An Honest Holiday Letter

By Troy Foster

This New Year's Eve - like others in the past - I'm sitting here reading the letters stuffed in many of the holiday cards we received.  I love them.  It's like reality TV.  A lot of hype, bragging, exaggeration, and some out and out lying.  Combined with a small, very small dose of substance and truth.  Of course that's not true of all of them and I sincerely hope that this doesn't result in us getting less of them next year.  Because I really do love them.  (Have to admit that the ones that are completely truthful, just give a basic rundown and pictures are cool - but not nearly the thrill the over-the-top ones provide.  The later ones are in my lap right now!)

But let's have a reality check.  If most of what I read is true, everyone's kid is the smartest, most wonderful child, on the Honor Roll, and enjoying much success in all sports.  And everyone's vacations were perfect, involved going to an island (or two) and a cruise.  All have been promoted or now lucky enough to be staying at home, and loving every minute of it - work and play.  Everyone's spouse is prince charming or a goddess unlike no other; or for the single folks, they couldn't be happier alone by choice - loving every minute of their freedom and would have it no other way.  They've lost weight, bought a new and bigger house (because bigger is always better), live in the safest neighborhood with the best schools, and are bffs with their neighbors.  

You know what I'm talking about.  You get them too.  Come on.  A lot of these folks (some of my closest friends and relatives) are full of it.  Now, don't get me wrong.  It's much better than reading "woe is me" letters, which I do not read more than once.  And, I'm all about seeing the silver lining - in almost everything.  But a silver lining is different than making everything I touch turn into silver and gold.  

From my perspective, shouldn't what happened in the last 12 months - without the exaggeration - be good enough?  What's the shame in having a moderately good year or feeling great that you made it through a hard one?  It's a bit of a bummer that it seems as though these over-the-top letters' authors think they need to "puff" for it to be a success, or to impress their readers.  

We don't write holiday letters, but if we did, it would go something like this:

Our 2011 was filled with a lot of laughs, challenges, but most of all memories.  Here are the highlights.

Luke and Henry are enjoying school.  Luke loves reading and does well.  Except on days that his anxiety is uncontrolled.  On those days, we've had to pry him out from under a water fountain because his new teacher freaked him out.  Henry really likes his special needs pre-school class; his teacher is awesome.  Though there is one boy in Henry's class (like last year) that bites, kicks, and is generally violent.  Henry is not dumb, he's befriended this kid.

Lily is not a huge fan of school and will do almost anything to try to avoid homework.  She also fights with her teacher - not physically like the kid in Henry's class - just attitude.  We've been working on that, and she is doing much better this fall.

Our last au pair was a nightmare.  Basically, she didn't watch the kids, let our 7 and 4 year old run away (really), slept after strapping our youngest (1) into the highchair, and fed our Henry (who is allergic to almost all foods) snacks three times a day.  So, she's gone and I'm staying at home part-time to watch them.  Hard job, but I like it so far.  Good time with the kids, gives me a new appreciation for a lot of things - like clean clothes, floors - anything - which we won't have for more than 5 minutes until 2028.  It's made me a little more of a slob than I'd like.  When I don't have time to shower, I don't.  The end.  I do make sure that my seizure and anti-anxiety meds are taken everyday though because that would be a problem.  I've also made more food - mostly cookies, cakes, and other sweets - than necessary - which has helped me gain weight and land on cholesterol meds.  But 2012 will make the difference.

While I work, the kids go to a preschool at our local church.  Eli is a bit of a manipulative monster - crocodile tears every day I leave and am told that stops, and becomes the "boss" of the class before I'm out of site.  Yep, we see that at home too.  He'll climb on top of things, look at me, smile (you know exactly what it looks like), and yells "get down" to himself.  He eats like an ox, which is refreshing, given that our other kids don't eat.

Kristen is doing great at the firm.  It has grown and shrunk, and then grown again.  We've had our normal crap at work - not worth commenting on.  She's running for Congress.  Oh, and I wrote a book (Three Candles); second one on the way.  I'd love it if you buy it (publicist would kill me if I didn't say that).  We've been working a lot on Henry's Hope too and helped quite a few kids this year, but so many more that need it.  Blah, blah.

Kristen and I spend a lot less "alone" time together.  Kristen is still hot, and thinks that I am.  We have managed to squeeze in some dates when we get a babysitter.  And that will be more frequent when we get respite care for Henry via the State Program here that Henry qualifies for.  Awesome program.  

On the friend front, mixed bag.  We have some great ones.  Found out we have a few fair weathered ones. And, some that we thought were friends, but never were.  Again, mixed bag.  Some people are great.  Some people really suck.  I know that I do sometimes.

