jersey boy

My dog of 10 years just died in my arms. Life is such a mysterious thing. One minute it fills a body, moving the chest up and down, and the next it is gone. And there is no in between. And there is no returning.

To say that I am sad does not capture the true depth of my emotion. Jersey was more than “just a dog” to our family. None of our children know life without Jersey. He came before them and he is one of us. When family pictures are drawn for school, Jersey is included. When prayers are said and family members are listed, Jersey in included. Just the other day I caught Joe accidentally calling our son “Jersey” before realizing he had picked the wrong name.

But I think what really made Jersey special was what he endured with our family over the last 6 years. My sister-in-law confessed to me the other night that she and her sister both thought we were insane to keep Jersey around when we brought Ira home from the hospital. After all, we were in a small New York City apartment with no outside space. We couldn’t just shew him out the back door when things got cramped. But here we were bringing Ira home with a trach, on a ventilator with an oxygen tank and everything that went along with that.

The beauty of it all was the bond he shared with Ira. Ira was essentially home bound for 3 years. He didn’t have many play dates because it was too risky to have people in our home bringing in their weird germs. So, Jersey was the ultimate play date. He would let Ira climb on him, bury his head into him, roll on him, sit on him(this is true for all my children). Out of all of Ira’s therapists, Jersey was the best.

Jersey ate dinner at 5pm sharp. One of our NYC nurses reminded me today how he learned to understand the phrase “Oprah’s over” to mean it was time to eat. (Oprah was on TV everyday from 4-5pm). Sometimes we would say the phrase just to watch his ears perk up and tail begin to wag. He was one smart, funny, dog. And he loved to eat.

Because we lived in apartments most of Jersey’s life, he had to be walked as a means of survival. He accompanied us on thousands of walks throughout his life. When we moved to the suburbs, we got lazy. It wasn’t until we moved in to our new house that I recommitted to taking him on an evening walk. I began to look forward to that time of the day when it was just the two of us circling the block.

A couple weeks ago I was telling Jersey how I couldn’t wait for some cooler weather. I imagined our walk a couple months from now when the leaves would be orange and red and I might even need to grab a jacket on the way out the door.

Jersey, I guess I’ll have to wait a little longer for that walk. Enjoy heaven, Old Buddy, where you can fetch and swim forever. And save a walk for me.

deux

My dearest Opal June,

You’re two now so I think you are old enough to hear these words: Oh. My.

Your daddy and I wonder how we can love you so much, from the very depths of our hearts, and yet can be sent over the edge so quickly by your daily tantrums. We can see the evil stares we get from others when we are quick to give you whatever the heck you want while waiting in line to check out at Target. They just don’t understand the amount of cotton they will need for their ears if we tell you no. Uh oh. Did I really just confess to this?

You are talking so much now and you have wonderful manners. You are quick to say please and thank you and instead of the typical “yeah” in response to something you complete the word with the most beautiful sounding “s”.

Me:”Opal, do you want some juice?”
Opal: “Yesss”

You love to watch Dora and Sesame Street and thanks to your big brother and sister, you’ve seen far too much TV; things we would never have allowed them to watch at your age. Indeed, you know the theme song to “Scooby Doo”.

You know you’re way around a chicken nugget (Your favorite are from Chick-Fil-A) and you never turn down a good “nack” (ie snack), but you have an uncanny ability to avoid anything resembling a vegetable. I could put a green jelly bean in front of you and you wouldn’t touch it due to its color.

You LOVE animals of all shapes and sizes and are usually the first to spot any “woof woof” from the car or stroller or anywhere else one happens by. But not just dogs get your attention. You are interested in cats, frogs, ducks, horses, caterpillars, birds. You are fascinated by them all.

Opal, the strength of your will is something to be reckoned with. But you have a gentle side that is also quite remarkable. If anyone in your familiar circle appears upset, (and I say “appears” because, yes, sometimes we fake it) you can’t kiss them fast enough. You want to make sure they are O.K.

O.J., you have brought much joy, laughter, and healing to us the past two years. Our love for you has no end. We can’t begin to imagine what the next 2, 5, 10 years will be like with you among us. Oh. My. My. My. You are my sunshine girl.

I love you always,
Mommy

an anniversary of sorts

Today is my donorversary. One year ago today I gave one of my kidneys to my friend, Pete. And if it weren’t for the scars, I could probably forget it ever happened. One year out and I feel just as healthy, if not more so, than I did then.

