Move.

My husband was lying so still that he looked like a statue. I reached across the pillow and brushed his cheek with the tip of my finger. His eyes fluttered and then I saw his head shake just enough to let me know he was alive. Something about that made me love him even more.

"Good morning. I love you," I said in my head. Then I snuggled him super tight in the most obnoxious way ever. He let me for a few moments but it was early. His body language after that gave me that sleepy person's signal to move.

I walked into the kitchen and sat at the big wooden table. The house next door, with its windows that face ours, was quiet and dark. Not because of the oppressively early time that the clock was reading, but because no one was there. That day that I saw them loading up a truck, it surprised me. I didn't know this family as well as those before them. And obviously not well enough to know that they were about to move.

I made coffee and listened to the radio. Talk radio at first on NPR, but then I switched over to Pandora on my iPad for something uptempo. At which time I decided to shake my hips and bust a move.

I quickly dressed and headed out of the door. I talked on the phone while driving that day. One of my friends has been struggling with a love issue. Trying to decide if it is time to move. On, that is.

I wasn't sure. Or, at least, I just listened because what I think isn't so important. And not my move to make.

Another friend is coping with the aftermath of a stroke. A significant one that snatched away the ability of a previously dominant side of the body to move. I visited my friend in the hospital and on this day my friend would be discharged to a rehab center. And my friend was a good sport about it all but I could tell that this was not originally a part of the summer plans.

"They're going to move me over there in a few hours," my friend said.

"Okay," I replied. "You okay?"

"I think so."

And when my friend said that, I was surprised at how well those facial muscles could move. Already.

"Wow." I said that word somewhere in between other words of encouragement. "Your face. The right side. I can see it move."

"You can?"

"I can. And your voice and speech sound good, too. Really, really good."

"It does?"

"It does."

And so I recorded my friend's voice with my iPhone and played it back. And that voice did sound good. So good that it moved my friend to tears. Which did the same to me.

Yes, it did.

The nurse walked in and started doing the things that she needed to do to get my friend ready to move to the next place. "Do you need me to move out of your way?" I asked. She shook her head no. So I just stayed where I was on a chair smiling at my friend. And didn't move.

I headed on to Grady a little bit later. The R&B radio station was on and the personalities were talking and talking and talking. This time they were discussing Justin Timberlake.

"That white boy can move!" the guy said.

"He suuuuuure can," the woman personality said back to him. "Chile, he suuuuuure can. Woo Lawd!"

And I laughed a little because I agreed with what she said. Intonation and all.

When I was walking into Grady I saw somebody getting a parking ticket. "I was just about to move!" the flustered lady exclaimed to the ParkAtlanta person. She was fumbling with her keys to hurry up and get into her car. "Oh come on!"

And for once the ParkAtlanta person stopped. Stopped with that little electronic ticket thingie and didn't move. "Hurry up and move that car."

Which that very relieved lady promptly did.

Just before I walked into the hospital I saw this man sitting in a wheelchair out front. He was youngish and appeared to have been in a trauma of some sort. He looked perplexed because he had a cast on his leg and also his arm and was trying to move the foot rest down on the chair.

"You need some help, sir?"

"Yes! Would you mind pushing down this foot rest?"

And so I reached down and pushed it flat with my hand. It required more elbow grease than I expected but eventually I got it to move.

"Thanks," he replied.

"No problem." I started to walk off but he asked one more favor.

"Would you be willing to give me a light? I can't work this lighter with my arm in this cast. My finger don't move right."

"You're asking me to light your cigarette?"

"If you don't mind."

I cocked my head sideways and furrowed my brow playfully. "Dude."

"No?" he said with a chuckle.

"Dude."

And we both laughed as he used one arm to move his chair closer to the "designated smoking area." Where I was sure he'd get a light for his cigarette.

In the clinic there were lots of patients waiting. I picked up my pace because with all those people we were going to have to get a move on.

"Ready to make your big move to New York?" I asked a graduating resident. She was heading up there to do a fellowship.