We have and use our health insurance - frequently.  Henry and Luke both have the same condition, and so the doc appointments are plentiful.  But they let us combine them, which saves a lot of time.  They've had ups and downs (Luke is back in glasses but Henry gained weight last month).  But, all in all, they are happy.  So are we.  Everyday is an adventure.  Some days are great.  Some days suck.  But, we are happy with what it is.  Good enough for us!

Everyone's should be good enough for them too.  But if that happened, I wouldn't get these gems.  So torn.  Happy New Year!

Body Fluids - Whatever

By Troy Foster

This week, I saw a guy (30-year old or so) freak out because some kid sneezed and snot flew out of his nose.  Now, the guy - obviously not a father - was far away and just reacting in disgust to the fluids flowing from this kid's nose.

I used to be like that.  Grossed out by random body fluids.  Even the term is disgusting.  Now, we have four kids.  And I stay at home with them part-time.  Perspectives change.  I probably have a combination of snot, poop, pee, blood, vomit, bile, and saliva on this “clean” shirt that I just put on this morning. The beauty, however, is that if I spill anything on it – ever – (and I do mean anything) - I have four excuses.  CSI would have a field day with my clothes.

Before we had kids, I gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to an old dude that had a heart attack.  And, he threw up in my mouth.  (I cursed myself for taking that class for years.)  Of course, I did the right thing.  Spit out the throw up and kept going.  He died.  So, it was sad.  But, I was also disgusted that a stranger threw up in my mouth for nothing.

Now, that wouldn’t even phase me.  If anyone is going to have a heart attack, having it around me is the best bet, as I’ll have no hesitation about the mouth-to-mouth.  Can’t guarantee results though!


Next time, I plan to talk about the best way to get your kids thru a transcontinental flight without a peep.

"Stealing" the Marshall Papers

by Troy Foster

Is there a statute of limitations on this, I hope?  Anyway, here goes.  When I was in Washington, they released the papers of deceased (and first Black) U.S. Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall.  When they say “release,” they mean that they are under lock and key at the Library of Congress.  Only Members of Congress and their staffs could go sneak a peek – for the first few months.  So a friend (actually the Chief of Staff’s mother who I adored) and I took advantage.  It was pretty interesting.

As we left, the alarms beeped.  We looked around.  Nope, didn’t have anything.  The library staffer looked, and thanked us for stopping.  I was annoyed.  That night, I unpacked my book bag that I took with me to work.  In it, I found a two-inch stack of Justice Marshall’s handwritten notes.  What?  Of course, only the handwritten ones.  Perfect.

Without sleeping all night, my mission returning them began early.  I had thought of what I’d say, how I’d apologize, and planned it out.  Hoping not to get arrested.  I walked into the Library, signed in, and saw the papers in the same station where I left them – with no one there.  I sat down and unloaded them.  Then realized this was covert – so had to stay a bit pretending to read them.  One of the more nerve wracking, yet silly experiences in my life.


Next time, you'll read about odd job interview experiences.  Very, very odd.

My Newt Gingrich Story Involves Sweat - Not What it Sounds Like

Sweatin’ on The Speaker

by Troy Foster

Of the House, that is.  Many moons ago, I worked for a Congressman on the Hill.  When the House Republicans signed their “Contract with America,” it was a big buzz in Washington.  So, I decided to get my picture taken with the newly elected Speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich.  Signed up for a time and everything.  Then, so unlike me, I got lost in work and realized that I was late.  Late for the Speaker.

So, I booked it.  Me and running don’t go together – so, it was probably a sight.  I had to run two buildings over.  Only problem – it was hot and humid.  When I start sweating, I can’t stop.  So, I arrived, fully drenched.  The good news is that he wasn’t on time.  I stood and waited by these red, expensive looking curtains.  Realizing that I couldn’t wipe my sweat on my suit (without it being in the picture), I quickly wiped my head on the Speaker’s curtains.  Very absorbent.  I helped pay for them, right?  And it’s only sweat.


Got the picture!  Still looked sweaty.  Speaker Gingrich signed the picture, "Your friend, Newt."  I know that's his form, but it made me feel like my sweat incident wasn't an issue.  So in this close primary race, I have to say, that's a factor.  Not decisive, but who wouldn't want a friend that forgives (or overlooks) your social trespasses in the White House.



Next issue we'll cover how I accidentally borrowed THE Marshall Papers - and not on purpose.

