The Perfect Blanket

A letter to my friend Krista at her baby shower:

I couldn’t have known when I started my first stitch that this blanket would become a story. Of course, in hindsight, I guess I should have known. With all things where love is concerned we begin with an expectation and end with an experience. I found the same holds true when you’re knitting your very first baby blanket. It began with a vision and as I stitched, I prayed. I prayed for you, for Sprout, for your journey as a Mom, and for all the things in between. It came with me in the car, to restaurants, to ball games, and on vacation. It sat with me on the couch as I poured hours upon hours into making absolutely perfect. And then I made a mistake. So, I unraveled and re-stitched. Perfect once again. I added yarn and hid the seams, I cut, knotted, tucked, tweaked and knitted until… I realized a made a huge mistake and had to pull hours of work out and began again. Finally, I was finished and as I made my final stitch I was so excited to pull the needles and gaze upon my perfect creation.

It wasn’t perfect.  It was too long and disproportionate – it needed to be HALF the length it was. All along I had no way of knowing the dimensions while the corded needles were binding it up. I was devastated. How could I possibly give you something that wasn’t perfect? I could start over, I could call in the knitting professionals, I could throw it away and buy a perfect blanket.  But instead, I cried. And then I questioned my ability and contemplated whether I was cut out to be a knitter. And then I got some encouragement and perspective. Perhaps if I folded the too long creation it would be the exact right length. With some suggestions on stitching and taking a little break I came back to finish my labor of love but guess what? It’s not perfect and that is exactly what is perfect about it.

As a Mom, you will have a vision, you’ll want to do everything perfectly. You will pray, you’ll painstakingly labor over doing all the right things. You will get a lot of things right and you’ll make mistakes and then you will fix them. You will teach, train, guide, provide, and protect. And, a time will come when you’ll get frustrated and question your ability but when it does, I’ll be there. I will offer encouragement and perspective and even make some “stitching” suggestions.

Freud would have said, “sometimes a blanket is just a blanket”, but to those that want to see something more, the story unfolds.

You see, if you look closely you’ll see the imperfections. You’ll note where the yarn broke, where one section ends and the other begins. You’ll see where the yarn is stretched thinner than the rest because of the pulling and re-stitching. You’ll see some finger marks where it needed some extra finessing and a loose end here and there. But if you close your eyes and take in all the love that is and will be wrapped up in it, you'll open them you’ll see her beautiful eyes looking at you with all the adoration she has and know that perfection isn’t the goal, love is. 

XXOO

Once Upon an Enchanted Soda Machine

There is a tale as old as time where two unlikely people meet and through a series of circumstances end up loving one another. This is Disney’s finest story line and one we have grown to swoon at because really, who doesn’t appreciate true love’s story? Perhaps the greatest clash of opposing worlds is found in the story of Beauty and the Beast. We all know the tale; full of enchantment, apprehension, determination, and ultimately love. We draw parallels to this story when we see couples in appearance or personalities that remind us of Belle and the “Beast” but in my parallel story Belle is a toddler and the Beast is not under a spell but the kind of love that bloomed is greater than any romantic love could compare to – I’d like to invite you to my guest on this brief story but long journey…

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Myah, she was just over a year old and had already faced Gaston-esque challenges when she found herself in what her young mind would view as an enchanted castle. She had been there before, as a matter of fact she was very familiar with her surroundings but now it was different, now the castle was her home. The Beast had prepared her wing by adorning it with pink walls, white furniture, and colorful toys and books…. so many books. He wanted her to love being there; to feel comfortable and safe and to learn and grow and thrive. But she was timid; afraid of his large stature, deep voice, and commanding presence so she avoided him. He tried talking to her, playing with her, even just sitting next to her but she wouldn’t be persuaded.

Finally, the Beast had an idea. Knowing Myah loved the soda machine located in the castle dungeon he began his invitation to connect by announcing his desire for "pop" and she would watch carefully from the top of the stairs while he retrieved the soda by putting the money in, pushing the button, and cheering when the can appeared. Eventually she was brave enough let him carry her as they descended the stairs together with the promise of her inserting coins, pushing the button, and watching the can roll out. It had worked; this chance encounter became a daily ritual they looked forward to – both realizing there was something there that wasn’t there before.

Over the years the Beast and his Belle forged an unbreakable bond born of sheer determination and the help of a seemingly enchanted soda machine. He fiercely protected her while giving her freedom to become who she was always meant to be and if she ever wants to look back and remember, she just has to gaze into the mirror of a lifetime of memories he carries just for her.  The happily ever after in this tale comes not only because he had saved her but she had saved him too proving that the love between a daughter and her Daddy is far better than any Fairy Tale. 

Minnesota Chronicles

Entry 1: 

I have forgotten all of my lipgloss. This is tragic and highly upsetting because the nearest VS is too far for a quick run. In a desperate attempt to maintain optimal lip moisture I have purchased $6 cherry Chapstick from the airport which seems to be having the opposite effect on my now painfully chapped lips. Logically I can only attribute this phenomenon to years of solely slathering thick shiny high-quality gloss to my kisser and they are now retaliating in protest to the cheap imposter. I am now concerned Katy Perry's hit song was a lie. 

