Thursday's Child

Who wrote that poem about children and the days of the week? I want to know what he used as his reference…high priestess, devil? How dare you label a child at birth? That poem though seems more accurate than any horoscope I've ever read. I recently spent an evening introducing myself to a caregiver support network. As they posed questions, I responded quite honestly on any relevant life experience. Their response was a unanimous, Don’t you do anything in a simple manner? All I could say was, what do you expect, Thursday child.

I remember that poem as a child. My mom repeatedly told me I was from the school of hard knocks, then she’d recite that verse again to me “Thursday’s child has far to go”.

I know I’ve never been one trapped inside of the box, most days I have problems finding the box. Have I really been that bad in life? Have I really been so bizarre?

For many years I assumed my life’s struggles were due to addiction, but that hasn’t been an excuse in over 15 years. I definitely have some vivid experiences, but not all of my doing. Not all have been self-inflicted.

I was just taken back a bit when I heard their comments about my life after my introduction. I expect it from some sources, ie. PTA meetings, Parent Teacher Conferences. I just never expected a room of caregivers to ridicule me about the way I’ve lived my life.

I’ve grown accustomed to my unconventional methods, I enjoy life searching for the box that so many cannot reach outside of. I intend to live my life to the fullest. As Erma Bombeck wrote, when they take me out, I will have used up every last bit of gifts given to me in this life.

Would I be this way if I had been born on any other day of the week? Who knows. Thursday’s child may have far to go, but in the process may have more to offer others.

Just Wait Until Next Lifetime

First and foremost, I’d like to thank those who still came by to visit during my absence. It was completely unintended, however, I’ve just experienced what must be the longest two weeks of my entire existence on earth. Usually time flies right by for me, and oftentimes I pray for just a couple of extra hours in any given week. Mental note, it is true to be careful what you wish for. I had hopes of those extra hours coming during a vacation, weekend getaway, even an office holiday. Instead it came in the form of having an additional person moving into the already chaotic house.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family dearly, they mean the world to me, but…My time has been filled with repeated conversations with my father in law, who bless his heart is reminding me of ten second Tom from Adam Sandler’s Fifty First Dates. Then when I think all is lost, he catches me sneaking his payment back for ice cream. He remembers that he meant to buy gas each and every time he gets in the car.

It’s been an interesting ride I must say. We haven’t always gotten along all that well. He’s not always been my advocate. I am the one who stole his son away from him, and he reminds me of it frequently. Well, not as frequently these days. Next lifetime, I’m coming back as a high strung, high maintenance blond bombshell. Watch out, a hang nail will be the end of my world, and EVERYONE will endure my pain.

I recently read a book by Sylvia Browne that says we create our charts before we enter a life. Mine must have been full of fine print, and I must have still had my ADHD on the other side and therefore did not fully comprehend all that I was signing up for. My astrology reports all mention my early childhood trauma, but with that I thought that would free up the years that I would be fully functional. They claim that I’m to be a teacher, writer, psychologist or a community leader, all very noble vocations.

Today I don’t feel like any of those things. Instead I feel I’ve been beat up, washed up, everything but hungry. Life has been moving at a high rate of speed yet time is standing still. Next time I’m opting for the kiddie coaster of life…the Merry go round is more my speed.

Mothers' Curse

The mother’s curse is the most powerful, potent spell that can be placed on anyone. I didn’t realize growing up just how mystical my mom was, and am still trying to figure out just what it was I did to her to cause her to place this ominous voodoo on me. I really wish I could have focused better as a kid.

Hindsight, yeah, it’s true, always 20/20. I’ve asked her if she had the same High Priest out for my brothers, but all I get is a nervous laugh. I’ve begged for answers. All she’ll tell me was I was a good kid, a quiet little girl. I’m wondering if her fingers are crossed behind her back when she says that over the phone. There is no sign of hysterics in her voice.

I know for a fact that my brothers caused so many more problems than I did. I got a late start compared to them. I couldn’t even begin to cause havoc until I was six, so she missed the terrible twos, diaper changes, sleepless nights that my brothers put her through. That alone should have counted for something.

I’m so confused, you could not find a more mild mannered individual than myself. Low maintenance, well balanced. Never am I Chicken Little, no sky is ever falling. I handle life’s lessons as they arise, with little fuss. So how is then, that I have four very high strung children, boys at that, that can make any daytime soap opera seem like a sitcom. “Oh My God” begins nine out of ten sentences. With them, I save money on the annual stress tests with a physician, but I’m sure the cost is much higher for their daily doses.

I’m going to make sure to read all the fine print before coming back for my next life, as I must have missed something this time around. My consolation, I can use the same motherly power to pass this curse since the dawn of time down to the next generation. When they are at wits end, I’ll be laughing hysterically, and will just have some excuse when they want me to babysit their spawn.

Let's All Play Make Believe

We’re back. Spent the week in far away places with so many imaginary friends, we could fill a coliseum. What do you do when the person you’re caring for is bothered by the infringement of his privacy because of his grown children crawling around his house as babies tinkering with the phone cords and television cables? If you’re me, you ask how long have they been doing this? Is everything working better now, and how do I go about hiring them for my own home repairs? Honestly, I could use all the help available, and hey, imaginary children can’t cost nearly as much as licensed professionals.

Then, we went to a ballgame with the Cosby clan. Apparently the Angels won the game. I wonder how many letters Bill Cosby gets thanking him for his kindness, and where he finds the time to hang out with all the people that remember him as Mr. Huxtable. I really could use some time management tips.

The great part in all of this. Somehow I intuitively did what the professionals get paid the big bucks to teach people. I guess all my years of constant daydreaming as a child have finally been found useful. Won’t my mom feel bad about all the times she told me I just needed to apply myself and STOP the daydreaming. I can tell her I was in training for the future.

I’m thinking today maybe to bring him and all of his imaginary friends over. I have a difficult time with clutter building up, and am trying to get the house in order for him to move back home with us. I can either single handedly tackle two bedrooms belonging to young boys that don’t understand that in the civilized world people expect to see a floor, not just blindly walk through a foot of whatever could happen to be in the path, or I can use the help of at least five imaginary children as well as a few adults. That should help me keep the youngsters focused on the task at hand.

I can’t seem to find a way to welcome him to our reality, so I might as well make the best of his. So far the hallucinations seem to frustrate him more than frighten him, so I might as well just kick back and enjoy his game of make believe for awhile. Luckily my inner child is hyperactive, and could use a bit of play time.

Another No Hit Wonder We'll Never Hear

The music industry is brutal. This week alone brought the break up of yet another new boy band before they had the opportunity to rise to success. Egos running amok destroyed these two upstarts much quicker than any video killed any radio star.

It should have been obvious once the host read the rules for practice. NO AMPS ALLOWED. How can one truly be a “rock star” without the ever cherished amplifier. That was followed by the limited practice times. Everyone knows being a rock star is a full-time job, with practice being a major component for success. Ok, so I know it can be done if you run around skimpily dressed dancing to your professionally choreographed songs. They are very serious, aiming for lasting success, plus, I’ve seen their dance moves, and no choreography could work if they lacked musical talent.

The arguments ensues while trying to name the band. All the cool names have been taken. Sure, they could try to combine names of the greats, but honestly the only one that would be suitable is “The Clash”. Hmmm, is that where their name came from? I’ll have to check on that. Possibly instead of the Temptations, they could try the Temper Tantrums. Nah, that name sounds like a group on Seasame Street, which they have completely outgrown. Besides that, I took one of the guys to see Elmo. When he realized Elmo was over five feet tall, he was traumatized.

They’ve decided to throw random names in a hat. Maybe they should try the best out of three, I just know one of them will throw in a word describing some bodily function. I don’t see the Fartheads as being a very marketable name.

Shhh, practice has begun. All the greats have inspired yet another generation, Clapton, Hendrix, Zeppelin, Walsh. One problem is it sounds much different when they play their songs over each other. Melting pots can be great, however, music is not one of those times.

Oops, the no amp rule has already been violated, leading to very heavy penalties. Practice is over and it only took 15 minutes to complete. The arguing continues while vying for leadership of the band. What, their first bar room brawl, and none of them are eligible to drink yet. The bass player just stormed off , the drummer threw his sticks down and one of the guitarist just called everyone a name that I don’t think would be suitable as a band name.

