Good Luck Or Bad Luck?

The car was towed to the dealership on Monday. They have confirmed that the torque converter is what failed.  Ford Corporation has a call into the service manager to get a quote and will call me back with an "offer." 

Praying that it's reasonable. 

Now, on to the medical, I was wrong when I posted that we had a family deductible of $8,150. 

It's so much worse! 

My out of pocket individual amount is $8,150. The family deductible is $16,300. 

So much more affordable Than the old $500 deductibles right?! 

We are not even halfway to fullfilling the family deductible and I still haven't met the individual. The policy rolls over on December 1 and we start over. 

I spoke with the social worker at my Oncologist's office and she is submitting my name for every grant for which I am eligible. I also spoke to the Patient Financial Advocate who is submitting me for a copay assistance program through the makers of Kanjinti which is the generic form of Herceptin. I've been receiving it all along but everyone still calls it Herceptin. If I am approved for the copay program my bill to Penn Medicine could go away or at least be cut in half and my future copays for the rest of the treatments until June 2022 could be covered as well. 

We still have other outstanding medical expenses for CT scans, a bone scan, echocardiogram etc. but if we can get the other stuff covered we will be much better off. 

But wait there's more! 

Additionally, someone annonymously paid for David's gymnastics tuition for December and another has covered his fees for his first meet. Someone else has sent money that we can use for the rest of the medical bills that won't be covered by the grant or copay assistance program. And, another friend is bringing us dinner this weekend! 

The light at the end of the tunnel is bright thanks to the generosity of so many people. I look forward to the day that we are in a position to help others the way we have been helped. 

The deer situation still has us shaking our heads in disbelief. 

While I am still suffering a bit of an emotional hangover from everything we have endured for the past week and a half, my sense of humor has been fully restored. 

One of the things I'm still laughing about happened while I was talking with the police on Wednesday night. 

After I had put in the call to 911, I called the parents of the boy we were driving home. His mom didn't
answer so I called his dad and explained what happened. A short time later, as the police officer was explaining the report, the mom called back. 

I looked at the phone and said, "Hey it's your mom, can you answer, tell her what happened an that we're ok?"

I turned back to the officer and tried to pay attention to what he was saying but was distracted by the following conversation on our end of the phone: 

"Hello?"

"No, it's Lukas."

"Yes, but she's talking to the police." 

"Oh my gosh, give me the phone!!!!" I screamed. 

The officer stood at the driver's door laughing while I calmed the mom on the phone. 

Kid's!

I have become poster child for the saying, "If it weren't for back luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all." 

An expression I used to hate but get it now, because I am living it. 

I only pray that my string of bad luck has come to an end. 

Traditions

If you have kids you know that that first year can be a little fuzzy.

With twins well, all I can say is I'm really glad I took a plethora of pictures. I barely remember any of it!

After the boys were born our first outing without them was to buy our Christmas tree. My mom came to the house while we ran to the local hardware store and purchased our tree from a Boy Scout Pack.

I think we were out of the house a total of 45 minutes.

My mom laughed at us when we returned.

The next year we went to a local tree farm with the boys in their double jogging stroller. It was a little hilly and tough to navigate but the large wheels on the stroller made it easier.

We were out of there very quickly. It was nice but not very memorable.

The following year we found Spruce Grove Tree Farm.

There was a tractor with trailer and hay bales in it that took us to and from the areas where the trees were ready.

There was an old fashioned sleigh for pictures, hot chocolate in the office and wreaths for sale in the barn.

Frank, the owner, is one of the nicest guys I've ever met. He was so excited to have the kids there and made us feel like family.

We didn't just show up, cut down a tree and go home.

We had an experience.

We've returned to Spruce Grove every year since and it just gets better and better.

This year the kids even got to try using the saw. It was so exciting for them to actually take part in cutting down the tree!

Daniel even yelled, "TIMBER!"

Well he got to about "Ti.." when it was down but it was exciting none-the-less.

I don't remember when, but years ago Frank added a fire pit and free marshmallows for toasting.

In fact, every year get's better and better. This year he added a small scale model train that the kids could ride, a huge tree swing as well as food for sale along with the usual popcorn and hot chocolate.

The sleigh has been moved to a place of prominence. The barn now has one of each species of evergreen available for sale and an employee reviews the trees with the customers so you know which field to go to. Wreaths are now in a temporary outbuilding along with other seasonal decor for sale.

Santa, with a real beard, was there for pictures and it didn't cost a dime!

