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.

Oh the joys of T-ball!

So Dion started t-ball practice last week. Despite her hearing her older sister, Lacey, whine and complain about not wanting to play major league girls softball, Dion was quite excited about it. Not about hitting or throwing or being on a team, but about her pink and white polka-dotted glove my mom found her, lol. She spent a good half hour before her first practice color coordinating her outfit and applying lipgloss. Now mind you this half hour does NOT include the 20 minutes it took her to plug in the curling iron and sit and watch it diligently until the red light turned green indicating it was hot enough to yell, from the bathroom, "Moooooooom!!! It's ready!! Come fix my hair please!!!!". So finally we're off to practice. I'm sitting on the sidelines watching her (of course she's the best one out there, lol). So her coach puts her on short stop and the second kid up hits a grounder right for her. I'm thinkin', "cool, she's got this". That is until I follow the balls path toward Dion, and then past Dion, because she's got her pink mit covering her face and is walking toward the coach on the pitchers mound saying, "I come in peace!". lol!! I didn't even bother hollering at her like I would have any of the older kids, even had I yelled for her to get the ball, at this point she didn't even have any idea that the ball was in her vicinity. The coach is laughing, pats her on the head, and tells her to go over to the dugout and put her mit down and grab a helmet so she can bat next. A couple minutes later she comes out of the dugout with, whatddya know, a pink helmet. And dragging along side of her in her right hand is, yes, you guessed it, a pink bat. lol. So she smackes the ball and makes it to first base. And while she's on first base I notice her casually chatting it up with the first baseman. My guess is they were NOT talking about her race to 2nd base after the kid that was up made contact. The following situation is a good indication that their conversation was more along the lines of how many ladybugs the first baseman had found nearby: the little boy hits the ball and starts running toward first base. Instead of taking off to 2nd base Dion, bless her little heart, scoots over on the base and with her right foot situated on the corner of the bag, makes room for her teammate to chill on first base with her!! lol. Despite this season seeming like it's going to be a fairly long one, I have an inkling that it's going to be quite amusing.

Is it scissors??? A mailbox?? A llama?!?!

Alright... so I've been meaning to post this for ages but I've been terribly busy, sorry.Last month for the Labor Day Weekend the kids and I drove to Patrick's point for the weekend. It was wonderful!! The drive was fairly painless.... even though these days I now travel with four miniature chatter boxes. Thankfully, they are pretty darn hysterical and entertaining so the massive headache that I had (with each of their precious little names written all over it) at the end of the 5 hour drive was well worth it. ;)

They all four have stories... lots and LOTS of stories, bless their hearts. And I'm pretty guilt-ridden over not having enough time (or ears) to devote my undividided attention to each of them as much as they'd like (and actually Dion's nickname is Chatty Cathy so between her and my mini-drama-queen, Lacey, there aren't even enough hours in the day, seriously). So when we're driving they're all like a pack of wolves. They know they have me cornered in the left front of the vehicle driving with no place to go... no blue tooth so no phone and no distractions (well except for paying attention to driving but that's a minor detail). So they all want to talk... ALL FOUR OF THEM! And when one story gets too long one of the other kids will jump in and say things like, "Am I going to get a turn?", "When can I talk?", "Are you done yet?". It's funny actually. And I listen. It's hard to keep track of what story happened to who though (and boy do they call me on it if I've missed a detail!!), but it works out. So after a couple hours, when stories about school, church, home, dad's home, colour of the sky, why is the Earth round, are we there yet? were seeping from my ear canals cause I could fit no more.... I decided to start the game 20 Questions.

