Spring?

I live in the Rocky Mountain region.  I have lived here since 1993.  One would think that I would be used to Spring snowstorms.  The fact is, even though we really needed the moisture due to an unusually dry Winter, I am ready for Spring Showers that don’t include white stuff.  I am ready to turn dirt over and plant yummy things to eat.  To have grass in the yard that doesn’t feel like straw.  To see tulips that aren’t surrounded by a blanket of white.  I know these things will all come in due time. 

In the mean time, I will enjoy my coffee, the beautiful view of the park across the street shrouded in white and be thankful that my family is safe in our home.

What you don’t want the doctor to say…

Last Monday I took Son #1 to the doctor.  He?  Had a virus.  Hmmm I am so glad that psycho grandma opened her baggie and gave him antibiotics…they were so helpful!  The doctor gave him cough medicine with codeine and instructed him to drink fluids and rest.  By Friday he was feeling great.

I, on the other hand, started downhill on Tuesday with a tickle in my ear and throat and somewhat upset stomach.  By Wednesday I had a very tight cough that made my throat feel as if it were on fire and a decidedly upset stomach.  Thursday I should have stayed in bed in between running to the bathroom however, deadlines at work beckoned me.  By Friday morning I was really miserable and my co-workers were wishing for medical masks. So, I went to the doctor. 

Now let me digress for a moment.  We have all received those emails with the list of funny, or not so funny, things (depending on ones perspective) that we don’t want to hear the doctor say.  For the most part, I have laughed at them. 

Back to Friday.  The doctor looks at me very sincerely and says, “I hate to tell you this but what you have is very hard to get rid of and there isn’t anything I can give you for it.  It just has to run its course”  Great!!!  Just what I wanted to hear.  I did not laugh.  Which was good, because she was not trying to be funny.

Today is Sunday.  For the most part my stomach seems to be back to normal and the Mucinex and ibuprofen seem to be doing what they were intended to do.  I wonder if I should pick up those masks on the way to the office tomorrow?

Parental Alienation

Last week My Hubby got a call from the Egg Donor informing him that she and her new hubby would be out of town for a long weekend and Son #1 would be staying with a friend.  Really???  Did she discuss this plan with My Hubby before determining where Son #1 would be staying?  Of course not.  She made the decision and then informed My Hubby.  Typical.

My company happens to give us President’s Day as a paid holiday, so I am at home today with Sons # 2 and #3.  We were planning on seeing a movie and maybe going bowling later when the phone rang.  My Hubby sounded frustrated when he told me that Son #1 was pretty sick.  Apparently the Egg Donor’s mother (psycho grandma) had been called and attempted to take Son #1 to the doctor.  Since she is not his parent, nor does she have custody of him, this attempt was unsuccessful.  You may be asking yourself why the Egg Donor called her mother and not Son #1’s Dad.  We are too, with no answers.  Since My Hubby is working today, I made the appointment and will be taking him to the doctor this afternoon. 

Here is the kicker.  When I called Son #1 to tell him when I would be picking him up, I asked him why he hadn’t called his Dad on Saturday when he started to feel bad and why didn’t the friend’s mom, who he was staying with, call us?  It seems that when psycho grandma was called on Saturday, she decided that it would be better for Son #1 to just stay at the Egg Donor’s house alone, instead of infecting the friend’s family.  Stellar!  She also gave him some leftover antibiotics to make him feel better.  Even Better!  Does Son #1 know what antibiotic he took?  Nope.  Does psycho grandma?  Nope.  The bottle was thrown away a long time ago.

So, here are the facts:

• The Egg Donor went out of town and Son #1 was to be at a friend’s house, with no input on this decision from My Hubby.
• Son #1 got sick.
• Psycho grandma gave Son #1 unknown antibiotics.
• Psycho grandma allowed a 16 year old to stay home alone after taking unknown antibiotics, not knowing if there would be an allergic reaction to them.
• No one bothered to call My Hubby, the parent that has joint custody and decision making of Son #1, until psycho grandma couldn’t get him in to see the doctor.

Gotta love it!

38

I turned 38 today, but I received the most amazing gift yesterday. 

Son #3 and I were the only ones home yesterday evening when Son #1 stopped by to pick up a check for his car insurance. (This is a story for another day.)  He came in, I gave him the check and expected he would leave.  Instead, he stood in the living room chatting and acted like he wanted to hang out for a while.  We talked about his upcoming football game, Son #2’s upcoming game and other stuff he is interested in.  I happened to mention that Son #2 was doing a school project which led me to dig out pictures of him as a baby.  Son #3 asked if he could see them.  Since I am a bit lazy, the box of old pictures was still on the dining room table.  We sat down and proceeded to walk down memory lane for about 30 minutes.  We laughed and smiled at the memories that were in that box.  He seemed surprised at the number of photos there were of him.

When he was ready to leave, he reached for me, gave me a huge hug and told me that he loved me!

Now, this might seem like normal behavior however, his mother has spent 13+ years attempting to convince him how awful I am and that he shouldn’t like me, let alone love me.

It was wonderful! 

Thank you Lord for this much needed time with Son #1.

GPS 23 (From Greg Stier’s Blog)

I could not resist sharing this.

The GPS is my guide, I shall not get lost.
She makes me drive over black asphalt.
She leads me beside quiet side streets.

She restores my sense of peace in a strange town.
She guides me in paths of right directions.
for her brand name’s sake.

Even though I speed
under the shadow of the overpass
I will fear no dead ends
for you are with me;
your satellite and calming voice,
they comfort me.

