Corner Unturned

It's quiet in my house, the girls sleeping soundly upstairs.  I sit at my kitchen table in the glow of my monitor, a martini an arms length away, and a need to write once again.

It's a familiar feeling really, the one that I need to describe.  The one that chews away at my soul and seeks to destroy my peace and contentment.  I'm getting good at loving and losing.  I'm getting good at being the losing competitor in a three way game of tug-o-war.  Or, maybe it's not that I'm the loser, I'm just the one who is expected to be strong enough to walk away.  It's a position I loathe.  It's a position I'm familiar with.

One would think that the demise of a dating relationship that is cloaked in brevity would be no trial compared to ending a nearly 10 year marriage.  But, one would be wrong.  The scars, their healing hastened by the joy and fireworks of a new start, slowly begin to break open again.  The feelings of inadequacy and rejection that hover just below the surface, squashed down under the hope that this time it'll be functional, and that this time I'll be truly happy, resurface.

It's not just a breakup...it's another cataclysmic meltdown.  It's another failure, it's another short coming, it's another WTF is the matter with me? moment.  It's more than I asked for but it's not more than I can handle.

They say it'll be okay.  They tell me to focus on my kids and my "ME" time, but what they don't understand is that my "ME" time ebbs away at my heart; My house empty, void of the sounds and needs of children, a reminder of my personal failures.  He should be here, in my kitchen, grilling dinner and laughing with me.  But he's not.  The silence disturbing.  The loneliness suffocating.  It's like my life is on repeat.  I worry it's a cycle.

It's oxymoronic, really, that I can't stand to be alone with me, because I actually love me.  And I probably couldn't drum up better company for myself, then, well, myself.   So why is it that being alone pre-marriage and pre-children is such a different animal than being alone post?  Have I morphed in to some co-dependent version of my former self?  I think not.  That's not me. 

I know me.  I'm loyal to a fault and commitment and monogamy are my bag.  It's the way that I am wired.  It won't ever change.   I'm energetic and independent and hilarious when I'm not busy being serious.  I'm keenly familiar with my good traits and the bad, and co-dependency is not one of them.

So, I sit here, holding metaphorical gauze on my wounds.  I'm doing my best to be appreciative of the ride, and the experience, and the ability to "grow" once again. 

If I'm going to date, I'm going to have to risk, and as much as the burn sucks, it's worth the heat of the flame.  Because the gift of opening one's heart, being real, and raw and vulnerable with someone new, is something I just won't sacrifice for the sake of playing it safe.  This is what life is about.  This is living.  And I'll be damned if any of my past experiences encroach on that. 

It's a corner I just won't unturn.         

Settled

It's been just over a year since that metaphorical house dropped out of the sky and landed squarely on top of me.  It's already been over a year.  Surprising to me, how quickly a year goes by...even a stressful one. 

There were days when all I could do was survive. 

There were moments when I wished I would vanish.

There were nights when I prayed I wouldn't see daylight. 

There were little girls that needed their mother in a capacity that was overwhelming.

But then time happened and things changed.  I started across the bridge, one foot in front of the other, and decided not to look back.  And, the further across that bridge I walked, the happier I became. 

The past year hasn't been easy, but it also hasn't been regrettable.  As many hardships and trials were encompassed in 2012, there have also been moments of unparalleled happiness.

Happiness in making my life my own.  Happiness in my independence and freedom.  Happiness in raising my little girls the best way I know how.  Happiness in rediscovering me.  Happiness in new beginnings. 

So, it's settled.  The terms are settled and the dust is settling.  While there used to be dust storms so huge they would cloud my vision and choke me for air; now, the dust kicks up around the tops of feet and it goes no further than that. 

I am happier.

It is settled.

Irretrievably Broken

I lay awake in my bed on Thursday night, the clock says 3:38 am, this post tumbling around in my head like wet towels in a dryer.  I have words that must be said.  I have a story that must be told.  This is my therapy, it's cheap, it's cathartic.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It's broken. 

Irretrievably broken. 

And that's what the papers will say. 

It's been six months since my world fell apart.  The rug of routine, stability, and contentment, swept right out from underneath me.  In those six months I've spent hours looking in the mirror, reflecting on what my role was in this marital apocalypse and then I spent months making changes. 

Changing me for the better.  Changing me for the happier, but all the while something was amiss.  I felt it in my heart, like a piece of apple skin stuck between your teeth, I just couldn't quite get at it. 

Source: imgfave.com via Carol on Pinterest

And then it became crystal clear.

Source: cubiclerefugee.tumblr.com via Carol on Pinterest

I gave it my everything.  I forgave him the 7th commandment.  I opened my heart, swallowed my dignity, set aside my self-esteem, self-worth, and my own needs, all the while staying true to who I am and what I believe in.  My values never change.  And I tried.  I fought.  I loved him through it.  And I was mostly successful at finding my smile on a daily basis. 

The trick, friends, is not to put your key to happiness in someone Else's pocket. 

He no longer holds my key.

I do.

There is power and peace in that. 

And this is my comfort.

Source: gatherlove.tumblr.com via Carol on Pinterest

There have been many dark hours for me over the last six months and there may be more to come.
But, HE is with me.  He will hold my hand through the ups and downs and challenges that await me.  I am ready for that.  HE wraps his arms around me and covers me with grace and mercy.  This is my story and my journey and I'm not going to spend one more minute digging my heels in the sand against it.  I have accepted it.

Source: tumblr.com via Carol on Pinterest

This morning my left ring finger is empty.  It feels odd.  Naked. 

But, on my right ring finger, there sits a ring.  Sterling & turquoise and passed down to me by my Momma.  It was a ring my father bought her back in their glory days.  It has a history and is part of their story...but to me, it represents the strength of a single mom.  Those years were hard on her I'm sure, but those years were happy.  I had a great childhood and my children will too. 

This is my road.  And I will walk it. 

I am NOT irretrievably Broken. 

Source: habitualbliss.tumblr.com via Carol on Pinterest

Hope Floats

"Childhood is what you spend the rest of your life trying to overcome. That's what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning.

Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will..."

