Reciplease

For the better part of living in Sloppy Joe, my weekdays have looked a little something like this:

Hour 1 (6:30 - 7:30 am): Shower/Get Ready
Hour 2 (7:30 - 8:30 am): Drive to work
Hours 3 - 13 (8:30 am - 6:30 pm): Work (that departure time is pretty generous, but let's do easy math here, people)
Hours 13 - 14 (6:30 - 7:30 pm): Drive to Sloppy Joe
Hours 14 - 16 (7:30 - 10:30 pm): Eat dinner, do whatever needs to be done around the house, iron and pack lunches for the next day, etc.
Hours 16 - 24 (10:30 pm - 6:30 am): ZZZzzzzzz

As you can see, that 3 hours of personal time, doesn't leave a lot of time...and the last thing I want to be doing then is cooking dinner! I've done a really good job (if I do say so myself), of cooking for the week on Sundays. Whether that's browning taco meat, assembling the casseroles so they are oven ready or chopping veggies for a cobb salad, by Sunday night our fridge is usually a beautiful sight.

That said, I don't enjoy slaving away in a kitchen all day and night Sunday, either.

I'm looking for some new recipes I can make ahead on Sundays and eat during the week. Preferably fairly simple. Crockpot meals too: what can I dump in the pot, put in the fridge Sunday and simply toss in the crock's skeleton (sounds interesting) on my way to work in the morning. Or lastly, I'll take tips on good multi-purpose ingredients (example: boil 6 chicken breasts, shred two for BBQ chicken sandwiches, cube the other four and marinate in wing sauce for buffalo chicken salads).

I know the notion of easy, weekday recipes isn't something I'm just looking for, so share, share away. I'm sure all of us busy gals no matter the occupation, just want some good ideas to get foods to the hubs and kids stat. I look forward to reading what you cook up. In the meantime, it's time to take the homemade Runzas out of the oven. I'm starving!

KC BBQ Review: RJs Bob-be-Que

The hubs and I decided that while we're living in the suburb of Kansas City that is Sloppy Joe, we need to take advantage of trips to "the City" and go on a Bar-B-Que sampling tour. Kansas City is renown for barbecue; I mean, there is a wikipedia page on the subject. It must be legit. It's something we need to do during our time down South.

The sampling tour kicked off Sunday--Mother's Day--at RJ's Bob-Be-Que in Mission, Kansas.

Overall, I'd give RJ's ****** (six out of 10 stars). Not terrible, not the best thing I've ever had.

Off the bat, I was disappointed when getting these salad dressing packets. Want to get on my good side? Give me a side of good, tasty, not-too-thick foodservice Ranch. TFitch and I often comment on a restaurant's ranch. ("Mmm, this is good ranch.") I realize how fat this is, but it's the truth. While the Marzetti's dressing was just fine, it didn't add any stars to RJ's review. However, the salad itself was pretty delicious.. Craisins and dill pickles were included. Random, but pretty delicious. It actually inspired TFitch and I to add Craisins to our salad tonight at home.

In terms of atmosphere, I'd say 7. I like dive BBQ joints (but am a little leery of one place my bro and his GF want to take us to. They swear it has delicious food but they were shut down temporarily because of rat poop in the smoker. Ew.) RJs was a good environment. Few things, though:

1. We went on Mother's Day. We waited about 10 minutes for our table, which wasn't horrible. However, we wanted to sit on the nice, big patio, but they insisted it was full. Funny thing was no one was out there.

2. It was a little warm in the place. Naturally cold-blooded, I'm not often warm. I guess those smokers and grills do kick out some heat.

3. It was a bit smoky in the restaurant. Not nasty Marlboro smokey, but BBQ smoke smoky. I just wanted to open a window to cool down and air out the place. Overall, not terrible but enough for me to notice.

4. Just a little cramped. As much as I am sure the table next to us was full of nice people and I was fascinated trying to figure out their family dynamics, I did not want to spend Mother's Day with them. 

I ordered the Memphis Po Boy with Chicken for my main meal. TFich ordered it with pork. I thought it was decent. I had to eat it with a fork because the cole slaw made the bun too soggy. (But you could tell it was a good tasting bun.) The chicken was pretty good, some parts were a little burned, but good chicken overall. I substituted cheesy corn bake for the french fries. It was weird but good. It was essentially Velveeta cheese with corn with chunks of ham in it (which were little morsels of deliciousness). Didn't taste much "baked," though. Feedback on the cheesy corn bake was mixed, but it didn't keep me from eating my condiment cup of it. I'd give my meal a 6.

