Danny Boy

This post was pieced together with a heavy heart. By the time you read it, I will have written and rewritten this several times over.

So why write it at all? Because I want to remember the anonymous 49-year-old man in this police blotter story from Lake Havasu City, Arizona.

You see, the man in that story was my friend. And for a few years, he was one of my closest friends.

Dan Mooney was far from perfect. And even before he met this tragic demise, he had been battling demons for several years that he never shook off. Occasionally over the last several months, I would catch a glimpse of the old Dan, where he'd be quick with a one-liner or ask how my family was doing.

But I had a sinking feeling that things weren't quite right. I never imagined this would be the end result. Not even close. Of course, as a mutual friend of ours who studied human behavior pointed out, you'd have to be a skilled counselor to identify suicidal tendencies. And none of us were anywhere close to him, literally and emotionally.

We met covering Portland State football games in the fall of 2001, me for The Oregonian, he for the Associated Press. It wasn't a deep friendship then, but we hit it off. I think what first drew me to him as a friend was that he didn't take himself super seriously and was not phony or uptight.

In short, he was human. For better and for worse.

But it was once I started going over to his home that our friendship strengthened and I learned some lessons about what's important in life. I had just gotten married the previous summer, so I had hopes of one day getting to what he seemed to have: a stable home, with a spouse and child, etc. I realize things are never perfect, but it was still a good example for me as a husband and future father.

He never claimed he had all the answers and he wasn't telling me what to do, but one thing he did say stuck with me all these years later. He once told me that at the end of the day, the most important thing in the whole world is family. You might face professional disappointment, friends may come and go, but if you are loyal and loving to your family, that's all you'll ever really need.

It sounds like common sense, but until you go through life and experience its ups and downs, you never really know how true that is. As a transplant living far from our extended family, I always remembered that bit of advice. And yes, I can say my family is very tight-knit because we realize in this far-away place, we pretty much only have each other. It's a quality that's served us well as we've endured Noe's autism.

During one of our last conversations, I mentioned this to Dan, how I always remembered this piece of advice. I made sure to say thank you. And I'm glad I did.

I wish there was a happier ending to the story. He is survived by a son who turns 17 next month. I cannot begin to even fathom the anguish he must be feeling right now, and my thoughts and prayers continue to be with him.

I can almost hear Dan now, busting my chops for ending the post with this clip. He'd say it's too on the nose, since he was Irish and all. But considering my mood, this feels right. In light of this awful news, little else has this week.

Half-Hispanic

My boys show their heritage by the season: Northern European in the winter....


And all Mexico in the summer.

Love and Vomit

It was inevitable. The boys had been sick earlier in the week. I spent a day with stomach pains and a buzzing headache. A stomach bug had crept into our Northern Virginia townhouse and that meant two things: Easy Ed was next and it would be bad.

Sure enough, late late the other night I awoke to the sound of retching vomit. Oh, it is a dreadful noise. When Ed throws up, it sounds like animals are dying.

And Ed vomits a lot.

A couple months back, he informed me that he had gotten sick on the way home from work. Oh no, I replied, Did you throw up in the car? No, he replied. I pulled into an abandoned parking lot and opened the door.

At 2am. In the District of Columbia. Did I mention my husband is Hispanic?

Since then I keep my cell phone by my bed, just in case I have to take a late night call from the county jail after Ed's been booked on suspicion of DUI.

For Ed, the formula is pretty simple:

Weak stomach + Stressful job x Late nights = Prodigious Vomiter

When we were first married, I admit it was a bit disconcerting to have a husband who threw up much more often than I did. Did he have an ulcer? I wondered, Could be possibly be bulimic? (No and definitely no). But soon enough the tables turned and I found myself pregnant and sick. And also very alone and stressed out as I finished up grad school in Portland while Ed chased his dreams in the big city. I couldn't wait to join him in New York. I had this fantasy of Ed lovingly holding back my hair while I threw up, and then cleaning up the mess and bringing me a ginger ale while I rested in bed.

The reality was that I threw up alone when I got to New York as well. The only difference was that now I was in our prewar apartment bathroom with sounds of the city outside the window ..... and, of course, sounds of Ed snoring from the other room.

When I heard Ed sick the other night, I rolled over and stuck an extra pillow over my head to drown out the wailing struggle from the bathroom beyond. I tried to make myself feel guilty for not getting up with him, but I couldn't even manage that much.

Eleven Valentine's Days, ten years of marriage and two children later, I am beginning to understand the multiplying effect of love in a happy and deeply committed relationship. I am also learning that you don't need to share everything with your partner during your years together to experience the intensity of that kind of love.

