November 12, 2013

Auto-Pilot.

That's what I'm on these days.

My goal is to stay in the moment.

Not project to the darker days

that are surely ahead.

Wild thoughts tempt my emotions,

the pleading of my heart ringing in my ears:

"I'm not ready. Please. I'm not ready."

Quickly, I dismiss those thoughts--

banish them from my present. 

My presence.

I will live for today.

Work is good.

Staying busy is good for the soul.

I've cleaned out closets.

The fridge in the garage that has needed it

for so so so long.

I fight the urge to toss out everything that requires

more energy to hold onto,

to care for,

than I want to expend.

I fight the urge to want to control my world

in ways that are unhealthy.

Does anyone understand this?

A friend came by last night;

she said she "admires the way" I am handling my life.

Using words like "example" and "inspiration".

I told her I am completely clueless and totally winging this--

I can't see how I'd be an example to anyone.

There are scenes playing out in my head all day long--

from running far far away in any direction

as though I outrun the coming dread,

to curling up in a ball,

or wrapping my arms around my son so tight

that death cannot take him away

because of sheer willpower and mother-love.

Example?

of what?

a hot mess.

This place I'm in demands answers.

I feel them come in those fight-or-flight moments.

A calm warmth settles on my shoulders.

A blissful thought whispers and suddenly

I am me again.

I see things clearly

comforting

peacefully.

The world slows down.

I quiet my Self.

The wild fears that crowd my mind

leave without a fuss.

I mentally plan a funeral--

who will sing "I'll Walk With You"

and who will sing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives"...

Dean's favorite songs.

Who will tell Dean's story?

I have to get his Special Olympic medals out...

he has had some remarkable accomplishments in his life.

No college, no marriage or career...but still.

He's lived and been successful with what he came with!

I look over old photo albums and see his face with different eyes.

Does this even make sense?

How pre-mature are these feelings?

How ready do I need to be?

I feel guilty even having these thoughts.

I purposefully slow down.

I will not get out old photos again,

not while he's still here.

Will I regret that?

I will not think about a funeral for the next hour.

If I'm not, will someone else come help me when it's time?

I will think about spending time with Dean.

I will think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and Nana's homecoming.

Do I need to call a grief counsellor for me, for my children?

When do I do that? Is it too soon? I am grieving already, so maybe it's not too soon?

How are we going to get through this?

I pray for clarity.

I pray for peace.

I search my husband's eyes for answers--

he's lost both parents and a dear older brother.

He rarely speaks of how he dealt with those losses.

I need him to tell me how on earth I am going to do this

very hard thing.

But the words don't come.

I don't wanna know. really. I don't want to know. 

I know the "why" this is happening.

I understand that.

But. BUT.

Today, I will be grateful.

I will speak to my boy and listen to his voice and make plans to see him later.

And he will hold my nose and say, "I love you, Mom."

I will touch his nose with my finger, "I love you, Deano. Always."

We'll smile at each other with our knowing smiles and see into each other's eyes

the secret we both know...

that time is running out and the next chapter is a page away.

Dean, November 9th, 2013

It's November 9th, 2013.
IN Colorado Springs, it was unusually warm--
a light jacket or none at all was good in the afternoon sun.

We woke up this morning, grateful to be home
after a long night in the ER with Dean again.
We'd picked him up at 5:30-ish to go to dinner in town.
At first the plan was just to have him come over for dinner,
but because we live so far north of where he lives--
and that he was supposed to be staying in respite care this weekend
with a gal named Cecelia and her family,
I made a last minute decision to just pick up Joseph and Arianna
on my way home from work,
and head into town,
fetch Dean and eat wherever he chose.

He decided he wanted Del Taco.
I hate Del Taco.  (French fries with tacos?? ugh)
But. It was his night to chose so be it.
We ordered and took a seat.
Kent called just as our food arrived
and at first said he was too tired to meet us in town
so he'd just go home and scavenge up a meal there.
I understood his tiredness--
I've been tired for months now,
so I told him to do whatever he needed and we'd see him later.

Dean's HHP had texted me the day before to say that Dean
has been going to bed earlier and earlier recently.
Keeping that in mind,
I thought that once dinner was over,
we'd run him to C. so he could get into bed on his own time.
Well, I texted C. once we got our food
and she texted back to say that she and her family were at
a sit-down restaurant and it would be at least an hour
before they were ready for Dean.

OK, I thought, well, we'll eat and because it's Friday night,
it will probably take us at least a half hour or more to get to the east side of town.
"Things will work out."

Kent changed his mind shortly after the first phone call,
called back and said he was on his way to meet us.

#1 tender mercy.

Soon after Kent arrived,
Dean was finishing up his hamburger and turned to me,
looking very tired--
and said, "I'm ready to go."
Patting him on the shoulder I said,
"OK, buddy, as soon as we're finished eating, we'll leave."
He barely nodded his head,
then looking straight at me,
his eyes rolled back and he had a seizure,
slumping towards me.
I held onto him, got Kent's attention ( he was sitting on the other side and talking to the kids)
and he stood and helped me hold onto Dean so he wouldn't fall out of the chair.
He started to come around, but had another seizure and another and another....

I don't recall every detail after that--
I ran out of the restaurant to look at the street sign as I called 911--
the workers at the restaurant were of no help at all...
just a bunch of teenagers.

The dispatcher kept me on the phone--
helping me to describe what I was seeing with Dean
until the EMT's came.

I led them to Dean,
who was still passed out
and suddenly,
felt a tap on the shoulder--
I turned around to see a friend I know from church.
That was tender mercy #2--
Brenda wrapped her arms around me and I can't tell you what she said,
but I felt so loved and cared for in that moment.

Dean was loaded up in the ambulance
and headed to Memorial North for the second time in 3 weeks.
Kent took the kids home in his car
and I climbed into the Sub, alone,
following the ambulance.

I don't remember much of the drive.

I got to the waiting room, gave my name and Dean's name--
he was not yet in a room so I had to wait.
IN that time,
I texted Dara, whose in Seattle for the weekend
as part of her journey home from Alaska.
Told her to let the other kids know.
Then I texted my visiting teacher, Lynnel--
told her what was going on and asked for her prayers
and others' too.

It wasn't long before I was back in Treatment Room #6
with Dean--
they'd given him ADDAVAN for the seizures
so he was awake but drowsy and non-verbal.
I held his cold hand.
"I'm so sorry, buddy."

Kent arrived a few minutes after that.
The attending Dr let us know that there were blood tests being done
and such so it would be awhile.
I don't recall a single word between Kent and I.

Then suddenly,
Bishop appeared at the doorway.
Tender mercy #3.
I didn't expect him.
Hugs and tears all around.

He then told us that our beloved home teacher,
Patriarch Christianson and another brother from our ward, Brother Ellsworth
were in the waiting area, (tender mercy #4)
as they'd only allow one person at a time to come back.
I wanted Dean to have a priesthood blessing,
so I volunteered to leave the room so Kent and Bishop could
administer a blessing upon Dean.