Three years ago our nephew and his new wife came to go tree hunting with us. They didn't know that they were going to buy one but decided that they had to have the perfect tree for their first Christmas as Mr. & Mrs.

They have been coming back every year since.

As we were sitting around the fire pit today, my niece sighed. I looked at her and asked if she was ok and she said, "This is just such a cool place."

I agree.

We were there for two hours.

What was an experience is now a tradition.

We all have traditions. Some are carried out with enthusiasm others with eye-rolls.

I love traditions. Not just "that's the way we've always done it" stuff that comes with requisite eye-rolling but true traditions.

On Christmas morning we open stockings (ours are wrapped) then have breakfast before opening the presents. It keeps the day from rushing into a blur of torn wrapping paper. As a kid, I didn't like waiting to open my gifts.

As an adult, I love it.

Maybe it's because I'm getting older and know that time is fleeting.

I want to enjoy time with family, play games, go to aquariums, shows, movies, etc. and talk about how much fun we had.

Honestly, I just want to slow down.

There was a time in my life where stuff was my driving force. I thought that's what we were supposed to do.

Now I care about quality not quantity.

I don't want stuff that needs regular dusting, I want memories like the ones we made today.

We agreed we need to do this every year... forever.

It's a tradition.

His Legacy

Three years ago this morning I sat with my hand on my father's shoulder as he took his last raspy breath of life. My mother said it was fitting that I was the last one with him as he was the first one to touch me when I came into this word.

My dad was my buddy and not a day goes by that I don't miss him.

We talked about everything and he was the first person that I would call for anything but especially when had a new joke. Sometimes I would tell him the same ones just because his memory for jokes really sucked! He would laugh the same each time.

I miss his laugh.

He had a great sense of humor and was as quick with a laugh as he was with his temper.

Man, did dad have a temper.

He mellowed in his older years but he was fierce when we were younger.

He could yell louder than any other human on the face of the earth and could get whatever attention was needed, when it was needed. Sometimes you didn't want the attention but when you pissed him off you knew it and sometimes, unfortunately, the entire neighborhood knew it too!

We were raised during the "corporal punishment is ok years." Although we are not an enormously religious family "spare the rod, spoil the child" was certainly a philosophy that was practiced in our house. Dad used to use his fraternity paddle to spank us.

As if being hit with a piece of wood wasn't bad enough, the guilty party would be dispatched to retrieve the "the paddle," an act, I always felt, was akin to sharpening the blade on the guillotine before your own execution!

One morning my brother and I were rough-housing and we broke something - I don't remember exactly what it was - but I was sent to get "the paddle." I crocodile-teared all the way up the stairs into my room where I pulled on every pair of underpants and shorts I owned under my nightgown before proceeding to my dad's closet the get "the paddle" and return downstairs.

When dad hit me it sounded (and felt) like he hit a pillow!

I could cry at the drop of a hat - a skill I developed solely to get my brother in trouble - so I let the tears flow freely while desperately trying not to smile because it didn't hurt AT ALL!!!

I really thought I was "one up" and that the old man was a dunce.

I was 19 before he told me that he knew what I had done but didn't want to say anything! He told me that I was the only one of us three kids that had the guts to even try to get away with such a thing and he wasn't going to take that away from me!

He was a strict disciplinarian but he was also a dedicated husband and father who did whatever it took to provide for his family and be involved in our lives. He was a soccer coach, hockey coach and timer at the swim meets. He knew nothing of soccer and hockey but read every book he could find on the topic to be a good coach - he was that dedicated.

He was at every game we played and every meet we competed in and he had a whistle you could hear over the rest of the crowd and through a bathing cap in the water.

Looking back at my childhood I remember him always being there; didn't matter if it was a school concert or a swim meet my parents were always there.

One of my favorite memories of my elementary years is the Annual Girl Scout Father Daughter Square Dance. I looked forward to that event every year. Dad was my date! We'd get all dressed up and spend the night following the calls to "do-si-do" and "swing your partner." It was heaven! Being on his arm made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world!

Oh to have that feeling today.

In the past three years, I have had moments where memories come flooding back to me. There are so many things that we did with my dad. When we were very young, summers revolved around swimming lessons at the lake and vacations in Maryland at my grandparent's farm. As we got older, we sailed.

Dad was a sailor at heart.

He loved to be on the water and loved sailing but what he loved the most, was racing. So much so that he founded the Sailing Team at his alma mater Colgate University.

When he wasn't sailing he was fixing. He had an amazing skill with wood and there was always a boat in some stage of repair in our garage.