In addition to my life with pampered lips I have discovered I have become used to entering small spaces and having the lights automatically illuminate. Since no such electrical prowess has been installed here I have found myself standing in the dark searching for the switch on several occasions. This may continue to be a challenge for my clearly conditioned behavior. Damn that Pavlov. 

I have, however successfully conquered day 2 of my nutritional cleanse despite M's relentless attempts to feed me tomatoes, cheese, and raisins though I believe this may have triggered a dream sequence wherein I subconsciously sabotaged myself by partaking in an Isa-shake blended with rum. I have concluded I am both hungry and possibly need to go to AA. 

Entry 2:

I have taken to using the lower level bathroom at R&L's house as it allows for an unabashed explosion of the plethora of cosmetics and beauty tools required to perform my daily routine. What I did not account for is the new hand-held shower head which I have tried in vain to situate at a height for optimal cleaning coverage while not spraying out the door. Feeling sure I had achieved the perfect height, I confidently jumped in only to find myself being pelted with water shooting with the force of a pent up geyser straight into my tired eyes. I am thankful for the aforementioned mass of cosmetics that will be required to mask what I am convinced will become a black eye. 

In addition to the aformentioned bathroom escapades; I am quite certain R may never re-enter his home after leaving for the day for fear he will get another eyeful of someone sitting upon the throne with the door wide open. I'm not sure who was more mortified. Probably him. 

Good news! I discovered a tube of lipgloss I had left on a previous visit. 

Entry 3: 

I am quite certain I don't know how I ever arrived at new destinations prior to cellphone GPS. Even with my little safetynet I managed to get lost in an apartment complex whist looking for a bistro. Were it not for my more than obvious "I'm lost" face and the grace of a sweet old resident I'm certain I'd still be walking around Prior Lake. Operation Surprise D was a huge success. She should turn 40 every year. 

Entry 4:

I received the strangest massage today. I'm fairly certain the therapist has a foot fetish and truth be told this really only works if both people share the affinity. Suffice it to say my pedicurist is now going to wonder why I show signs of PTSD when she puts cotton between my toes. 

Entry 5:

It is possible D now suffers from PTSD as well as there was an incident involving a bikini top and side boob; neither of which were her own. Also, we may be banned from the Galleria - and definitely Crave for for flaunting naked faces in public. We know this to be true from the judging looks bestowed upon us by the Lululemon wearing, Louis Vuitton toting, granola (and only granola) eating Housewives of Edina. 

Entry 6:

I fit in M's boxers. Comfortably. I consider this a double victory: 1) Size matters 2) In no other framily setting could I have paraded around in someone else's underwater and had it be perfectly acceptable.

Final Entry; 7:

Important observation: Once upon a time I was convinced saying goodbye would get easier with time. Time does not always work that way. Time does however offer perspective; I now know I'll gratefully say a thousand tearful goodbyes becuse they always begin with the most amazing hellos. 

Mother's Day

Perhaps this is how it was always meant to be, after-all it began with a young girl yearning to be loved and ended with that same girl, though experience and years had aged her, still thirsting for a love that made sense to her. 

 That’s the thing about love; it doesn't always show up in the ways you’d expect. At 15, my Mom showed love by choosing to keep the child she found her all too young self, pregnant with.  At 16 I showed up in a delivery room vying for my own version of that love.  Over the course of the next 40 years our ideas of love didn't always align but love was there – a love that transcends pain and reason. 

Love, I've learned is often a person’s ideal of how we think others should treat us, how they should make us feel, what we can get out of it. We expect to be loved by our own perfect description of it and feel justified in withholding our own love when hurt, misunderstanding, and wrongs have occurred. But despite that, I've also learned that love shows up.

My Mom would tell you she spent a lifetime disappointing people – just ask her siblings – most deprived her of their love until (and perhaps even after) her dying day. Failed relationships and marriages that ended in divorce seemed to prove to her that she was not worthy of that love either. Even the love of her children was threatened as hard choices were made over the years. Truth be told, she caused some hurt, she had some regrets, and made some bad choices but I've yet to meet someone who hasn't. 

My Mom was not a selfless person but not because she was selfish, but because she sought love so desperately she took to attaining it in ways that didn't make sense to many of the people in her life.

To those that loved her and allowed her to love them back you’ll hear a different story; and this is mine.

Being the daughter of a teenage mother had its share of challenges; while I was learning to walk and talk she was determined to graduate High School. While I was entering my school years she was a twenty-something single Mom trying to balance responsibility and not let life pass her by. When I was planning a wedding she was divorced and working on making a new relationship work. While I was hoping for a baby she was watching her husband die of cancer. While I was trying to become a Mom, she was busy being a Mom and step Mom. While I was working on being a wife and Mom, she longed for me to need her and yet often, as circumstances dictated, her need for me was greater.  We zig-zagged in our relationship and many times the roles reversed as I did my best to “mother her”; all the while dealing with my own disappointing ideas of the love and relationship between a Mom and her daughter.