Walking out to the waiting room,
I was so happy to see our sweet friend, Brother Christianson.
He is old enough to be my father. We love him.
He too, gave me a great hug and so did Brother Ellsworth.
They asked me about Dean and then asked me how I'm doing--
"I'm a hot mess." I replied.
Then they asked if I needed a blessing.
Yes. Yes I do.
Brother C. asked a nurse and soon we were given a small room to go into.

Now, I had no expectations of this blessing.
I just needed the peace that comes with such a gift.
But, in this instance,
28 years after the birth of my son, Dean,
I feel like the heavens were opened and I was gifted with the most precious knowledge
that could've been given to me.
I do not feel it proper to share this here at this time--
but suffice it to say,
I am Dean's Mom because my Heavenly Father loves me and trusts me to be--
a decision that was made long before this life.

The blessing did reveal that Dean's time here is limited.
I knew that. I've known that.
But to have it confirmed was also a gift.

I will leave the rest of the blessing private.

They finished, we all hugged and I returned to be at Dean's side.
 Bishop left moments after that too.

I'm gonna skip all the rest of the hospital stuff--
the docs basically increased Dean's seizure meds
and then sent us on our way.

We came home,
tucked Dean into bed,
then ourselves.
It was a long restless night for me
as I checked on him throughout the night.

This morning we made a nice breakfast
and spent the whole day with Dean.
He held my nose several times and told me
"I love you Mom."
Then he held Arianna's nose,
"I love you Bee."
And he held Joseph's nose,
" I love you, Joseph."
November 9th, 2013 was a good day.
We had to get some new meds for him,
then we went to lunch as a family, (Dean tipped the waiter $1)
then we walked around the little mall in town.
He picked out some new sneakers and a hoodie--(he paid $2 of his own money)
we went to the Dollar Store where he purchased a Christmas elf felt hat--(another $1)--
and we finally came home.
Dean likes paying for his own things. It makes him feel responsible and grown up.
I love that about him too.

We came home and decided we could all use a nap!

An hour later, we got up, had left over pizza
and soon after that, Dean said he was tired and going to bed.
It was just barely 6pm.

I tucked him in, turned off the light and shut the door.

If I have another November 9th with Dean,
I will be so dang happy! so blessed! so grateful!

I love him so much.
He is my boy.

An Alaskan Homecoming

My fearless Alaskan Explorer
has packed up her bounty
and is en route home tonight.

Calling from the Juneau Airport this morning,
her voice was giddy and warm:
"I'm so happy that I'm comin' home, Mama."

Words, I think she is surprised are coming out of her mouth.
These are not the words she had been saying
over and over and over
just a few months ago
when she was a high school Senior.
Nope.
The words she most commonly used in my direction
sounded alot more like,
"I can't wait to get out of here."

Sometimes, adding a [bite] on the end
to emphasize just how much she meant them.

I tried to smile through those bites,
and return the same with my own two cents:
"Me too.", I'd say.

Good times.

Of course, it wasn't that I wanted my daughter to leave my life,
I just wanted her to use up her knowledge
that had been accumulating all eighteen years of her life, dontcha know.
She was a virtual plethora of knowledge!
Everything I said to her was responded to with,
"I know, {eyeroll} Mom. I know."

That's when I knew it was time to give her the boot
from the nest, as they say
and let the little chica test her wings.

It was a clean month before she ever even called home
after she left.
I'd get a text now and then,
but it was a clean break--
there was no fretting, no fussing, no mention of "home fires burning"
on either end.

I blessed her Grand Adventure with a hug and a kiss
with hopes that this would be the beginning of an exciting life
for my fifth child
who has been a happy Wonderer since she learned to walk.
The plan was that she would work and pay her own way--
her room and board,
her entertainment and other needs
(except for medical--she's still on our insurance)
and just see up close and personal
what this Life has to offer in a small Alaskan town.

The friend we knew in Alaska provided a landing place,
but not long after arriving,
they decided it wasn't a good fit
so Dara moved in with a family from church
that understood what it means to have a teenager
in the house--
their home had some already!
Dara fit right in and continued her journey
without skipping a beat!
My child who hates getting up in the morning,
GOT UP in the morning to catch a bus for work.
This child o'mine who used to thumb her nose up at dinner time,
made a confession during her first phone call home:
Momza: "SO, what are you learning in Alaska, Day?"
Dara: "I miss someone cooking dinner every night, Mama."

yeah.

There it was.
That was worth the distance itself.
 Kids take for granted the everyday things Moms do,
until they're out on their own and nobody cares of they are eating
healthy three squares a day every day.
She said she missed having someone to nag her into doing the things she should be doing--
noone cared if she was late to work,
had clean clothes to wear,
stayed up all night on Pinterest,
she learned what we all learn
the first time we leave home.

We learn that home is where the heart is...
there are little comforts there that are not found elsewhere.
That's what makes it HOME.

But the most important lessons are those she has learned about herself.
She's about to go off to college in January--
live in a social situation filled with ridiculous young adults
who don't understand much of anything,
immature, self-centered, insecure boobs--
who are anxious to put value-judgements onto their peers
without having a clue about themselves!
I want my daughter to know her Self--
her strengths especially,
so that when those knotheads try to pigeon-hole her into something she is not,
she doesn't believe them.

I hope she goes to college with a stronger identity now
than she would have,
had she stayed home since graduating high school,
being spoon-fed her daily life,
one bite at a time by us parents.

So that's what I hope this adventure has given her.
Confidence.

You can't give someone confidence.
Encouragement, yes.
But confidence? --no, that has to come from inside.
And once you have that awesome thing,
it's yours.

Day is spending the weekend in Seattle
with some kids from her stake in Juneau as they attend the temple there,
and do some siteseeing,
then she's heading down to Boise to spend a few days with David Scott and Tisha--
we'll see her happy shiny face on Friday night!

Getting my arms around my Explorer will feel so good--
there's nothing like a Homecoming.

My Beloved Boy

It's Monday night a million days ago since I last wrote about faith and God's ever-reaching arm.

My faith is being tested.
Not that I can abandon it,
but I'm swimming in deep water here
and these past 72 hours have found me at times gasping for air,
looking
begging
for God's arm to reach down
from His heavenly spheres
into my small life and remove this
desperate pain from my heart.
Once again, I am in my own Gethsemane Garden.

Last Friday,
instead of going to Time Out for Women in Denver
I chose to take Dean to our ward's
Trunk R Treat.
You will never meet a boy who loves
Halloween more than my boy.
He longs to be more than he is,
more than his disabilities allow him to be--
Halloween provides those moments for him.
In years past,
he has been an alligator, a doctor, a Phantom of the Opera,
and on and on...
he loves dressing up.

So I gave my tickets up to someone else
for Dean's sake.

We arrived at the Church just before the event started--
meeting his respite care provider, Tom for the first time.
After I parked the car,
I was searching in my purse for a notepad and pen
so that I could get Tom's number
to call him when it was time to leave.
We'd already said we'd drive Dean to his house afterwards.
I finally found a pen
and as I walked around the back of the Suburban over to Tom's car,
I passed Dean as he made his way to the sidewalk,
I patted Dean on the back and said,
"Hey, Buddy." and kept walking towards Tom.