"Yes and no," she said. Which I understood completely. It's hard to move.

That afternoon I straightened up my office. Which really means I organized one stack of paper in one area. Only to move it to another area. On the same desk.

My computer keeps freezing up. When I open too many applications, the little arrow thingie just decides it doesn't want to move. It happened two times that day, so I took that  as a sign close up shop. And move and groove on out of there.

When I got home, Harry was watching television on the living room couch. He was watching his shows that aren't my shows but I plopped down next to him. "Do you want me to move?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

And I just smiled.

A text came through to both of us at the same time. It was Poopdeck showing us what the kids are doing. This time they were running on a track. "I'm making sure they move!" Dad said. And from that little video clip, that was definitely true.

Later that evening I climbed under the covers in bed. I reviewed the extraordinary parts of this seemingly ordinary day and let them move me. Harry twitching his cheek. The fact that I'd likely get new neighbors soon. Dancing in my kitchen. My friend at a pivotal fork in the relationship road. Another friend learning to walk and write again. Justin Timberlake and his unusual amount of rhythm and soul. Somebody, for once, being let off of the hook from a parking ticket. A young man who had experienced a bad accident yet who still felt well enough to ask a doctor to light a square for him. A busy clinic and a resident transitioning to another part of the country. An unruly Mac computer in a cluttered office and a husband who watches too much reality television but whom I love anyway. And lastly a father who is now a grandfather that knows how to not only text, but also text video, of the magical times he is having with his grandsons.

I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. My body and mind became still. I didn't move.

That is until the sun burst through the window the following morning. A new day. With new extraordinary ordinary. I smiled big and wide. And began to move my body because I could.

And I was glad.

***
Happy Thursday.

Habitual Reflection and moments in time.

"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."

~ James Baldwin

 _______________________________________________

I just returned from the National Meeting of the Society of General Internal Medicine (SGIM.) This year it was held down in San Diego and was a really networky-academic-general-medicine-nerdy good time. I've been to the SGIM meeting several times over the years, but admittedly, this was one of the larger turnouts from my recollection. From Emory alone we had close to fifty people--maybe even more--all of whom presented workshops and posters and sat on committees and panels and just did great and important things.

And some just soaked up the energy. Which is cool, too.

This year for me was mostly a year of soaking up energy. Usually I'm running all around making last minute tweaks on a presentation or scurrying over to judge a poster. But this year? I simply attended. Well. Unless you count being on the list of authors for an oral case presentation which really was 100% effort-driven by one of our amazing residents. Otherwise, I was just a spectator.

Which, for me, was just fine this year.

Presenting a workshop at SGIM last year

Anyways. I left that meeting with a lot on my mind. Not because things that most would define as earth shattering  happened but more because now that I habitually reflect on all that I live, far more in my life is of good report. Does that even make sense? Sigh. I don't know.

Yeah.

Some birds I met while running on the waterfront Thursday

Well. Speaking of this idea of habitual reflection--or even "mindfulness" as some like to call it. . . . I'm reminded of a conversation I had during the meeting with one of my residency classmates, Rachel S.

"I think writing and reflecting helps us to see the power and magic of the seemingly ordinary, you know? That 'boring' patient has a story."

"Yeah. There are stories all around us. Everywhere."

Then I told her about the day I watched a woman crossing the street to the bus stop with her children. This otherwise mundane event that this habit of reflection caused me to behold with different eyes. And then write about it. The story in it, the pain in it, and ultimately the beauty and triumph in it.

"It's weird," I told her. "That piece of writing ["Little Mama"] is one I go back to reread probably more than any other. And I know that had it happened ten years ago, I would have never even noticed it."

And Rachel's eyes filled with tears because she understood. She also knew of the walk my family has taken since losing Deanna and she remembered. Even though we hadn't seen each other in one full year (at the last SGIM meeting) it was evident in her eyes that she recalled and she got it. Got how life opens up and becomes richer when we allow ourselves to be more aware of the little things.