~Hope Floats, 1998

Dear Friends,
Thank you for all your prayers and kind words over the last several weeks.  I spent the last 8 days back home where I was in the care and company of family.  I was home where my Momma took care of me; she reminded me to eat, and to nap, and to get out of the house.  She hugged me when I cried so hard my shoulders shook.  She cried with me and she sat with me when I didn't feel like talking.  She gave me gifts wrapped in beautiful paper and reminded me that I am worth it.  She reminded me that I should feel beautiful and proud of who I am.  I am still who I am.  I may have lost 12 pounds, but I haven't lost me.

I stand here today amidst the rubble; chunks of concrete laden with miscommunication and lost intentions.  My choice is to pick up those blocks one by one and rebuild; build something that is bigger, and better, and stronger than what was there before.  I don't know how long that will take and there is no blueprint, but I'm going to start laying the foundation of a happier me.    

Any way I look at it, I will be happier. 

I have hope.

~~~~~~
I won't be writing any more about these muddy waters, at least not until the water is clear again.  This space is mine, it's my life story, but I know I am not going to want to revisit or relive this part of it, so it has no place here.  Thank you for your prayers, your support, and the shoulders to cry on.  If you have any perils of wisdom please email me.

Crisis

Hearts are Breaking

Promises Broken

Doors are shutting

claustrophobia

Where is the window?

I can't breathe

Helpless

Spiraling

Shards of broken glass where a dream once stood

Big brown eyes and fear for the future

Betrayal and Lies and Selfishness

Where is my karma? 

Faith, healing, peace, the new objects of my dreams

There is a God and he will not foresake me

He will embrace me and lift me up

He will protect my children from callous decisions and unnecessary evils

I have faith

**In my absence from this space where I share my life and my creativity, please pray for me and for my family.  Although, I have no idea how God will answer these prayers, I know he will, and I know he has a plan for me.  He is my rock and my redeemer and he is a God of love and mercy, and most certainly he will get me through this.

There Will Be Plenty of Time for Tears....Later.

A few weeks ago we noticed that our dog didn't have much of an appetite. She would no longer finish the food in her bowl, and she started losing weight.  On the Sunday after Thanksgiving she wouldn't come out from under our bed, and when we did coax her out, her ears were flat against her head, her tail was down, and she looked scared.  I knew something was wrong.
So, I took her to the vet on Monday.  She'd lost 3 lbs.  They decided to draw blood.

Last Tuesday the vet called with the results...her kidneys are failing her.  At the most, she has 6 months, at the least 2 weeks.  It's day to day, really.   We've been telling our girls that Kenzie is sick, but I couldn't bring myself to elaborate.  We've been meaning to sit down and explain it to them...but it's one of those things that feels better to put off.  It feels better to avoid reality.

Fast forward to Sunday evening, and I decide that we should give Christmas photos a stab since December is fading and my to-do list is not getting shorter.  The hubs was running errands and I gathered the girls and the dog around the tree.  "Let's just get a few shots...Momma only needs a few."

It wasn't going so well...

The dog was cooperating but the kids were not.  So then I say, in my cheeriest voice,

"Come on girls!  We need just one photo with Kenzie.  This is her last Christmas!" 

As soon as the words escaped my mouth I knew I made a huge mistake.  Camdyn never misses a beat, nothing gets by her. 

"Why is this her last Chrismas Momma?" 
"Um, because she is sick, Cam, and she will probably be with Jesus next Christmas."
"But...I don't want her to die.  I don't want another dog.  I want Kenzie."

It's too late.  The conversation went in the total opposite direction of happy Christmas card.  She started to cry.  I started to cry.  And through heaving shoulders and her heavy sobs, I explained just how sick Kenzie is....and it wasn't easy. 

We hugged.  I encouraged her to love Kenzie every moment she can while she is still here.  Kenzie licked her tears and I explained that Kenzie doesn't want her to be sad.  There will be time for tears later.

I never did get another smile from my oldest girl that evening, but the doggie got a lot of love. 

There will be plenty of time for tears later.  She is going to be missed.

Momma Bear Syndrome

When Camdyn was a toddler I found myself in Momma Bear mode a lot more often than I do these days.  It was easy, back then, to swoop her up and save her from danger, and to solve her problems for her.  I was that mother that would glance a judgemental eye at the woman who let her rambunctious 9 year old (who was violating the height restriction on the play place at the mall) bump into her and knock her over.  I'd get all "This isn't safe, we are leaving.  I'm Momma Bear and I'm protecting you!"   
But then time happens, and kids grow, and circumstances change, and suddenly I'm that woman with a rambunctious 5 year old who accidentally knocks over a toddler at the play place at the mall.  And much the same, the circumstances when I have to go in to Momma Bear mode have also changed. 

I don't protect her physically so much anymore.  Instead, I fight the urge to protect her emotionally, I fight the urge to save her self-esteem, the urge to protect her from a broken heart, or disappointment.  In some situations Momma Bear is warranted, but in most it does her a disservice. 

A few weeks back, Camdyn was taking her first semi-private riding lesson at the ranch.  There were two older girls in her lesson, twins, 8 years old.  In typical Cam fashion she began chatting them up.  The child makes fast friends everywhere she goes.  They went to the camp room and picked out helmets together and then returned to the area where I was sitting.  I asked Cam which horse she wanted to ride and she said, "I want to ride Molly.  I love Molly."  One of the older girls said, "I don't like Molly.  Molly is too easy.  I need a more difficult horse." 

I bit my tongue.  My urge was to say, "Well, Camdyn is only 5 years old.  She is a lot younger than you.  She needs an easy horse and she loves Molly."  But, I didn't.  I wanted to see how Camdyn would respond to the older girl's comment.   Cam didn't say a thing about it.  She just kept on talking about horses, and saddles, and the girls walked to the barn like the best of friends.  She wasn't the slightest bit offended or put down, although I kind of was.

It got me thinking, how often do parents project adult feelings on children?  As adults we forget the amount of innocence in children's conversations.  That little girl was simply trying to state that she likes a horse who provides a challenge.  She wasn't actually putting Camdyn down, she just lacked the maturity and eloquence to say it any other way.  I was the one who interpreted it negatively.  My mind whipped in to Momma Bear mode, and I almost made an bigger ordeal about the comment than necessary. 

