The Last Few Weeks aka The Birth of the Twinkies

This is the true story of what I've been through over the past few weeks. I know there have been a lot of curious folks, and I don't blame you at all. I did sort of disappear without warning, but to be fair, I didn't have much warning myself. So, grab yourself a snack, sit back, and listen to the story of how I owe everything to modern medicine and yet never want to be admitted to a hospital again in my entire life. Ever. I'll be adding some gifs to keep you scrolling.

j/k this story is like the story of my LIFE

On March 19, Jack and I went to our regularly scheduled appointment with the high-risk doctor at Inova Alexandria Hospital. I'd been seeing them for months because I have chronic hypertension (but I would have seen them anyway due to the fact that I was pregnant with twins). I was nervous for the appointment because a few weeks prior, we found out the babies weren't growing as fast as they should, which meant they would likely be born early. I'd changed my diet and been crazy about checking my blood pressure, and I was hoping for good news.

Instead, I found that my blood pressure had skyrocketed seemingly overnight, and the babies were still too small. They sent us upstairs to triage for monitoring. It all happened very quickly, but I still wasn't too scared. I thought I might end up on hospital bed rest for a while, which wasn't the best news of all time, but better than anything else I could think of.

Spoiler alert: the news wasn't great.

Turns out, I was right. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. They admitted me to the maternity ward, and they told me to expect to be there until I needed to deliver. The doctors didn't know when that might be, but they were hoping I'd be staying there for weeks. Frankly, that's what I hoped too. I would be more than happy to use them as a hotel, albeit a strange hotel that fed me okay-ish food and constantly took my vital signs and occasionally slathered my belly in jelly to listen to the twin heartbeats that sounded like wild horses running. I watched princess movies on ABC Family, I brought in clothes from home, and I got ready to settle in for the long haul.

That all changed on Monday, March 23. My liver enzymes tripled overnight, which is the thing the doctors were fearing. After a quick scan of the babies, it was decided that they needed to be delivered via c-section. I was 27 weeks 4 days pregnant. I thought it was too soon. I was terrified. I spent the next few hours crying and worrying.

I joke now, but seriously, lotsa crying.

The first step of the c-section was the magnesium IV drip. The nurse warned me that it would make me feel pretty freaking terrible, especially at the beginning. And it did, believe me. But after the bolus was done, I kept feeling awful. And then, the pain started. Out of nowhere, I had this terrible sharp agonizing pain in my shoulder. I told Jack it felt like a wing or a horn was trying to come out of my shoulder. Looking back, it was honestly the only pain I felt at the hospital that was a 10 on the 1-10 scale. I was especially over it because I was having a c-section, so I felt it was unfair to experience this kind of pain as well!

Finally, they wheeled me in, and it all began. It was strange and bright and somehow both incredibly slow and entirely too fast. Victoria Jane entered the world at 2:43 pm, and her sister Avery Francis followed shortly thereafter at 2:44 pm. I saw them both for a brief moment before they were taken up to the NICU. They weren't officially named for about a week, because I didn't want to name them until I was able to get a good look at them, and my one second, high-on-painkillers moment didn't count.

Why did it take me a week to be able to see my daughters? Well, that's the next part of the story-- the liver part.

Apparently, neither could half of my liver.

I went back to my room to rest and recover while I was still being monitored. My liver enzymes continued to rise. The next day, I got a diagnosis of HELLP syndrome. Honestly, I don't know when I received this diagnosis because no one ever explicitly said it to me. It just happened. My HELLP complication came in the form of a hematoma on my liver-- a 13 cm bleeding gash. This is a very rare complication (I read somewhere that HELLP happens in 2% of pregnancies, and a liver hematoma happens in 1% of those), and it was also the cause of my intense shoulder pain. Something about "referred pain." Suddenly, I became the most well-known patient in the hospital as I met a surgeon, hematologist, nephrologist, infectious disease doctor, and a whole slew of nurses. They wheeled me down to get a CT scan to see how bad the damage was and possibly get a procedure done to stop the bleeding.

