It's Daddies. Plural.

I have a dream...

2012-01-16T21:37:00.004-05:00

"Who is that, papa?"
"He was a King, baby, he was a true King. One that did so much for his people."
"And I'm a princess."
"Yes, honey, you are. And you too will change the world."
This was the conversation that took place this past October when we visited the Washington, DC Martin Luther King, Jr. National Memorial, two days after it opened. As we entered from Independence Avenue, his Vision of America is captured in his carved messages of hope and possibility for a future anchored in dignity, sensitivity, and mutual respect; a message that challenges each of us to recognize that America's true strength lies in its diversity of talents. These two inscription walls, lay in between the Mountain of Despair, and lead you in a trance to the Stone of Hope. As we made our way towards the towering symbolic stone, Kensington skipped in between each quote, stomping on the covered lights that reflect upward. Just past 10pm, the monument was rather quite… the perfect time for seeing some of the most iconic images of our Nation. As we came around the marbled landscaped “kidney” (which host Yoshino cherry trees and crape myrtles) which Kensington was using as a balance beam, I pulled her down and walked toward the statue, tears streaming in absolute awe. With her little pointer finger in the air, she asked the question, "Who is that, papa?”

Around this timeframe, the media was still covering the life – and heartrending passing – of Steve Jobs. For many, there was a fascination with the well-known in the world of adoption and foster care: actors, entertainers, athletes, politicians, and others. Well, I guess there always has been, dating back to when Joseph the carpenter adopted Jesus. Since then, the picture of the typical or "normal" family - with a father, mother, 2.5 kids, a camel… all living in a manger surrounded by a white-picket fence, has become less and less familiar over time. These days, families are "blended" (or I would like to say, “Modern”), and more than a little creative in terms of structure.

What bothered me the most about the stories of Steve Jobs and his bio- and adoptive-parents were the editorial comments that stated that even though he was adopted, it “he clearly didn't let that set him back.” Being adopted isn’t a set-back, but a step forward. A step in a direction along a journey that must be looked at as a gift, for everyone involved.

When I told K-Grace that she too will change the world, just like Martin Luther King, Jr. has, I know deep down inside me that she will. Will she find a cure for cancer, AIDS or autism? Well, hopefully we don’t have to wait twenty more years before we can find the answers we need for these diseases, viruses and development disorders. Will she be the first female president? Well, we’re optimistic that there will be a 2016 ticket for Hillary and we don’t have to wait until Kensington finishes up her second senatorial term before she makes up her mind if she wants to run for the Oval Office or not. Let’s face it, no one is predestined for greatness (well, except those adoptive individuals like Jesus… oh, and Prince William and our future daughter/son-in-law that he and Kate will soon have).

But as I type this, I remember that the next day after we went to the monument, we went to the National Souvenir Store to buy a piece of the Stone of Hope… an actual piece of granite from the stone that they chisled MLK Jr. out of, that they mounted to a beautiful walnut finished plaque. With only 5000 in existence, we were able to purchase #931. While we were in the store, Kensington asked us if she could pick out something for herself. Thinking she was going to select one of the chotchkies that they had displayed at the register, she told her to pick something out. She turned around and went over to the bookshelf. Without the slightest hesitation on what she wanted, she reached out her little hand, selected the book that she wanted and brought it over to the counter. Without even looking at the book, we paid for it and into a bag it went. On the way home, Kensi asked if she could have her book. We gave it to her, knowing that she would probably be easily bored with it as it didn’t have pictures.

For an hour, she pretended to read it. It wasn’t until we were unpacking the car did we see what the book actually was: Mary America. First girl President of the United States… who happened to be an orphan. I take it back, Hillary shouldn’t run for office again. My girl’s gonna make history.

All I want for Christmas...

2012-01-01T22:16:00.000-05:00

Right before Thanksgiving, Kensington came home from school and informed us that ‘Christmas’ would be bringing her a pink kitchen. Chris and I chuckled, and thought nothing of it. Santa had already been informed that Kensington should be on his Nice list and was slated for tons of toys, including a green and white kitchen set that came with its own pop-up cottage. Santa had been storing this cottage kitchen set for two years now in his attic, waiting for Kensington to be the right age to use it. Then, on a daily, if not hourly basis we were told that ‘Santa’ would be bringing her a pink kitchen. Sometimes it would be a whisper, sometimes in a normal tone, and once in Texas from a car window came a “I want a pink kitchen, please!!!!” shout when there was a drive-by Santa sighting.

Needless to say, Santa’s elves started working double-time to find the picture-perfect kitchen. Since there wasn’t enough time to make one, they had to search (NY, NJ, PA, TX, MD, VA and D.C.) and found one along the Mid-Atlantic coast.

When Kensington finally had the chance to share this single desire with Old Saint Nicholas, she didn’t waste the opportunity to captivate him with her charm. She leaned into his chest, looked up with her big blue eyes, and told him her wish. With a, “I’ll see what I can do”, and a pat on the back, she knew deep down that she had him where she wanted him. Then, came a quick costume change. You see… this Halloween Chris and I rifled the internet for a flawless costume for our K-Grace . We found one at our favorite boutique, chasing-fireflies.com. We had such a build up for the holiday, with our little lavender fairy ready to go trick-or-treating. Unfortunately, we had snow on Halloween. It was way too cold to go outside and even attempt to collect sugary treats, so we hunkered down at the house and hid candy around the house like it was Easter, sans the cheap plastic eggs.

So, since Santa brought us snow in October, we brought him a fairy in December. With everything we went through to get the costume and all of the accessories, we were going to get full use of it. You should have seen the looks we got while walking around the mall.

Christmas morning came [for us, it happened to be on Dec 26th because we were out of the state on the 25th], Kensington walked down the stairs and entered her play room. With a gasp that seemed to last forever, she reached for her pink apron, opened up her refrigerator, took out her play food and went to work. It was the best Christmas breakfast we’ve ever had. Chris and I were able to get second helpings… regrettably; Fazha was told that he had enough after one serving.

Well, I guess that’s it

2011-12-02T11:49:00.001-05:00

Dear Louis,

“Well, I guess that’s it.” These were the last words spoken by George Clooney’s character in the recent release, The Descendants, as he and his children poured his wife’s remains into the Hawaiian waters. The scene then cuts to them in the living room of their home, trying to move on from the painful moment and attempting to return to some aspect of normalcy, watching TV and eating a bowl of ice-cream, as they all cover up with the meticulous stitched gold and eggshell-white quilt that lay upon her in her final days. As the credits roll, I can barely move. I’m overwhelmed and inconsolable after watching two hours of scenes of this man’s wife in the same physical condition as Mazha was in while she laid in her hospice bed; the character unplugged from life support, mouth gaping open with dry lips pleading for any amount of moisture to touch its dehydrated rim, hands positioned to look as if they are clutching rolled washcloths to prevent its digits from completely buckling inward, cords and plugs and hoses protruding from and around her neck, and sweat-laced oil-soaked fibers of hair clinging to the side of her face.

This is not the first time I entered a movie not knowing anything what the storyline was about to later find out that it was beyond what I could emotionally take. A sudden illness or accident, family members gathering around a loved ones’ deathbed to say their final goodbyes, children planning a parents funeral, or new parent losing their own and feeling helpless in the situation… Usually, if the scenes become too graphic or hit home too much and that I feel like I can’t watch anymore, I would take it as my cue to get up and refill my popcorn or drink, take the much needed bathroom break that I had been painfully holding off taking (yes, I still have pregnancy bladder even though Kensington is almost 3), or if needed, just leave the theater. This movie made me want to leave within the first 10 minutes. Besides the script being absolutely dreadful, and only a tenth of the movie having to deal with the long line of fictional descendants of Hawaiian Princess KaiKai or TuTu or whatever her name was (I swear Clooney only signed on to this deal because he wanted a three month vacation on the island where he could walk around barefoot the entire time), the director desperately tried to invoke raw reaction from the audience by focusing long periods of muted scenes on a lifeless body in a hospital bed.

Upon determining to leave and suck up the wasted $24 I just spent, I realized I couldn’t. My legs were rock solid, feet bolted to the floor. I had just run 1.5 miles from my hotel to the movie theater. It was a last minute decision to see a movie and The Descendants was the only thing playing at the closest theater to me that I hadn’t seen yet that looked somewhat appealing. I had twelve minutes from the time I decided to see a show from the time the movie started. After being stuck in LA traffic for an hour forty minutes trying to travel 7 miles from Downtown to West Hollywood the night before, I decided that trying to taxi my way wouldn’t cut it, so with my dress shoes still on and my GPS on my phone, I hauled arse. Making two wrong turns and with sweat beads pouring from both my forehead and my back, I made it to the theater while the previews were still rolling. Out of breath and feeling like I was going to pass out, I drudge my way up to the top row and laid claim to a stadium seat with extra leg room. Clearly the time I’ve been spending on the treadmill hasn’t helped in a situation like this (mental note, increase time spent working out from 5 minutes to 7 minutes a week and increase speed from ‘prancing’ to ‘skipping’ mode). When it became clear that this was not the movie for me, it quickly became a realization that I was not going anywhere without a crowbar available to pry me from my seat. With moans from the back row – both emotional and utterly painful ones – I suffered through it with my palms over my face to block the screen. At two points during the movie, I actually considered turning my phone on and dialing 911 and asking for a paramedic to come and get me, but with the luck I’ve been having they would have transported me to the clinic in Compton.

When I realized I was the last one in the theater, because the movie FINALLY came to an end, I reached for the railing and lifted myself out of my chair, spilling my popcorn down the stairs. Acting like a paraplegic, I shimmied my way down with both legs glued to one another, and then hugged the wall of the corridor as I made my way to the exit. Roughly twenty minutes to the side door, I staggered outside and stood against a light post, waiting for a taxi to pull as close as possible to me. I crawled into a taxi and gave the directive to find the closest pharmacy from where we were at and was told one was one block away. The driver rolled his eyes in disgusted when I told him I would gladly pay the $2.75 to drive me to the location, knowing that he would have to circle around and get back at the end of the line at the taxi stand and would have to wait awhile for his next customer. Being the ever so gracious customer that I am, I asked him to wait – with the meter running – so I could go in, pick up a bottle of Aleve, and then would need a ride to my hotel. There was no way I would attempt to walk back in the condition that I was in. Once I returned, the meter was at $6.35. I guess it took a while. I wasn’t paying attention to the time because I was focused on the looks I was receiving from the employees and customers of the store. I owned my walk. I owned my look. I wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed, but disgusted by the watchers. This is LA… “Have a little fun before I die,” says a man next to me out of nowhere. How am I the one here that is standing out? [Sorry for the Sheryl Crowe reference, but every time I’m here that song is playing in the back on my mind – it normally happened when I’m driving on Santa Monica Boulevard]

“Well, I guess that’s it;” a five-word sentence that tried to sum up an entire movie. A line that the writer intended to put its audience at ease saying that now a death has occurred and a ceremony has taken place, everything can go back to normal. Not so.

It’s been almost two years and I hate to say it, but that’s not it. Yes, life goes on and while there are many nights I too sit on the couch, covered with Louis and a bowl of ice-cream on my lap, there isn’t a return normalcy. It’s a life of change. Routines change and structure changes, but normalcy will never have its place.

Since my last post, I changed my routine to get a different perspective on life. Not a new beginning, which seems too much like I would be running away from something… is more like a new assessment on life; as a husband, as a contributor to society and now more importantly as a parent. We have to take each day as it comes to us. We have to cherish what has been given to us, and we must look at every issue as an opportunity and not a challenge or obstacle. Life isn’t perfect. God, I wish it was… but that was never our purpose for being here.

Another day, another blog post. More to come that are a little bit more upbeat. Ones that will surely highlight Miss K and the little lady that she is becoming. We have so much to share with that will make you laugh, because it has done so for us. So until then… “well, I guess that’s it.”

A Year Of Mourning

2011-02-22T18:46:00.000-05:00

Dear Lois,

Over the past twelve months, I have become more in-tune to my spiritual beliefs – that is to say, I didn’t become religious or spiritual in light of the recent misfortunes in our lives, but I have reconnected with by base beliefs. Being the only one in our family that wasn’t christened in the Catholic faith (long story…), I’ve been a so-called member of many of the Christian denominations out there. Baptized Southern Baptist at the age of 9, I stayed in that faith until my early teens, then switched between the Lutheran and the Methodist churched until I was about 15. Then when I entered a four year relationship with, what would become my fiancé, my high school/early-college sweet-heart, I dabbled in the LDS (Mormon) religion. Since meeting Chris, I’ve gone to two reformed protestant churches; the Episcopal Church and the United Church of Christ.

Since then, I have exposed myself to one of the original faiths, Judaism. Judaism, with its long history of dealing with the soul of man, its intimate knowledge of man's achievements and foibles, his grandeur and his weakness, has wisely devised a system of graduated mourning periods. During this time, the mourner may express his or her grief and release, with calculated regularity, the built-up tensions caused by bereavement.

The Jewish religion provides a beautifully structured approach to mourning which is divided into five stages. Aninut, Lamentation, Shivah, Sheloshim and a Year of Mourning.

The fifth stage is the twelve-month period during which things return to normal, and business once again becomes routine, but the inner feelings of the mourner are still wounded by the rupture of relationship with the loved one.

The observance that most affects the daily life of the mourner during the twelve-month period is the complete abstention from parties and festivities, both public and private. Participation in these gatherings is simply not consonant with the depression and contrition that the mourner experiences.

This was not meant to look like a shrine,
I just moved the candles
closer for the picture.

It borders on the absurd for the mourner to dance gleefully while his parent lies dead in a fresh grave (or in our case, separated into several boxes and thrown in the ocean, hanging from a necklace, buried with her father, sitting on a shelf, and in my house, hanging out in a Japanese Urn on the liquor cabinet - exactly where she would have wanted to be).

At the close of this last stage, the bereaved is not expected to continue his mourning. So with that being said, No More Sadness. Period. [I so wish it was as easy as typing the words and the actions will follow. Unfortunately, it's not. I don't know how one can expect it to go away.]

While today is a day to remember Mazha’s life that passed away a year ago today, it’s also time to celebrate the new life that came into the world today. Kensi’s uncle Kyle and Auntie Cathy had a baby girl today - Kayla. While I have pictures of her in the hospital nursery, I’ll ‘allow’ the newbie parents to post the first photos of their princess before I do so. I will also let them share the story of Cathy falling asleep during labor (that woman falls asleep at the drop of the hat), and how what she desired the most was to have her eye lashes curled (if people were going to take pictures, she wanted to look flawless). It’s not my place to tell that story, or share with you the uncomfortable conversation I witnessed where Kyle stood in the hallway with his mother-in-law discussing her daughter’s cervix. It’s just not my place. Sorry folks :)

In honor of Mazha’s life, I wanted to share the video that we played at her funeral. It had to be split up into two videos because of YouTubes time limit on video uploads.

Part 1

Part 2

Post 9/11 Foundation Ride For Heroes

2011-02-20T21:53:00.000-05:00

The ‘Follow The Flag” campaign began at Ground Zero on September 11, 2010 with the raising of several flags by the actual heroes of 9/11 over the fallen World Trade Center Towers. The same flags have flown over several battlefields in Iraq and Afghanistan and all of the major military academies. These flags will be on tour of across the country from one year, returning to its final resting place at the National 9/11 Museum on the 10 year anniversary of the attack.

Fazha (with Mazha in tow), along with cousins Billy & Marla (their bikes can be seen below), followed the flags and the NAVY New Orleans Full Steam Brass Band, from the beach, through The Strand and down to Pier 21.

She sells sea shells by the sea shore

2011-02-20T21:17:00.001-05:00

Murdoch's Bathhouse is one of Galveston's most historic locations. Originally built in the late 1800's, the wood structure was constructed directly on the sand. Without the protection of a Seawall , the 1900 storm destroyed the bathhouse. Although the structure was rebuilt in 1901, the storms of 1909 and 1915 were so violent, that reconstruction was required after each.

Bathhouses such as Murdoch's, which were located on the shore, rented bathing suits and provided showers for the Island visitors. When Murdoch's reopened in 1910, it had 542 rooms, 251 for women and 291 for men. The cost at the time to rent the bathroom services were .25c. After numerous hurricanes hitting the island through the years, only a portion of the original building remains today. In 2008, Hurricane Ike destroyed Murdochs, and in 2009, miraculously, a brand new, sparkling Murdochs returned in its place.

Looking for sand dollars

2011-02-20T20:08:00.000-05:00

This past November, we traveled down to Galveston to take part in the 2010 Lone Star Bike Rally. Not only was this a chance to get the family together, but it was time to have the third memorial for Mazha and to spread her ashes in the Gulf.

The riding around the Lone Star motorcycle rally is one of the attractions. Going over the Causeway that gets you over the water to Galveston Island lets you see the water, riding along the beach once on the island, and riding on Strand Street through the middle of the rally are all part of the Galveston TX motorcycle experience. Fazha built a special holder that allowed for her urn to sit, one last time, in their trike, Dragon’s Breath, so she could experience these things one last time.

Here are a couple of the pages from a scrapbook that I put together from our trip.

Kensington loved walking the beach, which was right off from where our hotel was stationed, looking for sand dollars and seashells. Her auntie Simone and cousin Jordan were the lucky ones, finding prized possessions on the beach. I wasn't so lucky :(

Case of Mistaken Identify

2011-02-20T17:53:00.000-05:00

This is the story of my life; one that has been a little burdensome at times. No, its not like I get mistaken for someone famous like Matt Damon…. though there was that one time - it’s the nose (and I think it’s more like the ripped Jason Borne version of MD than some of the other characters he’s played). Unfortunately, I get mistaken for retail workers. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m wearing, if I’m in a store, someone is going to ask me for assistance. Chris loves it when this happens. I could be in Target - where the employees wear red shirts and khaki pants – sporting black pants and a blue button down shirt and tie, and someone will ask me if I can check the stock on something in the back. “Sorry, I don’t work here.” is my normal response if it’s something along this nature. If they ask me where something is, and I actually know, I’ll point them in the right direction. If it’s someone older and they ask me what the price of something is, I’ll either go to the price scanner for them, or go to a register and ask a real employee for the information. I’ve been to weddings where I’ve taken off my jacket during the reception and would be headed to the bar or to the bathroom and someone will mistake me for a waiter. If I’ve had enough drinks, I’ll play along; once I cleared a table’s plates and walked them into the kitchen and another time I went and got a pitcher of water and filled someone’s glass. When they find out that I’m a guest like them, they’re mortified.

I’ve been in department stores wearing shorts and a t-shirt and have been asked if I could open up a fitting room. I’ve been in shoe stores trying on shoes and someone will ask me if I have a certain size or if what they are looking for comes in a different color. I have been a guest at a hotel and someone will ask me if I can have someone come unlock their room because they left their key inside. I have been shopping for cars at a dealership and someone will ask me what the mileage is on a specific model vehicle. This is not a lie. I get mistaken everywhere I go. One time someone told me I looked, “extremely knowledgeable” and that is why they asked for assistance. I didn't buy it.

Unfortunately, I haven’t always been kind in my tone or response. Chris and I were rushing to a wedding once and stopped in at a drugstore to pick up a card. Someone came up to me with a weekly ad circular in their hand and started to ask me questions. What was meant to be an inquisitive, “does it look like I work here?” sounded more like, “Open your eyes lady. Is anybody else in this entire store wearing a Giorgio Armani suit? How can you be so stupid?!?!?” She was humiliated, and so was I after the words came out of my mouth. I apologized profusely, but it didn’t help. Not only did I feel bad for my tone, but the look of disappointment on Chris’s face the entire night made me feel even worse.

Yesterday while shopping at a children’s classic store Janie & Jack, it happened again. I was wearing blue jeans, sneakers, an American Cancer Society Relay For Life top with the word “RELAY” printed down the sleeve holding a large cup of tea I just bought at Teavana. A woman was shopping with what I’m assuming was her daughter and new granddaughter. They were browsing the sale rack and she got my attention. Holding up a light pink ruffled yoke top and a rose colored cardigan, she asked, “Do these two go together?”

“Um… not really.”

“well, what goes with this piece?”

Shuffling through the rack, I pull out a grey knit top and a white cropped cardigan. “I would suggest these two pieces.”

“What other pieces are part of this collection?” I realize she thinks I’m an employee.

“Oh, I’m just a dad offering up his fashion advice.”

“I’m so sorry, I thought you worked here.” and then gave me a puzzled look. Not a look of embarrassment, but one of ‘why are you helping me then’.

“I’m just a gay dad offering up my fashion advice. I would never put my daughter in those two pieces you have,” said in a jokingly and somewhat flamboyant way.

“Are you in I.T.?”

Where in the world did that come from? If I’m not a retail employee I’m a computer geek? That’s a far stretch.

“Nope. Just a gay dad.” Again, trying to play it cool.

“Do you work with computers?”

Okay, now I get it. I’m wearing my glasses. Is that what she’s going for? I’m starting to get confused here, and normally it’s the other way around.

“I work on a computer, but I not on computers.” Referencing my shirt (I’m always the walking billboard for Relay), “I work for the American Cancer Society managing their signature event, Relay For Life.”

“Nope. That’s not it. Do you do something creative on the computer?”

Now I’m at a total loss. What is this woman talking about? I just look at her.

“Are you creative on the computer? Do you create anything on the computer? Graphics? Designs? I see that you are creative on the computer. I just can’t see it.”

“Um. I guess so. I mean I do some design, but it’s not part of my job.”

“Well, whatever it is, you’re going to be famous. Famous, I tell you. You are going to be very famous for your creative outlet.”

I have a blank look on my face.

“I’m a professional charlatan. I know these things. You’re going to be famous.”

And with that, I walked away. All I could think was, “isn’t a charlatan a swindler? That isn’t a good thing, right?” And then I felt stupid. Am I thinking of something else? She didn’t say clairvoyant, because I would have been all up in that. So I then went back and hovered a little in the area that she was in, hoping that we would make eye-contact so I could start the conversation again. I didn’t happen. Chris had by now checked out and we went outside the store to meet with Kyle and Cathy who had munchkin sleeping in the stroller. After telling the story, Cathy wanted to go back to see if the woman could tell her if she was having a boy or a girl. We turned around but realized neither one of us where going to ask her the question. Both of us were too chicken to do it [this part is for Cathy…It hit me when we got in the car, Cathy you don’t need a charlatan or a clairvoyant to tell you what you’re having. You could simply ask your doctor instead of driving everyone crazy. You’re due in eight days and you refuse to find out the sex if baby “P”. I’m tired of buying yellow outfits for when he/she comes.]

All I have to say is Ted Bundy, Bernie Madoff and "Squeaky" Fromme were all once called ‘creative’ before they became famous, and no one thinks the type of fame that they have is a good thing. I can live without the predication.

Unless… (smile)

Here is another case of mistaken identity.

"One more time, papa!"

2011-02-02T20:24:00.006-05:00

Here in the Poconos - well, the Northeastern coast is more like it - it has snowed like crazy for the past two evenings; causing both schools and offices to be closed.

Rescheduling meetings and turning face-to-face interactions into conference calls, we've bundled up in our long johns, robes and slippers and have tried to avoid going outdoors. That's is until our munchkin screams, "Snowman, papa, snowman!"

Layering ourselves up, we head outside (during our lunch hour... I have co-workers reading this:) with sled in hand and all the supplies we need to build a snow~~man~~chuy. It wasn't our best attempt to create our own Frosty, but it was our first. The snow was more powder the first day and then turned into more icy / crunchy last night, which is when we should have built it. 30 seconds after building it, the head fell off. Poor thing. Hopefully we'll have better luck next time (and if the weather stays as planned, that day won't be that far away).