"Super Parents" Need to Give Us Normal Parents a Rest

by Troy Foster

I love Christmas.  It's my favorite holiday for a lot of reasons.  Having four young kids makes the holiday and the lead-up extra special.  The magic of Santa, his reindeer, the trip down the chimney, and the story behind it all provides so much hype and buildup.  It's impossible to replicate the pure excitement and happiness on the kids' faces.  And, I love it.

But, I can't stand the "Super Parents."  Every year, there is something new and different about Santa that throws me a curve.  This year, my son's friends (many - not just one with parents that have nothing to do) got calls from Santa.  Seriously?  I barely get the phone when it rings, tripping over the kids' toys all along the way.  So the kids are satisfied in blaming me for missing St. Nick's call.  And, they are not happy.

Santa is apparently on a new health kick too.  My son's classmates are talking about giving Santa snacks that will help his energy level for the long trip and not junk food.  No cookies and milk?  Ok super health conscious parents, I am not killing Santa with the cookies.  Come on; we all know Santa isn't going to die from those cookies.  And, I'd appreciate you teaching your kids healthy eating on your own time.

And the reindeer now are hungry too?  We have to make special and magical oat mixtures for them?  I can barely get the kids' breakfast in them, get their faces washed and out the door.  Now, I'm making reindeer energy oats?  So they can poop on my roof?  No, we have plenty of poop in our house that I'm cleaning up.  The reindeer that our Santa uses have super duper energy and no oatmeal with glitter is necessary.  (And is glitter really healthy?)

Now, there's the Elf on the Shelf.  You know, the little Elf that watches the kids and reports how they're doing back to Santa?  Though he looks extremely creepy, we welcomed our Shelf Elf, Finn, with open arms - because pointing to him usually scares the beJesus out of the kids and misconduct becomes a rarity.  Heck, I was good with keeping Finn around for the entire year.  That was until the Super Parents decided to make him do stuff.  Now, I can deal with having him move from one shelf to the next each night.  Just barely though; and on the nights that we forget, the kids have bought the excuses (weather, he liked the spot, etc.).  But I keep hearing about other kids' elves doing all this crazy stuff.  Some go into the freezer because they miss the North Pole.  Some mischievous elves make huge messes in the middle of the night.  Some leave cute little videos of themselves walking around the house.  My son keeps emailing it to me.  There's even a website that lists the top 101 things that you can have the elf do.

Beyond ridiculous.  I don't have the time to make a huge freaking mess (when I'm supposed to be sleeping - and I need it by the way), pretend that it's cute first thing in the morning before my Diet Coke (which is necessary prior to any decent communication), and pick it up as I'm getting the kids ready.  Much less time to produce and post a movie of the doll walking around the house.  Finn don't play that way.  And a note to the Super Parents:  knock it off.  We need our rest.

More importantly, the kids don't need the extra.  It's plenty magical - even more so - when it's mysterious - without healthy Santa, the need for energy oats, calls from Santa, or Shelf Elf's gimmicks.  So please, Super Parents, give it a rest.  So we all can get some.

My Heart Breaks; Henry's Heart is Just Fine!

Henry and I just got back from his visit to the cardiologist.  It was a quick visit, he had a couple of tests, and is now at home while I do a little work.  

The good news:  His heart remains to be structurally sound.  He has a murmur and low blood pressure, both not biggies.  And he might have an arrhythmia – which wouldn't be a big deal either because the doctor reassured me that they can treat most with medications.  So, he is wearing a little heart monitor for a day or so.

With all of that good news, it's hard to believe that it was one of the most sobering and difficult appointments for me.  Maybe it's just me or maybe I was in a fog of denial because of the sleep apnea and now that I sleep . . . .  Anyway, it was the talk of the future that was difficult.  The cardiologist (and geneticist) put together a plan for Henry, what to look for, what to expect, and when to schedule his next appointment.  They said that we should anticipate that he will have cardiac issues given the severity of his deficiency and since the heart uses so much energy.  That he will continue to need more sleep, may become tired more easily, and may need to rest more regularly.  At some point, they will likely continuously monitor his heart and he might need oxygen (given that his lungs have shown issues and his oxygenation levels fall already).

But, not now.  That's for later.  And something we should be aware of.  For now, the cardiologist (Dr. Jeffries) said it best "this is about quality for Henry – packing as much good stuff in as we can – without going overboard."  So when I asked the question that Henry was dying for me to (could he play soccer), Henry looked up anxiously.  Jeffries, good with kids (or Henry at least), said "well, of course he can.  But Dad, he probably should be goalie or play on one end of the field because that's the most important position."  Henry smiled and looked to make sure that I heard the doctor.  And when he was again entranced in the TV in the room, Jeffries told me that exertion will wipe him out for longer and longer periods.  He's not concerned with his not being able to play for now – just that it will take a toll on him for the days that follow.  We already see that with visits and other fun stuff – but, it is so worth it.