Well the older kids know how to play for the most part. However, Dion hasn't really participated officially yet - this was going to be her first time. So I say, "Okay guys... I'm thinking of something...." and then they started asking the usual 20 questions.... "Is it living?", "Is it smaller than a basketball?", etc etc. So then, after the example I did to demostrate the rules, it's Lacey's turn first. She ponders for a few moments... looking out the window, him'ing and haw'ing, and then she has it! "Okay, I'm ready!" she says. And before she even get's done saying, "I'm thinking of some........", Dion jumps in. Now mind you Dion is right behind me in her carseat. So I can look in the rear view mirror and see her (but of course I don't.... cause I'm driving ya know). And as I'm not watching her in the rear view mirror I see her eyebrows perk up and she looks towards Lacey and shouts, with her finger pointing across the second row straight at Lacey, "IS IT KNIFE???" I'm thinking to myself HUH???? A knife??? What the heck??? And before I can even ask Dion what the heck she is doing she continues shouting at Lacey.... "A TACO!! IS IT A TACO???" Out of the corner of my eye while I'm watching Dion still (and driving, oh yeah driving) I notice Shane jerk his head violently over to look at me with the biggest, fattest, most confused question mark on his face I've ever seen on anyone. So I'm trying not to laugh cause Dion thinks she's seriously playing a game here and boy is she determined to win! lol. So I shush Shane before he rains on Dion's parade with some smart aleck comment I knew he was prepared with. And just as I'm about to say something Dion continues. Now mind you all of these things so far have pretty much happened simotaneously. Lacey starts the game, Dion begins shouting her guesses, and Shane and I are both on the same dumbfounded page as each other... so it continues. "GIVE US A HINT!!!!" Dion shouts, and in the same breath she says, "IS IT A PIGMY GOAT??". So by now EVERYONE in the car is staring at Dion. I could even see little Savannah way in the third row lean up to peer around the head rest so she could look at Dion. Lacey's over against the window on the passenger side staring across the seat toward Dion looking quite intimidated by Dion's finger pointing straight at her! And then Shane, who by now has turned his very baffled face toward the backseat to watch this craziness unfold. A burst of laughter exploded from my mouth, without permission mind you cause I didn't want Dion to feel silly or anything... I mean she was trying the best she knew how to play, lol. So I say to Dion, "Uhmmm, hey... Dion?" She's completely oblivious to the fact that she's currently the ONLY one playing the game, lol. I see her hand drop and she looks straight at me in the rear view mirror, "What mom? I'm playing a game here!" she says. I said, "I know sweetie but you can't do that. You can't just guess answers, you have to ask questions that will give you clues to what it is so when we're done we can all pick one answer together." Now, in retrospect, in her defense, I suppose I hadn't gone into detail over that aspect of the game. I just assumed she had paid attention to the demonstration the older kids and I had given her about what kinds of questions to ask and stuff. So then I say, "And you can't ask her to give you a hint after just two questions." "Oh," she said, slightly disappointed I thought. But I didn't want to make a big deal out of it so I said, "Okay guys, go!" And what do you know???? Dion starts right back in!!! "A DUCK??? A PENCIL?? A JUMPROPE??? LIPSTICK!! IS IT LIPSTICK?? GIVE ME A HINT!!! JELLO?? STRAWBERRY JELLO!!! SCISSORS!! A MAILBOX??? LLAMA!!! A HINT, GIVE US A HINT!! TOOTHPASTE!!" lmao! Yep, she sure did. So.... that's how she continued to play the game for the next 50 miles. lol. It sure kept us entertained cause boy is she even more random than her mother!! lol. And believe it or not... ONE TIME, one time she ACTUALLY guessed it right!!! Which only reinforced her notion that how she was playing was juuuuust fine. lol.

"Enjoy the little things in life... for one day you will look back and realize they were the big things."

Duckopoly

Shane went to a Ducks Unlimited Benefit dinner with his friend and his friend's dad a couple weekends ago. He won this Duckopoly game in a raffle drawing. It's basically Monopoly to a duck theme. At any rate, we've been playing it the last couple days. The kids enjoy it and although it's slightly time consuming as far as I'm concerned, I've been trying to take my own advice about enjoying the moments and all that jazz. lol.

So tonight Dion and Savannah decided they wanted to give it a go. Up until this point they've been appeased with being "banker" or "property manager" and helping and such. But they both wanted to play tonight. So I sat between them to help them manage the game. A couple rounds into the game I landed on one of Dion's properties that she had bought already, so I forked over the $14 dollars or so. A few minutes later I looked down and see a property of Dion's that was stacked on my properties. I picked it up and looked at Dion and said, "What's this doing on my stack?" And she says, "Oh, well yeah, remember when you gave me that money a bit ago, I figured I'd give you the property since you gave me so many white monies." (Mind you the white monies are $1 bills. lol). I'm like, "Aww thanks babe, but you don't have to do that." And I proceed to explain further how the landing on other people's property works and give her back her property card.