Here is a short vid of us headed down the drive way. We're still trying to figure out the video aspect of our new Canon. [Has issues uploading the snowman vid, so I'll work on uploading that one tomorrow]

Here's a quick page that I did with some of my favorite pics.

To download this QP (Christmas's Angels by Thaliris), click here. I love her work and am constantly going to her site to buy her kits. Because I wanted additional pictures in my piece, I added a winter wonderland frame that can be downloaded here.

The futures so bright...

2011-02-01T20:47:00.000-05:00

She's gotta wear shades!

Little Miss Kensington loves playing with her Mr. Potato head characters. Actually, she likes playing with the accessories more than she does the potato. There isn't a day that goes by that she's not wearing his glasses or has a set of lips in her mouth (which we would take over her binky. We said the moment she turned 2, we'd wean her off of it... its been a challenge). And when there is a camera around, she begins to ham it up. She's just like her papa!

Who do you think you are?

2011-02-01T19:09:00.002-05:00

(Music that inspired this post: Bruno Mars; Grenade. Hit play to listen to a great cover of the song while you read. Think of it as mood-music)

While sitting in an off-site meeting, I saw my blackberry’s red alert light going off, followed by a vibrating pulse. The pulse kept coming so I grabbed my phone and hit silent. Knowing how rude it is to be checking email while in a meeting, I waited until the break to scroll through the list of work and junk emails. I saw that I had a message on our It’s Daddies site referring to our A sad ending to 2010 post, and the author of the comment was Anonymous. This isn’t the first time someone left an anonymous message. Some people leave them so they don’t have to log-in to the system, but they identify themselves in the message. Mazha would do that all the time. I decided to read the post before heading back into the meeting since 99.9% of them put a smile on my face, (and because of the subject matter of the meeting I was in, I needed a little pick-me-up). This is what I read:

Now, my initial thought was to walk (okay, more like run) through the hallway to see if someone left their computer on in their office so I could log into the site and delete it immediately. This is just one more reason why I can’t stand the Blackberry. It’s impossible to go onto websites when you’re connected to a company’s server. Then, I decided it wasn’t worth reacting to and I should just laugh it off. The next four hours I wish I would have heeded my own advice. I sat behind the table in a board room fuming with disgust. Knowing that this wouldn’t be the best time to add my input into any conversation, I sat in my chair, head looking down at my notepad, and took copious notes so I could follow up with people after the meeting.

When I got home I read the post to Chris and told him I planned on responding to it. Being the clearinghouse for my post, he suggested that I just delete it and forget about it. After 13 years, he should have known better (and Chris, when you finally do read this, don’t you even think of asking me to take this down). While I deleted it, I haven’t forgotten about it. Not one bit.And every time I hear Bruno Mar's Grenade, I can't stop thinking about writing a response - and so here it is.

You see, with today’s technology, NOTHING is Anonymous. When I first created the blog, I had no clue as to what I was doing. But through this process, I’ve learned a little bit about the hundreds of enhancements that are available to me as a blogger, such as the great FEEDJIT Live tool that I subscribe to (seen on the right toolbar), that not only tells me when people visit the site, but also their city/state/country. I liked it because of the great visual of the map… but it does something else. It provides me with that little thing called an IP address. Fortunately for me, when our fan “Anonymous” visited the site and left a message, they were the ONLY one that happened to be on the site, which made my investigation quite simple. You see, within 5 minutes of logging in through the back end, I was able to get “Anonymous’s” IP address, which lead me to another search feature of pulling the registered location addressing. Entering that information into Anywho.com (Thanks AT&T) and pulling a reverse look-up told us exactly who left this message.

The reason for this blog is so we can share our experience with others (what was meant to be just for the adoption process, and now our journey into parenting). Not to be rude - but I think after your post, I have every right – but no one asked you to check out our blog, or to continue to return to it, or to be a part of our lives. You’ve chosen to go the route you’ve gone.

For clarification, our daughter (no quotations needed, thanks), didn’t lose anything, but instead she had gained the world. She has been given opportunities, which unfortunately she would have never been exposed to. This is why so many birth parents take the courage step and choose to place their child for adoption.

When it comes to Kensington’s family tree, she will always know her roots, but her newly extended branches have lifted her up to the sky so she can reach for the stars. If you would look at this situation through the lens of reality instead of through the lens of cynicism, you would understand that. Because others have accepted this, she has a relationship with her paternal aunt, grandmother, great aunt, and great-grandmother and her maternal aunt, uncle, cousins, great aunts & uncles, great grandmother and many others. She knows her heritage and continues to learn through each family gathering.

And, just for your understanding, our daughter (again, no quotations needed) does have two daddies on her birth certificate. We were there the day she was born and have been there with her every day since. We are her parents and you need to accept it. We’re the ones wiping her snotty nose and taking her to the emergency room at 2 in the morning when she has a fever. We're the ones she is shoving 'already chewed up food' into (our mouths, that is). We’re the ones that have changed thousands of diapers (I posted the amount in one of our earlier blogs, but we stopped counting months ago) and attended parent/teacher conferences with her school. We are the ones using flashcard every day to increase her vocabulary and the ones instilling in her respect for others (something someone needs to assist you with). We’re the ones tucking her into bed each night and helping her say her prays for ALL of those that love her. She has a bio-mother and -father that are in her life, AND she has a daddy and a papa that bend over backwards to give her everything she wants and everything we’ve never had. S&S are not the only ones that have made great sacrifices, as all birth-parents do. We too have put our lives on hold for a great purpose… the purpose of raising a princess that will marry William and Kate’s first born (whether they have a son or a daughter). It’s our daughter’s birth-given right to marry true royalty.

“Guess it's okay for you to want to live an honest, open life” … honey, you don’t know me. My life, because of this blog, is an open book. Before Kensington, we had learned to live only half a life, and now you want to diminish the better half that we’ve built. Who do you think you are? Leaving comments like that, with the meaning of really leaving scars. So, "shame on me"? [that's the right use of qoutations] No thank you… shame on you! I feel bad for you. You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul. Again, who do you think you are?

To download the digital frame created by az_cosmos, click here

To download the green journaling digi, click here or visit trixie scraps to get the entire kit. Its part of their birthday bash collaboration.

Finger Lick'n Good

2011-01-30T18:11:00.003-05:00

Being huge fans of Chelsea Handler and her montley crew of E! Entertainments “Chelsea Lately” nightly comedy talk-show, Chris and I were ecstatic when we found out that her panelist were touring in our area. So three months ago, we bought our tickets, scheduled a sitter and counted down the days until last night when we would venture off into the middle of nowhere - the former quarters of Caesars’ Pocono Resorts, Cove Haven; home to the famous 7-foot tall Champagne Glass Whirlpool Bath for two. No, we didn’t partake. This time.

As her “Comedians of Chelsea Lately” roundtable guest rotate on tour, our hearts skipped a beat when we saw that our top three (and Chuy, of course) were the ones slated to perform: Funnyman/Hottie Josh Wolf; judge of NBC’s Last Comic Standing, Natasha Leggero; and my personal all-time favorite, the one and only, Loni Love (who, both Variety and Comedy Central have named among their Top 10 Comics to watch).

Wanting to do something special for Loni for mustering up the courage to tour in our Red State - in an area of the Keystone where the banjo could be considered the state instrument and people here do believe they can see Russia from their house, my first thought was roses. It’s nice, it’s warm, it’s… well, it’s the white thing to do. So scratch that. So what do you get a B3 (Big, Bold, Black) Diva? Anything she wants. And knowing Loni from the show, there was only one thing that would comfort here while looking out at the sea of Caucasians in the crowd – a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Yep, I said it.

So, making a 25 minute detour in the snow, we headed to KFC, picked up a bucket of mixed thighs and breasts, and rushed to get to Cove Haven by 7pm. Penning a note on a ItsDaddies.Plural note card, I told her what I big fan I was, and that yes, the chicken was safe to eat.
We arrive at the sold out 1000 entertainment hall with 10 minutes to spare. We grab our chicken and camera and rush into the building. It was completely empty, except for the three stage hands that were setting up for the band, and one sitting at one of the 125 tables. “um… we’re here for the show. Is this the right place?” He said we were in the right place, but we should head into the side door, which was the conference area. Conference area it wasn’t, it was more like a conference room. And this conference room was being turned into the Green Room for Loni and the others. Chris and I just look at each other. An older gentleman, John, was in the room and asked us what we were doing there. “We need to drop something off for Loni Love who’s performing here tonight. Are we in the right place?”

“Yes, the band starts at 8:30pm and the Comedians go on at 10pm.”

I shoot Chris an evil eye. He made the reservations and put it in his phone as 7pm, which happened to be the time we needed to leave the house, and not the time we needed to be in the boonies.

“What do you have for Loni?”

“Chicken.” A look of confusion pans his face.
“Are you delivery guys?”

“No, no, no… we are here for the show. For some reason we thought it started at 7pm. We just need to drop this off for her.” Still, a look of confusion. This poor guys was probably just walking through the room at the same time we are and now we’re trying to explain why we’re delivering a bucket of KFC to one of the headliners performing.

“Loni knew we were coming to the show to see her tonight and, knowing that we’re out in the middle of no-where, she asked if we could pick her up some KFC.” (Okay, so I lied. Again, who is this guy and what does it really matter).

“Oh, do you guys have comped tickets?”

“No, we’re just big fans and catch Loni's show anytime she’s performing on the East Coast. Every time we see her, we bring her a bucket of chicken… it’s kinda our thing. We knew we were going to be here tonight, so last night she sent me a text message asking if I could pick this up for her.”

“Oh, okay. Is this her dinner?” (oh God. What if they have something planned for her already and they stop making it because of this).

“Not sure. But knowing Loni like we do (where is all of this coming from???), I would have something set up for all of the performers and have this on the side for her. She’ll pick a little bit of everything.”

And with that being said, we turned around and headed to exit the building to try to find something to do for the next 3 hours before the show really starts. I detoured to the bathroom and Chris followed. “What was that? Do you know how many lies you just told?” , “Chris… I wasn’t lying, I just fabricated the true a little. It isn’t going to hurt anyone. That guy will leave the bucket on her table and if she eats it, she eats it. If not, no big deal. I’m sure he’s not going to have any interaction with the entertainment.” Chris starts to freak out. This isn’t the first time I’ve done something like this in the past 13 years we’ve been together, so I’m not sure why this is coming as a shock to him. Though, he's still recovering from the incident where I had a gallery owner thinking we were going to be buying two art pieces that were only $35,000 a piece. I got her down to $60,000 for the set and told her we needed to talk to our accountant first before we made that large of a purchase while we were on vacation. That woman is still probably waiting for us to come back since she gave us the account information on where to wire the funds to. They would have looked really great in our house. Too bad we don’t have the $60k to blow on something like that :)

Laughing as I exit the bathroom, the guy, John, was there. “Excuse me, since we have some time to kill before Loni goes on, can you tell us where in the resort we can get some food?”

“Well, guest of the Resort are eating in the main dining room now, which is that way (as he points in one direction), and we have a café in that building there (pointing in the opposite direction). I was going to eat in the main dining room tonight, but now I’m having second thoughts. Why don’t I walk you guys down to the café.” Chris pinches my arm behind Johns back. “Actually, since you guys were so nice by bringing something for Loni to eat tonight, dinner is on me.”

“Oh no, seriously. We couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put it on my account.”

Chris and I just look at each other. As we walk into the building, the service staff snap to attention as John heads in. (What did we get ourselves into?) “I’ll have my regular, and get these two guys anything they need.” Chris is now pinching me harder as we whispers into my ear, “Why do you continue to get ourselves into these situations? This guy is ‘somebody’ and you just told him you were friends with Loni Love and she’s expecting that. Tonight when she gets in, she’s going to ask ‘what the hell is this’, and this guy is going to come and throw us out of the resort.”

We sit at our table and John asks if we mind if he joins us. He too is waiting until the show starts. Chris kicks me under the table. Come to find out, John has been in charge of Entertainment for all three of the Resorts. He’s been one of the head honcho’s for the past 16 years. About 20 minutes into the conversation, about ten guys in suits walk in and head over to our table to talk to John. They then sit at the two tables next to us. It’s his security detail. He starts going over the agenda for the evening with them. Chris continues to bruise my leg under the table. I join in the conversation with them and start talking about Chuey, Josh, Natasha and Loni. Hell, for the fun of it, I start throwing out Chelsea’s name. Chris is now pinching himself to stop from laughing. We find out from the security team that the performers are not going to be there until 9:30.

John turns to us, “Tonight we’re doing a meet and greet after the show. Come back and join me. It’s going to be crazy… we have a sold out house, so about a thousand guests will be at the show. The meet and greet will be for about 300. Just some to the side where you saw me and these guys will let you through.” Cha-Ching.

About an hour and a half later, we end our conversation (which morphed from conversations with his staff, to his role in the resorts, his wife and children, and both of our jobs), it was time for John to head back to make sure the band was ready to perform. We headed to main stage and parted ways. I looked at Chris, and with a smirk, told him that he owed me one. Then reality kicked in and we stared feeling bad for ‘fabricating the truth’ to this guy. Oh well, too late to do anything about it now.

Fast forward. It’s now 9:30. The band has been playing. Drinks have been served. People are walking around. I catch an occasional whiff of cigarette smoke from those going outside before the show as well as the sporadic hint of White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor (there was a handful of 60 year old guests that were there at the show because they booked their weekend at the resort and got the tickets for free and they had no clue who these people were). All of a sudden I turn to Chris, “Take a deep breath. What do you smell?” That’s right, it was KFC. Seems like Ms. Love found her bucket and someone was heating it up for her. We died laughing.

It’s now 10pm, Chuy comes on and says a couple words to a huge round of applause… then Natasha opens and kills the crowd, as does Josh who followed her. Chris has the biggest crush on Josh, who happens to be Scott Wolf’s (the star of Party of Five, Everwood and V) cousin, my own Matinee Idol.

Then, here comes the Diva herself. Starting off like Chuey, Natasha and Josh with a, “Where in the hell are we” opening. Don’t worry sister. I’ve been here 7 years and I’m still asking myself that same question. She then ventured into her 'Big Girl' jokes where I got my first shout out from her, thanking me for her bucket of chicken. “Where’s you at, Paul?” I stand up screaming, “I love you, Loni”, then she throws out her first, ‘I love the gays’ reference. Throughout her 40 minute set, I ended up getting 4 shout-outs and a special, “Thank you, Sugar-Stix”, her version of a term of endearment to the gays and then I got an additional term of endearment as she ended the show. This one I got on video (shhh… don’t tell anyone), but it’s a little too racey for our “It’s Daddies. Plural.” site.

Third in line for the meet and greet (Thanks, John), I have my little sign, as seen here, professing my love to Ms. Love. Her face lighting up as she saw it when she came out of the green room. We were able to get a group shot with the gang (Me next to Loni and Chris next to Josh – sorry Chuey and Natasha, we love you guys but you two, tonight, were icing on the cake for us). After a kiss on Loni’s cheek, I went to head out and she said, “Give me my sign!” Telling her the sign was for me to get her attention – like a bucket of KFC didn’t do the trick – I ended up giving it to her. The gang thank us for the chicken, which Natasha told us they devoured the entire thing, and we headed out of Cove Haven into the snow and on cloud nine. “Oh what a night!” Wait a minute. That’s a song from the 1960’s group, The Four Seasons… which, if you act now, you can get your tickets to see next month at The Cove.

By the way, yes, Chris is holding slippers in the photo, and no, this isn’t a usual accessory for him. Dearfoams happened to be the sponsor of the Meet and Greet and they were handing out slippers to those in attendance. Just felt like I should clear that up :)

A sad ending to 2010

2010-12-27T11:31:00.001-05:00

As most of you know, 2010 was not the best year for our family. In February we lost Mazha, and in less than a month, my sister lost her brother-in-law, Jack, and her nephew, Shawn; only to be followed by Jack’s wife two weeks ago. We lost our auntie Carol seven months to the day from when Mazha past. I’ve attended five other funerals and over a dozen memorial services (four for Mazha) for friends, family members of friends, volunteers and committee members.

Today, we had to put our 13year old Duncan, an Akita/Labrador mix, to sleep. The past month or so, he’s has some incontinence issues and we feared he was having kidney/bladder issues. The vet ran some blood work and did a urine exam and diagnosed him with Lyme disease. One more reason why I hate the deer in the Poconos.

Several medications later, it still wasn’t helping. Some dogs develop severe progressive kidney disease as sequelae to Lyme disease. This severe kidney failure is difficult to treat and may result in death of the dog. Some dogs may also develop heart problems or nervous system disease after being infected, in addition to lameness, swelling in the joints, swollen lymph nodes, lethargy, and loss of appetite.

This morning Duncan kept falling as he was having issues using his back legs, and then he was having breathing problems. He laid on the floor, covered in his quilt, and just looked at us. Kensi, who is his biggest fan, knew something wasn’t right. She leaned down to give him one final kiss, and he finally accepted her love’ns without blinking or turning his head. While he loved her dearly, he’d struggle accepting her affection by running from it – which only made her chase him more. In the end, she finally won out. She'll no longer be able to hide the fact that when she doesn't want to eat something, she sneeks it to him, and he covers for her.
Chris and I fought back the tears as we knew this was the end, and so did he.

Chris went and started the car, letting the seats down to make room for him. Duncan tried standing up, but kept hitting the wall as he attempt to walk. I scooped him up and walked up the snow filled driveway and placed him in the back seat for his final ride, the ride that brought him to all of the other puppies in the sky.

We'll miss you Lil' Man!

September 21, 1997 – December 27, 2010

Our Christmas wish was granted.

2010-12-25T10:48:00.002-05:00

Last year I shared with you all Kensington’s first encounter with Santa Claus. Not every child enjoys their time with Santa. Some kids are plain scared of the fat man with a red suit. I was envisioning her sitting on old St. Nicks lap, with tears streaming down her face and mouth open wide with blood-curdling screams escaping her tiny, and yet very powerful, vocal box. You know the pictures I’m talking about. There are hundreds of websites and books dedicated to these disastrous family photos. I was hoping we’d experience this family tradition first-hand. To me, that cemented fatherhood. Unfortunately for me, our little angel was just that – a little angel. I asked Santa’s little elf to pinch her to make her cry and he looked at me like I was crazy. “No, seriously. Pinch her. It’s for my Christmas Card. There’s an extra $20 in it for if she goes from happy baby to wailing baby. But noooooooooooo. Santa’s little midget with pointy ears that looked like a Spock wannabe wouldn’t buy in to my scheme. Because of his unwillingness to grant MY holiday wish, we got a gorgeous princess, smiling away, on Santa’s lap.

And then this year happened. We arrived at Santa’s village just as he was about to take his cookie & Milk break. I tried to rush her in, but it was a no-go. The velvet rope went up and we were halted in the line. We had to wait for 30 minutes. Keeping a little munchkin occupied in line wasn’t the easiest thing to do. She wanted her hair bows out and I threaten her with never seeing another episode of The Backyardigans again if she even thought about touching her hair. Then after I made that statement, I started to wish she would test her luck. No such luck.

Santa arrived and Kensington was, once again, excited to see him… until she sat on his lap. Tears started streaming down her face. The photographer was trying to get her to stop crying by shaking some lame stuffed animal in front of her face (like that would make me smile). “Take the picture, Take the picture.” She just looked at us. “Take the PICTURE,” I grunted. She did so, and I quickly snatched up my tearful chickpea.

It had taken a year to wait for this moment, but my wish finally came true. Not every child enjoys their time with Santa, and that’s okay. She’s just following the tips she learned from the “Stranger Danger” videos we’ve been showing her.

"Silent Night... not in our house!"

Sew Magical, Sew Cute (what parents will do for their kids)

2010-12-24T09:05:00.000-05:00

Let the games begin… about a month ago we were informed by one of my colleagues that Lalaloopsy Dolls were the “in” toy this year. Her boyfriend and her were looking for them everywhere for his daughter, and we were all told to be on the lookout. This line of dolls are cute little creatures with button eyes that closely resemble the classic rag dolls from years ago (Think Tim Burton meets Strawberry Shortcake). The general story of the Lalaloopsy dolls is that they magically came to life as soon as the final stitch was sewn, and the magic that brought them to life also imbued them with personalities that matched the materials used to make their clothes. One Lalaloopsy doll's clothes were made from a baker's apron, and she loves to cook. Another's clothes were made from a painter's overalls, and she loves to paint. You get the gist. To me, it’s a marketing ploy to get girls to beg their parents to buy these rag dolls. They don’t really do anything.

While in Philly doing some Christmas shopping, I came across the last two in Toys R Us and called her to ask her if she wanted me to get one. Not sure if it was one of the ones she already has (There are 10 in the set), I bought one knowing I could return it if needed. Then it hit. The bug. Knowing that I had a coveted doll (I should have bought both), stirred up a monster in me, and it was contagious. The bug bit Chris as well.

The next day we were in our local Toy R Us and the crowd got brutal. A new truckload of dolls had arrived. Out of nowhere, Chris and I knew this meant ‘game on’. We were now going to hunt for all 10 of these sadistic creatures. The makers of Lalaloopsy did it right; they don’t have a single store sell the complete set. You have to hunt. And hunt we did. Long story short (because I have to get ready to Drive to Massachusetts in a couple hours), we were in 3 states, 12 stores, tons of pushing, biting, and pulling hair (between me and Chris for wondering why we’re doing this for a doll that our daughter doesn’t want or care about), and we finally collected the complete set. Many have told us to sell them on eBay to double our investment, but we couldn’t do that to our KGrace. So instead, we adorned our Christmas tree with them. Behold, our life size Lalaloopsy doll.

Beyond Her Years

2010-12-23T13:51:00.001-05:00

It seems like it was just yesterday that we brought our little girl home from the hospital. Now, she’s all grown up. She’s putting on make-up, driving around in her Hummer, going to dances with boys (yes, plural). We’ve once again started the process of, “The Courtship of Kensington Grace”. It seems like many parents want to arrange the marriage between their little one and ours. We’re totally up for it. When it comes to arranging a marriage for your child, what side of the fence you’re on affects your point of view regarding the advantages and disadvantages of the scenario. And seeing that in her school, there is one girl for every 9 boys, we’re the ones calling the shots.

If we leave the west for a few days and transplant ourselves into any culture that promotes arranged marriages, we will, in time, realize the logic behind this practice and appreciate the reasons why they work. Some of those reasons can be attributed to the wisdom of elders. Because they raised and cared for their children, they instinctively know what’s best for their children, which includes the decision to select a life partner. I’ve been in the dating world… it isn’t pretty. If there is anything we can do to thwart her from making the same mistakes we did, why wouldn’t we do so? :)

According to professorshouse.com, the benefits of arranged marriages are:

1. Risk of incompatability is diminished (we know what’s good for her, and she’ll like it)

2. Idea of divorcing is unthinkable (Our new stance on life: If Gays can’t get married, Straights can’t get divorced. That should be the sanctity of marriage – 2 years ago, 48% of our elected House and Senate representatives were divorced. And yet they claim that gay marriage would be the fall of our country’s morals.)

3. Extended family support has its benefits (the more money the parents have, the better your chances. Support me, baby, support me all you want!)

They claim, there are some “minor” disadvantages as well.

1. Inability to make up one’s own mind (quite frankly, I think this is over-rated. I would much rather wake up and follow someone else’s schedule & plan, than to try to come up with my own. Call me lazy.)

