Thoughts on a New Year

I think my Facebook post on December 31 last year was something to the effect of, "Goodbye 2014, don't let the door hit you on the way out."  I was bitter.

I still am at times, but as they do, circumstances change.  I have changed.  Last year, I was in survival mode.  Only a few close friends knew my marriage was ending.  I was unable to tell my parents because I did not want them worrying about me.  I was unable to tell my kids because I did not want to disrupt their lives prematurely.  I was unable to tell myself that I was going to survive.

So while 2014 was about making decisions and coming to the realization that I could not stay in my marriage, all the while trying to hold it together so my terror was not visable from the outside, 2015 was different.

2015 was about putting it out there.  The good, but mostly the bad and the ugly.  

It was about inviting my Dad to lunch and chugging a Mikes in the Panera parking lot at 11 am to work up the courage to tell him. (Hey, I suggested several establishments that served alcohol, he was stuck on Panera- desperate times and all that)

It was about deciding to wait until school got out for the summer before telling the kids, yet telling every one of their teachers, counselors, coaches, and mentors in case they found something out unexpectedly and needed those adults in their lives to be ready to give them immediate support.

It was about crumbling into a ball at the top of the stairs when Tali looked at me one day and said, "Mom, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?"  And bless her heart, she sat silently with me and when I finally pulled it together gave me a hug saying, "It's gonna be okay" even when she had absolutely no idea why her mother was a mess.

It was about losing it while talking to the cheer coach because something had happened and I didn't have the strength to deal with Josie's anxiety when I was drowning in my own.

It was about dragging myself out of bed at 5 am and going to the gym with Lyra even though I had cried or been awake all night and promising myself that someday, SOMEDAY, she would realize what a sacrifice it was.

It was about trying to ensure Charlie had a good year at school even though he was not thriving.  Trying to have time and energy for a boy who was trying to figure out how to transition from cute little kid to awkward pre-adolescent, while I was trying to figure out how to make the transition from Army wife to single Mom.  

It was about falling apart at IEP meetings because I felt so inadequate when the school personnel told me it would be better to have him arrive early for school instead of 5 minutes late everyday.  (Timeliness  has never been my forte.  Being depressed does not help.)

It was about bursting into tears at the craziest of places because of the stupidest things.

And it was about growing.

It was about realizing that I had love and support from more people than I could imagine.

It was about learning that I am stronger than I realize.  

It was about learning that falling apart doesn't always mean you are weak.  Sometimes, something just has to give.

It was about seeing the compassion in people when I started to say my reality out loud and finding out that the world was still turning regardless of my marital status.

It was about sucking it up and going on vacation "as a family" to show the kids that we can all still get along. (Yes, Rodney King, we can)

It was about spending my first holiday alone and realizing a day on the calendar isn't what makes time with family special.

It was about forgiving myself for not turning in the paperwork on time, for forgetting someone had practice, for being late to yet another meeting, appointment, therapy session.

It was about figuring out that yes, the Mike's dulled the pain in the evening, but it also dulled the ability to function the next day.  (And weighing the cost-benefit analysis of that particular problem)

And it was about loving myself.

It was about accepting that I may be desirable.

It was about learning to take a compliment.

It was about laughing with friends.

It was about getting out of the house!  (Who knew a world of lunches, happy hour, and dancing with the girls still existed?)

It was about allowing the kids to see me as more than just a Mom and understand that I deserve to have a life too. (This second part is still a work in progress)

It was about seeing myself as Mary again, and trying to remember who she was and wanting to find out who she will be.

It was about having the openness to love again.

It was about taking the chance to trust again.

It was about finding out that when someone lets you down, you have a choice to lay there or to pick yourself up and keep going.   

It was about being stubborn enough to push through the pain, not give in to the demons (or mean people), and know that Mary is worthy of good things.

It was about completely forgetting the statement I just typed above and learning it again.  And again. And again.  And yes, again.

It was about still believing in the fairy tale, no matter how many times you see it slip through your hands.

It was about the reality check of reeling it all back in and reevaluating my priorities.

Yes, I am still bitter.  Check back in an hour and you'll be amazed at my hostility regarding marriage, single parenthood, special needs, anxiety, aging parents, the unfairness of the world on any and every level.  BUT, I am trying to find the happy.  Or maybe even just the contentment in this life o' mine.

2016 is going to be a good year!  I'm excited to see what it brings.  

This year will mean a house for the kids and I to make into our home.  A HOME!  Not a rental, not post housing, no white walls- the possibilities are endless!  

This year will mean more independence, more responsibility, more growing up for myself as well as the kids. And we will succeed and fail together.

This year will mean so many things.  

Scary? Yes.

Exciting?  Most definitely!

So 2015, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you end, but I am thankful for what you gave me.  Insight, growth, strength, love, and hope.  You may not be remembered fondly, but you shall be remembered.

The Last First Communion

One of the most memorable homilies I ever heard was the one given by Father P. for Tali and Josie's First Communion.  It was at our local church attached to the Catholic School they attended at the time in Virginia.

Father P. attended Mount Saint Mary's Seminary in Emmitsburg, Md.  As MSM College (now University) is my Alma Mater, I was already a fan.  After the sermon he gave for the First Communion masses, I was even more impressed.

He spoke about a sign on the sacristy wall of the St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Basilica. It says, "Priest of God, celebrate this Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass."  He modified it to speak of receiving Holy Communion.  He told the kids they should "Receive every Holy Communion as if it is your First Holy Communion, your Last Holy Communion, your Only Holy Communion."  I thought it was such a poignant idea.  Many times, the Eucharist becomes such a habit, we just take it for granted and don't use the reverence we should.

Fast forward seven years.  Sawyer was in 2nd grade for the second year in a row. Having a Special Needs child can be overwhelming at times.  Although Sawyer is very high functioning, his autism demands additional needs; for example, IEP meetings, behavior therapy in the home, feeding clinic appointments, and the day to day struggle of trying not to meltdown when it is inappropriate.  Take sports for instance.  Sawyer knows that boys his age are not supposed to cry when they strike out, but the frustration of not performing is overwhelming and he loses it. He knows that his peers don't have a problem with loud and rowdy kids in the school cafeteria, but the over stimulation of many noises (in this case, voices) coming from several directions causes him to lose his ability to do anything besides curl up in a ball and hold his hands over his ears.

Last year, Sawyer and I attended the first two CCD classes with the Communion group.  There were about 20 kids and one teacher.  As I have to accompany Sawyer to most activities, it was mistakenly thought that I would be the aide as I would be there anyway.  Uhhhh, it doesn't work that way.  When Sawyer is in full meltdown mode, I can do nothing but deal with Sawyer.  And even when there is not nuclear combustion going on, I really need to focus on him.  Needless to say, I pulled him and we "homeschooled" CCD.  Homeschooling CCD meant walking the other kids to the church for classes and finding an empty classroom to watch a Bible Video.  I found a series which had a quiz at the end, so I could trick myself into believing he was actually learning something.

When we moved East and Sawyer was in 2nd grade again, I was assured there were at least three 2nd grade CCD classes.  I was thankful for the small class size and felt much more confident about his "Sacramental Year."  When we arrived for the first class, I was told the three teachers had decided to join forces and teach one big class.  You can imagine my delight at such a prospect.  But, I was assured that there were three teachers and at least three aides with the 30-40 kids in the class.  More importantly, no one was expecting me to do anything, but sit with Sawyer. That, I was relatively sure I could do.