Another no hit wonder has bitten the dust. That’s it, I’m sticking with my air guitar. No fights, no noise, no one can say shut up, turn it down or worst. I wouldn’t last a day in the music industry with all of the pressure.

I'm Still A Hit

Alright, I’m still a hit, of course, I’ve had to lower my usual standards, it used to be the under 12 crowd, then the 10 and under, and lately even the ten year olds have outgrown me, so now it’s down to 2 and under, and I’ve noticed even that crowd occasionally gives me a look that implies I may be teetering on lame.

Interesting week. Trading in temporarily at least the corporate games for the Lil Tikes. Corporate games cause me problems. I was brought up to tell it like it is, not to indirectly, passively imply that someone has done something that they may or may not have done, based on me having a bad moment. You know what, the Fisher Price games are much less stressful, more real, and much more fun. OK, so stomping someone that is a waste of 3-D space may be fun to some, most times, the one stomped doesn’t have the intelligence to figure out what they did to get stomped, they cry to someone, and next thing you know it’s off to Human Resources to explain the importance of being politically correct.

More accurately, I’ve become my niece’s own personal toy. She’s much nicer to me than the kid in the Hollywood rendition. I still have it…for years I was a hit with the twelve and under, then with video games today, I can no longer compete. So, I moved to the ten and under. I pulled that off until they all discovered girls and the mall, so I have to take what I can get. I’ve giggled, danced, sang, made silly faces, and have suddenly recalled Cookie Monster’s voice to ad lib on their first story books.

Alanis has her list of recommendations, here’s one of mine. If given the opportunity, let loose, live a second childhood while still at a phase in your life where you can enjoy and remember it. I think I’ve experienced more this week, been more alert, awake to life than in many years. I’ve taken off a few years in my age, mind, soul.

Given the choice between corporate games and Fisher Price…Fisher Price wins hands down. Now just hopefully it isn’t true that your face freezes if you squish it up for too long, that will definitely impact my newfound fountain of youth.

My question was answered and it doesn't look good

Today was such a sad awakening. Everyone has been in awe of my sister in law, living in a prestigious neighborhood, beautiful home, lavish lifestyle. This week I've been spending my days visiting, assisting in taking care of my niece. What more could I ask for, right? Honestly, I don't believe her life is any happier than mine, and I found myself less than envious of her life.

Her neighbor's house was TP'd. Nothing different than what I've seen this summer in neighborhoods close to my home. Her neighbor, a retired NFL player, who I've had the chance to meet, chat with when I'm taking my niece for walks. Great guy, he and his wife seem focused on their family. The funny thing though, that's the only known celebrity in the area, yet his family is the only one I've come across on my adventures. Sure there are numerous playgrounds built around their community, but from all appearance it seems a ghost town. The only signs of life would be a TP'd house and graffiti laced sidewalks.

It would seem that these families live in their massive, controlled air environment, never having to step out into the world around them. It would appear that they hide in their own little world, letting no one in or out. I don't get it. No cars on the streets, no kids in the parks, only a few dogs, which I was surprised would be allowed in that environment.

So, I guess this answers my dilemma from a few days past, when I wondered how the dogs and children seemed so happy, yet the adults seemed so self-absorbed. The kids and dogs are so excited for their brief escape, to breath real air, instead of canned. The adults, are so used to being locked away in their own virtual world, safely locked inside their man made prison, that they have no clue how to interact with those in the real society. They've only chatted on-line, communicating with co-workers via remote offices using email and teleconferencing to accomplish any sense of teamwork.

Is this how we prepare for the next stage of human development. Maybe all of those science fiction flicks weren't so outlandish, as it would seem they are becoming more of a reality. So sad the state of human nature today, how we are cutting ourselves off from civilization.

My heart has been stolen, never to be returned. That's OK by me, because it was instead enlarged to encompass yet more souls in. The object of my desire isn't even aware how easily the key was found. All it took was a coo, bwmmmmm, moo. As simple as that, a connection made.

Oh, I don't believe it was all one sided. We shared a moment, a day. I'm sure to anyone around it was mumbled chit chat, but to us it was a cherished union. It was the most magnificent day I've ever had, besides with my immediate family...for them there is no replacement, merely an addition to.

Yep, this week I've been given the privilege of playing nanny for my niece. Definitely the best gig I've had. I was overwhelmed when the call came in. To me it's an opportunity to be a part of her life that unfortunately just doesn't happen often enough.

She's a precious little angel that blessed us one year ago. Gone are the days of sleeping the day away, not really knowing or realizing much in her surroundings. Now, today, we played peek a boo, sang songs, read books, took a stroll.

Last time I saw her, the time began on a difficult note, tired child, unknown person, and her mother. Easy choice for her to make. Today, all of that changed. She cooed, she gabbed up a storm, I'm sure she was filling me in on all the details of her life, and what she's seen so far. To top off the day completely, I had a helper. Natalie is eight years old, and lost her father to illness this summer. So, I got an earful today, and for once, I had the right answers...still fresh in the memory. I pictured my youngest, who was seven when his dad passed. I'm sure they were both watching over putting me in the right place at just the right moment. I couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. The mere thought of being there for someone else who really needs a friend...there's nothing better than that in the world.

I had so much fun, I can't wait to go to work tomorrow. I did have to make a disclaimer already to my sister in law. She was so proud of her daughter's precious poses, princess looks...the minute her back was turned I saw the true angel in all her scrunched up glow. My new friend walked away with a smile, a thank you, and a feeling of being heard and cared for. If we could do like the shampoo commercials, telling two people, just think what a wonderful effect that would have.

All Grown Up

Children grow up no matter what, no matter how much we want to hold on, they grow wings and soar. Granted, I've had a few extra years on this creation, however, some of those years were tarnished through his drug use, and my tough love. He's recently returned from the edge, having faced consequences for choices he's made.

For many years, he remained distant...his friends knew much more than I could ever hope. Those same people caused so many problems in his life. It was so difficult as a mother to close the door, wish him the best, pray for him often, but not allow his misery to inflict pain and suffering as well as the destruction of the remaining family unit.

He was our weakest link, not him, the child I knew and raised, but the addict. Many times showing up for a meal or a shower. Countless times, calling, begging me to loan him money, my time, my energy; me only willing to offer a prayer that he find his way back to the light of life.

That day FINALLY has arrived for him. He's now been sober for six months, and not only because incarceration forced sobriety on him, but by his own choice. He just bought a car, is employed and set to return to a local college this fall.

It's been one of the toughest journeys I've had to hike, but without the tough love, he'd most likely still be in jail or worst, dead. By the grace of God, I have my son back, and it's been such a rewarding process watching him open his wings and soar, as hard as it is to see him all grown up, becoming a mature, productive member of society. The "real" him is finally reaching the surface, and what a beautiful spirit he was hiding deep within, in the darkness.

It's funny, as parents, we really don't know what the final product will become. Our children go through so many different transformations before our very eyes. No matter what we do, we can only do the best with what we have to work with, add all of our love, try to nurture and guide. Sometimes they take a beaten path, but the true spirit will finally emerge, given time, sometimes tough life lessons. We can't beat ourselves up for the paths they choose, we are merely here to guide, love them unconditionally, sometimes that requires tough love to break through, and support them when they do come through the other side.

Today, I sigh with relief, that although I realize he's all grown up, he'll always remain my little boy.

Why Do The Good Die Young?

While doing my usual scans of other's blogs, I came across one so touching that I added it to my MUST READ list. His entry was about a storm, the force of mother nature and how it puts life in perspective. What I failed to see, was the entry was from a dying man. He so graciously visited my site after receiving my comment. We've exchanged a couple of emails and comments now.

Today, I was surprised to see an email from what feels a old friend. I had mentioned in a message about our experience when the boys' father passed away. He responded asking some personal questions about our experience.

I'm unsure what length of time he has remaining on this earth, but do hope he sticks around for awhile. I was honest in my responses that although I understood their father's choice, that he had endured all the pain he could stand and his quality of life was going to diminish so greatly that he hardly considered it a life.

With most of my posts, the last thing I expected was an email from someone asking me my thoughts as a loved one left behind how difficult it was on me. I always thought I'd fill a void of Erma Bombeck, not Oprah.