Bob always says, “in order to move past disappointment we must give up the hope that things could have been any different.” These are wise and healing words. As I started to embrace that truth I began to see my Mom through different eyes. 
Eyes that didn't condemn, hold grudges, or demand justice. Eyes that saw a woman just like me learning about life and love through experiences the people in our lives. Eyes that saw her, really saw her as someone who desires love, acceptance, and loyalty like we all do.

My Mom may not have gotten everything right, but she loved in the only way she knew how and for me that was enough. She was at my school programs, helped me stand up for my rights, offered support and encouragement when I needed it most, gave me away at my wedding, celebrated my victories, mourned with my losses. She painstakingly helped me sort through and pack boxes as we planned our move even though she wanted nothing more than for us to stay.  

Through both the good and bad times she taught me about love – love that isn't bound by someone else’s perimeters but the kind that sees through them and loves anyway.  I don’t know if she knew, really knew how much I loved her until the very end – I think she always feared she had failed me in some way, but love showed up.  As I sat by her side, stroking her hair, rubbing lotion into her hands and feet reminiscing about the good times she smiled because she knew she was loved, and as I laid my head on her chest while she breathed her last breaths I knew I was loved.

So on this Mother’s Day, my first without hearing her voice, I long to pick up the phone, to remind her again that she was a great Mom, that I am proud to be her daughter, and that I will honor her life and memory until my own last breath because that’s what love does. 

Unfriending Soapbox

In the days of social media and digital connections I am thankful for the ability to use technology to get and stay connected with friends and family. I have often found myself arguing the constructive uses for these virtual platforms against the opposition of many who feel Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and the like have replaced human interaction with agreeably valid points. This is why it pains me to see people using "unfriending" as a means for expressing ill feelings. 

Don't get me wrong, I have terminated my share of virtual connections but barring the general acquaintance, I guarantee the affected unfriend was not surprised by the severing of the tie because we'd had a real life discussion to lead us to that point. The opposite is true as well; having been the unfriend-ee, I am rarely shocked to find the cyber window into one another's life has been shut. It's when the cut can be felt as a physical wound that it is being grossly misused. 

While every one has the ability to use their social media in whatever fashion they choose, it doesn't mean they should. If you were friends/family in real life don't you think they deserve at the very least, an explanation? But no, no, our culture suggests that passive aggressive posts and unfriending is the way to make a point with out actually owning your thoughts and actions. 

Even as I type the software doesn't recognize the word 'unfriend' and that, my friends, should tell us something as a society - as humans. So stop congratulating those that "made the cut" in your posts after you've gone through and "cleaned out" your connections. There are better ways to deal with your current emotional state than with a cyber F-you. Consequently, if you no longer want to be Facebook friends - be darn sure you don't want to be friends in real life either because for most, there's very little difference.

Honestly, I'm shaking my head as I reread what I've written because really, there should be no reason for it. We are real people with real feelings, living in an already really challenging world - yet we have the luxury of connecting on virtual forums. So with that social privilege should come social responsibility. Do better, people. Don't let unfriending be the marker for this generation. 

What a Year

In looking back on this past year 2014 was not at all what I expected it to be as I cheersed the New Year with champagne and kisses surrounded by my dearest friends and family. It started subtly enough; an innocent conversation between Myah and I as we warmed our perpetual Minnesota chill in the steam room at LifeTime Fitness. She was sharing with me about her day and what she had learned in Drivers Ed when, like any good parent would, I took that opportunity to ask her what she planned on doing to make money to pay for the car, insurance, and gas that having her driver’s license would require. Without skipping a beat she informed me that she would not need a car as she was planning on going to Georgia Tech for college where the MARTA would suffice as her main mode of transportation. Recalling that she had toured GT the previous summer while there for a wedding with her Grandma I began to ask questions about why, what she liked, credentials, criteria, and of course tuition. As our conversation neared its end I recall shrugging and saying “I could live in Georgia”. And as the saying goes; be careful what you wish for. 

That simple entertaining of thought, subsequent discovery of the aforementioned tuition, prayer, and a whole sky of stars aligning we began our journey south. Reflecting upon this past year, I can unequivocally say this was definitely the biggest transition I have faced in my 40 years. Bigger than getting married, becoming a Mom, and losing loved ones. Scarier than the Haunted Basement of the Soap Box Factory. More emotional than the first time I watched Rose lose Jack’s grip as he slipped into the icy waters after the Titanic sank. And, truth be told, more exciting than stepping onto a Royal Caribbean cruise ship.

From telling our friends and family the news to selling our house and saying goodbye to all of the above, many of the truths I had come to know were beautifully confirmed:  First; that I am surrounded by the best people in the world who planned parties, helped pack, stored and sold countless items, supported us, encouraged us, and most importantly, cried with us. They show up when you least expect it and need it most. Second; I know now that even on my worst day as a Mom I will move mountains to give Myah the best chance at achieving her dreams. Third; I know that my husband is the best kind of magician – no tricks, no sleight of hand, no smoke and mirrors; pure, raw, hard to accomplish, triumphant magic. He makes things happen for the simple pleasure of making me smile. and finally, I understand myself better. Not in a self-discovery “ah-ha” kind of way but in a quiet resolve and content kind of way. I used to think that being virtually omni-present and involved in every detail of people’s lives was how I proved myself as a friend (don’t get me wrong I long for spending time and knowing all the details but 1100 miles is a distance not easily bridged in person) and now I see that true friendship has no boundaries. It is not stifled by time differences, limited by distance, or diminished by frequency of visits. It is, however intentional and fueled solely by love. 

