JoJo

I received word today that JoJo, a little boy at Hermano Pedro, has died. I remember holding him, his stiff little body, he was so uncomfortable. As of late he's been very ill (according to Dick and Pat's blogs that I follow), respiratory problems and such. I'm upset to learn his fate.
I'm upset with myself too. Within an hour of hearing the news I'm in my van headed to meet my son's new pre-k teacher. I start focusing on school supplies, where I can find that Star Wars backpack Flynn so desperately wants. It's amazing to me how fast JoJo left my mind. What is wrong with me? Why am I so heartless? I'm realizing how heartless our entire society is. We go about our spoiled, pampered lives day in and day out as helpless children lay dying around the world. Not just little JoJo in Guatemala, but precious children all over the world. As I sit here in my air conditioned home, my ass on a comfortable chair, my belly full there are children in every corner of the world dying. Dying too soon, too fast, too unfairly, and yet I do nothing to stop it. A parent's worst nightmare is unfolding and yet I still do nothing. What the hell is wrong with me and with our society? How can we allow this to happen? Why do we allow this to happen?
I know God cannot be happy about this. This cannot be how he envisioned his people to behave. When something bad happens there are usually either of 2 things said, "It's God's will", or "Why would a loving God do this". I think we need to realize that this is our will, society's will because our society is allowing this to happen. I believe God wants us to step up and fix this problem. Every day we do nothing is another day that these tragedies continue to occur. I feel certain God expects more from us and yet I continue to disappoint him, continue to not do what I should. It is not ok for us to go to church on Sunday morning, give our 20 percent tithe and feel we've done our part. It is not ok for you to read this and still do nothing. It is not ok for me to write this and still do nothing. We should work until our hands bleed and our hearts break. But we won't. Thirty minutes after reading this JoJo will have escaped your mind. You'll be thinking about lunch and the errands you need to run after work, or the long weekend coming up. I'm no better, I'll be wondering if there are any Everybody Loves Raymond reruns on this afternoon and what to cook my family for dinner. Plenty of food for my family who will probably end up not eating half of it and it will get thrown away. While I scoop leftovers into my trash can somewhere a child will be dying from starvation. Why God, will I do that? Jojo is gone. Have you forgotten what he looks like already?

Pollo Campero

No trip to Guatemala would be complete without a meal at Pollo Campero, Guatemala's gift to the world. Pollo Campero, translate: Country Chicken, opened in 1971 in Guatemala. This year there will be one opening in Shanghai and in Downtown Disney.

So on Tuesday, with the help of Dick Rutgers, a longtime local volunteer, we loaded up 5 young ladies from the Teenager Ward at the hospital and made the bumpy ride along the cobblestone streets across Central Park to the Chicken Camp. I had fallen quickly for Mercedes so I was pushing her wheelchair. According to Dick, she had been left on the steps of a local church as a baby with a broken leg. She has cerebral palsy and the folks at the hospital believe she's around 19 years old although they don't know for sure. She in nonverbal but she can totally communicate by looking at her face. She is always smiling but she lets you know with her eyes if another girl is not having a good day or if there is a nurse not being nice. She is my favorite of all the people at the hospital. She had the heaviest chair of the group and I got a full fledge workout just going those few blocks. Mercedes loved every minute of it though and her smile was much more rewarding than any weight I must have lost sweating away.

When we arrived we all ordered quickly and waited just a short time for our food. Apparently a few years back when Dick first started bringing the kids out to lunch he would wait upwards of forty minutes before anyone would wait on him. Guatemalans view the disabled as second class citizens and the workers didn't want to wait on them or be see talking to them. Dick said people would refuse to move out of the way of the wheelchairs and some drivers would even speed up if they were crossing the street. Thank God the mindset has began to change. One family at the restaurant that Tuesday even came over to our table showing much concern for the girls and asking about them.Several of the girls have restrictions on what they can eat so we fed them soft food, like stuff you'd feed a baby. Mercedes, Guadelupe (I'll tell you about her in a bit) and Curly we fed flan, mashed potatoes , and strawberry milkshakes out of baby bottles. Not the healthiest meal ever but considering these girls had not been out taken out of the hospital since December we figured they deserved it.