I should mention that Rachel leads writing and narrative medicine workshops at her institution in Denver, Colorado. She's my kind of people and just so. . . present and intentional. So that part--talking to Rachel and thinking with her--was really good.

Yeah.

So then there was this other part of this SGIM meeting that I also loved. Remember when I went up to be a "visiting profesora" at University of Pittsburgh? Well during that amazing visit, those folks up there embraced me in a way that I never even saw coming. I mean, yes, my good friend Shanta Z. is there and they know and love her. But mostly that means that they should just have been polite and welcoming--which, of course, they were. That said, they've also gone above and beyond that. Ever since that visit, their faces are warm and happy to see me when our paths cross. Familiar and easy. Hugs instead of handshakes and my favorite part is that the ones that I didn't even formally meet while I was there are the same way. Kind of like "a friend of Shanta's is a friend of ours." Many even started off with, "I feel like I know you." And that? That's just awesome. I mean really and truly awesome.

Pittsburgh people

One of the people I met up in Pittsburgh was this woman named Missy M. Missy is this unbelievably talented, committed and infectiously loving clinician educator who has committed her career to medical education and women's health. It came as no surprise to those who know her when she was tapped on the shoulder to be the Distinguished Professor of Women's Health at this year's meeting. That meant a keynote address which I made it my business to attend.

A blurry selfie with Missy M.

Her talk was aptly titled "Life Lessons Learned." And let me tell you--it was nothing short of transformative. She stood up there and shared her truth. About being a woman taking care of women. About teaching. About self care. About being a mom. About the things that really matter. And all of it was was magical. It was.

When they called for questions, usually it's a bit intimidating to take that microphone and speak. But I did ask one. but I especially made sure to stand up and publicly say, "Congratulations on being asked to do this. You are truly deserving of this honor and have blessed us all with your wise words." And she needed to hear that because we all know how pesky that little voice can be that tries to rob us of accolades and honors and replace them with feelings of being tiny and undeserving imposters.

Yeah.

Standing ovation after Missy's talk

So Missy gave the hell out of that keynote and I was there in the number when we stood to our feet to applaud. And even though I am not at her institution, I felt like she was one of my own and like I was a part of some different, insiders crew. Mostly because of how people like Missy and her Pittsburgh colleagues have treated me.

Missy doing a mystery case--and killing it.

So yeah, that was great. It was.

Yesterday I slipped into the back of the room as one of my Grady BFFs presented an update on hepatology. I've talked about Lesley M. and her trailblazing heart-work with Hepatitis C. And please, if you've never read that post, please take a minute to right that wrong. So she and our other fellow Grady doctor Shelly-Ann F. spoke to a standing room only crowd. Or rather standing, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall room only crowd. They were unbelievably polished, knowledgeable and just. . . inspiring. I remember when that idea of general internists treating patients with hepatitis C was embryonic and just a pie-in-the-sky idea. And this? This was a full circle moment of seeing what happens when people dream big and then go hard.

Update on Hepatology with Lesley M. and Shelly-Ann F.

My favorite line was what Shelly-Ann said after:

"I was very, very proud of us. I could feel that we were doing a great job and sharing good information and I'm so proud." 

And that was an awesome line because that's exactly what she should have been feeling.

Yep. So that was rad. Like super rad.

Of course, there was also the fun I always have each year at these meetings when I share a hotel room with my other Grady BFF, Stacy H. It always feels like this slumber party where we lie in our opposing beds whispering like middle schoolers. There's the parts like chatting while doing our hair and putting on make-up or pulling out contact lenses and all that kind of stuff. But in the midst of it we also nudge each other professionally and explore the "what next" parts of our careers as academic physicians. And all of that is wonderful, too. It really is.

me and my nerdy-meeting roomdog, Stacy H.

But I guess the last thing I wanted to reflect on was perhaps the one that has stayed on my mind most of all. Maybe because it almost felt spiritual. . . or even divinely appointed. And yes, I know that everyone reading here isn't fully on board with the idea of things being "divinely appointed" per se, but I do know that even those in this community who don't follow any organized religion can fully appreciate these moments that you just know will feed your soul and stay with you for a long, long time.

