Um, I don't actually have anything to say, but I wanted to do a final post. The great thing about growing older and having memory problems is that I can't think of many bad things that happened this year right now! (hee, hee)
On the menu for tonight: grilled steak, potatoes, jalapeno cornbread with jalapeno honey, and a fruit of some sort. Then a movie and regular bedtime. Tasty, calming, and easy.
Have a happy and safe new year's eve. 2012 sounds super exciting-- but only after a good night's sleep.
Plus tomorrow starts the best gift of all: 11 am church time. Ah, sweet!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Bestest Ever Christmas Present
I splurged this year and bought an amazing gift for my husband & I.
For the first time in over 7 years, we are going away for the weekend! I found out about the Johnson Mill Inn online and fell in love with the place. I'm sooooo excited! Our away trip is long, long overdue. We couldn't have done it without the help of my amazing sister-in-law, A, who is going to take over the animals, house, and kids. Blessings on her!
Johnson Mill Inn Website
For the first time in over 7 years, we are going away for the weekend! I found out about the Johnson Mill Inn online and fell in love with the place. I'm sooooo excited! Our away trip is long, long overdue. We couldn't have done it without the help of my amazing sister-in-law, A, who is going to take over the animals, house, and kids. Blessings on her!
Johnson Mill Inn Website
Friday, December 9, 2011
My Best Friend
I can't even begin to tell you how much this guy means to me. He's my best friend. He's my husband. He's my partner. He's the love of my life. He's the greatest guy. He's smart and funny and caring. He's aggravating sometimes too. We've been together for 13 1/2 years. I'm looking forward to being with him forever.
Finito
Done. Took the last test. The last test for the last class for the semester. Of course, it was Chemistry. I have the option of taking the Chem final, but....... uh, no. I'm not interested. I'll stick with the grades I get.
So far:
A in Nutrition, A in Human Development, A in Chem Lab.
Possibly a B or C in Chemistry.
Not too shabby.
Glad it's done. So ready to move away from Chemistry!
So far:
A in Nutrition, A in Human Development, A in Chem Lab.
Possibly a B or C in Chemistry.
Not too shabby.
Glad it's done. So ready to move away from Chemistry!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Reasons why Moms should not Lie down on the Living Room Floor no Matter how Exhausted they are
1- the dog will use her tongue as a Q-tip
2- the 4 year old will use you as a trampoline until you tell him 7 times not to
3- you will most likely lay down on a piece of dog food (even if you scoot over a few times)
4- no matter what playlist it is on, your iPod's next shuffled song will be one you can't stand
5- the 4 year old, after hearing that you don't want to be jumped on, will then use you as a pillow
6- the bird will wander off her cage and immediately poop on your white sweater
7- no matter where it starts, you will quickly end up in the middle of the battle between the ninja soldier and the evil witch and they won't notice you there until they hear you cry out in pain
8- when the 4 year old's imaginary bombs detonate near you, you will get a spit shower
9- you will realize if you stay laying down for too long, it will take an act of blood, fire, or war to get you back up again
10- you will realize you should have started dinner already
11- if you keep your eyes open, you will see the cobwebs on the ceiling
12- you will think of 16 things you should be doing instead of laying there
13- the 4 year old will attempt to slide down your legs
14- the dog will clean out your other ear
15- the 4 year old will create the feeling of an earthquake by jumping up and down right beside you
16- you will try to find humor in not being able to lay down peacefully for a few moments and instead your brain will start to write a funny blog post and then you will worry you will not be able to remember it so you will get up to post it
2- the 4 year old will use you as a trampoline until you tell him 7 times not to
3- you will most likely lay down on a piece of dog food (even if you scoot over a few times)
4- no matter what playlist it is on, your iPod's next shuffled song will be one you can't stand
5- the 4 year old, after hearing that you don't want to be jumped on, will then use you as a pillow
6- the bird will wander off her cage and immediately poop on your white sweater
7- no matter where it starts, you will quickly end up in the middle of the battle between the ninja soldier and the evil witch and they won't notice you there until they hear you cry out in pain
8- when the 4 year old's imaginary bombs detonate near you, you will get a spit shower
9- you will realize if you stay laying down for too long, it will take an act of blood, fire, or war to get you back up again
10- you will realize you should have started dinner already
11- if you keep your eyes open, you will see the cobwebs on the ceiling
12- you will think of 16 things you should be doing instead of laying there
13- the 4 year old will attempt to slide down your legs
14- the dog will clean out your other ear
15- the 4 year old will create the feeling of an earthquake by jumping up and down right beside you
16- you will try to find humor in not being able to lay down peacefully for a few moments and instead your brain will start to write a funny blog post and then you will worry you will not be able to remember it so you will get up to post it
Friday, December 2, 2011
A Hard Crowd and How I Almost Gave Up Too Soon
Four and a half years ago, I gave my last domestic violence presentation in Moab, ironically enough. I found out a short time later I was pregnant with my youngest (now 4) and I was ready to take off the public speaker badge. Every month or so since then, I've gotten requests to speak at trainings and conferences, etc. about domestic abuse and I've always declined. This past April, I got another request to speak in Moab. I thought about it and forgot about it; then thought about it and finally replied back. When they agreed to pay for my expenses and pay me a stipend, I agreed to go. It was so far in the future that I then forgot about it again.
Yesterday, I left a crazy-bad windstorm at my house (wind up to 100 MPH) and blew down to Moab. I ended up driving a half hour behind a nasty snowstorm over Soldier Summit too. I arrived in Moab, ate lunch, and then wait for my 2 hour presentation to begin.
There were almost 50 people at the training, mostly law enforcement officers. The cops sat in back, slumped slightly in their chairs, with their arms folded across their chests. They were a TOUGH crowd. I tried to warm them up to me by telling jokes. No one laughed. I asked questions. No one raised their hands. I asked them a simple question. Not a single person responded. One guy gave me a really hard time when I asked a basic question; he tried really hard to get my goat (I found out later that he was the chief of police. nice). Another guy told me I was being controlling and mean. Yep. To my face. I couldn't tell if he was being a smart alec or not. I smiled at him and said "Yep, I am" then walked away. Ugh!
I thought I was going to die.
I soldiered on, told my story, cut out some of what I had planned to do, and ended 20 minutes early. I don't think anyone asked me a question. I had copies of my book to sell. No one bought one. I sat down by my case of books and tried to have a pleasant expression on my face while everyone filed out of the conference room.
I sent a text to my husband: "Ugh. This is why I stopped doing presentations before."
I felt like I had failed. There was no response from the audience. It didn't go at all like I had hoped. It seemed like a total disappointment and failure. I waited for about 5 minutes, then gathered up my things to go. I was brave enough to ask for my check. The $350 check seemed to be the ONLY positive experience about it.
Just before I was going to leave, the director of the conference invited me to dinner with one of the other presenters (who I've known for years). At that point, I could feel my migraine from the day before returning and I was just too overwhelmed to think straight. I told her I'd call her if I wanted to go.
A gentleman walked by me and told me it was a nice talk. I quipped back "Well, I wouldn't call it 'nice.'" He got flustered and shook his head and apologized quickly before walking off. I groaned inside again. I couldn't even accept a compliment without ruining it! I had my stuff together when the gentleman returned and explained it was a good talk though not necessarily 'nice.' I asked him what he did and listened with great interest as he told me about his work treating DV offenders. I was super impressed with what he has done to dramatically reduce the recidivism rates and thought to myself "well, if nothing else, at least I met this guy and can get more info about his program." He carried my baseball bat (I use it as an object lesson) outside and we saw a huge buck in the parking lot. -- uh, the deer part is random, but cool. I plan to email him for the study he published in a national journal. As I got into my car, I decided the only good thing-- besides the money-- was learning about this new offender treatment program.
I drove to the hotel, checked myself in, and then went down to the Moab rock shop to buy my kids some souvenirs. I kept debating in my head whether or not I wanted to go out to dinner with others. I didn't know if I felt social. I felt spent and wasted after pouring myself into my presentation with no return. I called my husband and he encouraged me to go.
I didn't want to. But I didn't not want to.
I finally just made the call. I met the director and her husband (a police officer who was also at the training) and my DV friend at a restaurant across from our hotel. Since I was the second to arrive, I had a chance to chat with my friend. I told her "Man, they were SO tough!!" She felt the exact same way and we laughed together on how hard it had been. My friend then filled me in on what had happened before I arrived and how she had struggled in the same way to get them to laugh or respond. I could feel the burden of my perceived failure lightening. When the director arrived at our table ten minutes later, I blurted out "Tell me-- did I fail? Did it go okay? I couldn't even tell!"
She assured me it had been a big success-- though at first I didn't really believe her. She said that every single one of those people were free to leave and no one did and that she truly believed if they had been bored or disinterested they would have left. Her husband, the cop, said the same thing. They reassured me that my story had impact and power. In some ways (because of some trauma in earlier training sessions), I unknowingly stepped into a mine field. But I survived.
We had a great dinner. I ate a delicious salad (spinach avocado salad with chilled salmon on top and a side of jalapeno cornbread) and really enjoyed talking to the others. The more I learned about their domestic violence situation, the more I realized what a hard situation I had unknowingly walked into. I felt more and more like a success. When the check came, the police officer picked up the black folder. He looked at me-- "The police chief gave me his credit card after the conference and told me to treat the two of you to dinner. That, if nothing else, should tell you that he appreciates what you did."
When I got back to my hotel room, I realized how close I had come to sealing the fate of my presentation, so to speak, before getting any feedback. If I had totally shut myself off, I never would have found out how much the attendees appreciated what I did and how much they learned from it. I would have left feeling as a failure when that was obviously not the case.
I did succeed. It was impactful. It didn't go at all the way I had planned, but it made a difference. I'm glad I went. I enjoyed the ride down and the ride back. It went by very quickly as I listened to "Home to Holly Springs" by Jan Karon on CD. I survived driving through the canyon twice through the snow and wind.
I am glad I went. I am most especially grateful for dinner last night which made the whole thing worthwhile.
Yesterday, I left a crazy-bad windstorm at my house (wind up to 100 MPH) and blew down to Moab. I ended up driving a half hour behind a nasty snowstorm over Soldier Summit too. I arrived in Moab, ate lunch, and then wait for my 2 hour presentation to begin.
There were almost 50 people at the training, mostly law enforcement officers. The cops sat in back, slumped slightly in their chairs, with their arms folded across their chests. They were a TOUGH crowd. I tried to warm them up to me by telling jokes. No one laughed. I asked questions. No one raised their hands. I asked them a simple question. Not a single person responded. One guy gave me a really hard time when I asked a basic question; he tried really hard to get my goat (I found out later that he was the chief of police. nice). Another guy told me I was being controlling and mean. Yep. To my face. I couldn't tell if he was being a smart alec or not. I smiled at him and said "Yep, I am" then walked away. Ugh!
I thought I was going to die.
I soldiered on, told my story, cut out some of what I had planned to do, and ended 20 minutes early. I don't think anyone asked me a question. I had copies of my book to sell. No one bought one. I sat down by my case of books and tried to have a pleasant expression on my face while everyone filed out of the conference room.
I sent a text to my husband: "Ugh. This is why I stopped doing presentations before."
I felt like I had failed. There was no response from the audience. It didn't go at all like I had hoped. It seemed like a total disappointment and failure. I waited for about 5 minutes, then gathered up my things to go. I was brave enough to ask for my check. The $350 check seemed to be the ONLY positive experience about it.
Just before I was going to leave, the director of the conference invited me to dinner with one of the other presenters (who I've known for years). At that point, I could feel my migraine from the day before returning and I was just too overwhelmed to think straight. I told her I'd call her if I wanted to go.
A gentleman walked by me and told me it was a nice talk. I quipped back "Well, I wouldn't call it 'nice.'" He got flustered and shook his head and apologized quickly before walking off. I groaned inside again. I couldn't even accept a compliment without ruining it! I had my stuff together when the gentleman returned and explained it was a good talk though not necessarily 'nice.' I asked him what he did and listened with great interest as he told me about his work treating DV offenders. I was super impressed with what he has done to dramatically reduce the recidivism rates and thought to myself "well, if nothing else, at least I met this guy and can get more info about his program." He carried my baseball bat (I use it as an object lesson) outside and we saw a huge buck in the parking lot. -- uh, the deer part is random, but cool. I plan to email him for the study he published in a national journal. As I got into my car, I decided the only good thing-- besides the money-- was learning about this new offender treatment program.