We attended the majority of classes and on occasion, Sawyer actually participated.  When it was time to recite his prayers to ensure he knew them, we played fill in the blank.   "Our _____, who ___ in _______," You get the idea.  I had spoken with the Priest, actually two of them at our new Parish and was assured it would be okay.  I wasn't sure he'd be able to receive his Sacraments at all, but one priest remarked that sometimes Special Needs kids are almost more deserving of Grace from The Lord.  I was feeling pretty good.

And then it was time for Confession.  Kids typically make their First Confession several weeks before their First Communion.  We went to classes and we practiced.  We made a cheat sheet with the class and practiced.  We said our prayers and we practiced.  The big day came....and went.  He did not want to go when his class was going.  As I had already experienced taking a teary eyed and terrified child (Josie) to her First Confession while all the parents and the entire 2nd grade class watched, I was not anxious to do it again.  I had already spoken with the Priest about doing it quietly in his office some day.  And that's exactly what we did.  Sawyer was not overly responsive and didn't say hardly anything, but Father W. took a very smart approach and asked Sawyer a series of "yes" or "no" questions so Sauce could nod or shake his head to own up to any of his sins.  If there were any off the beaten track sins, they were grouped in with the others.  I'm certain that God had it covered.  For the record:  I was to keep my eyes closed as Sawyer was sitting on my lap.  I may or may not have peeked just a bit.

As we were leaving, I asked the Priest if he would tell the Religious Ed Director that Sawyer had indeed made his First Confession as he would not be able to take Communion until the former was done.  He smiled and said, "No."  I was like, "Whatdya mean 'no?' You're kidding right?"  He shook his head. "A Priest cannot tell anyone who has gone to confession."  I'm thinking, Seriously?  I coulda lied and no one would have ever.....shoot, never-mind.

We got over the precursor hurdle and suddenly it was the week of Josie's Confirmation and Sawyer's First Communion, because the Catholic Church is all about cramming in these two Sacraments before Matrimony season starts.  Poor Josie got next to no fanfare for her Thursday night event. Not only was she one of just a couple 9th graders getting Confirmed (because in Pennsylvania they Confirm in 8th grade and in Kansas they Confirm in 9th), but Sawyer's possible Communion was sucking up all my energy and anxiety.

The Big Day arrived.  May 9th, 2015.  I remember thinking as I woke up, this could really go either way.  In fact, I could think of about 107 scenarios of the day playing out with only a handful of them not being horrific.  Sawyer was certainly not willing to try on any clothes the weeks or even the night before.  I was measuring pants against the jeans he wore to school that week and shirts against the long sleeve Minecraft T-shirts that he donned on a daily basis.  By the grace of God, I was able to get him dressed and everything fit relatively well.  He did remind me, "I hate shirts with buttons." and "I will NOT wear a tie!"  Eventually, we left the house with him in khakis, a button-down shirt, clip-on tie, navy blazer, dark socks and loafers. I don't even attempt this much formality at a family wedding.  He was not happy, but surprisingly calm.

It was set up so the First Communicants would process in, making a full lap around the pews so parents and relatives could snap pictures at every possible camera angle before the kids made their way down the main aisle once again and sat in the first several pews of the church.  It took about 6.2 seconds for Sawyer to determine at rehearsal that he was having none of this parading around business. Not. Doing. It.  That was more than fine with me.  As far as I was concerned that meant less could go wrong. The Religious Education Director had a few pews set aside for kids that would do better sitting with their families.  We were in one of those pews.  However, even though Sawyer wasn't processing in, we still had to be there quite early.  Waiting, as you can imagine, especially for something that he is nervous about, is not Sawyer's forte.  Add in my four other kids whose seating arrangements required for maximum good behavior could be an SAT question (The Carlton's are going to sit together in church.  B Cha must sit on an end.  Lyra cannot sit next to B Cha or Tali.  Josie must sit on an end...) add in other family members and dynamics and we were a puddle of gas praying no one close by needed a smoke!

FINALLY, church began and the kids started their march down the aisle.  You could definitely pick out the future attention seeking brides vs the ones that would rather arrive at the alter in the middle of a ring of bridesmaids.  There were a handful of extremely prayerful young men...and the other 37 were a caricature of 8 year old boys whose Mothers had just spit on a tissue attempting to clean the chocolate pop tart off their face.

Mass was progressing along with only peppered interruptions from Sawyer, who inquired regularly on any updates re: Eastern Standard Time, while in turn providing notifications re: hunger, starvation, and impending dehydration. He had lost the sports coat at some point, but I didn't even notice until he looked at me with a rage that would've made Linda Blair shake and said, "I. Said. No. Ties."  It
required ever fiber of my being to not look back at him like a crazy woman and respond, "And. I. Said. No. Wire. Hangers."  True story.

The moment of truth arrived.  All the "neuro-typical" kids went to the alter and received the Body of Christ.  It was our turn.  I walked up the aisle on Sawyer's right side, and everything slurred together. We made it to the alter, the wonderful priest smiled at me, his eyes twinkling, I'm sure the suspense was killing him too.  I put my hands out and Sawyer mimicked me.  Father W. said, "The Body of Christ."  And I THINK Sawyer responded "Amen," but to be honest he could have said, "And also with you," and I wouldn't have noticed.  He took the host and placed it in his mouth!  Did you get that?  HE TOOK THE HOST AND PLACED IT IN HIS MOUTH!  If you are not Catholic, it is important to understand that when we, as Catholics, receive communion, we believe it to be the actual Body of Christ.  This is a huge deal and him going through with it, was enough for me to hear a chorus of angels singing the Easter Alleluia as I walked back to the pew. Tears, real tears were streaming down my cheeks.  A Momma could not have ever been prouder.

We knelt after communion and I praised God and thanked Jesus for getting both of us through this.  I was interrupted from my worship when Sawyer grabbed my arm in a strangle hold.  I looked at him, "What?"  He had a very strange look on his face and he started to open his mouth several times.  He pointed at his mouth. Like a properly trained mother, I obeyed and cupped my hand under his chin. What happened next was beyond any of those 107 scenarios I had feared.  He spit the well chewed wafer into my hand!  I was stunned and in shock for a good 19 seconds, before I pulled my hand back to examine the contents.  

Praying that he had somehow swallowed the host before ingesting and depositing a chewed up peanut butter cracker in my palm, I gazed down.  I will spare you the gory details, but what I was holding was no mystery.  I said, "Sawyer!  Whaaaa?" He looked at me blankly and said, "I have to go to the bathroom."  The noise that came from me must have been odd.  Josie looked over Sawyer's head and gave me a questioning look.  I turned my wrist slightly so she could see what I was holding while not spilling any of the puddle.  Her face contorted as she mentally put the pieces together of what could possibly be in my hand.  I now know exactly what the person who came up with the light bulb going off scenario was talking about.  I believe I saw a spark fire out of her ear.  She turned to Lyra and the whispers went westward down the pew.  As each child heard the news they looked at me with a "Say it ain't so Momma!" glance that I could only return with a small lift of my right hand.  Keep in mind that the families and friends of all the Communicants were still coming up the aisle, meaning, I could not leave my seat. As friends tapped me on the shoulder to wave or whisper "Hi" as they walked by, I plastered on a smile worthy of wedding photos.  Also, I kept my right hand out of view.

Hours (or possibly just a few minutes) later, as the last attendee passed, I grabbed Sawyer and said, "Let's go."  We walked up the aisle to the narthex and the bathrooms.  One of the CCD teachers was at the doorway and was so excited, "He did it!"  I reluctantly showed her my hand and I think she threw up in her mouth a little before saying, "Well, Momma, it's time to take one for the team."  I whimpered, "I have to don't I?"  Her nod was clear.  I nudged Sawyer into the Men's room and I went into the Ladies.  Again, if you are not Catholic, you must understand desecration of the host is a mortal sin.  It is akin to desecrating the body of Jesus.  The only option I had was ingesting the host myself.  I did.  I shall spare us both the details of that experience.