The scan showed that the bleeding was isolated to under the cap of the liver? (again, I think, but it was a lot of information all tossed at me while I was on painkillers and entirely confused), but I had the procedure to stop the bleeding. Afterwards, I was taken to ICU instead of back to maternity.

This was possibly the worst part of the entire process.

I definitely needed to be in ICU, but not for as long as I was. After about a day or so, I felt trapped there. I felt like no one listened to me, like no one understood what kind of patient I was. I came from having a c-section, from the maternity ward. They kept treating me like any other ICU patient, and that wasn't the case. There was a constant stream of people coming into my room at any time without warning-- nurses, doctors, hospital administrators. I was being hounded to start using the breast pump to get my breastmilk supply up, but no one would give me the privacy to do it.

Plus, ICU is very loud. The nurses' station is in the middle of all the rooms, and we had sliding doors and curtains, but that didn't keep the sound out. During a shift change, I couldn't sleep because it was so loud. I heard other patients screaming in agony for help, constantly pushing their Call buttons. It was an awful experience. This is what I never want to go through ever again.

There was also a truly agonizing ordeal with another CT scan where my nurses got my bed stuck in an elevator and decided the best plan would be to SHAKE MY BED WITH ME IN IT to get me out. Yes, shake the girl with the excruciating liver pain. Brilliant plan. But I digress.

Get me OUTTA HERE!

Finally, after almost a week, I was transferred out of ICU (but NOT back to maternity/postpartum for some reason) after way too long, and finally finally finally I was able to go see my girls. I was apparently so excited about this that doctors called the NICU to check on me because my heart rate increased so much! They were so small and delicate, but they're my girls and I adore them. They are my fighting warrior ladies, so strong despite their size, and I love to stare at them while they wiggle and wave and live.

I stayed in this new not-postpartum department for a few days, but it wasn't the best place for me either. I was still constantly interrupted by any number of people, and I still couldn't consistently pump. The nurses told me to put up a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door to alert them and others that I was pumping, but many doctors ignored it. One morning, no less than 20 different people came into my room before noon. I had to wear a heart monitor for reasons no one could adequately explain. I still felt very trapped.

Finally, my on-call OB came to check in on me, and she went through all of the things I needed to be concentrating on in order to get discharged-- a whole laundry list of things that I'd been trying to do but couldn't thanks to the constant interruptions-- and I lost it. I had an epic meltdown and laid it all out there for this poor doctor who just happened to be assigned to me that day. At this point, I'd been in the hospital for almost 2 weeks with no end in sight. I was exhausted in every possible sense of the word.

All the shambles. So much shambles.

And she saved the day by getting me transferred to postpartum that very night. It took a few hours, but I felt so much better as soon as I got there. I finally felt like someone understood what I really needed. I started getting stronger, where I would walk up and down the hall (albeit very slowly). I was able to pump without interruption and sleep for hours at a time and get to the NICU with less stress. They worked together with me to try to get me back home rather than keeping me trapped there.

After a few false starts and setbacks, I finally got out of the hospital on Friday, April 3, two weeks and one day after I was admitted. This was my very first hospital stay, and I really hope it is my very last. I never want to go through this ever again. I am very thankful for every doctor and nurse who took care of me, for every person who cleaned my rooms and brought me food. I am grateful that I was in the hospital when I was, so the complications were caught in plenty of time. I am so glad that I am alive to tell this story. However, I never want to go through any of that ever, ever again.

I've been home recovering for a while now. My days are spent resting, pumping, and visiting the girls in the NICU. It's not very exciting, and I have my good days and bad days, but mostly I do my best to stay stress-free and try to "enjoy" this as best I can. Hopefully we will be able to bring our girls home soon (whenever it's best for them, of course) and start the new phase of life as Mom, but until then, I need to take care of me.

And speaking of taking care of me, that guy I married? IS A SAINT. He has been beyond amazing from the moment this all began. I didn't even think it was possible to fall more in love with him, but hot damn, I really did. Even though all of this, I must say I am so, so lucky to have married this man. I'm so glad he wore that Ben Folds Five shirt 15 years ago so I decided to become friends with him. It was definitely the best decision I've ever made.