So yeah. Kind of like that.

I had just made my way into the poster session in one of the large ballrooms yesterday. For those who aren't familiar, at these meetings a big part of it is a competition of research posters that people put together from their hospitals and residency programs. There are literally rows and rows of bulletin boards with bright-eyed and bushy-tailed presenters standing beside them poised and ready to discuss their good work. The picture above is a lot like what these sessions are like at national meetings. This one was packed to the gills with not only posters and presenters--but people. I'm sure I won't be the first to say that it can all be a bit overwhelming to take in all at once.

I was mostly coming to see the Emory resident and faculty posters, but had also hoped to peruse a few that caught my eye and also locate my friend Rachel S. (who I knew was somewhere in that vast expanse.)

Pittsburgh peeps during poster session last year

 Anyways. In I wander and, of course, am bumping into folks and craning my neck to try to see if I noted any familiar faces. I snaked up and down the aisles, stopped to ask a few questions about intriguing posters, and visited with a few of our Emory people. Every other step required me to apologize for either nearly running someone over or mistaking them for the wrong person. As I said, it can be kind of overwhelming.

One of our Emory chief residents, Megan D.

After about twenty minutes or so, I noted a smiling red head next to a board that I recognized. Rachel! Yes. I was excited partly because I'd finally found her but also because I had some ideas for collaboration for next year that I wanted to chat about. We'd seen each other in passing but had neglected to exchange numbers so I was pretty anxious to find her before leaving San Diego.

I prepared myself to elbow through the crowd and bee-line it over to her poster before I missed my opportunity. Just before scooting up the aisle, for some reason I glanced toward the door on my left leading to the lobby area. Amidst that sea of people and noise, my eyes briefly met those of this slender, young black woman. We gave one another "the nod" but that wasn't where it ended. She held my gaze for a few seconds while pushing through the door. I smiled deliberately in her direction to let her know the thing we all want to know: 

I see you.

It was clear to me that she wasn't a faculty level attendee. Her wide eyes and youthful face assured me that she was still in training--either a senior medical student or a pretty junior resident. In that second, I felt this really intense thought. And I swear to you--as sure as I sit as this computer and type these words--I heard these words as clear as day:

"She needs to talk to you. That learner--she needs you."

My eyes cut over to Rachel for just a split second so that I could make a mental note of her location. But in that miniscule slice of time, I looked back to that door and just like that, that smiling stranger was gone. I felt this complex disappointment with the universe for robbing me of that moment and myself for looking away and squandering it. Grrrr. And I know this sounds crazy--especially because that entire exchange took only 4 seconds MAX--but it's true.

See, I knew from other experiences that it's my job to take notice and be obedient when these "one moment in time" things come before me. And that? That's what that felt like.

Anyways. I turned back to my original intention and headed over to Rachel. And we connected and talked as I told you before and all of that was good. So good that I pretty much let myself stop thinking about that brown girl with the big eyes and that missed opportunity.

Besides. I told myself that it would have been weird to say, "Hi, I know you don't know me but something is telling me that I need to come talk to you. And that you need to talk to me." Which seriously would have been creepy and stalkery on so, so many levels. So yeah. I told myself that-- which allowed me to toss it aside and not give it much more airplay.

Later that afternoon, I was sitting at a round table with a big group of my colleagues from the Southern Region. We were all relaxed and simply recapping the various workshops and run-ins people had. Old friends talking to old friends. New friends talking to new friends. And a lot of things in between. Feet propped up on chairs. Professional attire now exchanged for blue jeans, flip flops and fleece jackets embroidered with the names of our various institutions. And that part was cool, too.

So I was leaning on my elbow yucking it up with with some fellow Grady doctors and I notice Shelly-Ann (the other Grady liver lady) walking in my direction. Her head is up and her shoulders are squared and I can tell that she's still giddy from their rockstar hepatology session earlier that day. And since there were five trillion people rushing them after their talk and I didn't get a chance to congratulate her, I jumped up to my feet as she approached me to tell her how great they'd done. So she smiled ear to ear and we hugged and spent a few moments basking in all of that.