I drove to the hotel, checked myself in, and then went down to the Moab rock shop to buy my kids some souvenirs. I kept debating in my head whether or not I wanted to go out to dinner with others. I didn't know if I felt social. I felt spent and wasted after pouring myself into my presentation with no return. I called my husband and he encouraged me to go.
I didn't want to. But I didn't not want to.
I finally just made the call. I met the director and her husband (a police officer who was also at the training) and my DV friend at a restaurant across from our hotel. Since I was the second to arrive, I had a chance to chat with my friend. I told her "Man, they were SO tough!!" She felt the exact same way and we laughed together on how hard it had been. My friend then filled me in on what had happened before I arrived and how she had struggled in the same way to get them to laugh or respond. I could feel the burden of my perceived failure lightening. When the director arrived at our table ten minutes later, I blurted out "Tell me-- did I fail? Did it go okay? I couldn't even tell!"
She assured me it had been a big success-- though at first I didn't really believe her. She said that every single one of those people were free to leave and no one did and that she truly believed if they had been bored or disinterested they would have left. Her husband, the cop, said the same thing. They reassured me that my story had impact and power. In some ways (because of some trauma in earlier training sessions), I unknowingly stepped into a mine field. But I survived.
We had a great dinner. I ate a delicious salad (spinach avocado salad with chilled salmon on top and a side of jalapeno cornbread) and really enjoyed talking to the others. The more I learned about their domestic violence situation, the more I realized what a hard situation I had unknowingly walked into. I felt more and more like a success. When the check came, the police officer picked up the black folder. He looked at me-- "The police chief gave me his credit card after the conference and told me to treat the two of you to dinner. That, if nothing else, should tell you that he appreciates what you did."
When I got back to my hotel room, I realized how close I had come to sealing the fate of my presentation, so to speak, before getting any feedback. If I had totally shut myself off, I never would have found out how much the attendees appreciated what I did and how much they learned from it. I would have left feeling as a failure when that was obviously not the case.
I did succeed. It was impactful. It didn't go at all the way I had planned, but it made a difference. I'm glad I went. I enjoyed the ride down and the ride back. It went by very quickly as I listened to "Home to Holly Springs" by Jan Karon on CD. I survived driving through the canyon twice through the snow and wind.
I am glad I went. I am most especially grateful for dinner last night which made the whole thing worthwhile.
Monday, November 28, 2011
I MUST SHOUT IT TO THE WORLD!
I got a 94.7% on my last Chemistry Test. Is that even possible???
whoa.
My last two scores before that were Ds.
whoa.
whoa.
My last two scores before that were Ds.
whoa.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving!
Love this holiday!! It's good to stop and count your blessings. When you start counting, you realize there are many, many, many.
Love to you all.
Love to you all.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
This Morning's Funny
Apparently, poor Debra has never had the joy of looking at the "People of Walmart" website.
Monday, November 14, 2011
must.... keep.... going.....
Three weeks left of Chemistry. Every day I fantasize about quitting. Every day I dread having to do the work again. I have my 4th Chem Exam this Thursday and Friday. Then two more weeks, two more chapters, two more quizzes, and one more test. And then I'm done.
The problem is.... I was done three weeks ago. The class just has yet to catch up with me.
I hate Chemistry class.
The problem is.... I was done three weeks ago. The class just has yet to catch up with me.
I hate Chemistry class.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
I have a new favorite TV show!
I am in love with this show: "Turning Point" on KBYU. I'm watching the episodes online and loving them. Wow.
BYU TV "Turning Point"
Watch it. And keep some tissues handy....
BYU TV "Turning Point"
Watch it. And keep some tissues handy....
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Fall Colors
We drove up Big Cottonwood Canyon last night to check out the pretty fall colors. It was a gloomy, over-cast sort of day. It would have been prettier with sunshine, but at least we actually made it out on a drive this year!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
A Beautiful List
This is my master school list-- a list of all the assignments for my main three classes that I have to do. And you know it's the best thing about it?
It's more than halfway done! Woot! Woot!!
I'm ahead in Human Development and Nutrition and on par in Chemistry. I'm surviving this semester!
Phew!
Next semester is only 2 classes. Double Phew!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Death by Chemistry
I should be doing homework. I should be reading my chapter 6 chemistry homework. I should be gaining a greater understanding of how to balance equations in a combustion/decomposition/single displacement reaction.
I should be reading this:
"In the first reaction, elemental iron reacts with hydrogen sulfate (or sulfuric acid) to form iron (II) sulfate and elemental hydrogen. In the second reaction, elemental zinc combines with nitric acid to form zinc (II) nitrate and elemental hydrogen."
Instead I'm reading this:
lkhgoihobiho iron ;k'khjoiujpiqnmcn;lshopugheuolkj 'jlo;i second klj'akj;pouihguqej'kwejijljk j;lkj';jiuo;ihgjkh;kl 'kl;j'aj;oiheoi
It's like the teacher on Charlie Brown: blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
So as the lines blurred together while I forced myself to read, I thought again that this class will most likely kill me. It will be my demise. It will be my end. I shall never again see the light of day. And then I wonder "is this torture really necessary? am I really intent on being a nurse? surely I could find something more interesting without the chemistry."
This is why I studied social sciences the first time around in college. This is why I avoided chemistry like a plague.
So then I switched over to studying my nutrition class, thinking I should at least be something towards furthering my educational goals, but the free radicals of antioxidants made no sense whatsoever to me.
My brain is fried. My focus is lost. My best time to do homework was used today taking 4 4-year-olds to a pumpkin patch in the rain & mud. I think we'll have to try again tomorrow.
For now, I think I might lie on the couch and pretend to be dead because of chemistry. I love the drama of it. Plus, I'm too tired to cry over it. I'll save that for tomorrow too-- when I die because of another chemistry problem called "oxidation-reduction reactions" or "Avogadro's number and the mole."
(no worry, really. My superhero Chemistry husband is on the way home to explain to me how to balance equations for reactions. He'll make it right and keep me from dying. But I might lose years off my life from this chapter.)
I should be reading this:
"In the first reaction, elemental iron reacts with hydrogen sulfate (or sulfuric acid) to form iron (II) sulfate and elemental hydrogen. In the second reaction, elemental zinc combines with nitric acid to form zinc (II) nitrate and elemental hydrogen."
Instead I'm reading this:
lkhgoihobiho iron ;k'khjoiujpiqnmcn;lshopugheuolkj 'jlo;i second klj'akj;pouihguqej'kwejijljk j;lkj';jiuo;ihgjkh;kl 'kl;j'aj;oiheoi
It's like the teacher on Charlie Brown: blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
So as the lines blurred together while I forced myself to read, I thought again that this class will most likely kill me. It will be my demise. It will be my end. I shall never again see the light of day. And then I wonder "is this torture really necessary? am I really intent on being a nurse? surely I could find something more interesting without the chemistry."
This is why I studied social sciences the first time around in college. This is why I avoided chemistry like a plague.
So then I switched over to studying my nutrition class, thinking I should at least be something towards furthering my educational goals, but the free radicals of antioxidants made no sense whatsoever to me.
My brain is fried. My focus is lost. My best time to do homework was used today taking 4 4-year-olds to a pumpkin patch in the rain & mud. I think we'll have to try again tomorrow.
For now, I think I might lie on the couch and pretend to be dead because of chemistry. I love the drama of it. Plus, I'm too tired to cry over it. I'll save that for tomorrow too-- when I die because of another chemistry problem called "oxidation-reduction reactions" or "Avogadro's number and the mole."
(no worry, really. My superhero Chemistry husband is on the way home to explain to me how to balance equations for reactions. He'll make it right and keep me from dying. But I might lose years off my life from this chapter.)
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Chemically Distracted
It's amazing how much I can get done when I'm trying hard to avoid studying for a big, big Chemistry exam. I've made grape juice, cleaned my cupboards, done laundry, bought clothes for the kids, ridden 5.5 miles in the wind and uphill, done other homework, played with my animals, laid down and listened to the radio, written and written and written on 3 of the blogs I maintain....
I'm almost ready to take my Chemistry exam. I have an appt for tomorrow at 3 pm. I'll be glad when it is done.
But first I have to finish memorizing polyatomic atoms and make sure I can differentiate between polar and nonpolar bonds. Good thing I have some time today and tomorrow.
I'm almost ready to take my Chemistry exam. I have an appt for tomorrow at 3 pm. I'll be glad when it is done.
But first I have to finish memorizing polyatomic atoms and make sure I can differentiate between polar and nonpolar bonds. Good thing I have some time today and tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Cleaning the Outhouse
I've been thinking a lot about therapy and the process of going through therapy or counseling in response to trauma I've been through. I'm no stranger to counselors. Since my 19th year of life, I've seen many and much of my success today goes back to the help I received from wonderful counselors. I think of Marisa who saw me right after I fled a horrible relationship. She was the one who taught me how to appropriately respond to the horror I had been through. I watched her appropriately coil in disgust or gasp or cry and I learned that what I went through was not all my fault, was not because I was such a terrible person, was not something to feel ashamed about. I will be eternally grateful to Marisa.
Going back to therapy this time was hard for me. My previous counselor was a joke and he did more damage than good. The best thing he ever did was to fire me as he client. I had all my walls and boundaries up when I went to see Maurice the first time. Very quickly, I learned I didn't need to be so protective. He was safe. The first couple of sessions were all about my hubby and I and our marriage. There weren't many sore spots that were hit. That changed last time. We tackled some residual abuse issues head on and I could feel the pain bubbling up in me and spilling out through my tears.
With one of my early counselors, I felt like I was emotionally "cleaning out the outhouse." I was shoveling through piles and piles of crud that I had been carrying around-- some of it put there by me, some of it put there by others. It was hard, horrid, dirty work, but it was necessary. Every so often I find I need a fine tuning, and it requires more digging. Over the years, though, I've meant people who keep digging, who dig it all up once and never stop. They keep sifting through their past pain, they keep turning it over, they stay firmly mired in the crap of their past.
It made me think of a little phrase:
Shovel out your "outhouse" because you want to build a garden. Don't shovel it out because you need to raise the level in your pool.
Build on it. Don't wallow in it.
Easy for me to say? Absolutely. Do I know what I'm talking about? You bet your life. Don't believe me? Oh well. Been there, done that, building on it.
Going back to therapy this time was hard for me. My previous counselor was a joke and he did more damage than good. The best thing he ever did was to fire me as he client. I had all my walls and boundaries up when I went to see Maurice the first time. Very quickly, I learned I didn't need to be so protective. He was safe. The first couple of sessions were all about my hubby and I and our marriage. There weren't many sore spots that were hit. That changed last time. We tackled some residual abuse issues head on and I could feel the pain bubbling up in me and spilling out through my tears.
With one of my early counselors, I felt like I was emotionally "cleaning out the outhouse." I was shoveling through piles and piles of crud that I had been carrying around-- some of it put there by me, some of it put there by others. It was hard, horrid, dirty work, but it was necessary. Every so often I find I need a fine tuning, and it requires more digging. Over the years, though, I've meant people who keep digging, who dig it all up once and never stop. They keep sifting through their past pain, they keep turning it over, they stay firmly mired in the crap of their past.
It made me think of a little phrase:
Shovel out your "outhouse" because you want to build a garden. Don't shovel it out because you need to raise the level in your pool.
Build on it. Don't wallow in it.
Easy for me to say? Absolutely. Do I know what I'm talking about? You bet your life. Don't believe me? Oh well. Been there, done that, building on it.
Confessions of a Chronically Overscheduled Woman
It was the grapes, in the kitchen, with a metal juicer.
That's what did me in. Next time, I shall plan school schedules to match better with canning season.
But sadly, I still have a half sink full of grapes (and an earwig or two). And pitchers full of grape juice in the fridge. And jars to be hot-water bathed too.
And a ginormous chemistry test on Thursday morning.
And if I were really honest with myself (and you), it's the new library books in the closet that are what's unfairly bloating my stress level. It's colder today, grey, rainy... I'd rather be reading on the couch with a blanket and the dogs instead of studying polyatomic ions such as ammonium and nitrate and sulfate and carbonate and phosphate.
On to reality. A reality, that is largely stained purple right now.
That's what did me in. Next time, I shall plan school schedules to match better with canning season.
But sadly, I still have a half sink full of grapes (and an earwig or two). And pitchers full of grape juice in the fridge. And jars to be hot-water bathed too.
And a ginormous chemistry test on Thursday morning.