I heard a thump behind me
and looked to see Dean sprawled out on the pavement,
face first.
I ran to his side,
he was unconscious.
I kneeled down next to his face
and saw a fast stream of blood
pouring out of his nose and mouth
and gutteral sounds from his throat.

I lost it.
I yelled for someone to call 911.
And yelled again for a someone to get a doctor--
we have alot of doctors in our ward
and I wanted one right. now.

We rolled Dean over,
still unconscious, blood covering his face,
his brand-new Clown costume shirt,
and I cradled his head in my lap.
Cars were pulling into the church parking lot,
but were diverted around us,
by I don't know who,
and finally a dentist and a doctor came over to check out Dean.

He started to come around,
only to have a seizure and pass out again.
I was beside myself.
Apologizing over and over to Dean--
I hate seeing him hurt more than I can even say.

The EMT's got there pretty quick--
I was trying to explain to them that Dean has cerebral palsy,
that his cognitive age is between 3 and 8 years old--
that he doesn't register pain like we do.
One EMT asked Dean if his face hurt,
to which Dean uttered "un-unh" (no)...
as they loaded him on a backboard,
he said outloud,
"I love Halloween." and then had another seizure and passed out.

The EMT's loaded him into the ambulance,
and as I got into the Sub with Kent,
I finally asked about Bee--
was she OK? Who was with her?
Someone said they'd taken her into the Church because she was cold
and upset.
Bishop said his family would take care of her for the night and not to worry.

I felt guilty not being able to comfort her after she had most certainly witnessed at least
the beginning of this mess.

Still, we had to get going and follow the ambulance to the hospital.

We got there before it did...I don't know which way they had to take? but we sat in the waiting room
for a few moments before the clerk called us to go to the ER room where Dean was waiting.
I walked in to see Dean still strapped to the backboard and a neck compression brace on...
he was trembling, so I asked the nurse to bring us some warming blankets.
He didn't know why he was there, or what had happened.

Pulling a rolling chair over, I sat next to him and talked to him,
trying so hard to control the tears.
I HATE that this happened to him.
WHY?  Why would this happen to him on the one day he has been looking forward to all year??

It didn't make sense 72 hours ago and it still doesn't make sense today.

His nose is bloodied and bruised.
His front teeth are loose, one is jaggedly broken.
His lips torn up, bloodied and swollen.

Why??  Such a little joy in his life, this holiday, and this.

For the next five hours,
through the stupid waiting games of the ER,
and staff shift changes,
Dean went in and out of consciousness.
Never complaining.
Never demanding a thing.
Completely helpless.
And I cried and prayed for the outreached arms I longed for...
long for.
I texted the older kids right away;
Danielle called Dara in Alaska and told her.
They both called while we were in the ER.
Dara told me she'd sent flowers to me that morning--
she didn't know why, but felt "impressed" to do something nice for me.
(I rec'd them on Saturday afternoon...a tender mercy? yes.)
Danielle put our names on the Houston temple prayer roll.

Our Bishop and his wife and the Relief Society President all came to the hospital
 for a little while out of concern of course and to comfort us.
They don't know my amazing Dean.
I shared how much we love him
and how very brave he is...
while he laid there bloodied and bruised.
I told them what a privilege it is to be his mother.
Trying really hard not to cry.

The ER doc came in and said the test results showed
--he was severely dehydrated (thus the passing out at church),
--he has another cyst/tumor on his brain
--no broken or fractured bones in his face or mouth.

Our visitors left and we were getting ready to go,
as the nurse removed Dean's IV,
he had another seizure so then they had to give him a shot
of addavan,
and watch him again for an hour.
Finally ready to go,
two of the nurses shared personal feelings with me,
of how meeting Dean had blessed them and they sent us away
with hugs and prayers for a quick recovery.

We brought him home with us.
There was no way I was going to let anyone else take care of him
in this condition. No way.
We got home close to midnight,
and tucked him into bed with pain meds.
Just as I got into bed,
we heard a loud thump--
ran to his room
and found he'd fallen out of bed...
he was sweaty from head to toe--
I think he'd had another seizure,
as that is one of the things that happens.

Gave him a drink of water,
tucked him in again--
and watched him go back to sleep.

I didn't sleep that night.
I rested.
I cried.
I prayed and begged for understanding.
But I didn't want to go to sleep.

Dean spent the rest of the weekend with us.
He slept almost all of Saturday.
Waking up just for some food and drink and potty.
Never complaining.

Sunday he came around a little in the morning,
and asked to go to church.
We sent Bee but didn't go ourselves.
Kent had to work (ugh!) and Joseph stayed home to help me.

Dean took several naps off and on again,
waking up for soft foods and lots of water and juice.

He sat next to me on the sofa,
holding my hand
and my nose (his sign of affection since a baby)
and saying to me over and over,
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."

This morning, he was feeling a little better;
Asking if he could go to his day program (he couldn't),
and he had a dental appt which his HHP was going to meet up with us
and take him to, since I am an emotional trigger.
Dean sensed something was up,
and got anxious, even taking a swing at me in the kitchen.
While it was disturbing, I knew it wasn't about me.
He's scared. Heck, I'd be scared too.
I went upstairs and took a shower while Kent (who stayed home from work to help)
watched over Dean until it was time to go.
We met up with the HHP,
gave hugs and promises of meeting up again this week.

Watching Dean climb into the HHP's truck sucked.
As they pulled away.
my emotions got the best of me and I just sobbed..
for Dean. for me.
I sat in the car and just bawled.
Kent hugged me,
said he doesn't understand what the point of this whole ugly mess
is for any of us.

How is it that the child that needs me most,
cannot live with me??
I want nothing more than to be Dean's caregiver.
Why is it that he cannot live with me and be happy?
I don't understand it.

I just don't.
I want that part of his brain to be healed so that we can
be together.
I am my best self when he is home.
I love this special young man with my whole heart.
I hate missing days with him.

I love cooking for him.
Cleaning him up for the day.
Putting conditioner in his hair.
Trimming his nails.
Teaching him how to cook eggs and toast
n' seeing his big smile lights up my life!

I would gladly do this for him every day for the rest of my life.

His days are not long. I know this. And I am mourning already.

I am in Gethsemane again
and my voice is raised to my Heavenly Father
and His Son--
heal my beloved son and me.

