Look Up at the Stars, Not Down at the Mud

She was a quiet and mild woman, until you made her angry.  Then, she morphed into Hurricane Louise.  Even when she was her most angry, she kept a cool exterior with nothing more than a scowl that meant Hell was about to be unleashed.  She was fire and ice.  

Growing up, she taught me about the joy of still pastimes and peaceful play.  She would take me outside, into the woods near our cabin or where she grew up in Tennessee, and tell me to listen to what nature had to say.  Listen for the sounds of whippoorwills and various other birds, sounds of streams, sounds of the summer wind rustling the leaves of the old oak tree, or the echoes of whatever unseen wildlife scampering in the distance.  She would not ever appear to be the outdoorsy type – with her curled hair, lipstick, tailored wardrobe, and high heels.  Underneath her skin lived a woman who knew the trails of South Pittsburg, the mountains of Alderson, and all things Earthly.  She’d lead me through these forests, holding my hand, and would stop to show me everything.  She’d collect a handful of her favorite wild blackberries to share.   She’d reach down and pluck a sprig of spearmint and tell me of how she brushed her teeth when she was a young, poor girl during the Great Depression.

She made her way through poverty to grow up and become a college graduate, a member of the University of Dayton Aerospace Mechanics Research Department, a business owner, a mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother.  Even though her own mother passed on when she was only 6, she still managed to overcome so many of life’s obstacles without much of a complaint.  I was, and still am, in complete awe of her. 

She spoiled me from the day I was born.  Elaborate playrooms for all of my neighborhood friends, fresh fruit platters with her famous dip, vacations in our camper, swimming, museums, plenty of backyard recreation, and anything we ever wanted.  There was still plenty of emphasis on sharing, caring for others, respecting our fellow humankind, and the importance of excelling in education.  She worked hard and was a wonderful role model.  She was a talented needle artist – crochet, cross stitch, embroidery, and sewing.  She made me dolls, doll clothes, doll bedding, my own dresses, and costumes.  I’m not entirely sure, but I think she had a time turner.  She collected antiques and books and prepared herself a substantial library in our basement, divided in sections, and complete with a card catalog.

We’d spent the better part of 1998 perfecting our potato soup recipe.  She and my dad owned a convenience store together and after he was diagnosed with cancer that year, I joined the family business to help ease the stress.  We worked side by side by side and I loved and hated every minute.  By the time I was 23, she’d become my best friend.  She loved spending time with The Oldest.  She taught him to love asparagus and made him full plates of bacon to snack on and The Legend of Zelda (because she was an avid gamer).

The end came slowly.  She fell apart a little at a time. It wasn’t noticeable to those of us that spent every day with her.  I see pictures of her now from then and wonder how I didn’t see it.  It was so subtle.  A doctor visit here and there and then news that didn’t carry the weight that it should have.  Congestive Heart Failure, a blocked valve, and an aneurysm.  This stubborn old woman’s clock was wearing down and for as slowly as it was creeping it was tremendously fast. 

There is no real way to prepare yourself for that call, for that face to face meeting with a  cold police officer, for hearing those words, for seeing that sight, for holding your father up,  and for breaking that news to someone else.  Severing a bond that strong is unimaginable and I hope that it’s the worst pain that I ever experience.  She brought the life, this mother of mine, into the house and into my world, with her final heartbeat all was vacuumed out.  With an emptiness that can only be understood by those who have touched it – I robotically finished the day.  I held her hand and kissed her soft cheek one final time and closed the door to the room that held her last breath and felt a numbness that I cannot describe.  There was silence inside of her and I felt it inside of me.  And every August 4 from then to now and beyond – I remember that ache of nothingness. 

When times get hard, I speak to her as though she is still sitting on that couch or on the other end of the telephone receiver.  I sometimes unload my burdens to her and imagine her gentle, wise responses.  Her voice is still rich in my head and my mind can piece together words from old conversations to form the guidance that I need.  Poetic stitching replaces motherly advice.  A handmade doll reflecting an uncanny likeness to her face that sits on my dresser fills in for that physical void even though it doesn’t hug back.  I am left to travel through life with ghosts and on most days that’s enough.  But today, I long for arms and voices and being five with my hand small in hers listening to the crisp sounds of crunching foliage underneath our feet and innocently looking up to her smiling face, completely oblivious of this pain. 

Obi-Wan, You're Our Only Hope!

Breaking out my best Leia impression and mustering up my calmest, least snarkiest, most empowering, annoyed, sarcastic tone for this post.  Carrie Fisher take the wheel...

I came across this article this morning.... And usually I swipe on by because, frankly, unless it's a fellow mom - I don't much care. Most blurbs about autism are full of stats that came in the disheveled, half torn, half chewed, droll covered, wine soaked, and smeared "handbook" that comes with a new diagnosis.  Some are all about miracle cures up to and including bleach cocktails.  Many are, indirectly, stating that death from some horrible disease is a more fortunate fate than the "disorder" that my child lives with on a daily basis.  And the damned comments.  Cripes, people.  What THE ACTUAL FUCK is wrong with those people?

This morning I was feeling froggy.  It was a local article doing some Q&A with some new therapist with some new practice touting its success with bridging gaps between ASD kids and educators.

She's the Autism Whisperer.

We are saved.