You and me both, Rach.

So... that's my story. I hope you enjoyed it! If you made it all the way here, you deserve a cookie. Also, if you're reading this and looking to do anything to help us out, you can consider checking out our registries on Babies R Us or Target (which is much smaller and apparently nothing is in stock anymore-- SIGH), OR you could just send a message of encouragement. I'm entirely overwhelmed by the response I've gotten from friends and loved ones during this time, and I often don't feel emotionally equipped to handle it all. I can't believe so many people care about us so much. It's amazing. You're all amazing.

"Roll again-- don't be stupid."

This weekend, we hosted my in-laws, as we usually do around this time of year.  I always love spending time with them, and this time was no exception.  We explored the National Building Museum, ate our collective weight in chicken taco soup and banana pudding, and agreed that when someone asks if you're a god, you say yes.

As is our tradition, we also gathered around the dining room table for a rousing game-- this year, we decided to go with Skip-Bo.  Brother-in-law won by leaps and bounds, for which we are equal parts proud and envious.  See, we are a very competitive lot, and while we love one another, we also love to school one another in any way possible.  These games get very intense, and there are often "disagreements" that result in threats of divorce.  Everyone has their own strategy, and no one should ever question it.  In fact, the only thing we agree on comes from Trivial Pursuit: when given a choice between a Roll Again or a Question space, you always "roll again-- don't be stupid."  It can be said in one quick exhale to speed the game along; it can be shouted at your teammate when they try to move your pie in the wrong direction; it is usually declared in unison by all six of us while raising our glasses in the air.  It's not much, but it's all we got.

I bring up games with the in-laws because of an interesting conversation I had with my father-in-law. After dinner, while we were avoiding clean-up, FIL asked me a question that usually sends me into a mental panic.

"So Jess, with all of your reviews and writer friends and such, when are you going to write us a book?"

That is a good question, FIL.

Anyone who's ever told loved ones about their passion for writing has heard this question, and those folks know there were many ways I could have answered.  I could say that writing doesn't interest me.  I could tell him that I don't have any ideas for a good story.  I could change the subject to something, anything, else.  However, I'm going through my own personal things right now, and I don't have room in my head or heart to be anything other than honest.

So, I tell him the truth.  I tell him that writing and completing a novel is ultimately my goal.  I tell him I have story ideas that I need to get out of my head and onto paper.  I talk about my writer friends and how they've been so helpful just by asking me about my progress and keeping me honest.  I even break bad on myself and tell him how much I find myself to be my own worst enemy.  "I'm so full of excuses," I say. "I just need to shut up and write."  He mentions NaNoWriMo (which I tried in 2012), and I tell him the story of how my brain turned to mushy goo when I tried NaNo, how I hid myself away that year while spending Thanksgiving with them to try and write, but it didn't work.  I shrug and say, "It can get a little daunting and scary."

He nods, and with a knowing smile, he says, "Well, roll again-- don't be stupid."

Maybe it's just been so long since I've blogged that I found inspiration in a silly place.  Maybe I need a little more sleep and a little less banana pudding.  Or maybe, just maybe, I should take a breath, believe in my own words, and push past the doubtful demons that live in my psyche.  Roll again, Jess.  Don't be stupid.

[Fantastic Five Fridays] Five Shows You Were Referred To By Other People

It's Friday, I got a job, I got other things I need to write BUT I was in the mood to blog and The Weekly Enthusiast has yet ANOTHER great topic and so here I am again.  Should I really be writing when I'm the creator of sentences like that one?  It's too late now because here I gooooooooo.

Since I am kind of crazy about TV, I usually choose my own shows and make recommendations to others.  That's why it's so fun when people recommend shows to me.  It's like they know me or something!  Here are my top 5 (except it's really 6) shows as recommended by people who get me.

1. Lost and The Office.  Referred by: The Hubs

Yes, I know that's two shows.  No, I don't care.  I decided to lump these two together because they were both recommended by the same person, and they both seem to be following the same course.  That is, they started out strong but haven't kept that same momentum as the years go by.  We've basically stopped watching The Office but I'm sure we'll put in the effort to see the finale.  It's just... not the same.  Though, of course, I do still love Jim and Pam.

