Kathy’s Krew: Cause good causes never stop being good.

The dollars, always the dollars: Kathy’s Krew

Joe Pesci had it right in Casino. Ultimately it always comes down to money.

Yeah it’s a beg for money. Not claiming I won’t say some funny or wildly inappropriate crap on the way to the big ask, but at the end of the day, I’m asking for a donation. The beauty in this deal is I won’t be calling you at dinner time, hiding behind a caller ID that masks my true identity as a solicitor, and I’m not some obscure charity.

Nope this one is all too real and all too personal.

The Warden getting her walking papers from the radiation team. Nice robe bro.

This is my little sister Kathy. We call her The Warden. She’s the youngest of the 8 of us but for some reason when you say, “You’re not the boss of me” and she replies “Yes I am” – you believe her. Hence The Warden. Anyway, she is a breast cancer survivor. So far she’s kicking cancer in the ass. Even though I used to beat her ass when we were kids and would act out the WWF Wrestling we watched from The Spectrum in Philadelphia way too long ago, she’s tougher than me.

The kid whisperer with Frank and The Warden’s son Nicholas

This is my brother-in-law Bob. He’s one of the nicest, kindest guys you will ever meet. Never stops working. Works a little too hard if you ask me, but hey I think we’ve established my laziness already. Bob is also a pet/baby whisperer. Not kidding. Bob can calm any animal, any baby. They all take to him immediately. He really is a regular Dr. Doolittle and whatever the equivalent for kids would be. Bob was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Lymphoma (ALL) in 2010. He has been kicking cancer’s ass for a while now. He is a survivor too. He’s tougher than me too.

Now beside the cool nicknames and the survivor thing, they have another thing in common. They are the Lilliputians of our family. They’re tiny. Those pictures aren’t to scale, they’re life size. (not really) As it turns out, the smallest amongst my giant family, (8 kids, 7 spouses, 10 grandkids) happen to be the biggest ass kickers.

This small person/big ass kicker thing might be a new evolution of the human species. Read Lisa Haffner’s blog for an incredible story of a another pint sized woman who has been beating cancer about the head and face since she was like 11. Lisa Haffner is something special. She lost her leg as a child and is still kicking cancer in the ass. I continue to be amazed by this women’s will and fortitude.

Celebrating a deuce.

Update Feb 28 2014: Lisa has since gone terminal but you would never know it. She was told she had 6 months to live…. 13 months ago. The picture to the left is of Little Lisa Lollipop and her husband Juan. That ain’t a gang sign they’re throwin. It’s to celebrate her first normal poop in quite some time. Yeah cancer struggles and victories come down to the smallest of battle fields.

Life’s not fair. Some people are just blessed with more grace and more smarts and more toughness than the rest of us. Lisa is one of those people who just squeezes every ounce out of life no matter the circumstances. Do yourself one favor this morning and read her blog. little lisa lollipop

The other commonality The Warden and The Kid Whisperer share is they both decided to take their survivor-ability on the road. They started a team to raise funds and awareness. Their first Relay for Life event is June 13th in Linwood, New Jersey.

And yeah we have arrived at the moment.

The big ask.

The squeeze.

The pimpin.

The gratuitous beggin for your hard earned greenbacks.

Now do yourself another favor.

Donate.

Go to my sister Kathy’s Relay for Life web site and donate: Kathy’s Krew If you see the same picture of her in that smart looking hospital gown, you’re in the right spot. She has set a goal of 5 large, or $5,000 for you non street people. They are making progress but they are not quite half way there. This reminds me, she’s also a Bon Jovi stalker so you might see her quote some of his musical offerings on her page; another indicator you are on the correct web site.

Frank’s Place has already ponied up 50 bones, (again, a street term for money). Don’t be left behind. Drop a few nickels in the tip jar and join two of the smallest ass kickers I know in the fight against cancer.

They ought to put that on the t-shirt: Kathy’s Krew – Ass Kickers for Hire.

I’d wear one.