Maaaaaybe I'm cynical.  Maaaaaybe this isn't the week.  I'm frustrated with our school system, again.  Maybe I'm pissed off that some dillhole community group page leader deleted my query looking for other kids that share the same interests as my son because she doesn't know how to read.  Maybe it's all the things.  All of them.  Maybe.

But she uses the most cringeworthy line I can think of - "We have hope."

Are you fuuuuuuuuuucking serious?  "Hope".  We have "hope".

What does that mean exactly?

We ran out of cheese, milk, bread, eggs, and peanut butter - but we have "HOPE!"

Congratulations, Spectrum Families - WE HAVE HOPE!!! HOPE HAS ARRIVED AND JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME!

Rejoice!

Plenty of hope to go around!  Form a line!

As if "Hope" has arms and legs, a pulse, shoulder length hair pulled back in a conservative, low bun, tortoise shell glasses, sensible shoes, and wears just the right amount of perfume.  She has her arms crossed and sleeves up and she's ready to kick some ass and take some names.

This is what people say that don't know what else to say.

This irritates me.  Obviously.

No shit we have hope.

Thanks lady.

I hope to win the lottery but that doesn't pay my bills.

That sounds dismal.  That sounds like everything else has failed and this is all that we have left.  Our Hope™.

Come back when you have Solutions.

Not solutions to the Autism puzzle but solutions to help make their lives the way they want them.  Encourage independence when possible.  Connect those in need with resources.  Help us advocate for our children.  Educate the public.  Foster compassion.

And for all that is good and holy in this world can we just get through a school year without having to ask a teacher to read the IEP?  Maybe attend a party where we aren't a sideshow?  Kid first, Autism second.  Please?

Keep the hope for World Peace, that the Kardashian's will quietly retire to some remote island with no social media, and maybe fat free cheesecake that tastes just like the real thing.

In Honor of Child Abuse Prevention Month

The fight started over food.  I was a "fat" little "wetback" who had no business eating this prestigious white man's food.  I remember thinking that I just wanted to go home.  Home to my biological grandparents.  Home, where I was safe and had enough to eat and no one called me names (other than "smart" and "beautiful").  The homesickness combined with the unfamiliar ache of hunger brought tears to my eyes.  They over flowed.

My mom sat there next to me and tried to hug me.  He didn't allow that.  So he hit her.  This was not an uncommon scene with her.  My piece of shit biological father got off on the same kicks.  Her mental illness made her an easy target for wolves in Christian clothing.  And boy did they feast on her weakness.  With the way they both kept lapping it up - it must have been delicious.  This particular blow brought out a pained whimper.  I couldn't stand to see her suffer.  I wanted to kill that son of a bitch.  Being 6 years old didn't hamper my acute awareness of what was going on.  I don't think I have ever been naive.  Not even was I was 3, watching her get her face stomped in.  I knew what that bastard was going to do to her and I knew what this one would do too.  The blood from her lip was bright against her skin.  My instinct was to hug her and when I tried, I got a matching wound.

This man was nothing short of a calculating, sadistic fuck who thoroughly enjoyed his role.  He knew how much it hurt the both of us to watch the other writhe and he used it against us.  I tried to understand what he was thinking.  I asked him why I wasn't allowed to eat.  My insolence led to more slaps.  My crying from said slaps resulted in punches.  My mom would try to comfort me and she'd endure more hits.  You lose a lot of the sense of time when you're sitting there like that.  Really, you have no idea if minutes or days pass.  At the same time, it escalates quickly.  After my final attempt to be with my mom failed, he made sure that I wouldn't try again.  His belt was already off, because nothing drives points home quite like leather, so he wrapped it around my chest and secured me to the spindles of the wooden chair.

He loved to hear himself talk.  I imagine that delivering racial slur filled hate sermons to a little girl was empowering to him.  He soaked up that power and it energized him.  I was so scared.  At this point, pain was really non existent.  You grow numb and callused after a while.  I was more so scared of the unknown.  He could walk away right now and leave me here or he could keep this up all night.  He chose the latter on this particular evening.  Then, when he'd had enough, he went to bed, dragging my mother along.  I stopped crying, maybe that's why he walked away.  But I was left there, alone, in the dark, still attached to the chair.  This was only the introduction.

Those memories are ingrained in my head.  They are like physical scars all over my soul.  Those, and the ones after.  While they are no longer abscesses, they remain present.

Child abuse happens to kids of all walks of life.  It comes in different shapes, colors, textures, and varieties.  If you get to survive, you are rewarded with trust issues where you walk around flinching for years to come, whether there's a threat or not.  You get to carry with you new self esteem issues that you didn't have before or self abuse to put control back into your own hands.  The aftermath is almost harder to endure than the abuse itself.  You grow accustomed to knowing where you stand - on the lowest rung.  You become comfortable with your position - submitting to someone else's sick commands.  You can't fall any lower.  The ground is stable.  It's when you climb out that Phase 2 begins.  The light of Freedom shines and most would think that this is a dream come true.  And it is, just not for a long time.  It freaks you out.  You start to come to grips with what happened to you.  You get to this safe place and after a bit it starts to sink in - what happened is not normal, it's not okay, and now you're really fucked up.  Now you're like a wild animal being tamed.  You bite the ones who are trying to help because you forgot (or were never shown) what good people really are.

