Well, we are back at home. Got in Sunday afternoon about 3:30 PM.

We left Colorado Springs on Friday morning. We were in no hurry to rush home, so we meandered through the Rockies and Western Colorado first. We checked out Aspen for lunch, went up to Glenwood Springs which we could see ourselves going back to, and then spent Friday night in Grand Junction. Saturday we hung out in GJ and took Emma to a children’s museum, called the DooZoo, where she was able to play around for a few hours. This was needed for her and for us. I skipped a block over and tried out some brews at the Rockslide Brewery and the girls joined me for lunch.

Next stop was Telluride. We had never been there since it isn’t really on the way from anywhere. We all loved it. The prices are ridiculous, but the mountains, slopes and overall aura was awesome. We will be going back again someday.

This morning after breakfast, we bee-lined home through the Painted Desert. There is no “nice” way to get home from Durango or the Four Corners area, so we just shipped donkey to Flagstaff.

I know I sort of dropped off of the internet face of the earth early last week. We had a computer in the waiting room at the VA hospital in Denver, as well as a lot of down time, so I was able to keep everyone in the loop. Here is a quick guide as to what had happened:

Zach had been sent to the E.R. (8/4/03) with a very rare blood and tissue infection that no one is real certain of how he contracted. The bacteria was eating away at his skin and spreading throughout his body. It was progressing at such an alarming rate, we were called by my parents to rush to Denver on (8/6/03). We left at 11 am and got there at midnight that night. At that time he was barely conscious. He was on some heavy doses of morphine and an antibiotic to kill the bacteria. Because of his weakened state from the chemotherapy the doctor’s did not have much confidence he would last long, neither did any of us.

Thursday morning (8/7/03) we walked into a kid that was sitting up and talking to us. The doctor’s moved him out of E.R. because there really wasn’t anything else they could do to help him. We were expecting this new room to be the place where he was to die. It was room 100 on the fifth floor. We were impressed with his recoil but not reassured that it was going to be permanent. He began hallucinating, which the doctor’s had originally warned was a side effect of the bacteria. Other’s thought it was the morphine. I thought it was the mind preparing the body to go, like I have read it to do in books. The one big plus was that Zach was laughing and joking just like the old Zach. It was the personality that I had not seen since February, when he visited us while we were moving.

Friday (8/8/03) the doctor’s began to talk about him going home, where he will be most comfortable. We weren’t sure if it was the hospital’s way to get him out of their bed, or if he was really capable to doing it, or if it was the hospital’s true concern for him to be in a more comfortable location. We grilled the head doctor who is an oncologist and an hematologist, ironically enough. After over an hour, we all decided that this was going to be the best thing for Zach, that we have absolutely no idea how much time this would buy him, but at least he would be in a familiar and pleasing location.

We held out through the weekend and then Monday of last week, the doctor’s said that Zach was good enough to come home so Abbie, Emma, and my two cousins that were visiting (Anne and Kate) all jetted down to the Mountain Home to prepare it for his medical needs.

Zach was transported by ambulance to the Mountain Home mid-day on Tuesday. With him came the rest of the crew that had been camped out in Denver (Kristi, Mom, Dad, and Kristi’s mom, Debbie). The Woodland Park hospice was involved and came up later on Tuesday. They have been a fantastic help for my family for getting all of his medications and needs squared away.

Abbie and I just did whatever we could to help out, but by Friday, we figured we were just getting in the way and needed to head home. Nothing should be changing real immediately, but what is immediately considering the current situation??

What is the current situation? Well, let me see.
Zach will not be able to continue with the chemotherapy unless his white blood cell count miraculously increases. This most likely will not happen because the steroids he has been taking since April greatly reduce the white blood cells. The steroids are the only real reason he is still functioning fairly well. The steroids prevent the brain from swelling and taking away what coordination, senses and muscle control he does have. He will be on them forever. Because of the steroids, he has acquired chemically induced diabetes and requires daily insulin shots. He is on oxygen 24/7 but at this point is taking in enough fluids to avoid having an I.V.

The bacteria are still in his system, but at bay with the antibiotics, which he also will be taking forever. There was talk of having the dead tissue in his leg surgically removed, but with no positive prospect that he would survive such an operation, we decided to leave it be unless his health improves to a point that it makes sense. The morphine he is taking is helping him handle the painful wound on his leg. This is where the “comfort” issue is the greatest priority. It must be redressed everyday, which Mom, Dad and Kristi are becoming experts at doing. The wound makes mobility a tough issue, but they have gotten a lift that is helping them get him to his wheelchair at the house.

Zach is where he wants to be. He is alert and doing as well, if not better than anyone ever expected.