Please know, that this was a very pivotal moment for me as a Catholic.  Seriously. I briefly debated the alternatives before recognizing that I had no doubt what I needed to do.  It was not enjoyable.  Perhaps saying that is a sin, I hope not.  But I am happy with the decision I made.  There was no time to second guess myself as I now needed to get Sawyer back down to our pew before mass ended.  I'm not sure why that was so important at the moment, but it was.

I cracked the door of the Men's room and said, "Sauce?"  A booming voice (which did NOT belong to my eight year old son) came back, "Someone's in here!"  I enlisted the help of a teenage boy we knew.  I begged him to go in and see what was up.  He came out smiling and said, "He couldn't undo his belt."  Are you kidding me?  I had gone through an entire examination of my conscience and discernment of my faith and he hadn't gone to the bathroom yet?!?  Unbelievable.  I waited, suddenly having an inkling of what purgatory must feel like, until he came out, shirt untucked belt unbuckled, pants 1/2 way zipped.  I put him back together a la Clark Kent into Superman and rushed him down the aisle.  As we sat down the Priest and Clergy stood to process out.  Phew.

I vaguely remember walking to the parish activity center and the beginnings of a reception.  Sawyer wanted nothing to do with the crowd and honestly, neither did I.  I did chug a glass of punch though.

Five weeks have passed since that fateful Saturday.  Each week I have Sawyer walk down the aisle next to me.  Each week we arrive at the Priest and he gives Sawyer a "What'll it be?" look.  And each week so far, Sawyer has given the slightest shake of his head.  The Priest tells me not to worry.  I should continue to bring him up each week and someday he will Receive.  It may be the 27th time, it may be the 87th, it may even be the 147th, but it is important to give him the chance.

I don't know how long it will take.  Only God knows that.  And perhaps Sawyer.  In the meantime, I tell myself it is okay because Sawyer did Receive his First Holy Communion as if it was his First Holy Communion, His Last Holy Communion, His Only Holy Communion.


Editors note:  Today, December 5, 2015 marks the 30th week since Sawyer's First Holy Communion.  He has yet to take the host again.

Hershey Park Happy. Hershey Park Sad.

The quick intro to this is that friends of mine from high school come to Carlisle every summer to visit family at the beginning of July. Before we actually moved here, we always overlapped.  My friends have six kids and I have five.  The older kids took swimming lessons together until between us we had too many kids to bother with such frivolities.  We just threw them all in my parents pool and let them figure it out.

Now that we live here year round the visit from the other family has been much anticipated for months.  Today they scheduled a trip to Hershey Park and asked that we join them.  As I have been dealing with illnesses all week and I really didn't have the energy to take five kids to an amusement park from 10 AM to 10 PM, I opted for the lesser known evil.  The "sunset ticket" which allowed us in the park from 5 until 10 PM.

Taking several kids, several ages to such a place is always a challenge, but as the kids have gotten older it has gotten easier.  Having a special needs child at one of the most chaotic places on Earth is a challenge as well.  Again, age has made a difference....or so I optimistically thought.

As we got stuck in traffic, I casually mentioned to the kids that although we had left in plenty of cushion to visit Chocolate World before 5 PM (thus not missing any park time as CW is actually outside of the park), to stop there now would lessen the amount of park time and perhaps we should skip it.  The thought of going into the park without first paying homage to the now over-commercialized "factory tour" is apparently as sacrilege as telling the kids there will be no 4th of  July fireworks!  Those of you from Carlisle are well aware of the headline EVERY year in The Sentinel saying "there may not be enough funding for fireworks this year."  It sends my kids over the edge. Every year.  In addition, last year, due to the move, a family wedding, and a monsoon in NY, we missed fireworks completely.  This may be something from which the kids never do recover.  It has been discussed on a fairly regular basis, including during the winter months.  But I digress...

We were not walking through the entrance with out doing the Chocolate World thing.  Sawyer was very excited because this was going to be his third time going through the tour this year!  "And Mom,  it's only July 2nd." Clearly a new record to beat.  Thinking back, there was mention of Sawyer's leg falling asleep and feeling funny, but the whining was minimal and I apparently didn't give it a thought.  Thankfully, the experience was otherwise uneventful.

As we arrived at the gate, someone had to go to the bathroom.  In a large family, someone always has to go to the bathroom.  The fact that four of the six of us had stopped earlier to go did not matter, because said child "didn't have to go 5 minutes ago."

We get through the gate and texted with the friends as to where to meet them.  It was agreed they would wait until we got to the other side of the park....the way other side of the park, to get in line for this years new roller coaster, Laff Track.

I briefly glanced the direction of the stroller rental booth as we walked past.  Sawyer is 8 years old.  We did not go to Hershey last year and I couldn't remember what I did the last time we were at a walking intensive activity. Their Dad had taken them to Hershey Park a few weeks ago and there was no mention of a stroller.  Wow, I thought, have we finally gotten through the need to rent a stroller stage?  I mean, really?  The stage only lasted 16 years, in the blink of a disappearing $20 bill!

Sawyer has improved his willingness to walk greatly.  However, there are still moments where he insists on being carried.  All you perfect parents can just step off about now. He's my youngest kid of five and he has special needs.  The battles I can fight on a daily basis are fought, trust me.  This is not the child you can look down upon and say, "okay, if you are going to lie down in the middle of the park where people will step on you, we'll see you later."  Thus ends the portion of the blog where I defend myself to the reader.

Surprisingly, Sawyer walked the entire way across the park.  There was little to no fussing. By the grace of God it was a cool enough evening that the heat from the pavement was not penetrating the bottom of our feet.  Kids split off and parents drew straws to see who would go where.  Sawyer and I found ourselves alone for a bit.  He kept telling me, "I want a blue thing."  I told him the next time we see a guy selling raspberry lemonade, I would get one.  "No!  THE BLUE THING WITH THE
WHEELS!"  Oh crap!  He wants a stroller.  Did I mention we were on the other side of the park?  The park that has quadrupled in size since I was in middle school complaining about the long walk from one side of the park to the other.

I diverted with the promise of a train ride. Picture if you will a child who loves trains, but does not love loud noises. Noises for example, like train whistles.  For even more fun, let's pretend that oxymoron child has an aversion, no, an abhorrence, for people putting their fingers in their mouths.  A revulsion that can cause a major meltdown before anyone can understand what has set him off.  Now, let's take said child and put him on a train ride where the engineer blows the whistle at every opportunity. And, let's sit the child and his parent facing a Dad and his two children.  Let's pretend the younger child's fingers are lollipops and he cannot lick and eat them fast enough.  Now, to put icing in this proverbial cake, we should throw in a well meaning park worker whose job it is to go car to car and take pictures of the riders before the train starts. One of the things Sawyer hates as much as the finger thing is having his picture taken.  Such was the scene at the one and only ride Sawyer rode tonight.  True story.