The thing is, I don’t want to forget. I saw a FB update for a fellow donor that her scars were gone due to some vitamin/ointment stuff she had been taking/applying. At first I felt a tinge of envy but it only lasted a second. I realized that I love my scars. I love what they stand for and what they represent. I am very proud of my decision to donate and the sacrifices I was willing to make to see it through (and don’t worry, Mom and Joe, I haven’t forgotten all the sacrifices you both made as well

Thankfully Pete is doing well. His body is continuing to accept the kidney (with the help of medication) and he no longer has to be tied down to dialysis. He is able to live life more fully and for that I am thankful.

I’ve been trying to think of some way I could mark this day every year; some way I could celebrate in my own way. I’ve really only had one idea – to donate blood every year in Pete’s honor. But, this is easier said than done. I get nervous thinking about donating because I’m not an easy stick. But having O- blood type means I carry the “universal donor” type. Anyone can receive my blood – A, B, O – anyone. And so over the next few weeks I will keep my eyes open for the nearest blood drive and will face that needle like I’ve done the ones before knowing it is the least I can do while I am still healthy and strong.

necessary comic relief

excuse me, but I have to take this call

This clip is a bit long, over 2 minutes, but I’m willing to bet it might make you chuckle. And you know how far a little laughter can go…

invasion

Thirteen years ago…

I got married, yes, but this is not an anniversary post.  Thirteen years ago, in 1998, was the last time Missouri was invaded by the thousands by these…

Brood 19, or the Great Southern Brood, of periodical cicadas emerged en masse this month throughout northern and central Missouri. Every 13 years thousands of Brood 19 cicada nymphs crawl out of the ground when the soil reaches 65 degrees – sometime in mid to late May. The nymphs climb trees, shed their skins and begin their noisy process of searching for their mates. The males sing from 10am to dusk and will do so everyday for a few weeks until they die off.

Now, cicadas are around every summer here and the noise they make is a sound that is deeply ingrained in me as a sound of childhood. In fact, my dad, who has never lived anywhere but in St. Louis, has been known to open the windows at night just to hear the cicadas sing. OK. That’s a little much, but their sound truly is the sound of summer for me. The thing is, dog-day cicadas, or the ones that come out every year, are typically heard and not seen. In fact, I couldn’t pick one out of a line up. Periodic cicadas, however, are a whole different package.

Let me just say I have thought more than once about the great plague of locusts written about in the Old Testament. These nasty guys are everywhere and everyone is talking about them.

Three stories: Last week I drove to the post office and parked my car in the only available spot. It happened to be near a tree.  As I opened the back door to get Opal out of her car seat, we began getting swarmed by these loud, disgusting bugs. Ira (and I)started freaking out and all I could do was grab their little hands and RUN!

Second story: Last week Joe and I took the kids to Chick-Fil-A to get some yummy grub. It happened to be “Dress your child like a princess and get a free meal” night. Needless to say the place was packed. So we took the only available table outside. There were a few other families out there already and princess screams could be heard throughout the meal in reaction to uninvited cicada guests.

Third: This week Sophia spent two nights away at a camp called Ne-O-Tez. I was honestly worried how she would handle all the cicadas there as they seemed even more intense than in our neighborhood. When I picked her up she said “Mom, a cicada landed on me and I just picked it up by the wings.” “You didn’t even scream?” I asked her. “Oh yeah, I screamed” she said.

Let’s just say I’m going to appreciate the next 12 summers that Brood 19 stays underground.

strong

For those of you who do not have the privilege of watching Sesame Street on a daily basis, let me share with you one of my most recent favorite videos.

2 years in…

Hard to believe this past weekend marked our 2nd anniversary of living in St. Louis. It is feeling more and more like home and I find myself missing NYC less and less. It’s not that I wouldn’t go back to Brooklyn at the drop of a hat if given the opportunity and it’s not that I don’t miss my sweet friends that walked through some of the hardest days with us. But we are settling in to our home and I find myself saying thanks for the ease and pace of suburban living.

Two years ago Ira was still in diapers (yes, at 4 years old), Sophia was completing Kindergarten, Joe was just beginning Teach For America, and we still had about 8 weeks before we would meet Opal. It was a difficult time – so much change and transition for all of us. I’m glad to be on this side of it, for sure.

This past week Sophia played a song on the piano for her school’s talent show, Ira completed Kindergarten (although we’re going to give him another year of it), Joe is done with Teach for America and looking forward to a new job in the fall teaching 5th grade, Opal is closing in on 2 and keeping us all on our toes (and covering our ears). As for me, I’m just trying to keep everyone’s shoe size straight as I search for summer sandals.

We spent the weekend in Arkansas for our annual Sharp family reunion (my mother’s side). Like last year, my cousin Donnie set us up to ride his horses, we swam, and along with our dog, Jersey, we played in a gorgeous waterfall and creek. I’m looking forward to this summer and the time we have to slow down a bit. Since the kids are officially out of school, I relished in the fact that I did not have to fill one lunch box this morning.

