Dear Dad,

You would have been 80 years old today.  I keep trying to picture what you would be like now, as a little old man.  I imagine you with your grandkids, trying to talk them into clipping your disgusting toenails, or asking them to go catch gophers in your yard- anything to make them laugh. 

It may surprise you to know that I think of you all the time.  In the ten years since you've been gone, I bet I've thought of you every day.  I have trouble talking about you sometimes without getting a lump in my throat. 

I've told your grandkids all my stories about their Papa.  They've heard about the fact that you let me believe you were an Indian until I was well into adulthood, and how I always believed you had served in Korea, when in fact you were stationed in Oklahoma at a desk job (by the way, I think you passed your fondness for lying to children on to your daughter.  I had Evan believing that we hoped he'd be a dwarf.  I told him we'd prayed throughout my pregnancy that he'd be one.  An odd lie to tell, I know, but one that would've been right up your alley). 

They've also heard about that time you introduced their Nana to someone and said she washed dishes for a living, even though she was a Vice President.  They love that one.  Hahaha- Do you remember how mad she was over that?  Good times.  

They know that every time I went with you to Dixon's Chili (which is still the best place to eat on Earth), you would say, "You can have all the crackers you want here.  As many as you can eat."  When we go to Dixon's now (which is rare- I'd give anything for some of their chili right now), we sit at the table where you often sat, and we pass around the cracker basket in your honor.  Someone will say, "All the crackers you can eat!"  And we laugh.  I always have to blink my eyes really fast so the tears don't fall out. 

I'm always recalling how much you loved the boys and how they loved their Papa.  Your little buddy, Alex, is a man now. And he's a good man. He's smart, hard-working, and handsome. Mike and Evan are awesome, good-looking young men, too. They both plan to go into the Service, which I know would make you proud. They all remember how you'd let them run around in your garden and smash the watermelons that were rotten. Tucker has grown into a great kid with a heart of gold. I wish you could have had more time with him. Now, he'd talk your leg off.  You would probably say something like, "Garsh...  You can talk just like your mom."  But then you would let him go on and on, acting interested in everything he said, I'm sure.

I have a picture on the wall of you holding baby Olivia, shortly before you died.  You'd be amazed to see her now.  She's almost 11 and the sweetest little girl.  She has such a big, beautiful heart.

Dad, I've added two more children to the bunch since you died.  We adopted both of them and I often wish you could have been around to share our excitement over their arrivals.  I think you would have been one of the few people to be happy for us and I know you would have loved these kids so much.  You now have five gorgeous grandsons, and two beautiful granddaughters, from our bunch, who would have easily wrapped you around their little fingers. 

Bri never got to know you, but she would absolutely be a Papa's girl.  She loves to laugh, and I know you'd be egging her on, trying to get her to giggle.  Our newest addition, Sam, would be the apple of your eye.  You'd get a kick out of watching all the funny little things he does.  He reminds me of you in a lot of ways- his big brown eyes, some of his facial expressions, and his headful of dark hair, just like yours.  His middle name is Robert, after you, Dad.

I know you'd be so proud of them all and I wonder sometimes if you would be proud of me. 

I often think of that last day together, just you and me.  I knew I'd have to leave you soon to start the long drive back home and I kept hoping I'd be able to have a conversation with you.  My heart told me it would be my last chance.  You would hardly speak.  If you tried, it was a garbled whisper.  You could barely stay awake.   I remember asking if you were scared.  You looked up at me and answered with one small nod of your head.  I could see by the look in your eyes that not only were you afraid, but also that no one had bothered to ask you about it before that moment.  You almost looked relieved that I asked.  I think maybe you wanted someone to talk about what was happening to you.

You looked at me with the eyes of a terrified child and in that moment, you were no longer the uninvolved, alcoholic father I spent my youth blaming for everything wrong in my life and the source of so many painful and embarrassing memories.  I ran my fingers through your hair and said, "I love you, Daddy."  I couldn't recall the last time I'd called you Daddy or said I loved you.  Did I ever? 