I do hope my newfound friend chooses to hang around with us for awhile still, but I did assure him that the selfishness in the human nature doesn't make that journey easy for either side.

Based upon my experiences lately with many people, I'm left wondering where did our quality of life really go? I didn't see any quality in the people I passed, and most of them didn't seem worthy of being missed...so why is it someone that inspires others is taken so soon, while others, fester, recreate, and cause general misery to those around them for many, many, many years.

Drowning in the Fishtank of Denial

Just how long can someone swim before they need to surface for air? How long before "enthusiast" reaches fanatical? Not sure, but know I'm drowning in the fishtank of denial. What is that point when a hobby goes over the top, and no matter how many euphemisms one can create, no longer adequately describe the situation?

Let's just say, I know a few fish "enthusiasts". Don't get me wrong, fish are wonderful, relaxing, calming creatures. However, what do you do when said person has not one, not even five, but an entire room designated for fish tanks, as well as those display tanks that decorate the rest of the house. Most times, I humor myself, reminding myself often that at the fish auctions, they declare themselves enthusiasts. I've seen lately though the look of concern from people when they stop by to visit. I can see the wheels spinning, and I don't believe enthusiast is the word that is coming to their mind.

In an effort to help me remain in my sea of denial, I've seen changes in the social network, that I can EASILY find as fanatical. It's just downright strange.

The scariest part to me, is I've now begun witnessing my children recite the savings per trip for more supplies and equipment. Never would I have thought fish could be so needy. (Clearly you can see I don't share the enthusiasm.) Did you know, they require water changes constantly, and not only demanding clean water, but requiring you to test it to assure its up to their standards. They can't even clean up after themselves.

Here I thought they merely needed a tank, water, and a ugly plastic treasure chest that bubbled occasionally. The fish in Finding Nemo were definitely less demanding than any I've seen in recent times. Fish are more time and energy than any newborn baby; the only advantage is not having to get up in the middle of the night for feedings.

I better stop before I can no longer justify the word enthusiast and have no choice by to face the fact that maybe I'm dealing with a few fanatics.

A Break from the Usual Postings

Hmmm, I'm beginning to see a trend here at Blogger, not a bad thing just something that came to my attention. I've noticed since I began consistently posting new entries the changes in the AdSense choices. When I vent about my neighbor "Eddie Haskell" or lately Malibu Most wannabe, the ads pop up for psychotherapy; when I post about my own kids, A.D.H.D. ads appear. My post earlier today about my morning adventure raised a bit of concern to me. Life Insurance popped up, hmmm, what are they trying to tell me?

I hope no one took my blog entry so literally as to call the authorities on me. I can assure you all the children survived this morning's entertaining escapades. I fought the urge of those thoughtless daydreams of being single with no children. Honestly, I'm in it for the long haul, just occasionally have to question my own sanity, which in itself, I remember hearing is a sign that sanity still exists. If you've heard of a different theory than that, please don't share. I'd much rather drown in my sea of denial.

When Mom's Go Wild!

If you heard of a small 3.2 earthquake in San Jose, have no fear, it was merely me, snapping as my last nerve had been stomped on, ripped out and torn to shreds. I'm usually a very mild mannered individual, kind and caring. That all changed at about 11:04 AM. After two non-stop hours of "stop touching me!" STOP!!! Stop it. Follow that with stalking their prey; meaning older brother chasing after his younger brother to torment him further. It amazes me, Pavlov's dogs learned at a much quicker rate than I witnessed this morning.

I grew up with two older brothers, so I can sympathize, to a point. I don't recall chasing my brothers after they tormented me endlessly. I also was able to read them well, knowing exactly at what point I could push an issue before they exploded in rage. It benefited me, survival skills I believe is what most would consider them.

Ironically this morning I saw a post about sibling rivalry, and just four simple steps to stop it. Please! Apparently, if the expert was a parent, she must have only one child. I can buy that sibling rivalry is "normal", but to what extent before it is completely over the top.

It would be considered insane by some, but I finally had to point out to a child that one of the benchmarks for my success as a parent was helping them survive to adulthood, and that I was going to need his help in reaching that milestone. He had pushed every possible button in each and every brother, and honestly, I didn't realize how many buttons they actually had until this point. I saw rage like never before in three people, I thought I actually did see the steam coming from the ears of one, another looked like he was having a fit much like seen in Roger Rabbit.

Finally I have calm, for a moment. I'm relishing the silence, as I know it's not long lasting. One thing that does concern me with the timing of the fits of rage; the phone company is tearing out our driveway to solve one of their on-going phone line issues, and I saw children with a measuring tape trying to scope out the size of the hole. I'll be really concerned if they also start measuring their brother's proportions to see if it's a fit. More concerned should be the child that caused the complete meltdown of all around him, but he's having too much fun, I'm sure plotting out his next attack, and sizing up possible victims himself.

So, if any of you figure out how Pavlov's whole system worked, let me know...I'm running out of creative solutions to the sibling rivalry that seems to be raising our roof.

Too Close for Comfort

Nothing like a near death experience to remind one of their blessings in life. I definitely have someone kind enough to be watching over me lately. In the words of my dad, I guess it wasn't my time to go yet.

Last week while frantically looking for information to assist us in caring for my father-in-law, I stumbled onto a possible ghost writing opportunity. Later I landed my first partnership with a local pet store, where they will link my virtual art gallery to their website as well as display brochures and samples in their store. The scoop, I've been willing to hand over my first born child for either of these opportunities.

Then Sunday night, for some unknown reason, at least at the time, everyone was still awake in the house, way past the normal hour. Just as I was beginning to doze off, the sound of my son frantically screaming "fire" brought me back from the edge. Apparently out of all places, a fire had been ignited under the kitchen sink. After struggling with fuses, we found the one to cut power to the garbage disposal, and finally regain control of the situation. Three sleepy children swearing never to sleep again, EVER, adults ready to fall over with exhaustion, struggling to maintain calm and sanity.

I was somewhat surprised, and very grateful when I awoke the next morning, house still intact, and the ability to find someone to assist with the problem. Maybe to some my ordeal was minimal, I am just grateful that this happened when it did, and not much later, as we would have all been deep asleep, and the damage could have been life altering, devastating. I know we all sleep very sound, and honestly I'm not sure we could have escaped. The situation grew almost uncontrollable quite quickly.

By Monday morning, I was back on track with the Gratitude List and definitely on my knees. I do know something was watching over us. In my mind there is no other plausible explanation, and whomever that presence was, I'm indebted forever to them, and wouldn't be surprised if they are one of the Five People Waiting for me when I get to the other side.

Good vs. Evil

In my attempt to teach my children to treat others the way they’d like to be treated, I feel maybe I’m doing them a disservice. I’ve battled for a few years now with Eddie Haskell. This kid is a heartless, game player, that messes with the minds of other kids just for the fun of it.

I’ve had plenty of “chats” with this child, to no avail. Sure, he’s scared of me, now overly polite when he sees me, but still as conniving as ever. Seems he has a difficult time with odd numbers, meaning, loves to find 2 people to pit against each other for his pleasure. Since there are one of him, three on my side, and a few other stragglers that have a break from him through joint custody agreements, more often than not, his victims come from my house.

We’ve seen him get a guitar, because they became popular in our house. Skateboards, he’s had a few, as you guessed it, we have avid skateboarders here. Usually one of my sons brings home friends, he sniffs out his prey, and attacks, takes credit whenever he can and latches on to people much like the dreaded leach.

I’ve had the opportunity to watch all the neighbor kids on skateboards, having been designated the honorary cameraman on many of their park adventures. Well, let’s just say this kid is more like Bucky Dent than Bucky Lasek on a skateboard. With a few of the kids it’s their passion, and they have no fear to try new tricks. Suddenly he’s put in a competition with my son, who has absolutely no fear and practices for an average of five hours any given day this summer. His latest victim is the judge, and miraculously he pulls off victory twice over my son, and declared the “BEST” skater on the team.

Why can’t kids just get along? Is it necessary to complicate everything in life, beginning so soon? The saddest part of this is I’ve seen what floats to the top in the corpporate world, and don’t think this kid will ever figure it out. Why? This behavior of his will benefit him through his whole life.