A few turns later Shane was griping about how he didn't have any money left. All of the sudden Dion's chair scoots out and she's marching around the backside of the dining room table. I'm about to ask her where she's going as it's her turn next but kept my mouth closed as I watch her plop down a stack of Duckopoly money right in front of Shane. She said, "Here Bubba." and marched back and climbed up in her chair. He picks up the curled chunk of change and riffled through it. "What's this for?" he asked. "Betuz you said you didn't hab money." she simply stated. As if we had missed that part. We all died laughing and explained to her that it's part of the game to run out of money and she didn't need to hand hers out. "But it's otay tuz I wanted to." she said as she was organizing what remained of her bills. Shane smiled and reached across the table handing back the $108 in miscellaneous bills she had so kindly given him. "Thanks Dion but you keep it."

So a few turns later Dion lands on Savannah's property. I looked to my right and proceeded to tell Dion she needed to give Savannah $24.00. I tell her, "a yellow one and four white ones." She started to gather it up but stopped to look to me and ask, "Well what do I get for it?" I chuckled, "Nothing sweety. You just owe her the money." She IMMEDIATELY starts putting what she had gathered back down on her stacks and VERY matter of factly she says, "Oh, well no thanks. That doesn't sound like something I want to do." hahahahaha!! Needless to say, Shane, Lacey, Savannah, and I all about died laughing. I explained to her that wasn't an option and she begrudgingly handed the money to Savannah.

It wasn't long before Dion was over playing. She had no interest in the silliness of just giving people money and not getting anything back, nor not being able to hand money to her bubba when she knew he needed it. lol.

It was a learning experience for us all.

And so it begins again...

Yesterday was not a good day.

Today is not either.

The kids begin visits with their dad again today. I dropped them off at school this morning with the knowledge that their drug-addicted, abusive, selfish father would be picking them up. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

I did what I could to prevent this from happening. They haven't seen him in well over a month... or even talked to him. And they were doing great!! Things couldn't have been going better. Their behavior, their attitudes, their school work... all vastly improved from months ago. They were happy. They felt safe. And last night I had to break the news to them that all those promises I made to them in the middle of the night when they couldn't sleep and came to me sobbing to please not make them go back to visit their dad... that I couldn't keep those promises. I would never wish the feeling of not being able to protect your babies on anyone - it's got to be one of the hardest pills to swallow ever. And I think I'm choking on my pill.

As far as the technicalities of the situation are concerned... I'll make it simple for you. We got a shitty judge. He was sitting in for the judge who usually hears our case. The judge that usually hears our case is the one that denied Mike's ridiculous request for 100% physical custody, and is the one that knows how many times Mike has tested dirty, and would have never let Mike's pompous, bow-tie-wearing, asshole of a lawyer pull the shit he pulled in court yesterday. So that's where that lies.

At any rate, I will be spending tonight by myself. As I will for the next three weekends and every single Tuesday while the kids are at visits. Until court on the 29th where I will try again.

Until then...

Me too!

I have a feeling that those moments in which you stop and wonder where the heck your "baby" went are going to be more and more frequent from here on. And to those who don't have kids yet, or who's kids aren't old enough to relate... I have some advice for you - cherish the moments, all of them. Even the tiny trivial moments that you let slip by without even a second thought, find something about that moment and enjoy it. Not just the moments in which your little guy hits his first t-ball and then runs towards third base. Not just in the moments when you're flashing pictures of them getting an award in school. Not just those moments that we all live for when you're watching them sleep! ;) Enjoy all of the moments. Even if it's that one moment that you want to curse after stepping on the sharp pointy fake gun sticking out the side of a little army guy that you asked your son to pick up 20 minutes ago. Even if it's while doing that extra 2 loads of little girl laundry A DAY because they are going through a phase in which the world will come to a screeching halt if your daughter doesn't get to change her outfit 4 times a day. Even when you're on your knees scrubbing oatmeal off the floor under the table, or stepping in sticky apple juice on the kitchen floor because they HAD to pour it themselves. I wish I had. I wish I had smiled at those moments and gave my kids just one more hug. I wish I would have cuddled 5 minutes longer or read one more book to them instead of feeling like I had to get up and finish the laundry. Because the day has already come and gone in which Shane got "too old" for army men and put them in a bag one day and brought them to me to give to his younger cousin. And I know one day Dion will stay in the same outfit for more than 3 hours and I'll miss the incessant laundry, I really will. And my floor is less and less sticky these days as I've only one short person who can't really pour it herself without spilling. They all know to run to first base, not third, after hitting the ball. They can all brush their own teeth. The things that once felt like chores, I miss. And if I thought the last 5-11 years have flown by, I have a feeling I'm really not going to like the speed of the next 15.