And if I were really honest with myself (and you), it's the new library books in the closet that are what's unfairly bloating my stress level. It's colder today, grey, rainy... I'd rather be reading on the couch with a blanket and the dogs instead of studying polyatomic ions such as ammonium and nitrate and sulfate and carbonate and phosphate.
On to reality. A reality, that is largely stained purple right now.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Marital Advice or "How to Stop Being a Nag while Playing Dead!"
A couple months ago, my hubby and I reached a stand-off point in our marriage where we couldn't figure out how to resolve some issues on our own. We were very blessed to find a great marriage counselor who has helped us a lot.
There have been a couple of times when Maurice, the counselor, has said something and my eyes have widened. "Whoa," I thought, "why didn't I ever think of that before?" I'd like to share those with you.
First, when I was single, I had an amazingly long "To-Do" list, but I never sat around expecting someone else to help me get it all done. I did the best I could and slowly plugged through it. I never sat around the house and griped to myself about my roommates not helping me get my list done. The thought of doing that is laughable! Maurice's point is that being married doesn't automatically mean you have someone who is obligated to help you with your list. It's like the merging of two people with two impossibly long "To Do" lists. Ultimately, in order for your list to get done, YOU have to do the work.
Second, have you ever sat around the house and bemoaned the fact that your neighbors don't help you out more with your yardwork or housework? Ever grumbled under your breath that they aren't considerate enough to notice on their own that your floors/yard/laundry room/van are messy and that you are obviously tired/stressed/exhausted/busy/strung out and NEED help? Really? Me neither. In fact, the thought of doing that makes me laugh out loud!
Maurice suggested asking your spouse for help the same way you ask your neighbor for help. AND to show the SAME level of appreciation when they do (or the same gratitude/acceptance when they can't!). This has created such a paradigm shift for me. I know how I react when I have to ask my neighbors for help-- it's HARD! and when they do help, I immediately feel an sense of obligation to return the favor. I have to admit that I never felt that way about asking my hubby for help. It was like somehow his only reason for being on this earth was to help me get my "To Do" list done. Wrong.
I've adapted a new philosophy for school: THE WORK IS NEVER DONE. AND THAT'S OKAY!
It's impossible to have all my assignments for all my classes done. The work is spread out for a reason; it's not all due at once. I do the best I can and move forward. And that's okay! The being okay with it part is the biggest part. We have to be okay with the fact that there will ALWAYS be things to do. Always, always, always! We do the best we can and not beat ourselves up because there is still MORE to do.
There will ALWAYS be things I want my hubby to do. There will ALWAYS be things on his "To Do" list that he has to do first. There will ALWAYS be painting/mowing/trimming/fixing/whatever that I want done that he doesn't have time to do. And that's okay. This attitude has, so far, eliminated a lot of stress and frustration for me.
I am a big girl. I got my "To Do" list done by myself when I was going to school full-time and working full-time. I can do it now too. Some things will be undone. and. . . THAT'S OKAY. :o)
Third, Maurice pointedly asked me one day (these are my words, not his) if my hubby was a total slob who accomplished nothing before I met him. Eye opener! My husband? Are you kidding? He was always going and doing and going and doing. Then Maurice added "What makes you think he'd turn into a lazy slob if you weren't nagging him?" . . . . . . . silence . . . . . . . . "Would he continue to function and accomplish things if you were suddenly dead/gone?" . . . . . yes. . . . . "So why do you think he won't do anything without you nagging him?"
oh.
This one really opened my eyes. To tell you the truth, I can't remember where or when I started thinking that I was somehow single-handedly responsible for making my husband successful. It's a lie. I'm not. He is. And he does a really great job. He doesn't have to do it my way. I can do it my way; he can do it his way. It works out well.
Fourth, parents don't have to be on the "same page" when it comes to parenting. He told us "When your spouse is disciplining one of the children, pretend your dead. Don't correct them. Don't interfere. Let them do it their way. It doesn't have to be your way. It doesn't have to be exactly the same. Just let them do it." I am, truthfully, still working on this one. :o)
The stress level between the hubby and I has decreased SO much in the last month or so. It's made such a big difference to have an extra person to give us advice. He's an interested, objective 3rd party. He's helping remind us what we already know and teaches us a better way to interact with each other. I'm glad we have him as a resource. I hope his words can help you in your relationships too. There certainly is enough to do each day without wasting time being grumpy about someone not helping us the way we think they should.
There have been a couple of times when Maurice, the counselor, has said something and my eyes have widened. "Whoa," I thought, "why didn't I ever think of that before?" I'd like to share those with you.
First, when I was single, I had an amazingly long "To-Do" list, but I never sat around expecting someone else to help me get it all done. I did the best I could and slowly plugged through it. I never sat around the house and griped to myself about my roommates not helping me get my list done. The thought of doing that is laughable! Maurice's point is that being married doesn't automatically mean you have someone who is obligated to help you with your list. It's like the merging of two people with two impossibly long "To Do" lists. Ultimately, in order for your list to get done, YOU have to do the work.
Second, have you ever sat around the house and bemoaned the fact that your neighbors don't help you out more with your yardwork or housework? Ever grumbled under your breath that they aren't considerate enough to notice on their own that your floors/yard/laundry room/van are messy and that you are obviously tired/stressed/exhausted/busy/strung out and NEED help? Really? Me neither. In fact, the thought of doing that makes me laugh out loud!
Maurice suggested asking your spouse for help the same way you ask your neighbor for help. AND to show the SAME level of appreciation when they do (or the same gratitude/acceptance when they can't!). This has created such a paradigm shift for me. I know how I react when I have to ask my neighbors for help-- it's HARD! and when they do help, I immediately feel an sense of obligation to return the favor. I have to admit that I never felt that way about asking my hubby for help. It was like somehow his only reason for being on this earth was to help me get my "To Do" list done. Wrong.
I've adapted a new philosophy for school: THE WORK IS NEVER DONE. AND THAT'S OKAY!
It's impossible to have all my assignments for all my classes done. The work is spread out for a reason; it's not all due at once. I do the best I can and move forward. And that's okay! The being okay with it part is the biggest part. We have to be okay with the fact that there will ALWAYS be things to do. Always, always, always! We do the best we can and not beat ourselves up because there is still MORE to do.
There will ALWAYS be things I want my hubby to do. There will ALWAYS be things on his "To Do" list that he has to do first. There will ALWAYS be painting/mowing/trimming/fixing/whatever that I want done that he doesn't have time to do. And that's okay. This attitude has, so far, eliminated a lot of stress and frustration for me.
I am a big girl. I got my "To Do" list done by myself when I was going to school full-time and working full-time. I can do it now too. Some things will be undone. and. . . THAT'S OKAY. :o)
Third, Maurice pointedly asked me one day (these are my words, not his) if my hubby was a total slob who accomplished nothing before I met him. Eye opener! My husband? Are you kidding? He was always going and doing and going and doing. Then Maurice added "What makes you think he'd turn into a lazy slob if you weren't nagging him?" . . . . . . . silence . . . . . . . . "Would he continue to function and accomplish things if you were suddenly dead/gone?" . . . . . yes. . . . . "So why do you think he won't do anything without you nagging him?"
oh.
This one really opened my eyes. To tell you the truth, I can't remember where or when I started thinking that I was somehow single-handedly responsible for making my husband successful. It's a lie. I'm not. He is. And he does a really great job. He doesn't have to do it my way. I can do it my way; he can do it his way. It works out well.
Fourth, parents don't have to be on the "same page" when it comes to parenting. He told us "When your spouse is disciplining one of the children, pretend your dead. Don't correct them. Don't interfere. Let them do it their way. It doesn't have to be your way. It doesn't have to be exactly the same. Just let them do it." I am, truthfully, still working on this one. :o)
The stress level between the hubby and I has decreased SO much in the last month or so. It's made such a big difference to have an extra person to give us advice. He's an interested, objective 3rd party. He's helping remind us what we already know and teaches us a better way to interact with each other. I'm glad we have him as a resource. I hope his words can help you in your relationships too. There certainly is enough to do each day without wasting time being grumpy about someone not helping us the way we think they should.
We did it! We did it!
We made it a week at our house with no TV, no computer games, no iPod Touch games, no Facebook, no electronic diversions.
We did it.
We all survived.
It was a therapeutic, cleansing experience.
I'm ready to go back on Facebook, but with more self-control and 2 Google Chrome apps that will help me keep track of my usage.
I'm guessing we'll be doing this every couple months to just keep us from becoming overly dependent/addicted to media entertainment.
We did it.
We all survived.
It was a therapeutic, cleansing experience.
I'm ready to go back on Facebook, but with more self-control and 2 Google Chrome apps that will help me keep track of my usage.
I'm guessing we'll be doing this every couple months to just keep us from becoming overly dependent/addicted to media entertainment.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
What a long day!
Today is one of those days when I feel like I've been going non-stop, but now at the end of the day, there's not much to show for it. Blah. I'd rather have a super shiny, clean house to show off. {ha, ha-- good thing I just reread my post! I originally wrote 'shove off' instead of 'show off"! Whoops! ;o) }
I guess I do have 5 quarts of grape juice, 4 clean bird cages, a clean (new) bearded dragon cage (I broke the old one thus prompting a trip to PetCo), a clean floor, a load of bedding done, a clean van, a slightly picked garden, 2 sessions of General Conference watched, and a parrot in rescue moved to a new home (that trip took 2.5 hours total).
Not too bad. I'm exhausted. But the kids are all now clean and in pjs.
Today is my last day of Facebook vacation/seclusion. I never go on FB on Sunday so tomorrow doesn't count anyways. Monday I'm back in the saddle with a renewed desire to keep my FB usage in check. I have a time counter and a time limiter. I know I need more self-control. There's no good reason to be checking the site 6 or 7 times a day. It becomes pointless and a waste of time. There's much better things I could be/should be doing than compulsive FB checking.
I guess I do have 5 quarts of grape juice, 4 clean bird cages, a clean (new) bearded dragon cage (I broke the old one thus prompting a trip to PetCo), a clean floor, a load of bedding done, a clean van, a slightly picked garden, 2 sessions of General Conference watched, and a parrot in rescue moved to a new home (that trip took 2.5 hours total).
Not too bad. I'm exhausted. But the kids are all now clean and in pjs.
Today is my last day of Facebook vacation/seclusion. I never go on FB on Sunday so tomorrow doesn't count anyways. Monday I'm back in the saddle with a renewed desire to keep my FB usage in check. I have a time counter and a time limiter. I know I need more self-control. There's no good reason to be checking the site 6 or 7 times a day. It becomes pointless and a waste of time. There's much better things I could be/should be doing than compulsive FB checking.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Good Men doing Nothing
I've been thinking a lot about that popular phrase (and I'll paraphrase) "All evil needs to triumph is for good men to do nothing."
How often do we see something wrong and we do nothing? We look the other way and walk on by. We don't want to interfere. We doubt ourselves. We don't want to make a fuss. We've been raised to be nice.
We do nothing and evil triumphs.
Today I did something. I was at the grocery store buying food for dinner and I happened to turn down an aisle where a man was shoving a red bag into his cargo pants pockets. I looked at the top of the bag poking out his pocket and I looked at the shelf where he was standing and saw the same kind of bags. He was totally pocketing an expensive bag of coffee. The details didn't register until I had passed him by.
My first inclination was to do nothing. And then I felt myself growing angry. Why should I, who am doing no wrong, feel ashamed or sad? I finished walking down the aisle and caught up with the guy as he was trying to button his pocket up.
I stopped in his way and looked directly at him. "Did you put a bag of coffee in your pocket?"
He made a funny laugh sound. "that's ridiculous!"
"Well, what you did looks suspicious."
He totally brushed it off by laughing at me, then turned around and walked the other way. When I saw him at the register, there was no large lump in his pocket. And I watched him. And he knew I was watching him.
I wasn't rude about it. I didn't get angry. But I confronted him. I don't want to be a good man doing nothing. We need more people who are willing to stand up and say "that's not right and I'm not okay with it.
How often do we see something wrong and we do nothing? We look the other way and walk on by. We don't want to interfere. We doubt ourselves. We don't want to make a fuss. We've been raised to be nice.
We do nothing and evil triumphs.
Today I did something. I was at the grocery store buying food for dinner and I happened to turn down an aisle where a man was shoving a red bag into his cargo pants pockets. I looked at the top of the bag poking out his pocket and I looked at the shelf where he was standing and saw the same kind of bags. He was totally pocketing an expensive bag of coffee. The details didn't register until I had passed him by.