So, I’m stuck. Do I abandon trying to teach my kids good values and trade it all in game playing 101? Personally I cannot stand those who play those games, have absolutely NO RESPECT for them. Maybe another little “chat” will do the trick, or just buy me a few days of serenity. The problem with this whole parenting thing is you just don’t know how you’ve done until it’s too late to correct any mistakes you may have made.

The Rest of the Story...

Closure is so important to all of us, whether realized or not, and as I know inquiring minds are dying to find out the scoop, here you go.

Catfight was easily won. Well, not so much a competition as to actually getting a glimpse into a 30ish old GIRL who is desperately trying to cling on to the best thing she ever let slip away. Sure, she tried her best, but I blocked all of her punches. I loved her comment about if you knew me, you’d understand. The funny thing was, I knew her WAY BETTER than she thought. So, my thorn was easily removed, and if she should try to send any more cards to MY house, phone calls, IM’s; closing them with “Luv Ya” I will realize it is merely a desperate attempt by a pathetic individual. Little cutsie hearts over your “i” may be appropriate for the Paris Hilton crowd or immature girls roaming the halls in high school, however, there comes a time when they lose their appeal and are merely pathetic. So, I have closure knowing that her concept of BFF with my significant other is merely a one-sided friendship that is no threat to me, and now instead of cringing, I’ll say a little prayer that she find her way in life.

Secondly, after a conversation with a doctor yesterday it was determined that Manipulation is NOT a disorder, but Lewy Body Disorder is. So, in essense we are dealing with a disorder in a dysfunctional personality, therefore, it’s a very blurry, confused situation. I had to accept that it’s not personal, that it truly is a brain degenerating, getting old and wearing out. It is a TRUE disease. As one headlined screamed out to me “Scrooge Probably Suffered from LBD” Woo Hoo!!!!!!!!!

Imagine having to sit down with a 10 year old to tell him that it’s going to be like having a little brother in a 74 year old body. After the initial glaze left his eyes, I think he understood.

Have no fear, I found another forum for THE ventfests that will be involved on THIS roller coaster ride. I’m determined to keep my sanity and most importantly my warped sense of humor. Worst case scenario, I checked and my standing reservation at the Padded Inn is still available.

Disorder or Dysfunction?

When is something a disorder? What’s makes it so? In my mind, a disorder, especially those that occur later in life are totally random. Hurt feelings hit everyone in that person’s life. Manipulation is selective pain innvoked on others. How do you find treatment for both, when there is so much gray area to cover. How do you truly discover what can be treated through medicine versus psychologically?

Recent episodes have included mind boggling symptoms, that are ever changing. Confusion with clarity to call the one with emotional baggage er, ties. Feel my pain, don’t you feel bad, fix me, BUT…only on MY TERMS. To me that’s not a disorder but rather a dysfunction.

Above that, add a medical diagnosis that maybe it’s Lewy Body so it’s unpredictable. Even medical professionals are now saying that if it truly is Lewy Body it’s the slowest progressing case they’ve ever witnessed.

With over fifteen years dealing with recovery, and many more dealing with manipulation, my input comes across as a cold hearted, uncaring, biased outsider, who just hasn’t a clue as to the significant changes this person has gone through over the last few years.

Well, true, I’m an outsider…true, I’m warped in my opinion, but the fact is, the person has been the same cold hearted, self centered individual I’ve encountered for the last five years.

How do you possibly tell someone you love that their parent is a lying, self centered, self serving piece of something cows would say ewww about? There is no politically correct way of spinning that one. Hell, Karl Rove couldn’t spin that one and make it look good.

This man made my life a living hell for three of those five years, bitter, hell yeah. Forgiving, I can do that, forget, no way. My belief is this man has had people fishing for him for so many years that he never had to learn to fish for himself. He’s burned bridges to safety without a care, and now he’s feeling the consequences for all of those bad choices he’s made in his life, and searching for someone to fish some more. His antics have increased in drama due to the fact that he’s cried wolf so many times, most of the sheep are gone, and only one lifeline remains.

As he’s looking for pity from the one remaining ally, he’s giving credit to all the wrong people. In the process he’s pushing away the one remaining teammate he has, foresaking them while thanking those who have not been there, have not cared, think he’s full of it.

If it truly is a disorder, I would go to the ends of the earth to help, but I’m having a tough time diserning what is real and what is fabricated. We’re back again hearing the doctor’s mention Lewy Body, and back to feeling the guilt and pain, hoping that we do all that we can to help a man not seeming worthy of our love and assistance.

Thorn In My Side

It’s been quite an interesting few days in my life. My father-in-law was having every form of symptom known to man, that was healed, completely cured when I told him I was on my way to pick him up. With the symptoms I was hearing about, it surely wasn’t safe for him to be alone in his house.

Top that, with a job offer to be a nanny for my neice through the rest of this year, yanked out from under my feet. They found someone for less money, so they had to do what was best for them. Granted in most cases money is a motivating factor, but I’ve yawned through many a boast of $3,500 earrings, $10,000 living room sets, blah, blah, blah. Now she’s worried about saving money on her daughter’s care.

Follow that up with an ex-girlfriend that has been a thorn in my side for five years. She won’t climb back under her rock. While on the desktop in our room, I got an IM message from her…OK, so I know she wasn’t addressing me, but she still uses cute little nicknames and writes Luv ya. To say the least, this does NOT go over very well with me.

I’m drafting an email to get to the bottom of this one. The only time I’ve kept in touch with someone who I broke up with was when the court ordered it for the children’s sake, so needless to say, I don’t understand her mentality. She’s been asked nicely to stop, and instead just seems to find new approaches. Whatever the case, the motives don’t seem good to me.

Do I face it, as I now have an email address? Do I just accept that she is not going away? Somehow, someway, this thorn needs to be pulled out before it festers. Any advice, love to hear it. I'm quickly running out of ideas and patience here.

Saying Goodbye and Thanks for the Life Lessons

Yet another year has passed. Today, he would have been 56 had he not just thrown in the towel on life. As difficult as it was dealing with him throwing obstacles onto my path of life, it still can seem odd without him here.

It's becoming easier, healing a bit closer with each passing day. Some days I can still get so angry that he checked out, leaving me to raise three boys. On days when I hear how great dad did something that doesn't come as naturally to me, it can still cut like a knife, but those times are less frequent.

I have to stop and realize that some of the obstacles I've faced, actually led to my growth as an individual. You don't realize how strong you are, until the safety net is not in place. So on what would have been a special day to you...

I’d like to thank you for all that you’ve helped me learn in this life and all you’ve given me. It has not always been easy, but we managed to accept things and move on with our lives and show the children a united front despite any personal differences there were.

I’m happy for you, relieved that your pain is over, and know that you are with your mom and at peace. I am very grateful that acceptance and peace was made between us all, leaving no unresolved issues. I am grateful that the boys will have wonderful memories of you, camping, fishing, and baseball. I am grateful that they will see all the people whose lives you touched.

This is not an easy time, but we will go on, with you watching over the boys as they pass milestones in their lives. We will do our best here to keep your memory alive through them, and assure that they grow up to be healthy, happy, productive members of society.

Thank you for the gift of three beautiful children, with so much love in their hearts. I will always be grateful for that.

God Bless You and Thank You. Goodbye, Rocky, we’ll miss you.

Let's Party!

Lowered expectations seem to be everywhere these days. The latest to fall is the new standards placed on alcoholism. Thanks to the likes of Lindsey, Paris, Britney and the rest of the white trash ho down, they’ve decided it is not feesible to expect alcoholics to abstain from alcohol forever. So, the new expectation is sobriety for ONE YEAR.

When I entered recovery, I remember hearing the statistics. I believe 1 in 10 made it through the first year, however, if you could abstain for five years, your probability of remaining sober jump to 85%.

Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob must be rolling around in their graves to think that the program they devised that has worked for scores of people is being torn down so that recovery rates can look better.

I’m shocked, but I guess I shouldn’t be totally surprised. Everyone needs to feel success at lesser costs. I should be happy, according to the new standards, I’m cured. Let’s Party!

Terrible Two's

What do you do when you see the terrible two’s without a toddler in sight? Lately I’ve seen more than my fair share of temper tantrums, unfortunately the throwers are way beyond the stage of life when they are acceptable, and definitely no longer cute.

