I really love you... but I love my Dad the most." That statement turned into 10 minutes on how much he misses his Dad and how much he knows his Dad misses him.

I've made it a point to never trash talk his father or his father's decisions to Michael. I've done really well at it. Yesterday made me want to throw that out and tell him what I really thought about the situation. I wanted to tell him that I would never understand how a man could leave such an amazing, brilliant and loving child. How I had no respect for the decisions that his father has made and my only hope and prayer was that Michael turned out to be his father's stellar opposite. How I prayed that my husband's influence and teaching were sinking in and that only from my husband could Michael learn to be a man. Basically, I wanted to tell him the truth.

Instead, I smiled and told him that I was just glad that he loved me too and that it's not a contest to me. And yes, I'm sure that his Dad misses him. And I left it at that.

Someday he'll see.
I hope.

Lost beret... If found please return.

During my travels, I found time to knit a fabulous hat for one of my very best friends in the world.
I had almost completed it after the 2 flights it took us to get to Buffalo.
Las Vegas to JFK.
JFK to Buffalo.

Then vacation started and any spare time I had was lost.
So sadly, I didn't finish the hat before I left town, meaning that I was not able to hand deliver this super cute beret before I jetted back to Vegas.

No worries I said.
I'll finish it on the flights back and mail it with a cute card telling this certain someone (yes Les... it's you!) how great she is and how grateful I am to have her in my life.
Based on Buffalo weather patterns, I assumed by the time it got there (mid August), it would be nearly autumn and definitely hat time.
I completed the hat on our 2nd flight back.

The flights home were a disaster from the start. I should not have been surprised that it went from bad to worse.
First day... we were scheduled to leave Wednesday afternoon. This was perfect as it gave me all of Thursday to recover, do laundry, sleep off the jet lag, etc... before returning to work on Friday morning.
Wednesday's flight? Cancelled.
Great.
But Jet Blue was able to book us on nearly the same flight the following day.
Thursday - caught our flight out of Buffalo, made our connection at JFK, good to go I thought.
That was true... until I noticed that the flight attendants were rushing back and forth from the back of the plane. (We were in row 1 so we were only able to hear bits and pieces of what was going on.)
To make a long story short (I know... too late) after nearly 2 hours on the runway, the pilot announced that we'd be returning to the gate to remove the passenger from the back of the plane. Turns out some idiot decided it would be a good idea to get plastered before his flight to Vegas and for him, getting drunk = totally freaking out in the back of the plane. With that, we lost our spot in line for take off equaling an even longer wait to take off.
This would annoy me no matter what... this really annoyed me when traveling with a 7 year old with adhd. I don't have adhd and I found it difficult to sit still all this time.

Okay... back to the point of the post. I finished my friends amazing hat on the plane. Got it stitched up and everything. It fit perfectly (which is a really big deal for me) and I was quite proud of my creation.
Remember how I mentioned we were in row 1? The problem with row 1 is that all of your bags need to go in the overhead. So I finished the hat and set it in the seat next to me until we landed and I could put it in my bag.
That is where things went terribly wrong.
At some point in the commotion of landing, trying to wake Michael up and ensuring he had all of his miniature Nintendo DS games, I lost the hat.
I didn't even realize it until we got to the house at 1am.
So the perfect, super cute gift beret is gone.
:o(
Leave it to me to lose the cutest hat I've ever made.
If anyone's flying Jet Blue anytime soon and you notice a beautiful hand crafted beret between the seats, please return it to me.
(If you find it all to cute to return... please enjoy it's beauty thoroughly!)

I've started on a replacement.
Hopefully she have it delivered by winter now.

Shuffled Off to Buffalo

One week in Buffalo is not nearly enough.

It's not enough when you have a wedding to attend.

It's not enough when your parents are divorced which means two times the amount of time needed.

It's not enough when both husband and wife are from the same home town with way too many friends to see.

It's not enough time when you're traveling with a 7 year old who you want to take to every place you went as a child.

It flew by. It was exhausting. It was way too much drinking and eating and laughing. All in all... it was amazing!

It would be impossible to get it all into one post...

But I'll update right now with a few highlights.

The wedding was a blast.

It was in Angola, NY on Lake Erie at the Pioneer Camp Retreat.

If you're going, I would recommend renting one of the cabins.

(Ask to ensure the toilet is working though... The brides brother and his 7 month pregnant wife had no toilet or shower for 2 full days... they never were able to get it working.)

That sucks to begin with... that really sucks if you're 7 months pregnant.

We got a killer sunset on the first night. It honestly didn't feel like Western New York.

We also had a bonfire on the beach the night before the wedding. Let's just say this... there were beer funnels, alot of music and alot of laughing. It was the kind of night where my cheeks actually hurt from laughing so much. So much fun.

The wedding was a seriously good time, the bride looked beautiful and the food was killer.

We also figured out way too quickly that my son is probably destined for greatness. He was a dancing machine, out dancing pretty much everyone, including the groom in dance off after dance off.

I heard that there was a second bonfire following the reception, but I was too drunk too tired to make an appearance.

There were way too many evenings at Turner's Port of Call. Let's just say this, I miss BA's desperately, but Turner's in the summer makes it all okay. On one evening, I was even attacked by a certain older woman from the Island. Let's just say that this certain older woman might possibly be married to my elementary school's principals son. Let's also say that this woman might possibly be bi-polar or on drugs or a very violent drunk or any combination above. She'd never met me before that moment, which I find oddly flattering that she would decide to attack me on the night that pretty much every friend I have from high school was at or coming to the bar. The fabulous Grand Island Police Department came to my rescue after she fell down a grassy hill towards the river, in the rain and then decided to break and enter into the owner of the bar's apartment. Yep... it was that kind of night. Only on Grand Island!

There were shuffleboard matches. Who knew how much fun could be had playing shuffleboard?

There were barbeque's with old friends and great food.

There were wooden rollercoasters with no line. Why does no line matter you ask? Because there's something wonderful about being able to go on a rollercoaster over and over with no wait. It's like your adrenaline hasn't had a chance to chill yet, which makes the ride that much better.

There were wild west shows that seemed so much more magical when I was 7 years old. I just wonder if they're that magical to today's 7 year olds.


There were science museums with lots of things to discover and explore. (Warning: the experiment depicted above uses real fur. It's for science. Therefore, I find it okay. Don't get all over me about it okay?)

There was breathtaking homes downtown that made me long to move home. These homes have history and character and all the things a Las Vegas home is lacking.

And there was rain. Honestly, we got lucky. The news called it the coldest and wettest summer on record in Buffalo this year. And while we got a couple rainy afternoons and evenings, overall we got great weather. Not too hot, not too humid and just enough rain to keep things relatively cool.

We spent alot of time with family and friends and wished as we always do that we lived there again.

In the end, it was a fantastic, fast, fun filled vacation.

Now to start planning our next adventure...

;o)

My Year of Three's

Well it's my birthday.

33.

I think it's a number that flows well.

I feel good about odd numbered years.

They work for me. Things always seem to go well.

I graduated at 17.

I moved to Vegas at 19.

I had my son at 25.

I got back together with Kevin at 29.

So I'm feeling pretty good about 33.

I'm also into thinking that 33 could still be considered early 30's.

34 would probably be considered mid 30's.

So I'm good for a full year.

That's me... an early 30's, lucky numbered year of 3's kind of girl.

Me with my Dad circa 1977 or so.

Me with my son circa 2009.

Life is good.