And, Jeffries wants to see Luke again – another echo – probably every 6 months for him.  Older, asymptomatic mito patients get a little more attention, he told me.  They'll develop a plan for him too.

I'm all about planning and setting expectations, but today I just wasn't expecting it.  In looking back, all of the other "things" that Henry has have just snuck up on us.  His G-tube (now G-J tube); we know he'll have that forever.  His steroids/breathing treatments (doc said forever on that).  The medicines, his glasses, regular tests, treatments, and procedures.  Infusions of different medicines, etc.  It's just kind of grown on us.  Never thought I'd be pulling syringes out of my backpack or medical tape out of my pocket – instead of pacifiers or other kid crap.  Guess I would have preferred that the things in the future (heart monitors, cardiac meds, etc.) just grow on us too.  Looking ahead was too difficult today – maybe because I looked farther than Jeffries and team articulated – a place I refuse to embrace.  Never will.

To end with something fun, attached is a pic of Henry eating some black beans at Chipotle.  We love this place.  It's Henry's favorite, as black beans are 1 of 3 foods that he can eat - and Chipotle's are the best.  They are sponsoring a fund raiser for Henry's Hope next week; so, if we didn't love them already (we did), we do even more.  (For more information about the fundraiser, visit www.henryshope.org.)

Henry's Lesson

by T. Patrick Foster

(Below is an excerpt from my upcoming book "3 Candles."  I hope you enjoy.)

Henry’s first months with us were absolutely “normal.”  His mysterious illness in the hospital was nothing more than a scary blip on the radar once we got him home.  It disappeared as quickly as it came on.  They let us take him home.  He was breastfeeding, gaining weight, passed his infant screening tests – all very normal.  Henry had an older brother and sister to get acquainted with, and we wanted to spend time with our new addition.  So, with everything seeming copasetic and with a lot on our plates, Kristen and I gave almost no thought to Henry’s first days.

Almost.  Or, so it would have seemed from the outside.  But, like most parents, we are worriers.  Speaking for myself, I long worried about things that I thought might happen – rational or not.  So, completely forgetting about something that did happen and not worrying about the future was not in my make up.  Kristen’s either.  Our concerns didn’t get “air time,” as neither of us discussed them.  There was really nothing to say.  Early on, he seemed just perfect.  So, to talk about “what ifs” without a symptom or a reason – was just asking for trouble.  A truism in my universe about virtually everything.  I had enough trouble to deal with – without asking for more.

Though we didn’t talk “what ifs” with each other, my mind raced with them.  I was used to going through scenarios, possible problems, potential outcomes, and plans to protect from the worst.  I did that as a child, not appreciating that I had little, if any, true influence on the outcomes in most situations.  Then, I entered a profession where this process was my focus, where there were rules that I could master, and have a much more direct effect on outcomes.  This control, influence, and level of predictability felt safe for me – much less volatile, and more fair, than what I was used to.

So, it was natural for me to carry this practice with me to my family.  It had served me well, so I thought, up to that point, and it’s what I knew.  What I wasn’t prepared for was that the lack of control, lack of influence, and sometimes utter unfairness would return with a vengeance.  Unlike in my law practice, there were no rules.  Things didn’t have to make sense.  They could be unsettling.  And the flow charts more voluminous and complicated.  Non-sensical even.

It could also become overwhelming.  At any one time, I had several flow charts streaming through my head – each with different problems (virtually none of which materialized), several potential solutions for each, and all of the potential outcomes.  Sometimes it was paralyzing.  Not in that I couldn’t make a decision or take action, as I always was decisive.  I had to be.  Indecision proved dangerous, and picking a path was a way that I was able to exercise some control, or a sense of it – even when I chose what turned out to be the wrong path.  So, the paralysis wasn’t indecision; I was racing through the flow charts in my head – making serious and thoughtful decisions – without hesitation. 

The paralysis was my inability to enjoy what I had right before me.  I had three relatively healthy and loving kids, a beautiful and supportive wife, professional success, and the means to support my family and spend time with them.  When I read it now, or looked objectively at it then, being overcome with worry and anxiety just didn’t make rational sense.  But with fear, rationality goes out the window.  I learned that it can overtake us.  Any of us.  And that doesn’t mean that we don’t love our kids, our spouse, or the blessings that we have.  I did.  It just means that the fear of losing it – those things that are most important to us – can overshadow what we have.  The flow charts in my head did. 