Celestial Child of Mine

Today is Dean's Birthday.
He's 24 today.
We won't see him today, but he'll spend the weekend with us and we'll celebrate then.
It's a time for reflection for me, when I think about this Celestial boy who holds my heart in the palm of his hand.
Raising a Celestial Child is not always a Celestial experience most days. It remains the single hardest thing my Heavenly Father has asked me to do on my Journey.
When Dean was born, I was 23 years old. He was my 3rd child in two years. I brought him home from the hospital on David Scott's 2nd birthday. We didn't realize Dean wasn't perfect for a couple more months. I was induced for his birth b/c I was supposedly overdue by the Doctor's records, but not by mine. Dean had a reaction to the pitocin--a known side affect--fetal asphyxiation. He didn't breathe for 10 minutes on his own at birth. IN fact, on his medical record is stated, "Stillborn but revived." So that lack of oxygen left him with cerebral palsy we would find out when he was 6 months old.
At first, I noticed he slept alot--but with two other children I counted that a blessing. I didn't know his brain had been traumatized and that was all he was capable of doing...sleeping. healing.
When I did take him to his well-baby appointments, the Dr. said because of the birth, Dean might be a little slower to develop and I should not compare him to the other children. Okay then.
By 4 months, Dean wasn't rolling over. He wasn't arching. Or grabbing. Or cooing. I made an appointment with a neurologist, Dr. Raun Melmud at Phoenix Children's Hospital. It took 6 weeks to get in. Once we were in tho, it only took Dr. Melmud 10 minutes to diagnose Dean.
Cerebral Palsy. I've shared before the immediate flood of emotions I felt and so I won't go into that again.
But Dean became the focus of my world. We were at Phoenix Children's Hospital and the St Joseph's Hospital 5 days in 7...his PT appt was 7am 3 days a week. I took the older kids with me to most appointments. The PT or OT would reward Dean and David Scott and Danielle with stickers for good behavior. I started putting those stickers in a journal for all of them...they got alot of stickers. Sometimes they wanted to wear the stickers on their clothes tho, so they did. Still, Dani & David Scott had to sit and be patient for hours and hours at the hospital...for 3 years.
On the flip side, I could take them anywhere in the Universe and receive compliments for how well-behaved they were.
When Dean finally started walking at nearly 5 years old, he was a sweet little angelic boy. Everywhere we went he drew people to his side with his bright blue eyes, blonde hair and huge smile. He was easier to take care of...no longer did we have to carry him everywhere or always have his stroller. He could walk with his walker and liked his independence.
As his hormones changed, so did he. He became unpredictable, impatient, demanding, violent, frustrated as often as he would be sweet, funny, cooperative and helpful. We just never knew from moment to moment what he would do.
We changed our behavior to prevent his outbursts. Sometimes it worked, and equally sometimes it didn't. He was sweet and attentive at school and church, but saved his temper for Home. He began having outbursts at school once in a blue moon and by the time he graduated HS, we knew something had to give. He was frankly, driving me crazy. I couldn't do enough to keep him busy and occupied--somedays it was more than frustrating. I didn't know what else to do. After a series of very violent outburst at home, one scared me, I PRAYED my guts out for help!
With what I believe was Divine Intervention, we found a program for Dean and he qualified to go to the TOP of the list...the waiting list that was 15 years long. I am not kidding. He went right straight to the Top. It was a host-home placement. We tried different homes before finding the right one...and we had to move to Fort Collins to find that one. He was there for 4 years until his care began to decline, and after a few more moves (which I shared here last year), he is in a host-home that is perfect for him.  We love his caregiver and feel his quality of life is as good as it could be.

At first, my mother heart was in agony over his absence. I could feel my heart aching. Tears. Lots and lots of tears. Why did Heavenly Father ask me to give 110% of my heart to this child and then not provide a way where I could take care of him for the rest of my life?--I wondered over and over. I cried everytime we took Dean home to his caregivers, so that I stopped being the one to take him home after a weekend visit with us. Or a week night dinner. Or after Church. I just couldn't leave him without an overwhelming flood of tears. So Mr W., or Dani took him home.
It's not as bad anymore. I can go, give him a hug goodbye and smile until I get back to the car. Then, I just "suck it up" and drive away. Leaving part of my Self there with him. I tell myself that it won't always be like this...that someday, when the other kids are grown, Dean can come home with me. That's what I want at least. Dean and I have a great time together when he's having a good day.
For now, my blessing is to be the mother to the rest of the crew they need me to be. I didn't realize how much the others had to sacrifice when Dean was at home. They sacrificed and had to make do with whatever was leftover of me after caring for Dean. A Special Needs child comes to a Family. And the entire Family is affected by that one child. From an eternal perspective, we are all in this experience together. We nicknamed Dean our "Golden Ticket" to the Celestial Kingdom...we've all said that how we treat Dean will determine our place in heaven. We take comfort in the knowledge that someday, we will know Dean as a perfected young man, without his limitations, and that will certainly be a Great day for all of us to gather 'round him and hear him express himself without using sign language or a speech impediment...and I imagine words will not be needed. What I didn't realize at the time was that while I was willing to live my whole life for Dean, Heavenly Father doesn't want me to. He isn't asking me to do that. I am the Mother to 7...and I am allowed to be the joyful mother to them all. That to me, is a grand gift indeed.
I love being Dean's mother and am entirely grateful he is still here with us. I love him so.

My Prayers

Last night,
as I closed my eyes and said a prayer,
I could only think of one thing
to ask for...

Just one.

And after I closed my  prayer,
I lay there thinking
how much my prayers have changed
over the years.

Things I wanted God's help with--
more strength,
more patience,
less stress,
less trials.
please.

And truly, Heavenly Father has answered my pleas.
Every one.
And I do have those nights when
my petitions are more developed and refined--
asking for specific things for specific others,
at specific times.
But not last night.

Last night,
it was simply:
I love my Heavenly Father.
And I want what He wants
for me
for my children.
Whatever that is,
I want that.


Please take care of my children,
keep them safe.

Taillights

Diana left us today,

headed to Provo, Utah

for her own awfully big adventure.

That's her little red convertible pulling away, right there.

 Before she got in that little red car,

we had a nice spaghetti dinner.

We all went around the table

giving her our "best advice":

The Caboose:  "Stay safe. Don't let anyone talk you into doing bad things."

 Boofus: Stay away from boys. 

(I paid him with jellybellies later.)  

(oh he was on his way to play air-soft guns with his buddies-lol)

 Daisie: (who couldn't smile for "Take One"--had to suck up the tears for "Take Two")

and this is a direct quote: "Don't be a Ho."  --thanks, Daisie. 

Your eloquence is inspiring.

Momza: (Puffy eyes-check; dark circles of worry-check)

"Do things that help you become the person you want to be."

Dad: "Have fun. Be grateful for the opportunities that will come your way."

 Then, it was her turn to give each of us

some "Going Away" Advice:

To Daisie: "Be wise. Be wise at home. Be wise choosing your friends. Talk to Mom and listen to her.  If you listen to Mom, you will be happier."

 To the Boofus: "Be nice to your sisters. Be happy."

 To the Caboose (who was having the most difficulty letting go):

"Control your temper." (she can be a little hothead.)

 To Mom and Dad:

"Don't doubt yourselves as parents. You're good parents and you're raising good kids." and then she shared some more personal thoughts and feelings that I will keep to myself--all very much appreciated.

And then, we all gathered in the livingroom where Dad gave her a blessing, which frankly had all in tears.

Even the dog was whining--lol.

And we headed outside to her little red car.

Where there were more hugs and tears...

I walked her to the driver's side and whispered as we held each other tightly:

"Now, you go have your own awfully big adventure! Enjoy every minute! You know that we love you so!

You've always been my favorite, but don't tell the other kids." haha

Nana answered: "I know."

Then I kissed her cheeks and that was that.

