A RUDE awakening via Bullying 101.

Perhaps I am sheltered?  Perhaps I raise my children in said sheltered environment?  I didn't think so.  I was pretty sure we have dealt with our fair share of reality in the last seven or so years. It might sound naive, and I have always been accused as being such so it comes as no surprise, but what the heck are kids thinking these days and where the heck are their parents?!?!??!

For those of you who hadn't heard, Shane was punched in the face at Vista School Thursday morning.  It was by a kid who Shane has had problems with since last year.  Believe it or not the kid is bigger than Shane and I think since he is so big he needs someone close to his size to pick on since bullying a kid too much smaller than him would seem unfair.  Last year there was an incident in the locker room during gym period where the boy attempted to pull Shane's shirt over his head and arms to get him stuck.  Shane fought back and in trying to get away from the boy apparently the boy felt he got hit.  Shane said it was possible but it wasn't intentional - he was just trying to get away.  The p.e. coach didn't get anyone in trouble and the scuffle came and went.  Apparently to the other boy, "Michael", it never went.  Because since the first day of school this year he has been trying to get Shane to fight.  He has sent other boys up to Shane asking Shane if he wants to fight him.  Shane said he didn't.  Wednesday a boy came up to Shane and asked him again if Shane wanted to fight "Michael", Shane again said no.  So Thursday morning "Michael" himself approached Shane in the middle of passing period and confronted Shane saying he had heard Shane was talking "sh*t".  Shane explained he wasn't and that he hadn't said anything.  The boy asked Shane if he wanted to fight.  Shane answered that he didn't want to fight and didn't want any problems.  The kid then punched him.  One hit to the mouth.  Shane didn't fall, didn't go unconscious, and didn't fight back.  Some other boys pushed the bully back before he could get more hits in and Shane was taken to the nurses office.  I got the phone call and at first the nurse seemed only slightly concerned, saying Shane had been hit and that he "might" probably need a couple stitches to his lip.  I jokingly asked if I should bring my "spanking spoon" for Shane - just trying to find out if Shane had started something or needed a consequence at home for fighting.  The nurse told me no and that if anything I should take Shane out for ice cream.  I went down to the school to get him and walked into the nurses office where Shane was sitting with an ice pack on his mouth.  I was holding Abigail so I couldn't get too upset.  I sat down and listened to the principal explain that this other kid was completely at fault and all the witnesses all had the same story- even the boy who hit Shane admitted that Shane said he didn't want to fight.  The boy just said that he had been listening to other kids who were spreading rumors cause they wanted to see the fight and when Shane said no he didn't want to fight the kid just lost his temper and punched him.  They explained that because of the severity of the attack the boy would be suspended for 5 days instead of 3 and that Shane would have no consequences because he had done everything he could to prevent the situation from escalating.  Additionally, they informed me that since calling me they had increased concerns about Shane because he was becoming increasingly confused - asking what grade he was in and who hit him.  I took him to the ER and not two seconds in the car I knew something was wrong.  We got to the ER and the nurse called the cops since it was very obviously an assault.  The cop came, snapped a picture, was dismissive about the severity of the situation and advised me that he should just go "make contact" with the boy and his family.  Shane got five stitches, a cat scan, and was observed for his behavior.  I was informed that his behavior was normal for his injuries and that it could last up to 2 weeks.  We went home and the most difficult part of this experience began.

Shane thought it was Tuesday.  Normal.  Told him repeatedly it was Thursday.  He thought we lived in the house out on Jelly's Ferry with the pool that we lived in last summer.  Explained to him we had moved.  He thought he was in 7th grade and had no idea he played football.  A little scary but I just kept reminding him.  His questions were repetitive... like 6 times a minutes repetitive.  The same question came seconds after me having finished my response.  I only wish that was the worst of it.

He kept asking when he was going to see his dad.  He informed me of the visitation arrangement from last summer, repeatedly.  I gently reminded him he hasn't seen his dad in 8 months and that they don't have visits anymore.  He would cry - like sob - questioning why they don't see him anymore and what happened to their visits.  I would just briefly explain that it was okay, we were okay, and that they just didn't see him anymore.  I could see him think about it, mourn this new loss he was experiencing, and look at me with tears in his eyes and ask again.  "When do we go see dad?  Is it Tuesday?  Don't we see him on Tuesday night and every other weekend?"  And it would begin again.  I would tell him the sad news and he would process it like it was the first time he had ever heard it, he would cry and ask questions, and it was all I could do to not break down.  I had to excuse myself to use the bathroom more than once to pull myself together.  But he would come to the door and knock, and ask through the crack what day it was and when was he seeing his dad and did Uncle Tony still live in Oregon?  He didn't want to be alone, not even as long as it took me to use the bathroom.  The confusion in his eyes broke my heart.  His effort at trying to understand things I was telling him that he couldn't remember was so saddening.  I remember this feeling with Dion when she broke both of her wrists a few months back on Easter.  I remember longing to take the pain from her little body.  But that was physical pain.  The doctors could reset bones, administer pain medicine, and I could serve her ice cream for every meal and that seemed to make the whole ordeal that much more bearable.  This was a different pain; this was a mental pain that I would have given anything to prevent Shane from experiencing.  The only thing that gives me a bit of peace at this point is that he doesn't remember going through that.  He doesn't remember asking me questions or crying or following me around repeating himself.  Thank goodness.  Cause I don't know if I could bear much more.

This boy got suspended from school for 5 days... but was on facebook seemingly bragging about it just hours after his mom picked him up from school while Shane and I were in the ER getting stitches and a cat scan.  Fair?  I think not.  There were several girls on his page saying they had been crying and were upset that he wasn't going to be at school because he was a "great guy".  His sister was on there saying it was okay cause it wasn't "Michael's" fault that Shane couldn't take a hit.  Since when did sucker punching another kid and causing such injury become such a glorified thing?  The article in the newspaper said a boy went to the hospital after getting assaulted by another kid during a fight.... a FIGHT??  Uhmmmm, I beg to differ.  My kid was assaulted... PERIOD.  Not during a fight.  He was cold cocked in the face by a bully.  That's what it should have said in the newspaper.