2. Love takes second priority (Love? As my good friend Tina Turner once said, “What’s love got to do with it?)

3. Interference from extended family (See number 3 above. I can be bought out… and so can our daughter. She takes after her pappa!)

Let the bidding begin (please, bid increments must be in at least six-figures).

Circumventing Clause (Mrs. Clause, that is)

2010-12-23T12:03:00.001-05:00

It has been a complete whirlwind in our house for the past month. With numerous social events on the calendar, five – yes, five birthday parties for our munchkin, mixed in with volunteer committee meetings, both of our sisters visiting (one from Texas, one from Atlanta), and two out of state conferences that I attended, I never knew where I was coming from or going to. Chris started sending me calendar invites so things would start popping up on my blackberry so I would know where I needed to drive to next, for the next event he committed me to. Funny, as mentioned in the previous post, he never sent the calendar invite for a 6pm Friday night holiday party. He too probably thought the timing was off and he didn’t want to confuse me anymore than I actually was.

Due to my coming and goings, Chris has been a trooper and wrapped up all of Kensington’s Christmas gifts from us… and all of the gifts from Santa are in the basement and have been unboxed, assembled, batteries inserted, and ready to be placed under the tree (well, we say that, but the way our tree is situated, it’s not really feasible). Albeit, one gift has remained upstairs because of the sheer size of it, and because it came from Mrs. Clause, not Santa himself. Mrs. Claus has been generally depicted in media as a fairly heavy-set, kindly, white-haired elderly female baking cookies somewhere in the background of the Santa Claus mythos. That’s not the case here, though she does assists in toy production, and oversees many elves on a daily basis. Her personality tends to be fairly consistent; she is usually seen as a calm, kind, and patient woman, often in contrast to Santa himself, who can be prone to acting too exuberant (come on, he’s on a deadline and his helpers have little nugget-fingers. Do you know how hard it is to use power tools with little snausages attached to you palm?) While, in the media, she is sometimes called Mother Christmas, and Mary Christmas has been suggested as her maiden name; we call her friend, advocate, co-architect.

Mrs. Clause’s gift was behind closed doors, and Chris and I have made every effort to ensure that KGrace didn’t see it if we had to go into the room. We’d crack the door open just a smidgen and creep in, only to hear a soft “knock, knock” followed by Kensington’s tiny fist pounding on the door. She knew something was up, and she was going to do her damnedest to get to the bottom of it. So, imaging our surprise when after dinner last week, we head into the living room for an exciting episode of “The Fresh Beat Band” (seriously, we need some adult entertainment in our lives. Nick Junior is starting to make me have nightmares), when from around the corner we hear, “Beep, Beep!” Chris and I, along with his sister, Rhonda, looked at each other. We’re pretty familiar with all of the toots, horns, chimes, etc on her toys. This was one we hadn’t heard before. We get up and follow the “beeps”. We come around the corner and in the storage room... the door is open (how in the world did she turn the knob? Note to self, get more child-proof door locks). And there she is… sitting in her gift. She flipped the power switch, fastened her seatbelt, and was ready to burn rubber.

Moral of this story: What our daughter wants, our daughter gets. Lord, help us all!

“Got Jesus on my necklace”

2010-12-21T20:52:00.003-05:00

These are words you don’t necessarily want your daughter to spew out in public. It’s not that we’re not of the Christian faith, or that we want to conceal our beliefs from public viewing; but repeating the mantra of Ke$ha (who isn’t the ideal role-model we would have selected for HRH), is a little embarrassing. For starters, she has a character in her name. Not just any character, but one that made me correct people when she first hit the scene because I thought she went by “Casha”. It was an understandable mispronunciation. And just look at her… glitter on her eyes, stockings ripped all up the side, looking sick and sexy-fied. Oh no-o-o (We should go-o-o). [editorial comment: two hours after this was posted, Chris gasped and stated that he was appauled by the previous two sentences, as well as the title of this post. He didn't realize this was pulled straight from Ke$ha's lyrics. So, if you too are not in tune with today's music, please don't be offended. This blog just may not be for you. Yes, Chris, I'm talking to you. Hahahaha.]

Kensington, in a display of expressing herself, has turned into a karaoke diva. Give that girl a microphone and a smoky bar-like setting, and she will own the stage. Unfortunately, she has been banned from most of the clubs in Eastern PA and Northern New Jersey (they stated that since she once signed a contract with a recording company, she’s ineligible to participate in “amateur” competitions – stupid rules. If there is wiggle room on American Idol, there should be the same considerations here at our local cabarets). Given that she can’t utilize the nightclubs as an outlet to illustrate her talents, she has deemed her car seat in the backseat of my truck the next best suitable place. Her audience… me and daddy (and whoever is lucky enough to gain admission into the two open spaces next to her). It’s a very, let’s say, up-close and personal performance. We look at it as if we were given backstage passes to every performance. It’s nice to know those connected to the box office.

This talent first showcased itself about eighteen months ago when Kensington was first introduced to the Black Eye Peas and “Boom Boom Pow” while traveling to and from school. She’d become overly excited each time it played on my SiriusXM radio. But anytime a country song would play, she’d scream with repulsion (Chris loves playing with my channels, so often when I start the car I get the pleasure of listening to his selections – Country and Christian - both I change as soon as I can). I’m don’t blame her… we have similar musical taste.

It moved from one song, to the themed songs of “The Backyardans,” “Blues Clues,” and “The Fresh Beat Band;” each she would hum along and bounce her head back and forth… now she’s included her signature move - stomp, stomp, stomp, quarter-spin, fall and repeat. Now she has expanded her participation beyond humming, and lengthened her repertoire to Top 40. Ill-fated as it is, Ke$ha and “We R Who We R” have been on the list for some time now. A few months ago, she would sing back-up… only spouting the last word in each sentence (which, because of Ke$ha’s own limited vocabulary were “dumb,” “numb,” and “young.” I swear that woman is a modern day Sylvia Plath). Now, she’s taking center stage and demands, at times, audience participation (which to me is just intolerable. When I pay good money to see someone in concert [Beyonce], don’t tell me “This is my favorite part of the concert, this is where you sing to ME” and point the microphone to the audience and expect us to belt out “to the left, to the left, everything you own in the box to the left”. Sorry. That was a tangent. I know. But it really does bother me. It’s bad enough I have Drunken Dianna next to me and I have to hear her sing along while I want to be “in the moment” with my bodacious Bee, and now I have 17,998 other inebriated people trying to camouflage a tune [Baby you dropped them keys, Hurry up before your taxi leaves].

Okay. I’m Back. Sorry Dianna, whoever you are. I didn’t mean to call you a bad singer. I was just using you as an example. We’ve all been next to a “Dianna”, and you just happened to be at the right concert at the wrong time.

Kensington now sings along to Bruno Mars, Rihanna, Neon Trees and her pappa’s personal favorite, Pink. Granted, her use of our language isn’t as extensive as, oh, lets say a 3 year old, but she tries. So, Chris and I look past the times when we too are bopping along to Mumford & Sons’ “Little Lion Man”, and it sounds like… I hate to say it… Dianna is riding along with us in the back seat.

Regretfully, Kensington signed the above mentioned contract with her record agency under protest by her management team (a little Bieber-esk if you ask me), and thus is unable to produce or perform in any videos that can be posted on this blog. We’ve tried to capture her on using several means… camcorder, video camera and even my blackberry. While she may love the camera to get her picture taken, she knows when we’re shooting video and refuses to belt out another tune. That’s what I call a Diva, with a capitol “D”. Sorry Dianna, I'm not talking about you again.

Our own little "DADT"

2010-12-20T20:44:00.004-05:00

On the eve of this country’s repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, we had our own little DADT incident here in our household. You see, Chris and I had another one of our communication mishaps. Friday night we had a holiday party to attend, and I assumed it started between 7 – 7:30. So, image my surprise when I received a call just prior to 6pm asking me where I was at. The party was to start at 6pm and I was nowhere close to the house. I told Chris to go without me, and I would pick Kensi up at school, get us both ready, and would be there by 7:30 (the proper time a holiday party on a Friday night should start, especially one so close to Christmas, which was cutting into my precious shopping time).

I enter the house with kiddo in tow, and rushed to change & juice her. Chris had her outfit picked out and her diaper bag was packed and ready at the door. I quickly hid the presents I was able to buy, and rushed upstairs to iron a dress shirt and sweater.

Chris and I are at a stage that we can actually turn our backs on Kensington and know that she’s going to be okay. Every outlet is plugged up, every cabinet drawer and door is latched or locked, and all sharp objects are hidden underneath my pillow waiting for January 1 when Chris’s life-insurance through both of our policies double. She’s content with playing in her playroom… putting her baby dolls to sleep, making Elmo drink from the teacup, rolling around in her ball house or her ball pool, pushing her stroller from one side of the living room to another or climbing the ladder to get the candy canes placed on the tree above her reach level.

I’ve finished ironing and, with a little pep in my step, called down from the balcony, “I love you, Kensi.” I hear her call back, muffled, “I love you, papa.” Things are good. I stroll to the bathroom, brush my teeth (note to self, no red wine for at least an hour now… Pinotage grapes taste way too sour when mixed with fluoride) and add a dab more product into my hair. Once downstairs, I head to her playroom (oh, the days of having an actual dining room). No Kensington. Okay, I see. We’re playing hide-and-seek. She’s in the pantry (i.e., taste-testing the bag of cookies to make sure Pappa and Daddy won’t be food poisoned – I believe in a past life, she was a royal food assayer). I open the door. Nothing. Really? That’s the first place I would have hidden when playing this game. I hear a whimper from behind the office door. Duncan is locked in the office. I’m sure our chickpea is in there as well. I open the door to two blue-bugged eyes staring at me. A black Sharpie hits the floor, with the cap off. She comes running, pushes me out of her way, and into the living room she goes. I look around the room. Yep. There it is. One of Chris’s filing cabinets that she loves placing stickers and magnets on, has now been tagged. I think she’s covering for Duncan. She found him midstroke and took the permanent marker from his paws to beg him to stop. She had to have shut the door behind her so I wouldn’t hear her scolding him.

She’ll never be labeled as a nark. We taught her right. So for now, we won’t ask… because surely, she’s not telling.

Mary had a little lamb...

2010-11-27T21:18:00.000-05:00

Okay, I know it's after Thansgiving and we should be gearing up for Christmas, but I had to share these pics of our little lamb when we went pumpkin picking before Halloween. She has such a blast running around the hay-maze and playing with all of the pumpkins.

Murky Turkey

2010-11-27T19:30:00.001-05:00

Last night could have been dubbed, the Murky Turkey gone arye!

After Chris came home from 12 hours of battling the Black Friday crowds, we packed the Nitro with our overnight bags, Mazha’s meat stuffing, two pies, a couple bottles of wine, and our homemade gag gifts and headed to the birthplace of Martha Stewart – Nutley, NJ.

Kensi’s four midget-legged friend, Oscar, was waiting at the door for his playmate to arrive… and from the moment we entered to the moment we left, they were almost inseparable. Running from one room to another, hiding each other’s toys, jumping on beds, throwing/rolling balls down the hallway, they each exhausted each other.

When Kensi wasn’t wearing Oscar out, she was batting her eyes to everyone in attendance to get them to read to her. It worked. And why wouldn’t it? She’s gorgeous!

The new twist this year, created by our host Uncle Kevin and Auntie Carmen, was the “Murkey Turkey”, a white elephant type of gift exchange. With Jem’s version of ‘Yellow’ and Adele’s remake of Bob Dylan’s 'Make You Feel My Love' playing in the background, each gift swapped was more creative than the next (except the lame Jersey Shore calendar that Chris was stuck with). Our guidelines were only that we didn’t spend more than $20, and that it couldn’t include wine or gift cards. Each guest was encouraged to be creative…and we were told inside-jokes were highly encouraged. With this crowd, that meant to be a little on the mean-spirited side. :) Chris came up with the second-best gift; a custom made Monopoly game not only poked fun of Jeff, but incorporated everyone in the “Chance” and “Community Chest” portion of the game. Kensi was the recipient of the best gift of the group, a coveted LaLaLoopsy doll from her Uncle Jason.

Food, Fun and Family… this is what Thanksgiving is all about.

Thanksgivagay: Revenge of the broken Sid Dicken’s Tile

2010-11-26T10:49:00.000-05:00

Today we will celebrate our 9th annual, Thanksgivagay: Revenge of the broken Sid Dicken’s Tile!This sequel picks up where the last one left off. The gang is still haunted by memories of Thanksgivings past. Who can forget the intestinal trauma they endured in "Thanksgivagay Part 2: The Milk Tart Always Rings Twice", and "Thanksgivagay Part 4: Hide your serving fish soup in ANY planter you can find", the horror of emaciation they witnessed in "Part 5: I'm Not Hungry (a.k.a. Meet the Olsens – MaryNate & Ashley)"... the terror of "Part 6: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? Jeff's Fighter Pilot, That's Who!"... the gay gasp heard 'round the world in "Part 7: Who Drank Paul & Chris’s Forbidden Wedding Wine!?" and the highly anticipated "Part 8: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner This Time?"

So what could possibly be in store for our gaggle of gays and the straights who love them this year? The gang is leaving the past behind and moving their annual celebration to Nutley, NJ. The guest list is limited (yes, one more sad excuse offered up by MaryBeth), but there are bound to be some surprises in store. Only one thing is for sure: the activities will surely be great and memorable for years to come.

Will the gang ever be invited back to the Poconos? Will Jeff bring a plus one? Will Diane bring another foreigner looking for a way to get his green card? Will Kevin scold Carmen in public for his behavior? What will our Princess Kensington be wearing? There are so many unanswered questions. We’ll just have to wait to find out!!

New Traditions

2010-11-25T22:10:00.001-05:00

The holidays are upon us, y’all. The leaves are falling, squash is in season, and there’s no doubt about it: It’s Thanksgiving time. Or, if you prefer, ye old time to hang out with the FAMILY.

For us, this holiday is a time to get together with our family… not the ones we were born into, but the one we created when we moved to the East Coast 13 years ago (oh my, has it been that long?). About 9 years ago, there were a group of us that were all traveling home for Christmas and didn’t have any plans on Thanksgiving. The small group of us got together and created the first Thanksgivagay, and we haven’t returned home since. Now granted, some of us have to miss a year for true family commitments, but we always return to enjoy our favorite festivities of the year with our friends. Through the years, our group has grown, people come and go, but the memories – and pictures – will last a lifetime.

We’ve found that the single most important thing anyone can do to enjoy Thanksgiving is to try not to think about its true history (especially not the events that transpired between the European settlers and the Native Americans following the original Thanksgiving in 1621). While some contemporary family tables can feel like an emotional war-zone (especially when you’re the only gay one at the table), the original Thanksgiving ended up leading to an actual war-zone, and thinking about it tends to put a damper on the holiday. In fact, I have found it is best not to think about the true history of that time period at all. Don’t bring up in conversation the Puritan punishment for homosexuality, because it’s a drag!

If you catch yourself thinking about the origin of Thanksgiving, I suggest you do what I do. Immediately ask yourself: What if the Pilgrims were gay? Native American fashion would surely be more popular today. If the Pilgrims were gay, they probably would not have befriended the Indians and then deceived them in order to have control of the land. They would more likely have been the Indians’ best friends for a long time, especially on the weekends. Chances are they would have danced a lot with the Indians, listened to all their problems, and offered advice and suggestions that are both witty and fun. Sperm donating to lesbians would be a time-honored tradition. And much of our shared land would still be home to a thriving, spiritual and mostly peaceful native people.

Since our gathering this year is taking place on Friday after everyone drudges through the super-sales, we decided not to cook for ourselves but to go out for dinner. So, with Kensington dressed in her Allison Rose original, “Family Traditions” dress, it was off to the Pirone Family’s Country Estate we went.

The holiday feast was to die for! Our harvest table had festive salads and homemade relishes, country-style chowders, seafood salad, smoked fish, oysters and fried clams… and that was is just the beginning of the holiday feast!

We were soon served classic favorites like: Smoked Loin of Pork, Flounder Neptune - white filet filled with seafood stuffing, Fresh Herb Stuffed Breast of Chicken, Long-Island Roasted Duck and of course Roast Vermont Turkey. All of this was served with all the trimmings . . . candied sweet potatoes, sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables and home-style gravies. With a spread like this, I don’t think we’re ever going to cook our own dinner again! It was nice be catered to. We had Joe and Tonya, our servers that were refreshing our apple-cider sangria and clearing our plates at the wave of hand. Definitely something I can get used to. To top it all off, the desserts are as American as apple pie with ice cream - Kensington choose the butter-pecan ice cream. Chris opted for the Pumpkin Pie with lots of whipped cream and I had the White Chocolate Harvest Spice Cake with raspberry drizzle. Walking out, we entered a cool bliss of snow that had started to fall. Now, this truly feels like the holiday season.

Remembering Mazha

2010-09-23T20:58:00.002-04:00

Today there was no cake. No candles. Just a simple flower arrangement that we laid at the entrance of her hospice room. She would have been 64 today.

To honor her memory, we’ve started “Team Dudek” for the Walk to Defeat ALS that is taking place this fall (October 30, the week before we scatter her ashes). This is an exciting opportunity for us to work together to support those like Kensington's Mazha who are affected by Lou Gehrig's Disease and to spread awareness of the urgency to find treatments and a cure.

No one else like Kensington should have to lose their Mazha to a horrible disease such as ALS. The life expectancy of an ALS patient averages 2 to 5 years from the time of diagnosis... Mazha fought her battle from September 12 (the day she was admitted into the hospital) until Feb 22 (the morning she lost her battle). The frightening thing is every 90 minutes a person in this country is diagnosed with ALS and every 90 minutes another person will lose their battle against this disease. All we can say is "enough is enough!"

For a recap of Mazha's fight, visit here and scroll to the last post (bottom of the page) and read that one first.

To make a donation (yes, your $5 really can help!), you can visit "Remembering Mazha"

In my life... I loved you more.

2010-09-22T23:22:00.000-04:00

As our family approached the seven month anniversary of Mazhas passing, we were hit with another emotional blow. Her sister, my “Auntie” Carol was admitted to the hospital because of issues with her heart, which due to complications, affected other organs.

Kensington and I had a prearranged flight to Texas, to remember Mazha on her birthday (tomorrow). But earlier last week Auntie Carol was moved from the hospital to hospice. The same facility Mazha was cared for in. I received the call at work from my Simone, my sister, who with emotion stuck in the hollows of her throat, told me that she was in hospice… and in room 103 - across from where Mazha passed.

I wrapped up things at work, changed my flight, and headed ‘home’ on this past Thursday. The past three trips home haven’t been pleasant… all arranged with an delicate mission to accomplish - a diseased to diagnose, a last Christmas to celebrate and a funeral to plan. This trip wasn’t going to be much different.

There are places I remember. All my life… though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better… Some have gone and some remain.

Initially, walking into hospice on Thursday I was fine, until we hit the Chapel. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. We got to the nurses station and were greeted with recognized smiles. We turned the corner and passed the kitchen - tears flowed uncontrollably. Moms room was just inches away. Billy Strait was occupying her former bed. (Unfortunately, the next day the bed was once again open).

All these places have their moments. With lovers and friends I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living, in my life I've loved them all.

With a quick smear of the tears with the back of my hand, we entered Auntie Carol’s room. That afternoon, she was somewhat lucid - knowing that we were in the room, shaking her head to let us know that she understood what we were saying, all while her eyes remained closed.

Friday, Kensington accompanied us. She knew the building like she was in it yesterday. “Phhhish” she called out as we approached the ‘quite room’ that houses the aquarium. The pitter-patter of her feet running down the hall to the playroom aroused the nurses to come and find her. They had been waiting for her arrival for days - recognizing the family from the moment Carol was admitted - and asking when “lil diva” would be arriving.

Saturday… Sunday… Monday… Tuesday - each day her responsiveness was getting slower until there was no more. On Monday we were told her vitals lead them to believe it would be anywhere between “ two hours to two days”. Today, seven months to the day that Mazha left us (just before 2pm), she passed away. Wrapped in love with her own version on Lois… she was comforted in her final days by “Flint”.

Though I know I'll never lose affection…for people and things that went before. I know I'll often stop and think about them. In my life I love them all.

Child Prodigy

2010-08-07T12:38:00.002-04:00

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times (and trust me, I know I’ve said it at least a THOUSAND times). Our precious princess is very advanced for her age. She has reached 96.8% of childhood milestones months earlier than the average child. From holding her own bottle, rolling on her side and rolling over, crawling, standing, cutting teeth, speaking, changing her own diaper… you name it, she did it earlier than your child. So, the first 19 months of her life has been – I dare to say – a breeze. Everything that her therapist tell us reiterates that the potency of her environment determines the pursuits toward which her energy will be directed, which has shown that an incredible amount of skill can be developed through suitable training. Golf claps to Chris and me.

While planning her second birthday, which is only 4 months away, we decided that we should invite her contemporaries to the festivities. Dr. Doogie Howser, Lisa Simpson and The Royal Tenenbaums make the list.

So, with her advancing at the speed of light, it shouldn’t have surprised us one bit that our Munch (we have a hundred and one different nicknames for her - it’s downright adorable how much we love her) hit another traditional milestone earlier than expected; the terrible twos.

Up until two weeks ago, we were blessed with our own little version of Saint Ambrose. Then we went on a weekend trip to Niagara (New York side and Canadian side) to visit with our bio-family, and something about the 12 hours roundtrip trip in the truck turned our angel into the princess of darkness.

When it came to bed time, we’d normally read her a book or two (she picks them out, which the first one is usually one of a variety of pop-up/flip-up peek-a-boo books), a slow dance to Steven Curtis Chapman’s Cinderella, and then she’d point to her hutch and select from the array of stuffed animals and dolls that she’d want to join her and Princess Something-Something (seen here) into the land of Honalee.

Early in the morning, she’d wake up and play with her dolls - peepless - in bed until one of us would come and, in which she’d pop up like a weasel, throw her arms in the air and give the biggest hug ever – each day getting bigger and bigger. She’d point to the outfit she’d want to wear that day and then point to her shoe collection in which I’d let her know which ones she could choose from. We’d hop in the car, listen to Hits 1 on SiriusXm, and we’d be off to daycare. Once there, she’d run into her classroom without a care in the world. Wave bye-bye to me, blow me a kiss, and off to her into her world she’d go.

www.blablakids.com

When I’d pick her up in the afternoon, she’d bop back-and-forth in the truck to the song that was playing, singing along, and run into the house once we arrived. Straight to her high-chair, she would welcome whatever food was presented to her. After completing the entrée, would be granted dessert - all while uttering the words, “please” and “thank you”.

Afterwards, she’d climb the stairs and eagerly head to the bathroom in which she’d squeal with delight at the thought of taking a long, playful, bubble bath.

Then the routine would continue. And happily so.

Now, our little Beelzebub has bucked the system. When it comes to bed time, we still read and slow dance, but now it is followed by two hours of endless crying and bloodcurdling screams. The more we rock her and rub her, the longer she stays up. The moment we think she’s asleep, we turn to head out the door and the screaming begins – again… followed by throwing of the dolls, the blankets and the pacifier across the room. This game continues until the wee hours of the morning. Needless to say, the lack of sleep that both Chris and I have experienced over the past fourteen days has brought us to a new level of exhaustion.