Incase you're wondering what brought this on, here's the "moment". Every morning when I drop the kids off at school I said, "I love you! Have a great day!!" And between the car doors slamming I hear the occasional, "OK!" or "Thanks!" or "I will!" and then they're off to their perceived "busy day" at school full of hop scotch, times tables, library, teather ball, and incessant breaks and snack periods. But not today; today was a first. I dropped Savannah and Lacey off first; wished Lacey luck on her test today, told Savannah I hoped she enjoyed her lunch she made herself this morning, and wish them a great day. Doors slammed and they were off. Then I took Shane over to his side of the campus. He leaned over to give me a kiss and as he opened the door I said, "Have a great day!". And he looked at me and sincerely said, "You too, Mom." Whaaaaat?? Me too??? Me too have a great day?? I said thanks and pull away. A little butterfly of happiness in my stomach kept the knot in my throat down. In that moment he wasn't that little boy that used to beg me to let him stay home from school to hang out with me and make cookies. He wasn't that little boy who only thought of his day and assumed mine stopped the minute I dropped them off. In that moment he was growing up, and it was bittersweet. And just because he told me to, I'm going to have a great day! :)

"There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again." ~Elizabeth Lawrence

"Life is a matter of passing the time enjoyably. There may be other things in life, but I've been too busy passing my time enjoyably to think very deeply about them."
- Peter Cook

Savannah, The Entreprenuer

"The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter." -Mark Twain

Man I wish I carried a voice recorder with me all the time. These kids of mine, I tell ya, are just too funny! This last weekend we went to Reno and the drive there and back gave the rest of the trip a run for it's money on fun! I'm constantly amazed by how quickly the kids are growing up, even more so when it comes to conversations. Simply put, they are brilliant and hysterical. There were a million and one things that were said that I busted up laughing at that I could kick myself for not remembering. In retrospect, I can't believe I paid $43.50 for a ticket to a comedy show in which I only laughed a fraction of the times I laughed during the drive.

I have a rule, actually I have many, many, many rules - ask the kids, lol. But one of my rules is that the kids are not allowed to call each other names. Shane and I were talking up front and I heard Lacey and Dion begin to argue over something. Now don't be alarmed, I was listening to Shane; but I'm a mother, it's in our job description to be able to multitask and one of THE most important multi-tasking subjects is having four sets of ears. At any rate, I knew it was coming and sure enough Lacey says, "MOM!! Dion is being annooooooooyyying!!" (Yes, it was said JUST LIKE THAT! lol). So then here comes Dion's 2 cents, "Well Mom!!! She's having a sassy mouth!!!" Notice, they said they are "being" or "having", not they ARE! But Dion's accusation really rubbed Lacey the wrong way. So while Shane and I are in the front rolling our eyes at each other over the ridiculousness of the girls' drama, Lacey decides she's going to risk it and get one up on Dion. So, somewhat quietly, I'm assuming in an attempt to prevent me from hearing, she says to Dion, "Well you ARE sassy!!" Oh noooooo!!

So I'm listening, and driving, and glancing in the rear view mirror waiting to see how this is going to play out. And to my surprise I noticed a vague smile come over Savannah's face?!?!? Savannah had been quietly sitting in the third row minding her own business, also probably rolling her eyes over the quarrel taking place in the middle seat. And without missing a beat Savannah pipes up, "Well, Lacey, you can call me sassy....................


..... FOR FIIIIIIIIVE BUCKS!!!!"

Lacey and Dion both stopped dead in their tracks and looked back at Savannah, who then said, "And for $1,000 bucks you could even call me a brat!!!!"

We all died laughing! I suppose Savannah got tired of the conflict and inserted her own peacekeeping tactic. It worked better than anything I was preparing to do. :)

The 'B' word.

I know it's been a couple months since my last posting. I've been a recluse of some sorts since then, trying to figure things out and deal with them. I kinda internalize things of this nature because I don't like having such overwhelming negativity in my life, but it is what it is so I've just tried to talk myself in circles instead of burdening others with it. Initially, my intentions were to just hold out for a bit, to try to hang in there long enough for Mike to decide, as he always has, that he had more important places to be and things to do than to be a father; that or screw up, which also is quite the hobby of his.