Anyway, I am not out for blood but I do think there should be consequences... and justice for what Shane had to go through.  The other kid admitted to having anger management issues and says he just lost it.  What happens if he loses it again on another boy who isn't as big as Shane... or if his punch lands a few inches higher on some kids eye or temple.  5 stitches, a concussion, and a 5-day suspension will be a walk in the park compared to what could happen.  Anyway, I am pressing charges, and at times I feel at war with myself over whether or not that is the way to go.  Had this kid and his family approached Shane and I to explain that they were taking this serious, and if I felt like the boy was getting the appropriate consequences and teaching through this experience to give me a sense of safety that it won't happen again - I might be more apt to let them handle it.  But sadly that is not the case.

I won't even go on a rant about whether they should be responsible for medical bills.... or the hundreds and hundreds of dollars invested in Shane's football season (not to mention the amount of work he has gone through in order to play) and the fact that he will now be sitting out for many weeks to assure he doesn't sustain a concussion ontop of a concussion.... okay, the rant is beginning.  lol. Or the fact that he now has to endure an ENTIRE year of school with a constant reminder of what happened and even a persistent fear that it could happen again.  Grrrr!!

Pray that the outcome is a good one to this situation.

Mixed Emotions

What a wreck I am as I sit here to write this.  It was going to be this upbeat, excited, beaming post about how this morning went and how great my kids are.  Yet I can't stop the tears long enough to see the screen.  It's partially cause I just uploaded photos, partially cause when I went to type this I also read the last post I had written about Father's Day, and partially cause I am emotionally drained about other things going on in my life that the smallest thing starts this fountain of ridiculous tears that are constantly messing up my make-up.

I came across this poster this morning:

I wish I had this blown up, framed, and posted on a wall in my home.  This is so me.  This is so my home.

I try to remind myself that although at this point I can't offer my kids a lot of material things, I would go to the moon and back to make sure they have what they need.  Thankfully we have amazing family that helps.  Uncle Justin took them shopping for school supplies yesterday, which was amazing. (Thank you!!) And they got new shoes from Grammie, which was awesome. (Thank-you!!!)  And Shane doesn't have to use his football pants belt to hold his jeans up since he lost 25 lbs cause Grammie got him a new belt in the nick of time. (Shane thanks you!! lol)  And yay for hand-me-downs from the Newman family. (Thank-you Chelsey and Alyssa!)  Does it make me feel bad that I couldn't take them school clothes shopping - uhhhh, yeah.  Is that the end of the world?  No.  They didn't complain.  They never do.  That's what's so amazing about them.  And what makes me sob like someone who just lost their best friend.  My only saving grace are things like that poem that I found up there... I pray that when they are older they don't look back and realize what they didn't have, but instead remembered that one morning on their first day back to school that I got up early to make them pancakes with fresh strawberries, and scrambled eggs... that they barely ate cause they were all so nervous, but so considerately offered to save their plates for after school since they knew I went thru the effort of cooking them breakfast.

They all can't stand not being home all day to love on Abigail.  And I'm sure when she wakes up from her morning nap she will look around for them to come running or jump out from behind things and make her laugh like they all do every time she wakes up and we come walking down the hallway.

This morning Shane said it seems like this is the longest they have gone without seeing Mike, even though he knows it's not, because Shane realizes how many things Mike is missing out on at this time in their lives.  He's been gone for over a year before, this time it's been 8 months since they've heard from him.  Shane wishes Mike could see how hard he is working at football.  He's covered in bruises now that he got his pads and has lost another couple pounds in the last week.  My "good job, Son!!" means a lot to him, but probably pales in comparison to how much it would mean coming from a dad.  The girls already wonder who is going to take them to their father-daughter dance this year.

Despite not having their dad around, despite having recently lost Rory, even in the same clothes as last year - they all piled out of the car this morning, after a quick prayer for good choices, with smiles on their faces ready to "Do This!!" as they put it.  Ready to make friends with someone new who looks like they might need a friend, ready to meet their teachers and work hard, and ready to come home to tell me all about it.... and I'll be right here with Abigail, waiting to hear.


p.s. ~  Despite the seemingly depressing tone of this note I feel super blessed this morning.  I didn't mean for this post to be a sob story or a pity party.  It is our life, a part of it I don't talk much about because it stirs up mixed emotions of failure and hopelessness, a part I know the kids feel and notice but rise above.  I can only sit back in amazement at their resiliency and try to be more like them.

 "My Cup Overflows!!!"

A Painful Father's Day

I hesitated to write this. I have a lot of raw emotions on this day; and for those who know me (or know any female for that matter) raw emotion + blogging = scarred for life! But I think I've had a lot of years to think about how I feel about Father's Day as it pertains to my older children's dad - although, when I realize how long it's been since he's been a good dad it is disheartening to accept that my emotions are still so raw. I do know Mike is not himself. I know the drugs, the lifestyle, and the demons that reside within him cause him excruciating pain. I know the statistics on meth and the possibility of recovery, or lack thereof. I also know that our Father in Heaven is a powerful, powerful God - and if only Mike would just reach out to him. If he would just only see what he is doing and how each day that goes by is tragically wasted. And that the continued pain that he is causing our children is constantly chipping away at their self-worth, at their level of trust, and at their hope... and my biggest fear is that those surely millions of chipped away pieces from the last 7 years of their lives with be the sum of a life long battle with establishing and maintaining healthy relationships and healthy boundaries, and an inability to trust... anyone. I feel like if only I could just love them that much more. If only I could make sure that they grow up knowing that no matter what and no matter when - that I will be there, no matter. I think I might be failing...