I guess I was so focused on Shelly-Ann that I didn't even notice the person standing right behind her.

"Kim, I actually brought someone over that I wanted to introduce to you."

And, as you can already imagine, she steps aside and up walks that same woman that I saw in the poster session earlier that morning. And you know? I didn't even hide my elation that she was in front of me. I didn't. Instead of sticking out my hand when Shelly Ann made the introduction, I reached out and hugged her. Like I meant it and like I'd meant to do it before.

And she did the exact same thing.

Now. Let me be clear. Before I saw her in that hall, I'd never seen her before in my life. And from what I learned, she, too, had never seen or met me either. No, she wasn't some reader of this blog who'd seen my quirky writings and photos and linked them to me. And you know what? When I saw her that first time, I knew that. I knew that it wasn't some "where do I know you from" glance or "hey, that's the lady who writes the Grady blog" look. I knew deep down in my soul that it was something else.

So Shelly-Ann simply tells me that she just felt like this resident should meet me and had taken it upon her self to escort her right in front of me. Not because she'd pointed me out and asked Shelly-Ann either. But because somehow Shelly-Ann, too, was in cahoots with the universe and this magnetic pull for us to make acquaintance.

"I saw you earlier," I told her. "You looked at me and I swear something inside of me said, 'That woman needs to talk to me. We need to talk to each other.' I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true. Do you remember seeing me?"

Her already wide eyes widened some more. I could see that they were already glistening with tears from hearing what I said. She nodded her head.

"We were supposed to meet. I felt bad when you got away from me--honestly, I did. I can't even tell you how happy I am to have you standing in front of me." And I told her that because it was true. I wanted her to know that this was important to me and that she was worth my time.

"I. . .I felt like that, too. Like. . .I don't know. . .like I wanted to talk to you just from that glance. It's not just you."

And so. We sat down and we talked. I listened to what it was like for her as a resident and also specifically a resident of color in a high-powered majority environment. I let her know that I knew how she felt and talked to her about always remembering who she is. But mostly I just heard her and encouraged her. I reminded her of Abileen's mantra--not through words but through eyes, ears and heart.

"You is kind. You is smart. You is important."

Yes. That.

And you know? That brown girl broke down crying. Right then and there in that lobby area in our quiet little area where we'd stolen away to talk. And her tears were so layered yet so familiar. Not so much sad but just . . .I don't know. . . .relieved and empowered. And I swear to you, it fed my soul probably more than it did hers.

"I don't even know how to thank you," she sniffled. "I just . . .I needed that so much. . .and I just don't even know how to tell you how much. So thank you." And when she said that, she wept some more.

I told her that the way to thank Shelly-Ann and me and all of the other women she'd met that week was to be excellent and pay it forward. She nodded her head and promised she would.

"Oh, and to constantly pay attention. Don't take your eyes away because you might miss the chance to do what you're supposed to be doing."

And she knew that I was referring to her getting away from me in that ballroom earlier. But I also think both of us knew that somehow, some way the things that are supposed to happen somehow do. Even if it seems like we missed the chance--sometimes that second chance makes what you do even more powerful and more meaningful. Kind of like. . .I don't know. . . .it affirms what first just felt like a tiny nudge as something more . . .and as something so, so much greater than it or you.

Yeah.

So we exchanged numbers. And I know that I will hear from her and be in touch with her. I will. And we will continue remind one another of who we are and what we can do with just one moment in time.

Yeah.

So that? That just explains a few tiny morsels of the rich slice of my life over the last few days. And I am seeing it and feeling it and embracing it all. The ordinary, the extraordinary, the all of it--forcing from it each and every drop I can taste.


Yeah.

This cappucino made me happy

"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."

~ James Baldwin

Thank you for reading, okay? I mean that.

So cool! With my former chief resident from residency, Mimi S.