As much as I want to protect Camdyn's self-esteem, her innocence, her feelings all the livelong time, I have learned that I can't and I shouldn't.  Remember the incident at Chick Fil A a few Junes ago?  I beat myself up over not saying squat to the kids who were blatantly being mean.  Yeah, part of it is that I have an aversion to conflict, but the other part of it is that I also know that I can not walk beside Camdyn her entire life, defend her every move, fight her every battle, and be her defender all the time.  I need to let her figure out how to handle life herself.  She needs to learn how to stand up for herself, how to properly respond to someone who says not-so-nice things, when to stand her ground, and when to compromise.  Coming from a woman who struggles with exactly that (not due to parenting, but just due to my genetic make-up) I consider the ability to resolve ones issues and stand up for one's self a gift. 

And the next time Cam is on the offending end of the situation, the next time she utters words that are misconstrued as being mean, when she simply didn't explain herself well, I'm not going to jump in to defend her, to declare her innocence, or rectify the wrongs.  I'm going to let her work it out, because conflict resolution is an important life skill....and because I'm going to save Momma Bear mode for when it really counts. 

True Story: An Elderly Woman Called my Child a Brat on an Airplane

We are back from our quick trip up north.  We spent a lot of time with family, met up with my childhood best friend, and managed to squeeze in quite a few activities.  We had a wonderful time.  I have photos to share and stories to tell, but not before I share this one.  The one that weighs on my soul like a paperweight.

It is 4:00 pm when we board the Allegiant flight headed south from Rockford to St. Pete.  We didn't purchase seats so we board toward the end when they open the seating up to families flying with small children.  I am happy to find seats toward the front of the plane, close to the lavatory making us the first people off of the plane.  We sit in the third row and Camdyn selects the window seat.  We settle in, we color until we are instructed to put the tray table up.  When we are at cruising altitude Cam takes out her DVD player and she watches a movie, while I delve back in to Water for Elephants, it would be awesome if I could finish this book before we land. 

About an hour in to the flight Cam announces that she has to go potty.  The lavatory is occupied so I instruct her to go up there and wait and I'll come up when it's her turn.  She's standing just two rows ahead of me.  She begins to tinker with the woman's armrest who is sitting on the aisle in the bulk head row.  I instruct her to stop, and she does, and then she waits her turn, doing a mild version of the potty dance while she waits.  When it's her turn, I get up and help her in to the rest room, I wait outside the door to help her when she needs it.  I notice that the woman in the middle seat of the bulk head row is staring at me.  I smile warmly.  I figure she is curious about Cam, or is interested in how we are juggling the bathroom routine.  She stares the entire time I am standing there.

We take our seats and Cam watches her movie until we are instructed to put the DVD player away and prepare for landing.  At this time Cam notices that there is a little girl sitting directly behind her.  They start talking and laughing and playing an "Eye Spy" game.  On one occasion I remind Cam to use her inside voice.  They continue to giggle and shriek and Cam announces that she just can't wait to see her Daddy.

We land.  I begin to get my bags together and I realize that someone is yelling, so I look up, just in time to connect eyes with the elderly woman who was sitting in the middle seat in the bulk head row.  She says, "You have the most annoying kid on the planet."  My heart starts racing, my mind begins to swirl.  Is she talking to me?  I look at Cam, her dark almond eyes are wide, but she says nothing.  The woman turns around, so I try to dismiss it.  But, she wasn't done.  She turns around again and declares, "Oh My God.  She has 3!"  What?  She begins chattering with the women next to her, apparently mistaking other children in the aisle for my children.  My heart is thumping.  I'm not good with verbal confrontation, but I feel a need to stand up for myself and my daughter.  Everyone is watching.

She connects eyes with me a final time.  She lifts a crooked, gnarled finger, and points it at Camdyn and says "Your child is a Brat.  A Brat.  That's all she is.  A Brat."  I have a lump in my throat and tears welling in my eyes.  When I finally speak my voice is an octave higher than it normally is.  I manage the words.  "She is a child."  And, that's the best I can do.  I offer no apologies, I do not ask questions, I do not berate her, I can say nothing more.  I look at Cam and her eyes are wild, there is fear behind them.  The woman retreats off the plane.

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder, "Don't let that ruin your trip, doll."  "I won't" I say, but it already has.  I know me.  I know this will weigh on my heart.  I know I won't be able to shake this off.  This was a direct judgement on my parenting skills, or lack of.  My mind is swirling.  How did we manage to make this woman so angry?  We were sitting 2 rows behind her and across the aisle - How did this happen?  Was everyone annoyed by my kid?

We gather our suitcases and head down the Jetway.  Another woman approaches me and says "it's hard to keep little ones still and quiet the whole flight."  I know she was trying to help, but it didn't.  She was still and quiet for 90% of the flight.  She was only talking for the last 15 minutes.  My stomach churns.

When we are back at the car, I pull Cam in to a hug and tell her that she did a wonderful job on the flight, and that she was well behaved.  She said, "Momma.  That lady was mean to you.  She was a bully."  You know what, she was a bully.  For some reason pointing fingers and calling a 5 year old names made her feel better.  Maybe she felt validated by her judgements, or more important.  The whole spectacle must have given her some sort of perverse pleasure.   I explain to Cam that some people don't find children's laughter enjoyable, and that some people have hearts made of stone.  "It's not our fault, Love." 

We have an hour car ride home and I replay the situation over and over in my mind.  For a split second I wish that Cam wouldn't have gotten so excited toward the end of the plane ride.  I wish she was a quiet, demure child and I almost wish her exuberant energy away.  Immediately, I hate myself for thinking such thoughts, even for a split second.  Those are the qualities about her that I adore.  That is who she is, and I love her bubbly energy and her zest for life.  And, then I start tearing in to myself, why can't I stand up for myself, why can't I think on my feet in a confrontation, why do I slink down with my tail between my legs unable to offer a defense.  Why am I so averse to confrontation? 