We will be sticking around St. Louis for the most part as I have started a new job and need to be a responsible adult. But that won’t keep me from spending quality time at the pool, jumping on our trampoline (thanks, Glo) and enjoying an ice cream cone or two.

joe the teacher

This past Friday night Joe and I got all fancied up and spent the evening at Windows on Washington. We were there to celebrate Joe’s final Teach For America event – his right to passage into alumnihood. Each year one person is nominated to speak and this year Joe was the chosen one. When we arrived several of the younger guys (oh wait, everybody is younger than us in TFA!) were hanging out in front of the building and immediately began to razz Joe about his speech. “Ready for your speech, Joe?” and “Better not let us down, Joe.”

Well, let me be the first to tell you that Joe has still got it. Though they were a rowdy bunch (it was Friday night for a crowd of teachers, after all, with an open bar), Joe was able to quiet them down and hold their attention. Though many of his fellow TFA members are moving on to other professions or going back to school themselves, Joe encouraged them to never forget their students and to continue touching lives.

It goes without saying I am extremely proud of Joe. When we realized Joe’s time at Christ’s Church for Brooklyn was drawing to a close, Joe wasted no time in searching out what would be next for him. And it has been a long two years. Being a part of Teach For America is not for the faint of heart. It was a rigorous experience from the start. From the extensive interviewing process, to the five weeks of intense training at institute in Atlanta (right before Opal was born if you’ll remember), to being thrown in to the unknown world of teaching to either sink or swim. Joe has indeed learned to swim all four strokes and I think has even made up a new stroke or two.

Joe, thank you for your perseverance. Thank you for believing in your students; for loving them and giving them the opportunity to succeed. I loved hearing you speak on Friday night. It reminded me how much I miss hearing your sermons from week to week. But I am thankful for your new calling and I have a sneaking suspicion Friday’s speech won’t be your last.

fork shmork

Friday night we were eating at Chipotle. At one point we looked over at Opal and she had her face planted in her beans. What did we do? Pulled out our cameras, of course. Once she realized she was being watched, she turned on the cheese, but carried on.

easter + tradtion = angst

“How was your Easter?” one might ask knowing we celebrate the holiday. Well, for me, that question comes with frustration and angst.

First of all, let me explain that I am one who likes tradition. I grew up with traditions in my family. These traditions, however, mostly centered around my grandmother and the things she did to make the holiday, or whatever the occasion, special. We had a certain routine every Christmas eve where Grandmother would come over with a car load of presents, we would eat a special dinner and have to wait until the dishes were done to open them. Every year before school started she would take my brother and me (and later my younger brother – we were her only grandchildren)shopping for new clothes. She would outfit us in brand new shoes, clothes, pretty much whatever we wanted (much to my mother’s chagrin).

Easter was another big holiday for my Grandmother. First, she always took me shopping for a dress. Having a new dress that was special for the holiday was part of the tradition. Then, she would spend time dying eggs (everybody had ones with their own name on them). We would always have a hunt in her huge back yard. And then came the unveiling of the baskets. She would give each of us a basket full of candy and yes, some money was involved.  My grandmother passed away while I was in college and although I didn’t realize it at the time, so did many of the traditions she set forth.

As I’ve grown and now have my own family, I’ve found that each holiday comes and goes and I have yet to be able to set forth any solid traditions. My husband comes from a family, God bless them, that did not celebrate many holidays and I can’t find a lick of tradition that he cares about carrying on. So, each year I think about wanting to have traditions but the holiday comes and goes and we may dye eggs here, or have a special meal there but nothing is so repeated that my kids have come to expect it or have the opportunity to look forward to it. And maybe that’s what I’m really wanting. Something so repeated and set in stone that if we DON’T do it, my kids will miss it; that the holiday won’t feel complete without it.

“So, what are you waiting for?” you might ask. I don’t really know. I guess it feels kind of weird to be creating traditions instead of just keeping them. And because I’m not a details person, I’m not good at planning ahead and preparing for the holiday as it approaches. Instead, it sneaks up on me and I find myself once again, unprepared. That’s the thing about traditions. Although they may be followed again and again, year after year, they take preparation and planning. I’m lucky if I know what day of the week it is, who needs to be where, and most importantly, who needs me to make their lunch.

So, how was my Easter? Well, we had no egg hunt because I didn’t ever get the plastic eggs out of the plastic wrap and we didn’t get any pictures of the whole family before our camera went missing. But, we did celebrate the risen Lord with our church family and shared a delicious meal my mom prepared with family and friends around the table. Come to think of it, the day may not have been steeped in tradition but it was one I bet my kids will remember and will look forward to celebrating again next year.