Every year for the last 5 years or so, I've used Facebook to educate people of facts of child abuse.  But, after a while, people just scroll on.  It's a bunch of stale % signs and "1 in"'s.  So, I thought I'd share an incident from my life to personalize several facts.  Child Abuse is real.  Child Abuse can be stopped.  Child Abuse doesn't have to be the end of a life.  Child Abuse has consequences (a 1.5 year prison sentence in my case).  Child Abuse has lifetime impacts.  I wish someone would have stopped it that night.  It was a busy apartment complex.  I wish someone would have called someone and spoke for me.  If you know that a child is being abused (physically, emotionally, sexually) and you do nothing - please remember this and : and The Bright Side is Suicide.

If you need help or need to report abuse, please visit one of the links below.

Rainn

Report child abuse

Child Abuse Prevention Month 2015

1 (800) 273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

The Bright Side is Suicide

Several weeks ago, one of my nearest and dearest friends witnessed a human being become a memory in the hearts and minds of his loved ones.  This happened some two thousand miles away and far from my front door.  We didn't talk directly about it.  But this moment,in social networking updates of the past, has impacted me so much so that I'm writing this to you, right now.

My youngest, who is now 5 (yes, blog slacker, I know) and started his first day of kindergarten, has a morbid side to him.  He talks about death regularly.  Curiosity, fear, immortality, bravery - they are just small facets of these discussions.  He asks me if I will still love him when I'm dead.  I reassure him that my love is not something he will ever have to worry about.  I explain that the love of a mommy is the strongest love ever.  And it brings me to tears, every time.  There's a pain associated with it that aches my core.  I can, literally, feel it in my heart.

Then, another, ugly thought creeps into my soul.  That person, the one who was ended, by a gunshot, that person had a mother.  Maybe she was like me.  Maybe she looked into the eyes of her young son and felt pangs of terror in the thought that one day - their physical bond would be severed.  But hers came true.  Someone, in one instant, put an end to some mommy's baby.  She felt his first flutters in the womb.  She cried, tears of joy, at ultrasound pictures.  She helped him get ready for his first day of school.  She kissed his hurties away and rushed to his room at night when he had a bad dream.  She's now missing her baby.  Crying at the mention of his name.  Falling asleep with a shirt that still smells like him or clutching his picture in her hand.  She will go the remainder of her life - wondering about what he'd be like today.  Would he have kids?  What would he have been?

That could be my youngest someday.  Or my Stormykins.  Or my Tabasco.  Or my Mini-Me.  Someday, it could be one of my babies that is slumped over, lifeless, on a sidewalk.  And it's completely out of my control.  I created these people, devote every second of my life to them, nurture them, teach them, hug them, hold them, laugh with them, watch them grow - and someone could get pissed off and take that away from me.  From the world and rob one of these babies of the life they have planned.  So I make it a point - every single day that I'm blessed to share life with these beautiful creatures - to be a little less angry when they dump milk on the carpet, break my possessions, interrupt my sleep, or take my last piece of candy.  I wish, somehow, someway, when one person goes to take the life of another, they could, for an instant, see that person through the eyes of their mommies.  I wish they could see how precious life truly is.

It makes me want to go back in time.  I know - kind of a left field thought, right?  Well, there was a time when I was hell bent for death.  I wanted so much to end myself.  Obviously, I lost that particular battle.  For which I am grateful.  Every single day. I want to put my hand on the shoulder of the troubled girl 20 years my junior, look into her tear filled eyes and tell her - There will come a day when you will want to live forever.  I want to sit her down and tell her that one day she will value life so much that hearing of the demise of a stranger will hurt her heart.  I want to explain to her that the pain she feels that drives her to this point, has an end.  Those moment where death seems like a release - they will be replaced with smiles and laughter.  I wish I could tell her that there will be rough spots, hurdles, pain - but those moments will be negated.  The hurt will be diminished.  Someday - she will look out of her backdoor, watch her baby daughter play happily with her brothers and death will be the furthest thing from her mind.  Because life gets better.

Maybe that walk in the darkness, those nights of wishing there'd be no morning, maybe that experience helped me appreciate the utter beauty of life.  There is no pain, no anger, no tangible thing, no emotion, no dollar bill, no NOTHING - worth taking a life for (including your own). 

Dear God

Dear God,

 Let me start off by saying - I'm sorry for the crappy things I have done.  I've made some serious mistakes.  I've hurt people that I love.  I've broken so many commandments.  I've been wrong more times than I can count.  I'm imperfect.  In the past I've been selfish and self centered.  I didn't read my Bible.  I didn't go to church.  I broke my marriage vows.  I've been so angry at Ex Douchebag for leaving me the way he did that I got wrapped up in it.  I cannot take back anything I have ever done and I wish I could sometimes.  The last year I've been working on getting on the right path.  For myself, for my family, for my children.

I remember why I walked away from You.  I thought I was left behind.  My sisters & I were living in squalor and being raped by a sicko that claimed he was a Christian.  In my 8 year old mind I thought that no God that I'd read about would abandon me like that.  I'd never done anything wrong.  I got straight a's and did everything I was told.  I prayed my hardest.  Why would You leave a good little girl?  Why would You let me hurt.  I see now that I was given strength to survive and sense to go forward and go to police.  I was given the courage to stand and fight to get out.  But back then... well...all I wanted to do was end my own life.  The images in my head haunted me and tormented me.  I took it out on myself and everyone around me.  I swore I'd worship Satan himself before I'd trust You again. I'm sorry.  Sincerely. 