After a difficult train ride where Sawyer was closing his eyes and crying while I was whispering to look the other way, the Dad and his two kids couldn't exit the train quick enough.  I got Sawyer off the train and in an attempt to do anything to improve his mood, I allowed him to spend $5 playing 10 games of skee ball!  Nothing makes me happier than watching my child drop quarter after quarter into a metal box so he can roll 9 wooden balls down a miniature bowling alley.  His efforts awarded him 2 tickets.  Two.  The Pokemon stuffed animal he wanted required twenty tickets.  According to my calculations, I should have been able to hand the lifeless waif of an attendant $50 for the darn pocket monster and endured much less pain.  After spending the first half of his $10 game money, Sawyer chose to spend his remaining $5, on one play of Plinko (sans Drew Carey).  He did not win a Minecraft cow or pig as he had hoped.  Instead he won a $2 game ticket for another game.  The coupon was not eligible for arcade games, such as skee ball.  I was a bit concerned he might crumble up the ticket and insert it into the employees nose.  Thankfully, that was not the case.

We met up with the kids and other parents here and there. Each trek more difficult than the last.  Sawyer had a headache, his legs hurt, he wasn't having fun and did I tell you his head hurt?  I left him with my friend and went to a First Aid station and got some chewable Tylenol.  Still on the far side of the park, I asked if there was a stroller rental on this side of the park.  They told me yes, by The Claw.  I had just told my friend that I noticed a wheelchair rental place over there, but I didn't think they had strollers.  The pimple faced EMT assured me they had strollers too.  After a 10 minute walk to the wheelchair rental place, I was told very emphatically that they did not have strollers.  Because I was annoyed at the misinformation, I stopped at guest services and nicely explained what happened.  The woman apologized.  I threw out the autism card and the fact that I had been carrying Sawyer for about an hour hoping she'd have pity on me and have someone bring one that far.  No dice.

Back to my friends who were graciously dealing with Sawyer.  He looked rough.  The pink chewable Tylenol was refused as Sawyer only likes the purple.  There was little to no chance of getting him to take it.  I told him I would get a drink and some fries if he would take the remaining tablets smooshed between the fries and washed down with lemonade.  We left the kids and parents to go on a few more rides as we went searching for food.  The first place only had waffle fries which were unacceptable.  The second place had traditionally shaped French fries sprinkled with crab seasoning.  We were assured (I was getting doubtful with the whole assurance thing) that the fries could be made without the seasoning.  Including random family members who were not purchasing food, there were about 12 people ahead of us.  Behind us was a group of five teenage boys who knew one of the fry boys inside the shack.  Fry boy was either hard of hearing or worried about losing his job, because the yelling at the Plexiglas got louder with each non-acknowledgement of the group.  It became more and more apparent that Sawyer really did not feel well as he didn't complain about the loud voices and crowded line though his body was tensing to the point of shaking.  He lifted his head off my shoulder only long enough to say, "throw up." I quickly excused myself past the family behind us, past TJ's five closest long lost friends, and brought him to a bench.  He stretched out on the bench with his head on my lap. Moving once to instruct me to remove the keys from my pocket, he was completely lethargic.  My friend found us and offered to get a drink.  At this point, I was dehydrated from carrying a 44 lb sack of bones around the park.  She returned and I took the first sip, to make sure it wasn't poison of course, then gave some to Sawyer. When he barely took any, I started planning a trip to the closest First Aid station.

I carried him about 10 minutes to the building which had held the Guest Services office from before.  I asked the more stereotypical EMT if it would be possible to get a ride to the front of the park as my son felt sick and I couldn't carry him that far.  He brought me back to my friend at Guest Services and after she ended her phone call to check on a friends opening night (a play perhaps?), requested transport.  I thought she remembered me, but I never was too sure.  She called immediately and told me to bring Sawyer into the waiting area so he could lay down.  All was quiet for a few minutes.  Then there was the slightest noise. Barely a cough, nearly a gurgle, from Sawyer.  A mothers intuition kicked in.  I lifted his head and asked my new BFF Mary Carol or Mary Catherine or whatever her name was, "Do you have a buck...." And Mt. Saucious blew!  All over the couch, all over the floor, all over everything.  By the time the garbage can made it into the room, the eruption had finished.  Oh, wait an afterblow.  And he's d....definitely not done.  Now.  Yes. Now he is done.  Poor baby.  Poor nasal passages o' mine!  MC couldn't have been nicer, though I did hear her call to see how far the golf cart was.  She brought in paper towels and accepted all my apologies sweetly while telling me that she hates throwing up so she can imagine how awful Sawyer must be feeling.  It was calming.

Enter Mr. Hershey Park!  Golf cart driver, customer service rep, Chatty Cathy reincarnated as a 20 year old male, Matt. He was happy to take us through the back of the rides all the way to the car.  He hit every pothole on the way, but God love him, he made the ride interesting.  He told me how it was okay for him to go against the arrows on the road, how he hopes our experience at Hershey was great, despite, you know, the vomiting.  He was glad to hear we lived in the area so we could be his guests once again.  As we neared the van, he asked Sawyer if he had fun. "No!" He apologized and said, "Well, did you at least have fun before you got sick?"  " NO!"  It was weak, but emphatic.  Matt's enthusiasm and cheerfulness could not be squelched.

"Next time you come it'll be great I'm sure.  We'd love to have you be our guest again!"

Okay, Mrs. Potts.  See you next time!


End Note: As I was pulling out of the parking lot, Josie called asking where I was.  I told her she was going home with our friends because Sawyer threw up and I had to leave.  "Oh, Lyra just threw up too.  Do you want to take her home too?"  I asked if she wanted to go home.  "Nah.  She said she's heading to another roller coaster."

The Results Are In!

The first day of school is always one for a bit of angst. Kids are growing, sometimes changing interests and friends, maybe moving on to the local middle or high school. Parents are watching their kids grow up, getting closer to leaving home. Some parents have a problem with this part. Me? Not so much. 



Regardless, the first day of school for military kids is tougher than most kids could imagine. I won't go into it all, because there are 1000 blogs out there that will tell you what it means to be a Military Brat. They can explain to you how hard it is to register your child in a new school district who has different history courses different years, how requirements are different for taking honors classes, how it's hard to get into student council if you missed last springs elections, not to mention the difficulty of being the new kid AGAIN!



I am just here to tell you how my kids did today. Sadly, I was a basket case yesterday and much of today. It's not that I don't have faith in my kids, it's just that they have fragile hearts. (Some more fragile than others) and I just want them to be happy and to like themselves for who they are. It's a lesson I'm still working on at 46. I sure hope they manage to learn faster than me.





From the bottom up, here's how it went:


Sawyer, who is repeating second grade due to his early August birthday and the challenges he has with autism, had a decent day. His teacher and a member of the special ed team (I think) came out to tell me what a great day he had. He took a few breaks. Lunch went well, PE was a challenge, but all in all, pretty good. He did not say it was "bad" which has been his go-to answer for the question "How was school today?" the last three years running, so I figure that is fantastic! Also, he has not yet refused to go back tomorrow. "WINNING!"





Charlie, who is repeating fourth grade due to his late September birthday and the challenges he has with maturity, had a fun day. He met a friend, they ran together at PE class and listened to the directions which were to not stop running. The boys who ran really fast and stopped after one lap were out because they didn't do it right. Therefore, when one of them stated that they should not have been called out of the game, Charlie jumped right into say how wrong they were. Nothing like pissing off the kids who can run faster than you on the first day of school! Perhaps I should add "muzzle" to next years' school supply list. Geez, kid. I can tell him til I'm blue in the face not to get into it with people when it's not important, but he will never learn. The best part of his new class is that there is a boy in his class who just moved to the US from....wait for it.....keeping in mind one of his best friends last year....you guessed it.....AUSTRALIA!!! AND his name is Charlie! And he is from the town of....drumroll please.....CARLTON! Too funny!



Charlie's best quotes of the day:



Talking about his new friend Charlie, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he had to write the sentence, 'Charlie is from Carlton' and he forgot to write the words 'is' and 'from' so he would just write my name. I mean, that would just be so crazy!"