So as I look back on this past year of unforeseen heartache coupled with unexpected adventure I am humbled because it is part of my life’s story and that is my favorite book.

They say fences make good neighbors...

When you move into a new neighborhood one of the first things you wonder is whether your neighbors will be nice. Are they easy going? Are they loud? Do they take care of their lawn? Ultimately, will we love them or loathe them? Moving into the corner lot of Coolidge Street 11 years ago we wondered those very things and being new to the neighborhood those same questions were being pondered about us. It didn't take long for curious neighbors to come greet the newbies and assess the young family joining their neighborhood ranks. 

To the back, we learned that the mature couple was meticulous about thier lawn grooming and didn't care for our lack of a green thumb and mediocre lawn maintenance. They planted fast growing trees to finish off the already partial blockade of pine trees clearly defining where our (often brown) lawn ended and their golf-green lawn began. 

To the side we discovered a very different type of neighbor. They were kind, friendly, always outside working on a project or garden and became our sole resource for borrowing tools. These neighbors kept an extra eye on anything out of the ordinary, helped snowblow, brought flowers from their garden (I think Lisa knew I'd never be growing my own), and were simply there with a smile a and a wave as we went about our respective daily lives. 

When one of their many projects included building a fence seperating our property lines I felt a pang of disappointment assuming they had grown weary of our consistent flow of social activities and that perhaps we were not the neighbors they had hoped for. As the fence went up I watched as Mark situated each wood slat next to the one before so tight that even air would find it difficult to pass - surely they wanted complete separation. As the weeks passed and the fence went up I had resigned myself to the fact that we had somehow failed them as neighbors. 

What I hadn't considered was an opening in that fence; one with an ornate walk through and long lattice trellis that was designed to allowed easy access from our back yard to theirs. It was never discussed, it just was what it was - an open invitation for a neighborly visit. 

Years have passed since then and we still adore our amazing neighbors so it was with sad hearts that we walked through our walkway last month to share the news of our moving away. Before long we found Mark attaching hinges to the walkway opening and crafting a seamless door so that when shut, the new neighbors would be none the wiser that there was ever a passageway connecting our families. The door is complete but they have yet to seal it shut while we are still here. As I sit today and look at that open door knowing the new owners will only see fence, I am reminded of the old saying that fences make good neighbors

but in my experience a fence with a walk through makes good friends. 

98%

It started with a nonchalant conversation in the LifeTime steam room (where Myah and I solve all the worlds problems) as my ever prepared 15 year old announced that despite it being most teens dream, her father and I, in fact, do not have to purchase a car for her 16th Birthday.  Clearly confused I wrongly assumed she didn't want the responsibility of paying for the insurance and gas of said vehicle, but not she adamantly assured me that the reason was because she is going to attend Georgia Tech for college and planned to ride the MARTA for her transportation needs. While relaying this bit of information to Bob, just as nonchalantly as his daughter, mused at the idea of packing up and moving south. By March our house was on the market and we were in full 'move mode'. Showings and a couple offers we didn't entertain arose while we waited for the right buyers. We waited. And waited some more. In May we decided that since we weren't in a position to HAVE to sell, we'd take it off the market on June 1st and consider trying again next year. Two weeks leading up to the 1st, all house activity ceased to exist, we'd reconciled within ourselves that we'd be spending another winter in MN, and we were ok with that. 

June 1st, 2014

I came home from church to be greeted by Bob shaking his head announcing we received a request for a showing that night and since it was technically within our timeframe he felt we should go through with it. And so we did. During that showing another realtor called to set up a showing for the following day. Bob again felt that we should let it happen (since the call came in on June 1st) so we did. They loved it and put an offer the next day, within the week we had addendum's and a purchase agreement signed. By no human coincidence, Bob had already planned to drive to GA with our friend Bob and his son Colin; and so that Saturday the Bob's (dubbed by a Jamaican as Sexy Bob and Cool Bob) set off on a road trip to the Empire State of the South. Arriving on Monday Sexy Bob set out on a two-day date with Becky the Realtor in search of the perfect house. With Skype-style showings for me and my brave husband taking on the daunting task of describing (in great detail) the look and feel of the features he knows I'm most interested in, we decided on our new home. So here we are with closing dates set, a house to be packed, and another southern road trip on the books. #futureGApeach 