I asked you if you'd like to pray.  Remember that?  You nodded again and one tear rolled from your eye into your hair.  I took your hand and you held onto mine so hard.  I was surprised you had that much strength, but you did.  As I prayed aloud for you and with you, your eyes were closed and I thought you'd drifted back to sleep, but at the end of the prayer you said "Amen" in a loud, clear voice.  It was the last thing I ever heard you say.    

I think of the day of your funeral.  I don't know if you could see me, but if so, I imagine you being shocked.  I hadn't expected to cry that much.  I don't know where all that emotion came from, but I wasn't prepared for it and I couldn't stop.  I think the thing that hit me so hard that day, Dad, was the feeling that I hadn't had enough time.  I felt as if I'd barely gotten to know you; I'd barely scratched the surface of who you were.   

I don't remember ever being Daddy's little girl.  I don't remember you ever acting interested in me as a child.  I don't remember you ever saying you were proud of me or "I love you." 

Now, looking back, I see clues that you loved me.  Like the night I was put in the hospital for five long months at age 14.  I was scared to death.  I didn't want to be there.  I was led away by a nurse and heard the big heavy door shut behind me.  I turned to look over my shoulder and I saw your face in the tiny, square window.  Your eyes were filled with tears.  That was your "I love you."  You didn't want to leave me there.  I was too angry with you at the time to notice that or care. 

I grew to truly love and appreciate you by watching you love my children.  I was finally seeing your heart.  I think that was the biggest and best gift you ever gave me, Dad- you loved my babies... and you let them know it. 

Growing up, I never really felt like I'd had a father, but my babies had a wonderful Papa, and through them, I saw sides of you I'd never known were there.  I realized, by watching you with them and seeing your love for them, that you had probably always loved me, too- I'd just never seen or felt it.  I believe now that you did the best you could, Dad.  I think maybe you loved me the best you knew how, at the time. 

I think of all the times, as a grown woman, you'd insist on giving me twenty dollars for gas money to drive back home after a visit, even though I'd always tell you I didn't need it.  That was an "I love you."  Now, I miss those twenties.  They were always covered with creases from the way you'd fold them into tiny squares and stash them in that secret pocket in your wallet so mom wouldn't snatch them.  I wish I would have saved one of those because I've often told the kids about Papa's folded, hidden twenties.

It took most of my life to get to the good part of having a dad.  And then it was taken away so quickly.  I wish I'd had just a little longer.  I wish I could hear you laugh again.  I wish you were here to make me laugh again.  I could really use it right now.

And can you believe Mom is dating a guy with an earring? I mean, seriously...  I can see the look on your face about that, with the rolling eyes and everything, and I'm sitting here laughing all by myself.  He's good to her, though, and I know you'd like that part. You'd probably sit and have a beer with him.

I love you, Daddy.  And I miss you.  I really do.  Happy birthday.

Another Sam Post

Sammy, Part 1
Thanks for the input on Sam's rash.  Several of you suggested I talk to Laurie.  I'm sure she would know- I feel a little weird though, since I really don't know her.  Asking doctors I don't know for their opinions, seems... I dunno.  Tacky, maybe?  Impolite?   Don't they kind of frown upon such things?  I did check her blog for contact information (since, you know, I'm all about the tacky and impolite) but didn't see an email.  Am I blind? 

Anyway, Sam's better for now.  His elbow is still driving him nuts.  I get him snookered up on Benadryl at night, so we he can sleep.  Hydrocortisone still bothers him.  He acts like it burns, although the patches are healing well and no longer look as swollen or inflamed.

I emailed all the pics I took to his doctor, who is forwarding them on to the doctor at CMH.  That doctor is going to make an effort to make sure he gets in sooner next time this happens, so they can do some scrapings.


Sammy, Part 2
This part is for Sam (and his mother's failing memory), although you're welcome to eavesdrop.  We'll call this part:

"What I Like About You"

Sammy, these are just a few of the things you're doing lately (at 28 mos) that make me fall more in love with you every day:

• The way you count...  I love listening to you count!  Juan, Two, Fee, Foh, Fibe, Sick, Sebben, Eackt, Nine, Ten, Ewebben, Telb, Furtee, Fohtee, Fawtee, Nightee (I don't know what happens to 16,17,18 and 20).  And watching you try to fingerspell the numbers is one of the cutest things ever!  You try so hard to get it right.
• There is a female in our family who has a butterfly tattoo on the back of her hip.  You've seen it.  You love it (God help us).  And apparently, you think butterflies just come standard on everyone, because you will spin in circles, like a dog chasing his tail, trying to catch a glimpse of your own butterfly tattoo.  If I ask what you're doing, you say, "Buttfwy.  Butt."  Loosely translated, I'm thinking this means, "Mom, I'm looking for the butterfly on my butt.  Obviously."  I'm sorry, honey- you don't have one.
• Our bedtime routine:  We sing 39 songs.  I say, "Okay, now it's night-night time.  You need to stop singing and close your eyes."  You sweetly say, "Uhhhh... noooo.  I can't."  You squeeze your eyes shut for 3 seconds.  You sing 2 more songs while I try to feign sleep.  I whisper a reminder, "Shhhh. Nighty-nights.  Go to sleep...  I love you."  You whisper, "No, fanx you...  I yawz (love) you." Forty-two minutes later, you are asleep.
• When we ask you to point at different colors, i.e.: "Show me something purple... Show me something green," you will always point to something in the room of that color.  But when we ask you to show us something brown, you point to your own leg.
• You love to draw sunshines with smiley faces, snowmen and letters. 
• Your love of music... You are the most musical little guy I've ever seen. And you can really carry a tune, too. I've never seen such a young kid sing or hum so well. You are fascinated by music videos (we watch your favorites every night on my computer), Guitar Hero, Just Dance, iPods, cell phones- anything musical. You do the most awesome dances, too. If the guys are playing Guitar Hero, you will do these cool little moves, where you strike a pose and freeze (kind of like fat Elvis in Vegas). It's hilarious! You will often grab two spatulas to use as drum sticks, or strum one as your guitar. You ROCK, dude!
• Like any other two-year-old, you like to say "No!" and "Stop it!"  But, unlike many two-year-olds, you still mind your manners.  If I'm tickling you, or trying to talk to you while one of your favorite commercials is on, or otherwise being obnoxious and ruining your day, you don't demand that I "Stop it, Mama!"  You say, "Stop it, Mama, please?"
• Sometimes, you'll say, "Yous uh good boy, Mama."  Thank you, Sam-Sam.  I think you're a good boy, too.

Skin problems

HELP!!

I know some of you with IA kids have had to deal with some odd skin disorders.  We're going through that with Sam, now, too.  I'm posting some pics below, hoping you've seen this before and can tell me what it is.  Any and all input is appreciated.

From the time we brought Sammy home, he'd get these bumps that look exactly like large mosquito bites.  He'd scratch them, they'd scab, then heal, leaving a scar.  In the beginning (the first 2-3 times this happened), there were only two or three bumps.  Honestly, we assumed they were mosquito bites at first.  Then winter came.  No mosquitos.  Yet, he still broke out.  He breaks out every 4-5 months, or so.  Each time it happens, it gets a little worse.  Now, instead of a few bumps, he's covered.  The break-outs don't last long.  Only a few days.

We just had a large batch of bumps show up on Thursday morning.  Sam was miserable.  Scratching, crying...  It's awful.  I took him to the Ped. on Friday morning (it was the soonest they could see him).  She has no idea what it is.  One of her partners suggested flea bites, which almost made me foam at the mouth and run, cursing, down their hallway.  I might be an idiot, but don't insult my intelligence.  I think I'd know if my home was so infested with fleas that my baby is being eaten alive.  If fleas were that bad in our house, why would the bumps heal after a few days?  Wouldn't the sores be constant?  Do fleas take breaks?  And why wouldn't the rest of the family get bitten, as well?  Stupid. 

Anyway...  The Ped. scheduled him to see a specialist at Children's Mercy, to get some samples of it, but Chilren's Mercy couldn't see him until tomorrow (Wed, 24th).  His bumps were almost completely gone yesterday (Mon, 21st), leaving only a red spot, like a scar, where the bumps were.  He still has a couple scabs left, too, from the ones he picked at.  So, the Dr. said to cancel the appt. at CMH, since they'd have nothing to test.