At some point fixing turned into building.

I don't remember the details but, somehow a guy in Michigan got a hold of my dad, sent him some blueprints for a boat he had designed and next thing I know dad was building the thing.

Now this would be an amazing feat for just about anyone, never mind the guy who had a full-time job, three young kids with crazy sports schedules and a wife at home.

He built a 24' wood and epoxy boat in the garage from blueprints!

I remember watching him pace out the garage to see if it would fit and watched him literally jump with excitement when he realized that it would.

In order to build this thing, it had to be constructed upside down. Once the hull was ready it had to be flipped over so he could build the deck. I can still see the scene in my mind today of all of the mattresses in the driveway and a huge number of people helping to roll this thing over. There might have been a keg involved but I'm not sure.

Our friends and neighbors must have thought we were insane.

In the middle of construction dad was transferred from north Jersey to south Jersey. In addition to moving us and the contents of the house, we had to move the boat! Next thing I know dad was modifying a trailer to tow this thing south.

I know that for a while he rented space in some sort of business complex but eventually moved the boat to my grandmother's carriage house. Once it was finished he launched the boat in Island Heights, NJ and christened it GARDYLOO.

The '80s were spent on the water in Island Heights, New Jersey. Some of my greatest memories are from those summers. He wasn't just my dad, he took on a fatherly role with everyone younger than he was. He didn't do this consciously, it was his nature. He was wise if you were willing to listen - I was a teenager in the '80s so I often argued more than I listened - but he was always willing to offer some tidbit of wisdom.

A few weeks before he passed away he told me that one thing he would really like to do was to go sailing again. I knew that I had to find a way to make this wish come true.

I called a friend and found out that his brother's boat was still in the water and that they'd be more than happy to make this happen. Before I knew it we had assembled the old crew from Island Heights, including one of the guys that was now a surgeon living in Florida, and headed for a sail.

Unfortunately a key crew member was unable to make it: my brother was stuck at a conference in California and couldn't get back. We arranged for my dad to talk to him on the phone while we were sailing. It certainly wasn't the same but at least they got to talk. We also had two additions to the crew that day. My husband, my dad introduced the two of us, and his oldest grandson who my dad had also taught to sail and was dad's right arm at the Sailing School.

The fact that we were able to assemble everyone on such short notice was nothing shy of a miracle but the day itself was truly touched by God.

It was mid November in Maryland and it was nearly 70 degrees. The sun was shining and there was a light wind blowing. An hour north in Philadelphia that same day and same time, there was sleet and snow!

It took some maneuvering but we finally managed to get dad loaded onto the boat and headed out from the dock. When it was time to set the sails each of the crew members jumped to action as if no time at all had passed since we last crewed together despite the fact that it had been more than 20 years!

It was magical.

Dad was settled in the cockpit and we took turns sitting next to him to keep him from falling over each time we were on starboard tack. We also took turns imitating him and spouting his Chuck-isms. He no longer had the strength or desire to yell at us but he certainly got a kick out of our impersonations.

We sailed for a little more than an hour before dad said that he was tired.

It was time to turn around.

The return trip might have been sunny, but my mood was beginning to cloud over. I stayed by my dad's side as much as possible as I knew that this would be the last time I would sail with him and I didn't want it to end.

In the years since my dad has passed I do not look at, or think about, a sailboat without missing him.

All I have to do is be near the water with wind in my hair and my dad comes to life.

He loved sailing so much that when he retired he joined a yacht club and started the Rock Hall Yacht Club Sailing School that thrives today. Two of his grandchildren as well as a few of the kids from his inaugural class have become sailing instructors.

His legacy lives on. The children who were once students, will one day teach our boys.

We just celebrated the twins' first birthday. I have thought of my dad countless times this past year and am saddened by the fact that they will never know him. They will however, learn to sail and when the wind blows through their hair and the sun kisses their cheeks, they will feel his touch and know his love.

Dark Grilled Cheese

If you ask any of my friends and my hubby, they will tell you that I am a pretty good cook and I make a mean cake. So why is it that three times this month I have managed to burn my soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?

The grilled cheese, I must confess, is my culinary Achilles heel. I'm just not patient enough to wait for it to brown up properly and tend to have the heat turned up too far. Thankfully, my hubby says he likes them "dark." Honestly, I think he's just taking pity on me. Either way, I don't care, he eats them and I don't have to throw them out and start over!

The soup...well, I just forget!