In a Heartbeat

What started out as a typical Wednesday morning in the Vogt house quickly turned to anything but; I had decided to work from home due to an appointment in the afternoon.  While making breakfast Myah called for me from the living room, I found her lying on the floor with her feet propped up on the chair breathing deeply and feeling dizzy.  She recalled that last time she felt this way was in March and the feeling then had passed quickly with little notoriety.  So not wishing to miss her bus she pushed past the feeling and headed out the door. I asked her to text me because I wasn’t confident she was really ok. Within 10 minutes the first text came – she was definitely not feeling well, she was still quite dizzy and having a hard time focusing her eyes.  We agreed it would be difficult to intercept the bus so I would meet her at school. Having rushed out of the house I was later glad I had opted to trade my yoga pants for jeans, however I neglected to brush my teeth and hair.  The car ride from school to the clinic was a tricky one; motion caused her dizziness to increase and yet pulling over would only delay our need to see her Doctor - stat.  We made a swift entrance to the clinic only to be slowed down by Front Desk Fran (no, that’s probably not her real name).  “Yes, my address is still the same as it was 10 minutes ago when I alerted you we’d be coming in.” Yes, we still have the same insurance” (again from the recent verification via telephone). “Yes, I’m aware of the $20 co-pay” this is why I’m standing her waving my credit card at you…  and “yes, I know what HIPAA is (by evidence that I already signed it before you asked) oh, and no I don’t need the sheet explaining it.” At this point Fran realizes I am keeping one eye on Myah who is holding her head in her hands as she sits in the chair I had previously deposited her in, and one eye on her as I was jumping through administrative hoops and proclaims “she really doesn’t look well, take this portable vomit bag.” Thanks Fran. We’re finally off to Care Unit C and we are quickly ushered into a room.  Nurse Nancy (unlikely that is her real name) tries four times to take her blood pressure and fails each time. She then wheels in the digital reader which errors out after three additional attempts. Nurse Nancy asks Myah to stand so she could try again.  This works and Myah is now the unlucky owner of a 74/48 blood pressure.  Unfortunately the standing causes more dizziness and brings on the vomiting (seriously, thank you, Fran for the timely vomit bag). At this point Dr. S. (yes, that is her real initial) comes in and recommends IV fluids. They put a heart rate monitor on Myah's finger and then the panic sets in…her heart was beating 198 times per minute! Nurse Nancy and Assistant Nurse Annie (no, that’s probably not her real name either) fail miserably at their attempted to insert the IV but are thrilled to be able to cover up the needle mark with a shiny band aid which was supposed to make it all better.  I decided to not be the parent that explains that a 14 year old in this condition couldn’t care less that her band aid could double for a disco ball.  Enter Dr. McSomebody (I assume this is Dr. S’s boyfriend because I watch too much Grey’s Anatomy), who tells us Myah could have sepsis and we should head to the ER NOW.  911 is dispatched and we are now awaiting EMS.  Within 5 minutes there is a gurney outside the room and the two EMT’s strap Myah down to prepare her for her very first (and hopefully last) emergency vehicle transport.  Despite the stress of the moment, I did snap a picture to memorialize the occasion which earned me the hairy eyeball from Myah which in turn also told me she was feeling a little better already.  In the ambulance she was hooked up to a 4-lead EKG which revealed nothing out of the ordinary.  EMT Moustache cracked jokes about snow on May 1^st while EMT Slim Shady verified that I am in fact Myah’s Mom.  Since the EKG was normal we were deprived of wailing sirens and flashing lights which is kind of a bummer.  The medical bill we’ll likely get should at least include a good story about whizzing through Coon Rapids as if we were in a high speed chase in my book!  Needless to say our arrival to Mercy Hospital was underwhelming but we made it nonetheless.  We were escorted to Room 23, instructed to have Myah don the ever fashion-less hospital gown and wait for the nurse.  By this time Bob found us and we all settled in for what would end up being a very long day. Nurse Guy (not his name, just his gender) was the first to assess the situation and request a urine sample.  Myah has long been a very private girl but in this instance had no problem requesting that I join her in the restroom to provide a step-by-step tutorial on peeing in a cup (I, of course was designated the pee courier as well).  Eventually Dr. Taj (real first name) came in to see us citing concern over her still low blood pressure and high heart rate.  He ordered the first liter of saline hoping it would bring her heart rate to an acceptable level.  In the meantime a lovely phlebotomist arrived to retrieve blood samples for further testing.  It is important to know at this point that Myah out right belly laughs when getting her blood drawn – it is her own special brand of coping. We apologize in advance that we will both be partaking in fits of laughter as soon as the alcohol swap touches her skin.  I watch as the needle is removed from its sterile packaging and the giggling begins, she tries not to laugh right along with us; after all she was the one with sharp objects!  Once complete and the laughter subsided she informed us this was her last blood draw…ever.  After 23 years in the Allina HealthCare System she was packing up and moving to England and that Myah had been her first and last patient to giggle profusely while blood was being syphoned from her arm.  At this point a battery of tests was completed; kidney function, blood cell counts, diabetes, liver, the whole gamut – with little in the way of an explanation to her condition.  Dr. Taj reappears to deliver the “normal” results, chat a bit more, and order another liter of saline – surely this time it will bring her heart rate down. Not so.  He explained that in rare occasions a person’s heart could be enlarged causing it to work harder therefore a heart ultrasound was on tap.  Wanting to rule out all possibilities before ordering a D-dimer test, which could result in an unnecessary MRI, we agreed to all other avenues of investigation first. I will come back to the events of the ultrasound because it is, in fact the reason for this entire story.  As a courtesy to the Reader, I should tell you her heart is just perfect for a healthy 14 year old – no issues at all.  Since her heart rate was still high (my guess having a young and cute doctor that close didn’t help her cause), a third liter of saline was ordered.  When that failed to produce the results the good doctor was hoping for and all blood tests came back normal we were forced to do the D-dimer; and needed more blood.  Again we warned the new phlebotomist of the impending fit of laughter and delivered on it with a hearty display. Unfortunately Blood-taker Tony (his name was really John) was not as experienced as her previous one and her tears of laughter quickly turned to tears of pain and frustration.  Having to resort to a vein ultrasound machine to draw two more vials of blood she was officially over her ER adventure.  9.5 hours, multiple blood tests, ultrasounds, IV fluids, hospital cafeteria food, and too many episodes of Bones later, we were given the green light to head home. The D-dimer was normal and we had finally exhausted all life-threatening possibilities for why we found ourselves in the Mercy ER on a snowy day in May. Charged with keeping close eye on her and returning if necessary, we left with the assurance that Myah is healthy coupled with the pang of still wondering why we ended up here in the first place.

