Susan's funeral service was today. It was wonderful to see so, so many of her friends there. It just felt that in a gathering of those people that she should have been sitting among us. I loved hearing Canape sing a song and play the piano for her. Her song took my breath away.

Then, after the service, walking downstairs to the reception, I missed the last step and totally fell down the stairs. I am such a buffoon. It was a very Stimey moment. I think Susan would have approved.

At least I didn't puke on anyone. I think Susan would have approved of that too.

There was both laughter and tears today.

On Tuesday, I posted about Susan over at my White Knuckle Parenting column, which is ironic, because Susan was the opposite of a white knuckle parent. (That site seems to be running a bit slow, so check back if it doesn't pop up the first time.)

That's it for today. I think tomorrow I will ease back into it with a post about the feral cat we accidentally caught in our car this evening.

Susan passed away today. Although it will probably be yesterday by the time you read this. I am up late, my eyes tired from tears, but unable to sleep. This is the last day that Susan lived; I want to see it through to its end.

I still can't believe she is gone. Susan has been part of my life for so long that I can't imagine life without her. I look at her photograph and am so sad that I will never again see that beautiful smile she is flashing in every single one. My heart aches for her family; for her best friend, Marty; for all of us.

I think most of us are lucky to have a few close friends. It speaks volumes about Susan that she had so many. Susan inspired so very many people. Her life was far too short, but she had more of an impact in so many disparate worlds—aerospace, cancer research and support, blogging, family, friendship—than many of us will have if we live to be a hundred.

Curt, you may call yourself WhyDaddy, but you will always be WonderDaddy to me. Susan bestowed you with that name in a time of great pain for her, and no doubt for you as well. I have watched you take care of Susan and your sons with your own grace and dignity and helped Susan maintain hers.

I can only imagine how deep your pain must be tonight. I know that Susan would have done anything to keep that pain from you and your kids. I hope you are able to find some peace in the knowledge that thousands of people are thinking of you, sending their love and their prayers to you tonight.

I love you, Susan. And I miss you already.

Sam had a field trip to the Natural History Museum on Friday and he came home all excited about it and wanted to take the family back there last weekend. Mostly he wanted to show my mom (who is in town visiting) the Hope Diamond, which is housed at the museum.

I listened to Sam tell a lot of people about going to see the Hope Diamond and every single one of them followed up with, "You know, a lot of people think that the Hope Diamond is cursed." Which is funny, because that was the first thing Sam said about it too.

Regardless, Team Stimey packed up and headed down to the museum for a four-second glimpse of the diamond in question.

Being who I am, I took a lot of photos. Being who they are, Quinn and Sam did as well.


My kids are so used to me making them stand in front of something and posing in a certain way that they didn't even blink when I told them to go be surly in front of the Easter Island statue. Fortunately, surly comes easy to Team Stimey.


We always hit the dinosaurs first, because EVERYONE always hits the dinosaurs first, where we found this handy measuring device on one of the walls.


After dinosaurs, we headed off to the Hope Diamond. Sam now has many, many photographs of this necklace.


My personal favorite thing in the museum is the crystal ball. If anyone is looking for a gift to give me, I would like a giant, perfectly flawless crystal ball—mainly for the photography opportunities. That way, I could take my time on setting up my photo and not worry about strangers in my shot, because getting four people to pose in a crystal ball was a lot like trying to herd small, distorted, upside-down cats.


At museums, my family does a lot of pinging around from exhibit to exhibit, but Jack likes to take a more in-depth approach. We sat on a fair number of carpets to watch videos. I feel that the obstruction of traffic flow is justified by a child learning.


I don't remember going through the skeleton exhibit with my kids before, but it's kind of fun. Quinn really wanted a photo of the human skeleton. Then I made Alex feel bad by telling Quinn, "That's a skeleton like yours on the left. And that's a skeleton like Daddy's on the right."


We didn't stay at the museum for very long. We didn't even go to the mammal hall to see all the taxidermied animals posed in humiliating ways. We did, however, watch a video about the creation of Earth, which was just enough to give Quinn confirmation of some completely erroneous and outrageous ideas he holds about star dust and how it is the base of everything.

We did have one last photo op on the way back to the car.


Did I mention that you're glad you're not married to me?

Jack, in the car on the way to school today:

"Can I have a flamethrower? What if I promise not to use it in the house?"

Then he asked if we had any war bonds we could cash in to buy a grenade launcher. I'm blaming this one on Calvin and Hobbes.

*****

Do you want to know what is awesome? Big kids. Big kids that can buckle their own seat belts and fetch you beer and outwit you at card games. Read more about why I think big kids are awesome, over at the Wheaton Patch.

*****

Also, 2012 sucks balls.

My friend Susan is all I have been thinking about for the last few days. I love that woman so much.

You may have seen the slide shows that Teach Mama put together for her to watch. They're full of photos of friends of Susan's. They are beautiful. When making them, she suggested that we take photos of ourselves with a word that we felt describes Susan.

For a lot of reasons, I chose "THOUGHTFUL." I chose that word because it combines two things that Susan has so much of: brains and heart. There are so many times that I have watched her make thoughtful, active decisions when so many others (i.e. me) would just flail away and hope shit worked out. There are also so many times when she could have legitimately been focused solely on herself only to reach out to me about something going on with my family. I'm not the only friend she does this for either. She is an extremely giving person.