Just when you are tired of those late nights waiting up for their key to turn in the door,

and those marathon discussions about Right and Wrong,

and your knees have a rug rash

while your heart's in a knot,

or those days

when you'd consider putting an ad on Ebay

for that moody creature--

just when you wonder

"Am I ever going to be done?"--

 All of that starts to change

and your yahoo

turn into a lovely responsible adult

who "gets it"--

that's when you enjoy their company

and friendship--

And, well, dang it,

that's also when it's time for them 

to put the key in the ignition,

put the car in DRIVE

and pull away.

I just hate that part.

Butterflies and Christmas

When I was a little girl,
my parents used to leave the Christmas tree lights on
all night long
on Christmas eve.

Christms morning would find me
kneeling in front of the glistening tree
with it's flickering lights
gazing at all of the wrapped gifts
that covered the floor.

The butterflies in my tummy were so great
that my teeth would start chattering
in my excitement!

Now that I'm the Mom of the house,
going on 29 years
(man, I'm old! yea!),
you'd think I'd be over the whole
Butterfly-tummy thing, right?

I'm not.
No way.
As we put up our tree last night,
those same tingly butterflies returned--
each ornament is a memory on our tree.
None are the same--
there's the bagpipe one from Edinburgh,
and the one from our honeymoon in Breckenridge,
the ones we gave each other
that first day we met, December 1997,
and the yahoo's baby ornaments,
the new house ornament from Fort Collins,

AND the truly antique ornaments:

the tiny cherubic angels from Mr. Wonderful's mother
who passed away long before I ever met him,
long before he even thought he'd have a family.

There are 6 tiny little angels
and 6 miniature creche's
that Doris Ella used to put on her tree
way back when Mr. W
was just a yahoo in his own house.

And let me just say,
in case this isn't obvious--
those little angels are treated as though
they're made of 24 carat gold.

Mr. W hands the youngest yahoos
those tiny angels
and tells them in a sweet low voice:
"These were my Mom's."

We have to hang them together
or we'll lose them on the tree,
as we found out one year--
it took a long time to find every one of them.
They're only an inch and a half long.

But to Mr. Wonderful,
they're his Mom.
Like little Guardian Angels sent here
to watch over Doris Ella's boy,
they hang with honor on the very hooks
they were matched up with over 50 years ago.

See what I mean?
Butterflies.

We have our small rituals to get us going:
Hot cocoa with peppermint sticks,
the "Mary, Did You Know" cd by Kenny Rogers,
and our special ornaments.

I try not to direct the yahoos as to where
to place their ornaments.
Once the lights and garland are on,
anything goes!

The step-stool is brought out
and the un-spoken contest to see who
can get closest to the highest bough
begins--
"Mine is higher!"
"Ah-ha! Mine is higher now!"
And continues on until
there are 524 ornaments
at the top
and three
on the bottom bough
of the 9 foot tall tree.

It's all good.
The butterflies are flitting about,
the hot cocoa is delicious.
The kids are laughing about the handmade ornaments
they made in elementary school--
the ones with their school pictures centered in wreaths,
with their childish haircuts
all of it
circled in globs of glitter.

The last ornament to go on
is the Star...
that was the one tradition I brought
from my childhood:
My dad put the star on top.
Mr W does the deed and that's that.

All finished,
we settle back on the sofa
and gaze at our homemade masterpeice
ignoring the bins and buckets,
the tissue and strew ribbon--
we soak up all Christmas magic like
the last sip of hot cocoa--
we want every drop of it to last.

Joseph announces:
"It's Snowing!"

Hey, it's Butterfly Season.

My Gratitude is True

There are parts to mothering a handicapped child,
that bring me infinite Joy:
watching Dean play any of his myriad of sports--
his three-pointers in basketball,
his homeruns in softball,
his goals in soccer,
those slam-dunks in volleyball,
and finishing up a solid lap in swimming.

Each time, I feel like I"m witnessing a miracle
from a little boy whom I was told by
"medical professionals"
would never walk or talk.

Dean amazes me.

He is the softspot of my heart,
the tender underbelly of my soul.
I can barely speak of him to others without my heartstrings pulling
and oh brother, the tears erupt faster than I can stop them.
When it comes to my love for this child,
I am completely raw.

Dean hasn't lived with us in five years,
because his needs exceed my abilities.
I hate that.
Can I just say that without sounding pathetic?
I hate it.

I miss him more than I can say.
I am only whole
when he's at home,
sleeping under my roof,
eating at our dinner table.

Since it's Thanksgiving,
we made plans to see Dean.
His State-run program only allows us to see Dean
for 4 consecutive 24-hour periods.
Totally sucks.
Otherwise, there's a financial adjustment for his caregivers,
and that always makes me feel guilty
on both ends--
if we keep him longer,
it takes money out of his caregivers' pockets,
but when I don't see Dean,
I worry that he feels abandoned.

Phone calls do not make the distance easier,
because in every call,
he pleads to come home and see us.
I know he misses us.
There's just no easy way around this.
We used to live in the same city as he does,
but then we moved,
and the county we live in now,
has insufficient funds for quality care for Dean.
So in his best interest,
we've left him up in Loveland.
None of this is easy.

Anyway,
getting to the Gratitude Part--
Dani was going to pick up Dean yesterday
as she is just an hour away from him,
and bring him home to me.
But since Mr. Idaho is the EQP (Elders' Quorum President) in his ward,
he has responsibilities that prevented her from being able to take the one car
they have (they traded in their individual cars last summer and bought just one.)

I was worried anyway,
about Dani going by herself to pick Dean up,
as he is moving again from the caregiver's home he
JUST moved into in September--
because that caregiver says he was unaware that Dean's needs
exceeded his ability as well.
I've been mad about that--
I hate moving Dean and I know it stresses him out,
like any normal person would be,
only alot worse.
So I worried about Dani being able to handle Dean
if he had an outburst and became physical.

I called work and tried to see if I could leave early
for the two hour drive up north to get him
myself.
The answer was No.

Mr. W said he could go get Dean after work--
which would put them home around 7:30-8pm.
That's a long day,
but at the time, seemed like our only option.

Then, Dani called back and said she'd make it work somehow
so that she could get him and keep him overnight at her place
and bring him with her family on Thanksgiving.

Okay, so in the meantime,
I'm trying to work things like time and place
out with Dean's caregiver.
When one of us will get there,
and where we can meet up so we don't have to go
all the way into Loveland.

That was stressing me out
because I want to make it easy on the caregiver,
ya know?
He's already asked that we remove Dean from his home,
I don't wanna inconvenience him if I don't have to.
ugh.

So I went to work,
hope full that Dani could work it out on her end,
and just flat-out sad that I couldn't just do it myself,
as I usually do.
Before I had a job.
I was just too emotional for words,
so what do I do when I'm like that?
I clean.
N' just so you know,
the floors, counters, tabletops, lamp shades,
shelves, and every other stinkin' thing
in All About Home Showroom
is spotless today.