Instead of enjoying what I had, I was planning how to keep it, and preparing myself for losing it.  To some extent, we all do that.  Those that have lost loved ones, or are living with them through illness, engage in this exercise.  Those that have been abused – in any way, shape, or form – understand the constant planning – for self preservation.  Those of us that have ever struggled with self-confidence issues also inject “worthiness” into the equation.  All of this makes it difficult, if not impossible, to truly and graciously accept the gifts we have right now.

 Struggling with this is something that we all do – regardless of our backgrounds.  Conquering it, on the other hand, is a difficult challenge that few of us ever accomplish.  I’m proud to report that Henry helped me gain the perspective, and live it.  It took my son, who had a more balanced perspective on life than anyone that I have ever met, to teach me this important lesson.  To teach me that the here and now is what’s important.  To teach me that laughing, crying, and showing the feelings that we have now is living.  To teach me that we don’t have control over much of anything.  And, that’s okay.  But, we can control how we choose to live each day.  We can choose to get rid of the flow charts and not let fear control us.  We can choose to really live life to the fullest. 

The irony is thick.  That this very big life lesson can be so clearly and cogently taught by a little boy who has been stricken with a rare and terminal disease, by a boy that has everything to complain about but doesn’t – and instead chooses to laugh, smile, and see the bright side of everything – is powerful, humbling, and nothing short of divine.  Taught by a boy that has less time than most of us will to spend on Earth, but will undoubtedly live more life than most.

So, though there were no significant symptoms to worry about in those first few months, the internal storm was fierce.  And, even then, we became eager students.  I’m glad that we paid attention because, as is apparent, there were real medical storms that we’d face.  But with Henry’s example, Kristen and I learned how to ride the storm out, appreciate every minute, and keep fear at bay.  Our greatest fear became not living life to the fullest.  So, we did.  And, so can you.  Just listen to Henry!

You Have a Friend in Me

by Troy Foster

Well, not everyone.  I’m not the most patient man anymore – if I ever was before.  And let’s face it, everyone is not clamoring to be my friend.  The service isn’t what it used to be; so, there hasn’t been a run on the Troy Foster Friendship product line.  No hurt feelings here though, as it’s probably better for all of us.

That said, for those that are my friends, I’ve always thought that word is meaningful and substantive, and full of action – more than the word reveals.  Commitment, attention, love, and loyalty.

And, for me, demonstrative.  I’ve found that often times, people want to just hear that those that they invest in care about them.  You may not be able to help with whatever they are going through.  Maybe you can.  But, at the very least, hearing that you are there, paying attention, and care sometimes can make a big difference.

You do.  So, might as well say it.  Doesn’t cost anything.  Might feel awkward, at first.  But, it may be worth a lot to your friend. 

A Failed Experiment

by Troy P. Foster

When we first learned that Henry couldn’t eat food, it was mostly sad for us.  He was too young to really care.  And, every time that he ate food, he became sick, lost wait, or ended up in the hospital.  So, being no dummy, Henry couldn’t be bothered.  He was more than satisfied “holding” some food or making an “experiment.”  The experiments were very impressive pieces of art, and included every condiment imaginable.  My favorite was a biscuit with tobasco, ketchup and mustard – topped with whipped cream, craisins, and oyster crackers.  All in all, Henry really wasn’t phased by being limited to a feeding tube diet.  Until lately.

In the last year, actually, Henry has grown more and more interested, and more and more persistent, in his desire to eat.  We think that his interest peaked when his younger brother started eating solid foods.  As a big brother, Henry wants to be able to do what Eli does.  Everything.

Henry’s strength – in coping and dealing with his illness – translates, unfortunately, quite directly with his interest in eating.  He has been relentless.  Asking Kristen and I if he can “try something,” in the sweetest of voices – over and over.  His initial requests were met with unequivocal denials.  Soon, we found him in the closet with a mouth full of Oreos, chocolate lining his lips.  Or, that a handful of crackers that he just wanted to hold – would suddenly and inexplicably disappear.  The dogs caught a lot of heat, as did Henry’s siblings – all of them.

In the months that followed, Kristen was the first to break.  I learned, indirectly, when the oldest kids, our self-appointed informants of everything, told me that she had let Henry have a bite of coffee cake from Starbucks.  Then Henry, not doing himself any favors, started suggesting that he and Kristen head to Starbucks alone.  Neither the snitches nor Henry knew that Kristen and I had already talked about her slip, which made her “the” target for all of Henry’s pleas. 