Guadelupe is a smiley girl but her smiles turned to full fledge laughter when she somehow showered me with her strawberry milkshake. Her laughter was a wonderful sound to us and for the rest of the lunch every time she looked at me she would begin to laugh hysterically again. And like the workout pushing Mercedes, Guadalupe's extreme pleasure of covering my with milkshake was worth all the stickiness I had to endure.

I felt as though I had bonded a bit with Guadalupe so when the time came to go back to the hospital I claimed her wheelchair (it was the lightest of the groups).

We had a nice time strolling back through Central Park and stopping for a few pictures in front of the fountain that is dated back to the 1500s.

The food at Pollo Campero is awful, my extra crispy 2 piece chicken and mashed potatoes were the worst I've ever had, but the company that day I'll never forget. I'll keep Mercedes and Lupe in my heart forever.

Hermano Pedro Tuesday, June 22

It would have been very easy for me to turn around and leave. When I first entered the children's ward I was so overwhelmed I thought I might lose my breath (which might have been a good thing considering the smell). There were what seemed like hundreds of children all lined up against the walls strapped into wheelchairs. Some were covered with mosquito netting so bugs and flies would now crawl into their open mouths and eyes. Most of the children where starring into space and slobbering. I thought to myself I will never make it through this day let alone this trip. There were a few little fellows zipping along in a more open area. Some with stand up wheelchairs and one with a head controlled wheelchair, and they were so darn cute. Angela turned to us and said, "well, ok, pick one". Pick one? Was Angela crazy? This exactly wasn't like going to the pond for a new puppy. These were children, someone's most precious possessions, a little person with a heart and a soul and a mind, no matter how functioning, and I was just supposed to pick one? There would be no way I could possibly help any of these kids. This was way beyond a small group of volunteers. I was starting to think hiking Volvan Agua would be a nice way to spend the day, and then Angela handed me Perla.

She had gorgeous black curls and a total of 4 teeth, all that were fully covered with bright silver mercury filled fillings. She was expressionless, just looking out to nowhere. I sat down and said one of the few spanish things I knew, "hola Perla", and suddenly her face wasn't so expressionless,maybe she had heard me? I was wishing that I had learned at least one spanish song, but since I hadn't I started counting. By the time I got to diez I got a full fledged smile. This precious little girl, who would never walk, talk, sit up, or probably ever eat solid food, she just smiled at me.

I guess I held Perla there for about an hour or so. I sang the days of the week and counted to ten probably one hundred times and she seemed happy the whole time. It was amazing.

Later I held Patita. She was a little more aware than Perla, she could sit up a little with alot of help. She didn't have Perla's cute curls. Instead she had a buzz cut, shorter than most of the boys. I really liked her. She wasn't as cute and cuddly as some of the other children. Dick Rutgers, one of the main volunteers that has been there for years, said that she was one that didn't usually get a lot of attention. I liked her so much that she's the one I went and found after lunch that day and every day after. I sent about 3 hours with her that first day. I even fed her, which basically amounted to me holding her while her iv bag drained through her feeding tube. I sang the days of the week, counted, and shouted fiesta over and over again. I taught her the C-A-T-S- cheer and told her about the Wildcats. When I started moving her arms up int he air for the "Fiesta" cheer and the "Cats" cheer she started to laugh. She started to laugh out loud. What an amazing sound! Angels could have came from heaven up above and sang and it would not have sounded so sweet.

I was so overwhelmed when I had first walked in but by the end of the day I had made several wonderful new friends, Patita being one of my favorites. I guess Angela wasn't so crazy after all.