She no longer wakes and plays with her dolls, because she no longer sleeps and the dolls have been ostracized from the crib. Princess Something-Something has now been converted to a voodoo doll of one of her teachers. She could care less what she’s wearing and the transition from the car to daycare has been one that even the toughest heavyweight fighter couldn’t bring down. Her teachers try to distract her so I can make my way out of the room, and as soon as she see’s that I’m no longer with her, they have to bring in the priest to exercise the demons out of her.

When I now pick her up in the afternoon, she wants every toy that I DON’T have in the truck to play with. No matter what I give her, she chucks it across the vehicle. Once in the house, she still goes straight to her high-chair, but refuses every type of food existing - - unless it is pudding or pretzels. Needless to say, we’re starving her. After force-feeding her (gently… we don’t need the Division of Youth and Family Services knocking at our door), she wants to stay up and play, and forgo her once beloved bubble bath. We watch the latest episode of The Backyardigans, in our bed with the lights off. She’s propped up on a pillow and covered with a blanket. All while uttering the words, “NO!” and “MINE!”. We ‘rock-paper-scissors’ to see who looses and has to bring her into her room.

We understand that she’s teething, so hopefully this explains her recent transformation. If not, Chris and I may be going on a much deserved vacation – just the two of us. For a long, long time. Meaning, never to return.

Talking to heaven...

2010-04-18T22:26:00.000-04:00

Dear Paul,

I am glad that I am able to bring you comfort. I wanted to pass on the comfort which I received from God throughout my lifetime. Life is filled with pain, life, death, joy, suffering, surprise, and a whole host of other things. One thing I learned was that God does not change through circumstances and emotions. Each stitch in the quilt represents each tear that I have shed over my lifetime. Tears of sorrow and tears of joy. As you wrap yourself in me, you are wrapping yourself in the comfort that God had given me. Count the stitches... The Bible says that God collects and saves our tears in jars...how precious! May you continue to fine comfort in my quilt and pass it, along with your tears, to someone who needs that same comfort.

With love,
Lois

[Lois... words can not express my sincere gratitude for your post]

Whom ever said "time heals", lied.

2010-04-18T22:21:00.000-04:00

It’s been 55 days, a total of 1,650mg of Paxil digested, the purchase of 6 (yes six) books on the afterlife, a visit with a vivacious medium, over a dozen public breakdowns, numerous avoided telephone calls, 138 sympathy cards, at least a case of tissues, numerous days of continuous sleep countered by numerous days of no sleep at all before I could even think about writing the words…

“Dear Lois,”

And when I finally see them on the screen, I find myself reaching for anything in the vicinity of the couch to wipe my eyes with because the emotion that is now flowing from behind my sockets have caused the words to blur before me.

I haven’t wanted to update this blog because then it would become real… and not just a horrible nightmare that I can’t seem to wake from. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve reached for the phone to call Mazha and then realized she’s no longer here. And yet, I can’t bear to delete her phone number from my wireless phone. I’ve tried to put on this façade of strength, but inside I’m nothing but weak. I have mounds of “Thank Yous” that need to be sent out, but again… if I start writing them, it makes this real. So the cards lay upstairs on a table, with everything else I brought back from Texas. Even today, 55 days later, I was on the phone and was asked how I was doing and I couldn’t catch my breath because it’s such a blow. I had to quickly end the conversation and then sat in my car in front of the mailbox unable to hold my tears back.

And while I have so many thoughts running through my head right now of what to type, I’m realizing I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m finding it hard to breath, and equally hard to swallow. Since I’ve started writing this tonight, it has taken me over an hour just to type this much. 330 words.

I will though answer the question I have received from many… “What happened with Lois?”

Well, I smuggled her across state lines and she’s spent nearly every night wrapped around me. She needs to be ‘fixed’. In the south you can find quilt shops everywhere that sell new creative works, as well a able to stitch-up quilts that have gotten a little torn and tattered… I can’t seem to find anything similar in NJ. You see, the morning of funeral, I cut a small panel of Lois… the quilt that gave me so much comfort in my own time of need, and placed it in the coffin with Mazha. For the weeks leading to Mazha’s death, Lois kept me comfort, fought my fears, and gave me warmth. I thought it was fitting that a piece of her be placed with Mazha to give her her own sense of comfort and to ease her fears. I know that she'll be up to the challenge.

Rest In Peace, Mazha

2010-02-22T18:57:00.000-05:00

Dear Lois,

Joyce "Mazha" Dudek, 63, entered into eternal rest at 11:44 am on Monday, February 22, 2010.

Memorial services will be held on Friday, February 26 at 1pm at Jackson’s Burks-Walker-Tippit Funeral Home chapel in Tyler, Texas, with Father Tim Kelly officiating.

Born and raised in Ludlow, MA, Joyce moved to Tyler, TX with her family in 1977. She was an avid gardener, motorcycle enthusiast, and loving grandmother.

She was preceded in death by her father, Paul St.Onge of Ludlow, MA.

Joyce leaves behind her loving family including her husband Eugene; daughter, Simone and husband Randy of Tyler, Tx; son, Paul and husband Christopher of Bushkill, PA; mother, Lillian St.Onge of Wilbraham, MA; sisters, Carol Pollitt and husband William of Tyler, TX, Paulette Bergeron of Whitehouse, TX, and Lisa Tenczar and husband John of Chicopee, MA; granddaughters, Jordan Nicole, Roni Elizabeth and Kensington Grace; as well as many extended family members and friends.

Visitation will be on Thursday, February 25, from 5-7pm at the funeral home.

Potted flowers are welcomed or contributions may be sent to the ALS Association of North Texas at http://web.alsa.org/goto/dudek

So help me God...

2010-02-20T20:44:00.001-05:00

Dear Lois,

Nothing much changed for Mazha today. She slept for a majority of it. Since she’s been here, each day someone has gotten her sweet-tea to drink. In the beginning, we’d hand it to her and she’d drink it from a straw. Over the past two days, it’s been hard for her to build up enough energy to take a sip. The nurses have been giving Mazha her pain meds either through her feeding tube peg, or by syringe… so I asked a nurse for a couple syringes so I could shoot the tea down her throat. She seemed to like it. Actually, by the look on her face, you can tell she loved it.

I ended up changing my flight. Originally when I booked the flight – before I saw her, this was just a visit (hoping she’d get better and go home). I though I could spend two weeks down here, go home for a couple weeks, and head back down. My, how thing have changed. I was supposed to fly out this evening. Now, who knows when we will return back to PA / NJ.

On the way back from the bathroom this afternoon, I ran into one of the snack volunteers. Each day someone pushed a cart around with juices, candies, chips and muffins, all free for those visiting (or like us, setting up camp). I went top grab a juice for Kensi when I looked closely at her. I knew this woman… she was my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Harrell. I haven’t seen her in over twenty years. To be honest, I thought she had passed some time ago. She lives down the street from my parents and I would see her a couple times a week taking an evening stroll. After twenty years of not seeing her, even though my trips back have been brief, I just assumed. She asked my if I had married ‘a local’, and not to get into how things have changed over the past twenty years (though she’d have to have known that back then I had the hugest crush on my friend Cody), I told her I married someone from the Dallas area.

Hey… it’s the truth, just not the whole truth.

2010-02-19T23:57:00.001-05:00

Dear Lois,

“Where’s Miss Diva?”

This is the question we get from the nursing staff when they don’t see Kensington making the rounds in the morning. She knows every little nook and cranny of the facility. She been to every veranda and swing set, every gazebo and birdbath. Today she took organ lessons in both the chapel and the west patient wing.

She’s hid in the cabinets in the playroom and under the tables in the soda shop. She loves her daily wagon rides… that started just around the hallways until it started getting warm again, and now consist of ever memorial walkway and concrete path.

Little Miss Diva has also befriended the therapy dogs. Bailey, who is smaller than Kensi, broke protocol when he licked her. It wasn’t his fault though. No matter how many times we put a bib on her during feedings, she peels it off and food goes everywhere. Today she wore most of her snack – honey gram crackers. It was just calling his name so he helped clean her up a little.

Mazha’s fever is still over 100. They’ve continues to change her pain patch and check in on her every other hour. It’s gotten to the point where she knows we are in the room, but she’s not communicating that much. In the past, at night, she would smack her lips and the sound would get our attention. The smacking has stopped. She’s now only able to squeeze our hand and raise her eyebrows.

Last night Simone and Auntie Paulette called Memé, our grandmother, so she could talk via speakerphone to Mazha one last time. With the phone propped by Mazha’s ear, Memé was able to say some final words. She was happy to know that Mazha was alert enough to know that she was on the phone and knew what she was saying. It was an extremely touching and emotional moment… one that made Memé’s day. She told all of the nurses at the assisted living center, as well as all of the residents, about how fortunate she was to have that opportunity to speak with her daughter one last time.

[sorry for the picture formatting. It was getting late and I couldn't stand dealing with it anymore!]

I love to shop... but this was too much!

2010-02-18T23:09:00.054-05:00

Dear Lois,
This morning as I wrapped you around my legs and watched, in a daze, Kensington eat her breakfast Kashi, I realized that the end is closer than we had hoped. Mazha is starting to say things that are not making sense. Some of her forced-whisper statements could just be chalked up to confusion, “I don’t want a bath, I had one yesterday” (which she didn’t), to “I just dropped the cup” as she looked down at her hand that hasn’t been able to hold a cup in over a month followed.
I made a quick trip to the alteration place to pick up our suits and then Simone and I headed out to visit with a couple funeral homes.
The first place we stopped at was a place that Simone and I had both been to a couple times throughout the years. They were very accommodating with their packages… Since Mazha is going to be cremated (with a portion of her ashes spread in the ocean which she loved - except the fear that a shark may attack, which in Gulf of Mexico is a high probability - and a portion spread on her fathers grave) there wasn’t a need for a limousine to transport us to a gravesite. “Is there a way we could use that cost and roll it into a nicer urn, or more flowers?” “We could do that… or do either of you have kids in high school?” Do I look like I’m old enough to have a kid in high school? “Um… no. Why do you ask?” “Well, if you did, we could transfer the use of the limo to a prom or some other event. Anyone getting married soon?” Actually, yes. My niece is. “Marilyn, I do have to ask one question, and I hope this doesn’t seem rude… but please tell me the name of your funeral home isn’t plastered of the back window or along side the limo. Using it in a wedding would just seem, oh, I don’t know… a little tacky.” Thankfully, it wasn’t. So, it’s something to think about. We walked around and looked at the staterooms and the chapel. They all seemed okay, but Simone wasn’t happy with it. When we got in the car she asked me if I had looked at the ceiling of the chapel. “Paul, there was mold. Seriously, mold. How could you not see it?” “If we ask them to keep the lights down low, maybe no one could tell. We could ask the priest just to tell everyone to keep praying so their heads are constantly looking at the floor and not the ceiling.”
GRADE; Pricing = B, Package Choices = A+, Staff = A, Facilities = M (for mold)
The second place we went to was impressive. As we walked through the door, we were greeted with our own personal choir of angels, shipped directly from heaven. Roman columns adorned the hallways and the sitting area was stocked with soft clouds to sit upon. Their pamphlets were created with hand-made paper etched in gold-leaf lettering. Robert greeted us and brought us to the office. He started asking us some general questions about mom, and then we realized that he’s not asking for their general intake form. He’s filling out the death certificate. He starts asking for personal information for Mazha and we said that we didn’t have some of it with us. I grab my blackberry and text Chris to call me in a couple minutes. Robert wanted to know who the ‘informant’ - key contact – was going to be. I let Simone take the reins (thanks sis). She gives him her contact info and the then the phone rings. “Excuse me a second” and I step outside the door, but left it open. “Did you have me call you to get you out of a meeting?” “Yes. Oh. I see. Okay. Tell her to give us tem minutes and well be on our way.” I head back into the room, “Robert, I’m sorry to have to rush this, but the doctor is there with our mom and she wants to meet with the family, so we’re going to have to wrap this up. Can you please go over the packages and show us, quickly, the facility and we’ll get back to you at another time.” “Will you be coming back today?” “Probably not. Maybe tomorrow.”
He brought us into one of the other rooms with the urns and showed us the packages. Well, the lack of packages. “Here is our price list. This is the starting fee, and then all of the different components are listed here on this page. While you can use a rental coffin for the viewing (which most people who are being cremated do, since there is an insert that the body lays in and everything else is just ornamental), you can buy one. Here’s that price list. We recommend that you buy one (and of course he did, for an additional $6,000), and we have a great selection to choose from. Now let me show you the rooms.” The staterooms were all gorgeous, as well was the chapel with stain glass windows. Simone whispered that while it would take some major convincing, this is where Jordan should get married. I agreed. As we headed outside Simone asked if someone really called me or if I made my phone ring. “No, someone really called me.” “Does the doctor really want to see us right now?” “No, that guy was just to high pressured and he was getting on my nerves. You owe me for saving us back there! And by the way, you now have to tell him we’re not using him because he has your cell phone number.” I get a look, followed by, "You ass!"
GRADE; Pricing = C-, Package Choices = D, Staff = F, Facilities = A+
The third and final place that we went to today is next to Simones office. We where greeted by an older man and I told him we had an appointment with Ben. Ben was downstairs (hopefully not embalming someone) and would be with us shortly. I ran to the bathroom since the large sweet-tea that I had about an hour earlier had started to kick in. When I got out, Simone said that she was told this was a great day to be viewing the facility… since the pricing are going up after today. [Great! We’re going to get another hard sells pitch]. That right there put me in a defensive mood. We get in the urn room and Ben goes over the list, in detail. Okay? Where is the hidden cost? We start asking some questions… it’s all included. “Let me itemize it for you so you can see what’s built in.” He pulls out and does the math wrong [Ahah! I say to myself. Here comes the kicker… ] Oh. He’s off only by hundred dollars so he recalculates. Okay… the pricing is good, but how are the facilities? He shows us the staterooms. Nice. Very nice. Simone and I both comment on room number 3. We don’t get our personal angels playing the harp, but the area for the viewing is more than acceptable. We headed to the chapel, and with fingers crossed, I pray for no mold or asbestos. Nothing of the sort. Very nice chapel and it’s glassed in, so if Kensi starts getting loud, someone can take her out, but still see the services.
GRADE; Pricing = A+ Package Choices = A, Staff = B, Facilities = B+ (If we would have seen this place before the second place, it would have been an A, but come on… they had floating clouds and one of those drive-up window tubes that the banks have that shoot the soul directly to heaven.)
When we got back to hospital, Dr. Ferguson did want to speak to the family since this was her last day at this facility for a couple weeks as she was on rotation. She has such a convivial and calming voice. We knew what she was going to say, and would have preferred for the room to remain silent. She told us that she had such high hopes for Mazha when she first saw her two weeks ago, but the disease has rapidly progressed. She said it is most likely that Mazha would pass from an infection/pneumonia because of the way her body is functioning. Her fever isn’t going down and she has water in her lungs. While they’re going to try to dry it up, there isn’t much more that they could do. They would ensure that she wasn’t in pain and that she’s comfortable. Dr. Ferguson was fighting back her own tears. She told us that while she wasn’t going to be here at the facility, she was going to be in town and would only be a phone call away. While she’s only that phone call away, she has been as comforting to this family as you have been.

[tap, tap, tap] Is this thing on?

2010-02-17T23:52:00.002-05:00

Dear Lois,

Today started off as sad day. Chris, Kensington and I arrived about 8:30 this morning. When we walked in the door, a new volunteer was stationed at the door. We were greeted with alarm. The questions of ‘who are you?’ and ‘where do you think you going?’ were barked in request. While I understand she was just doing her duties, I wanted to inform her that for the past 10 days no one has questioned our intentions and her role at the door was to be a greeter, not a member of the Hospice Gestapo [sorry, just had to get that off of my chest. Plus, I know I’m hypersensitive right now, so I apologize to you, Mrs. Volunteer] As we passed Mazha’s room, Chris asked me where I was headed. I told him that I wanted to check on something… as I got to the door a moment of sorrow hit me. Fredrick was no longer with us. He had passed away during the night. I haven’t seen many visitors in there with him. My fear is that he passed away alone like so many people here do.

Today Mazha had a couple good spells. She looked to be more alert and started kidding with Chris, saying that he was her favorite. She ‘played’ with Kensington for a bit, and clearly recognized everyone that was in the room. It actually made me question (and hope) whether or not Dr. Ferguson could be wrong. Until later we found out that she has started to go into renal failure. Her fever, which has been steadily at 99.3-99.6, has spiked to over 100.

Tonight was the first night that we actually used the family kitchen for what it was intended to be used for, instead of just our coffee depot. The entire group of us, minus Mazha of course, took control of the facility and started telling stories and jokes to help release some of our pain. You could hear us throughout the center. At first I thought we were irritating the nursing staff, but we found out that they actually enjoyed listening to us and they started laughing as well. They said they don’t hear much laughter in the hallways here, so our dinner conversation was actually uplifting for them.

[Papa and Kensi taking a nap with Lois]

Inbound Flight

2010-02-16T22:27:00.012-05:00

Dear Lois,

Today was a good day for Mazha, compared to some of the other ones. She was a little more alert than normal and was trying to talk a little. She’s still in a lot of pain and the nurses have tried to alternate her medication a little (hopefully it will make her more aware during the day and sleep better at night).

Chris arrived tonight, though only by the grace of God. Due to weather patterns and airplane malfunctions, he had a couple canceled flights and spent the better part of his time in the airport trying to locate a flight that he could get on. He ended up taking a bus from one airport to Philadelphia, and then was able to get a flight to Dallas. The first thing he did when he finally walked in the door around 9:30 was wake-up chickpea to her the biggest bear hug ever.

Kensi calls it quits on trying to stay up to see daddy. She crawled to the pillow, rolled over, and crashed.

Empty Vessel

2010-02-15T16:19:00.002-05:00

Dear Lois,

My bud Frederick in room 104 is still here, unfortunately the woman in 103 and the one in 107 didn’t make it through the night. It seems like the occupants on this wing are departing quickly. Which leads me into the conversation I had with Dr. Ferguson this morning.

After coming back in to check on Mazha after the weekend, she asked me if I could step outside of the room… so with Kensington in tow, we stepped into the hallway.

“I want to apologize if I gave you any false hopes last week when I said that I thought she had short months left. It was very hard for me to give an answer with only seeing your mother for two days… she is showing signs that she’s reaching her final days. I would be very surprised if she is still here in a week. Her lucidness is quickly fading. If there is anyone that would like to see her and spend time with her, it really should be done in the next three days… after that, she’s not going to know, or fully comprehend, them being here. I’m so sorry. If you would like, I could talk to your mom, and apologize. I just couldn’t tell how fast this disease was progressing without seeing her, and her patterns over a span of time. She has increased respiratory congestion and she’s starting to have fluid buildup in lungs, as well as a decrease in urine output. I want to reduce the amount of food we’re giving her, because her stomach is elongated, and I want to work on adjusting her pain meds. [holding back tears] I know this hurts. I know you’re trying to stay strong… but it’s okay to feel pain. Again. I am so sorry.”

It took everything in me to pick up the phone and relay the information to Chris. He’s now making arrangements to be here tomorrow. I called Simone and told her the same. Aunt Paulette arrived and I gave her the news… the hardest was telling dad. We all knew that this day would come, and prolonging it seems selfish, if not on our end, on Mazha’s. This isn’t the woman we know and love. While there are brief moments of her being alert and talking (which gives us hope that she will be here longer), the majority of the day she is an empty vessel plugged into a ventilator.

A new meaning for Valentines Day

2010-02-14T23:45:00.002-05:00

Dear Lois,

Tonight Father Kelly came in to Hospice and performed the Last Rites on Mazha.

2010-02-13T22:46:00.001-05:00

Dear Lois,

Unplanned and completely unexplained, I drove through your hometown today. A town that I can’t recall ever being in. If I was ever there before, it certainly wasn’t in the last 15 years. (For those of you up north – or across the globe - this is what us Texans would call a ‘one horse town’, with less than two-square miles of a land, and six hundred or so people calling this place home). When I realized I was here, I had to pull over to the side of the road just to catch my bearings and wonder if there was a purpose for me being here. There was no reason for the GPS to bring me here. I was headed to Marc’s father’s funeral in Mabank, about 60 miles from Tyler… a town that I had been to (or at least through) several times in the last couple of years when heading to visit with friends. I checked the GPS unit, expanding the map to see where my ‘point a’ and ‘point b’ locations were. Looking at the overview, it should have never brought me to your home. It was out of the way by 20 miles. Right now with my faith distraught, I don’t know if I should look at this as a sign or a coincidence, or a signal that there is a spiritual presence in the afterlife, whether or not a higher power exist.

Whether a deity exists or not, it made me feel like I will have the opportunity to be in contact with Mazha again after she passes… or at least have those moments that make me remember her and think of the good times that we’ve shared.

While headed to the funeral, I needed to stop to use the restroom. I ended up finding a mini mart type gas station and went inside. To get to the bathrooms, you had to go behind the counter (with the cash register), through a doorway, down a small hall and in the back of the storage area. As I headed out, I heard someone screaming, “Help me… Lord, Help me!” Holy crap, the place is being robbed. I run back into the bathroom and lock the door. Just my luck - I left my phone in the truck, along with my wallet. I didn’t want to bring either of these into the funeral home because the wallet makes my butt look big in slacks and the phone I was afraid would ring in the middle of the service. What do I do?!?! With my ear placed against the dingy door, I heard, “I can’t believe it. Oh Jesus, thank you!” Ummm… normally when someone is getting robbed, you don’t hear him or her say thank you. I unlock the door and creep out slowing, still willing to run back into the small bathroom and hide in the cabinet under the sink. It ended up one of the customers won a hundred dollar scratch off ticket. Yes, only a hundred dollars. I risked almost pissing myself (and possibly worse) on a hundred dollar scratch-off. I would understand if it was the Power Ball or something. Maybe even getting excited over a grand, but 100? Hey… it makes a great story, right?

When I came back I picked up munchkin from Simones and headed back up to Hospice. We visited for a couple hours and then I went back to the house where I hand washed you… or at least the pieces we’ve dirtied.

Anyway, today Lois, you’ve made me think. Think long and hard about the road ahead. It’s not going to be an easy one, I know. But I’m starting to brace myself.

Every breath I take...

2010-02-12T20:36:00.011-05:00

Dear Lois,
Sleeping at home, or trying to sleep at home, was the best decision. I would have made it miserable for Mazha if I were there with her. Because of my throat, I didn’t get any sleep last night. That’s not being dramatic (what’s to follow is).

Because of the ‘snowstorm’, the TV kept going out every 90 seconds. I decided by 9:30 that I would just call it a night and try to catch up on my sleep. I quickly realized that it was going to be an extremely long night, and catching up on any rest wasn’t going to be done. My throat closed up… well, there was a small gap for air to come through, but that was about it. I couldn’t swallow. [If needed, you can skip this part… it’s kind of gross] It seemed like every time I was about to drift into sweet bliss, the salvia would build up and I would have to swallow. It would cause so much pain it would take another 10-15 minutes to get me to that resting place again. And then the same thing would occur. I started to have night sweats, so I would kick you off me… but would get the chills so I’d reach for you on the floor and cover up again. I got up and went to the kitchen to grab a cup. I thought if I could spit instead of try to swallow, I wouldn’t be in the same amount of pain. No luck. I was getting tired to reaching to the nightstand so I placed the cup in between two pillows on the bed. Every time I would reach for the cup, I would hit the headboard (which would hit the wall), and it would wake Kensington up. I would go to comfort her, which would only be about 30 seconds, and then start that process all over.