I didn’t want to cave.   Henry was allergic to all of these foods.  And, letting him eat them would cause, without question, long term damage to his gastrointestinal track.  It also significantly increased his chances of developing stomach cancer.   But, as his birthday approached, his requests came at both of us.  They were non-stop.  He is good, and though his persistence is tiresome, it sure makes me happy to see given what he faces every day.

So, on his birthday, I too fell.  Truth be told, he doesn’t really want to eat much – a couple of bites is more than enough.  He wants to be able to say that he’s eating and to taste different things.  On the day he turned 4, he had exactly two bites of cake.  We, of course, let him brag about how much cake and ice cream he ate.

A few weeks later, we were at the Children’s Hospital to have Henry see the psychologist.  He has been asking about things a four-year old should never ask, or at least should never be relevant for such a young guy.  And, the program requires participation in therapy, which is terrific.

We shared our lapses with the psychologist.  I had expected a brief scolding, a reminder of the ramifications for Henry, and suggestion that we work with our therapists about our issues in not letting him eat.  But, not even close.  Dr. Mellon (hilarious and ironic) because Henry asks if he can eat him, shared something different.  He asked us whether we thought letting Henry try foods once a week or once every two weeks would increase the quality of his life.  That, if he doesn’t get sick outwardly with those infrequent “tries,” maybe we could forget about the long-term affects.  What?  I think that I would have preferred to have the conversation that I anticipated.  For me, Dr. Mellon was asking us to accept that long-term is not likely in the cards.  In his office, it felt like giving up.  And, we won’t do that.

When we talked privately, Kristen had a better take on it – as usual.  Team Foster is not giving up, and we’ll keep fighting.  But, if he can enjoy the ceremony around trying something every week or every other week, it would mean so much to him.  And, on balance, if we have to deal with a higher risk of cancer or damage to his GI system, we will.  We hope to have to worry about those long-term issues, but can live like it.  Holding onto that for ourselves, it seemed to me, was very selfish.

So, that week, we began his “taste testing.”  If Henry sits at the meal table and doesn’t beg for food during the day, he got a point.  After seven points, Henry gets to try something.  We let him “redeem” his points on the weekend – so that we could make a very big deal out of it.  And, we did.  All of the kids played a role, offering their favorite suggestions for Henry’s next adventure.  Henry was so pleased, and only went one day without earning a point.

It was a living life in the moment lesson that we embraced.  Something two first-born, conservative parents would never do on their own.  It was worth it. 

Until, Henry started getting sick.  Even with the small amounts of food that he was exposed to, very infrequently, he started getting sick this week.  We have stopped the taste testing, and are sure that he’ll get back on track with his pure formula diet. 

He knows why we’ve stopped; he doesn’t like being sick.  And we’ve modified that rewards to little toys or choice of movie.  Henry is on board with that, but his heart just isn’t in it.  Of course, that’s hard for us to see.  Henry still holds out hope though.  Two days ago, he asked me if I could “magic it so that he could eat any food.”  (The kids think that I am magic – whole different story.)  When I told him that I couldn’t, and expected to have to explain that I don’t have super powers and talk more about him not being able to eat, Henry interrupted me and said “Oh Daddy, I’m sorry.  Tell me when your magic gets stronger.”

He’s still a believer.  Magic, miracles, and things that just make us laugh.  He helps us believe in that every day.  Despite our failed experiment!

"Daddy Got Arrested in Ohio"

By Troy Foster

That’s what the kids are saying anyway.  I didn’t.  I did get pulled over for speeding on our way back from a short trip to Washington, D.C.  And, of course, we were stopped just passed the “welcome” sign as we entered Ohio.  Really Ohio?  I guess my dislike for the State will continue for a bit longer.

That said, the kids – Henry especially – were so excited that I got “arrested.”  When I argued with him, he just giggled and kept saying it.  But, this little stinker wouldn’t even talk to me directly about it – as if I was a common criminal not worth speaking to.  Rather, he’d make sure I was looking at him in the review-view mirror, smile, turn to Kristen and say “Mommy, will you please tell me when Daddy gets arrested again.”  Then, they would erupt in laughter.  My pretending to act mad just raised the intensity of the chortling.  After we got home, and right before he went to sleep, Henry asked me quietly, “Daddy, wasn’t it so funny when you got arrested?”  It was.