I go back and forth between wishing Mike would stay gone and begging for God to pull him out of his pit. But most of all, more than either one of those things... I wish whatever he decided to do he would just do. He would make up his mind and get well or get gone. Coming and going, I think, it why I still have such raw emotions - it's why the kids are still hurting daily. It's been 6 months next week since the kids saw him (except for the two times we attempted to get their belongings from his house). And this time that he's been gone is the 5th time in 7 years that he's left, once even for over year we didn't hear from him. My kids attempt to heal. I attempt to heal. I answer the sometimes nightly questions, "When is dad going to call?", "Can we call dad?", "Where is dad?". More often than not I don't have the answers. And we pray - for him, and for us, and for strength. And then one day, for whatever reason, he returns. And this fragile little beautiful soul that lies within each of my children is once again shattered. All the bits that we have so carefully and painstakingly tried to piece back together in the days or weeks or months that he was gone are once again laying in piles - some now missing altogether. I don't even think Mike notices. I don't even think he has truly sat down and noticed the pain and the confusion in their eyes that I see EVERY DAY. And that is so selfish of him, and I am angry at him for that... and I hate him for that.

I have tried to explain to him that one day when his kids are old enough and he tries to come back, they won't let him. They'll know. They'll remember how it felt. And there won't be enough trust for them to scrape from the bottom of the barrel in order for them to let him back in. And he'll be sorry. And just like the boy who cried wolf, he might then actually be sincere, but it won't matter - they'll be done.

The kids didn't ask about Mike today, on Father's Day - not a word. I asked them if they wanted to try to call. Only one said yes, and that's because Lacey is a better Christian than me and she forgives him, not that he's asked but she does anyways. Don't get me wrong, there are days when she refuses to even acknowledge she has a dad, but because her big heart was concerned with how he was feeling on Father's Day she was willing to make the sacrifice. I called, no answer, left a voicemail, never heard back. They signed a thank-you card for Rory for all that he's done but didn't wish him Happy Father's Day in person, cause well - he's Abby's dad and they know that.

The fact that they had no father to go to breakfast with today and no dad to wish Happy Father's Day to makes me feel like I've failed them. The most essential necessity next to me is missing and I can't fix it - and I'm not sure I will ever recover from this feeling...

PLEASE NOTE**** For the believers who will gently remind me that there is a God in Heaven who wants to fill that void, I know. And thank-you. And I am trying; it is a constant struggle, but I do try. Please pray.

 Thankful for Abby's Daddy who

loves her to pieces.

Down by the river, where the bamboo grows.

After our near-death experience on Gyle Rd we could have gone two ways with it: we could have resorted back to our old way of thinking and admit- it's... just... not... sensicle (that's a word, I'm sure of it - it's a combination of sensible and something else that ends in 'cle') at any rate; or, we could seek out a more scenic, "safe" route. Well, we did the later and went to walk the River Trail at the Diversion Dam here in Red Bluff.
It started out well enough, we pulled up to this marvelous sight welcoming us, beckoning us to come "exercise" ourselves by it...

Going to walk the river trail with my Mom and our small village. :) loving the 86 degree weather!

... then we got out of the car and the downward slope began.

Having decided to NOT put poor Abigail in her straight jacket and strap her to me we opted instead to put both of the babies in strollers. Issue numero uno arrives-Abby is asleep and in case you weren't well versed on baby etiquette - you NEVER wake a sleeping baby, ESPECIALLY a princess such as Abigail. ;D So my mom SWEARS she saw the mom from 18 Kids and Counting (or 24 rather, whatever it's up to these days) "hang" her baby car seat from the handles of the umbrella stroller. Despite my immediate response of, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat??!?!?!??!" I decided to play along. I helped for all of about 4 minutes, until I realized I hadn't the patience for that task and left my mom to her own devices, which are many because fast forward to approximately 30 minutes later (according to Dion's prayer later that night) and Abby was strapped to the umbrella stroller, by what I'm still not sure, BUT the important part remained... she was still in her car seat AND still asleep.

This pic was OBVIOUSLY taken later in the walk when she woke up. And it is secure, I promise.

Off we walked, across the road, down the hill to the paved trail. My mom and I were pleased with ourselves. After all, this was day number 2 of us being motivated to get motivated, which also made this day one whole day more of following through than any previous attempts we had made at getting motivated.
Addie and Savannah and Dion were a stone's throw ahead of us pushing Livvy in her stroller when they came upon a large sign. Now generally I would encourage the girls to read signs and things around us so that they are more aware of what's going on and also for practice. Not this sign. This sign I could have stood for them to zoom pass. However, as the "Guidebook to Being a Successful Child" CLEARLY states, "You MUST NOT do what your assigned adult would like you to do WHEN they want you to do it. INSTEAD you should wait until the opportunity arises to do WHAT they wanted you to do once but instead WHEN they'd rather you NOT do it." (i.e. passing up bathroom opportunities, remembering your mom's conversation in the car two weeks ago when she WASN'T talking to your but forgetting to tell your teacher something your mom told you to tell her this morning, etc. etc.) Now I knew what this sign said cause I've been there before and I've read it (yes, SOMEtimes I practice what I preach). So I kept walking. But the girls are frantically trying to explain that the sign says "RIGHT THERE!!" to beware of Mountain Lions, Snakes, and something else I can't remember what. Surprisingly it was not the kids who were the first to ask whether this was true or not, it was my mom's shaky voice I heard ask, "Uhh, are there really mountain lions around here?" "Yep!" I said, attempting to sound as carefree as possible when admitting that there have been mountain lion sightings in the area from time to time. But I kept walking, figuring like tiny little sponges the girls would move on to soaking up the next thing soon enough. We discussed how long these trails were and checked out all the water markings from where the water had risen to when the river flooded in the weeks before. Before long we came to the "woods". Now knowing that my girls are the extremists that they are (not reeeeeal positive where they got that from?) they practically wanted to use the lint from their pockets as bread crumbs so that we could find our way back to the car despite everything being CLEARLY marked and seemingly oblivious to the fact that the trees, for the most part, were only on one side of us. Being the brave Mommy that I am I quickly entered the "forest" without slowing my stride. We were attempting to make this time count so my mom and I kept the pace up as much as possible. This only led to the girls finding something, slowing to check it out or pick it up, then racing to catch up with us to inquire about said item. Orrr, running ahead to check stuff out and then shanghai'ing us once we caught up.