And then I realize, although God did not grant me the gift of verbal eloquence, especially in a confrontation, he did grant me the gift of composure.  After a call to the Bestie and a few tears later, I realize that I set a good example for my daughter.  Caught in a hard spot between being a role model, respecting my elders, and standing up for myself, I did the best I could. 

Looking back, I realize that woman was glowering at me while Cam used the restroom half way through the flight.  She had it out for her then.  She wasn't looking at me out of curiosity or because Cam was dressed nicely, she was giving me the evil eye.  At that time, the only thing Cam could have done to set her off was tinker with the arm rest on the aisle seat (it wasn't even her arm rest).  Her reaction to that slight disturbance was uncalled for and unjustified, and I don't care what a child does, there is no room for name calling.

I prayed for that woman last night.  I prayed that the Lord would soften her heart, that he would ease her pains and her frustrations, and whatever ailments she is facing that make her world such a dark and hurtful place.  And then I prayed for myself, that God would lift these judgements from my heart, that he would give me peace and restore my confidence in the human race and my own parenting skills.  And, then I offered thanks for the fact that my husband was not on the plane when the incident occurred.  As deficient as my verbal skills are, my husband makes up for it ten fold.  He cares not what people around him think.  His words are quick and on point.  Had he been there, it would have gotten ugly.  The woman would not have gotten the last word, and I'm sure that the Hubs would have ended up zip tied to a chair and Camdyn probably would have been terrified by a confrontation of that proportion. 

I expect after incidences like this one, and the one at Chick Fil A last June, I will eventually find my voice. 

No one ever said it would be easy.
 

Little Girl Lost - My Nightmare

It's 11:00 on Sunday night.  I can't sleep.  Visions of what could have been are rattling around in my brain.  I toss and turn, I tell myself that everything is fine, but I can't shake it.  We got lucky. 

No.

I got lucky. 

This afternoon we went to the Pumpkin Patch.  Not just any pumpkin patch, but the busiest and most popular pumpkin patch on this side of the Gulf.  We enjoyed pony rides, the butterfly tent, live music, and lunch.  Shortly after lunch Camdyn says she has to go potty.  So, we leave Daddy & Chloe, Aunt Liz & Uncle JJ, and Abby behind, and Cam & I set out to find a bathroom.  We settle for the port-o-potty, wash our hands, and then Camdyn asks me if we can go through the Mist Tunnel.  The Mist Tunnel, is a wooden structure about 12 feet wide, and maybe 30 or 40 yards long.  It's dark(ish) in there and fans blow mist to cool you off, because this is Florida ya'll and it's hot down here in October.  So, we venture in to the mist tunnel side by side.  About half way through, I say, "Let's exit here and go to the table."  Camdyn wants to walk all the way through the tunnel, so I say "I'll wait right here.   Go to the end and then come back."  That didn't seem like a big deal...it was a mere 15 yards or so and I was going to watch her the whole time.  Well, that was the plan anyway.

So, I'm standing there and I'm watching her bound through the tunnel and suddenly a man steps in my line of view.  I step to the side to get Cam back in my sight.  WHERE IS SHE?  WHERE DID SHE GO?  So, I begin to run through the tunnel to find her.  She was just right in front of me.  How did I lose her in one second?  I get through the tunnel and look for her at the end, and she isn't there.  I look outside towards the picnic area and I don't see here.  WHERE IS SHE?  Momma panic sets in and I begin screaming her name.  I run in the tunnel and back out of the tunnel.  CAMDYN?  People are starting to notice.  I begin screaming at random people to help me.  HELP ME!  Black Shirt, Orange Tutu skirt, 4 years old.  She's missing.  I scream this over and over.  People are gathering around, as I dart in and out of the tunnel.  I am at a loss.  My head is spinning.  CAMDYN?  WHERE ARE YOU?  Thoughts start rushing through my mind.  Did someone carry her out of the tunnel?  This is Florida - pedophiles outnumber everyone else 3 to 1.  How am I going to live with myself?  How did I lose her?  I only had one kid to watch.  How did I do this?  HELP ME!  I NEED HELP!  I CAN'T FIND HER! 

My mind is swirling.  I decide I need to find Chris.  He has to help me search for her.  I run toward the table where the group was finishing lunch.  PLEASE GOD HELP ME.

And, then I see her. 

She's sitting on Uncle JJ's lap with tears streaking down her face. 

I break down. 

I hold her and we cry. 

Relief. 

Joy. 

Guilt. 

She says to me, "Momma don't ever leave me."  And, then Chloe starts to cry because everyone else is crying, and the baby is really intuitive like that.  When I come to my senses, I think I'd better walk her over to the 20 people who had gathered in concern and probably bewilderment as I ran around in circles screaming for my little girl lost.  I carried Cam to the end of the tunnel where the crowd had gathered.  "I found her.  We are okay.  Thanks everyone.  Thank You."  Other Momma's smiled at me, their eyes were compassionate, they all seemed to understand.  One Momma even told me she was about to ask the band to stop playing and make an announcement. 

I carried Camdyn for 10 minutes and held her hand the rest of the day.  We talked in length about what to do if we ever become separated....FREEZE YOUR FEET.  Don't move from the spot you are in.  Ask a Momma who has kids with her to help you find your mom.  We always ask a Mom. 

I learned today that life can change in an instant.  No matter how responsible of a parent I think I am, I make mistakes.  This just might be the biggest one I've made so far. 

I thought that maybe if I blogged this out, then maybe I'd feel better and I'd get some sleep tonight.  Now, I'm thinking that maybe I need to crawl in to bed with Camdyn.  I need to listen to her sweet tiny snores and feel the movement of her chest.  I need to be reminded that she is fine.  We are all fine.  I think maybe that is how I'll get over this, tonight. 

His blessings are everywhere.  God is Good.

Preschool Drama and a Movie

Date night was awesome last night!  Hubs and I got to spend 5 solid hours together sans kids.  He opened doors for me, said he wished he was more dressed up, and held my hand like we were teen-agers.  We had dinner and saw a movie, but not before we went and visited a brand new squishy pink baby.  To be honest, I felt a twinge in my ute, my ovaries itched a tiny bit, watching Hubs hold that tiny bundle in his hands made my heart flutter.  I was starting to feel fevery, but, then at dinner I gulped a Shocktop and the feeling passed.  I do not have baby fever.  I do not have baby fever.  There.  I convinced myself.

Moving on. 

The orientation for Camdyn's VPK class did not measure up to my expectations and left me feeling underwhelmed.  If you are new here, or suffer from pregnancy brain, or mommy brain, then GO HERE and read the back story on our Pre-School drama.  Okay, maybe it is MY preschool drama.