As for Lost, well... the first season of that is one of the best ever.  I kept with it much longer than The Hubs did, though I tried to break up with it in the third season and then Jack was all WE HAVE TO GO BACK and so I said OKAY LET'S GO.  

stinking beardy jack and his jears.

2. True Blood. Referred by: my brother and sister-in-law

During the summer of 2009, I took up residence at my brother & sister-in-law's house while Hubs and I looked for a place to live.  This coincided with the second season of True Blood.  Bro & SIL thought it might be up my alley, so they invited me to come watch it them.  My first episode was Episode 2.02 "Keep This Party Going," which begins with a disembodied arm spurting blood and smacking a character in the face. A character who is chained to a pole in a dank, dirty basement somewhere.  I was like, humna?  Oh, it cracked me up.  True Blood is pretty nonsensical, but if you're read the books... well, you knew that was coming.

Cheers, hookas.

3. 30 Rock. Referred by: my OTHER sister-in-law.

Back when this first premiered, Hubs and I gave this a shot.  It just didn't work for us then.  So I ignored it, despite all the Tina Fey references.  So last Thanksgiving, OSIL is like, Jessica, honestly, you need this.  YOU NEED THIS.  And the rest, as they say, is something about night cheese.

4. Doctor Who. Referred by: my aunt, uncle, and cousins

Technically, they didn't refer it to me so much as they watched when I was in their house and I was like, ooh this looks kind of random, and then they kept on watching it every time I was there and then Christopher Eccelston was on Heroes and I sort of adored him and then it was on Netflix so I thought, what the hey?  I still have so many episodes to watch because Hubs decided to take this show over with a vengeance, but I still love it.

Why, hello there.

5. The West Wing. Referred by: pretty much everyone ever

Everyone needs to watch this show.  It's the best.  The cold opens are some of the most exquisite moments that television has ever given us as people.  Watch it.  CJ Cregg, I love you.

Why Lee Greenwood and I will never be friends.

The following story is quite silly, but I wanted to share after my recent FB status.  This disclaimer is here to let you all know that my feelings for Lee Greenwood's "masterpiece" entitled "God Bless the USA" aside, I do love my country, and I do love my freedom.

That being said...

I hate the Lee Greenwood "masterpiece" entitled "God Bless the USA."  Whenever I hear it, my skin crawls.  Granted, there is nothing particularly wrong with the song.  In fact, it says some lovely things about this land of ours.  It's also experiencing a rise in popularity as of late, though I can't imagine why...  No, my hatred of this song is all related to one experience, dating back to the first grade.  And it's all because of my stinking dance teacher.  (And also my mom.)

For those that don't know, I took dance lessons as a child, from the time I was about 4 until the sixth grade.  I started with ballet, but by the end, I was taking ballet, tap, jazz, and en pointe, and I was considered one of the top students.  (I often wonder what happened to the graceful girl I used to be, usually when I'm tripping over my own two feet or bumping into walls.)  I loved dance class as a kid, and I always wanted my best friends to be in the class with me.  One year, I was successful enough to get my pal Jenny to join my class.  For our tap number that year, our costumes consisted of weird baggy shirts emblazoned with the American flag, blue bottoms (that I swear were like blue underpants), white tights, and jaunty sailor caps with red, white, and blue stars.  For the life of me, I can't remember what song we tapped to, but I'm guessing it was American.  And hopefully nautical.

That same year, our elementary school was putting on a talent show (as elementary schools do), and the entire first grade was scheduled to perform "GBtUSA."  It was very basic by 1980's elementary school standards, with the students singing along to a tape of the song, and the most difficult choreography being us holding our arms up in the air while we belted out the last, epic note (actually, it probably looked a lot like this).  We'd practiced, it went fine, I got to stand next to my friends on the risers, no biggie.