My first inclination was to do nothing. And then I felt myself growing angry. Why should I, who am doing no wrong, feel ashamed or sad? I finished walking down the aisle and caught up with the guy as he was trying to button his pocket up.
I stopped in his way and looked directly at him. "Did you put a bag of coffee in your pocket?"
He made a funny laugh sound. "that's ridiculous!"
"Well, what you did looks suspicious."
He totally brushed it off by laughing at me, then turned around and walked the other way. When I saw him at the register, there was no large lump in his pocket. And I watched him. And he knew I was watching him.
I wasn't rude about it. I didn't get angry. But I confronted him. I don't want to be a good man doing nothing. We need more people who are willing to stand up and say "that's not right and I'm not okay with it.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Punishing Parents
It's amazing how things we parents to do to educate or discipline our children end up hurting us more! That old phrase "It will hurt me more than it hurts you" is really ringing true to me right now.
I knew my kids needed to spend less time being electronically entertained. I knew that it would be a hard thing for them to do. I had no idea how hard it would be on me!
It's not them that's making it hard for me. It's me! It's my own withdrawal from electronics. It's my own dependence for media being tested.
Ugh!
Yesterday I was so edgy and irritable. I kept thinking "what's my problem? what's going on?" The simple answer: Facebook withdrawal.
It's so sad to admit. But it's true. Not checking into Facebook 5, 6, 7, 29 times a day has thrown me off. Today I'm feeling the media fast even more because it's my normal day to watch last night's episode of "Biggest Loser" online. Ugh!
I'm trying to stay focused on reading and doing school work. I even played Candy Land three times yesterday with my 3 year old. I'm trying to think thoughts longer than the 450 characters required by Facebook. I'm trying to adjust to not being able to go online and say "BLAST! I just bombed a Chemistry test!" which is what I desperately wanted to do last night.
At this point, I'm just muscling my way through the withdrawals. No Words with Friends. No Scrabble. No Facebook. No Biggest Loser. No PBS kids to help entertain my kids when I'm trying to do homework or make dinner.
It won't kill me. I know it won't. It stinks though. But I need this. I need to force myself to get back in control of my media usage. I don't want to be dependent on my laptop anymore than I already am.
I knew my kids needed to spend less time being electronically entertained. I knew that it would be a hard thing for them to do. I had no idea how hard it would be on me!
It's not them that's making it hard for me. It's me! It's my own withdrawal from electronics. It's my own dependence for media being tested.
Ugh!
Yesterday I was so edgy and irritable. I kept thinking "what's my problem? what's going on?" The simple answer: Facebook withdrawal.
It's so sad to admit. But it's true. Not checking into Facebook 5, 6, 7, 29 times a day has thrown me off. Today I'm feeling the media fast even more because it's my normal day to watch last night's episode of "Biggest Loser" online. Ugh!
I'm trying to stay focused on reading and doing school work. I even played Candy Land three times yesterday with my 3 year old. I'm trying to think thoughts longer than the 450 characters required by Facebook. I'm trying to adjust to not being able to go online and say "BLAST! I just bombed a Chemistry test!" which is what I desperately wanted to do last night.
At this point, I'm just muscling my way through the withdrawals. No Words with Friends. No Scrabble. No Facebook. No Biggest Loser. No PBS kids to help entertain my kids when I'm trying to do homework or make dinner.
It won't kill me. I know it won't. It stinks though. But I need this. I need to force myself to get back in control of my media usage. I don't want to be dependent on my laptop anymore than I already am.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Facebook Withdrawal... feeling the pain here......
from Addictions & Recovery
Emotional Withdrawal Symptoms
- Anxiety
- Restlessness
- Irritability
- Insomnia
- Headaches
- Poor concentration
- Depression
- Social isolation
Physical Withdrawal Symptoms
- Sweating
- Racing heart
- Palpitations
- Muscle tension
- Tightness in the chest
- Difficulty breathing
- Tremors
- Nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea
Emotional Relapse
In emotional relapse, you're not thinking about using. But your emotions and behaviors are setting you up for a possible relapse in the future.The signs of emotional relapse are:
- Anxiety
- Intolerance
- Anger
- Defensiveness
- Mood swings
- Isolation
- Not asking for help
- Not going to meetings
- Poor eating habits
- Poor sleep habits
Yep, going of Facebook this week was obviously a good thing for me. I sure hope it doesn't kill me!
Monday, September 26, 2011
Ad hoc Learning
Today my kids (about about 50 others in my kids' school) got a spontaneous lesson in nature. Shortly before the bell rang, a man who lives on the same street as the school arrived home from his weekend hunting trip and began unloading his truck and trailer. He parked his truck along side the main sidewalk leading away from the school so his gear was in full view of the students who drove and walked by.
The first thing we all noticed was the large elk head strapped to the back of the 4-wheeler on the trailer. It's eyes were still open and its body was obviously missing. In the back of the truck were all the dismembered elk parts, blood and all.
Because it's hard to turn onto the main road, there's always a back up of cars so everyone who was driving got to slowly go past the elk parts. Oh my. I watched the kids look first with surprise and then with horror and then interest at the parts. I can't imagine that it smelled nice as you walked by. I didn't have my windows down so I got to experience the nature with all my senses.
Ah, nature is everywhere. This is a lesson I don't think many of those children will forget.
(o)(o)
V
The first thing we all noticed was the large elk head strapped to the back of the 4-wheeler on the trailer. It's eyes were still open and its body was obviously missing. In the back of the truck were all the dismembered elk parts, blood and all.
Because it's hard to turn onto the main road, there's always a back up of cars so everyone who was driving got to slowly go past the elk parts. Oh my. I watched the kids look first with surprise and then with horror and then interest at the parts. I can't imagine that it smelled nice as you walked by. I didn't have my windows down so I got to experience the nature with all my senses.
Ah, nature is everywhere. This is a lesson I don't think many of those children will forget.
(o)(o)
V
Zucchini Brownies
Zucchini Brownies
1/2 c. oil
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 tsp vanilla
2 c. flour
1/2 c. cocoa
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 c. shredded zucchini (no seeds and squeeze out extra juice)
1/2 c. chopped walnuts (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9x13 pan.
Mix oil, sugar, vanilla. Mix dry ingredients together then add into sugar/oil mixture. Fold in zucchini and walnuts. Spread into pan. Batter is dryish.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes. (I always end up baking mine for 35 minutes in a smaller size pan).
Frosting
6 T cocoa powder
1/4 c. butter or margarine
2 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. milk
1/2 tsp vanilla
Melt cocoa and butter together. In medium bowl, blend together pwdr sugar, milk, and vanilla. Stir into cocoa mixture. Spread over cooled brownies.
------------------------------------------
Just some notes:
-my friend did 1/4 c oil and 1/4 c applesauce and it worked good.
-my friend also did less than a cup of sugar and it worked fine.
-I always add in extra zucchini, up to 3 cups, with no problems.
-I've never added walnuts.
-I keep the skin on the zucchini. I do take out the seeds. I run the zucchini pieces through my Kitchen Aid grinder attachment.
-share with friends so you don't eat the whole pan. Trust me on this one!
Media Break or Why I am skipping Facebook this week
Since I've started school, I've gotten a lot more lax at letting my kids watch TV & movies or play computer/iTouch games. It's started to feel out of hand and I decided to reign in our media consumption.
Yesterday I told them at lunch that we'd be having a "Media Fast." For all this week (through Friday night) we are going without TV, movies, laptop games, internet games, iTouch games, VSmile games, etc. Starting Saturday, if they want to continue their break, I will pay them a quarter a day.
I was feeling pretty smug about the whole thing. . . until my son raised his hand.
"What about you and Facebook?" my 8 year old asked.
uh.... uh....
My hubby started laughing.
"YEAH!!" my daughter practically shouted. "What about Facebook?!? If we can't go online then you can't either."
"But I need to do email and go on my laptop to do my classes."
"But NOT Facebook."
They're right. And I agreed. I'm not going to ask them to do something I'm not willing to do. I agreed to take a one week break from Facebook and Words with Friends. I promised to pay them a quarter if I get caught on Facebook.
But guess what? They aren't getting that quarter.
As they were talking about installing cameras so they could make sure I didn't cheat, my hubby pointed something out to them. I don't think they heard, but I did. He said "Kids, you're forgetting something that Mom has. She has self-control."
How can I let down that trust?
I do have self-control. I made a promise and I'll stick to it. Plus, I have to admit that I was feeling rather dependent/addicted to Facebook-- like I couldn't make it through the day without it. I hate that feeling and am grateful to be forced into some separation.
So here we are in day 2 of our Media fast. I'm feeling it right this moment because I need to take a nutrition quiz and the 3 year old wants to crawl all over me. Normally, he'd be watching PBS Kids right now. Time for me to put on my thinking cap and come up with an alternative that doesn't need to be plugged in, turned on, or doesn't run on batteries.
Yesterday I told them at lunch that we'd be having a "Media Fast." For all this week (through Friday night) we are going without TV, movies, laptop games, internet games, iTouch games, VSmile games, etc. Starting Saturday, if they want to continue their break, I will pay them a quarter a day.
I was feeling pretty smug about the whole thing. . . until my son raised his hand.
"What about you and Facebook?" my 8 year old asked.
uh.... uh....
My hubby started laughing.
"YEAH!!" my daughter practically shouted. "What about Facebook?!? If we can't go online then you can't either."
"But I need to do email and go on my laptop to do my classes."
"But NOT Facebook."
They're right. And I agreed. I'm not going to ask them to do something I'm not willing to do. I agreed to take a one week break from Facebook and Words with Friends. I promised to pay them a quarter if I get caught on Facebook.
But guess what? They aren't getting that quarter.
As they were talking about installing cameras so they could make sure I didn't cheat, my hubby pointed something out to them. I don't think they heard, but I did. He said "Kids, you're forgetting something that Mom has. She has self-control."
How can I let down that trust?
I do have self-control. I made a promise and I'll stick to it. Plus, I have to admit that I was feeling rather dependent/addicted to Facebook-- like I couldn't make it through the day without it. I hate that feeling and am grateful to be forced into some separation.
So here we are in day 2 of our Media fast. I'm feeling it right this moment because I need to take a nutrition quiz and the 3 year old wants to crawl all over me. Normally, he'd be watching PBS Kids right now. Time for me to put on my thinking cap and come up with an alternative that doesn't need to be plugged in, turned on, or doesn't run on batteries.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
I found her!
After a terrible night tossing and turning, I headed back out to the neighborhood where Bailey flew away this morning. I put up new posters with a picture on them and took down the ones the rain had faded. I searched and called. I had just put up my last flier when my cellphone rang. A guy who lived in an apartment across Orchard Dr from my vet saw my poster and found Bailey cowering under a concrete pad of a shed. He called and I raced over there. I had to pull her out, but she was alive.
I started bawling again as I held her to me. I thanked the guy over and over and over again as I sobbed. I took Bailey home and put her in her cage. She was so thirsty and hungry. She could hardly keep her eyes open as she ate her food. She's now sleeping and I expect her to sleep for the rest of the day. I'm hopeful she'll recover from this trauma quickly. I'll be cutting her feathers later today.
Never again. I will never make that same mistake again. I don't ever want to lose one of my animals again. It was a nightmare.
Thanks for your love & well wishes & prayers.
I started bawling again as I held her to me. I thanked the guy over and over and over again as I sobbed. I took Bailey home and put her in her cage. She was so thirsty and hungry. She could hardly keep her eyes open as she ate her food. She's now sleeping and I expect her to sleep for the rest of the day. I'm hopeful she'll recover from this trauma quickly. I'll be cutting her feathers later today.
Never again. I will never make that same mistake again. I don't ever want to lose one of my animals again. It was a nightmare.
Thanks for your love & well wishes & prayers.
Friday, September 16, 2011
I lost my Bird :o(
In one quick and stupid moment, my bird Bailey panicked and flew away from me today while taking her into the vet in Bountiful. She hadn't been able to fly, but I guess her adrenaline kicked in and she took off. I've spent the afternoon searching for her and putting up signs and posting ads on the internet. I am heartsick. I have a terrible knot in the bottom of my stomach. I imagine her alone and cold and terrified out of her mind, and it's raining outside which makes me feel worse. I can't believe I did that. I know better.
So now all I can do is wait and hope someone finds her and calls me.
Waiting is terrible. I'll try to look around the area for her tomorrow. Perhaps hunger will drive her down where I can see her.
So now all I can do is wait and hope someone finds her and calls me.