Congratulations to Abby Sunderland

All the criticism surrounding the parents of Abby Sunderland has got me thinking. I'm thinking about my upcoming trip to Guatemala. Is it too dangerous? Possibly, I've been told most every store has armed guards at the door. Angela has warned me that when we get off the plane there will be hundreds of men behind barricades yelling for us to ride with them or use their phone. There will also be lots of men with ak47s or some sort of machine guns. Of course, people get shot here in Kentucky all the time. Just watch the local news for the first ten minutes, it will be full of shootings, stabbings, and other crimes. Is there a chance of mother nature becoming agitated? Earthquakes? Volcanoes? Hurricanes? Well I believe recent news reports have answered those questions. Those things could happen here (well except the volcano). The New Madrid fault lies just west of Kentucky. I could be eating Barbecue in Western Kentucky with my family and be swallowed up by the earth before I even order my peach cobbler. I'm sure the folks camping in Arkansas had no idea their campground was going to turn into rushing river waters in the middle of the night. The truth is, I could die or be killed in any number of ways. I could get hit by a car walking out my back door. The way my seventeen year old pulls into the driveway, it's not that inconceivable! Hey we're all going to go sometime right? Chances are it's not going to be some way really cool like being swallowed up by a giant sink hole. I've always wanted to just spontaneously combust, that way there would be no body to have to deal with, no funeral fees or burial plot - just natures way of cremation. I'll probably end up in a hospital bed full of tubes and wires going out the one way I don't want to, hanging on for dear life (no pun intended). I'm getting off subject though...
Do I think I'll die in Guatemala? Of course not. Who in their right mind would plan a trip of a lifetime and more importantly finance that trip thinking they were going to get there just to die? That's just stupid.
So this is why I find myself defending Abby Sunderland's parents. ( I knew I had a point to this story). They would have never sent their daughter out to conquer her dream if they thought she might die. They must of believed she could do it and for that I not only defend them, I praise them.
In this world of 5 tv homes, video game crazed kids and boring lives the Sunderlands challenged their kids to get up and go live life. To participate to the fullest, to work hard and actually try to accomplish awesome goals. While most of us are sitting on our overweight bums watching reality tv, these kids were out actually living.
Most of you know I have big dreams for my kids. I've mentioned hundred of times that I want Flynn to be a National Geographic explorer. I hope I'm the parent that can not only encourage his hopes and dreams but also help him accomplish them, even if that means I make the difficult decision of letting him go.

