A LETTER TO THE AMERICAN SOLDIER FROM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN

I wanted to thank you, all of you. What you do there, and when you are here at home for that matter, is a big thing. Please don’t ever forget that there are those who know and understand that and are eternally grateful. I have 5 children I tuck in bed safely at night. I can put them to bed and know we will all wake up safely in the morning. I can send them to school and know they will come home. I can say goodbye to my husband every morning and not wonder if he will come home at night. I even have the right to have 5 children, which is not something every woman can say. All of this is because people like you who have chosen to wear a uniform. “They” have not, nor will they ever win. Not in the past, not now and not ever in the future. It is not because everyday people like us go to work and school and shopping. Not because, in an act of defiance of those who want to change us or our way of life, we bravely go on and forge ahead with our daily lives. It is because we know with absolute certainty that somewhere out there is you and others like you. We can only be “brave” because you make us safe. Because we know that even if sometimes bad things do happen, you are out there somewhere watching and protecting. If it were not for you we would not have the courage we do. It’s not hard to be brave when you know you are being protected by people who show us every day that a belief and a way of life, a code of honor and conduct, a clear definition of right and wrong is worth fighting to protect. You are out there and we are aware of your presence and we are grateful. Please, don’t any of you think that it goes unnoticed, that we are unaware. There is nothing we can ever say or do to thank you for what you all do, by choice. The sacrifices you and your families make are awe inspiring and humbling and I thank you. Take care and hurry home.

Happy Veterans Day to you all, Kris Collins in New York

This IS the way we live.

That was my aaahhhh hhhhaaaa moment this morning. We're refinancing the house. Stuff needs to get done around here so to the home equity we go. This of course requires an appraiser to come to the house and make sure it's worth what you told the bank it's worth. Not a problem, I need things fixed and if that means some stranger coming in and taking pictures of my house, so be it.
I've been out of the house since Friday. Today is the day the appraiser was coming. I got the children off to school and stopped to look around and see what needed a quick tidy before the woman got here. And then, I almost passed out. When did my house turn into such a wreck? We're doing the transition from Summer to Fall clothes. There are 7 people in this house. It takes a month to complete the task. I have piles of clothes everywhere! Cloths just out of the attic, clothes to go back in the attic, clothes to be donated and clothes to be trashed. Clothes to be folded, clothes to be washed and clothes to be ironed.
No one made their bed this morning, I have a sink full of pots and pans from three days of me not being here at dinner time. The breakfast dishes are in the sink, cases of empty beer bottles I just washed out last night from my latest donation. (My friends love me, I accept beer bottles as a donation for the breast cancer walk) and when was the last time I washed the kitchen floor properly? There's so much stuff we've thrown into the screen room until I get to it later you can't see the 8 person hot tub under the stuff. I never did get that load of garbage to the dump that's in the garage. The litter box needs cleaning. And the kicker, the creme da la creme, the top of the heap, my husband's back is out and I can't get him out of the bed. Not strong enough.
All of this went through my brain in 4.7 seconds. Now if you were smart enough to set up a nanny-cam in my house so you could watch the sheer panic and squirrel like behavior, your welcome for the entertainment. If not, let me describe it for you. I started down the stairs to tidy the garage, then thought I should put the dishes in water so ran back up the stairs. Then I decided to throw the clothes on the couch in one of the bedrooms, but then I decided I needed to do the litter box first. That's downstairs. Got to the bottom the steps, and remembered the water was running in the kitchen sink. I looked like a squirrel in in the middle of the road trying to decide where I was going to run to avoid the 3 ton vehicle headed at me.
There was a little man in my head screaming on a bullhorn holding a flashing neon sign saying you've got to clean it all NOW you don't want people to know you live like this. But wait, hold up a minute, we DO live like this. My house constantly looks like a hurricane went through it. I have 5 children who never clean their room the way I want it cleaned without a battle. I've got school papers, and clothes and fundraising things all over.
I've got happy, healthy, well fed, well adjusted, well mannered kids who like being home, and still like their parents. I'll get the clothes organized eventually. The breakfast dishes will be done before dinner,and the beer bottles will be going to the recycle center soon. She's appraising my house not my life.
So, I grabbed a cup of coffee, and waited. The woman came to appraise the house. I showed her around, literally threw a blanket over my husbands face and told her to ignore the guy in the bed. I'm pretty sure he was asleep under there and will never know. She was very gracious about the guy in the bed. She took pictures, asked questions and went on her merry way.
Just don't tell my mom I let someone see how we really live. I'm fairly certain she can reach 1,400 miles and pop me upside the head.
I need more coffee.......