The first discovery came from Addie. My mom and I overheard her sharing with Savannah that she had found a 'lily pad'. What's the fuss? you might ask. Well I'll tell you the fuss! This was no ordinary lily pad. THIS lily pad grew in the ground, next to grass, and it was short, with a thick stem coming straight up through the middle. A new species of "lily pads" indeed! It wasn't long before the girls were picking "bamboo". No, we haven't traveled to East Asia, we are still in lil' ol' Red Bluff. Much like the lily pads these "bamboo stalks" were nestled amongst the grass, very small and thin, and easily plucked out of the ground by the girls as they ran past. I don't know about you but I'd like to see a Panda bear get full off of these tiny little shards of "bamboo". Now I let this go on for a bit-figured it was harmful enough. I found amusement in the girls ripping along the path shouting to each other that there was more and more bamboo, and to, "Look how big of one I found!!" This was until Savannah came close enough to me that I could see the sticky milk dripping out of the ends of the "bamboo". I quietly said, "uhhh, those aren't bamboo, their milk weeds, and you're going to get that sticky stuff all over your hands and you won't have anything to get it off with." I'm pretty sure her collection hit the ground before I had even finished my sentence. Seconds later, Savannah shouted "Guyyyyyys! Those aren't bamboo!!" It didn't seem to slow their stride. Addie dropped her collection as well and moved on to the next thing. My mom and I decided to leave her recently discovered "lily pads" alone.

Now Dion had said a couple times that she had to use the restroom (see above rule). But what was I suppose to do? Pull a porta potty out of my back pocket? I knew there was a fork coming up in the trail where there might be more foot traffic than we had encountered so far, so I tried explaining to Dion that she might want to squat behind a tree before we started coming across people. Needless to say she didn't listen, attempting to hold it I noticed her steps getting shorter but at the same time quicker? This was the potty dance in motion. And on the occasion there would be a rustling in the jungle branches and although most likely it was simply a bird the girls had a great time conjuring up what it might actually be. A few times the rustling was rather loud which really startled the girls, this wasn't beneficial in the least to Dion's need to use the facilities. Nearing the intersection where three paths crossed there was a bench and a few mile markers, but just before this point there was a slight dip in the trial and a much thicker covering of "forest", which caused the trail to seem darker and a bit more eerie. Enter my mother. My sweet, loving, sensitive, best-grammie-ever mother. The same one who loves to get cheap laughs out of scaring people. The timing was perfect. Just as Dion jumped from a quick, louder than before, rustling of the trees my mom grabbed her from behind and growled, "What are you doing." I'm surprised Ms. Dion didn't water the trail right there where she stood. She scolded Grammie and caught up to me where I was waiting just past the bench. Well while my mom and I were discussing which direction we wanted to go and how much farther we were going to be able to make it, Dion must've decided that that scare put her over the edge. While looking at my mom I see behind her a couple of people coming up the trail on bikes. I turned to inform the girls that people were coming and to stay off the trail while my mom and I decided what our next move was going to be, aka caught our breath. Once turned, my gaze met the instantly widened eyes of Miss Dion, who has, with obviously no other options at her disposal, decided to squat all of 14 inches from the cement trail. She shouted, "WHAT!?!?? NOOOOOOOOOOOO!?!?!?" I immediately burst into crying/hysterical laughing. She stood up, while hunched over grabbing at her shorts, and waddled towards the stroller I was pushing. I'm in hysterics. Like bent over slapping my knee laughing! So is my mom. Dion positioned herself in front of the car seat, that was mysteriously still staying in it's place on the umbrella stroller, in hopes that it was going to provide her with some sort of privacy. It did not. The people were going to be riding their bikes right past her no matter where she stood. She shouted, "Help me! What are you doing!??!? HELPPPP!!!" lol. At this point I'm worried if I'll need some sort of resuscitation, and became concerned because I knew my mom would be of no help cause she was laughing just as hard... and pointing! Yes, we had deliriously resorted to pointing and laughing at my frantic 7-year-old daughter!! She yanked her shorts up just moments before the intruders passed, and although in the end she got a chuckle out of it she definitely did NOT appreciate our laxidazy approach to helping her. lol. Onward!!
As my mom and I are approaching the completion of mile number 2 I mention to her that my legs are feeling super warm. (for those of you who exercise regularly --- shut it). My mom quickly informs me to be thankful that I have capri's on and that at least all the heat gets to go somewhere! She has long pants on and her heat is just bouncing off her pants back onto her legs and meeting up with the other heat that is coming off her legs again and together they are making baby heat so now her legs are three times hotter than mine! lol. We hit mile 2 and turned around... now at this point in the story I would like to pause and offer a heart felt apology to my horses whom I NEVER allowed to run back to their stable or barn or trailer or gate or whatever it was... cause the fact that we were now returning to our car where our water bottles were (lesson learned on that one) and a seat, and the prospect of home and shower and couch were just a mere 2 mile trail walk ahead, I wanted to run! Apparently the girls had gotten a bit tired of "discovering" new plant life along the trail and on the return trip decided they would discover things from the Animal Kingdom instead. Enter Savannah. Her first attempt at finding a caterpillar was a failure when she ruled out the possibility of it turning into a butterfly and instead admitted it was most likely just a worm type thing-ish. Her second attempt a bit more dramatic. Here's the conversation:
"Hey Savannah, what do you have in your hand?"
"A caterpillar."
"Really? Cool! Where'd you find it? Lemme me see."
"Back there on the ground."
"Cute... except that's like a meal worm type thing."
"Oh that's fine too."
"Well what are you going to do with it?"
"Do you think meal worms get car sick?"
"Maybe? Why? You plan on bringing it home with us?"
"Yep. Thought about it."
"Huh. Well, guess we'll find out then. If there's a little tiny pile of green throw up on your hand when you get home, you'll know."
We chuckled.
"So what's it called when you can't breath?"
"What?"
"Like when you're in some place small and you get scared."
"Claustrophobic?"
"Yeah!! That!!! Do you think mealworms can get claustrophobic??"
"I don't know. Why? Where are you going to put it?"
"Well I was thinking incase it gets car sick I could put it in a box or something but I wouldn't want it to freak out if it was claustrophobic."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I see. Hmmm. Well I don't know. You could ask him?"
"haha Mom! Maybe we could do sign language. I'll tell him if it's too small in there to wiggle to his left once for yes and to his right twice for no."
Now before you call PETA, you'll be happy to know she let him go before we got to the car.