My brother got the three meat sammich and couldn't stop raving about the chicken. His girlfriend got the pork butt burger (true story--what they're known for). We all took a pull of it. It was okay. Kind of weird, but it was exactly what you'd think it would be. Ground pork butt formed into a hamburger patty. She wasn't a fan of this for her main meal.

We ordered a slab of ribs for the table for everyone to try. I was not impressed with the ribs. They were burned and dry. TFitch makes much better ribs in his smoker at home. I have two ribs a try but just wasn't impressed. I'd give the ribs a 2.

Our bill for two people came to nearly $50, which I thought was a little expensive. This is with Diet Cokes to drink (no alcohol). However, we put the ribs on our ticket, which was $15.

One selling point for RJs is they sell Bernadette's Cupcakes and Cookies (and if you're a mom you got one free Sunday! Sucks for me.) Bernadette made my friend Rachel's wedding cake and I hired her for a cupcake order some years ago for my grandma's 80th birthday party. They're tasty.

So, that's my review of RJ's BBQ in Mission, Kansas. It was featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, so be sure and check out Guy Fieri's review. And check back soon for a review from another infamous KC BBQ joint.

La la la la-la la, la la la la-la.

I listen to Mix 93.3 in the morning and they always seem to be talking about things I could easily contribute to. The other day they were talking about bad vacation stories. Hello...have you heard about my father being deported from Canada?

Today they were talking about the Smurfs movie coming out soon. I so badly wanted to call in, but that's never something I would do. (See label of post.) So, let me confess right here, right now, that I was, at one point in my life, OBSESSED with the Smurfs. I'd watch them on Saturday mornings and then--and THEN--I'd call my grandma to make sure she watched. Me, in a voice even higher than the one I have now, would ask any question I could to try and stump her.

Seriously.
How wonderful of my grandma to watch Saturday morning cartoons on a weekly basis, just so she wouldn't get bitched out by her six-year-old granddaughter.

That's some love.

I'll have to ask my grandma if she remembers the Poppa Smurf quizzes (if only I was as punny then). She darn well might.



Widdle Baby

I'm a second cousin for the 13th time! Today my cousin and his wife welcomed their son Brody Nicholas to the world. 

I vividly remember the day his brother was born. It was February of 2008 and that night TFitch, my bro and I hosted a surprise 50th birthday/30th anniversary party for the 'rents. During the party my aunt was telling me all about her newest grandson, going on and on and on about how cute he was. (She also said he was partially such a beautiful baby because he was delivered via a c-section. I had never heard of that before.) For some reason I remember that interaction and conversation very clear. I like the memory.

So today, congrats to Luke, Emily, Abbie and Brennan and welcome to the world Brody Nicholas!  You have a happy Nana angel looking down on you!

Glee's Anatomy

Let me just say that I love musicals.

Mama Mia.
Wicked.
Phantom of the Opera.

But Grey's Anatomy the musical has GOT to go.

We live without TV for four weeks--I go without watching Grey's Anatomy much longer--and then the one night I get jazzed about it, I tune into McSoprano? WTF?  And if I'm Sara Ramirez, I'm a bit pissed off.

"Hey Sara. We're going to kill of your character, and sing and dance about it. You cool with that?"

I'd like Calli to live but this episode must die.

Stat.

Fa la la la lame.

Alzheimer's

My grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease last year. Before then, I knew people that had relatives with the disease, but hadn't necessarily been impacted directly. Now, I'm just trying to learn more and more about it and will probably be using the blog as an outlet. If you know of anyone that's been affected, read of anything of importance with regards to the disease or--what I'm most intrigued about--how to make a difference in fighting Alzheimer's, I'd love to know. With regards to the last, I've supported many, many causes in the past without a direct connection. Mostly because it was a good cause I'm scared will affect me or my loved ones in the future (e.g. breast cancer), or because it was a fun way to support a cause. (Drinking beer for charity? Sign me up.) Well, now I have a reason to support the Alzheimer's cause and want to do anything and everything I can.