I put it on a back burner with the heat turned down and walk away to take care of the boys lunch. Between 1-2 HOURS later I will be at the sink making the boys their afternoon bottles and I will hear the distinct bubbling sound that only boiled down soup can make and then rush to take it off the burner. Like that last half-second is miraculously going to save it right? Sort of like leaving the lights on in your car at the mall and running the last 10 feet through the parking lot to shut them off and magically saving the battery. Anyway, I digress....

Burning things is not a norm for me. I like to be in the kitchen. My center island is a commercial prep table because I spend that much time in the kitchen (it was thousands cheaper than an actual island) and I am a good cook. I have traded recipes with professional chefs!

It's the kids!

I get so distracted with the boys that I completely forget what I am doing.

Imagine my horror!  I have been told by multiple professional chefs that I am an "excellent cook" and am now reduced to burning canned soup?!

I used to make gourmet meals like shitake mushroom risotto and chicken marsala. My friends used to call me for cooking advice...now I burn soup.

Now that it's cooling off, we're in comfort food season. On a good night, I'll get the chicken in the oven and rice in the cooker in time to put something on the table that resembles a balanced meal.

Bad nights we're eating "dark" grilled cheese sandwiches and burnt soup.

Shut Up and Get in the Car!

Over the summer we spent four weekends away from home. Each trip was met with pretty good levels of success with a couple of little blips on the sleep schedule that can be more readily attributed to teething and growth spurts than to being in a different house. The kids are crawling so arriving anywhere involves an immediate sweep through the residence to put breakables, and pet food, out of reach.

It was such a relief to have these trips go well because packing for them was insane. I honestly had no idea what it took to get a family of four packed up and on the road. One night away or three, didn't matter the amount of stuff that we needed was nothing short of crazy!

When I was  child my grandparents owned a farm in Chesapeake City, MD on the Bohemia River. We would spend a week or two at "the farm" every summer. To us kids, the farm was nothing short of heaven. Acres of cornfields that led down to the woods through which one had to travel to get to the boat house and the Bohemia River. There was old barn that housed a big beautiful owl, multiple out-buildings for exploring and a tractor and trailer that was used, among other things, to tow us kids around the property.

Depending on the time of day, you could walk forever before actually getting to the water if the tide was out. There was no shortage of rocks to look under, shells to collect and snakes to catch. If you were willing to sit quietly for long enough the deer would just about walk over you and woodchucks were abundant. Legend has it that my grandfather's dog even chased one up a tree.

The house was three stories tall with a central bannister that was sturdy enough to slide down from the very top all the way to the bottom, which we did every day. I don't think I ever actually walked down the stairs. I mean really, why would I? There was a banister. The front porch had the best swing imaginable. Napping on that thing was pretty commonplace.

The farm was such a great place! As a kid I could never understand why my parents weren't as excited about going there as we were...until now. I had no appreciation for the work that went into packing up a family for vacation.

Not only did mom have to do the laundry and pack for all five of us but she had to go to the grocery store, with us three in tow, to stock up on food for the week or two that we were going to be there. Dad would arrive home from work and pack the car or begin first thing the following morning while we all had breakfast. The last thing to be loaded was the dogs, one of whom would inevitably barf in the way-back of the station wagon.

Just before we got in the car the bathroom, "but I don't have to go!" battle would begin. We were instructed just to try sitting on the potty to see if maybe there was something that would come out. Then there was the seatbelt fight. My dad worked in the insurance industry. I'm pretty sure we were the only family whose children wore seat-belts in the early 70s.

The stress of getting the family ready for vacation had to be almost overwhelming!

The drive wasn't much more enjoyable either. True to form, my little sister would pass out as we backed out of the driveway. My brother and I would proceed to play volleyball with her head for as much of the trip as we could until one of us would bounce her head a little too hard, she would cry and the fights would begin.

We had a country squire station wagon with vinyl seats and no AC. Air conditioning then was 4/60: four windows down at 60 mph. If we were lucky our parents would angle the little triangular window on the door toward the back so that the breeze would really blow.

There was almost always a chorus of she's/he's touching me followed by my dad shouting, "don't make me pull this car over!" If we kicked the back of his seat or pushed our knees into the back of his seat he would perform the most amazing contortionist act where his arm would come over the seat and his vice-like hand would get ahold of the top out our knee. If you saw it coming you could try to squirm out of the way; however, remember - we wore seat belts, avoiding his grip was really almost impossible.

I distinctly recall asking every parent's most dreaded question: "Are we there yet?"

Why they never left us on the side of the road is beyond me!