Savannah's "car sick, claustrophobic, American Worm Sign Language pioneer meal-worm".

And to think this whole trip was just one affirmative answer away from NOT happening when, on the freeway on the way to our adventure while passing the sewer processing plant, Savannah inquired, "Alright!!! Did somebody poop their pants?!?!?"

Adventures of My Traveling Circus

Recently my mom and I became motivated to get motivated. It makes sense, atleast in our minds it does. The first thing on our agenda was to start walking, daily. Now for most people that may seem simple. Well we're not most people. We enjoy short people, and at the moment we have 8 of them between the two of us. And on most days 10 because we watch two of my brother's kids. Now this "simple" walk just became a bit more complicated, didn't it? BUT, as I said, we were motivated so we figured, as Savannah likes to say, "We got this!".
Last Wednesday was the first day... and for reasons not completely understood, was not our last. We decided to walk down Gyle Rd, which was mistake number 1. It is a main road these days. Back when I was a kid my brothers and I could ride our bikes down that road to our grandma's house and not see a single car. But not now; now it's practically a highway. And people driving today are less polite, pay less attention, or have less common sense, pick any one. Not only did cars NOT even bother to drift away from us even slightly (with a completely empty other lane), my mom and I agreed that one semi seemed to actually veer closer to the shoulder that we were occupying. Additionally, the shoulder is less of a shoulder and more of a, hmm, how do you say... debris littered, pot-hole infested, ankle-twisting death trap. At any rate, we spent the 30 minutes it took to get all 5 kids that we had situated. Now this walk almost ended before it began when my mom and I gave ourselves sideaches by laughing at our attempt to hang poor Abby on the front of me in a glorified window treatment called a Moby Wrap.

I promise it wasn't as bad as it looks.

We then got my foster baby, Livvy on the left, and mom's foster baby, Miss Layla on the right, situated in their horse and carriage. Although a smidgen squished, likely prime seats compared to Miss Abigail's noose.

Livvy and Malayha enjoying the view from their plush seats.

Three down, two more to go-Johanna and Josiah. She was quite enthusiastic, during the prep stage of this walk, to be a big helper and push her brother in the umbrella stroller. That lasted tooooo... approximately the end of the driveway. Can't say I blame the poor little 20 lb 4-year-old. Her "little" brother weighs more than her, and the wheels on an umbrella stroller? Lets just say they were designed for a mall and not the moutainous terrain we were about to attempt to conquer. So, as my mom was pushing the other stroller with our two 6-month olds in it, that left me with hands free to push him. Well theoretically hands free. Abby would beg to differ. I'm pretty sure a couple of her squeals were code for, "Please... put... hands... under... hanging... bottom... getting... dizzy... blurry... bright light.... can't breath...". Additionally (yes, it gets better), I'm 5' 8 1/2"- I'm preeeety sure that umbrella strollers are designed for individuals approximately 5' 6" or shorter, cause the handles were a good 2 inches lower than a comfortable reach for me. Which meant I was slightly bent forward, which did NOTHING for a) my fat rolls, and b) Abby's choke hold issues. So after a stride or two I tried a different angle. I walked to the left of the stroller using my right hand and the left handle to push the stroller. This provided less than optimum steering control, BUT it was better than the alternative. And every short while, once my hand would go numb from trying to steer the cute little bugger who insisted on tossing his sippy cup everytime he was finished instead of just leaving it in his lap (which you can't blame the guy when my mom is right behind him saying thank-you to him as either her or Johanna are picking it up ... MOM!), I would ask Johanna to please push it for a second. Wellllll, after she ended up going off-roading (more than a few times) I would assume the position and take back over.

Johanna getting back onto the shoulder from an upclose and personal visit with the ditch.

Although the possible outcomes of this fiasco were many, we made it!! Safely!! Successfully walked our small zoo of children a little over a mile and a half. The next day we walked the river trail... and THAT'S a whole nother blog in and of itself!! It involves the picking of "bamboo" by Addie (which I'm fairly certain is not native to Northern California), and the discovery of meal-worms who are possibly claustrophobic according to Savannah, a close call had by Dion regarding a side-of-the-trail frantic potty stop, and Abigail who had a MUCH better seat this time around.
p.s. We welcome any and ALL donations for the purchase of a treadmill. ;)

Where's Margereen?

Recently, in an effort to let go of my "Just let me do it." habit, I have allowed the kids to each pick a meal for dinner that they want to help make. This transition from doing everything myself to being more of a delegator as the kids have gotten older has been somewhat of entensive process. I remember when Shane was 5 finally letting him help fold and put away laundry, which he had been offering to help with for the prior 2 years. Then when he was in bed I'd go and sneak in the bathroom to refold towels or slowly and quietly pull open his drawers and refold and stack neatly his clothes. I don't do that anymore. I still have some difficulty not requiring certain tasks to meet my standards, but when your way is right your way is right. Right? lol.