"I think the other Charlie's last name is Stuart.  Hmmm, Stew....ahhrt (sounding it out ridiculously).  Yep, sounds Australian!  Must be it."



Also, this morning, he told me what 27 items he packed for lunch and then said, "Oh, and a mint! This is a good idea because it is sort of like a desert, but will make my breath smell minty after lunch!" Sigh.



Lyra had a day that would have been totally awesome if "totally awesome" was a phrase used by cool, unphased kids, who work hard to act like they don't care. She smiled her trademark 'I will not show my teeth in a smile until I get into and out of braces' smirk. "It was good!" She said. She talked about her science teacher (funny), art teacher (strict), lunch (stuck at a table with a bunch of boys, but with her cousin thank goodness). She talked more, but it have to admit that during that time I was trying to calculate exactly how long I could wait to see if the other girls got home before I had to leave to pick up the boys. But it was good. She came home happy and talked to me at length which is always a good sign for her. Sadly, I missed a lot of it, but I got the high points...there is a beach party next week and a lot of girls wore spaghetti straps today probably because they aren't really enforcing the dress code yet, so she will be wearing a sleeveless shirt tomorrow. (NOTE TO SELF: Throw an extra shirt in the car so when I get a call from school that Lyra is not dressed properly, I can drop that off after dropping off the boys and save an extra trip across town!)


Josie, sweet Josie. I don't know which of us was more worried about her day. I was able to wait until I saw the bus up the street before I went to pick up the boys. I drove up the connecting street and stopped. I rolled down the window and Josie was like a moth to a flame. When asked how it was, she smiled her 'I don't want to admit that it was good, because maybe I'm remembering it wrong' smile and said, "Okay, I guess." I said, "Was it absolutely horrible?" "No." "Did you cry?" (Her goal for the day was to not cry) "No!" "Well, look at you girlfriend! You did it!" Then I got the 'I really want to believe you, but I can't quite get there, but I want to be happy' look. I asked if she wanted to ride with me to get the boys and she declined saying she needed to work on her cheers before practice. (Little did we know they had changed the time for practice and she was in the midst of missing the first hour). Talking with her later was a mix of "things went okay" and "they are expecting too much" and "I'll never be able to keep up" and "I had someone to sit with at lunch" (I said a silent prayer of thanks) and finally, "I just don't like high school, I'm not ready."


Meanwhile after stopping them on the street and asking if Josie wanted to ride with me, Tigger, I mean Tali bounced across the road and said, "I'll come!" I wasn't sure what to expect. The next 15 minutes were incredibly funny and exhausting and heart melting all at once. She opened her mouth and this is what came out: "Oh my gosh, it was SO fun, I mean I can't wait to go back, really, I'd go back right now, but that would be silly, but really it was that fun so I can't wait til tomorrow, but I know in a few months I won't feel this way, but really, all days of school should be the first day of school, so here's what happened first, we have assigned seats on the bus and they didn't have our names on the list and Josie was worried but I didn't care and Gabbys not on our bus but I sat with so and so and we went to homeroom and the teacher was all "don't bother me and he put his head on the desk, he may have gone to sleep..."


"Like Mr, Schneebly?" I asked.


"Oh my gosh that's so funny! EXACTLY like that and then I had to go to history and so I walked with Josie part way and I think that's when we saw Sarah and I have history with so and so and so and so and it's gonna be a great class and the teacher is cool and said we can bring coffee and breakfast to class and I totally wish there was a Starbucks near school..."


"Because you are in such desperate need of caffeine? I know, I'm worried that you may have low blood pressure."


"No LISTEN, I totally knew where I was and everyone liked my outfit and safety ed is a joke, I mean, I think I'm the only half motivated person in there and I'm gonna be really smart in Spanish but that may be just cuz I knew what she was saying because it was written on a poster in the back of the room and there is a special needs boy that sits next to me so I hope the other kids don't think they'll mess with him because I will totally be his protector, I didn't even have to ask anyone how to get anywhere and then I had to go back to the other building and I was in all my classes on time and was never late and I didn't even have to run and lunch is SO short, I mean how do they expect me to eat anything in like two minutes..."


"Um, was the lunch period 2 minutes or is that how long you were somehow able to stop talking in order to attempt to consume some nutrition?"


"Mooooommmmm, so then in chemistry, there was this boy....."


Apparently, Tali has already aced the "like yourself" lesson....eh, good for her! Maybe I taught one of them right!

My Two Cents

I don't know that I will always remember where I was physically when I heard that Robin Williams had died, but I will never forget where I was emotionally.

I know tons of people have written articles and blogged about depression, suicide, and Mr. Williams the last few days.  I am not trying to jump on the bandwagon.  My writing is cathartic for me and if you happen to enjoy it, then I am happy to let you read it.  One thing I do not do is extensive research or fact checking.  I write from the heart, about what I know and what it means to me.  Your opinions may differ, my thoughts and feelings may not be the popular ones.  My experience may not be the typical one, but this is what I am dealing with.

I have been in a very dark place for the last few weeks due to circumstances I do not wish to share.  I didn't fall into an immediate depression.  The demons lurked around the corner until I found myself having at least one drink a night.  I got buzzed several times and completely drunk twice in a short period of time.  For those of you who know me, this was very typical in college and for a few years after, but I had probably drank more in the last three weeks than I had in the last year combined.

After a very ugly Friday night, which turned into a very painful Saturday morning, I decided I had to step back.  It was then I realized they had me surrounded.  Those nasty, slimy, hateful demons that feed off of my lack of confidence, that gain strength from my self loathing and who revel in my humiliation.  They were living the high life at my expense, at the expense of my kids.

They are always there in the shadows, but it had been quite a while since I could feel them sucking the breath out of me.  Since I had my kids, I can honestly say that those horrid creatures have not been able to push me into suicidal ideation.  I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind in the last 15 years, but never for more than a moment or two.  I have struggled with the desire to hurt myself on a few rare occasions, but somehow have managed to not give in. (Again, this is in the last 15 years)

So as I tried to muddle my way through Saturday, my youngest sons 8th birthday, I hated myself for letting the monsters get so close.  How could I not keep those mother f-ers away when I had 5 kids who needed me?  Screw that noise, I could do this damn it!  So Sunday I woke up and decided that it was the first day of the rest of my life.  I was going to take care of me and get a handle on things.

And Monday night, when I was feeling a bit upbeat about getting everyone everywhere they needed to go on a busy day....I opened FaceBook and saw that he had died.  Although they alluded to it, it was not positively suicide, but somehow I knew.  My heart shattered and my brain spun.  I wanted to stand up and announce to the other Little League parents (who were complete strangers as we just moved here and it was the first practice ), "Robin Williams is dead!"  I wanted to share my shock, my sadness and most importantly, my overwhelming fear.

I mean, if he could not escape the demons, who the heck was I to think I could?  "First day of the rest of my life," oh my God, who was I kidding?  I could hear them snickering in my ears, felt them breathing down my neck.  I was deflated.  Then a few things happened that gave me something to think about.  Watching tv, being on the phone, reading FB posts, I realized that there were so many people out there who didn't get it.  Were they mean spirited? Clueless? Ignorant?  I wasn't sure.  Some of these people were friends, people I respected on TV, even a relative said, "Wow, a guy like that.  I mean he had so much, how could he not find a way out?"  That hurt my feelings but I know it wasn't said maliciously.