Actually, temper tantrums, although sometimes humorous to passerbys, are never really cute, no matter what age. The growing trend I’ve seen is these hissy fits lasting from adulthood into the golden years. As a public service, let me tell you a temper tantrum at these points in your life are pathetic no matter what angle the lens is.

What do you do when you have an in-law throwing hissy fits into his 70’s? In-law! That means you inherited this one; no emotional ties, no paybacks, no guilt trips involved. You either ignore, and stay as far away from them as possible, or you take my route, call it as you see it. Mental note, my method is not the best choice, especially if you care about serenity, calm or stability.

I have found there is absolutely no winning, no draws…nadda. It is the quickest route to total chaos. You will NEVER EVER be seen as helpful. You will not win. You will ALWAYS be the outsider, the bad guy.

I’m stuck today with “why do you hate my father?” In my mind I can alphabetize or place in numerical order the countless answers to that question. That is left better unsaid, just remember those words of wisdom.

This man has burned every bridge he has ever had. Shredded every safety rope, down to a thread. The brain does NOT engage prior to the opening of his mouth. My favorite, is clueless when called on it. He has one advocate left, and unfortunately for me, it had to be the one man I married. Every conceivable solution is met with his lack of willingness. I’ve spent countless hours devising plots and plans to no avail.

Top that with life experiences that were traumatic. He survived the internment camps of WWII, buried a wife and a child. Who wouldn’t be depressed? It’s easy to victimize your situation with those struggles. I keep that in mind, and should I ever forget, I’m constantly reminded. I’m not cold. I’m very empathetic, and will eagerly go to the ends of the earth to help someone in need, with one slight catch…one must be willing to want my assistance.

He and I have many similarities, more than he could ever think possible. I’ve survived abuse, neglect, abandonment, addiction, divorce and death, some of those by the age of six. The major difference is I REFUSE to let anyone or anything keep me down. Life experience I use to learn from. I don’t accept being a victim. I’m constantly learning and growing. God knows, when something is painful, I can procrastinate like no one else, but eventually I get down to the dirty work needed to heal, to move on, and move forward. I NEVER GIVE UP on myself.

So, for the moment, I’m the cold heartless, judgemental outsider who will just NEVER understand the situation at hand, banished to my doghouse yet again.

Maybe it’s true that I don’t get it, but I think the true problem is that I understand it all too well.

Vindication!

The studies have proven what has always been known by the female population. We do NOT in fact speak more than our male conterparts. Despite the myth I'm sure begun by men. I wonder how much someone was paid to perform that study. Whatever the price I could have given them that information for half the cost, if only someone had asked.

Why would I be privy to that information while all the world remained in the dark. Simple. One day on our street is time enough to have shown them that the conception that we talk more then men a falsehood.

On any given day in our neighborhood you will find most of the men in conversation. How do you think we find out who is doing what. The men. Not only do the men on my street talk more, they also are more well known to gossip. Why do the women not partake as often you ask? Again, simply put, we have more things to do with our time.

While we're busy taking children from place to place, the guys are gabbing up a storm. We're getting dinner together, doing laundry, getting kids in the bath, and refereeing the latest arguments. Once we're ready to relax for the evening, we hear better coverage than if life were lived on the nightly news.

We know how much Joe Blow really paid his new car. What everyone on the block does for a living, how much they paid for landscaping, what they earn. Who has the best jobs. Play by play action of what's happening in the latest drama. For some time it was my oldest son's activities that was the source of conversation. Now, he's in recovery, his name pops up from time to time, in a more positive light. The gossip has changed over to the latest divorce drama, and the effects on the child in the middle.

It must be a way for them to build themselves up. I know myself that after hearing all that's happening in all of my neighbor's houses, I feel much better about my life.

So ladies, next time a man tries to throw that myth that all women do is gossip, you can let them know what I heard from the guys on the block. That should put an end to that falsehood, and vidicate us for the centuries of misconceptions about who in the house talks, and yes, gossips the most.

Parents Revenge

Hear ye, hear ye, all of you parents struggling with the terrible two’s or twenty’s. I have gathered some valuable information to help you through your trials and tribulations.

It’s amazing how a weekend with an elderly woman can create such enlightenment. There is much to be learned from our elders. Personally, I have experienced a profound attitude adjustment towards my children and all of the chaos they create. I was able to see the similarities between the two age groups, and can tell you that the second childhood is very real.

A weekend of errands with grandma can teach you so much. It begins as such a simple request, usually brought up after mentioning that she needs your signature on a legal document. It’s a blur of fine print with the word Beneficiary at the top. That is her trap. Once you sign on that dotted line, you belong to her.

You say to yourself, it can’t be that difficult taking her to the store? So you tell her “No problem.” You place her gently in the front seat; fold the wheelchair and walker, loading them in the trunk. Drive two blocks in 104°temperatures to the drug store. You unload the trunk; unload grandma, who is apprehensive due to a recent fall. She is grabbing your arm so tightly you can feel your pulse. You then explain, much like you would to a two year old, that under no circumstance is she to leave this spot until you return. Now to park the car; the parking lot is packed, after what seems an eternity, a space finally opens up. You hike back half a mile to accompany her through the store. You relish in the cool air-conditioned environment. Not so bad you think.

Before fully catching your breath, she brandishes her list, which resembles your son’s list to Santa, scribbled in random order as things came to her aging mind. After grabbing the toothbrush and moving onto aspirin, she reaches denture cream on the list. After backtracking several times through the store, you yank the paper from her hands, and refuse to leave the aisle until the list is completely scanned repeatedly to assure no other items are needed.

Your adventure does not stop here. After four hours are spent in the drug store, it is time to reload the car and drive back to her apartment. You unload her wheelchair and walker, which by now feel like a Sherman Tank. You carry her from the car. You then return to carry a trunk full of purchases up to the door.

At this point she discovers the lack of space in her house. This requires strategic mapping to assure the safe storage of the store’s inventory to avoid a late night phone call telling you there’s been an terrible accident caused by a poorly stored heating pad falling from a shelf.

Next stop, the grocery store. Another list is presented, but after your experience you convince her to stay behind and rest, as she exclaims, “I’m exhausted”. Sweat is dripping from your face, and she’s tired? She follows up with guilt that only a mother knows; “I wouldn’t need to get so many things if you came to visit more often.”

When planning for our Golden Years, most of us think of our financial and medical needs. We make sure that our 401K plans are earning the best possible return and all necessary policies are in place. Although very prudent, these are merely pieces of a well-designed retirement, but not a complete plan. Think outside the box. Financial planning is a tool to assure that revenge against our children has a much higher return.

I studied the manipulation that took place last weekend, and am making mental notes for my revenge while the experience is still fresh in my mind. The best part is that medical breakthroughs are extending our quality of life, allowing us much more free time to aggravate those sweet, innocent children of today for many more years to come.

If they choose to fight and argue amongst themselves for a video game controller, I can now sit calmly with a smirk on my face. I’ll be contemplating my countless, passively irritating visits to the stores, which will require their assistance. Age causes the mind to fade; thoughts are not as clear as in years past, which can and will lead to my lapse of memory of the store layouts. My random lists of items to retrieve if planned well in advanced will lead them on more challenging scavenger hunts than they ever experienced in childhood and will cause more aggravation than I ever endured with their endless whining, complaining and arguing. Just the thought of it makes the worst tantrum or meltdown a bit more tolerable. So if you happen to see a screaming child in the store, and his mom is composed, with a slight grin on her face, rest assured she is merely planning for her future.

Mother of All Monarchs

Most children have fond memories of pets they've owned and cared for. In our house, we've experienced this to an extreme by most any rational person's understanding. How many households in America can say they've been the proud parent of a fly trainer.

The strangest experience has to be Mouzer. Our feline friend has come to realize she does have a staff, her humble servants. This, the same cat that used to be happy with a huge bowl of food and water filled a week at a time, now refuses to touch any food that has been out for more than one hour. Why should she? She has three boys that are at her beckon call.

It has to throw prospective visitors when they enter, hearing three otherwise normal boys meowing to a cat, as she orders them around.

The usual day for our Mother of all Monarchs begins by leading one of her many servants to either the front door to decide if the weather is acceptable for basking in the sun, or maybe to the kitchen for breakfast followed by lounging on a patio chaise.