39 miles, 2 days, 1 cause

Hello everyone,

Well, it’s official. I am just not a sane person. I am what is referred to as a “three-peat” I’m honored to captain The Sisterhood of the Traveling Ta-Ta’s again this year for the Avon walk for Breast Cancer. The team will be walking 39 miles in 2 days through New York on October 15th and 16th.

I had seriously considered not walking this year. I almost had myself talked into not doing it. There was a whole laundry list of reasons I had. In today’s economy, $1,800 is a lot to raise. It’s a lot of time away from my family. All the training involved. It’s a lot to ask of my family. It’s a lot to put my body through, 39 miles is no walk in the park, pun intended. All very valid and completely reasonable. I had myself convinced the more I used the term "a lot" the more valid they became.

But then I lost my Dad to cancer in early January. It turns out they’re right. When you loose someone you love to cancer, awareness lasts a lifetime. Loosing Dad served to renew my commitment to do what I can to bring an end to death from cancer.

I can’t do research, I can’t prescribe medicine, I can’t give treatments. But I can walk, I can raise money and I can raise awareness. I can ask you for your support. Together we can help save lives.

So far I’ve raised $1,075 dollars toward the $1,800 minimum I am required to raise in order to participate in the walk. That's only 25 days away.
So please, do what you can to help. My personal walk page is http://info.avonfoundation.org/goto/redspage

Any amount you can donate will be very gratefully appreciated. No amount is too small. $20 will provide a ride for an uninsured or under insured person to a lifesaving doctors or treatment appointment. $100 will provide a screening test they might otherwise forgo until it is too late.

And now I have an even bigger thing to ask of you. Please forward this blog to everyone you know. I know, forwarding a blog to all your friends that asks for money is not only a pain for you but really annoying for them. Well, this is me being an annoying pain. And if it gains $5 more for research, and community programs. Then I'm going to be the biggest most annoying person you've ever met.
Thank you so much for your help and support.

We will continue to walk until cancer is a word you look up in the dictionary, not one you check on a medical history form.

My Heroes

Well, here it is. 364 days we can live our lives around it. That part of us that stopped that day. But one day a year we are compelled to remember not just those who fell that day, but those we know and love, who through their bravery and compassion stayed beyond that day and are now dying a slow and painful way. My love and respect to the men and women who worked rescue and recovery. Who painstakingly removed the pile one bucket at a time. Who breathed the toxins for months. Who found a necklace, or a shoe and sat down and cried right then because they knew the person who owned it was gone, but it meant a family would have a physical memento.

And they went back day after day. Week after week. They did everything they could to find something, anything, to give to the families to provide whatever comfort and closure they possibly could.

They are the silent heroes. The ones no one knows about. The ones no one ever thinks about. The ones I know and love. They are the men and women who build this city. And have for generations. They are the ones who went and took away what had been destroyed with honor and respect.

And they are the ones who are also victims of 9/11. Who will die as a direct result of that day. But there will be no media coverage, no crowds and no bagpipes.

They will be quietly laid to rest with the hope that during those months after the attacks, they made a difference for the families of 9/11.

They are my heroes.

My annual reflection of 9/11~The Day I Remember~ originally written 9/05

I was sitting at the computer. Maybe I was on EBAY I don't know for sure. We had dial up then so it was rare to get a phone call when I was on the computer. Occasionally we'd get knocked off but not often. The fact that the phone rang that morning is miraculous.

We had caller ID so I knew who was calling. When I answered, I was smiling. You know that feeling you get when you know you're love is calling, just to say hello, and it makes you all giddy and warm inside. The feeling was gone in an instant. He was in such a panic. I thought at first one of the guys had been hurt. I kept thinking please God don't let it be one of our "boys" It's hard enough to be the bosses wife and be the one to call a woman and tell them their husband has been hurt, (we decided long ago he and I that it would be better if I did it. I have lived that particular nightmare, receiving that phone call that says he’s been hurt and he may not be coming home. I was better able to talk her through it and I'd be able to stay on the phone for as long as she needed me to. He on the other hand, could focus his attention on the man down.) I always fear the day that it will be someone I am attached to, one of our gang, our boys. They work side by side watching each others backs, always aware of what a dangerous job they have. They are a close group of men. Somewhere along the way I became the “den mother” to this rag~tag crew of amazing men. He was so panicked I thought for sure one of our boys had been killed.