I cancelled, but I'm left feeling so frustrated.  How can I help him, if the outbreaks are so short, that they heal before the specialist can see them?  (Another local dermatologist wasn't even willing to look at him until August.  AUGUST!  How can I predict whether or not he'll have it in August?)

I sent a message to a doctor in the RMI who was a great help to us while we were there, asking if she knows of anything that may be unique to the Marshall Islands, like a parasite, or something, that I could tell my doctor here about.  Unfortunately, I think there may have been a bit of a communication barrier, because she apparently thought I was wanting her to diagnose him, without seeing him.  So...  That was a bust.

Here's what they look like. These photos were taken Friday, after his Dr.'s appt.  With this recent outbreak, he had some large patches of little bumps, instead of just sparse, large, red bumps, as well as some on his fingers, which has never happened before.

Torso

 Elbow

 Side

If you recognize this, or have any ideas, I'd be grateful!

Will you do me a quick favor?

I'm doing a little survey and if you give me just a moment of your time, you could be eligible to win... 

Uh...  I didn't think this one through far enough, I guess.  I forgot to think of a prize.  BUT- if you give me just a moment of your time, I can promise that no salesmen will call or visit.  How's that? 

I'd like to know what you spend each month on groceries and household supplies (like toilet paper, toothpaste, Windex, etc.- all the things you rely on to keep the family running oh-so-smoothly every day). 

Even if you never comment, I hope you'll play along this time.  Crawl on up outta that hole and let us know you're alive.  You have nothing to lose.  Nothing to win, either- but definitely nothing to lose.  And no salesmen will call or visit. 

Leave me a comment with:

1. The amount of your average monthly bill
2. The size of your family
3. Your approximate location  (And don't freak out.  I know some of my blogger friends try to be very careful about guarding personal details.  It doesn't have to be a specific location- keep it vague, "The Northeast," "Southwest U.S.," "Canada." Comment anonymously, if you'd rather, so nobody knows it's 'You.'   Besides, even if you say where you are, no salesmen will call or visit)

If you're feeling chatty, I'd also be interested to know:

1. Do you do all of your shopping at one store for convenience, or do you go to several to get the best prices?
2. Do you use coupons?  If so, how much do you think they save you each month?
3. Would you like a salesman to call or visit?  ...Would you change your mind if I said he's good-looking?

Come on, guys...  You can do it.  It will take you ten seconds.  Maybe 30, if you're a crappy typist.  Please?  Pleeeeease?  I assure you, no salesmen will call or visit.

This is for no other reason than to satisfy my own curiosity.  I've been talking with local friends and family about grocery expenses and it just sparked my interest.  I always feel like I spend SO MUCH at the store, but I wonder what my bill would look like compared to ones from other parts of the country. 
I watched that show about people who spend all their time finding coupons and searching for good deals.  Have you seen it?  These folks are seriously hardcore savers, which is awesome, but it seems to take over their lives (Olivia watched it with me and she is now inundating me with coupons, trying to help- bless her heart- only some of her coupons are for things like $5.00 off at Garfield's restaurants...  Um...  Do poor people go out to eat?  I think not.  I had to ask where she was finding all these coupons, since we no longer take the newspaper.  I didn't get a complete answer.  She just "found them."  I suppose I should go around the neighborhood, asking if anyone is missing their newspapers...).  I feel like whenever I do use coupons, I actually end up buying things I wouldn't normally buy, or sometimes a more expensive brand vs. a cheaper store brand, which I think, is exactly what 'they' want me to do.  You know how 'they' are.

P.S.
Thanks (!!!) for the input on the last post (about diet/health).  I was honestly surprised that anyone commented or emailed at all.  It was so long, I wasn't expecting you to finish the dumb thing, let alone want to comment. 

I got a couple helpful emails linking the sore armpits with the fevers.  I feel stupid (more so than usual, I mean) to admit it, but that hadn't occurred to me.  I was looking at the armpit thing as just another random nuisance.  Now, I totally see there could be a connection.  Duh.  As soon as our sitch improves, I'm hoping to get into a (different) doctor.  Thanks!

Also...  I can't be positive, but I'm fairly certain my hair is falling out (again/still).  Has nothing to do with anything.  Just tossing it out there to let you know how my day is going.  Is there anything sexier than a fat gal with no hair?   Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, guys.