A Physcologist or a Lottery Ticket

Is it considered talking to yourself when you're not actually speaking out loud? I couldn't sleep last night after the Celtics/Lakers playoff game (Go Rondo), so I laid in bed and had a 2 hour conversation playing in my head.
Actually it was more of an interview. An interview with Oprah Winfrey to be exact. She was interviewing me because I had recently won the lottery and signed all the winnings over to the Red Cross. This act of charity had somehow managed to get me 15 minutes of fame, much like when baby Jessica fell in the well or more recently any of the forty women Tiger Woods had escapades with.
I'm invited to Oprah Winfrey's home in Hawaii for the interview but I decline, it's February, and basketball season here in Kentucky and I've managed to score floor seats for my family for the game (again, because of my act of charity and 15 minutes of fame). (I'm well aware that it is currently June but in my head this is all happening in the future, yet another bizarre aspect I may want to discuss with my physcologist that I obviously need). So, Oprah flies to Lexington for our interview. She accompanies me to the UK game where I actually get to be the Y at the end of the KENTUCKY cheer during a second half time out. Oprah gets to do the Y too, I mean come on, she is Oprah Winfrey after all.
We discuss several things. I tell her I donated the money because quite frankly, it was all a bit overwhelming. There are lots of charities I would have liked to give to, The Kings Center in Frankfort, The Lupus Foundation of America, a start up fund for a state of the art physical therapy center for children and adults of all ages for my friend Angie, and the foundation I want to start, Lasting Memories, which would send deserving low income families on a vacation of a lifetime. I knew I would never be able to get it all donated and figured out, plus I was scared I would end up blowing most of it on things I didn't truly need like a 3 story brown stone in Brooklyn or an upper east side penthouse in Manhattan.
We talk about my mom and my Mema, their hardships and humor. I tell her my dad was a wonderful person with the terrible disease of achololism. We talk about what a God send my Aunt Linda was and still is to step in and raise not only my younger brother but to always be there for me. How we would never be able to repay her. This of course brings us to my brother. I tell Oprah how proud I am of Michael. How he's worked so hard for everything in his life. How he's been through so much yet never complains or plays the sympathy card. I tell her how excited I am that he has recently been elected to the Frankfort City Commission (don't forget this interview is taking place in February, a mere 2 months after the November elections). She shows a picture of Michael and I on election night, me in my orange and blue Michael Turner for City Commission shirt and him in an ugly v neck maroon sweater. I'm not sure why he's wearing that sweater. And speaking of elections I say how great it feels that Kentucky has replaced an out of date right winger Jim Bunning with a young, smart and might I add liberal Jack Conway.
On to my life she says, and I reply that I am just about the luckiest person I know. I have wonderful friends, an amazing family and good health. I wake up everyday feeling blessed beyond measure. We talk about how grateful I am for my husband, Joe. That yes he does 100 things a week that annoys me just as I am sure I do 101 things that annoy him. All in all, I say, He's a generous man, a great father, and no matter what I fix for dinner he always tells me, "it was good honey, thank you". I'm eating the same food so I know it's not always good, hell it's not even usually good, but I appreciate that he says it and it's the little things like that that I'm thankful for.
She asks me about the people who have shaped my life. Wow, I say, there are so many people where would I start. All of my friends parents always treated my like their own. I tell her one of the reasons I care so much for the Kings Center is because Randy and Pat Bacon were so good to me growing up. They fed me most every night of the week and I'm pretty sure I slept at their house much more often than my own in high school.
I tell her about Carolyn, and how much her house still feels like home to me.
I get a little choked up when I tell her about Jim and Diana and how I strive every day to be as wonderful a parent as they are and as good a person as they are. They provided a stable and nurturing home when I needed it the most, and I will cherish them for the rest of my life. They are amazing people.
We discuss my church family and my faith in God. My God is a God of love and forgiveness not a God of hell and damnation. I tell her I wish more people were that way.
We bond over golden retrievers. ( I know she has them because they were on the cover of her magazine one month, I'm a subscriber). My dog Buffett, I say, is so dumb but he's a sweetheart and I wouldn't trade him for anything. Even though you could stuff a mattress with the amount of dog hair that floats around my house.
he tells me she heard that I recently turned down an offer to present a Humanitarian Award at this year's Academy Awards. (Seriously folks, I was really tired but I just could not go to sleep and my mind was really racing. It's too bad there isn't a switch you can turn to shut off part of your brain, you know the part not needed to keep me alive). Anyway, I tell her that is correct, I turned it down because my son Alec has a basketball game that night that I don't want to miss but also for another reason. I don;t want to fly across the country to present an award in front of a bunch of overpaid, spoiled Hollywood stars who get all dressed up to go out and tell each other other how wonderful they are. Give me a break.
On a side note, there have been other nights when I've not been able to fall asleep where I practice my acceptance speech for winning an Oscar for a breakout performance in a blockbuster movie. It goes a little something like this:
I think George Wolfe is an awesome director and I'm humbled that he took a chance and casted a no name like me for this film. I'll never be able to thank him enough. However, the real people who should be getting awards are all the real people out there. The single moms working 2 and 3 jobs to keep food on the table and pay rent, the men and women in our military who risk their lives day in and out for the betterment of other people. Some see and experience things we can't even imagine in our worst nightmares, they come home to strained relationships and lousy vet care. What about the people living in third world countries who walk for three miles just to get a bucket of mostly dirty water. Where are their awards? I figure by this time the music is sounding and the screen is saying wrap it up so they can go to commercial. I walk off the stage and leave a stunned audience behind. I wouldn't even go to the damn awards ceremony but it was in my contract so I had to.
Back to last night's night daydream - I tell Oprah, I think Hollywood is spoiled and awards season nauseates me. My friend Nora is a single mom of 3 boys. She works her butt off all day, come homes to feed, clean, and educate her kids, runs all three boys to various sports practices and games during every season there is, football, basketball, baseball. All this times 3. She does without complaining because she is an awesome mom. Where's her award? Where's her $1. 2 million borrowed jewelry from Harry Winston, her Channel dress, and Jimmy Choo shoes? Fucking Hillary Swank has them because she acted like a boxer in a movie. Plus she got millions of dollars to do that job. What sense does this make?
After the interview Oprah agrees and buys Nora a brand new car, a Honda Pilot. It's not $1.2 million worth of diamonds and platinum but it's a start.
I admit to Oprah that I am a hypocrite though, because I would gladly accept an invitation to hand out an award at the Tony's or the Espy's. This leads into how much I love sports. We talk awhile about this.
Before the interview is over she asks me if there is anyone I'd like to trade places with for a day.
Of course, I say, Minka Kelly. That girl (only I don't say girl but I've cussed enough in this interview already) anyway, that girl gets paid to kiss and make out with Taylor Kitch on tv and is marrying Derek Jeter in real life. Hell, where do I sign up?!
Later I think Derek Jeter will see the interview and send me a big bouquet of flowers, an autographed jersey, and a note the reads, "if we had only met sooner".
Come on, this was my night daydream and I just gave away $16.4 million can't a girl have a little fun while trying to fall asleep?
So, this is when I decided that I wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon and perhaps I should just get up. I stumbled downstairs to the family room and started writing, hoping to not wake my husband. Unfortunately I did wake him, I guess that's one of the 101 things I'll do this week to annoy him.
You tell me, should I immediately make an appointment with the best doctor of physcology I can find or should I just wait until February and buy my first lottery ticket ever?