Waiting is terrible. I'll try to look around the area for her tomorrow. Perhaps hunger will drive her down where I can see her.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Dog who Lived
Last week, Belle, our 4 year old Maltese, woke me up around 2 am by scratching on the side of the bed. This is her sign to me that she needs to go potty. I got up grudgingly, put on my glasses, and walked her outside. Usually she pees in about 30 seconds or less so I didn't bother to put on my shoes.
Belle ran outside and started smelling the grass.
sniff, sniff, sniff.
I snapped at her (like, with my fingers) "Potty, Belle."
She kept sniffing. And turning around. And sniffing. And sniffing. And sniffing.
My feet started feeling chilled.
Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.
"Belle, go potty!"
Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.
By this time, I could tell she had to poop, but she wouldn't go until she smelled the right spot.
Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.
After about 6 minutes, I walked inside to get my shoes. Belle immediately ran to the gate and waited for me. I walked back outside, snapped my fingers at her, and chased her back onto the grass. Instead she ran under the house in the dirt-- with her nice wet paws.
Ugh!
"Belle, potty!"
She finally returned to the grass and I chased her away from the 2 foot area where she had been sniffing and sniffing and sniffing and sniffing and sniffing.
After about 12 minutes, she finally pooped in the back of the yard. I was very grateful to go back inside. I laid back down on my bed and wrapped my cold arms up in my blanket.
Five minutes later, Belle started scratching at my bed again. I got up, put my glasses back on, and took her back outside. This time I put on my shoes and grabbed a sweater.
Belle ran onto the grass and started running around. "Belle, Potty!" She just stared at me. "Belle, potty!" I stepped onto the grass and she darted back into the dirt.
After about 4 minutes, I realized she was just playing so I brought her back inside with her wet, dirty paws.
On my way to the bathroom, I stepped in the puddle of pee she left me before I took her outside the second time). Ugh! I grabbed a paper towel to blot it up.
By the time I returned from the bathroom, Belle, with her muddy paws, was sitting right smack in the middle of my pillow.
UGH!!!
It took me quite awhile to get myself back to sleep after that. Now I can call her the dog that lived since she should have been eaten that night! ;o)
(just kidding. I would never eat her. She's way tooooo cute and fun!)
Belle ran outside and started smelling the grass.
sniff, sniff, sniff.
I snapped at her (like, with my fingers) "Potty, Belle."
She kept sniffing. And turning around. And sniffing. And sniffing. And sniffing.
My feet started feeling chilled.
Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.
"Belle, go potty!"
Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.
By this time, I could tell she had to poop, but she wouldn't go until she smelled the right spot.
Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.
After about 6 minutes, I walked inside to get my shoes. Belle immediately ran to the gate and waited for me. I walked back outside, snapped my fingers at her, and chased her back onto the grass. Instead she ran under the house in the dirt-- with her nice wet paws.
Ugh!
"Belle, potty!"
She finally returned to the grass and I chased her away from the 2 foot area where she had been sniffing and sniffing and sniffing and sniffing and sniffing.
After about 12 minutes, she finally pooped in the back of the yard. I was very grateful to go back inside. I laid back down on my bed and wrapped my cold arms up in my blanket.
Five minutes later, Belle started scratching at my bed again. I got up, put my glasses back on, and took her back outside. This time I put on my shoes and grabbed a sweater.
Belle ran onto the grass and started running around. "Belle, Potty!" She just stared at me. "Belle, potty!" I stepped onto the grass and she darted back into the dirt.
After about 4 minutes, I realized she was just playing so I brought her back inside with her wet, dirty paws.
On my way to the bathroom, I stepped in the puddle of pee she left me before I took her outside the second time). Ugh! I grabbed a paper towel to blot it up.
By the time I returned from the bathroom, Belle, with her muddy paws, was sitting right smack in the middle of my pillow.
UGH!!!
It took me quite awhile to get myself back to sleep after that. Now I can call her the dog that lived since she should have been eaten that night! ;o)
(just kidding. I would never eat her. She's way tooooo cute and fun!)
Friday, September 2, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
My new Favorite Number: 136.6
I am proud to announce that I've ridden my bike 136.6 miles in the last two months.
Awesome!
Awesome!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Hope & Patience
Yesterday I was praying for patience. Really, I was begging God to give more patience. I thought "I don't have enough patience" and then a thought struck me "You have patience. You don't have hope."
That thought made me stop and think.
It's easier to be patient when you have hope that things will change. It's easier to be patient when you know it's a matter of time before things get better. It's when you're hopeless that patience is more difficult. When you don't feel like things will ever get better, when you can't see a bright line of light on the dark horizon.
My prayer changed to "Please give me hope. Help me to feel the lightness of hope in my heart again."
This morning on KSL.com, I found this article: "Hope for the Hopeless" Good article, good timing.
My favorite quote from the article: Hopelessness breeds depression. Hope cultivates happiness. Which will you choose?
That thought made me stop and think.
It's easier to be patient when you have hope that things will change. It's easier to be patient when you know it's a matter of time before things get better. It's when you're hopeless that patience is more difficult. When you don't feel like things will ever get better, when you can't see a bright line of light on the dark horizon.
My prayer changed to "Please give me hope. Help me to feel the lightness of hope in my heart again."
This morning on KSL.com, I found this article: "Hope for the Hopeless" Good article, good timing.
My favorite quote from the article: Hopelessness breeds depression. Hope cultivates happiness. Which will you choose?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
the One Missing Piece
Years ago while my hubby was finishing up his master's thesis, we house sat for two of his professors while they traveled South Asia. For two months, my hubby, my 1 year old daughter, and I stayed in a restored antique house filled with treasures from all over the world. Oh, and two neurotic dogs, but that's a different story.
Not long after moving in, we heard scuffling and bird chirps from the attic. My hubby pulled the attic stairs down and went up, flashlight in hand. He saw 6 baby birds, 1 dead, spread out throughout the attic. There was no sign of a momma or poppa bird and there was no way we could rescue them because of the layout of the attic floor. 5 baby birds alone upstairs, slowly dying. It was a horrifying thought.
We fired off a quick email to the professors but had no idea how long it would be before they responded since they weren't often in areas with internet. The next day the hubby went off to school and I was left alone in a house that seemed to suddenly echo with the noises of what I thought were dying baby birds. The sounds tormented me through the day. At one point, I even crawled up into the attic thinking I could save them myself. Once up there, I realized how impossible the situation was. I sadly folded the attic stairs back up. At another point, I even called Animal Control to see if they could help; nope, their officers were not allowed to climb stairs.
By the time my hubby returned that evening, I felt fairly frantic about living in a house with baby birds dying and feeling totally helpless. There wasn't a thing I could do about it, and so I just started praying with the ability to let it go. That only helped so far. I felt vaguely calm about the whole experience.
The next day while outside with my daughter, I noticed a bird on the eaves of the roof. Maybe it was the momma bird. Maybe she was trying to get back into her babies. I felt my heart lighten a bit. Later that day I saw two birds on the roof. Maybe it was the momma and the poppa bird. Maybe the babies weren't dying after all! I could feel myself breathing again.
Two days after discovering the birds, we got a brief email back from the professors: Yes, we get Starlings in our attic every year. They are annoying, but don't cause any damage.
Oh. My mind raced back through the last few days-- the agony, the frustration, the sadness. It all would have been different if I had had a single piece of knowledge, the knowledge that there were always birds in the attic. I thought back to those baby birds and realized they weren't baby birds desperately trying to find away to survive. Those were baby birds having fun in the attic when their parents were away. Yes, one had died, but most likely there was something wrong with to begin with.
I felt somewhat sheepish over my drama and sadness for the birds, but realized that sometimes we think we know best about a situation when we don't really have all the necessary information.
Fast forward many years. My next neighbor is a sweet lady from South Asia. For years and years, I'd see her walking with her American husband up and down the parkway near our house. Every day, she was always walking behind him; never at his side, never in front, always behind. My American woman instincts kicked up and I thought "how sad. how oppressive. how unliberated she is!" I felt bad that she was forced to always walk behind her husband.
Last year, her husband unexpectedly passed away. Through serving her, I have grown to know her and love her as one of my family. Through being with her, I heard her say over and over again how afraid of the sun she is and how she hates to be out in it and how her husband was so concerned about her health that he insisted she walk with him each day and how he always walked in front so that she could walk in his shadow and be shielded from the sun.
oh.
One piece of information turned her from an oppressed wife into a highly loved and valued woman. I felt tears sting my eyes. I often think of that and how wrong I was. All because I was missing some information.
We all are missing information. That's part of human life. We can't possibly know everything there is to know about everyone. If we can acknowledge this, we will be so much better off.
Be kind. Be generous. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Chances are that somewhere is a piece of information that will change everything you think and feel about them and cause you to say "oh."
Not long after moving in, we heard scuffling and bird chirps from the attic. My hubby pulled the attic stairs down and went up, flashlight in hand. He saw 6 baby birds, 1 dead, spread out throughout the attic. There was no sign of a momma or poppa bird and there was no way we could rescue them because of the layout of the attic floor. 5 baby birds alone upstairs, slowly dying. It was a horrifying thought.
We fired off a quick email to the professors but had no idea how long it would be before they responded since they weren't often in areas with internet. The next day the hubby went off to school and I was left alone in a house that seemed to suddenly echo with the noises of what I thought were dying baby birds. The sounds tormented me through the day. At one point, I even crawled up into the attic thinking I could save them myself. Once up there, I realized how impossible the situation was. I sadly folded the attic stairs back up. At another point, I even called Animal Control to see if they could help; nope, their officers were not allowed to climb stairs.
By the time my hubby returned that evening, I felt fairly frantic about living in a house with baby birds dying and feeling totally helpless. There wasn't a thing I could do about it, and so I just started praying with the ability to let it go. That only helped so far. I felt vaguely calm about the whole experience.
The next day while outside with my daughter, I noticed a bird on the eaves of the roof. Maybe it was the momma bird. Maybe she was trying to get back into her babies. I felt my heart lighten a bit. Later that day I saw two birds on the roof. Maybe it was the momma and the poppa bird. Maybe the babies weren't dying after all! I could feel myself breathing again.
Two days after discovering the birds, we got a brief email back from the professors: Yes, we get Starlings in our attic every year. They are annoying, but don't cause any damage.
Oh. My mind raced back through the last few days-- the agony, the frustration, the sadness. It all would have been different if I had had a single piece of knowledge, the knowledge that there were always birds in the attic. I thought back to those baby birds and realized they weren't baby birds desperately trying to find away to survive. Those were baby birds having fun in the attic when their parents were away. Yes, one had died, but most likely there was something wrong with to begin with.
I felt somewhat sheepish over my drama and sadness for the birds, but realized that sometimes we think we know best about a situation when we don't really have all the necessary information.
Fast forward many years. My next neighbor is a sweet lady from South Asia. For years and years, I'd see her walking with her American husband up and down the parkway near our house. Every day, she was always walking behind him; never at his side, never in front, always behind. My American woman instincts kicked up and I thought "how sad. how oppressive. how unliberated she is!" I felt bad that she was forced to always walk behind her husband.
Last year, her husband unexpectedly passed away. Through serving her, I have grown to know her and love her as one of my family. Through being with her, I heard her say over and over again how afraid of the sun she is and how she hates to be out in it and how her husband was so concerned about her health that he insisted she walk with him each day and how he always walked in front so that she could walk in his shadow and be shielded from the sun.
oh.
One piece of information turned her from an oppressed wife into a highly loved and valued woman. I felt tears sting my eyes. I often think of that and how wrong I was. All because I was missing some information.
We all are missing information. That's part of human life. We can't possibly know everything there is to know about everyone. If we can acknowledge this, we will be so much better off.
Be kind. Be generous. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Chances are that somewhere is a piece of information that will change everything you think and feel about them and cause you to say "oh."
Monday, August 22, 2011
Back to School
I sent my two older kids to school today. I cried. It's a tradition for me to cry. My daughter knew that so she opted have her dad walk her to class. I walked my son to class and tried to impart some last minute wisdom to him (please, please, please remember to go to the bathroom! kids will be sooooo mean to you if you wet your pants). It was so hard to watch him walk through the front doors. I cried as I walked back to my car with my little 3 year old buddy.
My buddy and I came home and made a cake so we can have a yummy treat tonight to celebrate the first day of school. My buddy is now playing in the living room and I'm working on my computer.
My own school classes start this week. I have three online classes: Nutrition, Human Development, and Chemistry. Plus, I have an in-class Chem lab that I go to every Monday night. I have no idea what to expect so I'm not nervous yet. I don't expect that it will be too bad. School is easy for me. Chemistry has always made me nervous, but I think I'm brave enough now to tackle it and kicks its elemental behind (hee, hee).