***
Happy Saturday.

Super corny yes, but now playing on my mental iPod. . . . the song that has always made me wish I could sing. Ha.

And this--worth viewing again. . . . my Grady BFF Lesley M. on Hepatitis C. #superproud

Randoms on a Set-Your-Clock-Back-Sunday Morning.

Well. I woke up feeling super rested and thought for sure that I'd slept in late. I looked at the clock and realized that the 8am that I was feeling was officially 7am. So that was kind of cool. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. Which was probably for the better since my children were also awake.

Yep.

I have some things I want to write about but my brain feels a little too tired to tackle them just now. So how about some randoms in the interim? Don't mind if I do.

Okay. So this morning we were eating some french toast. And I was watching the boys and noted that they did two different things. Zachary cut his toast into pieces and then syruped it after they were all sufficiently separated. Isaiah stacked them on top of each other and syruped the top and middle layers. Then he cut each piece as he ate it. This means that when they finished or rather, got full, one plate had a few cut up pieces on the plate and the other had what looked like one eighth of a full piece of bread. Anyways. I know this is monumentally unimportant but I do wonder if there is some science behind how people attack food on their plates. Like what does it mean when people eat one item at a time? Or mix it all up? Or clean their plate? Or never, ever clean their plate?

Hmmm. I don't know.

I have this mental block to cleaning my plate. I always leave at least one or two bites on the plate. I'm not sure why. I also am like Isaiah and "cut as I go." Additionally, I almost always separate my pancakes and eat them one at a time. Which reminds me. On Friday I went to the gym and had a good workout. I was off that morning and after that workout felt myself craving pancakes. I went to the Original Pancake House and asked Ivan, the server, which ones were best. He recommended the pumpkin pancakes and suggested I add pecans. Which I most certainly did.

Yep. I get my cakes on a little plate and immediately ask Ivan for a second plate. And he gave me one but also gave me a hairy eyeball at the same time. I poked my fork into the top pancake and placed it on the new plate at which point Ivan said, "Oh, you're one of those, are you?"  And I was like, "Huh?"  And Ivan said, "One of those one at a time pancake eating ladies."

Which I am still not sure was an insult or not. But seeing as his recommendation was worth every single calorie, I let it slide. Those pumpkin pecan pancakes were YUMMY. I ate two and saved one. And it never saw syrup so I ate it on Saturday. Take that, Ivan.

Hmm. What else?

Oh. The other day I was standing outside with Zack waiting for the bus to come. So it's early in the morning and, okay, I don't get too dolled up for the bus stop wait, I admit. (That poor busdriver has seen a whole lot of crazy pajama-fied outfits from me, that's for sure.) This day was no different. I was donning a college hoodie and my pink fleece Paul Frank monkey pants. Along with my Ugg boots.

Awesome, I know.

So we're standing there talking and across the street I see this dude walking down the street in a three-piece suit. It's dark outside but I can still tell he's in a suit. And okay, maybe it isn't a three-piece one but it always sounds fancier when you say it that way. Doesn't it? Yeah.

Okay, so me and Zack (yes, I meant to say "me and Zack") are singing some random song or talking about the lunch menu. And dude in his three-piece suit is just strolling on along like it's not unusual for a dude to be walking down the street at the literal crack of dawn in a suit. He's holding a lunch box and I notice even from where I am that he is smiling and generally pleasant appearing. Which is kind of cool. And I am coming up with a story for who he is and where he could be going and whether or not he's a big deal on his job, a dude that just likes haberdashery, or both. But he looks so nice that I start to decide that he just likes haberdashery because really big deal people are probably more serious-intimidating-looking. Which he was not. Then as he gets a little closer I realize that he looks familiar.

"Hey Kim!"

He looks right at me (in my hoodie and fleece get up) and waves.  And I recognize him in that instant and erupt into a huge smile. Well, half smile-half mortified at him calling my name while I'm wearing this crazy outfit. I decide to shrug it off.

"Good morning, Dean!"