Something clicked and I realized that there are so many people who are not stalked by these snakes, which is a good thing.  They do, in fact, see the act of suicide as selfish, cowardly and weak. I was sad.  Grateful in a way, that they did not understand, yet, helpless in the feeling of how can I explain it to them?  Through a friends' long FB thread I read posts from people (some friends of mine) who had contemplated or attempted suicide. I realized a person who doesn't understand could certainly see the act as selfish if they are left behind.  But as someone eloquently posted, "a person who succumbs has fell victim to the monsters and their evil whispers.  In their pain, they have a skewed view of what's happening now and what would happen if they died.  They truly believe the world would be a better place if they left it.  They feel they would be doing everyone a favor by not taking up time and energy from their loved ones.  They feel that they are a burden. In that respect, killing themselves becomes a self less act."  I completely agree.

As I contributed to this FB thread and tried to describe to my friend what goes though the mind of someone who wants to die (again, I am going on my own experience, I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV), I felt that I had something worthy to contribute.  That I could help this person and whoever else was following the discussion understand something that was completely foreign to them.  They simply could not get past the action into the mind of the person driven to take their own life.  Was I proud that I had personal experience in this matter?  Um, no, but I was willing to share what I knew in the hope that I could help at least one person understand that Mr. Williams was not acting out of selfishness, that he was not weak. On the contrary, he was probably stronger than many of us.

I once heard someone say, "Everyone feels sorry for the person with depression.  What about the people who have to live with them?"  If their loved one ever had a doubt that taking ones' life would unburden those they loved, it could've been negated right there.  I am so thankful that scenario did not end in tragedy.

I cringed as I heard Shep Smith use the word "coward." I knew that would get him in trouble, but I don't think his intent was malicious. It was a stupid irresponsible thing to say.  As a news anchor you would think he'd have more of a clue.  At the same time, have I ever misspoke about something I didn't understand?  I would put money on it. I will admit I find it much easier to forgive someone who makes an ignorant statement if I respect them.  Human nature I guess.

The same person who sought pity for loving someone with depression, also came down on their partner telling them, "You mope around here all day as if the world is coming to an end, yet someone stops by or calls and you are suddenly the picture of happiness."  What I tried to explain to that person was that their spouse was exhausted from fighting the good fight.  If they were going to be able to let down their guard anywhere, it should be in their own house with the people they love and trust most.  People at the door or on the phone represent the "outside" and when they have the strength, people who are depressed will "put on the happy face" because that is what they are supposed to do. It's what society wants them to do.  Think about this; how many times a day do you say some version of "Hi, how're you?" Let's be honest, if the answer is anything but "Good," "Fine," or "Great," the person asking does an invisible eye roll and curses themselves for asking in the first place.  They don't really want to know.  I know I am guilty of that. I'm not sure if that person above ever really understood what their partner was going through and I'm not sure if their marriage survived.

So let's take that to a higher level.  Robin Williams was a man of extraordinary talent.  His abilities included being an amazing dramatic actor, but he was most recognized for his comedy routines and movie roles.  I dated a comedian once, briefly (shut it MSM alumni!), and he told me that making a living as a comedian was difficult in that no one wanted you to be serious, everyone expected you to be funny all the time.  If I feel compelled as a simple Army wife and mom of 5 kids to staple the smile on my face (which I am not always successful at doing, mind you) can you imagine the pressure felt by Mr. Williams to be not only happy, but funny?!?  The thought is daunting to me.  On my worst days I wouldn't be able to pretend for the Queen of England, but I would try, it's what I do.  I don't claim to know exactly what Mr. Williams was feeling or how long he had dealt with depression, but I'm willing to wager, he put on a happy face more times than we could ever imagine.  The realization of that breaks my heart.

In the FB thread the other night, someone posted this quote: "The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do." - Anonymous (and I actually looked that up!)

Some people will never understand what goes through the mind of someone who commits suicide.  And I'm sure it's never exactly the same thoughts.  A quote in an article I read when I was 16 summed it up for me then, and has always been exactly how I've felt each time I didn't feel I had the strength to go on.  "She didn't want to die.  She just wanted to stop the pain of living." I would never wish such desperation on my worst enemy.  My demons are staying close but I am fighting back.  I have been reaching out to family and friends, I continue to take my meds and am looking for a new therapist since I have moved.  I'm doing the best I can and that's really all I can do.  (But of course, they tell me otherwise)

I guess my thoughts boil down to this: Mr. Williams gave us many gifts, the gift of laughter, the gift of amazement at the human mind, the gift of appreciating the talent of an actor who could make you not only want to know him, but want to know the characters he was able to bring to life for us.  We were blessed to have him in our lives.  Is it sad that he left us too soon?  Of course, but I thank God he stayed with us as long as he did.  He gave us the gift of himself.  Knowing now how difficult it must have been at times, makes it all the more special.  For that we should be grateful and humbled. I know I am.

Mother's Day 2014

Several years ago, when the oldest of the kids were much younger than the youngest ones are now, I decided to celebrate Mother's Day by preparing a list of suggestions for them.  If only they could have read at that point, perhaps I'd be a bit less gray today.  I wrote an updated list a few years ago and feel it's time once again to "gently guide" my lovely children into becoming better human beings and less of a PITA!

When I thought about starting this list last night, not much came to mind.  What a difference a difficult day makes.....enjoy!

1.  If you are interested in spending more quality time with me, try removing your socks by the toe.  I have a feeling that when I get to the pearly gates and am chatting with St. Peter about things I could've done differently, he's gonna chuckle before sending me on my way and say, "The amount of time you wasted on turning socks right side out.....dude!"

2.  When I ask you to call your siblings for dinner and you stand next to me and blow out my ear drum and I say "I could've done that!"  The right response is pretty much anything but "Well, why didn't you?"  Flashing a "I know that was a completely smart alack thing to say" smile will only get you so far. The fact that I do not have a desire to spend the rest of my life behind bars has saved you more than you know!

3.  Yelling "Mom!" for 10 minutes while you walk in a three foot radius will not make me appear.  At least explore another room while you are yelling to give the pretense that you are actually looking for me.  I will typically come to a main section of the house or to the top or bottom of the stairs.  Meet me 1/2 way for Pete's sake.  And for your own.  Few things make me want to go Linda Blair on you more than you screaming and me running to you, only to find out you want me to bring you something.  That is true death-wish material there.

4.  I don't mind if you ask me where something is.  It becomes more obvious as all of you get older that you have never once tried to open anything square or rectangular with a handle unless there is the promise of food behind it.  So ask me where it is and 99 times out of 100 I will tell you the right location.  So, GO LOOK THERE!  A small piece of advise, if you come back and tell me it is not there, you better be 173% sure it is not there.  At the very least 173%.  Should I have to stop what I'm doing, go to the exact place I told you to look and hand the object to you, just plan on me not talking to you for a few hours and consider yourself lucky you didn't just stand in front of said object and scream "Mom!"

5.  There is so much to say about church.  I may need to do another list based solely on mass. You frequently sit comatose in front of the TV or computer for so many hours that I start doing pulse checks just to make sure you are breathing, but sitting still at church for one hour a week is apparently way too much to ask.  So for now, I will just say, we all know that the guy (a Mother would've seen the problem with this a mile away) who decided it was a good idea for families to hold hands during the Our Father most certainly did not have more children than hands.  That said, mass is a place to recharge your be-a-good-person battery,  not the place to be condemned to a life in Hell.

6.  I enjoy a good vine or you tube clip on occasion, but just because your generation has nothing better to do than spend their lives watching other people live, doesn't mean mine doesn't either. I love that you want to share things with me, and many times they are enjoyable.  Just look away from the iPad and ponder this:  (All 5 of you are smart enough to do the third grade math here) 5 kids x 3 videos each x an average of 7 minutes per video = A LARGE CHUNK OF MY DAY.  So while I love Stampylongfoot as much as the next guy, I am not such a Minecraft junkie that I want to watch him play a computer game for 20 minutes!