The night of the performance, my mom had this brilliant idea.  "You know what would be so cute?" She said.  "You and Jenny should wear your dance shirts with the flags on them!  Oh, how precious you two will be!  Call Jenny and tell her!"  I knew this was cheesy, even at the ripe old age of 6, but Mom said call Jenny, so I called Jenny.  Jenny's mom agreed with the cuteness, and she said she'd wear hers too.  Fates officially sealed.

I showed up, waiting backstage with the rest of my classmates to kick off the big Talent Show, and every single solitary adult that walked past me had to comment on my shirt.  Oh, how cute!  What a great idea!  So patriotic!  Everyone will just love it!  I probably did permanent damage with the amount of eye-rolling I did that night.

Then... Jenny walked in.  Wearing the same shirt.

Our music teacher went totally postal.

She could not believe we had these amazing shirts on, almost like we planned it.  She called everyone together and pointed out how cute we were in our matching shirts.  We were instructed on how wide to hold our arms to make sure THE ENTIRE CROWD could see our amazing great shirts.  They would eat it right up, and we would be the stars of the show.

To sum up, Jenny and I were mortified.  We did not want to be the patriotic stars of the show.  We wanted to stand together and sing our song and be done with this forever.  However, like the good kids we were, we kept our mouths shut and did as we were asked.  As we walked out on stage, the crowd was all abuzz with the talk of how adoooorable we were in our little matching shirts.  People asked if my mom made them for us, or if we got them just for this performance.  We sang the freaking song, and we raised our freaking arms, and the freaking flashes went off in the crowd, and our parents all freaking cried, and everyone came up to comment about how freaking cute we were, and it was freaking ridiculous.

Then, for the next 20+ years of my life, every time anyone heard the song or said any of the lyrics or mentioned God, Bless, and USA in the same sentence, my mom said, "Oh, remember how cute you and Jenny were in your little shirts?  Wasn't that so great?" And the memory would come rushing back like it was yesterday.  And my brain would ache just thinking about it.

Why am I complaining about this seemingly vanilla story?  I mean, it's not like I had to do an interpretive dance or wear a costume where I LOOKED like a flag or something of that nature.  And it's obvious that I was used to being in front of crowds as a child because I was IN DANCE RECITALS at least once a year.  But... I know it's silly, but at the time, it was just so embarrassing.  And then hearing about it OVER and OVER and OVER.  Ugh.

So, Beyonce, next time you wanna sing this song, please pick something else.  Like "God Bless America."  That song, while basically having the same title, is totally different.  And beautiful.  And far more challenging as a singer.  In fact, sing the NATIONAL ANTHEM.  Do that next time.

On a final note, I cannot WAIT until my future kid takes dance class.  I hope she/he loves it when they do their patriotic number.  Jaunty sailor cap and all.

You wanna see mine and Jenny's matching shirts?

That's me on the left with the random red triangle, and Jenny's in the row in front of me near the middle bottom.  The guy next to her (whose name is Mitch and I can't believe I remember that)?  He's trying to keep the trend alive.

Now... close up on how much I LOVED DOING THIS:

The hatred is literally spewing from my eyes.  in red-eye form.

Though... how cute are those tights?

Why My Mom Is The Best

I follow a super fun, funny, and inspiring blog called Tales from the Motherhood.  Wendy Hagen is a former child actress who is now a mother of three hilariously awesome kids, and they got that way because she is hilariously awesome as well.  She's currently hosting a Mother's Day contest with tons of prizes and coolness, so I'm going to answer some questions about my moms in order to give her prizes and coolness on her day.  Check out Wendy's blog to answer the questions and try to win for YOUR moms too!

1. What is your best childhood memory with your mom?
My favorite childhood memories of my mom all involve her being the hostess.  No one can plan and execute a party quite like Carol.  There are themes and door prizes and scavenger hunts and elaborate decorations.  Our birthday parties were always so much fun, with just the right amount of planned game activities and free-for-all time, complete with chaotic present opening and delicious, meticulously frosted cakes in every shape, size, and character imaginable (and all homemade, thank you very much!).  Her creativity knows no bounds, and it's been really fun to see her continue that tradition with the new generation of kids tumbling through their house.  The best and most embarrassing game she created?  She got me a life size cardboard cutout of the New Kids On The Block, glued velcro lips on them, and we had to throw a velcro-covered plastic ball in order to Kiss Our Favorite New Kid.  I think that cutout is still at my parents' house, velcro lips and all.