Now another area we've been working on is READING DIRECTIONS! At Christmas time I literally watched Shane take something out of the box it came in, throw away alll the papers and packaging, then proceed to sit on the couch and say, "Mom... how does this work?" NO JOKE! Then he wanted to make a frozen pizza a couple weeks ago. I say, "Okay Shane, go ahead. BUT READ THE DIRECTIONS PLEASE!!" Now usually I would've just gotten up and made the pizza for them. I'd cut it up, serve it on a plate with ranch, and take it to them asking them what kind of drink they wanted. Practically all but feed it to them. But I'm trying to tell myself they're old enough, they can do it, they need to be more independent. I have six kids and two of them are newborns, just let go, it's not like they're going to burn the house down. WRONG! Come to find out he left the pizza ON THE CARDBOARD and put it in the oven. After pointing to the sentence in the three-step instructions that stated clearly, "REMOVE FROM CARDBOARD", I had a long talk with all of the kids about the importance of being self-sufficient in school, the work-place, and life in general. I said from now on please read the instructions carefully and thoroughly before asking me for help.

That brings me to tonight.

From the kitchen Lacey asks -

"Hey Mom, what's Margereen?"

"Huh?"

"It says, 8 tbsp Margereen."

"Uhhhh, margarine?"

"Ohhhhhh butter!" she laughs.

I was on the phone with my mom and she says, "Where's your 4.0, Lace?"

"Apparently in the fridge hanging out with Margereen!" Lacey joked.

Hey, atleast she was reading the directions!!

Ohhhhhhhhh Dion!!

So I needed to get a photo of Dion in all her St. Patrick's Day glory. Afterall, it's not easy being a girl - ESPECIALLY the high maintenance girl that she is. So I explain to her that I wanted to get a picture of her to put on Facebook in her green and gold outfit. Okay now in order to prepare yourself for what follows you have to understand a few things about Dion.
First, she is very confident. Now I like to think I've put emphasis on the more important things about who we are besides looks- like being kind, a good example of a Chistian, doing our best, working hard, being smart, making good choices, etc. But I guess because Dion has always been told by a lot of people how "cute" or "pretty" she is she now whole-heartedly stands in that truth. Secondly, she looooves the camera, not just having her picture taken but loves to take pictures as well. But if you need to take a photo, she's the LAST one you'll have to tell to pay attention and smile. If I didn't know better I'd tell you she invented vogueing herself. Infact, from what I understand, she directed our poor family photographer last month on which photos she should take, where she should take then, at what angle, and when she should take them according to the pose Dion was arranging herself in. Third, she's slightly critical of herself at times. This might sound contradictory to number one, but it's not - it provides what little balance there is for her. At the age of 4 she was already having bad hair days. Unfortunately I will take responsibility for that one. I am the first one to complain about my three chins, my bubble butt, my newly developed teenage acne at the age of 30, and anything else that might slightly annoy me. So naturally, being as impressionable as our young are, she has picked up on that. (I would like to have do-overs on that one.) Fourth, she has an INCREDIBLE eye for fashion. And I can say that why you ask? I mean I just finally purged my closets of shirts I had since Shane was little, and he's 13. Well, I knew that when Dion was 3 and came out of her room head to toe in an outfit that looked like Stevie Wonder picked out. She was wearing stripes AND flowers!! And I thought that was no-no numero uno! She had a skirt on... with JEANS under it!! In an effort to be gentle to her three-year-old spirit I said, "Dion, honey, let Mommy help you pick something out." She stopped, looked at me, looked herself up and down from toes to shoulder, looked back at me and said, quite flabergasted, "Why?? This is soooo fashion!". I thought I knew then that I was in trouble. I didn't. I didn't even know the half of it. Even a couple years later when I was getting ready to go to a dinner and came walking down the hall feeling quite snazzy (for those mom's out there I'm sure you can relate. Snazzy = no snot/slober/spitup marks on your black over-sized shirt and out-dated bulky boot-like "heels" instead of the usual sneakers.) Dion, sparing no feelings of mine, QUICKLY INFORMED me she would help ME pick something out. This is Dion. And we love her for it.
Now you are prepared for a play by play of the events as they took place after I told Dion I wanted to take a photo of her earlier tonight.
"Dion, can I take a quick picture of you please for Facebook." (grabbing my phone)
"Okay Mom. Here we go." (positioning herself under the light) "I'm going to make a kissy face and then you can put on the caption, "Kiss me, I'm Irish. Well only a little. hahaha. el oh el el oh el oh (lol lol)" (yes, she even captioned her OWN photo!)

Now before my brain even had TIME to process the photo she was standing next to me pawing at my arm to lower the camera so she could approve it. "Okay no! That's awful. Look at my eyes! They're HUGE! Delete it. Let's go again." positioning herself back under the light. I laughed, told her it was good, then reset for try #2.

Now that photo took me a couple tries cause I could barely hold the camera still after I noticed, in an apparent effort to make her eyes less "huge" ,she was now squinting. She rushed to me hopeful it was a go. "OH ..... MY.... GOSH...!! NO!! DELETE!!" Yes, she is getting exasperated after only TWO photos. She's used to being quite photogenic and not having to try much for a good photo. "RETAKE!!!" This time her walk back to her mark was a bit less enthusiastic. "Okay, I'm not going to blow a kiss now! That's not working!!"

Now mind you I'm in hysterics. We're 5 minutes in to a simple snap shot at this point and she's getting more and more annoyed by the minute. She looks at the camera... "Oh hello little fishy," she says, "What the heck!!" I DIED!! Now in my head, while I was taking the photo, I thought... hmmm, I wonder if I should tell her that she looks like she's making a fishy face instead of a kissy face. Then I thought better of that idea seeing as at this point I just wanted to send a photo, any photo, to Facebook and carry on with my evening.
"Okay! I'm serious now! (like she hadn't been) Go again!"

 Okay, now here's where I have to own my part in this mini drama. This was a good picture. I told her right after I took it, "Oh this one is good!" Her run to me to approve of the picture had diminished to a disgusted saunter. She studied the picture, paused for a second, then said, "Eh, it's oooooookay." Here comes my mistake. I said, "Well you can't really see your hair bow, which is super cute and St. Patricky, but it's still good." Well I should've known that Dion doesn't do "good" pictures. Stomping back to her, at this point, slightly indented spot in the carpet, she sets up for a picture that was sure to fix the lack of bow exposure.