Now my Middle Son is hurting like I did (for different reasons).  He is so much like me that I'm scared for him.  His little eyes fill with tears that I cannot stop.  Watching your child hurt and knowing that there is nothing you can do to stop it - well You know what I mean.  I've tried to reassure him.  I've tried to hug him and kiss him and hold him.  I've tried therapy.  I have tried love.  I've tried explaining to his father that this "here one minute, gone the next" attitude is taking a toll on him.  He's talked about killing himself.  He's talked about hurting others.  He's reverted to an infant when I try to talk about the hard stuff.  I've spent the last 6 months with Ex Douchebag trying to put our marriage back together because it's what I thought was best for our kids.  It's not that he doesn't understand what is going on - it's that he does.  Way more than he's been given credit for.  Honestly, I think he understands even more than adults do.  It's taking it's toll on him.  It feels like all I can do is watch.

So God - I'm on my knees in front of the whole world.  Help.  Make it stop.  Fix it.  Be with him.  My little baby didn't do anything wrong.  I did.  Ex Douchebag did.  Not Middle Son.  God please.  Just protect my baby from our thoughtless, impulsive and stupid decisions.

Thanks for listening.

Divorcemas Eve

Tomorrow morning I will wake up for the last time as a married woman.  I find myself sitting here reflecting on 12 years with someone who started as my best friend and ended with someone I barely recognize.

We were happy.  Not all the time.  There were some serious downs but for the most part we spent so much time so incredibly happy.  And I'm not just making that up.  Or glossing over the facts.  We were happy.  The last few years though - well, they took their toll.  Criticize me as you'd like but even now when I look at him and into those eyes somehow I still see the other half of my soul and love him with all of me.

My wedding ring is on a silver chain in a special place.  I never once looked at it and saw a shackle.  I looked at it and saw my past, present & future.  Sometimes I slip it onto my finger and remember that happy day - Valentine's Day - years ago.  If I close my eyes and catch a quiet moment in the house I can still remember giggling like an idiot at the way the diamonds sparkled and how funny it was that I couldn't figure out which hand his was supposed to go on.  I can still hear Pastor Sam's marital advice during our wedding ceremony.  And wearing my "moms" dress.  I felt so safe and secure by his side.  I felt full.

I can distinctly remember that instant in 1999 when our eyes met for the first time.  He was wearing these silly snapping pants and a Nike shirt, his blonde hair in a pony tail and white gym shoes.  When he spoke to me I felt this tug inside of my and something just said to me "Home".  I just felt this overpowering feeling that I was supposed to be with him.  My gut said that this man was the missing pieces of me.  Like somehow God made us to be One.  

We cannot take back the actions of the last year.  Sometimes I don't want to.  Most of the time I'd give my right arm to erase it all away.  The part that cuts me the deepest is that he is not thinking the same thing.  He is happy with her.  Acceptance of this is unbearable at times.  How can it have meant so much to me and so little to him?  Where is my husband and how on earth can I get through to him? 

For the most part I don't cry anymore.  At least not outwardly.  I nod & smile and go through the motions as if I am doing the most ordinary thing in the world.  Distractions come easy in the form of 4 terrific children and 3 jobs, great friends, extraordinary family.  The truth of the matter is that I can't sleep in our bed anymore.  I sleep on my couch so that I don't feel so alone.  Couches we used to take naps on together.  It doesn't feel as empty.  Everyone tells me that he's not the same person anymore and that he is hollow.  He is gone.  Like somehow I need a reminder.  No one knows better than me.  That does not halt the grieving process.  If only that made it easier to bear.  The weight of his absence is bearing down on me like nothing I could ever explain. 

Do you think if I place wedding photos, centerpieces, toasting glasses, ring and favors by the fireplace, a lock of his hair under my pillow, his old shoes on the porch or leave cookies out maybe the Husband Fairyclaus will bring him back?  Maybe, just maybe, all the Kings Horses and all the Kings Men....... nah.  I guess not.

Realistically - I will walk into the courthouse with my head high and eyes dry.  I will say what needs to be said and sign whatever paper I have to sign.  Inside I will scream that I don't want this.  No one will hear my cries or see my tears.  I will smile in spite of every painful step.  My heart is breaking but life has to keep going.  Just for me though I will say one last prayer that something somehow keeps this from happening. 

I won't hold my breath.

The Glamourous Life of the Single Working Mom

3:21 a.m. - I finish up the mailers I was doing for work.  They are all stamped and ready to go out in the mail.  My eyes are rolling.... it's time for bed.

4:43 a.m. - Mini-Me rustles in her sleep and hunger pangs wake her.  I'm in my bed 10 feet in front of her.  Just the sounds of her rustling in her crib wakes me.  I look at the clock and listen to see if she is just tossing or if she is going to get up.  Much to my dismay - it's the latter.  She starts to cry.  I get up.  Hit my shin on the end of the bed and I can't scream because it will scare her.  I pick her up, carry her to the kitchen where I open the fridge and realize I didn't prepare formula before I passed out.  So I make her a quick 4oz bottle and hope it's enough to top her off and get her back to sleep.  We make our way back to the bedroom.  I step on a Beyblade one of the boys left in the hall.  But I'm so exhausted that I'm too tired to whimper.  We crawl into my bed - yeah a big no no- and I give her the bottle and she starts to doze.  She finishes it.  The sensation of me taking it out of her mouth startles her awake again.  The 4oz wasn't enough.  We do the above over again.  She falls back to sleep around 6:00.