Yes. The Dean of our Medical School was walking to work with his packed lunch early in the morning. And let me just be clear. The Dean is my big boss. Maybe I should say it in caps. My BIG BOSS. And this current Dean was just appointed last year. I was a huge fan of our last Dean and so far have been a big fan of this one, too.

But you know? Something about seeing him walking to work with a smile on his face for no apparent reason and a lunchbox in his hand made me feel even better about having him as our leader. This guy? He's a BIG DEAL. But every time I see him, he's kind and seems happy to see not only me but whomever it is he's with. He was like that before he was the Dean and is still that way. Which is very, very inspiring.

Yeah, so from across the street in the dark he made a little small talk with me and asked about my son which was very cool. He said hi to Zachary and when he walked off, I told Zachary that this man was my big, big boss. And Zack said, "He was nice." Which coming from a seven year old his a big compliment.

It's funny how the little things make such a difference. And such a huge impression.

Yup.

It was a heavy week at work.  On rounds the other day, I told this man that he was dying. He wasn't even fifty years old. Years of bad habits had caught up with his body. But it caught up sooner than usual so everyone was caught off guard by the extent of his disease. He had a long-time-love that he'd been with since middle school. And two grown up kids who were driving to be with him.

"I have so much I want to see." He was crying when he said that. Crying hard. And I thought about my life and what I've seen but still how much more I want to see. Then his love kept asking what could be done to fight this and overcome it. And scientifically speaking the answer is actually not the answer I want to give or she wants to hear. So I kept it vague saying, "This is really serious. I wish it weren't." And she got it because she stopped asking and he already had it because that just made him weep harder and louder.

And you know what? That moment absolutely sucked.

Isaiah is back in robotics! He's super psyched about it. I'm thrilled for him because he's a great builder with a critical mind. I can't wait to watch it all unfold. He also just joined the gardening club at school because he wants to know more about planting food to eat. So there you go.

I love this picture of JoLai and my mom taken at Homecoming. Mom got a bunch of red Mardi Gras beads and gave them to people to wear in Deanna's memory. Cool right? I wasn't at Homecoming this year, but JoLai, Mom and Dad definitely held down the fort.

Here's another snapshot sent to me by one of my linesisters who ran into Mommy at the game. So cool!

 

What else? Hmmm. Oh, this.

Saturdays mean peewee football for us. So yesterday at the game, I was filming a play with my iPhone. Zachary got the ball and ran it for a long touchdown. And since I was videoing it I could hear myself which was hilarious. Absolutely, positively hilarious. Here is what I *hollered* at the top of my lungs:

"Okay, Z. Okay Z. . . there you go, son. Keep going. . .keep going. . .okay, okay, I got you on film, buddy, let's go . . . okay. . .okay. . ."

Then he shook off the last of the defensive backs and was out in the clear. That's when I morphed into a crazy lady.

"YOU BETTA DUST 'EM ZACK MANNING! YOU BETTA RUN THAT BALL, SON! YES SIR!!!! YOU BETTA DO IT, ZACK MANNING! YOU BETTA DO IT AND YO' MAMA BETTA FILM IT WHILE YOU DO IT! WHAT?! WHAT!!! YOU DID THAT, SON!! SHOOOOOT! YOU DID THAT!"

And another mom in the background was egging me on which was even funnier. I just realized that no matter how much education you have, all subject verb agreement goes out of the window when your child is scoring. I swear if I didn't think it would come back to bite me professionally, I'd totally post the video. So, so hilarious. I don't think our Dean would be smiling and waving if he saw me doing the Ray Lewis dance and hollering after that touchdown. Just saying.

(This is pretty much exactly what I did. I'm not ashamed.)

What else?

Hmmm. Oh. Poopdeck has been tutoring Isaiah four nights per week. I was about to sign him up for a tutor or with one of those centers like Kumon or something. And my dad said, "Why do that when you have me? Let me work with him but the deal is that you have to treat it like you'd treat something you were paying for." And that made sense because before I was sort of hit or miss with it all. But now I send him copies of all of the homework and we log on at 6:30 pm. We sure do. My mom even found a school desk for him to use that is a perfect height for both him and Zachary. And it is totally, totally awesome.