At any rate, it's gone on a lot longer than I'd expected. I discovered that his new girlfriend and his family are putting in quite the hours as his enablers. Now I know this might sound horrible, that I'm sitting here waiting for him fail. But that's kind of a result of years of exposure to him and the person he's chosen to be. In my heart of hearts, OF COURSE I want him to be a healthy, responsible, loving, proud father to his children. I want my baby girls to have a daddy to run up to and be swept up in the kind of big, strong, safe hug only a father can give. I want my son to have someone to look up to, someone to aspire to, someone to be proud of. I think that's why I hung on for long before the divorce; because I've read the statistics on children raised in broken homes. Long before the feeling was actually real, my heart ached at just the thought of the kids feeling like they were different or not worthy because they didn't have a dad who desired to be there for them. My point being, I pray daily that Mike finds it in him to be the kind of dad my children deserve; but reality, the past, and now the present predict that that's not going to happen... not anytime soon at least.

So it's happening, his "weekend dad" circus show is slowing falling apart at the seams. And it's bittersweet. It's FAR from the relief I thought it might be. The months and months that had gone by last year that he didn't even bother with a phone call gave me just enough of a break from my usual full-time job of healing the kids' hearts from his selfish decisions, that I forgot, I forgot how instantly, and almost literally, you can feel your heart shattered from listening to the confusion and hurt while watching tiny tears stream down their faces that you can't possible wipe off quick enough. There's been things here and there since January that made me realize that my just getting through was going to be a lot harder than I thought. Like one time when he let Lacey call me from his cell phone from out in front of the school when he was dropping them off one morning because she needed me to bring her something to school that day. Well he must've thought she turned off the phone because I heard him set it down on the console, still on. So I sat there and felt my face grow hot as I listened to him yell, and I mean yell, at the one of the kids, "FU*K! What the f*ck!?!?! Watch what the f*ck you're doing!!!!!" Needless to say, I hung up. But today, today I thought I might actually crumble to the ground in pieces.

Today, Lacey told me that Mike called her a b*tch this morning. She came up to me next to the pool while I was blowing up a floaty. She just stood there, looking down, chasing an ant around the pavement with her big toe that had pink chipped fingernail polish on it, her voice shaking, telling me her father had called her the "b-word". It had something to do with breakfast and Monkey Bread and Savannah and something else. I didn't really get the whole story, nor do I think it matters much. I said, "Uhmmm... what????" If you haven't ever heard anyone refer to mother feathers, well, lemme just say they weren't ruffled... I was a naked bird standing there as every single one of them flew right off. I tried not to make a big deal about it because I want the kids to feel like they can tell me anything and I'm not going to freak out. I think she saw all the colour drain from my face though because she said, "Well, I don't know. Maybe he didn't." Now I know from experience, kids can exaggerate and sometimes even fabricate things; so as a general rule of thumb I try to keep things in perspective when chatting with the kids. But without missing a beat, Savannah piped up from the pool steps only just 2 feet away, "Uh, yes he did, Lacey. He called you the b-word. I heard him. He did, Mom." I saw a tear run down Lacey's face. I said, "Lacey, look at me." She wouldn't look up. I pushed away all the horrible, hateful words I wanted to yell at Mike in that moment and put down the floaty and squatted down in front of her so she had nowhere else to look at but at me. "I'm sorry," I told her, "I'm sorry your daddy said that to you. You ARE NOT the b-word. No matter what you do you would never be a b-word. And your daddy should not have said that to you." She nodded. And low and behold, as would be expected, Shane piped up from the seat in the deep end where he had been watching like the good little detective of Mike's he is, and said, "Well he tried apologizing Lacey. And you wouldn't let him." I hushed him right up. I said we were done talking about it and we proceeded to cool ourselves in the way-too-cold water from the 97 degree heat. But I was still sick.

