Ice Breaker

At this point, I’m a middle aged woman beginning the next chapter of my life, trying to find my happy place. It’s been quite a journey so far. I’m finding I’m an introvert with people skills. I like myself today, which to me is more important than love. Not an easy journey, it has taken many years in recovery for alcohol AND people pleasing to reach this point. My journey, began the day before Kennedy was assassinated, in a town outside of Chicago known mainly for their hospital and prison. Why my 15 year old mother and 17 year old father were there is still a mystery to this day. They found out the hard way that living out the 1960’s mantra of “Sex, drugs, Rock and Roll” to the fullest didn’t mix well with parenting, which led the State of IL to intervene. It’s still etched in my mind two strange women putting me in a car, with my parents claiming they were aunts sent to care for me while they went on vacation to work things out. That last goodbye haunted me for many years. Bouncing between orphanages and foster homes, an adoptive family, wanting a little girl but so done with diapers whisked me away, brought me to their house. Ha! I showed those mean foster brothers, I WAS worthy, ADOPTABLE. Step 1: Accomplished; now all that was left was perfection so as not to be returned. No pressure there. Luckily for me, perfection was something I had been training for, I knew at a very young age that perfection USUALLY left fewer scars. I traded in 2 foster brothers, spawns of Satan himself, for 2 big brothers, parents that loved me, a dog and a cat that I recently found out was mine? Apparently I bought Tinker Bell from my brother for a mere 25 cents. I also met my very first BFF, my constant companion, partner in crime, Grandpa Ott. He helped me acclimate and was the one person that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt loved me no matter what. I wasn’t as accepted by everyone in my new family, but that didn’t matter as long as I had him. Out of high school, my rules changed, and the inner rebel came out until it was mutually decided that it was time for me to become an adult. Venturing out into the world was something I wasn’t really emotionally ready for, which left me a target for the very people I protect my kids from today, but I also found my first “True Love” which led to the birth of my oldest son. Not only did I believe I had replaced the loss of my grandpa, having a child that would love me unconditionally, AND my mom could never label me a teen parent, after all I had 17 days of being 20 under my belt. The combination of my mom’s mastery of tough love and me being a magnet for users and abusers, we set off to begin a NEW, IMPROVED life; Cali here we come. Digging ditches for myself became a way of life. Drama and despair were a constant companion. If I didn’t have any, I’d find a supplier. All while telling myself if it weren’t for all these NOUNS running around, life would be perfect. If there was a bridge in sight, I had the matches. Finally I hit a hard rock bottom on St. Patrick’s Day. Even in recovery, I broke all the rules initially, fought it tooth and nail, but I kept hearing “When you’re sick and tired of being sick and tired” so I managed to “Keep Coming Back” without drinking in between meetings. What better way for a single mom to stay sober than to find a man in recovery. Two birds, one stone! The FAST TRACK to perfection, until it wasn’t. Three boys five and under, as well as a brooding teenager, I set off once again, but I gave it my all first. Through his year in the hospital awaiting a liver transplant, I worked full-time, while I covered his work responsibilities, took care of the boys and stayed sober all by myself. With his re-birth, straight out of Pet Cemetery, and my newfound knowledge that I COULD MAKE IT, things never returned to what I had known before, we went our separate ways. Through the nasty aftermath until his death I remembered and truly felt I’m a fighter, a survivor, masked in a mild mannered persona. My secret weapon “Never let them see you sweat. My anthems include “The Bitch is Back and I’m Still Standing” Due to my early childhood scars, my children’s well-being and family became my number one priority, above all else. I can say with confidence that I have raised four wonderful young men, full of empathy for others, while strong enough to know when to walk away from all those unhealthy situations that I had gravitated towards. They are now spreading their wings, embarking on their own paths, creating their own trails instead of blindly following the pack. Over the years I’ve had the opportunities to make amends for my thoughts, words and actions that have hurt others, and to reconcile with my past. I have reconnected with both birth and adoptive family. Although terrified of their rejection, the first amends made were to my parents, whom had become estranged for a few years. I remember my dad called me the minute they received my letter. I’m forever grateful that I was granted about 15 years of building a solid relationship with them. I finally returned to my childhood home after 30 years, to care for my dad in his final days, staying for a month to help my mom during the initial transition. I even claimed “Favorite Child Status” which took a mere 50 years. Now it’s time for me to begin a new chapter in life. I do that through writing, art and getting into service for others. Today my dreams include helping women break the cycle of abuse, writing an Oprah Book Club’s Best Seller, and performing at least one time on that infamous Improv stage, which calls to me every time I see a show. Part of that journey is what led me here, to join Toastmasters, and with a group name “ADLIBMasters” I was hooked. In exchange for allowing me to join you, you’ll all be invited to my second open mic, first one is STRANGERS ONLY!