Did I mention in the set up for this story that Dion can sometimes exaggerate things? She is a mini-extremist of sorts. She was the one who, when she had her lisp, was either "starbing" or "not starbing". At this point I'm in tears. Although she isn't finding this seemingly insurmountable task amusing in the least, I am busting a gut!! Which only made her more determined to get an "postable photo". "Okay, Dion. I get your drift (another blog in and of itself!)."

Notice in this last photo the small poof in her right belly region, where her pocket is. Dion put's her hand sideways over her forehead, "WHO needs this picture up there? Cause that one looks like I have a big ol' fat pooch right there!" pointing at the marshmellowy looking puff. "It does not!!" I reassured her. "LAST TIME!!" she growled.

Well, when all was said and done she went back to photo #4.  lol.

I'm taking donations now for her therapy fund.

Maybe I'm doing something right?

Sometimes, oftentimes, I sit and wonder... wonder how I got so blessed, and even moreso why? Every night I lay in bed and think about the things I wish I would've done differently throughout the day. After I'm done feeling guilty I prioritize the things I'm going to work on doing better the next day and brainstorm ways in which I could accomplish that. And without fail, every night, being a better mother is on that list... at the top... every night. I have AMAZING kids. It's that plain and simple. And I guess everyone thinks that? There must be some sort of ingredient God included in us when he designed us to be partial to our own children. But I can't help but to think sometimes that I'm extra blessed with really awesome kids. And one thing that would make me a better mother is to tell them that. It seems simple enough, right? But I find myself telling myself that EVERY NIGHT. I've tried to figure out why that is. Why it's not till 11 o'clock at night when I go to get a cup out of the cupboard that I've noticed Savannah unloaded and loaded the dishwasher earlier in the day all by herself without me asking? Why it's the next day, when the kids are at school, when I open the blinds to the patio, that I noticed Shane took the trash bag that I had set outside down to the trash bin without me asking? How everyday I walk by Lacey's room and look in to see everything neatly in it's place and the only time I say something to her about it is when I'm reminding her she's left something out? Why does it take Dion spiraling into an emotional breakdown because her morning isn't going as planned for me to hear her tell me her plans included taking care of the babies so I could sleep in and then rubbing my feet and making me breakfast? Ugh. It brings me to tears just typing those last four sentences. This all occurred to me, again, as it often does, last week on report card day when I picked the kids up from school.

The younger two girls got picked up first and handed me their envelopes:

Dion - 1st Grade -

She received a Perfect Attendance Award and scored all 4's (Proficient or Advanced) and all O's (outstanding) on her report card.
"There have been 57 homework assignments. Your child has turned in 57 of them. That
is 100% which is a/an A+."
"I have assigned 1160 minutes of reading. Your child has turned in 1388 minutes. That is 100+% which is a/an A+."
"Dion is doing well in all areas. She is well liked, a good leader, and well behaved in class. Good job on turning in the home reading this semester. She turned in over 100%. Thank you. Dion has met all of the reading goals and many of the math goals for first grade. She now needs to concentrate on writing. I would love to see her using more descriptive words and more complex sentences in her writing."

Savannah - 3rd Grade -

She received a Perfect Attendance Award (with one excused absence) and all 4's and O's on her report card.
"Savannah continues to be an outstanding student. She has been helpful to me in many ways. She is a fine student and assumes responsibility well. She enjoys helping others, which has put her into a leader's role in class."

I told them how proud I was of them. It was brief and not nearly at the level of excitement that it rightly deserved. Then I picked up Lacey.

Lacey - 5th Grade -

She received a Perfect Attendance Award and not only did she get a 4.0 but she got A+'s with all O's in Attitudes and Work Habits and all 4's in State Standards.
"Lacey Mae's GPA is very easy to figure out - 4.0!! Very good - Outstanding! Lacey Mae is a joy to teach!"

The ah-ha moment that led me to this post was what followed. Lacey was in the third row, beaming as I read it - as she deserved to be, and when I finished I turned, looked back at her, and holding my hand up said, "Awesome! Good job, Lace!". She looked at my hand, looked at me, then as if out of pity slowly reached up and slapped my open hand with hers and said, gently, "Mom, high five's are so last year. It's knuckles now."

Now had I praised them more often surely I would have known to offer her my closed fist instead of a my open palm. From now on I will not be so "old skool". I will offer praise more often so that next report card, I will not inappropiately offer knuckles when it's surely changed to something more cool.

So learn from my failure and praise someone today- whether it's your kids, your significant other, or a stranger. Just tell someone, "Good job!", and offer them your knuckles. :)


p.s.~ Shane is beyond amazing too... I just haven't gotten his report card in the mail yet. And Abigail? Well... just look at her pictures! lol. There really are no words for her.

Epic Fail!!

Wow!! It's almost been an ENTIRE year since I've "updated" this so-called journal-ish type thing. So much for my 3rd attempt having been a success. I fault Facebook. You'll notice I'm usually quick to fault someone else for my short-comings... i.e. food being so yummy for my slight obesity, no naps for my toddlers tantrums, etc. But really though, Facebook is soooooooo easy to update. Plus about 75% of my family is on there so anything I post there is 10 times more likely to get read and about 20 times quicker (all statistics referenced in prior sentence are 110% fabricated). It's true though.

Soooo much has changed in the last year. What's worse is it doesn't seem like it's been a year. It seems only a couple months ago that I was having a good laugh at Dion and her inexperience at t-ball's expense.

In the last year: I got a 'D' in Microbiology, the LAST class I needed to apply to the nursing program which means I need to retake it before I can apply; I had a baby; Mike came and went from the kids' lives... again; I moved... twice; my brother and my sister-in-law moved to Oregon and I miss him all the time; I felt like a failure and a success in the same day... everyday; I started doing foster care again and I love it; I'm pretty sure the loan on my Suburban has increased; I realized I'm a mess when I always thought I had had it together for the most part; did I mention I had a baby?

I obviously can't sum up my year in a paragraph, but will try to post some pictures fairly soon that might help. Please note the words try and soon and remember this is me talking, err typing.