I think the hardest transition will be for the 3 year old who suddenly doesn't have his big sister to entertain him. He starts preschool in 2 weeks and then he will be able to have his own interaction and learning.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Fresh Courage
Yesterday was a hard day for me. Educational, informative, necessary, but very hard. Yesterday we got the results back from some serious neurological testing we had done our middle son. The results were both good and bad, both liberating and damning.
The whole way to the appointment with my hubby, I could feel myself tense and anxious. As the doctor started going over results with us, I felt a great need to burst into tears. I fought back that feeling for awhile until the doctor said something that I thought was an appropriate tear jerker and I let the tears go. It felt like a tea pot releasing steam. We went through the results of her testing and the 15 page detailed report she had compiled and talked about what some of the next steps are.
After an hour, feeling overwhelmed and unsure of the path ahead, my hubby and I left. I made it out of the building before I gave myself permission to completely break down. I quietly sobbed all the way home. I couldn't talk. I couldn't respond to questions well. I couldn't see straight. At first I thought I'd try to pull myself together and then I stopped. I let all my emotions out. I had to let go of the pain, the grief, the sorrow, the sadness, the anger, the hopelessness, the feelings of being out of control, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I let it all out. (freaked out the hubby a bit too, I think).
My son had a really crappy early life. His birth mom used drugs & alcohol at the beginning of her pregnancy and throughout his first 2 years of life. He was kidnapped by his parents and taken out of state. He was then ripped from his parents side by police officers and sent on a plane with a stranger back to a shelter where he knew no one-- all at the age of 2. The risk factors for this kid are astronomical. We have fetal alcohol syndrome, drug abuse effects, an attachment disorder, trauma, inadequate nutrition and care, inappropriate encouragement for development... the list goes on. The results of all these risk factors are just as many and discouraging: no working memory, poor motor control, underdeveloped social skills, attention problems, defiance, anger and aggression....
My son is a hard kid.
He's a good kid. He's a sweet and loving kid. He's a cute kid with beautiful blue eyes.
But he is hard.
He's been hard on me because I'm the mother. I've been hard on myself because our relationship is so difficult. He's been a hard sibling for his sister and brother to adjust to.
He has forced and allowed our family to grow and develop in ways we never expected.
And now we have a new twist in the journey. A new path unfurls ahead of us.
Our son has a profound learning disability. He has a non-verbal learning disability; basically, the right side of his brain never developed appropriately. He also has a profound mood disorder. Add the attachment disorder and trauma on top of this.
So what does this mean? I don't know yet. The doctor recommended almost a dozen books for us to read. I bought most of them on Amazon yesterday. I am about to become an expert on non-verbal learning disorder and bipolar disorder in children-- specifically in 8 year old boys-- specifically my boy. I'm also learning about IEPs and how to work with the school to get my son the help he needs. He's been a good kid so far but the biggest marker of NVLD is that the older the kid gets, the worse they do in school. I noticed that last year in 2nd grade. The gap between my son and his peers is growing ever wider. That gap worried me and that was the final impetus for having him tested.
The words of a church song keep running through my mind: "Gird up your loins, fresh courage take."
Yesterday was my day to fall apart. Today is my day to regroup, put on my armor, take up my sword, and get ready to go through whatever it takes to give my son every chance he needs to be successful in his life. I will fight till the end for this kid to succeed or I will die trying. Yesterday was the acknowledgement and release of all the grief for what could have been with him. Today is the day to take what we got and make the very best of it.
There was one tender mercy yesterday too that I want to share. Through a strange "coincidence," the doctor we saw recently added another patient who is "eerily" similar in temperament, age, background, and trauma to my son. She was immediately taken at how close these two kids are. There was one major exception. By this same age, her other patient has had over 6 inpatient psychiatric hospitalizations. My son has had none. She was kind enough to credit our son's success to our parenting.
I think this was my Father in Heaven's way of showing me that even though I feel woefully inadequate to raise this boy and can point out the myriad of ways I feel I am failing as his mom, I am doing better than I think I am. This sentiment was later confirmed by our counselor who agreed that the reason our son is functional at all is because of my hubby and I. What a tender mercy for my battered, insecure mother soul. I needed to hear that. I need to remind myself of that.
Today's tears are past. Fresh courage is being gathered. All is well. All is well.
The whole way to the appointment with my hubby, I could feel myself tense and anxious. As the doctor started going over results with us, I felt a great need to burst into tears. I fought back that feeling for awhile until the doctor said something that I thought was an appropriate tear jerker and I let the tears go. It felt like a tea pot releasing steam. We went through the results of her testing and the 15 page detailed report she had compiled and talked about what some of the next steps are.
After an hour, feeling overwhelmed and unsure of the path ahead, my hubby and I left. I made it out of the building before I gave myself permission to completely break down. I quietly sobbed all the way home. I couldn't talk. I couldn't respond to questions well. I couldn't see straight. At first I thought I'd try to pull myself together and then I stopped. I let all my emotions out. I had to let go of the pain, the grief, the sorrow, the sadness, the anger, the hopelessness, the feelings of being out of control, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I let it all out. (freaked out the hubby a bit too, I think).
My son had a really crappy early life. His birth mom used drugs & alcohol at the beginning of her pregnancy and throughout his first 2 years of life. He was kidnapped by his parents and taken out of state. He was then ripped from his parents side by police officers and sent on a plane with a stranger back to a shelter where he knew no one-- all at the age of 2. The risk factors for this kid are astronomical. We have fetal alcohol syndrome, drug abuse effects, an attachment disorder, trauma, inadequate nutrition and care, inappropriate encouragement for development... the list goes on. The results of all these risk factors are just as many and discouraging: no working memory, poor motor control, underdeveloped social skills, attention problems, defiance, anger and aggression....
My son is a hard kid.
He's a good kid. He's a sweet and loving kid. He's a cute kid with beautiful blue eyes.
But he is hard.
He's been hard on me because I'm the mother. I've been hard on myself because our relationship is so difficult. He's been a hard sibling for his sister and brother to adjust to.
He has forced and allowed our family to grow and develop in ways we never expected.
And now we have a new twist in the journey. A new path unfurls ahead of us.
Our son has a profound learning disability. He has a non-verbal learning disability; basically, the right side of his brain never developed appropriately. He also has a profound mood disorder. Add the attachment disorder and trauma on top of this.
So what does this mean? I don't know yet. The doctor recommended almost a dozen books for us to read. I bought most of them on Amazon yesterday. I am about to become an expert on non-verbal learning disorder and bipolar disorder in children-- specifically in 8 year old boys-- specifically my boy. I'm also learning about IEPs and how to work with the school to get my son the help he needs. He's been a good kid so far but the biggest marker of NVLD is that the older the kid gets, the worse they do in school. I noticed that last year in 2nd grade. The gap between my son and his peers is growing ever wider. That gap worried me and that was the final impetus for having him tested.
The words of a church song keep running through my mind: "Gird up your loins, fresh courage take."
Yesterday was my day to fall apart. Today is my day to regroup, put on my armor, take up my sword, and get ready to go through whatever it takes to give my son every chance he needs to be successful in his life. I will fight till the end for this kid to succeed or I will die trying. Yesterday was the acknowledgement and release of all the grief for what could have been with him. Today is the day to take what we got and make the very best of it.
There was one tender mercy yesterday too that I want to share. Through a strange "coincidence," the doctor we saw recently added another patient who is "eerily" similar in temperament, age, background, and trauma to my son. She was immediately taken at how close these two kids are. There was one major exception. By this same age, her other patient has had over 6 inpatient psychiatric hospitalizations. My son has had none. She was kind enough to credit our son's success to our parenting.
I think this was my Father in Heaven's way of showing me that even though I feel woefully inadequate to raise this boy and can point out the myriad of ways I feel I am failing as his mom, I am doing better than I think I am. This sentiment was later confirmed by our counselor who agreed that the reason our son is functional at all is because of my hubby and I. What a tender mercy for my battered, insecure mother soul. I needed to hear that. I need to remind myself of that.
Today's tears are past. Fresh courage is being gathered. All is well. All is well.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Store Embarrassment
When my kids were littler, they did a great (and frequent) job of embarrassing me at the store. Usually it involved throwing themselves down on the floor and screaming "I Want It!" over and over again. Those were the moments I couldn't get out of the store and away from people's glances fast enough.
As my kids have gotten older, the embarrassing episodes started to decline. Phew! Fewer tantrums, fewer screaming chants, fewer awkward moments.
Today, though, I realized those episodes are starting to come back. BUT! this time *I* am the one embarrassing them! (cue evil laughter! bwa-ha-ha-ha!) It's fantastic payback. Today in Costco I walked up to two store employees (only realizing later that one was the asst. manager).
"You, sir!" I said "I see you have the scanning gun of power. I need your help." My daughter started to slink backwards. The two employees and I then had a humorous discussion of why Costco switched all the aisles around as soon as I left town and did it have anything to do with the fact that I had been seeing other Costcos while I was out of town or did they let a woman decide to rearrange like when I rearrange my living room furniture? The three of us had a great laugh together.
My daughter? Not so much. As we walked away, she said "It's not all about you, Mom."
I laughed. "Of course it is. Duh!"
Oh the sweet, sweet taste of revenge.... it's a beautiful thing.
As my kids have gotten older, the embarrassing episodes started to decline. Phew! Fewer tantrums, fewer screaming chants, fewer awkward moments.
Today, though, I realized those episodes are starting to come back. BUT! this time *I* am the one embarrassing them! (cue evil laughter! bwa-ha-ha-ha!) It's fantastic payback. Today in Costco I walked up to two store employees (only realizing later that one was the asst. manager).
"You, sir!" I said "I see you have the scanning gun of power. I need your help." My daughter started to slink backwards. The two employees and I then had a humorous discussion of why Costco switched all the aisles around as soon as I left town and did it have anything to do with the fact that I had been seeing other Costcos while I was out of town or did they let a woman decide to rearrange like when I rearrange my living room furniture? The three of us had a great laugh together.
My daughter? Not so much. As we walked away, she said "It's not all about you, Mom."
I laughed. "Of course it is. Duh!"
Oh the sweet, sweet taste of revenge.... it's a beautiful thing.
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
You can never see this commercial too many times-- when you're the parent!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The Love of the Beach
I love the beach. I'm not a beach bum. I wouldn't live on the beach if I lived on the coast, but I find that a yearly beach vacation is good for my soul. And for my kiddos. We all love the beach. The sounds, the smell, the feel of the sand, the breeze, the birds, the waves.... aaaahhhhhh!
Monday, August 8, 2011
DS Fun sparks Random Musings Post
My parents have a DS-- it's one of the things they own that I wish I had one just like it. That and their front loading washer and their panini griddle thingie and the iPad and the clean house & floors-- but I digress. I'm not coveting them, mind you, but I would be happy to have one just like them. Except I want a red front loading washer and it would be cool if the DS were pink. But anyways, back to my story--
My parents have a DS and it's proved to be useful at entertaining my kiddos on my LA trip. On our way back from San Diego yesterday, it saved the trip since my selection of a DVD on the international space station was a total bust. I heard my kids and their cousins squealing in the back seat and I wondered when Mario Brothers got that funny...
Last night my daughter showed me the picture taking, picture distorting feature on the DS. She showed me all the pics they had taken and then "altered." Well, I had to try it out on myself. I took some pics of me and then tweaked them-- wide eyes, jumbo cheeks, triple nostrils. Within a few minutes I was squealing harder than the girls were. I laughed so hard my stomach muscles started cramping. It was hilarious! I gotta get me one of those things! I wish I could figure out how to get the pics off the DS and onto, say, my Facebook profile pic. That would be awesome!!
Anyways, it was a great moment of total ridiculousness and laughter with my daughter and nieces. And I loved it. I'm enjoying my kids more as they get older. I have friends who are great baby moms, but that's not me. I love babies, but I love bigger kids that you can chat with and play with and hang out with. Not that I ever intend to be just another "friend." Not a chance. This mom wears her motherhood fiercely and proudly-- like a mama bear. But it sure is nice to know that in a few minutes, when they are tired, the two oldest of my temporary tribe of 5 will put themselves to bed. Phew!
Speaking of my temp tribe. We decided to tell people around here that they were all mine: 13, 11, 8, 8, and 3. We certainly have gotten looks in this land of 1.34 average children per household! ;o) But at the end of the day, I'm so glad that they aren't all mine! I can handle 3 most of the time. 5? I'd probably eat a couple.... that's my recessive hamster momma genes coming out.