Slowly he started to make sense and I began to understand what he was saying. Between telling him to calm down and to repeat himself I was beginning to see the picture. A plane had hit the tower. They had heard the roar of an incoming plane, turned, and watched it happen. Then I really got scared. It must be bad, he doesn't panic. He wouldn't be this upset unless it was really, really bad. Then it became a little clearer. Some of the men on the job were standing next to him and I heard them counting 16, 17, 18 on and on. I asked what they were doing. "Counting floors" he said. Why, I asked? “Because Eddy's son works in that building” he answered. The counting continued for what seemed like eternity. They ticked off the seconds as they counted off floors. The sound I heard from the phone was one of the most heart wrenching sounds I've ever heard. It was primal and guttural, full of anguish and anger and from the depths of Eddy’s soul. And I knew, he'd finished counting, and his son was dead.

"Come home" I said," I want you home." Tony said he'd already sent Joe to get the car out of the parking garage. He said "Things are going to be nuts around here and I'm sending the men home. This is one big mess and I don't know how the plane could have been that far off or what happened to the pilot, maybe he had a heart attack or something but I'm not staying here. Turn on the news and call me if you hear anything."

I immediately called my mom in Colorado and told her that Tony had called to say there had been an accident in the city and to please pray. It hadn't even hit the news yet. And we talked for a few minutes and hung up saying we'd call each other later.

Then the news finally started to broadcast it. I watched and wondered just how close Tony's job was to this. (In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t know just how close he was. He was only a block away.) Thinking how awful it was for those poor people in there.

Then, the second explosion rocked the world. I remember thinking this doesn't happen on American soil. I, like everyone else, knew with that second explosion that this was no accident. My mind went numb. I could not think, I could not speak, I don't remember walking across the room and sitting on the couch. But when my mind began once again to take in the world around me I was sitting there. The phone rang and I held it like a drowning woman who had suddenly been given a lifeline. When I put the phone to my ear I heard him repeating over and over, "oh my God honey they're jumping. They've got to stop jumping." I don’t think he will ever forget the sound that comes from a human body falling all those stories and impacting the concrete below.

I realized he was still on the site. My blood ran cold. It was taking Joe longer than I had thought to get the car. He was still there. He wasn't on his way home and safe. He told me they would do the best they could to get home but it may take a while. He’d call me as soon as he’d crossed the bridge and was out of Manhattan. (it turned out that he was one of the last cars across the bridge before they shut down all the bridges and tunnels. There was only about 3 or 4 cars behind him.)

The next little while was a series of phone calls with my mother and sisters. I kept trying to get in touch with my best friend but she and her husband had gone shopping and neither of them owned a cell phone. I remember thinking over and over Tam, call me, I need you. Hoping somehow she would hear me.

I tried to call Tony’s cell phone but never got through again. The lines were just so busy and by that time they had turned the phone waves over to emergency personnel. (Did you know that they can make cell phones only work for certain phones that have a chip in them identifying them as emergency personnel and such? Neither did I.)

As hard as I was trying not to panic I know I was beginning to loose it. I could feel my mind trying to take refuge in that dark place where you don’t have to think. TJ was in school and I was going about the routine of putting Maggie on the afternoon kindergarten bus. Kat was 3 and Rita a year. I think I fed them, got them dressed, went about a normal routine so they wouldn’t be scared. All the while trying to figure out how I was going to tell our children if their father didn’t come home.

I was on the phone with my mother and we began to wonder if there was any biological warfare on the plane. Running through the possibility that he may be bringing something home to the kids and I. I wondered if maybe, just to be safe, I should try to reach him again and tell him to stop at a hotel until we knew so as not to take the chance. We couldn’t take that kind of chance with the children. I told mom if I did end up renting a room, she was to start driving here. My kids would be with Tammy, I told her where my important papers were and some other things she needed to know. It took Mom a minute to understand what I was doing but when she did, she began to cry. If Tony couldn’t come home, I was going to him. If he had been infected with something, I wasn’t going to let him die alone. I was choosing to die with him rather than let him die alone. I remember thinking how I had time to make arrangements for my kids and all those people didn’t have that chance. How many of them didn’t have wills thinking they had time to do it later.