The moment crafted just for me…

With the room illuminated only by the picture on the ultrasound monitor and not even the sounds of us breathing I watched as the Doctor searched for Myah’s heart with the gelled wand. I could hear it before I could see it; her heartbeat.  Seconds later there it was, on the screen, whooshing and pumping in a rhythmic symphony.  All at once I was fighting back the tears.  Most Mom’s get to hear and see their baby’s heartbeat for the first time before they are born; a sigh of relief at the sign of life. For me, I had long ago given up the anticipation that I would ever have the chance to stare into a monitor with a silent prayer on my lips waiting for the Doctor to proclaim “everything looks great!” but in that hospital room, on a most peculiar day, I got to see my baby’s heartbeat for the very first time and that piece I was missing found its place securely in my own heart.

What the heart has once known it shall never forget ~

It started about a month after the accident, I was in Florida sitting alone on the patio near our leafless and seemingly dying Silk Floss tree he had planted from seeds (illegally pilfered from Disney World on a previous family trip!).   As I was contemplating our "new normal" a dragonfly caught my attention as it landed on a branch of the tree which was occupied by at least thirty other dragonflies simply resting on its branches.  I didn't think much of it beyond the intrigue of seeing so many on one place and on that sickly looking tree of all places.  Alas, in the following months I began to see dragonflies everywhere I went. They would dart in front of me, fly into my car windows, rest on near-by chairs, and generally make their presence known. I would see pictures, art work, and trinkets emblazoned with images of dragonflies regularly.  A couple weeks after the dragonfly-covered Silk Floss tree scene, my Mom called to tell me that our tree was budding leaves!  I told her about the dragonflies and how I’d been seeing them literally everywhere since that day on the patio- dragonfly sightings had become so prevalent in my everyday life that I couldn’t deny the fact that they had to be there for a reason.  

So one night I retreated to my office with a hot cup of coffee and after cuddling into a blanket, settled in for a little research.  Before long I was sifting through stories and symbols, meanings and significances of this newly remarkable creature in my life.  The most common theme arose quickly; dragonflies are symbolic of the souls of those no longer with us.  Other significances include their aerodynamic (airplane-like) shape and penchant to graceful flight. “They are fantastic flyers, darting like light, twisting, turning, changing direction, even going backwards as the need arises”.  My Dad had aviation in his blood (as did his Dad) and loved flying; his airplane wings were practically an extension of his own body.  Countless stories of flight, beauty, life, and inspiration filled my computer screen.  It was becoming quite clear that my heightened awareness to their presence was a frequent and gentle reminder to celebrate, like the dragonfly’s too short life, my Dad’s all to brief stay with us.  I knew my search for their meaning was complete with the five final words, while reading a brief snippet describing their short life and innate aspiration, I could almost hear my Dads voice echoing his favorite motto “live life to the fullest.”

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 5 years since he’s been gone; and though I still recoil from the pain I find myself thankful for the time I did have, grateful for the memories, and privileged to be his daughter.  

If you happen to look into the Anoka sky tonight and see 3 lanterns glowing as they gracefully skim the skyline, I hope you smile knowing they are in honor of an amazing Father-in-law, Dad, and Grandpa.

Thankful - (the short and sweet of it)

As I sit on the edge of my 38th Thanksgiving I find myself humbled by all I have to be thankful for. And its not just the grateful sense of appreciation one feels for acquired goods like houses, cars, and shoes (yes, shoes. You realize who is writing this, right?) but an awe-inspired heart-twisting thankfulness for the people I have been privileged to do life with. You know who you are - you are the wise words in a confusing situation, the gentle spirit in the harsh realities, the words of encouragement in the midst of defeat. You are the honest opinion even when I'd prefer a lie, you are the celebrator of life's tiny victories and the ever-present shoulder during life's struggles. You are laughter, support, loyal, and you are constant. And I am THANKFUL for my place in your lives!