Around two hour after I got to work,
my Nana came by to tell me she was on her way to
Loveland to pick up Dean.
Her work cancelled and she would do it.
I was relieved and grateful,
but worried at the same time,
for all of the same reasons I was worried about Dani going
AND
because we were assured a snow storm was going to hit
our side of the Rockies yesterday
and she still hasn't put on her snow tires yet.

I gave her a big hug,
and proceeded to pray while I was cleaning
all day long yesterday,
for her safety and Dean's emotional state.

All Day.

When I finished sweeping the whole store,
I dusted.
When I finished dusting,
I vacuumed.
When I wrapped the cord around the vacuum,
I dusted again.
Then I swept under every thing I could get to.
And dusted again.
I did that for the six plus hours I was there,
as there were just three customers all day long.

I told Nana to call me once she got there,
and once she got Dean and was on her way back home.
And she did,
but when the clock rolled around to 4pm and she still wasn't home with him
I was worried and called her.

She was at Dani's house with Dean.
She said she took him there because he needed to be cleaned up
before I saw him
as she knew I'd be upset.
So she took him to Dani's house.
Dani is a second Mom to Dean--
she and Mr. Idaho gave Dean a shower,
cut his hair,
cleaned his ears,
shaved his overgrown beard,
trimmed his toenails,
brushed his teeth,
put on deodorant
and clean clothes,
fed him and loved him.
I told Nana to give Dani and Brad a big hug for me.

And then, once that was done,
Nana brought him home to me.

Do you get this??
Am I leaving anything out?

I have an amazing family...
sisters and brothers who love each other
and serve one another
and by doing so fill my heart with unspeakable joy!

Even when I cannot be there for Dean,
the softspot of my heart,
his brothers and sisters ARE.
They served him in the most pure way--
caring for his physical body.

Look, I don't know why his caregiver hasn't done
a better job at taking care of Dean...
to make sure his hair is trim,
his beard is shaven,
his teeth and ears and nails are properly hygienic.
I don't know.
BUT,
we are moving him to a better place next week.
There's a mother in that home.
And for that,
I am grateful too.

I admit,
I wondered yesterday why this is so hard.
And that old puke, Satan was ever present in my ear,
making me feel more crappy about the challenges that are mine
than I already did.
I compared myself to my friends--
whose trials seem so insignificant in this light to me.
I wish I had a friend who had a son like mine.
So I would know at least one Mother in the world
whose grief compares--
apples to apples, ya know?

But here's the thing--
as those ugly thoughts clamored for attention
yesterday
and I cleaned until I couldn't clean anymore--
like a tiger circling it's cage,
I circled the store,
cleaning and straightening,
with tears sneaking out of my eyes at times,
finally
a feeling of peace came over me,
and it was time to go home.

I was at home for just a little while,
busy making dinner,
when Joseph came bounding down the stairs:
"He's Here! Dean's here!! They just pulled up!!"
Daisie and Ari came a-running
and we all gathered at the doorway to welcome Dean home.

His thousand watt smile greeted us,
and my arms encircled my boy with all the strength I had,
I breathed him in and found peace after a long day of unrest.

I hugged Nana,
and when Mr. W came home,
he hugged Nana,
and Ari hugged Nana too...
all of us grateful she was able to fetch our Dean for us.

I was fretting about not being the Mom,

the one who is in charge of Dean--

and here I am,

several hours later,

realizing the day was just as should've been--

Dean's sisters and brother-in-love saw the opportunity

to serve both Dean and Me,

and they seized it with their hearts wide open.

I don't know any other mother

who has my same trials,

but the gratitude I feel right now,

is unequaled too.

If this is what family is all about,
then what more can I ask for?

It's Thanksgiving Morning.
My Gratitude is True.

First things First: (go to the bottom and turn off the music player)
Sue was the first to correctly identify Brian Regan as the phrase-coiner (I think I just made that word up) of "Take Luck"....enjoy.




Second:
The Boofus is feeling better now that I've spent twenty bucks on a co-pay for the doctor to tell us,
that, while the flu test AND the strept test came out negative,
The Boof-dawg has "flu-like symptoms" from a viral infection.
Translating into:
Go home. Get in bed. Drink lots of fluid. Take ibuprophen and call back in the morning.
Oh and eat some chicken noodle soup, the doc says.
"Great! I'll make some for you today, Boof." says I.
"Nah. I'd rather have ravioli. Not yours tho', can we buy it in the can?"

The boy who wouldn't eat for two days,
has eaten two cans of Chef Boy ArDee's ravioli.
Nevermind that I offered to make my homestyle chicken noodle soup
or
my homemade ravioli...
not good enough, says he.
Apparently, my son is addicted to preservatives
and artificial flavors, food dyes and additives.
Mmmmm, good stuff there, hunh?

One good thing came from my twenty dollar co-pay though--
I have a professional witness that my yahoo refuses to eat healthy food.
N' I feel good about that.
Ya know, in case I ever need an impartial witness that I tried to keep
this stubborn boy healthy, I got one.
And she's not only a doctor,
she's a Mom.
How much more street-cred do ya need, right?

Oh, and that wall? hit it. Bam.
Would it be a bad thing if I put my pj's on before dinner?

Take Luck!

I usually have 3 days off work a week--
Friday or Saturday
Sunday and Monday.

I'm home this morning because the Boofus is way sick.
He slept in my bed last night
so I could keep an eye on him and tend to his needs.
Mr W slept in his bed--
so he could get some sleep b/c of course,
he still had work today.

The Boofus had a rough night,
which means I had a rough night.

I'm taking him to the doctor this morning at 11:30
and see what's up.
I hate it when the yahoos are sick, don't you?

But on the flip side,
I'm home.
And I'm usually scheduled out on my days off
so that I don't get alot done around the house--
like cleaning junk drawers or the laundry room,
being creative and moving things around.

But for whatever reason,
I've got energy to do this stuff today
before I hit that inevitable brick wall of
exhaustion--
yeah I know it's there--
but for right now,
I'm pretending it's not.
Cuz I've got things to do.


*Changing Sheets
*Washing Pillows
*Lysol-ing the house down to kill them thar bugs.
*Cleaning that one junk drawer that has birthday napkins, sparklers, shishkabob stix, birthday candles, take out menus, and heaven only knows what else.
*Sweeping up the 4" layer of dryer lint in the laundry room so as to avert a fire danger.
*Move my family room furniture around since I got a new ottoman for my birthday. What? Like I'd want diamonds or froo-froo stuff for my 49th bday? I don't think so.  I wanted a peice of furniture that the whole family could put their feet on and think about ME.  Whoa--is that freudian or what?? lol
*Clean up the loft/office space of shoes, plates, dvds, and whatsits.
*Water the plants!
* Take out dinner and get that going in the crockpot.


Yeah, I've got loads to do today.
Wish me luck!

Oh and if you've gotten this far,
if you know who coined the phrase of my blog title today,
and leave it in my comments box,
you'll totally make my day.

First Correct Answer Wins!
What? Oh just a little something I've picked up
from All About Home.

Dean

Our special needs son, Dean is moving.
Again.
He was at the same home for 5 years,
and because his needs weren't being met,
his social services case workers and our family
decided to move him.
We interviewed the perspective caregiver,
and was assured that it would be a great move for Dean.