Guzman-style fails

Here we are at the US Capitol, in front of the Christmas tree. Just a minute or so after this photo was taken, a small plane entered the Capitol no-fly zone without radio contact. Fighter pilots swooped in to intercept the plane and droves of Capitol police officers suddenly appeared at the top of this hill. With loudspeakers in hand, they forced us all to run towards the Washington Monument. I'll just say that they weren't polite about it. I know they were trying to keep us safe, but I was pretty close to giving them a piece of my mind which would have probably resulted in a mommy-in-jail fail.


We took the boys to the US Botanical Gardens over New Year's weekend to see their annual
holiday train wonderland. Just after I snapped this photo, a little hand with my DNA that knew better, reached down to grab the train and almost caused a huge scene.



Noe is working on sequencing at school, so I had to photograph him doing different activities around the house . I was too busy trying to get the shot to tell him to "stop!" Noe is a very literal guy. If you tell him to keep pouring, he will. I love Asher's little face in the background. Always the voice of concern at our house.

Coming out of the closet

this article in the Salt Lake Tribune has been on my mind.....

I love so many things about my church. The people in the church are wonderful. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is beautiful. There is much to love and admire about the structures and organizations that exist within the church. I love church service and the ways my callings have strengthened and fortified my spirit. The people in my wards have sustained me through the most trying times in my life and I will forever be grateful to them. But I do not understand this. I do not understand the church leadership's harsh stance towards gays in the church (and outside of the church for that matter) and I am realizing that I will never be able to reconcile it like I can with so many other things that I don't love about the church and its controversial history.

Here is a guy, Steven Fehr, who has served a mission, who loves and follows the gospel, who is a better member of the church than I will ever be. Who....for goodness sakes.....stayed celibate until his commitment ceremony even though he knew formalizing his relationship would ultimately end in his excommunication. I can't help but question what Christ would do. Would he really cast this man from the fold, force him to worship from the margins?

If you're gay in the church, you have to remain celibate unless you marry. Yet, no marriage or commitment ceremony is recognized by the church. It seems like a cruel and impossible predicament for faithful gay members.

I have a lot of respect for Steven's decision to continue to believe, even from the sidelines. I am convinced that it is people like him that will eventually change church policy. Yet it must be heartbreaking, embarrassing, to continue to worship as a second class citizen. I can't say for sure that I would make the same decision to stay if I were in his shoes.

In the context of this debate, I often think about my children. What would I do if one of them came out to me? Love them, of course. Would I leave the church if they asked me to? If they felt disrespected by the church's policies towards gays? I would strongly consider it. Yet, I have friends who have suffered as a result of Prop 8, and even gay friends with sweet testimonies who have been pushed away from their church membership. Yet I stay. Does this make me a hypocrite or a heroine? I don't know, probably neither. I DO know that I desperately don't want to leave, but I never feel completely at peace about either decision - staying or leaving.

Merry Christmas and Pass the Excedrin, Please!

Christmas 2010 will be known as Sick Christmas. We all got hit with the Khris Kringle Super Virus a few days prior to Christmas and we are still pretty sick. However, we did manage to drag our drugged selves out of bed to attend the Washington Ballet Septime Webre produced version of the Nutcracker at the Warner Theater in the District. I'll just say that $250 worth of nonrefundable tickets spoke loudly in my feverish haze. It was a great performance, that I'm sure we would have enjoyed more had we been feeling better. The boys clung to us through most of the performance. I have no memory of getting dressed or of important sections of the ballet that I thought they had mysteriously deleted until I read the program and realized I must have been asleep or passed out (don't worry....Ed drove us there and back. He is further along on the road to recovery).

There was definitely a distinct DC flair to the production. General Washington was the Nutcracker. Claire's home was placed in 19th century Georgetown. The whole second half was danced in a cherry blossom wonderland. And the kids in the production, of course, were adorable.

After receiving reassurance that Santa will even come to sick kids' houses, Asher wrote his annual letter of anticipated appreciation....


....and INSISTED we bake cookies for him even though I told him I didn't think Santa had much of an appetite for baked goods this year.

WE WISH YOU ALL A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HEALTHY AND PROSPEROUS 2011!!!!

Is This Six?

Last night, you started asking me about college. Where will I eat? Where will I sleep? What will I do for my birthday in college? All important questions. A few minutes later I heard you belting out "Sweet Caroline" while perched on the toilet. While getting dressed for bed, you ran around your room with your underwear on your head. Then you gave me a big goodnight hug and kiss, looked me square in the eyes and said in your sweet sugary voice, "Mommy I love you," before climbing up to your top bunk.

Is this six? I hope so....'cause I love it and I love you!