You prepare a map before me
in the presence of drivers with road rage.
My venti cup of joe overflows when I hit a pothole
And annoints my pants with coffee stains.

Surely State Troopers will not follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will continue to find my destinations forever.

Disappointment

My Hubby and I recently had a conversation with Son #1.  He is now 16 and driving.  We felt it was time to discuss with him how important it is to never get behind the wheel if he has been drinking, or get in a car with someone else who has been drinking.  We wanted him to know that if he ever finds himself in these circumstances, he is to call us and we will come and get him, regardless of the time.  We also made it clear that drinking at his age is unacceptable however, we would rather be disappointed in his choices than claim his body at the morgue.  I think he got it.

This made me start thinking about when I was a teenager.  I was a pleaser and possibly still am.  I did not want to disappoint my parents.  I equated their disappointment and resulting disdain with losing their love.  This, of course was irrational.  My parents never had the above-described conversation with me, and as I reflect on my teen years, I believe I would have gotten behind the wheel after drinking because calling them would have caused them disappointment and therefore they would have stopped loving me.

Even as a young adult, who had been married and divorced, I made choices that I am now apalled at and cannot believe that I am the same person that made them, because I was so afraid of disappointing my parents.

I cannot change the past and I cannot undue the things that I did.  What I can do is make sure I talk to my kids.  That I tell them that even if they make bad choices and disappoint me, I will always love them.  That disappointment does not equal the loss of love.

Okay, now stop reading this and go talk to your own kids and make sure you tell them you love them.

The First Day of Middle School

The date was August 19, 2008.  My not quite 11 year old was up early.  He took a shower, put on his new shorts and shirt and came downstairs for breakfast.  We chatted as he ate and I sipped my coffee.  I had been up for quite some time myself.  Not because I needed to go into work early, but because I could not sleep thinking about the significance of this day. 

This was the first day that he would go to the neighborhood school, instead of the charter school on the other side of town.  This was the first day that he would be able to choose what he wore to school, instead of wearing the predetermined uniform that was required at the charter school.  This was the first day that he would ride the bus to school.  This was the first day that he would come home after school, instead of going to his grandparents home. 

As I prepared for my day, it was all I could do to keep the tears at bay.  About 30 minutes before it was time for him to walk to the corner and wait for the bus, I asked him to pray with me.  I prayed that he would make friends at this new school, that he would be a friend, that he would let His light shine in all that he said and did, and that he would learn a lot.  As I prayed, tears streamed down my face.  When the last amen was said, this not quite 11 year old put his arms around me and said, “It is going to be okay Mom.” 

And it was.  They sure do grow up fast!

Baby Steps

Things have not always been rosy with Son #1 and his mother (ED).  She has spent many years making our lives very difficult.  So much so that it has been 3 years since he last spent the night in our home, not because My Hubby and I don’t want to have overnight visits with him, but because the manipulation from ED put so much pressure on him, we gave up fighting it.  He does visit us frequently.  He comes and plays basketball with his brothers and has attended some family funtions with My Hubby’s family.  My family is a different story.  ED has rarely allowed Son #1 to participate in activities or events that involve my family.  He has been able to come over a few times when my parents have been in town, however ED has only allowed him to go with us to visit them one time, when he was 5 years old.  He is now 16.  The last time he saw my brother was 6 years ago, for about 15 minutes.

A lttle history is appropriate here.  My parents and my brother have always treated Son #1 as if he were my bio-son.  They have never made any distinction between any of my children.  There are birthday and Christmas presents every year and they always ask how he is when we chat on the phone, just like they do for Son #2 and Son #3.  When we have visited, they are always sad that he has not been allowed to come with us and when they are here, they are very disappointed that they are not able to see him.

We were preparing to go to my brother’s house yesterday afternoon, when Son #1 called and said he would like to come over.  My Hubby told him he would love to see him however, we were headed to my brother’s house and then asked if he would like to join us.  After getting some details, he said he would check with ED and call us back.  We did not hold our breath.  You could have knocked us over with a feather when he called back to say that he could go!  My Hubby and I stared at each other for a few minutes in disbelief.  Then we rushed out the door to pick him up before she could come to her senses and change her mind!

We spent 3 hours talking and eating.  My kids and my niece and nephew played for several hours.  It was a great time!

Baby steps.

They are here!

My brother and his family have arrived!  I am so excited.

This is their new house.

It is beautiful!

Did I mention that I am excited?

Healing?

I spent several days last week on my feet, lifting and moving heavy things, in preparation for this.  I am not in the greatest physical shape and was feeling it by Thursday night.  After a few more hours of this work Friday afternoon, my back hurt so badly that I could hardly stand up straight, let alone walk.  Clearly that whole lift with your legs and not your back thing had escaped me.  This had the potential to be a huge problem because I needed to be on my feet on Saturday for the big event.  Friday night I went to bed with a heating pad and lots of Advil.

Saturday morning rolled around and I was still in pain.  After a long hot shower and more Advil, I made it out to the festival grounds at about 7:30 AM, knowing I would be on my feet until about 12:00 Sunday morning.  The pain in my back was so bad that I was close to tears.  Then, two of the volunteers that I was working with asked if they could lay hands on me and pray.  Now, as a Christian, I certainly believe that God heals people, however I was pretty skeptical that He would choose to heal me.  I mean really, why would He?  In desperation, I allowed these two spirit-filled people lay hands on me and pray.  I was in awe at how the pain began to slip away.  The faith of these two strangers was amazing!  God heard their plea and I was able to be on my feet for 17 hours!  The festival was amazing.  There is no doubt that He was present.

We serve an awesome God!