Packing for two adults and two infants is no less insane. I can't get over the amount of stuff that we need just to go away for the night: two pack-n-plays, two booster seats, a double stroller, baby food, toys, clothing, blankets, diapers, wipes, spoons, bowls and a bib for each boy for each meal.

Loading the car is akin to assembling a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Put one item in the wrong place and the rest will not fit. Packing, loading and driving all needs to be coordinated so that feeding can commence upon arrival and doesn't interrupt what little nap schedule they have.

Comparatively, right now I have it easy.

I do all of this while the kids sit in their highchairs eating Cheerios or Puffs. The do not whine about which toys to bring, they do not argue about having to go the bathroom and they don't fight with each other about who gets to sit on which side of the car.

This too shall pass. I have no doubt that the time will come where I will be just as cranky as my parents were after getting the car loaded for the family vacation and arguing about going to the potty one last time. I am absolutely certain that the day will come when I utter the words, "Shut up and get in the car!"

Three

That’s the number of attempts it takes me to accomplish just about anything. For instance: This morning I needed to get the power cord for my laptop out of the office upstairs so that I could work at the kitchen table while the boys played in the creatively named “playroom.”

As I headed up the stairs I noticed a dirty onsie by the changing table, which reminded me that I had forgotten to switch the laundry over in the basement. I took the dirty onsie downstairs, started the next load of laundry and headed upstairs to fold the stuff from the dryer. I got to the top of the stairs and realized that the stuff I needed to fold was sitting on top of the dryer...where I'd left it. Oh hell! Down  I went again to get the dry clothes, which I always fold in the living room.

I don’t like the basement. It’s not finished and I am afraid of spiders – that’s a story for another post – anyway…I finished folding the laundry and remembered that I still needed my power cord so I headed up the stairs again. I have no flipping idea what I did while I was up there but I definitely did not get the power cord. 

When I got back to the kitchen I opened my computer only to discover that it was dead.

I needed the power cord. 

Three tries and load of laundry later, I have my power cord and I am writing. 

I can’t even blame the kids, they were playing all by themselves and being the wonderful, amazing, perfect little cherubs that they are.

Now if I could only remember what I was going to work on! 

Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat

My entire life my mother has complained about the laundry. All aspects of laundry: sorting, folding, the stuff that has to be hung, things that can't be dried in the dryer, etc. none of it has escaped the wrath of mom. It seems to be her nemesis.

She still complains about doing the laundry.

She lives alone.

Well mom, in the words of Bill Clinton, "I feel your pain." Wash, dry, fold, repeat. That seems to be the purpose of my life these days and the boys are only 8 months old. This morning I began the first of six loads for the day. I could probably whittle it down to three if I didn't care what color things came out but, the fact is, I do.

So I sort. Whites, darks, reds, blues and greens. If I have enough khaki/beige then I make another pile. Towels don't fit into any category other than, towels. Sheets are also their own category. I have tried many, many different stain sticks/pretreatments. The Oxyclean Stain Stick is my favorite for removing some of the more disgusting things that the kids have blapped down their fronts.

After my husband and I were married and finally living together - it took 8 months to consolidate households - it took me another month just to get his socks white. I was tempted to just go buy him new ones and look like a "laundry guru" but I didn't want the pressure.

Before we were together he didn't sort.

He still doesn't sort.

I do the laundry. I hate the way he does laundry. He doesn't sort, he folds wrong and he doesn't put it away. Well to be fair, he did put it away when I was recuperating from the c-section (but those days are but a small, small blip on a distant radar screen). He knows that if it sits out long enough it either gets used or it miraculously ends up in his dresser. We have never discussed his unwillingness to put his laundry away and honestly, it's one of those things that really, in the big scheme of things, is not that important.

We have a pretty traditional household. I cook, clean, do laundry and am primary care giver to the kids. I work but I work from home so I'm here almost all of the time. Hubby has a job that takes him all over the place, usually about 1000 miles of driving per week. On a good week he is home before 6 every evening. He does the "hubby jobs" that include lawn care, trash removal, construction items, etc. He helps clean up from dinner and will help with just about anything around the house as long as it's not laundry.

The other night as were were getting into bed we were joking about the division of household chores. It's not something that we have ever discussed. We just fell into certain roles and that's they way it's always been. I was teasing him about how long the grass had gotten (he's sort of become OCD about the lawn) and he mentioned that I was welcome to mow the lawn. I said sure as long as he was willing to do the laundry. He replied, "But you hate the way I do laundry."

"Yeah, well, you've never seen me mow the lawn."