:oD
My parents have a DS and it's proved to be useful at entertaining my kiddos on my LA trip. On our way back from San Diego yesterday, it saved the trip since my selection of a DVD on the international space station was a total bust. I heard my kids and their cousins squealing in the back seat and I wondered when Mario Brothers got that funny...
Last night my daughter showed me the picture taking, picture distorting feature on the DS. She showed me all the pics they had taken and then "altered." Well, I had to try it out on myself. I took some pics of me and then tweaked them-- wide eyes, jumbo cheeks, triple nostrils. Within a few minutes I was squealing harder than the girls were. I laughed so hard my stomach muscles started cramping. It was hilarious! I gotta get me one of those things! I wish I could figure out how to get the pics off the DS and onto, say, my Facebook profile pic. That would be awesome!!
Anyways, it was a great moment of total ridiculousness and laughter with my daughter and nieces. And I loved it. I'm enjoying my kids more as they get older. I have friends who are great baby moms, but that's not me. I love babies, but I love bigger kids that you can chat with and play with and hang out with. Not that I ever intend to be just another "friend." Not a chance. This mom wears her motherhood fiercely and proudly-- like a mama bear. But it sure is nice to know that in a few minutes, when they are tired, the two oldest of my temporary tribe of 5 will put themselves to bed. Phew!
Speaking of my temp tribe. We decided to tell people around here that they were all mine: 13, 11, 8, 8, and 3. We certainly have gotten looks in this land of 1.34 average children per household! ;o) But at the end of the day, I'm so glad that they aren't all mine! I can handle 3 most of the time. 5? I'd probably eat a couple.... that's my recessive hamster momma genes coming out.
:oD
Thursday, August 4, 2011
You can go home again!
And then you find how much better your life is!
In LA with my kids for a week or so, staying with my parents. Drove my kids by my old high school (yeah, they were about as impressed as you are with this picture!). It still looks pretty much like a prison. I had vague memories of the time I spent/wasted/endured/enjoyed there. I remembered my friends crying when it was our final day of our final year-- they were sad their lives were over. Yep, I thought that was lame then too.
Isn't it wonderful that high school ends? That people grow up and that life gets better? What's crazy to me is that my 20 year reunion is only a handful of years away. No way! I can't be *that* old! Will I go? Hmmm, we'll have to see. :o)
 |
| Good (?) old Moorpark High... I still even remember the lame alma mater song! |
In LA with my kids for a week or so, staying with my parents. Drove my kids by my old high school (yeah, they were about as impressed as you are with this picture!). It still looks pretty much like a prison. I had vague memories of the time I spent/wasted/endured/enjoyed there. I remembered my friends crying when it was our final day of our final year-- they were sad their lives were over. Yep, I thought that was lame then too.
Isn't it wonderful that high school ends? That people grow up and that life gets better? What's crazy to me is that my 20 year reunion is only a handful of years away. No way! I can't be *that* old! Will I go? Hmmm, we'll have to see. :o)
Monday, August 1, 2011
My New Motto
"Surviving the end of summer one
Otter*Pop at a time!"
Last night I had two otter pops at once-- one green, one blue. I took turns eating them. This will definitely be the "Summer of the Otter Pops." Almost through my second box... though I didn't eat ALL of the first box myself.... really.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
One of those days
It was one of those days. Well, really, one of those mornings. I ended up listening to this song on my iPod as I drove my son to school. I've heard it many times before but today one of the lines really stood out to me:
"A single battle lost, but not the war."
In the gloom and guilt I felt, a small lightbulb went on. It went bad. It got ugly. It's not all over though. It's a "single battle" that went bad, not the whole thing.
Ah ha. I can handle losing a single battle now and then-- heck, even losing a single battle every day. But I'm not quitting. I keep trying and going and trying and going and getting back up.
I might be barely breathing, but I'm not dead.
And tomorrow is another day and we'll try again.
Friday, July 22, 2011
50!
For the first time ever in my life, I rode 50 miles on my bike in one week. Whoa! I'm pretty impressed with myself. Now I have a functioning "CatEye" on my bike that measures exactly how far I go and how fast I'm riding. I'm pretty proud of myself right about now!
Next Step? Do it again!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Electric
Every so often I have a writing class at the juvenile detention center that is electric-- powerful and intense. Today was one of those days.
The class started off a bit rough. Today was my first day teaching when the kids were out for summer break and it seemed like more than half of them had to be woken up from a nap. They had a hard time getting going and staying focused. At one point, one of the main staff members interrupted me and reminded the teens that they were obligated to participate in my writing class as part of the overall O&A program.
I had each member-- there are 18 of them so the class is full!-- read their poetry assignment. Then I moved on to non-fiction. We briefly defined it and some of the kids shared with me the last non-fiction book they read. Without any interlude, I grabbed three books off the bookshelf I keep up for the kids. I showed the first two: a book on teen dating violence and one based on the Freedom Writers movie. Then I showed briefly the cover of my own book, opened it up, teased the kids that it was nap time again, and read a chapter.
I fully expected some of the kids to nod off, but within a few minutes of me reading the chapter, the entire room was riveted. All the kids were sitting silently in their seats. Even the two staff members were intently listening. I read the chapter and when I finished I closed the book and said "that was me. I wrote that book." You could feel the electricity in the room crackle as that realization sunk in.
In a nutshell, I told them my story and the experience of picking myself up and remaking my life. I told them how heart-broken I am to know that many of my students have experienced personally the horror of being emotionally and physically beaten down by someone who claims to love them.
I held up my hand: "You can hate my class. You can hate me making you writing poetry. You can even hate me. But two things you can never, ever say about me are: one, that I don't care, and two, that I don't know firsthand what it's like to be beaten down." I had tears in my eyes for that part. I think-- no, I know-- they could tell I cared.
Afterwards, two of the students who had given me a really hard time at the beginning of the class and last week came up and separately apologized for their poor behavior. The one kid looked at me with a totally different set of eyes, the change was that dramatic. His whole face and demeanor softened. I was no longer someone to fight against because I was forcing him to do junk assignments. Suddenly, I was a friend, I was safe to be trusted.
I'm grateful that I have the experience of being abused to share with my kids. The whole terrible situation is made worth it 100 times over when I can impact these kids and make them think. It makes it all worth it. Today was an awesome class and I look forward to next week when I am teaching my "labels" class. That is another electric class.
The class started off a bit rough. Today was my first day teaching when the kids were out for summer break and it seemed like more than half of them had to be woken up from a nap. They had a hard time getting going and staying focused. At one point, one of the main staff members interrupted me and reminded the teens that they were obligated to participate in my writing class as part of the overall O&A program.
I had each member-- there are 18 of them so the class is full!-- read their poetry assignment. Then I moved on to non-fiction. We briefly defined it and some of the kids shared with me the last non-fiction book they read. Without any interlude, I grabbed three books off the bookshelf I keep up for the kids. I showed the first two: a book on teen dating violence and one based on the Freedom Writers movie. Then I showed briefly the cover of my own book, opened it up, teased the kids that it was nap time again, and read a chapter.
I fully expected some of the kids to nod off, but within a few minutes of me reading the chapter, the entire room was riveted. All the kids were sitting silently in their seats. Even the two staff members were intently listening. I read the chapter and when I finished I closed the book and said "that was me. I wrote that book." You could feel the electricity in the room crackle as that realization sunk in.
In a nutshell, I told them my story and the experience of picking myself up and remaking my life. I told them how heart-broken I am to know that many of my students have experienced personally the horror of being emotionally and physically beaten down by someone who claims to love them.
I held up my hand: "You can hate my class. You can hate me making you writing poetry. You can even hate me. But two things you can never, ever say about me are: one, that I don't care, and two, that I don't know firsthand what it's like to be beaten down." I had tears in my eyes for that part. I think-- no, I know-- they could tell I cared.
Afterwards, two of the students who had given me a really hard time at the beginning of the class and last week came up and separately apologized for their poor behavior. The one kid looked at me with a totally different set of eyes, the change was that dramatic. His whole face and demeanor softened. I was no longer someone to fight against because I was forcing him to do junk assignments. Suddenly, I was a friend, I was safe to be trusted.
I'm grateful that I have the experience of being abused to share with my kids. The whole terrible situation is made worth it 100 times over when I can impact these kids and make them think. It makes it all worth it. Today was an awesome class and I look forward to next week when I am teaching my "labels" class. That is another electric class.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Puppet Jumble
Our collection of puppets ended up on the ottoman in the living room. Can you spot the real one?
Monday, July 11, 2011
Kids In Mind Website
Want to know what's in a movie before you watch it? Check out Kids in Mind. It is, by far, the best kid-friendly movie review website that I've used. I love the specifics and details it gives me. I can see before we ever even check out RedBox or go to the movies what might be offensive in a movie. Love it! This is a must-use site for my mom friends!
http://www.kids-in-mind.com/
http://www.kids-in-mind.com/
the Power of Choices
I love Mormon Messages. I love watching them and being inspired by them. This one is probably the most powerful one I've seen. It hits right at the heart of the matter of a plague that is sweeping our nation with its sights directly on our young men and men. It's a plague of unheard of proportions. The disease of pornography is taking many hostages and destroying many hearts and lives.
Sometimes I feel like nothing can be done-- that all men will fall victim to the horror of pornography addiction. Then I realize it's all about choices. It all comes back to deciding now to protect yourself and your family. It can be stopped; it can be overcome; it can be prevented.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
"My Son" by Mark Schultz
This song came into my mind today as I watched a man leaning over to help his dying son in the hospital. I had to turn away to keep my tears in check. Later, as the song came back to me, I thought of my own son, and then my tears really started to flow.
I'm grateful for the Son of God who will make all broken things whole. One day, I'll have my perfectly happy, normal son and he'll have a perfectly happy, patient mother! It will be glorious!
Check In Time
When putting my 3 year old to bed, I used to just say "I'll check in with you in a little bit." Lately, he's wanted more specifics as to my time table.
"Will you check in on me?" he asks.
Yes.
"When?"
In 2 minutes.
"Two short minutes or two long minutes?"
Short ones.
"Two short minutes?"
Yes. (sometimes the short minutes changed to teeny minutes)
After a few days, he decided two wasn't good enough.
"Will you check back in one minute?"
Yes.
"One tiny, little minute or one super HUGE minute?"
Tiny.
"One tiny minute?"
Yes.
Last night, he upped the ante.
"Will you check back in no minutes?"
I'm checking on you right now. That's no minutes.
"Will you check on me in NO minutes?" he insisted.
Yes.
"No BIG minutes?"
Yes. I will check back with you in NO minutes.
Since time is relative to him, no minutes seems like a good point. Luckily, he doesn't know about negative integers yet otherwise I'd expect him to ask me to check in with him two BIG minutes ago. Then I'm not sure what I'll do! ;o)
"Will you check in on me?" he asks.
Yes.
"When?"
In 2 minutes.
"Two short minutes or two long minutes?"
Short ones.
"Two short minutes?"
Yes. (sometimes the short minutes changed to teeny minutes)
After a few days, he decided two wasn't good enough.
"Will you check back in one minute?"
Yes.
"One tiny, little minute or one super HUGE minute?"
Tiny.
"One tiny minute?"
Yes.
Last night, he upped the ante.
"Will you check back in no minutes?"
I'm checking on you right now. That's no minutes.
"Will you check on me in NO minutes?" he insisted.
Yes.
"No BIG minutes?"
Yes. I will check back with you in NO minutes.
Since time is relative to him, no minutes seems like a good point. Luckily, he doesn't know about negative integers yet otherwise I'd expect him to ask me to check in with him two BIG minutes ago. Then I'm not sure what I'll do! ;o)
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Why I do what I do in Juvenile Detention
The Starfish Story
Original Story by: Loren Eisley
One day a man was walking along the beach when he noticed a boy picking something up and gently throwing it into the ocean.
Approaching the boy, he asked, "What are you doing?"
The youth replied, "Throwing starfish back into the ocean. The surf is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them back, they'll die."
"Son," the man said, "don't you realize there are miles and miles of beach and hundreds of starfish? You can't make a difference!"
After listening politely, the boy bent down, picked up another starfish, and threw it back into the surf.
Then, smiling at the man, he said "I made a difference for that one."
Monday, July 4, 2011
Finally Home
I love this song. I love that the video has soldiers in too, but I love thinking about when I have my own heavenly homecoming!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Almost there....