Diary of a SAHD: Storm Sleepers and the Noisy Reboot

Feb27

Back in April of 2011 we had some vicious storms roll through Knoxville. Tornado force winds with hail. Wicked stuff. We just had Frank then but the only interior room was the downstairs bath and even with just the three of us it was cramped.

Anyway we got through that storm although not before losing the siding, roof shingles, gutters, and mail box. The deck was also reduced to a rickety lawsuit waiting to happen. We had the house fixed and I rebuilt the deck last summer. But I never quite got over the anxiety of it all.

So flash forward to 20 February of this year. Tracy was in California for the week on business. A storm of some type was predicted for Thursday into Friday but for some reason it never grabbed my attention. Apparently my anxiety must be waning. I mean I’m not a rush out and buy eggs, milk, and bread at the first report of a storm type of guy, but I am my father’s son.

That means communications baby. Weather channel on the main TV, the NOAA weather app and the local NBC affiliate storm team app going on the phone, and a standard weather app going on the iPad. I’m plugged in for a storm, but I also need to be charged up. Well for this caper I didn’t do any of that. When the Sharknado hit and took out the power at 2:30am, I awoke immediately realizing I was not prepared. Not a phone charged, not an app cued up. Couple that with my fear of the dark while alone, documented two posts back: Captain Kirk made me turn the lights on, and this could be the mother of all freak outs.

It got dark too. We’re talking vastness of space dark. Our Sac has no street lights, so when all the lights from the houses disappear, it goes zombies coming out of the ground dark. As Frank used to say, I can’t like that. Again these things never happen during a calm Sunday brunch. Always the dead of night, always the dead of night.

The power snapped back on about 2 minutes into my adrenaline rush. It was then that I realized how damn noisy our house is. I mean everything made noise coming back on. No lights of course, just noisy things going beep in the dark.

The microwave sounded like a cat being slowly crushed by one of those things that smooths out the tar in the road. The printers sounded like Russian dancing bears trying to come through the kitchen window. After my Nutella no doubt. The alarm system decided this would be a good time to tell me the motion sensor batteries were low. It does this with an ear-splitting tone that could make a dolphin cry and doesn’t stop until you punch in the password. As I’m on my fifth attempt at the f*&%#ng password the house goes quiet. Power out again.

Our electricity is all below ground. It doesn’t surface until the main highway. So it’s unusual for it to go out, especially off and on in relative rapid succession. Must be a poor squirrel dangling between two sets of wires. I imagine as the wind blows hard enough, his ass makes contact with the lower set of wires shorting out the power. For whatever reason that made me laugh at 3am. I also imagine the squirrel in question was not laughing.

In the quiet and terrifying darkness I wait for a second, wait for a different noise to pierce the night. The cry of my 4 yr. old and 23 month old never comes. Can’t figure out why. I head to Frank’s room and he’s sawing lumber, out cold. Truthfully I’d rather he was awake. I could use the company. A quick peek at AM and she’s out cold too. That is hard to believe. She sleeps very light. On this night she never woke up. Slept through till 9am. Nice.

The power came back on ten minutes later. This time the symphony of rebooting and some vicious thunder and lighting got Frank out of bed. He’s crying, he wants something to put over his ears. I tell him to put his head under his pillow. I get the look. You know, the look that says “Dude, really? It’s the apocalypse out there and you think a pillow will do the trick?” Ok, what do you want.

“I need your work ear phones!”

He’s talking about my ear protection I had when I worked on the flight line in the Air Force. I have an old pair in the garage that I use when I do yard work. He wore those a year ago. How he remembered they were there is beyond me. But no matter cause I’m trudging through the dark downstairs and into the garage to find work headphones.

The thunder really kicked up a notch and that drove Frank, with headphones, Lenny/Lambie, and his giraffe blanket into my bed. He slept on Tracy’s side and fell asleep with his thunder noise dampeners on. I finally fell asleep too.

A second round of thunderstorms roll through around 4:00. I wake to see this:

No greater love than this, when a boy gives up his hearing for his lamb

No greater love has a boy than this, giving up his hearing for his lamb.

He’s out cold but clearly bracing for the noise of thunder in his sleep. What that kid won’t do for Lenny. The other midget never woke up at all. Still can’t believe she slept through the entire night. Never made a peep, never even jostled.