7.  I am not as lazy as you think I am.  Sometimes when you leave something out or lying around: i.e. the jelly, nail polish, candy wrappers, I am just watching to see who, if anyone, will put it away.  Sadly, you all get a big FAIL on this.  If you ever wonder why the milk in the back of the fridge is open when you have just finished the carton from the front of the fridge, it's because I refuse to drink out of the carton that one of you left on the table for two hours.  I just take one from the back and let you goons drink the science experiments.  I ain't no dummy!

8.  If I ask you to stop singing, or playing the flute or the drums, it is not because I think you stink.  Really, I think you are very talented.  The problem is, that in this house, any vibration of my eardrums is communicated to my brain as noise.  Just. Noise.  I could have Pacabel  himself here tickling the ivories and mark my words, I would still on occasion say, "Pox, honey, could ya plug in the piano headphones?"  I don't take it personally when you ask me not to dance, you shouldn't take it personally when I ask you not to sing or play...or laugh or breathe loudly on some days.

9.  Learn how to ask for a ride!!!  Apparently, my kids were sick the day they taught this life skill.  I've said it 427 times, I have NO PROBLEM driving you or picking you up whenever I can.  Even when I can't, I can usually make something work.  May I suggest just a tiny thought process?  (We aren't even doing the higher math of #6 here) Just ask your brain to flip though the other people who are going where you are going.  There should be an epi-pen type devise that Moms can fill with tequila and use when they are sitting outside of a school dance at 10 PM in line with three other Mom's who live in a two block radius of our house. You go to track practice everyday, it never occurred to you that there are seven kids on your bus route that are also in track?  I don't care if you are not best friends, give just a little thought to your mother's time and energy. I get that you don't want to be the kid that is always hounding everyone for a ride, but here's the thing.  Daddy is gone, I am trying to get 5 kids, to 5 different places all within a 15 minute time frame.  I never ever have a problem giving one of your friends a ride.  99% of military parents and 89% of civilian parents would completely understand that I cannot be two places at once.   Those that don't should probably not be operating large machinery anyway.

10.  When I said all I wanted for Mother's Day was a hug and a kiss, I was serious!  You can't screw that up too much and I like to keep my expectations low.  Daddy is not home, so I really can't have the day off anyway. (Not that I do when he's home either- No Mom is ever completely off the clock) so don't get caught up in the hype.  Just be kind to each other, help me pick up the disaster that is this house, do your chores without me telling you 91 times, and try to keep the expulsion of bodily gases to a minimum.  If you can do that, we will all have a wonderful, semi-good smelling day!

I don't want to be her! But then again...

So incredibly frustrated with myself lately.  I don't know exactly how it happened, but I used to be this fairly on top of it, pretty much organized person.  Really, I was!  I used to start addressing Christmas cards while passing out candy on Halloween.  On January 1st or maybe the 2nd, depending on how hungover I was, I would start to clean out the filing cabinet and remove all the old stuff.  It then went into a "purge box" where it would sit in a dated labeled folder for seven years at which point it would be put into a bank box and shredded on rainy day.

Really, that was me!  Don't get me wrong, I've always been a pile person.  There was usually a pile of stuff on my desk or some horizontal area that needed tending to.  However, it usually was given enough TLC that it didn't slide off the table onto the floor.

When did that person leave and who is this inside of my body?  I want the old me back.  Can't I return this one to Walmart or something?

I think it happened gradually.  Things were definitely under control before we got married.  I couldn't have done the whole wedding thing if I wasn't.  I was psycho organized about the wedding.  Of course a few things fell by the wayside, yes, and I made a couple mistakes that hopefully no one noticed so I'm not calling myself out here.  But, for goodness sake, when everyone arrived at the hotel, they were given a packet with the details of the weekend, local places to eat and a crossword puzzle full of clues related to Charlie and me and our relationship.  A CROSSWORD PUZZLE!!! What bride do you know that's got the time to think of 20 or so clues and make their answers all fit together on a grid?  I was a freak!

So maybe I don't want her back.

The newly married me was not bad.  I remember being completely overwhelmed when we moved for the first time.  It was hard to unpack all this stuff, half of which was not mine and figure put where it was supposed to go.  I  was never the Martha Stuart type and the places I had lived before being married were closets with not much space to decorate.  I remember being really pissed off when another wife suggested that I just "needed someone to tell me what to do."  In some ways she was right.  I did need a bit of direction in the decorating business, but I wasn't sitting on my butt all day.   I didn't understand wives who would knock on my door and just "hang out" with nothing to do all day, because I always had stuff to do.  I was working and volunteering and I had a life.

Maybe I want back the me that had two kids.  Sweet girls who were 14 months apart, but yet I still managed to play Bunco or go scrapbook on a regular basis.  I volunteered at the Thrift Shop and coached cheerleading,  I was a real person.  I was never very good with housekeeping and Charlie started to get annoyed with my inability to keep up with dishes,etc. but I still had a name, a personality!  I painted the kitchen with two kids under two in the house!  I was even pregnant at the time, which begs the question "Is that what happened to Lyra?"

But I was overwhelmed.  I remember freaking out before Charlie came home from a deployment b/c I knew he'd be furious that the house was a wreck.  Two of my most awesomest battle buddies, changed their plans for the evening (one was supposed to go on a date with her husband) to come over and help me get the house in order.  I will never forget that...ever!!!

Someone once told me that every time you have a baby, you lose half of your brain cells.  If you buy into that theory, anyone with more than two kids is in the red.  We moved and the clean strokes I used to swim,  became a doggie paddle.  I had three under 3 1/2 and Lyra spent 22 1/2 hours of every day screaming at the top of her lungs.

Discussion with the doctor:

"Why is she crying?"

"She has colic."

"What's colic?"

"Inconsolable crying."

I really don't like to think much about those days, so I'll keep moving forward.  There are so many feelings and emotions coming at me, I may need a break to rework this a bit.  It's not where I wanted to go with all this.  Because memories start getting very tough.

So let's fast forward 12 years.  I have had three more children.  All boys.  (One I lost at 22 weeks)  The second daughter has been diagnosed with anxiety and depression.  Obviously, that comes from me and I can only pray that by realizing it early and by me having truly "been there" I can help her cope with what will most likely be a life long struggle.  My 7 year old son has Autism. He is very high functioning which comes with it's own set of issues.  The doggie paddle has turned into more a "survival bob" where I come up for air once in awhile only to be sucked under again.

I have a husband who had been deployed or unaccompanied 6 times in the course of our 16 year marriage.  That does not account for all the TDY trips, Army schools, and other times we were separated due to timing.  (ie; I'll move with the kids, you stay and get the house packed and well meet at the next duty station in a month or two) Have no fear,  I realize our separations are a drop in the bucket compared to so many other military families.  We were lucky in our duty stations and timing, yet, I feel C has definitely done his part. 

And now, here I am.  Typing on my iPad at 12:07am because I am so aggravated with myself I feel like I need to confess it in a public blog.  I was not supposed to end up as this woman!  I don't want to be her!  I do not want to be the woman who runs around like a crazy person on Friday afternoon because it's May 2nd and she realized at 8pm on May 1st that the car registration expired on April 30!
I loathe the woman who cannot put her hands on her husbands orders even though she knows where she put them last.  The woman who, while having a severe panic attack is at the mercy of  several federal employees and about 300 yards of red tape before she can re-register her car because her husband is out of the country and she was not with it enough to take care of it on line when it came in the  mail.  She deserves no respect!