So though I’m not asking for it to happen again, the $140 fine and getting arrested – were well worth the fun we’ve had afterward.  It might have been a highlight of our trip.  (The trip, by the way, was part of our mission to do fun things with the kids on the spur of the moment.  On Saturday, I had the kids get dressed to swim – as we’d planned on heading up to the beaches in Michigan.  At some point, because my wife is running for Congress and Luke has wanted to go there, I decided we’d go to DC.  Long drive for a very short stay.  But the kids had a blast, were in awe, and had a great time at the museums.  They’ve already started mapping out our next trip to DC – when we plan to stay more than a day.)

My “arrest” just reinforced to me, on a very minute level, how precious every minute truly is.  We can waste it on being mad, seeing the worst in it, or focusing on the bad.  Or, we can laugh and have fun.  Our kids have taught us to make the last choice.

I'm Ashamed of Myself Today, Politically Speaking

But, I think it's who I am.  Read together, does that mean, I'm ashamed of who I am?  I hope not.  Don't think so.

I'll take a quick step back.  Someone (actually two people) that I care about dearly (who will remain anonymous for obvious reasons) have decided to run for Congress.  Announcement(s) soon to come, but this is about me, remember?  Stop thinking about them.  They'll be in the limelight soon enough.

Anyway, knowing a thing or two about Congressional campaigns and having worked for Congress Members in DC and in the District, I offered my help.  They accepted.  I will have significant roles in both campaigns.  Until I get fired (see below for reasons why).  And, as an aside, I am not really fond of that many people.  Nor do I truly support many folks politically.  I genuinely love both of these people; two of the most genuine, honest, smart, and hard working people that I know.  Having worked on the Hill, I am also certain that both of them will make excellent Members of Congress.

Back to me.  I discovered today that I may have multiple personalities (not really, of course, though some of you might not be surprised by the actual diagnosis).  There's Kind Troy, Daddy Troy, Boss Troy (#1 - Nice), Boss Troy (#2 - Not Nice).  And there's Political Troy.  He hasn't been around for awhile, and I forgot about him.  This morning, I remembered.

Political Troy is not a bad guy.  He may even be the proverbial "good guy."  He is determined, focused, gets things done, and is bossy.  Really bossy, precise, and expects perfection - for his candidates/members.  You'll hear Political Troy talk about deadlines, checklists, his disappointments and expectations.  Political Troy wants things done now, and perfectly.  Generally, that's how he gets them.  When he doesn't, there are ramifications.  (Political Troy has even been known to be a little bossy with his candidates/elected officials.)

There is a reason that Political Troy is successful, and that his candidates tolerate him.  He demands these things, and gets them - for his candidates and the people that they represent.  He's the "behind the scenes" guy, the heavy, the enforcer, the detail guy - because the candidates can't be.  Their jobs are even more important.

But today, I also realized that Political Troy is kind of a jerk.  He's not patient, tolerant of many mistakes, and is more directive than a teacher.  Though he never raises his voice (no Troy does), his looks may be worse.  Those who do well love Political Troy - because he loves them.  Those who don't do well learn the hard way.

So, today I struggled a bit with how I reconcile this, sometimes jerk, with the other nice Troys (except for Not Nice Boss Troy - who is necessary sometimes).  I decided that Political Troy has to be the way he is; I wish he didn't.  As a warning, if you run into him and get a look or told what to do or whatever, just remember Political Troy is doing this because he believes in the candidates.  And thinks that the constituents, Congress, and the country will benefit from them being elected.  Good cause, good cause.  Oh, and if you're not doing something productive, get out of his way.  (Go to my house - because Political Troy isn't allowed there.  My kids have never even met him.)

Foster's Fodder for Thought: Ohio, O-Bye-O, O-Bio

Foster's Fodder for Thought: Ohio, O-Bye-O, O-Bio: "By Troy Foster We sit in our Cincinnati, Ohio hotel room tonight, and I have to say that I’ve never real..."

Ohio, O-Bye-O, O-Bio

By Troy Foster                               

We sit in our Cincinnati, Ohio hotel room tonight, and I have to say that I’ve never really disliked a State so much.  In fact, being a pretty patriotic guy and having been to a bunch of them, I don’t think I’ve ever really disliked a whole State.  Now, I do.  Congratulations Ohio – for taking that prize.  Of course, I’m being irrational, projecting, and will soon forgive the Buckeye State.  For now though, I think even natives will understand my current state on the State.

Last summer, our son (Henry) was diagnosed with mitochondrial disease.  The type that he has is degenerative and progressive, no cure, not good on the medical side of things.  His neurologist’s nurse called us to tell us the news – as we were driving through Ohio on our way to Virginia for a vacation.  She explained that his biopsy showed the deficiency.  Why, why – Ohio?