Around 2 am I decided that if I got a towel and placed it on the pillow and positioned my head just right, I could drool the salvia out. That only made my lips tickle. I tried this for about an hour or so, and then I contemplated on whether or not I should take a sleeping pill. The fear rushed in me. “I’m going to fall asleep and die by choking on my own slobber.” I decided not to take a pill. I folded you up and placed you on the nightstand and tried to sleep where my head was on you, my body was laying diagonal across the bed, and my mouth was positioned over the floor. This lasted all of two minutes before I gave up. Stupid idea. I then tried sitting up in the bed. I placed three pillows against the headboard and thought if I was positioned just right, my drool would go directly down my throat and there wouldn’t be a need for any muscle involvement. Because of being over exhausted, my mind started playing games. What if this wasn’t a viral infection? What if this was a symptom of ALS? I mean, Mazha is going through the same pain right now that I am. There are three types of the disease, one of them being called ‘familial’ (inherited). Simone and I have discussed getting tested, but we have to find out if Mazha’s genes have a SOD1 defect. If it does, then we should get tested to see of we have the same defect. If it is defected, it could lead to a 5-10% chance of being dx with ALS. Familial ALS is a small percentage of the ALS cases.

I decided to get up and go into the living room next to the hospital bed to see if I could find the suction that MDA gave us so I could use it. Then I realized I had no clue how to use the suction or what I would need to plug it into. I know the one in the hospital is connected to her vent… there is a portable vent here as well, but that would wake up Kensi if I turned it on – in the living room or the bedroom. So I decided it was back to drawing board… well, more like back to spitting in a cup. I did this until 6:30 when Fazha called and said there wasn’t a need to come to the hospital as early as I had planned. “What… why? Did something happen?” He told me to look out the window. Snow. A lot of it. Well, a lot of it for the state of Texas. “Good. I’ll try to be up there by 9:30 – 10”. Kensington got up so I feed her and wheeled her playpen into the living room. I went to turn on ‘Yo Gabba Gabba’ and the TV was still out. All of her toys were either at Hospice or at Simones. Looks like we were both SOL. No Tv. No Toys. No papa willing to hold her constantly. She decided to cry. As did I. [this is where I failed at parenthood] I went back into the bedroom and with one pillow under my head, placed two pillows over my head to drown out her whaling and went to sleep. Yes. I actually was able to go to sleep for a whole 2 hours. When I woke up, Kensington was asleep, so I got dressed and went outside to clean off the car.

When I arrived at Hospice, Fazha was waiting outside to help me with Kensi, the diaper bag, duffle bag, and you. Fazha said that she just work up and had a burst of energy. Her color came back, her eyes were wide open and she was talking up a storm – in a way that he could actually understand her instead of trying to read her lips and try to make out what she was trying to say. I thought this was great news… but when I got into the room, her eyes were rolled in the back of her head, her color was gone, and she was out for the majority of the day. When she did wake up, it took all three of us (Fazha, Paulette and myself) to try to make out what she was saying.

Fazha refused to go home, so I wrapped Mazha’s legs with you before I left and headed back to the house. Chris has been missing his little girl so much that I finally installed Skype so they could talk before it was time for Kensi to go to bed. I'm sure over the next couple of days, we'll be doing this a lot :)

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

2010-02-11T21:08:00.000-05:00

Dear Lois,

Mazha was sedated all day. I think it’s the patch that they placed on her. From 9am-7:30pm, she was probably up only about 2 hours total.

After arriving at Hospice this morning with Kensington, I quickly realized that I needed to get some medical assistance for myself. Throughout the night, I found it not only difficult to swallow, but to breathe as well. I left munchkin with Fazha and headed to the emergency clinic to go get checked out. They ran a Streptococcal pharyngitis (Strep throat) test and it came up negative. The doctor said it’s just a viral infection. I’m hoping Kensington doesn’t get sick. She has a habit for ‘sharing’ her pacifier with her daddy and me. She’s not really a paci-child. During the night she’ll use it and when we travel in the car (or plane), we give her one. [Funny Story - At her first day in Toddler One, I didn’t take the pacifier out of her mouth when I brought her into the daycare. When I put her down in the room, all of the kids came running to her. Surrounded by OPM (other peoples munchkins), she took her pacifier out of her mouth and went to hand it to Peyton. “Chickpea don’t do that. Cooties.” Then I realized what I just said. I just told all of these kids that Peyton had Cooties. I tried to back-peddle. “Don’t share YOUR cooties” Great. Now I just told all of the kids that SHE has cooties. Thank God they’re too young to fully comprehend what I was saying.] Anyway, the doc said there wasn’t much he could do for the pain in my throat. He prescribed a Z pack for me, but told me to wait 48 hours before I take it. He’s reasons are unknown, and my throat hurt too much to even ask him.

The gentleman in room 105 passed away today. He was the husband of one of the Anatomy&Physiology teachers at the local college. They brought him in the night before and he only lasted here a couple hours. It looks like God is working backwards. First room 106, now room 105. Mazha’s in room 102, so hopefully we will be getting several more days of her being around.

I had to go into town to buy a suit… the one thing I didn’t pack for this trip. When I was packing, something told me that if I didn’t prepare for a funeral, I wouldn’t have to attend one. Unfortunately, our friend Marc (from the Marc&Dean duo) lost his father yesterday to a silent heart attack. Chris called me early this morning to let me know. I know the services will be soon and since I’m down here, I feel like I must go. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, emotionally, I mean. We’ll see.

Before I left, I covered Mazha up with you. You spent the majority of the day on the floor, again. Kensi had another tea party with Fazha. More counting with her moo-moo cow, and tearing apart Legos. They don't get Nick Jr in the room, but we make due with the Cartoon Network in the background. It's better than The Beverely Hillbillies that Fazha keeps putting on. I think Auntie Paulette and I (Along with Mazha) have suffered countless hours to that show, along with Gun Smoke and Ponderossa.

Tonight it’s snowing here in Texas. We (they) don’t get that a lot down here. I headed back to Mazha and Fazha’s house to sleep here again. I was planning on staying at Hospice, but because of my throat, I think it’s best if I try to get some rest tonight.

Words that consume

2010-02-11T20:57:00.000-05:00

Mazha is American Royalty

2010-02-11T05:09:00.005-05:00

Dear Lois,

Not a lot happened today. Dr. Ferguson came in again to check on her. This is a once-a-day occurrence. Here it is just symptom management, so there isn’t a need for more than the nurses that are right outside the door. Because of the pain Mazha was in throughout the night, Ferguson wanted to put her on a pain-patch, something that releases the medication on a timer so she can be ahead of the pain, instead of playing catch-up and having to wait the 20-30 minutes for it to kick in.

Fazha has barely left her side. I made him go home last night to get a good nights rest. He’s constantly rubbing her legs, brushing her hair, massaging her hands, and every once-in-awhile pressing against one of her tubes… in which she mouths the word ‘asshole’ to get him to move. She says that he’s spoiling her. Earlier today, one of the nurses even commented on how good he’s treating her, I jest with a “Oh, it wasn’t always this way. Trust me!” Mazha chuckled… then choked. It’s a dry choke. No noise escapes her. Her eyes just tighten up and her lips tremble. You can just see the suffering running through her.

Around noon, there was a knock at the door. They were delivering a FedEx package from my cousin Debra. Her church group and her put a wonderful care-package together; lotions, wooly socks, inspirational quotes & books, along with numerous cards and words of encouragement. Also inside were two sachets of herbs, one lavender and the other eucalyptus. I laid the lavender one on her pillow and she was able to squeak out a smile. The scent filled the room and made it a more calming resting place.

Since my time here, I’ve been trying to joke around with Mazha. She’ll try to tell me where it hurts and I will say, “Yes, I know that Barack Obama is the best president we’ve ever had.” A grunt would follow. One of the nurses would come in and say to her, "Wow… you have lovely brown eyes" (and they’re looking better… on the first day they were bloodshot and glassed over). I followed up with, “Do you know you have American Royalty here? She’s Hillary Rodham-Clintons second cousin. You better be good to her or I’ll have this place shut down.” Mazha tries to flip me off, to no avail. When the doctor came in yesterday and Mazha asked how long she had, I told her that if she’d vote Democrat in 2012, the staff would do everything in their power to keep her alive. She shook her head no and mouthed, “Take me now.”

After Ferguson put her on the patch, she pretty much slept throughout the day. The Chaplain came in once when Auntie Paulette and the nurses where in (Mazha was having issues breathing and started to have a panic attack). He stayed for a couple minutes and said they he was here when we needed him. I don’t trust him though. Kensington was sleeping, in a pink outfit covered with a pink blanket, and he asked if I had a girl or a boy?!?! “A little girl”. “Oh, that’s nice. I raised three of them.” I guess he’s colorblind. That's always a good thing for a man of faith :)

We also had a visit from the pet therapy dogs. They were cute, but Mazha was out cold. We’ve learned to treasure our time when she’s not in pain.

Kensington and I made a fort out of you and one of the reclining chairs. She’s starting to take up more space in here than Mazha is. Toys spread out everywhere. Straws placed all around the floor (don't ask... she loves straws). Her little feeding chair that she now crawls to and puts the tray on it to let us know she’s hungry or wants a snack. For about thirty minutes, Kensi and Fazha had a tea party on you. With her Fisher-Price Laugh & Learn Say Please Tea Set, she’d pour the tea, stir the cup haphazardly, and pretend to drink it. She’d then try to stir Fazha’s tea as well. It was a great moment… I wish I would have caught it on film but the nurses have me petrified to leave any personal items out. On the first night, I left my wallet on the sink and was scorned by one of the nurses. “I’m not saying anyone here would take it, but I wouldn’t chance it. Lock all of your personal items up.” So my camera and wallet is at the bottom of a duffel bag that is hidden behind the cot. If they can get through the fort, over the table and chair and behind the cot without someone catching them, then the items are all theirs!

Mazha’s feeding tube keeps getting clogged. Whether it’s the food, the crushed pills, or the liquid medicine that is gelling with everything, the nurses kept coming in to try to clear it.

I ended up going home about 7:30-8pm. My throat is starting to kill me. Hope I didn’t catch something.

Lois, I found out a couple things about you today… you were a seamstress for 15 years. I wonder if you made this quilt. I assumed you did, and knowing that you had a passion for sewing, it makes sense. The amount of detail that when in to creating my comfort is superb. I took you home last night, once again. You’re a little tattered around a couple of the edges… I’m sure it’s because this masterpiece has wrapped you in love in your own time of need. You lived to be 77… had four daughters, eight grandchildren and 11 great-grandchildren. Oh, the things you can find out with today’s technology. Having such a large family, I can see why you’ve brought me my own sense of reassurance. I’m sure you had to be a strong matriarch with so many children grappling for your attention.

Well, Lois, tonight is another night. Thank you in advance for your touch. It’s like being held by a foster-grammy.

Unspoken Words

2010-02-10T07:25:00.001-05:00

Dear Lois,

Last night another church here in East Texas was burned down. This makes the tenth church on the past month. On the way to get breakfast before I headed up to the Hospice center, I passed by one of the churches that was torched last week. It doesn’t make any sense. Right now, in this phase of my life, I’m mad at God. I’m mad at life. I’m mad at the horrible disease Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis and the fact that it takes its victims one piece at a time. I’m mad that Mazha will never see my little girl grow up and jealous that Simone had that opportunity. While I have this anger in me, I would never demolish the faith that others have. I wouldn’t take their feelings of peace and comfort away from them. Watching the news, I saw one of the local pastors recite 2 Corinthians. "We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” I envy him - for someone who has gone through such heartache to have so much optimism. For me… I am crushed. I am in despair. I feel abandoned and destroyed.

Walking up and down the halls of the center, it’s nothing but silence. You pass people and you glance at them, you may nod, but you don’t say anything. No 'hello.' No 'hi.' No 'how are you?' All cordial greetings. You know how they’re doing. The same as you are. You see them in the kitchen or the soda shop and again, a nod. You see them on a couch in the hallway. Exhausted. Worn out. Emotionally shattered. They look up and again, it’s a nod as you’re biting your lower lip. This says, “I know. I’m sorry.” When they see Kensington trotting down the hallway, they finally smile. An older couple stopped me in the playroom today and they wanted to hug her. Her mother was in here and she said she needed some brightness in her day before she left in so much pain. It tore me up inside.

Dr. Ferguson came in to check on Mazha. She moves her lips to talk, but we can only make out every other word, if we’re lucky. I’ve started to hold her hand and ask her to squeeze it when I get to the letter of the word she’s trying to say, and then I go through the alphabet. I finally figured out what she was asking.

“How long do I have?” Again, I feel crushed, in despair, abandoned and destroyed.

“Do you mean in here? Or do you mean in general?”

“General”

“Short months”

“Short months?”

“It could be a month. It could be two. It’s not going to be a year, or even six months. It will be short months. But that is going to depend on you. If you give up, it will be sooner. If you fight, it will be longer. But I will tell you what… I’ve only seen you for two days and you haven’t given me much to go on. Why don’t you ask me in two weeks and I can give you a better answer. You’re going to have good days and you’re going to have bad days. Don’t focus on the bad days. Don’t take things one day at a time. Focus on a five-day span. You mave have a bad day or two, but focus on trying to have a good day at the end of that time. Or focus on the good day that you just had. I have bad days… I sleep in late, I call in sick to work, I move slower than normal. I know it’s a bad day, but I don’t let ruin my entire outlook. I focus on what I’m going to do in the days ahead.”

She was then given some additional meds through her feeding tube to help with the pain. She quickly feel asleep. I later found out that Dr. Ferguson lost her grandfather to ALS, so she has taken a special interest to mom because of her diagnosis. “This is the fastest progression of the disease that I’ve ever seen or heard of. I hope I didn’t lie to her when I said short months… but she doesn’t look good." And she doesn’t.

In the early afternoon, I bring Kensington back to Simone’s house. I ran to McDonalds to grab dinner for Fazha and Me. When I entered through the front door, a young man, about my age, was sitting on the floor. I’ve seen him since Sunday. We’ve both wandered into the kitchen in the wee hours of the night in our PJ’s to get something to drink and in the early morning hours to get coffee. It seemed like we were on the same time schedule. Again, each time we’d just nod. It was the unspoken words that we all shared in common. He was on the phone holding back his tears. I overheard him say that ‘she passed twenty minutes ago’. As I turned the corner to go into Mazha’s room, I can see the entire family, and what looked to be the entire congregation of their church, standing in the hallway. One-by-one they were going into room 106 to say their goodbyes. She was finally at peace, with so many left behind in pain. It’s funny… one of the churches I passed on the way back here (we call it Church Boulevard because you have 15 churches in a two mile stretch, and a total of 200+ in town), had the following on their marquee. “Heaven: No Tears. No Pain. No Death” and yet, in one room tonight, all three were present.

I stayed the night on the cot, again, you kept reassuring me that everything would be okay. The sweet smell that was vacating you, comforted me. Mazha tossed and turned all night. She was in so much pain. Even though the wonderful nurses would come in every two hours, it seemed like every other hour I was standing at the nurse’s station asking for something else. Help moving her. Help adding pillows under her. More muscle relaxers. More pain meds. I didn’t, and haven’t, cared how I’ve looked. Tonight was my UVA shorts, slogan t-shirt and socks. Hair in a hot mess. Unshaven for the past week. They’ve seen it all before, I’m sure. Every time I would come out, they’ve gone to get another nurse or nursing assistant to read my shirt: Fiscally Republican, Socially Democrat, Sexually Liberal. One of them gave me a high-five. Something I wasn’t expecting, or desired, at 3am. I would have changed it, but the only other thing I had was covered in cheese ravioli from a little chickpea who wanted to share her lunch with me.

The room has been set to freezing, by Mazha’s request. Around 5am, she said her legs were cold, but she still wanted the fan on and the temperature at stay set at the level it was at. So I shared you with her. I wrapped you around her legs hoping you would give her the same compassion as you’ve given me.

Lois, who were you? How did you pass? Why did you choose me? Us? I don’t know these answers, yet, but I can only say thank you.

A looong Day

2010-02-08T23:48:00.000-05:00

Dear Lois,
Today was an extremely long day. I picked Kensi up (she stayed with her cousin Roni last night) and headed back up to the Hospice center. We spent a little over seven hours their before I had to evict Kensington from the room. The nurses here have all fallen in love with her. We’ve set up a little play area in Mazha’s room, in the corner, with you laid out to keep her little tushie warm. Our routine has been to spend about 40 minutes in the room, and then wander the center for about 20 minutes. This place is amazing (minus the patients on their deathbeds). We’re in one of the patient wings where right next door is a small ‘family kitchen’. Down the hallway, they have a playroom for kids, movie theater, soda shop, chapel, conference room, library, solarium, and a quite room. We’ve been to all of these, and this is only our first day here.

Kensi loves the quite room because they have a saltwater aquarium with colorful fish and a rocking chair. I’ve rearranged the room so she can be right up on the aquarium. She’s not the kind of child that taps or smacks the glass. She just sits, points at the fish as they swim by, and laughs a lot. Her second favorite place has been the chapel. I went in there earlier today to say a prayer. Our little angel is the most amazing thing ever… as we knelt down I asked her if she could hold papas hand and she did. She stayed silent until I was done, and when she realized that it was time to leave, she made a b-line to the organ. In a stern voice, I whispered, “no ma’m” and she stared at me at pointed to the keys. “No. That’s not a toy,” but she didn’t care. And to be honest with you, I was too exhausted to care as well. I sat her up on the organ bench and let her strike a few keys. More giggles and screeches came out of her.

Back in room, I could tell that Kensington needed a nap, so I placed her up on Mazha’s bed. Mazha reached out her hand to her and tried to tickle her. Kensi took this as a sign that it was time to play, so she proceeded to initiate a game of “peek-a-boo” with the sheet. After a couple moments of this, she started pulling on Mazha’s hand as if she wanted to be held. Unfortunately, she’s too weak to do this, so I laid her down on one of the dozen pillows on the bed. She tossed and turned a bit, but you can tell that Mazha was enjoying her little girl being so close to her. She kept mouthing, “Tell her I love her”. Kensi’s foot hit the control on the bed and made the top portion move. While this was uncomfortable for Mazha, Kensi thought it was the best thing in the world. She went to hit it again. I repositioned her away from the side rail, but Kensi wasn’t having it. She wanted to play with the controls. Okay… off to the soda shop it is!

The soda shop is set-up with the staples anyone would need during their stay here; sugar, sugar, more sugar, and some food. You can get breakfast (eggs, biscuit, gravy, and bacon) for $2.50. Dinner will cost you $3. Snacks… well, that depends on what you’re craving. I decided that I would get an ice-cream float for Kensi to try. Back to the room, we laid out on you in front of the TV and I spooned strawberry ice-cream and coke to munchkin. You would have thought she was in heaven. She could not get enough of it… until she experienced her first brain-freeze. She screamed. Off to the not-so-quite room we go.

By the time we came back in the room, Fazha was back and I met Mazha’s new doctor, Dr. Ferguson. She looked Mazha over and stated that her rotation was for two-weeks and that if there was anything that we needed, to let her know. Mazha mouthed that she was having problems speaking. Ferguson stated that she’s been using up all of her energy and that she needed to ‘store’ it up for a couple days so she wouldn’t get so exhausted so quickly. What has been happening is that she gets some rest at night and through the early morning, and during the first couple hours she’s up, she talking a lot and wears herself down. Ferguson said that she’s also talking around the trach and that when she’s ready to go home, she’ll provide her a piece of equipment that will allow her to talk better. When she was done doing her eval, she headed out and I followed her to the hallway. I told her that there is no way that we could take her back home. Simone, the girls and dad have been giving her 24/7 care and it’s too much. It takes three people to flip her on her side, and though my sister is a nurse, she doesn’t have access to the medications that Mazha needs without an ongoing prescription. Dr. Ferguson said that she fully understood, and that she’s trying to give Mazha hope, and a reason to continue to fight, but clearly said that she will be here until she passes. She told me that she’d send Regina, the social worker, to speak to me once she was available.

About thirty minutes later, Regina showed up and asked to speak with me in the quite room. She said that while this center is a temporary place, they’d keep Mazha here as long as it’s needed. Their philosophy is to either help their patients pass peacefully, or to get them better to send them home. Knowing that we’re at the end stage, but not knowing how long that stage actually is, they will not release her if the family refuses to take her home because they can’t manage her care. Then Regina did what all social workers are charged to do… talked about the plans for the future, the families emotional state, and talked about the educational piece of Hospice and the stages of grieving. I sat there and listened, but I wasn’t paying attention. I zoned. She realized it and quickly changed the conversation to Kensi. I perked up. She said that I was now part of the 22 percent of the American population classified as the Sandwich Generation… meaning we’re dealing with parenting our own children and taking care of our parents at the same time. After some tears, we hugged it out and she walked me back to the room. Mazha asked what we were talking about and I told her we were discussing Medicare. Yes, I lied. I figured that if I’m going to hell, St. Peter has more volumes than the Encycloaedia Britannica on me and that this would not the reason for my eternal darkness.

Around 5:30, Kensington had enough of this place. I took her back to Simone’s and headed back to Hospice for a couple more hours. When I left, I grabbed you to take you home with me. To provide me more comfort. I know that in theory, you’re scrapped fabric but in reality, Lois, you help me. At the center, all I want to do is go through the motions can try to carry on… when deep inside, I just want to cry. I know that one day this experience will make sense, and I will learn from it. But for now, nothing is clear.

When I laid you out on the couch, the one that my mother had claimed for so many years, I noticed that you had strawberry ice-cream and macaroni and cheese stains from Kensington. I don’t have the heart to clean you… you’ll loose your smell. You’ll loose your touch. You just wouldn’t be the same.

Sweet Numbness

2010-02-08T10:41:00.001-05:00

Dear Lois,

Kensington and I arrived in Dallas late Sunday night and headed straight to Hospice, where Mazha was admitted on Saturday morning. A lot has happened over the past couple of weeks. On Monday, January 25th, Mazha went into the hospital due to breathing problems, as well as problems eating. They told her that her only option was to go home, call 9-1-1, and come in through the emergency room. Otherwise, it would be hours before they would be able to help her. They brought her home and did that, even though transporting her in the vehicle caused so much pain. After being admitted, they ran numerous tests and early on Tuesday, they preformed a tracheotomy and inserted a feeding tube in her. She stayed in the hospital through the weekend and was breathing fine on the trach/vent and was taking the liquid food quite well via the feeding tube. We called the local Muscular Dystrophy Association and were able to secure a hospital bed, feeding tube pump, IV, and vent with bipap as well as several ‘meals’ that she could take through the tube. Once she got home, she started regaining her energy and finally started to fight the disease. When we’d call, I could hear her talking past the trach and she even talked about wanting to make a trip up north during the summer to see us. She had this type of strength for a couple days and then started having breathing problems on Thursday. They brought her back to the hospital, where they were told they could do no more for her. On Friday night, Dad and Simone got her admitted into Hospice as she's needing 24 hour care and it's something that they can't do on their own, and a home health aid is not going to be able to assist because she's on a breathing machine. In order for her to be able to be admitted, she needed to sign a DNR order… something that she said from the very beginning that she wouldn’t do. Once she fully understood that Hospice would be able to manage her pain, allow us to stay with her 24/7, and provide the care that only a doctor would be able to give her and that the DNR was only stating that if her heart stopped, they wouldn’t resuscitate her, did she decided to sign it.