6:47 a.m. - The Oldest is up.  He shut his bedroom door and I'm awake again.  I nod off just in time to hear him shut the front door which wakes Mini-Me.

7:00 a.m. - We head to the living room as it is clear that she is not going to go back to sleep.  I put her in her high chair so that I can prepare breakfast.  I give her some baby puffs to tide her over.  She is happy & giggling.  She picks them up in her beautiful baby fingers and shoves them into her face.  I don't even know if my eyes are open.  I move the remnants of last nights dinner plates to find my coffee pot.  Sweet salvation from the grog.  Then I clean off a space on the counter to cut a banana for the baby girl that I love so much.

7:08 a.m. - Middle Son stirs in his room.  He wants to watch some cartoons before school.  So he turns on the television.  Youngest Boy is now up from the sounds of the television.

7:14 a.m. - Youngest Boy comes into the kitchen and asks for a bowl of cereal.  At this moment I realize I forgot to turn on the coffee pot.  Ugh.  I reach into the cabinet to pull out the last clean bowl.  I forgot to start the dishwasher last night.  Upon pouring the cereal I realize that we have no clean spoons.  So I improvise and give him a measuring spoon.  I get creative and tell him that it is so he can measure how many tablespoons of cereal he has today.  He is pleased and sits down at the table.

7:22 a.m. - I finish sweeping up the scattered baby puffs and banana cubes just in time to hear a familiar splash in the living room.  Youngest Boy has taken his bowl of cereal into the living room and, as usual, has spilled it on the floor.  I thank God for the hardwood flooring at this point. Youngest Boy runs to grab a towel and comes back with a dishrag that's not nearly big enough to clean the mess.  I thank him for the help and remind him that we eat in the kitchen.

7:28 a.m. - Middle Son would like some sausage links.  Thankfully these take 45 seconds in the microwave.

7:39 a.m. - I'm off to get weather appropriate clothing for all 3 of them.  The clean laundry is sorted into baskets in my bedroom.  I haven't had time to fold them.  So I dig.  The boys watch some television and fight over which program they are going to watch.  I have to play referee as I change & dress Mini-Me.

7:50 a.m. - I return to the kitchen to clean the plates & bowls from the boys' breakfast.  I rinse Mini-Me's high chair tray to prepare for lunch.  Finally I am able to pour my cup of coffee.

8:00 a.m. - I instruct Middle Son to get dressed and get his bookbag together while I pick up the laundry from the living room & kitchen. (Mini-Me's clothing, my socks, some dishrags & the towels from Youngest Boys earlier spill).  My alarm in my bedroom is going off.  The noise is enough to make me want to scream.  I have to run and shut it off.  I look at my bed and want to go back to sleep.

8:05 a.m. - Getting the first load of laundry of the day into the washer.  Mini-Me is now screaming from the living room and I ask Youngest Boy what he did to her.  He was just trying to give her hug.  I run to the living room to find her reaching up for me.  I carry her back to the laundry room to finish loading it and unloading the dryer onto my bed.  With 1 hand. 

8:08 a.m. - I remind Middle Son to get dressed for school.


8:13 a.m. - Youngest Boy is now dressed.  His pants are on backwards and he is wearing a pajama shirt that belongs to Middle Son.  Even his socks are on upside down.  I help to re-dress him.  We go through the run down of the proper way to dress.  He is wiggling and falls off the couch.  Crying ensues.  He wants daddy.  He wishes daddy would come home.  He wishes Daddy would leave Katie and come back to us.  Middle Son is frustrated now because he can't hear television.


8:17 a.m. - I remind Middle Son AGAIN to get dressed.


8:23 a.m. - I find my own socks so that I can get ready to head out the door.


8:30 a.m. - I have to block the television so that Middle Son will do what I have asked him to do repeatedly.  Finally he gets off the couch and gets dressed.  His pajamas are strewn onto the floor down the hallway and into his bedroom.  I ask him to pick them up and place them into the hamper.


8:37 a.m. - Middle Son cannot find last nights homework.  There is a mad hunt through the living & dining room to find it.  Mini-Me has now found something random on the floor behind the entertainment center and she has it in her mouth.  She is gagging now.  I run to pat her back and a nickel falls to the floor.  She is crying really hard now.


8:40 a.m. - My phone alarm goes off letting me know that it's time to head out the door to take Middle Son to school.


8:44 a.m. - Youngest Boy cannot find one of his shoes.  Middle Son is reenacting some fighting moves he saw on television.  He is oblivious to the search for Youngest Boy's shoe.  Youngest Boy is crying again.  He wants Daddy.


8:52 a.m. - The missing shoe is located under a box in the bedroom.  Youngest Boy thanks me for being a wonderful mommy and finding his shoe.  We are ready to go.


8:55 a.m. - I reach for my keys on the hook by the front door.  They are not there.  Youngest Boy used them to open his cash register toy last night and left them somewhere.  A mad scramble is on to find my keys.


8:57 a.m. - I give up my search for the keys.  I grab the spare and race to the van.  I get Mini-Me secured into her car seat.  I run to the other side to buckle Youngest Boy in.


8:59 a.m. - I get into the drivers seat and lock my seatbelt and press the button to shut the sliding door.  It shuts and then comes back open.  Something is stuck in the track.  I run over to the side and remove the Easter card my best friend sent me that was wound up in the track.  I'd question how it got there and express my sadness over losing the card but who really cares?  Just me.