I thought it just my kids that had lost their mind, but even the most adamant self-proclaimed cat haters have been caught speaking Mouzer's native tongue. I believe our royal subject would be startled should she venture out far enough where people spoke in the gibberish language we know as English.

It's odd, what starts out as a pet, takes over our hearts and house, ruling with a furry paw. Our Queen has just awoke from her deep slumber, and is searching the house for a humble servant to bow to her royal commands.

Gone But Never Forgotten

It's always a shock to the system to run into a ghost from our past. Recently I ran into an elderly gentleman at the gym who looked so much like my long lost grandfather. Grandpa was the most loved individual taken from me when I was a young child. Although he passed many years ago, I still see signs of him usually on the anniversary of his passing, and usually when I pause from the chaos of a normal day to remember him. He has shown me pictures in the clouds, a happy thought, or just a calm happy feeling. Never have I seen anyone who resembled his physical form in all of these years. Just seeing the man at the gym filled me with a happiness from my youth. It made me drift down memory lane.

Grandma and Grandpa lived halfway between school and home. Every Friday afternoon I stopped by to visit. He seemed to wait for my arrival. We would venture across the street to the neighborhood candy store, where we chose something from all of the many types of sweets available. As a child, it felt like a trip to visit Willie Wonka. I still cherish those simple memories of time spent with Grandpa.

Seeing him at the gym the other day, my eyes lit up much like they did on those careless Friday afternoons. To me, it was yet another sign that although no longer here, he always remains close to my heart.

Each and everytime a departed loved one has made their presence known to me, it has brought a sense of relief or answers. It's also brought a sense of calm to my hectic world.

What Promise?

Inquiring minds must know, what is all the hype about Promises Treatment Center? Can they still have any affiliation with any 12 step organization, if so How? Having experienced recovery myself over 15 years ago, I actually find the exploits of Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears appalling. Rehabilitation already has a taboo associated with it, without lowering the experience using these two poster children for Generation Meds. What exactly have they done to deserve this limelight? Wrecking cars, claiming to be the picture of abstinence, lip-syncing? How did this become the inspiration for today’s youth?

We can see especially in the case of LiLo, that the dysfunction can spread. What would be the consequence for any other mother tripping on her child’s coattail, escorting her underage child into the club scene? Oh, they’d surely have a social worker knocking on their door performing welfare checks on the other children in her care. It would also seem to me that some authority would be checking on these clubs that are ever present in the tabloids allowing alcohol consumption to such an extreme.

Recovery is a very serious venture, never to be taken lightly. Sure, maybe not everyone is ready on his or her first attempt, but most don’t check out of a treatment center to catch the first flight out to Las Vegas.

Again it seems just a pathetic attempt to victimize their situation, to avoid being held accountable for their actions. “Whoops I Did It Again” seems to be more than just a hit record; apparently it’s a way of life. I would think that if a treatment center is focused on helping those looking for a solution to their addiction, they may be more particular about those they serve, and why? Not all PR is good.

Solution to the Energy Crisis!

I've just solved the world's energy crisis. It was actually quite easy in theory. I've seen a natural form of energy that has endurance, definitely generates heat, works well for cooling, very cost effective especially comparing to the monthly energy bills I've seen lately. Tomorrow I'll begin writing my grant to begin work to harness this energy. Nothing else comes close to comparison.

We need to go simplistic here. For those who remember Flintstones, you can't get much simpler than that, which will now be my spring board for my experiment. Please, before you think I've lost my mind, I know that dinosaurs are extinct, so I'm not thinking of a woolly mammoth dishwasher, or anything ridiculous like that.

After spending the day with nine very active boys, it dawned on me, let's harness some of this hyperactivity rather than medicate it. Win/win if you ask me. No more pesky side effects of unstudied medication, while a more natural energy source, that's available anywhere in the world where hyperactive boys thrive.

Bottle some of their energy. I've seen speeds rarely witnessed in a NASCAR race this weekend. I personally have seen enough of this energy source to supply the state of California just within five blocks of my house. It's the most cost effective solution I can think of. No more warring factors over the world's oil supply, no more bragging rights for Chevron at their board meetings.

I'm off to begin writing my grant and begin recruiting great scientific minds to help with this solution. I'll keep all those who visit here in mind when it's time to roll out a pilot program.

Smell the Teen Spirit?

Is this what Kurt Cobain meant when singing "Smells Like Teen Spirit"? There's been an explosion in the male population on our street in recent weeks. Seems to coincide with the recent return of our neighbor's teenage daughters. In my parental incompetence, I had to ask who one boy was, only to find out it's a neighbor behind us that the boys have played with for a couple of years. The boys always go to his house, I've seen him only a handful of times in the last couple of years. I mistook him for a new neighbor with his new found interest in our street.

The cause of the increase of testosterone you may wonder? Two girls who are growing into beautiful young ladies. The interest seems to be mutual. The older sister seems to have her sights on one boy, the younger sister it seems is picking on my son recently. The problem begins when each girl has quite a following. Steven will NEVER be mistaken for Mr. Suave. Instead he loses it completely coming just short of drooling.

The smell of Teen Spirit is much better than prepubescent boy, as it's become so much easier coaxing a young boy to the showers. The mere mention of a specific girl's name is all it takes. Just a few weeks ago, this same boy seemed highly allergic to the reaction caused by mixing soap with water. This morning, just one vague statement, he was "Speedy Gonzales", just a blur and brisk wind as he sped passed to the bathroom.

Ah, the smell of teen spirit...such a breath of fresh air.

When Did Eddie Haskell Become the Poster Child for Normal?

The most important thing I hope for my children is that they stand up for themselves, think independently, not just follow someone blindly. Apparently that is not the model of today's education system.

I've observed what today's teachers classify as "normal". It is Eddie Haskell. Who'd think that a conniving, sneaky, kiss up would be the model for the next generation, but that's what I've seen.

Watching the kids together, you see an innocent enough looking boy. She is blinded by his halo which seems to disguise the horns that are just below the surface. The teacher's head turns, I'm assuming because looking too long would burn the retnia of the eye, this same angelic child uses foul language, pushes others, and bullies those around him.

How can the teachers be fooled by this child? How can they truly appreciate a child like this; kind to your face, bully behind your back? My theory, they see what they want to see, and it makes their job easier.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing that my sons are not classified as "Normal". For the longest time I beat myself up. I'm healthy, intelligent, socially accepted. How could my kids be anything other than normal. Now, after witnessing the new standard of normal I'm relieved. I'd much rather have a child that stands up for himself, treats others fairly, and kisses up to no one; instead staying true to himself. So, until we can reach a common ground, I am NOT raising my boys to be what educators may see as "NORMAL".

Parenting: Boys vs. Girls

Parenting has become the longest job I’ve ever held. I’ve been raising children for 22 years now. For the sake of children, the pain of childbirth lessens with time. I’ve raised an only child, and now am raising three more. Through all of these years, when anyone asks if I’m sad not to have a daughter, I quickly reply NO. I’ve seen girls today, and don’t believe I have the strength to endure the intensity required to fulfill that mission.

Sure, boys have their moments too, they are rowdy, make very strange noises in public and have disgusting choices of pets. Consider this as getting purgatory out of the way with the terrible two’s.

I’ve seen the prim donna training. That phase can last an entire lifetime. Sure you might get a couple of good years, but it can start as early as two, and escalate from there. If you’re new to parenting, there is no room for error with girls. The damage is done quickly and early on with no hope of repair. With sons, you can make mistakes with possibility of survival. If you find your parenting style is ineffective, you can make adjustments along the way. Boys seem more flexible.
Girls learn to rely on their innocent looks as youngsters, which then becomes an ingrained habit before pre-school begins. Boys are looked upon with suspicion, due to their curiosity and general activity level. Because of this labeling, they generally don’t form the same long lasting habits of manipulation.

Young girls are more likely to follow one around saying “Gee, that is my favorite.” “Mmm, that looks good”, instead of just asking if they could have something. I was once followed an entire afternoon by a cute, sweet, innocent looking girl, that continuously told me everything that caught her eye was her favorite. I’m used to the boys approach, which is straightforward; if there is something they want or need they have no fear of just asking. Quickly, painlessly their request is taken care of.