CNN.com just posted this article on dealing with Alzheimer's patients when they get violent. My grandma hasn't gotten violent, but you can definitely see a side of her personality we hadn't before. (She's dropping the f-bomb!) I cringe thinking about the fact my grandma could actually turn physical. And mean.

One of the things I find most amazing about the disease is long vs. short term memory. My grandma can't remember where we live nowadays (to her credit, neither can I). But I made a Shutterfly book for them from Christmas with old photos and she remembered their first apartment, her maid-of-honor (and funny things about her), could easily point out photos of my dad and uncle as kids, etc. It was pretty amazing that part of her memory is still there, whereas hours ago is not.

The brain is pretty remarkable. Here's to the day when Alzheimer's is a memory we'll all forget.

Reason 2,392 why I love my dad.

On Mon, Mar 28, 2011 at 4:21 PM, Wendy Fitch wrote:
Holy crap. They grow up so fast, don't they? One day they're in doggie diapers, the next they have worms and are destroying your house.


Mom and dad: is it totally ridiculous to ask you to ship us her "I'm the birthday pup" shirt that's hanging in my closet? I totally forgot about it and I feel like she needs it. She's worn it on April 1 since 2008.


Kalin and Lindsay: interested in coming to St. Joe for dinner Friday night? Maybe a litle OK Joes takeout for us and a Land of Paws birthday treat for the guest of honor?


Woof love,
A proud doggie mom






On Mon, Mar 28, 2011 at 5:48 PM, Mary Hicks wrote:
LOL Wendy E-mail Dad where the shirt is at because he will have to do it, I'll be vacationing!!!!!!




From: Wendy Fitch
Sent: Monday, March 28, 2011 9:57 PM
To: Ron Hicks
Cc: Ron Hicks; Kalin Hicks; Lindsay Fetter; Trevor.Fitch
Subject: Re: Macy is turning 4!
Dad: it's hanging in my closet. Would you really do this for widdle Mace?




On Tue, Mar 29, 2011 at 10:10 AM, Ron Hicks wrote:
Wendy,


What address do you want this shipped to?



From: Wendy Fitch
Sent: Tuesday, March 29, 2011 10:23 AM
To: Ron Hicks
Cc: Mary Hicks
Subject: Re: Macy is turning 4!
XXXX North S%&@ Drive
St. Joseph, MO !)@*&


So, if you go in the master closet, you'll see a rack of Macy's clothes on the top right. It's the little pink shirt that says, I'm the birthday pup!


On Tue, Mar 29, 2011 at 10:47 AM, Ron Hicks wrote:

Found it

There is nothing theraputic about an hour drive when you realize you left your breakfast and lunch at home and the nearest exit to turn around is 10 minutes ahead.

At least I didn't forget the coffee.

It's amazing how theraputic an hour commute with a good cup of coffee is.

That is all.

Happy Monday!

It's good to be back.

My husband, quite the blog follower, I've learned, asked me tonight why I "never update my blog anymore." While he laughed at my response of, "oh, I do. I just changed the URL so you can't read it," the truth is blogging takes a lot of time. At least for me. But, I must remember, like anything in life--everything in moderation. I don't need to write novel-long blog posts. Just like 15 minutes at the gym is better than nothing, just like a quick 20-minute power nap rocks more than no nap, a little blog update is better than three months of radio silence. And, while my Words with Friends games might start to suffer, consider me back into the blogosphere.

Working for the weekend.

Today was a 19-hour workday.
On a Friday.
1289.53 miles from home (according to Mapquest.)
Away from TFitch.
Away from friends.
Away from widdle Macy.

Two more days to go.

I do it, because I need to do it.
I do it without complaining (so I hope).

I do it because I hope to God I never, ever have to write this,

 Or this,

 Or this,

Or this,

Or this,

Or this,

This,

This,

Or this,

Or this.

No matter how many hours.
No matter how many weekends.
No matter how many nights away from family and friends,
I will do what I can so no one I love is lost because of this disease.

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

I found this article unfortunate--that Nebraska receiver Niles Paul was heckled by his own fans after NU's 20-13 loss to Texas last weekend.

Nebraska fans are said to be some of the best in college football--it even says so on one of the entrances of Memorial Stadium. But if you need a third-party endorsement, you'll find many. Most recently, after his victory in Lincoln, Texas head coach Mack Brown complimented Nebraska fans. Good sportsmanship is expected of those who wear the scarlet and cream, even by Bo Pelini who has better things to do than worry about his fans.

