And in a year...

We had an appointment with the genetics doctor today. Everything with Evelyn is great, said he.

The little shakiness in her legs, due to her being born premature, is completely gone. Her acid reflux appears to be at the point we can not test the waters of not giving her the prescribed medicine and see how well she sleeps.

In a year, we are scheduled to go back. Interesting story there...

The lady at the counter says, after we walked out, "So I guess we'll see you in a year. We'll schedule it for September [such and such]." My wife asks, "Is that a Friday or...?"

"It's a Friday," the woman rudely interrupted, "Would you like it for the morning or the afternoon?"

Okay, so I was kind of stressed about going to this appointment. Mainly because of my knowledge of my own stupid luck. Everything with Evie seems to be spectacular, so of course I just knew this doctor would find something to nit-pick and complain about, and try to make me think my daughter was less-awesome. Then, I kind of thought this lady at the counter was just a little snippy. Now, in defense of the poor woman, I really don't think she meant to sound that way. She'd probably had a stressful day, too.

With all those little kids crying in the waiting room and their grandparents fussing over them while mom and dad read the latest issue of Sports Illustrated for Kids - which, by the way, I did not know they continued publishing after I graduated from the third grade. So, after the fact, I can cut her a little bit of slack. I'm sure my wife did not even feel she was being snippy. Or rude. Or whatever other adjective you'd use to describe someone who just stepped on one of your few remaining nerves.

So she asks whether or not we wanted our appointment in the morning or afternoon.

I shot back, "It's in a year, do you really think we're even going to remember the day?"

She kind of laughed, then looked at me with an "Are you serious?" kind of glare.

Yes, I am serious, because believe it or not, I didn't schedule out my entire year from the point of this conversation.

My wife diplomatically plugged in, "We'll have it in the afternoon."

Here is a list of things that could happen between now and the time of that appointment, preventing us from even making it on that specific day, much less in the afternoon versus the morning:

10. A Zombie Apocalypse. Mostly because I wanted to make this joke and I've seen a few comedy/horror movies in the past few months and it has become a new thing with me.

9. We move far, far away from Indianapolis never to see Miss Snooty Nurse or the doctor who likes to find fault with Evie. Hey, it could happen. Where would we move? Who cares, its just a possibility.

8. We win the lotto and can afford better doctors. Not saying this doctor isn't great, but if you had millions of dollars, would you still take your kid to your HMO?

7. Our "real" doctor, Doctor Bryant says its not needed. Probably the most realistic one on the list, and the one thing that would more than likely keep us from going.

6. Evelyn runs away to join the circus. She can't walk yet, but those diapers belong in a freak show.

5. That doctor dies. Just saying. Not wishing it to happen, but hey, you never know.

4. Dinosaurs make a comeback and destroy Indianapolis. Aliens invade. Indianapolis is caught in the middle of a war between vampires and werewolves. Again, see #10.

3. We discover Evelyn has mutant powers and we go into hiding out of fear of what the government may do to her should they find out. Did I mention X-Men was on t.v. recently?

2. We join one of those churches that doesn't believe in going to the doctor. Uhm... yeah just know that this one isn't going to happen. Not having my kid handle snakes, either.

1. We forget about it. Okay, I take back what I said earlier. This is probably the most likely scenario.

And, that's it for my blog this week!

What she's missing out on...

Five years ago today, the Texas Longhorns beat the Ohio State Buckeyes. I remember this because I was sitting on my friend Roger's couch, eating buffalo wings and pizza from the BP gas station in Ellendale, North Dakota. You may laugh, but they served Hot Stuff pizza, and it was the best in town. Granted, the other gas station was the only other place that served pizza and I don't think anybody had buffalo wings except the BP, but to be fair they were all pretty good.

Then, I got a phone call, I can't remember who it was from. Not the first one. I think it was from my dad, but I know I soon got plenty of others. One from my grandma, one from each of my sisters, one from my uncle Michael. The rest of the night goes a little gray.

But I still remember thinking, "Maybe Texas will win."

They did.

I remember all of this because that was the night my mom passed away. The first few calls were telling me she'd been in an accident. Wrecked her motorcycle. Even now, I still think, "Do I tell people my mom died wrecking her motorcycle?" Not out of shame or anything like that, but most people hear that and think I'm joking. Like its another one of Jeff's poor humor jests. It's not.