With the tumor being untreated, there is no telling how much time he has left. We all just hope it is as painless and as peaceful as possible. My parents and Kristi are doing everything in their power to assist him and make sure he is comfortable. Right now, that is all that we can ask for.

We persuaded her to take a “good, long nap” in order to allow her to get “a really big surprise.” It worked. She slept for two and a half hours last Friday.

Our vagueness of the surprise was for good reason; one small monsoon could of ruined all of our plans. Then we would have to quickly think up something else fun to do. But the weather was on our side. The rainstorm came early and at 6:00 pm it was cool, yet sunny and nearly cloudless.

Every Friday in the summer, the city business owners of downtown Flagstaff put on live music and an outdoor movie (weather permitting of course).

We arrived and set-up our chairs and Emma’s Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag. We then listened to an angry man singing “children’s songs” which showcased tainted near-sighted perspectives of recent U.S. history and historical figures. The kids danced and played to his strumming guitar, while I sat and wretched at the lyrics. Next was a pizza and the sunset.

On Emma’s and my return from the restroom, we approached the area where the movie screen had been lowered and was presenting the opening song and title to “Beauty and the Beast.”

“Booty anda Beet, Daddy! Booty anda Beet!” the girl on my shoulder’s screamed like a teenage girl in a flashback of the Ed Sullivan Show.

We got some drinks and popcorn and settled back into our squatted area.

The “surprise” came off without a hitch and our little girl was ecstatic. With her greasy popcorn bag gripped firmly, she glowed like a prom queen. She bubbled with bottom tapping sit-dancing and would occasionally and graciously turn to us and beam her smile. And at least a couple of times I felt her warm, soft hand gently caress my leg in loving appreciation.

My thoughts wandered from the film, to my love for my child, to my upcoming baby and then to my brother. My brother, who most likely will never experience this exciting joy and pleasure. As the crowd sniffled and cried over Belle and the Beast’s spoken love, I wept comfortably in the dark for my brother.

Leaving the community event, I was filled with overpowering emotions. They were the same flooding emotions I felt the minutes after I discovered that we had a healthy baby girl; filled to the rim with love and affection for life. Only this time, on this night there was a distinct aftertaste of bitterness.

I was driving. Abbie was in the passenger seat. Emma was in her captain's chair in the back.

"Lilly and Olivia are going away on vacation, Emma. We can't go over and play with them today" Abbie rehashed a conversation from earlier in the day with her daughter. "Then, just like I am right now," she sobbed, "I couldn't help but cry, just thinking about when I have to tell her that she isn't going to stay at Gina's anymore."

Our fantastic babysitter got a job at the school across the street from her home, and after this summer, Emma will not be going there anymore. Lilly and Olivia are Gina's two little girls, and Emma's two best friends. They are practically sisters because of their love-hate relationships. Emma has missed them both immensely this summer.

"It just makes me so sad to have to tell her," Abbie squeaks with tears thundering down her pregnant cheeks.

"Mommy," Emma chimes in from the back, "Stop crying like a baby!"

I like to cook. Really, I do, but not solely for myself. Case and Point:

My family has been out of town since last Saturday night. (It is Friday morning now), and I have eaten a wide variety of processed meats and frozen foods. This includes at work too. Hot Pockets, chicken pot pies, and hot dogs, but mostly my diet has consisted of sandwiches. My buddy Rodney P. use to always say that the best things in life was sex and sandwiches. Just like George on Seinfeld. I got half of that equation covered Mr. P. I now you would be proud of me.

It may be a male instinct to be lazy around the house. I think of my bachelor days and I immediately slip right into those comfortable shoes from the past when my family is not around. For instance, I have used the same glass the entire week. I have had mostly water so this is not a big deal, but beer washes out of it just fine too. Of course my coffee cup had some cream floaters this morning, but a simple spooning out of the coagulation did the trick. I think it may enhance the flavor too, but haven't scientifically proved that one. Besides, the heat from the java should kill anything, right? -- RIGHT??

Another example of my single male lazy instincts is that I already have all of my laundry separated and ready for wash. Of course it is all just laying on the floor of the closet in two piles. They are beautifully prepared bundles of cloth just waiting for the opportune time for me to decide to wash.... which will be the day before the girls get back. Unless I run out of some type of clothing, like underwear or something. But the plan, as of now is to wait until the eleventh hour, which will also be the time that the dishwasher will be run and the mail separated and gone through.

I am very appreciative of my wife and my family, more beyond the love. They certainly force my inhibitions from ruling my lifestyle. Lucky for me.