That was when my mom decided I needed to talk to my brother. He was the only one who could keep me together. And I’m sure mom thought he could talk some sense into me. He was ex-military and would be able to answer the question of the possibility of anything being on those planes that was released into the air. He and I are very close, if anyone could keep me from shattering it was him. Bless him, the poor guy was working nights at the Denver Mint and had only been asleep for about an hour. They woke him up and he called me. He reassured me that nothing could withstand that heat. We were talking about that and how surreal this was and he was keeping me calm about the fact that I hadn’t heard from Tony and I didn’t know if he made it out of the city.

I was folding laundry in my room but my back was to the TV and the sound was muted so the kids wouldn’t hear anything. My mind had returned to some semblance of normality and Jim and I had begun to chat about life and mundane things waiting for me to hear from Tony again. He wouldn’t let me off the phone until I heard something. He was waiting with me. From two thousand miles away, my brother was holding my hand. Suddenly, Jim very softly asked me if it was possible that Tony never made it off the site much less out of the city. I told him “yes because the last time I talked to him he was desperate to help people. If Joe couldn’t get the car out of the lot they may have decided to stay and go see what they could do to help until things calmed down enough to get out of the city.” He very gently said “honey you need to look at the TV “ I turned and looked. The sound was still down so I couldn’t hear anyone talking about what was happening. I knew something was very wrong but it didn’t register at first. Then it hit me, there was only one building. “Jim, where did it go?” “Honey it collapsed, it’s gone. Is there any way Tony was in that building?” “ He could have been, I don’t know. I don’t know where he is.”

I don’t remember the moments that followed. I know I was on the phone with Jim and he kept me talking. I have no idea what was said. I’ve never asked him. I do remember saying at one point that people say they knew when their spouse or loved one died. “I’d know Jim, if he was gone I’d know. I’ve loved him since I was 16, I don’t remember who I am without him. I’d know if he was gone” I held onto that thought with everything I had. I prayed with everything I was that it was true.

It was just over an hour later that Tony’s car pulled in the driveway. I told Jim it was okay, he was home. I told him I loved him and hung up. I ran down the stairs to meet Tony. I didn’t want to wait for him to come inside. I had to get to him. We met in the garage. I stepped into his arms and held him. Neither one of us said a word for a very long time. There was nothing to say, there were no words. I had seen in his eyes all I needed. It was there, the horror and pain. He had seen things that no one should. He had seen into the mouth of hell.

My time to be shaky was over. My brother had seen to it that I was settled and strong by the time Tony came home. He knew how to “talk me off the ledge” and had done it without me knowing. I wonder if he even knew what he had done for me. It was clear as glass to me, Tony would need me to hold him together more than I could ever have imagined. I took a proverbial deep breath and my crisis was over, I was going to be fine. I would cope and get on with life and be okay.

I set about the task of holding my husband together. The first words he said were “where are the kids? I want them out of the school.” I went and got TJ from school and we never put Maggie on the bus. He needed his children. He needed to touch and hold and hear them.

It was a long night. We talked a lot and cried a lot and watched the news. And somewhere in the wee hours I knew he was going back. I made him stay home the next day and rest and get his feet back under him. I needed one more day alone with him before we stepped back into hell. Then he went back….and our lives will never be the same.

The relay for life: Loach Le Leigheas

wow, am I behind in my blogging. The relay was a month ago. It was an interesting first experience. Through a series of events, it ended up just the kids and I. We thoroughly intended to stay the night and do the entire 24 hours, but things don't usually work out the way I'd planned them. Comes from having 5 kids I think. (yep, blaming it on the kids. That's what there here for)
I'd never done the relay before but since we lost Daddy in January to bladder cancer, I decided to gather the family and start a team in honor of my Dad. I've always said my Dad was the only Irish son of an Englishman ever born. He never did fit into his English family, but he sure did love Mom's Irish roots. So, Loacha Le Leigheas was born. (loosly translated it's Warriors for a Cure)

The kids and I got there at 7 am and set up camp. Since I was the only adult present, I had to stay at our tent to handle the fundraising and the kids did the walking. The day went alright, with the kids having a blast at all the other fundraising stations. (I spent a small fortune but it all went to cancer research so it's good) I remembered to sunscreen the kids well and often, me not so much. By 4 the front of my legs were so burned they felt like they were on fire. Then hubby stopped by on his way home from work and he wasn't doing well. He'd had surgery less that a week before I was fairly concerned about him so I decided I didn't want him home alone and we would pack up and go home.