From the Brink

Children will live up or down to our expectations. It’s all in the label. Educators should understand this prior to setting foot in a classroom. Unfortunately, our education system hasn’t kept up with current trends. Over the last 20 years, while the number of children diagnosed with ADHD has increased, the number of teachers with compassion and understanding has remained relatively low in comparison. An ADHD diagnosis can feel like a death sentence to a confused young boy. I felt helpless, my son’s young, fragile ego was crushed from the devastating blow. Why is ADHD a disorder? As an adult with ADHD, I see it as thinking outside the box. I stumbled across a list of traits. One by one we went through that list; “very observant, extremely curious, excellent reasoning skills, vivid imagination, ENERGETIC, asks “what if”? Down the list we continued; to his surprise we had described HIM. The moment of truth arrived; the list was titled traits of a “gifted” child. Two things to know about me; I am most resourceful, and a lioness has nothing on me when it comes to protecting my young. No label would destroy my child. A rambunctious young boy, with bright eyes and a warm smile, left teachers in either utter adoration or with complete distaste. During parent teacher conferences, teachers expressed their concerns and plans to assist with his low reading levels while he sat quietly reading the local newspaper. Imagine their shock when he was asked to read or summarize his reading. Surprisingly they would continue explaining their position despite the glaring example disproving their theory, dismissing me as a mere parent, lacking their education and experience. Countless battles have been waged with insensitive teachers. Junior High School delivered us a teacher that actually built a bond with and in the process uncovered his student’s motivations. Hidden inside this rambunctious boy was a huge heart with a knack for math. Cooperation and focus gave him the privilege of tutoring others; a win/win. This continued smoothly for three years, we finally saw light that looked like the end of a long, dark tunnel. All good things come to an end. Entrance to high school sent him back into Special Day Classes. Boredom mixed with micromanagement will increase the probability of misbehavior in children with ADHD. We found ourselves back at square one. Three years of the progress destroyed in less than one semester because of a checkbox. Apparently boxes are extremely important to teachers; one was inadvertently left unchecked on his final IEP from middle school. When questioned, no one felt comfortable vouching for him; the risk was too great; so much can change over one summer vacation. We’d make the best of a bad situation. I convinced him that if he proved himself, yet again to this new team, things would improve; we’d have him back where he belonged before he knew it. As parents, it is ingrained that we are a “team”, especially when it involves children with special needs. Team work is essential; it’s emphasized on brochures, posters, even written into behavior plans. Good and bad exists everywhere, teachers are no exception, some exaggerate, even instigate problems to make their point. In the process, a child was losing his way, becoming hopeless, with his world caving in around him, to the point of giving up. Hopelessness leads people to dark places in search of escape. Good intentions, spiraled out of control, a united front was destroying a teenage boy. THIRTEEN meetings with varying degrees of dramatics, the support of a member of the Board of Education, and a scathing blog was all it took to find the correct placement for a child they had all but given up on. Of course all other excuses also had to be exhausted, an acrimonious divorce, grief over the loss of his father, and the ever popular “mom’s fault”. After six months with a lost boy running away at every opportunity, family and friends desperately trying to reel him in, it seemed he would become a sad statistic. The one positive thing about hitting bottom is that there is nowhere to go but up. Our bottom finally arrived in the form of a near brawl, neighbors’ contacting the police due to safety concerns for all involved. A mandatory stay at a recovery home for troubled teens and countless hours of therapy brought my son home safe and sound. That was the past. Today, with a mix of tough love, support, compassion and most importantly forgiveness; a lost child is now thriving. He has an army of supporters, including former teachers and principals defending his rights and dignity. Everyone is held accountable for their actions, recognize the roles they play, and now know to play fair or risk another brutal attack. No child should be shocked to find out that they are smart. He was shocked to see solid B’s across the board. How could he never realize that? He has the mental capacity of a Master degree student. How does that slip through the cracks? I am hopeful that we can begin to see the many similarities between the “gifted” and “ADHD” child. It’s all in the label. Zero tolerance policies and labels placed on those that don’t fit conveniently into neat little boxes, are creating a lost generation. There has been an explosion of ADHD diagnoses of children over the last 20 years, plenty of time to understand and build programs to accommodate students’ needs. Maybe they should read their tagline “Prepare and Inspire for Success”. Labeling children or making them feel defeated falls under neither category.

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.

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.

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.

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".

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.

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.

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?