Then come the teenage years. There’s a very good reason for the term DRAMA QUEEN. I’ve witnessed them in action, and it is not a pretty sight, nor does a picture of royalty spring to mind. It’s amazing that some of these fine examples can accomplish much through THESE years. In all fairness, there are a few DRAMA KINGS as well.
How many grown men brag with vanity plates stating “Daddy bought this, but It’s all mine now?” Another true example that left me flabbergasted was “My Daddy will need to buy this for me.” The previous statement came from a co-worker who happened to be a 42 year old woman at the time. I don’t see why anyone would think this a bragging point. Can that truly be helpful in the mating game? It seems like that would become tiring for anyone trying to enter that picture.

This disorder begins early in life. Girls seem so precious, so fragile, in need of constant praise and protection. Girls learn early how to play on this thought process by the good intentions of their doting fathers. I was once Daddy’s Little Girl, but through intensive intervention I’ve broken my dependency on him. We are now friends, and much closer than we would be had I not grown up.

There are a few good, strong, independent women in the world, and I applaud them. However, there are too many examples of prim donna's and Drama Queens, that tend to give us all a bad image.

What Happened to Immortal?

I was just slapped in the face with the fact that all of us are mortal. We all have a life path, and no one gets to change the rules. For some reason, growing up in a small community, I felt that all of us, in the graduating class of 1981 would somehow beat the odds, live forever.

Suddenly, I wake up, 25 years later when an invitation to my class reunion arrived in the mail. Skimming through most of it, I reminised a bit about the glory days that never truly were. Then, I turn to the last page to find out about the donation request for a Memorial wall. That's when I froze. Memorial walls aren't necessary after a mere 25 years. Sure, some of the rougher schools may have them, but not mine. No one could be taken. Instead, to my disbelief, not just one person passed, but nine. Out of that, three were the best and brightest my graduating class had to offer the world.

Suddenly I see a name, rubbing my eyes in total shock and sadness. Bryan, why would Bryan be taken from the world so young? He, in my total misfitted teenage years was a bright star that shined. When I wanted to feel sorry for myself for the additional weight packed on from emotional scars, he would appear, playing basketball, on crutches to balance himself on one leg. When I felt no one in the world could understand my pain; he would share the experience of doctors telling his family that he would die of cancer, but they could save him if they allowed the professionals to amputate his leg.

Apparently the cancer returned shortly after we left high school. He was able to finish college and marry his college sweetheart, but he was taken so very soon. There were so many dreams left to imagine, so many goals left to attain.

I understand the life paths, and the choices made prior to birth, but as a mere mortal, it still leaves a hole, a sadness and grief. Although I know in my heart, he's in a much better place, the selfish side wishes we could return to those carefree days, just one more time. Enjoy your moments, even when they seem so insignificant, they add up to create a wonderful picture of what life is all about. We are not immortal, we all have our moment in time. It seems true what they say about the brightest stars burning out the quickest. My graduating class is mourning the loss of three of our brightest stars.

Mid Life Crisis Hits Hard!

What happened? Life was so good, then I hit 40. Much like teenage boys, it took some time before it hit me. When it struck, it sent shock waves through my system.

Emotions out of control, life feeling like a train wreck waiting to happen. Added to it, I'm a very even keeled person, never jumping for joy, but you'll never find me in a corner huddled in the fetal position over a hangnail. I happen to live with the opposite end of that spectrum. What comes to mind, spews out, with little thought of recourse.

I deal, I put up with, I shrug off. I happen to be one who can do that successfully for a while, which tends to make people believe they can get away with it forever. Then, much like a tornado whipping through, I don't deal, I DON'T tolerate, and I can no longer shrug off the comments, thoughts, or insinuations.

Of course, it comes at a time, never opportune; while in the midst of a major life altering decision. Could it be cold feet? Possibly a four year itch? I'm not sure, but I do know I'm not handling it in my usual calm, cool manner. On the outside, possibly it seems that way, on the inside I'm seething with resentment and rejection.

Will the outcome be acceptable? Will I bounce back, stronger than before? I'm sure of it. Will the damage be easily repaired, I doubt it? I just hope I hold the emotions in check. I have a sharp tongue in these situations, when this level has been reached. Added to that, I have tunnelvision, when I feel cornered or provoked, and a stubborn streak like no one else.

Could it be mid-life crisis hitting hard? Why couldn't I just get a cool sports car and hair transplant and be done with it?

Where's The Owner's Manual?

It seems to me that we’ve not made any progress on the “owner’s manual” for children. I’ve been searching for the past twenty years, my mother searched before me, and I recently went to a baby shower, and although on the registry, not one copy was found.

Sure, they offer child’s first year, to help you deal with colic, fevers, breast-feeding or bottle, finding a pediatrician, but that is hardly my idea of an Owner’s Manual. I’ve seen more detail from the auto manufacturers for their new models than is available for the most important investment known to mankind.

With all the self-proclaimed experts, no one has cornered that niche. I would, except honestly even after twenty years in the field I have no clue as to any tried and true techniques that work in all scenarios. I have three boys with the same genetics, and they couldn’t be any more extreme without being from foreign galaxies. What works for one only aggravates the situation with the others. I have the gentle giant, whose calm demeanor is a gift from heaven at times. On the other end of the spectrum, I have three boys that have all been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder with hyperactivity thrown in.

I’ve often asked my mother if when she placed the “curse” upon me, as all parents do, she in fact hired a High Priest to oversee the ceremony to assure that it stuck. What are the odds…three out of four hyperactive children? I’ve wondered at times, could I have been that terrible to my parents. I grew up too afraid to act out. I had two foster brothers tell me that no one would want to adopt me since I was no longer a baby, and if they did, I had better be perfect or they would ship me back. That stuck, as a child, I spoke back to no one, don’t recall throwing tantrums, very polite and respectful to all adults that crossed my path. It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that I realized it was useless to send me back by then, so I let go, and rebelled, with a capital R. It is my curse though that brought about the short attention span for the boys; I can’t even attempt to deny that. If I tried, I’d be humiliated by the roar of laughter coming from those I tried to convince.

I think I understand why no one wants to corner that niche…no one has a clue as to what works and what doesn’t. We are all grabbing at straws when it comes to raising children. The experts give us their words of wisdom; find out it didn’t work and try Plan B on the next generation.

I remember when my eldest son was younger, the rage for all the experts was to avoid at all cost damaging a child’s frail sense of self. See where that led. Now, if there is no answer, a new acronym is created as an answer. Any current expert would be sure to annihilate their hopes of a career if they were to step out on that limb. It would be suicide for their career to even attempt to claim to have the answer to raising children.

Sure, we can act as if we have answers, but as the saying goes, we find the answers and the question changes. So, I guess until some brave soul is brave enough to find the answer and share it with all of us that are grappling at trying to raise children, we’ll all keep moving along, doing the best that we can with what we have available to us. If a manual does surface, I’d like to pre-order mine today.

Downsized!

Today is Day 1, reality has settled in for me. I've been downsized. To make the best of it, I'm going to become self-reliant, setting the pace for myself, rather than letting others control it for me. Every career test, every test from Tickle all point to the fact that I should be a writer, Architect, or Psychologist. Since it would take a good four or more years to even get started in psychology, writing seems to be the best path at this point of my life.

My dream job, I believe even when asked in high school was to be sitting on a beach cranking out daily syndicated columns. My hope chest has a design of my dream beach house for when I made it big.

When most kids were reading Dick and Jane books, I was reading Erma Bombeck and Mike Royko. My other asset that makes writing seem the perfect fit for me is that since I was a little girl, my mom has said "you need to stop daydreaming, focus and apply yourself." A psychic even pointed out to me at one time that Erma was going to help me from the other side. What more do I need to get this through my thick skull.

Why couldn't I just listen then, a few more years wasted filled with a lack of confidence in my abilites. Doesn't that always seem to be the way. Darn voices in my head just won't stop picking and nagging. Now, with some free time on my hands, it is time to venture out there in my own mysterious world.

It is time for me to stop lagging and start typing. Maybe downsizing was just exactly what was needed to kick me in the butt.

