A new meaning for Valentines Day

Dear Lois,

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

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...

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...

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

Mazha is American Royalty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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...

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."

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

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!

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.

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.