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!

If You're Trying to Reach God, Please Leave Your Prayer Requests After the Tone

It's amazing what can happen to the mind while playing video games. It seems to consume portions of the brain, and transforms a usually mild mannered child, into Mr. Hyde.

Earlier today, he wanted to trade his brother because of the perceived lack of skills and understanding of the game. He protested that his brother was cross checking. When Rocky responded he had no idea how to cross check in the game, the argument turned to "See, you don't know HOW to play this game." I intervened and believe I do get to keep both children for the current season, however, I can't guarantee Rocky's contract with the SOC's if he doesn't pick up his gaming skills.

Later I hear him calling out to God. This is the picture I got in my head after hearing his tirades. "If you're trying to reach God, Please leave your prayer request after the tone. God will be sure to get back to you as soon as possible. It's seems the creator of all is busy right now, using all the energy available to rigging video games to assure that my youngest child doesn't have a chance to win at NHL 2010." I've heard him say "Oh my Freakin' God" way too many times, and apparently the omnipotent has decided to show Daniel his wrath for such statements.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.