It got worse. Shortly after getting home I had spaghetti on the stove cooking, I was mopping the kitchen floor, Savannah was on the computer, Lacey was... guess??..... yes READING, Harland was busy throwing anything he could find onto my mopped kitchen from from behind his non-productive barricade of chairs, and Shane and Dion were watching The Tale of Desperaux. Anyhow, I walked through the living to do something and on the way back, somehow, Dion managed to hop on her knees or something of the sort right across my pinkie toe - ripped the nail half off. It hurt quite a bit to put it mildly. BUT, I knew it had to have hurt her knee just as bad. I said, "Shoot!!" while picking what bit of nail was hanging on by a thread and then looked down at Dion. She had big eyes and a blank look. I told her, "It's okay. It's your knee alright? Is it bleeding?" She burst into tears. Briefly I thought, well it can't be THAT bad. But that's not why she was crying. I walked over to her and asked, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" She had her face in her hands and was crying and said, "I'm sorry. It was an accident!" I rubbed her back for a second and said I knew it was an accident and it was okay and did she need a band aid for her knee. I heard my hamburger meat needing stirring so I proceeded to the kitchen. About 5 minutes later she popped her head up over the kitchen counter putting to use one of the barricade chair that weren't working anyway. She was still a bit sober, her head down. She quietly said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to." and started to cry. I was a bit surprised because I thought we had gotten over this. I walked down to the end of the counter and put my arm around her and said, "I know, Baby Girl. I said it was okay, I'm fine. No biggie." Muffled by my shoulder, she said, "But Daddy always gets mad and yells at me even if it's an accident." I squeezed a little tighter and said, "Well I'm sorry. But it's okay. Accidents happen. I'm okay, you're okay. Want some orange Julius??" Thinking I wasn't going to notice she wiped her face on my shoulder before pulling away and said, "Okay, thank-you. I lub you." How can I send her back there knowing I can't protect her from that sort of thing?

And now for the icing. Yes, there's more. We were sitting at the dinner table and Savannah was to my left. About half way through while the other three kids were occupied by laughing at Shane who had the hiccups and was leaning back against the wall so that every time he hiccuped the back of his head would hit the wall. I know, the things these kids amuse themselves with. lol. Anyway, Savannah stood up from her chair and took one step next to me. With her lovely garlic bread crumb covered hand resting on my shoulder, she looked away from the table as if to keep the other kids from reading her lips, and said quietly, "Mom, I don't want to go to Dad's on Tuesday. Do I have to go?" Now this isn't the first time I've heard this from one of them, so I just said, "I think you do, Sweetie. I don't know. I guess maybe you could ask Dad and see what he says." I saw her swallow, and blink, and I knew what was next. Her eyes welled up and she said said, looking at the wall behind me, "But I don't want him to yell at us anymore. He always cusses and yells at us when we do things wrong, like spill something or something, even if it's on accident." I put down my fork and put my arm around her and gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry, Sweetie. We can ask him if you can stay home Tuesday." She nodded and pulled away, wiped her tears off so the other kids wouldn't see, and went back to her dinner.

I tucked them in tonight, laid on the couch, and sobbed. I should've moved away last year when I had the chance.

Pray for them, for us.

♥me

Updates....

are coming soon, hopefully. :)

♥

Will I ever sleep again?

So this is night number two.  It's 2:30 a.m. and I can't sleep.  I couldn't sleep last night either.  Yet, oddly enough, I keep hoping to wake up any minute now.  Standing at the kitchen sink making a bottle earlier I even squeezed my eyes shut for a second and thought to myself... when I open them I'll be in bed and things will be back to normal.  It didn't work.  And if I lay down to go to sleep it only forces me to accept that this really IS happening.  It's not a nightmare.  I won't wake up.  

I went to mediation on Friday with Mike.  He's taking me back to court for custody, visitation, and child support amendments to what's been court ordered for 3 1/2 years now - 100% legal and physical custody to me with supervised visitation for him.  Ever since Mike beat me up in front of the kids at the beginning of October we hadn't heard a word from him, not even from his family... not even for Thanksgiving.  I was relieved.  Things were going well.  The kids had adjusted quickly, as this is about the 6th time Mike has practically dropped off the face of the Earth, and were okay with his absence.  Needless to say they had wondered what he was up to and why he hadn't called, but they are smart enough kids to know that the way Mike had been acting was not something they wanted to be around.  

For a Thanksgiving project Lacey was supposed to write down seven things she was thankful for.  The first one read, "I am thankful for my family. (NOT my dad)".  Yep.  She was suppose to write a family book describing the things she was thankful about for each member of the family, she opted to leave Mike out.  My brother, Tony, took Lacey and Savannah to their very first Father/Daughter dance.  Dion asked me last month if I had a photo of her dad for her to look at because she couldn't remember what he looked like.  I already blogged previously of Savannah's request for a dad for Christmas.  Shane's torn between being angry and hurt and and being Mike's most loyal offspring, which is to be expected.  He's the only boy.  He's stuck in a home with four unreasonable, more often than not emotional, girly girls.  Even our dog is a girl he's points out.  