Orientation started off with all of the parents of the children combined in to one classroom.  Cool.  It appears that it is a good turnout, there are lots of parents here.  Then, a mere 5 minutes in to the orientation they separate the classes, which basically means me, the Hubs, and one other parent stand, walk across the classroom and head down the hall.  In that moment, I felt the way I imagine my kid will feel everyday, as she is pulled from her friends at 8:30 in the morning and brought down the hall to another classroom. 
I felt like the oddball
I felt ostracised
I felt like I was being separated from the popular group. 
I felt like that kid that nobody wanted on their kickball team. 

So, we walk down the hall and we see the room that Camdyn will spend her days in for the next year.  It's smaller than the classroom she is in now.  The bulletin boards are bare (her teacher had a reason for this, but still....not a good start).  And honestly, coming from the giant, bright, fully prepared room that the rest of the parents are still sitting in, this room is down-right depressing.  Ugh.  My heart sank.  I just can't shake the feeling that Camdyn is in the slow group, that this group of kids was hand selected because they need more help, or don't get along well with others. 

Dear Director,
I realize that there has been quite a fallout this year over classroom assignments.  You've dealt with several sets of irritated and irate parents who are upset that their children are being separated from their best friends.  You've dealt with parents like me, who are concerned that their kid is behind or has a behavioral problem and that she has been designated to a classroom with other children that have similar issues.  Although you have assured me that is not the case, I still feel like it is.  Why is that?  Is it because there isn't a good mix of kids in the smaller class?  You claim that you separated by gender since there are fewer boys.  Why does the small class have 4 boys and the larger class only has 3?  That doesn't make much sense if we are talking statistics and percentages.  Seems to me like your theory isn't holding weight...it makes me not trust the reasons you gave me.

Here's a piece of unwarranted and unsolicited advice.  In the future, when you are assigning children to classrooms if you don't divide them according to ability and temperament, then why don't you just draw names out of hat.  That seems to me the only fair way to separate the children without alarming their parents, causing them grief and worry, and thereby causing the children grief, and it will save you from this entire scene.  Seriously, this is weighing heavy on my heart, and I don't think I'll rest easy about it the entire year. 

Every day when I march my child right past the big, bright, cheery room with ALL OF HER FRIENDS in it, I will feel this way.  Everyday, I will silently fight my gut feeling that my kid is behind, or isn't capable of functioning in a group with her friends.  And, everyday, I will be thankful that we are one step closer to Kindergarten.  Because at least there, I will feel like she is on even ground with the rest of the children.  When she's there, I will feel, again, like she has a chance at being viewed as the bright, charismatic child that she is.  I will wish the entire year away....everyday.  And, I hate that I have to feel that way each time I walk past room 114.

(please note this has nothing to do with the teachers - love them.  Just the classes, and how the kids are mixed up)

Sincerely,
One overly concerned, extremely sensitive, and some-what dramatic parent

And, that's all I have to say about that.

Because I believe in balance, taking the good with the bad, and finding the upside in a situation.  Here's a slideshow of pictures I took last Saturday. Maybe through them you can see just how important this school has been in our lives over the past 4 years.  Maybe you can see just how happy Camdyn is with her friends, and maybe you can understand a little more about why I'm so bothered by the classroom scenario. 

So, here are the kids, enjoying the playground, enjoying cake, enjoying the water.  And, just enjoying being kids!  I love them all, and their parents too!

**I realize that some of the pictures are out-of-focus, but they still show the moments, so I included them.

I am Losing the Bedtime Battle - Bigtime

Last Friday, we embarked on Bedtime Bootcamp with our 4 1/2 year old.  The goal was to train her to go to bed when asked, fall asleep, and stay in her room all night long.  Friday night was fairly successful.  I sat at the far end of the room, she didn't fight me (or sleeping) and by 9:00 she was out like a light, and I was in the living room enjoying time with Hubs.

Saturday night was similar, only I had the computer in her room with me, so I spent much longer sitting there, even though she was asleep long before I left her room.  Still she didn't fight bedtime.  I thought my tactics were working.

And then Sunday night she proved that she has far more control than a 4 year old body should possess.  At 8:30 her lights were off and I was in my place sitting silently. She's thrashing about her bed, singing, and playing with pillows and bedsheets.  I'm doing my best to ignore her, but I can feel my blood pressure rising.  She quiets down, I think she's falling asleep, I begin to relax.  Then, out of a nowhere a little voice says "Momma, I have a hy-pop-e-sis" (hypothesis).  I ignore her.  She is trying to engage me in conversation and I am not going to fall victim to her scheme.  She repeats herself, over and over, my blood pressure is rising again.  Finally, I say "Camdyn, what is your hypothesis?"  She tells me, and honestly, I can't remember what she said because I was trying to figure out what the next step was going to be. 

I tell her, "Camdyn it is now 8:50 and you are still awake, if you are still awake at 9:00 then you will lose your TV privilege for tomorrow."  Her response, "okay Momma."  Guess, who's still awake at 9:00?  At this point I have been in her bedroom for an hour and half (including working on her letters, and reading bed time stories).  I'm frustrated.  I want to be on the couch watching mindless TV shows like Hubs has been doing since 7:15.  Selfish.  Yes I am. 

I abandon my approach.  I take residence in my favorite chair and open my email.

Not 10 minutes later Cam comes out of her room because she has to potty, which she does, and then returns to her room.  But, now her light is on, and her markers are out, and she is coloring.  Seriously, child?  So, I remove the markers, turn the light off, and warn her not to come out of her room again.  I may or may not have said, "If you come out of your room one more time you will wish you were never born."  Not my proudest moment ::hangs head in shame::

Now, it's 10:00, I'm ready for bed, I walk through the kitchen on my way to check on Cam before I head to bed.  I run into her in the kitchen, she's getting a bowl out of the drawer.  She wants peanuts.  IT'S BEDTIME!  It's my bedtime!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?  So, I walk her back to bed, she's crying over peanuts, but I'm not letting her have any.  I explain for the millionth time that it's bedtime, I apologize for using my strong voice, but I'm tired and frustrated, and I don't understand why she doesn't listen.  Now, she starts to cry.  We cry together.  I explain my expectations.  We cry together.  I tell her I love her.  I rub her tummy.  I leave.  She sleeps in her own room all night long.