Ok, forgive and forget?  Not exactly forget – because I have remembered, but that passed and my relationship with Ohio greatly improved since last year.  Ironically, Henry’s specialist is in Cincinnati – so we make frequent trips, and have grown to like to like the place – despite the reason for us being here.  The kids (Henry especially) love the special time with mom and dad, and staying in a hotel – any hotel – is magical.  As an aside, I love that purity.  In all honesty, it doesn’t matter one bit to the kids whether the hotel is dirty, in the worst neighborhood, or has no amenities.  It’s an adventure of equal magnitude – no matter what.  So having that with Henry (and the other kids) has made us laugh and smile a lot here in Cincinnati.

But today was the day that broke the camel’s back.  We’re here with Henry for a few days for several appointments.  And, we decided to “check in” with the neurologist’s office to see if test results for Luke, our oldest, had come back.  You see, having gone through what we did with Henry, we thought that we “saw things” with Luke.  “Things” that wouldn’t have meant much had Henry not been diagnosed with the disease.  We took Luke to Henry’s neurologist to rule out the disease, and tell us how silly we were.  He didn’t.  After a brief examination and some blood work, he scheduled Luke for a muscle biopsy to determine whether he had the disease.  (If the consequences weren’t so serious, I’d almost be proud of Kristen and my diagnostic abilities.)

When we checked in, the nurse called me back.  Same nurse that talked to us about Henry – her name is Shirley.  She is very kind, and thankfully, has a calming influence.  But her news was not good.  She told me that the results had come back, and that Luke had the same disease and severe deficiency that Henry has.  After she decided that I understood, she began her discussion about hope, medical advances, and how each patient reacts differently.  And then started to tell me about the clinical studies that they would enroll Luke in.  At that point, I think that I stopped listening.  Hope, clinical studies, medical advances – though her delivery was fantastic – those terms hit with a ton of bricks.  This is our oldest son – the kid that seemed asymptomatic.  The one that they were suppose to rule out. 

Just like any other parent would be, we are devastated by the news.  It is hard to process.  Much easier to blame a State than take in the reality.  But we are in a different place than we were when we got the news about Henry.  He has taught us – all of the kids have really – that living life to the fullest – each and every day – is far more important than anything else.  It’s the little things.  Like the kids loving hotels.  And loving to pretend to be spies.  So we took off for an overnight out of town, pretended we were spies (friend kind), and stayed the night in a hotel. 

Or other little things.  Like kissing each other through the window on the way out the door.  Giving Henry a “wild jump,” letting Luke crawl in bed with us in the middle of the night, and planning our next vacation.  Or letting Lily and Henry cuss in the car during “cuss time” (Lily really loves this).  Or taking the kids on dates, and going to every single event the kids have.  Or speeding over the railroad tracks so that the kids’ stomachs drop as they scream with excitement.  And the things go on and on – buried throughout the minutia of each and every day.

Things that might seem little, but aren’t.  Things that might seem irresponsible – or poor timing – but, on balance, it doesn’t matter.  Things that you maybe “shouldn’t” do – but the shouldn’ts and shoulds changed for us.  (I often wonder if they might be misguided anyway.)  Whenever I wonder whether we should be more traditional, more responsible, more – you fill in the blank . . . I just look at our kids.  Their smiles, the sparkle in their eyes, and the utter happiness that they experience in the littlest things tells me that I wouldn’t change a thing.  What’s especially amazing to me is that Henry, and Luke as of late, are often sick, tired, and have reasons to complain.  They don’t.  Instead, they sincerely and genuinely enjoy the present and look forward.  A perspective that I wish that I had long ago adopted.  They are real old souls.  (Now, mind you, we also have gone to great lengths to have normalcy.  They are disciplined.  They have chores.  And there are no excuses for bad manners or bad behavior.  They are well behaved.)

So we are in a different place this year than we were last with this news.  Actually, we’re in the same State – Ohio – which is what this post started with.  But, we are in a different state in the same State, if you will.  Though incredibly sad and heart-wrenching to have two kids with this disease, we will not dwell on the disease, the symptoms, or the potential outcome.  We can’t.   Our boys won’t let us – even if we wanted to.  Making every moment count, and creating memories now is our focus.  After all, it is the little things.

So, instead of thinking about how incredibly sad that I am that Luke and Henry – my precious boys – have a rare disease and will not have enough energy to complete basic functions at various points – I choose to hate Ohio.  For now.  That’s just until we think of our next adventure with the kids – whether it’s making special cookies for the neighbors or making a craft with toilet paper rolls.  Or watching the fire bugs light up in the back yard.  Who knows, maybe it will even be passing through (or coming to) Ohio on our next big adventure.