Kensi and I decided to head down there now (originally, we were coming down at the end of the month to visit) for the next couple of weeks - to either be with her to help her get better or to make the final arrangements needed. Before we left, which was delayed because of the potential winter storm the east coast was going to get, I spoke to the nurse at Hospice just to get an update. They stopped feeding her since she arrived because she was vomiting, which was occurring the last two days she was at home. They had sedated her through the night and were waiting for her to wake up. The plan was to start feeing her again on Sunday and it will go two ways: 1) she take to the food and regain her strength and she will be back to the way she was prior to being admitted, or 2) she won't take to the food and this will be the end.

When we arrived Mazha’s room was filled with the Hospice staff, along with Simone, dad, Auntie Paulette, Jordan and her fiancé Chase. Mazha was up and semi-alert because of the medication that where injecting through the tube. I had braced myself for the trach, but didn’t realize the number of tubes that she would have coming out of her. She smiled the moment she heard Kensington. Looking around the room, you could see numerous pictures of Kensi taped to the walls so no matter which way she was looking, she could always see her. She took a moment to touch with Kensi’s feet and gruelingly wave towards her a couple times.

About a half an hour after we arrived, you could tell that the entire day spent traveling was taking a toll on Kensington. Simone and the girls decided to take her to their house so I could stay the night with Mazha. I tried to get Fazha to go home to get some rest, since no one had slept in days, but he refused to leave her side. He went outside to the linen closest and brought me a thin sheet and a thick sheet for the cot. He tried to convince me that the thick sheet was a blanket. I wasn’t buying it.

When we first entered the Hospice center, I noticed a door that was labeled “Clean Linens”, so I decided to try my luck to see if I could snag something, anything, which was going to help provide me some warmth. When I opened the door, there were numerous shelves with sterile whites; sheets, pillowcases, towels, and blankets. Off to the side, I noticed several quilts and afghans so I grabbed the thickest one… the one located on the very bottom of the pile. There you were. White and green with a starburst pattern. Throughout the night, in the cold, freezing room, you kept me warm. It was more than being wrapped in warmth… it was about being wrapped in love. You allowed my hand to burrow through so I could hold her hand all night. The sound of the breathing machine working going off every 8 seconds and the light of the full moon coming in the window barred me from getting any sleep. The nurses, coming in every two hours to relieve Mazha from her pain would creep in, turn the lights on and go to work. I would sit up and try to assist whenever I could, but through the night I felt helpless. All night she ached. More pain meds through the feeding tube. Around 5 am, they came in to flip her on her side to help relieve some soreness. At 5:45 they came in to clean the room (are you freak’n kidding me), and at 6 Marla came to visit before she headed to work. Dad stayed asleep, on his makeshift bed on a reclining chair and a visitor’s chair. Marla stayed about thirty minutes and when she left, I tried to get some sleep. You were there, on the cot, telling me everything was going to be okay. You didn’t smell like the sheet below me…that was hygienically clean. Bleach. You smelled like Japanese cherry blossoms. A fragrance that Mazha often smelled like. For the next three hours there was peace. I heard one of the nurses open the door, but she quickly shut it. I was able to shut my eyes and sleep. Forget my surroundings. Feel your embrace. I finally felt the ‘sweet numbness’ that I had heard about.

At 9:30 when another nurse came in, we realized that it was time to start the day. I had to go to Simone’s to pick up my little chickpea and return to Hospice so we could spend our time with Mazha. After I put the cot away, I went to fold you and that’s when I saw your name. In the corner of the quilt, “In Memory of Lois…” was penned. Well, Lois, thank you for the rest, thank you for your gentle embrace, thank you for your healing touch. I’m sure we’ll be in contact soon.

A FAMILY IS A FAMILY IS A FAMILY

2010-01-28T19:16:00.001-05:00

Rosie O'Donnell's HBO special is a moving portrait of the remarkable diversity of families today that challenges stereotypes, highlighting same-sex parents, mixed-heritage families, single parents and stories of adoption. Children speak from the heart about parents, siblings, marriage and love in the exclusive documentary, debuting SUNDAY, JAN. 31

In A FAMILY IS A FAMILY, kids offer touching, profound and often funny insights about what being a family means to them. Among those featured are: children with two fathers or two mothers; a girl whose mother and father adopted her in China; three brothers who live with their mother and grandmother; a pair of mothers who are getting married to make one big family; and families with adopted kids and children born through in-vitro fertilization.

For more information on A FAMILY IS A FAMILY IS A FAMILY: A Rosie O'Donnell CELEBRATION, please click here.

Video Message To Mazha

2010-01-28T17:24:00.000-05:00

Mazha went into the hospital earlier this week for a tracheotomy and insertion of a feeding tube. Both proceedures went off without a hitch and she's recovering quite well. She should be returning home in a couple days. This should help her with her breathing issues and assit in regaining some of her strength.

Fazha, Auntie Simone, and cousins Roni and Jordan have been in the hospital with her since Monday, so Kensi wanted to send a special video message to Mazha so she could be part of her "Get Well Crew".

Gone With the Wind

2010-01-28T17:13:00.002-05:00

A couple years ago, Mazha and Fazha bought us an old fashion home theater popcorn machine. This is a larger version of what you’ll currently find in the department stores. They bought this to go in our game room downstairs. When we first got it, I thought. “Great. This is just one more thing to take up space in our house. We’ll never use this.” Boy, was I wrong. It never made it downstairs… it has had a permanent home in the living room. For months on end, we’d come home many nights and pop a large batch before we’d settle down to watch TV. For Duncan, pizza crust and popcorn are the two things he goes absolutely crazy for. He sits next to the machine, while it pops away, and with his tail a-wagging he salivates all over the floor. Disgusting, yet cute.

A couple months ago, the machine died. It would spin, but it just wouldn’t heat up properly. A cloud of sadness hovered over the house and Duncan has never been the same since. Microwavable popcorn just wouldn’t cut it for him, or for us.

This past Sunday, Chris decided to be butch (God help us all). He dusted off some tools and went to tinkering with the wires to see if he could adjust the connectors so the power would properly flow through to the heat sensor.

“Chris, did you unplug the machine?” “Yes, I’m not stupid!” [I frown as I think about the increase I just took on out his insurance plan. It could buy Kensi and me a small plantation in the south]

After ten minutes, the heat was working. Hallelujah. The stirring system was heating up the stuck kernels in the hot oil kettle. “Chris, you should open up the door or put on the vent in the kitchen. If that starts to smoke, it’s going to set off the alarm.”

Two and a half minutes later, smoke starts streaming out of the machine and the smoke detector goes off. The smoke detector is tied into the central alarm system which sends out its warning throughout the house. I’m upstairs starting another batch of laundry so I head to the keypad in the bedroom and type in the code. It doesn’t take. I try again. Still nothing. Third times a charm, correct? Nope. Chris was encountering the same problems downstairs at the keypad next to the door. We were both entering codes at the same time and we were canceling each other out. All of a sudden, the alarm chime turns into an alarm siren. The way our system is set up, once the alarm goes off, we receive a call from ADT to confirm or deny the incident, before they send out the fire/police/ambulance. In the past, the phone has rung within 30 seconds once the sirens start. 30 seconds pass and we don’t receive a call. A minute passes and we still haven’t received a call. Chris decides to call them instead of waiting for their call and the phone is dead. I run back and grab the phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t the phone that was dead; it’s the phone line. Our little munchkin, who LOVES ‘playing’ with the phone, left one of the cordless phones on and hid it in her playroom. Chris grabs his cell phone and gets an automated voice recording. “If you are calling from a company, press one. If you are calling from your residence, press two. [he presses two] If you are calling because your alarm system is activated, press one. [he presses one] Please hold. All available representatives are assisting other customers. [Are you kidding me??]

Chris then reminds me that we need to call our own community Public Safety because they also monitor the local police/fire scanners. When I call the main line, I tell the dispatcher our address and our pass code and let her know that the smoke alarm went off but it wasn’t a fire. In the background I hear the officers calling over the radio, “All Units to [address]. All Units to [address]. Fire in progress”.

Oh, Holy mother. I’m going to kill Chris.

Our house sits up on the peak of the mountain and we have oblong windows that overlook the bottom. I see flashing lights headed up our way.

The car comes screeching around the corning as I run out the front door. I’m running up the driveway waving my hands and shaking my head back-and-forth, as if to tell him to slow down. The assistant fire chief hops out of his car, leaving his door open. His scanner in the car is echoing the same thing that I heard from our own public safety department, “Unit on scene at [address]. Fire in progress. All units needed at [address]”.

“False Alarm. It’s a false alarm. Our smoke detector went off and we didn’t type in the code fast enough. SORRY.”

“What did you burn?”

“Popcorn”

“What, you didn’t bring any out for me? Um… actually, I don’t any” and he turns back to his car to call off the Calvary.

I’m now standing outside, in the cold, because I don’t know what to do. Do I wait until he leaves? Are there papers that need to be signed? Is there a “We’re stupid and we’re sorry for that” fine that has to be paid? The assistant fire chief remains in his car on the walkie-talkie, but with the door shut so I can’t hear anything. He looks up at me and I just stand there with a stupid grin on my face. I wave. [Oh my God, did I just wave at him? And with this stupid grin on my face?]

A few moments later, he backs up his car and I head back inside.

“Should I start another batch?” Chris says as I shut the door behind me.

I go to the hall closet and pull out our sewing machine.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making Kensington a Southern Belle Dress. We’ll soon be moving to our own plantation and I need to make sure she has something that looks historically accurate…bows, puffs, ruffles and all.”

He looks at me like I have three heads. “Oh, don’t worry. You won’t be around to see the finsihed project. Trust me.”

Proud Pageant Dad

2010-01-16T10:02:00.003-05:00

So, we're watching a marathon of Toddlers & Tiaras on TLC ...and there's this questionably heterosexual man who is the father of a young pageant contestant named "Bella." We watched in awe as this man made it painfully clear whom this pageant was really about. And then these words formed in my head, "Hello, my name is Paul and I'm a proud pageant dad." You see, with everything going on in my life right now, I need something that is JUST for me. I understand that that is totally selfish of me, and guess what, I’m okay with that. I’ve spent my entire life “leading to serve”, it’s time I now get serviced. I’m going to be a pageant dad!

I am a planner. This works well in some ways - my career - and not so well in other ways - when I drive loved ones crazy by having an agenda and timeline written out for everything. I’m not one of those spur of the moment types of guys. I need structure. I need… a plan!

Step # 1 – Go to Pageant Center.com and identify all of the pageants we want to win (if you want to be a winner, you better start acting like one. I’m not raising Kensington Grace to be a ‘runner-up’. That’s just another name for ‘first-place loser’). So I’ve entered Kensington in next month’s “Little Miss Star Eyes" Pageant. It’s local and it’s a great way to get her start. This way, in 26 years (yes, I’ve laid out a plan for this) when she wins Miss America, she can stand tall in her sash and crown and announce that she got her start as the real ‘people’s princess’. Starting at home and then taking the nation.

Step # 2 – I contacted Angela Milas with the PGP Group down in Georgetown. They are the leader in Pageant coaching. Only the best for our little Miss Kensington Grace. We met with her last week and Angela said that Kensington Grace is so perfect, there was nothing that her agency could provide our princess that she didn’t already posses. She has style, she has grace (Rita hayworth gave good face). Angela’s only recommendation was a trip to the spa to get Kensington Grace’s first… yes, her very first haircut and style. Unless she wanted to win the Little Miss Mullet contest, this was a must. We agreed.

Step # 3 – A trip to Aveda Spa and Salon to see Corrine. 12 months ago Corrine threatened Chris’ life by never touching his hair again if Kensington race went to anyone besides her for her first haircut. Normally, we don’t do well with threats but a gay man never, under any circumstances, pisses off his stylist. That’s in the top ten homo cardinal rules. So, with that being said, Kensington Grace had a 5:30 appointment last night. She did absolutely amazing… until out of nowhere she had a 30 second crying fit. I guess we need to revisit Angela Milas to work this out.

Step # 4 - Take the Pageant world by storm. Be on the lookout for our updates :)

(Special thanks to STEVE SILVERMAN, Writer/Director/Executive Producer of "Pretty The Series" for contributing (unbeknownst to him, I 'borrowed' pieces of his blog), to this post. I'm giving him credit now, so that makes everthing alright, correct? I caught his interview on the Frank Decaro show (Sirius XM) last week and couldn’t stop laughing. It was the perfect lead into Kensi’s first trip to the salon. Please check out his trailer below, and then visit prettytheseries.com. Plus, you have to watch the series because there is a character named Parker Keninsgton-Parker, played by Terri Simmons.)

Tomorrow is a BIG day for our little munchin

2010-01-10T19:46:00.000-05:00

Every Princess needs to don the right accessory for every occasion. Looking through Kensington’s closet, shelves, drawers, and hope chest one would find and assortment of tiaras, hats, boas, tutus and scarves. She also has rings, a necklace and a bracelet, but none of these really provide her the influence she would need tomorrow. Our little chickpea has grown up. Since we’ve been back from Texas, Kensi has floated in and out of the “Toddler One” classroom, prepping her for the big move. But her time there has been limited; mostly for mealtime and nap time. These moments have been to get her accustomed with the teachers, not the students. Tomorrow, she’ll be one her own and she’ll be the smallest one in the room. In order for her to stand out she will need the perfect outfit with the perfect accessory. So, we bought her this…

… a platinum and diamond encrusted grill (old English for 'teeth').

This is from an actual website... you can't make this stuff up! "At GangstaGold, we understand that ordering and purchasing a set of custom removable teeth is a very serious decision and an investment commitment."

This will let any rugrat that thinks they're going to mess withy my baby know that if they lay even one finger on her, they'll get 1) shanked, and 2) that finger bitten off.

Yes, now that Kensington has six teeth, she's learning how to use them. Unfortunately, she's using her daddy and I as her teething toy. Is there an agency like DYFS that covers abused parents? [if anyone replies with 'The Office on Aging', I will purchase my own grill and hunt you down]

Special thanks to Wyeth Pharma and their Anbesol brand for making this teething chart available. You can get your own here.

apospasma tou theu

2010-01-09T14:33:00.003-05:00

Pieces of this post have been sitting in my ‘draft’ for a couple weeks and I haven’t had the ability (i.e., nerve) to post it to the ItsDaddies.Plural site.

Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve been singing (and now signing) Rachel Coleman’s “Feelings” to Kensington. “What are you feeling? What are you feeling? Don’t keep it bottled up inside, just try, try, try. Try to tell me what’s inside. Do you feel [exited, silly, scared, grumpy, sick, etc]? Kensington loves it. When we put it on, her little head goes bobbing and her hands go everywhere like she’s trying to make the correct ‘sign’ for each emotion.

It wasn’t until the other night when Chris looked at me and signed, “What are your feeling” did I realize that I’m the biggest hypocrite in the world. Here I am teaching a one-year-old child prodigy how to share her feelings, when I’m a twenty-seven (shut up) year old that can’t do the same thing. Months of therapy (at $20 a co-pay each session) haven’t allowed me to open up, but that one moment opened up the floodgates.

I haven’t updated the blog lately because looking back over the year, while it causes extremely happiness that we’ve had Kensington in our lives, it also causes tremendous sadness. Why? Well the blog was just supposed to help our families learn about the process that we were going through, as well showing them the love that we have for Kensington, and the little lady that she grows into each day. It’s Daddies has become more than that. It’s shown my parents (Mazha and Fazha) the man that I’ve become and how I’ve grown since leaving Texas thirteen years ago. Yes, do the math; I was 14 when I left (hahahaha… Wendy Lou-Who, I still hate you for telling that reporter, years ago, my real age). I know that Mazha has become the biggest fan of the site, and with each post I publish I think of her and how she would react? That’s where the sadness comes in.

Back in September, Mazha was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). Before September, I couldn’t tell you anything about the disease other than Lou Gehrig was diagnosed with it. Now, I know more that I wish I did.

This disease has progressed rather rapidly in Mazha. In September she could walk. Today she finds it hard to even roll to the side while she’s lying down. In September she could voice her anger about the disease. Today, she was out of breath wishing me a happy birthday. She’s become so weak, next week they will be placing her on a feeding tube.

I have disconnected myself from the world because of this. I have engulfed myself with work and with Kensington to keep my mind off of reality. Kensi makes me smile with her endless peek-a-boo games… she makes me laugh uncontrollably with the faces she makes… she amazes me with her love for dance and music… and she melts my heart with her hugs and kisses. When I’m with her, I forget about all of the negative issues, except her stinky diapers, in life.

So, while I’ve been signing, “What are you feeling,” I’ve been avoiding answering it myself. You see, I don’t do emotion. Okay, I do, but I find that I focus my time on positive emotions: Love (affection, caring, tenderness, compassion), Joy (cheerful, playful, pride, contentment, relief, optimism), and Surprise (amazement). Something in me [what my Malaysian Spiritual Healer has informed me is my internal “firefighter”] has repressed – or protected me against - the negative emotions: Anger (envy, rage, disgust), Sadness (suffering, regret, rejection) and Fear (panic, tenseness).

I think this is what has kept Chris and I together for so long. We don’t fight. I may have a brief moment of being hurt, upset or annoyed, but within five minutes, it passes and I’ve forgotten about it. I’ve chalked it up to having a crappy memory, but my Sadhu informed me that this isn’t so. For me, negative emotion isn’t natural, so I have refused to experience it. I’m the one cracking jokes at a funeral. I’m the class clown that makes everyone laugh when they’re experiencing pain. Forever I thought I was doing this for them… now I realize it’s been for myself. This has caused me to ignore my friends, even those who are in need. I’ve ignored them because I can’t deal with the, “How’s you’re mom doing? How are you doing?” My general response has been, “Good, thanks” and I quickly change the subject or walk away. I haven’t been answering the phone, only responding to texts and email because of the same reason. For this, I apologize.

Today, I’ve surrender control. I can’t control this disease or the hate that I have for it. I can’t control the disappointment that I have for God. I’ve always been a very spiritual person, and have believed that our soul is apospasma tou theu, ‘a particle of God’. Right now, I have lost my faith in him. I don’t understand why there is this much pain in the world. I know that this isn’t something that just happened. Pain and suffering have existed since the beginning of time, but this is the first time that I’m personally having to deal with this type of grief and I don’t understand how it can exist, nor can I understand how it’s 2010 and there is not a single type of treatment for this disease. One drug… there’s only one drug out there for those diagnosed with ALS and it increases the length – not the quality – of life by two months. 60 days.

My firefighter that has spent the last 32, I mean 27, years protecting me, protecting me from the fear of failure has been another victim of this economic climate. He lost his job and can’t help me any longer. I feel like I have failed my mother by not being able to protect her from this horrible disease. I honestly thought I was strong but I’m not. I’ve given in to fear, and hate, and panic. Pieces of me have now experienced regret, humiliation, and envy.

It’s been my fear of experiencing these emotions that have kept me from posting anything. Actually, as I type this, I realize that it has been my selfishness as well. I’ve wanted to keep the positive, everything about Kensington – yes, even her stinky diapers – to myself. She’s what makes me strong. She’s what keeps me going through the day, knowing that the moment I walk through the door at the daycare (or though the door at home), she’s waiting for me with the biggest smile. Showing me all six of her pearly whites (which bit Chris in the arm last week, and me in the leg and shoulder today).

Isaiah 9:6 - For unto us a Child is Born

2009-12-25T11:01:00.002-05:00

Chris and I wanted to take this moment to thank everyone for all of their well-wishes as we celebrate our little Kensington Grace's first birthday today. We've been in Texas for the past couple of weeks spending time with Kensi's (grand) Mazha and Fazha, as well as her Auntie Simone, cousins and tons of loved ones. Kensington has been showered with love, hugs, kisses... and yes, you've guessed it, gifts - so many so we have to send SEVERAL boxes via UPS because there is no other way we're going to get them up north, unless we rent a Penske truck and drive home (which may actually be cheaper).

Due to us being down south, we haven't been online much. As soon as we get back I'll be blogging like there is no tomorrow. We have so much to share with you; Kensi's birthday party with her bio family, her birthday celebration at home, her birthday Cowgirl Hoedown (complete with bounce house and country piñata), our first 'solo' plane ride, a video message from her Godfather Michael (straight from Manchester where he was competing in 'Duel in the Pool', which you can see on NBC on December 27th), her build-a-bear ‘Chickpea’, Christmas, and so much more. I've been taking notes to ensure that I don't forget any key points.

I wanted to share with you all Kensington’s first encounter with Santa Claus. Not every child enjoys their time with Santa. Some kids are plain scared of the fat man with a red suit. I was envisioning her sitting on old St. Nicks lap, with tears streaming down her face and mouth open wide with blood-curdling screams escaping her tiny, and yet very powerful, vocal box. You know the pictures I’m talking about. There are hundreds of websites and books dedicated to these disastrous family photos. I was hoping we’d experience this family tradition first-hand. I even started designing our Christmas card to read “Silent Night… I don’t think so!” Unfortunately for me, our little angel was just that – a little angel. I asked Santa’s little elf to pinch her to make her cry and he looked at me like I was crazy. “No, seriously. Pinch her. It’s for my Christmas Card. There’s and extra $20 in it for if she goes from happy baby to wailing baby. But noooooooooooo. Santa’s little midget with pointy ears that looked like a Spock wannabe wouldn’t buy in to my scheme. Because of his unwillingness to grant MY holiday wish, we got a gorgeous princess, smiling away, on Swiety Mikolaj.

Picture this...

2009-11-26T11:40:00.001-05:00

This month Kensington's school did class photos. While the quality of the prints were what you'd expect from LifeTouch, so was the time investment from the photographer. Unlike the other photoshoots Kensington has gone to that range from 30-90 minutes a setting, this was more of a "sit, snap, next" experience - which meant no room for errors, or lack of smiling. Needless to say we didn't purchase the entire kit, but as any good parents would do, we purchase one of each print for scrapbook purposes.

Here they are for your viewing pleasure. [note... she's not wearing eye shadow, it's the way the scan came out]

One small step for man; one giant leap for Kensington

2009-11-25T23:55:00.000-05:00

These are the tiny feet that carried you today.
First steps free from our hands, we watched our baby step away.
During the coming years, we'll guide these little feet,
As they toddle 'cross the lawn, and safely cross the street.

They'll soon grow strong and steady, find puddles to kick and splash,
Pedal a two-wheel bike, and win a schoolyard dash.
Kick a ball, learn to dance, race a friend home from school,
Skip a rope, jump in bed, dive feet-first at the pool.

Your small feet may often stumble, scrape a knee or take a fall,
Misstep or need direction, or a model to stand tall.
Know we'll always be behind you, our love will give you wings,
To proudly fill the shoes, a grown-up life will bring.

The years will quickly pass, and these feet will learn to drive,
Walk the stage to a diploma, when graduation day arrives.
We'll watch through misty eyes, as you walk down wedding's aisle,
A family of your own, you'll start your jouney with a smile.

These tiny prints will hold our hearts, for each tomorrow you will grow,
Today we'll hold you closer, for too soon these feet will go.

We were two minutes too late. Kensington took her first steps on Thanksgiving eve, but we didn't have the camera ready. By the time I unplugged the battery charger and grabbed the camera, she was done with her latest trick. We will now be keeping the camera by our side 24/7 to capture her next steps.

Special thanks to Teri Harrison for the poem above.

Think outside the socks...

2009-11-25T20:36:00.000-05:00

Is matching is over rated? I don't think it is... and it erks me to no end when Chris dresses Kensington in the mornings and her socks don't match her outfit. I know it's something I should get over, right? So, image my surprise when our friend Kathi brought over a gift for Kensi, a collection of LittleMissMatched items. This company began with the wacky idea to sell colorful missmatched socks in odd numbers. LittleMissMatched has created socks, leggings, gloves, sleepwear, swimwear, bedding, electronic socks, and a book (My MissMatched Life, Chronicle Books) – all incorporating their core design philosophy that nothing matches but anything goes.