I worried about it, truthfully,
because I wanted it to be a good fit,
because it's a single man in his 50's--
but again, was assured that this man was qualified to care for
a special-needs person and had over 20 years' experience.

Yesterday morning,
I rec'd an email from the caregiver that Deans needs
exceeds his ability to care for him,
then he proceeded to list all of Dean's needs
as though they were something new:
"he seems to function as a three year old"
"he needs constant supervision"
"he let the dog out and didn't tell us"
"he has a mean streak and can be rude in his language"
and on and on.

I read it and thought,
Didn't he know that already? Isn't in Dean's files?
All of this stuff is known about Dean.


Maybe he did know,
and maybe he just didn't understand?

My heart sank at the email.
We have to move Dean. He just moved in there September.
I hate this.
I wish we could bring him home.
That's what I want, more than anything.
But Dean's needs to exceed my ability.
He is violent, he does throw things, and hit others
for no apparent reason.
He has psychotic episodes which frighten us.
But he's also funny, and fun, and has a great sense of humor
and loves to help others,
and participate in Special Olympics.
I love him and if I could, I would just bring him
home.

I have to go up to Loveland next week
and interveiw another caregiver.
This time, it's a couple.
I pray it works out for Dean.
He is my soft spot.

Giving Permission to Evolve: a Lesson I Learned in Parenting

When my oldest son was just five years old,
I recall a conversation between the two of us
that went something like this:
"when I was your age, 
I was like this [fill in the blank]
and I think you should be doing this [fill in the blank] too."


To which my little boy responded:
"I'm not like you. I'm my own person, Mom."

At the time, I didn't know what to say back to him.
What I wanted was for him to be the person
I wanted him to be...
I was inexperienced.

Fortunately,
we both grew up.
He is now a man with a wife and a job.
I'm grateful that I didn't do much permanent damage
to his little ego,
that he was stubborn enough
to be true to his inner voice.

The truth is,
he was a really sweet little guy.
If I could have a do-over of his young childhood,
I would so take that and run with it.

The older I get,
the more I realize how important it is for us
as parents to let our children
be the Leaders once in awhile.
I don't always have to know all the right answers
to all the questions.
Frankly,
some questions have many right answers,
we just have to be open-minded to see the possibilities.

It's called Evolution.
We're here on this earth to learn how to live happily.
Not selfishly.
Not My-Way-Or-The-Highway.
and conversely,
Not Walk-All-Over-Me
either.

We're supposed to make mistakes and learn from them.
Supposed to.
And yeah, sometimes we let stupid things block out
common sense,
but most of the time,
we don't.

And it's important to realize that
our kids need permission to live and learn
and not be berated for their mistakes
however small,
or too afraid to admit they've erred
for fear of the consequences.

I am a believer in Love and Logic
in parenting.
Common Sense still needs to be taught though.
And Natural Consequences are great Teachers.
And the foundation for parenting,
in my humble opinion,
is mutual respect.


And before you think I became a parent knowing this,
let me assure you, 
I did not.


Having been raised by wolves,
I had to learn this Mutual-Respect stuff
by trial and error.
I had to Educate my Self...
By looking honestly at my parenting skills,
and reading parenting books,
talking to other parents whom I respected,
asking for divine help at every turn.

I wanted to be a better parent
than the parents I had.

Honestly, once I realized how much I didn't know
and how much mercy I needed for my own
faults and flubs,
I repented and gratefully accepted the fact
that I am capable of change.
Of Evolution.

And with that understanding of my Self,
came the awareness
that I also needed
to acknowledge that
divine character
in my children.
I owe them that much.

So yes,
we are continually evaluating our methods--
somethings work with some kids at some times
and somethings don't...
so we re-evaluate our methods of training
and teaching--
though the principals we're trying to
teach
and learn
remain the same.

I have found
and continue to find evidence
that this approach to life and parenting,
works for my family.
The ability to say to my children,
"Hey did you learn from this experience?
Have you evolved from your previous knowledge
to something higher?"
--has been a blessing for all of us.


What parenting philosophy works in your family?

The Dentist, Dog Poop, and Chicken n Stars Soup!

Monday began like an other Monday.
A few whines and sighs
at the week that lay before me,
dragging my bahooey outta bed
and going to work.

Not that I mind working.
I don't.
But, still, working 40 hours
has introduced other challenges--
like staying on top of housework--
I look around and ask outloud,
"Hey! Where's the Mother that works here?
What is all this mess?"
and more importantly,
a job is
sucking time away for things I like--
like grocery shopping
and
facebook.

Well, last Sunday my Nana had a toothache.
SO we made an appointment to see our awesome dentist,
Dr. Rogers.
He comes from a long line of awesome-ness.
his brother is also Dr. Rogers
and was our
Bishop Rogers until our ward boundaries changed last Spring.
But neither of them are related to our
Bishop Rodgers, also Dr. Rodgers
in Meridian, Idaho.

Ya still here?

Anywho,
we had an appointment for Nana.
Then, on Wednesday afternoon,
Monsieur Boofus chipped a tooth.
So then we had two appointments to see
Dr. Rogers.
Nana needed her wisdom teeth removed.
All four of 'em.
Ugh.

So we had two appointments yesterday morning...
at 7am.
Can I just
Do I even have to say what a pain
So we are grateful that we could go into the dentist
at 7am.

As we got into the car to go,
from the backseat I hear,
"Man, it stinks back here."
"It smells bad, Mom."

"What? Open the windows then--
it's probably leftover french fries from the other night
when we ate on the way to Mutual."

"No, it smells like dog uh, crap."

"Don't say 'crap'."


****

So we go into the office.
Boofus is seen first--
he's out pretty fast--
the chipped tooth was a baby tooth
and the permanent tooth is coming down,
thus pushing the now-dead baby tooth out--
they pulled it out
and everyone's good to go.

Since Nana's appointment is so long,
I told the yahoos to get in the car
and I'd run them to school.

I look around the lobby and Boofus isn't there--
the Caboose says,
"Oh Joseph's in the bathroom-- he found dog poop on his shoe."

Nice.

This means that the dentist and all of the nice dental assistants
got a whiff of dog poop
while my son was with them.
In their tiny rooms.
At 7 am in the morning.

And he's in their bathroom cleaning it??

Kill me now.

Luckily, (eye to the sky),
he did not clean it in the bathroom
beyond taking a swipe at it with tissue--
he came out tip toe-ing,
and waited until we got home to wash it--
in the kitchen sink!!!

Seriously?!!

No no no!!! I cried--
"OUTSIDE"...
and he did.
And his momma was happy.

And he went to school with a wet shoe.
And one less tooth.

I went back to the Dentist's office,
wearing the invisible cone of shame,
to pick up Nana.

The dental assistant came out
beforehand to tell me it had been a difficult procedure--
I wont' go into the details
but it wasn't good.

Finally,
the moment of truth--
Nana comes walking out with what looks like a diaper on her head
but is in fact, a cold pack.

Of course, I took pictures.

But have been forbidden to share them

with anyone who isn't a blood relative.