Feeling kind of sentimental today. Turned on my music on my computer at work, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band came on. It isn't the name of the title track by the Beatles that brings a guy down when his ladies have been out of town for quite awhile. It is the instant memory of a conversation Emma and I had about the song.

About two weeks ago I was driving with just her in the car. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some music, and her usual response of "no" was given. I was really in a music mood, so then I asked her if I could sing to her, and she was more than willing to allow that.

I sang "I Saw Her Standing There", "Hotel California" and then "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band" mostly because they are some songs that I actually know 90% of all of the words. After each tune, Emma would remain quite for a couple of seconds almost as if she were making sure I was done, then she would scream for more.

This helps a man's ego out to say the least. So I continued until we reached home.

The best part of this song story is that about a week later it was just her and me again. We followed the same line of questioning about the music, but she told me that she wanted to hear me go at it again. I was pleased to oblige her.

"It's Sgt. Pepper's Lone....."
"YOU SANG THAT ONE LAST TIME, DADDY!" she blurted from the back.
"That's right, kiddo, good memory. Do you want me to sing something else?"
"NO SING THAT ONE!" she exclaimed.

And then she listened as we drove on.

My 6 month pregnant wife decided to move to the other bed for the night at 2 am. She was afraid that she was going to bruise her legs too badly from when she kept slapping them against me. Not really, but she has been getting pretty miserable here in our "heat wave" in Flagstaff. (Topped off at 94 degrees today according to the neighbor.)

I was starting to thoroughly enjoy the empty bed, since my poor wife has been beginning the restless night ordeal. Those men that have survived it know what I am talkin about. The rest of you will find out sooner or later.

At about 5 am, I hear the soft crunch of the carpet from Emma. "Yes, the sun is up, but no hunny, you need to go to sleep some more."

So my rotund spouse was replaced with a sticky foot 2 year old. SWEET! (BTW when I asked Abbie how to spell rotund, without even telling her why, she responded with, "A-S-S-H-O-L-E" which is all wrong. Men without children, make a note of that. Pregnant women always think you are talking about their weight or their temporary shape. Well, this time she was right, but most of the time she is waaaay wrong.)

Now by saying sweet, I AM being sarcastic. Emma may only weigh 30 pounds, but she takes up about three times as much three dimensional space than a creature typically that weight. Like a knocked over box of matches, she is everywhere. The one key element besides lack of room on the otherwise spacious bed is that at least one part of her body MUST be touching you the entire time. I skootch over to the edge of the bed, and her tiny foot is right there in the middle of my back. If I lift her over to the other half of the bed, the small palm of her hand is right there on my shoulder. ANYwho, somehow I get to sleep for about an hour more, give or take a few twenty minutes.

I really think the true reason for my daughter's "outreach" program when sleeping in our bed is soley for keeping track of when I am physically up and getting out of it. (Ironic use of political organization verbose, don't ya think??). For no sooner am I sneaking off to the toilet, she is right there with me, chatting away already.

I wonder if she lays there in bed thinking of things to chat about, or if the entire process of chatting really is spontaneous. Either way she is a natural.

"Daddy really pees alot."
"Yes, hunny."
"Daddy really pees AAAAHHH-LOT!"
"Thanks for noticing babe."

We perform our morning ritual and get juice and coffee brewing. I sit down with her and we have our "time".

"For me birfday I get to be a big sister." she informs me, which is true since the baby is due exactly one week before Emma's 3rd Birthday.

That one sentence has gotten me thinking all day. She "gets to be a big sister". Said just like she "gets" her hand stamped after a good job at gymnastics, or at 7 she "gets" to watch Dora the Explorer. Pretty funny. I will keep the optimistic viewpoint that the new one and her will be the best of friends 98% of the time, and not create a tainted mindset that she will change this excitement once Scoobie arrives.

This same very day, after working all day, I come home and we decide that we are going to take a walk. Emma gets her shoes for the journey and brings them to me along with some socks. I place her on my lap and proceed to put the clothing items on her.
"Daddy lets me sit on his lap."
"Yes hunny."
"Mommy has a baby in her tummy"
"That's right"
"So she no help me put my shoes on"
"Wha?"
"Mommy have no lap now."

I have a million of these, if anyone cares to listen.
But for tonight, that is all.

so I was interrupted countless times last night by a screaming hysterical 2 year old. she was afraid of something; a noise, an idea or a glimpse of a monster in her closet. this actually started about two nights ago. it carried through her nap sessions as well. abbie and i think we might have to sever her vocal cords. i think it might be her new years' resolution to make our hours together more stressful, something similar to what we have been seeing what our friends have been having to deal with. hoping it changes real soon. i even gave her my magic blanket to hold when she gets scared. that worked for a couple of hours.