June has been C.R.A.Z.Y.!!! I started my CNA class on June 5th and have put in 50 in-class hours and 22 clinical hours. I have 5 hours to do today and then 4.5 left and I am DONE!! I could have spread the class out over 6 weeks, but I wanted to be done.
I couldn't have done it without the help of my sis-in-law Anne. She has been a fantastic nanny for me on multiple occasions. My kids love her. I love her. She can drive my van. It's been awesome.
Once I'm done with class, then I have to study to take my state board exam and pass my skills test and then I'm a CNA. I will get that done in the 2 months I have before my EMT class starts because once I'm done with my EMT class I have to take the state board exam & skills test for EMT skills.
Phew. I'll be glad next year when all I have to do is take two classes a semester!
I couldn't have done it without the help of my sis-in-law Anne. She has been a fantastic nanny for me on multiple occasions. My kids love her. I love her. She can drive my van. It's been awesome.
Once I'm done with class, then I have to study to take my state board exam and pass my skills test and then I'm a CNA. I will get that done in the 2 months I have before my EMT class starts because once I'm done with my EMT class I have to take the state board exam & skills test for EMT skills.
Phew. I'll be glad next year when all I have to do is take two classes a semester!
Monday, June 27, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Write? .... Right? ... right
One of my daughter's best friends has a dad who is a very popular and well-known children's author. Yesterday while at Costco I ran into him and his daughter. As we chatted, I asked him about his career. The answers were good-- new book contract, working with his agent, a new book coming out, touring all over the nation doing presentations, etc. He's living the author dream.
Then he asked me-- "What are you writing?"
Me: "Uh, a nursing paper."
He was a bit confused. "No really," I told him, "I'm not writing. I teach a writing class in juvenile detention and I blog about writing, but I don't actually write."
It was an awkward moment. I went on to explain I had started back to school and would be graduating sometime around the time our daughters graduated from high school. The conversation got slightly less awkward and then Hey! Look at those licorice samples! And Hey! It was good to see you! And See you around!
My hubby reminds me that life is like a cup of water. You can only spread the water so far. You can choose to put a little water on a lot of things or a lot of water on a few things. You don't have an endless water supply either. You have to make choices on what to focus on. I remember this a lot when I think about writing. So instead of walking away from my successful author friend feeling like somehow I've shortchanged myself, I felt fine.
I wish I was writing. I love writing. I think I'm a pretty good writer. But life is not conducive to me being a writer right now. I mean, I could be a writer, but that would leave less time for other things. And those other things, when it comes right down to it, are far more important to me than having my name on another contract or book cover.
Maybe one day I'll publish another book. Maybe. But if not, that's okay. Because along the way I'm doing a lot of other really great and neat and wonderful and fun and fulfilling things. And that's okay.
Then he asked me-- "What are you writing?"
Me: "Uh, a nursing paper."
He was a bit confused. "No really," I told him, "I'm not writing. I teach a writing class in juvenile detention and I blog about writing, but I don't actually write."
It was an awkward moment. I went on to explain I had started back to school and would be graduating sometime around the time our daughters graduated from high school. The conversation got slightly less awkward and then Hey! Look at those licorice samples! And Hey! It was good to see you! And See you around!
My hubby reminds me that life is like a cup of water. You can only spread the water so far. You can choose to put a little water on a lot of things or a lot of water on a few things. You don't have an endless water supply either. You have to make choices on what to focus on. I remember this a lot when I think about writing. So instead of walking away from my successful author friend feeling like somehow I've shortchanged myself, I felt fine.
I wish I was writing. I love writing. I think I'm a pretty good writer. But life is not conducive to me being a writer right now. I mean, I could be a writer, but that would leave less time for other things. And those other things, when it comes right down to it, are far more important to me than having my name on another contract or book cover.
Maybe one day I'll publish another book. Maybe. But if not, that's okay. Because along the way I'm doing a lot of other really great and neat and wonderful and fun and fulfilling things. And that's okay.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
"But"-Less Praise
Do you give praise often? Is it "but" free? I had an experience recently where the enormous amount of work I had done on a project was praised by those it helped, but it was always followed with a "but." By the 4th "compliment" I was more irritated than gracious.
"this is great work.... but...... it's not correct." or "this took a lot of time, but.... it's not enough"
Praise followed by a critique or a criticism isn't really praise. It's a veiled correction and can often feel demeaning. A simple little word attached to the end ruins any ability to praise or impress. Be free with your praise! Keep the "buts" where they belong!
"this is great work.... but...... it's not correct." or "this took a lot of time, but.... it's not enough"
Praise followed by a critique or a criticism isn't really praise. It's a veiled correction and can often feel demeaning. A simple little word attached to the end ruins any ability to praise or impress. Be free with your praise! Keep the "buts" where they belong!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Training Wheels
Part of my CNA class this month requires 4 clinical rotations at a local mega-size hospital and at a long term care facility. I've been so excited about going to the clinicals and having a chance to work with real people. Yesterday I had to go to the mega hospital (also known as the "Death Star" to some) to get my student ID badge and the immensity of that space overwhelmed me. It's HUGE! And I'll be one little CNA in training. And it's huge and my nerves started growing and growing. I kept wondering if I'd be able to do what I needed to do for my rotations. Would I be lost the whole time, wondering what was going on?
Later that day I was writing a note to a friend and was telling her about the experience of going to the hospital when a thought occurred to me. My ID badge says "STUDENT" very clearly on both sides. That phrase immediately tells people I'm in training and their expectations should be lower. I can't be expected to know everything; I'm there to learn. I could feel the pressure to perform lessening and my nervousness shrinking.
Then a little light bulb went on in my head. I need to list myself as a "STUDENT" in all the areas of my life! I'm a mom-in-training since I've never been a mother to this age of kids before. I'm still a wife-in-training because this is my first time being married for 13 years. I'm a librarian-in-training in my church since I've never done that before either. My whole life is a training ground and I'm covering new territory everyday. It's unfair/unwise/unkind to expect myself to know everything and do everything perfectly right because I'm still learning!
It was truly an "Ah Ha!" moment for me. Now I can visualize myself riding through life with my training wheels on and allowing myself the right to make mistakes, and even mess up royally sometimes. I'm a "STUDENT" of this life.
And guess what? So are you! We've all got our training wheels on!
Later that day I was writing a note to a friend and was telling her about the experience of going to the hospital when a thought occurred to me. My ID badge says "STUDENT" very clearly on both sides. That phrase immediately tells people I'm in training and their expectations should be lower. I can't be expected to know everything; I'm there to learn. I could feel the pressure to perform lessening and my nervousness shrinking.
Then a little light bulb went on in my head. I need to list myself as a "STUDENT" in all the areas of my life! I'm a mom-in-training since I've never been a mother to this age of kids before. I'm still a wife-in-training because this is my first time being married for 13 years. I'm a librarian-in-training in my church since I've never done that before either. My whole life is a training ground and I'm covering new territory everyday. It's unfair/unwise/unkind to expect myself to know everything and do everything perfectly right because I'm still learning!
It was truly an "Ah Ha!" moment for me. Now I can visualize myself riding through life with my training wheels on and allowing myself the right to make mistakes, and even mess up royally sometimes. I'm a "STUDENT" of this life.
And guess what? So are you! We've all got our training wheels on!
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Fair doesn't always mean Equal
Summer is a hard time for me as a mother. Not because I don't like having my children home, but because of the adaptations we have to make for our son so he can be happy and functional. I'm a stay-at-home mom. I am choosing to raise my kids and be here for them as much as I can. I am very lucky because I can do this. Unfortunately, my son does not function well at home. Without the strong external structure of school, he flounders. Weekends are tough anyways, three-day weekends quickly turn into nightmares. Summer break.... it gets bad.
The first summer we had our son with us, I tried my hardest to create a completely structured environment for him during those three months. It wasn't enough. The second summer, at the recommendation of our counselor, we put our son in summer school and he did much, much better. Every summer since then, he's in summer school. And every summer morning, I, while wearing my house pants, drop him off at school even though my other kids are staying with me.
It's hard. I've struggled to not feel like a failure. I struggle to let go of my ideas of how it's "supposed" to be. I mourn for the ideal of a boy who spends a normal summer day running around the yard and riding bikes and playing and sleeping in and being a kid. I often end up dreading the experience of letting go of one of my kids because I am not enough for him, because I cannot meet his needs. I wonder if it is really fair to stick one kid in school while the others are home with me.
My son's counselor is a gift to our family. I'd be lost without his guidance and support. He is so good to remind me that fair does not mean equal and that love means doing what is best for your child, not necessarily what works well or what you expected. His counsel and advice helps me most days. There are still days when my heart is heavy as I drop off my son for someone else to tend and teach. I look forward to the day when school starts and he can be like every other boy his age and go to school.
For the past few months, we have been working with our son's counselor and psychiatric nurse to find a more suitable medicine for him. It's been very, very, very difficult. We have seen firsthand what he's like with no medicine to stabilize him and even then we couldn't bring ourselves to let him go all the way down into a mood spiral. The gap between where he is now and where he should be is growing ever wider, and the sense of loss over what he could/should become is powerful enough some days to steal my breath away.
I love this kid with a crazy, intense, overprotective passion and yet it's not enough to heal him or make him all better. My love can't make him a normal, everyday kind of boy. But I keep trying to put up the boundaries and stabilize him through counseling & meds & structure & anything else I can possibly think of. I won't ever quit on this boy, even though many days I wonder if I'm as terrible of a mom that he tells me I am. I'll keep trying and pushing and loving and supporting and fighting to make his life good. And it won't be equal, but it will be fair. It won't be exact to his brother & sister, but it will be what he needs the most. And hopefully, in the long run, it will be enough.
Last week, after a really terrible day and night, I pulled my car into the summer school parking lot. Instead of jumping out, I stopped and turned around to look at him. "One day," I told him, "you will be able to see how everything I am doing is because I love you so much. One day, you'll know just how much I love you." I dropped him and drove home crying because I can only hope that I am right-- that one day he'll know how much I love him and how much I'm fighting for him and loving him and going against the odds to help him grow. Maybe one day, he'll see how fair everything was.
The first summer we had our son with us, I tried my hardest to create a completely structured environment for him during those three months. It wasn't enough. The second summer, at the recommendation of our counselor, we put our son in summer school and he did much, much better. Every summer since then, he's in summer school. And every summer morning, I, while wearing my house pants, drop him off at school even though my other kids are staying with me.
It's hard. I've struggled to not feel like a failure. I struggle to let go of my ideas of how it's "supposed" to be. I mourn for the ideal of a boy who spends a normal summer day running around the yard and riding bikes and playing and sleeping in and being a kid. I often end up dreading the experience of letting go of one of my kids because I am not enough for him, because I cannot meet his needs. I wonder if it is really fair to stick one kid in school while the others are home with me.
My son's counselor is a gift to our family. I'd be lost without his guidance and support. He is so good to remind me that fair does not mean equal and that love means doing what is best for your child, not necessarily what works well or what you expected. His counsel and advice helps me most days. There are still days when my heart is heavy as I drop off my son for someone else to tend and teach. I look forward to the day when school starts and he can be like every other boy his age and go to school.
For the past few months, we have been working with our son's counselor and psychiatric nurse to find a more suitable medicine for him. It's been very, very, very difficult. We have seen firsthand what he's like with no medicine to stabilize him and even then we couldn't bring ourselves to let him go all the way down into a mood spiral. The gap between where he is now and where he should be is growing ever wider, and the sense of loss over what he could/should become is powerful enough some days to steal my breath away.
I love this kid with a crazy, intense, overprotective passion and yet it's not enough to heal him or make him all better. My love can't make him a normal, everyday kind of boy. But I keep trying to put up the boundaries and stabilize him through counseling & meds & structure & anything else I can possibly think of. I won't ever quit on this boy, even though many days I wonder if I'm as terrible of a mom that he tells me I am. I'll keep trying and pushing and loving and supporting and fighting to make his life good. And it won't be equal, but it will be fair. It won't be exact to his brother & sister, but it will be what he needs the most. And hopefully, in the long run, it will be enough.
Last week, after a really terrible day and night, I pulled my car into the summer school parking lot. Instead of jumping out, I stopped and turned around to look at him. "One day," I told him, "you will be able to see how everything I am doing is because I love you so much. One day, you'll know just how much I love you." I dropped him and drove home crying because I can only hope that I am right-- that one day he'll know how much I love him and how much I'm fighting for him and loving him and going against the odds to help him grow. Maybe one day, he'll see how fair everything was.
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