I want to smack the woman who has an appointment with her daughter in the morning to finally, after 9 years of schooling and begging for answers, finally get some dyslexia testing done and is looking at a stack about two feet tall of report cards, test results, medical info for all 5 kids that is completely disorganized and not in any semblance of order!  Is it really that hard to stay on top of this stuff?  It shouldn't be, yet....

As I got kids going to bed this evening, I decided that I would in fact, stay up and try to get through the mound of paperwork on the dining room table.  Remember the guy from Close Encounters and his mountain of whatever it was?  That is my dining room table right now.  So I was feeling really good about trying to tackle some of it while gathering some papers for the appt tomorrow.

It's uncanny, actually.  The moment, the exact moment, I threw away the paper towel from washing my hands after putting away what was left from dinner, I heard the dreaded word.

"Mom!"

The rest was garbled to the point I wasn't sure who was calling me.  It was Lyra that announced Josie had a bloody nose,  I'm not quite sure if she understood the garble or if she was able to see the offending nostrils from the bottom of the back staircase.

No big deal, right?  We have our share of bloody noses around here.  Lean forward, pinch, wait, move on.  Not tonight.  This was a bloody nose to rival a major botched surgery.  Imagine a child, who is already having a somewhat difficult day for completely unrelated reasons, and who is trying to prepare for yet another set of tests with a stranger tomorrow to deal with issues she only sees as a failure on her part.  And let's give her a healthy dose of anxiety. For dessert, we'll top it all off with a bloody nose that take a good half hour to get under control. Let's let her start coughing up the blood that's running down her throat and add a few big clots that make her think she's choking and a good size chunk coming out of her nose that is labor and delivery worthy.

I should have spent the last hour trying to go through and organize those papers, but after an ordeal like that, I was done. Fried. Finite! And maybe you wonder why I grabbed the iPad and started typing so uncontrollably instead of spending the last hour organizing those papers. The explanation will make perfect sense when you realize, that before I did any paper sorting I had to google a few things.

1. Best stuff to use for getting the adhesive from EKG stickers off a child's skin. (There was nothing specifically for a child with sensory issues who will not allow me to touch the spots unless he is asleep)  Alcohol did not work.  I will wait for his next deep sleep and try the Goo Gone.

2. How does one to about getting spray paint off of concrete so the Army does not fine one when one is ready to move? I had a list of things to try, but since I did not write them down I'll have to look it up again.

While looking up the previously listed items, I stewed about who I've become and how difficult it is to be this person.  This person I don't know.  This person who, despite the thoughts of her husband, does NOT enjoy living like this.  The person who, because she is so compulsive at times takes three times longer to organize something since she can not just "toss something in a folder."  The folder must be new and labeled correctly.  The papers must be in chronological order.  The bins must be labeled on the outside and all facing the same direction.  I could go on, but then I would be waiting for the knock on the door from the men in white coats!

Three Days Later:

I'm in a much better place at this moment then when I started to write this.  Perhaps I just needed a few days perspective.  A few events to happen that told me the woman I am is not so bad after all.

Event #1- Lyra came home from school Monday and told me in detail about an assembly on bullying that was not presented well.  That's a whole other post, but the important part was, guess what?  A ton of kids never even shared with their parents what had happened or the details of some very disturbing things that were said to an auditorium of 4th, 5th, and 6th graders.  That tells me that I am close to the kids and that they will tell me stuff that is important to know.

Event #2- I had a therapy appt today.  I mistakenly scheduled it at the same time as Josie and B Cha's orthodontist appt.  I was in a panic about what to do.  I ended up dropping them off, going to see my doctor and then picking them up.  This was no big deal, but not too long ago, I would've cancelled the therapy because a.) What kind of Mother would drop the kids off at the ortho and make them hang out there until she could come back? and b.) if anyone has to suffer, it should be me.  Someone who is so disorganized to schedule two conflicting appts should not be allowed to do her thing.  I will pay the $25 to cancel the therapy appt less then 24 hours out with my own bank acct so Charlie doesn't have to know what an idiot I am.

Event #3- The therapy went well.  I was in a rant about this woman who can't keep her house strait and doesn't cook for her kids and who I normally think is a hot useless mess.  But, I had to confess what was really going through my mind.  Lately, all this beating myself up has led me to a few conclusions and when I ran them by Dr. K, she was pretty much in agreement.  I love to be right!

So this is where I am today:

Guess what?  The house is trashed.  No seriously. Trashed!  The dishes are piled up, the laundry's walking around by itself, it looks like a Staples store exploded on every horizontal surface.  I kid you not and I could produce a few witnesses who, only with my permission, could corroborate my story.  Yet, if I do the dishes, the child who ignored them yesterday will feel free to ignore them again.  If the laundry is done perfectly everyday, the kids may continue to think there is a laundry fairy and that anytime they want something clean, the fairy will magically pluck it from under their bed, wash it, fold it, and place it neatly in their drawer.  We may have a ghost in this house, but we ain't got no laundry fairy!  And the papers, well, the papers, I'm working on them.  I have cleared out most of the file cabinet of very old decrepit receipts, warranties, and cable bills and am in the process of making new folders with new labels so everything will be more easily accessed.

Guess what again?  Rome wasn't built in a day.  I really have no idea how long it took, but I'm willing to bet it wasn't built in a week or two either.  In addition, I highly doubt that Rome itself had 5 kids to deal with while her husband was gone.  And if her husband was around, was he lifting heavy bricks while kissing boo boos?  I doubt it.  He may not have been so understanding of her taking what he considered a ridiculous amount of time to finish building herself.  So what!  If she's doing the best she can, she's doing the best she can.  Don't we tell our kids that all the time?  Someone should've told Rome that! 

So this person I've become.  Is she what I envisioned?  Eh, not so much.  Is she what I strive for? Ummm, that would be a big "Nope!"  Is she "good enough" for right now, for this minute, for these kids, for this husband?  Although I would've answered differently a few days ago and probably will change my mind once I walk away from the solace of writing,  I'd have to say "Yes, why yes she is!"

It's funny how a day or two changed the outcome of this post.  How the realization that if I threw myself into housework and being someone I'm not, that I'd be missing things.  Missing Lyra's need to talk to me the other day, missing Tali face timing with her friends who always ask that I come up and wish them a good night before I go to bed, missing Josie so overwhelmed by a science lab that she melted down and needed me to talk her through it, missing Sawyer so excited about some Minecraft thing that he followed me around until I agreed to watch a video of other people playing Minecraft which, although akin to watching an Italian Opera, makes him giggle so much it's contagious, missed the fact that while I was inside the orthodontist paying the bill, B Cha was standing on the wall of the planter in the side walk dancing to a song he only heard in his head.  I knew it was the song "Happy" because I know that's what he sings to himself all day long. Even missing the chance to send my husband a four line email and get a shorter one back from him, but one that made me laugh all day.

I'm not trying to say I'm a great Mom, because I'm not.  I am very far from it, but I'm an okay Mom.  A "good enough" Mom.  A Mom who loves her kids and her husband and really does try to please everyone as best as she can. A Mom who continues to try to improve, even when it doesn't seem like it.  A Mom who feels like she'd rather be lip syncing to the Sound of Music in order to make her kids laugh, than to leave them to go bed alone while she cleans up.

I rest in the knowledge that there will be time to clean.  Plenty of time when (if I survive) all the kids have grown and are wrestling with who they are striving to be.

Just A Mom!

(And I'm trying to be okay with that)