This is a typical night.  {except for my rude comment, that's atypical} 

I'm so tired of getting frustrated.  I'm a pretty chill person by nature (this is the apache indian in me), it takes a lot for me to get to my boiling point, and yet I'm finding myself there, nightly, with these antics.  I hate this drama, this up and down roller coaster, having to raise my voice, and then feeling so guilty about it that I'm moved to tears.  I can't seem to  find balance between enforcing rules, and fighting a battle just to fight it.  Rewards (hugs, kisses, praise, toys) and consequences (losing TV, swimming, and treat privileges) aren't working.  I need something more powerful than that, like a sedation dart that they use on lions & elephants at the zoo.  We've used sticker charts before, that works for a few weeks, and then we are back to square one. 

I welcome your advice, books to read, the power of prayer for patience and understanding on my part. 

I need a bedtime intervention, and a bottle of wine.

Wordlessness Wednesday - Photo Challenge - Dr. Recap - Whew.

“When the solution is simple, God is answering.”

~Albert Einstein

The theme this week over at the Paper Mama Photo Challenge is Absolute Favorite. 

Holy Hard.  To decide on just one picture is akin to torture. 

So, I narrowed it down. My favorite must be a picture that I took the time to print. Since you know most pics just live on the computer and never find their way to paper, or a baby book. So, not only did I print this picture, but I printed it on canvas, which means, it must be my Absolute Favorite!

Surely, everyone has a favorite picture.  So, hop on over to Chelsey's Place and join the fun!


Dr. Recap: 
The Hubs and I met at the Ped's office at 3:15.  Apparently, my rampant googling and subsequent panic/neurosis must have weighed on Hubs too.  I never asked him to meet me there, he just did.  I'm so grateful for that.  In the future, I am going to try and refrain myself from googling things that will freak me out.  That's what happened in this case.

So, we visit the Dr. and he hears our concerns.  Hubs throws in the fact that I googled "Limping 16 mo. old" and am freaking out.  The Dr. politely discourages me from doing things like that because the Internet has no filter.  The results I received happen about 1% of the time, or less.  So, whew.  I felt a little better.  He also assured me that when a child has a severe illness it doesn't manifest itself in limping as it's only presenting symptom.  Whew.  And, the fact that she holds weight on it, and it comes and goes also means it's not something major.  Whew. 

He lays her down and looks at her legs and feet, he squeezes, and she squirms.  He flips her over to inspect the skin folds, they should match, and they do.  He holds her at one end of the hallway, we go to the far end.  He sets her down, and she runs - like RUNS, Sprints, baby style - down the hallway to me to Hubs (I love the fact that she prefers him over me, she is our little daddy's girl).  He thinks her gait is normal.  Yes, it is normal, no limping right now, because it comes and goes.

He suggests that we do an X-ray just to rule out a toddler fracture, but he is pretty certain it will come back normal.  I ask if we should do blood work (because there is still that piece of me that is freaking out about the C word) and he says that he is 100% certain that is not necessary, but if it will make me feel better then no problem.  He states that he's seen one new cancer patient every month for the past 3 months straight.  Each one presented with multiple abnormal symptoms, and Chloe definitely does not fit in that category.  Well, I'm not big on unnecessary testing/needle torture, so I trust him.  He believes her limp is soft tissue related; a sprain, internal bruising, a pulled muscle, cramping, etc.

Today, she is walking normally.  Today she is happy as a lark.  Today, I will order her new shoes, which excites me because I love shopping for Pediped shoes.  Today, she'll get an X-ray.

Thanks for the prayers and words of comfort.  I feel 100x better today than yesterday, and would like to report that I slept better too, but that didn't happen due to 4 year old night-time fears and antics. 

And, I will try my best to exert some restraint when I feel the urge to WebMD or, at the very least, Google responsibly.  Promise. 

I worry.

I worry.  I'm a worrier by nature, and it's something I'm working on.  Last night, as I was trying to fall asleep I had to keep repeating to myself "Give it all to God." 

Chloe has developed a limp.  For the past few days, late in the evening we've noticed that she hobbles on her right foot.  We'll remove her shoes, it seems to get better, and in no time she is running around.  She bears weight on it, squats on it, and all seems fine, and then she'll limp again. 

Last night when I picked her up from school her teacher told me that she tripped, screamed, grabbed her ankle in pain, and then when I walked through the door she was practically dragging her right foot along.  At that point I decided I have to bring her in.  Are her shoes getting too small, they still go on easily?  I don't see a splinter, or blister?  Did she twist her ankle or break something?  I'm worried. 

This morning she was walking fine.  I sent her to school today in different shoes, hand-me downs from sissy, and she ran in them all the way down the hallway. I'm going to take her to the Dr. this afternoon, but in the meantime. I pray. I pray that this turns out to be something simple. 

I took these shots of her on Saturday - she is standing with all of her weight on her right foot.

Kids. Are. Cruel.

Someone please loan me a spine, a set of balls, or some thicker skin.  I'm going to need it if I am going to survive the rapidly approaching elementary school years. 

Last night we went to Chick Fil A for dinner.  Camdyn finished her dinner before the rest of the family so she scampered off to the play land.  We could see her through the window and we watched as she quickly paired up with two older girls (about 8 years old) and began running around with them.  Up and down the slide they went, hiding from the boys and it looked like they were having a blast.  The Hubs and I chatted about how Cam is extremely social, and how she doesn't have one shy or reserved bone in her body and how awesome that is. 

And, then I finished my meal, Chloe was squawking, so I took her in to the play land so that she could play and watch the bigger kids run around.  We walked in to the room and Camdyn announced to her friends that her baby sister was there and to please watch out for her.  Serious sweetness.  And, then I saw what was really going on.