So there I was, packing everything up, in pain and worried about hubby, feeling kinda sad because I had really wanted to be a part of the memorial lap and see all the luminaries that were lit and my Dad's photo that was going to be on the screen. I could hear them on the loud speaker talking about the lap and remembering our lost loved ones.
Just as I was feeling really depressed about the whole thing and thinking the whole endeavor had been a miserable failure, the most amazing thing happened. the Balloons we had tied to a weight by our tent came loose. They floated up about 50 feet and then were blown over the track. So there I was, all by myself standing in a field, watching the shamrock shaped balloons float over the track during the memorial lap.
And there it was, my tribute to my Dad.
I softly whispered "I love you Daddy" and then I packed up my children and went home, where we belonged.

Mama always told me to wear clean underwear.

Yep, since the dawning of time mothers have given such sage advice. Mothers live by the just in case rules of life. Now that I am a mother, I say the same things to my children. I tell them to wear clean underwear, always keep the house tidy, brush your teeth, stay together, and all the other pearls of wisdom passed down by mothers everywhere. When asked why, and children always feel the need to know why, about everything, I give the age old response, just in case.
As it turns out just in case does not have a shelf life. Just in case can bite you in the tush any time at any age. Like when the town stops by and needs to see where your water intake pipe is. And it's in the garage. Which in itself is not a problem. Two very nice men were standing in my garage talking to me about survey questions and taking pictures of my pipes. I suddenly noticed they were trying to keep very odd looks off their faces. Okay, I admit, I had a moment of panic. I had just let two total strangers into my house and I was standing alone in my closed garage with them. And what's worse I had locked the dogs in their crates. I was never so grateful that I always have my cell phone in my pocket in my life.
I tried to very nonchalantly look over my shoulder and gauge the distance between myself and the door. And that's when "just in case" hit me right between the eyes. I had failed to remember to keep the garage tidy. I got lazy and procrastinated and didn't get to the bottle return as soon as I should have and I still need to put a second coat of paint on the bottle tops we're making magnets out of.
I can only imagine what those men thought of the 15 or so cases of Budweiser bottles I've collected from people and the 600 bottle tops on the newspaper on the floor. I couldn't have stored the 9 garbage bags of soda cans in the garage where they could see them. Nope, they're on the back deck where they don't need to go. I wil be smiling to myself for a long time at what the town water department will most likely be saying about that red-head who had all those beer bottle in her garage.
I will also, from now on, be faithfully returning the bottles on a weekly basis, just in case.

Give the kid his own name

That is my sage advice for anyone who is having a son. I made the mistake of allowing my husband to name our son after him. Which in itself is bad enough but my husband was himself named after his father. Who was named after his father. Yea, add 'em up and the poor kid actually has IV in his name.
I had no idea when I allowed this to happen that I would spend the rest of my life, or for however long they are both alive whichever comes first,asking which one every time someone calls the house and requests to speak to one of the two males in the house and correcting constant mistakes made by people. The latest of which was the bank teller accidentally deposited our refund check in his account. It gets confusing I guess when I'm joint on both accounts but that is just one of the millions of things I've had to correct since we filled out that darn birth certificate.
I understand that in days gone by it was the practice to give the oldest male child the same name and just tack on a number at the end because they had lands, estates and titles to keep in the family. And while, according to my paternal Grandfather, I do hold an English title. I really don't think an acre and a 3 bedroom raised ranch qualifies as lands and estates to leave behind.
So save yourself the endless hassle and give the kid his own name for pity sake. Life is hard enough as it is.....

So, if I write it, you have to listen right?

Well, isn't that special? Oh great now I have the voice of "church lady" from SNL in my head. And before you ask, yes I do frequently hear voices in my head. I like the voices, they keep me company.
I've been reading some blogs from a couple of friends and have been highly entertained by them. Of which, one is about frogs and one is the life of a sloth. I have some very interesting friends.
I have decided that I too can be somewhat entertaining when I put my mind to it, no, you don't get an opinion here, and want to try my hand at this blogging thing.
So, this is me blogging. I will periodically blog about whatever pops into my head, voices and all, for your entertainment.
And trust me, with 5 kids, 2 dogs, 2 cats and a husband I swear is the reincarnation of general Patton my life is definitely entertaining. Especially when you get to sit on the sidelines and watch rather than actually be the one to figure out how to get the teacher to believe the dog really did eat her homework.