Anyway, Nana knew she looked funny,

and we both started laughing...

and laughed all the way to the car,

thru the Sonic line to get her a banana shake,

where she couldn't feel her lips or tongue--

as the liquid poured out her mouth

and onto her lap.

thru the bank drive thru lane to deposit a check

and finally when we tucked her into my bed

with a remote in hand.

She laughed until she cried little tiny tears down her cheeks.

Then she settled in and watched 47 episodes of "House"

for the rest of the day.

And we gave her what we give everyone in our house who is sick

and needs a little pick-me-up:

Campbell's Chicken and Stars soup.

MMMM Good.

I was so happy to get my first paycheck yesterday!!
Oh the things I was gonna do with it!!
I had a list going on the fridge.
Not on the list??--
Going to the dentist and paying a bill of $587.00.
Nope, that was not on there.
Not even close.

Excuse me while I go make myself some
Campbells' Chicken and Stars soup.

The Non-Jersey Shores Situation

We had a situation here this week,
that is very unlike Jersey Shores "The Situation"--
(seriously, is it just me or is that kid kind of immature?--
I've never even seen the show,
but every time I see a photo of him,
his shirt is pulled up like he's a two year old girl.
just sayin.)

Anywhooooo...
we have some young neighbors
who have some young little girls.
One of whom has tested the
"honesty" waters lately...
She told the Caboose--
who was within ear shot of Nana,
that her parents abuse her--
that her father shoved her down the stairs,
and her parents refuse to feed her!
AND
that if the Caboose told ME,
and if I then told THEM,
she would lie her fool head off,
rather than face certain death!
AND
(hey, there's more!  there's always more when
a nine year old girl is concerned,
and this one was on a roll!)
AND--if the Caboose told me,
then she would make sure
that the Caboose was
suspended from school
AND
go to "Kid Prison".

Now, I was flat-out ignoring the child-abuse bally hooing,
if you knew her parents
like I know her parents,
you would too.
But when the Caboose was fretting about going to
Kid Prison and eating green beans all day,
I knew it was time to have a little chat
with this youngun's father yesterday morning.

Yes, he was shocked.
Yes, he couldn't believe it.
Yes, he told his sweet wife,
whom I was sure was going to either
A) Put her kid in a chokehold
or
 B) Die from shock.

The parents asked if they could come over
have a chat
get to the bottom of this situation
because as you might've guessed--
their daughter would never talk like that,
was always kind and honest,
why, she would just never!...
blah blah blah
you know this stuff
cuz you've been there, right?

I know I've been there--
ready to defend my yahoo's reputation
with my last breath
before I knew any better.
I came to the sad realization that my yahoos--
my beloved off-spring for whom
I have
sacrificed so much--
my waistline
my hard-earned money
my time, talents, means
and last nerves--
MY yahoos would dare LIE to their mother
to save their own skins!

I learned this when my oldest yahoo
was in fifth grade:
the teacher called to "inform" me of my son's
unnaceptable behavior.
I can't even recall what it was,
so it wasn't theft,
physical violence
or naughty words--
it had something to do with
writing on someone else's paper.
ANYWHO,
while the teacher is telling me
this
this
this nonsense,
I told her in no uncertain terms that
MY BOY WOULD NEVER DO THAT. period.
Then I asked to speak to my son,
and I asked him over the phone,
"Did you do that?"
to which he replied "No, Mom."
Satisfied with his answer,
I asked to speak to his teacher.
"Yes, my son says he didn't do that, and I believe him."
Then she said,
"Why don't you come down to the school and see for yourself."

I was indignant.
Of course I would come down to prove my son's innocence!
What Mama Bear wouldn't??

I went into the Principal's Office
ready to claw at anyone who dare challenge my son's character,
only to be handed my dignity back into my face
as I saw the paper-in-question with my own two eyeballs.

A little part of me died.
Right there in Mrs. Inserra's office
at Bellair Elementary School.

I was in shock.
My Beloved Son, My David Scott had
told me a big fat honkin' lie...
and he knew when I got there--
he knew I was going to look like an Idiot
in front of his teacher and Principal.

And he did it anyway.

SO
that's the day I learned that while I may
teach my yahoos all I know about being
honest and true,
they like to test the honesty waters once in awhile
when I'm not expecting it
and shock the daylights outta me.

I just hate that.

So I was relating this story to my young neighbors
who were certain that their
beautiful, rich and talented* child
would NEVER tell such a whopper--
I told them
that sometimes kids lie just to see what happens.
And you don't have to beat yourself up over it
or analyze it to death.
You deal with it in your own way,
(filling up socks with sand and thumping the yahoos with them
doesn't leave a mark, did you know that?)
and then you move on.

I think my young neighbors were both
relieved and discouraged.
Relieved
that we weren't mad or
in any other way affected,
so long as their brat*
stopped threatening the Caboose
with hard time in the Big Kid House
and being suspended from school;
and
Discouraged
that they have a normal kid on their hands
because before today,
they were pretty sure she was an incarnate Mother Theresa.

Kids wreck us parents up sometimes.
I think it's payback for all the wrecking up we do to them.

I bet that's what that kid on Jersey Shore is doing to his folks.
Payback. Totally.

Best Of Momza's House

first run last February 2010.

The Yahoos and I went up to Denver today

to Cherry Creek Mall...

we'd never been there,

no not in the 13+ years we've lived in Colorado.

Never.

The only store I loved was

Anthropologie.

So. cute.

But that's not what I wanna share.

So we're sitting on a garden wall

waiting for some of our gang

to come out of Urban Outfitters

and some of our gang

to come back from the Loo--

when I look down the way a bit

to see a very very elderly man

slowly shuffling his way towards

our end of the Mall.

His steps are teeny tiny baby steps,

his arms are swinging in unison,

as tho he is using them to push him along.

I whisper to Daisie so she can notice him too.

She has been very much a 14-going-on-fifteen-year-old

lately...

you know what I'm talking about:

self-absorbed, curt, whiny, some moments I am

exasperated by her--

I wanted her to see something real--

someone whose struggles

were on the outside

easy to see

and perhaps sympathize.

She watched his motions

as his path crossed right in front of us,

her heart melted,

she said,

"I wonder if he needs help?"

I looked into her eyes

and said,

"How bad do you wanna know?"

She winced for a moment--

thought about it,

then stood up

and walked over to him--

immediately the rest of my yahoos' eyes

were fixed on their sister.

They hadn't heard our conversation

but they had certainly seen the man.

When Daisie got to him,

his eyes lit up

a broad smile surfaced on his lips

and I heard him say to her

request,

"God bless you.

God bless you.

God bless you."

-- in broken english.

And he put one of his arms on her shoulder,

looking deep into her eyes.

He shook his head no

and kept shuffling

until he was outta sight.

When she returned to me,

her eyes met mine

and we both teared-up.

I told her I was so proud of her

and hugged her guts!

She said it reminded her of some show she had seen

where an actor

pretended to need help

to see who would step up and offer it.

I told her it reminded me of the Savior

who said,

"Inasmuch as ye have

done it unto the least of these,

my brethren,

ye have done it unto me."