During the Texas game, TFitch and I had the pleasure of sitting in the burnt orange section. While most of the Longhorns were very nice, the guy next to me was less than. Not only was he obnoxious and drunk (spilling his scotch all over me and his neighbors to boot), he was downright rude. A few comments that I remember him shouting:

"Hey Nebraska. Your "jumbotron" is about as cool as AIDS."
"Nice stadium, Nebraska! We have high school stadiums bigger than this."
"Oh, there's 85,000 people here? I didn't know 85,000 people lived in Nebraska. I know no one makes $85,000 living in Nebraska."

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me...

Did I care he was spewing stupid, obnoxious shit? No. Trust me; none of the lame comments coming out of this one guy's mouth hurt my feelings. But it did interrupt me and distract me from watching the football game. (We watched the second half of the game at a bar, simply because I didn't want to deal with the terrible Texan.)

Let me reiterate one phrase...football game.

It's a sport, people. A sport. A recreational past time. A game, which is by definition "an activity engaged in for diversion and amusement." It's not the whole world. Newsflash: there's more to life than football. Two dear friends (MU fans whom I love dearly) emailed me this week, telling me they were sorry for my loss. My heart started racing for a minute while I figured out what they were talking about. I hadn't heard that since my aunt died. Did someone else pass away and I was the last to know?

Don't get me wrong--I love me some Husker football. I've been affectionately named "Ultimate Husker Fan" by my husband. But does football make me stoop so low as to yell petty comments to opposing fans? No. That I'd remind a player to his face his gloves were made of butter? No. Pretty sure Niles Paul was at the game too.

Remember those people on the field--the ones you're yelling at--were born in 1990. How old, and silly, does that make you feel, to yell at these kids? No one's dying out there. Life WILL go on. Contrary to popular belief, the Huskers leaving the Big 12 is not going to be the end of the world. Maybe put that energy into something a little more meaningful; maybe give that attention to your friends, family or volunteer for an organization. If we all put as much energy into the other aspects of life as we do college football, we'll all walk away with a win.

Southwest Slam Dunk

As a marketer, I'm always looking for effective ways (or non-effective ways) brands reach me. I have high expectations, which is why I was impressed with my Zappos experience last year.

Southwest just broke through the clutter with a Rapid Rewards direct mail piece. I can identify an airline's miles statement immediately, and do you know what I do with them? I don't even open them; I just rip them in half and throw them away. It's either them trying to get me to sign up for their credit card to "earn miles faster!" or some other offer I'm just not interested in. So when this piece landed in my mailbox last week, I was intrigued. It was packaged differently; not just an envelope.

When opened, a pull-out note on top thanked me for my seven years of membership and a personalized luggage tag was on the bottom. 

The piece worked for a few reasons:

1. The packaging was unique and stood out from ordinary mail/envelopes.

2. It was personalized with not only my name, but the number of years of membership.

3. Along the same lines, it was unexpected. Think of big milestones--typically the first or something ending in either a five or a zero. Seven is different. It's thoughtful. It's unique. Kind of like Southwest.

4. It's a nice piece. The luggage tag is something I'll use, and I'm normally not a branded-chotchkie kind of girl.

As marketers, we constantly talk about moving your target audience from awareness to loyalty. From drink tickets to free checked bags to unexpected and personalized customer interactions, Southwest knows how to retain passengers for life...says the girl in 16A.

Thinking of you

I've been thinking about my aunt a lot lately. It's happened the last few times I traveled to Kansas City (where I am now) since this is where I was when I received the news, and the memory of packing up and heading to Omaha in a fury is still fresh. Plus, last weekend we attended the birthday party for three of my cousin's four kids and there was an obvious void from the gathering--their nana.

In the same vein, I think about my cousins and my uncle nearly every day. I wonder how they are doing; how they are coping. We've been getting together a lot--more in the last three months than the last three years combined. Though, even when they are top of mind and I'm right next to them, I don't ask them how they are doing. To me, it's a stupid question. How the hell do you think they're doing? Their mom/wife died. So instead, I avoid it all together. I ask what's going on. I keep it light hearted. I avoid the elephant in the room.