Don't misunderstand me on this, I'm not setting up to hang out on the computer all day waiting for a publisher to find me, but when the mood strikes and my muse sings, you'll find me here plugging away. Think of this as your view into my therapy sessions. Somedays you may need a flashlight, as I know my head can be a sometimes scary place with very dim exit signs. So, for the moment, sit back and enjoy the ride.

The Attack of the Ryanites

We’ve had an invasion in our neighborhood…worse than any alien species known to any experts, more terrifying than the accounts written in the tabloids. It's even worse than roof rats, ants, or any other pesky creature. It’s the attack of the “Ryanites.” Infestation takes a mere 24 hours, and eats away the brains of those it targets, turning them into zombie like followers.

The fearless leader is about four foot tall, blond haired, blue eyes, an only child. He targets young, impressionable children, who just want to fit in and be accepted by their peers, and being cooler than their siblings. He is destined for greatness; just ask him, he’ll tell you. Ryan’s more than happy to share his stats in baseball, football, school, or anything else. The realtor neglected to inform us that we live in HIS neighborhood and in doing so the kids should BOW to his wishes.

We’ve faced this invasion before, and went to great lengths to break this cycle. Our assistance was requested due to the incessant whining of the unfairness, the bullying, and the torment. His game plan is divide and conquer, leaving nothing intact.

The boys have not played with Ryan all summer. Withdrawal was a difficult process at first; they would eye him to see if he was having fun without them, trying to see who might be playing with him. Our intervention worked, after a short time they were no longer concerned about what he was up to. They were introduced to other neighborhood kids, having fun, without the friction. Then it happened. Word got out that Ryan is playing Jr. League football. Just when I thought the world was safe, their idol has returned. He is once again COOL, as he has football practice. Within 24 hours the whining has started, the bridges are being burned, and the faithful Ryanites have returned. Lock your doors, board your windows and pray that it doesn’t attack your neighborhood too.

Ewww...Creepy Crawling Creatures

What has happened to me? I was one of the dainty little girls that screamed and cried at the sight of anything slithery or slimy in nature. My brother used this fear to his advantage many times as it was a sure way to excuse himself from a pesty little sister that wanted to tag along.

I'm looking at my latest addition to our household...Jaba. She believes that she is a fericious beast, staring with her menacing eyes. When that doesn't create fear in those who dare to approach her kingdom, her tail whips wildly, lashing out at anything that approaches.

For the longest time I had people convinced that my reptilian friends were pets of my sons, looking at people in ridicule for not putting that basic deduction together. Somehow my secret was leaked unsuspectedly to the outside world. Since then I've become proud of my fascination with those four legged creatures I once loathed. I've overcome my fear, and can now enjoy those moments when my sons' bring some new animal they've found in the nearby hills.

Our latest adventure has been watching the birthing process of frogs. Watching for weeks as he transformed from fish to amphibian. I would have never been able to stomach that had my sons' not helped me overcome the fears of days past.

Don't congratulate me quite yet, my newfound confidence is evident only with some four legged creatures. I've once been stranded, frozen in fear, terrified of the fericious branch in the grass. To my defense, I swore it moved, slithering up the hill towards my youngest child and myself. His older brothers were slow to rescue us. I'm not sure what kept them, maybe it was the uncontrollable laughter of seeing my dire situation.

Ozzie and Sharon?

I always had such lofty goals for family life...move over Beav; Ozzie is no match. I was thinking of Ozzie with Harriett, not Ozzie and Sharon. Noticing changes with my sons, which saddened me recently. The two that were closest couldn't be farther apart now, the one I thought a people pleaser, is VERY independent, the shy one is now Mr. Popularity, while the one I always saw as a leader, is turning into such a follower.

Call it my mother's intuition, my sixth sense so to say, I could feel the distance last night. Things just not quite right. I saw the "outcast" with his arms crossed, mumbling under his breath, rolling his eyes in frustration. Closing himself off. With my full fledged paranoia, I start questioning, and requestioning trying to make sure everything was fine. Although I heard agreeable answers to my many questions, I wasn't convinced.

As they began wrapping up the day, making their way towards bed, I slipped quietly into each room for a final check. That's when it was brought to my attention the miscommunication and the walls that can be built because of it. The outcast chooses his friends over his brothers because he ONLY likes skateboarding and NO ONE will go with him. Why won't they go I wondered...duh, because everyone else has two left feet. So, why doesn't he play guitar with his brother anymore...again, duh, because he doesn't have the musical ear shared by his brothers. The one with the most natural gift, takes control of iTunes learning new songs at an astounding rate. Instead of choosing songs that they both know, he finds it as his time to show off.

It's my hope that they can all just learn to get along...all inclusive. No matter what happens in life, you should always have your siblings. Hopefully they figure this out. Until then, I guess I'll have to get used to the modern day Ozzie and Sharon.

Did You Miss Me?

We just returned from our annual trek to the great outdoors. OK, so my version of camping would never make it to the Discovery Channel...Jeff Corwin would laugh at me, as would the guy from Wilderness vs. Man, but hey, it works for me. I don't need to eat grubs, sleep in a grass hut, nor suffer extreme conditions to commune with nature. I love the great outdoors, with the utmost respect for all of God's creatures, I just don't care to sleep with them.

I enjoy the idea of escaping reality for a few days, where I can be as anti-social as I want to be. I'm not required to play nice, I can float off on an intertube to complete solitude. The kids love it as well. They have the opportunity to have the freedom I experienced growing up, while I'm comforted by the fact that they are in a safe environment. What could be better.

This year was met with new challenges. In my attempt to be Nature Girl, I managed to twist my ankle on the first expedition. This however, did NOT stop me from continuing on. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't walk, so of course, I kept right on walking. Day 2 and 3 led to extreme sunburn, that I'm sure will begin peeling any moment.

It was all worth it though, every moment. I made it Yosemite, where we hiked to the vista point at Bridalveil Falls. For the extremist in my party, there was a dip in the pool created by the fall. As they returned to the edge of sanity, they were shivering from their experience.

I found it disheartening this year though. The snowfall apparently was very light this year, causing the usually massive waterfalls to appear as slow leaks. Although I heard that a day before we went, a bear cub was wandering through the visitor center area, we did not witness such a sight. My teenage son swore he saw something black in a rock area, near where we were hiking, but even though it looked like the perfect spot for a bear's den, we found only what we could assume to be paw prints, nothing more.

No matter what the condition of the day, Yosemite is an awe inspiring place. What I found was that the many pictures I've seen over the years, just somehow don't do it justice.

Although, I'll never have my own Discovery Channel show trekking through the wilderness in search of something creepy and crawly...I will always have an immence respect for nature. Even though I prefer cooked meals, electricity and other modern conveniences, I do enjoy getting away from it all, seeking refuge in the great outdoors. But, now I'm back to reality, the daily grind of life. Hope you enjoyed your break from me as much as I enjoyed getting away from it all. I'm back to having to be social, playing nice, being fair. It is so nice to have my one week a year where no rules apply and I have the opportunity to visit God's great playground.

Hats Off to Stay at Home Moms!

How do stay at home mom's do it? I now must take my hat off to them. I've been home for two days and I'm ready for a heavy dose of Prozac. Just last week it seemed that summer vacation was shrinking in size, today I'm counting down the days until school starts.

Maybe it was that obsessive quest of becoming the "cool" parents that has backfired. I don't think that was my idea to begin with, but an idea forced upon me by one that I share parenting responsibility with. Today, he is safely tucked away behind his desk, having full fledged conversations with other adults. I'm listening to the ever popular chimes of "STOP!' "Don't touch me." "I didn't do ANYTHING" "Wasn't me" Much of which I laughed at when the boys were two, but now that their voices are changing, it's just not as cute or funny to me these days.

When did the footsteps become so heavy too? I swore AMTRAK passed through ten minutes ago. The screeching sounds could have easily been mistaken for breaks of a freight train. The heavy breathing of anger sounding much like a locomotive in motion.

The good old days of parenting, where did they go? I remember being shooed out of the house at the crack of dawn, returning for short periods known as lunch and dinner. Our alarm was the sight of the streetlights which announced the end of yet another full day.

Now, it's the sound of three boys with friends forgetting how to take turns, sitting for hours in front of a screen, with controllers in hand. One more day down...how many days until Fall?