9:00 a.m. - School begins.


9:02 a.m. - I pull out of the driveway and we're off to school.


9:07 a.m. - We arrive at school and Middle Son gets out.  He runs to the door and his pants slip down to expose a plumber's crack.  I realize he did not put on underwear this morning.  I call to him to tell him that he is to put on underwear every single day.  He tells me he forgot.  Now I send my son to school with no underpants.  Let's hope it's not gym day.


9:12 a.m. - We return home.  As I get Mini-Me out of her car seat I realize she has pooped.  It is up her back, inside her car seat and down her legs.  I pull her seat out and take her into the house.  Youngest Boy claims the television and announces he is still hungry and would like more breakfast.  I explain that I have to clean Mini-Me up first.  He misses Daddy again.

9:23 a.m. - I have completed cleaning Mini-Me.  As I enter the kitchen to dispose of the dirty diaper & wash my hands I spot my cup of coffee on the counter.  It's completely cold.

9:28 a.m. - I empty the washer into the dryer and fill it with Mini-Me's soiled clothing and the shirt I was wearing that is covered in baby poop.

9:33 a.m. - It's my best friend time!  The phone rings and my dearest friend in the whole wide world is on the other end.  She starts with her familiar "Duuuuuuuude what's up?" and I feel so comforted.  She has no idea what these calls every morning mean to me.  We could talk about the random license plates she encounters in the greater Chicago area or the cost of gas and I'd be the happiest woman on earth.  We spend about 30 minutes just chatting while I clean the counters & straighten up the house.

10:00 a.m. - It is time for work.  I sit down at my desk in the living room and find The Oldest's dirty breakfast dishes.  Grrrrr.... If he was home I would make him come & get them and put them into the sink.  But it's too late.  I make a mental note to tell him of this when he gets home.  As I take the dishes into the kitchen I realize I never started the dishwasher and we need dishes.  I have a portable dishwasher, not an in-wall kind.  After I get it all hooked up and soap filled I turn it on and return to the desk.

10:12 a.m. - Youngest Boy wants to watch The Legend of Zelda dvd for the billionth time.  Now.... where are the remotes?  Mini-Me is playing with her toys on the floor.

10:16 a.m. - Both the television & DVD remotes are located under my scanner cart and couch.  DVD is playing.  Mini-Me is content with a beanie baby and her musical steering wheel.

10:20 a.m. - I organize my desk and start my To-Do List for the day: Chapter 13 Plan Calculations & Additional Fee Applications.  I need to do math and organize timelines from notes in the system.  Somehow I find myself checking Facebook and updating my 30 Day Film Challenge.

10:27 a.m. - I log into work and begin the tasks at hand.  By now Mini-Me has crawled over to me to play at my feet.  She reaches over and shuts my computer off.

10:33 a.m. - My computer has restarted and I can log back into work.  The phone rings.  I click "ignore" so that I can focus on what I'm doing.

10:47 a.m. - After I've moved Mini-Me from the area that Youngest Boy is playing at his request he reminds me that he wanted another bowl of cereal please.

10:53 a.m. - The bowls and spoons are in the dishwasher.  I offer to make him a pb&j which he is okay with for now.

10:58 a.m. - I return to the living room/desk area to find Mini-Me with a pen in her mouth.  I take it away from her and she starts to cry.  She is rubbing her eyes and is sleepy.  OH YEAH - I forgot to mix formula.  I prepare about 32 oz that should get her through the day.  As I am doling out the scoops my phone rings again in the living room.  I just lost my train of thought and forgot how many that was.  Lucky for me I don't put those scoops directly into the water until I have measured them properly.  It's time to start over.

11:08 a.m. - Back at the desk with Mini-Me in one arm and bottle in the other hand.  I sit down at give her the bottle with one arm.  I am tapping keys with the other hand getting work completed.

11:11 a.m. - I close my eyes & make wishes for things that will never come.

11:17 a.m. - Mini-Me is asleep for her morning nap. She is warm and cuddly and I am reminded of my warm. soft bed.  Then I'm reminded that I need coffee.  My cup is in the kitchen on the counter still.  Cold.  If I get up I'll wake Mini-Me.  So there I sit - plugging away at my work longing for sleep or coffee.

11:45 a.m. - Youngest Boy is hungry again and the dvd has finished playing.  He decides to get a snack from the snack drawer and pulls the whole thing down.  He snatches the one that he wants and tells me I can have the tv since he wants to play in his room.  Mini-Me is now awake again.  She doesn't want to go play on the floor or in her excersaucer.  She wants me to hold her.

11:52 a.m. - Mini-Me pulls my work off my desk and scatters my papers onto the floor.  I move her high chair into the living room next to my desk and place her in it with some puffs & cooked veggies.

12:04 p.m. - Youngest Boy returns to the living room because he wants to play in here with his toys and watch another DVD.  I return to work.

12:25 p.m. - Mini-Me has had enough of her lunch and wants out.  I wipe her clean and set her tray on the table in the dining room.  I really need to finish my work.  She is back to playing in the floor only this time Youngest Boy has included her in his game.  I watch them play in awe.  They look so happy.  They are laughing.  Mini-Me is putting a blanket on her head and Youngest Boy is finding her.  I can't imagine a second of my life without them.  I want to sit on the floor and join them.  But if I don't work I won't be able to feed them and that's not okay.