I don't doubt that Mike loves and misses his kids.  And despite the kids having been through this enough times that they've stopped asking when will they see him next - I know they love and miss him as well.  It's an amazing thing called unconditional love that most children possess for their parents (at least until their teenage years so I hear).  I have always hoped and prayed that Mike would be capable of getting his life together and being involved with his kids.  They deserve a dad.  However, if he were capable of it I highly doubt we'd even been in this position, so at minimal I think I'm allowed to be skeptical of the prospect of him being there for the kids on a healthy level consistently.  So when I got served the court papers I was floored to say the least.  This man who hadn't even bothered to pick up the phone in over three months had it in him to get an attorney and drag this into court.  And it's not even because I wouldn't let him see the kids... he'd HAVE TO ASK OR MAKE AN EFFORT to see the kids in order for me to tell him no even if I wanted to.  

Anyway, I digress...  here's where I start crying uncontrollably.  Beginning on Tuesday, January 6th, Mike will get the kids the first three weekends of every month and every Tuesday night.  So Friday night he picks them up from my house at 6:00 p.m. and I pick them up from his house Sunday at 6:00 p.m. and then every Tuesday he picks them up from school and keeps them overnight and drops them back off at school on Wednesday.  So I will be going from having my kids 24/7 to having them only for a few hours Sunday night, Monday after school, then not till Wednesday after school, Thursday night, and then a couple hours Friday.  Is this not ludicrous!?!??!  Am I the only one baffled by this arrangement?  How can he go from NOTHING to ALL of this time??  We left the court house and I told the kids, just briefly, the schedule and Lacey started crying.  She told me to take her back to the court house so she could tell the mediator that she doesn't want to go with him that much.  I am... my kids.  I am 'mom'.  I don't date.  Most of my friends have kids and we do stuff with them.  I plan my schooling around the kids so I am away from them as minimally as possible.  So although you may be sitting there wondering why I seem to be making a mountain out of a mole hill... I'm not.  This is more than a mountain.  

I know people do this everyday.  But we're not them, we're us.  And whether or not I survive this remains to be seen.  I do know one thing, if I survive this loneliness and fear for the well being of my kids.. it will be only be by the grace of God and His strength that I do so.  Cause I want to retreat under my rock at just the thought of this arrangement, let alone once it begins.

And I thought that it was the end of my world when I started working last year.

Pray for us.

~me

Oh my gosh cheating is hereditary!!

But thankfully so is a great sense of humour!  :)

Shane and I sat down to play a game of "Three" at the table the other night.  You use Scrabble letter pieces and place them face down on the table.  Each of the players draw three letters and you attempt to make words out of the three letters you draw.  The first to form a word from their letters hollers, "THREE!" and all the players draw three more letters.  If noone can form a word you each agree to draw again.  Each word has to attach to the previous like on a crossword puzzle.  You can switch letters around as you get them to form longer words and use all of the letters.  At any rate, that was all extremely useless information as the details pertain minimally to my story but now you know a new game to play!! :)  (Thanks Grandma Lengtat for teaching Shane and I on Christmas, lol.)  So Shane and I draw three.  No words.  Draw three more.  Well I'm over diligently working with my six letters trying to beat him to forming a word, and I hear him chuckle to himself.  I glanced up... and then quickly returned to my letters.  Shane says, "Do you wanna hear something funny, Mom?"  I said, "But of course."  Afterall, who in their right mind turns down a reason to laugh?  He proceeded to explain to me that in the second set of three letters he got, one of them was a 'u'.  He didn't want a 'u'.  "So I flipped it back over and slide it into the middle and got a new one," he continued with a smirk.  "And guess what it was?" he asked rhetorically.  "ahhh 'u'!!" he exclaimed.  "I think it was God saying, 'Nope, no cheating Shane.'"  lol.  I died laughing.  He was quite matter of fact about it and figured he'd share the lesson... and the laugh.

So then tonight my brother, Tony, and his fiance, Stacy, came over.  They were at the table playing Uno with Lacey and Savannah and Dion and who do I spy trying to lay down two cards stacked ontop of each other at one time???  TONY BOLOGNE!!!  Uncle Noni!!!  My brother tried to cheat!!  AT UNO!!!  Against his 4, 6, and 8-year-old neices!!  lol.  