Each collection allows for thousands of clever combinations using unique color waves and patterns, giving girls the chance to express their creativity and individuality every day of the year.

But does clever combinations = good taste? I'm still not sure. While I was getting her ready for school on Monday, I tried to let down my fashion gaurd and place two MissMatched mismatched socks on her little feetsies. I stood her up and looked her over. The gay-gene in me made me take them off and place the matching socks that coordinated perfected with the outfit. The socks and the leggings are, by themselves, absolutely precious. I just need to take baby steps so when my baby takes her steps, she does it in style.

Confucius say, "Shit happens."

2009-11-22T20:06:00.000-05:00

Kensington doesn't get the concept of daylight saving time, weekends or holidays. She has her own little internal clock that doesn't come with a snooze button - I would have to say this is the only true drawback to parenthood.

While we'd like to stay up past 9:30pm on Friday and Saturday nights, we know that when 6:00 - 6:30am comes around, little Miss Sunshine will up and ready to start her day, and she doesn't care if we have matching Louis Vuitton luggage under our eyes. So, it came to quite a surprise the other Saturday when at 6:30 in the morning, we were not being summoned into Kensi's play-palace. My heart started to race. “Oh God, did something happen?” I reached for the monitor and put my ear to it. Okay, I could hear her breathing. All is well. I rolled over and shut my eyes, thinking that this is going to be a wonderful weekend.

Unfortunately, not being able to sleep-in for the past 11 months (has it been that long?), I tossed and turned for the next 30 minutes. It was no use. I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. I might as well go and start the coffee and check Facebook while Sleeping Beauty is getting her rest. A few moments later, I run upstairs and grab the monitor so I can have it by me she when she does wake up, I can go and be the first one to give her morning kisses (Chris and I fight for this privilege). I still hear her breathing, so all is well. Maybe I will sneak in watch her sleep for a little bit. I open the door, and to my surprise, through the dark I can see the top of Kensington’s head peeking up over the cribs frame. She is sitting up with her back to the door. “I wonder how longs she’s been up?” I think to myself. She hears me and turns around with her hands raising up for me to lift her. Before I my eyes can adjust to the darkness, I grab her. “Holy mother of Jesus…” I scream.

Chris has now jumped out of bed. Kensi had an EXPLOSIVE diaper that leaked out of her bedtime onesie. I start to hurl. I’m gagging and I’m holding her by her armpits. Instead of running to the bathroom across the hall and putting her in the tub, I run downstairs with her to put her in her infant bathtub that was in the kitchen. I put her on the floor while the water is running and warming up. She wants to stand… no, she actually wants to climb on my leg. “Oh no you don’t!” I have my foot out preventing her from climbing up on me. This is not want she wants, and she lets me know how unhappy she is.

Chris now enters the room. He turns and gags. “Chris, grab her.”

“You want me to gr….” And he hurls. “Chris, there’s shit coming out of her onsie.” Tears start streaming down his face and he’s laughing and vomiting at the same time. I grab her by the shoulders and head towards him. “Open up the trash bin.”. Chris steps on the level and the stainless steel doors open. We start peeling away the saturated poo material clinging to her back, thighs and legs. “Just throw the outfit away,” but instead Chris puts it in a plastic bag so he can wash it. Really?!?! It wasn’t worth saving. Now it’s time to peel away the useless diaper. “What, you want to save that too?” He wasn’t laughing. Kensington was, but Chris wasn’t. We then pluck her from the bin into the tub and start filling it with water. I know this is not the order that one normally baths an infant, but under the circumstances, we’d be more than happy explain the situation to the department of child protective services. The water quickly turns brown. I pick Kensi up and we empty the tub and start all over again. The good thing is, she loves bath time. So, with her pink ducky in one hand, and her baby alligator in the other, she splashes about and we suds her up and spray her off. We have to empty the tub again. Water cascades across the counter, down the drawers, and onto the floor. Duncan is there to lick it up. We then we suds her up one last time and spray her off. Now she’s squeaky clean.

So much for thinking that this is going to be a wonderful weekend. :)

Giddy Up, Little Cowgirl

2009-11-16T20:01:00.000-05:00

This has been a crazy week. I finished Kensington's birthday invite and have been writing address after address.

I'm completely and utterly depressed. Last night while I was starting to change Kensi's diaper, I decided that I was going to give her a bath (she worked up a little sweat as we went on our weekend walk). I asked Chris to watch her for a moment while I got her bath ready. Two minutes later I hear, "I'm braving new territory" as I see him walking into the room holding our naked daughter. What... no diaper? Well, as soon as Kensi heard the running water, her own little faucet turned on - and all over Chris. Of course, I ran to get the camera and started snapping away, only to find out that the memory card was in the disk reader because I had transferred photos earlier that day. Oh well, maybe next time.

Here are some of the photos that I did capture when the card was actually in the camera.

- Kensington waiting by the windo for papa to come home.
- The eyes that get her whatever she wants.
- Chris's halloween masterpiece.

It's The Great Pumpkin (picking adventure), Charlie Brown!

2009-11-08T09:42:00.001-05:00

For those of you viewing this on facebook, you can view the video by visiting http://itsdaddiesplural.blogspot.com

Move over John and Kate… here come the gays.

2009-11-07T11:31:00.001-05:00

Not many people are aware that earlier this year, Chris and I were working with a casting director from TLC for a new reality series on alternative families. Okay… it was more of “I” was working with the casting director.
It all started with one of our ItsDaddies.Plural. readers sending a message that they had received from the casting agency looking for gay parents in middle America that were interested in the concept. Of course it peeked my interest and I sent in our blog link to the email address that provided. Within a couple days, I received a phone call while at work and had a phone interview. They had asked for some more information and I sent in our adoption portfolio, along with our autobiographies that we had created for Friends In Adoption. A couple weeks went by and I received another call. They were still interested and we had made it to the next level. I provided some additional information (funny parenting stories that we had encountered) as well as some additional photos and an “average week” summation. This was extremely easy to provide because of the blog. A few days later and I had received another call and provided some additional information. Then about three weeks went by and I didn’t hear anything. It looked like we weren’t selected. Oh well, it would have been fun.

Then the 4th of July weekend hit. My blackberry was acting up (don’t tell my IT department, but it could have been Kensington’s saliva that shorted out the interface because our little chickpea decided that she wanted to use it as a teething ring) and I didn’t realize that I had a voicemail message that was in my inbox for a couple days. It was Brian, from the TLC casting agency. We had made it to the final selection round. He wanted to talk to us about a video that he needed sent electronically before the weekend was up. It was to be a 3-5 minute video of the three of us answering a couple questions that they provided. It was also to show us giving a tour of our home. They needed it by that Monday, as they would be making their selection of families (the show would be an ongoing storyline of a couple different LGBT families and how they deal with raising an alternative family in a majority straight society).

Houston, we have a problem. This was becoming real, and I left out one minor little detail. I didn’t tell Chris any of this was happening. I told him about the original email that I had received saying that TLC was doing a show, but I left out the details of the numerous phone and email communications I had with Brian.

So, as we were preparing for our holiday gathering in NJ, I sprung it on him.

“Look at what we can do for America… there are currently six states that prohibit gays from adopting. We can show them that gay families can provide loving and stable homes to the tens of thousands of children currently needing a home.”
He wasn’t buying it.

“Chris, think of what this can do for our family. This can boost Kensington’s college fund. She will have a want for nothing. Jon and Kate are getting, like, $250k an episode."
Nope. Still not budging. (It probably had something to do with Jon and Kate announcing that they were splitting up and that was on the cover of every magazine that week).
So I decided to go the passive-aggressive route, “Do NOT stifle this family’s creativity. Stop thinking about you, you, you and start thinking about us. Our little girl is loved by so many and can be loved by the world. Look how we have helped so many people during their adoption journey with our blog… think of what we can do… think of what Kensington can do. She deserves to be a star!” I said this half jokingly.

Wrong approach. Clearly I should have thought this through a little bit more.

What followed next was a lightly heated conversation about scripted reality and how everything is exaggerated for ratings. “It doesn’t have to be that way… this show is different, they are showing LGBT families is a positive light. Look, we don’t have to sign a contract without reading it. If anything looks like we won’t have control of how they view us, we’ll walk away.” He still wasn’t buying any of it. “Okay, look. Let’s ask everyone at the party what they think. Don’t say ‘no’ just yet. Let’s get some buy-in from our friends.” He went for it. This could not have been better for me. I knew they’d all say ‘go for it’.

Okay. I was wrong. EVERYONE said to stay clear of the situation. While it may seem fun, we shouldn’t expose ourselves like this. They went through example after example of individuals who have exposed themselves to reality television; and how they are now suffering for all that they have received. Infidelity, no privacy, the replay effect, lack of reality, good intentions gone bad, questionable morality and separation/divorce. Although reality tv makes great entertainment, it is probably not the best place to raise a family or to showcase our lives. I got it. Some friends they are for poop-pooping my hopes and dreams. :)
One of the key points that they included (these are my friends, mind you) that the world would not get/understand my strange sense of humor. While THEY get and they love it… it might not come across the way I want it to when it is sliced and edited to fit into a 42 minute episode. I just don’t understand?

And then Halloween hit. I thought I came up with the perfect Halloween costume for our Kensington – It was cute and adorable, and yet scary and deadly – everything you’d want during this particular holiday event, right?

SWINE FLU.

Come on... this is precious.

Look, I know that swine flu isn't a laughing matter. We've had a friend and co-worker that had swine flu for two weeks, and a gay dad that we know currently has a little one that sick right now.

But when you think about it, Ed Gein (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre) did horrible things, and yet hundreds of thousands of kids dressed up like him and he was portrayed in almost every scary hayride across the country.

Piracy off the Somali coast has been a threat to international shipping recently, and yet, Captain Jack Black was going door-to-door asking for candy.

Death is real... and scary, but that didn't stop major department stores from selling Grim Reaper costumes.

So, what I’m saying is, the Swine Flu is in fact an appropriate Halloween costume and it's not just my sense of humor coming into play. Now, it’s probably something that we would have gotten backlash for had we showed this on television, so I guess everything happens for a reason.

Schizophrenia…

2009-10-26T20:50:00.001-04:00

Yes. That is the reason that I’m giving for not updating the blog in quite some time. I have schizophrenia and it has squashed my creative juices. You laugh. Surely I must be joking. Well, I’m not quite sure. While I haven’t been officially diagnosed by my physician, I have been showing all of the signs that have been identified by WedMD. My psychosis distorts the way I think, act, perceive reality, and relate to others. That’s a problem.

You see, growing up gay in the south, I always wanted to move up the “the big city”. And now, New York is where I'd rather stay. As a kid, I was allergic smelling hay (and grass, as well as pine, dirt, and milk). I’ve grown accustom to, and adore, the panoramic penthouse view… family I love you, but give me Park Avenue.

And this is where my dilemma lies. There is this part of me that wants to get away from the rat race of the city, come out and breathe the fresh air, live in the sunshine, plant the little seeds in the rich brown earth and watch them push themselves up through the soil reaching up for the blue sky and the sunshine ‘til they become corn, and wheat and pumpkins. I’m about to say it for the first time… Farm livin' is the life for me. I wear overalls. Sit on a tractor. Milk cows and goats. Oh, the land spreadin' out so far and wide.
Sometimes I want to give up the big city… just give me that countryside.

I’m a walking mess. I can’t cook, I can’t sew, and can’t keep house. All I could do is talk Hungarian and eat hotscakes and vaffles.

The chores.
The stores.
Fresh air.
Times Square.

Pink Cottage.
No Wattage.
White Manor.
Zynga Banner.

Adopt a sheep.
Can’t get enough sleep.
Bales of hay.
Farmville… I can’t stay away.

So that is really the root of the problem. I guess it was easier for me to self-diagnose Schizophrenia, rather than to admit my Farmville addiction. For me, believing that I had an internal struggle with Oliver and Lisa Douglas in my head was much easier than typing away that each night after Kensington goes to sleep I spend the rest of my waking hours playing a computer game. I'm plowing and harvesting. I'm planting trees and building fences. I'm not alone... 5.2 million others are playing it as well.

I would have continued with my initial verdict, but then I realized that Lisa and Douglas were stuck in Hooterville, so that changed everything for me. I mean… some things I could deal with… but Hooterville?!?! I have to draw the line somewhere.

Unfortunately, I went a little too far. We went ahead and got a little Arnold the piglet.

I’m throwing out there to the world my New Years resolution months prior to everyone else. I will make sure I post a new entry at least once a week from here on out.

Itsy Bitsy Yoga

2009-08-23T21:42:00.006-04:00

Yoga brings parents new ways to calm, soothe, and nurture their baby/toddler. It can give your baby a strong and healthy foundation that will last beyond the preschool years.

As a parent, finding the right class and with a professional with specialized training in yoga for babies and toddler under age 4 is vital for a safe and enjoyable yoga class experience. Itsy Bitsy Yoga makes it easy. To learn more about the class that is most age-appropriate for your child, visit itsybitsyyoga.com

Just look at what it's done for our little grasshopper. She decided to show off her yoga talents last week at Tom and Carolyn's home while her daddy was upstairs playing RockBand. Isn't it just adorable?!

Great Disgraces

2009-08-23T18:13:00.010-04:00

1972 brought us the Watergate scandal, 1993 was the Whitewatergate controversy, and now we face an even bigger disdain in American history... Babygate. No, I'm not referring to the under-qualified moose-hunting former governor of Alaska's first (and I'm sure not last) scandal that she faced.

When referring to Babygate, I'm talking about Kensington's playroom which has now been barred off from the kitchen and the living room (thanks to Chris, Kyle, a screw gun and some random drill bits that took way to long to find). With the look of total disgust on her face, I'm sure Kensi feels like us childproofing her room was turning her space into a prison-like setting that completely inhibits her ability to explore and develop. On the contrary, childproofing her playroom should balance the many factors as daddies that we face: safety, aesthetics, supervision level, and livability.

Of course the hazards our little chickpea is exposed to will vary with their stages of her development. Our once passive three month old was exposed to many less hazards than her almost eight month old curiosity exposes her to now.

From what our pediatrician has said, the things we need to be concerned with are falls from stairs (which in our case, from the living room she can fall down stairs to the bathroom and the basement, or climb up to the bedroom and topple down like a slinky), electrical shocks (we should be covered as every outlet is covered, but we take nothing for granted), poisoning (What... you mistake baking powder for baking soda ONCE and people never let you live it down), choking on small objects (note to self, hide childhood marble collection), water accidents (she will now walk around in a life jacket until she's eighteen. Wait, can she wear a life vest at the convent? I'll have to check with Mother Superior on this one. Maybe if I can get it in black), climbing furniture which can topple (place very heavy objects on all shelves to weight it down- check), and bumping into the corners of furniture or counter tops (must go to Home Depot to rent sander to round all corners on everything in the house). Looks like we're set. For the moment.

Kensington doesn't have an issue being closed in. The issue she has is being ~~locked in her cell~~ placed in her room by herself. As long as one of us are in the room with her, she's fine... but the moment one of us ~~escapes~~ leaves she lets us know that she's going to ~~shank us~~ scream until she gets her way. We're not saying that she's spoiled, but she normally gets her way. Enough said.

Giddy Up, Little Partner

2009-08-18T20:07:00.005-04:00

Kensington loves playing cowgirl with her pappa! While searching the Internet, I found a little ingenious set of matching Wild West inspired t-shirts to wear during our playtime.

With a printed saddle on the back of horsey Dad's t-shirt and a cute cowboy t-shirt for my little rider to wear.

This set, and other humorous (and some not so humorous) items can be found at TwistedTwee.

Other items that caught my attention are their equal opportunity onesies and the "nobody puts baby in the corner" outfit.

I Got You, Babe.

2009-08-17T20:48:00.009-04:00

Friday, August 14, was a very special day for our family. It was Kensington's "set in stone" day... better known as our adoption finalization day. Up until now, Friends In Adoption had legal custody of her until the paperwork went through the court system.

When Kensington was born, the hospital mis-typed her "Baby Girl" name, and issued her birth certificate as "Babe Girl". Yes. No joke. For the past seven months, Kensi's name has actually been Babe. For those of you who have seen her eat, you would attest to her 'piglet' type behavior :)

Friday morning comes and we have to be at court by 8:30a.m. Because I had an event the previous day, we didn't drive up to upstate New York until that morning. 4 to be exact. So, with Kensington in her pajama's, and us wiping the sleep out of our eyes, it's off we go. Our suits, coordinating ties, and Kensington's adoption-princess dress hanging off the hook in the car - waiting until the moment we take our oath.

Chris sets the playlist on the iPod for the trip. "Just think. In a couple hours, Babe will legally be Kensington Grace. You should download 'I got you babe' on your iPhone." And so he did. That song became our anthem for the day.

Once we got to the courthouse, we saw Mary (our casework supervisor) and headed inside. We're the first one on the docket. Our lawyer and the states lawyer arrive and we wait until the bailiff calls us in the waiting room. Our plan was to record the hearing, but we weren't able to do so...

We take our place at one table, Mary and our Friends In Adoption's attorney at the other. The judge, whose bench is covered with stuffed animals, starts off by stating that he starts his Friday's with the happier cases. It puts him in the right mood for having to deal with the other cases he'll be hearing in family court for the remainder of the day. He talks about family... and the definition of adoption, the molding of our new family, and then reviews of the paperwork. "Babe? Is this correct?" Our attorney pipes in, "Yes, your honor. There seemed to be a typo from the initial paperwork, so in order to follow protocol, we changed all of the 'baby girl' to 'babe' to keep it consistent.

I decided to inject a bit of humor, "It may please the court, your honor, to know that we've been playing Sonny & Cher's I Got You Babe on the way to the court."

The judge smiles and says, "well, then I have just the thing for this occasion" and pulls out two stuffed St. Bernard's that are hugging. He presses play on of of their paws and they begin to sing, "Babe. I got you babe."

[This is where I make a HUGE mistake]

In the beginning of the adoption process, Mary and the folks at FIA told us about this judge, and how he would give each child a stuffed animal at the hearing. When he said that he 'had just the thing', I thought that we was giving us the singing dogs. What does one normally do when being offered something? They go to get it... right? With Kensington in my lap, I stand up and walk behind the bench so he could hand it to her.

That wasn't his intentions.... and me going behind the bench - without his permission - wasn't protocol. He didn't find it amusing. Sweat beads start forming on my head as the dogs continue to sing. "Look Kensi... look at the puppies" (what was I supposed to say?) The judge takes the dogs and moves them to the other part of the bench... furthest from me. "We'll just move these over here" he says, as I slowly back away and head back to the table.

We continue with proceeding and then are passed some documents to sign. While this is being done, Kensi is playing with the cups on the table. She could care less about the toys we placed there. It was plastic water cups that caught her attention.

"Normally, I don't do this. Giving up my singing toys. (we found out he had a box of smaller toys that he gives away). But in this scenario... for this little sweetie... with a name like 'Babe', I don't think I have a choice here. Mary, would you please come and get this toy and bring it to Kensington." Mary went to the front of the bench and of the dogs and brought it to us.

The hearing was over. It's been made official!

Mary later asked the judge if we could have a picture of together and he said he was okay with that. "Should be come to the front of the bench", I asked. He then granted us permission to come behind the bench (as you can see in the picture).

So... the overall question is how we now feel about all of this.

To be honest. It doesn't feel any different. We didn't love less because it wasn't legal. Actually, we fell in love with her before we were even chosen by our birth parents. The moment we saw her sonogram picture, she had us wrapped around her little finger. Do we love more? I don't know if it's possible. She's our world. Always has been and always will be.

It makes it easier. For our wills. For our benefits. For making key health care decisions in the future. Logistically it's better. Emotionally it's the same. We just now have one more day to celebrate each year. August 14th is now our "set in stone" date. I see a lot of stones (jewelry) being given in the future.

We put a couple pictures together of the last several months. For those seeing this post via Facebook, you'll have to visit our site at http://itsdaddiesplural.blogspot.com/ to view.

Watching our baby blossom...

2009-08-02T18:07:00.008-04:00

There is nothing more special as a parent than the connection with your baby.

When Chris went to pay the DirectTV bill online, he saw that they were offering a series of engaging, educational programs designed to providing you with new opportunities for learning and playing together.

BabyFirstTV goes above and beyond traditional TV – it is an educational tool that provides a positive learning environment and an engaging experience for both you and your baby. Their programming features original new content including “Rainbow Horse”(hello... they really know how to target gay dads, don't they? Not sure which I like more, the rainbow horse or the rainbow flower they use as their logo), “Sandman,” and “I Can Sign” to name a few, as well as new tools that help parents better understand the developmental benefits for their baby with each of the programs.

With your baby’s safety and well being in mind, they offer content specifically tailored to meet the needs of babies and toddlers up to three years of age, in a safe and positive, commercial-free learning environment.

Kensington just loves the channel... though I'm not sure what to make of Tec the Tractor. I know that this is based off of a popular children’s book, and the book with a farmyard setting itself maybe great for kids, but the show freaks me out. His eyes seem to follow you no matter where in the room you are. Not to mention, no ones mouth moves.

Shushybye Baby has short series of songs, stories, healthful sleep tips and much more – all designed to encourage your toddler to look forward to nighty-night time! Not sure if it actually helped tonight - - Kensington has fought her naps all day today. We have a '20 minute rule' in our house (put her down for a nap, not letting her cry more than 20 minutes without calling it quits and letting her stay up). In 7 months, we've only have to get her once because she's cried more than 20 minutes. Until today.

We all know Kensington loves food. As mentioned in the past, she's been called an 'aggressive' eater by many, and one can easily tell by the photo's online (for those reading this on Facebook, check out our blog http://itsdaddiesplural.blogspot.com) that she loves being held. When ever ANYONE reaches out their hands, she will go to them.

Tonight bedtime was a hoot and a holla. Yes, I said holla.

Kensington was in her explorer gym and Chris walks in with her bottle and asks me if I want to take her up for bed time. Sure. This should be a piece of cake considering how much sleep, or lack thereof, she's actually gotten today.

I reach out her and instead of reaching for me, she grabs a toy and starts jumping up and down in her spring chair. I start laughing. "Come on Kensi, lets go to bed." Nadda. I clap my hands a little and she turns (the seat can go 360 degrees around the activity center). "Chris, She knows it's bed time and she's not wanting to go." I walk around to her and reach out again. She turns. Chris tries and gets the same response. We're now both laughing uncontrollably.

Here's the kicker... we show her the bottle, and she doesn't even reach for it. This is a child that when in school, they have to feed the other kids in the opposite side of the room from where she is because she wants to steal their food - even after she just finished hers. The same child that thinks any bottle (coke, mustard, salad dressing) is hers and will let you know that she stakes her claim to it. She didn't want it because she knew it meant going to bed. Needless to say, she cried the entire trip up to the room. After her bottle, a few minutes of rocking her and singing to her in my best Beyonce impersonation, she went out.

Hopefully the Shushybye Dream Band will have better luck tomorrow night. Lets keep our fingers crossed.

I smell a little piggy...

2009-08-02T16:38:00.004-04:00

the funny thing is, these are pictures of her OUTSIDE of the playpen trying to climb in it to get her Mr. Elephant toy.