Chicago

Day one:
After a 7 hour drive (ok, ride) across the Midwest with my dear friend, Nichole, her husband, Steve, and Bob I find myself in the midst of a quaint but clearly privileged neighborhood. The house is decorated perfectly paying respect to the 1920's builder while in contrast, illuminating the spirit of it's inhabitants. Victorian florals amidst the deep cabernet wood and rich marble accented by modern technology create a symphony of stunning traditional and contemporary style. The only thing surpassing its beauty are the inhabitants, whose genuine love for life is apparent upon first greeting. Immediately I am drawn in by their hospitality, a rare and coveted trait by any standard. As stories are shared and otherwise very separate lives intermingle over the infamous Nancy's Pizza; I marvel at the way lives intersect leaving an etching on your memory and if you're lucky, on your heart. Tonight, the etching is immortalized by the gift of a photograph - a captivating piece captured by the keen eye of Bradley Warren; one half of the the houses occupants, and Lori, the other half, as she dazzles us with her natural magnetic charm. As the night closes in, each couple retiring to their respective rooms for what promises to be much anticipated slumber, I am grateful to reflect upon such sweet memories of my first night in the Windy City.


Day two:


It should come as no surprise that uninterrupted sleep eludes me but alas I wake far too early for a vacation day and contemplate the days events. I don't get far because I have absolutely no idea what we have planned, just that I am on board for whatever the day brings. I rise, collect some reading material and head out to the patio to take in the freshness of the early morning. Except for the occasional jetliner passing almost low enough to see its passengers, it is a serene setting complete with fragrant flowers silently ushering in a new day. The day commences with shopping where the only damage worse on our pocketbooks is the astronomical toll fees.  After the tolls and paying tax on clothing, we have single-handedly supported the state of Illinois, you're welcome, residents.


Day three:

CHI Town or bust! Brad has graciously offered to be our tour guide in the city. We begin with a sight-seeing excursion aboard the public transit system known as the Metra where, as with any transit, the people watching is always a highlight. We make our way through the city with Brad occasionally summoning us to "gather 'round children" so he can share information nuggets about the waterways, buildings, and fixtures. We make our way to what the residents begrudgingly announce as the Willis Tower but quickly add that any true Chicagoian will always regard it as the infamous Sears Tower. Thanks to Lori's connections we escaped the long lines and Fast Passed our way to the 103rd floor. The 360 degree view of the city is nothing short of spectacular but what really got me excited was standing on The Ledge. Stepping out on to what I can only liken to a plexiglass box jutting from the side of the building I catch my breath as I look all 103 stories down as if I'm standing in mid-air. What a rush! If it wasn't for the crowds of people clamoring in to get their chance at standing the in the clear box I could have lost myself in the magnificence of it all. Brad chooses The Artists Cafe for lunch because of its non-tourist, authentic Chicago fare. I, of course choose the menu item that makes me giggle; its called Yaya's Spankopita - funny, right? It's a Mediterranean spinach dish that hits the spot! On our way through the city we stop and take in the sights and sounds of children playing in the Millenium Park waterfall. Next we head to Grant Park where Bob and I make a mental note to return one day. Around the park we find The Bean...it's a 23 million dollar stainless steel...well, bean! Amazed at the sights in its reflection, one of them being us, I joined the hundreds of others in a photo frenzy attempting to capture just the right reflective bean pic. Navy Pier welcomed us afterward where we took a speedboat tour of Lake Michigan aboard the SeaDog while the spunky tour guide ended each segment with a hearty "rrrr-ruff ruff!" It was entertaining to say the least. I've never been so thankful to not be a college student taking odd jobs to supplement my tuition.  We end our quick trip to the pier with a Ferris Wheel ride and as the car rotates us through the air I am struck with appreciation toward our car-mates for their request to join them on this adventure. Dinner is at a great Mexican restaurant called Catina Lardeo where the only thing better than the handmade guacamole and mojito's was the impeccable service - thanks, Chuy for making it such a memorable experience!


Day four:
After a much needed run due to the countless (as in, I took a vacation from counting them) calories and a breakfast that could wow Julia Child, the girls and I take a trip to do some boutique shopping which quickly results in once again stimulating the Illinois economy. Because we have been told that this evening is a surprise in honor of celebrating the Vogt and Dillner Anniversaries (June 26th for both), Nichole and I are chomping at the bit to ready ourselves for whatever the night has in store. Settling on cute sun-dresses and fancy jewelry we are set for our night. With Brad at the helm we pull into the Ravinia parking lot unload our picnic wares and set a course to find some prime real-estate on the lawn. Upon finding the perfect spot, Lori sets out a homemade picnic-style spread fit for royalty and soon we are basking in the warm weather with full bellies and enjoying the company of our different worlds intersecting. Tonights entertainment is Garrison Keillor and I finally understand what all the fuss is about - that's one crazy-looking funny dude! After Ravinia we set out to stalk the wealthy neighborhoods and drool over their homes - I think Bob "Bub" as he was dubbed this night, was in his glory taking in all that "old money" can buy. Since we are heading back to MN in the morning, our last stop was Portillo's for an authentic Italian beef hot dog - it was worth trip, yum!


Day five:


A quite drive home in a car of exhausted friends is how this trip ends but not before we stop in for some Wisconsin cheese curds via Nichole's request... unfortunately, they were out of curds that day. No, really, the cheese place in WISCONSIN was out of cheese. If you ask Nichole about it, you may have to wait until the absurdity-induced laughter subsides.