He used to be a toddler!!

Scrubbing toilets three times a day, or rather the floor around them, despite having used the “Cheerio-method” of potty training – I miss that; now he locks the door when he uses the bathroom instead of leaving it open so I can clap for him as he proudly misses the Cheerio floating in the toilet. I miss stepping on that one Gi-Joe man that is laying with his gun aimed at the ceiling despite having successfully maneuvered around the previous twenty that were laying on their sides; when he was eight he brought me those little guys in a Zip-loc baggie saying he didn’t “need” them anymore. I actually miss the humour I found in cramming the twenty princess dresses and ballerina leotards into the pink and brown leopard print chest at the foot of the bed; smiling because a flashback of her little lisp convincing me the day before that she just HAD to have a sparkly one too. I no longer fold three loads of laundry in one day (that I was fairly certain half of which weren’t dirty to begin with) because they had just learned to dress themselves so changing ten times a day was, without a doubt, the natural next feat; now it’s listening to, “I don’t have anything to wear!”, despite the crammed closet and drawers full of clothes. Chipping away at the oatmeal that had dried to the tile underneath the kitchen table doesn’t seem like such a chore now, because that meant relaxing mornings of sitting at the kitchen table eating oatmeal together in our pajamas existed; now mornings are filled with correcting homework and signing permission slips because the night before was spent running from here to there for the GATE program or basketball games. A cold dinner, once the only kind of meal I ever ate, is surprisingly missed as all four of my children can dish their own plates now.

The days I once thought I longed for that lacked the repetitious chores of toddler-mommyhood are now upon me, and it’s bitter-sweet; despite the missed past-times I am determined to cherish these moments now. I have learned the lesson that things that once were done begrudgingly are often little bits of a phase of life that will soon be missed. One day when I’m seeing my children off to prom or taking them to get their driver’s permit I will think back to the rushed mornings of today, the long evenings of last night, the newly developed sarcasm of an 11-year-old, the incessant award ceremonies at school, the writer’s cramp from permission slip and homework signing, and even the threats of pulling the car over if “the bickering doesn’t stop” will honestly, truly, be missed.

A Life Forever Changed

For the most part my days seldom have even a moment in them in which I have any down time, time to do nothing, or to even just sit and think or talk to God like I'd like; most of the time I would not trade that for the anything in the world. I normally don't mind when my daughters line up at the bathroom door waiting for me to get in the shower so that they can come in and sit on the toilet and talk to me the entire time. I don't even really mind when they all call dibs on who goes after who to talk to me when we're driving in the car, even if it is a three hour long drive. However, the other day while driving to class the rare opportunity arose in which I found myself with time to think. This was a rare occurrence as normally someone is calling me on my cell phone, or I am busy calling and making dentist or doctor's appointments, or just simply trying to catch up on letting my friends and family know the kids and I are still alive. Do you ever wonder why your brain thinks about certain things? Out of all the things going on in my life right now, current things like softball practices or games almost every night of the week for my three girls, fourteen units worth of finals, endless bills, an upcoming frantic search for a job, a soon-to-be-teenage boy who ALWAYS "neeeds" something, or even the dates I normally cancel at the last minute. My brain could have chosen any one of those relevant things to think of, but instead it chose a moment in my life from many years ago that soon had me blinking away the tears so I could see the road. I remember at the time I was driving trying to force myself to think of something "more productive": my microbiology lab test coming up, the topic of my final Political Science paper, possible places to turn my resume into, how much running the pool at home was going to cost me on my next electricity bill, my dwindling bank account, and so on and so forth. But I now realize, a week later, how much that memory motivated me. Being reminded of the positive difference I am capable of making in someone else's life (when I'm not sitting around feeling sorry for myself) is immense, and it's a blessing. That ability is within us all and whatever opportunity arises for me to help change a life, just as that precious little girl changed mine, I promise to seize.

Several years ago I was waiting for my turn for a foster placement. At the time I had been doing foster care for medically fragile foster babies for several years, just as my mom had done for the previous nineteen. The few foster homes that took in these special needs placements were on a list that rotated per call for the most part, and it was my turn. One afternoon, while my own two toddlers napped, the phone rang shattering the quiet of the house; it was the phone call. The next couple weeks were spent driving the forty miles up I-5 from Red Bluff to Mercy Medical Center waiting, sometimes patiently, sometimes not, for my precious new foster baby to reach at least five pounds. She was born at 21 weeks, weighing just one pounds thirteen ounces, and had many of the problems associated with prematurity, as well as many additional ones. I remember vividly the lump in my throat that I tried to choke down the first time the nurse buzzed open the door and I entered the NICU. The hours spent in that ward rocking her, watching her get well and then get sick again, staring at her monitors, taking pictures to take home to my family seem like just yesterday. One day specifically stands out, the third visit I had with our new baby girl, and a nurse whose blatant honesty was almost more than I could bare. A new nurse had come on duty and, in introducing herself to me, expressed her amazement at my ability to do this. I had been told this same thing before, but when the word this came out of her mouth, it had an obvious different meaning to it. "How is that?" I cautiously inquired. "You know you are just taking her home to die, right?" she simply replied, as if everyone knew except me. Her words stung, deep into each goosebump I had instantly gotten over every cell of my skin. "Oh, that," I said very much so fighting back the tears, "yeah, thanks." I made the decision driving home that night not to tell my family our role was essentially that of a hospice provider. That was not what I was going to allow us to be. She would be just like any other baby that we had been blessed with. For the time she was in our life she would be a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a niece, and a cousin. Whatever God had in store for our lives we would accept. I was determined to every day wake up with the hope that she would have another, and would fight back the inevitable fear that it could also be her last. One afternoon, I carried her out of the hospital, apnea monitor slung over my shoulder and oxygen tank in tow. The fear of the worst mixed with the hope for the best overwhelmed me that day, just as it does now sitting here typing this. I buckled her into her car seat and kissed her forehead gently, knowing my life was forever changed in that very moment.