As I've been thinking of her so much over the past few days, so many stories and memories came to mind. I remember back in the day when I first knew her and her older son was such an adorable little guy then (still is, although bigger now) who would wander around during our moms' club meetings, winning the hearts of all the moms there. There was the night she and I and another friend got together to share our wedding photo albums with each other. I spent a big chunk of that night cuddling with her sweet second son, who was just a baby at the time. Recently, I would go over to her house with Big Gulps for each of us and we would drink them and talk. It's kinda our thing.

So many good memories. So much laughing. And every time I hang out with her, I swear I learn something. Her husband is such a great partner for her and has always managed to be charming and delightful when I've been around. (Even that day years ago when he was trying to work on his important, you know, SPACE STUFF on his laptop on the couch as I chased my three recalcitrant kids around their living room in an effort to extract them from his house.) I am grateful to have gotten to know him as well.

A couple of weeks ago, I was there when the sun came out from behind a cloud, activating this little solar powered rotating prism he had gotten for Susan. We sat in the swirling rainbows that her husband had given her. It was really cool.

And her kids. Everything is for her sweet, beautiful kids who have always been so kind, creative, and fun.

Susan is an extremely loving, present, smart, fun, brave, wonderful, strong woman. I love her dearly and am so grateful to have her in my life.

Susan has given a lot, be it to her family, to her friends, to women in science, or to women fighting cancer. It's our turn. I know a lot of you want to share your love with her too. If you are so inclined, share a memory or a love note with Susan on the WhyMommy Love Fest Facebook page. Send mail to her at her P.O. box: Susan Niebur; 11006 Veirs Mill Road, Suite L-15 #112; Wheaton, MD 20902. If you pray, know that she does too, and I'm sure she would welcome your prayers.

As for me, it's simple. Here is what I have to say: Susan, I love you. Always. I just want you to know that.

Hey. It's not been an awesome couple of weeks, has it?

If you're looking for funny and self-righteous outrage, can we just pretend that I posted this column about how terrible homework is here?

Mostly, however, I just want to send my love to my friend Susan. She's one of the good ones.

I had a cat named Izzy. She used to be Isabella, but about five minutes after I brought her home, I realized that Isabella was way too sophisticated for her, and Izzy she became. Also, sometimes Izz-Bird, or more accurately, The Izz-Bird.

This is her:


Now, I'm sure YOUR cat is awesome and all, but Izzy is the best cat. She spent the first half of her life being a silly, playful cat and then she relaxed into a wonderful, cuddly cat for a long time. I used to have to fake sleep in the morning, because if she caught me with my eyes open, she would poke at my face with her paw so I would pet her.

She also spent a couple of years as one of Jack's best friends.

About a year and a half ago, Izzy got sick. Really sick. We weren't sure she was going to make it. She was in renal failure and it was touchy for a while. Soon enough though, we got her medicine and fluids under control and she stayed happily healthy on her maintenance plan. She was expensive as hell, what with her four twice-daily medicines, her special food, and her daily subcutaneous fluids, but she got her energy back and was fun and happy for 18 months.

We had a little routine, Izzy and I. Every evening for the past year and a half, I would go upstairs to my bedroom, where she mostly stayed, and I would feed her. I would lie on my bed and she would eat and then she would come sit with me. I would hang out with her for an hour or so and give her the medication and fluids that kept her healthy. I would scratch her under the chin and she would purr.

That cat purred all the time.

Then, a week or so ago, she started getting noticeably bonier. And more lethargic. And I couldn't not take her to the vet. So yesterday, I took her in and the vet did some tests and the results weren't good. Our options were to go "all in" with a blood transfusion, hospitalization, and IV fluids or to...well, that part was sort of left unsaid.

But even if we did go all in, there were no guarantees. It seemed like a lot—for us, for Izzy, for our kids—with little chance of long-term success. I had known for a year and a half that this decision was coming. I knew there would come a day when I would be sitting in an exam room and have to make the last appointment I ever wanted to make. But it was the right choice for my family and it was the right choice for Izzy.


I made an appointment to come back the next morning, because I needed my kids to be able to say goodbye. They have all known Izzy for their entire lives. They deserved to say goodbye. And I needed to do so as well.

My kids were sad. Alex was sad. Sam was brokenhearted, but always practical, noted that he would have to try to make friends with Denali, our other cat, who does not like children. Jack went upstairs and laid down next to Izzy, put his finger out for her to sniff and said, "I love you, Izzy." Quinn giggled at how cute Izzy was and patted her on the head over and over and asked if we could make a poster to remember her.

I spent the whole evening with Izzy. The rest of Team Stimey came to visit now and again throughout the evening. Sam, Jack, and Quinn all made notes for Izzy to tell her she was the best cat. They all let her know how much they loved her. They were all very gentle.

This morning everyone said goodbye to Izzy before they went to work and school. I came home and sat with her until it was time to take her in. The whole event was very gentle. The vet gave her a sedative so she would fall asleep and I scratched her under her chin as she did.

She fell asleep purring.

I'm going to miss her. I'll miss her soft fur. Tonight, when I didn't have my excuse to spend a quiet hour upstairs with my furry buddy, I missed her a lot. But I'll be okay. She lived for almost 16 years, and she had 18 months of healthy life more than we thought she would. The munchkins are all very sad, but we're talking about it and they're going to be okay.

And that poster? The one Quinn wanted to make to remember her by?