2. Was she consistent in her discipline?
Wendy hinted that we should answer NO to this question... but truthfully, I don't think I can.  She was very consistent, especially for punishments for my brother and me.  Her mantra was "The Punishment Should Fit The Crime," so we didn't get your run-of-the-mill groundings like my friends got.  If we failed a test, we had to study that subject extra every night under her watch.  If we lied, we weren't allowed phone time with our friends.  If we didn't do what she asked, she would think of something off the wall to make us do.  In general, don't cross Mrs. B.


3. Did you ever make your mom cry because you were so unruly or disobedient?

I'm sure that I did, but she wouldn't do that in front of us.  I've been told that my brother and I were mostly good kids, and we didn't do anything SO unruly and disobedient because... well, did you read my answer for #2?  We didn't want to know what her creative mind would think of next.  My mother plays her emotions very close to the vest, though, so if she did, she wouldn't let us see it.  Occasionally, we would make her so angry that she would order us away for 10 minutes so she could calm herself enough to deal with us rationally.  Probably because we talked too much...

4. Do you remember any of the special things your mom did for you?

The parties, of course, were very special.  However, the best thing in recent times that my mom has done was come take care of me and my dog when I was so sick I couldn't function.  This was the worst I remember feeling ever, and I was home alone with the dog who didn't understand why all I could do was lay on the couch and cry.  At the ripe old age of 29, I called my mom in tears and begged her to come help me.  She was there as soon as she could get there.  It's comforting to know that you're never too old to call mommy.
5. Did she teach you anything really significant?

My mother continues to teach me significant things every day just by being herself.  I know she's my mom and I'm biased and everything, but seriously, she is the strongest and most selfless person on the planet.  She never puts herself first.  She has been there for her friends and family through the hardest times they could imagine, and she will do whatever they need without blinking.  She's everyone's mother, taking care of children young and old, providing them with the best desserts, the best hugs, and the best conversations.  I know that I will be an excellent mother one day because I have had the most excellent guide to follow.  That is the most significant thing I can think of.

SO... happy early mother's day to all those mothers out there, or soon-to-be mothers, or maybe-one-day-will-be mothers, or even pet-and-rescue mothers (like me!).  And, THANKS MOMMA for being amazing!  And, you know, for having me.  That was super cool of you.

Busy busy JBS!

Happy December!  I can't believe how fast this year is going.  Blah blah blah!  I have had so many ideas lately of blog topics, but they all tend to get lost in my brain at some point before I get to a computer, and then when I get home, it's all "ooh, Bejeweled Blitz!" or "ooh, knitting!" or "ooh, Navy Seals!" and it's a fail.  Therefore, I haven't updated in a while.  So, here's what I've been up to:
*went to see Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows Part 1.  I enjoyed it quite a bit, especially the more and more I think about it.  We went to see it at midnight here in town, and the place was just crawling with college students.  Almost everyone was dressed in costume, either as a Hogwarts student, a Death Eater, or... a house elf.  It was pretty bizarre.  Saw our friend's name in the credits for his visual effects work, which was awesome.  Is it July yet??
*went to in-laws for Thanksgiving, which was super fun.  The actual T-Day was delicious and relaxing, up until the dog decided to take a little neighborhood excursion all by her lonesome at dusk.  Not so good when you're a BLACK LAB, mutt.  She was found quickly and successfully, only to start being barfy a few hours later.  Dog decided to eat... something unknown on her trip... it was gross.  On Friday, Hubs, Hubs' BFF, SIL, and I stayed up not so late (though it felt REALLY late) playing King's Court and opening champagne with knives (note: everything about this video cracks me up bc this is EXACTLY what we did) and (they were) drinking 4Loko.  The next morning, Hubs' BFF stated that no 4Loko would ever pass his lips again.  That's probably a good plan.
*Wednesday, Hubs and I made the trek to Richmond to see Dashboard Confessional (my choice!).  10 years ago, he released his first album, The Swiss Army Romance.  He played the entire thing, just him and his guitar like the good old days.  Then, he played a few other gems, and personally, I loved it.  Singing along with Chris and everyone else in the crowd made me feel 19 all over again.  Love.