I hate that I do that, but I do. I just don't know what to say; I never have. I know that's not an excuse and that everyone probably feels the same way. I'm going to work on it and try to find the right things to say; the right things to do. In the meantime, I hope my hugs and presence convey to them that they are always in my thoughts. The same goes to my friends who have lost parents--too many friends that have lost parents. I hope you know that you are always on my mind.

If any of my readers have been comforted or comforted others in particular ways, I'd love to know what was said/done as a sign of support.

In my next 30 years...

I remember my Facebook post last September 7 semi-vividly; I talked about fearing my thirties. And as I have my first birthday celebration tonight (thanks, Laible's) I still do hate the inevitable 3-0.

I don't know what it is, but I hate the fact I'm turning 30. Hate, hate, hate it. As a kid, I couldn't wait to be older. Be old enough to not have to wear a life jacket on the boat. Be old enough to babysit. Be old enough to drive. Be old enough to drink (like that made a difference--haha, just kidding mom). And suddenly I want it all to sllllloooooowwwww down.

I think it's a combination of things. I think I expected more out of myself at 30 than I've accomplished. I've always wanted 4 kids. I'm 0 for 4 at age 29 and 359 days. To borrow a quote, I am "pleased, but not satisfied" in my career. Don't get me wrong, I love who I work for and what I do, but the go-getter in me just pictured more by now. We live in the house that, albeit a great house, isn't the home we will make for the rest of our lives. But there's nothing we can really do about that, and it's frustrating to me at times.

I guess I dread 30 for two reasons: 

1. For not being able to identify a large list of achievements over the last, even eight years (since I graduated college)

2. Well, 30 is just a reminder of how quickly life passes by. Where does the time go?

I do know the best is yet to come and I don't look back on the last 29 years with disappointment or regret (although I do think I would have kicked ass at student council). I've been listening to to Hottie McGraw's "My Next 30 Years" for the last year now and there's a line I really like. Contrary to popular belief, although applicable, "drink a little lemonade and not so many beers; maybe I'll remember my next 30 years" is not the line I'm thinking of. Moresoe, "my next 30 years will be the best years of my life." I'm taking that to heart and will try it live it each and every day. Know why? I don't have a choice. Those 30 years are coming whether I like it or not. Better make each one count.

No Words

I've been composing a post in my head all day. I'm in the Twin Cities for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure--one of my clients. The post was going to be titled "love what you do" and focus on how much I enjoy and value the opportunity to work with this event. I wanted to talk about how, although it's hard, long work--although we work weekends away from friends and family and it's long hours--been up since 3:25 am in fact (and that's sleeping in)--I wouldn't change my job for another job in the world. How I feel like every minute I spend working on this account is making a difference. How I want everyone to be so fulfilled in their profession. I planned to share the moving story about Steven and Gilbert--two male participants I met at the Opening Ceremony this morning. I'll still share Steven and Gilbert's story, but the post overall has taken a turn.

As part of the event's media relations' team, I have the privilege of hearing all sorts of compelling stories. Today I stumbled upon two men with bright pink beards. After simply asking one of the men, "may I ask why you are walking?" my life has been changed forever.

I posed the question to Steven, the taller one. Steven lost his wife Ruth to breast cancer three years ago. Ruth was an oncology nurse.

The irony.

Steven has been walking in the 3-Day ever since. I asked if the two gentlemen were friends. They actually met while walking in Dallas a few years ago. Steven was walking in honor of his late wife. Gilbert was walking because his wife didn't have breast cancer--and he hopes she never does.

Fast forward to this weekend, when these two grown men decide to fly from their hometowns in Dallas to the Twin Cities for a different 3-Day for the Cure experience. When these men spray paint their beards pink and walk 60 miles in the fight against breast cancer. Every time I saw Steven and Gilbert today, I smiled. Their tale warms the heart. It is sad--there was an unnecessary loss to breast cancer--but the action these two gentlemen take is incredible.

My heart is still warmed by Steven and Gilbert.
And I still love my job.
But now I am pissed, now I am upset and this is why the blog post I've been thinking about all day has been derailed.

I may be jumping to conclusions--I am waiting for verification--but I am very troubled by something I saw on Facebook. A dear friend of mine, Lizzie, was tagged in a Facebook album. The album was titled "a tribute to Kelln Zimmer." My heart sank.

I admit I don't know Kelln well. She and Lizzie were Kappa traveling consultants together and that's really the extent of our relationship. But I heard SO much about Kelln from Lizzie's traveling tales and I know we met once or twice over the years.