1:00 p.m. - I finish one round of work.  Finally I get that cup of coffee.  Right as Mini-Me poops again.  Youngest Boy yells that she stinks.  It's up her back.  I have to catch her before it gets onto the floor.

1:08 p.m. - Diaper change complete.  She resumes her playtime with Youngest Boy.

1:39 p.m. - Youngest Boy would like lunch now.  Good thing the dishwasher is done.  I prepare his meal and realize I haven't eaten since dinner last night.  But I don't have time to fix anything.  So I top off my coffee and head back to work.

2:00 p.m. - After 2 phone calls and encouraging kids to play I cannot fight my hunger another second.  I go back into the kitchen and toss some leftover spaghetti into a bowl and start the microwave.

2:04 p.m. - Mini-Me is fussing and is bored.  I give her some different toys to play with and put her in her excersaucer for some jumping.

2:12 p.m. - Yet another phone call.  Since this is the 3rd one from the same person I finally just answer because it's clear she is in dire need.  She wants to complain about some poor treatment she got at the doctor.  That's all.  I am working at the same time.  Trying to listen and be a good friend because I do care. 

2:43 p.m. - Work is going smoothly.  Everyone is happy.  The microwave is beeping to remind me that I left my lunch in there forever ago.  But Mini-Me has had enough of the excersaucer play.  She's ready for another nap.  I lay her down and get her to sleep.

3:08 p.m. - The Oldest's bus arrives home.  He comes in and Youngest Boy yells.  Mini-Me is awake now.  I have to get dressed, finally, for the day so that we can go get Middle Son.  The Oldest & I talk about his day at school.  I instruct him to empty the dishwasher and tell him about him leaving his dishes on the desk. 

3:15 p.m. - I head to my bedroom to change out of my pajamas and into my clothes.  The cat has been asleep in my pile of clean clothes.  Fur is all over them.

3:22 p.m. - The Oldest calls to me from the kitchen asking me what's in the microwave as he is making his after school snack.  I forgot my lunch again.

3:28 p.m. - Mini-Me needs to be dressed.  Youngest Boy cannot find his socks that he took off earlier.  He's screaming at the top of his lungs and hitting himself in the head repeating that he is stupid. 

3:30 p.m. - School is out.

3:33 p.m. - We are out the door when I remember that I have to reassemble Mini-Me's car seat.

3:35 p.m. - Youngest Boy slips in the driveway and hurts his knee.  He is crying from the pain, for his daddy and for life when daddy was here.  I hug him & comfort him and kiss his knee.

3:38 p.m. - We pull out of the driveway and are en route to school.

3:43 p.m. - The Oldest runs into the school to get Middle Son.

3:50 p.m. - We are back at home.  The Oldest snags the computer before I get in the door.  Middle Son starts his homework which consists of a math paper that he doesn't understand and a book he must read aloud.  He is hungry as well and wants a snack.  The cupboard is just about bare.  I haven't had time to wrangle 4 kids to the grocery store.  And my paycheck was spread thin.  I had to pay the bills.  Ugh.

4:00 p.m. - The Oldest retreats to his bedroom and I go back to work.

4:23 p.m. - Youngest Boy and Middle Son start screaming at each other for control over the video games so that each one can pursue their 30 minute game allotment.  They both want the Wii and different games and they both want to go first.  Mini-Me is happily crawling to the sliding door so that she can watch the birds & squirrels from the window.   I want to sit down next to her or take her outside and play in the yard.  At least it's raining out and I don't feel like such a horrible mother.

6:00 p.m. - I've worked and handled the kids' every need.  Changed a diaper or 2.  Given a bottle.  I've separated them and resolved incessant fights.  Now it's time to make dinner.  The Oldest is helping to hold Mini-Me while I get dinner made.  I open the microwave to defrost the ground turkey to find my lunch from earlier.

6:42 p.m. - Dinner is done.  The boys take their places at the table and Mini-Me's high chair needs cleaned again so she can eat too.  The kids eat while I try to make sense of the mess in the kitchen from making dinner.

6:57 p.m. - I sit down to eat my dinner and it's cold.  Mini-Me is finished and wants out.  But she needs cleaned up.  So I shove 2 bites into my face and resign to getting her out of her seat and transporting her to the bathroom for a hose down.  Youngest Boy needs a bath but he doesn't want one.  I have to literally strip him of his clothing and put him into the tub.  He kicks & screams until he realizes he can play with Mini-Me with the toys.  They play for a while and I watch and clean them up.

7:11 p.m. - Mini-Me is the first out of the tub.  She is sleepy from the full belly & special bath soap.  I clothe her in her jammies.

7:31 p.m. - Youngest Boy has maxed himself out in the bath.  He races his naked patoot from the bathroom to his bedroom and comes out wearing his pj shirt as pants and pants as a shirt.  He knows it's all on wrong but wants to stay that way.  Middle Son has been looking up cheat codes on the computer.  The Oldest is back in his room watching Netflix.  Or playing his 3DS.

8:03 p.m. - While holding my precious daughter and singing her "You Are My Sunshine" no less than 25 times I get the dishes into the dishwasher and dance with her as to not suffer the same fate tomorrow morning with the measuring spoon.