A million thanks to Brad and Lori for opening your home and being incredible hosts. If there was an award for this, you'd be the reigning champions. To Nichole and Steve, thanks for the new memories on the road to becoming old friends.

Father's Day

I'm quite sure bloggers across the nation are preparing their Father's Day posts at this very moment; many to express their heartfelt gratitude to the men who helped raise them, some complain about the short-coming of theirs, and still countless others to, in some way simply share the impact of what this day means to them.  Today, I join the multitudes in our quest to share a glimpse into the psyche of a child on Father’s Day.

Normally I’d say it’s best to start from the beginning, but the beginning is not what sustains me it’s the middle, so I’ll start there.   I am 14; he has just come from sunny Florida to visit me in the dead of a Minnesota winter.   Ever the adventurer, he takes me out on a frozen lake – in the car – I imagine paying homage to his teen years when he lived here and this was commonplace.  As the adrenaline coursed through my veins I recall a fleeting thought that I should be terrified at the possibility of falling through our icy playground but an unexpected emotion took over; security.  I was, after all with my DAD.  I didn’t know at the time how important this revelation was – for it was new, welcomed, and oh so sweet.  But looking back on the years, it became the cornerstone of how I knew I wanted my daughter to feel in the presence of her Dad.  I am 15; we are flying, yes, in an airplane that my Dad is piloting.  Once again the adrenaline has released a thrill I am unfamiliar with but embracing because I am with my Dad and that unspoken bond reassures me that I am safe.   I am 18, 24, 33…; the stories change but the message is constant, I am loved, I am his daughter.  I recall the first time I heard him introduce me as such.  The pride and confirmation of belonging solidified something deep within, that even though my father-daughter story was not as I would have written it if given the choice, it was my story.  Few of us can look back and not want to re-write a few of life’s chapter’s – it is nevertheless what gives us material to write the future. 

I am 37; and on this Father’s Day I am reflecting on all that is good.  No longer is the safety of a father’s provision available to those of us whose Dads were taken from us too soon, but the memories of lives touched live on.  I enjoy seeing glimpses of him in the generosity of my husband, I find solace in the unconditional love of my Mom, I marvel at the ingenuity of my daughter, and I take comfort in that still quiet place deep within reminding me that this life, is a pretty good story.

In loving reflection of the life of my Dad, Dale Anthony Shallbetter.

In The Beginning...

Blogging is so interesting, don't you think? We post our personal thoughts in a public forum open to others' thoughts, feedback, and yes, sometimes criticism. I have to admit that this vulnerability goes against my natural grain and will, at some point, likely cause a scuff in my otherwise well polished psyche. But, we cannot grow without being stretched nor can we learn without being challenged. Therefore as I embark on this "public journal" of sorts, I find myself armed with nothing more than the simple desire to step out of my comfort zone and an industrial power buffing machine.

The first thought that nudges its way past all the positive ones sticking it's tongue out in mock defiance is "who, if anyone, will read this?" And is quickly replaced with the more stern-faced "it doesn't matter" (accompanied with a shoulder shrug) thought. Which is then followed up with the ever-faithful "who ever is meant to, will" reasoning... and so goes the internal dialog of a self-professed approval seeker on her journey to appeal to the masses with a genuine love of people and the goal of a masterpiece woven with finest threads of the thoughts from those very interactions.

Now...

Since I've always been a firm believer in ripping the band-aid off swiftly and painfully, in effort to get the worst over quickly, I will not wuss out and tug gently here either. That being said I would like to issue the following disclaimer:
-Though every attempt will be made to not offend the reader, the author shall not be held liable for hurt feelings or misunderstandings that go unmentioned.
-The reader should bear in mind that contrary to what may have been heard, the author is not a professional blogger and may, at times be required to issue a retraction or correction.
-The author will respectfully listen to feedback and respond accordingly to the aforementioned indiscretions but undoubtedly prefers accolades... and the occasional box of chocolate.

Welcome to my virtual diary, you're invited to snoop.

Time to Fly

Recently I sent an email out inviting friends and family to join me in the Children's Cancer Research Fund "Time to Fly" charity run/walk on June 26th. My involvement with Children's is somewhat recent so I felt it necessary to explain why I've chosen to support them.

As we know, most supporters of a disease cause do so because their lives have somehow been impacted by that illness. Maybe a loved one was lost, someone they care about is faced with the challenge of surviving it, or they, themselves are fighting for their chance to live despite their disease.

Those of you know know me, know that Children's Cancer is not something I have personally been challenged with and that is the very reason I am in support of finding a cure. I can look at Myah and breathe easy because her body is not riddled with cancer cells making her sick. I can take her crazy bushy hair for granted because she is not losing it. I can watch her sleep in the comfort of her own bed and not worry if this might be the last time I see her in peaceful dreams of the future. I can... simply, I can.

I support Children's Cancer Research on behalf of not only the kids, but their parents; their, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who cannot. They cannot afford to take even a moment for granted.

So if you can, I'd like to invite you to join us too. Come celebrate with us- for we have so much to be thankful for.

Our team name is "Social Butterflies" to commemorate the lovely award CCRF bestowed to me last month. You are welcome to join my team here:

http://support.childrenscancer.org/site/TR?fr_id=1150&pg=entry