I also know Kelln had breast cancer.

I don't know what happened to Kelln--but I have a bad feeling that breast cancer took her life. And even if it didn't--her life was still cut too, too short and breast cancer should have NEVER been a part of it. It shouldn't be a part of anyone's life. And it still is.

It's frustrating on so many levels. It's frustrating that given all the time, energy and money put into the disease, people are still getting diagnosed. Survival rates are increasing--and that's good--but that's not enough. No one should EVER have to hear the words, "you have breast cancer."

It's frustrating personally. It's frustrating I lost my aunt to (basically) arthritis one month ago, that my grandpa had a heart attack one week ago and that my grandma has Alzheimer's. THESE are the causes I feel compelled to support since they are my reality now, yet I feel like I must support breast cancer out of the fear I or a friend or family member will be diagnosed with breast cancer. And statistics show one of us will.

In fact, I found out just yesterday that my friend's grandma has breast cancer. It's a fresh diagnosis. She sees her oncologist for the first time Monday.

It's sad.
It's maddening.
It's distracting.
It just plain sucks.

We shouldn't lose people in their 20s to breast cancer.
We shouldn't lose anyone to breast cancer.

I'll do everything I can to support this fight. I'll do everything I can to support the diseases impacting my family currently. And I hope you'll do the same.

July 22

It was business as usual July 22; in fact, it even felt like a busier than normal day at the office in Kansas City. I drafted letters to send to media contacts in Chicago in preparation for the upcoming 3-Day for the Cure. I had productive planning meetings with my team. I completed expense reports. And as afternoon neared, I was getting excited for a night out at Zona Rosa with my cousin and aunt and uncle to hear Ron Cooley (their relative on the other side) play guitar. Little did I know an email I received around 4 pm that day from my dad, with the subject line "call me ASAP," would derail the day's--and following days'--productivity.

When I called him, he was frazzled. He was looking for my mom; asked which salon she typically visited for pedicures. My grandma had called my dad and said the family had been told to go to the hospital--that my aunt had gone downhill and downhill quickly.

I was shocked. She had been diagnosed with histoplasmosis just four days before. A diagnosis was good--so I thought. We knew it was serious, but at least they knew what she had and how she could be treated. Sure, she had undergone a minor procedure that morning to explore a bile duct leak but as my mom told me via gchat, she wasn't in "imminent danger." I remember laughing at that statement. It sounded so dramatic.

After I talked with my dad and tracked down my mom at Kala Nail Salon (thank goodness for routines), the texts came in. "She's real bad. She coded," was the first. And then another, "They revived her. But they have to breathe for her." As I began to shake, I immediately packed up at the office and headed to my brother's house. I packed up my belongings to hit the road back to Omaha. He and I debated a lot. Does he go or not? Do I go or not? There had been many ups and downs in the three weeks she was in the hospital and was this simply another down. "I could use the time in the office," I remember selfishly saying; still shocked I actually debated that. Once my bro decided to go, would he ride with me and rent a car to come back to KC? After all of these trivial questions, we hit the road in two separate cars; a 180-mile brother/sister caravan.

I, on I29, kept in touch with my dad, in Methodist Hospital, for the beginning of the drive. But when TFitch called around 8 pm, asking where we were and saying that we should go straight to the hospital--that he was heading up there--I knew it was bad. I just knew and even asked TFitch that if he got bad news while we were on the road, to just not call; to wait until we arrived.

It was all I could do for the rest of the drive to not think about the situation at hand. I had gotten a new cell phone the day before which wiped out all of my friends' phone numbers. Luckily, I knew a few off the top of my head and called. I called any number I could remember just to chat and focus on something else.

When we pulled into Omaha, my brother and I talked, trying to figure out the quickest way to get to Methodist. After a three hour car ride, we were worried about minutes.

The caravan from Kansas City pulled into the almost empty parking garage and TFitch got out of the Audi and walked toward me.

"Did she die?" I asked.
"Yeah," my husband somberly told me.

After that, I remember being locked out of the hospital and having to go through the Emergency Room entrance--one of my biggest fears in life normally, the ER, but I was numb to it. I remember Dr. Tarantolo waiting by the door for my brother, husband and I to take us to join the rest of our family and telling us in his most compassionate and sympathetic voice he was sorry for our loss.