8:25 p.m. - Something is on television.  I'm not sure what but I want to sit with the kids and hear about their days and lives and feelings and viewpoints.  So while I give Mini-Me her bottle we chat and simultaneously watch tv. The phone rings but I ignore it because this is the only time I get to spend with them that is not work.  I want to bask in it. 

9:00 p.m. - It's pick up time.  Everyone must pick up their messes and get ready for bed.  An inevitable fight between them ensues while I get to my second To Do List of the day and start round 2 of work.

9:30 p.m. - Bed time in the household.  The boys head to the bathroom to brush their teeth.  They come out and kiss me goodnight.  I feel like the most blessed mother in the world. 

9:43 p.m. - I return to my desk and begin clacking at the keys again.  Flying through work in the quiet peace of the house.  Mini-Me tousles every now & then on the couch.  But remains asleep.

10:18 p.m. - Another call - It's my sister and I am grateful for her voice too.  I love to hear about her day.  I work during our conversation.  I hope she doesn't think I'm not listening.

11:00 p.m. - I'm 100% focused on work.  Until he creeps into my mind.  I miss him a little and that is quickly replaced by anger when I see he was using my Netflix account all day to watch movies while I did all of the above.

Until 2-3 a.m. I am working.  It's quiet.  Sometimes he will text me.  He tells me about his ideas for wrestling matches I cannot attend.  He pours his heart out about things going on in his life.  Never once does he ask me about our day.  Sometimes he asks about the kids.  For the most part though it's all about him. 

There are trips to the doctor or the store or therapy or library or gas station.  It may seem like I am complaining.  Far from it.  I look into 4 sets of eyes every day and am overwhelmed by love.  This is my life.  I can't imagine being happy not doing this every day.

Freedom

When I was a little girl.. around 7 or so... my biological mother met a man who would change me.  I was not just your average straight "A" student.  In the 2nd grade I was promoted to 3rd.  I was under evaluation for the gifted programs.  I had a pink bedroom.  I loved to dress up and look pretty.  E.T. lived in my closet.  Riding bikes was my favorite pastime. I loved Little House on the Prairie.  My shoes always had to match my dress.  My hair was brushed every day.  I read my Bible every night.  My "parents" made me feel like the smartest, most beautiful girl in the world.  I'd had my share of rough patches but overall - I was the smart, pretty girl that everyone loved.  And I felt worthy.

This man came along and wooed my (bio) mother.  She hadn't been with anyone since my (bio) father left when I was 3.  She was putty in his hands.  Things moved rather quickly from there.  Dates quickly became an engagement.  The warning signs were there and my parents fought with my (bio) mom.  They noticed hickies on my neck.  Bite marks.  All of a sudden I wasn't an outgoing little girl anymore.  I stopped doing my homework.  I withdrew.  He liked to hit me a lot and call me names that I didn't understand.  But he liked to kiss me too.  I didn't understand those either. 

My (bio) mother stopped letting me see my parents due to these fights.  They fought for custody.  Instead it ended with visitation every other weekend.  Then my (bio) mom just stopped picking me up.  One day during the summer of 1986 I was outside playing with my friends.  I hadn't seen (bio) mom in a long time.  Felt like ages when you are that little.  I looked up and saw her smiling face.  And I ran to her with no shoes on.  Then she ran with me.  He was in a car around the corner waiting with his green teeth and his crooked smile that made my stomach turn.  I cried but it didn't matter.  He made it very clear what would happen to me if my "wetback" mouth didn't shut up.  I cried for hours anyway.  He tied me to a chair in the living room of my mom's apartment that night.  He beat me so badly that I stopped crying.  Just so it would end.  I don't know how long I was in that chair.  My mom came home later and got me out.

Lots of days were like this.  I was able to go home a few times.  There were lots of fights.  My parents - him - my (bio) mom - him - police..... It didn't matter.  Nothing saved me.  By this time I had a baby sister, Bean.  She was beautiful.  And squirmy.  And I didn't know what to do with her but mom would have to work.  So I took care of her.  Our parents would send us toys and he'd sell them.  They would call and he'd hang up.  They'd come to see me at school but I wasn't there anymore.  Angie was left in my arms a majority of the time.  Looking back I can't remember how I did it.  There are lots of memories there.  None of which I think I can share.  But I was smart enough to try to get help.  Unfortunately, my voice wasn't heard in time.  My sisters suffered.  I suffered.

Several years later he served time in prison for what he did.  A year.  Seems rather short for stealing the innocence of 3 little girls.  The damage was done.  I shut down.  I had nightmares where he was trying to rape me again.  If I had a boyfriend I'd have flashbacks and get confused as to who was kissing me.  Killing myself seemed like the only way out.  I tried.  My parents couldn't help.  He came to our house once.  He called often.  In response I'd cut my arms.  He stole my self confidence.  He robbed me of my self esteem, my self worth.  Even now - 25 years later- the damage is still at the surface.  I still feel it.  He got his karmic repercussions quite a bit over the last few years but nothing in comparison. 

Have you ever taken a narcotic pain killer - for a toothache or some such malady - and actually felt the pain leave your body?  You know, that instant that the pain you had is gone?  That's what I felt when I read his name in the obituary section of today's paper.  I'll never get back what was taken.  But I'll sleep better knowing I no longer share oxygen with him.  He will never lay eyes on my sisters, my (bio) mom, my kids - anything again.  I may put on a pretty dress, make a nice dinner and pour a glass of wine and toast to FREEDOM.