The older girls weren't playing with Camdyn, they were trying to run from her.  She was like the annoying kid sister that they couldn't shake, and they were irritated with her.  I was kind of stunned because I've never seen her in that position before.  Typically, she is the leader.  She is the one in her class that the others are following, and if they don't follow her, she could care less.  She's strong and independent, so to see her be the odd child, the outcast child, was pretty much a needle to the heart.  So, I sat there and watched.  One of the girls would tell Cam to go and hide in the cow car, which was at the top of the play thing, on the opposite side of the slide.  Cam would climb all the way up there and wait a minute, and then realize that no one was coming to find her and she would climb down, and join the girls again, smiling the whole time.  They were like her new best friends, but she was the only one that felt that way.  At one point, the older girl said under her breath "stop following me. you are so gross." 

At that point, I debated saying something.  I was going to call that little girl over to me and explain to her that Camdyn is only 4 years old, and if she can't include her and play nicely, then she should go back to her table and sit with her mother.  She was probably above the height restriction for the play land anyway.  And, then, I second guessed myself.  Is it my place to discipline or reprimand this child?  After all, she wasn't physically hurting my child, she was just being rude.  Do I step in, or do I see how it plays out?  Although, I want to protect Camdyn from all the hurt and pain in the world, I can't fight every battle for her, right? 

So. I. Did. Nothing.

After a few more minutes of witnessing this behavior which is hurting my feelings, not my child's, but MINE, I tell Cam it's time to go.  As we head to the car, the whole situation begins to eat me alive.  Why?  Because I'm a frickin' sap, and a wet noodle, and I can't stand hurt feelings....I over empathize with people, to the point where it is becoming a personality flaw.  We get in the car, and I begin to enlighten Hubs, who missed the whole situation.  We are spelling out the majority of our conversation so that Cam doesn't understand and he thought without a doubt that I should have done something about it.  He told me to grow some balls, and stand up for our kids, and that I better learn how to do that when they are young, because when they are 14 and I have to do it, it's going to be even tougher.  On one hand I agree, but on the other hand, I am not going to be able to fight all of her battles for her, and I can't protect her 

She's going to have to learn how to stand up for herself.  And, I hope she does.  And that she learns how to stand up for other kids that are picked on and bullied.  I hope she is that kid. 

As tears are welling in my eyes on the drive home, Hubs turns to Camdyn and asks, "Did you have fun at Chick Fil A?"  Between licks of her ice cream cone she says, "Yes Daddy!  I had so much fun with those girls, but not with those boys."  He looks at me, squeezes my leg, and says "That's all that matters."

I still lost sleep over it.  I debated whether or not I did the right thing, and I wished that I could just keep Camdyn at her Christian School forever, in the classroom where she is loved and feels accepted with a teacher that she adores, but I know that can't happen.

Eventually, she's going to run in to cruel kids.  And when she does, I hope that I am better prepared to handle it than I was last night.

I am interested to know what you would have done.  Please share.

This Day....

I gave the Hubs a super big squeeze this morning before he walked out the door.  Today is going to be a tough one.  Today marks the one year anniversary of the day that I returned to work from my maternity leave after Chloe was born and the same day that my MIL sprouted angel wings.  Obviously, one of those events was way more traumatic than the other.  Her death was unexpected, the wound is still there, but the memories are alive. 

Dear Momma D,
What's it like up there, on the other side of the pearly gates?  I imagine that you and Grandpa Earl spend your days playing Texas Hold Em and drinking tea.  I imagine that you are no longer in pain, that your soul feels alive, and that you finally get to see your grandbabies any time you like. 

We miss you - daily.  There are often moments when I wish I could pick up the phone and ask you a question.  A question about your son and why he does what he does.  A question about his childhood.  A question about pictures and memories of your lifetime.  I wish that I had sucked you dry of that information while you were here.  I wish I hadn't taken for granted your existence.  I wish I had called more often.

We are keeping your memory alive.  We speak of you often, and Camdyn knows she has an angel Gramma in heaven.  We sift through the boxes and boxes of pictures that came out of your house and we remember.  We remember.   A hand drawn sketch of you hangs in our living room, a daily reminder of you, of your life, and our family's future.

The sweet part about death is that we'll meet again.  We'll all be together and there will be rejoicing.  For now, while we're apart, I hope you smile at what you see down here.  I hope you look at your grand daughters and laugh, and I hope you know just how much you are loved.

Save a spot at the table for me.

~C

PS:  A few nights ago, when Chloe woke up at 2 am crying and I walked in her bedroom to find her light on, was that you? Because it felt like you. And, I thought of you. And, I missed you.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>&;>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

And, because today doesn't have to be all about sad things....Camdyn, Chloe and I did "THE DITTY" in the car on the way to school this morning.  We turned up the music, Chloe clapped, big straight arm, forehead high claps, and Camdyn learned how to "Raise the Roof."  Because, you are just never too young to learn Old School Hip Hop and how to dance like your mother. 

Today we celebrate.  We celebrate a life that was worthy, a woman who was extraordinary, and another day - like any day - that should not be taken for granted.  

I Retire My Super Mom Cape

I think it is time for me to remove my cape, wad it up in a ball, and chuck that sucker in the dirty laundry pile. 

In the past week, I have come to the realization that I just can not do it all, all of the time.  I can not be three places at one time, I can not please everyone all of the time, and I certainly can not expect myself to be able to do said things.  I've come to the point where I'm over-stretched, exhausted, and it's sucking the life force right out of me. 

I used to think that when my kids got older it would get easier and that things would smooth out.  Well, SPOILER ALERT, for those of you with infants and toddlers.  It doesn't get easier, it gets harder, life becomes more scheduled, and things just get BUSIER.  The life of a pre-schooler involves "school" activities, events planned by school moms (like a pamper-me spa night that I really wish I could go to but probably won't make) and then add that to the mix, of swim lessons, gymnastics, weekly errands etc. and suddenly you find yourself stretched T-H-I-N. 

And while I'm busy making sure that we attend every party so no one's feelings get hurt, and because the kiddo wants to, and because I like to be social, I forget that somewhere in there, I have to take care of myself.  And, while I wish I could make it to the gym because my frickin' pants are too tight, probably because I have to order out more than I should, I don't go because I am exhausted, or because I would rather tuck my kids in instead of run on a treadmill.