I got an update saying they couldn't get her to stop bleeding long enough to helicopter her to Evansville, Indiana. Then the bleeding finally stopped and the whole family was driving to Evansville, while I was sitting hopelessly from the sidelines way up in North Dakota. Hearing everything as if I'm still watching that football game, not a participant or even in the crowd, just watching it on the television or hearing it on the radio, just waiting for the next phone call like you'd wait for a poor sportscaster to update you on the score.

I started trying to figure out how we'd fly home. Voices in my head had only questions: Do we have the money? What about class? Will the school be okay with me being gone for a week? What about Jen's class? What about work? Doesn't Northwest give discounts when you have a family member pass away? She's not dead yet, so why are we considering that?

That's when it hit me and I knew, in my heart, she was about to go. Something about the way people talked on the phone; the way they repeated the doctor's words. I'd never get to see my mom again.

But I pushed it all away. I buried it. Because I was in Bible College, and my family was going to need me to be a pastor, be a son, be a brother. Be a man. I couldn't mourn, I couldn't be me. Not for five seconds. That's what I told myself and I got lost.

We went outside and could see the Northern Lights as we loaded the car and headed to Fargo. We'd gotten the news and were making as many last second plans as we could. I learned of my mom's passing and packed for her funeral all in the same hour. The lights were a beautiful thing to see amidst the swirl of emotions. For the next few days, I'd find my mind scattering every which way and think back to them and they'd be my mental anchor. The beautiful northern lights. Texas won. Don't cry. Think about now, deal with that later.

Like I said, so many things are gray. So many things I remember, so few I remember crystal clear. I remember my mother-in-law hugging me at the airport, I remember talking to a lady over the phone about the procedure for securing a discount on tickets, I vaguely remember talking to a coroner about what to do with her organs and telling him to donate what he could. I remember not crying. I remember my uncle Todd in St. Louis hugging me. I can't tell you any other time Todd has wrapped his monstrous arms around anybody, but he cried and said, "She's gone, Jefrey. She's gone."

I remember everyone else crying but me.

I got a little choked up during the funeral, but I only remember crying afterwards. Months afterwards. If I did cry at all that week, I don't remember it at all. I remember fall break, crying half the way home as I drove from Fairfield, Illinois back to our apartment in Ellendale. Half of the way through Iowa I prayed and cried and finally built up the nerve to ask God "Why?" let him know I wasn't happy about the whole situation. In South Dakota I remember feeling a peace in my soul but still feeling like I'd somehow been bamboozled.

And today, I held my daughter until she fell asleep. I had fed her some oatmeal, which in the cutest way possible she splattered all over her face and bib. I laughed as I wiped her face and afterwards we watched t.v. together until she fell asleep on my shoulder and the thought hit me. I hadn't blogged today. I laid her down in her pack and play, and it hit me, today is September 10th.

I looked at Evelyn, completely oblivious to the calendar and well into her nap, beautiful as ever.

And I thought, my mom's really missing out on this.

I cried.

Method to My Insanity

Sometimes, when you're me, you have to do certain things that others may think a little crazy.

I do these things to make myself laugh, often when I don't feel like being happy. I don't always get like this, but I have felt this way so often that I now have developed a habit of being a little crazy for the sake of being a lot crazy.

Today is a great example of this...

I had dressed Evelyn and prepared her for daycare when the following conversation ensued, all from me. Take note that I gave Evelyn's part of the conversation a high pitched British accent - perhaps to make her a somewhat watered down version of Stewie from Family Guy, you know, for comedy's sake.

Me: Well, Daddy needs to get up and make some lunch and get ready to go.

Evelyn: But Daddy, I don't want you to go.

Me: I have to. I gotta go to work and take you to daycare.

Evelyn: I don't to go to daycare, I want to stay home with you and mummy.

Me: Mommy's at work but she'll be by Miss Tyse's to pick you up.

Evelyn: Miss Tyse seems nice when you guys are there but I'm pretty sure she cuts me while I sleep.

Me: Evelyn! That's a very odd accusation. Plus, I've never seen cuts on your arms from this.

Evelyn: Okay, you got me there. Please stay home?

Me: I gotta work, little girl. Sorry. It's how we pay the bills when we're grown ups.

Actual Evelyn: buh huh huh.

Me: I know, I'm weird.


And so ended the wonderful one-sided episode with me and my multiple personalities. Evelyn smiled the whole time, enjoying the odd little exchange.

Little things like this, you'd be surprised, keep your sanity intact. Try it if you don't believe me, but not in public. Never where other people can see you. Never.

This lesson I have learned.