Now, just looking forward to the holidays.  Possibly time to relax.  Possibly time to run around with arms waving.  Possibly going to stand arms akimbo, left foot forward.

Dad

My dad's side of the family is very female-heavy.  He's got 4 sisters, his dad had 3 sisters, and he has lots of female cousins.  I credit this female-centric family life as the reason why my dad is so sensitive and so wonderful to his wife and daughter.  This past October, when my grandpa died, I grieved for my own loss, but at the time I also grieved more for Dad, who not only lost his awesome father, but who became the sole man in his family for the first time in his entire life.

Recently, I've been following the story of my dad's closest male cousin Larry.  About a year ago, Larry was diagnosed with an aggressive esophageal cancer.  He wasn't given much time, but he did lots of research and started a strict regime of meds and natural remedies.  Amazingly, he was given a clean bill of health after this regime.  We all celebrated this miracle.  Unfortunately, this was only temporary, and his cancer resurfaced, worse than last time.  And, early this morning, Larry passed away peacefully, surrounded by his wife, daughter, and other family members.

I met Larry only once that I can remember, and it was at his wedding when I was about 13.  He was lovely and friendly, and I have loved hearing stories about him.  However, in this instance, I am again grieving for my father.  My poor father has lost so many men in his life, from his best friend Randy to his amazing father, and now his cousin, even though they acted more like surrogate brothers to each other (Larry had 2 sisters).  My Dad was the number one awesomest guy on my list up until I was 20 years old and started dating my husband.  He deserves to be happy, not to deal with these sad tragedies over and over.  I just wish there was something I could do to make him feel better...

However, today, Dad is at Grandma's house in NC, along with all 4 of his sisters, my cousin Sherry, and her 2 daughters.  As usual, surrounded by his strong female family.  I'm sure he's there to visit and to be with his family, but I also know he's there for them, to be the strong male presence they need to lean on.  It's reasons like that why I love my truly awesome dad.

Yay weekend/Greatest name ever.

I am so excited for this weekend, which starts for me in about 4.5 hours.  I'll be getting homemade delicious dinner tonight from my uncle, hanging with the Cuz and her new little bit, and then heading back to my parents' house.  Tomorrow, Mom wants to go outlet shopping in Williamsburg, and she just SO twisted my arm to tag along!  THEN, we'll have an evening at the theater in Ghent... or rather, it's my faux-niece & nephew's end of the year play, so it will be more unpredictable than a night at the theater.  After that, the rest of my weekend is officially plan-free, but I PLAN on relaxing with the fam.  I haven't gotten to see any of them in a while, and the aforementioned fauxs are always always a good time.  They are just about as silly as can be, and usually one or both of them will say something completely off the wall that makes me love them more.

And on that cheery note, as well as in keeping with the theme from yesterday, I'm posting the video for the newest internet sensation, Greyson Chance.  First, I want to point out that Greyson Chance is an amazing name.  It sounds like a comic book character or something.  Either way, props to Mom and Pop Chance for that one.  Secondly, this kid did a piano cover version of Lady Gaga's Paparazzi.  It's not one of my favorite Gaga's, even with Eric Northman being in the video.  However, I could pretty much listen to this version all day.  It's soulful and sweet, and holy crap, can this kid sing!  (His Bieber haircut not withstanding)  In fact, this video is super popular right now, so much so that Ellen had him on the show today.  Thirdly, despite all the gushing I just did about this kid's awesome talent, my favorite part of this video is not him.  It's the girls behind him in the last row.  When he is starting, they look so bored.  When he sings... well, seriously, just watch them.  I have seen that happen in real time before, and it's so friggin' funny all over again.