Our loss. Our loss. To the three of us, she might have only been our aunt, but she was our aunt. An integral piece to a close-knit family. And my heart continued to break for those whom had lost something even greater. A wife. A mother. A nana.

I remember the hospital resembling a maze and finally getting to the family waiting room on the intensive care floor. I remember someone tapping my mom on the shoulder to point out that we had arrived and I remember my mom sobbing and hugging me so hard that her little midget frame (hey--I need some humor too) was pulling me down. I think we stood like that for 10 minutes. I remember my aunt--whom had also traveled in from Kansas City--telling me "we didn't make it in time, either."

And then I remember the request to go join the rest of the family in my aunt's ICU room. I remember the walk down the hall, I remember the events in that room so vividly. I remember seeing my aunt's body and not even recognizing it as hers. I remember where my uncle and cousins were positioned in the room. I remember looking onto Omaha through the window on the top floor of Methodist hospital, thinking the world was carrying on as normal out there while a group of 15 were inside breaking apart.

Twelve days later, I remember July 22. I remember it as I pull out those expense reports dated 7/22 with my messy signature. I remember as I email off those letters with July 22 in the dateline. I remember as I complete my missing timesheets (a perk of advertising agency life) and I peruse my calendar to see what I did that day. I remember as planning deadlines near and the work that came to a standstill has to be picked back up.

And we'll continue to remember. Today. Tomorrow. For weeks, months and years. We'll remember the day that changed our lives forever. And we'll always remember Aunt Deanna.

To my husband

Plans would change at a moment's notice. You rolled with it.
Five adults and two tornadoes--I mean children--overtook our home.
There have been late nights and early mornings.
You picked up this person, ran that errand, dropped off that person and did it all over again, and again and again.
Most importantly, you were a shoulder to cry on and quick with a hug.

This week hasn't been easy for any of us, but you've done everything in your power to offer your support. You've embraced the hours and hours of family time, the tears and the stories--even the ones told over and over again. At many of the gatherings, I was too busy washing dishes or chasing around kids to even get to spend time with you. In fact; I don't remember the last time we went to sleep at the same time. But you have been by my side--by my family's side--throughout all of this. Thank you for being such a caring, supportive and patient person during this trying time. (The fact you want to strangle a certain person in my family--who shall remain unidentified--will be our little secret.) I love you.

Sadness

My aunt died Thursday.

She went to the hospital July 4 with a fever and vomiting that had been lingering for a few days. Her gallbladder was removed a few days later—a simple solution, so we all thought. Instead, things spiraled out of control. Her temperature would rise and fall and rise and fall. Her lungs filled with fluid—28 pounds of fluid to be exact—and her oxygen levels got dangerously low. It was one thing after the other and one day would be filled with good news, the next—bad. But we never thought it would come to this. (Ultimately her arthritis medication, Humira, shut down her immune system and wrecked havoc on her liver.)

There has been a lot of mourning since Thursday. In the hospital room that night as we held hands as a family and prayed around my deceased aunt. A few hours later as we walked into my uncle’s silent home—one typically filled with laughs and conversation. At random times throughout the weekend—when the next family member would arrive from out of town or something would trigger a memory. Monday at the mortuary upon seeing my aunt resting peacefully in her casket and witnessing her nine grandchildren seeing the same. Yesterday at her funeral when we said our final farewells. But today might be one of the hardest days yet. My cousins have returned to Kansas City and Austin; my home is now silent. There are no errands to run or plans to make; things to distract us from reality. Instead, we have to return to our lives. Return to work. Pick up where we left off. And it’s hard. Today is hard. For the first time in a week, I’m alone. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to catch up on my emails. I don’t want to make travel arrangements. I don’t want to think about selling ice cream. I don't want to clean my house. I just don’t want to. But I will. I know each day will get easier, but that’s no consolation for how heavy my heart is today.

Furniture Fun

I realize as a Nebraska native and fan of Warren B.'s that I'm supposed to ooh and aah over NFM. And that place is great. But I'm pretty obsessed with our new basement furniture from Bassett.

If you're in the market for new furniture, check it out. It's custom and not outrageously expensive. We ordered our furniture on June 12 and they said it would take 8-10 weeks. It was delivered today--less than one month later.

I highly recommend it. And if you live in Omaha, be sure TJ King is your designer! He's the bomb diggity!

Macy agrees!!