So, I've been busy taking care of everybody's needs and acquiescing to everyone's expectations and desires, and I have forgotten about myself.  I blame the cape and my inability to say the word NO  decline.  I'm practicing it, I'm working on living with disappointing people, backing graciously out of commitments, and hopefully the people that love me, and support me, and really know me, will understand that sometimes I just have to take care of Me. 

So, screw off Super Mom Cape - I'm a damned mortal and I'm done with taking a break from pretending that I can do it all.

(but, I'm pretty sure that after I wash the cape, and it's neatly pressed and hanging in the closet, I'll probably put it back on....because that is what I do and I know me that well)

A New Perspective

It's so easy to get caught up in the stresses of life.  To wallow in self-pity and focus on all of the things that are wrong with today.   This was me at the end of last week.  I lost my focus.  I began to dwell, on my own exhaustion and to-do lists and I began to stress over things that are out of my control.  Now, if you know me, you know that I don't really stress often.  I'm pretty even keeled, it takes a lot to ruffle my feathers, and I don't like dramatic emotional swings (like the fight to make up thing...that was never my style).   My dad thinks that's the Native American Indian in me, I'm basically smoking an invisible peace pipe everyday. 

And then something happens, a loved one gets ill, someone dies, and suddenly all of the worries that consumed the day, evaporate.  This was my reality check, well, more like a reality slap in the face.  Not only is my dad battling a disease that he no longer can control, but a baby, a tiny baby, was struggling for his last breaths.  It doesn't matter that I've never met this sweet boy, or that I don't even know his parents.  I feel like I do.  I've been following his journey for months, and praying for him and his family nightly.   Baby Daxton fought cancer, he fought hard, and through it all his parents had and have an amazing faith in our Lord.   Please, grab some tissues and a cup of tea and read through a bit of his journal.  Read the amazing faith that his parents have.  Although it will probably break your heart into a million pieces, it will also restore your faith, and alter your perspective.  He was only 14 months old when he was lifted up on angels wings last Friday.  I tear up when I think of him and the grief that his parents are enduring. I cried when I placed a prayer request in the basket for them at church on Sunday.  The mother in me can not imagine the pain and grief of losing a child. 

So, What are you doing, Carol?  I am counting my blessings and not my worries.  I am not sweating the small the stuff.  I am taking joy in the fundamentals of life;  faith, health, and home.  I am living for my today.  I will let Baby Daxton's life be a testament to that.  That he affected so many people, he changed them, and thereby changed a piece of the world.  I've had my perspective altered, and for that I am grateful.

My challenge to you is to re-evaluate what is important in your life today.  To stop yourself when you find yourself complaining about the monotony of the daily grind.  To find joy in a child, a flower, a smile from a stranger.  Life is good.  God is good.  And we are blessed beyond measure.

My Blessings

Thankful Thursday (in a completely convoluted way)

I promise that at some point I will get to the things that I am Thankful for today via this open letter.  Some things are just easier for me to write than to say.  Maybe that makes me chickenshit, or maybe it just makes me incredibly sensitive.  It doesn't matter.  Either way I have a voice.

Dear PG,
Blindsided.  That is the only word that can describe how I felt when I learned of your disease.  It came out of nowhere.  It hit me hard.  And, I am still trying to wrap my head around how you ended up here.  Here.  In the situation where you daily are choosing between life and death, and daily making the wrong choice.  Here.  Where your body is telling you to stop.  Just stop.  But you can't.  Your disease has taken over and polluted your mind.  You try your best to pretend that everything is going to be okay, and that you are not scared of death. But that is cowardly.  Cowardly, in that you are choosing the easy route.  You are choosing the path that requires the least amount of heart ache, pain, and trouble for you.  It is selfish.  You can no longer see past your own desires.  You can't see the pain in your loved ones eyes, the tears that have been shed on your behalf, and the big black hole that you will leave in our lives once you breathe no more.

I bounce back and forth between being completely understanding and sympathetic to your disease, and then a half hour later, I am angry.  Angry at you, for no longer being the man I knew.  For refusing help, for destroying our hopes, and for not wanting to live. 

So, I sit 1,200 miles away and removed from the situation, but still affected, and still just as helpless as those that are physically near you.  There is nothing I can do to make you change your mind.  There is nothing I can do to make you want to live, get healthy, enjoy the rest of your life.  You have to want to do that.  The only thing I can do is cling to the memories I have of you and the wonderful childhood you gave us.  I want that to be your legacy.  Not your alcoholism.  I wish my mere existence was enough to make you want to stay sober.  But, it isn't.  See this?

Six beautiful miracles all lined up on the couch.  Each one of them special to you in their own way.  Some share your blood and some share your heart.  They all adore you.  You.  You as you used to be.  I would love for you to impact their childhood the way you impacted mine.  It kills me that you are taking that from them. 

In all of this mess, what am I Thankful for this Thursday?  I am thankful for this.

Because regardless of what the future holds for you.  I look in the eyes of mine every day.  As emotionally confused as I am right now, I see my beautiful babies and I lose myself in them.  I lose myself in the daily grind, and the daily joy of their lives and I am Thankful for that.  They give me a reason to carry on, to make good choices, to take good care of myself.  I NEED to see their future.   

I recall a conversation with you once when I was about 15 years old.  You told me that you would support me financially and emotionally in any thing in the world that I wanted to do as long as it wasn't drugs.  You held up your end of the bargain and so did I.  Now, it is time for you to make that deal again.  To stop drowning your pain in a bottle that has no bottom, to ask for help, to lean on your family for support, and to want to be healthy.  I don't know how much time you have left before your organs fail you, but I fear that time is short. Suicide by shot glass is the way you will go, and devastation you will leave behind.

You once told me that there were 3 rules in life.

DON'T. BE. STUPID.

I always found that really clever and memorable, because it wasn't 3 rules, but 3 words.  I'll close with that.  Don't.Be.Stupid.

Love You Forever and Always,

Your Baby Girl