I'm glad to have my dad. And my mom. And just my family.

And especially, my life. Joy. Pain. Sunshine. Rain. I'm glad for it.

That's all I've got this morning.

***
Happy Sunday.

Life in Pictures: The Puppy Mafia and other random things.

Hey. Feeling a little lazy today. Lots going on and have been super busy. Here's what I've been up to.


But first, here's a super random old photo I found in a box last week. That little baby is my friend Jada's son, Noah and he's now an eighth grader. Bananas.

That was from the weekend I was taking my Pediatrics certifying boards back in 2000. And yes, that wig looking bob is my hair. Um, yeah.

It's been a while since I've given an update on The Puppy Mafia. Well. This in no way means that my children have outgrown them. Puppy, Pup Pup, Puppy Dog, Little Guy, and the rest are still very much a part of the family.

Well.

Turns out that approximately 6 months ago, Isaiah was playing with Puppy outside and he got lost. Over the last several months, we've made a few weak attempts to find him--usually at dusk. We looked a couple of times during the day, but no dice. I was ready to give up on the pooch. Maaan, I got too much going on for all that. So me? I had totally given up. But as Isaiah always tells me (all matter of factly with eyelids at half mast,) "Puppy will never be lost forever."

Which has technically always been true. I still remain particularly impressed by Great Puppy Recovery of 2008 -- the nearly two year loss that occurred in my grandmother's house in Tuskegee, Alabama. You just try to find something in a house that someone has lived in for over fifty years. I just dare you. But Isaiah? He has Puppy radar. He totally found him. Even if it took almost two years for it to happen.

Yup.

Oh, and as for all of the rain, sleet, and what-not that Puppy was facing? It was fine because he's "already brave" -- remember? (Long, ridiculous story. See hyperlink above.)

Whelp. On Saturday morning, Isaiah put on his jacket and his determination and declared that morning the one when Puppy would be found. "I will not give up until he is home safe," Isaiah said.

Yup.

So you know what happened next. Mmmm hmmmm.

That's after a six month trip backpacking in our backyard. He actually looks pretty good, considering all that.

Here's some pictures from Tounces' birthday celebration.

It was a lovely time. She was happy. Which meant that we were all happy, too.

So, yeah. That was good.

Oh. I went to HLN  to do Raising America again today. That was cool.

Here's a funny thing -- one of the segment producers asked me for my Twitter handle. When I told him that I wasn't on Twitter or Facebook? He was all like:

Ha ha ha. Any excuse to use this GIF of Zachary. I'm totally hooked on this neat little app on my iPhone that makes these things. It's been a good time.

Anywho. After he stopped giving me the hairy eyeball it was cool. Ha ha ha.

I'll try to let y'all know next time in advance since HLN is a syndicated channel and most of you should be able to see it when it's on.

How cute is this baby picture of Isaiah? So smoochable.

 

Saw this last week in Kroger. But this time I didn't do the ugly cry like before, so it was cool. Instead I just felt happy and sort of wanted some lemon Jell-O cake.

What else?

Oh, these snaps from Zachary's playdate over the weekend with one of his buddies. They played video games for a few moments but then they opted for outdoors. For over two hours! I was so happy to see that some kids still want to play outside.

I was trying to have a cup of coffee and do some work a few days ago. I had an article due for this journal and was already past the deadline. I had work to do! Well. This gray-haired man sitting near me smiles. I smile back. Then he started talking my head off. OFF. Even though I was clearly BUSY. But he was an elder and thought he was funny. So I was polite. Even though I really was feeling all like:

Sorry. Another shameless excuse to use the GIF app. 

Dude. How much of a flashback is this button from Deanna's senior year jacket? 

Breakin' Fresh?

Cut. It. Out.

And this? This is just a cute picture of Isaiah.

That's all I've got for now. Night night!

***
Happy Tuesday.