It's Only My Fault

I think I’ve told myself the same old excuses long enough. I didn’t get a bachelors degree because my parents were not supportive enough, I’m not being named the youngest supreme court nominee this week because my parents didn’t tell me to set big goals, I’ve never been out of the county (well except Canada but does that really count?), because of, you guessed it, my parents.
My parents were too busy trying to pay rent and dealing with more than their fair share of hard times to ever dream big for me. I had big dreams but they never really seemed to care. I think I’ve used their not caring as my excuse not to do it. Instead of trying I took the easy route. I got an easy job, an associate’s degree from the local college, got married and settled into a life I never dreamed of having. A stay at home mom with 4 kids and a hard working husband, I’m 34. If you would have asked the 8 year old me just where I would be now I would have said, "just coming back from a trip to the moon or even Mars", the 12 year old me would have said, "writing for some big magazine about all my distant travels, India, Tibet, and Ireland". If you would have asked the 17 year old me I know for sure I would have told you working on Broadway, The Great White Way. Theatre, the love of my life then and now. I would be living under the magical glow of the NYC city lights where every ethnicity and religion lives. I love the diversity of New York City and even more, I love the food. Yet here I am, a mere 25 miles from the place I was born, my most adventurous food, the sushi restaurant around the corner that has a roll named for my husband (we eat there a lot).
One of the first things I said on the day my son Flynn was born was, “He’ll work for National Geographic and travel the world, and then marry a nice Indian girl so we can have a weeklong wedding celebration in Mumbai”. I told several people what he’d do until one day my friend’s husband politely suggested that perhaps I let Flynn choose what he might like to make of his life. He was right, I was going to pressure my kids to do all the things I wanted ( I never wanted to marry an Indian woman but a nice man from Kenya would have been high on my list). While I still hold out hope that Flynn travels the world, marries someone other than a boring white woman like myself, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and quit blaming my parents for the things I’ve not accomplished.
I love my life, I am so truly blessed, but it needs some adventure, so I’m beginning by taking my first international trip next month, to Guatemala. A lot of volunteer work, a little coffee plantation touring, some Mayan studies, and definitely eating some latin food. Who knows where I’ll go after that, but I do know that if I never leave the USA again, it will be no one’s fault but my own.

Is a Potty Trained Child a Blessing or a Curse?

1. On a long walk through the neighborhood he waits until we're at least 4 (long) blocks from the house when he says, "Oh Mom, I gotta poop".
2. At a baseball game at the field farthest from the bathrooms with my older son on deck when I hear, "uh-oh, I gotta poop now".
3. At the pool, after setting up everything that took you 3 hours to pack, and spreading on suncreen for 40 minutes, spending an hour manuevering the 8 month old into her safety float boat only to hear, "moooommmmm, it's time to poop".
4. At church during silent reflection time, "mom can you take me to poop", is asked so loudly the old lady that needs a hearing aid 7 rows behind can hear. and my personal favorite,
5. At the grocery store, cart full and ready to check out, (with the bathrooms at the very back of the store) when I hear, "oh gosh I gotta poop right now and look it's already coming out", to which he yanks down his pants to show me (and everyone else around you for that matter, and believe me they saw).
In fairness to Flynn I must divulge the grocery store incident was Alec (years ago of course, and when I was brand new to mothering). sigh...