She's mastered crawling (and loves crawling in one large circle... from the living room, to the dining room, to the kitchen, then into the hallway, and back to the living room). She turns some pretty tight corners and every once in awhile her knee will bang into the wall.

Gossip is now sleeping with one eye open because if Kensington catches sight of her, she b-lines for her.

Her new challenge... standing up and climbing. yes. both of them.

Lord, grant us strength.

Chunkey Monkey has her first tooth...

2009-07-28T12:55:00.005-04:00

Let them eat cake...

2009-07-28T09:44:00.007-04:00

While this phrase is often attributed to the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, there is no evidence to support that she ever uttered this phrase (and that concludes today's history lesson).

One of the most creative gifts we received at one of our showers was a three-tiered cake made out of diapers. So, I think I surprised some of my coworkers when I said I was making a Diaper cake for a co-workers shower, and didn't show up with a real cake (lol).

I found the "How to make a diaper cake" video here: http://www.metacafe.com/watch/876435/how_to_make_a_diaper_cake/

In addition to diapers, I added a white and pink baby bibs and baby onesies. While my cake wasn't a perfectly straight as the one in the video, it did look better than the version I have posted above. During my commute into the office, it slid off of the cake base (whaaaa!!!).
It ended up more like a mad hatter diaper cake... I guess it was the thought that counts, right?

Sleep Tight Little Angel...

2009-07-27T20:20:00.011-04:00

We were at a loss for words.

Our hearts go out to Jenn, my co-worker, and her family as they mourn - and celebrate - the life of their precious Anna Maxine.

While many of us in the ACS haven't had the opportunity to meet little Anna, it didn't stop the flood of emotions from pouring when we first received Jenn's message. Across the office was a synchronized gasp, followed by tears, and doors closing so we could each have our own moment of silence and seek comfort in prayer for their family.

Reading the wonderful tribute that was written, we were touched at the amount of love their family has shown their angel during her brief time here on earth, and moved by how they spent their final moments with her and how they have had to share the news with Anna's brother and sister.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to you...

Paul, Christopher and Kensington

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever. Psalm 23

Bio-Family Reunion (Day 2 of 3)

2009-07-25T11:45:00.009-04:00

It’s the crack of dawn. It feels like I’ve only had about three hours of sleep when a rooster crowing awakens me. What the…? I open my eyes and the room is so bright I think that has to be around 9am. There goes breakfast. Annie’s note on the door said it would be ready at 8:30, and with having to be at the picnic at 10, there would be no way we could get ready, eat breakfast and be out of the B&B in an hour. My blackberry is dead so I can’t access the clock so I reach for Chris’ iPhone. It’s only 5 o’clock. The rooster is still crowing. Loudly. It’s going to wake everyone in the house. I start shhh’ing. It doesn’t care that I want it to be quite. It just keeps crowing and crowing. Does it understand what we went through the night before? Does it know what awaits us today and that we need some sleep? Does it understand that the more it crows, the more upset people will be in the house? It doesn’t care. And why doesn’t it care? Because she got plenty of sleep the night before as we traveled from PA to VT. That rooster crowing was our very own Kensington Grace. Up at five in the morning and refusing to go back to sleep. She’s looking up at me every time I look down at her, with a huge smile on her face. How can you be mad… even this early in the morning?

I take her out of her temporary crib and starting walking around the bear room with her. After about 9-10 minutes of this, it seems like she’s ready to go back to sleep. I put her down and as soon as my head hits the pillow, Cock-a-doodle-do. [Okay. It really sounded more like blah blah blahhh blah bla.]

I break out the pacifier hoping it would helps. Nope. I make her a bottle even though the sound isn’t her hungry sound. This early in the morning, I would try anything.

The bottle goes down with ease (like always), and I do a quick diaper change. Okay… let’s try this again. I put her back down in the crib and creep back into bed. A tiny Cock-a-doodle-do comes out. Followed by a louder version. Then a couple raspberries. And some laughing. Okay – I’m up, I’m up. And now, so is Chris. We have her on the bed playing with her so her vocal level would stay at a low tone. A few moments later we hear someone downstairs. Ohhh… Kensi, you’re in trouble :)

One thing we forgot to mention… the Bear Room doesn’t have a door on it. It’s upstairs above the kitchen, but the way the house peaks, there isn’t room for a door. There is a screen, and we have complete privacy, but a door would buffer the sound that little miss rooster is making. Because it was so late when we came in, we didn’t get a ‘lay of the land’, so we have no clue how close the other couples are to our room - hence the need for silence. The front door opens and we see someone heading out across the property. It must be Annie. She’s headed out to the barn to feed the horses. I run downstairs to see if coffee is brewing. No such luck. I wash out Kensi’s bottle and then head back upstairs to the cave.

I decide to occupy Kensi while Chris takes a shower and gets ready. I swear he takes his time. Oh… the eye. I forgot all about the eye. That’s why he’s in there so long. Chris comes out and it looks much better. It’s still a little swollen, but its open and he can see out of it. We’ll leave a little early and stop by a pharmacy.

It’s my turn to get ready and Chris heads downstairs with Kensington. He meets Annie and Walt and recaps our adventures the night before. I can hear her laughing in the kitchen so I head down (praying that coffee would be ready). “Juice? I have cranberry, apple, orange”. I go for the cranberry. “Do you want anything with it?”. “After last night, a little Grey Goose would be great”. One of the guest starts laughing and says that another couple said the same thing the day before. So Joseph and Joe are here already.

We continue to laugh at the prior evenings recap while Walt cuts up fresh fruit and Annie makes breakfast – an amazing frittata. Joe & Joesph come in with their little bundle, Ella – who is just adorable (she was born the day after Kensington… but has SO much more hair – gorgeous curly locks). We haven’t seen them since the Friends In Adoption holiday party in November, so there was a lot of catching up to do. We thought the park where the picnic was being held at was just down the road, so we took our time at the B&B, only to find out that it was 25 minutes away. Having no cell service, Chris started panicking. He was worried that our birthparents would be waiting longer than expected. His panic deepened when we missed our original turn and then hit a street fair that caused us to have to detour. Luckily, we were not the only ones to miss the turn, or hit the street fair. When we arrived at 10:30, there were only about a two-dozen people at the park and our bio-parents hadn’t arrived yet. Rushing to the park, we forget to try to find a pharmacy. Chris is just going to have to suffer with his eye. We found a great little spot in the shade, next to the lake. The park had about a dozen picnic tables lining the area, so we snatched one up and made the numerous trips needed to bring everything out of the truck. We over packed. Go Figure. The picnic table to the right of us had a group of 8 people… what seemed to be a birth mom, her parents and friends, waiting for their adoptive parents to show up, and when they did they were all excited to be reunited. Hugs and photos took place over the next couple of minutes. Chris and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes. We knew this was going to be the sight seen over the next couple of hours. Tissues? Did someone pack tissues? How could I forget tissues? I bet they’d have tissues at the pharmacy. It looks as though we will both be suffering today.

We started seeing familiar faces. Lots of them. Some couples from our FIA Getting Acquainted Weekend, some from the FIA Holiday Party, and others that we felt like we knew because we’ve read their profiles (multiple times) and have followed them on their blogs and the FIA website. Soon the masses came. There had to have been at least 250 people spread out over the park. It was self-arranged at how people chose their locations. As I looked across the area, you could see how the parents clustered themselves by age range of their kids. It could also be because they too setup camp next to their friends, but on the far side of the area (by the beach) you would see parents with older kids (2 and up), then there was the set of parents that had 12-24 month olds, then their was us that had the 2-12 month olds. In each of these groups, you could see the collection of gay parents with their families – what and absolutely amazing sight to see. There were four pairs of gay dads that grouped next to our picnic table - all of us were at the same Getting Acquainted Weekend back in August of 2007, now having sons and daughters ranging from 4 months – 9 months, and one of us with twins.

From the distance, I saw our bio-parents and our bio-mom’s sister, walking up from the parking lot. It was perfect timing. There were rounds of hugs followed by flashes of lights from everyone’s camera. Kensington was starting to get hungry so I asked Stacey, her bio-aunt, if she wanted to give her a bottle while Chris, S and S caught up on their travels to Vermont. Over the next several hours, we all spent time admiring Kensington, taking tons of photos, eating (my ‘home-made’ fried chicken with seven herbs and spices with the Mango Salsa – a Pecken’s Family recipe - on the side), and sharing stories of our lives over the past 6 ½ months, as well as injected moments socializing with the other gay dads. The day could not have been more perfect. At one point, due to the sun moving and the picnic table no longer being in the shade, you saw one parent from each of the couples lining the tree line with our babies in tow, protecting our little squirts from the UV’s.

It was time for the Friends In Adoption group photo (how do you take a group photo of 250 people?). We all gathered in one area. We ended up being in the back (go figure). Chris was throwing Kensi up in the air, and I warned him that the last time he did this, she puked in his mouth. As I said the words – yep, you guessed it – she puked in his mouth. I almost wet myself from laughing… so did S&S.

It’s now almost 4pm and Friends In Adoption has invited everyone back to their agency (which just underwent a huge capital campaign to renovate their building), so they could do a dedication ceremony. About 100 of us trekked over to their Middletown Springs building and checked out their new digs. After a while, Chris, Kensi and I, along with S&S (who would be staying the night with us) decide to head back to the B&B so we could arrange for our own dinner. Kensi’s sleep schedule has totally been blown for the day. She took a small nap at the park, but not nearly the amount of time that she should have. Once back at the B&B (Walt and Annie moved us into the Moose room so S&S could have the Bear Room), I put Kensi down for a nap, Chris headed to town for dinner, and S&S walked some of the 150 acres of property. Twin Mountain Farms is absolutely stunning. Annie tells S&S about a cabin that they have across the way and that they should check it out, but they hold off until Chris comes back. Kensi’s nap is only 20 minutes. She should sleep well tonight (fingers crossed).

After dinner, I suggested that they walk to the cabin (6/10 of a mile away) and I’d stay behind with Kensi. Unfortunately, they took the wrong path (and went in the wrong direction) and ended up… guess where, guess where??? Yep. You guessed it, they ended up on Margaret’s property and were ‘greeted’ by Clint (?), her husband who was out on the property. He asked Chris if he was one of the guys that entered his house the night before, and Chris apologized – once again – for our error. Thank God he wasn’t home when we did enter (is that why she left the light on?).

By the time Chris, S&S came back (disappointed that they didn’t find the cabin), Joe, Joseph & Ella had come in and were in the living area. The eight of us stayed up for awhile, letting the girls play a bit. S&S shared with us some of the scrapbook pages that they had made with the pictures we’ve sent, as well as the ones they’ve found on the blog.

Around 8 pm it was time for the girls to sleep (hallelujah) and J&J went back to the Wolfs Den (the cabin next to the main house). We stayed up with S&S for about another two hours talking. By the time we were headed to bed, we were all exhausted from the activities of the day. We decided to find the cabin in the morning (which I know you will enjoy that story). I crank in the air conditioner and set it to 70. Hopefully, if the rooster wakes up early in the morning, the sound of the AC will drowned her out.

One could hope, right?

[Due to the sensitivity of the subject, and wanting to respect the privacy of both the adoptive parents and birth parents at the picnic, as well as the privacy of the kids, we decided not to post pictures of this event. Our apologies... but we know that you understand]

Bio-Family Reunion (Day 1)

2009-07-21T20:27:00.018-04:00

Our adoption agency, Friends In Adoption, hosted their annual Family Picnic this past weekend in Vermont. With more than 250 participants, the event was a fun-filled event celebrating the families that FIA has helped create through adoption.

We had an amazing time, and Kensington was reunited with her bio-parents... but getting to Vermont on Friday was an event within itself. This post may be a little longer than our past entries, but I guarantee you - if you read to the end, you will be glad that you did. Trust.

Chris and I were both working only a half day on Friday and it was our plan to leave Pennsylvania no later than 2 pm. With any luck, we would be at the Bed & Breakfast - Twin Mountain Farms - no later than dinner time.

Five minutes after I left the office and headed home, I received a call from Chris. He left his headlights on and his car battery was dead and he was running a little late. He had a charger in his car, but it also was dead. He needed to plug it in and it should only delay him about 20 minutes. No Biggie. We'd still make it by dinner time (I'm hoping you can sense that this is just the beginning of our travel delays).

About a half hour after the first call, I receive another... the charger isn't charging, but he has a co-worker that has one and that should work. It should only be a few more minutes before Chris is on his way. Unfortunately, a few minutes later another call arrives. That didn't work, and because he was in a parking garage, it was difficult for a car to jump him directly.

Chris's option is now to borrow his boss's car and buy a car battery. It should be a thirty minute round-trip affair. Key word was should. When Chris went to buy the battery, he was told that the make/model of his car actually had three different types of batteries. What?!?!? Okay... at this point I would clearly use the 'gay card'. I don't know anything about cars, but I would have bet money that a car would only have one option for a battery size.

Chris bought the most common battery... only to find out that it wasn't the right one. He had to go back to the store to buy another one - the right one - once he wrote the model number down. [looking at this, I would have bought all three batteries and returned the other two, but that's just me]

After everything that was said and done, Chris left New Jersey at 4pm.

When Chris got home, just before 6, the truck was packed and Kensington and I were ready to go. Who needs dinner at the B&B when you can easily just eat some crappy junk food on the road, right?

Taking a closer look at Chris, I noticed that he had a hole in his dress shirt because battery acid leaked all over while he was changing the battery. Thank God Lands' End makes thick shirts! Chris decided to wash up, quickly, and from the other room I heard, "Paul, can you take a look at something for me?" Uh oh. Did more battery acid splash on him? His right eye had started to swell. He said that he felt some pain prior to his car issues, so we ruled out acid in the eye. Under the light, it looked like he had an ingrown eyelash that was causing irritation. No biggie. We'd stop by the store and pick up some eye wash on the way.

6:25pm and we're in the car, ready to go. I turn to Chris, "Okay. THIS is the start of the weekend. Everything else that has happened, let's leave it behind. We'll be a little late tonight, but it's not an issue. We can't let what has happened today define how this weekend is going to take place." We plugged the iPod in, and assigned the soundtrack of our travels. Off we go.

Ten minutes into the trip I remind Chris to call the B&B to tell them we're going to be late. The road to New York state is lined with huge trees that cover the pavement, so reception isn't the greatest. Chris decided to call once we crossed the state line.

By the time we made it to New York, Chris' eye has almost swollen shut. We stop at the store for eye wash and a heat pad. The pain has also gotten worse. It looks like we will be making a trip to the hospital [What is that wait going to look like?]. We then start searching for a CVS MinuteClinic or a Mr. Z's Careworks on the iPhone. There is nothing in the area. But we did find a county clinic 20 miles away that is open until 9pm.

Oh, did I mention it's now pouring down raining?

Chris calls Annie at the B&B and tells her that we are now going to be extremely late. She tell us not to worry about it, there is another couple that will be arriving late and she will leave a note on the door for them not to lock the door on us. She tells us that we will be in the "Bear" room, which is located above the kitchen, so she will leave the light on in the room for us. She also tells us that the road that they are on is a dirt road. "Just as a heads up."

It's now 8:15 and we're pulling into the clinic. It looks like there is no line so we should be in and out in no time. And we were. 20 minutes later we found out that Chris had two stye's, and with some ointment from the pharmacy, it should be down to normal size within 24 hours. There is just one problem... by the time we make it to the pharmacy, it was about to close. Chris explained that we were from out of state, and headed to Vermont and we stopped at a clinic, but the moron behind the Walmart counter refused to help. He told us to go down the street to another pharmacy, but told us that it too closed at 9pm and we'd never make it in time.

I spend time looking for a 24 hour pharmacy on the GPS and find one. We plug it into the trips map and, once again, off we go. By the time we get to the area, it's raining so hard that I can't see the exit signs. The area I'm supposed to get off at has major construction, and detour signs, and missing exit numbers. I end up missing the exit and have to drive two miles to the next exit to turn around. On the way back, I miss the exit again. I swear there wasn't a sign for 7N. I saw a 7B, 7A (why are they out of order?), and 7S. No 7N. I end up having to drive three miles back towards our home to turn around again. Guess what, still no 7N. I get frustrated. "Chris, I'm sorry. It's pouring raining. I can't see. I can't find the exit. The GPS tells me to turn where the road is blocked. I can't detour. You're going to have wait until the morning to stop at the pharmacy. We're already so late at the GPS says we're not going to arrive until after 1am in the morning. If we head to the pharmacy, that's in the opposite direction, it will put us another 45 minutes behind schedule." Chris agrees, reclines his seat, and goes to sleep.

By 1:15, we're in Middletown Springs, Vermont. I turn on the dirt road that Annie informed us about. After the first 10 yards on the road, both Chris and Kensi wake up. The road isn't meant for a car, let alone a SUV. It looks like it's a road made for quads. But there was a road sign, and the GPS did tell us to turn. It's rained so hard that it's washed out and has huge pot holes in it. The chimes attached to Kensington's car seat are now flying around. The GPS says we will be on this road for 4 miles. OMG!!! The truck is now fishtailing because of the mud. I put it into 4 wheel-drive. At one point, I ended up stopping the truck. We're sitting on top of a hill, and I can't tell if there is a road in front of me. "Chris, I don't know if I can drive this is reverse for two miles to get out of this. I think we're driving down a trail, and not a road."

I'm now inching the car to see if there is any resemblance of a road in front of us. Tree branches are hitting the windshield and the side of the truck. This is not fun for any of us, but we couldn't have been prouder of Kensi. While she made some noises, she didn't cry one bit. About a half mile before the B&B, the road opens up. We're now on a real dirt road. We found out that it brought us the back way, and not the route that Annie had told us to go.

FINALLY, we see light from the home and as we begin to pass it, the GPS tell us that we just passed our destination. I end up trying to turn around to head back to the driveway. Because it was still raining so hard, I missed the driveway again. We pull in, and we see a car with Connecticut plates (Yeah... Joe & Joesph are here).

Chris grabs Kensi and her diaper bag and runs to the house. The door is wide open so he sets her down in the foyer. I run in with my hands full... our bags and the pack-n-play. We're soaked. Standing in the foyer, and with each step we take, the floor creaks. Kensi is just staring at us.

The floors were gorgeous. It looks like someone cut a tree down the middle and placed the trunks side-by-side. There was a living area to the right and a living area to the left. Annie told us that there were two living areas and that she'd reserve one for us so we could spend time visiting with Kensington's bioparents. This place is perfect for us.

From the outside of the house, we could see the light on in the bedroom above the kitchen... we just couldn't find how to get to the room. Chris has his iPhone and is using it as a flashlight, and I'm using my blackberry (that is about to die at any moment) that I'm using to gauge where I'm walking to. I walk into the kitchen/dining room area and it's huge. It's probably the size of the first floor of our home. The table is set for twelve and the kitchen area looks like it's going to be a great place to hang out. Chris opens one door and it's a bathroom. Another door and it's a linen closest. I walked to one area and it's the mud room / laundry room with a door (which is open) leading to the outside of the house. I find some light switches and turn them on. We then open another door and find the staircase. It's about time!

Houston, we have a problem. There are items on each stair. Shoes, boxes, papers, magazine... you name it, it was on it. "How does she expect us to carry a pack-n-play and suitcases up this?" Then came the kicker, "Chris, I don't see the light on in the room." I refuse to go up.

Chris goes to check it out and realizes it's the stairs to the attic/storage area, not the Bear Room. Kensington is starting to get a little restless, so now I'm walking around (on my tip toes) with her car seat in hand. Chris decides to go up to the main staircase to see if the room is up there. With each step he takes, on the stairs and on the upstairs hallway, I can hear him. My biggest fear is that we wake up everyone in the house. I give Chris two minutes before I head upstairs. Chris sees me and frantically waves me away. He walked into the room with the light on and there was a guest laying on the bed, sleeping. He apologized, but doesn't think he work her up. Clearly, this wasn't our room.

I walked into one of the living area and and couldn't find any doors to another room. Now I'm starting to get frustrated. "I'm just sleeping here. Seriously. There are two couches, and plenty of room to set up the pack-n-play. It's fine... when someone wakes up, they can show us to our room." Chris doesn't like this idea so we go into the other living area looking for doors.

In this room, there is a small serving table, that has two place mats and tea cups in place (I hope they have English Breakfast or Earl Grey ready in the morning). "Chris, you need to call Annie. I don't care if it wakes up people. It's now almost 1:30 and I'm freak'n exhausted." Chris looks at his phone and notices he doesn't have signal. Neither do I. "This is just GREAT!" Chris wants to go outside and see if he can get a signal there. "Chris, YOU ARE NOT leaving me alone in this house. With our luck tonight, this isn't even our B&;B. Watch someone walk down the stairs with a gun - they will shoot us for breaking into their house."
We laugh, and then I notice that there is a Christmas tree up in the corner of the room. Chris picks up a pile of mail on the table and it doesn't say Annie or Walt - the proprietors. "I think we're in someone's home." and it was with those words that we hear someone walking down the stairs.
"What are you doing in my house?!?!"
"Annie?" Chris says.
"No. I'm not Annie"
"We thought we were at our Bed & Breakfast. We're so sorry. Look, we have a baby. We don't mean you any harm." Words I never thought I'd have to say.
"How long have you been in my home?"
"We just arrived. We were told the light in the room above the kitchen would be on, and the front door would be unlocked. Your door was wide open."
"This is Vermont. We leave our doors open here."
"We know..."
"How many of you are here?"
"Just the two of us, and the baby. Thank God you don't have a gun!"
"The B&B is next door. We've had people stop here before looking for it, but no one has ever entered our house before! Do you know what time it is? Who arrives at a B&B this late?"
"Again, we're sorry. We've had the worst trip ever. That's why Annie said she'd leave the door unlocked and the light on for us."
"let me grab my shoes and I will show you where you need to go. [notices the lights on in the kitchen]. I didn't leave those lights on!"
"That was me... again, we were looking for our room above the kitchen." [thank God she didn't wake up when Chris entered her bedroom. But honestly... what adult do you know that sleeps with her lights on?!?!?]

She heads to get her shoes and I run outside with Kensington and her diaper bag. Margaret (we later found out her name) came out of the side door. "Where is the other one?" (meaning Chris). "He's inside... he was waiting for you to put your shoes on. We weren't expecting you to come out of a different door. Honestly, there is only two of us. We are soooo sorry." She heads back inside to get him and she points us in the right direction.

"It's right next door. I don't know how you missed it." Well, we do... we got in the car and it was a mile down the dirt road. We saw the B&B and the light was on in the room above the kitchen, and there was a note on the door welcoming us.

Needless to say, this is a night that we will NEVER EVER forget!!!

Before we turn in for the night, I turned to Chris and said, "Okay. THIS is the start of the weekend. Everything else that has happened, let's leave it behind. [I begin to laugh]
Thank God that woman didn't have a gun!"

2009-07-13T15:59:00.003-04:00

Marriage for Some is a new documentary that explores the difficult and often painful predicament of same-sex partners who are prevented from legalizing their union by civil law. It's being produced by Daedalus Productions, a not-for-profit film and television production company, to advance the cause of same-sex marriage equality.

I'm sure many of you would love to see this film, but they still need to raise some money to complete it. Hence this post... it's to help make people aware of their new website, www.marriageforsome.org, where you can learn more about the movie and the individuals involved with the production as well as make a tax-deductible donation.

We all know that that times are tough right now for almost everyone, but if you do have a few dollars to spare, I'm sure they would greatly appreciate it. And if you're independently wealthy and have always dreamed of becoming involved with a worthy film project, here's a great opportunity.