But I don't cheat.  No need to when you're as good as I am at everything.  :P

Did you know I'm awesome?

Dion found a can of fruit in the fridge earlier.  Although I'm pretty sure she went to fetch a water bottle, she must've found the lone cherry on the label on the canned fruit cocktail too irresistable to pass up.  I was rocking Macy in the living room when she shouts to me, "Mom!!  Tan I hab this fruit?"  It took me a second to think about what she may have found... well, alright, longer than a second - cause she then yells, "Welllll!!!????!!!  Taannnnn I??".  I said, "Uhh, yeah... sure."  I hear some rustling in the utensils drawer as she looked for the can opener, which in all actuality was more like the noise that came from the chimney sweeeper guy on Mary Poppins when he plays that all-in-one instrument on the streets.  I can hear her dragging the stool across the kitchen floor and I say, in a helpful yet coverted attempt to avoid her dripping sticky fruit juice on the floor, "Dion, if you bring the can to me I'll open it for you."  She replied quickly, and a bit offended I could tell by her tone, "No thanks.  I tan do it by myself."  So I wait... silently counting in my head how long it would take her till she needed me.  She's quite determined if you didn't know her... cause I finally stopped counting.  She was definitely giving it her all as I could hear the can sliding around the counter and then the can opener slipping off the top of the tin can and slamming onto the counter.  Forget the sticky floors, I started to wonder if the counter was going to come out atleast repairable.  I smiled as I visualized her little frustrated face concentrating on getting to that lone cherry half out of that impossible can.  The smile turned into a chuckle that I tried to keep silent as I listened to her huff.... and puff... and even growl once.  lol.  Finally, it happened, "MOM!!!!!!!!  I need you!  Do you know how to use this can opener??"  Alas!!  "Hmmmmm, I think so, Dion..." I replied, "... coming."  I laid Macy down and sauntered into the kitchen, all the while listening to her still wrestling with this disobedient can opener that had become her worst enemy.  I walked around the corner and into the kitchen only to see her with the can opener barely hanging off the tiny lip on the top of the can... sideways.  "Alright, lemme see here..." I said, slipping my hands inplace of hers.  She stood there, still, a foot to my right, on her stool, clasping her surely sore hands together, watching... watching me, the can opener, and the can.  I turned the can opener right-side up, slide it onto the lip on the can, and started twisting.  She tilted her head and leaned toward me so she could see around my hand to the sharp blade that sliced into the lid.  "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that's how you do it!!  How do you know everything???" she gasped through her ear to ear grin.  I opened the cupboard door  by my head, pulled out a bowl, drained the dreaded sticky juice syrup down the drain, and dumped the prized contents of the can into the bowl.  Dion jumped down off the stool, retrieved a spoon from the silverware drawer, and came back for her fruit... and the cherry half, which there were three of, which made this whole feat even more rewarding.  I handed her the bowl.  She turned and walked away toward the table and without even looking back, still hearing the grin on her face, she announced quite proudly, "My mom is sooo awesome!!"

So... there you have it.  I may not know how to cure cancer, or be a nurse in a third-world country (yet)... but!!  I know how to use a can opener.  And that makes me pretty awesome!  Just ask Dion.

Hit me with your "Pet Shop"!!

Ok, so I'm sitting here putting up pics and the movie 'Bring It On Again' that Dion was watching ends.  While they are rolling the credits the song 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' comes on.  Dion's on the couch brushing her hair waiting for me to curl it (she's going through a stage, lol) and I hear her singing... 

'Won't you hit me with your Pet Shop!!  Oh oh oh oh oh oh...  Oh yeahahaheaeaeaea...'

So, I ask her... 'What are you singing, Dion?' trying not to die laughing.  She says, 'Hit me with your Pet Shop.'  I'm like, 'Uhm, ok... but what does that mean?'  She looks at me, confused for a second... I suppose wondering if I'm serious, cause she says, 'Uhm, Mom... it means you take a Pet Shop and you hit someone with it.'  'Well why would you do that?' I asked about to burst at the seams trying not to laugh.  'I don't know... I didn't write the song, I'm just singing it.' she says, condescendingly, as she's walking away.

Omgosh that child.  lol.  She is good for my endorphins.  lol.