I made one more check on her before settling back into bed watching the local news storm coverage at 4:00am.

I was way too jacked up to sleep. I was playing golf in the morning, provided the course was still there. My first tee time since hurting my ribs in late November and surviving the night of the noisy reboot, not once but twice, was too much to process. No point in sleeping now.

Besides I had to make a mental list of electronic gadgets to get rid of in the morning.

And find a better hiding spot for my Nutella.

Sock Hoppin: Raising money has never been so much fun!

Feb22

From here, 1lb 12oz…

For you new folk, our twins were born in March of 2012. They were born 3 1/2 months early and only weighed 1lb 12oz each. Sadly Linda Claire only survived for five hours due to lack of lung development. Anne Marie hung on and after five months in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at the University of Tennessee Medical Center, we were able to bring her home.

We have a debt of gratitude to the staff at the NICU that can’t be repaid, ever. But between now and ever we are doing our best to help the cause. In this case the cause is the Phase II building project at the NICU, which will convert The Big House to private rooms. So when they’re done every kid will get a private room right from the jump. Right now the NICU is made up of about 30 private rooms and “The Big House” where most of the preemies start out. Once they improve and get to the feed and grow stage they usually move to a private room.

The rooms were great and we were glad when we moved into one if only because it meant we were making progress. But I kind of liked the community feeling of the Big House. It was noisy because you’re in there with about 60 kids, side by side, plus all the equipment keeping each one alive. And every damn thing in there beeps in some fashion, in some sequence. I got used to it and it was nice having a nurse with in arms reach if the buzzers on your kid went off. Ultimately though, the private room made it much easier for our long haul.

This is where you would use an adverb like immeasurable, as in the benefit of a private room to a preemie is immeasurable. Problem is that would not be true. The value is measurable. People much smarter than me measured it and found that preemies in private rooms respond and grow and heal much better then they do in the Big House. I would lay some stats on you but lets face it, that just wouldn’t be my style. So go here if you want to self smart yourself (NCO Academy inside joke) on the subject: UT NICU

…to here. Sock Hopin at 23 months old.

To that end Tracy had the idea for a fund raiser to help the cause. We did a Sock Hop. Yes only my wife would come up with a sock hop. You know, cause it combines the things I detest the most, costumes and dancing. Of course the costumes were optional, but I greased back my hair, threw on a t-shirt, slapped some smokes in the sleeve and I was ready to sock, or hop, or whatever. I actually managed to avoid the dancing by claiming to be running the music. You can peep the photo gallery below.

Turned out to be a great time. Uncle Butch provided some great 50s music and Frank’s preschool provided the venue. We had good food, good cookies, cakes, brownies, etc… There was an impressive limbo contest and an equally impressive hula hoop contest. All to raise some dough-ra-me for the NICU.

The goal was to raise about $500 American dollars.

The money is still flowing in but at last tally we were around $1100 not counting the people who sent donations directly to the UT Medical Center.

So yeah, goal exceeded and then some. Obviously we could not have done it without a ton of help. As a matter of fact without Mary Alice, Whitney, and Ashley, it probably doesn’t happen at all. Marisa, Morgan and Becky were the backbone of the deal on game day and made it so much easier to run and shut down when we were done.

Several local organizations got in on the act as well. Dinner was provided by Gourmet’s Market. All the baked goods were donated by The Sweetery, Magpies, Buttermilk Sky Pie Co, and The Cup. Decorations were provided by Echelon Florists. Knoxville people, go buy local, go buy a lot.

Not too bad for a first attempt at a fundraiser. Probably set our goal too low. Definitely learned some things. All in all it was a lot of fun and it’s a great cause. Everyone looked great too. A special shout out to April Grimsley, who could have easily stepped from the pages of a 1950s fashion mag.

Guess what? You can still get in on the fun. Make a donation in honor of Linda Claire at the UT NICU here: UT NICU Donations. Preciate ya.

Here’s a few shots from The Hop. First one of from the UT NICU and last one from Mag Pies Bakery.